I’m all caught up on “The Last of Us,” television’s latest foray into the zombie-apocalypse genre. Of course I am! With the wife out of town for a few days, it’s time for this grown-ass man to watch whatever the hell he wants.
That means zombies. Longtime readers (there might be one or two) will know that I run hot and cold on this genre. I briefly swore it off after the third season of “The Walking Dead.” But then came the buzz about this new HBO Max show, based on the hit Playstation video game. I was drawn back like a dog to a dead possum.
My impressions, based on the first three episodes: It’s not bad. It doesn’t add much to the whole flesh-eating horde canon, but it has a fine cast, capable writing and superb production values. By “production values,” I mean haunting CGI of American infrastructure laid low by 20 years of deferred maintenance. In a world of ravenous fungoids, regular weed-eating is the first thing to go.
We all think we’d do OK in a post-apocalyptic world, don’t we? All those abandoned supermarkets and Dick’s Sporting Goods, all that fresh air, all that peace and quiet when nobody’s running leaf blowers. It’s a particular wet dream for gun nuts, preppers and Proud Boys: firearms rule, nobody needs a job and you can pretty much shoot anything that moves.
I guess they’d also prefer no gay people, but HBO kind of pissed on that campfire. The third episode included a same-sex relationship. With Nick Offerman! What the hell, man? Some viewers – I’m thinking the 21-to-44 living-with-the-parents demographic – seem to have totally lost their shit over that one. Probably to be expected when so many viewers are coming to the show from a video game.
Ah well. Can’t please everyone. I kind of like it. If you too enjoy risky road trips and zombies with heads that resemble morel mushrooms, Dave Bob says check it out.