Night Of The Living Dead
Sick of wobbly extra-terrestrials weirding it up all over your movie screen?
Tired of colossal horrors from the deep squelching over land to suck your shoulder blades out with a giant radioative tentacle?
Yawning in anticipation of another folkloric bogeyman prowling around your local Forest Of Doom this evening?
Yep, so were the moviegoing public in 1968, which is why Romero's zombies caused such a seismic ruckus when audiences got their first glimpse of 'em: they were, quite simply, us.
Gone pretty drastically wrong. And there's simply nothing more horrifying to us than forced engagement with the notion of our own frailties and failures.
Romero pretty much patented the slow, deliberate zombie-shuffle that would go on to define the genre for more or less the next three decades.
Couple that with the grainy, sombre, almost grittily realistic vibe of his epoch-shattering first
project, and you've got an insidious, skin-crawling horrorshow that all the giant snot-mutants in movieland can't hold a candle to.