Return of The Living Dead: Necropolis
Introduction
Introduction
If I get all the way through this, it will be three nights in a row. I worked on the van today- still trying to get the factory roof rack off without damaging anything. That consideration went out the window after about 40 minutes of struggle when I decided I was going to start cutting off shit that wouldn’t cooperate.
But then, in order to back that threat up, I spent about 40 minutes figuring out that the shop’s electricity had been shut off at the house because my damn Sawzall wouldn’t work. If you must know, in between I lost about half an hour to alternately praying to my Sawzall for a Resurrection and attempting various forms of fixing it.
Which consisted of gently throw-dropping (Thropping?) it on the ground from a little under waist-height, but taking very special care to ensure that it landed in the gravel perfectly horizontal. Strangely, that still didn’t fix it. I had to break out my emergency Skil emergency reciprocating saw, and mount the Milwaukee’s blade to it with an Allen wrench that I had to determine the correct size of in the darkness of the cavernous shop…
Only for it to not work either, and then the lightbulb went off, or rather, it would have had there been electricity- and I wandered my stupid tubby ass back into the mud-room to switch on the shop’s power. And then swap the blade back to the Sawzall. And then it took about 20 seconds to cut the last fucking bolt off, and now we got the roof rack off, baby, we’re going fucking commando upstairs, we’re showing the girls, but, since three of the 12 Rivnuts that originally held the roof rack on have decided to rust-weld themselves solid to the point the rusty Rivnut spins in the sheet-metal, well, I’m kinda fucked and a tad bit peeved.
I really thought… Naively… that it could be as simple as unbolting it. Nothing is that simple. The honey is never where they say the honey is going to be. So, tomorrow we’re stripping out the interior of the van and cutting off the knee-cap bolts from hell. And then we’re packing it up and rolling out into the woods for a night.
It’ll be good to get out into the woods, to sleep in the never-ending never-complete silence that life surrounding you brings. Talking about things that are never-ending, this is day three of the liquid diet! YEAH! There is absolutely no “Harrah” in that “YEAH!”. It’s all for show.
It’s like corporation-provided approved flair that you can add to your suspenders if you are so inclined. I… miss food. I want to eat the burritos that are in the fridge. I want to run down to the store and get Fig Newtons. And ice cream bars, or popstickles, if I’m there already. See? Fucking weak. Zero self-control.
At some point, the artist knows to put down his instrument and let the piece be. I worry I’ll miss that moment, or that I already have. But don’t all writers produce *some* shit? They must, since receptivity is so subjective; you can find die-hard fans willing to kill their brethren over the perpetual “The old stuff is better than the new stuff” argument.
I mean that if I ever have fans, and that’s a queasy proposition to consider, even though it’s part of the official steepled-fingers plan; if I ever have fans, they will be predispositioned to dislike each other, it seems. I’m not sure why. They’re very argumentative people. Must be, to follow a Moses so foulmouthed and filthy such as I? I was the demon prince, but… people stopped believing in the gods.
I worshipped the car, not the driver. I played with the machines, not the people. My favorite movies have always ended in lonely desolation. I fear being locked in a safe at the bottom of an ocean significantly more than I fear being locked in a safe in the middle of Utah. I do fear being locked in a safe in the middle of Utah, though, in a generalized “Places I’d rather not be” sort of way.
Countries are immoral. Borders are immoral. Customs is immoral. Yes, the idea and job description and intent and generalized effect is that of a giant filter arbitrarily set up along geographic items of mention such as mountains and rivers and valleys and seas, and if you want to pass through that filter you’re subject to searching and detainment and even denial of entry.
Why have we developed a world where we’re not free to go where we want to? There is already so much of the planet that we can’t really properly enjoy existing- huge amounts of the planet want to kill you in horribly desperate lonely recanting-of-mistakes ways, at least seasonally- and those places on the planet where the weather isn’t trying to kill you host animals big and microscopic that have nothing else in mind other than feasting on you. As a whole, or just individually on a molecular level, breaking down your tissues as you breathe and live.
Sulfurous lava, frozen sheets of featureless hard white frozen, a minority of land-mass… Imagine how that affects shit? You’re living on a planet where if you were to arbitrarily get put down at any random geographic coordinates, the good money is that you’re going to drown to death within 20 minutes. And I know damn few of you can swim better than me.
Now that I’ve ran through that writ, I have to nod and acknowledge how influenced by the Random Probability Drive as to have most probably borrowed from it in the creation of my own penguinistic theocracy. The fucking world wants to kill you. It’s only because millions of other people lived and died and made mistakes that others made note of that you live the pants-wearing fruit-snack eating life you claim today. How many people died tasting berries similar to coffee beans? Our coffee this morning is flavored with their contribution.
I’m afraid to tell the story of my dad eating strange berries that I found in the woods and then getting bawled out by his Doctor. I’m afraid to tell the story of my dad punching a show-car in a mall really hard in the side of the fender and then, upon realizing he left a giant dent, noticing that the car was not, in fact, a Saturn with the bounce-back door panels. I feel afraid to type since I… I can only go so far before I’m no longer hungry. Oh.
I suppose that might be behind the overall feeling of malaise that I’m fighting. The food thing. Yeah. We come full circle. The music fades away, and just before the dancers cease their swaying, three faint clicks on the rim of the snare and the beat drops again. Why are we here though? Nothing matters. The people who insist on one’s right to have an abortion rarely exercise that right, yet the people who insist they’re the work of the devil often have multiple “X” notches in their chastity belt. Hypocrites. Everywhere.
“Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.” But it’s not the streets that are the problem. The streets have already been ceded to the decay. The living, walkable world is already being fled, in any way possible. Drugs, religion, Sex, Candy, Cartoons, Foot Massages, what do you want?
What is Boba tea? How is it created naturally? What would the net effect be if we as a collective race were to depend solely on that which is natural. I suppose the definition is… sticky, or slippery, or subjective. Yet again. That freedom of thought robs us of our ability to do better, to be better.
What was the first game with rules that was played? Some neanderthal version of The Squid Game, but without the automatic weapons and enforced Darwinism? Who was the first… person… is a hard word to use, but I want to ask, which was the first one of them to cheat at the game after they’d all agreed to the rules?
I think I’m making the executive decision that that first cheater, at whatever game it was that was being played, that individual is the first human to walk the earth. Everyone else who remained playing it as agreed remained animals, becoming sheep, accepting their lot in life, choosing their binary identifiers, ranking their college sports teams. You will never feel alive unless you risk death. That is not bullshit.
Crash a car. Get in a outnumbered fight. Leap off something with only faith that you’ll make the deeper water below. Nothing else makes you feel alive, unless it’s scrambling out from under a falling tree with a still-hungry chainsaw still chewing away in your right hand, and only a minor understanding of the physics that have no-longer worked to your advantage, hoping the tree lands elsewhere; a term identified as “Anywhere not through or on top of me.”
A guy I used to work with did arborist work. He was up in a tree, cutting, and when the limb snapped free, both my acquaintance an the shattered limb swung together like the balls in a perpetual motion line, and when they separated, the tree took some intestines with it.
The guy lived, remained even skinnier than hell, had a massive scar, and spent the next two years living without a fiscal care, since when the insurance paid out, it was going to set him up for life. When, after two years of looking forward to his bonanza, the insurance settled with someone or something akin to that occurred and he received what I believe was six thousand dollars.
If someone came up to you and said “We want to run this jagged branch into your abdomen and then wrench it all back and forth violently, as if you were tethered on the end of bungees, until upon separation, you see your innards hanging off of it… How does the cash equivalent of a used late model Kia strike you?” But you know, this guy lived the Lust for Life thing with gusto.
He once talked me into attending a Halloween party at a bar he liked, and after he secretly entered me into the costume contest, I won 2nd place as “The Gay Woody from Toy Story”. Same dude then later dropped out of my life, re-surfacing exactly once to invite me bar-hopping. About 7 years after I’d gotten sober. I feel like there’s more to this story that I’m missing. I can’t remember how I got on this subject.
But let me tell you another thing I learned about the same time. The fucking Swedes put Fennel in their chocolate!! I ask, are you as outraged as I am? I know they’re neutral and all that, but seriously… wait. Sweden isn’t the same thing as Switzerland. One is known for clocks and Swiss Bank Accounts, the other is known for Amazonian (inaccurately) Blondes and really shitty chocolate. So…
I think another tangential plank of my international platform is that I demand an immediate blockade of all Fennel Seeds inbound to Sweden. There. I think that’s quite enough of that already, old chap. Crap. I know I said I was going to do Juan of the Dead now, but… I don’t know. After last night’s shit-show, I think I want something… different.
Space zombies are always good for different. Just did a toe-hair burn. It stinks in here. Totally forgot that I still had to pick a movie and do the review. Just totally spaced it. And in a totally unrandom and easily foreseen move, I’m going to take this proof-of-stupor as an excuse to eat some more mushrooms and take another couple dabs.
Gotta find something to watch. I want… I want, like Airwolf vs. Nazi Zombies or something like that. Maybe it’s time to watch one of the art zombie movies I’ve been stashing away. First, recreationals. A sure sign that someone has a drinking problem is if they are compelled to finish their drink before going off to take a piss, or a smoke, or make a call. Someone without a problem has no issue leaving a partially drunk alcoholic beverage while they go off to other priorities.
They have no anxiety about leaving unconsumed drugs, literally, on the table. Or bar. But here’s another flavor of drug user. This is me. I measure out the exact dose with a very precise scale. Within accuracy of +/- .01 of a gram, I measure out my does specifically to match sort of the energy and level that I anticipate needing. And then, the drug addict in me take over, and I add another small quantity of unmeasured drugs on top of what I already measured as my correct consumable dose.
In other words, I take exactly as much as I’m supposed to, and then I take a little bit more. “I used to do a little ‘till a little wouldn’t do it so the little got more and more…”This (and the fact that I’m violently scratching the side of my head as I try to type this) are signs of a drug addict. And what’s great about us is that we’re drug addicts even if we’ve never touched a substance.
As little 6 year olds, running around, proud of our ability to use the potty- that little kid either is or isn’t a drug addict. They just don’t know it yet. So… I think this is my way of saying “Hey, I just went upstairs and spent 10 minutes eating aborts from the mushroom tubs, then I measured out another .79 of a gram, and then I threw two mushrooms from a different variety into the pile before filling my mouth with water, rehydrating them slightly, and then bolting them. Liquid diet, yo. I’m not going to dirty up the mixer for a couple mushrooms.
So, like I was trying to convey, I might not actually finish or even begin reviewing a zombie movie for tonight. I might just keep my ants marching along. Ok. We’re intentionally taking one for the team here, simply because we’ve taken more mushrooms than will probably prove helpful, and if this all goes sideways, well, I want it to skid into the ditch on the gravel of known probable lower expectations.
Return of the Living Dead: Necropolis. “A group of teens become the targets of a deadly band of zombies.” Shit. Here’s your award for Brevity. And I mean, I appreciate the continuously being teens thing, but it was more fun when breasts were magical and you never knew if the shadow behind the shower curtain was the killer or boyfriend until it was too late to look away in fear. So. Uh… We know our teams… I’m gonna root for the Zombies on this one.
Review Notes
Review Notes
Oh yeah. I can feel it rolling on now…
Hybra? That’s the evil companies name?
“We’re the most trusted name in toxic waste disposal, and we make your favorite snack foods too!”
So, uh… seems like in this reality, zombiesm is a known thing and outbreaks occur and “are handled”. Apparently, Hybra is very good at “handling” them.
Oh. Based on, well, the first re-making of the movie? I think?
Something about Chernobyl.
Pointing at a map.
A Geiger counter.
A pistol.
A suitcase of cash. I think. I was looking away.
And I was just about to say “As if I read Russian.”
Some American is looking for something with some swarthy characters. I said it. It’s what they is.
What the fuck? Who hands back the bribe but then capitulates??
Seems the Russians are quite casual about radiation.
“Would you like to see the place where they made the big boo-boo?”
Tryoxin 5. Just when we thought it was safe… Won’t someone think of the children??
Oh. One of the barrels has been knocked over and is leaking.
And Andre got some of the ooze on him.
These men are being very intent with each other.
Usually you yell for your henchmen in your own language, not English.
Oh. Well… uh… that’s quite the Andre the Zombie.
Ok, they’re talking, brains eating zombies. Good to know.
And they can kinda fight?
And that bite was really well done.
Now we’re in a car in the rain in the trees in an accident in slow motion.
I don’t understand what the fuck? When the lightning flashed, they were made up like Dia De Los Muertos?
Oh. Just a dream.
Flames.
I guess Mom and Dad are dead. Oh! Shit!
Their uncle is the guy who shot the Russian Andre the Zombie.
Wow. What a jerk.
Oh, Becky… You accepted the role of Idiot.
Some of the worst shadow boxing and name calling social introduction that I’ve ever seen.
“You smell like bongwater.” Well, I have an unfortunate story about that. I’ve seen Ani DiFranco live a couple of times. In high school and undergrad, my on/off again girlfriend was a huge fan, and growing up near Smith College, there were multiple opportunities to see her. Before one show, we were smoking in the parking lot, and I coughed into the bong and blew bong water and wet ash all over my crotch. Then we went into the show, since I’d pretty much fucked the bong. I stood in the back reeking of shame and bong water through an absolutely amazing show. It ended up being the night that Napoleon was recorded for her Living in Clip album. Shit. I think I’m gonna go listen to it now. Or wait. I’ll leave myself a note at the end of the review template.
So, there’s a breakup? And a gymnastics event? And man-candy?
He got accepted where? In 4 years? So… I don’t understand. What is the timeline here? Are these literally Freshmen and he’s already been accepted into a college? That’s bullshit.
Something about mice and food and note-passing and the teacher looks exactly the same age as the students.
And… babbling about Hybratech. Making cheese. And napalm.
And that’s not what the “Can’t make omelet (is that how you spell it? That’s how the computer says you do.) without breaking eggs” thing really means! You suck at philosophy. I’m also leaning sideways as I type this.
I’m hungry.
Julian. Oh. His parents died at Hybratech.
I can’t hear what they’re talking about. Now they’re fighting about what kind of friends they are? That means they suck as friends.
“Come on, let’s hang out. I’ll steal a six-pack of beer. What do you say?”
Now the scientist dude is fucking around with a severed arm and some other weird glowy green chamber. Looks kinda like The Fly type shit.
“All hands on deck!”
Oh, shit! That got me! The fucking zombie hand makes a grab for him! I fucking HATE severed hands. Gonna have fucking nightmares tonight. Should NOT be watching this on mushrooms. Fuck, what am I doing watching any zombie movie on mushrooms? Am I trying to be the next “Bath-Salts” person?
Charlie! That’s the uncle’s name. And Jake is the younger brother.
“Stay out of trouble and Julien still needs to mow the lawn.”
“You scared the shit outta me!”
“You should look into that.”
Oh. Wow. A dirtbike gang.
I do like rock music though.
Lots of slow motion jumping and too-much-oil-in-the-fuel revving.
Now… I guess they have a jump. That they can jump.
Chucklehead.
Oh, man, he wimped out!
Jesus, that jerk can’t act. And he took the dude’s bike… Oh! And he went down on landing!
Smacked his head something good, too. I done that.
Charlie… has a dead punk rocker. Where does one get a dead punk rocker?
But… he’s animated the thing. Or, Re-Animated…
And now it’s really into stretching.
4 brains? I mean… that seems excessive. Internet says that average brain weighs around 3lbs, so that… is 12lbs of food in one serving. I mean… Save some for training, you know?
Crusty is my new favorite character. His song is fucking amazing. His hygiene… not so much.
Katy… phone call… Monitoring station… Hector is no good.
Wait. Katy works there overnight? But it’s daytime when they’re having the motorcycle shenanigans. I ought to report them to IMDB.
The bums are roasting some sort of… opossum.
And there’s really leaky pipes. Gas. Steam. Fog.
No nurse has that much free time.
Not even one with such an accent.
Crusty is eating that armadillo.
Or, rather, that armadillo is eating Crusty.
Charlie is a zombie, too!
The obnoxious guy couldn’t handle his painkillers and died!
Oh, and now Katy saw Zeke at Hybratech.
Something is afoot! A-Ha! A clue!
Surfing the web. Ah… he’s a hacker!
He opened up a fucking DOS window and that’s hacking?
“What’s a necropolis?” I guess, there’s no stupid questions. Here’s what Wiki has to say about it. “A necropolis (plural necropolises, necropoles, necropoleis, necropoli[1]) is a large, designed cemetery with elaborate tomb monuments. The name stems from the Ancient Greek νεκρόπολις nekropolis, literally meaning “city of the dead”.
The term usually implies a separate burial site at a distance from a city, as opposed to tombs within cities, which were common in various places and periods of history. They are different from grave fields, which did not have structures or markers above the ground. While the word is most commonly used for ancient sites, the name was revived in the early 19th century and applied to planned city cemeteries, such as the Glasgow Necropolis.”
This is like the Scooby Doo gang.
“I hate you guys.” In context, it’s a really good line.
A preparation montage. Schematics.
Scotch Tape.
Fake IDs.
Dog farts. (That’s more my reality than anything that’s going on in the movie.)
Rope. Lots of rope.
And she is a sadist. With a taser.
Oh shit. She’s Headlamp.
More rock music.
More dirt bikes.
I get it. You stand alone.
Zeke… well, he’s in a bad place.
Look, guys… dirt bikes are hardly stealthy. And why do you keep pulling the front wheel? Are you looking for heat?
Ok, I think they all have to take a big jump. Riding really fast through a tunnel. For some reason.
“Oh. Christmas is cool.”
A-ha! It’s an inside job! Meaning… she’s a really shitty covert operator.
How did she know that code? I’m so fucking confused.
Zombies… interfering with the dirt bikes?
The zombie is laughing at the chest shots.
Nunchaku? I guess it’s good to knock people over with, but not the best killing weapon.
How does she just… know these codes?
“Nice pooper!” I… had to document that. I didn’t say it. He said it. But… someone else wrote it. What the hell is wrong with you?? You KNOW what you did!!
“Ever get your freak on with a triple-jointed Sagittarius gymnast?” I mean… I have objections. I don’t like shit popping out of where it ought to be. There’s flexibility, which is good, and then there’s being a fucking mutant that can squish through any opening like an octopus. I’m suddenly kinda nauseous, which I think has to do with the mushrooms on a pretty (read- LIQUID) empty stomach. I regret nothing, but I am sweating a bit.
I guess we’re done riding dirt bikes through the tunnels?
I mean, you did kill two people, as far as you know. You put bullets into two people who were walking around mumbling shit.
Mimi is keeping Hector busy.
And, like, directions and shit. How does she know its sixty feet?
We’re walking around more basement. There are many pipes.
I’m rocking side to side. The creaking of the loveseat below me sounds nautical. I hear a distant pit-bull’s stomach rumbling as it snores gently; a domestic tide rolling over me
So… more hacking.
This is all red and blue. Like, they have to do stuff to the red, but the blue it’s already been done to. I’m making zero sense. Damn mushrooms.
Start heading south? In a building?
Now we’re crawling around in air ducts? You know, this was a pretty fucking good movie before they started stalling.
So much moaning.
And… they’re not alone.
So… they… little kid named Pyro is there, seems to have followed them.
And now they’re in a room full of guns. Yes, an arsenal.
“Just stay behind me and you won’t get hurt, ok?”
“Ya think?” (waves what looks like a Mac-10 around casually)
And now we got all the cameras live and recording?
Uncle Charles? The guns, the reanimation shit, the evil genius, they’re all in the same fucking room? And no-one noticed? Including the uncle?
Great job protecting your sources, guys! Anything else about the plan that you want to reveal?
I call racism on the requirement that the gun-waving wild-man be an accented immigrant. Could be the mushrooms, too, probably taking it a bit too seriously…
And… he’s gonna let them…
What the fuck, this is a tour or something?
“What’s with the zombie petting zoo?”
Lots of zombies in pens. Pretty mellow.
Or maybe we was just being set up for that.
“Get me out of here! And just in case you haven’t noticed, your Uncle sucks!”
Ok, now we have a security breach. However, there’s a 10 minute grace period before the police are called.
And she has a notepad of pass-codes?
Cody found something gross.
Little… dwarven Chuds… but that’s not exactly right. Basketcase? Is that it?
A nursery of little shriveled dudes?
Oh! They’re alive! Ick!
Goddamn, I want food.
How is it that Carlos knows so much?
So, the parents are down, or up… they’re there somewhere?
Poor girl has double duty as actress and narrator.
Well, all the zombies are free now.
Oh, that was a nice head-ripping off.
That was a nice skull-biting through.
Wait… they’re back in the armory now?
I’m seriously missing something…
All sexual harassment should end with the perpetrator’s skull being bitten through. All.
“Send more security guards.” Classic.
Jesus, the cops keep pulling people over in front of my house tonight.
Carlos is not a good team player.
Finding your parents? They’re probably zombies.
Carlos… I’m having trouble not imaging a very aged and currently insane Corey Feldman in your role. If, you know, he wants to stop Michael Jackson cosplaying.
Oh, shit. That’s some pustulating neck wound if I’ve ever seen it.
Mimi… I like your style.
“Don’t worry, I told him everything. Turns out, he doesn’t care!”
Oh, that was a nice red-splatter & slide.
Nothing is locked in the zombie apocalypse.
Oh, shit! That wasn’t fair! Mimi and Hector just died!
They’re doing a tactical entrance to a glass-walled lobby that they can see the entirety of. I’m just saying. Think this shit through.
Lots of zombies, lots of rock music, so little ammo…
Is this kid’s signature move being out of ammunition?
Now… a gang fight? With the zombies? Sure.
Yeah, most people would throw their empty shotgun at the zombie’s crotch. Such tactical expertise.
And, you know… all these friends also know some form of martial arts.
Carlos, head-butting a zombie was a dumb idea and you know it.
Are they filming this in a high school?
Nice milky eye.
So… uh… the zombies… see… they broke into two groups… not the zombies…
The kid named Pyro and the Sadist are in a garage, well, now they’re in a range rover, and the zombies are attacking, and Zeke’s contribution is to turn the radio on and play air-guitar, so the Sadist has to taser Pyro to send the electricity through him to knock off the zombie that’s attacking him. It… sorta makes sense in the movie.
Now they’re just whoopdieing it around to nihilistic rock lyrics.
Oh, that’s creepy the way the green glows in her eyes.
“You ever feel like boring a hole in your head so you can let the fricken screams out?!”
A-HA!! That sound is the midnight train!! I thought I was having audial hallucinations, it sounded like a hovercraft approaching and then darting away again repeatedly. Or rather, what I, in this muddled state, believe one would sound like. I suppose if there were hovercraft rights then they could sue me for slander.
Wow. That was really explosive.
What the fuck are all these acronyms?
Why are you shutting the door behind you?
Why is every laboratory armed with it’s own arsenal?
And why the fuck aren’t you two kitting up? Thought you was out of ammo?
What the fuck??
There’s two more of the stasis pod things, and… like… Predator looking…beings… in them. Which we’re supposed to realize are his parents.
They have rotary cannons where their hands should be.
Dude, put a bullet in each head and move on.
What? Preaching?
Now there’s zombies behind every corner?
And Charlie is activating the parents?
Oh, they have buzz-saws for hands, too.
This looks bad.
Someone is rappelling off the roof?
Oh, that’s the rope!
So these are dirt-bike riding, martial arts knowing, climbing teenagers. My ass.
My ass aside, I smell potatoes. Is that normal? Better than toast, I guess.
But really, it smells like my wife is in the kitchen preparing vegetables for soup. We both love… soup.
Zombie Mimi…
“But she’s my friend. I lost my virginity to her.”
“Everyone knows your first time sucks!”
Oh. Katy has access to military vehicles, too.
Pyro, why didn’t you just burn the fucker?
But, I have to give respect to a movie that kills it’s children. Literally. Or maybe it’s figuratively. Someone else with a higher paygrade and better grip on reality needs to weigh in. I abdicate. Like Charles.
Nice. Zeke is burning. And yeah, this girl likes administering Corrections.
Lots of screaming.
Oh, cyborg dad stops the Hummer. Well, that didn’t come out right.
A grenade later… well, mangled meat. But there’s still the urge to kill.
Zeke… carries a grudge.
“I’m gonna kill you for what you did to my brother, Zeke.”
(Sniffs armpits) “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already dead.”
Mother Cyborg is there.
“See, this is the part where everybody starts running and screaming.”
Another fistfight with a zombie.
Suddenly he’s forgotten all those martial arts skills?
Cyborgmom electrocutes herself accidentally?
Oh! That grenade trick goes at least back to the Coen’s Raising Arizona.
But… here comes the militarized police! Finally they have a use for all the surplus tactical equipment! The heavy caliber machine guns! The 30mm autocannon! The fully automatic small-caliber firearms!
And that head-squish is Scott’s Aliens, if we really want to mention how many other movies they’re ripping off now.
And then the fathercyborg makes a final stand and…
Kenny got shot! You BASTARDS!! I mean… Katy…
The next day, a scene of bagging corpses…
While Charlie takes off with the last few barrels of whatever the toxin is called.
Hybratech… MREs?
Flawless record?
And the sports gets interrupted by a brain eating.
The credits “making of” scenes are worth watching. Even if a bit confusing.
A zombie doing kung fu.
The music was from Powerman 5000 and Coolio. I’m shocked, I was trying to think of what the music reminded me of… Rob Zombie. I wonder if he’s a part of this? Usually he has his name plastered over everything if he is, so I kinda doubt it. He let me down in concert, too. But Coolio? He just fucking died. Damn cat is glitching.
————End Transmission——————–
Plot Autopsy
Plot Autopsy
- Chernobyl is bad news. Seriously. Why the fuck would you go there?
- And then, like, we meet our friend group? Who kinda hate each other?
- And ride dirt-bikes, and sometimes don’t stick the landing and instead gong the helmet off the pavement.
- Oh yeah… the uncle is evil and the corpse goes missing but he’s not dead
- They ride dirt-bikes through tunnels, and a girl in a different time-zone makes up pass codes?
- A bunch of fighting zombies and weird Resident Evil 3 rip off type shit, although, this may have come out first? I don’t know.
Zombie Description
Zombie Description
These are pretty much Romero zombies, but a little bit faster, or sometimes, a lot faster. See, this occurs on a different timeline than were Romero took the NOTLD cannon, in that the zombies very slowly were evolving, and natural selection was providing leaders and teachers among them. This just says “Look, there’s fucking zombies, it’s part of life, and they act however we want them to.” I have to object in the mildest, tiredess approach possible, in that I don’t like zombies that think and talk and drive cars and play golf and know martial arts. Not that all of that transpired here, but… the zombies retained their everything, except turning into dicks that want to eat brains. Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.
Where the money went
Where the money went
Aside from making a solid, nothing really obviously lacking movie, they must have spent a fortune on lawyers and writers for them to take so shamelessly from other greats and not be dragged out behind the academy for a knee-capping. The special effects were great, but as I noted, most of them, most of the ideas, they’ve already been done before. In other movies in other genres, so I understand the novelty of bringing them all together here, but… You made a good movie by reenacting other movies in a manner that wouldn’t get you sued.
Best Weapon
Best Weapon
Best weapon here was the taser. Mainly because it was used on a child, and I think that more movies need to be willing to ask “Why *don’t* we have a scene where a child gets tasered?” It’s like my amigo Panama used to say, he votes with his dollars. If he wants to see a type of movie, like, more Blade movies, or more movies about Cyberpunk shit, he’ll go opening night and then the next night and then the night after that… He’s kinda crazy, now that I think that all through. Crazy, but dedicated, and that’s a hell of a lot more than most. So yeah. The taser.
That was new!
That was new!
Uh… I think I had something really good for this, but I can’t remember it now. Ahh. Yes. I had to go back and re-read the viewing notes, but… Crusty. What a character. What a voice. What an operatic tale. The Albatross fails in recital, sinking beneath the waves that Crusty surfs above. I… I finally know what to have as my obituary. Thank you, Bard Crusty. Thank you.
Can I get a hand?
Can I get a hand?
This movie didn’t have any zombie-breach, but it did have a great little scene with a severed and re-animated arm in a gas chamber. It flops around a bit and startled me a good one. I really have an issue with severed hands still moving around. It’s… unnatural, one should think, yes? Uh… there was so much hand to hand fighting here that I’m sure I missed some cool hand stuff. Dad-Borg’s hands got turned into machine guns! And Mom-Borg got a spinning saw thingy on one arm. (Talk about a pathetic imbalance of power in their relationship)
Overall Recommendation
Recommendation?
So… I really liked it. I have no idea why. I think that everything considered on paper, or, you know… digitally… I think the movie has to suck. But I enjoyed watching it. It… it was ridiculous. But it leaned into it with an earnestness that was either the world’s best poker bluff, or… The outtakes show a cast that was having a lot of fun, and I think it came through in the final product. This falls very squarely in the “So bad it’s fun to watch” category. This was made to be run through the MST3K Gauntlet, or savaged by RiffTrax. But while I’m tying it to the train tracks as a sacrificial bump-stop, I’m also laughing and loving and reminiscing with it about what a good movie it was to watch even though I could never admit to my friends that I had a really good time with it, too. This is a movie by zombie people for zombie people, and with a budget that allowed it to be just a bit better than it really had any right to. I really want to go into more depth and analysis, but it’s like a day at the beach. You either had a good time, or you didn’t. And I loved it.
And now listen to Ani DiFranco’s Napoleon.
Wow. Ok. I did so. Damn, that’s a good song. Northampton, MA. Good times.