So much
of In the Flesh is
heart-on-its-sleeve earnest (and in the case of zombies, that can be more
literal than usual) – people fear openly, mourn openly, yearn openly, and
demand their rights openly. Often, this
results in searing drama and insightful commentary, but it also, occasionally,
means unapologetic humor and surprising life – and when it does, it usually
involves Kieren’s Best Dead Friend Forever Amy.
As a
woefully young woman who died of cancer, Amy couldn’t be more appreciative of
her second chance. She lives her undead
life by eager handfuls, going to the carnival one day and getting buzzed on
sheep’s brains the next. The minute she
meets timid, melancholy Kieren, she fills his life with her breezy attitude and
brash confidence. She’s not about to
waste time apologizing for what she is, so she doesn’t bother. Instead, she stares down segregational barkeeps
with her pale PDS eyes and discusses being undead without the slightest hint of
a filter – her first visit to Kieren’s house is an absolute riot, as she tells
his parents in detail about the gastrointestinal havoc food and drink wreak on
the undead digestive tract (all while Kieren is miming eating dinner for their
benefit.) She revels in going out
without makeup or colored contacts, she cheekily accuses a living man with PDS-related
romantic intentions of “necrophilia,” and in general, she has a blast
challenging people’s assumptions of what PDS is or isn’t.
Amy can
sometimes be “a bit much,” as they say – too loud, too outrageous, too cocksure
– but that’s very intentional on the show’s part. Amy, for the most part, is Amy
Concentrate: supercharged and undiluted,
and that’s frequently terrific, but she’s not quite as buoyant as she sometimes
pretends. Though much of it is just her
natural Amy-ness, a portion of the jocularity and bravado is rooted in
insecurity. There’s this undercurrent of
fear within Amy, a shade of loneliness that she buries beneath noise, gaiety,
and overcompensating humor. She often “narrates”
people’s inner-monologues for them, announcing how desperately attractive they
find her and how hopelessly in love with her they are. It’s arch and over-the-top, big and joking,
but each comment contains a kernel of worry that they don’t care about her at all,
and it’s a sleight-of-hand push to get them to reassure her.
I think
it’s notable that this gregarious young woman doesn’t appear to have any
pre-Rising acquaintances. Kieren has his
family, of course; he was also close with Rick and knows many people in the village. Since Amy’s tombstone is in town, she
presumably lived there before she died, but she lives alone. Her bungalow is empty until she fills it with
Simon and other disciples of the Undead Prophet. What about family and friends from before her
death? Did she have anyone? Did they start to fall back as the cancer ate
away at her, unable to cope? Did they
all disappear in the Rising (maybe some of them at her hand?) We don’t see Amy’s arrival back home – did they
reject her? Whatever the situation, I
think it fuels Amy’s need to be convinced she’s loved, her tendency to cling to
those she cares about.
Oh, and
when she’s forced to work as a (very unwilling) secretary as part of the PDS “give-back”
scheme, she insists on answering the phone with a blasé, “Village of the
damned, how may I help you?” Undead awesome from head to toe.
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