[August 2012] [Newnan, Georgia] [Day One of shoot]
By August, Zombieland had finally made it through pre-production without another scheduling disaster, fake director, stolen-script attempt, or budget meeting that made Jack question whether he should've become a professional beach bum instead.
The cast had come together over the summer.
Jack would play Columbus, the anxious survivor who somehow had rules for every possible apocalypse problem. Emma Stone had signed on as Wichita, the clever and guarded con artist who never let anyone know what she was thinking for too long. Woody Harrelson had taken Tallahassee, a zombie-killing madman with a love for guns & violence, hate for pacifists, and in search of Twinkies.
Chloë Grace Moretz had landed Little Rock, the youngest member of the group and probably the most dangerous person in the movie whenever somebody made the mistake of underestimating her.
Bill Murray had agreed to appear as himself, which had somehow become one of the strangest and funniest parts of the entire script.
Penny had been cast as 406 after walking into her audition nervous, hopeful, and completely unaware that she was about to earn her first real studio role. Her character only appeared in one scene, but it was an important one. She had to feel believable enough that Columbus would trust her before the audience realized something was very wrong.
The other roles had also filled quickly, including the recurring Zombie Kill of the Week cameos.
Joan Schuermeyer would play Sister Cynthia Knickerbocker, a nun who used a tiny handbell to lure a zombie directly beneath a church window. Her fellow nuns would then drop a grand piano onto the zombie, flattening it against the pavement while Columbus quietly described him as a “poor flat bastard.”
Richard Preston had somehow talked his way into a cameo as a construction worker driving a road roller. His zombie kill involved slowly rolling over a trapped zombie while calmly drinking coffee from a travel mug, because Richard had argued that “a man with a roadroller deserves proper hydration.”
Sylvester Stallone had agreed to appear as Rambo for a fast, ridiculous sequence involving six zombies, a .357 Magnum, and six perfectly timed headshots. Getting the permission to use Rambo's name in the film was slightly hard, but Richard pulled some strings and got it done.
Woody’s Tallahassee would also get his own nomination after firing a shotgun backward over his shoulder without looking and somehow hitting a zombie behind him.
...
[7:30 AM]
Christopher stood behind the monitor while the camera crew framed the church steps, the upper-story window, and the stretch of pavement where the piano would eventually land. Joan Schuermeyer waited at her starting mark in Sister Cynthia’s black habit, while the zombie performer stood several feet behind her with torn clothes, gray makeup, and blood across his face.
“Quiet on set,” Christopher called as the last crew members cleared the frame. “Camera rolling?”
“Rolling,” the camera operator replied.
The slate snapped in front of the lens.
“Scene 1: Take 1. Action,” Christopher said.
Sister Cynthia walked slowly toward the church entrance, keeping her back straight and her expression calm. Behind her, the zombie followed with an uneven limp, drawn forward by the sound of her shoes against the pavement.
She reached the bottom of the church stairs and stopped beside the old brass doorbell mounted near the entrance. The zombie moved closer, closing the distance until he reached the marked position beneath the upper window.
Christopher watched the monitor as Joan turned slightly toward the door.
“Cut,” he called before the zombie reached any farther.
The crew moved in immediately. The zombie performer stepped away from the mark, and the effects team brought out the crushed-body dummy built for the impact shot. It had been dressed in the same torn shirt and bloodied pants, with hidden blood packs packed beneath the foam chest and shoulders.
The stunt crew positioned the dummy directly beneath the window while grips checked the piano rig above them. The hollow prop piano had been reset on the drop mechanism, and the effects team adjusted the blood cannons beneath the dummy’s torso.
Joan returned to the church steps and waited beside the door while Christopher checked the monitor one last time.
“Take two,” the assistant director called.
“Camera rolling,” the operator confirmed.
The slate snapped again.
“Action,” Christopher said.
Sister Cynthia pressed the doorbell and opened the church door.
As she stepped inside, the prop piano dropped from the upper window and crashed onto the dummy beneath it. The impact splintered the piano shell across the pavement as fake blood burst over the broken keys, stone steps, and wrecked street.
Sister Cynthia closed the church door behind her without looking back.
Christopher let the camera hold on the crushed zombie for several seconds.
“Cut. That’s the one.”
...
The roadroller scene took place on an empty service road outside the main production base. Set dressers had scattered cracked traffic cones, broken tools, loose gravel, and abandoned construction signs across the asphalt. A low camera track ran parallel to the roadroller’s path, while a second camera waited on a crane for the wide shot.
Richard stood beside the roadroller in a yellow construction vest, hard hat, work gloves, and dust-streaked work pants. The wardrobe department had added dirt around his sleeves and knees.
The production had rehearsed the movement before the cameras rolled. A licensed roadroller operator had shown Richard the controls, walked him through the speed marks, and stayed near the safety stop throughout the take. Richard only had to hold a slow, steady line across the yellow tape placed on the road.
The zombie gag had been built in two parts.
First, they would film a stunt performer trapped on the asphalt, clawing at the ground as the roadroller approached. Once he cleared the frame, the crew would replace him with a silicone dummy packed with breakaway ribs, foam organs, blood tubes, and a crushed chest rig.
Jack stood behind the monitors with Emma and Phil, checking the shot list while Christopher walked through the final camera positions. Richard’s scene only lasted a few seconds, though the close-up, the wide shot, and the impact insert all had to match perfectly.
Christopher looked toward the assistant director. “We’ll start with the trapped-zombie close-up. Keep the roller slow enough for the actor to sell the fear, then stop before the safety mark.”
The assistant director raised his voice across the set. “Quiet on set. Lock it up, please.”
The crew fell silent. A boom operator stepped into position outside the frame while the camera team adjusted focus on the zombie performer lying in the road.
“Roll sound,” the assistant director called.
“Sound speeds,” the sound mixer answered from beside the equipment cart.
“Roll camera,” the assistant director continued.
The slate snapped into frame.
Christopher watched the monitor for one final second, then called, “Action,” as Richard started the roadroller forward.
The zombie performer thrashed against the asphalt, dragging himself backward as the heavy front drum rolled closer. His fingers scraped against the road, his torn shirt caught against the gravel, and his face twisted with the desperate panic of someone who had finally understood how badly the next few seconds would end.
Richard held the roadroller exactly on the yellow tape.
The machine reached the safety mark.
Christopher called, “Cut,” before the front drum reached the performer.
The stunt coordinator rushed in immediately, checked the actor, then gave the crew a thumbs-up. The first camera had captured the zombie’s panic, though the roadroller had entered the frame slightly too late for the edit.
Phil watched the playback beside Jack. “The performance works, but the front drum needs to fill more of the frame before he clears.”
Christopher nodded and looked toward Richard. “Bring it in two feet earlier on the reset, then hold the same pace through the mark.”
Richard rested both hands on the steering wheel. “Understood. Earlier entrance, same pace.”
The second close-up gave them the shot.
The roadroller entered frame at the right moment, the zombie performer clawed at the pavement, and the front drum nearly reached his legs before the shot cut away. Christopher watched the playback once, then approved it without asking for another take.
The crew moved fast after that.
Two stunt assistants lifted the actor from the road and replaced him with the silicone dummy. The effects team connected the blood tubes beneath the dummy’s shirt, packed additional foam tissue around the ribs, and checked the hidden trigger that would burst the chest at the moment of impact.
Jack watched the setup closely from the monitor bank. The camera angle had to hide the dummy swap, keep the front drum centered, and catch the body collapsing beneath the machine without revealing any of the practical rigging.
The assistant director called for quiet again as the roadroller returned to its starting mark.
“Roll sound,” she called.
“Sound speeds,” came the response.
“Roll camera.”
“Camera speeds.”
The slate entered the frame.
“Zombie Kill of the Week, Roadroller, setup two, take one.”
Christopher leaned toward the monitor. “Action.”
Richard guided the roadroller forward.
The front drum rolled closer to the dummy, slow enough for the audience to understand what was coming. The camera stayed low beside the asphalt as the wheel reached the zombie’s chest.
The chest rig burst too early.
Blood sprayed across the road before the drum fully touched the body, and the dummy’s arm twisted in the wrong direction as the roller passed over it.
Christopher called, “Cut,” while the roadroller continued several feet beyond the mark.
Richard stopped, looked back at the ruined dummy, and waited for the notes.
Phil watched the replay. “The wheel position is perfect. We need the blood cue delayed by half a beat, and the left arm needs to stay pinned beneath the torso.”
The effects supervisor stepped forward with a nod. “We can fix both. Give us ten minutes to reset the body.”
Richard climbed down from the cab while the crew rebuilt the dummy. “Take your time. I’d rather crush it correctly once than crush it incorrectly three times.”
The third setup took longer because the effects crew replaced the torn torso, rebuilt the rib breakaway, and secured the left arm beneath the shirt. Fresh blood packs were loaded beneath the silicone chest, and the road was cleaned so the shot could match the earlier footage.
When everything was ready, Richard returned to the cab.
The assistant director locked down the road.
The slate came down.
“Zombie Kill of the Week, Roadroller, setup two, take three.”
Christopher waited until every monitor showed the right framing. “Action.”
Richard guided the roadroller forward with the same controlled pace.
The front drum reached the dummy.
The body flattened beneath the heavy wheel as the rib rig snapped, the chest collapsed, and dark blood burst across the asphalt. The roadroller continued over the torso, leaving the zombie crushed flat beneath the rear drum.
Christopher let the camera hold on the aftermath for several seconds before calling, “Cut.”
Nobody spoke while the playback loaded.
Phil watched it once, then turned toward Christopher. “That’s the impact shot.”
Christopher nodded. “Print it. We have the roadroller kill.”
Richard climbed down from the cab and removed his hard hat. “Good. I’d like my production credit upgraded to actor-producer now.”
Jack looked up from the monitor. "I wanna drive that roller after the shoot."
"It looked really fun," Emma chimed in. "Maybe, I'll try it out too."
...
The crew moved to Woody’s no-look shotgun sequence before lunch.
The next set had been built along a narrow road packed with wrecked cars, broken luggage, abandoned shopping carts, and torn roadside signs. Tallahassee would walk through the center of the frame while a zombie rushed him from behind a damaged sedan.
Woody stood near the camera mark in Tallahassee's jacket and boots. The FX guys checked the prop shotgun, confirmed the loading status with the assistant director, and handed it over only after the cameras had been placed.
The zombie performer took his position behind the sedan. A practical blood charge had been hidden against the car door, timed to burst when Tallahassee fired backward over his shoulder.
Christopher walked Woody through the movement once. “Keep walking after the shot. Don’t look back and don’t give the zombie any attention.”
Woody nodded, testing the weight of the shotgun in his hand. “That’s easy enough for Tallahassee.”
The assistant director raised her clipboard.
“Quiet on set. Lock it up.”
The road fell silent.
The slate snapped into frame.
“Zombie Kill of the Week, Tallahassee no-look shot, take one.”
Christopher called, “Action,” as Woody started walking through the road.
The zombie rushed out from behind the sedan.
Woody swung the shotgun over his shoulder and fired backward without turning around.
The zombie dropped cleanly, though the blood charge burst a second after the body hit the ground.
Christopher called, “Cut,” before the crew could reset the road.
Woody turned back toward the monitor. “Timing issue?”
“The movement is exactly right,” Christopher said. “We need the blood hit on the muzzle flash. One more.”
The effects team reset the charge, cleaned the car door, and gave the zombie performer a fresh blood-streaked shirt. Woody returned to his starting mark without complaint.
The second take came together.
The assistant director called the set quiet, sound rolled, cameras rolled, and the slate marked the shot.
Christopher called, “Action,” as Tallahassee moved through the wrecked road.
The zombie rushed toward him.
Woody fired backward over his shoulder.
The blood charge burst against the sedan at the exact moment the zombie dropped, and Tallahassee kept walking as if he had barely noticed the threat behind him.
Christopher watched the monitor through the end of the take before calling, “Cut.”
Phil smiled as the playback rolled. “That one works.”
...
Stallone arrived shortly after lunch.
His cameo had been staged on a darker stretch of road lined with abandoned cars and six zombie performers. The script identified Rambo’s weapon as a .357 Magnum loaded with 158-grain hollow points, though the production had built the scene around safe prop work, simulated muzzle flashes, practical blood effects, and visual-effects cleanup.
Each zombie performer wore a different prosthetic head rig beneath their makeup. The effects team had hidden a separate blood burst inside every rig, with six triggers controlled from behind the cars.
Stallone stepped onto the road in dark combat gear, boots, and a weathered jacket. He greeted Jack, nodded to Emma, then looked over the camera line without wasting time.
Christopher walked him through the movement. “You enter from the left, draw fast, and fire six times. Every zombie drops on their assigned flash. The camera stays wide enough to catch the whole sequence, then cuts to the closer angle after the final hit.”
Stallone looked toward the zombie line. “Six shots, six drops. Got it.”
The assistant director waited until everyone had cleared the road.
“Quiet on set. Lock it up.”
The set went still.
“Roll sound.”
“Sound speeds.”
“Roll camera.”
The slate entered the frame.
“Zombie Kill of the Week, Rambo cameo, wide setup, take one.”
Christopher called, “Action.”
Stallone stepped into frame and drew the revolver.
The first three shots landed cleanly.
The fourth zombie’s blood rig failed to trigger.
Christopher called, “Cut,” as the remaining performers held position.
The effects team moved in immediately, replaced the damaged prosthetic, cleaned the road, and reset the performers for another take. Stallone stayed near his mark, talking quietly with the stunt coordinator while the cameras remained in place.
The second take improved the blood sequence, though the fifth zombie dropped too late after the simulated shot.
Christopher watched the replay, then approached Stallone with a calm expression. “Your timing is perfect. We’re adjusting the fifth cue, then we’ll go again.”
Stallone nodded once. “Take the time you need.”
The third take became the final version.
The assistant director locked down the road.
The slate marked the take.
Christopher called, “Action,” as Stallone entered the frame.
Rambo drew the revolver in one sharp movement.
Six shots cracked across the empty road.
Six zombie heads burst in sequence.
The bodies dropped one after another, blood striking the abandoned cars as smoke drifted through the frame. Stallone lowered the revolver, looked over the bodies once, and walked out before anyone on screen had time to react.
Christopher let the camera hold for three seconds before calling, “Cut.”
The road stayed quiet while the monitor replay loaded.
Phil watched the sequence through to the end. “That’s the winner.”
Christopher nodded. “That’s the one. Print it.”
..
The cameo schedule finished with enough daylight left for Penny’s scene.
She had spent the entire day near the production tents, watching every setup while holding her folded sides. The piano drop had shaken the pavement. Richard’s roadroller had crushed a dummy in front of two cameras. Woody had hit his no-look shot in two takes. Stallone had turned six seconds of screen time into a moment the crew would probably talk about for weeks.
Penny had never been on a set like this before.
She had expected cameras, makeup, and directors. She had not expected the size of it, the discipline behind every fake disaster, or the way everyone moved with purpose once the assistant director called for quiet.
Christopher looked through the schedule, then turned toward her.
“Penny, we’ve got time for 406,” he said. “Wardrobe’s ready, the apartment set is lit... get ready.”
Penny stood from her chair, tightened her grip on the pages, and looked toward the soundstage.
Emma walked over and patted her right arm. "You got this. Take a deep breath and just go for it."
Penny nodded. "Okay. I got it." She looked across the lot toward the exit, where Jack stood in Columbus’s costume, talking to Stallone. Stallone said something to Jack and patted his shoulder with a smile before walking out.