Mike70
24-Dec-2007, 03:20 AM
this is an article about dawn 78 written by dr.steven harper senior lecturer in creative arts, film and media at the university of glasgow for americana, a peer-reviewed journal dedicated to american pop culture.
http://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/fall_2002/harper.htm
here are two small snippets to whet the appetite:
"Before returning to the work done on consumerism and commodities in cultural studies, I wish first to discuss some of the elements that make Dawn of the Dead a radical (i.e. oppositional) anti-consumerist text.
In a manner that recalls John Fiske's writings on the ruses of mallgoers, Romero's survivors make use of various tactics to wrest control of the mall from the living dead. Having done so, the survivors create a shopping utopia for themselves, a place where they can temporarily ignore the threat of the zombies. In Night of the Living Dead (1968), the first of Romero's zombie films, the survivors receive no respite from the zombies. In both Dawn and Day, by contrast, Romero introduces some brief but significant utopian interludes. In Day of the Dead, for example, two of the male survivors take sanctuary in a cosy caravan, where they indulge in verbose and alcohol-fuelled philosophizing on the value of hedonism; like so many of Romero's characters, they are content to bury their heads in the sand and to ignore the chaos all around them. Dawn of the Dead also contains scenes of release and relaxation; however, these are far more dramatic than the caravan scene in Day. Once the survivors in Dawn have exterminated the zombies in the mall and secured the doors, they indulge in a carnivalesque parody of rampant consumerism. Their delight is heightened by their awareness that they have not retreated, like the survivors in Day, to a safe enclave, but have skilfully taken the entire mall from the zombies and driven them out. Thus, even as he lies dying after being bitten by a zombie, Roger is able to crow with delirious pathos: "we whipped them and we got it all." The same sentiment underpins the fury of Stephen (David Emge) when, at the end of the film, a gang of bikers invades the mall. "It's ours," he says coldly as he aims his rifle at the invaders, "we took it."
and a bit about feminism in dawn:
"Romero's film also mobilizes classical images of female false consciousness which, while undoubtedly radical, are problematic from the perspective of postmodern feminism. In his article about Romero and feminism, Barry Keith Grant has less to say about Fran than any other Romero heroines, but she is in many ways the most complex and intriguing female figure. The Barbra (Judith O'Dea) of Night of the Living Dead is quickly reduced to helpless catatonia; on the other hand, Sarah (Lori Cardille), in Day, is a consistently stronger character than Fran, as is Barbara (Patricia Tallman) in the brilliant feminist remake of Night. Grant does, however, note that Fran is presented as a professional. Although this point is not discussed further, there are grounds to support this assertion. Fran helps the men to defend the mall; she also takes responsibility for herself and others, asking Stephen (presciently, as it turns out) to teach her how to fly the chopper lest anything should befall him. These qualities identify her as a spiky feminist heroine. "I'd have made you all coffee and breakfast," she tells the men ironically when they first arrive at the mall, "but I don't have my pots and pans."
Later in the film, however, Fran's feminist resolution is worn down. Bewitched by the hypnotic magic of the mall, she increasingly falls into stereotypically feminine patterns of behavior. In a particularly striking scene, Fran pampers and perfumes herself in front of a mirror, in the classic tradition of nineteenth-century fiction or twentieth-century film. Various techniques are used in this mirror scene to signal that Fran now identifies with her own glamorous reflection. As she applies her lipstick, she adopts the vacant gaze of the stereotypical female consumer who sees in the department store dummy an image of her objectified, commodified self. Fran becomes a human zombie, no more alive than the conspicuous mannequin heads on which the camera mockingly alights in a series of objective shots. As she makes herself up, she absent-mindedly toys with a pistol, indicating her implication in the film's system of commodity fetishism. In short, despite her own earlier warnings to the men, Fran becomes a cultural dummy.
Although it is fleeting, Fran's narcissism attests to the zombifying power of commodity fetishism on even the liveliest characters. In this sense, Dawn of the Dead may be seen as a modernist critique of the alienating effects of the consumption-led, post-Fordist society which, according to many commentators, developed throughout the 1970s (for a sceptical survey of views on post-Fordism see Callinicos, 132-144). In no sense does Romero regard Fran's absorption in fashion and image as liberating. On the contrary, Fran's increasingly lifeless behavior contrasts starkly with her spirited feminist attitude earlier in the film. It comes as no surprise when, in the very next scene, we see Fran in a domestic role, preparing a meal for Peter and Stephen in what appears to be an incongruous yet perfect recreation of a bourgeois living room. Despite her earlier feminist quip, Fran finds her way to the pots and pans after all. Consumerism alone, Romero implies, will not liberate women from their traditional subordinate roles."
http://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/fall_2002/harper.htm
here are two small snippets to whet the appetite:
"Before returning to the work done on consumerism and commodities in cultural studies, I wish first to discuss some of the elements that make Dawn of the Dead a radical (i.e. oppositional) anti-consumerist text.
In a manner that recalls John Fiske's writings on the ruses of mallgoers, Romero's survivors make use of various tactics to wrest control of the mall from the living dead. Having done so, the survivors create a shopping utopia for themselves, a place where they can temporarily ignore the threat of the zombies. In Night of the Living Dead (1968), the first of Romero's zombie films, the survivors receive no respite from the zombies. In both Dawn and Day, by contrast, Romero introduces some brief but significant utopian interludes. In Day of the Dead, for example, two of the male survivors take sanctuary in a cosy caravan, where they indulge in verbose and alcohol-fuelled philosophizing on the value of hedonism; like so many of Romero's characters, they are content to bury their heads in the sand and to ignore the chaos all around them. Dawn of the Dead also contains scenes of release and relaxation; however, these are far more dramatic than the caravan scene in Day. Once the survivors in Dawn have exterminated the zombies in the mall and secured the doors, they indulge in a carnivalesque parody of rampant consumerism. Their delight is heightened by their awareness that they have not retreated, like the survivors in Day, to a safe enclave, but have skilfully taken the entire mall from the zombies and driven them out. Thus, even as he lies dying after being bitten by a zombie, Roger is able to crow with delirious pathos: "we whipped them and we got it all." The same sentiment underpins the fury of Stephen (David Emge) when, at the end of the film, a gang of bikers invades the mall. "It's ours," he says coldly as he aims his rifle at the invaders, "we took it."
and a bit about feminism in dawn:
"Romero's film also mobilizes classical images of female false consciousness which, while undoubtedly radical, are problematic from the perspective of postmodern feminism. In his article about Romero and feminism, Barry Keith Grant has less to say about Fran than any other Romero heroines, but she is in many ways the most complex and intriguing female figure. The Barbra (Judith O'Dea) of Night of the Living Dead is quickly reduced to helpless catatonia; on the other hand, Sarah (Lori Cardille), in Day, is a consistently stronger character than Fran, as is Barbara (Patricia Tallman) in the brilliant feminist remake of Night. Grant does, however, note that Fran is presented as a professional. Although this point is not discussed further, there are grounds to support this assertion. Fran helps the men to defend the mall; she also takes responsibility for herself and others, asking Stephen (presciently, as it turns out) to teach her how to fly the chopper lest anything should befall him. These qualities identify her as a spiky feminist heroine. "I'd have made you all coffee and breakfast," she tells the men ironically when they first arrive at the mall, "but I don't have my pots and pans."
Later in the film, however, Fran's feminist resolution is worn down. Bewitched by the hypnotic magic of the mall, she increasingly falls into stereotypically feminine patterns of behavior. In a particularly striking scene, Fran pampers and perfumes herself in front of a mirror, in the classic tradition of nineteenth-century fiction or twentieth-century film. Various techniques are used in this mirror scene to signal that Fran now identifies with her own glamorous reflection. As she applies her lipstick, she adopts the vacant gaze of the stereotypical female consumer who sees in the department store dummy an image of her objectified, commodified self. Fran becomes a human zombie, no more alive than the conspicuous mannequin heads on which the camera mockingly alights in a series of objective shots. As she makes herself up, she absent-mindedly toys with a pistol, indicating her implication in the film's system of commodity fetishism. In short, despite her own earlier warnings to the men, Fran becomes a cultural dummy.
Although it is fleeting, Fran's narcissism attests to the zombifying power of commodity fetishism on even the liveliest characters. In this sense, Dawn of the Dead may be seen as a modernist critique of the alienating effects of the consumption-led, post-Fordist society which, according to many commentators, developed throughout the 1970s (for a sceptical survey of views on post-Fordism see Callinicos, 132-144). In no sense does Romero regard Fran's absorption in fashion and image as liberating. On the contrary, Fran's increasingly lifeless behavior contrasts starkly with her spirited feminist attitude earlier in the film. It comes as no surprise when, in the very next scene, we see Fran in a domestic role, preparing a meal for Peter and Stephen in what appears to be an incongruous yet perfect recreation of a bourgeois living room. Despite her earlier feminist quip, Fran finds her way to the pots and pans after all. Consumerism alone, Romero implies, will not liberate women from their traditional subordinate roles."