NIGHT. INT. TV on movie that could be from ’80s. Think Golden Girls-Meets-Night Stalker.

“Don’t let me take your time –
it’s been a wild news night –
oh, you’re just getting in?
Well, I could fill you in – ”

CLOSE-UP. Face of Space Expert whose arm is bit at crucial moment of space escape.
“Someone turn off that damn movie!
We’ve got a real emergency.
Two valves to our air supply are tangled.”

“Hm, hated Air Supply. How ’bout a band I could dance to,”
comments the smart-mouthed girl Space Expert with unnecessarily red lips, whose brains are later shared by the Undead.

“Ok, knock it off. Bailor says we need to fix something, we need to fix it.”

This deep voice, OFF-SCREEN, is Captain Space Hunk who, we eventually learn, has the hunk DNA that makes him immune to the zombie virus.

Smart-mouthed girl Space Expert shrugs and goes to door to doorway.
Turning to deliver a one-liner, she nearly walks into our Doctor Space Heroine, who has a forehead smoother than a newborn baby.

“It’s ok,” says Doctor Space Heroine. “The guys know what you meant to untangle.
Smart-mouthed Girl Space Expert goes off in a snit, while Doctor Space Heroine absorbs the good-natured smoldering
of Captain Space Hunk, who stands to broadcast to the audience that he is actually taller (lift) than his super-tall costar —–

The screenwriter took another sip of his now cold coffee and grimaced.
There was no way he could give his producer a regurgitation of 2001: A Space Odyssey‘s Hal 9000 entering this scenario.

Then, there was a power surge. He looked down at his computer to see the blue screen of death.

“Damnit! Space zombies! Why not Jane Austen in space?”

Hey , that wasn’t bad. Jot that down. Maybe I can pitch it to Warner.