When George Romero unleashed NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD to the unsuspecting movie-going public of 1968, it was obvious that something in cinematic horror had changed. Romero himself admits that he wasn't trying to make a different horror film, merely one that could provide as many shocks as possible on a limited budget and with a mostly amateur cast and crew. Romero questioned the cinema's tradition of "being courteous" to the viewer by essentially masking the graphic horrors of death with all its unpleasantness and appalling nature. NIGHT finally satisfied US audiences' desire for sensationalistic, graphic horror and shocks.

But the real beauty of NIGHT is evident to even the most casual viewer: its effortless ability to compel and immerse the participant into a wholly different, nightmarish world that sets its own rules and ideology. Its astonishing how easily the viewer is able to discard his own rules and sensibilities for the seemingly outrageous one presented in the film. Romero was an assured storyteller eager to spin his tale of the dead who walk the earth, hunting the living for flesh. The deceptively simple story of a random group of survivors holed up in an abandoned farmhouse trying to survive the night is a potent gateway not just for the requisite shocks and gore, but for a surprisingly accurate and, in many ways, depressing reflection on society and the status of mankind. Here was a horror film that had the assurance and audacity to weave a message into its tale of horror. No longer were such complex and often intangible issues as human nature and society's many convoluted symptoms and blunders relegated to the more traditional cinematic and thematic outlets such as drama and tragedy. Romero proposed that a horror film could indeed think for itself as well as shock and entertain. One of the primary reasons NIGHT has survived the test of time so well is that even though the shocks may have lightened due to a progressively sensationalistic society, the social commentary therein is just as relevant as ever.

For a sequel, Romero took the challenge of providing a delicate and measured balance of retaining the revolutionary "rules" of NIGHT also expanding those boundaries and rules. To say that Romero succeeded is an understatement. DAWN OF THE DEAD was hailed the world over as a horror classic (although it achieved little mainstream success here in the states). DAWN so far surpasses typical horror trappings as to become a full-blown social commentary and satire merely masquerading in a horror film's clothes. The power of DAWN is drawn almost exclusively from its seamless ability to balance its duelist nature of primal horror and intellectual exploration with biting satire. The storyline at first glance seems discouragingly derivative: four survivors of the growing zombie epidemic made up of a TV station worker and his wife (David Emge and Gaylen Ross) and two S.W.A.T. team members (Scott H. Reiniger and Ken Foree) are reluctantly compelled to join forces to save their lives from the rapidly increasing zombie population. The group ends up barricading a nearby deserted mall and eventually secures it to live in a seemingly utopian existence. Like NIGHT, the film's simplistic plot is simply a springboard for pure, undiluted horror and a deeply metaphorical and often profoundly moving human drama.

The human drama unfolds by a series of events portraying humanity at its best (and often its worst). DAWN can indeed be considered a follow-up and continuation of NIGHT, and the toll this epidemic has taken on the human world is both tragic and ironic. Farmers and the blue-collar workforce act out their fear and frustration by making a recreational sport of hunting down the walking dead. FX favorite Tom Savini wisely under-dresses most of the zombies in simple blue face paint. While to some this may seem a painfully obvious give away to the film's budget, this choice of minimal effects provides a far more important purpose: to show the fine line between these monsters and humans, illustrate the wars the humans are waging with themselves, and how very eager our species is to wage violence, regardless of our supposedly "civilized" society burying this violence.

But possibly the greatest achievement of DAWN OF THE DEAD is what Romero gives our flesh eating monsters to do (and in many cases what not to do). The zombie's neutrality and blank expressions are a perfect example of the old adage that less is more. The zombies prove themselves to be horrifying, hilarious, and even heroic (sometimes in the same scene!). Romero brilliantly expands the range of the walking dead by further exposing their nature: are the zombies necessarily bad? They have no morals, no ambition, no intelligence, but simply a primal instinct of hunger. In many cases the "monsters" are far more enjoyable than the humans are! Simply put, the zombies are Romero's canvas where he can paint his unique and worthwhile outlook of a morally dubious society.

But the humans are given plenty to do too. All four virtually unknown, local actors play their roles faultlessly. Ross is excellent as a woman having serious doubts about bringing her unborn child into a world not worth living in and Emge is equally excellent as her similarly indecisive husband. Foree is compelling as a thoughtful, brave, and level-headed man trying to make sense of his increasingly bleak situation. Foree also contributes a view into the social strata and many challenges of a black man living in the 70's (it can be hypothesized that Foree's role is indeed an "updated" role that Duane Jones so unforgettably played in the original NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD). Foree's role is yet another jumping off point Romero uses to analyze the social tensions facing the country.

Of all the themes presented in the film of a "dubious" society, none seem more prevalent than that of consumerism and the cultural bankruptcy of the United States. The mall in which the group of survivors spends many of their weeks is in itself a metaphor for the tremendous emphasis and value our society bestows on consumerism and the giddy but ultimately spiritually unsatisfying thrills it produces. Upon first entering this shrine of consumerism, Ross asks why these mysterious creatures, with their equally nebulous motives, would ever congregate in a shopping mall. Emge then shrewdly replies that this mall must have been an important place in their lives, so important that even in death they are compelled to return. What does that say about our society's values? Are we so hollow that the first place we yearn to revisit if we are given the chance is the shopping mall?

But by far the most disturbing element of DAWN is the sheer hopelessness of the situation faced by the protagonists. The world is becoming increasingly populated by the undead and nobody even has a plan for the situation. Even more horrifying is that many have simply given up hope and are trying to make the best of a dead end situation. The downbeat ending further confirms that life will not get better, at least anytime soon. The world has gone wrong, and it seems it can't be righted again.