a sense of joy and then a panic

Watching Night of the Living Dead (1968) for the first time.  Actually, watching a George Romero original for the first time.  I know it's hard to believe, but I'm one of those people who instinctively gets bored when the screen's in black and white.  It is strange to see such slow zombies, because I've only seen jumping zombies (China) and sprinting zombies (28 Days Later).  Even the zombies in the Romero remakes have some oomph to them, they just lounge around when in mass groups.  It's pretty good, though.  The level of gore is unexpected.  I was really impressed by the opening sequence, because it seemed so much like a genuine nightmare - everything's going along smoothly (at the cemetery), it's daytime, it's quiet, and then suddenly, oh, jesus, there's a dead guy walking around.  Very effective.  Cognitive dissonance accomplished.

I mentioned this before, but I recently realized that my attraction to zombie movies is I used to have recurring dreams, when I was in elementary school, where the entire world had either become zombies or vampires - my parents, my neighbors, every single person I ran across - and I was the only person left.  Like that ad for that BBC show Survivors, except I was being chased.  The first time I had the dream, when I screamed in the dream I woke up.  The second time, I tried screaming, and it didn't help.  The last time I had the dream, I decided to let them bite me and turn me into one of them. 

Other than that, I've been disappointed by the recent horror movies I've watched.  Frontiers really tried to add something new to the Psycho Hicks in the Woods genre by making them ~Nazis~ in race-rioting France, but when the neo-Nazis decided that they would add this girl of Middle Eastern descent to their breeding pool because they were too inbred, the movie lost all credibility.  Tried to make up for it with massive amounts of blood, almost as much as Shallow Ground.  I ended up thinking about the final girl again - how violent she's become in recent years.  This isn't Laurie running around stabbing Michael Myers with knitting needles anymore - this is ripping throats out, circular saw through the rib cage.  The more violent she becomes, I have to say, the less believable she is.  Her morality was always specious, but I'm not sure I buy the idea that the average person, even when confronted with the violent deaths of their companions, will be fueled by enough adrenaline and rage to kill so many psycho killer hicks with knives and circular saws and guns and bare hands. 

And then I just stop caring.