Dawn of the Dead…
I go to see this movie tomorrow at noon. I expect to have the shit scared right out of me, and then turn around and go right back in…me, I mean, not my shit. Shit does not go back in no matter how hard you try. I’ll see it twice in a row, unless it scares me too bad. In which case I’ll go see it again Saturday or Sunday. The movie, dipstick…not my shit. Geez, grow up.
Zombie flics really freak me out. When I went to see the original Dawn of the Dead back in 1979, I was totally unprepared for what I saw. I had bought a coke and some popcorn, and I threw them away untouched when the film ended.
I was all wired up for ’28 Days Later’, but it was a real letdown, horror-wise. Tomorrows movie shows real promise. I’ve seen the first ten minutes of it, and there was more horror in those ten minutes than in the last three so-called ‘horror movies’ I’ve been to.
I’m gonna get a pint of Canadian and sneak it in with me for nerve tonic. I hope some dumb-shit doesn’t fuck with me during the movie, cuz my phaser is going to be set to kill, I’ll tell you.
I was sitting in the balcony (remember those?) of a theatre, way back in the seventies, for the premier of ‘Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things’. In those days we had people they called ‘ushers’. They worked in theatres to make your experience more enjoyable. They threw people out who were talking, and generally kept order. Sometimes the Studio would send out theme packages along with a new release so that the ushers could decorate the theatre and wear costumes that fit the movies theme. What I did not know, when the flesh eating zombie tapped me on the shoulder and moaned into my startled face, was that zombie masks were the theme for tonight…I punched that guy in his face so hard that his parents probably died, and I peed a spot in my Levi’s as well. He disappeared from sight with a quickness, and I collected myself and headed for the restroom to finish my piss.
I got in there, and here was this poor bastard in tattered grave clothing, his rubber mask tipped back on his head, bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth down the sink, spitting blood bubbles and what appeared to be teeth, and crying…
“Dude, what’s wrong?” I inquired solicitously, though I knew damn well…
“Suh muhdafugga hid be id by phuggigh dose!”
“Man, that sucks, dude!” as I zip up and go to a sink where he can’t see me rinsing his blood off of my sore knuckles…”Good luck!” and I scampered off to go sit somewhere other than where I’d been.
If you see a guy in the fifth row, in the center seat, it would probably be a bad idea to even sit behind him, let alone make any actual noise. I actually wish I was kidding.