MonthFebruary 2013

Zombies and Intimacy

Zombies - intimacyZombie Posts:

The type of death one can expect from a zombie is nothing if not intimate.  They use no secondary object, like a knife or even a rock.  They use only their own teeth and hands.  Victims are frequently shown having their abdomens violated by a group of zombies who proceed to then put the vitals into their mouths.  Like I said—intimate.

In our culture we resist intimacy.  There was a time when servants would bathe and dress their betters, but nowadays we have a hard time carrying on a conversation with someone standing next to us at the urinal.  Charles Taylor observes that our culture is characterized by a “withdrawal from certain modes of intimacy, as well as taking a distance from certain bodily functions” (Taylor 137).  Taylor cites the work of Norbert Elias in his book, The Civilizing Process, where he describes a shift involving a “steady raising of the threshold of embarrassment, one might even say, disgust” (Taylor 138).  Where once people were advised not to blow ones nose in the table cloth, we now insist on leaving the table to perform the same act.

In a world where the buffering of the individual from intimate connection to others has resulted in a convention where bodily functions are not even mentioned, how much more offensive is the disembowelment and consumption of entrails witnessed regularly in a zombie film. Clearly, this is a monstrous affront to our modern sensibilities.

Next zombie post: Zombies are Funny


Zombies and Death ain’t what it used to be…

Zombie DeathZombie Posts:

Jaime Russell claims that the ultimate meaning of the zombie is as “a symbol of mankind’s most primitive anxiety: the fear of death” (8).  Another way the zombie scares the modern self is by forcing us to face death.    Almost all monsters kill us, it’s like their thing, so this, in itself is not remarkable.  It’s not the killing bit that is different—it’s the death bit.  Zombies do not just deliver death, but also embody death in the closed immanent frame.

The persistence of death is scary.  The persistence of the zombie personifies the inevitability of death and thus augments our fear of mortality.  Simon Pegg, co-writer, director and actor of Shaun of the Dead, explains that the shambling zombies “are death and they will get you in the end.  We could all be in a room now with one and quite happily walk round and round the room and he’d never get you because he’d just be stumbling along.  But eventually you’d have to go to sleep and when you did, he’d eat you.  There’s just something really eerie about that”  (Russell 183).

The persistence of the zombie personifies the inevitability of death and thus augments our fear of mortality.

Like all monsters in the history of human storytelling, the zombie kills its victims, but the threat of death’s inevitability is more significant when one lives in a reality without the transcendent.  In this context, life is equivalent to biological life.

Without any future beyond this world, the zombie horde represents to modern man an “ambulatory mass grave” and as such is “both a reminder of the inevitability of death and an affront to [modern man’s] belief in its finality” (Russell 69).  Unlike preceding centuries, in the modern materialist universe, death is final. It is not, as in the past, a transition through which one passes, but a permanent state of non-being.

 In the modern materialist universe, death is final–and zombies bring death.

The zombie articulates a profound—and profoundly modern—shift from older cultural attitudes about death: “the process of dying no longer means the conveyance of our eternally unchanging soul to another, more timeless realm; rather, death becomes a state we inhabit within our own earthly vessels, something we become rather than somewhere we go” (Muntean 83).  In the zombie narrative, the undead are the agents and the bodily representation of this “becoming.”

Next zombie post: Zombies and Intimacy

The Horror of the Body

zombies body horrorPrevious Zombie Posts:

The zombies are an abject horror in themselves, but what they do to their victims is even more horrifying.  Zombie movies contain scenes with spurting blood and biting of flesh; they also show us the ingestion of slippery entrails and bloody organs.  The zombie is a monster for our time in that it exploits the fear that, in the absence of any transcendent meaning, we are nothing but vulnerable, and soon to be dead, flesh.

Stephan Asma describes how modern horror focuses on “the subjective revulsion and terror of the flesh” because, in the absence of the transcendent, there is a terror in “all things biological” (198).  The bodily violence in the zombie films exploits the vulnerability we feel as biological beings by objectifying our bodies.  In his analysis of Night of the Living Dead, Russell emphasizes how “Romero never lets us forget that this is a film about the body.  Or to be more accurate, the horror of the body” (67):

Romero demonstrates the essential frailty of human flesh, repeatedly showing the violent capacities fingernails, teeth, knives, and bullets have to reduce living tissue to bleeding inert flesh.  By objectifying the human body in such a graphic manner, Romero relentlessly dissolves the boundaries between the living and the dead, the human and the zombie, and the living beings and intimate products. (Russell 138)

The violence done to bodies, both of the living and the undead, forces modern residents of the closed immanent frame to consider the possibility that the human body may be “nothing more than meat, aligning human beings unapologetically with stockyard animals and game” (133).

This is a scarey idea, indeed.

Next zombie post: Death ain’t what it used to be.

Why are zombie movies disgusting?

zombie abjectPrevious Zombie Posts:

Zombies are disgusting–open wounds, fluids running out of their orifices, and what’s that stuck in his teeth, a piece of Barbara?

Acording to the theorists, identity–that which is me–is understood in relationship to the Other–that which is not me.  The boundaries between the two are important in understanding the self.  These boundaries are clarrified by challenges.  That’s where monsters come in.  They cross these lines as if to ask, “Where do I end and the ‘not I’–the Other–begin?”  The Victorian wolfman, for example, transgressed the boundaries between human and animal to clarrify the boundary between these categories.  This was at a time when questions were very much a concern, what with Darwin’s book and all.

There is a category of things that disgust us because they occupy the space between the self and the other–bodily fluids for instance.  We find these revolting is because they transgress this boundary–they are inbetween what is clearly me and what is clearly not.  Because zombies leak bodily fluids all over the place, they are an embodiment of this sort of revultion.  Kristeva puts vomit and pus and that sort of thing in a category that she labels the abject and suggests that, because the abject challenges boundaries between self and other, our idenities are formulated against it.

Because the abject challenges boundaries between self and other, our idenities are formulated against it.

Julia Kristeva describes the abject as being “neither inside nor outside, neither subject nor object, neither self nor other, troubling identity and order with the instability of boundaries, borders, and limits” (Zakin).  In Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection, Kristeva describes the process by which identity is constituted.  Identity formation is a process involving the establishing of boundaries between that which is the self and that which is not the self.  Although this process does involve “conceptual positioning in the symbolic order” (Lennon), it doesn’t begin there.  It was first a bodily process in which the individual begins to make a distinction between the self and the maternal body.  For this to happen, “there is a rejection, a pushing away of that which is not me” (Lennon).  Anything that is between myself and the other, that is both me and not me, falls into the category of the abject.  These things include an open wound, excrement, nail clippings, pus, blood, sweat, even the skin on the top of milk.  The abject often evokes the physical reaction of nausea because it reminds us of the fragility of the boundaries that constitute the self.  Thus, the abject is “horrifying, repellent, but also fascinating; it is strange but familiar” (Zakin).

Zombies generate revulsion in the viewing audience because they evoke the fear of the abject; they challenge identity in the same way the abject does.

Zombies generate revulsion in the viewing audience because they evoke the fear of the abject.

Two things are necessary for this to happen.  First, in order to inhabit the liminal space between that which is the self and also not the self, they need to have a strong association to the self.  This is an easy task for the zombie, because it looks just like us; it is the most human of monsters.  Secondly, they must be not the self.  This is accomplished by their state of decay and the bodily fluids they ooze and spew.  The zombie can be classified as Kristeva’s abject because it “disturbs identity, system, [and] order. [It] does not respect borders, positions, rules” (Kristeva 4).

As monsters, zombies help us understand who we are, by challenging the boundary between us and what we aren’t.  The abject does this as well.  In the zombie we have a convergence of monster and abject.  That’s why zombie movies are disgusting.  I would like to underscore once again, that the abject, like the zombie, challenges physical (or immanent) categories for, to the modern secular self, there is nothing else.

Next zombie post: Horror of the Body

Also Cited:

Lennon, Kathleen. “Feminist Perspectives on the Body.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 28 June 2010. Web. 19 Sept. 2012.

Zakin, Emily. “Psychoanalytic Feminism.” Summer 2011. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Web. 9 April 2012.

Zombies as the Monstrous Other: Challenging Modern Boundaries

Zombie boundariesPrevious Zombie Posts:

Zombies are physical monsters, there is nothing in them that is spiritual or supernatureal or even superhuman.  We can therefore call the zombie an immanent monster.  In the immanence of the monster, in the ordinariness of the setting, and in the ambiguity surrounding the presence of the horde, the zombie film reflects reality as it is understood by modern man: one bereft of transcendence.  Ideally suited to shamble through a purely physical world (the closed immanent frame), the zombies terrorize the residents of this world–that’s us, modern secular humanity.

Monsters basically do two things that worry us.  First, they make us dead.  Second, they always transgress boundaries.  People have an idea about what’s good and what’s bad, what’s “us” and what’s “them.”  Monsters challenge these categories reminding us that they are pretty flimsy.  According to Kearney, monsters evoke fear because they transgress “the conventional frontiers,” and in doing so they remind us “that we don’t know who we are” (Strangers 117).

Like all monsters, the zombie kills victims and transgresses boundaries.  Its uniqueness lies in the particular boundaries that it blurs, the nature of the death it brings and in its presentation as a horde; each of these is a particular horror for the modern secular identity.

Ideally suited to shamble through the closed immanent frame, the zombies terrorize the residents of this world.

The monsters of old transgressed the ordered wholeness of the cosmos by transgressing boundaries between categories that ensured order and held meaning.  The monsters, through supernatural means, transgressed boundaries between human and nonhuman and between living and dead.  These monsters were demons, ghosts and witches.

Later, post-Enlightenment monsters lost the spiritual dimension that the monsters of Christian mythologies possessed.  Asma says these more natural monsters “came under the new umbrella of a mechanistic worldview, and spiritual monsters (e.g., demons and devils) were sent packing, along with diviners, priests, and theologians, never to return in any significant way to the pages of the natural philosophers” (149).

As modern monsters, zombies occupy the space between immanent categories.

The modern monsters still transgress boundaries, but rather than supernatural ones, they transgress natural or immanent categories—often animal and man—and “usually possess the worst but most potent qualities of both species: brute strength, diabolical intellect, deceit, lechery, lust for power, and savage disregard for life” (Paffenroth 7).  As the idea of the mechanistic universe strengthened at the expense of the old cosmos, the monsters lost much of their transcendence but were still superhuman. Frankenstein’s creation, the wolf-man and Count Dracula are such monsters.

But in the zombie we see the absence or irrelevance of the transcendent.  Monsters threaten identity because they transgress boundaries, and as modern monsters zombies occupy the space between immanent categories.  Immanent categories would include individual/group, humourous/horrific, self/other, conscious/unconscious, consumer/consumed, human/not human and most significantly, life/death.  Zombies are monsters, but they are a very different kind of monster.

Next zombie post: Why are zombies are so disgusting?

© 2018 crossing the line

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑