Shaun of the Dead

British invasion: Shaun of the Dead knows how to have fun with rotting flesh

By Jeannette Catsoulis

Shaun (Simon Pegg) is having one of those days. His control-freak roommate, Pete (Peter Serafinowicz), is threatening to evict Shaun's freeloading best friend, Ed (Nick Frost), from permanent residence on their living room couch; his dead-end job as a TV salesman is destroying his will to live; and his long-suffering girlfriend, Liz (Kate Ashfield), has had enough of Shaun's underachieving ways and wants to break up with him. "Cheer up, it's not the end of the world," quips Ed during a nanosecond break from his PlayStation. He couldn't be more wrong.

Staggering into theaters hot on the decomposing heels of the Dawn of the Dead remake, Shaun of the Dead is a welcome blast of fetid air in a genre--and a fan base--that can sometimes take itself too seriously (witness the still-raging debate over 28 Days Later's designation as a "zombie movie" by incautious critics). Identifiably British in custom, attitude and complete lack of color-coordinated outfits, the movie is a lovingly hilarious tribute to George A. Romero, Sam Raimi--just about anyone, in fact, who ever had fun with rotting flesh.

Co-written by Pegg and director Edgar Wright--the team behind the cult Britcom "Spaced" (itself a paean to aimlessness and lack of ambition)--Shaun of the Dead is devastatingly clever, layering snappy sight gags over a subversiveness that never dampens the humor. When the shambling undead begin showing up, sans explanation, in Shaun's North London neighborhood, it's a while before our hero notices. Dazed by routine, he misses the pool of blood in his local grocery and fails to catch the significance of the fleeing pedestrians outside his bus window. In fact, the film's most pungent and best-executed joke is the plausibility of Shaun's obliviousness: Accustomed as we are to stoned drop-outs and zonked commuters, shuffling winos and generic street schizos, most modern-day city dwellers wouldn't look twice at a bona fide zombie.

But when a particularly nasty specimen lurches into his back yard, Shaun rediscovers his gumption (hidden perhaps in a month-old pile of laundry) and he and Ed formulate a plan: rescue Shaun's mum (Penelope Wilton), rescue his girlfriend, and take them--where? In one of the film's many examples of visual liveliness, the pair fast-forward through three alternative scenarios before deciding this is the one day a break with tradition could be fatal. They'll head for the pub.

The race to beat the undead to the beer taps and salted peanuts is impeded by surreal and gory enemy engagement. A beloved album collection is sifted for weaponry ("Dire Straits? Throw it!") and smokers are vindicated by the usefulness of their cigarette lighters. Between decapitations and disembowelments, Shaun finds time to collect his protesting mum ("I don't like to make a fuss"), connect with his oddball stepdad (a riotously stiff Bill Nighy) and quote Bertrand Russell. Not bad for a bloke who, just the day before, could barely muster the energy to operate the remote.

After years of damp and inoffensive British comedies like 2003's Love, Actually--styled for America with easy-to-digest dialogue and bite-sized jokes--Shaun of the Dead is a real palate-cleanser. The best zombie movies are always seditious, and Shaun is more than just a smartly executed spoof. For one thing, the movie plays like a not-so-subtle reminder of what can happen if we continue to ignore the swelling ranks of minimum (and no-) wagers. And as Shaun and Ed confront the shuffling, drooling hordes, they glance at each other with sudden insight: They're not just killing zombies, they're killing the mindless morons they themselves had become.