My third blog post back in March 2004 on the first day of the blog's existence.

Titled: "Fast, badass zombies versus slow, dumbass zombies" and linked to "My Stupid Dog" blog.

Dawn of the Dead and ressentiment

I probably won't see the remake of George Romero's Dawn of the Dead. I love the original, though I think Romero lost the eeriness of Night of the Living Dead when he decided to make Dawn in color. But the remake has one major problem that I could see from a mile away.

To paraphrase James Carville, it's the zombies, stupid. In the remake, they're first-rate badasses. They act as if they were on a constant adrenaline high. They have extra speed and super strength. They are powerful. They're much like the beefed-up, overcaffeinated, perpetually angry "infecteds" in Danny Boyle's recent 28 Days Later. And they're all wrong.

Romero's zombies are weak, slow and stupid. You could outsmart one, outrun it, or if need be, take it down in a fair fight. The only problem is, these zombies vastly outnumber any humans still alive. The ratio is several dozen zombies to one warm body in Night; by Day of the Dead it's grown to something like several hundred thousand to one.

In Romero's Dead trilogy, zombie attacks become an objective correlative for what Nietzsche called ressentiment. They involve a mobocratic tyranny, as weak and incompetent corpses band together and achieve a dominance over the living minority that they could not otherwise attain. It's no surprise, then, that Romero's zombie attacks usually involve a surrender of the individual "live" person to a mob of walking dead. Dawn and Day both feature an attack in which dozens of zombie bodies burst from an enclosed space (in Dawn, an elevator; in Day, a locked roof) and overwhelm a human in a wave attack. Most telling, though, is that when the zombies attack, their arms are outstretched toward the victim, as if they were begging for something. Which, in a manner of speaking, they are: They all want a little piece (or maybe a big piece) of the human victim. Engulfed in this mob's sudden coercive demand, the living human falls to the ground, where seething masses literally devour him.

Seldom do these zombies succeed at a one-on-one attack, and when they do, it's usually because the victim has a misplaced sense of compassion. Of course, Nietzsche claimed that along with democracy, compassion and religion were other weapons that the weak routinely use against the strong. But in Romero's Dead trilogy, victims of one-on-one attacks seldom die quickly; instead, they malinger for days, "infected" by a deadly virus which apparently all walking dead carry. Upon their death, they become assimilated into the faceless mob. Compassion for the weak comes with a very heavy penalty.

Of course, the survivors in Romero's films don't fare too well, either: Their individualistic tendencies lead to squabbling and bickering. In the Dead trilogy this infighting becomes an all-too-predictable motif. Individuals seem more concerned with battling each other than with defeating the hordes of walking dead, and as a result they are unable to form the coalitions necessary to turn the tables on the mob.

Nietzsche's vision of individualism was no less tragic. The social apparatus, fueled by ressentiment, stacks the deck against the great-souled man (or ubermensch) to the point that his only real options are to withdraw or perish. Dawn and Day opt for withdrawal; Night, the most bracing and unnerving of the three, chooses death instead. Ayn Rand attempted to resolve this basic problem in Atlas Shrugged by uniting all productive men and women. Yet she fails to recognize that John Galt's crypto-fascist consensus of resistance is no more conducive to individual activity than the repressive societies these productive folk attempt to resist.

Whatever we can say of Romero, he is at least smarter than Rand. His zombie flicks frighten us not just because they're gory or shocking, but because they insinuate that, much as we may like the idea of individualism, it may not have much of a future in an increasingly mobocratic society. The idea of being overwhelmed by stinking masses, of being forced into a way of life (or death) we would not choose for ourselves, lies at the maggot-infested heart of the original Dead trilogy. That's why it disturbs us long after the lights come up.

The slow, dumbass zombies of "The Walkind Dead" return in February. The zombie phenomenon is now rivaling the vampire one. These are the fastest, badass zombies I've seen to date: