London Letter: Finding deep meaning in ‘skop, skiet en donner’

Management and I have pretty busy days, and most evenings we collapse exhausted on the couch.

We normally after dinner watch an hour or so of TV, and I am still amazed that I once thought pay-for TV was a waste of time.

In fact, many of the ‘seasons’ as they call the series on channels such as Sky Living, Discovery and Fox ruin you for watching proper movies.

On the rare occasions we go to the cinema, it’s only to get management off my back when she wants to see something. I would far rather lie on a couch at home watching quality acting and superb script-writing than get pins and needles in some upright chair with a bunch of popcorn crunchers.

But the problem is that our TV tastes differ markedly.

For example, I like outdoor reality programmes such as Yukon Men, whereas management would rather stick knitting needles in her eyes than watch ‘that junk’.

She instead likes medical stuff such as Grey’s Anatomy or Machiavellian dramas where everyone stabs each other in the back, metaphorically speaking. I, on the other hand, prefer real stabbing in the back.

However, my favourite series is one that management would rate even lower than my fishing programmes. And I stumbled upon it by chance as it has almost every ingredient that I would normally abhor.

It’s an apocalyptic skop, skiet en donner that if I didn’t know better would redefine the word ‘silly’. A kind synopsis would be telling viewers that after some horror virus outbreak, the world is suddenly infested with zombies who need fresh meat, and their prime prey is small pockets of non-zombie humans struggling to survive the horror.

I know, I know. Sounds like serious B-grade shlock, right?

Yet astonishingly The Walking Dead is the best thing on TV and has won a bunch of awards. Some of you may be watching the current Series 5 now out, so will know what I’m talking about. For those of you who aren’t, take it from me: it’s good.

You soon realise the series isn’t about zombies. It’s about the essence of being human. It explores the quintessential question of whether morality is integral to our psyche or mere lip-service in times of plenty. It explores just how thin the veneer of civilisation actually is; how concepts of right and wrong can be little more than luxurious whimsy.

The key character, Rick Grimes, is the leader of the main group of survivors as he’s the toughest sonuvabeach on the block.

Before the zombie virus exploded like a nuke, Rick was a low-ranking cop, a plod who meticulously upheld the rule of law. Now he is the law, something enforced purely by strength of character, a quick draw and a hard fist.

He also has granite loyalty, and those who follow him do so in the knowledge that he may make many mistakes, but surrender is not one of them.

In short, he is now the man he never dreamed he would be in the old world of paper-clips and pontificating bosses. Rick agonises over the brutalising effect that surviving the apocalypse has on him – but it has also unleashed qualities that would have been redundant in his previous life.

An even more interesting character is a hillbilly called Daryl whose transformation is in contrast to Rick’s.

In his previous life, Daryl was someone who lived outside the law; a social misfit with a massive chip on his shoulder against the establishment.

So unlike Rick, the zombies are not a threat to his humanity; they provide a chance for redemption. For the first time Daryl feels part of a community and his metamorphosis from being a nasty criminal to one of the key figures in keeping the group together is beautifully portrayed. He was a bit of a zombie previously. Now that there are real zombies, he discovers what it is to be human.

Of course, I may be seriously over-thinking all this and it may just be what it says on the tin: pure B-grade schlock.

But it’s still riveting.