What I Learned from the Undead
Tor Johnson as Inspector Clay (newly undead as part of an alien race’s evil plan to take over Earth) in Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space.
I’m afraid of two things. That’s not true, let’s start again. I’m afraid of a lot of things, but what I am most afraid of is snakes. Snakes aren’t relevant right now, but I thought I’d clear the air. My second greatest fear is zombies. I’m legitimately terrified of zombies. I change the channel when ads for The Walking Dead come on. I watched 24 Days Later with all of the lights on after reading the plot summary on Wikipedia.
It’s not the brain munching or the unkillability (though those don’t make them any less scary) that sends me into hysterics, but rather the fact that zombies are contagious. Anyone can be infected. I read the Hot Zone by Richard Preston in middle school and didn’t sleep for a month. Infectious diseases are fucking scary.
Even though they keep me up at night, I think I appreciate zombies. I appreciate the mythology inherently built in to a zombie story. Where did they come from? Who was first? Who or what is responsible? I saw a preview for World War Z the other day and decided to read the book. I’m only reading it when I stay at my girlfriend’s house in the hopes she’ll calm me down when I wake up panicking and applying for a gun license. What I really appreciate so far is that the first section is all backstory. I’m a sucker for backstory. Where did the epidemic begin? What were the warning signs? Reading World War Z has made me realize that a lot of my favorite TV shows (and many more that I continued watching even though they were terrible) are vehicles for origin myths and descriptions of alternate realities. As the characters moved forward with the plot, I watched to learn more about the mythologies that directed their paths.
Bryan Fuller, the creator of Dead like Me, Wonderfalls, and Pushing Daisies (all fantastic, prematurely cancelled shows) is the king of comedic mythology. As George collected souls for Rube, I was desperate to learn more about how the Grim Reaper world was organized. Every few episodes a new Truth would pop up and I would be ecstatic. I watched the show illegally online, buffering my way from clue to clue. And what the hell was the deal with the talking plastic animals that infested Niagara Falls? Wonderfalls wasn’t on long enough to enlighten me, but I was hooked. There are maybe seven other people in the world that loved these shows as much I did and, based on their truncated runs, maybe only a few dozen that have any idea what I’m talking about. Numbers be damned, these shows were excellent and the thrill of unlocking the secrets that governed their ever-so-slightly-off versions of reality kept me coming back for more.
Mythology can take center stage. It doesn’t always ooze up to fill a plot hole or explain a twist, but can be the driving force of the entire show. Here lies the realm of J.J. Abrams. Lost, Alias (after the fall of SD-6), and Fringe are plots built to contain a mythology, releasing it slowly, carefully at first, providing the fuel for late night “I-can’t-fucking-believe-thats” and “I-did-not-see-that-comings”. Then, as if they grew tired of our pestering, suddenly they inundated us with dogma in preparation for one final reveal, generally a lame one. While in hindsight it’s clear each series was an abusive relationship (it strung us along, withheld affection, and was jealous of its timeslot) that moment when the hatch opened, when a Rambaldi machine was discovered, or a parallel universe entered, was thrilling. We would discover something deeper and get a peek at the inner workings of the worlds we devoted our evenings to.
Mythologies can be superficial and that’s where I get into trouble. They lend the illusion of depth and storytelling to soap operas. They serve merely to differentiate Charmed from Brothers and Sisters and The Vampire Diaries from One Tree Hill. I know this. I really do. Yet somehow I convince myself that maybe, maybe, on the next episode of True Blood I’ll learn something really cool about fairies or that vampire religion will actually be interesting. In search of such holy grails (not Lilith’s) I have, instead, accumulated far too much knowledge about Sookie Stackhouse’s love triangle (it’s more like an asterisk with her at the center for those who are interested) and seen way too many characters reduced to piles of goo. I want to stop, I do, but I can’t resist the temptation of a secret vampire government or a hidden dimension full of fairies. Don’t even get me started on American Horror Story.
Sam Cohen lives in Cambridge, MA with his parents. Stop making that face, it's probably temporary. He appreciates maps, trains, and dystopic young adult fiction.