VHS Revival chews through the second instalment of George A. Romero’s seminal undead trilogy
Upon release, Dawn of the Dead was dismissed by many as a mindless exercise in gore and violence, and it is easy to see why.
In many respects, that’s exactly what the movie is: a fun, comic book-style splatterfest which relishes in a plethora of creative kills at a time when the manner of a character’s death was somewhat peripheral. Since ‘Dawn’, horror has waded through so much blood and viscera that even the most prudish of movie goers have developed at least some level of desensitisation, while others have become so numbed out that they are drawn to explicit violence the way Romero’s zombies are drawn to living flesh.
In today’s graphic climate, the sight of a zombie having the top of his head sliced off by a helicopter propeller might seem pretty tame, but in 1978 it was enough to close people’s minds off to the subtleties that exist beneath the bloodshed, the sight of two rabid children being machine gunned to death still a shocking sight to behold. But the second of Romero’s famed zombie trilogy is much more than an exercise in carnage, and those who are unable to recognise as much probably have more in common with the movie’s undead cast than they might care to imagine.
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Before we get into all of that, let us first take a moment to celebrate the imagination and execution of the practical effects on show. This was Tom Savini’s second credited movie as make-up and special effects man, and it proves the perfect platform for his innovative brand of gore and obsession with all things grisly, as well as acting as a springboard for a career that would span five decades.
A veteran of the Vietnam war, Savini had experienced a much more literal version of the walking dead, and as well as being a useful addition to Romero’s political entourage, it is likely he had witnessed some rather graphic incidents during his time in service, experiences that no doubt had a bearing on his similarly graphic work. The manner of the deaths in ‘Dawn’ were way ahead of their time, and though somewhat tarnished by the kind of blood that appears to be straight out of a paint can, the rubbery, chewed limbs still hold up today in their ability to make one cringe, and are perfectly suited to the movie’s often comic tone and flippant approach to violence.
Romero’s minuscule budget had an unquestionable bearing on the overall look and feel of the movie. A multitude of blue-faced extras is the most obvious example, and Savini was purportedly unhappy with the outcome of some of his work – the faces were originally supposed to be grey to complement the movie’s predecessor Night of the Living Dead, but Romero seemed at ease with these amateurish oversights, and to some extent even encouraged them.
The shoot itself, filmed over four months in Pittsburgh and Monroeville, Pennsylvania, was something of a ramshackle experience which only seems to add to the aura of chaos and disorder in a society facing total dissolution. Romero purportedly used the same stunt dummy throughout filming, while Savini himself would deputise as stuntman, a fact that reduced him to operating from a golf cart for days on end after taking a particularity nasty fall. Savini’s friend, the second of the movie’s two stunt volunteers, managed to crash face-first into a ceiling after a badly planned, banner swinging set-piece. Extras were each paid twenty dollars for starring in the movie, the gang of pillaging bikers who run roughshod over the living dead actually members of the Pagan’s Motorcycle Club.
All budget-squeezing decisions for sure, the kind that were needed when members of the zombie cast would go off drinking in a local bar, causing almost $7,000 in damages after stealing a golf cart and crashing into a marble pillar. Those were certainly different times.
But now for the truly interesting part, and those elements that make Romero’s zombie features so infinitely superior. The director’s first undead effort – 1968’s Night of the Living Dead – is notorious for its social commentaries on both racism and the Vietnam War, as well as being the first movie to cast an African American in a leading role. Dawn of the Dead is just as scathing in its political brand of satire, and though the themes of the first movie were perhaps more potent, those on display here are much more varied, and the movie pulls no punches with its critique of American society as a whole.
By 1978, the counterculture movement was well and truly over, and the government had begun looking closer to home for a threat to national security. Following the widespread protests which contributed to the end of the Vietnam War, America took a hard-line on the recreational drugs that had become synonymous with social movements, a subject that would be used to establish fear and paranoia in American society and justify acts of police violence that would put the power back in the hands of capitalism, which required a much-needed boost of confidence following the financial disaster of a doomed and unprofitable war.
Wooley [in reference to the apartment building residents]: How the hell come we stick these low-life bastards in these big-ass hotels, anyway? Shit, man! This is better than I got!
The opening scene of ‘Dawn’ takes place in an apartment block in the inner cities and echoes the racist brutality that symbolised the so-called war on drugs, which statistics suggest was more about putting people in jail than it was about clearing the streets of narcotics.
Poor, ethic minorities were the targets, the same who had served their countries and who had acquired their addictions as a way to combat the horrors of war, an affliction that would render them useless as functioning cogs in the lower processes of capitalism. In the movie, Swat teams have been sent to enforce martial law after its residents – also minorities – refuse to give over their dead, and some of those SWAT team members, caught in the fervour of racial propaganda, use their authority as an excuse for all-out racism.
Another, perhaps less noticeable social critique can be found in the pregnant Francine’s narrative, who often contemplates suicide as the tireless mass of zombies, still in their ominous slow-moving form, linger and stumble upon our survivors with a dumb inevitability. Francine’s predicament comes in the wake of a high-profile lawsuit which resulted in the passing of abortion rights for women. It is perhaps worth noting that an alternate edit actually had Francine pursue her suicidal contemplations.
This is all very dark and serious stuff, but Romero is not the kind of director who would mire his audience in misery, and the comic relief comes in the form of perhaps the movie’s most prominent criticism, that of the nature of capitalism itself. It is no coincidence that the majority of Dawn of the Dead is set in the confines of a mall. As well as being a fun and pragmatic location for a film of its nature, it is also the perfect window into that nation’s political climate, and the rise of one of mankind’s most sophisticated forms of mass control.
Francine Parker – What are they doing? Why do they come here?
Stephen – Some kind of instinct. Memory of what they used to do. This was an important place in their lives.
Today malls are everywhere, most notably at the click of a mouse pad, but back in 1978 they were a relatively new phenomenon, and the perfect setting for a cast of braindead wanderers who spend their time clawing at nothing in particular as if from some intangible, deep-rooted instinct to consume. As a public address system blurts out a recording which lists the various offers of the day, one zombie sits in a make-a-wish fountain staring inanely at a handful of pennies, while his flesh-hungry counterparts claw and gawk at department store windows, almost recalling the days when their mindlessness was not only accepted, but encouraged.