Every so often, conversation between people turns to the question of contingency plans in the instance of an apocalypse. A great many people have at the very least, considered what they would do if a zombie plague hit the earth, or if some kind of apocalyptic scenario came to pass. Certainly, the fear of such events is fuelled by a very robust zombie and apocalypse genre found across film, books, television, and of course, games. But why exactly is it that this genre has such an appeal?
The prospect of any event that wipes out our civilisation—demonstration the precariousness and fragility of our society and the rapidity with which our sophisticated networks of communication and travel can disintegrate, is a profoundly significant psychological fear, too. Given the actual existence of doomsday cults and prepper stashes, it seems a fair claim to suggest that this fear is one which dwells within us at a primal level. Indeed, our ability to use any heavy machinery or vehicles would very quickly dissipate due to the fact that petrol goes off reasonably quickly. Certainly, the portrayals of post apocalyptic worlds popular in various medias relies upon a very specific set of events occurring and many of these premises would not necessarily come to pass. But what we are presented with in post apocalyptic stories nevertheless arguably speaks to our worst fears—if society broke down, if resources became scarce and competition for them inhibited cooperation between humans, if what caused the initial disaster was also sufficiently enduring that it precluded the ability to rebuild society as we knew it, what then?
Moreover, let’s get one thing straight—zombies are creepy in a very primitive way. They strike at the fear that this could happen to us, or one of our loved ones. They all but enter uncanny valley, given the fact that they more or less appear human, and within films and games, they lurk in shadowed areas and suddenly appear, scaring the ever-loving crap out of you.
But I would argue that the hold this genre has on us is the question of how humanity survives the very worst case scenario, what emerges, what behaviours endure and keep us alive, but also, what is lost. There is an undeniable melancholy associated with the time after the apocalypse that has a certain, beautiful, terrible hold over us.
This discussion could spawn books, movies, video games…even board games, really, but I’m going to limit to two video games which arguably cut to the heart of why the post apocalyptic has such a profound pull on us as a culture: The Last of Us which came out in 2013, and Horizon Zero Dawn which came out in 2017.
First, if you haven’t played either game, you absolutely should. They’re both absolutely startling for so many reasons, with compelling central characters, poignant plots, and fabulous worldbuilding. As gameplay goes, they’re very different: one is open world, the other is not. Moreover, one deals with the immediate aftermath, the other is set thousands of years after human civilisation has completely collapsed.
Yet the points of each which speak to the fascination this genre holds over us are startling in their similarity.
First, the effect of civilisation’s breakdown on the physical environment is perhaps the most obvious element. We only need to look at photos taken from inside the Chernobyl and Fukushima exclusion zones to see that when society abandons an area, nature reclaims it with an unsettling swiftness. Indeed, in The Last of Us, travelling through cities with abandoned skyscrapers, or cars which are rusting abandoned in the middle of the road. This shows the projection of what our modern, concrete world would look like if several years without maintenance and upkeep passed. Moreover, these visuals have a pull on the viewer, as the unsettling experience of seeing out familiar world without its inhabitants of usual rush of people throws the audience off-kilter.
Horizon Zero Dawn pushes this even further forward, showing the remains of civilisation through the incorporation of what is left of once-massive structures such as stadiums or occasional office skyscrapers, into the natural landscape. Arguably, this projection into the future is almost mirrored in our collective interest in the ancient world, seen in the continued excavations of ancient sites and the ongoing field of scholarship which seeks to piece together a comprehensive image of what society back them was like from the fragmented objects or buildings we recover. The beauty of visual mediums to tell these kinds of stories offers a fascinating glimpse into the projection of the transience of our imprint upon the world. Perhaps that, too is an explanation for why the apocalypse genre holds such sway over us; it is so powerful to realise that humanity’s dominance over the world can be not only removed, but erased.
But to look more at plot, rather than rhapsodise endlessly over worldbuilding, the post-apocalypse genre fascinates with its presentation of what happens to those fragments of society which do survive. Inevitably, a survival of the fittest hierarchy arises, which often sees the pairing of unlikely bedfellows. Horizon Zero Dawn presents the evolution of culture and societal structures, some of which are completely disparate from one another, other which are at war over territorial and cultural disputes. One could almost argue that this verges into the realm of fantasy with its worldbuilding, but the grounding of cultural practices or settlements in the remains of contemporary society. We are curious to see how communities continue to survive, and what shape they take in response to the pressures of civilisation as we know it crumbling.
I would argue though what is most poignant is the presentation of relics and stories from the past. The fragments of the lives of people who lived in the ‘before’ world, who lived with the creature comforts of a world with security, whose interests and worries are often incredibly insignificant when compared alongside the cataclysmic events which take over the world, in fact make the world that much more poignant, teasing out a complex and profound emotional response.
Perhaps it’s the prospect that our world may be all but forgotten—indeed, the entire storyline of Horizon is devoted to uncovering what transpired, but it does not by any means reconstruct for the characters within the game the world that existed before. As such, the recordings the player uncovers of people often unconnected to the broader plot of the game inspire a sense of sadness—even of muted panic—at the idea that our own lives imbued with intricacies and meaning, may be entirely forgotten but for a few disconnected fragments here and there.
Moreover, the apocalypse genre reflects very real concerns we have in our society and magnifies them, taking them to the worst-case possible scenario of the ‘what if?’ As Samrat Sharma, a developer at Guerilla games, stressed “there are universal concerns at the game’s core”. In The Last of Us are concerns about pandemics and epidemics, which we can see throughout the last 20 or so years in fears over the spread and effect of SARS, bird flu, pig flu, ebola, and even the measles, or whooping cough, as a consequence of the anti vax movement. These are taken to their absolute extreme; if your skin is broken, or you breathe in spores, you will turn within two days. In Horizon, worries about AI and environmentalism and the consequences of either element being unchecked result in the mass extinction of humanity. While worries over AI are more speculative than the very real concern posed by climate change, it is nevertheless obvious the things which trouble the collective psyche of our society are transmorphed into the ‘bogeymen’ as what have shaped the world into something utterly different.
Yet at the core, this genre has such a power because it asks very incisive questions about humanity and human behaviour. By displacing people from the world that we know and putting them in a variety of difficult circumstances. As Joel Druckerman, one of the main writers for The Last of Us said in an extensive interview, “it became this idea of exploring how far a father is willing to go to save his kid. Each step of the way is a greater sacrifice.” By putting pressure on the characters as a result of their environment, the narrative of the story offers similar moral issues to ones that we often discuss (e.g. self sacrifice, questions of how far would we go to survive), but placed into extreme circumstances. A similar phenomenon can be observed in a lot of the sci-fi genre when humanity reaches the bounds of our knowledge and experience, and questions of morality and ethics are raised in seeking a resolution to the problems which invariably arise from these new frontiers. There are a couple of absolutely stellar—no pun intended—episodes of Star Trek: Voyager which ask exactly this question. The cannibal scavenger groups in The Last of Us are entirely plausible in the most confronting manner. As David, the leader of one of the groups says, the behaviour which Ellie and we the player find so repulsive is really just a question of survival. Nevertheless, it is a haunting question of the limitations to human morality and behaviour.
Even if you aren’t a huge fan of the genre, the fascination it holds with us is one well worth understanding, as it raises questions that are quite introspective; how will our society survive and evolve if it is all but eradicated, what happens to morality when it comes up against questions of survival, and what happens to our world when we no longer are the dominant ones in it.
A short list of some films, books, and games which fall within the zombie/apocalypse genre, in no particular order: Horizon Zero Dawn, Fall Out, The Last of Us, The Walking Dead, Resident Evil, The Omega Man (remade into I Am Legend), Dawn of the Dead (although let’s prefer it as the hilarious Shaun of the Dead), World War Z, and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
