Zombieland

Editorial

By now, you've probably heard about The Cameo. To be on the safe side, we won't spoil the identity of The Cameoer, but it's true: halfway through Ruben Fleischer's absurdly assured debut, there's a "surprise" appearance from a major comedy star that is so daffy, so self-effacing and so perfectly pitched that it virtually shuts the book on any other celebrity cameos from here on in. As he gamely takes the piss out of his career and the perceived egocentric nature of celebs, indulging in knockabout re-creations of his most vaunted blockbuster, Zombieland is inarguably brilliant.

Thankfully, what precedes and follows is arguably brilliant, and worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as the genre leader, Shaun Of The Dead. That movie spent a lot of time grounding the action in reality, but Zombieland takes place in an unabashed fantasy world, where little old ladies can crush zombies with grand pianos, and where the undead apocalypse is merely an excuse for four characters to have the run of America, driving around like they own the place, wallowing in luxury mansions and — occasionally — bumping into and dispatching some gutmunchers.

But, despite the title, the zombies don't really matter in Zombieland. Oh, they're there, all right, threatening and always ready to be splattered, but Fleischer is refreshingly interested in putting flesh on his characters' bones, as opposed to stripping it off.

And what characters they are — normally in zombie films the heroes' ranks are padded out by unlikable monster-fodder. But Zombieland's greatest achievement is in presenting four people in whose ultimate survival you become wholly invested. Admittedly, Emma Stone's cynical Wichita and Abigail Breslin, as her little sister, are underwritten.

Chris Hewitt