Every once in a while, I get a wild hair for something completely different. This last year, Christie and I decided we needed to expand our taste buds, even if it meant eating a few nasty things to find the good stuff. In the process we discovered that we could both eat Indian food 3 meals a day (okay...4) every day for the rest of our lives and be completely happy. It's this wonderful new world that has opened up, and we get really excited every time we have the opportunity to try some new recipe. I'm even learning to cook a few Indian dishes at home. The boys aren't on board yet, but they will eventually be assimilated.
I do this with other things too. Music I would never listen to (who knew I liked Trance?), books I'd never read (just finished my third version of Faust - opera), and television shows I wouldn't touch with a 12 foot pole (I added the two extra feet on there to emphasize how much I would never watch this show).
The Walking Dead.
Let it be known that R-rated movies were simply not allowed in my house growing up. I'm glad for that, because I feel like there are things that we should be shocked by, and I still am, probably because it wasn't a normal part of home life on the TV screen. My dad once said he'd rather me see a movie with nudity than the gore-fests that were popular in the mid-80s' (all the Friday the 13ths and Nightmare on Elm Streets). Not that I wanted to see any of the above. As a father, I totally understand that now.
Let is also be known that I am squeamish. I don't like blood, gore makes me woozy...these are not good traits for a person with a heart transplant in their future. While I do appreciate the storytelling and metaphorical value of films like the Aliens franchise, or a good action flick like Die Hard (showing my age here...), I have to turn away at the gross parts.
So a friend of mine insisted that I watch AMC's The Walking Dead. "At least the Webisodes," he says. "You'll see how great the writing is."
Zombies are probably the most abhorrent, distasteful thing I could ever imagine. I have never, ever, ever, ever been the least bit interested in anything zombie related, and have in fact gone to great lengths to avoid such media. I'm fully aware of the fact that zombie stories are typically not really about zombies - the zombies are generally a metaphor for the mindlessness of Western culture, or the breakdown of civilization, or the encroaching threat of communism, disease, famine, etc.
Sigh.
So I watched the Webisodes, predictably turning my head away at the more grotesque moments. But he was right - the writing was phenomenal, the casting was incredible, the story was compelling. All of that kept me watching, and even prompted me to watch the first official episode.
I realized very quickly that the story really isn't about zombies at all. It is surely about an apocalypse, in which all but about 12 people have become flesh-eating monsters, incapable of all but the basic of animal instincts. The story is actually about an ex-cop who's just trying to keep his family safe in a world that's been turned completely on its head. The zombies are simply a metaphor for any threat you want to name - cancer, financial bankruptcy, failure, homelessness...a debilitating disease.
Here's the thing I never really considered about zombies before. They are not much of a threat alone, or in pairs. But in "herds" (as they're called), they are an unrelenting, untiring, merciless, and unrepentant force. They bear no malevolence toward their victims, nor do they respect your predicament. They are utterly unaware of the danger they pose, the upheaval they cause, or the suffering they inflict. They are as wild animals, simply seeking the next meal, and they have no other purpose than to pursue the helpless.
To me, the zombies are HCM.
The most compelling scene of the season 2 finale (at least for me) is when one of the female survivors is separated from the rest of the group. Pursued by a horde of moaning zombies, she sprints through the woods, turning to bury a bullet in a zombie head from time to time (the only thing that actually "kills" them). After cutting away to the rest of the group, the story returns to her plight, but many hours have passed and the sun is coming up. She is still stumbling through the woods, out of water, miserably exhausted, and running out of ammo. The zombies draw closer and closer and as the camera zooms in on her face, we see this expression of complete despair as she realizes she can't run anymore. She is spent, and she resigns herself to her fate. I have no idea what happens after that because it was the end of the season.
That look - I felt so deeply at that moment what the character felt. Exhausted, running, trying to find a way just to move a few more steps. I don't mean physically, and I'm being overly dramatic of course. But I feel this way in those moments when I look around and think, "What the hell are we doing here?" The point is that she needed to sleep. She needed water, rest, a few moments to collect herself and come up with a plan. But her enemy would not and could not grant her that. It is unrelenting, and has no need for sleep or water. It is always there, always coming. It holds nothing against her personally - it is a mindless force, simply moving forward for reasons the characters barely understand. It's there when they go to sleep and when they wake up, and it doesn't care that it puts children in harm's way. It is constant, and not something you can run far enough to get away from. It becomes the central driving force that informs every other decision you make.
While the show does a great job of portraying the despair that people can feel in the face of such a formidable force, it's really not the compelling part for me.
This ex-cop, with the wife and little boy, on the run every minute from this threat, is the center of the show. Rick Grimes spends a lot of time second-guessing himself, trying to make hard decisions in no-win situations, trying to keep his family safe, and provide as normal a life he can for his son under the bizarre circumstances. The show spends most of its time exploring Rick's struggles. His son is too young to be faced with such violence and uncertainty, yet all he can do is try to make sure he knows he is loved, and to help him process things that the mind of a child is not yet ready to process. Many of his conversations with his 10 year old remind me of things we've discussed around the breakfast table in our own home. Death, eternity, evil, "what if," and the uncertainty and frailty of human life.
I've been both stunned and pleasantly surprised that a story with such a disgusting and repellant premise could touch me this deeply. I have watched both seasons twice, emoting right along with Rick, empathizing with his unrealistic expectations of himself, and feeling the same desperate need for normalcy as he. It's been more cathartic than any scripture, poem, or encouragement I've had in recent memory, and that's saying a lot because so many people have been so encouraging.
It's just that sometimes you need to see your story told by someone else, no matter how abstract it may be. Who knew it would be zombies (which still gross me out, big time), but I'm glad I took the chance on something I would never normally watch.
If I get a single email about Twilight, I will hunt you all down and eat your brains.
