Misunderstood Monsters: When There’s No More Room in Hell, the Zombies Feast Online
By Matt Konopka
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Welcome fellow monster kids to Misunderstood Monsters. This is where I, Matt Konopka, sink my fangs into all sorts of beasts, ghouls, and creatures from above while I search for the humanity behind their frightening exteriors. From monster favorites such as The Wolf Man to obscure monsters like the whistling Shadmock, there is more to these fiends than bad hair days and gooey tentacles. Within them all is a piece of ourselves.
It was back on July 16th, 2017, that we lost one of my favorite filmmakers, George A. Romero, aka, The Godfather of the Dead, as he was affectionately known. Responsible for many classics, his most iconic creation remains the zombie, first seen in his 1968 feature directorial debut that he co-wrote with John A. Russo, Night of the Living Dead. At the time, “zombies” were thought of as someone who had been brought back from the dead or brainwashed using voodoo. In fact, the word doesn’t even appear in the original Night. Romero referred to his creatures as “ghouls,” not incorporating the reference of zombies until the sequel a decade later, Dawn of the Dead. Nevertheless, Romero became known for establishing the undead shamblers as we know them today, mindless fiends that munch on human flesh. Each film in his Dead series rose with something to say about us, the audience, his last endeavor in the franchise arriving in 2010 with Survival of the Dead. That was right around when social media was beginning to become the hellscape that it is today. I’ve often wondered what Romero would have to say about it with his zombies if he were still with us.
Shuffle, shuffle. Bite. Rip. Munch.
Each Dead film features something I like to refer to as “the feast.” That moment towards the end when the horde of undead overwhelms the characters, descending on them with an insatiable hunger. Hands grab and pull. Teeth tear. Intestines spill out onto the floor. For gorehounds, it’s that scene you wait for with giddy anticipation. And for anyone who loves Romero’s work, it’s the ultimate representation of consumerism, rebellion, or even humanity’s lust for feeding on each other. It’s that last one I’ve been contemplating recently. How we have an appetite for attacking one another. How we converge on individuals like sharks smelling blood in the water. How we put aside things like decency and kindness to justify our feeding. How there’s no more room in Hell, so the zombies roam social media.
Shuffle, shuffle. Bite. Rip. Munch.
Every day, I log onto sites like Twitter — never calling it X — and every day, I watch as someone is dragged through the mud, pulled to the ground, and left to writhe and scream as hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people tug and pull at that person’s limbs. They rip and they tear and they eat with a bloodthirsty glee, quote tweets emblematic of holding up a gory arm or leg like a gruesome trophy. Half of the time, this public feast comes as a response to some deserving jerk spouting offensive nonsense that deserves the Capt. Rhodes treatment. That I get. What unsettles me is the desire to publicly tear apart any and every opinion we disagree with. Hell, at the time that I’m writing this, I have a horde of comments bashing my intelligence simply for posting that I’ve enjoyed all of Alex Garland’s movies. Hundreds of quote tweets biting and tearing at me. A feast on my flesh for others to watch, join in on, and maybe even cheer. You can say it doesn’t matter, it’s people trolling, who cares what they think, so on and so forth. Acknowledging those things doesn’t make the dehumanization of the act any less disconcerting. It still makes me feel like a piece of meat being tossed around by rotting hands and gnashing teeth.
Shuffle, shuffle. Bite. Rip. Munch.
Whether a witness to it or served up as the feast myself, I can’t help but look at this sort of dogpiling and consider the mindless eating of Romero’s zombies. Let’s be clear, I’ve done my fair share of feasting. And each time, it leaves me feeling ashamed. Because I know what it’s like on the other end. Because I forget that there’s a person behind that opinion that I disagree with. Because I don’t know why I or anyone else does it. Why do we do this? Aside from the themes intended in each of Romero’s zombie films, characters often pontificated that the zombies had been reduced to their most basic of urges: consumption. Is that why we pile on and eat each other over such trivial differences of opinion like film favorites? Consuming to satisfy a hunger we aren’t aware of but that must be fed?
Shuffle, shuffle. Bite. Rip. Munch.
Some cultures believe you gain the power of a person from eating their flesh. I’m pretty sure you just get prion’s disease, but I’ve never tried it, so I wouldn’t know. But perhaps the reason why we participate in virtual feasting isn’t so different from Romero’s zombies. What is it, really, if not a form of our most primal instinct for survival? Call it looking for clout, likes, whatever you want, but all it boils down to is an effort to avoid becoming food ourselves. It’s the same reason we pick on those weaker than us. By doing so, we establish ourselves as occupying a higher rung on the food chain. We do it to point predators to prey that isn’t us, while at the same time reassuring ourselves of our position. Depressing as it may be, I suppose it’s only natural. Romero understood that. There’s a reason the zombies are never the true villains in the Dead films. The filmmaker saw a sadness in these creatures that represent our most terrible impulses. A humanity. A sense that they hated what they had become. Consider Day of the Dead’s Bub or Land of the Dead’s Big Daddy; zombies with a quiet yearning for something more. What we get out of dunking on what we consider bad takes, eating the flesh of the poster, it doesn’t last. Before we know it, a new day has come, the brief feeling of superiority gone, already starving again, and searching for the next victim to satisfy the hunger.
Shuffle, shuffle. Bite. Rip. Munch.
I regret the flesh I’ve eaten during these feasts. I regret wanting to hurt the people with opinions different than mine, rather than seeing opportunities to discuss or even teach in areas where I have the knowledge. I know my words won’t change a damn thing. Just like I’m certain Romero’s take on the subject wouldn’t change anything either, no matter how painfully his zombies reflected what we’ve become. What I can say for certain is that when I think of the Godfather of the Dead and his ghouls, how they pile onto victims to mindlessly tear apart and consume, a deserved fate or not, I understand that we’ll always be this way, in one form or the other.
As for myself? I don’t want to be hungry anymore. 🩸
About
Matt is a writer and wannabe werewolf who began his love of horror at the ripe old age of 3 with Carpenter’s Christine. He has a horror podcast called Killer Horror Critic which he does with his wonderful wife and has previously been published on Bloody Disgusting, Shudder’s The Bite, and Daily Grindhouse. You can also find more of his reviews and ramblings at his blog, KillerHorrorCritic.com.
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