Charlie Brooker deserves better than this truly terrible Brazilian remake of Dead Set

Some of the early zombie-slaying at least shows a glimmer of imagination – they’re dispatched with fire extinguishers, office scissors, even a stiletto heel – but these ideas rapidly run out. The snarling, squelching “biters” become a constant background hum. However, even that’s preferable to the deeply hokey dialogue the human characters are forced to spout, which is more daytime soap than dystopian drama. It often reminded me of a horror spin on Victoria Wood’s seminal Crossroads spoof, Acorn Antiques. 

It’s no spoiler to say there’s a huge, screeching handbrake turn in the story midway through the series, when the characters we’d finally begun to care about are all suddenly slaughtered and replaced by a whole new set. These are led by a snake-like Congressman Alberto Levi (Emílio de Mello), mainly so the writers can thwack us over the head with some GCSE-level political allegory. We’re just as bad as the zombies, yeah? Makes you think, hmm? Not really, no.

In an absurd coincidence, he’s joined by ailing elderly woman Ana (Carla Ribas) who, unbeknown to everyone, happened to have designed the entire Olimpus complex in her youth, so knows all its secrets. This is mildly interesting until the writers realise they’ve painted themselves into a plot corner and kill her off too. 

The second half of the series is even worse than the first – a sort of circular Lord of the Flies situation, where the endless table-turns and betrayals become infuriatingly boring. Narrative fatigue and desensitisation to gore set in. By the time the series limps and lurches zombie-like to its unsatisfactory finale, you’ll be long past caring, praying for the sweet release of death-by-zombie yourself. 

The show’s sole redeeming aspect is its eclectic soundtrack, which mixes Brazilian artists with surprising selections from The Velvet Underground, The Who, Muse, Joe Cocker and Pink Floyd.

Reality Z isn’t so bad that it’s good, it’s just plain bad. Charlie Brooker, let alone us viewers, deserves far better than this ketchup-spattered mess. Big Brother might be watching but we recommend you don’t. 

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