Please send help or something. God, this is unbearable. I can't remember the last time I've wanted a bunch of kids in a horror movie to die. They're asking for it. Nay, begging for it. And there's still an hour and fifteen minutes to go. The boredom is unbelievable.

• Thank God, some bloodshed. Dude just lost his achilles tendon. And got stabbed. Kill them faster already.

• What the hell is this? Didn't I already watch this movie? Subterranean place…dude in a mask…dumbass kid getting killed…was this the rejected Chainsaw sequel? WTF?
• Wow. Paris Hilton's on-screen death was nothing short of spectacular. And bloody as all hell. This film just earned a half-cup, no matter what else happens.

1. Night of the Living Dead (1968)
2. Night of the Blood Beast (1958)
3. Slugs (1988)
4. Dawn of the Dead (1978)
5. Tombs of the Blind Dead (1971)
6. House on Haunted Hill (1959)
7. Day of the Dead (1985)
8. The Call of Cthulhu (2005)
9. I Was a Zombie for the FBI (1982)
10. Land of the Dead (2005)
11. Night of the Lepus (1972)
12. House of Wax (2005)
13. Evil Dead (1981)

Coming up next…
14. Day of the Dead 2: Contagium (2005)

Because I can, I've recorded a reading of the first part of H.P. Lovecraft's story. Should have the other two parts finished by Monday. Any strange pronunciations are definitely my fault. I can see where making a silent film adaptation of the story (like the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's incredibly excellent one (full review is forthcoming)) has the lovely by-product that you don't have to actually speak words like this aloud. Egad, people.

Very few horror movies are worth rewatching. Even fewer are worth watching multiple times. But there's a small select number that you can watch and get an impact every single time. Romero's first zombie flick is one of them. Oh sure, you can watch its sequel several times and still enjoy it, because it's just so damn fun. But with Night, it's very easy to watch the film and wind up going down a particular track. You can spend an entire viewing session checking out Romero's use of light and shadows. You can spend one analyzing how the film is basically humanity in a microcosm. And so forth and so on.

This time around I was struck by the slow escalation of shocks. By now, we're used to see all kinds of atrocities on the news. And we've, you know, watched a lot more zombie movies. So the novelty of the film can be lost to those who don't know any better. But think about how an audience back then would enter into the film: it starts off normal, with the brother and sister in the cemetery. Once it turns, though, it keeps going, slow and relentless. At first, the zombies are just a murderous mob. We are introduced to more than one corpse. Then it's mentioned on the news about the fact that "assassins" are now eating the flesh of their victims. After that point, it is made clear that yes, they were dealing with re-animated corpses. Only aways into the film do you actually see the flesh-eating taking place, and again, we're used to it. It's a staple of Romero zombie flicks to have the buffet scene. Multiple shots of the zombies going to town.

But, man, what I wouldn't have given to have been sitting in the cinema in 1968 and seen the first showing of that. A probably mostly virgin audience, and Romero leads them down the path bit by bit, shock by shock. But that's not the worst part, of course. There's worse shocks than that. The daughter eating her father and killing her mother with a garden trowel…that disturbs me more now than it did when I first saw the film. The sister being dragged to her death by her own reanimated brother. And then the final, incredible sequence with Ben's final fate. It still amazes now and I don't know how many times I've seen the movie.

Romero proved he could still make a film worth watching with Land of the Dead, and Dawn will always have a warm spot in my heart. But Night is truly his masterpiece.

First stop on Widge's 2005 Halloween Film Fest. For the next stop, click here.

I find it fascinating that every time I send out a Needcoffee newsletter, there's always a dozen or so folks who instantly unsubscribe from the list. These aren't longtimers who are now sick of our shite, they're all brand new people receiving their first newsletter. They probably requested to join via the contests and didn't realize what they were doing.

Which leads me to the conclusion that when they received their confirmation e-mail that says, "Please confirm that you want to join this Needcoffee/One Tusk newsletter," they clicked yes. There's no other way to get on the list. And they clicked yes without even checking out the site. Because it's no mystery who we are or what we do. So they blindly said, sure, send me a newsletter without even investigating us. Can you imagine how much spam these people must get if they just click "Sure" any time someone asks them something? I have half a mind to send them a Paypal request for payment and see what they do. I bet they also believe the spam when it says, "Unsubscribe me by e-mailing us here."

People. They do amuse me so.

Lying awake at night, I can hear it: the way they breathed,
the respiration through a hundred tiny sleeping mouths.
It seems so shameful to have survived all–
the wrath of Argos, the refusal of Atlas–only to suffer thus:
her reflection still takes hold, but slowly. Ever so slowly.
To have grown cold at once would have been a blessing, a mercy.
Instead, each night in Andromeda's bed, another small piece
goes still and breaks away. I will eventually be the crumbs
she sweeps from the bed. Fragments, forgotten on the floor,
too large to join the dust of legends.

Last night, I dreamed I was Icarus.
But we escaped by moonlight, and no matter
how high I flew, moth-like seeking doom,
the wax held. Footprints lined the beach as we passed overhead,
the shadows like Talos' hollow eyes at the bottom of the steps.
We flew over this sea that would have no name
and approached the mountains. By daybreak we were
back on the ground. And father and I were alive and safe.
Onto Sicily then, and Cocalus, and beyond.
Part of me is glad to be free and to know earth again,
but another part wishes that feathers were hurtling behind
like a vapor trail and that laughter was being
wrenched from my throat by the waves.