scholarly journals Impermanência Entusiasta: A Noite dos Mortos-Vivos e o espírito de 1968

2018 ◽  
Vol 21 (1) ◽  
pp. 185
Author(s):  
Lucio Reis Filho ◽  
Alfredo Suppia
Keyword(s):  

<p>Propomos analisar A Noite dos Mortos-Vivos (Night of the Living Dead, 1968), do cineasta norte-americano George Romero, enquanto representação cinemática do intricado momento histórico em que foi produzido. O filme de Romero surge no fatídico ano de 1968, que marca o fim do sonho de uma geração. Portanto, será observado enquanto manifesto da contracultura por sua crítica anti-establishment, que denuncia o esfacelamento da sociedade civil, o desmembramento das instituições, a desarticulação do poder instituído e a ineficácia dos meios de comunicação. Dialogando com uma geração que vive à sombra de uma guerra iminente, revela também os medos e tensões atinentes à era atômica.<strong></strong></p>

Film Studies ◽  
2019 ◽  
Vol 21 (1) ◽  
pp. 38-52
Author(s):  
Chuck Jackson

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (dir. Don Siegel, 1956), The Birds (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1963), and Night of the Living Dead (dir. George Romero, 1968) imbue scenes that take place at a gas pump with a horror so intense, it petrifies. As three of the earliest American horror films to feature a monstrous exchange at the pump, they transform the genre by reimagining automotive affect. This article examines the cinematic mood created when petrification meets petroleum, providing an alternative look at American oil culture after 1956, but before the oil crisis of 1973.


Scream ◽  
2019 ◽  
pp. 25-42
Author(s):  
Steven West
Keyword(s):  
The Road ◽  

This chapter cites Peter Hutchings, who defines post-1972 American horror cinema as marking the advent of the horror-auteur director, believing horror to be the only genre that acquired its own 'customised movie-brats'. It talks about how Hutchings distinguishes the rising collective of horror 'brats' from the often-overlooked inadvertent 'specialists' as they were 'wholeheartedly committed to the genre as a suitable vehicle for the expression of ideas. It also talks about George Romero, who was universally acknowledged as the first of the 'brats' following his 1968 debut Night of the Living Dead. This chapter describes the marketing of Wes Craven's Scream that had to play to the strength of his core audience. It recounts how Craven as a veteran horror filmmaker cut together early footage of Scream as evidence that the complex tonal-combination was viable.


Author(s):  
Mathias Clasen

George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) depicts the futile attempts of a group of people to survive a zombie outbreak by barricading themselves in a farm house. Romero’s film introduced the modern horror zombie, a reanimated, rotting corpse that feeds on the living, travels in hordes, and is contagious. This chapter argues that Romero’s implausible monster is highly effective because it triggers defensive adaptations in human evolutionary psychology, especially adaptations to predators and contagious substances. The zombie’s counterintuitive aspect, its undeath, makes it especially salient. Romero used the figure to probe human reactions to disaster and to paint a vivid picture of the inevitability of conflict and defeat, especially in terms of social, psychological, and organic breakdown. It resonated especially with disillusioned moviegoers at the time of its release, but the film’s monsters and themes continue to engage people because of their evolutionary salience.


2021 ◽  
Vol 21 (1) ◽  
pp. 10-34
Author(s):  
Mary Gallagher

Baudelaire’s verse poetry is informed by a pervasive Creole Gothic resonance. Two separate but related topoi, the Undead and the Living Dead, lie at the heart of the collection’s necrological imaginary of slave and zombie labour. It is this Gothic double-trope of death-in-life/life-in-death that activates the Gothic Creole strain running through Les Fleurs du mal. Ironically, those poems that seem to evoke most directly the Creole world that Baudelaire encountered in 1841, firstly in Mauritius and then in Réunion, avoid all evocation of plantation slavery. Conversely, the city poems associate modern metropolitan life with the idea of slavery, representing it as a living death and death as a merely temporary and reversible escape. The collection’s representation of this ‘living death’ foreshadows the construction (by Orlando Patterson, most notably) of transatlantic chattel slavery as ‘social death’. As for the poetic representation of the ‘Undead’, this centres on the figure of the zombie. The zombie is essentially a slave for whom death has proved no guarantee against an endless ‘living death’ of hard labour. If the Creole inflection of Baudelaire’s imagery relates primarily to the realities of industrialized plantation labour and to the chattel slavery on which it was based, it is further reinforced by indices of tropical localisation and of racial difference, more specifically pigmentation. However subliminal its resonance, this Creole Gothic strain guarantees for Baudelaire’s Fleurs du mal a vivid postcolonial afterlife.


2021 ◽  
Vol 54 (1) ◽  
pp. 85-103
Author(s):  
Peter Leman
Keyword(s):  
Old Age ◽  

Abstract This article examines Nuruddin Farah's 1979 novel Sweet and Sour Milk, asking how we read representations of postcolonial mourning and living death in the context of global authoritarianism. The first novel in Farah's influential dictatorship trilogy, Sweet and Sour Milk introduces us to “the General,” a fictionalized version of Siyad Barre, who ruled Somalia from 1969 to 1991. Like Barre's, the General's power exemplifies what Achille Mbembe calls “necropolitics,” or “the contemporary subjugation of life to the power of death.” The General's necropower manifests, peculiarly, as a politics of substitution—that is, when he takes a life, he leaves something in its place. Rebels do not simply disappear; they are killed and then given sycophantic zombie afterlives in the General's propaganda. In response to this politics of substitution, Farah explores a politics of mourning, which insists upon the irreplaceability of lost love objects and thereby broadly reveals what truly can and cannot be substituted. The General insists on the uniqueness of his power, for example, but Farah reveals it to be a cliché, easily substituted by that of other dictators throughout history. Cliché becomes revolutionary in this way, suggesting that dictators share a common fate: they will be deposed or, eventually, die of old age. However, like a horde of the living dead, others like them will return. The article concludes with analysis of the apparent pessimism of this point and the global implications of Farah's ideas about both necropolitics and the limits of the novel form in the face of authoritarian power.


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