Must-see ‘Walking Dead’ not for the squeamish
Now that I’m getting older, I’ve started compiling a bucket list.
It’s not the traditional collection of things I hope to do or see before I die, rather a list of shows I won’t watch without a bucket next to me. Actually, it’s not really so much a list as it is fodder for a sticky note: “The Walking Dead” (10 p.m. today, AMC).
The zombie-apocalypse drama — yes, really — is every bit as hypnotic as it is haunting. But thanks to a couple of over-the-top scenes, I wouldn’t recommend eating right before tuning in. You might even consider an all-day fast.
Based on Robert Kirkman’s acclaimed graphic novel, “The Walking Dead” tells the story of Rick Grimes (Andrew Lincoln), a Georgia sheriff’s deputy who’s shot on the job and awakens in a hospital weeks later to a wasteland overrun by, well, the walking dead. The series doesn’t waste much time with the hows and whys, attributing the near-extinction of the human race to some sort of zombie fever, which still sounds less like a catastrophic malady than a novelty disco hit.
AMC caught a huge break with Halloween falling on a Sunday, its night dedicated to original programming. Otherwise, “The Walking Dead” would seem wildly out of place on the home of “Mad Men,” “Breaking Bad” and the so-smart-it’s-nearly-impenetrable “Rubicon.” As it is, it merely feels surreal.
The only thing “The Walking Dead” has in common with its sister shows is that it’s absolutely, unequivocally unlike anything else on TV. Oh, sure, there are traces of “Jericho,” down to the presence of guest star Lennie James, and echoes of “Lost,” with its disparate, multiethnic band of survivors. But this is no campy allegory a la “True Blood,” and I’m fairly certain there won’t be any sort of forbidden zombie-human love story designed to make bored housewives weak in the knees.
With its deliberate buildup — not “Mad Men” slow but decidedly unhurried nonetheless — tonight’s 90-minute premiere, written and directed by Frank Darabont (“The Green Mile,” “The Shawshank Redemption”), feels more like an experimental art film than standard horror fare. Grimes spends huge chunks of the episode alone, with scarcely any music or even ambient noise. When a zombie wanders into a parked car, the wailing alarm that shatters the silence is downright terrifying.
Lured by rumors of a massive refugee camp protected by the military, Grimes slowly — gasoline, like everything else, is in short supply — makes his way to Atlanta, where he hopes to reconnect with his family. And despite his uniform, he’s no longer terribly interested in right or wrong. “All I am anymore is a man looking for his wife and son,” he tells an unruly survivor. “Anybody gets in the way of that’s gonna lose.”
Curiously, episode two acquires more of a B-movie feel. If you just stumbled onto it, the overall look and some of the acting would have you swearing it was one of those done-on-the-cheap Syfy original movies.
Other scenes, though, will just have you swearing.
“The Walking Dead” pushes the boundaries of basic cable with its depictions of the deceased. The first zombie Grimes encounters is a desiccated corpse that’s little more than a torso, flesh rotting off its jaw, as it pulls itself along by its hands while being trailed by some intestines and what looks to be part of its spine.
And the flies! Lord, are there flies.
Nothing quite compares, though, to the gore that awaits Grimes and Glenn (Steven Yeun), a fellow survivor he encounters in Atlanta. If you’re easily offended, odds are you’re new here, so welcome. But, seriously, if you’re at all squeamish, stop reading now and come back next week. No one will hold it against you.
Grimes and Glenn are part of a small band of survivors trapped in a department store with a nearby box truck their best chance for escape. Standing between it and them, though, is what looks like the after party for Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video. And while none of the zombies, known as “walkers” or “geeks,” would give Usain Bolt a run for his money, when motivated, they can really get around.
In order to mask their human smell, Grimes grabs an ax and a geek and gets to chopping. And chopping. And — sweet George Romero! — the sound alone will haunt your dreams.
The resulting zombie paste is then smeared all over Grimes and Glenn, with entrails and stray hands and feet draped around their necks, before they’re sent out to slowly stagger past the assembled walkers.
Now, I’ve always had a fairly strong stomach. I’ve even watched “Nip/Tuck’s” horrifyingly realistic surgeries while eating pasta. But this creates a particularly lingering brand of queasiness. By the time Grimes declares “We need more guts,” you’ll be on the verge of seeing some of your own.
That “The Walking Dead” can be so good and so bad makes it a must-see. Even if that seeing is obscured by the hands covering your eyes.
It deserves a place on both your bucket lists.
Christopher Lawrence’s Life on the Couch column appears on Sundays. E-mail him at clawrence@ reviewjournal.com.
