Laughter is contagious:

An exploration of Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Zombieland (2009), examining the use of humour, comic relief, social commentary, and the relevance of zombie-comedies in the face of a global pandemic.

“Take car, go to Mums, Kill Phil (sorry), grab Liz, go to the Winchester, and wait for all this to blow over” (Edgar Wright, 2004).

If we consider how significant comedy, humour and laughter are to our daily lives, then it may be surprising that these are subjects which rarely have a place in philosophical discussions. Perhaps even more surprising is the dim view that many philosophers often had on comedy, such as Plato, who argued that laughter forces us to surrender our self-control. However, despite this negative stance, many people would now argue that comedy is a necessity for maintaining happiness, and that laughter is something everyone depends on to a degree - though perhaps this is only becoming more significant to us now amidst the uncertainty of the coronavirus pandemic. If “interpreting stressful situations as humorous … provides an important psychological coping mechanism for individuals and social groups” (Jääskeläine et al., 2016, p. 1), then it therefore makes sense that in times of difficulty, people will turn to comedy as a way to seek relief. Frampton (2006) argues that going to the cinema “can be a classic wish for escape – a daydream drug” (p. 2), and while we do not currently have the luxury of going to the cinema under national lockdown, the escapism offered by the experience of watching a film is undeniable. It is in these times of stress that the genre of comedy may become more essential to us, however, film is not only important in its capacity to provide escapism; with the high number of comedic pandemic-themed films available, such as Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland (2009), it is important to consider the way in which they also confront us, however comically, with reality.

Although there are few philosophical texts written on humour, there are still some theories as to why we laugh. The three key theories are the Superiority Theory, stemming from the work of Plato, Hobbes and Descartes; the Relief Theory, which stems from the work of Freud; and the Incongruity Theory, originating in the work of Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer and Kant. The Superiority Theory, as suggested by its title, stems from the idea that in order to evoke enjoyment, someone or something must be degraded, and that malicious intent, due to the feeling of superiority one feels when laughing at another person’s misfortune, is the true nature of laughter; “Subject S is amused by object O if and only if S experiences sudden feelings of superiority because of O” (Roberts, 2019, p. 31). The Relief Theory, originally penned by Lord Shaftesbury, speculates on the idea that while experiencing emotion triggers a natural physical response such as how “in fear, the energy produces small-scale movements in preparation for fleeing” ("Philosophy of Humor (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)", 2020), laughter is an automatic nervous response which is untriggered, simply natural. A step beyond the Relief Theory, is the Incongruity Theory, which emphasises the idea that laughter originates from a discrepancy between expectations and reality. Kant defines “laughter [as] an affection arising from the sudden transformation of a strained expectation into nothing” (as cited in Roberts, 2019, p. 32). Kierkegaard endorsed this idea, but also went on to state that laughter originates not just in conflict of expectations and reality, but in contradiction. The Incongruity Theory is perhaps the most relevant to our modern understanding of humour and comedy; if we consider the format of many jokes – ‘the set-up’ and ‘the punchline’ – then we can understand that we are set up to expect one thing, and are delivered something completely different, and it is “here [that] our own disappointed expectation makes us laugh” (Cicero, as cited in "Philosophy of Humor (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)", 2020).

In understanding incongruity as a disagreement between possibility and actuality, we can understand that humour often relies on conflict in order to be considered ‘funny’; “humor enables us to tolerate the tension generated by this opposition” (Amir, 2019, p. 75). Therefore, if tension and disagreement are fundamental to the nature of many jokes, and we understand that humour and laughter can be viewed as a form of physical and psychological relief, then we can assume that negativity – or rather tragedy – has its own place within comedy, providing we use the medium of humour as a system through which we can channel that tragedy. This connection was made by philosophers such as Nietzsche, who said “perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter” (1968). Morreall (2009) points out that when dealing with tragedy, we feel the negative physical and emotional effects of stress – and this does us no good - however through confronting these negativities with humour, we are physically, psychologically and immunologically “enhanced” (p. 82). Throughout the panic of the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, it has been easy to get swept up in the never-ending internet stream of news alerts, government live-streams, constantly-updated death polls and social media posts warning us of a national toilet-roll shortage – leaving the world in a state of panic and stress. As Žižek writes in his new book Pandemic!,

the world as we knew it has stopped turning, whole countries are in a lockdown, many of us are confined to our homes facing an uncertain future in which, even if most of us

survive, economic mega-crisis is likely (2020, p. 85);

not only are we experiencing mass, collective personal trauma through enforced isolation, but our livelihood, jobs, money and futures are all under threat. Considering the tragic nature of this event, it seems natural then that, if we use humour as a crutch to stabilize us as we experience difficulty, we should turn to relatable comedy to help us cope with the abruptness of this hardship.

Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland are both zombie films which take very different, but light-hearted views of a catastrophic pandemic. Shaun of the Dead, set entirely in a small town in England, explores a zombie outbreak from the perspective of 29-year-old salesman Shaun (Simon Pegg), whose existence revolves entirely around going to the pub and playing video games, as he navigates his deteriorating relationship with his girlfriend Liz (Kate Ashfield); his disdain for his Step-Father Philip (Bill Nighy); and the animosity between his housemates Ed (Nick Frost) and Pete (Peter Serafinowicz). Zombieland, on the other hand, spans a number of US states as we follow anxious college loner Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), as he teams up with pro-zombie-killer Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), and the con-artist sister act of Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), on his quest to find his family amidst the zombie apocalypse. Both films were highly successful, which Bishop (2017) believes is due “to the addition of humor to traditional zombie horror, or ‘splatstick’” (as cited in Matheson, p. 51); the humour in both these zombie-comedies originates in the transformation of the tragedy of the zombie apocalypse into something so ridiculous it’s laughable, as displayed in both films through the comedic portrayal of ridiculous zombie-bashings – such as Zombieland’s “zombie kill of the week”, or Shaun of the Dead’s landlord-zombie beating timed perfectly to Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. The humour in these two films is, however, very different. While Shaun of the Dead’s humour comes largely from well-timed, expertly-delivered quips and one-liners, Zombieland’s humour is focused much more on comical (and completely absurd) zombie-killings. However, what is essential to both of these films, beyond the comedic use of violence, is the underlying tragedy not only of the murderous zombie pandemic, but the characters’ personal circumstances throughout the films; Shaun spends much of Shaun of the Dead distraught over his break up, and has to deal with the trauma of killing his mother after she is transformed into a zombie, while in Zombieland, Columbus and Tallahassee must confront the fact that both of their families are dead, and that they do not have a place to call home. “If tragedy is about the fact that people are mortal, then comedy is about the fools we make of ourselves on the way to the grave” (Bishop, 2013); it is due to the pain of these smaller, more mundane, personal tragedies that we get the real laughs.

“The Home Office has issued a statement urging people to stay in their homes and await further instruction” (Wright, 2004).

If we return to the incongruity theory, we can recognize that comedy often reflects the absurd in order to make us laugh. What is unexpected then, is the extent to which both mundane and absurd events in both Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland ring true to, or even downplay, the reality of an pandemic. People have been speculating on what they would do in the event of a zombie apocalypse for years; whether it be barricading themselves inside supermarkets, traveling to the countryside to ‘socially isolate’, or, personally, just accepting that they’re going to become someone’s meal. However, in the event of a real pandemic – albeit not a zombie one – most of us are simply sitting in our homes. The key word here is ‘most’; a recurring joke throughout Zombieland is that, in the midst of the apocalypse, the only thing that interests Tallahassee “more than killing zombies, [is] finding a Twinkie” (Fleischer, 2009). While we laughed as we watched the absurdity of this grown man throwing tantrums over being unable to find his favourite candy, what is shocking is that our frightening reality includes masses of people in over a dozen states across the US, protesting for their right to get a haircut or even to go and play golf (Stopera, 2020), which, considering the global health threat that coronavirus poses, almost seems more dangerous than travelling across Zombieland in search of abandoned candy. A tweet which went viral this week highlights the seriousness with which the coronavirus pandemic should be taken, by rephrasing the ‘protests’ in a humorous, yet blunt, manner;

What zombie movies got wrong about the actual apocalypse, part 1,487: they omitted scenes of people on the street demanding the right to be eaten by zombies (@Kellydavio, 2020).

Edwards (2008) points out that during the news montage sequence in Shaun of the Dead, Shaun and Ed are paying absolutely no attention, and skip right past the broadcast which is about to explain the cause of the zombie outbreak; “it is a universal apathy and lethargy that prevents [information about the zombies] being shared” (p.100). I think it would be fair to say the same of some of the public’s approach to coronavirus, or perhaps, in bearing signs with slogans such as “Freedom Over Safety”, we are instead treating our vulnerable with the same callousness as Tallahassee treats the zombies he slays?

Gutiérrez (2011) asks us to consider if “the presence of humour renders the social commentary aspect of such films [Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland] more pointed” (p.47). One such piece of social commentary picked up by Edwards (2008) is that, despite living through a zombie apocalypse, not much changes in Shaun’s life; “Z-Day solves everything without actually changing anything, both for Shaun and the outside world. The city has been cleaned up [and] society is reuniting over Zombaid efforts” (p. 102). The destruction of society in Shaun of the Dead is minimal; while Boluk & Lenz suggest that “the zombie destroys the conditions under which capitalism can function” (2010, p. 139), Shaun of the Dead displays circumstances rather differently as zombies end up becoming ‘slaves’ to capitalism instead, finding their social standing to be “something of a mixture between pet and slave” (Boluk & Lens, 2010, p. 139). This idea of a returned, fully-functioning society is one that we cannot quite relate to; while coronavirus has already hugely impacted economies globally, it is still too early to predict the ways in which our lives will be permanently altered, post-virus. It is undeniable, however, that in some (socially distant) ways, we have been brought together. Žižek (2020) stresses that

It is difficult to miss the supreme irony of the fact that what has brought us all together and promoted global solidarity expresses itself at the level of everyday life in strict commands to avoid close contacts with others, even to self-isolate (p. 42).

While Shaun of the Dead may provide us with the humour of a whole society being mostly unaffected by a zombie outbreak, our reality is much bleaker – “We are caught in a triple crisis: medical (the epidemic itself), economic (which will hit hard whatever the outcome of the epidemic), and psychological” (Žižek, 2020, p. 90) - and therefore it is much harder to find our situation funny. Zombieland is the polar opposite to Shaun of the Dead in that it is a catastrophic showcase of how things may never be normal again. In the opening monologue, Columbus announces that “[He wishes he] could tell [us] that this was still America, but [he’s] come to realize that you can't have a country without people. And there are no people here” (Fleischer, 2009). Kelly (2013) describes Colombus’ view of Zombieland as “emotionally distanced or mediated” (p. 99); he argues that the characters’ detachment from normality and reality in Zombieland manifests in comedic violence. Tallahassee smashes up trucks in anger and takes great pleasure in creatively killing zombies by chopping off their heads with garden shears and smashing their faces with metal poles. The zombies in Zombieland are clearly considered to be nothing more than vicious, murderous, yet empty, bodies. Bodies, but not people; therefore ‘justifying’ the violence performed against them, “for entertainment’s sake” (Kelly, 2013, p.98), in the eyes of the characters. The comedic stance from which this violence is shown takes us back to the relief theory; Tallahassee’s violent outbursts expel his rage, while our laughter at his ridiculousness expels the stress we experience during more tense zombie fight sequences.

Both the Incongruity Theory and the Relief Theory are important to consider when we think about the coronavirus pandemic. While for many, this pandemic may be a time to find peace, learn new hobbies, and grow as individuals, for many others this time of uncertainty is terrifying, consuming and inescapable. As Žižek (2020) points out; “no matter how magnificent the spiritual edifices we, humanity, construct, a stupid natural contingency like a virus or an asteroid can end it all” (p. 52). In the face of this pessimism, how or where, do we find hope in these times, then? It is important to consider the way our viewing experience may change when the conditions under which we watch a film also change. Zombie films, pandemic films and post-apocalyptic films all serve a particular purpose – whether to amuse, to frighten or simply to entertain. Despite having watched Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland countless times before however, there was something unsettling watching them again, alone in my flat, acutely aware that outside my door there too is a deadly virus. While the humour still provided amusement, I also couldn’t help but compare aspects of the films – such as news reports “urging people to stay in their homes” (Wright, 2004) – to reality. On online fan forums dedicated to ‘The Cornetto Trilogy’ (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz (2007), and The World’s End (2013)), other people have made these same connections, and have showcased them through the creation of memes.

(Jai Downes, 'Three Flavours CornettoPosting', 11 March 2020.)

A 2020 study on the role of emotion in the use of internet memes suggested that “depressive memes may even lead an individual to recognise that they are not alone in the experience of their symptoms” (Umair et al, 2020). The above meme, and many other like it, is evidence that, in some capacity or another, people are turning to pandemic films as a way of coping with their circumstances. Considering the uncertainty surrounding both the virus itself, and our circumstances regarding lockdown and isolation, it makes sense that people would not only turn to films which depict a similar situation, but rather a situation that is much more extreme than our own; there is relief the realisation that, while coronavirus is a frightening and deadly virus, we won’t be chased down the street when we head out to do our daily exercise. Amir (2019), points out that “humour’s intrinsic relations with fear, guilt, shame and anger, together with its characteristic distancing from them all, make it a conceptual tool appropriate for handling complexity” (p. 174-175); as there is very little we can do to understand or better our circumstances, at the very least, we can laugh in the face of it.

There is no doubt that, as we sit indoors worrying that this pandemic will never end, we must do everything we can to cheer ourselves up, distract ourselves from feeling overwhelmed, or lost, and try to remain sane. Whether that be through socialising via online platforms, picking up new hobbies, or watching comedy films - self-care is crucial at this time. While zombie-comedies might provide us with an amusing outlook on a global pandemic, the idea that this genre might provide us with an outlet for our worries is maybe just one step too far. Though humour may be our crutch while we process our fear, it does not always extinguish it; for some, the comedic nature of these films may completely alleviate stress and fear, and for others, all these films may do is serve as a stark reminder that, however much we’d like to forget it, we are living in the midst of a global catastrophe. Though Shaun of the Dead might give us some relief when it reminds us that our personal ideas of ‘normality’ have hope of returning, it also tells us of the loss many will suffer on the way. And while Zombieland’s aggressive and violent comedy might provide an outlet for our discomfort, it also displays a stark reminder that things may never be the same again. Perhaps our best bet in these times, is to follow the advice of Colombus’ rulebook for surviving a zombie apocalypse: “Rule #32: Enjoy the little things” (Fleischer, 2009)”.

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