In my last review of this show, I leave The Walking Dead where I found it: wandering aimlessly and emotionlessly through the empty fields of the television landscape.
Though the first forty minutes of "Nebraska" just offered us more of the same, the last ten minutes felt like a breath of fresh air blasting through the lingering stench of burning corpses and stagnant dialogue.
Season 2.1 of The Walking Dead has all been leading up to this moment, making it just one long shaggy dog story: a padded, drawn-out set up for a staggeringly cruel—and thematically essential—punchline. And it was almost worth it.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN WE PLEASE GET OFF THIS GODDAMNED FARM ALREADY?
The Walking Dead remains mired in a troubling view of women. "Whatever you do, don't give her a gun: she's on the rag."
Stop me if you've heard this one: How many morons does it take to get a zombie out of a well?
I don't want to sound too much like a college sophomore trying to get laid here, but it's amusing me this week to think of The Walking Dead as a modern, ultra-violent version of Albert Camus' 1948 existentialist novel The Plague.
Am I asking too much? Is The Walking Dead really just well-made zombie porn, and should I just give up on anything resembling plot or character development?
Zombie Train is a really cool show, but have you noticed they never get anywhere? They just keep zombie-training.