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Despite its
richness of characterization and its complexity of message, the film fared less well than
expected at the box office, and it has achieved much less attention than Romero's
previous zombie films. Nevertheless, it remains a potent, affecting film, and one well
worthy of recognition, however belated.
Since "Day of
the Dead" Romero has released two and a half
features: "Monkey Shines" 1988), the first half of "Two
Evil Eyes" (1990), the other half of which
was directed by Dario Argento, and "The
Dark Half" (1993). Perhaps his most
conventional and accessible film to date, "Monkey
Shines" is a suspense thriller about the
relationship between a quadriplegic (Jason Beghe) and the capuchin monkey trainers help
him achieve some degree of independence. The monkey is more unique than Beghe reckons on,
however. The subject of an intelligence-heightening drug experiment the monkey develops a
near telepathic bond with Beghe, becomes acutely sensitive to his mood swings, anal acts
out Beghe's anger and aggression toward others.
"Monkey Shines" is an accomplished, mature film, an emblem of Romero's
sophistication in his chosen medium. But the film was a commercial flop, and as of this
writing Romero has completed only one other film—an adaptation of Stephen King's
novel "The Dark Half": which was completed a few years before its 1993 release but
held back by the financial collapse of its distributor.
"The Dark Half" continues Romero's trends toward increasingly intimate films.
The story of best-selling novelist Thad Beaumont's (Timothy Hutton) battle with his
recently materialized nom de plume, George Stark (Hutton also), "The Dark Half" is
a well-produced, unnerving film in which Romero's dark wit is finely honed. Moments of
brutality are jarringly juxtaposed with comic flourishes. For example, when a
writer from People magazine turns up to do an interview on Beaumont and his troublesome
alter ego, someone comments on the formerly stylish ponytail hanging down from the
baseball cap the magazine writer wears on his head. The writer shortly thereafter removes
the hat, revealing a glowingly bald pate—a standard and fairly mild sight gag. But
later in the film, in a stunningly lighted and photographed set piece with nods to the
stylistic hyperbole of occasional Romero collaborator Argento, George Stark catches up
with the magazine writer and in the violent interlude that follows cuts off the
ponytail, adding a sense of the absurd to what is otherwise a viscerally powerfully scene.
Romero handles the broader subtext of
the film—class anxiety—with his customary deftness and subtlety. The opening
scene uses the medium of film with understated intelligence as it contrasts Beaumont's
hardscrabble boyhood with the relative opulence of his current lifestyle. All the elements
differentiating Beaumont from Stark are class indicators. Whereas Beaumont owns the
traditional Jeep and Volvo of Yuppiedom, Stark drives a muscly Olds Toronado; whereas
Beaumont is fashionably fit, Stark smokes and drinks. George Stark is more than just the
dark half of Beaumont's successful literary id; he's the white-trash terrorist that
stalked the conspicuous consumption of 1980s Yuppies like Beaumont, an unmonied past that
refuses to die. Romero's film, beyond being an effective, absorbing thriller, is a dark
parable of the undertow of social mobility.
Taken as a whole, Romero's body of work
is unified by a blend of cynicism, conscience, and compassion. Romero's determined
choices of characterization and casting are indications of his commitment to progressive
ideas. In all of his films, there exists a pronounced concern for the cultural outsider.
One is more likely to find women, African-Americans, and the disabled or disenfranchised
in hero roles in Romero's films than in those of any other director.
Romero's dedication to
independence may keep him outside the lavish budgets and extensive promotion
available to Hollywood directors, but it allows him to craft his films with an intensely
personal vision. In the current climate of film distribution, characterized by Hollywood's
all-or-nothing gambles on huge budgets at the expense of smaller films, his work is
refreshingly welcome.
©1994 John McCarthy
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