Official Blog For Author Thomas McClurg

Lizzy Part 1

Deep breathes, screaming, pause for more deep breathes, more screaming. Lizzy repeated the cycle as she ran frantically around the winter clearance rack at the department store where she worked. A few steps behind her was her manager, a portly, balding man who liked to hide from customers, leaving the sales to be carried out by the hand picked, attractive sales reps of which Lizzy was a proud member.

Lizzy looked over her shoulder during one of her deep breathes. Blood was caked around the mouth of her boss and his skin was pale and blotched with sores that oozed chunky, partially clotted blood. The rest of his hair was falling out, some caught in the frame of his glasses which sat lop sided on his snarling, drooling face.

Lizzy regained her breath and went back to screaming and running. She ran with similar poise to her zombiefied boss, clomping awkwardly around the clothing rack in her favorite pair of glitzy wedges she had purchased using her employee discount.

Kicking them off never occurred to her, just like it never occurred to her that her boss would be trying to devour her, he was creepy sure, but this was a little over the top.

Lizzy made another loop around the winter clearance rack. Somewhere deep inside her, a voice of action spoke. Lizzy grabbed a hideously out of style wool coat and threw it at her lumbering boss.

She missed, and nearly fell in the process, then nearly fell again when she tried to regain her forward momentum. Lizzy started screaming again. She knew she had to do something, but had no idea what to do. Throwing the coat had been an epic failure, what else was there?

Then a horrifying thought struck her as she made another lap. She was that girl. The one least prepared for the apocalypse. The one who would get cast as a movie extra and be slapped with the prestigious title of attractive department store victim number one. The odds were stacked against her, like an enormous pile of poorly marked jeans with holes in them that she had to stock by herself on Friday night when everyone else was going out.

Lizzy glanced around. Everyone else was out, or dead, or out and about but still dead. It was just her and her boss. Lizzy looked over her shoulder. His disgusting mass of jiggling, decaying flesh was still following her. At least she was in shape, one had to be to wear the kind of fitted jeans which were currently making it even more difficult for her to beat a hasty retreat.

Her breathing became more important, and more frequent, gradually replacing her screams. She had to think of something. How were girls like her supposed to survive zombies? Weren’t dashing, conspicuously handsome men supposed to appear out of nowhere to slay the creepy, flesh eating bosses of the world?

To bad there were none of those in sight either. It’s up to you, Lizzy. In her next pass, she spotted the open door to the stock room. It’s rear exits were always locked, and she didn’t see any other employee cars in the parking lot. She thought it strange at first, now, not so much.

She could make it, but had to have more speed. As nimbly as she could, Lizzy hopped on one foot and reached down to snag her right wedge. It was a motion she had practiced often, except she was always putting the wedge on, and was usually doing so while rushing out the door.

In a flash she slipped it off, kept running, then did the same thing to her other wedge. At last she was stable, with her manicured feet firmly planted on the ground. The feeling gave her a surge of confidence, and as she rounded the clothing rack, Lizzy made a dash for the open stock room door. She wove deftly through the rest of the clearance section, past a stand of men’s belts, and charged head first into the women’s section. It was her domain, no one knew the best routes to intercept customers like she did.

Lizzy sliced through the narrow aisles, bobbing this way and that like it was an Olympic event. Every second mattered. At last the door to the stock room appeared, and like a sprinter leaning into the tape, Lizzy thrust her way inside, came to a screeching halt, and slammed the door shut with a burst of adrenaline fueled strength.

As soon as she heard the latch catch, her fingers darted down to the lock. There was nothing there, the lock was on the other side.

Her heart jumped as the body of her undead boss slammed into the closed door. The frame strained and winced, but held.

Lizzy backed away into the cold shelving of the stock room. Her boss slammed into the door a second time. Each collision was like a gun shot. So close, so threatening. Still, she was alive. She had made it out of the show room. Phase one of Lizzy’s master survival plan complete, now on to phase two, the stock room. If only she worked at a store that sold weapons. I wonder if we have any really snappy stilettos in stock.

That’s it for this week. Hope you guys are enjoying these. Let me know what you think.

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Norm and Linus Part 1

The sun was going down. Linus peaked through the living room blinds, squinting like a nosy neighbor, except the neighbors were all gone.

“How’s it look?” Norm said.

Linus looked over his shoulder at his brother who was counting out boxes of 22 caliber ammunition stacked on a coffee table.

“How do you think it looks?”

Norm shrugged. The question was never intended to be answered anyway. Linus vented with sarcasm, they both knew it. So Norm continued to count ammo and Linus went back to squinting out the living room window. His brother’s house was at the end of a subdivision cul de sac and Linus was left with a view staring straight down the road. As for how things looked. There were a dozen lifeless bodies sprawled on the pavement like road kill. Truly lifeless, Linus and his brother had made sure of that.

Then there were the ones that weren’t so lifeless. The zombies. Linus sighed and started a head count. Even in the dimming light, Linus recognized some of his brother’s more distant neighbors staggering around in circles like ants with broken feelers. Then there were two heavy set guys dressed in some sort of repairman’s garb. One still held on to a tool of some kind, Linus guessed it was a wrench, plumbers maybe.

A couple guys in business suits took turns crossing the street, tripping on the curb, clawing at the grass and then turning around to do it again. A few of the ones that were there the previous night had moved on and a few new ones had shown up. Most notably a group of college students wearing the Wolverine’s blue and gold.

“Michigan fans” Linus said. It was tough not to smile, but somehow he managed, “That was almost grossly inappropriate.” he said chastising himself out loud. Another statement Norm wasn’t intended to follow up on and he kept counting ammo. Linus kept looking.

The Michigan fans were staggering down the road toward the house. They moved like they were drunk, Linus guessed they probably were when some blood drooling corpse had decided to take a chunk out of a limb or appendage. That was it, headcount complete. Linus looked to the rows of houses on either side of the street. Each was dark, empty, lifeless, and yet so full of potential supplies. Linus did one last quick sweep, recapping the locations and appearances of the zombies prowling that night. When he turned away from the window Norm had finished counting the ammo and was thumbing shells into a clip.

“So how’s it look?”

This time it was a question that needed answering, “Not bad, all things considered. Fewer tonight then last night.”

Norm grinned and thumbed another shell, “That’s cause we offed those accountants or lawyers or whatever they were.”

“Still a few suits left.”

Norm finished loading the clip and thrust it into his pistol with dramatic flare, “So we gonna finish them off tonight? Go for the clean sweep?”

“Doubtful.” Linus said. He watched his brother slip the 22 pistol into his belt and shook his head, “I can’t believe you bought that thing first. What about the 45? what about the combat shotgun or that sniper rifle you always talked about?”

“Dude, baby steps, i’m sure we’ll get bigger guns later.” Norm said with a grin, “So if not the suits then who?”

Linus looked to the window like he could see through the blinds, recreating the image in his head, “i think the Wolverine fans get the axe tonight, and by axe…” Linus paused and snatched up a woodcutters axe leaning against the sofa, “I mean this axe.”

Norm kept grinning, “I know you do.” with that Norm grabbed an accompanying sledge hammer and slung it over his shoulders with more ease than Linus could have hoped for. Both weapons were stained red, “Think we finish the Jacobson’s house tonight?” Norm said. The two of them made for the back door. They stopped in front and began removing barricades which so far hadn’t been needed.

Linus stopped a moment, “Maybe, we might even get to start on another one if the Michigan fans go down easy.”

Norm chuckled and gave a half swing of the sledge, “Should be easy enough, Michigan fans don’t handle adversity well.”

“True.”

Norm opened the door to the back porch and together he and Linus stood on the threshold, “So we gonna do this?”

Linus took a deep breath as he turned the axe over in his hands, “Yea, just remember to be careful, stick to the plan, you take them down, i take them out.”

“No worries bro. We got this.” Norm stepped into the dusk, with Linus close behind, shutting the door softly.

The two skulked through the shadows, “Oh and bro, when you think we’ll be able to get out of here?”

Linus frowned in the dark, “Let’s worry about that tomorrow.”

That’s it for now, hope you enjoyed it.

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Watching the Walking Dead recently has started my brain churning with all kinds of zombie related stories. Mostly i think about how i would survive if ever faced with such a horrible situation. Invariably my solutions to solving zombie related crisis differ quite a bit from what gets portrayed in movies, television, and video games.

Nevertheless i thought it would be fun to start writing little zombie related short stories from the perspective of different people trying to survive in different situation with the outside possibility of tying them together somehow down the road. Hope you enjoy.

Marcus Part 1

Marcus sat hunched on a bench, sweating. His eyes stared straight down at the grass. Beads of salty perspiration formed at the tips of his matted black hair and streaked down his forehead to his eyebrows before choosing to fall to the ground or slip into his eyes. The next one stung his eyes. Marcus blinked it away and continued to stare at the grass.

Grass was normal enough, at least the patch in his vision wasn’t covered in blood. The same could not be said for the patch to his right. Marcus’s neck refused to swivel, but his eyes slanted that direction. To his right was a corpse. It’s head was pinned to the ground by a long wooden pole with a metal tip. Its arms lay sprawled to the side and its legs were spread like it was in the middle of making a snow angel. Maybe last winter that would have been true. Maybe the corpse beside Marcus had kids who would beg their father to come into the snow. Marcus gave the corpse another glance. He looked old enough for a family, not that it mattered anymore.

Marcus looked to the left. To his left were two elegantly carved gravestones, both the same size and rectangular shape. The names were there, first middle and last, but they didn’t matter to Marcus. If he’d been carving the inscriptions they would have been much shorter.

Running a hand through his hair, Marcus shook his head and stymied a bitter chuckle, “Zombies pops. Zombies. I feel stupid saying it, if you and mom were still alive I’d feel even stupider. Guess it’s lucky your not.” Marcus fought against another hysterical chuckle, “It’s like some bad science fiction garbage my friends would make me watch.” Marcus raised his hands and his tone became mocking, “Come on Marcus, this stuff is so cool , you’ll love it.”

He turned to the corpse, “Not so much guys, not so much. So now my life is one big stupid movie. Not sure what to do really.” Marcus said turning back to his parents gravestones. “The cities basically destroyed. Thought about heading north, but somebody stole my car the day all this hit the fan. Still thinking about it though. I could probably steal a car of my own along the way, since it’s not like any one’s gonna take me to court. I’m sure I’ll end up stealing some stuff at some point. Sorry about that dad,  really I am. I’ll do my best not to go all feral on you guys. Character should still count for something in the apocalypse right?”

This time Marcus didn’t stifle the laugh, “Apocalypse. Starting to sound like my old roommates. Maybe i’ll go see em. I bet they’ve been planning how to survive something like this for years.” Marcus clasped his hands together and stared back at the grass, “Yea, that sounds good. Figured a little consult would help clear out all this insanity.”

With a deep breath Marcus stood and slung a black leather backpack over his shoulders. After a slight adjustment, he reached for the wooden pole stuck in the zombie’s head and yanked it out.

“Sorry about your rake dad.” Marcus said and he knelt to the ground and wiped the bloody tip in the grass.

“I had to turn it into a spear.” When he was finished, Marcus held the tip in the sunlight, “Besides, we both know it sucked at raking.” Marcus let the tip drop to the grass and he squared himself on his parents graves.

“Well, mom, dad. I guess this is it. Wish me luck. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. Believe it or not i feel better not having you around for all this. Less to worry about.” Marcus’s gaze dropped, “I’m going in circles…”

He focused on the grass, a half smile crossing his face. “Thanks for the help.” Then he dipped into his coat pocket and pulled out a cell phone, “No bars. Figures.” Returning the cell to his pocket, Marcus started trudging north through the graveyard, “Stupid science fiction zombie apocalypse bs.”

I do my best to write clean copy from the get go, but i’m sure there are bound to be errors. Hope you can enjoy it anyway. Let me know what you think.

I would encourage you to take stock of what you have to be thankful for. Odds are it’s more than you thought.

I’m thankful for so much that i couldn’t list it all, yet i still find myself more inclined to whine and complain instead of being gracious and counting my blessings. We remember the negative so much more than we remember the positive. Try to keep the positive in mind.

Have a happy Thanksgiving.

Until next week.

It’s a huge mistake as a writer to sit down and expect your muse to dance all the time, it’s an even bigger mistake to expect your writing to go anywhere if you only write when you feel your muse is dancing.

Writing is a skill, and must be practiced as such. Your uncooperative muse will always be lazy, always have an excuse, always whine about dancing for you later, and then never get around to it.

You must sit down and write. That’s it, if you want to do it, do it. Don’t think about how bad it probably is or how many people will laugh at your work or ignore it or criticize it.  The best have all those things happen, in fact they have it happen a lot more for them because of how much more exposure they have.

Accept those things as a part of the task, and then forge ahead. Just put one word in front of the other. Chances are your muse just needs a little fuel, a little energy. Your words will likely provoke more words, and so on and so forth. Then one day you will wake up and look back and see how much you’ve accomplished, and regardless of whether or not you get published or have any other soul read your work, at least you have something concrete.

Nothing is sadder then spending your whole life looking at a blank page and never making a mark, in writing or anything else in life. Little progress is still progress, and lots of little progress turns into big progress.

I’m writing this mostly for myself. Writing is a long, lonely road, and if you’re committed it will make you want to scream…a lot. So instead of screaming i find it better to express my thoughts in a positive way.

My own positive, logical reasoning serves to combat the negative which is almost always based in irrational emotion. The more i focus on what is true and accurate, the easier it is for me to take a deep breath and keep going with the right mind set.

I wanted to do the next part in the narrative distance exercise, but when i sat down to write it i was tired, and couldn’t think of anything interesting to say. Things went down hill from there, but i had to write something.

This is it. I feel better already. I’ll do the narrative distance thing next week. It might not be the time i wanted it, but it will happen, and instead of just chucking this week, i now have something to post. If you’re a writer you understand. If you aren’t, I’m hoping you do any way, and I’m sure the sentiment can be carried to many different parts of life.

Until next week.

As a writer you can never stop learning. There’s always someone with a unique perspective or a unique way of saying something you’ve heard a hundred times that turns on a light bulb when they say it for the one hundred and first time.

One of the things I’ve been continuing to delve into is the issue of viewpoint and narrative distance. The stories i write are mostly from the limited third person perspective, and understanding how to use distance adds a significant weapon to my writing arsenal. Of course once you understand something or at least think you understand something, it’s important you practice whatever it is you think you understand. In writing, practice cannot be overemphasized.

So that’s what I’m going to do. My goal is to write a small passage with three levels of narrative distance. Starting from the furthest way and moving to the most personal within the realm of limited third person.

The coffee shop buzzed with activity. Fingers typed on laptops and cellphones, conversations started and stopped as often as the participants paused to drink various kinds of pretentiously named drinks. Stan sat at a small square table furthest from the entrance. His jeans were washed and the brown t-shirt he wore matched his shoes and stylishly faded belt. His face was shaved and his hair was combed. Stan drummed his fingers on the table and looked up at the clock on the wall, then to his watch. His eyes lingered on what it had to say as the second hand ticked silently on its course. Then he looked up at the seat across from him. It was empty. Stan sighed and looked back to the clock, back to his watch, and then to the door. No one moved to enter or exit. Stan sighed again and his right heel began tapping in time with his drumming fingers. His eyes dropped to the table, Why am i the only one who ever seems aware of the concept of time, he thought. When he looked up, the chair across from him was still empty, but the space behind it was not. A petite young woman in a long red jacket, that would have come down to most girl’s hips but went to her knees, leaned both hands on the back of the empty chair and stared down at Stan with a tentative smile, “Stan?” she said.

Stan jumped to his feet, smiled and extended his hand. “That’s me.” His friend had been right, she was beautiful, definitely worth the wait, he thought.

“Sorry I’m late.” she said, whipping off her coat, plunking into the empty seat.

Stan sat down still smiling and shrugged, “You’re fine, i think my watch is fast anyway.”

“I doubt it–” Suddenly the girl’s eyes got wide and she laughed, “I almost forgot, I’m Marie. Can i get you a coffee? Call it penance for keeping you waiting.”

If I’ve done this correctly, and I’m reasonably certain I have. The above is an illustration of the greatest distance in limited third person. You see everything that is happening in the scene Stan is in, but the narrative is cold. You don’t get any of Stan’s thoughts until i explicitly go there. You can still see what is happening and garner enough information from action and dialogue to create a picture of Stan and what’s going on in his head but most of the time you are cut off from what he is actually thinking.

Next I’ll take the same scene and get close, but I’m out of time for today so it will have to wait.

Hope you enjoyed the example.

It seems like a lot of television falls into similar categories. Medical drama this, or police procedural that, with the occasional super power thrown in the mix recently.

While each one is technically different in some way, very little stands out as being unique. The entertainment industry isn’t big on risk taking, until of course someone takes a risk which cashes in big then everyone races to follow suit.

So when i heard a zombie show was coming out i was instantly intrigued and excited. I happen to be a fan of zombie movies in general so that added to the anticipation, but i was mostly interested because if it succeeds, it will be like nothing else on television, unfortunately, if it succeeds, zombies run the risk of becoming the new vampires, pretty soon we’ll be having zombie romance and emo zombies and zombies that don’t follow any traditional rules for being zombies, maybe zombies will become unnaturally attractive cannibals who fall in love with brain dead teenagers. But i digress, we aren’t there yet, and for now i will celebrate the fact that The Walking Dead is fresh and alive, well as fresh and alive as anything zombie related can be.

So what was it like? How did the first episode hold up to my seasoned zombie watching scrutiny?

Overall i was impressed. One of my chief concerns had to do with the believability of the zombies. Were we going to get horribly cg’d zombies a la I AM Legend or were we going to get low budget TV zombies?

Movies have monstrous budgets compared to tv shows and if the zombies were not disturbing enough, the show would stumble out of the gates. Fortunately i was not disappointed.

The zombie effects were grisly, in fact i think it’s safe to say the pilot was the grisliest tv episode i’ve ever seen outside of channels like hbo and showtime and the like, and when it came time to shoot some zombies in the head, they didn’t shy away from gushing blood.

Another concern i had was the fact that the show will be dealing with an apocalyptic scenario. Staging those kinds of scenes has long been the domain of big budget movies. How were they going to pull off a destroyed abandoned city for TV? Or would everything take place in smaller atmospheres with smaller budget sets. Once again i was not disappointed. Atlanta was believably messed up, and it wasn’t just one or two zombies shuffling around, it was giant hordes of them, and i imagine it’s no small feet to get so many extras made up and organized to seem like a mob of the walking dead.

You might be wondering what the tone of the show was. After all, zombie flicks are traditionally equal amounts gore and camp, and the most successful zombies in recent times have been hilarious as well as bloody.

This is not your funny zombie show. This is dead serious, no pun intended. in fact i’m not sure if anyone cracks a smile the entire movie, and since zombie stories are inherently tragic, i think we can expect the show to maintain that heavy dramatic emphasis.

I have no qualms with the acting, though i don’t recognize any of the actors. I also found it interesting from a screen writing stand point to see the long stretches of time where no words were said. As a writer of fiction, dialogue and internal monologue are plentiful, but i found the lack of words to be quite effective in the show. it allowed the viewer to soak up the horror along with the main character without the distraction of words.

Overall i found it to be tense and engaging both visually and emotionally, and i look forward to seeing where they take it. Let’s hope we don’t get all the imitations if it succeeds.

I won’t keep my fingers crossed.

So the Miami Heat lost their first game of the season.

Casually brushing through a few articles and the subsequent reader comments revealed a flood of people gleefully proclaiming the doom of the Heat while a few others expected them to improve and were staunchly defending the championship run they were still going to make.

Now I’m a piston’s fan, and this year doesn’t fill me full of huge expectations, but If i were an actual, reasonable Heat fan, i’d be sick to my stomach. not because of all the hatred projected at my team, but because of what the comments and articles represent.

Hype.

As distant observers it’s easy for us to forget that the people who play professional sports are people to. People with the full range of feelings and emotions that we experience. There’s nothing transcendent about them, and yet the celebrity gloss which follows them around turns them into mechanical things. As a result we overlook or downplay the effect such hype can have on people.

Have you ever been good at something? It could be anything, it doesn’t have to be significant. Let’s say it’s a video game. You beat all your friends, handley, utterly, almost every single time. Any time they win it’s pure luck, at least that’s how they see it. In their eyes you are some kind of computerized virtuoso, a force of nature put on this planet to gun down anonymous strangers.

They decide to have a gaming party or something and several new people are invited. From the moment they step into the house, your friends begin raving about how badly you are going to destroy everyone when it comes time to play that one game. At first you smile and enjoy the praise, but as the night goes on and the time to play draws near, it gets worse.

Now instead of you winning every game, your friends don’t even think you’ll get killed once the entire time.

You start to get uncomfortable. Anxious even as the game is turned on. From that moment on anything besides total perfection will be seen as a total failure because of all the hype. Detractors will take every bit of weakness and run away with it while your supporters will continually expect you to rebound, but what if you don’t, what if the pressure gets to you?

Your supporters will dwindle, and you’ll get frustrated, angry even. You might feign injury, claim you’ve got a headache or maybe claim you weren’t even trying to begin with, anything to salvage the perfect image that the hype created. At that point, it’s no longer about winning so much as it is about damage control, how do you escape with your reputation more or less intact?

Now imagine you aren’t just one person playing a pointless video game. instead you are an entire team of professional athletes responsible for entertaining millions. You’re overpaid, probably can’t help being somewhat arrogant, and then the hype storm starts. Now all the usual pressures and fragilities that go along with being in the spotlight are amplified big time. To the point of being ridiculous.

imagine being the Heat? A standard was set by the hype that is impossible to reach. Anything short of perfection is a failure. Now they lose their first game, they’ve already failed. Not the ultimate failure of losing the championship, but a failure nonetheless and what’s the first thing that happens?

Damage control. Wade talks about how winning 82 games wasn’t going to happen. Well of course not, but already he’s sending the message not to get your hopes up. Everyone will play it cool, like it’s not a big deal, but what happens if they keep losing? What happens if the chemistry doesn’t come together or they have a serious injury to an already injury prone person like Wade?

My guess is the hype will crush them. Wade is the only one whose won anything at the pro level. Bosh will begin to get marginalized, talk will rise how he’s not as good as people thought. You don’t think his ego will kick in?

And what about Lebron? The ghosts of Cleveland will haunt him. Every negative parallel that can be drawn will be drawn. To bad for him to, since he started his career with the hype machine in full effect with all the Jordan prophecies. So in many people’s eyes he’s already a failure, add this newest barrage of hype and if Miami implodes Lebron will be hit the hardest.

Then what? If the NBA has shown us anything it’s that in a crumbling situation, or even most good situations for that matters, striving for personal glory trumps team accomplishment for most of the athletes.

Even with just one game down, the team is in damage control mode, but dip to low and team damage control will invariably become personal damage control. Salvaging personal status and reputation will become paramount, how do i escape? How do i run and get away unscathed?

Let me be clear.

i don’t want Miami to win. i hope they lose very game. i also hope the lakers and celtics and bulls and magic and whoever else not named the pistons loses to. It’s part of being a fan, but there is a difference between wanting your team to prosper while other teams suffer and clapping in applause while you watch a group of young men get crushed by the hype machine.

If it happens will they deserve it? Maybe. Will they have brought it on themselves? Partially. Should we be rooting for it to happen? I don’t think so. Though i admit, it will be hard not to.

Go Pistons!

As always when reviewing movies i do my best to judge them on their own merits, understanding that many movies are not trying to make a point, they’re just trying to be entertaining.

Anytime i see a movie based on a comic book my first inclination is to want just that, good ole ridiculous fun.

So how did RED do?

Retired Extremely Dangerous. That’s what RED stands for in the movie so naturally the characters must be both believable as being retired but also people who can still kill you in their sleep.

Unlike say the fourth Indiana Jones which found Harrison Ford looking very retired and not so dangerous. Bruce Willis carries the role off just fine with his usual, smooth, unrattled poise. When he’s brawling in a CIA office or jumping out of moving cop cars to unload on his enemies with a powerful hand gun, i never stopped once to think, “Wait a minute, how old is Bruce Willis?”

I literally think it was the perfect role for him at his age. He gets to do what he’s done in many of his past movies while openly acknowledging that he has indeed grown older.

The rest of the veteran cast fills in nicely behind him. From Morgan Freeman who thankfully doesn’t have to kick any butts to still be effective in his role as a retired, yet dangerous dude to the always quirky John Malkovich. Loved him in this role. Everything he did made me laugh or at least smile, but it wasn’t overpowering quirk. They keep most of the focus on Willis’ character and that’s for the best.

Helen Mirren adds quite a bit as well as does Brian Cox in the roles of ex British and Russian spies/killers respectively.

All the while the action is loud, full of explosions and gunfire. but it’s filmed in such a way that you never have to see anyone really running around betraying how old they are, which was one thing i found difficult to watch about the Expendables. There was one scene where good old Sly is running to his plane and people were actually laughing in the theatre. Plastic surgery and make up and drugs can do a lot to hide the signs of aging in places like your face, but joints don’t respond so well.

In RED, aside from Bruce Willis, no one else has to really get physical, allowing the veteran actors to flex their acting muscles while being kind to their actual ones.

As for acting, the script was solid and the veteran crew delivered. It’s definitely an action comedy and the story is what you’d expect from something based on a comic book, but it’s executed well. Going from funny to explosive to funny and explosive, at the right times in the right amounts to keep you engaged. You never really stop to contemplate what’s happening, you just go along for the ride, and that’s how it’s supposed to be, and it’s a good thing because the ride is a whole lot of fun from start to finish.