In the opening scene of Fear the Walking Dead, the new spinoff of the popular AMC zombie drama, we see a young man fleeing from the approach of a shambling flesh-eater, her pale mouth smeared with blood. It's a familiar moment; after all, we've been watching Rick Grimes and his companions face similar threats in post-apocalyptic Georgia for almost six years now.
But as the man escapes into the street, the camera pans up to reveal two surprises: the palm trees of Los Angeles reaching into the sky, and—even more surprising—a street bustling with cars and people. The world is still alive, and we get to watch it fall apart all over again.
Fear the Walking Dead, which premieres Sunday, introduces us to the same apocalypse from the perspective of a different coast, as well as a blended, slightly dysfunctional family. Madison, a guidance counselor played by Kim Dickens of Deadwood and Gone Girl fame, is the mater familias of the Clark clan, which also includes her overachieving daughter Alicia (Alycia Debnam-Carey) and junkie son Nick (Frank Dillane). Neither of the kids are particularly thrilled about their mom's new live-in boyfriend Travis (Cliff Curtis); nor is his own son, Chris (Lorenzo James Henrie).
The show is not only a chance for AMC to expand its viewership from the immensely popular Walking Dead series to a new and complementary show, but an opportunity to pull in new viewers, or even lapsed fans who have grown weary of the endless Rick Grimes tragedy parade. But while the new series is indeed tonally different, sometimes in ways that counteract criticisms of the original series, the changes still aren't always for the best.
In short, while it might appeal to die-hard fans, Fear the Walking Dead won't win over new viewers—or bring back apostates.
There's almost a bit too much going on in the first episode: the relationship between Madison and Travis, the relationship between Travis and his ex-wife and son, the hostility of all of the teenagers towards all the adults, Nick's drug addiction, Madison's guidance counseling, Alicia's romance with her boyfriend. Oh, and the zombies.
While The Walking Dead has always had a habit of lingering on interpersonal moments, even to the point of lassitude, its spinoff hurtles through them at breakneck speed, checking off the requisite boxes so quickly that even excellent actors like Dickens can't always bridge the gap of credulity. It's a lot of ground to cover, and the show moves so fast and dirty through these multiple threads and their complex dynamics that they start to feel both perfunctory and disjointed.
Fear the Walking Dead is at its best in its moments of anticipation; like so many horror tales, the delicious tension lies in the knowledge that all these quotidian scenes are merely a placid surface created specifically to be broken by the looming horror. In the original series, we bypassed the dawn of the undead entirely, jumping instantly from the world we recognize to the post-apocalypse along with Rick Grimes (Andrew Lincoln) when he awoke from his coma.
But here we get to see it dawning slowly, and the only question is where and when the looming wave is going to break. Does the sound of helicopters above signal yet another Los Angeles high-speed chase, or is all hell about to break loose? When Madison drives her car past a park and we see a dark figure walking beneath the trees, is he walking—or shambling?
But the slow burn has its downsides as well, especially as the threat grows more apparent and the general public somehow remains oblivious to the danger. The most unbelievable part of the show is not actually the zombies, but the show's insistence that a rising tide of the undead could somehow remain largely invisible in the era of social media. While we're told that there is some sort of "bug" or virus going around and scores of people are "ill" or mysteriously absent, days pass by without any recognition of the fact that they are likely now roaming the streets in search of human flesh.
As the dawn of the undead grows nigh, several characters react with disbelief that no one seems to realize what is going on. It is indeed unbelievable. At one point, we see a video "leak" of a police confrontation with a zombie, which is quickly dismissed by many as a hoax; as though "leaked" footage would be primary source of video, or that Twitter or Instagram—and subsequently the mainstream media—would not be inundated with countless smartphone videos that achieve instant, worldwide viral exposure.
The widespread refusal to acknowledge reality feels both frustrating and contrived, but the show insists upon it, even at the expense of making its characters behave in ways that seem bizarre. Over and over, when faced with moments when they should obviously tell the people around them about the zombies—if only to prepare them for the lethal danger that is now all around them—they get strange, constipated looks on their faces and remain silent. They seem muzzled less by their own fear than by the primary demand of the plot: that no one have any clue what is going on until the most dramatic moment possible.
Fear the Walking Dead wants to offer us a fresh look at the end of the world, in a different place and through the eyes of a different cast of characters. But at first glance there isn't much that feels new here, not only in comparison to The Walking Dead but zombie media at large.
The idea of watching the world unravel is a compelling premise, if not a new one, and while the creeping dread of civilization's end is suitably haunting, the people intended to anchor us in this disintegrating world still feel a little too thin to give it gravitas. In other words, the people of Fear the Walking Dead need to put some more meat on their bones if they want us to care when the zombies come to eat it off.
