Case in point: World War Z, a critically-slobjobbed zombie book penned by Max Brooks, the son of comedy cornerstone Mel. Being the zombie lore blowhard that I am, I caught wind of the novel years back, yet never pulled the buy-then-read trigger. And then I heard that the folks in H-wood have been trying to greenlight a film adaptation as a result of the page-turner's greatness, and how, if executed strongly, it could be a seminal genre flick, and give my precious undead the credibility and prestige they've long deserved. Yet still, I opted to download mediocre rap album after album, flavor-of-the-moment mp3 before mp3. You moron!
The book is a flashback-heavy story, an oral history told through survivor accounts of a zombie apocalypse that pretty much deleted civilization. The focal person is a "nameless editor [filing a report] as part of a government report." There's more to it, of course, and it all sounds quite epic.
Today, it was announced that, under the production of Brad Pitt's Plan B company, director Marc Forster (dude behind the new Bond entry Quantum of Solace, who cut his teeth doing more intimate projects such as Monster's Ball, the Johnny Depp-anchored Finding Neverland, and Will Ferrell's "dramatic turn" in Stranger Than Fiction) is attached to bring World War Z to cinemas. Interesting. Skipped a free Quantum of Solace screening this week, regrettably, meaning I'll have to drop coin now, if for no other reasons than to see slick action and Olga Kurylenko. I mean, I suffered through Hitman just to stare at her; Bond's gotta be better than that shite-show.
Check out a script reaction, glowing and giddy, from Ain't It Cool News:
I'd kill a cat to check this script out myself
Was going to pick up Revolutionary Road as my next book, to tackle once I finish The Killer Inside Me. But World War Z has just strongarmed the on-deck circle.
Better late than never, says the cliche.
.jpeg)
No comments:
Post a Comment