Rick turns detective / Once a cop, always a cop / Who killed the sick folks?
Tyreese gets lucky? Croons a Cole Porter standard. Alas! Doomed romance. . . .
Rick takes up farming. Hershel offers sage advice, "You need overalls." . . .
After a career spanning six decades and more than sixty feature films, including gritty classics like *In the Heat of the Night* and *In Cold Blood*, it’s Scott Wilson’s recent turn as veterinarian/patriarch Dr. Hershel Greene on TV smash *The Walking Dead* (season four premieres October 13 at 9 p.m. on AMC) that’s drawing double takes from both the costumed fantasy-con crowd and plainclothes viewers.
At some point, I suppose, it will stop being a surprise that movie folks ask Atlanta to stand in for so many other places. Odd enough that Woodruff Park was a facsimile of seventies-era NYC complete with overflowing garbage cans and yellow cabs for Anchorman 2. But today, while strolling around our neighborhood, my husband and I came across a crew hard at work constructing a faux Rhode Island streetscape on a long-vacant lot at the corner of Kirkwood Avenue and Pearl Street in Cabbagetown, about the most quintessentially Southern pocket of Atlanta you could hope for.
If you spot an Aston Martin speeding down the wrong side of Peachtree, or if there are sudden runs on martini shakers, don’t be alarmed; James Bond may be in Georgia.
The mystery of who mailed letters containing ricin to president Obama and New York mayor Michael Bloomberg has been getting even more mysterious. And now has a zombie connection!
The faux dialog replacing actual TWD scripts is funny—in a juvenile way. Rick loses his banjo; Glenn breaks wind; Rick attempts to tell a knock-knock joke, etc.