It's one of the imponderables of low-budget independent film-making that so many with so little in the way of real talent fancy themselves frightmeisters. The paucity of talent evinced by these wonky wannabees is there for all the world to see. Case in point: FLIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (or, as I quickly came to know it, SHITE OF THE LIVING DEAD). There's nothing wrong with paying homage to one's heroes. I've done it many times over the years, myself, in many different ways. In fact, in the xlibris book THE NIGHT RIDERS, co-written with M. Kelley, I dedicate it, in part, to "the six writers whose work inspires me still: Richard Matheson, Harlan Ellison, Shirley Jackson, Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, and Robert E. Howard." Had it been a motion picture, I would've dedicated it to the directors whose films have inspired me over the years. Very high up on that list would've been George Romero. It's nothing less than a crying shame that the makers of this film weren't truly as inspired by Romero as their title suggests.
Review of Flight of the Living Dead
