George A. Romero's Diary Of The Dead

The retooling, rejigging and reimagining of horror’s most famous franchises can be a monstrous game. Few aficionados would wish to revisit the demon spawn of Halloween H20 or Jason X, movies that ooze evil intent but not in any way we would like. By now we know all too well that it’s rarely a good idea to tamper with the classics. But when the text concerned is George A. Romero’s coruscating debut Night Of The Living Dead we have cause for nothing less than widespread panic.
And yet, oh ye of little faith, the old dog – Romero turned 68 this month – has plenty of new tricks up his sleeve. Reinvigorated by lightweight digital technology the master craftsman goes back to the drawing board and unleashes the undead into our streets as if for the first time. With impeccable comic book logic Mr. Romero is not wiping out the five movies and forty years of history that have passed since Night…, he’s merely kickstarting an alternative timeline.
In that postmodern spirit we open with student filmmakers working on a poorly conceived Mummy movie that later assumes the function of a mute play. Our cast and crew include Dumb Blonde Texan, an actress whose sole function is to get them out as the Mummy strikes and Drunken Film Professor (Scott Wentworth aping Alan Rickman at his most acerbic) who provides tongue-in-cheek nuggets about the “underlying thread of social commentary.”
Most of the action, however, pivots around Debra (Morgan) our narrator and Final Girl, and her boyfriend Jason (Close) whose obsession with ‘getting the shot’ ensures that the camera keeps rolling as the zombie apocalypse unfolds.
Like Cloverfield or Redacted, Diary heralds the belated arrival of the DV revolution that The Blair Witch Project seemed to promise all those years ago. But unlike these other films, Romero’s purpose is greater than keeping the budget tight. Always one for an “underlying thread of social commentary”, he locks and loads for a scathing critique of citizen journalism while welcoming its potentially democratic benefits. This may be a parallel zombie-verse but it picks up where Land Of The Dead left off, still pondering if flesh-eating, zimmerframe-paced ghouls aren’t just what humanity deserves.
Never fear. Romero’s not going to leave us feeling bummed out. At heart, Diary is an endlessly enjoyable horror romp. The youngsters’ realisation that they are witnessing a holocaust rather than some elaborate government hoax is both devastating and exhilarating. The director’s wonderful flair for Looney Toons anarchy reaches a career apotheosis with the arrival of Mute Amish Avenger (a future collectable action figure if ever there was one) and old-school spaghetti bolognese special effects. Hardcore fans will relish sly little jokes about multiple camera angles (a Romero staple) and newscasters voiced by the likes of Quentin Tarantino, Simon Pegg and Stephen King. But the film courts and warrants a youthful audience just to keep up with its manic pace and energy.
For this if nothing else Diary Of The Dead should be mandatory viewing for all those young indie filmmakers working on dreary Home For Purim dramas. Well, watch out you whippersnappers, for the Living Dead life really does begin at 40.