Irish Examiner 13/02/2023 - Valentines Day: A time for lovers and zombies and lovers of zombies
It’s that time of year. When couples sit down and take stock of their relationship over a meal, a ‘grownup drink’ (as my children call it) and … a zombie apocalypse series. I don’t know what it is about Valentines Day but we always seem to find ourselves knee-deep in the gore of people who were once human but are now a threat to our survival and LOOK OUT THERE’S ANOTHER ONE IN THE FREEZER.
A decade ago it was ‘The Walking Dead’. We liked it for a while but it kept going and going so long, the actual watching of it was more gruelling than the time the protagonists seemed to be having in a world without civilisation. Two years ago the Korean ‘Kingdom’ was making us think about the Undead and amazing hats. Now it’s the Last of Us. Zombies made by mutating fungus. Episode three has been described on social media as the greatest episode of TV ever but that’s social media, where you get extra bonus points for using the words Best and Ever.
But importantly for this time of year, the Last of Us is great couples TV. Apocalypse, zombies, horror – all of them are. Romantic movies and TV are terrible for relationships. There’s too much danger of a romantic gesture shown on screen becoming part of my TODO list. Or when there’s a gal pal scene and all the women are discussing men and they make some pertinent points about “Men And The Things They Do” and my wife turns to me and says “SEE. EXACTLY.” And I’m immediately on the defensive because of that one time I didn’t do, after script rewrites and several rehearsals, what Ryan Gosling did.
That’s a lot of pressure to place on an evening in. Especially if things are already fraught because there are far fewer Maltesers in the bag than there were supposed to be. (Ryan Gosling would never eat the shared Maltesers alone, standing up, for breakfast). Apocalypse shows are much better because they make it quite clear what is the hierarchy of needs. The plot has no room for long discussions about why “his WhatsApps are so goddamned monosyllabic”. If there are any spats it’s usually around “Who wasted all the goddamned arrows for the crossbow” and so far, I can’t be accused of doing that.
Scary TV allows you to show empathy for your partner if they’re as scared as you are. Reach out a comforting arm to someone during the bit before the fungus-crazed monster squelches up from the floor and it will mask all your other flaws, for a while.
It provokes conversation too. And again we turn to our favourite topic – what do we do when civilisation collapses?
We’re not preppers. Any spare tinned food in the house is from 2021. I’m under no illusions about my survival abilities. Although the image of the rugged, go-it-alone, NRA, ‘does-his-own-research’ ‘scamdemic’ type seems to be the blueprint for those who last the longest, apparently what gets us through the aftertimes is collaboration, community, sharing, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll still be dead by Tuesday of the After Times having caught the bloody flux from a contaminated Club Orange puddle. Or from blood poisoning after catching my finger on the bean tin. (An injury I sustained BEFORE the collapse.)
But what about our children? Shouldn’t they have a chance. They’re way to soft. They can describe their emotions for God’s sake. Who taught them that kind of emotional literacy? It certainly wasn’t me. I blame the school. Their core value this month apparently is Love.
WHEN IS THEIR CORE VALUE GOING TO BE DIGGING LATRINES?
But lookit, it’s just TV. They’re okay a while. In the meantime I’ll just read up on what Ryan Gosling would do.