The Walking Dead: World Beyond

A lot of things surprised me in 2020.  The pandemic was one thing, chuckled about as some distant news story on a ski holiday with doctor pals in January and then ruining things throughout the rest of the year and beyond.  In August, I broke my hand on a barbell, which was in itself a nasty surprise, especially as I was in a cast during a number of weeks when gyms actually were open.  But also on that list of unexpected events is the appearance of a second spin-off programme from the universe of The Walking Dead.  There was me, one evening during some of lockdown, scrolling through my screening platforms and strategising to decide what to watch so I could join in with all the chatter and ensure a completed boxset each week so I can keep up with these nonsensical weekly posts.  Picking my way through Amazon Prime with low expectations, wondering if Jeff Bezos really needs any more money off me in this day and age, and there, nestled among subsequent series of Mr Robot and The Man In The High Castle that I will never sit through, was the recognisable font of The Walking Dead.  But, this wasn’t in the characteristic dark hues I normally associate with this horror series.  It was bright and neon, exciting and new.  I didn’t need to think twice before clicking play on The Walking Dead: World Beyond.

We’ve discussed the importance of the colon here before.  And no, I’m not talking about the large intestine (shout out, IBS sufferers).  I’m on about those two dots you sometimes see between words.  In TV shows, they separate an original title from its spin-off progeny.  You know, like Narcos and Narcos: Mexico.  Such a tiddly pair of punctuation points can carry a very large responsibility.  If you’re an impassioned fan of the original show, then this extra facet better be a welcome addition rather than an embarrassing dilution.  High hopes were had.  The Walking Dead, abandoned by many, remains my definitive zombie boxset.  Despite running for so many series, it always maintains its edge in finding new ways to bring to life the horrors of an ongoing undead apocalypse.  Its companion show, Fear The Walking Dead, was one of the first programmes I ever wrote about here and itself attained similar heights to its originator.  To recap, then, I had high hopes.  I have now written some paragraphs about my disappoint.

Just One More Episode was meant to be an exercise in boxset worship, but it’s developed a side hustle as the internet’s definitive home of zombie TV content blogging, so it’s only fair I speak frankly about World Beyond.  What made those hopes all the higher was the interesting angle of the concept.  With the initial outbreak of walkers now so far in the past of The Walking Dead’s universe, World Beyond would tell the stories of the first generation to come of age since the end of the world (a bit like the future youth of the UK now we’ve been dragged out the EU).  Our protagonists are enjoying their teenage years at the Campus Colony, a university-based satellite settlement of a grander network of civilisation that has sprung up.  For me, simply seeing how life is conducted there would be compelling enough, but this would clearly lack any real jeopardy.  Cue the Civic Republic, a more enigmatic political entity with whom our heroes’ community is forging a new relationship.  Hope and Iris are sisters whose father has gone to lend his academic skills to the Civic Republic but, suspecting him to be in danger, they sneak out of their safety bubble and embark on a journey across the devastated USA to rescue him.

So, we’re dealing with sheltered teens here.  Understandably, they’re not used to brain-injuring countless walkers while out and about.  In fact, they’re so pathetic, they tend to scream and lie down, allowing a zombie to get on top of them and try to bite them, only for an adult to have to come along and sort them out.  How they avoid getting bitten is beyond me, but this not only makes the walkers look like a non-threat, it makes it hard to respect our heroes.  By its very nature, the most kick-arse Walking Dead characters are the ones that can handle themselves around zombies with skill and flair.  Sure, the kids in our ragtag gang of rescuers all have the comic book-inspired looks we would expect, clutching weapons that give their character a signature or dressed individually to showcase that they’re hard as nails/troubled/a bit intellectual.  But it’s all mouth and no trousers.

Then there’s the fact they’re on a voyage.  Our setting is therefore a stream of southern scenes that don’t really ever establish a sense of place and theme.  Each season of The Walking Dead has a settlement at its heart, but in World Beyond we stumble from one tire fire to the next disaster, giving the episodes a cumulative effect of never really going anywhere.  We know Hope and Iris’s dad isn’t going to be rescued until things have been drawn right out.  This diminishes the tension and, ironically for Hope, drives in a feeling of hopelessness you can’t really escape.

The Civic Republic itself is squandered as a source of intrigue.  Too over the top to be that credible, yet too mysterious to be a true threat, they top and tail this first season of ten episodes in a way that makes you wonder if they’ve been forgotten.  There’s no real reason for them to be so sinister beyond the well-established concept that, even in a zombie apocalypse, humans will always be the biggest monsters.  We almost rush through any substantial grounding of the political and civil landscape to focus on the inner emotions of our teen stars, but watching them come to terms with smashing the head in of their first zombie of a multi-episode character arc just isn’t what bloodthirsty Walking Dead fans are looking for.  Naturally, the only way to script such psychological storytelling is with clichés, driving down the show’s originality score even further.

You have to be cruel to be kind, so let’s hope the second series finds some edge, otherwise this could be the beginning of the end for a character universe that has compelled so many viewers up till now to follow its adventures.  My hunger, quite literally, for zombies, means I will sit through this stuff, but treat yourself to something like Black Summer or Kingdom (킹덤) if you’re serious about living your life under the constant threat of the dead coming to life and eating you.  You never know what 2021 might bring.

Game Of Thrones (Season Six)

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS

Welcome to peak Game Of Thrones.  As these episodes first aired, this programme was easily the biggest show in the world.  Rising to such pressures, the show’s producers mostly maintained their confidence with the approach that had worked so well thus far: careful character development, reaping the sowed seeds of earlier instalments’ storylines, adding layer upon layer of richness to the imagined world of Westeros.  The ultraviolence is of course still there, and the boobies, while the culling of characters, large and small, alone or in groups, continues unabated.  The whole thing feels like a gradual focusing in on what’s really important, lasering through so much detail to what is actually an incredibly tight narrative.  In its course, events tangibly pivot, the characters having reached the furthest distances of their spreading out, and, as if pulled by gravity, reunions, regroupings and rapprochements punctuate our progress so that we finally feel a sense of an approaching ending.  Yet, as fans, we hope this remains a long way off, as any Game Of Thrones content is quality content.

One of the most significant reunifications is that of Sansa and her (supposed) half-brother Jon Snow at Castle Black in the fourth episode.  She hasn’t seen any close family since the end of series one, and, with Jon at the Wall since that season’s second episode, it’s remarkable how much we have longed for them to embrace each other as siblings, despite how little time on screen they’ve actually ever spent together.  With Sansa finally free of Ramsay, and Jon’s watch ended (because he died and was resurrected by Melisandre, the latter proving useful for once), the two reform the Starks and set out to gather the Northern houses to their cause against the Boltons.  This culminates in another legendary episode: Battle Of The Bastards.  While not the only instalment in the season with a 9.9 rating on IMDB, this episode boldly declares not just that Game Of Thrones now has as much budget as a Hollywood blockbuster, but also that it can handle epic scenes just as well as, if not better than, any cinema fare.  Dominating nearly the whole episode (with just a touch of Daenerys and her deliciously sexually charged first meeting with Yara Greyjoy) this immense sequence takes grip and never lets go.  From Ramsay’s cruel execution of Rickon (I’m still devastated) to the moment when all seems lost as the Wildlings and Northmen are pincered against a pile of dead bodies by the Boltons’ spears, there is no let up.  And you don’t want any: this is pure pay-off for hours and hours of careful, artful build up.  As Ramsay’s own hounds devour his smug face off while Sansa enjoys witnessing his just desserts, we’re left to remark at how ambitious an act of story-telling her whole journey and transformation is.

Meanwhile, her younger sister is also awash in character development.  Arya spends a lot of this season at the theatre, on a job from her new employer, the Faceless Men.  Watching Ned Stark’s beheading and Joffrey’s season-four poisoning enacted by luvvies serves not only as a great recap, but also brings to life what succulent tabloid fodder the exploits of the Lannisters and their like would provide in any news cycle.  Before indulging in this hobby, though, Arya is busy being blind, the punishment for using a face without permission.  A girl has been very naughty.  Of course, workplace bully, The Waif, is on the scene, beating Arya with a stick, proving she really is a nasty piece of work who goes about beating up the disabled.  She later pursues Arya through the higgledy-piggledy streets of Braavos in thrilling chases, brutally murdering the lovely Lady Crane in the process and causing a lot of fruit to be spilled, much to the ire of hardworking market traders, so the moment when we see The Waif’s face added to the wall at the House Of Black And White is a cause for deep satisfaction.  Don’t mess with Arya, ok?

Whilst the youngest Stark girl is free to get home, we’re also reintroduced to her old travelling companion, the Hound.  Absent for the whole of season five (like Bran and pals) to give the other plotlines room to breathe and catch up, the scarred one resurfaces in a sept-building crew, learning life lessons from a guest-starring Ian McShane before he is hanged in his own construction by some deviant members of the Brotherhood Without Banners, who also massacre the rest of the workers for the sake of completion.  In true Thronesian style, Clegane Junior gets bloody revenge and we start to trust our feeling that maybe he is one of the good guys, even though he did punch Brienne, Sansa and Arya a lot.

The sept-building sequences here, though, can tend to feel like a bit of bagginess when compared to other, much tighter structures.  I’m talking about The Door.  This episode brings together a great deal, explaining Hodor’s origins with the eye-opening wonder of a true epiphany, all while detailing the origins of the Night King and culminating in another great burst of zombie apocalypse as the lair of the Three-Eyed Raven is compromised and invaded.  Poor old Meera has to drag Bran though countless blizzards while he wargs about, but luckily Uncle Benjen crops up to save the day.  Given how many scenes play out in snowstorms, I’m surprised more characters don’t take to hats.  Jon Snow and Meera both have luscious curly hair, but it’s not enough to keep their ears warm in biting winds.  I just get concerned for them.

Talking of septs, it’s all getting a bit bothersome over at Cersei’s.  Margaery only ends her imprisonment by faking devotion (whereas the split ends look real), saving her grandmother’s life by surreptitiously urging her to flee despite being under the hawk-like glare of Septa Unella.  As all the Sparrow and High Sparrow inconvenience arises from Cersei’s own scheming, it’s only fitting that she should endeavour to end it with her greatest scheme to date.  While the massive explosion at Baelor’s Sept results in the cast genocide of her dreams (seeya Margaery, Loras, Mace, Kevan, the High Sparrow himself and even little Lancel in the cellars beneath), the loss of his beloved proves too much for her last surviving child, and King Tommen, the first and probably last of his name, tosses himself out of a Red Keep window (not a euphemism) while the flames burn in the distance.  As a series climax, the tension that builds to the wildfire tearing through half of King’s Landing is irresistible, from Lancel spotting those bright green drops, to Margaery realising everyone in the sept is in danger.  None of the seven gods save the High Sparrow and sadly his condescending ramblings are no more.  This final episode in fact averages a death every five minutes, with Grandmaester Pycelle stabbed to death by Qyburn’s kids’ club, and Walder Frey’s throat sliced open by Arya in super assassin mode, potentially borrowing some skills from old pal Hot Pie to bake Walder’s sons into a pie that shows absolutely no evidence of a soggy bottom.  Just a fingertip.

Up North, Bran’s visions further flesh out the Mad King’s backstory, with some genius casting giving us a brilliant young Ned Stark (fingers crossed for a spin-off of Robert’s Rebellion with the same cast) who out Sean-Beans Sean Bean.  And we have the formation of a good-guys supergroup, with Ser Davos Seaworth teaming up with Jon Snow and his Wildling brethren (including the hilarious Tormund).  Melisandre, though, is first to be voted off, after Davos confronts her about burning to death the lovely Princess Shireen (a scene so horrific I completely omitted it from my season five post).

And finally, in the Bay formerly known as Slaver’s, Daenerys continues to kick arse.  Righting centuries of Dothraki sexism, she liberates the Dosh Khaleen and burns the Khals, amassing the world’s largest horde to deliver Meereen from those pesky slavers (up to mischief again).  She makes Tyrion her hand, luckily missing the excruciating scenes where he tries to make Missandei and Grey Worm drink or tell jokes, but dumps Daario to have him babysit her cities.  But not before she’s burned a few enemy ships on her dragons.  Maybe she even enjoys it a bit.  Maybe.  We then launch into the acceleration that comes to characterise these later series.  Varys somehow flits back and forth to Dorne in journeys that would have taken a season each if they were in series two or three, but he quickly gets Ellaria Sand and Olenna Tyrell onside (not before she’s cussed the Sand Snakes which shows that great minds think alike), and before we know it, Daenerys is finally (after talking about it for six seasons) returning to Westeros with an army.  We have momentum and the conclusion feels in sight.

Best newcomer

Let’s go for Melessa Tarly (also in Sex Education).  When Samwell brings Gilly and Little Sam home for a stopover en route to Old Town, she exudes the warmth and care that we can see shining through in her heroic son.  While his father almost chokes on his venison at the sight of a Wildling dinner guest (he would have preferred a whore), Melessa shows only compassion.

Most valuable character

Lady Lyanna Mormont is a clear fan favourite, whether offering 62 Bear Islanders to the Stark cause, or outdoing all the other Northern lords when it comes to her loyalty, resurrecting the old cry of “The King in the North” while pointing out that every other house compared to hers has been rubbish.

Best death

Whoever built Pyke had little concern for health and safety.  Atop cliff stacks, each part of the castle teeters over churning stormy seas, linked only by creaking rope bridges designed to swing in the constant wind and rain.  Alas, then, that Balon Greyjoy, didn’t ever have these reinforced or develop  a better centre of gravity, as his cheeky brother Euron easily tosses him over the edge (not a euphemism, again) and the man we’ve seen be mean to Yara and Theon over and over plummets to his death on the rocks below.

Jaw-dropper moment

In the season’s closing minutes, we see Lyanna Stark whispering in her brother’s ear while she dies after childbirth.  Then we see the baby in Ned’s arms, apparently doing Blue Steel.  What secret did she impart?  We’ll have to wait till the next season to find out, but with Jon Snow’s face suddenly replacing the baby’s in the next shot, the rumours of his origin finally appear to get the first hint of confirmation.  Jon… Targaryen?

Black Summer

I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, as Black Summer dropped on Netflix back in April and, as with all zombie content, I had to watch it there and then.  However, something about the title seems appropriate as we reach the back end of August.  No, it’s not a spin-off of Dear White People, whose third season has just launched, the viewing of which I am saving for when I’ve bought a big telly for my new flat.  My choice is more to do with the tempestuous weather that everyone has been moaning about.  Brits have evolved to be waterproof as it’s almost always raining here, so I’m not sure why one globally warmed day of 38 degrees would lead us to expect constant sunshine until the schools go back.

Summer 2019 is black due to the gathering storm clouds that seem to signal an afternoon shower each day as some part of new European rainy season.  From my office window I can spectate as workers clad optimistically in summer dresses and t-shirts alike sprint across pavements while a good old bucketing-down catches people unawares.  I know I shouldn’t delight in others’ suffering but getting caught in the rain (along with piña coladas) is something that truly affirms your humanity: the planet has literally wetted you.  Plus, I must get it from my father – he used to arrive early to pick me up from my Sixth Form job at Waitrose before I could drive, simply because my shift ended half an hour after closing time and he would derive endless entertainment from watching affluent potential shoppers stride towards the automatic doors, only to respond with outraged incredulity when they were denied entry to their favourite providore and therefore forced to forego a top-up shop consisting mostly of artisan cheese and fine wines.

Let’s make no bones about it: I don’t like summer.  In fact, a zombie apocalypse would probably improve my ability to withstand the aestival months.  I would like to blame London for this.  It’s the worst place in the world when hot, mostly as it was built in Victorian times for the damp climate mentioned above (though, over a hundred years later, they’re still building most of it).  The morning Tube, as unpleasant as it already is, takes on a new level of odorous odiousness: once you’ve spotted one sweat patch, you suddenly realise that everyone’s every crevice is proffering its own wet spot to any casually observing eye.  I may scoff into my novel, but I secretly know that the tickling in the small of my back is from my own sweat beads dashing down my spine to pool and fester in the dark dankness of my crack.  And there it stays for the whole working day and whatever else I am doing with my evening (watching boxsets).

Londoners do two things in the sun.  The first is to find a patch of grass, regardless of its proximity to the heavy traffic of a thoroughfare.  The second is to drink on it.  I don’t enjoy exhaust fumes, nor is it fun to look for somewhere to wee after your third cider, all while wishing you’d put more effort in at the gym as your body stretches before you like some squidgily marshmallow-like dough.  So, once the longest day has gone past, the chill in the air returns and the leaves start to fall, a certain joy fills me as I know we are approaching my favourite time of year.  For some reason, autumn carries with it the most nostalgia.  A breeze can suddenly evoke the exact moment in Year 10 when I realised that other people were stupid.  Factor in the bonus that each autumn brought another year of school: older, wiser, no cooler, but with a new pencil case.  The geek in me loved going back because I enjoyed all the writing and the learning and such.

Which is why some writing is happening now, as a hobby.  I started this blog about TV shows.  I should probably therefore spend a couple of passages actually tackling this week’s programme instead of sharing half-baked yet whimsically charming reflections on the passing of time.  Regular readers will know of my love for the zombie genre.  Fear The Walking Dead remains one of my most-read posts, while The Walking Dead and Korean treasure, Kingdom (킹덤), have of course been covered.  One show I’ve seen some of but not included here is Z Nation, another serial tackling the undead apocalypse.  Its crime?  Too many LOLs  I exist in perpetual fear of a zombie takeover, so I really struggle to see the funny side.  I don’t mind dark humour in the face of annihilation, but the viewer in me wants the genuine threat treated seriously.  The point is, Z Nation misses the mark slightly, but my scant research has revealed the Black Summer is its origin story.  Let’s not hold this against the show though.

Our action opens in an unnamed suburb, some weeks after breakout.  Enough confusion still exists about what is going on, and things are never really explained.  We only glimpse the unfolding of disorientating events through seemingly unrelated characters, all desperately trying to survive (with varying levels of success).  The characterisation has been accused of shallowness, but I’m going to describe it as subtle – you’re deliberately left conflicted about who is good and who is bad, bringing to life the fact that trusting others while the undead chase you can lead either to salvation or betrayal, but you’ll only find out when it’s too late.

The suburban streets in the sunshine take on a claustrophobic air, with peril around every repetitive corner, separated individuals hopelessly searching for loved ones.  Tension builds around rumours of sanctuary, yearning for reunion and the constant risk of zombies and bad people.  The eight episodes stumble forward, arrhythmically switching perspectives and pace, though we culminate in a series of gun battles which are equal parts thrilling climax and video game fodder.

For devotees of the genre, this is a worthwhile watch.  Its fresh-enough approach avoids the pitfalls of what we have seen before, but there’s a sense a bigger vision is lacking behind all the death and destruction.  I’d happily sit through a second series, but the internet is not forthcoming with details of any recommissioning.  I promise you genuine chills from Black Summer’s flesh-eating walkers, especially in the mix of the show’s concerning plausibility.  But I realise the most alarming image you may have from this week’s post is that of my sweaty crack.

Kingdom (킹덤)

Well, a lot of people filled their boots with the Shipwrecked post, didn’t they?  Learning nothing from that runaway success, this week I’m veering recklessly to the other end of the TV spectrum.  We’ve not chatted about my love for zombies since both The Walking Dead and Fear The Walking Dead (the latter a spin-off of the former) were subjected to my sardonic snarkiness months and months ago.  So, brace yourself for the flesh-eating undead.  But that’s not the only swap we’ve made.  Replace a Pacific Island with the Korean peninsula.  Switch bikini-clab British Millennials for medieval Koreans.  And sub inarticulate youths saying “you know, kind of like” for a violent onslaught from the Korean language, with subtitles straight out of the How To Speak Archaic English textbook and, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve got yourself Kingdom.

But, as always, due to a grave inability to take anything seriously, I jest.  Kingdom is literally the best thing I have seen on Netflix in ages.  I’m not even sorry about writing such a weak sentence as that previous one – it doesn’t need dressing up.  I’m still in a state of excitement, and I finished all six episodes about a week ago.  I’m looking at the clock as if it’s going to tell me when series two will come into my life and provide me with equal measures of horror and entertainment.  Let’s be honest, I get both of these in my office, but very little of this comes from historical Koreans, so it’s nice to have a change, isn’t it?

The bit where I tell you what it’s all about will now follow, but again, we’re going for a certain laziness of language, as the rest is verging on highbrow (historical, foreign language) and we need to average things out to keep the majority happy.  So, there’s this prince, right?  His dad, the king, is on his deathbed, yeah, but the prince is being kept away by the new queen, his stepmother.  She’s expecting a baby by the old king, so she needs her husband to survive until the birth in order to secure succession.  She’s part of a clan who are hungry for power, so let’s just say there’s a rather Westerosi approach to this whole throne ownership business.  Her clan’s devious attempts to keep the king alive are what cause the inevitable zombie outbreak, while dismissing a physician back into the countryside is what spreads the pestilence to the peasants beyond the palace.  Meanwhile, our poor old prince also has to flee for his life on a quest to find out the truth.  He’s about to find out it’s not so easy being a prince in zombie-riddle medieval Korea.

What sets this apart, though, is bloody all of it.  But let’s distil from this two of the main TV-viewing features upon which you can feast your eyes.  The first is that every shot is exquisitely cinematic in its beauty.  From ancient palace buildings to dramatic landscapes, the visuals’ lushness is exceeded only by the ancient costumes.  You’ll wonder who ever thought those big hats were practical for soldiers, or question how warm so many layers of silk can be, but you’ll always end up impressed.  Somehow, this aesthetic doesn’t distract from the drama; instead, it becomes the perfect frame for the zombie fare, which often needs further theming to become plausible.  Having been to modern South Korea, I’m not sure the impact would have been the same among the grey buildings of Seoul, evidence of the whole place getting smashed in during the 1950s’ Korean War.

The second main setter-aparter is the incredible dramatic tension.  A zombie origin story is always fraught, as you, the viewer, sprawled on your cushions and shoving snacks in your face, know full well that doom is due while the characters all too slowly put two and two together and come up with some sort of denial of the epidemic chasing them down country lanes (yes, these zombies run, fast).  Skip this bit if you don’t want any spoiler content whatsoever, but one element of the zombie mythology in Kingdom has to be mentioned: the undead are only active in the dark.  Cue limitless possibilities of the sun setting, corpses starting to twitch, silly Korean magistrates being inefficient in their jobs and all hell being unleashed.  Conversely, you know your beloved main characters just have to survive each night before the daytime brings a bit of a breather.  A whole episode got so tense, the build and build to nightfall so domineering, that I had to press pause and pace about the room a bit to restore all sense of perspective to myself.

Alongside all of this, Kingdom finds time to make comparisons between the haves and have nots in society: a sort of socialist message to accompany the consumption of flesh, if you will.  The nobility are repeatedly shown to cock up their handling of an issue of national importance, while our royal hero, the prince, also learns that the peasant fodder bearing the brunt of the infestation don’t actually deserve to be eaten alive.  It’s funny how Brexit bleeds into everything, isn’t it?  (Or is that a bit of a reach this time?)  It seems that any dishonour towards a royal, however, does come with the alarming punishment of one’s whole family being annihilated.  What a great way to target crime.  The next time someone swipes your iPhone on a moped, you can rest assured that they won’t just be found and jailed, they won’t just be executed, but their whole family tree will be erased from the earth.

I’ll finish by saying that I don’t care if you don’t like subtitles.  You should have tried harder at school if you can’t read fast enough.  Stepping outside of the English language into Kingdom allows you to access one of the most compelling additions to the zombie canon in quite a few years.  Sure, it’s based on a comic book, like The Walking Dead etc, but it’s set apart by its uniqueness in the Western TV marketplace.  It’s also endlessly gratifying to watch the various extras really go for it in their performances and energetically give something extra of themselves, become extra extras.  Just remember, don’t come for me when you reach the cliffhanging end of series one, because it was me who opened your tiny mind to the intense tension of Kingdom.