|This is the vampire on Being Human. Tell me you blame me.|
Both shows have a sense of humor, people (well, supernatural beings, in the case of Being Human) living on the edge, bad ass main characters with a conscience...and buckets of blood at times.
And that's what I'm worried about with the Walking Dead. Yes, yes... I've already told you that I like that stuff. I've revealed myself as a lifetime reader and devotee of Stephen King, right? And he's known for gore, right?
Right...and wrong. In his fine non-fiction book about the horror genre, Danse Macabre, King talks about three levels of scary: first (and finest) is terror. We hear something scratching the door and it scares the crap out of us even if we never see it. Second is horror: We see what's behind the door, and yep, sure enough it's the monster we expected. It's big and scary...but it's almost a relief to see it. The third level is the gross-out. We see the monster as it rips it's face off and squirts blood and fluids all over our body just before it eats us (This is a paraphrase, but I think I got his tone).
The best scary movies or books might dart between the three levels of horror; the worst stick to the third and make us sick without really scaring us.
That's where I'm becoming afraid my beloved Walking Dead is heading.
The first two seasons had a mix of horror and humor, and a dose of real-people relationships that I think might have surprised some people that expected zombiemunchies every week. Our intrepid band of survivors dealt with a lot of things: loss, sorrow, infidelity, spousal abuse, murder, even the place and nature of God in their lives. All while trying to avoid being lunch for flesh eating monsters, I might add.
|Rick Grimes. Zombie killer. Loyal Husband. DILF.|
But she doesn't.
When he admits to her what happened, she jumps away from him like he was one of the zombies and looks at him like he was freaking Frankenstein.
Now we're in season three, and I'm nervous. No one talks much any more. They've killed a god-awful lot of zombies, though, and in some of the most gory ways possible. Can you blame me for worrying that my favorite show might become Splatter of the Week? That wasn't Robert Kirkman's goal when he wrote the graphic novel--in fact, in his author's note he warned the reader not to expect that. He was interested in how people cope with things of real life in a calamity, and the show has been fairly faithful to that up to this point.
I like zombiesmushing. Don't get me wrong. But what is killing me is what is happening to Rick. I think his wife's rejection broke him, and I want that to get better. The last scene of Sunday's episode broke my heart: in one of the few 'people' moments of the season so far, Rick and Lori finally talk a very little bit about their struggling marriage. Rick tentatively reaches out touch his wife's shoulder...and then mumbles something about how the whole group was grateful to her for saving Hershel. It ends with him walking off without ever looking her directly in the face. Lori rests her cheek against her shoulder where his hand had been... *Sob* THAT WASN'T ENOUGH!!
Though I can't help but think that the make up sex could be epic.
I DO write romances, people.
Speaking of which, Andrew Lincoln (who plays My Beloved Rick-MBR, from now on) is my picture inspiration for the hero of my next book :) It's set on the beach, so in honor of that, I'd like to offer you the chance to win a beachy prize: a sliver sanddollar necklace! Enter here, and get hopping to any of the other nearly 500 blogs participating in this hop. GOOD LUCK!
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