If squeamish, you should know now that “The Hot Zone” is generous when it comes to projectile vomiting: on planes, in office hallways, hospital rooms and huts across Zaire. Accounts of how the virus developed in the jungles of Africa, was first discovered domestically in Virginia, which agencies were involved and the frantic reaction of a public already rocked by the AIDS crisis are interspersed with anecdotes of the how easily the disease is spread. The pacing of each installment, however, is brisk despite a great deal of necessary scientific and medical background. You mean it’s unprecedented? Like never happened before?! There is no protocol, we’re reminded by several more panic-stricken responders over each hour-long episode. “If you find any, let me know,” says another. “I want to stick to procedures,” says one by-the-book researcher. authorities have never contained anything like this on our own soil. … Well, maybe my mom.” Not the best setup for the forthcoming scenes of dead pregnant women, blood-soaked bedding and pox-ravaged nuns.

When Carter journeys to an African village where there have been reports of the disease, his nervous junior researcher quips: “No one would be happier than me to just run into some boring old flu. When the otherwise persuasive Carter explains to a doubter why he must risk his life to conquer Ebola, he offers this forgettable argument: “We need to observe it. Each hour-long episode, however, suffers from another sort of plague: ill-timed and clunky dialogue that distracts from the sheer urgency of the situation.

The hot zone true story