· 1 ·

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Zombie Apocalypse

FRANK GASKILL

“Oh, you’re awake. We’re just getting ready to have dinner.”

In 1996, my wife, Elizabeth, and I were misplaced southerners far from home, family, and friends, living in a Philadelphia suburb. That January, close to four feet of snow fell over two days, leaving much of the Northeast paralyzed. Our apartment complex of over a thousand people was cut off from everything. All we had were our candles, a chess set, and some poorly supplied battery radios. Through my second floor window, beyond the trees, I could see seven-foot snowdrifts, and the once lumpy parking lot now as a smooth, snowy field. Not one of the hundreds of cars could be seen under that deep snow. Ordered not to leave their homes, any civilians who chose to go for a snowy stroll, as one of our friends did, would be picked up by the National Guard and taken to shelter.

At that time, Valley Forge Apartments was filled with young professionals beginning their careers in computer programming, psychology, and theology. Next door lived a barrel-chested, chess-obsessed Russian. Farther down the hall were computer gamers with a local area network set up between their apartments. A few musicians, actors, models, and national defense contractors rounded out the crowd.

We were a disconnected, diverse group of strangers with common interests trying to make our way in the world. In retrospect, these neighbors probably would have made a formidable group against a walker herd. Before the storm, however, my neighbors were unknown to me. Afterward, I would have chosen most of them for my zombie survival team. The blizzard of 1996 is the closest personal reference I have to a zombie apocalypse.

Why Do We Watch?

We love The Walking Dead. LOVE it! But why? Most readers and viewers do not consider that they are tuning in to a formula that deliberately and intensely excites their conscious and unconscious senses, hopes, and dreams. The formula created by Robert Kirkman and the writers of the television series and games provides an audience an experience deeply seated in the biology of violence, the stripping away of our technological existence, and our innate desire for intimate social connectivity. We welcome the simplicity of decluttered lives and a clear and present danger we can confront physically. Walkers offer something tangible we can kill.

Trapped in homes, a farm, a prison, and even the seemingly safe communities of Terminus and Alexandria, the characters of The Walking Dead face an identifiable threat to their existence. We are obsessed with their relationships and their survival. Countless blogs, books, and articles attempt to answer the question “Why do we love The Walking Dead?” The zombie genre and specifically The Walking Dead can seem like the ultimate Rorschach test, allowing us to project our fears, hopes, and dreams onto the meaning of “Why do we watch?”

Walker Taxonomy

Walkers. The main characters call their world’s reanimated corpses walkers, a term Rick picks up from Morgan. Because electronic and print communication has broken down, people everywhere develop different terms. The respective zombie names—geeks, biters, deadheads, lamebrains, monsters, skin-eaters, rotters, and those people in the barn—reflect the nature of the people who do the naming.

Lurkers. Instead of staying on the move, some linger in one spot, not walking until a stimulus snaps them into action. Every place living characters step can be minefield-dangerous. Alert for roamers, they can wander right up, ready to chomp an ankle.

Roamers. Most of the walkers the characters encounter tend to wander.

Talkers. Walkers do not talk, although a few comic book issues left fans wondering if they might. For information on what the talkers turn out to be, see Case File VII: The Whisperers.

Herds. Environment makes walkers take paths of least resistance—following pavement, ambling downhill—and appetite drives all roamers toward stimuli they associate with living food. Without remembering gunshots they heard or passing vehicles they stumbled after, they walk. They cross paths. One follows another. Groups grow. New noise redirects groups. Hundreds, even thousands, may merge into this mindless mass. It’s not what social psychologists call conformity, which would be matching others’ behavior because of real or imagined pressure. They herd themselves no more deliberately than creeks flow into rivers.

—Travis Langley

Do we watch because we want a simplified life with less technology or because we enjoy vicariously feeling the deeper social connections brought on by a common threat? Maybe we just like watching Michonne decapitate walkers. Once upon a time, you might have doubted my sanity if I’d said the world would obsessively watch a show in which a mother asks for a suicidal C-section and to be fatally shot by her own son. But we watch and rewatch week after week, death after death, trauma after trauma. Why do we talk about it at work? Why do we think through our zombie survival plans and contemplate who we might save or where we might go in order to survive?

I believe The Walking Dead. The zombie genre as a whole excites us biologically and awakens an unconscious longing. The walkers clear away what distracts us and exposes not only who we are now but who we might like to become. The zombies do more than provide the mechanism for the story. The zombie apocalypse embodies the true definition of apocalypse. The term apocalypse is a word generally meaning “a revelation,” derived from the Greek apokalypsis (“to take the covering away”).² “Anyone who watches zombie movies must be prepared for a strong indictment of life in modern America.”³ Romero’s groundbreaking movies provided needed mechanisms to decry societal evils and call out the worst of us, but TWD is not so blatantly a social commentary.

When I think of Romero’s films, I am horrified by the idea of living in the worlds he visualizes. I don’t try to imagine myself in those settings. I usually feel disgust when I watch them (even though I love those films). In contrast, I often imagine and talk with my friends about living in a world similar to that of The Walking Dead. The zombies are just as real; the scenes of violence and gore are often worse than in the most intense zombie films to date. The uncovering process of the zombie apocalypse forces us to examine consciously and unconsciously what is hidden from our view.

Yes, Virginia, We Love Gore

Many people ask why I watch The Walking Dead. “It’s so gross!” “All those zombies are disgusting!” My indignant reply: “It’s not about the zombies! It’s about people and relationships. Have you ever watched it?” In response, I get blank stares after reinforcing people’s sense that I’m a weirdo. A close friend questioned the simplicity of my theory that the primary reason we watch is the imagined hope or longing for a more simplistic and possibly primitive existence. Many people are drawn to gory movies because these scenes of violence ignite primeval systems that are both stimulating and reinforcing. Violent sports, the Rocky movies, and many other films that stimulate our crocodile and predatory “old brains” are very popular. Our conscious and unconscious preoccupation with violence is also why the news starts off with fires and shootings.

The violence and gore typical of The Walking Dead comic book are exceptional for TV and cross barriers never before seen on a mainstream network such as AMC. The scene that crossed new boundaries appeared in the series premiere.⁴ Rick rides into Atlanta on humankind’s domesticated companion of thousands of years, the horse. Rick has lost his family and his society as he knew it but has a companion in the horse, a connection with the living, to family, a farm, and a pond. The horse is life. The symbolism of the sheriff riding into town offers us hope. Skyscrapers and an M1 Abrams tank surround him with representations of humankind’s technological feats. Alas, to survive the assault by scores of zombies, Rick must abandon his horse to climb into the belly of the tank. His equine companion’s cry and the walkers’ ensuing antlike attack shock me to this day, a flashbulb memory my mind can replay frame by frame. The violent and primeval carnage inflicted on the brave and helpless animal that unknowingly sacrifices itself for Rick’s survival invokes a visceral response of revulsion and revenge. This scene was brutal, and I did not look away.

The level of violence elicits in the viewer a basic biological response that compels people to watch and discuss each episode. The imagery shocks and holds us in such a primitive way that we bond to the experience. The story’s creators hold us hostage to our biology, innate fear, and fascination with violence. Although the violence pulls in many viewers, people also get satisfaction from watching such violence beyond the physical exhilaration.

In an exhaustive review of violent media, the social psychologist Jeffrey Goldstein suggests that we gain cathartic emotional experiences when we view violence and that we enjoy the spectacle because of our need to identify with others who are experiencing trauma and stress. The more intense the violence is, the more readily we pair ourselves with either the aggressor or the victim. Rick’s role as solitary survivor finding his way allows us to identify with and root for him as he travels the hero’s path. The horse gives us our victim, helpless and at the environment’s mercy. The horse trusts Rick and ultimately falls prey to walkers.

Have We Lost Our Way?

“Morgan, I don’t know if you’re out there… .
My wife and son, they’re alive. I wanted you to know that. There’s something else you need to know. Atlanta isn’t what we thought. It’s not what they promised. The city is—Do not enter the city.”

—Rick Grimes ⁵

Our technologically advanced world surrounds us with warmth, self-driving cars, and instant communication. With a few swipes of our fingers, we can download books, check the weather in New Zealand, and buy whatever we want. Through social media networks, family and friends update us minute by minute on their lives. We’re always plugged in. As the human species goes, we are working harder and demonstrating the highest levels of anxiety in known human history, with people reporting more stress, worry, and panic attacks (at least 40 percent more!) than in the 1950s.⁶ Have we pushed our brains past the point at which we can process all the data in our lives? And does this stress make us lose the meaningful social connections that hold us together and protect us? Rick’s effort to contact Morgan symbolically addresses these questions and illustrates two more variables that cause audiences to tune in each week: (1) a need for deep feeling and human connection and (2) a desire for a simplified life.

Rick is calling out over radio waves to his first post-apocalyptic human companion, the man who nursed him to health after the horrors of the hospital. Rick reaches out to share the joy of finding his family and to tell Morgan to stay safe. He doesn’t text. Through hearing the spoken word rather than reading a text, we feel both elation and survivor guilt over his reunion with his wife and son. Both are fathers striving to save their sons, but with a difference: Rick finds his wife and gains a community of social support, but Morgan’s family will never be made whole. Morgan’s dead, reanimated wife returns on occasion, possibly out of a distant, loyal memory of her family, but neither Morgan nor his son can love her again. The audience feels these relationships on a deep level and feels the need for community as a means to survive.

When I was a kid, we had three television networks, four if one counts PBS. At school we could talk excitedly about the stories we’d watched the night before, from Battlestar Galactica to The Dukes of Hazzard. We had a shared experience. Today the Internet and TV stream thousands of shows at any given moment. As we watch relationships develop on The Walking Dead while each episode first airs, it brings millions of us together that night in a way even the comic book series, which thousands read at scattered times, does not. The show allows us to share our thoughts and experiences. Together, we watch the pain of Rick being innocently betrayed by his wife and the despair of Andrea losing her sister. Together, we see Rick and Shane, brothers in arms who have risked their lives for one another, tear apart to the point of murder.

Experiencing The Walking Dead allows us a deeper social connection not only because we see our heroes’ pain but also because 17 million of us are watching their pain together. Although Breaking Bad also created a powerful shared experience for its fans and became a phenomenon in its own right, The Walking Dead’s audience experiences a wholly different subject reinforced by the formula of gore and powerful relationships stripped of technology.

A colleague of mine said, “It is very notable that people seem to want to feel a sense of deep loss.” In top-rated episodes, we lose Sophia, Lori, Hershel, Mika, Lizzie, and more. Viewers feel deeply, potentially “feeling” in a way that they do not feel in the real world. A part of us misses such deep connections and loyalties. The Walking Dead is not just about loss but also about excitement, betrayal, revenge, love, and loyalty. Psychological literature largely supports the role of social support as a significant ameliorating factor in the face of stressful life events.⁷ Our societal stress is high, and we are losing the face-to-face connections that protect us. These characters are allowed to have those communities back in their lives, and through our identification with and love for them, we get a little piece of the connection back as well.

During the snowstorm of 1996, the lesson of social support was powerful. The bonds of stress-enhanced social connectedness created a lasting memory, one that resonates with me when I watch The Walking Dead. We are social animals surrounded by everything that makes real connections increasingly less and less possible. Just as in The Walking Dead, without true social community we are all as good as food.

Alone Together author Sherry Turkle believes that in some meaningful ways we are becoming more alone.⁸ Despite and because of social networks, an argument can be made that we are losing relationship depth as well as the skills needed to connect in a meaningful way. Social media can let us expose our best sides to the world and hide the worst. We don’t usually take selfies of ourselves crying in despair. We escalate the war of “look how happy and connected I am!” The more we promote such false versions of ourselves, the more we lose who we and others truly are. Turkle describes the experience of a teenager going to a party. Those first parties can be exceptionally stressful but developmentally useful in creating strong social skills. Before the smartphone, teens had to figure it out on their own and navigate the shark-filled waters of social experience. With the smartphone, a teen can go to the party, but when the social stress and anxiety hits, she can turn on that smartphone and leave the party without physically exiting. Avoiding the social stress will not help her build her skills or gain confidence in her relationships. Society may be becoming increasingly isolated and superficial. As a result, we could be losing the value of deep, loyal, and ongoing relationships.

The Walking Dead’s viewer is unable to escape from deep feeling. Relationships are among the gravitational forces that draw us in week after week. Their world has no social media, no book deadlines, and few boring routines other than maybe collecting firewood. It may be a stretch to say we actually want a zombie apocalypse, but the experience of a more simplified life is a draw. When Rick says, “Atlanta is not what we thought,” he obviously is telling Morgan about the presence of walkers, but we can take a deeper symbolic message from this statement. Technology would not save them or restore their families. The tank was useless, the government failed, and all the impressive structures of humanity designed to keep us safe and comfortable collapsed. A rescuing force would not come. Audiences connect with their stories in part because we too long for these connections in our own lives. Relationships are our characters’ salvation.

Survival

My first stress-built community was realized through a blizzard as I was trapped with strangers inside the concrete bunker of an apartment building. During the storm, neighbors opened doors. We were looking for information. Our technology was gone, cutting us off from the world. Through the stress of the storm, we became closer. No longer did we just say, “Hi.” Now we went further by asking real questions: “How is your family?” “Are you still stressed at work?” “How about a nice game of chess?” Food, laughs, and real stories were shared by candlelight. Our community came together, and we became better for it. With superficial niceties apocalyptically stripped away, we became real.

The Walking Dead strips away the nothing to reveal the everything that matters to us all. The formula includes violence and gore, for sure. But within the why-we-watch equation are deep, powerful relationships and characters with whom we can identify and for whom we can cheer. Seeing a world in which the stressors of modern society and superficiality are stripped away leaves us longing. We watch to be excited by who we are now, to feel deeply, and to ponder who we would like to become.

George Romero was right as well. My wife and I moved into that small apartment knowing no one. All the store names were unfamiliar, and the roads were confusing. Scared and feeling alone, we longed for a connection to anything that would feel familiar. We were able to find such a connection on the second day of our adventure. We went exactly where George Romero would have expected us to go. We went to the mall.

References

Charuvastra, C., & Cloitre, M. (2008). Social bonds and posttraumatic stress disorder. Annual Review of Psychology, 59, 301–328.

Cohen, S., & Wills, T. (1985). Stress, social support, and the buffering hypothesis. Psychological Bulletin, 98, 310–357.

Edinger, E. R. (1999). Archetype of the apocalypse: Divine vengeance, terrorism, and the end of the world. Chicago: Open Court.

Paffenroth, A. (2006). Gospel of the living dead: George Romero’s visions of hell on earth. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press.

St. John, A. (2014, October 13). “The Walking Dead” season 5 premiere breaks ratings record as the most watched cable show of all time. http://www.forbes.com/sites/allenstjohn/2014/10/13/the-walking-dead-season-5-premiere-breaks-ratings-record-as-the-most-watched-cable-show-of-all-time/.

Stossel, S. (2014). A brief history of anxiety: The invention of a modern malaise. http://www.psychotherapynetworker.org/.

Turkle, S. (2012). Alone together: Why we expect more from technology and less from each other. New York, NY: Basic.

Williams, J. C., & Boushey, H. (2015, January 25). The three faces of work-family conflict: The poor, the professionals, and the missing middle. https://www.americanprogress.org/press/release/2010/01/25/14506/new-report-the-three-faces-of-work-family-conflict/.

Notes

1. Issue 1 (2003).

2. Edinger (1999), p. 3.

3. Paffenroth (2006), p. 21.

4. Episode 1–1, “Days Gone Bye” (October 31, 2010).

5. Episode 1–5, “Wildfire” (November 28, 2010).

6. Stossel (2014).

7. Cohen & Wills (1985).

8. Turkle (2012).