"It's been so long since I've seen a good zombie film." posts a friend of Russovoir's on Facebook. He immediately liked it because what recklessness that decision was was the hollowness in the mind which World War Z filled to the brim as quickly as it was abandoned. The thrill was real, partly because Brad Pitt is too reputable not to be taken seriously. Much like his convalescing wife Angelina Jolie in her films. Most of the nail-biting thrill was from the palpable special effects. It's as if what was happening on the screen and the stillness in the audience, in the movie house are concurrently happening that what's probably waiting outside is only limited to one's imagination. A biological outbreak is not impossible, and that by itself made the film mortally terrifying. We held to the ominous idea that 'what if' it does happen to thirstily want to know how it ends, crossing fingers of a cure (and Brad must not die because Mother Nature is a female for a reason), as if like a manual for what should come.
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| "But it's not really a cure, it's a camouflage." |
After when the body count just doubles, no, quadruples every minute; after when there's just a thin string of hope and the screen time of the undead are so frequent one begins to examine its authenticity, the twist jerks you back like a potent medicine with a parasitic kick. World War Z, indeed, is the much awaited zombie thriller when we really weren't consciously waiting for; the definition of an outbreak.
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