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.
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.
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