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Like many of the films that Romero directed in the 1980s, Monkey Shines illustrates how the filmmaker’s earnestness can be at odds with the traditionally relentless mechanics of a thriller. Romero spends over an hour of running time setting up his narrative, in which a recently paralyzed quadriplegic, Alan (Jason Beghe), befriends an experimental servant monkey, Ella, who comes to terrorize him. Yet Romero’s slow-burn pacing renders the horror scenes truly strange and intrusive, as one grows to enjoy Alan relationship with his cute companion. Monkey Shines offers a more successful variation on the Jekyll-and-Hyde duality that drives The Dark Half. The difference between the films ultimately rests on their respective senses of escalation: The Dark Half sputters in circles, while Monkey Shines builds to a climax that’s eerily ridiculous and savage.

The day begins with some good news on radio klaxon. An affinity group action just shut down the motorway that passes near the zad. Emerging from the bushes they flowed down onto the tarmac armed with tyres, fluorescent jackets and lighters. Within seconds a burning wall blocked the flow of commuters to Nantes. The group disappeared just as quickly as they materialised, melting back into the hedgerows. The more we fight for this land, the more we become the bocage and the harder it is to find us. Every day more and more people converge here, many for the first time in their lives.The art of the barricade continues across the zone, including one topped with an old red boat. Some of our most useful barricades are mobile, in the form of tractors, dozens of COPAIN 44’s machines take over the main cross roads of the zone.

George A. Romero is among the most generous and empathetic of horror filmmakers, concerned with the traps of capitalism, which uses baubles to distract the fortunate from the cruelties of racism, classism, and sexism, though said fortunate must sublimate their own desires to benefit from the game. To paraphrase a character from Romero’s 1985 zombie film Day of the Dead, what’s the point in civility if there’s no reward? Romero’s filmography is governed by a friction that’s similar to that of the work of a critic: a culturally hard-wired desire to define art by thematic “meaning” versus the urge to create and capture a private and original essence. Romero’s films are often at their best when they don’t appear to be trying so hard, when the director’s sense of macabre humor is allowed to break through.

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Despite the tense cutting of Hal Ashby’s Oscar-winning editing, the murder mystery that anchors In the Heat of the Night is its least interesting aspect. The real suspense comes not from who killed a prominent white man in Mississippi, but from whether Chief Gillespie (Rod Steiger) can deal with being less skilled than Philadelphia’s suave, urbanite detective Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier). Gillespie outranks Tibbs on the police force and, in society’s eyes, on the basis of skin color. But he knows he’s outmatched and so does Virgil. Whether In the Heat of the Night was the first studio film to explicitly present an African-American character as better than his white counterpart is debatable. What’s not up for debate is how the film enjoys rubbing that notion in, especially in the scene where Tibbs violates the unspoken rules of centuries of white supremacy by slapping the hell out of the most powerful man in town. In the Heat of the Night avoids the usual message-picture trappings by ending on an unsentimental, ambiguous note. One senses that it sees its main characters’ begrudging mutual respect for each other as an exception to the rules of race-based interaction rather than a change to be celebrated. Odie Henderson

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Like many of the films that Romero directed in the 1980s, Monkey Shines illustrates how the filmmaker’s earnestness can be at odds with the traditionally relentless mechanics of a thriller. Romero spends over an hour of running time setting up his narrative, in which a recently paralyzed quadriplegic, Alan (Jason Beghe), befriends an experimental servant monkey, Ella, who comes to terrorize him. Yet Romero’s slow-burn pacing renders the horror scenes truly strange and intrusive, as one grows to enjoy Alan relationship with his cute companion. Monkey Shines offers a more successful variation on the Jekyll-and-Hyde duality that drives The Dark Half. The difference between the films ultimately rests on their respective senses of escalation: The Dark Half sputters in circles, while Monkey Shines builds to a climax that’s eerily ridiculous and savage.

The film is a genre-infused work of psychological realism. It’s hard to balance Farhadi’s usual style with the conventions of a kidnapping story. Did you find it difficult to not lean in the direction of just being stuck in a crime thriller or a melodrama?

For at least one track on The Blue Album, Weezer found soul, as the bluesy “Say It Ain’t So” channels the quartet’s nerdy agony into a slow-burning narrative on familial drama and unrequited anger. Yet despite the serious lyrical turn, Weezer sacrifices none of their singular quirks, as Rivers Cuomo essentially sings of beer-induced guilt while fueled by the band’s preferred strain of chunky loud-soft dynamics. Weezer is in perfect form here: Clean, almost jazzy guitar strikes greet listeners before pedaling into a wonderfully husky distortion, matching Cuomo’s wry visions with naked rock n’ roll power. Liedel

Like Night of the Living Dead, The Crazies concerns a plague that explodes America’s suppressive (and suppressed) tensions, though the monsters are left almost entirely off screen in this case, as Romero foregrounds the sociocultural textures of martial law. The Crazies reprises Night of the Living Dead’s mercilessly propulsive editing while introducing a bold comic-book palette that would be refined in Dawn of the Dead and Creepshow. The film also abounds in inspired sketches of madness and infrastructural collapse, from the military’s dehumanizing uniform of black gas mask and white hazmat jumpsuit to an irrational image of an insane woman sweeping a battlefield with a broom. Even Romero’s self-consciously lyrical touches intensify the film’s textured canvas. The Crazies ironically understands fascism as being inherent in both the preservation and revolution of society.