5 Reasons Someone Needs to Film a Zombie Movie in the Houston Medical Center
|Rechlin via Wikipedia|
If you're lucky, then you might have stumbled on the original entrance to Memorial Hermann Hospital. Did I say lucky? I meant the opposite of that. Holy cow, who designed that place, Dr. Frankenstein?
Every single creepy haunted asylum trope that you've ever seen in a film exists in the old entrance and lobby of Memorial Hermann. They even have stone griffins just hanging out and begging to come to life as the power fades. The transition from modern hospital setting to gothic monument is especially jarring. I can see the dead pounding against that old door in my head, and it's frightening enough to make me run away from just the thought.
All hospitals are large and confusing, but again, the scale of Houston's medical industry simply dwarfs that of most other conventional hospitals. And yet, for all their size, each one is still a maze of tiny hallways and tunnels that even longtime employees can get lost in. In the dark, they are even more terrifying. You never know where you are, or, as is more important for a zombie film, where the hordes of ghouls are.
There are two types of zombie films; the ones where you're trapped and the ones where you're on the run. Thanks to the width of your average hospital in the Medical Center, you can actually do both at the same time. Trapped doctors, nurses, techs and patients can barricade themselves against attack, with all the psychological tension that brings, while at the same time planning a long and dangerous route through the hallways toward an escape. It's the perfect setting.
1. Life Flight
If Resident Evil has taught me anything, it's that the best way to end a zombie narrative is with a helicopter ride. You rise above the carnage and see the writhing mass of the dead below you. You don't get more perfect than that.
There's always a problem, though. To achieve that shot, you have to sort of make amends with whether or not the government is still functioning in your dystopia because they are in general the people who have helicopters. Not in Houston. In Houston we've got Life Flight, and if any objective makes more sense in a hospital full of zombies than fleeing to the roof to take off in an EC 145 twin-engine helicopter, then I'll eat my fez. Granted, you get about 300 miles before you're forced to land, but that's what sequels are made of. See, Hollywood? I just wrote your whole movie for you. Hope to see you soon.