Zombies, in Theory

I have a big confession to make.

I don't really like zombie films all that much.  The few zombie films I do like are either patently ridiculous (Army of Darkness, for example, which stretches the definition of what makes a zombie in the first place and what makes a reanimated skeletal army... at what point do you lose just enough flesh to be considered "skeleton warrior" instead of zombie anyway?) or contain zombies that are barely zombies at all (28 Days Later's zombies were not 'true' zombies because they didn't reanimate the dead, they just made you FUCKING CRAZY AND ANGRY).  I would venture to say the only 'true' zombie film I've watched and enjoyed was Sean of the Dead, and I only watched that because of Simon Pegg's presence and the bit where they throw the Batman soundtrack at a zombie.

In short, I like zombies in theory but not so much in practice; or at least not in cinematic practice.  I can read about zombies in books, or look at comics of them, and some of my favorite games involve the killing of zombies—but put a zombie on the silver screen and I'm likely to tune out completely.  I appear to have a very low threshold of icky things, and dudes chewing on  other dudes is apparently where I draw the line.  Zombie movies are almost too real for me, or maybe I just get tired of watching people get bitten and torn apart by ravening hordes of undead.  It doesn't help that most zombie movies are fucking boring, either.

I mean let's face it:  the vast majority of zombie movies fall into one of two categories:  AHH THE DEAD ARE RISING WHAT DO WE DO OH NO THE HIGH PRESSURE SITUATION HAS CAUSED US TO TURN ON ONE ANOTHER or WE ARE THE MILITARY AND WILL SOLVE THIS PROBLEM OH WAIT NO WE WERE NOT PREPARED THIS HIGH PRESSURE SITUATION HAS CAUSED US TO TURN ON ONE ANOTHER.  You can only see that so many times before it gets old (and very few people can really do it as well as Romero's Night of the Living Dead, which did the first one and did it well enough that it really doesn't bear re-doing over and over again).  I still remember trying to watch... I think it was Day of the Living Dead or something.  I don't remember clearly, just that this guy who I knew kept telling me it was a great zombie movie and I should see it.

The dead started popping out of graves, and ate some young punk rockers who were fucking in the graveyard, and grabbed some poor bastard in an ambulance.  By the end of that scene (which was probably like a half hour into the film) I turned the thing off.  It wasn't that I was particularly disturbed; this was late 70s/early 80s film, after all, and the only thing disturbing were the haircuts.  But the film was boring, and in such a visceral way that I almost would have rather been subjected to another viewing of Goodfellas (okay, let's not be too over the top.  Half of Goodfellas, maybe) than endure another second of the film.  Whenever I sit down to watch a zombie movie, it always winds up causing the same sort of visceral ennui, which is a paradoxical feeling I didn't know one could be capable of feeling.

So here I am, a dude who enjoys hunting zombies in Resident Evil even though it makes me wet myself in terror from time to time, and adores Left 4 Dead even though I no longer have the ability to play it, and who did a lot (and I mean a lot) of running around in Urban Dead before I forgot my login information (in fact, I will probably roll up a new Urban Dead account now that it's on my mind).

I am following the development of DoubleBear's ZRPG with the sort of rabid attention that normal people reserve for the development of their own children, and have already decided that if my computer cannot run it upon its release I will just have to get a new one, won't I?  Because it's a zombie RPG that focuses on the actual survival part of the scenario and not just killing zombies (which is enjoyable but to take that extra survival element and add it to the proceedings is just...  I mean come on, I'm a fucking English major specializing in postmodernism.  Yes I do want you to put extra thought into the societal concerns of a zombie outbreak, please).  I spend most of my free time fiddling around with my own zombie world, trying to think of the sort of things that Thomas Pynchon would put into his zombie books if he wrote them.  But put me in front of a zombie movie and my immediate response will be either "fuck this movie" or "seriously I don't need to see that many livers and shit guys cut it out."

So I guess what I am trying to say is that when I see trailers for a movie like Zombieland, which is apparently all about killing zombies in creative/hilarious ways, I feel entirely too conflicted for my own good.  On the one hand, it's about zombies!  And killing them in creative/hilarious ways!  On the other hand, I'm just not a zombie movie fan. I've tried.

But something deep down tells me  that I'm going to wind up seeing that damned movie one way or another.  Maybe it'll be pirated (I do not wish to spend time rotting in an English prison, however, so probably not), or maybe I'll rent it, or maybe I will actually drag my ass to a movie theatre and watch it on the screen.  And more than likely, I'll be disappointed.  But I'll go, because it's zombies, and I keep waiting for the zombie movie that actually holds my attention for more than like thirty minutes and doesn't do so because I have a man crush on Simon Pegg.

The (Real) end of Troilus and Criseyde

This was (honest!) an answer I gave for the final exam of my freshman year Chaucer class.

I don't remember what the question was, but obviously that's not important.

Troilus and Criseyde: The Lost Chapter

Author’s Note: While researching the Chaucerian work Troilus and Criseyde, I was astounded to stumble across the account of the events of the work as told by the Roman historian Lollius. To my delight, there was an epilogue to the work which Chaucer left out of his story, and it is with great pride I present to you the final chapter of Troilus and Criseyde, as translated by me. Sadly my skills as a poet are lacking, therefore I have been forced to revert to prose, though I have done my best to capture the original intent of the author.

There are a variety of ways to end a story, and with one so tragic as the tale of Troilus and Criseyde, the author has decided to end with a brief rendition of an encounter that took place shortly after Troilus’ death. It begins, oddly enough, with a simple enough setup, more common than even “Once upon a time”:

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Three Trojans and a Greek walk into a bar. The Greek was, of course Diomede, who had decided to stop in for a post-battle drink. With him was the fair Criseyde, who was good-looking as long as the lighting was dim. The second Trojan was Pandarus, who had snuck out of Troy in order to see his niece again and invite her to Neverland Ranch, to use a colloquialism. The third Trojan was the recently reanimated corpse of Troilus, who had staggered away from the field of battle a few hours after being slain by Achilles and wanted among other things brains and a strong drink to cleanse the palette afterwards.

Criseyde was surprised to see Pandarus in the bar, and substantially more amazed to see her former lover shamble into the bar as well. There was a rather awkward silence, broken by a nervous cough from Diomede. He knew full well who Troilus was, and had heard that Troilus was determined to kill him, and he figured the victory dance around Troilus’ fallen corpse earlier in the day wasn’t earning him any points either.

“So,” Diomede said, swallowing hard and doing his best not to run away screaming, “What brings you two to our humble abode?”

“Well,” Pandarus answered, secretly glad that someone had broken the silence, “I’m just here to see my beloved niece. I got special permission from king Priam himself to come out here and visit!”

“Mrauugh.” Troilus said, which meant something along the lines of, “I’m dead and have nothing better to do. I daresay I should not be allowed back within the walls of Troy, they would doubtless think me a cruel joke. Also, I hunger for brains, perhaps the ones inside your tiny skulls. They are like fleshy acorns to me.”

“Fascinating.” Diomede said, for lack of anything better to say.

“Troilus, my love, are you alright? I never really loved Diomede anyway, I’m so happy to see you again my heart’s sweetness!” Criseyde had finally regained the power to speak acted immediately to attempt to placate the undead being standing in front of her. Diomede looked hurt for all of a few seconds, then shrugged it off.

Well, that didn’t last long. Oh well, it’s not like there won’t be plenty of ladies waiting for me on my return to Greece once this war’s over. Diomede thought to himself, it’s not like I have any real obligations to Criseyde anyway. That’s just what you have to say to get a woman in this damn country. Hah! Courtly love. What a quaint concept.

“Mrauugh.” Troilus replied to Criseyde’s comment, which meant something along the lines of “Ha! Like I’m going to buy that line. I swore unending devotion to you, agreed to keep your honor safe no matter what, and here you jump ship as soon as I show back up? Love’s about being willing to die for one another, not wearing it like a hat and taking it off when it gets too hot. We had a great traditional love, and I was ready to sacrifice everything! Additionally, could you move out of the light? The joined eyebrow thing is starting to creep me out. Oh, and I could really go for some brains.”

Pandarus nodded emphatically. “Troilus is absolutely right! You should run away with him! It would be really, really cool, I promise. I’ve got a secret hideaway where you could go, and it would be just fantastic to see you kids getting along again, especially after how long it took me to—that is, after all you two have been through.” Pandarus didn’t feel too inclined to rekindle the former romance, but he figured the best way to get out of the bar with his brains intact was to try picking back up the game where he left off. The whole concept of this courtly love was something of a novelty to Pandarus; it provided a great way to manipulate people. Dance, puppets! Dance!

“Mrauuugh.” Troilus responded, which meant something along the lines of “Actually Pandarus, I think it would be rather silly to try picking up with Criseyde where I left off. Firstly, I’m dead now, which would make intercourse a disaster. Secondly, I’m pretty sure she and I weren’t on the same page when it came to courtly love anyway. The relationship was pretty much doomed. Oh, did I mention I seem to be able to read minds? I think it’s a side effect of wanting to eat your delicious brains.”

The author will not go any further with the events of that fateful meeting. Suffice it to say that Troilus shambled out of the bar a few hours later wiping his mouth and carrying a drink with him to cleanse his palette.