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My brothers and I were discussing this very topic last night: Why is contemporary zombie fiction so popular, and what does that reveal about us? Steven explores this topic below.
As Rob Savillo points out in response the trailer for The Last Of Us, something is wrong with my zombies. They have no face.
The law of entertainment (not a real law) states action requires violence; shock and awe requires blood. And since action fans aren't homicidal monsters, we have to believe our enemies deserve death. But we can't always stop mid-explosion to prove that an evil dictator's individual bodyguards are equally evil. Ski masks provide anonymity and remove personality.
That's why zombies are great -- they're creatures devoid of humanity, just as militia fighting for their homeland (but wearing balaclavas) become target practice. Even armed men with exposed faces, but speaking a different language, become "tangos." (And let's just leave Nazis alone.)
The only decent way to treat these monsters is to kill them all.
The illusion of righteous murder is especially complete in the world of Killzone 3. The hellish planet of Helgen is populated solely by military complexes, ruins and scrap-yards. The Helghast telltale crimson eyes are asking for death. And the Helgen schools, churches, homeless shelters, along with their women and children are nowhere to be found. Even their elderly are cantankerous warmongers bent on violence.
How could you harm this father of three?
The absurd joke here is that by dehumanizing enemies we are safeguarding our own humanity. By simultaneously painting "bad guys" as monsters -- bereft of families, hopes and dreams -- we are ensuring we don't become monsters ourselves.
Children, however, are safe, tucked out of sight, or indestructible, without health bars or death animations.
Why? What's the difference?
Their humanity cannot be stripped away. There is no justification for killing children because they can never deserve death; children are synonymous with innocence. And in the rare cases when children are in danger, they are master geniuses, with industrial pranks at their disposal to disembowel bumbling comedians. (Home Alone, anyone?)
Movies can afford to give more nuance to violence. Savillo points to the film The Road as an apt portrayal of shades of gray. (Are the cannibals monsters? Or just trying to survive?)
But games are cut from a different cloth. Adding subtlety to violence in action games such as Uncharted is nearly impossible simply because of the sheer quantity of killing.
Now to take care of that orphanage
A two-hour movie like The Road can only contain so much death. The average Uncharted game may take up to 20 hours. Spending all that time conflicted over the murder of thousands of people would make anyone a monster, either through mental torture or desensitization.
To cage the beast, we must kill sub-humans. We save our humanity but still feed our monstrous appetites. (I would never kill a real person...but man, it feels good to violently maim that zombie.)
While the enemies of The Last of Us aren't the morally conflicting cannibals of The Road, they do reveal a sicker sight. By not forcing us to face our inner monster, we become zombies ourselves. By holding onto the illusion that a mass murderer like Nathan Drake is the "good guy," we can appear humane while feeding on flesh.
