A grim reminder of why religious egotists fucking suck.
The 80s is not a decade that has aged gracefully, and DotD certainly suffers for being produced within that era.
Romero’s continuation of the decline of Western civilisation is, inevitably, astute and sardonic, and the cloistering atmosphere captures a world in which there are fewer places to run (fly) to. While the film does much with its reduced setting, it’s a little disappointing that we don’t get to see some more of the world at large. The epic feel of…
As a Spectrum kid of the 80s, there were some warm moments of nostalgia (those rubber keys; the double cassete boxes), that weren't excrutiatingly regurgitated, a la Stranger Things. As such, the temporal setting was justified in terms of narrative and aesthetic.
It certainly felt like the experience needed to be described as a playthrough, rather than a viewing, and whether intentionally or not, the same tedium that beset many of those 80s games set in by the final 3rd of the film, meaning that despite the obvious bravery of the structural choices made, the experience was tiring.
Where many directors have opted for the squalor and faux-glamour of the world of heroin, Alan Clarke shows the mundanity of the daily routine of a group of placid teenagers.
With the barest of exposition (the chain of supply is never hinted at outside of Christine’s carrier bag forays), Clarke manages to sustain a tension that comes partly from our cinematic experiences of opiate tales, and partly from Clarke’s own ability to inflict a scene with sudden violence.