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“They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” Johnny (Russell Streiner) taunts his nervous sister (Judith O’Dea) while visiting the cemetery where their father is buried. What starts as a harmless prank quickly escalates when a strangely behaving man shambles toward the siblings. The man attacks Johnny, killing him, and Barbra narrowly escapes into a horrific nightmare as more of the living dead attack the actual living.
In 1968, George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead hit cinemas, the first of its kind and a piece of art that continues to affect the entire landscape of American film even now 50 years later.
Night of the Living Dead was so far ahead of its time, Hollywood is still trying to catch up. Romero cast a sympathetic Black male lead as the hero of the story — whose tragic end at the hands of a white vigilante mob resonates on so many levels, even now. Ben (Duane Jones) is strong, but also sensitive and vulnerable, and he’s not here to take any crap from anybody even though the entire rest of the cast is white. Back then (and even to some now) a Black man in this kind of role was an act of open rebellion and revolution. In Eli Roth’s History Of Horror, horror scholar Tananarive Due says, “I might contend that for some viewers that was as scary as the child eating her mom in the basement!” Romero forced white audiences, in particular, to identify with a Black man as an equal, not a slave or “the help”.
This movie was the first to overtly show how horror stories could be used to expose social and cultural commentary with an openly political message. In many ways, the medium of horror itself — one that transgresses social and cultural boundaries with wanton abandon—was the perfect vehicle for an allegory about the American civil rights movement as well as the gruesome war in Vietnam.
Over the years when asked about this casting decision, Romero insisted he cast Jones because he gave the best audition. But when we look at Romero’s follow-up Dawn of the Dead in 1978 and his open criticisms of consumer culture as reflected in the sequel, I wonder how honest he was about that.
Where Night of the Living Dead is shrouded in the shadows of black and white film, leaving so much to our imagination, Dawn of the Dead is quite the opposite. Like Dorothy opening the door from her humdrum Kansas life into the technicolor of Oz, Dawn of the Dead displays its zombies in the glaring light of day and mall fluorescents. The social commentary also ramps up from subtle to right in your face.
Dawn of the Dead opens in a low-income apartment complex, inhabited by mostly Black residents. The complex is under attack by police because of suspicion residents are hiding zombies in their midst. Which they are. They don’t want their family members killed. They don’t understand the threat, because nobody has properly explained it to them. And from this structural violence that ends in a barrage of gunfire, we move to a group of survivors held up in a shopping mall that is slowly overrun by zombies.
Romero’s scathing critique of mindless consumerism and how the Baby Boomer generation sold out all their values — is as brilliant as casting a Black hero in Night of the Living Dead. While the gore and shock value have exponentially increased in the 10 years since the first, so did the social commentary. Special effects legend Tom Savini got his start in Dawn of the Dead and used his skills as a combat photographer to create the first photorealistic zombie attack scenes ever put on film. A product of the Vietnam War that Romero slyly critiqued in Night of the Living Dead, Savini brought a new level of intensity to this social and cultural allegory about the end of American civilization as we know it in Dawn of the Dead. We no longer wonder what those zombies would look like in real life. Their grey skin, exposed wounds, and shark-like black eyes are on full display. The seemingly-innocuous backdrop of a shopping center serves as a stark contrast to the social breakdown evidenced in the zombie hordes going up and down the escalators as they would have in life.
By 1985’s Day of the Dead, Romero’s apocalyptic trio reached an apex. Seven years later and the zombie wars have been waged. And lost. The remaining humans live in bunkers under a violent military rule as scientists still try to find a cure. Once again, Romero’s social commentary is on point. The monsters in this film are no longer the zombies, who are being tortured and experimented on. The villains of this story are the sadistic soldiers who clearly enjoy inflicting pain on anyone they can, not just zombies.
I first saw Night of the Living Dead when I was five or six. It wasn’t my first horror movie, but it was the first horror movie that wrapped social commentary into a scary story. And that notion sparked my imagination like nothing else. Even now when I write a scary story or horror novel, the first thing I consider is: What is the social justice message wrapped in this parable? What social issue(s) am I critiquing? And are there solutions I can offer the problem(s) within my story? I call it The Romero Test. When I’m watching movies and television — not just horror — I always apply this test. Stories that don’t have a strong and well executed social justice message won’t resonate with me. This is thanks to George Romero’s exceptional films.
It’s been 50 years since Night of the Living Dead. Since Dawn of the Dead another 40. Yet these movies feel as alive now as they were back then. Without these two seminal horror movies, we certainly would not have other zombie phenomenons like The Walking Dead and upcoming Overlord. We also wouldn’t have so many other non-zombie horror movies that specifically exist to examine social justice issues within the framework of monsters, terror, and societal upset, like Blade and Friday the 13th Part 7: The New Blood.
For half a century, George Romero deconstructed American society through zombie allegory. He put up a mirror to the ugliness that simmers under the surface of this nation, and he dared us to keep looking. He encouraged us to see the truth behind the fiction. The zombies of Night of the Living Dead reflected those times, just as their descendants in movies and television now reflect how much has changed — and those same pressure points of race, class, and politics that haven’t in all this time. Maybe in another 50 years, they finally will.
The post ‘Night of the Living Dead’ and George Romero’s Brand of Social Justice Horror appeared first on Black Girl Nerds.
“They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” Johnny (Russell Streiner) taunts his nervous sister (Judith O’Dea) while visiting the cemetery where their father is buried. What starts as a harmless prank quickly escalates when a strangely behaving man shambles toward the siblings. The man attacks Johnny, killing him, and Barbra narrowly escapes into a horrific nightmare as more of the living dead attack the actual living.
In 1968, George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead hit cinemas, the first of its kind and a piece of art that continues to affect the entire landscape of American film even now 50 years later.
Night of the Living Dead was so far ahead of its time, Hollywood is still trying to catch up. Romero cast a sympathetic Black male lead as the hero of the story — whose tragic end at the hands of a white vigilante mob resonates on so many levels, even now. Ben (Duane Jones) is strong, but also sensitive and vulnerable, and he’s not here to take any crap from anybody even though the entire rest of the cast is white. Back then (and even to some now) a Black man in this kind of role was an act of open rebellion and revolution. In Eli Roth’s History Of Horror, horror scholar Tananarive Due says, “I might contend that for some viewers that was as scary as the child eating her mom in the basement!” Romero forced white audiences, in particular, to identify with a Black man as an equal, not a slave or “the help”.
This movie was the first to overtly show how horror stories could be used to expose social and cultural commentary with an openly political message. In many ways, the medium of horror itself — one that transgresses social and cultural boundaries with wanton abandon—was the perfect vehicle for an allegory about the American civil rights movement as well as the gruesome war in Vietnam.
Over the years when asked about this casting decision, Romero insisted he cast Jones because he gave the best audition. But when we look at Romero’s follow-up Dawn of the Dead in 1978 and his open criticisms of consumer culture as reflected in the sequel, I wonder how honest he was about that.
Where Night of the Living Dead is shrouded in the shadows of black and white film, leaving so much to our imagination, Dawn of the Dead is quite the opposite. Like Dorothy opening the door from her humdrum Kansas life into the technicolor of Oz, Dawn of the Dead displays its zombies in the glaring light of day and mall fluorescents. The social commentary also ramps up from subtle to right in your face.
Dawn of the Dead opens in a low-income apartment complex, inhabited by mostly Black residents. The complex is under attack by police because of suspicion residents are hiding zombies in their midst. Which they are. They don’t want their family members killed. They don’t understand the threat, because nobody has properly explained it to them. And from this structural violence that ends in a barrage of gunfire, we move to a group of survivors held up in a shopping mall that is slowly overrun by zombies.
Romero’s scathing critique of mindless consumerism and how the Baby Boomer generation sold out all their values — is as brilliant as casting a Black hero in Night of the Living Dead. While the gore and shock value have exponentially increased in the 10 years since the first, so did the social commentary. Special effects legend Tom Savini got his start in Dawn of the Dead and used his skills as a combat photographer to create the first photorealistic zombie attack scenes ever put on film. A product of the Vietnam War that Romero slyly critiqued in Night of the Living Dead, Savini brought a new level of intensity to this social and cultural allegory about the end of American civilization as we know it in Dawn of the Dead. We no longer wonder what those zombies would look like in real life. Their grey skin, exposed wounds, and shark-like black eyes are on full display. The seemingly-innocuous backdrop of a shopping center serves as a stark contrast to the social breakdown evidenced in the zombie hordes going up and down the escalators as they would have in life.
By 1985’s Day of the Dead, Romero’s apocalyptic trio reached an apex. Seven years later and the zombie wars have been waged. And lost. The remaining humans live in bunkers under a violent military rule as scientists still try to find a cure. Once again, Romero’s social commentary is on point. The monsters in this film are no longer the zombies, who are being tortured and experimented on. The villains of this story are the sadistic soldiers who clearly enjoy inflicting pain on anyone they can, not just zombies.
I first saw Night of the Living Dead when I was five or six. It wasn’t my first horror movie, but it was the first horror movie that wrapped social commentary into a scary story. And that notion sparked my imagination like nothing else. Even now when I write a scary story or horror novel, the first thing I consider is: What is the social justice message wrapped in this parable? What social issue(s) am I critiquing? And are there solutions I can offer the problem(s) within my story? I call it The Romero Test. When I’m watching movies and television — not just horror — I always apply this test. Stories that don’t have a strong and well executed social justice message won’t resonate with me. This is thanks to George Romero’s exceptional films.
It’s been 50 years since Night of the Living Dead. Since Dawn of the Dead another 40. Yet these movies feel as alive now as they were back then. Without these two seminal horror movies, we certainly would not have other zombie phenomenons like The Walking Dead and upcoming Overlord. We also wouldn’t have so many other non-zombie horror movies that specifically exist to examine social justice issues within the framework of monsters, terror, and societal upset, like Blade and Friday the 13th Part 7: The New Blood.
For half a century, George Romero deconstructed American society through zombie allegory. He put up a mirror to the ugliness that simmers under the surface of this nation, and he dared us to keep looking. He encouraged us to see the truth behind the fiction. The zombies of Night of the Living Dead reflected those times, just as their descendants in movies and television now reflect how much has changed — and those same pressure points of race, class, and politics that haven’t in all this time. Maybe in another 50 years, they finally will.
The post ‘Night of the Living Dead’ and George Romero’s Brand of Social Justice Horror appeared first on Black Girl Nerds.
As a Black American, I can say that for most Black people in the United States, Blackness is a universal connection. We might have different lingos or expressions, yet Black people can speak to each other in a way only understood by people of the culture.
Even with the never-ending battle of which is better, East Coast or West Coast rap, many Blacks in the United States have this unspoken connection.
However, this unity among Blackness can be limited to US borders. This limitation became more apparent while listening to a podcast Black Stories Black Truths, which gave me a new perspective on identity and Black culture. I became more aware that the commonalities that many Black Americans share don’t always exist with Black immigrants within the United States.
In the podcast, several Black immigrants spoke about their transition into America and their abrupt introduction to Black American culture. After listening to the episode titled “I didn’t know I was Black until I came to this country,” I questioned how the concept of Blackness has been used to divide and unite Black people throughout the diaspora. In addition, it made me see the importance of Black people coming together despite cultural differences.
Learning from the perspective of African immigrants in the United States
When I think of Black people in the United States, thoughts of Southern hospitality and hip-hop culture come to mind. Likewise, when I think of immigrants, I don’t necessarily think of Africans coming to the United States. Yet a Pew Research study showed that 1 out of 10 Black Americans are African immigrants.
Unlike immigrants from other cultures, Africans who have immigrated to the United States face a unique experience. Because of Africans’ dark skin color, there is a double layer of expectation and assumption.
African immigrants are often expected to assimilate into Black American culture without knowing much about Black American lingo and social norms and little about Black history. For instance, one immigrant on the podcast admitted not knowing who Martin Luther King Jr. was simply because it wasn’t taught in her African schools.
Every immigrant coming to the United States carries the expectation to in some way assimilate into the larger American culture. African immigrants face the uncomfortable choice of trying to assimilate to Black culture or not assimilating and identifying more with their African culture to separate themselves from Black American culture.
Why would an African immigrant create this separation of culture? The simple answer is racism. Being a Black American means there is a higher chance you will receive more mistreatment because you are Black.
The divide between African immigrants and Black Americans
On social media, I have occasionally come across what is known as the diaspora wars. According to the National Black Cultural Information Trust, the diaspora wars can be described as cross-cultural arguments in which different people of African heritage or background dislike one another for various reasons.
These wars, although rooted in white supremacy, have caused great misunderstanding and misperceptions of a variety of Black cultures across the world. For instance, due to limited media coverage, Black Americans often know little about the recent conflicts in countries such as Sudan or South Africa. The same could be said for the Africans not knowing about the water crisis in Michigan and Mississippi.
Because of the misinformation and lack of information in the mainstream media, social media can often spread false narratives that further divide Black Americans from Africans or other people of African descent worldwide. Thus, Black people worldwide must focus on what connects and strengthens us.
Bridging our cultural gaps
I believe three main things connect Black Americans with Africans and those of African descent. The three things are food, music, and dance.
Our food
As highlighted in an article on Feathers and Whiskey, no matter the dish’s name, there are common ingredients between Southern Black American cuisine and African cuisine. When brought to the United States, enslavers stripped enslaved Africans of their African culture. Yet their culture was reborn through food. Many Southern dishes use staple African ingredients such as black-eyed peas, collard greens, watermelon, okra, and yams.
Our music
Black Americans held onto their music despite threats of having their hands cut off if they played traditional African instruments. They created spirituals, music with their hands, and jazz music. Music has often been this unspoken language of influence between Africans and Black Americans — something very evident in the new African music craze Amapiano, which is heavily influenced by jazz music.
Our dance
From music, dance naturally evolved. Dance is an art form that plays ping pong between African culture and Black American culture. Thanks to pioneers such as Pearl Primus, who brought African dances back to the United States, and the streaming of dance craves worldwide, Black dance has evolved into a collective work of art.
When Black people, whether African or Afro-Latina, stay open and curious, we can all strengthen our connections and become stronger as a collective.
The post How Blackness Divides and Unites Black Immigrants and Black Americans appeared first on Black Girl Nerds.
A recently fired Starbucks employee posted a video detailing her last day. The only problem? She didn’t know when she went to her local store that she wouldn’t have a job within hours of arriving.
In a video with over 2.4 million views, @astoldby_honey expressed her frustration at her recent predicament. She arrived at her store in New York City only to get told to clean it out at 3 p.m., with a layoff email in her inbox by 4:06 p.m. that day. In her video, she peruses the store while showing off various pieces of equipment they packed up in a rush to close.
To recognize one of the most influential designers, Nike has announced that it will, in collaboration with the Virgil Abloh Archive
, showcase “Virgil Abloh: The Codes” at the Grand Palais in Paris.
The sporting goods brand stated that it will be a 10-day showcase highlighting the creativity and passion the late Abloh brought to Nike during his long-term partnership with the company. The exhibit is currently on display and will remain at the Grand Palais until Oct. 9.
“The Codes exhibition kicks off our commitment to bringing Virgil’s legacy and creative process to the creative community and beyond. I am most grateful for Nike’s continued partnership in this important work,” says Shannon Abloh, chief executive officer and managing director of Virgil Abloh Securities. “Sharing his personal collection, unfinished work, and magnum opuses with the world is a powerful way we honor Virgil’s deep belief in access and collaboration. Through the Virgil Abloh Archive, his vision continues to inspire and guide the next generation.”
The exhibition is being curated by Chloe Sultan and Mahfuz Sultan and is billed as an expanded edition of the 2022 “Virgil Abloh: The Codes” exhibition, which took place in Miami. It showcases Abloh’s signature designs, which were incorporated into his work in apparel, footwear, architecture, music, advertising, and more. It also showcases his collaborations with artists, athletes, and designers over the years.
The start of the exhibit also marks the celebration of his birthday, Sept. 30.
“The Codes operate as the soul of Virgil’s legacy; they are at the heart of the Archive,” says Athiththan Selvendran, chief operating officer of Virgil Abloh Securities, chief creative officer of the Virgil Abloh Foundation, and director of the Virgil Abloh Archive. “The Codes tell a story about the creative intention and archival practice that shaped Virgil’s identity. They guide us, reminding us that collectivity and accessibility should be at the center of our collaborations and expressions. This is how we keep his legacy alive.”
Abloh died nearly four years ago on Nov. 28, 2021, from a rare heart tumor, cardiac angiosarcoma. He made fashion history when he became the first Black person to be named Louis Vuitton’s menswear designer.
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