The Haitian Zombie Issue

No. No. No.               

No.

Okay, so I’m about half of the way through Doc of the Dead on Netflix (it’s a little too goofy for its own good, but it has some stunning visuals in its interlude pieces and it includes fascinating interviews from some very heavy hitters in the zombie community) and I’m getting really frustrated, so I’m going to take a few minutes to just vent here.

Cool? Good.

Here’s my problem: Haitian zombies aren't zombies. 

There, I said it. They just aren't. 

Although they share a name with the creature introduced and popularized by the works of Romero (a slow moving, mindless, reanimated corpse that craves human flesh, that multiplies by killing victims who then become zombies, and that can only be (re)killed by a direct attack on its brain), the Haitian Vodou zombie should not be confused with zombies as we now think of them (i.e. the zombies this blog is dedicated to). Despite a few obvious similarities, in most observable ways the Haitian zombie and the Romero zombie are two separate constructs and, though linked thematically, should be considered as distinct from one another. Of course, I'm not implying that we should not refer to Haitian zombies as zombies (it is THEIR name, after all), but rather that it is necessary to acknowledge the fundamental differences between the two concepts in order to gain a full understanding of either.

First, though, let's get through the apparent similarities: Haitian zombies are people raised from the dead*, and Haitian zombies are mindless**. That's pretty much where it ends. And, in both cases, the seeming similarity is undermined in some sense (hence, the asterisks).

To begin with, *Haitian zombies are not actually raised from the dead, but rather are raised from the grave. This qualification, of course, is in reference to the fact that our current understanding of the Haitian zombie (and even certain early Haitian understandings), does not identify the zombies as dead but as seemingly dead. This is indicated as early as W.E. Seabrook's "... Dead Men Working in the Cane Fields," the short story most responsible for introducing the Haitian zombie to the popular consciousness. At the end of the story, the narrator relates a passage from the official Haitian penal code which seems to offer a non-supernatural explanation for presence of reanimated corpses: "Article 249. Also shall be qualified as attempted murder the employment which may be made against any person of substances which, without causing actual death, produce a lethargic coma more or less prolonged. If, after the administering of such substances, the person has been buried, the act shall be considered murder, no matter what result follows" (Seabrook 49). However, whether working under this seemingly more rational explanation, or the folkloric understanding of the zombie as "a soulless human corpse, still dead, but taken from the grave and endowed by sorcery with a mechanical semblance of life [...] a dead body which is made to walk and act and move as if it were alive,” the Haitian zombie is a corpse that "came from the grave" (Seabrook 41). Which, on the surface, is a bit of a nitpicky distinction, but it signifies nonetheless. In both cases, Romero and Haitian, it is the newly dead (or apparent dead) who return. However, in Haiti, it is exclusively corpses that have been buried that are revived while in Night it is exclusively those bodies that have not been buried that return. The latter indicates an interruption of the proper death rites. The former, however, gestures to a willful violation of death itself (more on the Bokor later).

Zonbi, by Wilson Bigaud, 1939

Next, although, for people like zombie connoisseur John Skipp the tragic truth about Haitian zombies is that "they [are] slaves. Either raised from the dead to do some vile master's bidding, or somehow mesmerized into mindless subservience, zombies were the husked-out shells of humanity, whose sole purpose was to do the degrading shit no willful soul would do. In that sense they were the ultimate slaves, in that they had no will of their own," ** Haitian zombies are not actually mindless (Skipp 10). Though the same could be said of the zombies in Night of the Living Dead - who try car door handles, use basic tools, shield their eyes from branches, and demonstrate basic self-preservation skills in avoiding fire - the Haitian zombie is un-mindless in a very different way.

Know what sucks? Doin' this.
Photo: Sean Smith

Not only are they capable of far more intricate tasks (reaping sugar cane is not an easy chore), but they are actually able to follow orders. This indicates a level of receptive communication that the Romero zombies simply lack. This is decidedly not a trivial distinction; the Haitian zombie is defined by its tractability, the Romero zombie by their inability to be controlled. Where the Haitian zombies are literal slaves, the Romero zombie is a slave only to its appetite. These are very clear indications of the stark differences in cultural anxieties between the two societies that created these very distinct monstrous figures. To grossly oversimplify, one fears being controlled, one fears being out of control.

(I just realized that Haitian zombies and Romero's both shamble very similarly in a way that is not readily undermined in any demonstrable way. So there's that linking them, I guess. In the immortal words of Deep Blue Something, "Well, that's the one thing we've got").

To be continued...

Canon Update (11/16/14)

Film:

Fido, written by Robert Chomiak, Dennis Heaton, and Andrew Currie, directed by Andrew Currie

            Andrew Currie’s Fido presents a bit of a departure from the films that we have added to the Canon of the Dead so far (28 Days Later and the works of George A. Romero). Unlike the vast majority of zombie films (and zombie narratives, in general), Fido is not a horror film. However, what it lacks in scares and suspense, it more than makes up for with style and wit. This is a beautifully shot and extremely well-executed film, an almost point perfect parody of 195os TV series like Lassie, Leave It to Beaver, and Peyton Place. What makes Fido so good, though, as a zombie text is the way it manages to seamlessly integrate zombies into a pre-existing mode of filmic representation (I’m hesitant to refer to it as a genre; perhaps “era” is more appropriate). 

Without ever specifying that the time the story takes place actually IS the 50s - I mean, technically, the film could take place in a future shaped by ZomCom to reflect 1950s sensibilities, right? – Fido nonetheless makes us feel like we’re watching the 50s. But it also makes us wonder what the 50s were really like. If we believe the evidence left to us from Lassie and the Beave, the 50 certainly seem like a time when there was a car in every garage and a roast on every table and Dad had all the answers and Mom knew her role. By toying with the idea of appearances and surface structures, though, Fido pushes us to question the idealized notions of our past that have become so comfortable to us. As much as it acts as a parody, however, it is also clearly allegorical in its approach. It’s talking about the 50s, clearly, but it’s not just talking the 50s. Hell, it’s probably not even talking mostly about the 50s. 

Released in 2007, a time where the freedom vs. security debate surrounding the patriot act had not quite abated, and immigration was becoming more and more of a concern, Fido (a Canadian film) is a scathing critque of modern American life as well. Smart, hilarious, and more than a little twisted, Fido is everything you could ask for in a zombie film. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should.

Lit:

    Novels-

Zombie, Ohio: A Tale of the Undead, by Scott Kenemore

            Zombie, Ohio is different. I’d even go so far as to say unique. Not in that the narrator of the story is a zombie – it’s rare, but it’s been done – and not in that it presents a zombie that can think and talk, because that has been done before too, but in the fact that its thinking, talking zombie narrator does so in violation of the rules of his own zombie apocalypse. Pete Mellor, or rather Pete Mellor’s zombie, is an apparent singularity within the fictional universe he inhabits. Unlike, say, Return of the Living Dead or the short story “A Zombie’s Lament,” where all zombies seem rather sentient and chatty, Zombie, Ohio presents Mellor, aka the Kernel, as an exception among the zombie horde, the rest of which are all of the mindless, moan and groan variety. Situated dead in its center, Mellor undermines the ostensible binary relationship between human and zombie in some very interesting ways. For the first time ever (I think), a zombie uses what humans think they know about zombies, the definitions and categorization that the humans have imposed, against them in his effort to eat their brains.

The novel also raises some surprisingly profound questions, however, about the notion of self. By creating a zombie who is mostly, though not entirely, amnesiac with regards to his former self, but who is also keenly aware of his current condition, Kenemore pushes his readers to interrogate what it means to be “me” (not me, me, but them, me; got it?). Is our sense of self determined solely by a collection of memories, or a continuity of consciousness, or is there something more to it than that? Am I still me if I don’t remember who I was? What if I profoundly change? Is me now the same me as me then? For as fun and gross and sometimes goofy as this book is, there is also a certain philosophical and psychological weight to it, if you are paying attention. This is high level zombie lit, from one of the growing stars of the field. 

Sign of the Times: Violent Imagery and Romero's Night of the Living Dead

       The first film that we covered in the Zombie Fictions class that I am co-teaching at Buff State was Night of the Living Dead (obviously). As I mentioned in the my post on Zombieland  a few days ago, we thought it was important for me to try to model the type of readings that could be made of the films we are covering. I've decided to share these model blogs here as well. Their assignment was as follows (my class blog starts after the awesome dead face).

"For your first movie blog, you will be looking at George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead. As we transition into 'reading' film as text, it is important to consider those elements of film that most obviously differentiate movies from literary texts. For this blog, then, you should pay careful attention to the visual elements of Romero's horror classic: i.e. lighting, camera work (angles, movement), editing, costume, setting, acting performances, casting, special effects, etc. You do not need to analyze all of these elements - indeed, I would encourage you not to attempt to include all of them - but instead should focus on one (or two) visual aspect and use it to make an informed reading of the film."

     In many ways, modern cinematic horror owes its existence (as we know it) to three films: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Night of the Living Dead, and Psycho. Though these films are all drastically different from one another in both tone and subject matter, they exhibit a clear progression in the ever shifting boundary between acceptability and indecency, when it comes to portrayals of violence on film. Situated perfectly between the horrific implication of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and the in-your-face brutality of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead initiates the transition from horror by hinting to horror by showing. Given that Night was released in 1968, however, one of the more tumultuous years in U.S. history, perhaps such an evolution in horror’s imagery shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. Although it might be a stretch to claim that Romero was explicitly responding to the violent images that had grown so prevalent in the news of the late sixties, both on television and in print, it’s clear that Night of the Living Dead reflects a certain loss of innocence in the public consciousness.

     Prior to the release of Romero’s horror classic (indeed, the film transcends horror and is now widely recognized as a classic of American cinema; it was inducted into the National Film Registry in 1999, for preservation in the Library of Congress), the most frightening scene in American horror was unquestionably the infamous shower scene from Psycho. Take a look:

While this scene has stood the test of time and still has people trying to wash their hair with their eyes open, despite its entire lack of the gore and special effects (does chocolate syrup count as special effects?) that horror audiences have grown accustomed to, the scene is a far cry from the explicit nature of the gore and viscera depicted in Night of the Living Dead. Where Hitchcock relied heavily on editing and “cuts,” forcing the viewer to fill in the gaps with their imaginations, Romero’s camera doesn’t always look away. The audience is allowed, even invited, to watch the awful that is unfolding. If they dare.

Obviously, these scenes are a little tame when viewed alongside the carnage so gleefully depicted in modern horror, or even the splatterfest Romero himself produced just ten years later in Dawn of the Dead. It’s important to acknowledge, though, how shockingly distinct Night of the Living Dead was from anything that had been shown in American theatres up to that point. In fact, the imagery of the film was so disturbing that, instead of actually discussing the film, Roger Ebert focused almost entirely on the reactions of the audience in his 1969 review, and used it as an opportunity to push for movie rating reform. And yet, the movie did remarkably well commercially. For all the concerns about its graphic depictions of cannibalism and bloodshed, audiences couldn’t get enough: the film grossed between $12-15 million in the U.S. and over $30 million worldwide (IMDB.com). Quite the return on a $114, 000 investment. As startling as the film was to audiences at the time, something about it clearly resonated as well.

For an explanation, there’s no need to look any further than the newspaper headlines. Without question, 1968 was a turbulent time in U.S. (and world) history.  Below, is just a sampling of the images that were available to the American public, on newsstands as well as their TVs.

this photo by Eddie Adams won the Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography in 1969

A grotesque mirror of our society’s inadequacies, then, Night of the Living Dead offers a compelling look into the cultural unconscious of a confused and unstable moment in our history. Released at a time when the population was being bombarded with images of actual terror and dread, a time when, in many ways, real-life was appalling and frightening in its own right, perhaps it is only to be expected that a film like Romero would come around and redefine our conception of horror.

Just Ad Zombies... (conclusion)

To clarify, although I was very critical of the zombie ads that I’ve discussed here and here, for the most part I actually enjoy the commercials that I’ve derided so far. The ads are fun, but I don’t think they show any real understanding of how zombies function or use them in a way that is consistent with the very loose constraints of the “genre” (stretching that word a bit, but you know what I mean).

Zombies: You're doing it wrong

I try very hard not to be a zombie snob, and I’m far from a purist – I am pro fast-zombie, for the record, and I absolutely love Scott Kenemore’s Zombie, Ohio, which centers around a zombie that thinks and talks – but the ads that I’ve already gone over were very clear examples of bad zombies. However, their failures as zombies underlie an interesting point: the zombie figure is so fluid that its relative success or failure isn’t predicated on what the zombie itself does or does not do – whether it talks or moans, walks or runs, eats human flesh or any flesh – but rather on the effect it has on its audience. Zombies, whether they are horrific or comedic, traditional or modern, operate by playing on specific concerns and anxieties that permeate our culture. Mortality, contagion, ineffective government, over-reliance on technology, to name just a few. The safe, sanitized, and stupid zombies (even the ones that seem to have high IQs) from these commercials don’t do any of that. As such, they are entirely superfluous and unnecessary. Interestingly enough, though, these ineffectual zombie presentations actually operate on a certain figurative zombism in their target demographics. What type of person buys cars, or even candy, because of a clever commercial? Deep critical thinkers? Discerning shoppers? Or mindless consumers impelled only by desire?

Here's a hint: 

via AdamWilson.info

But enough complaining. My endless bellyaching notwithstanding, there are some really good zombie commercials out there that not only stay true to the conventions that have come to define the zombie over the last 45 years and reflect the cultural uncertainties that have shaped them, but also effectively market the “products” they are trying to sell. I had to throw scare quotes there because the first commercial I’m going to talk about is apparently selling CPR. As in cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Which isn't really a product. Or for sale. Anyway, check out this great spot from the Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada.

posted by Heartandstrokefdn on Youtube

Okay, first things first: it’s kind of cheesy. Not full on cheese, mind you, but not exactly Frank Darabont either. The makeup is actually pretty good and the ad is well-edited, but the music and fog are a bit over the top and, more importantly, it doesn't push the zombie figure much past cliche. Beyond that though, the primary slogan, "CPR makes you undead," while clever, might also be confusing (2:36). Because, um, being undead is... ungood (doublplusungood, even). Once you look past the obvious flaws, however, this commercial does a lot right. Though cliched, the zombies are friggin' zombies. They're bloody, they swarm, they eat warm flesh, and they are most certainly contagious. What's more, they are clearly set apart as something the viewer does not want to be or become. Zombie = bad. Simple. The protagonist, for her part, is readily relatable; i.e. she provides a clear Self for viewers to align with. She does what we would like to think that we would do. When she recognizes danger, she runs from it. When she falls (it's not her fault she's a white lady in a horror clip), she capably defends herself, even beheading a zombie. Her desire to stay alive is a counterpoint to the zombies desire to end it, both of which reinforce the idea that "being alive is a good thing." Which is a big part of the message that the commercial is trying to get across. 

Being alive is good and CPR keeps you alive. That message becomes a little muddled after the zombies resuscitate the woman only to devour her - So it keeps you alive long enough to die a more horrible death? Sweeeet! - but overall I think it accomplishes its two goals rather well. The first, as I've said, is to spread the message that CPR saves lives (if only temporarily). However, it also wants to briefly instruct viewers how to react when someone suffers cardiac arrest. By providing 3 simple, easy to remember instructions, "1. Call 9-1-1. 2. Push hard and fast about twice every second. 3. Don't hesitate, you can't do harm," the clip situates CPR as something that anyone can do (1:43). Not only do you not need more training than a commercial provides, you don't even need a functioning brain. Whether or not that message is actually true or not is irrelevant. What matters, rather, is that that is the message (more or less) that they want to convey, and they do. Don't hesitate, i.e. don't worry, don't even think.

Your reaction to cardiac arrest should be a mindless response, an instinct so profound not even death via a zombie plague  would erase it from your memory: CPR, now. There are certainly problematic readings that could be made about a commercial that only appears interested in keeping us alive long enough to be consumed and to become consumers, but for right now I'm more interested in how well it achieves its goal of increased CPR awareness. 

I'd like to close with my favorite zombie commercial. It's not the funniest, and it might not be the most memorable. It certainly isn't selling anything as worthwhile as CPR. But it gets zombies in a way most of the others just don't seem to, and that sets it apart. I don't have a problem with funny, snarky, or happy zombies (Snow White and the Seven Commercial Zombies?), but fear sells and zombies can be very scary, so why not use them that way? Diehard, a brand whose name just seems to beg for them to use zombies in their marketing, does. 

To begin with, this commercial isn't being cute. It starts out in full out life or death flight from a pursuing horde of ravenous zombies. Who, by the way, are serious business zombies. They're fast, they're scary, and, though the commercial has quick cuts that never really focus on them for too long, they definitely look the part. Make no mistake, broad daylight or not, this is a horror commercial and that makes a huge difference. Because it lets the zombies do what zombies do - they aren't here to talk shit on the bus or pick you up at a bar, and they definitely aren't here to save your life. These zombies want to eat your face. ASAP. And they should. 

BECAUSE THEY'RE ZOMBIES!

Zombies can do a lot of other things, but the thing they should want to do more than any other is make you look like this

Of course, it's not just the zombies that have our friend here looking like she wants to cry because of how real shit just got: she is also horrified by the behavior of her fellow survivor, who couldn't spare even a second of effort to try to help her escape the zombies' grasping hands. This is a dynamic, while extremely familiar to even the most casual zombie fan, that none of the other commercials have ever approached. Diehard clearly sets the humans as Self that the audience sides with out of a shared desire not to get eaten, and the zombies as the awful Other that we don't want to become or be near, but they don't hide from the fact that sometimes, especially during the zombie apocalypse, the Self kinda sucks. A lot of the tension in zombie narratives is actually provided by the troubling, dangerous, or selfish actions of other humans. This ad does a great job of setting the humans (unnecessarily) at odds with one another in their attempts to survive. So Mr. Think-for-himself-er runs off and abandons the pretty, seemingly helpless woman and 30 seconds in we still have no idea what they hell is going to happen or, more important given the context, what the hell we're supposed to buy. Suspense is a valuable tool for a commercial. It keeps you from changing the channel (why aren't there more horror ads?). Anyway, what we learn by the end of the clip is that during a zombie outbreak your chances of survival are only as good as the choices you make.

This begins with a decision to forsake a friend in need (a decision that gets reciprocated), but ultimately centers around a choice in car battery brands. Other brands don't last and will let you down when you need them. Other brands will get you killed. Seriously, selfish dude gets eaten. Diehard we see, however, is durable. Reliable. Safe. When the world goes to shit, when your government and police have failed you, when your friends let you down, Diehard will still be there to start your car. When the dead rise to eat your face "Life Demands Diehard."

It's an effective ad (like the CPR ad, it actually shows its product doing what it is supposed to do) and it employs zombies in a way that is consistent with the conventions that have made them so popular: a group of antagonistic survivors versus a horde of zombies - mindless, flesh-eating zombies. None of the other commercials come close to getting zombies this right (even the fairly well executed CPR spot). I don't know that that's going to make me more likely to buy a Diehard battery or not, but I appreciate the effort.

What'd I miss? What other zombie ad campaigns have you enjoyed? Or disliked? Let me know in the comment section below.

Just Ad Zombies... (cont'd)

Picking up where we left off, the Sprint Zombie isn't even the most egregious example of an advertisement  that chooses to associate its target audience with what is supposed  to be the zombie Other (as a brief aside, when I assign the human and the zombie the roles of Self and Other, respectively, it is an over-simplification of a binary relationship that is always inherently problematized. The human almost always pushes towards traits identified with the zombie Other, and the zombie's similarities to the human Self are just as frequently highlighted. What is [mostly] consistent, however, is that the audience is situated to associate with the human survivors). For that we'll turn to the New York Lottery. 

First, I want to give credit where credit is due: the zombies are very well done, particularly given the limitations of creating an ad suitable for network television. The commercial begins by making its way through a vacant and desolate city before focusing in on a diverse group of survivors (well at least it got that part right) attempting to make their stand at a woefully unfortified dry cleaner/laundromat. As the zombies finally inevitably force their way through the giant, not at all boarded up or obstructed window, the tv comes to life with a familiar refrain (at least if you've watched television in the state of New York in the last two decades or so): "The New York Mega-Millions Jackpot is Now..." And then a curious thing happens - well, curious to me at least; the zombies completely lose interest in human flesh and begin to shuffle off, suddenly surprisingly spry, in search of more desirable prey. Lotto tickets. Not to be outdone, the humans take off in hot pursuit: "Make way for the living!"

Okay, so on the surface, we have a few fairly obvious messages. First, the lotto is for everyone. Suit or flannel, hockey stick or broom, black or white, man or woman, human or zombie - EVERYONE wants in on that Mega-Millions Jackpot. Beyond that, though, having a ticket is apparently important. Life or death, undying desire type of important. For a commercial, these are exactly the messages you want to send. So far, so good, right? As long as you don't muddle anything up by actually thinking. 

Here are some other messages the commercial sends that don't require much in the way of minute analysis. For one thing, humans are dumb and wildly incompetent - if you "hide" from the zombie apocalypse in a plate glass storefront, with no bars and no boards over the door or window, and attempt to defend yourself with a broom, well, you're a moron and you deserve to get eaten. So we start off by asking us to align ourselves with idiots. Thanks for the vote of confidence, NY Lotto. Once we find out what product is being marketed, however, the mad dash for tickets asks us at least in part to "think" like a zombie. Which is to say, mindless consumers drop everything to buy lottery tickets, we should too. A message reinforced by the fact that the humans use their fortuitous reprieve not to seek real shelter or find actual weapons, but to run with the zombies to find a store that sells Mega-Millions tickets. A tacit admission that your product is aimed at customers who purchase without thinking seems like an odd approach. But, then again, what're the chances that their target demo picked up on the embedded implication? I don't mean to be too hard on the dedicated lotto players out there - I've played before. A dollar and a dream, right?

I worry that I'm being a bit of a spoilsport right now. These commercials are trying to be light and fun and I'm holding them to a standard that they never had any intention of meeting. I blame PBS. I've searched and searched and searched and I can't find it, but they used to have a show that had a panel of guests from different fields that would sit and dissect various popular commercials. I've been watching ads critically long before I had any idea that media literacy even existed (ugggh, I'm a media literacy hipster).

I laughed WAY too hard at this
by:Brootaldud @funnyjunk.com

I've always enjoyed reading between the lines when I watch commercials, good and bad, trying to locate various possible interpretations - whether intended or not - determine who the target demographic is, etc. In many ways, this type of rudimentary (at least early on) analysis laid the foundation for my eventual appreciation of literary criticism. Teasing out multiple meanings, pulling on all the loose threads - it's like a game. But a game that sometimes ruins the fun. 

I wanted to like the Happy Honda zombie. I really did. He just seems so... nice. I want to want what he has. Friends, fun, a catchy theme song, sweet  sweaters, and an urban titanium metallic Civic with voice-activated calling. Undeath doesn't look half bad. In fact, according to the commercial's title, It's Good to Be a Zombie. If what you want more than anything is utter conformity. 

Clearly, a large part of the horror of the zombie is that any sense of Self is subsumed into the horde. There is no individual will or agency. Just mindless conformity through boundless craving. Here, though, there's a bit of an inversion. Instead of humans losing their sense of Self by becoming one of  the multitudinous Other, we see a lone zombie attempting to lose his Self to become, or at least seem to become, more human. When I think about it too much, happy zombie makes me sad. Because he isn't being himself. There's no blood on his lips. No viscera staining his argyle. I guess you could argue that maybe the Happy zombie shouldn't be viewed as trying to fit in with the humans, but as not worrying about not fitting in with the zombie. While slightly more positive, this outlook remains troubling because it still situates individuality within a willingness and ability to fit in. And how do you show that you fit in? Well, you dress a certain way, of course. You listen to a certain type of music (One Week of Danger by The Virgins). And you buy the right shit. Drive a beat ass old Buick like the dude at the stop light and you'll have no friends, no music, no life. Buy a sweet Civic and you get to hit the driving range and then grab some beers with Gary. The world is your zombie oyster.

"To each their own." As long as their own is like everyone else...

Tomorrow, I'll finish up with zombie marketing by looking at  a couple commercials that actually use zombies in interesting and authentic ways (gasp!).

"Girls, "Bitches" and Zombies: Name-Calling and the Problematic Representation of Women in Zombieland

      For the Zombie Fictions class that I am co-teaching as part of my Master's project, my project adviser Dr. Perez and I are requiring our students to post "Film Blogs" as their written responses to the movies that we are covering this semester. What differentiates the Film Blogs from the Journal Responses that they turn in for the books that we read each week, is that they are open for the rest of the class to read and comment on (indeed, each student is required to comment on at least three other blog posts). In order to position myself within that online class discussion (as well as to model the type of critical work we would like to see take place in their blogs), I have been posting my own blog response for each film. 

         Starting with Zombieland, which we have watched and blogged about most recently, I am going to begin posting some of my class blogs here in order to share some of the critical discourse that is taking place around the zombie figure within our classroom. For the Zombieland blog, the students did not have a specific assignment, but instead were asked to make a critical (critical as the literary analysis sense of the word, not fault-finding) argument about the film, and to support that argument with direct "textual" evidence from the film. I chose to engage the film in terms of its portrayal of women. 

Please feel free to comment on my reading of this film (or my inclusion of it in a college level lit course!) in the comments section below.

          From the moment Barbra sprawled helplessly across the cemetery grass, fleeing cinema’s first flesh-eating zombie in Night of the Living Dead, the role of women in zombie cinema has been troublesome, to say the least. Whether due to catatonia, irrationality, carping, or overall incompetence, until very recently the female survivors of filmic zombie outbreaks have been, at best, nuisances to their seemingly more capable male counterparts. At worst, they were outright hazardous to have around. Recently, though, movies such as 28 Days Later and Residential Evil, with their exceedingly adept heroines – Selena and Alice, respectively – have moved away from the chauvinistic tendencies of their predecessors. In Zombieland, however, many of those sexist inclinations come back to the forefront.

         Because Zombieland so diligently avoids revealing the actual names of its characters throughout the film (with one notable exception, at the very end) every expression that is used to refer those characters takes on added significance. For the most part, place designations are used in lieu for male and female characters alike. There is, however, one slight difference. While the guys are named for their intended destinations, Tallahassee and Columbus, the ladies are apparently named for where they’re from. Neither Wichita nor Little Rock has a name that refers to their ultimate Californian destination, Pacific Playland outside Los Angeles. 406, it should be noted, is also named for a point of origin rather than a destination, though in her case that happens to be her apartment number as opposed to a city. Although Columbus is also very briefly referred to as an apartment number, this occurs only in the context of a scene that insistently highlights his “former” unmanliness. On the surface, such differentiation might seem insignificant. However, the implication, subtle but unmistakable, is that men act, women react; as was the case in the early zombie films that marginalized women so blatantly, the male is posited as the doer. And yet their place names aren’t nearly the most problematic designations for women in Zombieland.

            By and large, when the female characters aren’t named by locations like everyone else, they are referred to as one of two words: “girls” or “bitches.” More often than not, each term is used derogatorily, as a diminutive that reflects clearly how women are regarded within the film. When Little Rock, allegedly stricken, decides she wants her life ended (permanently), Columbus is compelled to point out that “she’s just a little girl” (24:26). Somewhat similarly, when it becomes apparent that the women have duped the men with their ruse (deception being one of two actions consistently afforded female characters in the film), they are categorized a little (rereading this, it occurs to me that the two examples I chose are literally diminutive in their phrasing; women are little) differently, as “stupid little bitches!” (Tallahassee, 28:39). 

Predictably, the other action performed by women – namely, eating flesh – sees women referred to in the same terms: “The first time I let a girl into my life and she tries to eat me” (Columbus, 17:45). Perhaps more troubling, though, is that these terms (usually combined with the ubiquitous “hot”) are also used interchangeably as compliments. When Columbus opines of Wichita, “she’s not your typical hot, stuck-up bitch,” he does so admiringly, to demonstrate how much he “kinda like[s] this girl” (34:09; 34:06). As sweet as I’m sure it was intended, I don’t know how complimentary I’m willing to consider the phrase “hot, stuck-up bitch” to be, “typical” or no. Whether they are spoken by men or women - "those bitches!" (Wichita, 01:00:53) - or intended to flatter or insult - "smart girls" (Columbus, 01:21:31) -  the two terms,“girl” and “bitch,” are used interchangeably and pervade the film.

In fact, only once in the whole movie, is a female character (I don't really consider the human happy meal "lady" or Sister Cynthia Knickerbocker characters, per se) referred to as anything other than a girl, a bitch, (a zombie), or her place name; in the grocery store, the first time he sets eyes on her, Columbus thinks of Wichita as a “woman” (gasp!). However, the context in which it is said (um, thought), “another marriageable woman to bring home to the folks,” rather than undermining, serves as a microcosm of the unfortunate depiction of women throughout the film (23:40). In Zombieland, the most ideal role for women is that of wife – and not just any wife, but a trophy, worthy of display to mom and dad. Woman as wife is just that, though: a trophy, an ideal, illusory and unlikely. The “reality” of the film paints a very different picture, one in which, when they’re not sitting still, either “hot” objects of desire or helplessly waiting to be rescued, women are marginalized and vilified to an almost Biblical extent (almost). Although certainly more capable than most of their female predecessors, Wichita and Little Rock are ultimately held in no higher regard - their deceit, manipulation, theft, distrust, and unaccountably irrational behavior (were they actively trying to attract zombies at Pacific Playland??) leaving them only marginally less dangerous and bothersome than the zombies themselves.

My Pet Zombies

Well, since it's Halloween (or at least it was when I started working on this post), I thought I'd have a little fun and take a quick look at the individual zombies that I have found the most frightening or unsettling over the years. Although not all of these zombies come from movies that I would characterize as "scary," each of these zombies, for one reason are another, is just flat out not okay. These are not the best zombie films. Hell, these aren't necessarily even the best zombies. They're just the ones that mess with me. Please feel free to comment, critique or argue with me in the comment section below. 

Coming in at number 6, from Italy and a movie that I must shame-facedly admit to not having seen in its entirety - Worm Eye from Fulci's Zombi 2 (also sometimes known as Zombie or Zombie 2). There are a couple of things about Worm Eye that really heeb me out. First, is the fact that there are, um, live fucking worms crawling around in his eye socket. Yeah, that. I'm comfortable in saying that's definitely a big part of it. Honestly, I don't have much of a problem with worms. As long as we aren't talking about the tiny parasitic kind, worms rank well behind maggots and centipedes on the list of things that make my skin crawl. But apparently that changes a bit when a zombie slowly rises from the dirt and they taken residence in his effing eye hole. Not cool, Fulci. Not cool. The other thing that really gets me about Worm Eye is his awful deliberateness. Although he's only in the movie very briefly, the scene is painfully drawn out. There's no haste in his rise from the dead. No hurry. He just slowly sits up from the dirt, hovers over his victim, and then takes a chunk out of her throat like he has all the time in the world. Somehow, the wait for him to rise to his full height, and the brief switch to the p.o.v. from his empty sockets, makes the scene that much more horrific, and one of the most memorable in all of zombie cinema. 

I've included a short clip here from Zombi 2 (from TheClassicHorrorMovi's channel on Youtube) for those of you who are unfamiliar with the film. A warning: Fulci might as well be Italian for Not Fucking Around. For 1979, the special effects are startling. If you are easily grossed out, you probably don't want to press play. For the rest of you: enjoy. Worm Eye shows up around 1:38.

At number 5, from Danny Boyle's incredible 28 Days Later, Infected Private Clifton. Before I took the time to actually find out which soldier this was, I referred to him as "the one with the hat" or, mostly to myself, "I, zombie?" Although I acknowledge that Mailer, in many respects, is the zombie from this film (and yes, he IS a zombie), the scene where Clifton sees himself in the mirror while "hunting" for Hannah scared the shit out of me when I first saw it in the theater, and has come to frighten me for quite different reasons ever since. The first time I saw the film, it was the almost unbearable tension of the scene that did it. As

Hannah clings to the back of the mirror, we watch in horror, sure that Clifton is going to come barreling through the glass, just as we have seen so many "infected" do throughout the film. Except... he doesn't. He sees himself. He waits. He doesn't run, he walks slowly, deliberately, even cautiously to the mirror. He examines. And though I have to stop short of claiming that he recognizes himself as an individual, there is certainly a recognition that what he sees in the mirror is not an un-infected, and thus not what he wants to bite and rend and tear. After several terribly intense moments, he turns and runs away in pursuit of a victim un-like himself. In a way that is still somehow horribly mindless, there is a sense of identity to Clifton, here, that is really troubling.

Number 4, the stinkin ol' Fat Lady from the Dawn of the Dead remake (which, though not nearly as smart as the original, is also not half as bad as people pretend). I think, more than anything, what horrified me about the lady that comes in on a wheelbarrow and dies without a name is that death, inexplicably, improves her. I don't mean to say it improved her appearance, and it probably didn't do great things for her odor (by the looks of her, that one might have been a push), but it improved her capability. There is simply no way this lady could move like this before she died and came back. A woman who probably shuffled along quite slowly, hops up like a damn linebacker seconds after she expires to run down Ana. Big, hungry, and fast as all get out. I don't need that in my life.

Take a look (courtesy of MovieClips on Youtube):

Honorable Mention of the Dead. Also in Zack Snyder's remake is the Newborn zombie. Honestly, I thought this was going to be a lot worse than it was (I mean, it didn't eat it's way out...), but a zombie baby, however it is handled, is still pretty messed up. Fun fact: I took my then 16 year-old brother to see this when it came out in theaters. When it became clear that we were about to welcome a brand new, bouncing baby zombie into the world, my brother got up and walked out, simply saying "Nope, I can't." I didn't blame him then, and still don't.

Number 3: Bub. The pinnacle of Romero's zombies that "remember." Bub, though undead and hungry for flesh, is among the most human zombies we encounter in film. He "shaves," "reads," and even takes a stab at "communicating" (in the Maverick and Goose vs. the MiG sense of the word). For me, though, the most horrific memory Bub seems to have, is the ability to shoot a gun. Because that's what the apocalypse was missing. Zombies with guns...

At number 2, in an almost dead heat (because sometimes puns happen on their own), the Zombie that Orders His Own Dinner in Return of the Living Dead.

Without question, the most iconic zombie from Return is Tarman ("Braaains!"). He's a nightmare, visually, and he's actually pretty bright - he uses a chain and a pulley to rip off the door his intended victim was hiding behind. However, that was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what we see a little later in the film. Overhearing the ambulance's radio while he is feasting on a paramedic's brains (he is reeeeaallly digging in there), an idea occurs to the zombie who is clearly too smart for his, well, our own damn good. Breaking from his repast, the zombie crawls over to the radio, clicks the button and carefully says "Copy dispatch. Send. More. Paramedics." This is not a scary movie by any stretch of the imagination. It's goofy, and hokey, and more unintentionally funny in a way that seems to set the tone for 80s zombie cinema, but its zombies are the absolute worst case scenario of zombies (see the convenient chart, provided at the top of this post). They are fast, they are smart, and they are indestructible (no amount of double tapping is going to save you here, folks; hide and hope, those are your options). 

If you ever plan on watching AMC's The Walking Dead but haven't started yet, please do not read any further. Go watch the first two seasons, and come back. 

Seriously. Spoiler alert.

Well, I did my best.

Finally, the zombie that scares me more than any other...

Sophia

For those of you who don't watch The Walking Dead (and even for some of you that do, I'm sure), it might seem odd that I would pick a little girl zombie, hardly the most gruesome we've seen, who was never really a physical threat to anybody, from her first step out of the barn until she gets put down just moments later. The idea of losing a character that you have grown attached to is kind of a staple of zombie fictions. Whether it's Johnny in Night, "Flyboy" in Dawn, or Frank in 28 Days Later, the loss of loved ones, and their horrific returns, are central to the way zombie horror operates. First, having group members (there's always a group) die and reanimate creates a dynamic where everyone in the group is now viewed as a potential zombie and therefore a threat. The medium of television, however, allows The Walking Dead to approach this convention a little differently, and to much greater effect. Unlike the other main characters who become zombies, both on the show and in other zombie texts, the disappearance of Sophia is shrouded in uncertainty. She doesn't get bitten or devoured onscreen, for the audience to see. The total ignorance of her whereabouts and well-being is keenly felt by characters and viewers alike. This absence, the resulting searches, the teases of hope, all stretched out over the course of several episodes allows the ultimate loss to resonate in a way that few if any deaths in zombie fiction have been able to approach. The scene, which follows a lot of dramatic build-up that, if you are like me, completely distracts you from even thinking about Sophia, is simply devastating. And it brings home a reality that takes a lot of the fun out of imagining the world after a zombie apocalypse. One of the main things that separates the zombie from so many other horrific figures, is its ability to take the familiar, the Self, and render it monstrous. The effect, here, is heartbreaking.