Finding Something to be Happy About

We’re now in our sixtieth century of human civilisation and I think we can all agree that largely it’s been a bad idea. Sure, the pyramids are nice, if a little samey, and the iPhone 4S is a real high point in an otherwise bleak era of pervading anxiety and global decline (punctuated by celebrity weddings). Generally though, it’s pretty clear that everyone’s just about ready to conclude this tedious rat race and start scavenging Argos and cannibalising obsolete TV critics. Not me, of course, because I’ll already be carrying out stage 4 of my foolproof contingency plan, unlike other slower, fatter – dare I say it – more succulent critics.

From the atomic irony of The Twilight Zone to the junkyard hi-jinks of Mad Max, pop culture has always swarmed with post-apocalyptic scenarios, a secure outlet for our repressed yearnings for self-destruction (and the subsequent, long-awaited return to alfresco survival struggle). In these so-called ‘nightmares’, the root causes tend to be either bombs or zombies. The latter are, of course, far superior. For starters, nuclear weapons are a reality and it seems a shame to trawl through the hypothetical outcomes of their use on TV, when we could actually just make our own fun. Secondly, whereas radiation is a rather intangible threat, zombies obviously and stubbornly linger about after the initial disaster, providing some entertaining and exotic adversity for the plucky wanderers.

On this basis, it’s a pleasure to see the return of AMC’s quality corpse-driven drama, The Walking Dead (10pm, Friday, FX). Adapted from the long running comic (sorry, graphic novel), the first series was a high-concept triumph, blending impressive production values, excellent direction and a shambling horde of flesh-hungry abominations. As incontrovertible proof of my apocalypse-fetish theory, it also became a smash hit, further cementing the station’s reputation after the critical breakout of Mad Men. There’s a great deal of pressure on the second outing and, for the most part, the show is living up to it. The sign of a good zombie film is to use the actual zombies relatively sparingly, instead slowly compressing the walls of despair around the increasingly tense protagonists (a narrative perfectly suited to episodic format of television). The series continues to handle this aspect rather well, particularly after the survivors’ refusal of a painless way-out at the conclusion of the last series.

There are a couple of clunky moments and some artlessly overemphasised writing; a deer’s representation of the continuing beauty of nature is made agonisingly and repeatedly clear, to the extent that most of the zombies have now presumably got the point.

A few of the characters have also been used poorly in the start of the season, relegated to facilitating mouthpieces or extras. In general though, the interest in the band remains strong with supposed hero Rick Grimes struggling for purpose and direction, while rival Alpha male Shane increasingly flirts with a moral event horizon. In addition, the expert survivalist, noble cynic and only possibly racist, Darryl Dixon (very much the Omar Little of the zombie apocalypse) makes the show worth watching by himself.

However, the question still facing both the audience and the protagonists is: where do we go from here? With little hope for a cure and a dwindling group, what’s left to drive the plot, apart from the distraction of soap opera conflicts and the odd death? The stock of story lines that worked in a monthly comic book may not translate themselves well to weekly television episodes. That said, when the ride is this much fun, this remains the most exciting apocalypse around. At least, until a real one presents itself.