The following bio was taken from the book "The Fearmakers" by John McCarthy. This book looks at some of the greatest masters of suspense and terror (i.e. Tod Browning, James Whales, Roger Corman, William Castle, Terrance Fisher, Georgr Romero, Dario Argento, Wes Craven, John Carpenter, and many more). I highly recommend this book to all horror aficionados.

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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

01/23/98 11:00 PM
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