This show makes me want to order a bunch of test tubes and shit from Amazon, invent the zombie virus, infect myself with it, become a zombie, jump through the TV screen and bite every one of those boring-ass characters to make them zombies and liven this shit up. Spoilers, I guess.

Recap: we’ve got brief flashes of the zombie apocalypse interspersed with long sequences of people talking about boring shit, doing boring shit or otherwise breaking down, inexplicably neglecting to reveal crucial and easily-imparted information to each other, engaging in protracted weeping or demonstrating conspicuous incompetence.

The whole premise of this show is fucked: that no one would be talking about the zombie apocalypse, paying attention to it or realize what was going on. Horseshit. There’d be two videos of zombies getting shot by cops on Facebook and all of LA would collectively and simultaneously shit itself with the force of Adamsian Loudest Band in the Universe Disaster Area playing a 100,000,000,000-decibel brown noise.

  • Everybody goes on stupid errands guaranteed to fuck them up, like Colin Ferrell going to see his son in the True detective finale times a thousand.
  • Considering that there are more hours of YouTube video of people yelling at cops to reference then there are episode-hours in the entire Walking Dead universe, the dialogue of the crowd yelling at the cops in this episode was impressively fake and wooden.
  • Also, having the kid there protesting the cops in the first place was just patently asinine on every conceivable level.
  • The only character I like—who had maybe 45 seconds of screen time—is the pizza-faced kid who went back to get his knife and load up his canned food trolley. But even that—they drag the food trolley around while running away but when the zombie is dead and it’s safe, they leave the food trolley behind?! Die, stupid humans, die!
  • For some absurd reason, the show seems to be limiting itself to two zombies per-episode. In the pilot we had one at the beginning and one at the end, and here we have the school guard and hapless punk lady the cops perforate.

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A few meager bonus points are given for use of a Moby song and the superior interior design of the daughter’s boyfriend’s parent’s house.

I hope that faux-brick situation they’ve got going is duly admired by future insect archaeologists.