Short Weird Tales: Trench

19 July 1918

Dearest Ginny,

Thank you for writing. It's good to know that Davy is walking properly now and that your parents are in the best spirits they can be. Do keep sending them my love.

Please try not to talk about current affairs in your letters, neither newspapers nor hearsay. Information is limited here for means of security and morale alike, and the censor panel obscured rather a lot of your last letter. I've heard at a certain point they'll just destroy the whole thing, so best to keep any of that business to a minimum or less. It's more comforting in all this confusion to know the little details from you. There's enough to keep me on edge here as it is, and your letters are the only thing helping me get any sleep at all.

Things here are as well as can be expected. In terms of progress I can't tell you any more than you already know (or have been told). The food continues to be dreadful. So hungry. The noise is constant and every sunrise is both a curse of protraction and a reminder of how lucky I am to see it. For every yard we take at one point in the front, we seem to lose two elsewhere, but it can't be too bad as we've only had to draw back twice this year. Like I say, every sunrise.

I volunteered for Wolf Division last month. More in the hopes of peace and quiet if anything, as they're a fairly new group and it was rumoured they'd be working away from the front lines. That much is true, but it turns out this occupation is full of noise wherever it's at. I started on watch so at least got to be in my own company. Uneventful stuff, which in this game is a blessing. Most of my time has been spent monitoring an abandoned church on the province border, rumours of something unusual going on there but even I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking out for.

The boys here say hello. Afraid to say we lost the Johnson brothers, although I'm sure you've heard that already. Can't go into the details but to say it was a damned foolish business. I know it will be of little to help to their mother Audrey, but when you see her - and when the time is right, of course - just let her know it was quick. They're missed awfully here, but we've vowed to do right by them.

Tommy's been a bit off these last couple of days. He was away for two nights on recon and very shaken when he returned. Nasty affair from what I can tell you, although this was after the Johnsons. He was a bit scuffed up but still walking and able to aim a rifle. Not quite himself soon after, though. He became sullen the next day (not unusual in this line of work) and outright rude the next. Tommy's never been the most calm of soldiers, but word is he tried to bite the sergeant at one point. Not sure I go for that, but the poor man's got bruises coming out all over him and he's scratching at his arms constantly. Medical looked at him before he came back to us but not since, so I'm sure it'll work itself out.

Chap whose name I don't know is said to have come back the same. Thing is, Tommy lashed at my face earlier when I said good morning to him. Had quite the tizzy and caught me quite deeply, but as I say he's been through a lot. And I'm damned but I've never known itching like it. Going to see if I can get a dressing later, but they're awfully busy down there and at least it's not my good side. I can feel (hear?) it tingling, although I'm sure that's some infection working itself out.

Anyway, it looks like we're going to be moved again soon so I'm hurrying this one out and not sure when I'll get your reply. Brass are around keeping an eye on things so this could be something big. Have to go, though. Apart from anything else I'm so bloody hungry I've got to find something to eat. Can't concentrate, it's getting so bad. Want meat. God dammit, I need meat. XXXFUXXXXXXXX Sorry, please ignore that, just nerves. Sure I'll be right as ninepence in no time. And the most delicious smell has just wafted past outside. If the boys are eating without me I'll bloody kill them, I swear it.

Anyway. See you soon, I know it.
Love to all,

Daniel.

X

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Short Weird Tales: Interview

The cell-leader lowered her head. "When you get out there, it's crucial that you become just like them. That you are one of them. Can you do that?"

"I think so" the charge replied, her tone sounding more confident than the words themselves.

"Thinking won't be enough", Bryant snapped. "If you give those creatures a sniff, they'll take it all..."

She turned and looked gravely down through the balcony door. Below, the shambling remains of people who had walked these streets every day of their lives, and continued after death. Moping about, so locked in to their unfathomable, wordless preoccupations that they didn't interact even though they were drawn together. "Plus ça change..." Bryant muttered.

Cassie knew some convincing was in order. "I've spent enough time studying them, I understand how they move. How they shift their weight on stiffened joints, but swing loosely on decomposing muscles. The gait of each one is unique to their build, just flat-out 'acting zombie' is the easiest mistake to make. They can see if you move unusually. And they're not aimless. In any area, each one cycles between three or four points. It's like they arrive at a place they remember, then forget why they wanted to be there and move on to the next."

"Okay..." Bryant left a pause hanging in the air of her makeshift office, an invitation to complete the answer. But Cassie hadn't finished, she'd only wanted to ensure her expertise wasn’t mistaken for youthful enthusiasm.

"So instead of going in a straight line, it makes more sense to wander around in a circuit. So that when I finally reach the target they aren't noticing my behaviour."

"But you know it's not just about how you move. They're hungry. Always. Are you ready for that?"

"Well, you're going to smear me in The Gunk so that shouldn't be a problem. So long as I don't smell like dinner, I'll be fine."

Bryant tilted her head slightly, appraising the applicant. It had to be said, she may have just the right mix of knowledge, duty and gung-ho stupidity to pull this off. She changed tack.

"What made you volunteer for this, Cassie?"

"We all have different skills here, and we work well together. It's why we've survived so long. I want to be the best. I want to be the only one who can do what I do. Also, I don't see a queue of people throwing their names in for this one?"

"Yeah, that's fair", Bryant acknowledged. "But you need to understand what's required here. And I need to know you're committed. Are you ready to go method on this?"

"Bryant, please. I'm an actor. I once dated a guy for five months in high school because his mom was British and I wanted to study her accent for the Dickens Christmas show our theatre group was staging. This kid was in deep, took on two part time jobs to save up and buy me a ring. But I got everything I needed by mid-November and rehearsals were stepping up, so I ended it."

"And how did he feel about that?"

"Overdosed on his mom's fentanyl."

"And... how did you feel about that?"

"Won the year's award for best performance."

"Okay... wow."

"Look, you need someone to get the package to our contacts on Princeton and Rhodes. That's the old arts college. I spent the next two years there, I know the way. No matter what happens on those streets, no matter how panicked I get or how many diversions I need to make, I can get that package to that building. It may just be a matter of time."

"Well... you're right. We need accuracy over speed. Again, I can't overstate this: the contents of the satchel are irreplaceable, do you understand?"

"I do", Cassie answered. She didn't, but that was only because she didn't know exactly what she'd be transporting. That it was more than simple information was obvious, that could have been shared over the radio. But if Cassie herself could carry this cargo - and do so surreptitiously and alone - then it could hardly be a cache of heavy ordnance...

Bryant continued, "And you know you may end up needing to stay there? You're not just going to be able to come waltzing back across town?"

"I'll do what I have to. We all make sacrifices."

Another silence. Longer, this time.

"Okay you've got the job, kid."


The commander crossed the room to a row of metal lockers against an interior wall. From a low, unmarked door she produced a small backpack, fashioned from a heavy plaid fabric, its single compartment fastened with a light combination lock.

"They know the code" Bryant murmured; needlessly, Cassie thought. They could cut it open, if needs be.

She continued, "You should be able to bump this or even land on it if you need to, you're not going to smash what's in there. The inside of the pack is showerproof, but try not to submerge it in anything."

The leader slid the bag over Cassie's outstretched arms, the faintly puzzled look on the girl's face belying a mind racing to work out what this cargo was. "And just for good measure..." Bryant raised two loose straps from the sides of the pack and fastened them across the chest. She sealed these in place with another combination lock. So no snooping, then.

"Are you ready for this, Cassie?"

"Of course. Let's go to the offal-tank and get me camouflaged..."

"I'm afraid that's not the plan we've decided to go with today. There's no room for uncertainty. Remember, 331 Princeton and Rhodes, got it? They're waiting for you."

As Cassie's brow furrowed in question, Bryant reached to her shoulder holster and retrieved a Browning 9mm pistol, releasing the safety catch. She shot Cassie twice in the stomach at point blank range, waited until her gasping stopped and eyes glazed, then quickly hauled the body out and over the balcony railing.

And watched.

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Short Weird Tales: Promise

There was nothing there, she could see that now. No recognition of her face; no memory of the all-too-brief time they'd shared; no trace of the promises they'd made every night since this began, to protect each other no matter what.

It was all gone, scraped roughly away and replaced by a feral, desperate hunger. Those pale brown eyes, glazed yet alert; darting around like a rat being backed into a corner, searching for only one thing: food. Red, wet sustenance that wouldn't replenish the body no matter how much was consumed. A downward spiral, only the hunger remained; nothing else.

This was the moment they'd talked about, the situation that they'd both prayed was avoidable. A memory flashed into her mind, lingering with sarcastic appropriateness. "God answers all our prayers" her Sunday School teacher had often chimed, "but He doesn't always say yes". Indeed.

So be it.
She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Scouts Guide To The Zombie Apocalypse

Scouts Guide To The Zombie Apocalypse
Cert: 15 / 93 mins / Dir. Christopher Landon / Trailer



Take a good look at that poster, there. It may not be quite at Drew Struzan's level, but it's painstakingly executed in a classical style, and tells you everything you need to know about the tone of the film and the visual markers you'll get along the way. It's a bloody good one-sheet.
I imagine it also took more hours to bring to completion than the screenplay…

Okay, I should really try not to be too hard on Scouts Guide To The Zombie Apocalypse, as it's clearly been made on a restrictive budget. Then again, the effects, filming and general production values of the movie aren't the problem; that dubious honour belongs to the first-draft of a script stuffed to the gills with everyone else's stuff, and which appears to have been cast with the actors who agreed to the roles in the shortest time. Ploughing full-tilt into the 'horror-comedy' sub genre, the film can't decide which side of the fence it's based on, and the result is that it's not convincingly both, but neither.

As comedies go, it's broad and sloppy; but as a horror-flick, it's an outright mess. Equally in stylistic debt to Superbad and Shaun of the Dead, the film ropes in a couple of From Dusk Till Dawn's beats just to keep things moving. And as amiable as most of the movie is, SGttZA's not as funny, clever or heartwarming as its obvious influences, and it has nothing else to bring to the party to make up for that. It's as satisfyingly predicable as a greatest-hits album, but a one which is also being performed by a cover-band. There's also a definite air of "Oh, it's got Champ Kind from Anchorman in it! I guess that's where the budget went…"

Admittedly, my other main problem (and more tellingly, I think) is that I'm a massive, unashamed snob when it comes to zombie movies. I think they're very difficult to do 'right', and more to the point I'm glad that that's the case. There'll always be room in the market for schlocky knock-offs, where the "wouldn't it be cool if…" moments are more important than the craft. But if you're going to successfully navigate the land of the dead, you're going to need more than swagger, luck and an overworked knob-gag. This film wants to be Zombieland, but it's not even Cockneys vs Zombies. The comedy/horror (or horror/comedy) sub0genre isn't an overcrowded graveyard, but it's a one littered with failures and also-rans which should serve as a warning to all who fancy their chances.

But, credit where it's due: I smirked, I smiled and at one point I guffawed out loud. But I also rolled my eyes and winced more than I should have. When the film's on-form it's a perfectly enjoyable 'DVD with a few beers', but that's not a consistent state and there are a few scenes which shouldn't have made it into the shooting script, never mind the editing suite (to put it delicately*¹, the film earns its 15 certificate more by poor-taste than actual gore).

Ultimately, Scouts Guide To The Zombie Apocalpyse isn't awful, it's just a transparent attempt by a studio to pick up any audience that isn't currently wanting to see James Bond.

You can't blame Paramount for trying, although in this case you can certainly blame them for not trying…

In case you hadn't gathered, no.



Either a rental or £3 when it's on the bargain-shelf in Asda.



From the cast-members I've seen before? No.
From the ones I haven't? I hope not.



Even with its low ambitions, not quite.



Oddly, no.



I didn't hear one, but there's a lot of wailing and shrieking going on. It's entirely possible that there's a Wilhelm mixed in there somewhere, but if that's the case then it's the only subtle thing about this film.



SGttZA stars Tye Sheridan, who's due to appear as Cyclops in X-Men: Apocalypse; a film which also features Rose 'Dormé' Byrne and the voice of Oscar 'Dameron' Isaac.







*¹ Which is more delicate than anything the film does. Let's just say that stabbing a naked woman in the head with a broken bottle seemed less awkward when Nicholas Hoult did it, somehow..?
Oh, and how come if the old-lady-zombie can't bite Carter's arse because she hasn't got her false teeth in, the 'eating out' zombie manages to chomp away on his victim despite not having a lower-jaw? Answer: Because they're both incredibly cheap jokes which say more about the scriptwriting process than the film's actual dialogue.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Stand By Me

Stand By Me (1986)
Cert: 15 / 88 mins / Dir. Rob Reiner / Trailer



Now I'm not the only one who expected the decomposing corpse of Ray Brower to lurch forward, his undead facsimile of human senses brought out of stasis by the proximity of his former associates, and to sink his stained teeth into the leg of Vern, am I..?

"This is how it starts. Already in a state of shock at the sight of an ostensibly dead body, Gordie, Chris and Teddy can’t believe what’s happening; is this a joke? Some adolescent prank orchestrated by Vern’s older brother Billy, in order to lure them twenty miles into the wilderness and scare the shit out of them? But no, this is very, very real. As the hideous parody of Ray severs Vern's tibia with the ferocity of its bite, blood geysers from the wound as the head pulls back to strike further up the leg, tearing flesh from the stunned Vern. His screams had been quickly silenced by the flood of adrenaline into his system, and he now sits wheezing, shaking too much to co-ordinate the removal of the ravenous cadaver from his lower-leg.

Then, reality snaps back into play and Gordie knows what he must do. Ray Brower is no longer his acquaintance, his classmate, the macabre destination of the spiritual and physical journey he’s been sharing with his closest friends. This is a monster. A monster which is now attacking one of the few people Gordie feels - no, knows - he can trust in this world. The .45 which has been weighing him down for the last day suddenly dances in his hands, it too has reached its destination. Although a giddy feeling grips his chest as he aims, Gordie’s hands are unnaturally still as he aims the gun at Ray, and an effortless squeeze of the trigger discharges a deafening metal slug which throws the frothing animal back three feet. Half of the creature’s chest is now missing, the rapidly necrotising tissue proving no obstacle for the ordnance, but to everyone’s slack-jawed amazement, it plunges forward at Vern again; the red, quivering mess of his knee-joint acting like a magnet for the ghoul’s eager jaws.

The time for restraint is over; Gordie kneels forward and halts the thing's progress with the barrel of the pistol pushing into what used to be a face. There are no speeches, no farewells. All that squirms out of Gordie’s mouth is a weak “…fucker”, before the second shot within a minute tears the back of the undead cannibal’s head away, spraying the foliage in a range of hues which nature had never intended them to bear. It’s over. The three boys join Vern and the remains of their classmate by slumping to the ground, speechless.

After what seems like hours, the ear-ringing silence of the woodland is disturbed by heavy, hurried footsteps. Ace Merril enters the scene then quickly halts and surveys the carnage. “What the fuck? …What the fuck have you assholes done?”

Gordie hangs his head, exhausted. Where to begin? And is it all worth telling to this douchebag anyway? He wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked him in the face, and even then he wouldn’t care. Shit, he’s stepping forward. “Hey, asshole, I said---“

And without looking up, Gordie already knows what’s happened. Unencumbered by rigor mortis or decomposition, the thing which used to be Vern springs at Ace - no mean feat with only three limbs - catching him off-guard and clawing, biting, chewing at his throat as the blonde boy's high-pitched, withering scream accompanies them to the dirt. Ace Merril's final smart-assed quip is a gurgling sigh emitting from the morass of tendons beneath his jaw, his widened eyes glassing over as his feet twitch less and less. Billy and the rest of the older gang are standing at the top of the clearing at the railway track, transfixed by the carnivorous picnic on display; unable to move.

That's when the previously mute Teddy finds his voice, the psychotic swagger beginning to return amid the madness. "Yeah that's right, fuckers! You're not as tough now, are ya?" he jeers. Billy is shaking now, crying and pissing himself. Somehow it's this, rather than Teddy's yelling which makes the former Vern's eyes dart up, like an ill-mannered diner ready for the next course.

Throughout all of this, Gordie stands holding the .45, a small voice screaming at him to put a stop to all this. But the rest of his brain shuts that voice down. Not Vern, man. Not Vern. As one, Gordie, Chris and Teddy begin tumbling town the hill toward the riverbank, leaving Billy and his moronic cohorts to fend for themselves. Gordie doesn't even know how many shots he has left, anyway.

The voice reminds him that just one would suffice.

+ + + + +

And that was how it started. At least, that's how I remember it starting, although it was all so long ago now my brain may be playing tricks on me. We hardly spoke a word on the long walk home; we didn't need to. I guess someone from Billy's gang must have had the wherewithal to make it back to their pickup truck, because by the time we reached Castle Rock, some of the gang (all that was left) had long since returned. Although whoever was compos mentis enough to drive didn't have the common sense to leave their wounded friends behind, because they brought the infection into town with them. And that was how it started.

The town fought hard to quell the outbreak, but these things won't be contained. At least, that's what the CDC told us, in the days when they were still trying to offer advice. The lucky few who escaped the town were gone within a year, but once the surrounding cities became over-run, even the military stopped trying to clean up the mess. I've never been able to shake the guilt of not putting an end to things on that railway siding. Chris tried his best, telling me that Ray Brower would have bitten someone anyway as the authorities were looking for his body. But I could have stopped it. I could have stopped him.

Chris lasted around two months before being bitten. I was with him at the time, and I'd swore not to make the same mistake again. I know he understood. Teddy on the other hand? He disappeared three weeks after we got home; could have been his mind snapping, could have been bitten, or perhaps his Dad finally just finished what he'd been threatening to do all those years? I don't know, although I can't pretend I didn't enjoy taking Teddy's old man down when he was attacked by one of them outside the bar a month or so later.

And now it's just me. Cleaning up the walkers which drift into town, as well as the looters who think there's anything here worth taking. It's just me, baby. Just me.

It turns out I only had one shot left in that .45. One shot which could have stopped all this. Maybe. I've lost count of the number I've fired since then, but I've always kept that one shell with me. If I couldn't finish things in 1959, I'll sure as hell finish them when it's my time. It's not been my time all these years, but the neighbouring towns are spent and the fish are just about gone from the river.

So, I'm putting these words into the glove-box, not as a warning but a kind of record. Maybe even a confession, I guess. A message-in-a-bottle, cast into a worldwide ocean. I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve.

This is how it ends."

Because y'know: four kids just walking back home? "That ending sucks…" ;)


Really. I was more Back To The Future and Transformers in '86, and it just never crossed my radar after that.



Absolutely, it's marvellous.
I wouldn't have just written 1200 words of zombie-fanfic if it wasn't.



Well I would, except everybody else has seen it, obviously.



There isn't, although that eagle/hawk screech is in there.



The film stars Richard Dreyfuss, who appeared in 1973's American Graffiti, directed by George 'Baron Papanoida' Lucas.







DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Shaun of the Dead

Shaun of the Dead
Cert: 15 / 95 mins / Dir. Edgar Wright



In a needless attempt to get myself excited for The World's End, I've been having a Wright-a-thon this week. First Spaced, next Shaun. Edgar Wright's zombie flick and spiritual successor to his TV series is, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece. The tone of the film is very much evolved from the show (to the point where at least one minor character has a cameo), and Wright's stylistic touches take the sharp edges off what should be a gorefest and propel the plot along nicely.

In keeping with his previous work there are a shed-load of references and homages (some subtle, some glaring), and not just from the zombie genre. But with all the plates it has to spin, the film never loses sight of what it has to be: a romantic/buddy/zombie comedy. And it manages this with a flair that hasn't been approached before or since*¹.

Shaun joins the hallowed ranks of Star Wars, Back To The Future, From Dusk Till Dawn and Snatch; a film that I am never not in the mood to watch.

Best line: "…get FUCKED, four-eyes!"



Oh, yes.



Oh, yes.



Oh, yes.



You should already own this. If not, I've no doubt it's on ITV2 now.



Yes.



Obviously.



Just about; it's quiet.

Do you want anything from the shop?

Oh, and did I tell you about the time me and my mate went to The Winchester?



*¹ Because let's be honest, SotD has opened the door for some right old derivative shite in the years since its release. It can't be blamed for that, but it can't be ignored, either.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: Warm Bodies

Warm Bodies
Cert: 12 / 97 mins / Dir. Jonathan Levine



Another genre-bending oddity, and a good indicator that there's more to be done with zombies than just growling and clawing - if it's handled with care. Warm Bodies succeeds on some levels and boldly fails on others, never quite managing to clear the hurdle of supernatural romance. It's this, hand-in-hand with its near constant vocal-soundtrack, that holds the film back and will leave many dismissing it as a sub-Twilight teen movie. Think of it as a Shakespeare-adaptation (for the most part, the end isn't that dark), and it holds the attention a lot better.

Nicholas Hoult is a great choice as R, the zombie at the centre of it all, and reminded me at times of a young Tom Cruise. It's his eloquent voice-over that really sells it, being the only truly unique selling point of the film. Teresa Palmer plays a confident second-fiddle, doing most of the heavy-lifting in terms of dialogue, and Rob Corddry handles his share of the undead-shambling with a relaxed ease. John Malcovich pretty much phones in his role, which he can't really be blamed for given the part he has.

Overall, I found it to be rather sweet and slightly fascinating, but the purist in me couldn't detach from the fact that the zombies here may look in keeping with the Romero-school, but they don't follow any of the same rules. I loved the memory-transference caused by the eating of brains; Running-zombies I can handle, but talking corpses had me raising an eyebrow; Why don't the Bonies need to be shot in the head like the Walkers?; The decomposition of necrotic tissue alone would render the plot resolution impossible…

And when you're complaining that the zombies in a film 'wouldn't work like that', you know you're in too deep. Either way, it's still a better zombie film than World War Z.

Warm Bodies is a valiant effort, but I think I'm better off sticking to The Walking Dead.

If anything, the film's more ponderous than the trailer, but yes.



Pretty much.



I think so.



Pay-to-rent, unless you're already sold on it.



No.



At some point.



I don't recall catching one, but I could be mistaken.

Leaving aside the mechanics of how the undead function in this film, is talking zombies a step too far? If the deceased brain can hold enough residual charge to handle walking and eating, wouldn't there be enough left for basic words (if not actual conversation)? Let me know what you think.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a 'catch-up' review. I watched this film at home, not at the cinema. I saw the trailer for this at the cinema, and I would have seen the film there too, but they didn't/couldn't show it. So now iTunes, Amazon, Netflix and Blockbuster get to reap the rewards of my local's advance-advertising, and I'm sure they're delighted. Now you may say "oh come on, they can't show everything down there", and that would be a valid point if they didn't do things like running Taken 2 for six weeks. Was it that successful? No, I don't think so. Twilight? Batman? Les Mes? Sure, go for it; if they're pulling the punters in then keep making that money. But Taken 2? I ask you. Anyway, this is essentially a DVD review, but still of a new(ish) film. There. I'm glad that's sorted.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Review: World War Z 3D (spoilers)

World War Z (3D - SPOILERS)
Cert: 15 / 116 mins / Dir. Marc Forster



This latest addition to the Pitt-canon is a curious beast. A sort of zombie-flick for people who don't normally watch zombie-flicks, yet based on one of the most acclaimed zombie-novels whilst having nothing in common with the book except the title. Bizarre.

So, how does it fare? Well, it's a summer blockbuster starring Brad Pitt and Her Out Of The Killing*¹, and that should tell you everything you need to know. It often feels more like an adaptation of a video-game than a novel, with its chiseled hero dashing through action-mission after escape-mission after stealth-mission, interspersed with talky-plot-cut-scenes. The final act in particular has more in common with Jurassic Park than Dawn of the Dead.

In short, it's not really a horror film, but then the trailers never suggested it was going to be. It's not the absence of gore that leaves me wanting, but rather that of engagement. There's never any doubt that our hero is going to stick around for the long-run, which wouldn't be a problem if he didn't go through action-sidekicks like sickbags on a rollercoaster. Secondary characters seem to be introduced with the sole intention of helping out for one 'level', imparting one piece of the solution and then dying (with one exception, and hero-Brad saves her by cutting her hand off, after which she's completely under-used). So while the structure is largely 'go to A to get B', it feels far more formulaic than it should when 'everything goes wrong so end up going to C, D and E as well'.

In the interests of full disclosure, I didn't particularly like the book either*², but for completely different reasons. I just want you to know that I'm not complaining that it's not the same as the source material; I'm complaining because it's a very pedestrian film. I'm honestly not bothered that it's not exactly to my tastes, but I think it could (and should) be so much better*³. The 3D's not particularly good, either. There was a lot of ghosting, and the action-scenes feature too many fast-cuts to use it properly. If you think it's worth your money, go for the 2D.

If anything, I feel let down by how unremarkable The End Of The World is going to be...

For an action film, it's not too bad; but for a zombie film it's pretty damned poor. And since it's not called 'World War A', but 'World War Z'? Well…

WARNING: Contains Piers Morgan in the first five minutes.



Pretty much, yeah.



Sometimes. It has its moments.



I'm going to go with 'no'. Your mileage may vary.



DVD, tops.



Yeah.



Maybe when it's £3 in the Sainsbury's DVD section?



Not that I heard. I mean, come on…

Now that the zombie genre is as irrevocably mainstream as the vampire one, where do we go from here?

*¹ No offence intended, Mireille, but that's what I heard one patron in the cinema calling you.

*² And yet I loved Max Brooks' Zombie Survival Guide. My problem with WWZ was that there wasn't a cohesive enough narrative; like it would make a fantastic series of blog posts, just not a great novel. But hey, that's just me.

*³ The most excited I got throughout the whole film was when I realised that the supermarket-scene (set in Philadelphia) was the bit that was filmed at Heyford Air Base, about 30 miles away from where I live. I got similarly excited in Sherlock Holmes 2 where they used the railway museum down the road from me. It's all go, round my way.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.