Editorials
George A. Romero’s ‘Dawn of the Dead’ Turns 40!
George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead is often considered the best film of his game-changing zombie series. This time Romero embraced the political reputation of Night of the Living Dead and opted to aim for the jugular with his statement on the consumerism of American capitalism. He upped the gore and the humor, too, delivering a memorable classic about four unlikely allies holed up in a secluded shopping mall amidst the zombie apocalypse. Dawn of the Dead was released in Italian markets on September 1, 1978, due to a surprising partnership, before finally making its way to the U.S. six months later on April 20, 1979, meaning that this Romero favorite turns 40 not once, but twice.
After the release of game-changing classic Night of the Living Dead, co-writers George A. Romero and John Russo had a disagreement over where the series should head. Thanks to the film being in public domain, the pair branched off to deliver two very memorable zombie franchises. Russo wrote the novel Return of the Living Dead that served as the loose basis for the 1985 horror comedy, and Romero eventually continued with beloved zombie favorite Dawn of the Dead. Between not wanting to be pigeonholed in horror, working on a string of other films, and struggling to find the funds needed to make Dawn of the Dead, it wasn’t an easy path for Romero to create this sequel.
An unfinished script was passed on to an Italian distributor, who passed it on to Dario Argento. A fan of both Night of the Living Dead and the unfinished script, he flew to New York to meet with Romero and the pair struck up a deal; Argento and his partners would secure half of the budget in exchange for all foreign rights in non-English speaking territories except South America. Argento had final cut of the version released in Italy, while Romero had full control over the cut released in America that was released a half of a year later. Argento’s cut is a shorter run-time; he trimmed jokes that he felt would go over the heads of Italian audiences. He also replaced the score with music by Goblin.
The script for Dawn of the Dead was a whopping 253 pages long. Romero wrote everything in lengthy detail so he could communicate everything to the various departments as he didn’t have time to make storyboards. Filmed at the shopping mall in Monroeville, Pennsylvania, which Romero had discovered while securing financing for Martin, the crew had to shoot after hours and clear out every morning in time for customers’ arrival.
Romero had a clear vision for his film, but he also gave creative freedom to the 1,600 extras that came in to play zombies. He just instructed them to be the best zombie they could, with no direction on how they should move or look. Also given creative freedom was effects artist Tom Savini, whose only direction from the script was to make it look as realistic as possible. Nearly half of the gore gags in the second half of the film were improvised. One of the most celebrated zombie kills of all time, the screwdriver to the zombie ear (played by composer John Harrison), took Savini roughly two minutes to come up with.
Of course, the gore meant Dawn of the Dead earned an X-rating. Instead, Romero and producers opted to release it unrated. In the end, only one theater refused to play the film for being unrated. The film was trimmed down to receive an R-rating in 1982 so it could play in drive-ins on a double bill with Romero’s Creepshow, but fans were having none of it and it was quickly pulled from theaters.
Dawn of the Dead traded the gloomy, depressive black and white aesthetic of its predecessor in favor of something bold, over the top, and humorous. There was no subtlety at all about the social commentary here. Dawn marked Romero’s full embrace of the political, but of his zombie world as well. These zombies weren’t just faceless killers, but distinct characters. Some of which he couldn’t bring himself to kill, like the zombie nun. He didn’t intend to have anyone survive the end of the film, but found he loved Fran (Gaylen Ross) and Peter (Ken Foree) too much and rewrote a more uplifting conclusion.
Dawn of the Dead was a critical and box office hit, and it solidified Romero’s rank as a master of horror. There’s really no wrong version to watch; all cuts of Dawn of the Dead work and it’s easy to see why it remains a steadfast favorite among fans. It was this film in the series in which Romero fell in love with his zombie world, and so did we.
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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