Word: funs
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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That's what you call easy parody material. I have a friend who makes fun of reggae by saying, everytime I put on a Marley record, "Heh, mon. I believe in Art Linkletter, mon. Because y'know mon, Art Linkletter is de lord man because with Art Linkletter you get life insurance mon, y'know...
...fellas, its Spring Break," the fraternity types announced to the world, and fled the moldy bus for the neon-cluttered streets of Daytona Beach. They argued where they would go first to have fun--the pinball arcade? the amusement park? the Burger King? the Beachcomber Disco? the motel? And then an idea. THE SOUVENIR SHOP. But this was too difficult--there is a souvenir shop on every other block in Daytona Beach, and no good fraternity man can render a decision of such discretion at short notice. So they went out to the parking lot of the bus station...
...find a safer area. They eventually land in a large, abandoned shopping mall outside Pittsburgh and decide to stay there. Much of the film's remaining time is spent mowing down these jerky, green zombies, running them over, blasting their heads off, bashing them in, etc. It's fun. It's also gory enough to earn the film an X rating...
...monster to look for the ship's pet cat, Jonesy. As for the undulating ectoplasm known as the alien, you wonder why the crew isn't wearing lobster bibs. Somebody clearly had a good time putting it together--pouring on the blood, slime, and animal intestines--but the fun as all his. Actually, in its last scene the alien does exude a little personality, curled up in the corner of a space shuttle cleaning itself off, smacking its lips, coming to resemble a Hollywood producer, perhaps the producer of Alien, speculating on the grosses and gross-outs of his movie...
Romero's artistic glory is his ability to add a further dimension. He gives us our fun and then holds up the mirror so that we can see the blood dripping from our lips. Towards the end of the film, when a militant hippie motorcycle gang invades the shopping mall disrupting our heroes' idyllic existence and attempting to steal merchandise, we root for the zombies to eat them. When this low-life scum begins to dispatch zombies with startling efficiency and even more startling relish, we think "God damn sadists," and then: "Wait a minute--weren't we cheering this...