The arts are a message from our collective subconscious, not so much an omen of things to come, but more an expression of those things we fear may come. We sense a breakdown in civilization, a collapse of established institutions, the end of the old order, and we see nothing but chaos to replace it.

The zombies are our current popular mythology, the walking dead, a growing, unstoppable and unreasoning force capable of thriving in that chaos. But the imaginary menace is only symbolic of what we really fear, the very real malevolence ready to fill the vacuum left behind by the perceived failure of our civilization. The barbarian hordes pounding at the city walls.

Its happened before, in the 50s and 60s, when nuclear holocaust or communist infiltration seemed imminent, our popular culture was obsessed by the alien invasion threat, UFOs and Saturday matinee monsters. The zombies, of course, are just proxies too: for Islamic terrorists, Latin drug cartels, illegal immigrants, ghetto criminals, racist skinheads, motorcycle gangs, right wing militias, the unemployed, the homeless, hip-hop thugs, the 47%, the Occupiers, the fat cats in their gated communities, the ruthless corporate executives in their paneled corner offices, and the effete intellectual snobs in academia, the press, and Hollywood. I could go on. When things fall apart, the criminals will be organized, only the survivalists will be able to resist. We can tailor a zombie for every ideology, any economic and social class, each culture and ethnic group. There’s enough paranoia to go around for everybody.

I don’t believe in zombies, I fear the Sharknado. I was brought up on disaster movies,
and the catastrophes were always brought on by highly unlikely coincidences, and the authorities were always ready to step in and handle them, once the hero managed to alert them to what was really happening. All he had to do was convince one obstinate bureaucrat.

Now I know better.