Reviewing World War Z Without Having Seen It

People need death in their life. That’s all I can attribute the appeal of zombies to. Man spent his entire history watching members of his tribe perish left and right on a daily basis, like he was solving a level of Lemmings. Even a mere 100 years ago, we were burying 14 of our 16 children in our backyard the same way you and I would a pet. Now, for some, the worst that happens in the course of a day is a weak 4G signal on our phone.

Your brain evolved to cope with a lot more than that. And zombie stories are the result. It scratches an itch that we don’t like to admit we have: The need see the death of others and have our own lives threatened. 4,000 years ago, I get the feeling my ancestors weren’t unwinding around the campfire saying things like, “Hey, Rok-Rok the Lore-Speaker, can you tell me again the one about how the guy standing next to me that was devoured by a lion a few hours ago is going to come back to life and rend me and my loved ones limb from limb? It’s been a long day.” No, I think the hits of that era included literary masterpieces like, “We Will Finally Locate Food Tomorrow,” “You Will Find Some Water To Bathe In For The First Time In Years” and “Your Severed Fingers Will Return As Good As New”.

World War Z is the latest zombie-themed media release to slake the public’s need for vicarious exposure to widespread death. It features Brad Pitt doing things to fight the spread of zombies across the globe before it’s too late. If this sounds like you’ve seen it a thousand times before, it’s because you have. Tada.

The only thing on my brain about this movie is how crappy it is that Brad Pitt, because he’s dashingly handsome, gets all the roles in the world and James Gandolfini, who could have played a live action Shrek, is in the ground after fat-fucking himself to death with only The Sopranos to truly display his acting chops.

I get it. We like seeing pretty people do things much more than unattractive people doing them because ugly people look like ourselves, whom we hate, and pretty people make our genitals tingly. It’s just hearing people also praise the acting of Brad Pitt gets old. He isn’t that good. Stop it. Stop saying otherwise. He’s fine. He’s serviceable. No one will be getting on stage thinking to themselves, “If only I can bring to this performance the depth that Brad Pitt displayed in Seven, then I will have known for one night what it is to soar with the eagles.” Now it’s time for me to end this review so I can be one of the beautiful people and devour waffles over my sink in my underwear because I eat so quickly the syrup gets everywhere and causes a mess otherwise.

Tagged as: Movie Review.