10/18/14 (Part Two): From Hell They Came

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31 Days of Halloween, Bill Moseley, Bonnie and Clyde, Brian Posehn, cinema, Dallas Page, Danny Trejo, Dave Sheridan, dysfunctional family, Elizabeth Daily, film reviews, films, Free Bird, Geoffrey Lewis, gritty, horror films, horror movies, House of 1000 Corpses, Kate Norby, Ken Foree, Leslie Easterbrook, Lew Temple, Mary Woronov, Matthew McGrory, Michael Berryman, Movies, Natural Born Killers, P.J. Soles, Priscilla Barnes, rape, road movie, Rob Zombie, Robert Trebor, sequel, set in the 1970s, sexual violence, Sheri Moon Zombie, Sid Haig, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, The Devil's Rejects, the Firefly family, the Unholy Two, Tom Towles, torture, William Forsythe, writer-director

What does it actually mean to “like” a film? On the basest level, of course, it’s a pretty self-explanatory sentiment: if you “like” something, that means you derived some measure of pleasure from it, either on an aesthetic level (“My, what a pretty film!”) or a more primal one (“What a badass movie!”). Maybe it got to you on an intellectual level (“Now THAT was a smart film!”) or because it was completely successful at its goal (“That was the funniest comedy I’ve seen in years!”). For most of us, liking a film comes with the implicit notion that we’d be more than happy to revisit the film at a moment’s notice: maybe we don’t want to see it four times in the same day (or even the same month) but we certainly shouldn’t balk at wanting to rewatch it at some point in time.

There’s a parallel to “liking” a film, however, sort of a shadowy doppelgänger that stands just outside our field of vision, creeping into our comfort zone inch by relentless inch until it’s managed to assume the pole position: “respecting” a film. From my perspective, “liking” and “respecting” films are two very different things: I might “respect” what Pier Palo Pasolini was trying to do with Salo (1975) but saying that I “like” the film would certainly put me in the same great company as Ted Bundy and Ed Gein. Ditto Deodato’s unforgettable Cannibal Holocaust (1980): I “respect” the ever-loving shit out of what Deodato accomplished but “like” it? Not on your life, buddy.

This notion of “respecting” versus “liking” a film brings us round to our current subject, The Devil’s Rejects (2005), Rob Zombie’s sequel to his feature debut, House of 1000 Corpses (2003). When House of 1000 Corpses first came out, I was a huge fan, a sentiment which only recently waned once I’d had a chance to critically examine the film after not seeing it for several years: this time around, I found the movie to be visually interesting, if a little trite and too-indebted to Hooper’s original pair of Chainsaw Massacres. The Devil’s Rejects, however, was always a different story: more realistic, visceral and, ultimately, disturbing than Zombie’s cotton-candy-colored original, The Devil’s Rejects never really sat right with me after my first theatrical viewing. I found myself reacting to it in some pretty definitive ways, don’t get me wrong, but it was always a little hard to figure out whether I actually, you know…”liked” the film. After re-screening the film recently, it’s become a lot easier to categorize my feelings: I still don’t “like” Zombie’s sophomore film but I’ve gotta respect it, nonetheless, as being a pretty streamlined statement of purpose, an adrenalized, if ultimately unpleasant, examination of how the love of one’s family can produce some pretty terrible outcomes.

Beginning several months after the events of the first film, The Devil’s Rejects kicks off with a massive police assault on the Firefly’s homestead that makes the Waco raid look like duck-duck-goose. Sheriff John Wydell (William Forsythe), brother of the first film’s slain George Wydell (Tom Towles), has come down on the Fireflys with as much righteous fury as an army of angels with flaming swords: in the ensuing chaos, Otis (Bill Moseley) and Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie) manage to shot their way out, while Mama Firefly (Leslie Easterbrook, taking over for the first film’s Karen Black) is captured by Wydell and his lawmen. Meeting up with Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig), who’s revealed to be Baby’s biological father, the trio decide to hit the open road and head for the (supposed) safety of the Old West-themed whorehouse/town run by Spaulding’s larcenous brother, Charlie Altamont (Ken Foree).

Sheriff Wydell, however, isn’t quite your average lawman. Rather, he’s a bloodthirsty sociopath who resembles the Fireflys in deeds, if not necessarily philosophy. He’s determined to capture the Fireflys, not because he wants to bring them to justice for all of their crimes but because he wants to personally torture them to death for killing his brother. As Wydell gets closer to Otis, Baby and the others, whatever humanity he once had continues to slip away like water through a sieve. In time, it will be all but impossible to tell the two sides apart and woe to any poor, unsuspecting “civilian” who happens to come between them.

From the jump, The Devil’s Rejects is a noticeably grittier, grimmier affair, both in look and content. Whereas House of 1000 Corpses operated along the lines of a particularly demented fever dream (or, quite possibly, a feature-length metal video), The Devil’s Rejects is much more reality-based: there’s nary a Dr. Satan, zombie or fish-boy to be found in the entire film. The more supernatural-based horror of the first film has been entirely replaced by physical assaults which tend to emphasis sexual violence and rape, elements which were certainly hinted at in the first film but rarely executed with as much zeal as found here. In particular, the scene where Otis and Baby torment the family of traveling musicians at an isolated motel is just about as unpleasant and revolting as similar scenes found in films like Death Wish (1974) or I Spit On Your Grave (1978), albeit markedly less explicit (visually, at least).

For the most part, Zombie’s modus operandi here seems to be fashioning his own version of Oliver Stone’s polarizing Natural Born Killers (1994), the ’90s-era phenomena that sought to make serial killers sexy, fashionable and chic. To that end, we get lots (and lots and lots) of scenes and shots that seek to mythologize the Fireflys to nearly ridiculous proportions, not the least of which is the entire opening sequence. After fashioning makeshift armor, Otis and Baby emerge from their home, guns blazing, to the tune of the Allman Brothers’ classic outside anthem “Midnight Rider.” Via a series of shuddering freeze frames, the Fireflys make quite the dramatic escape, hitting the road like a brother/sister version of Bonnie and Clyde. The problem, of course, only comes in once you really think about the difference between the Fireflys (and Micky and Mallory, for that matter) and Bonnie and Clyde. Bonnie and Clyde were a pair of folk-hero bank robbers who captured the imagination of the era thanks to their propensity for telling the “man” to shove it up his backdoor. The Fireflys, by contrast, are nearly subhuman monsters who kidnap, torture, mutilate and murder scads of innocent victims. While it’s certainly possible to associate oneself with the meaning behind Bonnie and Clyde’s actions, if not necessarily the actions, themselves, how, then, does one go about associating with the Fireflys? Is the family supposed to appeal to the (hopefully) minuscule audience of spree killers in the world who fancy carving things into cheerleaders? People who enjoy wearing others’ faces like masks?

To stack the deck even further, Zombie turns the character of Sheriff Wydell into such a rampaging sociopath that it becomes even murkier as to who we’re supposed to throw our support behind. Sure, the Fireflys like to rape and murder but they’re the bad guys: when Wydell gets down with a little good, ol’ fashioned nail-gun torture, he’s supposed to be wearing the white hat. A case can, of course, be made that Wydell’s retribution is only fitting, considering how horrible the Fireflys are: how, then, are we to react when Zombie takes every opportunity to frame the Fireflys as romantic heroes? I mean, fer Pete’s sake, they get riddled full of more holes than Sonny Corleone at the film’s climax, in slo-mo, to the tune of Skynyrd’s “Freebird”…if that doesn’t say “romantic hero,” I don’t know what does.

And here, of course, is where the other shoe thuds to the floor: despite my intense misgivings over the actual content/message of The Devil’s Rejects, the film is head and shoulders over Zombie’s debut in almost every way. For one thing, it looks great: grainy, gritty and sun-bleached like an old grindhouse curio. The cast is impeccable, although Forsythe consumes so much scenery that he becomes a veritable black hole by the conclusion: along with the ever-reliable Moseley and Haig (the best we can say about Sheri Zombie is that she’s much less shrill here than in House of 1000 Corpses), we also get great performances from genre vets like Ken Foree (Romero’s Dawn of the Dead), Geoffrey Lewis, Michael Berryman (The Hills Have Eyes 1 and 2), P.J. Soles (Carpenter’s Halloween)  and Mary Woronov.

The late-’70s period-setting of The Devil’s Rejects is actually much stronger than in the original film: this looks like the ’70s, through and through. The soundtrack is also much more effective, consisting exclusively of ’70s-era soft-rock classic, unlike the metal tunes which cropped up in House of 1000 Corpses. At times, the film has a brittle, desolate feel that manages to seem completely authentic, unlike the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach of the debut. Oftentimes, the film feels more akin to a particularly mean-spirited spaghetti Western than to a horror film, although there’s always another graphic murder waiting just around the corner.

Ultimately, all of this adds up to a film that I end up “respecting” more than actually “liking.” Truth be told, there’s not much about The Devil’s Rejects that actually gives me pleasure, although I will admit some sick kicks every time Brian Posehn’s Jimmy gets his head shot off (nothing against Posehn, mind you, but it’s a pretty bravura moment, nonetheless). That being said, I’d be completely remiss if I didn’t point how well-made the film is: despite its unpleasant subject matter, this is absolutely one lean, mean, sonofabitch. As a fan of film craft, I can’t deny the power of Zombie’s images or the measurable improvement from his first to second film. That being said, I also can’t get behind the wholesale mythologizing of a pretty reprehensible group of people, which also ended up being my big complaint about Stone’s film. In the end, The Devil’s Rejects is proof of the old adage that “here’s something you’re really gonna love, if this is the kind of thing you like.” I didn’t like it but I respected it and that’s gotta count for something.

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10/18/14 (Part One): Run, Rabbit, Run!

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31 Days of Halloween, Bill Moseley, cheerleaders, Chris Hardwick, Dennis Fimple, derivative, Dr. Satan, dysfunctional family, Erin Daniels, feature-film debut, Halloween, Harrison Young, horror, horror films, horror movies, House of 1000 Corpses, insane families, Jennifer Jostyn, Karen Black, Matthew McGrory, Rainn Wilson, Rob Zombie, Robert Mukes, Sheri Moon Zombie, Sid Haig, the Firefly family, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Tobe Hooper, Tom Towles, torture, Walter Phelan, Walton Goggins, William Bassett, writer-director, zombies

As a teenage metal-head who just happened to be obsessed with horror films, White Zombie was pretty much the perfect band: ultra-heavy, groovy, brutal and a visual spectacle that relied heavily on shock imagery and schlock culture, I was a fan from the moment I laid ears on them. I followed the band religiously until they broke up before the turn of the 2000s, at which point frontman Rob Zombie decided to go the “solo” route, continuing to churn out the same brand of industrialized rock minus the feel of an actual band. While I’ve always felt that the solo stuff was a pale imitation of the band era, my rationale has always been “A little is better than nothing” and I continued to check out Zombie’s output, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm than before.

When Zombie announced that he would be turning his attention to films, I was immediately intrigued, given his lifelong dedication to all things horror. His resulting debut, House of 1000 Corpses (2003) ended up being delayed for several years, although I can still recall how excited I was to finally get a chance to see the film in theaters. At the time, I was completely blown away: the film was vibrant, entertaining, gory and as sick as they come, with some phenomenal performances from genre vets like Bill Moseley and Sid Haig. I remember being so impressed with the film that I ended up seeing it a couple of times in the theater, a relative rarity for someone who usually has a “one and done” mentality about seeing films on the big screen.

Over the years, I’ve returned to House of 1000 Corpses periodically, although I must admit that it’s been some time since I really paid attention to the film: it had become so familiar, over time, that I had a tendency to just let it play in the background, only focusing on it during any of the numerous setpieces. When it came time to plan this year’s Halloween viewings, I decided to re-screen both House of 1000 Corpses and its direct sequel, The Devil’s Rejects (2005), and actually pay attention, this time. Similar to my re-evaluations of formerly beloved films, I wanted to see if House of 1000 Corpses stood the test of time or whether it would end up receiving a Clerks (1994)-style drubbing from someone who had “moved on,” so to speak. As might be expected, I found that my impression of House of 1000 Corpses changed significantly after this viewing: while there’s still a lot of the film that I enjoy, it’s pretty impossible to see Zombie’s debut as anything other than a thinly veiled, white-trash re-imagining of Tobe Hooper’s gonzo The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986). Suffice to say, the bloom had definitely come off the rose.

In many ways, House of 1000 Corpses plays like a more hyperactive, pop-culture savvy and polished mash-up of Hooper’s first two Chainsaw films. From the first movie, we get the crazy killer family, creepy farmhouse setting, big guy with a mask and sledgehammer and an insane dinner scene. From the second film, we get the lurid, cotton-candy-colored visuals, Bill Moseley revisiting his iconic Chop-Top character and loads of over-the-top gore, much of it ruthlessly tongue in cheek. While this relentless referencing of Hooper’s original material seemed easier to accept when the film first came out, there’s something about the whole business that I found rather tedious, this time around, like watching a particular rerun of a TV show for the umpteenth time.

Plot-wise, Zombie’s film is pretty old hat: two couples (Chris Hardwick and Erin Daniels as one pair, the Office’s Rainn Wilson and Jennifer Jostyn as the other) stop off at a bizarre roadside attraction, Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen, and learn about local legend, Dr. Satan. After finding out that the medical madman was reportedly hung from a nearby tree, the group of thrill-seekers get a map from the good Captain (brought to gloriously filthy life by the always awesome Sid Haig) and decide to check it out for themselves. Unless this is your first rodeo, you’re probably going to realize what a truly terrible idea this is, hopefully quicker than our lunk-headed heroes do.

Along the way, they end up picking up a hitchhiker (the director’s wife, Sheri Moon), who leads them to her family’s home after their car appears to get a flat. Once at the homestead, our intrepid young people meet the rest of the clan: Otis (Bill Moseley), the insane “leader” who’s one part Charles Manson, one part Ed Gein; the hulking, mute Tiny (Matthew McGrory), this film’s stand-in for TCM’s Leatherface; obscene, obnoxious and massively irritating Grampa Hugo (Dennis Fimple in a truly disgusting performance); silent, bearskin-bedecked Rufus Junior (Robert Mukes) and the resolutely over-the-top Mother Firefly (genre legend Karen Black, shoveling up scenery as fast as she can chew). Faster than you can say “These folks seem a little odd,” the Fireflys manage to capture our poor couples and subject them to some very disturbing, sick tortures (poor Dwight Shrute ends up getting the worst of it, bringing a disturbing new meaning to the term “merman”), before deciding that their “guests” should get their wish after all: they’re finally going to meet Dr. Satan, even if it’s the last thing they do.

If anything, Zombie’s debut is a pretty great representation of the term “sensory-overload.” For the most part, absolutely anything and everything is thrown at the screen, in the hopes that at least some of it will stick: fake commercials and infomercials, fake horror-movie hosts and their programs, zombies, evil doctors, murdered cheerleaders, Manson-style cult stuff, rudimentary Satanism, demons, creepy graveyards, underground bunkers, graphic amputations and surgical mayhem, deranged talent shows, sub-Tarantino “obscene but clever” dialogue, video game references and, of course, the ubiquitous Texas Chainsaw Massacre nods at every turn. When the film works, such as in the nonsensical but visually arresting Dr. Satan scenes, it’s still a full-throttle nightmare, full of fever-dream logic, crazy visuals and truly nasty gore scenes.

Just as often, however, Zombie seems more than content to simply remind viewers of Hooper’s (much better) original films. Tiny is a pretty weak patch on Leatherface, to be honest, and nothing about the Fireflys’ stereotypically “scary” house is one-tenth as affecting as anything in Hooper’s debut. Zombie’s version of the “wear somebody’s face” bit from TCM 2 is disturbing but nowhere near as upsetting as Hooper’s and Moseley, dynamic as he is, still isn’t doing anything more challenging than combining the characters of the Cook and Chop-Top into one cohesive maniac.

Lest it seem like my recent viewing of the film turned me against it, let me say that I still found it fast-paced, entertaining and endlessly interesting but it’s become rather impossible to ignore the movie’s huge debt to Hooper’s films. At the time of its release, many critics disparaged Zombie’s debut as nothing more than a horror movie “greatest hits” collection, gathering together disparate setpieces and characters from other films and dumping them into a generic “crazy family” story. At the time, I was loath to agree but my perspective now seem much more in line with these original critics, albeit qualified by my (general) enjoyment of the movie.

There are plenty of truly fantastic moments in the film, scenes that still pack as much of a punch today as they did a decade ago: the long, quiet shot as Otis prepares to shoot the deputy is still the greatest thing that Zombie has ever put on film, bar none, and the Dr. Satan scenes are wonderfully goofy, even if they occasionally seem to belong to a Resident Evil film. Sig Haig is awesome (as always), as is Moseley and it’s an absolute hoot to see Rainn Wilson in something like this. When the film takes a moment to calm down, Zombie is able to come up with some pretty great atmosphere: the graveyard scene, with the victims dressed in pink bunny costumes, is the perfect combination of eerie and outrageous, as is the evocative scene where Jerry and Denise are lowered into Dr. Satan’s lair.

Ultimately, my biggest issue with the film ends up being that it doesn’t do enough to stand on its own two feet: in many ways, it feels as if Zombie’s sole intention was to create his own, modern version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a feat which he mostly pulls off. The problem, of course, is that we’ve already seen that movie, just like we’ve already seen its sequel…how much use do we really have for yet another version of the same story, albeit one with a glossier, more post-modern edge?

While my re-evaluation of House of 1000 Corpses didn’t end up damning it to the basement, ala Clerks, it certainly managed to knock the film down a few pegs in my mind. That, of course, is why it’s so important to continually revisit films like this: as we grow and change, as viewers, so, too, do our relationships with these films grow and change. I’m definitely not the same person today as I was eleven years ago and my experience with the film only serves to drive that home. While it may be fun to stop in and visit the Fireflys, from time to time, I’m pretty sure that I won’t be spending much time there. There’s a reason why Hooper’s original is such an amazing film, a reason that Zombie’s re-do can’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

5/19/14: Everything Old is New Again

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Bill Moseley, black and white film, cinema, color vs black & white, film reviews, films, George Romero, horror, horror films, isolated estates, isolation, Katie Finneran, McKee Anderson, Michael Haneke, Movies, Night of the Living Dead, Patricia Tallman, practical effects, remakes, special effects pioneer, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the living dead, Tom Savini, Tom Towles, Tony Todd, William Butler, zombie movies, zombies

As a general rule, I’m not a fan of film remakes, especially remakes of classic or iconic films. I can see the merit, to a point, in remaking a bad or compromised film, especially if you were a fan of the original…sort of a take two, if you will. Remaking a well-made, well-received film, however, seems completely pointless. I’ll go to the grave stating that no modern audience member will die if they’re forced to watch something that’s more than a few years old. I promise: sitting through a black and white film or something from any of the various decades before 2010 will not cause internal bleeding, memory loss or phantom limb syndrome.

With that being said, however, I’m a little more ambivalent when it comes to filmmaker remaking their own films. While this seems like kind of an odd, specific situation, it has happened a few times, usually when a popular foreign director makes the transition to Hollywood films: German misery merchant Michael Haneke remade his original Funny Games (1997) as an American version in 2007; Takashi Shimizu remade Ju-On (2002) as The Grudge (2004) for American audiences;  George Sluizer turned Spoorloos (1988) into The Vanishing (1993); and Ole Bornedal’s Nattevagten (1994) became the Ewan McGregor starring Nightwatch (1997). In each of these instances, the originals were popular films, especially on the festival circuit, which prompted American remakes to capitalize on the buzz (although it’s interesting to note that Haneke waited a decade between his versions of Funny Games): the thought, it seems, is that American audiences aren’t big on reading subtitles, since some of these films are only different by virtue of the language spoken. The 1990 remake of George Romero’s iconic Night of the Living Dead doesn’t really fit any of these bills but it’s also the furthest thing from something like the modern remakes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Friday the 13th, since Romero produced, wrote the screenplay and handpicked the director: special effects pioneer Tom Savini.

If you’ve never seen the original Night of the Living Dead (1968), your first move should be to go watch that, right away: I’ll wait. All done? Excellent. Here’s what you saw: a raw, visceral, black and white nightmare that’s equal parts siege picture and sly social commentary, the kind of film that features a child consuming her mother and a black hero (in 1968, no less) who survives the zombies only to be shot dead by rednecks. It’s an independent film in every sense of the word, featuring a bunch of amateur filmmakers wearing as many hats as they can pile on their heads and going for broke in a way that only hungry, young artists can. It’s an unmitigated classic, almost singlehandedly responsible for nearly 50 years of zombie movies.

Remaking a film like Night of the Living Dead doesn’t seem like such an impossible task: after all, the first film was a crude, zero-budget production where local business people who donated funds took on roles as zombies, newscasters, police, etc. It was a black and white film that required gore effects at a time when that just wasn’t the norm. With all of the advances in filmmaking technology, special effects and computer-generated effects, making something like Night of the Living Dead in this modern era should be easy. The problem, of course, is that Night of the Living Dead was a labor of love: it was a real film that became a classic, similar to Hooper’s original Texas Chainsaw or Cunningham’s Friday the 13th (1980). Catching lightning is a bottle twice is no easy feat: manufacturing impact and meaning is impossible.

For the most part, Savini’s remake of Night of the Living Dead isn’t drastically different from Romero’s original but there are a few subtle changes/differences. The film still takes place in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, although the place now looks like a cross between the Sawyer homestead in Texas Chainsaw and Norman’s taxidermy-crammed residence in Psycho (1960). We still get Barbara but Patricia Tallman’s version is a huge improvement from Judith O’Dea’s original: this Barbara is no catatonic babe-in-the-woods but an ass-kicking “final girl,” more Ellen Ripley than doe-eyed victim. Her character development feels very organic, although the scene where she trades her skirt for a pair of pants seems a bit on the nose. Ben is still here but Tony Todd’s version is more of an angry, shouty bloke, not too far removed from Tom Towles’ obnoxious Harry Cooper. This version of Harry manages something that I’d always felt impossible and actually makes the character more repellent and crude: as portrayed in Savini’s version, Harry Cooper is a Jersey Shore-meathead, a ridiculous character who’s just one “You’ze guyz!” away from being a complete stereotype.

This, then, isn’t a carbon-copy of the original, aside from the obvious color vs black and white issue. While many of the ideas and themes from Romero’s original have been kept (Romero did, after all, write the screenplay for the remake), there are many aspects that have been changed completely. The horror of Barbara confronting her own zombified brother has been done-away with in the remake by having her come across his already dead body: it robs a chance for some genuine emotion from the story and feels like a surely missed opportunity. Whereas the original had Ben survive the ordeal only to killed by humans the following morning, the remake does away with this, as well: Barbara is the final survivor and Ben emerges from the house as an obvious zombie, only to be shot and killed by the rednecks. This is a subtle but big difference: in the remake, there’s no mistaking Ben for a zombie and the kill is just about as necessary as you get. In the original, however, it’s never made clear whether Ben is killed because the trigger-happy rednecks think he’s actually a zombie or because they see an opportunity to kill a black man without penalty. Barbara is the one, in the remake, who gets to use the zombie apocalypse for her own ends: when the loathsome Harry Cooper emerges, unscathed, Barbara calmly and coldbloodedly shoots him, proclaiming him another zombie. In this instance, there’s no mistaking her intent, as with the rednecks killing Ben: she means to get vengeance for Harry’s assholery. Whereas the final scene in the original finishes off Ben’s character arc, the final scene in the remake finishes off Barbara’s character arc: a different focus for a different era, as it were.

For all of the subtle differences between the two versions, both Romero and Savini’s Night of the Living Deads are remarkably similar. For my money, though, the original still has more impact: there’s something that’s undeniably sad, lonely and terrifying about the original and I can’t help but feel is has something to do with the black and white. The cinematography in Savini’s remake is often quite good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never very evocative. There’s very little atmosphere in the film and it functions much more as an action film than an honest-to-god horror movie. The effects and makeup in the remake, as expected, are excellent, although I found quite a bit of the prosthetic work to be a little rough: there’s one damned rubber hand that seems to make an appearance everywhere and it never looks like anything more than a cheap haunted house prop. I was actually surprised to find that the effects work and gore seemed a little tamer in the remake than the original, something which made no sense to me until I read that Savini’s remake was severely edited to earn an R rating: that makes a lot more sense. Still, what’s here is suitably excellent, although there isn’t anything groundbreaking. Careful observers might also note that the ending seems to prefigure Romero’s later Diary of the Dead (2007), with zombies being used for target practice and as opponents against human wrestlers/fighters.

Ultimately, Savini’s remake stands as a well-made but, ultimately, rather pointless exercise, aside from the obvious benefit of putting more funds into Romero’s coffer. Since his copyrighting issues with the original film resulted in the almost complete loss of any exhibition revenues, it’s only fitting that he would get a “second chance,” as it were, via the remake. Some of the changes strike me as worthy: It’s always refreshing to have a more feminist take on female characters in horror films, so the remaking of Barbara as strong heroine strikes me as a great, welcome change from the original: I always found the original character to be one of the weakest, most pewling characters in cinema. At the end of the day, however, Savini’s Night of the Living Dead is still the same film about a small band of survivors trapped in a farmhouse by the living dead that Romero’s was. Romero’s film may have been the more impactful, personal and iconic of the two but that should be a given: a perfect copy of a Picasso will never be worth as much as a Picasso…unless you don’t know it’s a copy, that is. Savini’s film is obviously a copy but, in this case, that’s probably alright.