What's so great about George Romero?

I.
Romero is generally praised for two major points. The first is his innovations within the horror genre. He invented the flesh-eating zombie; he introduced a highly realistic, almost documentary style with Night of the Living Dead; he ushered in remarkable, new gore effects with Dawn of the Dead, etc.. The second is his social commentary, particularly critiques of consumerism and capitalism. This is not so beneficial to him. His horror innovations are confined within his genre, for one, and are more mechanical than central to his vision. Whereas his social commentary is criticized, rightly, for being heavy-handed and just too sincere to be artistically serious (Oscar Wilde once said that all bad poetry is sincere).

What, then, is Romero's strength? It is at the level of the pen, first of all; and it is in a particular area, to wit, dialogue. And not just any dialogue, but the dialogue of heated debate, i.e. arguments. No-one, in the history of cinema, has written more realistic, grueling arguments amongst their characters. Many have tried, but have always written themselves down to the level of cliches--whether literary or cinematic--Romanticism, and poetic stylization.

Romero's arguments occur at all levels: between the protagonists and the perceived threat, amongst the protagonists themselves as a group, between individuals within the protagonists' group, and perhaps even within protagonists themselves. In what follows, I'll present an overview of the role of argument in Romero's films.

II.
Romero's use of argument naturally begins with Night of the Living Dead. The living dead don't talk, they just keep coming. They never stop. Fighting against the zombies is not entirely unlike being trapped in an argument with a relentless opponent; the stubborn opponent who will never give in, no matter how well you've made your point.

The zombies, a physical manifestation of argument, mirrored by the real arguments within the farmhouse. At first leadership is gladly yielded to Ben. But when Cooper arrives, there is a constant atmosphere of tension, poised for or in the midst of argument amongst the protagonists. They argue heatedly, realistically, without succumbing to the pressures of cooperation, kindness, and apology that plague most films--including very good ones. There is a sense that neither side is willing to give in a little, not even to the point of listening to what the other is saying.

The Crazies takes this approach to another level. Not only is there a form of zombie on the loose, but there are multiple factions of heroes; and all are in argument with one another. The townsfolk are in argument with the military, violently protesting. The military agents are each in argument with the town leaders. The scientists are in argument with their military employees. The protagonists, fleeing from the military, are arguing amongst each other. Worst of all, the virus causes spontaneous violence: sudden, inexplicable argument. Out of all of these people, nobody is really listening to what anyone else has to say. It can be quite uncomfortable to watch all the heated arguments; one wants to withdraw, or to step in and command these people to be reasonable, to stop, to "smarten up" and be reasonable. This is, of course, testament to Romero's skillful writing.

Dawn of the Dead follows a similar approach to Night of the Living Dead, with the exception of the brutal arguing in the broadcast center at the beginning of the film and is therefore not worth dwelling upon.

Day of the Dead, however, is the pinnacle of this early period. The arguments are so heated and so relentless that they, as Ebert noted in his review, upstage the zombies. The zombies still represent the relentless, stubborn nature of human argument. They're always at the gates, pressing at the boundaries, just waiting to break in; and they never stop. Inside the compound, the constantly shouting characters create a hostile environment of such reality that many reviewers openly despised the film. Why? Because arguments are unpleasant; they are unpleasant to be in, unpleasant to hear, to watch, to the point that arguing parents can traumatize children. What the reviewers of Day of the Dead missed is how these arguments represent real humanity at its worst: stubbornly arguing. It is frustrating, as frustrating to watch as being involved in the real argument. While Romero doesn't work with the best actors and he has never brought out the best acting with his direction, his writing and his direction brings out the fullness of the tension between them and between they and us. Never has human argument been rendered so truthfully on screen.

With later efforts, like Monkey Shines, Romero made this notion of heated argument much more subtle. It is here represented not as human nature, but as the dark, primal side of humanity that is normally hidden. The monkey's presence draws the primal rage out of the protagonist and he begins lashing out heatedly at everyone who gives him the slightest reason.

This writer, alas, has not seen Martin--arguably Romero's most personal film--nor Romero's post-millennial films and is therefore unable to comment on this trait of argument in Romero's more recent films. It should be noted, however, that Romero's two King adaptations (Creepshow and The Dark Half) did not contain this trait; to claim they did would require mental gymnastics of a self-defeating order.

III.
What we may derive from the above light analysis is that the Romeroan worldview, as it were, is a rather cynical one. Even before it happens, one knows the scientist's discover in The Crazies will never make it to its destination. And this cynicism derives from this World In Argument depiction pervading Romero's early films. As long as people continue to argue, they damn themselves. When there is free exchange of views and ideas and the struggle for domination is relinquished, his characters stop arguing and start surviving. Hence the conclusion of Day of the Dead, which offers some hope.

The great breakthrough in Romeroan cynicism comes with Monkey Shines, a minor masterpiece. Romero no longer seems to see humans as doomed to relentless argumentation, as represented by his zombies. Rather, their struggle for power and for ideological domination and position is seen as an animal instinct that can be overcome; and it's overcome by respect of others as equals.

Respect, in Romero's films, comes in a variety of forms, but it has always been there. It receives one of its most positive expositions in one of the few calm interludes in Day of the Dead's madness, when our female protagonist allows the pilot and engineer to express their views even while she disagrees. What they say is not as important as that she listens.

Whereas in Monkey Shines, respect takes a sexual form. It is the respect males and females accord one another as males and females, not berating, challenging, or struggling, but an equal regard. The protagonist, whom we see in the beginning has a trophy girlfriend, is not treated as an equal male force throughout the film. He thinks he is by one female, the monkey, who turns out to be a master manipulator. The conclusion shows a male and female in a relationship of respect.

Again, this dynamic of argument and respect does not arise in Romero's King-written films; and their presence in his post-millennial films will be left to the reader to discover.

IV.
In short, what's so great about Romero is that he's developed, both in a semantic taxonomy involving flesh-eating zombies, evil monkeys, doppelgangers, amongst other things, and in his creation of fully emotional characters, a truly complex and fascinating worldview embracing a dynamic of conflict and respect with the natural consequences each of these entails. That, I hope I've supported, deserves respect.

I expect to revise this in the future, once I've seen Romero's complete oeuvre.