Saw Dawn of the Dead tonight, the remake of George Romero’s film of the same title. He’s the guy who is also responsible for other such classics as Night of the Living Dead and Day of the Dead.
Scary. Funny. Suspenseful. Twitchy. Flesh-eating. Scabs. Boobs. Blood. Chainsaws.
Dawn of the Dead has everything a proper scary movie should have.
I was of course scared shitless the whole time. Shaking my leg. Hiding half my head under my sweatshirt.
I’m a girl like that.
But I saw it at one of those theaters where the armrests flip up so girls can jump into guys’ laps when they get scared.
And I had M&M’s and Diet Pepsi: great combo.
Zombie movies freak me out because some part of my brain thinks there truly could be a virus that spreads rapidly and causes people to turn into flesh-eating corpse-like monsters (it’s a good thing I’m training for the apocalypse). But really? What would you do if the only thing between you and a swarm of cannibals was a midwestern shopping mall and a few weapons?
I think I’d just wait for them all to die of starvation.
Unless I went first.
I hope that’s not how the human race disappears from the earth. I hope by the time that happens, or we deplete our resources, that we’ll have spaceships that are fast enough and cheap enough to send people to the Moon or Mars to start a new intergalactic society.
No matter what happens, the poor people are gonna get fucked. The man’s gonna be all
“I’m sorry, you won’t be useful in outer space.”
And Denzel’ll be all
“But I’m a famous actor!”
And Space Master General will be all
“There’s no movies in outer space.”
Slammer.
Anyway. After Dawn of the Dead, I was so freaked out that I had to watch 2 hours of BBC America just to get my mind off it. Boosh hairs crossed for a dreamless slumber.
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