It’s difficult to think of the post-apocalyptic genre without picturing zombies, fungus monsters that act exactly like zombies, or barbarians whose insatiable rampages make them, for all intents and purposes, zombies. Such stories are often thin excuses to concoct grim displays of bloodshed and amateur philosophy: most of humanity gets infected or goes mad without civilization’s guardrails, so our heroes can blow away the bandits and cannibals guilt-free.
Maybe, though, we might just get along, or at least quibble no more than we do already. So suggests The Quiet Earth, which hit American theaters 40 years ago today and begins with middle-aged scientist Zac Hobson (Bruno Lawrence, who also co-wrote) waking to find himself all alone. There aren’t even bodies; everyone else is simply gone, whisked away mid-breakfast as though only Hobson wasn’t invited to the Rapture.
