Between Night and Dawn

Like many directors now indelibly linked with the horror genre, the late George Romero spent most of his early years trying to dodge the label slapped on him after the success of Night of the Living Dead. Understandable, considering it’s not a genre that commands the sort of professional respect (or golden statuettes) that come to those working in costume dramas, quirky independents or even the odd romantic comedy. When you work in horror, as far as the industry is concerned you’re only good for one thing…making more horror films.

But there’s an upside. Horror fans are some of the most enthusiastic folks you’ll ever meet and will typically give almost anything by their favorite contributors to the genre a shot. Case in point, Arrow Video's new box set, Between Night and Dawn, which gathers three Romero films made after NOTLD's breakout success and before his resurgence on the scene with Dawn of the Dead. While none of them follow the gory template set by the aforementioned bookends, each film is a fascinating piece of the puzzle that makes up Romero's burgeoning rust-belt career.

There's Always Vanilla (1971) is a coming of age story, albeit one of delayed adolescence, that lifts from recent hits like The Graduate and Goodbye, Columbus, playfully wallowing in a counter-culture youth movement that was dated even by the time it hit theaters. Romero himself has dismissed the film while cast and crew alike agree it was as a poor follow-up to their early success as a homegrown Pittsburgh production unit. But time has been kind to this serious-minded romantic comedy and Romero's unmistakable editing style grew out of the challenge posed by the troubled shoot.

Starting with a meet-cute romance, Chris and Lynn discovers the challenges of keeping a relationship alive might be more than their free-love generation can bear. Chris (Ray Laine) is a struggling musician/writer/freeloader who can't commit to a woman or a career. While Lynn (Judith Ridley) dreams of a fairy tale marriage that even her parents didn't enjoy. As the couple drifts from one crisis to another, the film dangles a will-they-or-won't-they happy ending that reflects the uncertain sign 'o the times.

The lack of any supernatural elements means many Romero fans might not even bother with this one. But it's their loss as the rough around the edges production offers up a genuine "what might have been" scenario for the director's career. Featuring a number of NOTLD veterans in front of and behind the camera, the script is surprisingly inventive and engaging. Romero uses a confessional technique - the sort popularized on The Office and Modern Family - to bridge the narrative gaps, layering in some experimental sounds and jump cuts to add interest. Set in the world of commercial production, There's Always Vanilla also provides a warts and all look at exactly how Romero and company were making a living while waiting for their big feature film break.

Season of the Witch (1972) manages to cloak the issues of the day behind a more palatable thriller format. Inspired by the burgeoning women’s revolution of the early ‘70s, the plot follows a middle-aged, middle-class housewife who uses witchcraft as an excuse to break out of her unsatisfying suburban life. Saddled with a husband who ignores her, friends that bore her, and a daughter that’s outgrown her, Joan (Jan White) experiments with the occult as a means of fulfillment, but unlocks a series of nightmares in her own psyche that could lead to disaster.

The description emphasizes witchcraft far more than the film does. Romero's script is rich, mature and still relevant, focusing only tangentially on the supernatural elements – and even then, mostly as a representation of guilt, lust and fear. This is a director still learning his craft – stealing from his betters (the opening experimental montage is pure Bergman circa Wild Strawberries) and stumbling upon his own innovations (the shopping sequence set to Donovan’s Season of the Witch is way ahead of its time). A trio of sequences feature a voodoo-masked intruder, which account for all the film’s “shocks.” But the strength of the piece, which like many of Romero’s early works suffers from so-so acting and rather obvious technical flaws, is the strength of its characters who come across as genuine, flawed and real.

The Crazies (1973) is an early roadmap for his seminal zombie opus, Dawn of the Dead, and a precursor to the man-made monstrosities that are currently all the rage. The town of Evans City, Pennsylvania falls under a state of martial law when a germ warfare experiment gets out of control. The symptoms materialize as rampant psychosis and spreads throughout the population. A mismatched group of survivors attempt to make it out of the hot zone to freedom, but find themselves falling victim to the “superbug” at an alarming rate.

Typical of Romero’s homegrown productions, this one stars a cast of unknowns (although there’s a few familiar faces from the director’s later work and a small role for cult horror heroine Lynn Lowry) who rage against the social / military establishment. Released at the tail end of Vietnam, The Crazies makes no bones about its criticisms of military mismanagement. It points fingers and then pulls the trigger. Likely conceding to his producer’s wishes for more blood and gore, the film displays a fair share of the red stuff, but nothing like what would come later. The Crazies is more notable for its ambitious attempt at creating a The Stand-style catastrophe on a shoestring budget and, more often than not, succeeding!

There's Always Vanilla and Season of the Witch were previously released on a long out-of-print Anchor Bay DVD while The Crazies eventually made it to blu-ray courtesy of Blue Underground. But Arrow's set buries them all with new hi-def transfers and a monstrous collection of new and recycled extras. Vanilla, comes with a commentary, half-hour doc, repurposed Romero interview, still and promotion artwork. Season of the Witch provides both the 89-minute version and 105-minute extended cut that was previously released. Extras include another commentary along with When Romero Met Del Toro, a sit-down interview between the two filmmakers that touches on the horror genre as a whole, plus another repurposed featurette. And finally The Crazies includes a commentary as well (although by Travis Crawford, not the Romero version from the previous release) plus interviews with Lynn Lowry, producer Lee Hessel, behind-the-scenes footage and an alternate title sequence. The limited edition six disc set also comes with a 60-page collectible booklet.