As a burgeoning horror fan in the mid-2000s, it became rather apparent fairly quickly that not everyone in the world was as into the genre as I was.
Sure, these days horror seems to be more “in” than it has been in a long time. Movies like It (2017), Get Out (2017) and A Quiet Place (2018) are shattering box office records, our television and streaming platforms are overrun with horror content like Stranger Things and The Walking Dead and the sheer number of adaptations coming out and in the works tell us that we are more than certainly living in a true Stephen-King-aissance.
Yes, these days it’s easy to find a non-horror loving companion to accompany me to the movies when the need arises. However, about a decade ago, the struggle was very real. Most of my friends and family were not all that interested in the genre and it often took some coercing to get them to go along with it. That is, until Zombieland (2009).
Zombies were my first love in horror, so of course I was excited to see this new take. And while the film wasn’t the first of its kind that decade (see Shaun of the Dead circa 2004), Zombieland had a broad stroke appeal that seemed to speak to more than just the horror fan in-the-know. Hell, even my father-in-law asked to come along to the theater when it opened— and, trust me, he’s not what I would call a zombie-guy.
I saw the film in a packed theater with a crowd that was ready to have a good time with it. Everyone laughed at the right moments, even cheered at times. Bill Murray’s cameo played like gangbusters. The whole experience was wonderful.
After it was over and my group was making its way back to the car, the inevitable conversation about the film started up. What surprised me was that as much talk as there were about the funny parts, there was discussion of what was moving and what was scary. The comedy and the horror had melded so well that the experience as a whole begged some thinking about.
Over the years, I grew to love Zombieland. Not only for the visceral experience of it, but for the character work and the world building. Columbus, Tallahassee, Wichita and Little Rock felt like real people. Their reactions were flawed and humiliating at times, certainly, but human. That’s the key to a great zombie movie, the monsters must be counterbalanced with raw, unfiltered humanity for the impact to truly land.
As I learned more about the production, discovering that the script began its life as a series pilot and evolved into a standalone movie, it became clear why these characters felt so well drawn. They were intended to run for seasons, not just 90 minutes, Columbus’ rules the guiding force behind their survival. The script itself reflected that same humanity, its action description chocked full of witty asides and charming character insight. While a bit unorthodox, the writing falls in line with the best scripts I’ve come across, it forges its own path and is guided by its own set of rules.
The film translates the language of the script incredibly well, often paring it down and excising lengthy pieces of action or commentary, while still ultimately reaping the same characters which make it so compelling. Brought to life through a combination of heavy practical and digital effects, the film was meticulously storyboarded and constructed to honor the tone of the screenplay.
So many sequences stand out as beautiful slices of character and effects-heavy action, but, to me, the flashback to Columbus’ first encounter with a zombie, his neighbor 206, stands out. The scene is a perfect encapsulation of Columbus’ character, both before and after the “end of the world”, and also displays a full on, practically realized close-combat brawl with a zombie. It’s a funny, somewhat melancholic and truly frightening sequence that brings the tone of the page to life, while still allowing the words and characters to evolve in the transition.
Zombieland appealed to all sorts of film fans, it’s true. I’m grateful for a multitude of reasons, but chief among them is that when people fall for a film outside their genre of preference, it tends to inadvertently open their eyes to the pleasures which that genre has to offer. It’s scenes like this that remind people of the raw, emotional power of horror. It can be quirky, sweet, terrifying, hilarious and then all of those things again in the span of seconds and, even my father-in-law will admit, Zombieland stands as the perfect example of what makes the movies so great, regardless of genre.
THE SCENE
Columbus plays a video game alone in his apartment. He spills soda down his shirt and changes. Someone pounds on his door. He investigates and discovers his attractive neighbor, 406. He lets her in and she hugs him, explaining that a deranged homeless man attacked her. She falls asleep on his shoulder. He awakens some time later to find her transformed. Snarling and diseased, she attacks. He fends her off, begging her to stop. He catches her foot in a door, snapping her ankle. Finally, they land In his bathroom where he encloses her head in a plastic shower curtain and knocks her out with a toilet basin lid. He exits and slams the door. Still, she rises, howling and dragging her twisted foot as she moves open mouthed toward him. Finally, still pleading with her to stop, he slams her one final time with the basin lid, killing her as the words “RULE #2: DOUBLE TAP” flash across the screen.
THE SCRIPT
THE SCREEN
INT. BEDROOM — NIGHT — FLASHBACK
Superimposed onscreen: A TITLE: Then one Friday night…
The film does away with the emboldened title, pruning some of the script’s more storybook qualities, however does fall in line with everything else it initially mentions. A wide shot shows us Columbus’ bedroom (in the script he is referred to as FLAGSTAFF), falling in line with its description, aside from a few items not shown while still being believably present in such a space.
His desk is a mess: soda-can forest. Star Trek Voyager DVDs. Sticky keyboard.
The description reads like Columbus’ voice over. It has a wry tonality infused with a mocking sense of self-loathing and an undeniable truthfulness. The shot progression is comprised of close-ups and mediums, bringing us into Columbus’ tight, controlled space. He is alone. Uninterested in being otherwise, or, more likely inexperienced enough to not know what he’s missing.
The voice over reads the same as the film, with a few exceptions. Specifically at the start, the mention of a Jessica Alba mouse pad and his Right hand on Jessica. Left hand in pants before the words Pride — nowhere. Dignity — loooong gone. Virginity — totally justifiable to speculate on. While appropriately self-deprecating for the character, the removal of this falls in line with a few other amputations which serve to make him less of an awkward, pent-up creep and more of a socially inept, helpless romantic… albeit still awkward.
Over the next few paragraphs, some plot is cut out, like Columbus attempting to wash his shirt before abandoning it on the floor leading to a second excised plot point later in the scene. The backstory regarding his parents is altered as well. In the script, he says, That was my biggest fear of all. Dying alone and goes on to say his mother didn’t think he would meet a marriageable woman and his father knew he wouldn’t in his locked apartment. In the film, this is simplified to Columbus’ statement that his parents were paranoid shut-ins like me and laments that maybe this fantasy girl could bring him home to where he could become a member of a cool, functional family.
Again, the film sees Columbus as someone looking for a place to belong, for people to love, something that serves the plot and thrust of the film and its group of protagonists. A stark contrast to the page’s Flagstaff and his fear of dying alone and finding a marriageable woman.
Just as Flagstaff is heading back to his computer, he hears POUNDING at his front door. He nearly jumps a foot in the air, then freezes, listening.
The screenplay plays up Flagstaff’s internal deliberation and cowardice. He TIPTOES down the hall and approaches the door as if it were the edge of the Grand Canyon. He is depicted as TORN, going to open the door before he CHICKENS OUT. This, all despite the fact that he can hear the girl’s cries and knows exactly who she is. In the screenplay, his voice over reads: Omigod. My adorable next door neighbor, 406. I’d dreamed of this girl. But I’d never said hi, ‘cause I was busy making advances in the exciting new field of lame.
The film, while still reflecting trepidation, follows Columbus directly to the door with speed and purpose, twisting through the shadowy hallways and rooms of his apartment. Not only does it offer a sense of the space for the later struggle, it visually represents the twisting and turning pathways of Columbus’ busy mind. He looks through the peephole, while his voiceover plays, different than the script:
I don’t usually open the door to signs of panic but my neighbor 406 is insanely hot.
Again, his fears are present, as are his desires, but they come across as more normal and immediate as opposed to oddly manic and brewing.
He opens the door and the scene plays out as scripted. The shots are still relatively tight, comprised of mostly mediums and close-ups, as 406 BURSTS into the room, SLAMS the door behind her, bolts the latch, then HUGS Flagstaff like a long-lost relative. In the film, this happens quickly, leaving Columbus locked in a tight embrace that he seems torn between being uncomfortably confined to and desperately excited by.
The script describes her as cuter than a button and The kind of girl you’d love to spend Armageddon with. But even that description seems to be through the lens of the fantasy Flagstaff/Columbus has built around the idea of her. The film doesn’t linger on her looks, rather shows her urgency and anguish, fighting to find refuge amongst the tumult she has only narrowly escaped from. In the film, Columbus doesn’t know quite how to handle this sort of person. As a recluse such raw emotionality eludes him and this challenge is the perfect gateway into the sort of life he will very shortly have to live if he wishes to survive.
The following exchange in the script is truncated in the film, cutting out almost a page’s worth of dialogue. Amongst the things cut is another plot device, focusing on the phone being disconnected and offering a reason as to why neither calls the police. Instead, Columbus’ offer of a mug of Code Red Mountain Dew and Golden Grahams in a Zip-loc Bag (Zip-loc Bag usage being a carry over rule from the script that didn’t make it into the finished film) leads directly into 406’s explanation of what happened to her.
The scene does away with additional voice over— Ok, the confidence? Coming out of nowhere… seriously, maybe even my ass— once more, helping the viewer to interpret Columbus’ onscreen actions as less annoying and more born out of spontaneity. This allows 406 to get to the worst part and reveal that her attacker, “tried to bite me” much faster. In keeping with the changes, the script describes Flagstaff as being grossed out. Alternatively in the film, Columbus looks frightened and deeply disturbed.
Some alterations are made in the conversation that follows, allowing the dialogue to flow better. The most character significant change comes after Flagstaff’s voice over telling the audience, I’d always… my whole life… wanted to brush a girl’s hair over her ear. In the action description, Flagstaff reaches out with his hand and brushes 406’s hair over her ear. In the film, Columbus moves to do this but halts and pulls back when 406 adjusts herself slightly. He sits there, stricken, both intimidated and at peace, ultimately too afraid to make the subtle move he had spent his adolescent life dreaming about making.
Mountain Dew non-withstanding, sleepiness is contagious.
Columbus’ inability to act, even when the opportunity presents itself, is what leads the scene into its second, far more action-heavy half. The screen fades to black and then fades back in, an unspecified amount of time later. The script follows his stream of consciousness as he comes to, keeping the reader in the moment.
Where is he? Oh, right, on the couch. His kitchen is on the left. And 406 must still be on the couch.
The shot opens in a close-up of Columbus. The shot holds on him and then moves over slightly as 406 pops unceremoniously into frame. However, instead of the beautiful girl he had pined after from afar, he discovers:
…SHE IS SITTING A FOOT FROM HIS FACE, HER FACE A BLOODY, BLACK MESS OF ZOMBIE DISEASE, YELLOW EYES ALIVE WITH CURIOSITY AND MALICE, GRINNING AT HIM.
The shot is very tight. 406’s hair is greasy and matted, her face indeed a bloody mess. She tilts her head at Columbus, examining him, the curiosity mentioned in the script clear and disturbingly prevalent. The words on the page leap out, conveying the shock as Flagstaff is written to feel it. The following series of events follows the script rather closely. He leaps off the couch and 406 HISSES/HOCKS UP PHLEGM which onscreen looks more like green, viscous vomit.
Flagstaff backs up as fast as humanly possible, then turns to run.
The initial chase through the apartment happens quickly. Onscreen, 406’s actions are purposeful and self-assured as she leaps over the couch and makes a beeline for her prey. Columbus on the other hand is awkward and terrified, doubting every move and pleading with he girl to come to her senses: “Stop! Stop! Stop! What are you doing?”
They arrive in the kitchen where both in the film and the script, Flagstaff/Columbus face 406 while holding a BLENDER as a weapon. Flagstaff’s scripted dialogue remains, “Stay back! I don’t want to hurt you!”, the scene changing only with the added stinger of the blender falling apart and Columbus’ utterance of a disappointed, “Shit!”
The script makes a point to maintain a sense of personality, rather than following a bland blueprint with lines like Zombies don’t generally stay back and Still wigged out by the idea of injuring his neighbor (however zombie-ish). The stylistic choice keeps the sense of fun at the forefront, helping the more horrific elements to maintain a sense of electric excitement as opposed to somber desperation.
The scene continues as scripted, 406 getting caught in Columbus’ slamming bedroom door when she STICKS OUT her foot as if she’s about to slide into third base and tries to stops it. A sickening snap resounds as the door SMASHES 406’s ANKLE, bending her foot SIDEWAYS with a sickening crack. In the script, She falls to the ground, screaming, in a daze, clutching her now diagonally attached foot. In the film, 406 does scream, but she does not fall, rather pushes onward, if anything more emboldened.
This speaks to a rather distinct difference between the script and the film. Both entities suggest the people are not the undead, that they are sick, still human but deranged and unable to listen to reason. On the page, this fact is not only more apparent (i.e. the excised conclusion of this scene), but more impactful to what happens to the “zombies” when they’re injured. While the film does subscribe to the illness factor, it plays down the zombie’s ability to feel pain, allowing them to be more monstrous than human.
Once 406 gets into the room in the script, Flagstaff moves into the bathroom, slipping on the WET, MOUNTAIN-DEW-COVERED SHIRT which the film somewhat did away with. In the film, 406 tackles him, cutting out several more instances of biting, clawing and a brief interlude where 406 has him by the ankle. The film streamlines the whole affair, showing the two fall together as Columbus pulls the shower curtain down with them.
As with most of this scene, Columbus and 406 are depicted in a medium close-up shot, her face inches away from his own and covered by the shower curtain. As the script puts it, literally FACE to FACE, as if kissing. The unsetting visage of a bloody, grotesque face pressed up against the plastic holds for a moment, before 406 CHEWS through the plastic as her gangrenous tongue PROTRUDES through the hole. Dark, black ooze leaks in huge dollops from her open mouth, slowly getting closer and closer to Columbus.
Columbus fights her off, with the help of an aerosol can of LYSOL which he fires into her mouth. She chokes and falls off, again in keeping with the idea of the zombies being diseased people as opposed to undead ghouls, allowing Columbus to stand and grab the PORCELAIN LID on the back of the toilet. In the script, he swats at her a few times and even cuts away to show 406 as she instinctively tries to BEND her broken foot back into place, CRACKING it from one odd angle to another. In the film, Columbus slams her on the head and knocks her out.
As he backs out of the bathroom and down the hall, unscripted voiceover accompanies him:
You see you just can’t trust anyone. The first time I let a girl into my life and she tries to eat me.
The scene is juxtaposed with shots of 406 pulling herself up and opening the door, Columbus watching, brandishing the lid with helpless tears in his eyes. Again, he pleads, catching up with the script, reminding 406, You’re just sick. The response to these words is clear by way of the action description which follows them: But 406’s expression is one of pure, blind hate.
406 stands in the film as a hunched, hulking figure in the frame, a stark contrast to the frantic, sweet image of the girl only hours before resting her head on the protagonist’s shoulder. As scripted, like that of a trapped, infuriated animal, she HOWLS and RUN-DRAGS herself TOWARD him.
The events playing to the words verbatim, Columbus rears back and BELTS her in the head with the TOILET BASIN LID. Then, At the EXACT MOMENT of jarring IMPACT, we FREEZE FRAME. Only in the film, the viewer is also treated to the superimposed words: RULE #2: DOUBLE TAP.
A voice over accompanies this moment frozen in time as the film returns to present day, Columbus providing some base exposition as to what happened to the world: That was my first brush with the plague of the 21st century. Remember Mad Cow Disease? Well, Mad Cow became mad person became mad zombie. The exposition is simple and in not overplayed. It doesn’t beg interpretation or incur too much additional thought.
The script continues far beyond the freeze frame, intercutting present day with the Flagstaff of the past as he disposes of 406’s body. His voice over in these scenes dives much deeper into what happened and why:
A ‘zombie’ isn’t a dead person who’s come back to life. It’s someone who’s been infected with the plague of the 21st century — a terrible disease that leaves its victims irrationally violent and hateful, some insist evil. Zombieism is carried in bodily fluid.
There are flashbacks to the sequence which just played out as well, showing how narrowly Flagstaff avoided said fluids and how easy it is to be infected. There’s even a moment where Flagstaff BRUSHES 406’s HAIR over he ear, just before he wraps her in the plastic shower curtain and pushes her body over his apartment balcony.
In the end, the film disposed of much of the exposition and somberness of the scene, simplifying the action and focusing on the most endearing character beats. It not only sets the stage for the dangers and rules of their world, but it establishes the nature of Columbus. His strengths, his weaknesses and how the two can, at times, be interchangeable.
THE BLOODY CONCLUSION
“This was our very first day of shooting in the whole movie,” director Ruben Fleischer said on his commentary track for Zombieland found on the blu-ray disc (Available here), “and as a first time director I was really nervous about the whole thing, but Jessie and Amber just really did a terrific job and it started the movie off on the right foot.”
It can be difficult when you love something that is considered to be more niche, or, rather, are surrounded by people who project that label onto what it is that you love. It’s for that very reason that a movie like Zombieland is so important to me and the horror genre at large. It bridges those gaps, invites others in and ultimately reveals what it is they were missing all along.
The scene where Columbus first encounters the disease which will go on to change his life and end the world is integral to the movie’s ability to make the viewer both care about and relate to the characters. The scene elicits urgent, visceral fear. Ruben Fleischer calls it “the biggest scare in the movie” in his commentary and it only works because of the meticulous manner in which it was constructed.
“There was a very particular set of actions [which were] storyboarded carefully,” Production Designer Maher Ahmad said on the feature “Zombieland is your Land” found on the blu-ray, “[I] designed the set around the storyboards… it’s not just about the way things look, but about accommodating the actions.” Each room and hallway turn was built to reflect the moment-to-moment storyboards which they were recreating.
Beyond that, the scene introduced the disease itself in a close up, intimate way. While Amber Heard was only on set for 2 days, her make up and appliances took several hours to prepare and apply. Stephen Prouty, special Make-Up and Effects Artist for the film, wanted to really land the impact of the plague from the start. In the feature “In Search of Zombieland”, he talks about what it was they were going for:
“What we were trying to get with here is that they’re infected, they’re sick, they’re still alive but they’re raging fever, they’re always wet, they’re always dripping, they’re hemorrhaging from all of their orifices and spewing up black bile-like material.”
From the practical make-up to the digital toilet lid that, according to the commentary, was “actually half a lid, they added the other half in digital effects”, the scene in Columbus’ apartment effectively sets the stage for everything that will follow it. Its adaptation from the page manages to distill the heart behind the character with less toxic neuroses, while maintaining the humor behind his everyday cowardice. His dream of sweetly engaging with the opposite sex remains in tact to the viewer while simultaneously being decimated before the eyes of the character in light of the destructive actions he is forced to take against the girl he had “dreamed” about.
While my friends and family didn’t become horror fanatics after watching Zombieland, they certainly became more open-minded. Conversation blossomed. My father-in-law even asked to borrow The Evil Dead (1981) once we got to talking! And it all stemmed from an experience with a movie that crossed genre barriers and managed to tell a character driven story with all of the trappings of one of horror’s most gruesome sub-genres.
Of course, character and emotionality aside, there’s one other thing this scene, and movie, gets very right.
“When I go to theaters,” Ruben Fleischer admits giddily in his commentary, “I like to turn and watch the audience jump in their seats when [Amber Heard] appears.”
Whether it be decades ago, the mid-2000s or even now when horror seems to be in a renaissance, audience reaction is a universal language. And sometimes a frightened leap is the greatest compliment of all, whether it be from a burgeoning horror fan or his skeptical father-in-law. Especially if it’s followed by laughter, a choked back tear and, yes, even another leap.
That’s the power of movies like Zombieland. Of horror. The world at large may dip in and out of scary-movie fandom, some choosing to stay while others only visit, but as long as there are movies like this, I think it will continue to win over those who might otherwise write it off. Which is good because when all is said and done, when the Stephen-King-aissance has passed, just like in the mid-2000s… I’ll still need friends to go to the movies with.
Zombieland (2009): Written by Rhett Reese & Paul Wernick & Directed by Ruben Fleischer
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