by Tyler Smith

Of all the pop culture trends of the last twenty years, few have been more pervasive than zombies. These shambling, decaying creatures with a hunger for human flesh have been featured in movies, TV shows, and games. Zombies are so iconic it feels as though they’ve been around forever, as integral to the horror genre as vampires and werewolves. And those certain versions of zombies have indeed been around for over a century – usually related to voodoo lore- the idea of corpses coming to life and desomating the population is relatively new, beginning in earnest with George Romero’s groundbreaking 1968 film Night of the Living Dead.

The story is as simple as it is terrifying. A brother and sister visit their mother’s grave, only to be attacked by a mindless zombie that they mistook for a normal person. The sister gets away and runs to a nearby farmhouse, where she encounters other people who have had their own experiences with the walking dead. As more and more zombies begin to close in on the farm house, tensions between survivors rise and tempers flare, to the point that there are just as many threats inside the house as outside.

If this dynamic sounds familiar to you, it is because every single zombie movie or TV show has featured a story that is a slight variation of it. Romero’s film not only introduced us to the idea of modern zombies, but it arrived with its narrative structure and thematic elements fully formed. So much so, in fact, that future zombie stories would deviate from this formula at their own peril. The film also established the iconography that we still see in zombie movies to this day. Rotting flesh, boarded up buildings, and grasping hands are such common images in these movies that it would feel wrong if one did not incorporate them.

The film not only set the standard for future films in the genre, it also firmly established the zombie movie as fertile ground for political commentary and social satire. The idea of inner conflict, when there should be unity, in the midst of a global scourge is an evergreen concept, as we have learned in the last few years as reactions to the COVID pandemic quickly lead to worldwide hostility. Add to that subtle explorations of ingrained societal racism, and you have a film that is ripe for in depth analysis by film critics and social scientists alike.

Even deeper than these themes though is the universal underlying fear of death. Our main characters are terrorized by walking corpses, a none-too-vague metaphor for death itself. And like death, there is a feeling of inevitability in zombie movies. The zombies are slow moving, but patient. And no matter how fast we run, or how effectively we hide, the dead eventually catch up to us and we soon join their ranks; just one more corpse among billions.

It would be easy to write off a film as thematically robust as this as more interested in provocation than horror. But Romero wisely understands that the more truly frightening the film is, the more potent its themes. The ever present threat, along with its unknown origin, set an oppressive tone that any viewer of the film will not soon forget. That is the sign of a true horror masterpiece, which Night of the Living Dead undeniably is.

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The Universal Classic Monsters Review

The term “cinematic icon” can refer to many different things. It could be a notably impressive set piece or a particularly impactful musical theme. It could be as simple as a prop: a falcon, a sled, a ring. Then there are iconic characters. Those heroes and villains that immediately come to mind when we think of movies. The most memorable of these have the power to move beyond the world of cinema to then become a part of the culture at large.

Perhaps the most successful examples of this are in the Universal Monsters of the 1930s and 40s. These characters are so ingrained in the collective consciousness, that even those who have never watched the films can immediately tell you intricate details about them. When we think of Frankenstein, odds are that we are picturing a tall, lumbering figure with a flat head and bolts coming out of his neck. When we refer to Dracula, we’re not talking about Max Schreck, Gary Oldman, or even Christopher Lee. We are talking about Bela Lugosi with slicked back hair and long, flowing cape.

Along with the characters themselves are the worlds they inhabit, which are long on atmosphere and short on logic. Reason and realism do not apply here. These places exist outside of time, where crumbling castles can be accessed by automobile. They are meant to stick with us long after the movie is over. Decrepit windmills, insane laboratories, and ancient tombs set a delightful tone of dread and suspicion. Heavily informed – but not completely – by the shadowy films of German expressionism, these are places we feel like we could step inside (even though we wouldn’t want to).

The stories are deceptively simple, but thematically complex. They explore concepts like the darkness of human nature, the desire to play God, and the desperate loneliness that comes with being an outsider. These ideas had been tackled before, but doing so with vampires, werewolves, and invisible men could actually allow these filmmakers to address them in a more straightforward way.

It also allowed the audience to engage with tragedies every bit as heartbreaking as those of William Shakespeare. Were these monsters to be merely scary, they would be rendered two dimensional. And I frankly doubt they would have had such a cultural impact, if that were the case. Instead, these are fully developed characters who are deeply aware of their own unfortunate circumstances. It is a very sad thing to be a monster. Frankenstein seeks companionship, the Mummy seeks his lost love, and poor Larry Talbot – the Wolfman – just wants to die. Doctor Griffin may have gained invisibility, but he lost his mind. It would seem that Dracula stands alone in the pleasure that he takes from being evil. But even then, there are scenes where Dracula reveals his longing for an actual death.

This is what makes these movies truly iconic: their exploration of the darker elements of life. They don’t stop at fear, but instead show us the entire range of the more difficult human emotions. Anger, greed, selfishness, loneliness, obsession. These and more are what we are faced with when we watch these movies, forcing us to look at the parallels in our own lives. That we are able to engage with such complexities while enjoying the sensational stories and fantastical worlds of these films speaks to their power as true works of art and indeed genuine American icons.

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Few film genres have been as maligned, as mocked, as thoroughly dismissed, as the romantic comedy. Perhaps it’s the facile nature of the stories, or that they are seen as appealing exclusively to women. No matter the reason, to mention romantic comedy is to be met with an instant, and intense eye roll. It is somewhat understandable, as any film that has a built in audience can fall victim to laziness and complacency. But the same could be said for every other genre, as well. And like those, there are the romantic comedies that both epitomize and elevate the genre, spurring on genuine cinematic discussion. Films like It Happened One Night, Annie Hall, and When Harry Met Sally. Similarly, Nora Ephron’s You’ve Got Mail may tell a familiar story, but it is told with such an effortless flair and acted so beautifully that it feels just as fresh as any other great film made within one of the more “respectable” genres.

The story – which easily qualifies as “simple but not simplistic” – revolves around Joe (Tom Hanks) and Kathleen (Meg Ryan), two lonely people who, despite both being in relationships, are becoming increasingly enamored with each other, albeit through the anonymity of the internet. In the real world, however, they are bitter rivals, with Joe’s successful chain of bookstores threatening to put Kathleen’s boutique children’s bookstore out of business. Of course, formula dictates that they will eventually discover each other’s identity. And as satisfying as that will inevitably be, it is the characters’ personal journeys that keep us interested. In a fun twist, the antagonism of their real world relationship causes them to be more and more cruel to each other, while their impersonal internet relationship brings out their humanity. This sense of duality is, at times, funny and at other times, tragic. Lesser actors would be unable to find consistency between these two elements, but Hanks and Ryan create fully-developed characters and have such natural chemistry, that everything flows along organically. It is this dynamic that redeems even the most obvious of cliches, to such a degree that even a line as earnest as “Oh, how I wish you would” is rendered not only acceptable, but actually quite touching.

Our two likable leads are given solid support by an impressive cast of heavy hitters, such as Greg Kinnear, Steve Zhan, Dave Chappelle, Jean Stapleton, and the always-reliable Parker Posey. These actors manage to take very familiar characters – from the clueless boyfriend, to the eccentric coworker- and breathe new life into them, in keeping with one of the film’s larger goals, which is to tell a very human and relatable story. All of this against the backdrop of New York City during the holidays, shot with such depth and texture that we feel as though we could step right into the frame.

One of the unintended pleasures of revisiting the film is as a fascinating snapshot of the era in which it was made. The film, now twenty-five years old, was made at a time when the internet was still relatively new. Characters regularly dismiss it as a fun novelty with very little practical use. It also begins to hint at the addictive nature of being online, as our main characters can’t wait to be left alone so that they can indulge their email habit. Given how vital the internet has become in our lives – and the various studies decrying this – the film serves as a cautionary tale that it never meant to be. Add to that the role of bookstores, which would soon become extinct at the hands of the internet, as well as the characters’ disdain for a still-new-but-growing company called Starbucks, and the film takes on a quality that many would view as dated, but I call quaint.

In the end, You’ve Got Mail contains all sorts of little treasures for those that are open to it. From engaging characters, to complex relationships, this film is everything a good romantic comedy should be. And more than that – though some would be reluctant to admit it – it’s everything a good movie should be.

Considering director Wes Andersons’s penchant for whimsical story telling, off-kilter dialog, and heavily stylized world building, it seemed only a matter of time before he would arrive at the works of Roald Dahl. Dahl, perhaps best know for his books “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and “James and the Giant Peach”, managed to capture in his writings the swirling blend of imagination, energy, silliness, and fear that children experience everyday.

So when it was announced that Anderson’s first ever adaptation would be Dahl’s “Fantastic Mr. Fox”, fans were delighted at the prospect. Even more so when they discovered that the film would be stop motion animation. With Anderson’s realities becoming more and more heightened, as in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, this seemed like the next logical step, as he would no longer be hemmed in by the limitations of the nature world. And with Anderson’s meticulous eye for detail kicked into high gear, his resulting Fantastic Mr. Fox is a masterpiece of creativity, humor, and no small amount of melancholy. Not merely one of Wes Anderson’s best films but also among the best animated movies of the last thirty years.

Despite the film’s stylistic flourishes, the story is a relatively simple one, seen in various film genres (including animation, with Pixar’s The Incredibles being a prime example). The story involves the wily Mr. Fox (voiced with a wink by George Clooney), a former chicken thief now settled into domestic life, living with his wife (Meryl Streep) and son (Jason Schwartzman). Unhappily employed as a columnist for the local paper, Fox yearns for the dangerous exhilaration of his old life. Eventually, he gives into temptation and begins thieving again, setting off a

war between three malicious farmers and the local animal population. While these battles are often ridiculous to the point of farcical, the sobering fact remains that Mr. Fox has put his family and friends in harm’s way as he attempted to recapture his glory days.

Soon, Fox realizes his error, having become so focused on his previous adventures that he failed to recognize those that were right in front of him. Humbled by this new realization, Fox comes to embrace the rewards of being a husband, father, and friend. However, lest we begin to think the moral of the story is too simplistic, Fox also discovers the true value of the skills he honed in his old life, not in the indulgence of his own insecurity and ego, but in the protection of those he loves.

This balance of personal passion and selfless love is one that we all struggle with sooner or later, usually through a series of unfortunate mistakes. That Fantastic Mr. Fox explores this very human problem through the experiences of animals makes it almost allegorical, in the same vein as Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. Unlike that work however, this film, while exploring very adult concepts, is something that kids can heartily enjoy. And what’s more, with its delightful visual realization of Dahl’s story the film invites even the most jaded adult to join in the lively fun of this amazing film.