The Walking Dead
The return of AMC’s undead megahit is further proof that The Walking Dead is one of the best things on telly. It’s exciting, superbly acted, well written, and it’s as good as it’s ever been, if not better. But watching has started to feel like a peculiarly predictable form of masochism, like plunging your face into a thicket of nettles once a week because occasionally you like the smell. The Walking Dead has been back for one episode – and I’m already completely depressed.
Back in October I watched the opening episode of series five with my mouth agape in awe, half‐chewed popcorn disgustingly presented to the world, and thinking: “This is one of the best episodes I’ve ever seen. Ever.” Rick and the survivors languished in the long pig gulag of Terminus, furiously gearing themselves up for what promised to be the almighty dust‐up of almighty dust‐ups. Their fellow detainees were slaughtered in front of them, their killer slitting their throats over a trough, working his way down the line of kneeling prisoners. It was terrifying.
After this, the series inevitably simmered down. The show hardly relaxed into jam sandwiches, knock‐knock jokes and daisy chains, but episodes came and went, and they were fine. There was some walking and talking in the woods, some time in a church with a priest who’d done a bad thing, and some people in a hospital who turned out to be unpleasant. A couple of members of the group died. And then, by the end of the first half of the series, The Walking Dead – the show that only a few episodes ago had been the greatest thing since the invention of the flushing latrine – felt a bit boring.
It seemed tired and predictable: of course the priest had done a bad thing, because this is The Walking Dead. Of course some members of the group died, because ditto. And of course the people in the hospital were deplorable, because, in the world of The Walking Dead, anyone who isn’t under the stewardship of Rick Grimes is 110% likely to be an evil, sadistic bastard. They never meet anyone nice. It’s exhausting. The Walking Dead doesn’t surprise you. It just continues.
The graphic novels on which the show is based are still being written, and I wonder if this is The Walking Dead’s problem – the interminability of it. Of course, I’m going to keep watching the new season, and of course I’m going to be sucked right back in. But investing in the show again is like joining a gym – I’ll be knowingly committing to a harrowing relationship of perennial grimness.
(Available: http://www.theguardian.com/tv‐and‐radio/2015/feb/10. Adapted.)
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