“The Walking Dead” fits extremely well into Sunday night. The series is, from its intoxicating pilot on, an abundant impasto of mud and blood, awkwardly beautiful, once you get used to the crushed skulls and the guts pouring out of the dead walking rotting abdomens. The special effects are top-quality, as is the makeup, and there’s a nauseating grandeur to the show’s repeated vistas of writhing reanimated corpses, whether they are closing in on a farmhouse, gnawing on their victims in a ditch, or frotting a prison fence in salivating derangement.
The show’s gore is without comparison: a baby gets tugged from a Lori’s belly during a suicidal C-section (if the baby had died, you know it would have reanimated and tear its way out); Lori’s intestines dangling like red-sauced thick pasta from a rotted zombie pulled out of a well. If a katana sword is wielded in the first act, a head will roll by the finale. These images are gross, but they’re bold, and they’re at one with the show’s primal question: how much punishment can one soul, one body, one viewer take?
Like all good science fiction and horror, The Walking Dead is completely plausible once you accept the hypothesis —the reality of cadavers that walk and bite. But though the geeks, and walkers, are essential to The Walking Dead' plot, however they’re not what the show is really about. They’re just a way to blow up the world. Think about it for one second, The Walking Dead is “about us. It’s about how humans respond to disaster (end of the world as they know it). The walkers could be anything, “like a flood, earthquake or famine. It’s not about the dead walking the earth. The key thing is the way folks react to this horrible state of affairs, behave badly, make mistakes, and screw themselves up and others.