Art & Entertainment

Covid Nightmare: Time Of The Living Dead

How zombie films, or almost-zombie films, have dealt with apocalypse, social crisis and personal desolation

Covid Nightmare: Time Of The Living Dead
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It바카라™s one of many mutation-vaccine memes that has been doing the rounds lately. 바카라œWaiting in line for your 56th booster shot to stop the 89th variant that comes with the 23rd wave,바카라 reads the text. The image accompanying it is a close-up of one of those malodorous lurchers from a zombie movie바카라”eyes open but glassy and unseeing, slash marks on throat, half-grin plastered on his (its?) face, as if pleased by the news that the local pharmacy has a fresh stock of paracetamol. At this point, who among us can바카라™t rel­ate to this shuffling wretch?

There is a long-standing connection between zombies and pandemics in horror lore, but there isn바카라™t always a definite answer to the question: which came first? Does the mysterious emergence of zombies lead to pestilence sweeping across the land, or does the plague come first, turning us all into zombies? It depends on which book you바카라™re reading, which film you바카라™re watching바카라Šor which real-life scenario you happen to be inhabiting. It also depends on how you define 바카라œzombie바카라, or 바카라œapocalypse바카라.

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Consider Max Brooks바카라™s marvellous dystopia book World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War (2006), which바카라”in amusingly straight-faced, journalistic prose바카라”describes a global zombie infestation and how it affects (or is prolonged by) different countries and cultures. When Covid-19 appeared and spread across the world, my mind turned to that book, but I didn바카라™t realise how closely it resonated with contemporary events until I pulled out my old copy rec­ently and saw the back-cover blurb 바카라œIt바카라™s Apocalypse Now, pandemic style바카라. Followed by: 바카라œIt began with rumours from China about ano­ther pandemic. Then the cases started to multiply [바카라Š] Humanity was forced to face events that tested our sanity and our sense of reality.바카라

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World War Z has 바카라œreal바카라 zombies, of course바카라”the supernatural undead who cause all the trouble바카라”but it also makes it clear that there are ways and ways of being a zombie. In one stirring chapter, which reads like a nod to Edgar Allan Poe바카라™s classic The Masque of the Red Death, a super­-rich New Yorker turns his mansion into a sanctuary for himself and other cel­ebrities (along with their battalions of personal assistants and stylists)바카라”until they learn that however carefully they ind­ulge in ivory-tower hedonism, they can바카라™t stay forever untouched by a raging plague. When the assault comes, it comes not from zombies but from living people on the outside, enraged by this obscene display of privilege. 바카라œIt was bedlam, exa­ctly what you thought the end of the world was supposed to look like.바카라

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But perhaps the zombie-in-apocalypse theme is most clearly realised in the section about a young Japanese man named Kondo who spends all his time on the internet, where he feels most in control. Long before the zombie invasion begins, Kondo is an automaton: glued to his computer, mechanically interacting with people whom he doesn바카라™t really know, staggering to his door to collect the meal trays his mother left for him outside. Little wonder that when he awakens to an unthinkable crisis바카라”no computer or internet바카라”he goes nearly insane. Like zombies, he needs something to feed on: in his case, the glow of the screen and the validation of other cyber-residents. But that is gone now, and he is so socially inept that stepping out of his building is barely an option.

Prescient as Brooks바카라™s book was, it was written before smartphones, social media, and easy-to-access video-meeting rooms바카라”and these are things that don바카라™t figure in the narrative (at least not to the degree that they have now inf­ected our world). I think of Kondo, the alm­ost-zombie, whenever I come across a tragic-comic news items about a young person so lost in a phone screen while walking, that they tumble into an uncovered manhole or something such (still gazing into the phone, their minds not having yet processed all the signals).

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It is easy to recognise the zombies in ourselves in the cyber-age, where one can stay cut off from the outside world for long durations. This even before a nasty little virus came along and forced us all into our houses, giving many of us the excuse we wanted to never meet anyone. It is also easier than ever to grumble that technology has facilitated ali­enation and living-dead behaviour. But in fairness, versions of this have been happening for hundreds of years. Think of all the stories about insensate, vaguely human-like creatures바카라”going back to Mary Shelley바카라™s Frankenstein and beyond바카라”that were res­ponses to new technological developments; born out of the fear that in moving away from the comforting, moral certainties of religion towards something more diffused and unpredictable, people would lose their humanity. Zombies are a dir­ect bequest of that legacy. One of the most fam­ous zombie films, George Romero바카라™s 1968 Night of the Living Dead, beg­ins with a cemetery scene where a young man (a non-zombie at this stage) is sardonic about traditional things such as putting a wreath on his father바카라™s grave, and doesn바카라™t even go to church. These 바카라œblasphemies바카라 of a cold modern age prepare us for the arrival of the living dead. But a question hangs over the film: was that man already dead inside?

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Historically too, even in the age of early, low-budget horror movies, some of the most notable cinematic 바카라œzombies바카라 weren바카라™t supernatural: they were regular people who had been petrified into inaction바카라”through circumstances, or because they had looked for too long into an abyss. The hopelessness might be engendered by personal tragedy, general distress about their immediate surroundings, or cosmic des­truction at an unt­hinkable scale.

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Consider the wonderfully atmospheric I Walked with a Zombie (1943), produced by a master of subdued horror, Val Lewton. This film바카라™s sensationalist B-movie title doesn바카라™t begin to convey its quiet, haunting beauty and how it deals not with external terrors but with a soul-destroying conflict within a family where a young woman has turned catatonic after an illicit affair. Or take ano­ther tragic young woman from the genre바카라”Christine, the disfigured protagonist of the 1960 Eyes Without a Face, who wanders desolate through the rooms of a large mansion while her scientist father tries to res­tore her features. Or another legendary horror-film character who must also have spent long lonely hours walking through an old house, Norman Bates in Psycho, rendered zombie-like by his crippling dependence on his long-dead mother.

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If the heroine of Eyes Without a Face wears a mask바카라”like someone living through a pandemic바카라”there are other similarly isolated characters in dystopian films. In the climactic scene of the chilling The Face of Another (1964), a doctor has a nightmare vis­ion of countless masked people바카라”soulless ciphers바카라”walking through the streets of a city. For the protagonists of these films, 바카라œapocalypse바카라 is a very personal thing, as it would be for most of us in their situation: how does it matter to them if the rest of the world goes on as normal? In another Val Lewton-produced work, Isle of the Dead, a group of people are stranded on an island as a plague rages around them. They scrub their hands, wear masks when possible, and are very aware of the external dangers; but their inner demons are what consume them.

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Personal tragedy often runs alongside social commentary in these stories: for ins­tance, I Walked with a Zombie is set on an island with a history of colonialism and racial oppression; the white characters in the film may have inf­ected the place through generations of exploitation. But then, anyone who knows the history of horror cinema knows that the genre, however otherworldly or fantastical it might seem, has always had powerful subtexts. 바카라œUnusual Times Demand Unusual Pictures바카라 said an advertisement for the Depression-era film White Zombie; as David Skal put it in his fine book The Monster Show, part of the reason why this film was scary was that 바카라œmillions already knew that they were no longer completely in control of their lives; the economic strings were being pulled by faceless, frightening forces바카라. Decades later, when the American economy was in a much healthier place, along came Romero바카라™s 1979 Dawn of the Dead바카라”a witty commentary on the giant-shopping-mall era, where rampant consumerism could turn people into zombies.

And then there is the end of the world, non-pandemic-style바카라”and outside the horror genre. I바카라™m thinking about two very different types of films made in different cultures in 1955, both of which involve terror of nuclear annihilation: Akira Kurosawa바카라™s plaintive drama I Live in Fear and Robert Aldrich바카라™s B-noir Kiss Me Deadly. Both have scenes involving bright flashes of light that might signal Arm­ageddon, and people who are paralysed by fear. The protagonist of I Live in Fear, an old man traumatised by Hiroshima and Nagasaki, cowers when his house is lit up by lightning during a storm, imagining it to be another atom bomb att­ack. In Kiss Me Deadly, when a woman opens a mysterious, glowing suitcase, we realise that this is a horrific Pandora바카라™s box containing a form of all-consuming nuclear power; and the house goes up in flames. Both the old man and the woman are rendered imm­obile and sub-human바카라Šlike you-know-what.

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From the fears of rapid industrialisation to the World Wars, from the possibility of mutually assured nuclear des­t­ruction to climate change바카라Šand now to Covid and its many avatars: every age has had its own zombie-generators. Each situation poses its own special challenges, but maybe some things don바카라™t change all that much over the centuries. Writing about White Zombie in 1932, a reviewer quipped that zombies were especially useful in the busted economy, 바카라œsince they don바카라™t mind working overtime바카라. Something similar might be said for some of us in Covid바카라™s WFH world, where the line bet­ween work time and leisure time has been blurred, where there is no 바카라œswitching off바카라, and we stare into the depths of our many screens, fingers involuntarily tapping away to indicate slight signs of life. Perhaps the next major zombie film should be about the und­ead launching their most macabre attack yet바카라Šby infiltrating our online video meetings.

(This appeared in the print edition as "Time of the Living Dead")

(Views expressed are personal)

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Jai Arjun Singh is an independent critic and author

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