Zombieland

Before I got back to Fort Collins, I saw on Facebook that one of the members of my high school class, whom I hadn't seen in a long time and with whom I'd worked on the school newspaper many years ago, had posted a message about an informal "reunion" of our class at a local bar following this year's homecoming football game.

As I approached town, I thought about going, but I didn't want to reply and commit myself, because I wasn't sure I'd have the gumption, given that none of my still-in-contact friends would be there. I hadn't posted a Facebook update since Memphis (where I stayed with a high school classmate and wrote about being in a bar trivia contest as the "Lambkins," our school mascot). So I knew I'd have the element of surprise to anyone there, which would be fun.

As it turned out, I did indeed muster the gumption and decided to go. There were about two dozen people there, sitting around a long table at the restaurant. I recognized about six people, and talked to them all night. I actually spent much of the time talking to the newspaper advisor, whose son I had babysat way back when, and to a couple people I hadn't seen in about, oh, 25 years. It was fun. One person, a junior high school friend named Mark, apologized for not coming to my aid in a fist fight in ninth grade. The shame of that had weighed on him all this time. It was nice to give him absolution from that.

At the end of the evening, we had had so much fun that a small group of us decided to continue the festivities by seeing a movie the following Sunday. Through Facebook, we arranged to see Zombieland at the local Cinemark in the mid afternoon. It was convenient time for most folk, because the Broncos were playing on Monday night that week.

I had told them about my hobby of seeing all the movies that come to theaters. Suddenly I was the "guy who sees all the movies." I told them it was a rare treat to get to see a movie with a group of folks, and that often I am the only person in the theater. Indeed, it was a treat, so much so that at the Cinemark, I splurged and bought a large popcorn and drink combo. Being on a budget, I rarely buy concessions, unless I'm at an indie theater or a drive-in.

So there I was, wedged between my ninth grade friend Mark and my newspaper photographer comrade John, who in tenth grade got me drunk the first time in my life before a Poco concert. Life has interesting turns.

Everyone was excited to see the movie, especially John, who likes the zombie movie genre. The outing had been his idea in the first place. I was expecting to like it, and I wasn't disappointed. It was a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon, all in all.

One of the things that occurred to me while watching it was how advanced the zombie genre is. There have been so many zombie movies, and the canon is well advanced. Because of this, we don't need an elaborate introduction on how the zombie world has come about. We assume there has been some sort of biological event, a bioweapon perhaps, and that the world has turned into zombies, leaving a minority of remaining humans. We need only a cursory explanation now, and as a comedy (which it is), Zombieland takes advantage of this accumulated canon to a high degree.

Instead of focusing on the zombies themselves, therefore, the real story of the movie revolves around more "everyday" themes of Postmodernity, in this case the breakdown of the family, and the attempt to recreate it.

That is, the emotional thread of the narrative is basically: in the Postmodern world, the connections between human beings has broken down to such a degree that our experience is one of between preyed upon by almost everyone one in meet in some sort of reactive, brainded fashion. True connections and humanity is rare, and when you find it, you have to nurture it and preserve it. In fact, Zombieland is fairly explicit about this message, and that it is a movie about the ad hoc recreation of the family structure.

In most zombie movies, the essential narrative tension for the human characters is easy and straightforward: survive until the end of the film. Overlaid upon this is the hero's quest of the protagonists, which is usually more personal. In this case, the hero is Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg, appearing in his second amusement park movie of the year, after Adventureland).

Following the age-old storyline going back to Gilgamesh, Columbus meets the "rough-hewn" version of himself, in the form of hard-edged Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson). Where Columbus is the introspective thinker, who keeps a running tally of the "rules" of survival in Zombieland, Tallahasseee is the man of action who shoots first is quick on the trigger.

Besides survial, the quest for the virginal Columbus will, after he meets the Wichita (Emma Stone), of course become true love. Following the Postmodern female archetype of comedy, Wichita is cynical and distrustful of all men. One of the best things about this movie was how well it could take those Postmodern character themes and make them seemlessly part of the survival world of the Zombieland it created. That is, Wichita isn't just an ordinary bitch, but one whose bitchness came partly from evading creatures trying to kill her and eat her flesh. That makes her inherently more sympathetic to us, and more plausible as a love interest for Columbus.

Columbus, on the other hand, is the typical hapless Postmodern Weak Boy who has no idea of how to get over the "fear barrier" of talking to a woman who interests him. To conquer this barrier, he needs the advice and prodding of the upfront and experienced Tallahassee, who becomes a father figure to him. He also needs to become a true "action hero" in the conventional sense by an act of boldness which shows his true feelings for Wichita in unambiguous fashion. In a world in which the characters are menaced by flesh-eating monsters, this "save the girl" situation is not hard to arrange.

So here we have arrived at the logical conclusion of Postmodernity---a world in which everyone else is out to eat our entrails, and where we spent our emotional and physical energy trying to fight off this assault on our being. To survive, we must overcome our Postmodern cynicism and training, and somehow muster up the inner traits of being a classical hero or heroine. Why wouldn't I like this movie? Of course, I did like it.

But the style of slapstick comedy (even more so that, say, Shawn of the Dead), signifies that the zombie genre as a whole is in a very mature state. There are probably scores of low-budget zombie movies being made right now across the country. How much longer will this metaphor be of interest to us? In any case, this phenomenon surely signifies that our culture itself is in an advanced state of decay. The end really has arrived, in some sense. But what's next?

I have to say it was sure fun talking about these things after the movie, when our small group went over to a nearby pizza joint to bounce our opinions off each other. Like I said, it's rare that I get to do this, and it was surely a pleasure. John suggested we get together in the near future at his place for a showing of the remake of Dawn of the Dead. I'm looking forward to it.