Contained in these pages is something so horrifying and dreadful it will chill your blood and steal the very breath from your throat...
I'm referring, of course, to the writing.
By the ghost of George Andrew Romero, I was completely unprepared for the staggering narrative ineptitude of this graphic novel. (Full disclosure: I read the first four [of eight] chapters before deciding I could no longer continue punishing myself.)
Keep in mind, I say that as a diehard fan of the television series! Without having ever read the source material, I was a faithful and engaged viewer of the first eight seasons (the relentless nihilism of the Negan plotline, I'll confess, finally wore me down by the end). I'd always intended to get around to the comics, and I guess after finally (and regrettably) falling out of love with the TV show, I decided to go back to where it all began. After all, for as long as the AMC series has been a cultural phenom, fans have been bandying about the comics: their favorite characters, their favorite storylines, how it differs from the show it inspired, etc. What's never been mentioned (thanks for nothing, Chris Hardwick) is how remarkably terrible the source material is!
Let's start with the dialogue. Characters speak in nothing but bland exposition: "Keep your guns handy. If you see any zombies, don't let yourselves get surrounded. Don't forget, we're smarter and faster." Go to any speech balloon on any page, and that's how the dialogue reads. There's no subtext, nothing interesting or personal or character-specific about any of it. Everyone just has something very utilitarian to say, and you could reassign any piece of dialogue to any other character, and it would work just the same; no one has an identifiable voice or point of view. (More on characterization in a minute.) The dialogue is deathly flat and purely expositional/informational...
That is, until characters start
SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER!
Out of nowhere, two characters will just explode into a heated argument, shouting the F-word at each other. This is what passes for conflict? It reminds me of a line from the old action movie Midnight Run, in which Robert De Niro is complaining about his ulcer, and Charles Grodin says to him: "You know why you have an ulcer? Because you have two forms of expression: silence... and rage." Kirkman's characters either state the obvious, or hurl angered FUs through a hail of spittle; he simply has no idea how to create authentic human interactions/dynamics. For all the pants-wetting excitement expressed on Talking Dead whenever a fan-favorite character appears on the show, none of them even resemble (personality-wise) their televisional counterparts. They're not even characters; they're just chess pieces.
One final note about dialogue: The characters have an annoying habit of addressing each other by name in practically every exchange of chatter. I mean, Lori and Rick really needn't use each other's names so often in private conversation. That's a bad writing habit that's been reinforced by decades of TV, in which characters overuse one another's names (here's looking at you, Mulder and Scully).
Now let's dig a little deeper into characterization: No one in The Walking Dead has a consistent point of view. At one point, Dale informs Rick that Shane and Lori were up to shenanigans before he arrived; a few issues later, Lori learns she's pregnant, and Dale warns her Rick can never know it's Shane's! He's our leader! Huh? Didn't you already tell Rick about this yourself, you senile old busybody?
And since we're talking Lori, it's worth addressing how female characters are depicted; Kirkman's sexual politics are appallingly regressive. His women have no agency whatsoever. They're there to be saved and to service the men sexually. That's it. Shane saves Lori; she sleeps with him. ("Oh, Shane. I can't thank you enough for coming with us. Carl and I never would have made it down here on our own. I'll never be able to repay you.") Meanwhile, Dale and Andrea, unlike their father-daughter dynamic on the show, have an ongoing tryst. (Gross.) Maggie offers to f**k Glenn out of nowhere. Carol's sleeping with Tyreese, until Michonne gives him an unsolicited b***job, prompting Carol to slit her wrists in despair! The badass, self-reliant, emotionally complicated versions of Michonne and Carol from the TV series are nowhere to be found here.
Furthermore, the female characters are routinely scolded by the men for being hysterical (which, incidentally, is their only mode of behavior). At one point at the prison, Rick, Dale, Hershel, and Tyreese form a governing committee, and even Rick is taken aback by the lack of women in a leadership role. Dale's response? "Lori, Carol, Andrea, Maggie -- they all said they wanted us in charge. They figure the four of us have pretty much been making the decisions anyway." Yikes...
While we're on the subject, the characterization of the kids is atrocious, too: It's all of the Eww... girls -- gross! variety. Like the adults, Carl has no unique perspective of his own; he just a clichéd depiction of how a grown man (in this case, Kirkman) thinks a child sees the world.
As for the sprawling narrative's structure? Nonexistent. The "plot," such as it is, is full of missed opportunities that the TV writers thankfully recognized and seized on, resequencing events to maximize drama and suspense. Case in point: Shane is pretty much an emotionally unstable liability from the moment Rick reunites with him at camp, and he's killed off long before they ever get to Hershel's farm. At least the TV writers saw a creative opportunity to tease out the suspense in the Rick–Lori–Shane triangle and try to give it a modicum of psychological credibility. We simply don't care that Shane's a psycho in the comics because we haven't had a chance to get to know him, or to really understand the extent of his friendship and history with Rick.
Kirkman has no idea how to pace a story, or how to use revelation to create drama. For instance: Rick at one point suggests to Hershel that his group might be comfortable in Hershel's capacious barn... but Hershel nixes the idea because, ya know, he's got all his zombified friends and neighbors in there. Rather than coming to light in an action sequence as a shocking revelation, it simply gets admitted very openly in causal dialogue. (Not to worry, though: one of those F-word-laden tirades promptly ensues between Rick and Hershel. See? Conflict!) All the great "moments" from the TV series -- the most shocking, thrilling, memorable stuff -- unfolds in the most dramatically stagnant manner in this comic.
Which leads to a larger structural problem: Nothing that happens propels the next turn of events. Rather than being chased out of Hershel's farm by hordes of undead, Rick's group just... leaves. They move on. Hershel then joins them later (for some inexplicable reason) at the prison. Everything just happens -- none of it is motivated by even the slightest measure of causality. It reminds me of that old Rush lyric: "Why does it happen? Because it happens." Consequently, there's no dramatic urgency or narrative structure; the story just goes on and on and on -- and, every once in a great while, a zombie shows up.
No, the TV show has not been perfect, but at least (for the first several seasons) they knew how to put engaging characters in suspenseful scenarios. There's none of that here. Which begs the question: How the hell did this comic ever become such a best-selling phenomenon in the first place? This thing won an Eisner Award? I don't get it. I love the genre, and I loved the TV show, and I went into Compendium One fully wanting and expecting to love it, but this is just a very poor piece of storytelling on every level.
I guess this is where The Walking Dead and I officially part ways. Wish I could say I'm sorry.