“They’re coming to get you, Barbara.”


That single line, whispered with mock menace in Night of the Living Dead, forever changed horror. It is amazing how a simple tease between siblings could ignite one of cinema’s most enduring legacies. For me, those words are not just an introduction to Zombies; they are an invitation. They mark the moment when horror stopped lurking in castles and foggy marshes and instead broke through the front door of middle America. George A. Romero did more than create the modern Zombie. He built a mirror for society to stare into, wide-eyed, as it decayed before our eyes.

The of the Dead films shaped how I see horror, altogether. Night, Dawn, Day and every entry that followed became time capsules of their eras, using gore and grit as social commentary. Consumerism, militarization, fear of the unknown and the collapse of order all found their place in Romero’s stories. His work made me fall in love with the genre because it demanded that horror mean something. It was never just about the monsters outside the door, but the ones already sitting beside you on the couch.

And while George may no longer be with us, his legacy continues through his daughter, Tina Romero, who brings her own unique voice to Queens of the Dead.

Queens of the Dead centers on Dre (Katy O’Brian), a Brooklyn drag club owner preparing for her latest holiday show. She is juggling fragile egos, backstage drama and stage fright, all while facing the threat of financial collapse if the show fails. Meanwhile, nurses Sam (Jaquel Spivey) and Lizzy (Riki Lindhome) are working at the local hospital when a sudden Zombie outbreak erupts. Forced to flee for their lives, the two end up seeking refuge in Dre’s club, where they must band together with the queens.

The question becomes whether this unlikely group can set aside their personal conflicts and use their flair for performance to take on the undead.

It is clear from that synopsis that while Tina Romero may be following in her father’s iconic footsteps, she is doing so in her own way. George Romero’s films often carried a streak of dark humor, but they never strayed far from the realm of true horror. Queens of the Dead flips that formula on its head, choosing to embrace the spirit of camp and celebration.

Here, the scares take a back seat to personality and performance. The characters are vibrant, loud and unapologetically larger than life, yet Tina finds ways to ground them with real emotion. Beneath the makeup and glitter, there are insecurities, fears and moments of vulnerability that keep the story from tipping into pure parody. Over the course of the film’s brisk 100-minute runtime, those cracks in their confidence become windows into growth, making the queens feel as human as any of the survivors in her father’s classic tales.

The challenge with favoring comedy over horror in a Zombie film is that the humor has to be razor sharp. Audiences can forgive low-budget effects or a few uneven performances if the laughs land, but when they don’t, the entire tone begins to wobble. Unfortunately, Queens of the Dead struggles with this balance. There are flashes of genuine wit, and a handful of lines that hit their mark, but the overall comedic rhythm never fully comes together. The jokes often feel too spaced out or too mild to sustain the energy the film is reaching for.

What results is a movie that wants to dazzle with humor but keeps tripping over its own timing, leaving the audience more amused than genuinely entertained.

Another issue I had with Queens of the Dead lies in the portrayal of its Zombies. The of the Dead legacy is built on some of the most iconic and grotesque undead ever put on screen — each film marked by its attention to gory detail and practical effects that made the creatures feel horrifyingly real. In contrast, Queens opts for a simpler approach, using a flat, grayish makeup to distinguish the flesh-eaters from the living. While the choice creates a sharp visual contrast against the queens’ bold and colorful costumes, it also gives the production a noticeably cheaper look.

The undead never feel particularly menacing or memorable, and that lack of texture drains some of the tension from scenes that should pulse with dread. The result is a Zombie outbreak that feels more like a background gag than a true threat, undercutting what could have been a perfect clash between fabulous and frightening.

I give Queens of the Dead three out of five stars. From the moment I first heard that famous whisper in Night of the Living Dead, I was hooked for life. Those words opened the door to a universe that forever changed how I see horror, and it feels exciting to experience even a spark of that same energy again. While there is no direct connection between Tina Romero’s film and her father’s originals, it still feels like revisiting a familiar world that has been reborn in brighter and bolder colors.

Queens of the Dead thrives on that sense of reinvention. It takes the foundations of what made George Romero’s work timeless and rebuilds them with sequins, humor and heart. The mix of comedy and chaos may not always land perfectly, but it proves that the undead can continue to evolve without losing their humanity.

Tina Romero understands what made her father’s stories powerful. She reflects those same ideas through her own vivid imagination, showing that the world of the dead still has plenty of life left in it. Even when the makeup falters or the jokes miss their mark, the movie’s energy shines through, reminding us that every new generation finds its own way to bring the dead back to life.