The zombies of “Zombieland” are in this same mold of remarkably fit flesh-eaters (with a few notable exceptions, but the film even makes sure to point this out when they arrive). However, unlike some other recent zombie films (the “Dawn of the Dead” remake, for example), “Zombieland” doesn’t have any aspirations whatsoever toward “relevance” or “themes.” Sure, there’s a few moments thrown in there about enjoying the little things and holding on to the people you love, but that’s not why you bought your ticket. You know it, and director Ruben Fleischer knows it. He knows what you really want to see: a bunch of disgusting, blood-soaked undead getting alternatively bashed, bulldozed and blown up. Oh, and some jokes about Twinkies along the way would be great, too.
And you know what? It’s fun. Good, bloody fun. Fleischer immediately checks any hint of seriousness at the door, and what follows is about 80 minutes of unabashed zombie-killing, interrupted only for a teensy bit of plot exposition and plenty of comic banter. Short, sweet and to the point. While the comedy never quite rises to the inspired absurdity of 2004’s zombie parody “Shaun of the Dead,” the script plays well to each of its actors’ strengths and always has a one-liner tucked away just in case the dialogue strays anywhere too close to solemn.
The film’s setup is essentially the same as any other in its genre: due to a mutation in a strain of mad cow disease, most of the world’s population has now been consumed by a plague of cannibalistic undead. The film’s protagonist and narrator is Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), a socially-inept World of Warcraft geek who has survived the zombie apocalypse by adhering to a strict list of rules, including “remember to check the back seat,” “beware of the bathroom,” and “always limber up.” Trying to make his way home to find his family, he encounters Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), a man who has discovered that he has a particular talent for disposing of the undead.
Despite their reservations about forming any sort of attachment to another person in a world where one’s own survival is the top priority, Columbus and Tallahassee decide to travel together for a while. They quickly encounter Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), sisters with, as Columbus puts it, “trust issues.” Eventually all four head out to Los Angeles, where rumor has it there is an amusement park that has managed to stay completely zombie-free.
Eisenberg plays the same sweetly-nerdy goofball that he does in essentially all of his films; he does the type well, but I’m starting to wonder whether he’s acting at all. Emma Stone also fulfills mostly the same role she did in “Superbad,” namely to stand around being lusted after (though at least here she gets to pop a few zombies with a shotgun to prove her independence). The movie is a pretty big departure for Abigail Breslin, usually the sweet little star of innocuous children’s films and bad sentimental dramadies; her attempt to explain Hannah Montana to Tallahassee ranks as one of the best moments in the film. Still, most of the memorable moments belong to Harrelson. His swaggering, gun-toting, banjo-plucking Tallahassee gives the film just the kick of insanity that it needs. Rounding out the hilarious cast is a wonderful cameo from one of the greatest comic actors alive; I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so I’ll just say he’s had experience with the supernatural before.
The horror side of the film is serviceable, though more in the gross-out vein than genuine shock or suspense. The action sequences feature some thoroughly satisfying zombie-bashing, often making use of slow motion to let the viewer revel in the unashamed savagery of it all. There’s something vaguely ironic about how the film mocks Tallahassee for enjoying zombie-killing so much when the filmmakers clearly had an equal love of devising new ways to destroy the undead. But there I go, putting a little too much thought into it again.