Zombie Film Quotes

When the black thing was at its worst, when the illicit cocktails and the ten-mile runs stopped working, I would feel numb as if dead to the world. I moved unconsciously, with heavy limbs, like a zombie from a horror film. I felt a pain so fierce and persistent deep inside me, I was tempted to take the chopping knife in the kitchen and cut the black thing out I would lie on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about that knife and using all my limited powers of self-control to stop myself from going downstairs to get it.

A zombie film is not fun without a bunch of stupid people running around and observing how they fail to handle the situation.

What this movie needs is more brain eating zombies.

It's why I get miffed at all the dashing around in recent zombie films. It completely misses the point; transforms the threat to a straightforward physical danger from the zombies themselves, rather than our own inability to avoid them and these films are about us, not them. There's far more meat on the bones of the latter, far more juicy interpretation to get our teeth into. The first zombie is by comparison thin and one dimensional and ironically, it is down to all the exercise.

We offered her flowers and signalled to her with our penises, but she did not respond with joy.' 'The men with the extra skins didn't look happy. They looked angry.' 'We went towards them to greet them, but they ran away.' Snowman can imagine. The sight of these preternaturally calm, well-muscled men advancing en masse, singing their unusual music, green eyes glowing, blue penises waving in unison, both hands outstretched like extras in a zombie film, would have to have been alarming.

Fairy tale ‘adaptations’ are usually stripped of every moral and lesson the stories were originally intended to teach, and replaced with singing and dancing forest animals. I recently read that films are being created depicting Cinderella as a struggling hip-hop singer and Sleeping Beauty as a warrior princess battling zombies!” “Awesome,” a student behind Alex whispered to himself. Alex

Google is so strange. It promises everything, but everything isn't there. You type in the words for what you need, and what you need becomes superfluous in an instant, shadowed instantaneously by the things you really need, and none of them answerable by Google....Sure, there's a certain charm to being able to look up and watch Eartha Kitt singing Old Fashioned Millionaire in 1957 at three in the morning or Hayley Mills singing a song about femininity from an old Disney film. But the charm is a kind of deception about a whole new way of feeling lonely, a semblance of plenitude but really a new level of Dante's inferno, a zombie-filled cemetery of spurious clues, beauty, pathos, pain, the faces of puppies, women and men from all over the world tied up and wanked over in site after site, a great sea of hidden shallows. More and more, the pressing human dilemma: how to walk a clean path between obscenities.

I don't like zombie movies, they're just plain silly.

Ben actually had no intention of dancing at the ball. That, as far as he was concerned, was for pussies, a judgement he also gave to art, classical music, black and white films, and any books without serial killers, or explosions, or zombies

I walk toward what I think is the school, getting lost again and again until at last the moldering, vacant storefronts switch to juice bars and dog salons and I glimpse the Ivy Bubble. The towers upon which Ava and I have sat like gargoyles. Everyone on the street suddenly goes from looking like an extra in a zombie movie to the star of a French New Wave film.

Mimicque—zombies—can only be killed with an iron or obsidian blade, so don't think you can just act like the wrestler El Santo in the 1970s film El Santo Versus the Mummies of Guanajuato. If a walking undead is after you, run. Let the experts take care of the zombies.

Children are like the zombies I once saw in a film at Dad's. We have to do as we're told and obey like our brains have got eaten.

Elizabeth didn’t know what was more shocking: the little man’s language or the intensity with which Calvin reacted to that language. Within moments of hearing the words “you fucking machine” and “sons of bitches,” Calvin’s face took on a crazed look usually not seen outside of low-budget zombie films. He pulled harder and faster, his exhales so loud, he sounded like a runaway train, and yet the little man was not satisfied; he kept yelling at Calvin, demanding more and getting more as he counted down the strokes like an angry stopwatch: Twenty! Fifteen! Ten! Five! And then the count evaporated and all that was left were two simple words that Elizabeth couldn’t agree with more. “Way enough,” the coxswain said. Upon which Calvin slumped heavily forward as if he’d been shot in the back.

Tomas had finally come to the realization of who—and more importantly what—his sister had become. No amount of reasoning, pleading, begging, or crying would change that. She had become a monster to rival anything ever produced in the pages of a book or on the cells of a film.

Fairy tales are much more than silly bedtime stories. The solution to almost any problem imaginable can be found in the outcome of a fairy tale. Sadly, these timeless tales are no longer relevant in our society. We have traded their brilliant teachings for small-minded entertainment like television and video games. The only exposure to the tales some children acquire are versions bastardised by film companies. These ‘adaptations’ are usually stripped of every moral and lesson these stories were intended to teach. I(Mrs.Peters) recently read that films were being created depicting Cinderella as a struggling hip hop singer and Sleeping Beauty as a warrior princess battling zombies!

A number of children kept coming over to the tennis courts, rattling on the gate, and trying to get in. The watching middle-class mums did nothing to restrain them. Eventually my friend yelled, “Go AWAY!” Whereupon the watching mums did do something. A mob of them descended on us as though my friend had exposed himself. Suddenly we were in the midst of a maternal zombie film. It was the nearest I’ve ever come to getting lynched—they were after my friend rather than me and though, strictly speaking, I was his opponent, I was a tacit accomplice—and a clear demonstration that the rights of parents and their children to do whatever they please have priority over everyone else’s. “A child is the very devil,” wrote Virginia Woolf in a letter, “calling out, as I believe, all the worst and least explicable passions of the parents.

In America, they have this thing called a story cycle. When they're at war, they start doing fantasy and war-style entertainment. When fantasy gets big, they go through a recession, and horror starts gaining popularity. When horror gets popular, mystery starts gaining popularity. Then when mystery reaches its peak, science fiction starts gaining popularity. Then things get rough again, and we go back to Fantasy". This quote was taken from an interview from The Myth of Cthulhu: Dark Navigation.

Eighty years, whether it feels that way to us right now? It’s a long time. We’ve had a good run. And we—not you and I, but the Big We—we’re getting into the habit of destroying everything good about ourselves before taking our belated leave. Remember those horror films we grew up watching? About zombies, and mummies, and Frankenstein’s monster, staggering around with gaping mouths and vacant eyes? Those creatures played on a primal fear: of living death. And despite the fact that it’s one of our mythic terrors, that’s what we're trying to arrange for everyone now: a living death.

The ultimate irony in this vast struggle (available to audience members who want to think about it but easily ignored by those who accept the semi-happy ending ) is the irony in many time loop (or ontological paradox) stories: John Connor has created himself (though he has not gone as far as the character in Robert Heinlein’s “All You Zombies” who is both his own father and mother). Far worse, by saving his mother’s life and ensuring the destruction of the Terminator, John Connor has created Skynet just as surely as Skynet has created John Connor by trying to kill him. Both Connor and Skynet exist in a time loop without outside causality. The Terminator’s surviving arm makes Skynet possible, but it is never invented, only found and back-engineered. Kyle Reese comes across time for Sarah Connor because of a picture and because John Connor asks him to, but neither the picture nor John Connor would exist if Reese had not already gone back in time. The simplest way to save the world is to let the Terminator kill Sarah Connor. Then (in all probability), no one would find a piece of the advanced technology, and Skynet could not be built. But, Cameron’s plot suggests, the “perils to come that would result from our hubris and blind faith in technology” may be inescapable, a time loop, a feedback loop, leading directly if not necessarily inevitably to destruction."Fighting the History Wars on the Big Screen: From the Terminator to Avatar" from The Films of James Cameron

Your gran says you’re not eating enough,’ she says, and we keep moving. ‘She also says you’ve turned into a zombie who hides in her room, sleeps all day and spends her nights at the beach with her mother, who has always turned into a zombie.’ Rose throws cans of tuna in the trolley while I’m trying to get a look at myself in the cake tins to see if I do actually look like the undead. The news isn’t entirely good. ‘She has no idea what a zombie actually is,’ Rose says. ‘So I wouldn’t worry.’ ‘Cal introduced her to zombies. Shaun of the Dead is her top movie of all time.’ ‘Jesus,’ Rose says. ‘We didn’t even get to watch TV when we were growing up. Now she’s watching Simon Pegg films and telling me my niece needs to have sex. But don’t worry,’ she says, looking at my horrified face. ‘I set her straight about that. I told her to leave you alone.’ ‘Good.’ ‘I told her zombies don’t have sex

Zona distrușilor Ce facem noi, cei fără ambiție, cărora ne plac monologurile interioare iraționale? Noi, cei care știm că suntem prinși în meschinărie și oboseală, și orice lucru ni se pare imposibil și îndepărtat? Ce facem noi, ăștia prinși în blocaj, veșnic nemulțumiți? Când se întâmplă să avem o seară mișto, ni se pare că totul e atât de ușor iar, mai târziu, când rămânem singuri, murim încet și fără sens. Noi, blazații, care nu ne dorim mișcare și ergoterapii; noi, care ne dorim în secret să fim teleportați în rezervație, unde e petrecerea cu amăgiri și aluzii, de unde știm că nimeni nu mai pleacă. Cei pentru care religia nu mai înseamnă nimic, familia nimic, natura nimic, animalele nimic, copiii nimic… Știința nu ne mai satisface imaginația și inteligența. Noi, ăștia, care ne dorim atât de mult să iubim, iar când se întâmplă, ni se pare imposibil și obositor. Ce facem noi, cei care ne pierdem în amănunte, care vedem defecțiuni peste tot, care nu-i suportăm pe onctuoși, dar ne lăsăm uneori prinși în capcana lor. Noi, care trăim pentru scroll și lucru mecanic, pentru confuzie și deșeu? Noi, ăștia, lipsiți de energie și șansă, rămași în așteptare… Când obținem ce dorim nu ne mai dorim ce am obținut. Consumatori de filme proaste, de umor sec și texte dubioase. Pentru noi trecutul nu înseamnă nimic, prezentul e paralel, viitorul imposibil. Ce facem noi, cei care ne-am săturat de poezie și artă? Cei care stăm prost cu orientarea, cu skillurile? Noi nu ne dorim decât să fim lăsați în pace, să ne milogim prin baie și holuri întunecate, ca niște zombie. Noi, cei care n-am vrut niciodată să ne maturizăm; care n-am vrut să cunoaștem ridicolul și lipsa de sens. Ce facem noi, cei care n-am înțeles schemele și-am rămas blocați pentru totdeauna, aici, în zona distrușilor?

The Revenant watched her as he drove. He seemed to be waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. What could she—What could anyone say about this? The horror was too big to even to choke on. “They came to us,” he said at last. “I know.” “The war was over and we were content with its end. They were the ones to bring it back.” She nodded. She knew that, too. “What did they think would happen?” the Revenant muttered, bumping over a pike that had fallen across the road. Lan could only shake her head. They thought they’d win, of course. Wasn’t that the point of every old book and film and fairy tale, that Mankind would prevail? Dragons, demons, aliens, superviruses…zombies…they were all the same shadow, cringing away from the light. And no matter how terrible the threat or how unstoppable it seemed or how many millions of people had to die first, there would always be survivors and if those survivors just…just survived long enough…well, of course they’d win. Because they deserved to. Because they were fighting for their homes and their way of life and for all humanity. Because nothing could be stronger than the human spirit. But that was only true in stories. The Earth may be Man’s home, but it didn’t have to love them for it, and in its unflinching eyes, humans were parasites, no different and no more deserving of life than any other worm feeding on a body from within. They were not owed victory. That went, as it went in every war, to the one best equipped to fight. The dead couldn’t get any deader; the living could.

Then they showed us a film about what to do in case of a Zombie Apocalypse. I didn’t understand why they were showing it. It’s not like we’re going to have a Zombie Apocalypse any time soon. Plus, I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. I kind of think that if Zombies were to take over the world, it would really improve our social status. “Now

Ben actually had no intention of dancing at the ball. That, as far as he was concerned, was for pussies, a judgement he also gave to art, classical music, black and white films, and any books without serial killers, or explosions, or zombies.

Like something straight out of a B-grade horror film, a single arm shot up from the dirt, reaching and grabbing as it clawed its way forth from its earthen prison. Ash and Trent watched the monster struggle in silence for at least ten minutes, occasionally exchanging glances. Finally, after all the writhing, the zombie emerged. It stumbled out of its grave covered in dirt and gave an annoyed-sounding groan.

The other song we did was my cover of “Addicted to Love.” There used to be a sort of karaoke booth on Saint Mark’s, where anyone could go in and record themselves. I chose “Addicted to Love” because I liked Robert Palmer’s video, with its background cast of zombie models identically dressed and holding guitars. I took the tape with the canned version of the song back to the studio, and we sped up the vocal to make it sound higher in pitch. Later I brought the cassette mix to Macy’s, where they had a video version of the karaoke sound booth. You could customize a background while two cameras filmed you. For my backdrop I picked jungle fighters, and I wore my Black Flag earrings. The entire bill came to $19.99, and in a slick, commercial MTV world, it felt gratifying and empowering to pay for the whole thing with a credit card.

Explosive Pandemic-type zombies mostly spread the contagion through wounding or biting humans, and in that way, the increase their numbers. Because they multiply so quickly and explosively, they can destroy all human civilization in a very short time. For this reason, will refer to them as Explosive Pandemic-type zombies. The person responsible for Explosive Pandemic-type zombies is none other than George A Romero, who created them in 1968 Night of the Living Dead.

I called it “Wonder Weapons,” seven films on our military’s cutting-edge technology, none of which made any strategic difference, but all of which were psychological war winners. Isn’t that… A lie? It’s okay. You can say it. Yes, they were lies and sometimes that’s not a bad thing. Lies are neither bad nor good. Like a fire they can either keep you warm or burn you to death, depending on how they’re used. The lies our government told us before the war, the ones that were supposed to keep us happy and blind, those were the ones that burned, because they prevented us from doing what had to be done. However, by the time I made Avalon, everyone was already doing everything they could possibly do to survive.

Only Hollywood studio head Harvey Nagila. Nagila was a quadrillionaire from his Oscar-winning film, Naked Coed Zombies from Pluto.

was so not filming Teen Mom Zombie Apocalypse Edition.

Many persistent traits of the horror film are already present. Science here is a form of magic, and in Caligari we have a mad scientist of operatic proportions. His suspect specialty is mesmerism. He’s a despised and resentful outcast from official society, part con man and part conjurer. He weaponizes his unnatural powers for evil purposes; his somnambulist subject is by turns a serial killer, a zombie, a robot, a child. The creator/monster dynamic is in full bloom here. The creature acts out the impulses that the mastermind dictates.

Potrei fermarmi o andare a controllare, ma se c’è una cosa che ho imparato dai film horror alle tre di mattina è che, chi si fa gli affari suoi, campa mediamente più di chi ha un’opinione diversa. E che se devi dormire due ore prima di andare al lavoro, è meglio rimandare alla notte successiva.

Ho bisogno di cercare un motivo dietro tutto questo, ogni giorno spero che un’illuminazione mi regali qualche collegamento. E invece no. Sono morti tutti e sono rimasto solo io, fine della storia. Mi sembra quasi di essere dopo la fine di un film: la vicenda principale si è svolta e ora non interessa più, succeda quel che succeda. Sono scivolato oltre i bordi di una sceneggiatura che la gente ha dimenticato.

Following Get Out, the label “woke horror” was slapped on any new genre film that dared to touch upon any topic deeper than “fast zombies versus slow zombies.” In truth, though, the horror genre—especially Black horror—has long been woke.

This is some crazy shit straight out of a Romero film.

Ripenso a Milla Jovovich nei panni di... boh. Una che sparava a dei mostri. "I videogiochi, non i film" puntualizza Steve, che sembra avermi letto nel pensiero. "I film sono orribili, Anderson ha rovinato una grandissima storia di zombie. Che cosa non farebbe quell'uomo pur di far lavorare la moglie...

Silence replaces conversation. Turning away replaces turning towards. Dismissiveness replaces receptivity. And contempt replaces respect. Emotional withholding is, I believe, the toughest tactic to deal with when trying to create and maintain a healthy relationship, because it plays on our deepest fears—rejection, unworthiness, shame and guilt, the worry that we’ve done something wrong or failed or worse, that there’s something wrong with us. ♦◊♦ But Sara’s description is more accurate and compelling than mine. Her line, “quietly sucks out your integrity and self-respect” is still stuck in my head three days later. It makes me think of those films where an alien creature hooks up a human to some ghastly, contorted machine and drains him of his life force drop by drop, or those horrible “can’t watch” scenes where witches swoop down and inhale the breath of children to activate their evil spells of world domination. In the movies, the person in peril always gets saved. The thieves are vanquished. The deadly transfusion halted. And the heroic victim recovers. But in real life, in real dysfunctional relationships, there’s often no savior and definitely no guarantee of a happy ending. Your integrity and self-respect can indeed be hoovered out, turning you into an emotional zombie, leaving you like one of the husks in the video game Mass Effect, unable to feel pain or joy, a mindless, quivering animal, a soulless puppet readily bent to the Reapers’ will. Emotional withholding is so painful because it is the absence of love, the absence of caring, compassion, communication, and connection. You’re locked in the meat freezer with the upside-down carcasses of cows and pigs, shivering, as your partner casually walks away from the giant steel door. You’re desperately lonely, even though the person who could comfort you by sharing even one kind word is right there, across from you at the dinner table, seated next to you at the movie, or in the same bed with you, back turned, deaf to your words, blind to your agony, and if you dare to reach out, scornful of your touch. When you speak, you might as well be talking to the wall, because you’re not going to get an answer, except maybe, if you’re lucky, a dismissive shrug.

Did you ever hear of The Hero City? Of course. Great film, right? Marty made it over the course of the Siege. Just him, shooting on whatever medium he could get his hands on. What a masterpiece: the courage, the determination, the strength, dignity, kindness, and honor. It really makes you believe in the human race. It’s better than anything I’ve ever done. You should see it. I have. Which version? I’m sorry? Which version did you see? I wasn’t aware… That there were two? You need to do some homework, young man. Marty made both a wartime and postwar version of The Hero City. The version you saw, it was ninety minutes? I think. Did it show the dark side of the heroes in The Hero City? Did it show the violence and the betrayal, the cruelty, the depravity, the bottomless evil in some of those “heroes’” hearts? No, of course not. Why would it? That was our reality and it’s what drove so many people to get snuggled in bed, blow out their candles, and take their last breath. Marty chose, instead, to show the other side, the one that gets people out of bed the next morning, makes them scratch and scrape and fight for their lives because someone is telling them that they’re going to be okay. There’s a word for that kind of lie. Hope.

Voodoo in film and on television is often portrayed as a violent tradition practiced by people that studios seem to go out of their way to depict as savages. The media strips topics such as animal sacrifice, voodoo dolls, and zombies of their historical and spiritual contexts, twisting them to fit a plot that is often written to scare white people.