NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968)

It’s an uncontested fact that George A. Romero’s directorial debut irrevocably altered the landscape of horror cinema. Alongside Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960), and Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1960), Night of the Living Dead marked a radical departure from the outdated literary-infused horror of yesteryear. The era of gothic castles and supernatural aristocrats gave way to an unnervingly present menace that reflected the anxieties of modern society on the edge of existential collapse. Instead of ethereal vampires or mythological demons, Romero offered a visceral vision where the monsters were disturbingly familiar. They could be the neighbour next door or the indistinct figure hiding in the innocuous surroundings of a mundane summer retreat. This democratisation of terror redefined the genre and laid the foundation for a relentless parade of slashers and psychological horrors that would dominate the ensuing decades.

Before Night of the Living Dead, cinematic representations of the undead were markedly different. In Victor Halperin’s White Zombie (1932) and John Gilling’s The Plague of the Zombies (1966), they were summoned back to life through black magic. These early iterations were typical of Haitian voodoo and portrayed as lumpenproletariat symbols forced into slave labour by their sadistic masters. The concept of reanimating the dead and turning them against humankind was first popularised in Richard Matheson’s 1954 post-apocalyptic novel I Am Legend. However, Romero and co-writer John Russo transformed them from pawns of necromancy into convincingly lethal cannibalistic forces. The pair reinvented the zombie as an existential threat and imbued them with a chillingly modern relevance. No longer confined to the realm of fantastical superstition, the creatures became vehicles for social commentary.

After driving hours into the Pennsylvania countryside, siblings Barbara (Judith O’Dea) and Johnny (Russell Streiner) are visiting their father’s gravesite at their mother’s request. Enjoying the chance to taunt his younger sister’s childhood fear of the cemetery after dark, Johnny notices an elderly man shuffling ominously towards them and jokingly suggests that he’s coming to get them. The joke quickly transforms into a grim reality as the figure suddenly attacks Barbara. Johnny attempts to remove the man from his sister but is overpowered. When he’s pushed to the ground, he suffers a fatal blow as his head connects with a tombstone. The mysterious man continues to pursue Barbara but she flees to a seemingly abandoned farmhouse to seek refuge. While hiding in the building, she encounters Ben (Duane Jones), a pragmatic stranger who stops at the house in search of gasoline for his truck. Ben instructs her to assist him in fortifying the farmhouse against the horde of violent intruders gathering outside.

As the tension mounts, Ben and Barbara soon discover that more survivors have been hiding in the basement: Harry Cooper (Karl Hardman), his wife Helen (Marilyn Eastman), and their sickly daughter (Kyra Schon); alongside a young couple Tom (Keith Wayne) and Judy (Judith Ridley) who are newly married. As the night descends and the group of survivors consider their options, they attempt to prepare a survival strategy. However, their discussions about the increasing number of wandering corpses outside the farmhouse immediately devolve into a volatile power struggle between Ben and Harry. What begins as simmering tension erupts into outright conflict as each man clings to their delusions of self-preservation without any regard for their fellow survivors. As the mindless hordes of the undead hammer relentlessly at the fragile barriers of the farmhouse, the survivors become as much of a threat to one another as the ravenous creatures outside.

Considering its current notoriety as the granddaddy of the contemporary zombie movie, Night of the Living Dead was a remarkably unassuming production. Produced on a shoestring budget of around $114,000 with a cast of unknowns and amateurs, Romero does a masterful economic job of orchestrating his horrific concept from moderate means. Acting as both director and cinematographer, his asymmetrical compositions and expressionistic chiaroscuro lighting provide an almost cinema verité verisimilitude. Additionally, despite colour becoming the industry standard during the 1960s, the cost-effective monochromatic celluloid only heightens the immediacy. Rendering the horror all the more visceral, one could easily imagine the nightmarish events unfolding before a documentary crew. Some inevitable shortcomings come with a small-scale production, including some inconsequential continuity errors. However, Romero’s forced minimalism suggests his assured filmmaking was pregnant with commentary.

By grounding the horror within the confines of a quintessential American setting, Romero deftly engages with the sociopolitical undercurrents of a nation plagued by the simmering anxieties of the Vietnam War, the burgeoning counterculture movement, and the deep scars of racial division. Central to any discourse buried in Night of the Living Dead is the character of Ben, whose presence serves as a reflection of the perilous state of race relations during the Civil Rights movement. Unlike the reductive portrayals of African Americans that plagued cinema during the decade, the black protagonist is unburdened by the usual problematic archetypes. He’s neither the subservient sidekick to a white character nor a caricatured stereotype. Instead, Romero presents him as an assertive and heroic character among a cacophony of irrationality and hysteria. While under siege in the remote farmhouse, he calmly takes on the leadership role, resourcefully barricades the windows and doors, and compassionately understands Barbara’s psychological unravelling.

Although Romero disavowed any deliberate commentary on race relations, the image of a sanctimonious white man spewing invective towards a Black protagonist carries with it an undeniable subtext that’s impossible to overlook. In particular, the punishingly bleak final images are an excoriating indictment of America’s treatment of its marginalised population. Their effectiveness lies in their believability, with many resembling historical images of similar catastrophes in America’s 20th-century social history. What was already a moment of devastating nihilism gained even greater symbolic weight by the time Night of the Living Dead reached audiences in 1968. The assassination of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. transforms the finale into an accidental but potent reflection of America’s racial tension. This visceral depiction of racially fuelled violence would have been difficult enough when conceived but it continues to resonate more than half a century later. Even contemporary audiences that lack an understanding of the Civil Rights Movement could instantly draw parallels to modern tragedies like that of George Floyd.

While the Civil Rights Movement was at its height during the late-1960s, a variety of radical movements reverberated through American society. It was during this period that the nation’s exposure to the Vietnam War sparked a formidable countercultural movement that challenged long-held conservative ideals. Vietnam was the first time ordinary citizens were able to witness the gruesome atrocities of armed conflict. No longer was war a distant abstraction fought in Germany or Japan, it was being transmitted into people’s houses daily. Unlike previous wars of the century which united the country against a common cause, Vietnam had a destabilising effect. It led to widespread anti-authoritarian and countercultural sentiments across the nation. Aware of this shifting national mood, Romero incorporates the anger and nihilism of the era into his screenplay. As the survivors are assailed by an ever-encroaching horde outside the farmhouse, the group fractures as they argue over their dwindling resources and best course of action. The claustrophobic tension and bitter infighting capture a palpable brand of cynicism that mirrors a nation currently eating itself alive under stress. It remains unclear whether this was intentional, but in a year when American households were flooded with images of the My Lai massacre, it seems plausible that the deeply divided national sentiment surrounding the war may have exerted an influence.

Romero’s thematic concerns and symbolism become more apparent and less ambiguous in his subsequent work. His sociopolitical critique became unflinchingly clear and left very little room for the derivative and scattershot interpretations that plagued the reception of Night of the Living Dead. Widely regarded as his masterpiece, Dawn of the Dead (1978) condemned modern consumerism. The undead were reduced to a grotesque parody of shoppers, mindlessly feeding their hunger for the sterile familiarity of mall culture. Day of the Dead (1985) examined the institutional hubris of the government and science community’s maniacal pursuit of control. It provided a scathing critique against those who blindly follow such an establishment. With Land of the Dead (2005), Romero turns his satirical gaze towards the George W. Bush Administration. He eviscerated the smug complacency of the social elite and condemned the government for widening the economic divide. Finally, in Diary of the Dead (2008) the filmmaker deconstructed the cultural obsession with digital voyeurism. He addresses the obsession with the incessant avalanche of video content and how the weight of virtual spectacle has desensitised society. Romero’s singular ability to transform the reanimated corpses into incisive metaphors paralleling the terrifying realities outside the frame is why his work continues to resonate. It is no surprise that Night of the Living Dead rightfully earned a place in the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress of the US in 1999.

Beyond discussions of social commentary and cultural reflectivity, Night of the Living Dead is a quintessential horror that more than satisfies on a visceral level. Several sequences of flesh being ripped off limbs and long ropes of intestines being devoured must have felt exhilarating for audiences of this period. Appearing during a crucial moment in American film history when the Production Code was replaced in favour of the vastly more permissive MPAA rating system, it was released during a period when American film censorship was at its weakest. However, what renders Romero’s horror truly disquieting is its alarming ordinariness. The choreographed close-ups of groping hands and flailing fingers reaching through shattered windows are the essence of nightmares and remain mostly untouched by copycats. Whereas every bludgeon carries a simple impact that mostly rejects the stylised violence that was usually reserved for exploitation cinema. A particular moment that retains its ability to shock even today is the indelible image of Karen (Kyra Schon) devouring her father’s flesh. Moments later, the young girl brutally stabs her loving mother repeatedly in the chest with a garden trowel. In a motif perhaps inspired by the famous scene of Psycho, the woman’s screams are modulated through an electronic effect to reinforce the horrific moment.

Where Night of the Living Dead truly distinguishes itself from its contemporaries is in its revelling in ambiguity. Perhaps due to his modest budget and limited resources, Romero ingeniously subverts cinematic conventions by deliberately refusing to explain the apocalyptic carnage. The droning television acts as a constant audible nod to life outside the farmhouse and the scope of the catastrophe. Through the various emergency broadcasts, government officials suggest that the dead are reanimating because a NASA space probe released high levels of radiation into the atmosphere. We also learn that the monsters are eating human flesh and they can only be stopped by destroying the brain. Through the eyes of an unsuspecting viewer of the late 1960s and those with no preconceived notions of zombies or their mythology, this restraint serves to heighten the tension to an almost unbearable degree. By eschewing neat explanations and comforting rationales, Romero heralded a new narrative tension that would dominate the conspiracy-laden cinema of the 1970s.

Nightmarish in both content and presentation, George A. Romero’s directorial debut is a thrilling viewing experience. Its brilliance lies not in the gratuitous displays of bloodshed but in the disquieting realisation that this apocalyptic nightmare isn’t so unfamiliar. Film scholars and critics alike have found a variety of ways to interpret Night of the Living Dead. They viewed it as representing the Vietnam War, an allegory of the Civil Rights Movement, and even a critique of capitalism. While all of these interpretations are legitimate and compelling readings, what is truly remarkable is that after half a century and an unaccountable number of inferior imitations, it still evokes a palpable sense of dread. It remains a groundbreaking horror that laid the foundation for a sub-genre that is still being built upon today.

USA | 1968 | 96 MINUTES | 1:37:1 | BLACK & WHITE | ENGLISH

Special Edition 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray Special Features:

The Criterion Collection resurrects Night of the Living Dead from the grave with a wonderful 2160p Ultra HD restoration. Sourced from the original camera negative and supervised by George A. Romeo and co-writer John Russo, the transfer is presented in its original aspect ratio of 1:37:1. The restoration has cleaned the presentation up almost impeccably and removed practically all traces of age-related imperfections. The film grain was rendered beautifully on Criterion’s previous Blu-ray release, but the 4K presentation further improves the transfer. Black levels are rich and satisfyingly deep, lending the image a cleaner filmic texture. Despite the lack of High Dynamic Range (HDR), there’s a surprising amount of fine detail and dynamic range. The image is deceptively sharp and contains an excellent amount of depth with rendering that draws out plenty of delineation. Individual clothing patterns and textual weaves remain discernible. Meanwhile, tight compositions reveal a perceptible level of detail and reveal the finest facial blemishes. Overall, this 4K Ultra HD release is a substantial improvement, and fans of Night of the Living Dead will be pleased with the results.

Criterion’s 2024 release features one audio track with optional English subtitles. The disc contains the original English LPCM 1.0 mono track remastered under the supervision of writer-director George A. Romero and sound engineer Gary Streiner. It’s not a mix of aural fireworks, but it delivers the components of the original recording beautifully. The dialogue is effectively discernible and dispersed primarily at the front, while faint ambient activity can be heard through the surrounding channels. There’s a noticeable restoration to the audio, but it hasn’t been stripped of its character. There’s still some audible background noise and the occasional distortion, but that’s a part of the charm.  

• NEW 4K digital restoration, supervised by director George A. Romero, co-screenwriter John A. Russo, sound engineer Gary R. Streiner, and producer Russell W. Streiner.
• NEW restoration of the monaural soundtrack, supervised by Romero and Gary Streiner and presented uncompressed.
• One 4K UHD disc of the film and two Blu-rays with the film and special features.
• Night of Anubis, a work-print edit of the film.
• Program featuring filmmakers Frank Darabont, Guillermo del Toro, and Robert Rodriguez.
• 16-mm dailies reel.
• Program featuring Russo on the commercial and industrial film production company where key Night of the Living Dead participants got their starts.
• Two audio commentaries from 1994 featuring Romero, Russo, producer Karl Hardman, actor Judith O’Dea, and others.
• Archival interviews with Romero and actors Duane Jones and Judith Ridley.
• Programs about the film’s style and score.
• Archival interviews with Romero and actors Duane Jones and Judith Ridley.
• Programs about the film’s style and score.
• Interview program about the direction of ghouls, featuring members of the cast and crew.
• Interviews with Gary Streiner and Russell Streiner.
• Newsreels from 1967.
• Trailer, radio spots, and TV spots.

Cast & Crew

director: George A. Romero.
writers: George A. Romero & John A Russo.
starring: Duane Jones, Judith O’Dea & Karl Hardman.