The first thing that Romero’s original low-budget zombie
flick has going for it is that you feel that it could really be happening – the
characters do the things you expect them to do, if facing this (otherwise
implausible) scenario. The second thing is that Romero manages to sneak some
social commentary (chiefly about race relations) into what would have been
expected to be just grindhouse fare. The third thing is Pittsburgh – it just
feels like a place where a zombie manifestation could happen. Dawn of the Dead, the first sequel, may be
even better, although the franchise loses steam after that. If you’ve only seen its more recent
descendents (or remakes), you really owe it to yourself to check out the opening
salvo.
Jean-Pierre Melville is one of my favourite directors –
his films typically combine elements of film noir (gangsters, heists) with the
technique of Robert Bresson (an existential focus on process) and an obsessive commitment
to particular colour palettes. I have seen Le Samourai, starring Alain Delon as
a lone wolf hitman, countless times, having once owned it on VHS. However, only last night (after watching it
again and reading an interview with Melville), did I think that the movie had
another more mystical reading than the standard surface understanding. More
specifically, I had never thought that the pianiste, Cathy Rosier, who
witnesses Jef Costello (Delon) executing his contract (a club owner) might
actually be Death herself. One remembers
that Melville worked with Cocteau early on (Les Enfants Terrible, 1950) and was
perhaps influenced by the latter’s Orpheus (also 1950) in which Death is also
personified. In any event, to reconceptualize Jef as infatuated with his own
death rather than the piano player is almost to see a different film (and one
where the ending is somewhat even more satisfying). Of course, the
straightforward reading of the film still works too, with Jef compromised when he
is seen by witnesses and confused when his no-longer-airtight alibi still holds
up (his pursuit of Cathy to understand why she didn’t dob him in and their
subsequent triste is the alternate explanation for his final act). As with most Melville films, there is great
pleasure here in following Jef’s methodical actions as he comes to terms with his
situation, fleeing the police (led by crafty Commissaire François Périer) and
contending with his double-crossing employers. Delon remains cool
throughout. A masterpiece.
