Idle Thoughts on the Hungry Undead
Zombieland opened in theaters last week, another entry in the American zombie canon, and as it stands one more document from which we can explore the contemporary psyche through the metaphors contained in its horror stories.
George A. Romero is generally regarded as “the father of the modern zombie movie” (as opposed to the antiquity zombie movie?). His 1968 picture Night of the Living Dead introduced crowds of shambling, decaying reanimated corpses set on leisurely gnawing on a human foot or femur, eventually threatening to outnumber a steadily dwindling live human population. In the world of this film, Romero imagines a society slowly destroying itself. After involvement in a series of world-spanning conflicts, this filmmaker’s America has disposed of any further attempts to impact the world, turning its sights to roaming around in big cars and going on lazy Sunday afternoon excursions. This is all well and fine, except for the underlying consumption driving mid-century middle America.
Which is where the hordes of flesh-eaters comes in.
Romero continues to develop this thesis in Dawn of the Dead (1978), focusing his hungry maw on the outbreak of strip malls and the all-consuming impulse spender. In these two movies, as well as the films that follow in the Dead series, the undead are hungry but slow. One understands this to illustrate a sense of growing, inevitable opposition. An opponent who looms in the distance, lethal and ever-advancing, but handicapped with a lack of ability to nimbly navigate. We may be outnumbered by mindless millions, but *our* moral code, and our resourcefulness and intelligence will save us in the end. Level-headed reason and patience, Romero seems to be saying, is the real-world equivalent of the shot to the head (the established zombie-fighter’s coup de grace).
Unfortunately, the rules that kept us alive suddenly became a liability. We spent so much time holed up in zombie-proof bunkers and safehouses that we never noticed the undead adding one simple but crucial weapon to their aresenal: speed. All of a sudden, our maggot-infested neighbors and former co-workers had more in common with Usain Bolt than Boris Karloff.
The zombies had learned to run.
Led by the release of 28 Days Later and the remake of Dawn of the Dead (by Zack Snyder), the zombie-prey relationship began to resemble footage of the Serengeti from Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Our looming threat had not only caught up with us, but began chasing us through the streets at a breakneck pace. The zombies were immediately forcing us to deal with them on their terms and at that speed, which seems to be typified by, if I may coin the phrase, new-modern zombie movie.
There are some parallels between the evolution of the zombie and shifts on a global political scale. Particularly in America, the conflicts and issues which were easily ignored or at least quietly considered were now heard screaming at our front door, calling us by name.
It is a testament, perhaps, to the perception that the problems plaguing the world must be dealt with immediately. No longer can climate change, hunger, poverty, crime, and their connected events be swept under the carpet. The collective consciousness understands that solutions to these issues are the key to survival for us all.
We’ve got the brains. May as well use ‘em while we can.
