Night of the Living Dead: 50 Years
How a simple dedication to quality and lack of egotism led to one of the most enduring and industry-changing horror films of all time.
It’s hard to believe that there was ever a world where slapping some makeup on a few friends and having them pretend to eat people wasn’t an instant cash cow. It wasn’t a cow at all, actually, for zombie lore as we know it today—that is, flesh-eating dead people who walk around en masse, moaning and mobbing the living—didn’t exist before 1968. Zombies, when used in horror at all, were largely linked with voodoo, depicted as hypnotized slaves who would do the bidding of whomever had cast the spell. And they certainly didn’t crave brains.
Now, for the large crop of zombie franchises that continue to mesmerize audiences and dominate pop culture—including THE WALKING DEAD, EVIL DEAD, CALL OF DUTY, and let’s face it, even PLANTS VS. ZOMBIES—we have to thank a small group of independent filmmakers from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, whose only goal was to craft a really great scary movie. They ended up revolutionizing the entire landscape of horror, and the movie they made, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, has been canonized into film lore and the Criterion collection for its 50th anniversary in 2018.
Writer John Russo and producer Russ Streiner were two members of the tiny Pennsylvanian team who in 1968 crafted a film so unforgettable that it turned the entire filmmaking industry on its head. And although NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is now more of a myth than a movie, the secrets to its success become clear when you hear these men speak candidly about a creation process that was more practiced method than enlightening inspiration. The reality was that they just wanted to make a good movie. It’s taken 50 years to reach legendary status.
It all started because a small collective of filmmakers, originally called the Latent Image and now known as Image Ten Ltd, were getting frustrated making commercials for clients who would drop them as soon as the product got some legs. They eventually came together and started crunching numbers on how hard it would be to make a feature. The group, made up of writer and director George Romero, writer John Russo, producers Russ and Gary Streiner, Vince Survinski, Richard and Rudy Ricci, attorney David Clipper, and audio financiers Karl Hardman and Marylin Eastman, were more concerned with finding enough investors than revolutionizing a genre. Household names? You could argue it for Romero, a game-changer who went on to write and direct DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978) and DAY OF THE DEAD (1986); but at the time, he was a cog in the wheel of an independent company creating business films, and his name meant no more than anyone else’s.
How do you reconcile the nuts and bolts of a single movie with the mythology that has built up around it? If you’re John Russo, you stick to the facts. The co-writer of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD describes the formation of the movie as a “Why not?” sort of endeavor: “We had just paid $3,500 for a new 35mm camera, and I said well, what if the five or six of us and a few associates kicked in 600 bucks each, even if we had to borrow from finance companies? We’d have 6000 dollars, we might be able to shoot something in 35mm, work print it down to 16mm, and make a better film than what we’re seeing.”
What they were seeing, Russo explains, was typical giant monster fare that had been grinding away at the local multiplex, predictable and popcorn-friendly for the matinee crowd. “There would be the same trite plot over and over. The town drunk would see something and nobody would believe him, he would get killed by whatever it was, and then the scientists would do some kind of experiment, like — ‘Oh, this looks like caterpillar slime. It must be a giant caterpillar!’ And then the national guard would come in at the end with giant flame throwers and kill the thing.” He pauses. “Which is actually what happens in KING KONG, even.”
Of course, Russo is also a storyteller, and it’s clear that he’s distilled certain elements of the project’s genesis into perfect little nuggets of scenery: “George and Richard Ricci and I were at a bar around the corner from our studio, drinking beer and having grilled provolone sandwiches for lunch. George went ‘We’re gonna make a movie!’ and banged the tabletop, and the bottles and ashtrays went flying and everyone turned around and stared at us. And Richard sat back, took a drag on his cigarette, blew a bunch of smoke rings, and said, ‘You guys are crazy.’ And I said well, you want in or out? And again, he sucked on the cigarette and finally went, ‘I’m in.’” Russo chuckles at the memory, likely one he’s perfected by chipping away at it for years.
Producer Russ Streiner relates, “Everybody pulled together. We all agreed that George should be the director. With our wily little band of filmmakers, George was always our lead horse. He was the most forward thinking; he had a better definition of what he wanted to do with his filmmaking life than we did.”
With the practical elements of money and means nailed down, Latent Image needed a story to film. “[George and I] were the two writers in the company, and somebody had to write a script,” says Russo, almost with a shrug. “We would bash around some ideas. Right away I said whatever we do should start in a cemetery, because people find cemeteries scary.” Opening scene, check. Romero came up with a 20 page short story about a girl and her brother going into a cemetery, which eventually became the iconic “They’re coming to get you, Barbara!” segment.
“I read it and I said you know, this is good, it has all the right suspense and twists and turns,” says Russo, “but who’s chasing this girl? You never say. I said in reading it I thought they could be dead people, but what are they after? They don’t bite, they don’t claw…why are they chasing her?”
Nowadays, zombie apocalypse conversations are so par for the course that nobody even blinks when it comes to the gory details. What do the zombies want? You and your brains. How do you turn into a zombie yourself? Get bitten by one. How do you treat a recently zombified relative or friend? Kill them, immediately. No dawdling. And yet, these seemingly “obvious” answers weren’t always so obvious to the writers who had to introduce the very concept of society putting on a defense against masses of deranged dead bodies.
“They used to say that zombies weren’t heavyweight fright material like vampires or werewolves until we made them flesh eaters. That’s what did the trick,” says Russo, who based the flesh-eating concept upon an earlier screenplay he had written about aliens burying human corpses in the woods for a few days so they would rot into better flavor for eating. “Just like people in medieval times who killed a goose!” he says gleefully.
Much like the original Gojira (1954), NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is a stark black and white exercise in masterful pacing and relative minimalism. It ascribes to no time period or cultural movement in particular, thus allowing the events to remain relevant to this very day. The protagonists are ordinary people reacting to an extraordinary situation, and that realism is its secret weapon: by presenting everything matter-of-factly, like a documentary—as the tiny budget allowed—the film exists outside of its own moment of creation, becoming distilled into the perfect picture of a horrifying and hopeless situation.
It’s startingly bleak, and that, explains Russo, was the point. “There were a couple of films back then that showed me that something really good could be done with [horror]. One of them was INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS, which totally knocked me out. I would say to Russ and George and the others, if we could make a film that was shocking enough to have the audience leave with those same kinds of looks on their faces, then we’d have something.”
In that vein, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is truly a success, because shock the film does, even after all this time: when a zombified child stalks her hapless mother in a basement and stabs her to death with a trowel; when the getaway truck catches fire and explodes with the demure, good-natured couple still inside it; when the dead walking around in the yard proceed to grab bones and pieces of the couple’s burnt flesh and devour them.
Another thing to consider is that contrast to many of the other popular horror films of the time, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is entirely devoid of religious hangups and Christian symbolism. One might even call it godless. In a news broadcast that the survivors watch at the farmhouse, a scientist refers to burial rites as “dubious comforts”, and that everyone’s former friends and family are “just dead flesh. And dangerous.”
Ironically, Streiner recalls journalists of the time accusing the filmmakers of having “Satanic” intentions. “I don’t know exactly who said this, but it was in the general landscape of reviews that we were ‘Satanically inspired,’” he laughs. “We were demonized in all kinds of ways.”
In fact, there is no sense of higher power in this film, be it evil or godly. Dead bodies are randomly coming back to life for a reason perhaps linked to a crashed spacecraft, but it follows no rhyme or reason so straightforward as scripture. There is not even a villain to be vanquished—no giant caterpillar or corresponding National Guard. There are only hapless human beings facing their own destruction, looking at themselves in a horrible mirror that comes back to haunt them. Will you be the protector or the protected? What constitutes a noble pursuit in the midst of a nightmare? Will you be a Cooper or a Ben, or will you just get caught in the crossfire of the local hunting nuts looking for sport?
A significant amount of material has been written in regard to how all of this resonates in a cultural context, be it 1968 or 2018. Although the main character of Ben was not written specifically for a black man and there are no references to his race in the actual film, his presence as the moral center of the survivors in the farmhouse is significant given the film’s release during civil rights upheaval, and its shocking ending (Ben survives the night of ghouls only to be shot by a hunting patrol) gathers weight in the light of recent discussions about police violence. Over the years, critics and journalists have propped the film up onto a kind of pedestal of social commentary.
John Russo refers to the more outlandish theories about their moral crusade as “bullsh-t”. “We just wanted the characters to behave like real people would if such an outlandish thing happened, if the dead came back to life,” he says. “When I thought of killing off Ben, for example, or any number of things… Pennsylvania’s a big deer hunting state. Every year, thousands of deer are slaughtered by ten or twelve drunk hunters. I thought it it would be ironic if our hero Ben was killed by mistake.”
Streiner gives a bit of a different perspective. “We did not start off to make political statements; however, I will say that we are all, every single one of us, subject to the environment that we live in,” he says. “The mid to late 60s was not a particularly tranquil time in US history. We were being bombarded by reports of the Vietnam War and with attempts at peaceful civil rights demonstrations which didn’t always remain peaceful, and I think that some of that did rub off on us.”
Did they think about racial profiling at all while shooting the movie? “Duane Jones was simply the best actor we could find to play the part of Ben,” says Streiner. “Did we know that there would be certain parts of the country that would not take well to the portrayal of a black man as the hero? Yeah, we knew. So in that case, we just went, okay.”
There seemed to be no fear on the filmmaking side about NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD finding an audience, regardless of what societal values its narrative upheaved. “We used to say that we’d get it distributed even if we had to hand carry it from drive-in to drive-in,” laughs Russo. “We didn’t shrink from being iconoclastic. We wanted to attract attention, like a rock group that’ll choke chickens and smash guitars and throw ’em through a window.”
Regardless of the filmmakers’ political intentions, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is a masterpiece of structure, and that is what has ultimately carried it into the new century. “I say frequently to audiences that we did the best film that we could, even setting out with all the limitations,” explains Streiner. “But it is the public that has made it a classic. You can’t sit down and repaint the Mona Lisa. That’s for somebody else to decide. All you can do is put your best foot forward and hope that somebody out there will like what you’re doing.”
And people certain did. NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD has become a bastion of quality filmmaking in the way that Oscar-winning classics like GONE WITH THE WIND have endured. And as Streiner hypothesizes, its perennial appeal to horror fans and collectors in particular has givev it a marketing edge over more mainstream dramas. “I don’t remember the last time I saw a GONE WITH THE WIND t-shirt,” he quips. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any kind of CITIZEN KANE toy at a convention. Not to disparage the works of those filmmakers, at all, but there is something about the evergreen quality of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD that had relevance 50 years ago and still has relevance today.”
It hasn’t been an easy journey. Famously, what the still-young NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD crew knew about the craft of filmmaking was not matched by their knowledge of copyright and distribution, and through their struggles in getting the film distributed upon its release, Image Ten ultimately lost the copyright to the original film. “We were quite naïve at the time as to how to truly protect your intellectual property,” Streiner admits. “And that’s something that young people have got to pay attention to. Once you have the idea, once you write the idea down, once you film the idea—make sure that you have the ownership of that completely in hand and under control. I will say that the copyright and intellectual property rules have changed over the years, and NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is one of the examples that helped to change the rules.”
If that seems like a particularly sparkly silver lining, Streiner is full of them. “It’s the bitter and sweet of living life in a creative environment,” he says, completely unironically. “You gotta take the good with the bad. I think NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD is a good optimistic example of that very thing.”
With all the dramatic insiders spilling dirt on their colleagues and the general ego-mongering of Hollywood executives, it is certainly refreshing to hear Russo and Streiner describe their constant friendships with each other and director George Romero as mutually respectful and healthy, even in the face of the copyright fiasco. Rather than squabble like seagulls over who created which portion of the living dead legacy and go their separate and bitter ways; the collective, according to Streiner, outlined a written agreement “so we wouldn’t become incumberances to one another’s future endeavors,” he says. “That came out of mutual respect and friendship. We matured enough that we were able to discuss those things and come to, we hope, an adult solution.”
The result? A legacy of the living dead that any aspiring filmmaker can take part in. “The thing about zombie makeup is that it’s cheap,” explains Russo. “So if you come up with a good idea, knowing that people are already attracted to this kind of creature, maybe you could make a name for yourself and start a career. We paved the way—the way we financed it and the way we worked outside the Hollywood system.” Russo and Streiner went on to make RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD. Romero, of course, directed DAWN OF THE DEAD and DAY OF THE DEAD. Sam Raimi created THE EVIL DEAD. “It never stopped,” says Russo. “People saw a way.”
In other words, zombies belong to the people. Russo and Streiner and Image Ten were clearly only concerned with ownership when it came to the content of the film itself. The ensuing intellectual rights were shared among them. Thus, the movie managed to rise into its reputation completely independently of the squabbling of Hollywood execs looking to grab credit wherever they possibly could.
Nothing illustrates the essential humbleness of the film’s production like Russ Streiner’s recollection of why he was cast to play Johnny, who opens the film by visiting a graveyard with his sister, Barbara. “I would like to tell you that it was after a long and grueling audition process, but it was not,” he laughs. “We were getting closer and closer to our first day of shooting and we didn’t have a Johnny yet. It was just, ‘Well, get Russ to do it. Yeah.’”
Curiously, no credit for his performance is featured, giving the character an appropriate “everyman” sort of effect (especially when he shows up as a ghoul at the end of the movie). “The reason I didn’t write a credit for Johnny was because we had too many other Streiners involved in the production,” says the producer matter-of-factly. “I did not want to make it seem like the Streiner show. My wife at the time, Jacqueline Streiner, helped us out with film and script preparation. My brother Gary was working on the film. If you started layering all the Streiners on top of one another, you could come away with the distorted perspective that the Streiners must have really run the show.”
And did they? “We didn’t,” he avers. “We were part of the team.”
If this is the attitude that results from staying away from the Hollywood system, maybe more movies should be made in places like Pennsylvania. Streiner certainly agrees. In 1988 he created a business plan for the Pittsburgh Film Office (for which he still serves as Chair), dedicated to attracting production to Pittsburgh, and the city has indeed become a prime location for filming—now doing “over a hundred million dollars per year in movie production,” he says. Russo, meanwhile, in addition to penning other film projects, has discovered the stillness of novel writing (“even before I met George I wanted to be a novelist” he says) and cites THE AWAKENING and DEALY PLAZA as his best works, the latter boasting a sprawling and eclectic historical story but lacking distribution. “I’ve written quite a few novels that have nothing to do with zombies,” he explains, “but if you don’t get wide distribution, it doesn’t matter how good your work is; it’s not going to go anywhere.”
Despite the mechanics of filmmaking having changed drastically since 1968, veterans Russo and Streiner both have valuable advice for creative people in the digital age. “There’s a glut of product,” says Russo. “Everybody’s a writer; everybody can publish a magazine; everybody can self-publish a book; everybody can make a movie. I just tell people—learn the craft! That’s what’s going to elevate you.”
Streiner has similar words, focusing on completion: “Even though the technology now allows you to have much smaller crews and the process is easier, stay true to your creative focus, and above anything else, get your project finished. We had to interrupt our production schedule with a break of about two months to satisfy our commercial clients who were putting groceries on our table, but we never lost sight of coming back and finishing the film. If we had gotten discouraged or put it aside or gotten too busy with other projects, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD would have never been finished. So for any young filmmakers… whatever your dreams are, finish them.”
For the film’s 50th anniversary in October, the 4k restoration of the original print of the film will be screened in Pittsburgh at the very same theater it was shown in 50 years ago. Perhaps young filmmakers will go see it and be inspired, once again, to make their own films on a micro-budget. Perhaps these films will eventually end up alongside the most notable parts of movie history in the Museum of Modern Art, as NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD has. Now that’s the stuff of legend.
“50 Years of Night of the Living Dead” first appeared in Famous Monsters of Filmland #290.
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