They’re not sexy creatures, these zombies. Nope. There’s absolutely nothing alluring about them in AMC’s evocative, suspenseful new series “The Walking Dead.’’ Called simply “walkers,’’ they amble aimlessly in droves through the post-apocalyptic streets of Atlanta, bodies stiff with rigor mortis, skin hanging off their bloodied faces, mouths chomping pointlessly. They have vacant eyes, no souls.
I kind of pity them! As supernatural metaphor, they’re the lowest of the low — duller, even, than trolls. They represent death and decomposition, plain and simple, that’s all. The vampires of Anne Rice and “True Blood,’’ so seductive and hungry for warm blood, epitomize the nexus of sex and eternity. They’re fabulously Byronic. And werewolves — think Taylor Lautner of “Twilight,’’ Joe Manganiello of “True Blood’’ — stand for our animal selves. They’re hot.