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Rethinking Horror
in the New Economies
of Television
Stella Marie Gaynor
Rethinking Horror in the New Economies
of Television
 Stella Marie Gaynor

Rethinking Horror in
the New Economies
of Television
Stella Marie Gaynor
University of Salford
Manchester, UK

ISBN 978-3-030-97588-3    ISBN 978-3-030-97589-0 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97589-0

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For Owen, Eimear, and The Monster Squad
 Preface

One evening in 2013, I was idly flicking through the television channels,
and I accidentally encountered The Walking Dead for the first time. I
knew of the series, but living in the UK and with only terrestrial television
available in my home, I had not yet seen it. I watched the rest of the epi-
sode, what turned out to be the finale of the second season, and watched
a zombie horde attack and bloodily chomp through various screaming
characters. As the credits rolled, I wondered what this kind of thing was
doing on television. As a horror fan, I usually got all my horror content
from film. Later that year, at a friend’s house, I saw an episode of American
Horror Story, again from its second season. Set in an asylum, all manner of
horror codes appeared to have been compressed into this one episode:
there was a thunder and lightning storm, inmates trying to escape, weird
zombie creatures outside, a nun possessed by the devil, a mad scientist,
and all set against the backdrop of the gloomy and claustrophobic asylum.
I was very curious about this horror that I was seeing from US television
channels. It was violent, it was gory, it was unlike anything I had seen on
television before. So, I decided to investigate.
That investigation developed into my doctoral thesis, in which I found
that while TV was no stranger to horror, there was a marked difference in
what I was seeing in The Walking Dead, American Horror Story, and the
rest that followed. Crucially, it became clear that wider industrial forces
had much to play in what I was seeing as an identifiable cycle of TV hor-
ror, and so a more thorough exploration of horror on TV after The Walking
Dead was required, and so became this book. Horror scholarship has for
many a decade produced valuable work considering the genre and its

vii
viii PREFACE

innermost secrets, exploring what the horror genre tells us about the
human condition, our fears and desires, and what we might not know
about ourselves. As horror on television was developing, this area of study
into the metaphors and allegories of TV horror was being well covered,
but my initial question, or rather, my initial puzzling over what this kind
of thing was doing on TV, drove my approach of considering these horror
texts from an industrial perspective.
The configuration of the US television industry had brought forth so
many iconic series by 2010 and The Walking Dead, each one well exam-
ined and explored: The Sopranos (HBO, 1999–2007), The Wire (HBO,
2002–2008), True Blood (HBO, 2008–2014), and Nip/Tuck (FX,
2003–2010). It seemed that many conversations with my friends revolved
around what expensive, long-form, American TV drama they were watch-
ing and would each insist that I watch it too. That television drama was
eliciting such excited chat as any new film release, alongside the surprise
on my part that these conversations about TV shows were also including
horror, revealed to me that exploration as to what was going on in the
television industry that was including horror in its glossy and big budget
series was much needed.
As scholarship in the 2010s regarding the television industry was alight
in its haste to unravel and understand the rapid changes and shifts that
were occurring, as Video on Demand services forced more traditional
channels to sit up and look lively, it was clear that this cycle of horror
would hold significance to the quickly changing television industry and
vice versa. When considering horror on TV for this book, two areas of
academic thinking needed to be pushed together: television studies and
horror studies. When I started this project, the most comprehensive study
on TV horror was TV Horror: Investigating the Darker Side of the Small
Screen, by Lorna Jowett and Stacey Abbott in 2013. That book was crucial
in my own understanding of horror and its place on television. Jowett and
Abbott’s book is a richly detailed look at horror as a stalwart of television,
always there, but sometimes in disguise. This cycle of horror that had
grabbed my attention, kicked off by The Walking Dead, was bold, proud,
and, as this book shows, part of an arms race of drama series, violence,
gore, and boundary pushing genre exploitation. Similarly, The Television
Will Be Revolutionized, Second Edition, from Amanda D. Lotz in 2014,
lays out the television landscape and its trials, tribulations, and continuous
ability to adapt. This formed the bedrock of my industrial approach and
the way I was to think about the horror genre in its contemporary form
 PREFACE ix

on US television. It is my hope and intention that my book does these two

seminal works proud, by considering the horror genre on TV in all its
developing possibilities as Jowett and Abbott demonstrated, and how the
wider forces of the television industry impact the content it produces and
distributes, as Lotz so carefully and clearly explained.
My research for this project focussed on the cycle of horror found on
US television in the 2010s and has led me to develop my own comprehen-
sive understanding of the horror genre in this TV form and the inner
workings of the industry. I am not making the case that horror on televi-
sion should rival horror film, but instead that horror on television be
brought into the larger fold of the screen horror canon, and to argue that
horror is a cornerstone of US TV, and is worthy of exploration within the
language of television studies. As the series under scrutiny in this book
variously launched, created spin offs, got cancelled, or got given second
life on other services, the horror cycle that exploded onto the small screen
in 2010 looks set to continue, bringing zombies, vampires, ghosts, and
machete wielding maniacs to television. And I for one, will continue to
enjoy it.

Manchester, UK Stella Marie Gaynor

2021
 Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the team at Palgrave Macmillan for supporting me

throughout this process and for the opportunity to complete this project.
This book originated in my doctoral thesis at The University of Salford, so
I would like to thank my supervisors, Professor Andy Willis and Dr
Anthony N. Smith, for supporting me then, and still supporting me now,
years later. There are many horror academics whom I have looked up to
from my time as an undergraduate, who have now become firm friends.
They are too many to mention, but the horror community in academia is
unfailingly warm, welcoming and supportive. Thank you to you all. Special
thanks to Dr. Shellie McMurdo, Dr. Laura Mee, Dr. Craig Mann, and Dr.
Thomas Joseph Watson, for being the best horror squad a person could
ask for. Extra thanks to my friends and family, who are always cheering me
on in all my endeavours. And finally, thank you to my husband, Owen
Gaynor, and my daughter, Eimear Gaynor, for their support, patience, and
preparedness to listen to me chatter on (and on) about horror.

xi
 Contents

1 Introduction  1
Bibliography  19

Part I Cable Television  23

2 The Rise of TV Horror 25

AMC: American Movie Classics  26
AMC Drama Strategy  27
AMC and The Walking Dead  29
The Walking Dead and Tensions Between TV and Horror  33
The Walking Dead and Advertising  35
Genre and Drama  37
Season One: October 2010–November 2010  37
Season Two: October 2011–March 2012  38
Season Three: October 2012–March 2013  39
Season Four: October 2013–March 2014  41
Season Five: October 2014–March 2015  42
Season Six: October 2015–April 2016  42
Season Seven: October 2016–April 2017  43
Bibliography  45

xiii
xiv Contents

3 Horror and Peak TV 49

FX and Fearless Horror  51
American Horror Story: Murder, Monsters, and Madness  53
Ryan Murphy’s Merry-Go-Round of Horror  55
The Vampire, the Parasite, and the Medical Procedure in The
Strain  58
What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie?  62
Seasons One and Two: A Very Simple Formula  63
The Rules of a Trilogy  65
Bibliography  68

4 TV Horror and Technical Excellence 73

Splatters, Decapitations, and Walkers-of-the-Week  76
Horror in the Public Eye  82
Del Toro’s Creatures  84
American Horror Story: A Circus of Horrors  86
Addiction and Realism in Hotel and Cult  89
Bibliography  92

Part II Internet-Distributed and Pay Subscription Television  95

5 Netflix and Data-Driven Horror 97

Netflix and Original Drama  98
Data-Driven Horror 101
Three Trailers, Three Horrors 103
Trailer 1: “Allies and Enemies” 105
Trailer 2: “Blood Ties” 105
Trailer 3: “Monsters Within” 106
Revisiting Classic Monsters 107
The Werewolf Transformation 108
Plotting a Horror Through a Portal 111
A Broad Spectrum of Horror Experiences 111
Experimenting with Ghosts 114
Horror Docudrama 116
A Breathless Apocalypse 119
Horror on Netflix Diversifies 120
Bibliography 124
 Contents  xv

6 Shudder and the Specific Niche129

Maintaining Subscribers 132
Digital Urban Legend: Shudder and Creepypasta 134
An Uncanny Nostalgia 137
Going to the Drive-In 140
The New Sound 142
Experimentation and Neo-Noir 144
The Sound is Everything 146
A Beloved Franchise and the Horror Family 147
Practical Authenticity 149
Creepshow and the Horror Cycle 151
Bibliography 153

7 The Brand, the Gothic, the Cult, and the Iconic157

The Iconic Gothic 158
Everyone Knows Who Dracula Is 159
The Gothic Prestige 161
Plenty of Sex Please, They’re British 163
Attention Grabbing Gothic 165
King of The Cult 166
A Cult of Personality 167
Feeding the Deadites 170
Splatstick: A Side-Splitting Bloodbath 171
Big Brand Horror 174
Horror, Mystery, and Shawshank? 176
Bibliography 179

Part III Network Television 183

8 Established Horror185
Thursday Night Must See TV 186
Dinner Is Served 188
The Horror Procedural 189
“Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight?” 191
Broadcast Body Horror 193
Broadcast Horror and Broadcast Ratings 195
Broadcast Bites 197
xvi Contents

Dracula and Van Helsing? 199

Life After Death 201
The CW: Comic World 204
A Rom-Com-Zom-Dram 204
Bibliography 208

9 Renegotiating Horror213
Fox and the Horror Cycle 214
The Cultural Renegotiation of Horror 215
Promoting Scream Queens: Season One 216
Season Premiere and Ratings Spin 217
The Expansion of Scream Queens Second Season 218
The Slasher and Scream Queens: Building on the Classics 219
The Slasher: Trash or Classic? 221
Scream Queens and Intertextuality: What Fresh Hell Is This? 222
Murder and Homage 223
The Power of Controversy Compels You 226
Capitalizing on Controversy 227
The Exorcist on Fox: Legacy and Homage 229
The Devil Is in the Detail 231
Ratings, Renewals, and Risks 233
Horror: A Cornerstone of US Television 234
Bibliography 236

10 Conclusion241
Bibliography 245

Index247
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

On US television in 2005, there were two dramas on air that could be

considered horror: Supernatural (The WB/The CW 2005–2020) and
Masters of Horror (Showtime 2005–2007). In 2015, there were twenty
horror dramas on air.1 In the decade between 2005 and 2015, twenty-five
new horror series launched on US television. In 2015 alone, seven new
horror dramas were launched (iZombie, The CW 2015–2019; Scream
Queens, Fox 2015–2017; The Returned, A&E 2015; Fear the Walking
Dead, AMC 2015–; Scream: The TV Series, MTV/VH1 2015–2019; South
of Hell, WE tv 2015; Ash V Evil Dead, Starz 2015–2018). The year 2016
saw four further horror series (The Exorcist, Fox 2016–2018; Damien,
A&E 2016; Stranger Things, Netflix 2016–; and Outcast, Cinemax
2016–2017) and the launch of subscription service Shudder, a video on
demand (VOD) service dedicated to horror. This increase from two series
to twenty illustrates steep growth for the horror genre on television, and
this book seeks to understand how and why there was such a stark increase
in horror content across US TV and what impact the quickly shifting
industrial economies and structures have on contemporary horror serial-
ization. This book takes an industrial perspective on a clear cycle of horror
that presented on US television in the decade 2010–2020, shifting the
debate away from the dominant frameworks of psychoanalytical and socio-­
political paradigms. There has been horror on television before, as far back
as 1966 horror was appearing in the daytime soap opera Dark Shadows
(ABC 1966–1971), featuring vampires, ghosts, and witches. Horror over

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
S. M. Gaynor, Rethinking Horror in the New Economies of
Television, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97589-0_1
2 S. M. GAYNOR

the proceeding decades saw several monster-of-the-week and anthology

shows: some of which were structured using narrators (Rod Sterling’s
Night Gallery, NBC 1970–1973; Alfred Hitchcock Presents, NBC
1985–1990; and Tales from the Crypt, HBO 1989–2007) and others
worked with closed narratives (The Sixth Sense, ABC 1972; Kolchak: The
Night Stalker, ABC 1974–1975; The Next Step Beyond, ABC 1978–1979;
and Darkroom, ABC 1981–1982). Frequently appearing were made for
TV movies or single plays (Duel, ABC 1971; The Strange Possession of Mrs.
Oliver, NBC 1977; The Haunting Passion, NBC 1984). Serialized horror
with long story arcs has also appeared before on US television (Werewolf,
Fox 1987–1988; Forever Knight, CBS/USA 1992–1996; American
Gothic, CBS 1995–1996; and Kindred: The Embraced, Fox 1996). TV
horror has also remade and borrowed from horror films (Friday the 13th:
The Series, Syndicated release 1987–1990; Freddy’s Nightmares: A
Nightmare on Elm Street: The Series, The WB 1988–1990; and Poltergeist:
The Legacy, Showtime/SyFy 1996–1999). This is not an exhaustive list of
all the horror that has been on US television, but it demonstrates that hor-
ror has been consistent over the decades and across the tiers and differing
economies of television.
The US television industry is a continuously fluctuating landscape, and
in the years before the decade that is the focus of this book, the 2010s,
there was a clear tension between horror and TV: horror was a genre that
was much maligned by critics and viewed as a genre that only film and the
cinema screen could do justice. Horror was meant to be unsettling, scary,
graphic, and outrageous. All the things that horror fans want were pre-
cisely the things that advertiser-funded network television was reluctant to
provide. Instead of graphic gore and jump scares, TV horror had to be
suggestive, atmospheric, and prone to cutting away from moments of
intense horror. Of course, horror does not have to be graphic to be con-
sidered horror, and what is frightening is subjective, but television gener-
ally lacked the capacity or ambition to make rich horror texts; therefore,
the horror that was on the small screen was found to be lacking (King
1981; Hills 2005). In the 1960s and 1970s, horror film was judged to be
barely better than pornography and was viewed as a genre that pandered
to the most basic of human emotions. This view of horror as base and
demoralizing was compounded by intimate close-ups of the insides of
human bodies and bodily fluids splattering all over the scene (Clover
1992; Zinoman 2011). Horror was aligned with many negative
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

associations; from its pornographic treatment of the body, reducing the

body to an object of violence, to the (allegedly) shallow plot lines and
unsophisticated teenage audience, horror was not a viable prospect for
television.
However, shifts in the television landscape, both economic and techno-
logical, opened the door to the horror cycle identified in the years
2010–2020. Broadly, why would there be a steep growth in horror drama
in the years 2010–2020? Why would a genre that had proven to be prob-
lematic in the past become so popular? While the conditions of the TV
industry allowed for the door to be opened for horror, it remained a chal-
lenging genre in the early stages of the decade. Horror had been a feature
of television before the 2010s, and previous scholars have commented on
the ability for horror (and fantasy, science fiction, and the Gothic) to be a
space on television where writers, directors, and visual effects departments
can experiment (Johnson 2005; Wheatley 2006; Pearson 2010). As
Hollywood groans under the weight of franchises and sprawling story-
worlds, many Hollywood creatives are suffering from “franchise fatigue.”
Jeremy Zimmer, CEO of United Talent Agency, said to The Atlantic, “a
bunch of writers that have been disenfranchised by the movie business
have gone into television” (Green 2013). Television offers wide ranges of
drama subjects and the space to develop multiple characters and themes,
and such opportunity for complexity has allowed for the development of
long-form horror. Despite many channels and online subscription services
enjoying success with horror TV series from 2010, in the early years of the
decade, there was still a tendency in the press for executives, producers,
showrunners, and critics to distance themselves from the more notorious
horror films or subgenres. Speaking in 2013, FOX21 President Ben Salke
was sure that we would not see “blood and guts at the SAW level […]
unless it’s on one of the pay channels like HBO or Showtime” (Neel
2013). The trade press, likewise, was keen to distance itself and the show
it was reviewing positively away from the perceived depravity of certain
subgenres. Reviewing American Horror Story (FX 2011–) in The Hollywood
Reporter, critic Lesley Goldberg was insistent that despite the show being
very graphic, it definitely “isn’t SAW” (2011). The “blood and guts” that
Salke did not see possible unless on premium channels eventually revealed
itself on cable and attracted much criticism from the Parents Television
Council. As much as SAW (Wan, 2003) was an oft-cited touchstone of
degradation that any TV horror might want to distance itself from, the
4 S. M. GAYNOR

premiere of the seventh season of The Walking Dead (AMC 2010–), epi-
sode 7.01 “The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be,” featured a long
and protracted scene that critics likened to torture porn. TV critic in Forbes
Erik Kain said of the episode:

Tonight’s killing was tasteless and gory and gross. It left audiences reeling,
myself included […] like the episode left me unclean, dirty, sick to my stom-
ach. I’m not sure if this was great drama, or just torture porn. I’m not sure
how to feel, only that it feels wrong. (2016)

Horror on US television developed quickly between 2010 and 2020,

and to fully explore the position of horror during this spike in production,
it is crucial first to understand how US television developed into the con-
figuration it was in by 2010.
Television in the United States developed in fits and starts in the 1940s
and 1950s, evolving from radio and local television stations, with 83.2% of
homes being able to receive broadcast television by the mid-1950s. From
the start, US television was built on a commercial model, with The Big
Three networks dominating the burgeoning industry—ABC, CBS, and
NBC. Such commercial drives were and are entrenched in US culture and
its economic powers. Driven by the capitalist urges of the post-war US
society, William Boddy notes that this commercial thinking led to a
“remarkably consistent and enduring set of ideas about the general nature
and function of the television medium” (Boddy 2004, 192). This configu-
ration remained for decades, and in Amanda D. Lotz’s model (2014), is
the network era, defined by an economic structure that is reliant on adver-
tising. The Big Three were and still are obliged to the needs and wants of
advertisers who seek to sell through the medium of television. The net-
works are privately owned and seek to make a profit by the selling of
advertisement time slots inside their programming. In the network era,
the demand for as big a share of the viewing population as possible influ-
enced what the content would and could be (Lotz 2014). Prior to the rise
of cable channels and the forthcoming additional free-to-air networks, the
content produced by the Big Three was still (broadly, with some notable
exceptions) bound to the notion of broadcast, and broadcasting to around
a third of the viewing audience each. Programming at this time was at the
mercy of the advertisers, who, wanting to sell as much as possible, aimed
their products and so the TV content to reach broadly across the audience.
Genre content was limited, and the audience became accustomed to TV
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

that consisted of cop shows, sitcoms, and game shows. To appeal and
reach broadly across the nation, networks and the advertisers that funded
them had to assume that inside the homes where their show was airing,
the entire family could be sat around the television. The “imagined audi-
ence,” Ien Ang explains, is “institutionally produced.” The industry’s idea
of who is watching their shows, and in turn, who is watching the advertise-
ments, is not necessarily who is actually watching (1991, 3). At this stage
of television’s development, for the networks and advertisers their focus
was on achieving high numbers of viewers overall, rather than specific
groups within those numbers. With only three channels to choose from,
that “imagined audience” had to be gently entertained and not be alien-
ated, offended, or inclined to switch over or switch off entirely. This led to
a policy of what NBC Executive Paul Klein called Least Objectionable
Programming, creating programming that would be the least likely to
offend, keeping shows formulaic and unlikely to push any boundaries
(Primetime TV: The Decision Makers, ABC 1974). Klein described the
audience as consuming the medium rather than individual or specific pro-
gramming. Combining this with the “imagined audience” means that at
this time, in the network era, horror drama was difficult to place on televi-
sion. It may well offend and it may well cause viewers to change channel
or switch off entirely.
But the Big Three would not hold dominance forever. From its incep-
tion in 1986, the free-to-air broadcast network Fox set itself apart by tar-
geting a younger audience. As “the great generational divide [began to
open] up between baby boomers and their parents, networks discovered
the youth market” (Hilmes 2001, 264). Particularly during the early
1990s, Fox “made a strong pitch to African American viewers, an audience
the three major networks ordinarily ignored” (Curtin and Shattuc 2009,
25). Fox brought to light that there were other, valuable viewers, not just
the white, middle-class “imagined audience.” The industry dominance
during the network era of the Big Three and Least Objectionable
Programming was coming to an end.
Spanning from the mid-1980s to the start of the 2000s, the multi-­
channel transition (Lotz 2014) saw the arrival of the Fox network in 1986,
The WB and UPN in 1995, and an influx of cable channels all now fight-
ing for a share of the audience. The growth of cable was rapid and was set
in motion by two major factors: industry deregulation and the increasing
use of satellite technology to transmit television. In the 1970s, cable
growth was restricted by Federal Communications Commission (FCC)
6 S. M. GAYNOR

rules that prevented cable channels from showing programming made by

the free-to-air networks (Satell 2015). The 1984 Cable Communications
Policy Act allowed cable companies to charge whatever rates they wanted
for their services, meaning that cable could increase their revenue and
spread their reach. The mass uptake of satellite television also encouraged
this; after HBO showed the legendary boxing match between Ali and
Frazier (the “Thrilla in Manila”), television pioneer Ted Turner uplinked
his station WTBS to the same satellite. Showing documentaries, films, and
a small number of original programming, Turner’s station was very similar
to modern-day HBO (Zaretsky 1995). The next ten years saw huge
growth for cable, with ninety-four cable channels available by 1994. The
numbers of households subscribing to cable had been rising steadily, with
only 8% in 1970, up to 23% by 1980 (53 million households), and over
65 million households by the end of the 1990s. This rapid shift caused
significant anxiety at the Big Three broadcast networks, losing as they
were their solid one-third share of the audience. Most of the cable adop-
tion was taking place in more affluent homes, those with disposable
income. For the advertisers, the value of broadcast network commercial
slots was decreasing (Dunleavy 2009). If the viewers with the disposable
income were moving over to cable, then less of them would be watching
the broadcast networks. This anxiety over the loss of audience share led to
more demographic thinking, seeking out specific audience groups rather
than simply large numbers of viewers. Both networks and cable channels
began to make the most of their audience share by targeting programming
at specific demographic groups.
Lotz (2014) marked the development of television into three distinct
periods: network era, multi-channel transition, and the post-network era
(a period seeing even wider choices, a decentring of the locations of view-
ing, and an emphasis on viewer choice over traditional scheduling). But
there are other approaches to understanding the shifts in television. John
Ellis in 2000 (with a focus on UK TV, but still comparable to the United
States) motioned that television be broken down into an initial period of
scarcity, then increasing availability, and a more contemporary period of
plenty. While Ellis is considering the periodic history of television via the
increase of channel availability, others, like Lotz, expand the focus to chart
the development of distribution and the funding of television. Rogers,
Epstein, and Reeves (2002) coined the TVI, TVII, and TVIII model with
a focus on how US television has developed via funding and distribution.
TVI saw the three-network oligopoly of production, distribution,
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

transmission, and domination of audience and ratings, driving revenue via

advertising; TVII saw how the oligopoly was dismantled by the rise of
cable and demographic thinking. Importantly for Reeves et al., TVI and
TVII saw television funded by “second-order commodity relations,” as
the purchasing of the products advertised on television provided the mon-
etary capital to fund content. TVIII brings the shift in distribution allow-
ing for “first-order commodity” whereby viewers pay for content directly
via subscription or video on demand. The shift to “first-order” and TVIII,
or the post-network era, is in part driven by technological developments:
increasing bandwidth capabilities, the rise of smartphones, tablets, and so
on. But “technology does not determine historical change, because the
socio-cultural and industrial significance of any technology is shaped by
policy, market conditions and broader social and cultural factors” (Johnson
2012, 8). This study of horror on television in the 2010s will be mindful
of the factors that have contributed to the various periodic understandings
of the development of US television—technology, audience fragmentation
and increasing choice, self-scheduling habits borne out of direct purchase
viewing via VOD services—and applies these developments to the explo-
ration of the progression and growth of long-form, serial horror drama. I
shall not be defining the period of horror drama under discussion by what
might be considered as TVIV, as Mareike Jenner refers (self-admittedly)
hyperbolically to, as these historical divisions while helpful should only be
“understood as broad guideposts” (Jenner 2016, 259). Instead, this book,
as I shall explain later in this chapter, will be divided by economic model,
and it will be organized by the catalyst for the development of horror in
the 2010s: The Walking Dead and cable TV. Jenner rightly points out that
attempting to pinpoint a moment where a shift in television happened is
difficult, I suggest that while broader industrial shifts are harder to map
onto specific moments, a more focused consideration of shifts in industrial
attitudes to certain genres—in this case, horror—can be identified and
further problematizes attempts to make distinctions in periods of televi-
sion. This book is not discussing horror chronologically in the 2010s, but
in a way that situates horror in TV ecology and strategy, with many of the
variables that have previously been used to historically divide periods of
TV development brought to bear on the exploration of this period of hor-
ror drama. The notion of plenty, or indeed too much TV, developing
VOD technologies, viewer habits and fan practices, industrial response
and strategy, alongside textual analysis of a selection of TV horror, will be
employed to consider the decade as more of a web, or matrix, of horror
8 S. M. GAYNOR

drama. With this in mind then, I want to lay out the development of
genre-led drama in the years preceding the 2010s.
The spread of cable channels heralded the drift away from Least
Objectionable Programming and the inherent limitations of being funded
purely by advertising revenue. Cable channels like ESPN and Nickelodeon
were appearing and developing the strategy of narrowcasting, dedicated to
their genres and their audiences. The 1984 Cable Act marked the start of
a period of huge investment into cable and an explosion of channels which
carried on into the 1990s. By the early 1990s, 57% of homes had cable
subscriptions. By 1999, the amount of cable had almost tripled, with 171
available channels. A cable channel is part advertiser supported in addition
to cable carrier fees paid by the distributers for the license to carry a par-
ticular channel. Here presents a model alternative to broadcast networks
that both influenced and encouraged a more creative environment which
generated more diverse programming. Cable channels still must satisfy
advertisers, but they do not fall under the FCC, a congressional statute
that regulates and monitors television and other media communications.
Cable channels self-regulate, defining their own moral, ethical, and legal
implications of the content that they make in their own in-house
Broadcasting Standards & Practices Departments. The new influx of chan-
nels in turn promoted the increasingly aggressive competitive environ-
ment to draw in and keep audiences. Because cable sits outside the FCC,
they have “motivation and courage to rewrite the rules of hitherto risk-­
averse commissioning processes” (Dunleavy 2009, 231). Cable channels
developed inventive dramas in order to build their share of the audience,
and networks were forced to do the same to protect their share. Both net-
works and advertisers could see the types of content that was being pro-
duced on cable and which valuable sections of the audience such content
was attracting. The TV industry was shifting quickly, from around 1996
onwards (Lotz 2017); TV drama was turning to niche rather than over-
whelming popularity and genre experimentation rather than repeating for-
mulas. Drama became a competitive tool to attract and maintain viewership,
to “engender ‘addictive’ rather than merely ‘appointment’ viewing”
(Dunleavy 2009, 212). Channels and services were offering content that
viewers would actively “seek out and specifically desire” (Lotz 2017, 12).
Such dedication from viewers represented for networks, cable channels,
and subscription services tremendous economic value.
Across network and cable, the use of drama as a tool to stand out in the
increasingly cluttered environment encouraged experimentation with
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

genre programming. Channels were aiming for a smaller but intensely

loyal fan base that could be targeted with specific advertisements. The late
1990s and early 2000s saw an influx of genre programming, with shows
like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (The WB/UPN 1997–2003), Lost (ABC
2004–2010), and Heroes (NBC 2006–2010). These shows represented a
shift away from the previous ratings and critical successes, the “real” dra-
mas (i.e., not fantastical) and procedural and medical dramas like CSI
(CBS 2000–2015) or ER (NBC 1994–1999). The rapidly increasing
numbers of channels and the competition and experimentation this pro-
duced widened the margins of genres made for TV, which began to open
the door for horror to also become a viable, valuable prospect for net-
works and cable channels. In addition to the shifts in television, technolo-
gies and communications were developing that encouraged fan engagement
and loyalty to dramas. Budding Internet and fan forums had much to do
with the success of shows like Lost and Heroes. The increase of these and
other genre dramas dovetailed perfectly with the rise of social media. On
the widespread chatter and discussion generated by the season one finale
of Lost, producer and showrunner Carlton Cuse said:

There was this unforeseen confluence of events where we were making a

show that was perfect for discussion and debate, just at the moment where
the internet was evolving into a place where people were forming communi-
ties where they could have those discussions and debates. (Sepinwall
2013, 176)

That audiences were engaged to the point of forming communities

online around a TV drama developed the rise of this kind of serialized
content. This increasing innovation and dynamism that was being had with
the very “syntax of television” (Angelini and Booy 2010) began to further
experiment with what could be done with genre on TV. These shows were
also hits at other events like Comic-Con, and these venues became:

A crucial market for the networks and studios to premiere new programs
and garner fan loyalty […] networks might hope for the large broadcast
figures associated with mainstream television, but they also want their shows
to generate the audience commitment associated with [genre program-
ming]. (Abbott 2010, 1)

These types of programming, including horror as it rose from 2010,

were fulfilling ambitions that pleased the TV industry and the TV
10 S. M. GAYNOR

audience. They provided valuable and loyal fans, and narratives and con-
tent that experimented with genre conventions and provided new story-
worlds that fans and writers could play with.
While network and cable are (at varying degrees) reliant on advertiser
funding, subscription channels and services require an additional fee on
top of the monthly cable bill. The subscription fee is the foundation of the
funding that these channels—HBO, Showtime, Starz, Cinemax, and now
online services like Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, and Shudder—receive.
In turn, these channels and services are commercial free. This autonomy
from advertising lends itself to creative freedom. Subscription channels
can offer content that is allegedly more daring than what can usually be
found on network or cable. Not being advertiser supported, HBO makes
money by way of four revenues. The extra fee viewers pay on their cable
bill and owning 100% of their content so licensing and syndication reve-
nue falls fully to HBO. HBO also makes significant revenue from the
DVD and merchandising market. Despite the lack of commercial breaks,
HBO still makes money from paid product placement. This business
model ensures for HBO that they have ample returns with which to fund
their dramas, alongside other content (documentaries, made for TV fea-
tures, sports rights, and acquisitions for their movie library). It is the origi-
nal drama which attracts and keeps the viewers. HBO’s hands-off approach
grants more creative autonomy to its staff which in turn attracts the talent
from Hollywood (Dunleavy 2009). In 1996, HBO tagged itself with “It’s
Not TV, It’s HBO,” implying that its content is a qualitative cut above the
rest. This suggestion that HBO is for the discerning is both rooted in its
economic model and in the original drama it creates. Dunleavy notes that
HBO’s output is:

Serious drama [which] refers less to the content or subject of an individual

drama than it does to what writers call the ‘treatment’ of a given subject, and
to the pursuit of a ‘no holds barred’ creative attitude. (2009, 29)

This treatment can be seen in the catalogue of HBO’s dramas, from the
crime and cop show The Wire (HBO, 2002–2008) or the Western in
Deadwood (HBO 2004–2006). Both established TV subject matters and
genres but dealt with the HBO way. Importantly for the development of
horror, HBO brought the series True Blood (HBO 2008–2014). While
the vampire series was not new to television, True Blood brought the vam-
pire out of its relatively clean TV persona. Before True Blood, small-screen
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

vampires when staked would quickly burn to ash, or vanish in a puff of

smoke, which was all the previous network era and its least objectionable
strategy could afford. The “true death” of vampires in True Blood shows
the moment in full exploding gore:

It brings to bear all the elements, meanings and themes of the genre in a
spectacular display of excess, using vampires as a means to push the bound-
aries of television by placing all of the text and the sub-text of the genre out
in the open, on our television screens like never before. (Jowett and Abbott
2013, 132)

Like Deadwood, or The Wire, True Blood embodies HBO’s drama strat-
egy: take existing TV forms and push their boundaries, bending and twist-
ing them into new and sometimes rebellious forms. Horror drama has
developed alongside this industry-wide rise in seriality and blended into
something new and darker. Where once television presented vampires in
Dark Shadows or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the horror cycle under discus-
sion produced The Strain (FX 2015–2018). The horror anthology like
Rod Sterling’s Night Gallery has given way to American Horror Story, and
the supernatural detective show, seen before with Kolchak: The Night
Stalker, has evolved into iZombie (The CW 2015–2019). All these dramas
take existing horror forms and develop them into something that for the
hungry horror audience feels innovative. In part, this innovation came
from TVIII combining “previously disparate genres [allowing for the]
potential for play with and between genres” (Nelson 2007, 21). Nelson
stated that genre has historically been a tool in television to combine and
attract audiences, yet in contemporary strategies, genres that were once
distinct are now being intertwined to “appeal to different market seg-
ments” (Nelson 2007, 22). The shift from mass programming to the
power of the niche demographic, alongside the changing attitudes of
advertisers towards horror, gave rise to horror that was so prominent
between 2010 and 2020.
What of new television and its contribution to the rise of seriality and
horror? While Internet native video on demand (VOD) services like
Netflix, Hulu, and Shudder are not confined to the traditional structures
of television (like scheduling or ratings gathering), for the most part such
VOD services have stuck to the forty-five minutes to an hour time length
for episodes. On traditional television—network, cable, and premium—
dramas typically clock in around forty-four minutes per episode (network
12 S. M. GAYNOR

and cable) and around fifty-three to fifty-seven minutes for premium

(HBO, Showtime, Cinemax). Orange is the New Black (Netflix 2013–),
for example, has episodes at fifty-two to fifty-seven minutes and season
lengths of twelve episodes. But Netflix does not need to do this; they are
not confined to the hour slot or even the numbers of episodes to fill a
season. The very nature of the VOD service means that the viewer can
watch as much or as little of a series as they choose. The same story can be
presented in, say, six feature-length episodes. It would seem, however, that
most Netflix viewers watch drama episodes in clusters, giving rise to the
phrase to “binge-watch.” There has been a clear instrumental role of tele-
vision’s traditions in the development and expansion of Internet televi-
sion; the drama made by such services still employ similar structures to
linear TV. At the start of the 2010s, the dramas available on VOD services
were still comparable to what might be found on traditional television, in
both content and form. In the later years of the decade, VOD services
began to experiment with narrative pacing and episode length, and so this
probe into the possibilities for storytelling inevitably trickled into the pro-
duction of horror serial drama across the VOD tier of television. As Netflix
and the like feed consumer behaviour around cluster watching, for horror,
this means that the notion of holding tension and fear across weeklong
gaps between episodes is no longer a problem. In addition, the break in
tension caused by commercial breaks can also be eliminated, so that a
tense and atmospheric scene is not broken by the bright lights of a wash-
ing powder commercial (Waller 1987). What this means for horror more
broadly is an expansive exploration of the story or universe, character
development (which as I shall explore in Chaps. 2 and 3 can bring its own
set of issues), and the maintenance of tension. A horror serialization loses
the confines of the cinema feature and expands the storyworld. It also fills
the space that would in some horror franchises be occupied by many
sequels.
The behaviour and desires from horror film fans for further story and
plot development suit the needs of the television industry. Brigid Cherry’s
(2009) study of online fan practices acknowledges horror fans not only as
early adopters of technology but also wanting more complex and layered
storytelling. In the early days of the Internet and online communities,
horror fans were active users, and some of the longest running discussion
boards are horror themed, like the development of The Blair Witch Project
(Sanchez and Myrick 1999) mythology in the early days of the Internet in
the late 1990s. Cherry goes on to argue that through study of horror fan
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

fiction, horror fans are more interested in aspects of character and plot
development and not (as much of the rest of fan fiction) fictional inter-­
character romance. In fan fiction written in response to the Scream film
franchise, the focus was on:

Alternative plot developments or endings, character points of view on events

in the films, the filling in of the narrative gaps or what happened next […]
this illustrates that the concerns and interests of this group of horror fans
center around the desire for narrative continuation and more detailed narra-
tive. (2009, 61)

This adoption of both technology and a desire for continuing stories

places horror fans as perfect audiences of the serial drama. Horror, in the
wake of mass channel expansion in traditional TV and online, offers the
very precise attributes that are desirable to the television industry: a loyal
and large audience base. While horror film stories sit inside the closed wall
of the cinema feature, the horror television drama can explore what hap-
pens next, and the audience can view the events of the horror story
through the multiple points of views of the ensemble cast. Television
allows the story to go further and to explore, in a way that mirrors what
horror film does with multiple sequels and franchises. These sequels (at
the time of writing, twelve Friday the 13th movies, the eleven Halloween
films, and the seven instalments in the SAW franchise) are par for the
course for the dedicated horror fan. The sequels feed the enjoyment of
horror fans who relish the intertextual nature of the recurring set pieces,
returning killers or monsters. On television, the ability to expand a horror
story and its many layered subplots because of the narrative space afforded
to the medium means that the ongoing horror story no longer must be
confined to the often tiresome and repetitive sequel. The “cumulative sub-
plots” as described by Dunleavy (2009) needed to create the addictive
“must-see TV” dramas are already proven to be sought and desired by
horror viewing fans, as Cherry found. The DVD sell through and syndica-
tion to other channels and across Internet sites also suits the horror fan as
it does the TV executive. Being able to watch and re-watch is a common
requirement for the more involved horror fan (the same patterns can be
found with diehard fans of science fiction and fantasy). Having the access
to do this, via the availability on Netflix or Shudder, also feeds this desire.
As Cherry discusses, horror fans have a loyalty to the genre and hold and
enjoy large amounts of discerning inside knowledge or, as Chap. 6
14 S. M. GAYNOR

explores, subcultural capital. As executives change their attitude to the

genres which once were deemed too problematic for TV, horror can now
supply dedicated and returning viewers.
It is clear from this broad overview of the development of US televi-
sion, considering developing VOD technologies, viewer habits and fan
practices, industrial response and strategy, and the rise of serial drama as a
tool to attract and maintain audiences, that horror between 2010 and
2020 was born from industrial shifts and changes, new platforms, and
increasing competition. It is not the case that suddenly channel executives
decided to give horror a chance, but rather that conditions inside the TV
industry made horror viable. The new economies of television that saw
heightened competition and new methods of financing the creation of
content pushed the use of genre-based serial drama to the forefront of
industrial strategy. With that in mind, this book approaches the 2010–2020
cycle of TV horror by rooting the foundation of the exploration and
enquiry in the television industry and its multiple economic models and
strategies. Before explaining the logic of the structure of this book, I first
need to explain my use of the term “cycle.”
As stated, it is not the case that horror had not been on US television
before. There was a “base level” of production, with the 2010s seeing a
“spike pattern in production levels” (Nowell 2011, 44–45). It is here that
I turn to Richard Nowell’s (2011) model of cycles which he developed
with regard to the teen slasher film cycle of the early 1980s. Nowell con-
structs an industry-focused model of the cycle, concentrating on the
industrial conditions and decisions that shaped production, content, and
distribution of these film types. Nowell states that these industrial pro-
cesses are overlooked in previous studies of cycles, yet it is precisely these
processes that “determine whether or not a film cycle develops” (2011,
42). Nowell sees a cycle as:

Distinct phases of activity […] in which industrial developments, market

shifts, and changing commercial imperatives underwrite production and dis-
tribution of a film-type […] the industrial perspective [is] one that explains
the manner in which film cycles unfold rather than shifts in film content.
(2011, 42)

The development of conditions across TVI, TVII, and TVIII as I have

laid out allowed the horror cycle to develop in the 2010s, starting with the
“Trailblazer Hit,” The Walking Dead (explored in Chap. 2), and the
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

proceeding “Prospector Cash-Ins” and “Carpetbagger Cash-Ins” (Nowell

2011, 47–49) explored in later chapters. My use of the term cycle with
regard to the horror texts under discussion in this book acknowledges and
defines the spike in production activity in the 2010s for US television. I
am identifying the horror cycle through the metrics of television industrial
practice, decisions, strategies, responses, and marketing campaigns and
through the industry-defined measurements of ratings, viewers, and rev-
enue. It is crucial to note that my application of the term cycle is in line
with Nowell’s model that characterizes a cycle by “commercial imperatives
[and] industrial contexts” (2011, 42) and not by the types of stories being
told. The horror texts that this book identifies as part of the cycle in the
2010s will range across various horror sub-types, as I explore the industrial
processes, decisions, and responses across TV, to the rise of horror genre
with its many monsters, across television.
To do this, I have arranged the study, according to the different tiers of
television, in three parts, starting with cable in Part I, as this is the tier that
has seen the most development in its drama content over the last twenty
years. It was also on cable, on AMC, that this horror cycle began with the
“Trailblazer Hit,” The Walking Dead. Part II of the book will explore
Internet VOD and pay subscription services, and part III will consider
horror and free-to-air networks. I have arranged the study to focus less on
the histories or chronology of television, in which TVI gives way to TVII
and so on, but instead to explore the horror cycle and the industrial condi-
tions with a view to a more overarching relational TV ecology. As we have
moved through the changing periods of television, it is not the case that
TVI or TVII has gone away, those industrial practices still remain. As new
or changing technologies, distribution methods, production techniques,
types of content, and viewing habits define each incoming phase of televi-
sion, it should also be acknowledged that many of the previous practices
remain, and they lay underneath the new practices. Or as I will demon-
strate, via the matrix of horror drama spreading across TV, traditional
practices and conditions respond accordingly (with variable results) to the
changing landscape of television. The distinctions between TVI, TVII,
TVIII, and perhaps TVIV (Jenner 2016) can be problematized or chal-
lenged, when we consider that TVI and TVII is forced to respond to,
rather than be superseded, by TVIII and TVIV.
Chapter 2 will lay the foundations of this book by examining The
Walking Dead and the shifts that this show set in motion across the TV
industry and importantly for cable (and for network in Part III), the
16 S. M. GAYNOR

advertising industry. This chapter will examine the drama strategies under-
taken at AMC and examine The Walking Dead in its context of being
made by a channel primarily concerned with film. As with all chapters and
case studies, I will analyse discourse from the television trade and enter-
tainment press to gain insight into the industrial workings that have pro-
duced a decade so prolific for horror. Chapter 3 considers the wider
spectrum of cable and horror as it developed in an age of Peak TV, exam-
ining the strategies in the development of horror in this very busy period.
Considering American Horror Story (FX, 2010–) The Strain (FX,
2014–2017), and Scream: The TV Series (MTV / VH1, 2015–2019).
Chapter 3 examines the compression of multiple horror nuances, codes
and conventions, and the use of iconic film directors to rise above the
noise of the cluttered television environment. In this chapter, I argue that
such tactics worked to enhance the significance of cable horror series to
the wider corpus of horror content. Chapter 4 engages with one of the
previously perceived “problems” around the visual representation of hor-
ror on television. Previous scholars and writers (King 1981; Waller 1987;
Hills 2005) have argued that TV horror is diluted, lacking gore and con-
vincing visual manifestations of monsters. For these writers, horror televi-
sion is simply not as technically adept as horror film. The industrial
conditions first exploited and then developed by The Walking Dead and
other horror serials on cable as they battled with Peak TV created a sce-
nario where shows took advantage of the very fabric of horror and its
visual construction to demonstrate their technical excellence.
Part II opens with Chap. 4 and an exploration of Netflix and its data-­
driven methods of content creation and curation. I will unpack how origi-
nal horror on Netflix—Hemlock Grove (Netflix 2013–2015), Haunting of
Hill House (Netflix 2018), Chambers (2019), and Haunted (2018–)—is
built and created using the data-driven model. I will explore how Netflix
in its ambitions to rival HBO sought to develop cultural legitimacy via its
“niche conglomerate” strategy (Lotz 2017) and how the horror on the
service develops features that can be attributed to sections of the sub-
scriber base and their viewing history. I will explore the use of the Gothic,
diverse casting, and pseudo-documentary reenactment that develops true
crime narrative structures to appeal to multiple taste groups. Chapter 5
examines the simpler economic exchange of the “first-order commodity
relations” between the Internet-distributed television service and the sub-
scriber, leading to the development of new TV media practices and, in
turn, the development of TV horror. This chapter will argue through a
close look at Shudder that the expansion of Internet-distributed television
 1 INTRODUCTION 17

has pushed serialized horror into forms that embrace both traditional
codes of TV horror and new media. Shudder develops even further the
“niche conglomerate” strategy, as horror fans are prepared to pay another
monthly fee for very specific library curation of horror content. Shudder
has the space to develop, create, and curate some of the more oblique and
esoteric horror texts. Shudder reinvigorated Creepshow (Shudder 2019–),
an anthology previously made by the late George Romero, and Deadwax
(Shudder 2018), an interesting experimentation with horror, sound, neo-­
noir, and episode length.
Chapter 5 inspects the horror series found on other premium pay sub-
scription channels and considers the model as an environment that pro-
duces horror that is perceived, or is sold as authentic, by using
well-established horror brands and culturally legitimate texts. This chapter
will examine Penny Dreadful (Showtime 2014–2019) as the show utilizes
the cultural legitimacy of classic Gothic literature from Oscar Wilde, Bram
Stoker, Mary Shelley, and Robert Louis Stevenson, to create a horror
series just as gory and visually excessive as any other in the cycle, but which
is cushioned and concealed by a veneer of prestige. The chapter then con-
siders the projection of “real” horror, as developed by Ash v Evil Dead
(Starz 2015–2018), capitalizing on the beloved film franchise and the sta-
tus of Bruce Campbell as fan favourite in a drive for authenticity. Cultural
relevance is in turn developed by the presentation of the Stephen King
brand in Castle Rock (Hulu 2018–), pulling together multiple themes,
characters, settings, and events from the extensive King library. These hor-
ror series are afforded the specificities of the long-standing autonomy
from advertisers that pay subscription allows, with very particular and inti-
mate adaptations and reworkings of classic and cult horror texts.
Part III turns to free-to-air network channels and first considers the use
of established horror in Chap. 7. Funded by advertisement revenue, free-­
to-­air networks are potentially the most problematic tier and economic
model on which to schedule horror. Networks have been left to the final
part of this book to illustrate the key thread of this study, that horror had
become a staple of US television and embraced by and valuable to all eco-
nomic models and industry conditions. Networks took part in the horror
cycle using established horror characters and well-developed-for-TV
drama content and forms. NBC developed existing monsters and killers
with Dracula (2013–2014) and Hannibal (2013–2015). By repackaging
and reimagining existing monsters, networks can amalgamate horror into
more broader areas of procedural crime or investigative dramas. This is
18 S. M. GAYNOR

further supported by iZombie, a modern-day Kolchak: The Night Stalker,

taking the zombie and placing her in a murder-of-the-week scenario. The
final chapter looks at how certain horror texts or subgenres have been
renegotiated over time. The slasher has undergone a journey from the
bottom of the cultural heap to texts worthy of study and critical acclaim. I
will examine the fixed structure of the slasher and how Scream Queens
(Fox 2015–2017) engages with these rules and develops them for serial-
ization. Pertinent to this discussion of the acceptance of the slasher in
network TV is the liberal use in the trade press of the slasher “rules” and
the desire for a higher body count. Further exploring this process of rene-
gotiation, I will examine the serialized version of The Exorcist (Fox
2016–2017) and the building on the notoriety of the original 1973 film.
Lauded as one of the most controversial films of all time, like the slasher,
that such a facet of the horror genre should find itself on network TV and
have the critics demanding more blood, more bodies, is indicative of the
dramatic shifts set in motion by The Walking Dead in 2010, in attitudes to
horror from network executives, advertisers, and critics. Throughout this
book, I explore a range of horror serializations and examine how the dif-
ferent economic models and conditions both participated in the horror
cycle and drove the development of the horror genre on television. It was
not enough that horror was now set to represent the more visual aspects
of the genre—zombies, parasitic vampires, slasher killers, and complex and
grisly set piece deaths—but in this clear and important cycle of horror on
the small screen, it proved itself as a valuable asset to television and quickly
matured. This book will help us to understand the place of horror on US
television and the place of TV horror inside the larger screen horror canon.

Note
1. Supernatural (The WB/The CW 2005–); Vampire Diaries (The CW
2009–2017); The Walking Dead (AMC 2010–); American Horror Story (FX
2011–); Teen Wolf (MTV 2011–); Hannibal (NBC 2013–2015); Sleepy
Hollow (Fox 2013–2017); Bates Motel (A&E 2013–2017); Hemlock Grove
(Netflix 2013–2015); The Originals (The CW 2013–); The Strain (FX
2014–); Penny Dreadful (Showtime 2014–2016); From Dusk Til Dawn (El
Ray 2014–2016); iZombie (The CW 2015–); Scream Queens (Fox
2015–2017); Scream: The TV Series (MTV 2015–); Fear the Walking Dead
(AMC 2015–); The Returned (A&E 2015); South of Hell (We TV 2015);
Ash vs Evil Dead (Starz 2015–).
 1 INTRODUCTION 19

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Hilmes, M. (2001) Only Connect: A cultural history of broadcasting in the United
States. Boston: Wadsworth.
Jenner, M. (2016). Is this TVIV? On Netflix, TVIII and binge-watching. New
Media & Society, 18(2), 257–273. https://doi.org/10.1177/
1461444814541523.
Johnson, C. (2005) Telefantasy. Fakenham: St Edmundsbury Press.
Johnson, C. (2012). Branding television. Routledge.
Jowett, L & Abbott, S. (2013) TV horror: Investigating the dark side of the small
screen. London. I.B. Tauris.
Kain, E. (2016) ‘The walking dead, season 7, episode 1 review: The wrath of
Negan,’ Forbes, 23 October.
King, S. (1981) Danse Macabre. New York: The Berkley Publishing Group.
Lotz, A. D. (2014) The television will be revolutionized (2nd edition). New York:
New York University Press.
Lotz, A. D. (2017) Portals: A treatise on internet-distributed television. Michigan:
Michigan Publishing.
Neel, K.C. (2013). ‘The fright stuff,’ Broadcasting & Cable, No Date.
20 S. M. GAYNOR

Nelson, R. (2007). State of play contemporary “high-end” TV drama. Manchester

University Press.
Nowell, R. (2011). Blood Money : a History of the First Teen Slasher Film Cycle.
New York: Continuum.
Satell, G. (2015) ‘The future of TV is here. Can cable survive?’ Forbes, 6 June.
Sepinwall, A. (2013) The revolution was televised: The cops, crooks, slingers and slay-
ers who changed TV drama. New York: Gallery Books.
Waller, G. A. (1987) ‘Made for US television horror films,’ in G. A. Waller (ed)
American horrors: Essays on the modern horror film, Oxford: Maston Book
Services, pp. 145–161.
Wheatley, H. (2006). Gothic Television. Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Zaretsky, A. (1995) ‘The Cable TV industry and regulation,’ The Economist, 5 July.
Zinoman, J. (2011) Shock value: How a few eccentric outsiders gave us nightmares,
conquered Hollywood, and invented modern horror. New York: Penguin Group.

Television
Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1985–1990), NBC.
American Horror Story (2011–), FX.
American Gothic (1995–1996), CBS.
Ash V Evil Dead (2015–2018), Starz.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997–2003), The WB/UPN.
Castle Rock (2018–), Hulu.
Chambers (2019), Netflix.
Creepshow (2019–), Shudder.
CSI (2000–2015), CBS.
Deadwax (2018), Shudder.
Damien (2016), A&E.
Darkroom (1981–1982), ABC.
Deadwood (2004–2006), HBO.
Dracula (2013–2014), NBC.
Duel (1971), ABC.
ER (1994–1999), NBC.
Fear the Walking Dead (2015–), AMC.
Forever Knight (1992–1996), CBS/USA.
Freddy’s Nightmares: A Nightmare on Elm Street: The Series, The WB, 1988–1990.
Friday the 13th: The Series, Syndicated release, 1987–1990.
Hannibal (2013–2015), NBC.
Haunted (2018–), Netflix.
Haunting of Hill House (2018), Netflix.
Hemlock Grove (2013–2015), Netflix.
Heroes (2006–2010), NBC.
 1 INTRODUCTION 21

iZombie (2015–2019), The CW.

Kindred: The Embraced (1996), Fox.
Kolchak: The Night Stalker (1974–1975), ABC.
Lost (2004–2010), ABC.
Masters of Horror (2005–2007), Showtime.
Orange is the New Black (2013–), Netflix.
Outcast (2016–2017), Cinemax.
Penny Dreadful (2014–2019), Showtime.
Poltergeist: The Legacy (1996–1999), Showtime/SyFy.
Rod Sterling’s Night Gallery (1970–1973), NBC.
Scream Queens (2015–2017), Fox.
Scream: The TV Series (2015–2019), MTV/VH1.
South of Hell (2015), We TV Network.
Stranger Things (2016–), Netflix.
Supernatural (2005–2020), The WB/The CW.
Tales from the Crypt (1989–2007), HBO.
The Exorcist (2016–2018), Fox.
The Haunting Passion (1984), NBC.
The Next Step Beyond (1978–1979), ABC.
The Returned (2015), A&E.
The Sixth Sense (1972), ABC.
The Strain (2015–2018), FX.
The Strange Possession of Mrs. Oliver (1977), NBC.
The Walking Dead (2010–), AMC.
True Blood (2008–2014), HBO.
Werewolf (1987–1988), Fox.
 PART I

Cable Television
 CHAPTER 2

The Rise of TV Horror

On Halloween night, 2010, Rick Grimes (Andrew Lincoln) crept around

abandoned cars in a decrepit gas station, silent but for the hum of cicadas
and the gentle sway of a “No Gas” sign, before shooting a little girl zom-
bie in the face. These opening moments of episode 1.1 “Days Gone Bye,”
the season one premiere of The Walking Dead (AMC, 2010–), mark a
watershed moment for US TV drama and US TV horror. The beginning
of the cycle of TV horror identified 2010–2020 is marked by this
Trailblazer Hit1 and the beginning of the dramatic shift in attitudes to
horror from content creators, channel executives, and consumer-seeking
advertisers. In the early years of The Walking Dead (2010–2015), there
was a spike in horror drama production activity across television: from
free-to-air networks to premium and streaming services, aligning with
what Nowell laid out in his industrial focused model of teen slasher film
cycles (2011). In this spike, a range of Prospector Cash-Ins and
Carpetbagger Cash-Ins can also be identified, which I will explore in later
chapters. This industrial approach provides the tools to study the impact
of the television industry and its processes and practices on The Walking
Dead and vice versa. Television content, specifically drama, has many
industrial influences on it (the advertising industry; technological develop-
ments; cultural hierarchies; the process of audience fragmentation, etc.).
These industrial influences, therefore, will demand certain things of in this
case, The Walking Dead as a zombie horror serialized for television.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 25

Switzerland AG 2022
S. M. Gaynor, Rethinking Horror in the New Economies of
Television, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97589-0_2
26 S. M. GAYNOR

It seemed in the early 2000s that zombies were everywhere. Director of

the first season of The Walking Dead, Frank Darabont, said in an interview
with Time Magazine that:

For decades [zombies were] this sub-genre of horror that appealed to a core
group of geeks like me, has gotten so much mainstream acceptance in the
last five years […] all of a sudden, zombies are everywhere. (Cruz 2010)

Waller’s (1987) work on horror on television discusses how trends in

the cinema will drive imitations on TV. With zombies much covered in
other media—films, games, comics—television was the last medium on
which to find these creatures. Russell (2014) and Bishop (2010) both
allude to the resurgence of zombies across media more generally, and
Bishop suggested that serialization would be the next logical step. The
Walking Dead features, or imitates, key codes and conventions from other
common zombie films. The central protagonist wakes from a coma, and
characters that have been bitten choose suicide or requested dispatch by a
loved one. The zombies are viral and can be eliminated by destroying the
brain, and like other zombie texts, The Walking Dead features megaloma-
niac white males. The protagonist and his group seek sanctuary, which
reveals itself to be false. The Walking Dead features the iconic shopping
scenes, as characters stock up and indulge their consumerist desires. And
we can see the recurring motif of characters disguising themselves as zom-
bies in order to pass safely through a herd of marauding infected.2 What
these familiar zombie textual elements tell us is that the many recognizable
themes contained within The Walking Dead mean that the show was never
an attempt to rewrite the zombie rule book. AMC as its position as a
movie channel understands the structure and content of movies, and while
this seems obvious, it means that AMC can exploit this knowledge to
build a zombie horror drama that suits both television and the existing fan
base—crucial for their economic structure based on revenue from cable
carrier fees and from advertisers and the need for valuable demographics.

AMC: American Movie Classics

Launching in 1984 and formerly known as American Movie Classics,
AMC was a cable channel that specialized in classic movies made prior to
the 1950s. The channel featured uncut and uncolourized films and was
dedicated to the art of the classic Hollywood movie. In 1990, American
 2 THE RISE OF TV HORROR 27

Movie Classics became a 24-hour service and changed its format to include
traditional (but limited) commercial spots inside the movies. In 2002, the
format changed again, rebranded as AMC, expanding its library to include
films made after the 1950s. This rebranding brought about the inclusion
of original drama to its slate, with the miniseries Broken Trail (2006)
being AMC’s first foray into scripted drama that would complement, or
curate, an existing portion of its movie library. Broken Trail served to draw
viewers into a selection of Western films and vice versa. In 2007, Mad Men
launched to much critical acclaim and was lead-in by Goodfellas (Scorsese
1990). Breaking Bad (2008–2013) was bookended by a collection of anti-­
hero films—Dirty Harry (Seigal 1971) and Death Wish (Winner 1974)
(Idov 2011). As a movie channel that shows “the classics,” AMC could
surround their original dramas with films whose associated prestige and
cultural legitimacy could be transferred on to the series: Mad Men,
Breaking Bad, or The Walking Dead. The eminence of the classic films that
are put together in film festivals or seasons dedicated to a certain type of
film can elevate original dramas by positioning them alongside the films.
AMC makes drama to fit its film library, each will complement the other.
With a substantial horror library, AMC had a springboard on which to
launch a horror drama.

AMC Drama Strategy

AMC followed the original programming model as set out by HBO. Like
HBO, AMC was primarily known as a movie channel but began making
original dramas. This balance in favour of films with a small percentage of
original programming meant for AMC (and HBO) that they could
develop dramas that focus on exclusive, dedicated, and valuable audi-
ences. Channel President Charlie Collier said, AMC was to be the “home
of premium programming on basic cable.” The “premium on basic”
means not only the complex and expensive dramas added to the AMC
slate but also the ability to increase their affiliate or retransmission fees in
addition to advertising revenue gained. Throughout this chapter, I will
use Collier’s terms “premium” and “quality,” so I want to clarify here
what I mean. Premium has come to be a byword for desirable content,
content that makes people want to subscribe and pay and, importantly,
keep renewing their subscriptions. For the purposes of this book, I mean
premium to be drama content that is described as such because of what it
contains and what is not toned down: violence, nudity, sexual content,
28 S. M. GAYNOR

and profanity. Quality is again a quick way of alluding to the characteris-

tics of certain types of dramas. Quality pertains to the subject matter of a
drama, the ensemble cast, high budgets and production values, and, as I
shall demonstrate in Chap. 4, enhanced visual style (Nelson 2007). AMC
provides quality drama usually found on premium channels and in turn
AMC acquires more premium-­like returns. The finale of season one of
The Walking Dead had 6 million views—but more importantly, the 18–49
audience was the largest ever seen for a cable drama (Idov 2011). This
18–49 demographic is the advertiser-­coveted group, and I will explore
later in this chapter how this large number of valuable viewers had an
impact on the growth of horror across television: measured against the
desired metrics of television, The Walking Dead became the Trailblazer
Hit. Quality for AMC and the rest of television then alludes to the calibre
of the audience as well as the content. Collier succinctly describes AMC’s
drama programming strategy as “[making] shows that play like movies.”
The context of AMC as a movie channel means that underpinning the
development of drama on the channel lies a crucial understanding and the
utilization of genre. As explained, the television industry went through a
process of audience fragmentation as the numbers of channels and plat-
forms increased. Under these industrial conditions, new serial dramas
must strive to be seen and, importantly, attract the valuable and loyal
audience. For television channels, studios, and programme makers, this
has an element of risk. No one wants to put time and money into making
a new series which fails. Given these changes, channels seek security and
a promise of a worthwhile return on their new dramas.
Putting all this together, bringing “premium to cable”, launching new
dramas alongside the existing library of movies, and an understanding of
genre, is a potential shortcut to building a successful drama. Joel Stillerman,
Chief Content Officer at AMC, said that their tactic is to find “things we
can look at and see a rich cinematic history without doing too much heavy
lifting” (Idov 2011). In framing the new dramas within the film library
already available to AMC, the channel can alleviate some degree of risk.
The Walking Dead (Kirkman 2003–2019) was an ongoing graphic novel,
winning the Eisner award at the San Diego Comic-Con in 2007 and 2010
for the best ongoing comic series. The Walking Dead as a serialization for
television had to satisfy the needs of existing fans, new fans, industry, and
medium: to not deviate too far from the original material; complement its
parent channel (AMC) and be profitable; and function as an ongoing tele-
vision drama while being a credible horror text. In 2010 as season one of
 2 THE RISE OF TV HORROR 29

The Walking Dead aired, the zombie resurgence in other media had argu-
ably peaked and was on the wane (Bishop 2009; Flint 2009). The decision
to make a serialization of the zombie apocalypse seemed to some critics an
odd choice. Critics were unsure if The Walking Dead would fit with the
other slow-burn dramas on AMC. Lowry in Variety mused on whether
“the zombie drama [was] hardly a genre that screams compatibility with
Mad Men and Breaking Bad” (2010). To resolve this potential problem,
The Walking Dead on AMC was positioned among the films, rather than
the existing drama. AMC mined their existing film library and exploited
horror fan practice and aimed The Walking Dead at the inbuilt audience of
the successful annual FearFest horror film festival and fans of the original
comic material.

AMC and The Walking Dead

Director of the first season of The Walking Dead Frank Darabont acquired
the rights to adapt the comic book after picking up the first six issues in his
local bookstore in 2008. Author Robert Kirkman told Comic-Con in
2010, that he had in mind to adapt the series, but until Darabont pitched
to him, Kirkman was not taken with any of the candidates that he had
previously met with to discuss screen adaptation. After taking the script to
NBC who passed on the grounds it was too gory, Darabont asked Gale
Ann Hurd to come aboard and she suggested to take it to AMC, who had
recent critical hits with Breaking Bad and Mad Men. At this time, AMC
were having their highest ratings over the year from their annual horror
movie festival, FearFest, which runs for the two weeks prior to Halloween
showing a range of horror films. In 2008, MonsterFest was rebranded to
FearFest, expanding its film library to include more contemporary texts,
including Jeepers Creepers (Salva 2001); Resident Evil (Anderson 2002);
and Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses (2004). This 2008 rebrand
brought 50% more viewers than the 2007 MonsterFest, giving AMC the
strongest numbers in the 25–54 demographic group and ranked the chan-
nel in the top 10 for 18–49. This shift to include more raw and hard-
edged horror films in addition to the classic, with much more visual gore,
proved to AMC and to Joel Stillerman, then Senior Vice Principal of
Original Programming, that “we’ve got an audience that loves this kind of
material” (Littleton 2009).
According to Stillerman, The Walking Dead was the perfect original to
complement and launch off the successful FearFest. When asked why
30 S. M. GAYNOR

AMC were drawn to The Walking Dead, at San Diego Comic-Con in

2010, Stillerman said when he saw the huge movie talent attached to the
show (Frank Darabont, Gale Ann Hurd, and Greg Nicotero), that it was
a “short hop” to saying yes. For Stillerman, the Hollywood staff that were
pitching to him outweighed the potential risk of making a new TV drama.
This new drama was in the first instance, an adaptation of comic book
material, and in the second was a zombie horror. Neither of which carry
any of the cultural prestige of, say, an adaptation of a Gothic novel or a
movie monster that has some legitimacy due to its previous back cata-
logue: the vampire or the highly intelligent serial killer, for example, both
of whom “command respect.” Zombies are “maligned […] the great
unwashed of horror cinema” (Russell 2014, 6). Just as Darabont com-
mented, zombies used to be for the few, for the geeks, and not for the
many, not for the mainstream, but the Hollywood weight brought by
Darabont, Hurd, and Nicotero, persuaded Stillerman and AMC President
Charlie Collier, to take the risk. As seen with other Hollywood backed TV
drama, with Scorsese’s name attached to Boardwalk Empire (HBO
2010–2014), and Alan Ball and True Blood (HBO 2008–2014), a success-
ful director can bring much needed attention to a new show and provide
legitimacy to an otherwise violent and gory television drama. The three-­
point team, consisting of known director Darabont, long-time producer
Hurd, and the skilled and experienced effects artist Nicotero, reassured
the channel executives that The Walking Dead would work and gave a
reference to work from when positioning the show inside the context of
the channel. Including a horror drama series on their slate, AMC com-
bined Hollywood talent with television drama, in the ambition that such
esteemed personnel would outweigh the low brow perception of the zom-
bie text. The Hollywood talent suited AMC as a movie channel, and this
was capitalized on to position the new drama, beginning with the promo-
tional material for The Walking Dead.
In addition to the discourse surrounding The Walking Dead, the pro-
motional posters visually aligned the series with film. The posters from
season one to season seven present images that appear as film promotional
material, rather than television. While I am not focusing too much on
ancillary material, the promotional posters are important here as they
demonstrate how AMC worked to position the series on the channel. The
promotional poster for season one of The Walking Dead is a post-­
apocalyptic vision of a fallen Atlanta. The city is dead and the freeway out
of Atlanta is choked with abandoned, crashed, and burnt-out vehicles.
 2 THE RISE OF TV HORROR 31

Only one man is venturing into the broken city, the central protagonist
Rick Grimes. This poster tells us we are to see what happens when the lone
man featured in the image enters the looming cityscape. What this poster
does not tell us is that The Walking Dead features an ensemble cast, flash-
backs, backstory, and intertwining character story arcs that will continue
across this and future seasons of the show. What this poster is not telling
us is that this apocalyptic zombie text has all the features of a contempo-
rary and, what some critics might suggest, “quality” television drama. The
Walking Dead features what Robin Nelson outlined as key to the much-­
discussed notion of quality TV: the expensive production values; an
emphasis on visual storytelling; complex and intertwined stories; and,
importantly, generic hybridity (Nelson 2007). As The Walking Dead con-
tinues through its seasons, growing its cast members and expanding its
own universe, the promotional posters continue to place Rick front and
centre. For the second season, the poster sees him running towards the
farm; defending the prison in the poster for season three; the torn prison
fence frames Rick in the promotion for season four; and season five dis-
plays Rick again alone on an abandoned street. This repeated positioning
of Rick alone in the promotion does not reflect the content of The Walking
Dead and its development as a drama serial. The Walking Dead by the fifth
season has killed off some characters and gained new ones, borrowed from
multiple other television and film genres, and yet the promotion persisted
in centring the focus on one character. It is not until the promotion for the
mid-season premiere of season five that the rest of the large ensemble cast
appears.3 Despite The Walking Dead never being a film, the continuing
seasons, character additions, and multiple storylines, the posters reflect the
home of The Walking Dead on a film channel. To be clear, AMC is a movie
channel, so its promotional posters for The Walking Dead look like movie
posters, they look like a movie that might be found on AMC. For The
Walking Dead, this means that it can continue to reap the benefits of ele-
vation via its connection to film. Despite the positioning of The Walking
Dead as a movie and the focus on the one-man-and-his-apocalypse as the
posters suggest, eventually the demands of television take over and develop
The Walking Dead as a drama serialization.
In the lead up to the launch of season one, AMC were airing shorts
(sneak peaks) that featured cast and crew (mainly Frank Darabont, Andrew
Lincoln, and Steven Yeun), on set and explaining the scale of the job they
were doing. Cast members Andrew Lincoln and Steven Yeun both claimed
to be “shootin’ a movie […] in a TV schedule.” At the San Diego
32 S. M. GAYNOR

Comic-Con in 2010, Lincoln said on the panel that “it feels like we’re
shooting a movie, and we probably are.” At this stage, only one season
had been given the green light from AMC, so it was viewed by cast and
crew as an elongated zombie movie. Producer Hurd said that “we wanted
it [The Walking Dead] to be more cinematic” (Baysinger 2014). The use
of the term “cinematic” seeks to distance The Walking Dead away from
television and instead places it on the same hierarchical level as film. In
suggesting that it should be, or will be, “more cinematic,” Hurd and
AMC are positioning The Walking Dead among the films that AMC airs,
despite the absolute fact that in order for The Walking Dead to be success-
ful—to work on the medium of television—then it must fulfil all its duties
as TV text. As Dunleavy (2009) notes, the whole concept of “must see”
TV is to generate content that is addictive and keeps viewers coming back
and not just a one-off event as a film is. Dramas must build the cumulative
plots and expanding character storylines to encourage the viewers to
return. As Dunleavy states, this means that channels protect their audience
share, so therefore The Walking Dead needed to grow beyond the borders
of a one-off film.
However, despite the needs of AMC and the building of its drama slate,
the channel and its staff continued to walk a blurred line when talking
about and positioning The Walking Dead. In 2012, Collier said when
quizzed about the success of the show and where the roots of that might
be, he said that “we really try to create a movie every week, and I think
people are responding to that” (Morabito 2012). It would seem on the
surface that Collier is saying that The Walking Dead is like a mini movie
every episode, and while that is perhaps one way to view his words, implicit
in this is the bigger picture of the scale of the production of The Walking
Dead. Discursively positioning The Walking Dead as a film and highlight-
ing movie-like production functions as an industrial tactic to continue to
draw attention to the show as being “something more” than every other
drama on television. Whether it is or not is not a point for debate, what is
a point for scrutiny, however, is the potential offered by the horror text to
television in terms of scale and the possibility for showcasing technical
excellence, which I will explore in Chap. 4. For now, this discussion will
focus on the discourse around the positioning of season one of The
Walking Dead as a film.
Apart from discursively positioning The Walking Dead as a film, AMC
made external moves to present the same façade. The global launch of The
Walking Dead to 120 countries and in 33 languages served to further
 2 THE RISE OF TV HORROR 33

embed this horror drama as a movie event. AMC sold the license rights to
FOX International Channels (FIC), who launched The Walking Dead
across the world. Sharon Tal Yguado, then Executive Vice President of
Scripted Programming & Original Development at FIC, said “10/10/10
is global zombie day […] we’re going to treat The Walking Dead like a
theatrical release” (Albiniak 2012). This global zombie day saw the begin-
ning of a wave of zombie-themed events around the world, building up to
and culminating in the season one premiere, the “release” of episode 1.1
“Days Gone Bye,” on Halloween night. This contradicts what The Walking
Dead actually is: it is a television drama and so would be “released” again
seven days later with the next episode. As the façade of film wore away and
the demands of television took over, descriptions like film, movie, and
cinematic disappeared to give way to the derivatives of The Walking Dead
that television could make. As the seasons have continued, AMC have cre-
ated three separate shows from the original: Talking Dead (AMC 2011–),
Fear the Walking Dead (AMC 2015–), and The Walking Dead: World
Beyond (AMC 2020–). As discussed, the practice of horror fans showing
their love for extra plot development, narrative expansion, and community
debate (Cherry 2009) has been adopted by AMC to further their revenue
and viewer numbers. The expansion of the story world with Fear the
Walking Dead and discussion on Talking Dead utilizes horror fan practice
to create extra, and importantly with Talking Dead, low-cost content
based on the one original intellectual property. Only the most loyal fans of
The Walking Dead are going to stay tuned to watch a show that discusses
and shows clips from the episode they have just watched. It is precisely this
level of loyalty that the advertisers want, and what The Walking Dead pro-
vided to AMC and in turn, the lesson that this taught to the rest of televi-
sion marking The Walking Dead as the inciting Trailblazer Hit in the TV
horror cycle of the 2010s.

The Walking Dead and Tensions Between TV

and Horror

The discursive positioning of the show as a film resolves some of the ten-
sions that surrounded The Walking Dead and horror on television. In the
first instance, AMC had already blurred the line between film and televi-
sion by including in its line-up original scripted dramas. AMC was no
longer the just a channel for old movies and was now making critically
34 S. M. GAYNOR

acclaimed dramas that rivalled HBO’s output in their content and themes.
In the second instance, for some scholars and critics, horror struggled to
find its place on television (King 1981; Hills 2005). But the discursive
positioning as film shows intent to elevate a text beyond just another
drama and to legitimize the frequent use of gory scenes and extreme vio-
lence. For all its production scale and esteemed creative team, it is still a
TV show. For example, The Walking Dead follows what Gregory Waller
(1987) highlighted when he examined the made for TV movies of the
1970s. In essence, The Walking Dead follows the “everyman” (like David
Mann in Spielberg’s (1971) made for TV film Duel) and concerns itself
with the day-to-day survival of the characters. It does differ in that the
event in The Walking Dead is cataclysmic, rather than personal, but the
underlying issues (apart from avoiding being eaten alive) inside the show
still reflect older TV horror concerns: domestic breakdowns (Shane and
Lori’s affair); the jealous and spurned lover (Shane); the dangers of child-
birth (Lori’s death by caesarean section); and good old-fashioned revenge
(such as between Michonne and The Governor). The zombie show might
have been new to television, but many of its themes were not. Take away
the smoke and mirrors of The Walking Dead: the post-apocalyptic back-
drop, the zombies, the violence, and the gore, the central drive of season
one is the recombining of the family. The drive of the protagonist is to
reunite with his wife and son and return to some semblance of normality.
Waller cites telefilms wherein the wives return to “normal” after their pos-
session; the vulnerable women who regain their strength (or go back to
their husbands); and the besieged suburban families. In The Walking
Dead, the wife returns to normal when her husband finds her: Lori (Sarah
Wayne Callies) ceases her affair with Shane (John Bernthal) and returns to
Rick; the vulnerable woman regains her strength as Carol (Melissa
McBride) is freed from her abusive husband; and the suburban family
consisting of Morgan (Lennie James) and Duane (Adrian Kali Turner) are
besieged by the zombies that surround their house every night and scratch
at their door. Waller highlighted television appropriating cinema trends
for its horror, The Walking Dead does this too, in re-appropriating the
zombie resurgence in the cinema. AMC has blurred boundaries between
film and television by virtue of its own strategies of creating original dra-
mas that serve to support and curate its movie library and having film
genre drive its dramas and their content: in the case of The Walking Dead,
taking the zombie film and expanding it into serialized drama. Matt Hills
had concern with where horror “fits” on TV, if TV is a domestic and
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 III
Sur une épître de Saint Paul

Quand on arrive à cette partie de la Messe : l’Instruction, j’ai non

seulement à méditer les enseignements qu’elle nous apporte mais
encore à me représenter celui qui les donne.
Le fragment d’épître qu’on lit aujourd’hui est extrait de la
Première aux Corinthiens. J’essaierai de le commenter tout-à-
l’heure. Mais d’abord, je veux dire sous quel aspect, selon quel
prolongement de l’oraison, celui qui en fut l’auteur se précise pour
moi.
Saint Paul est un homme de petite taille, au dos voûté, à la
poitrine étroite, aux membres à la fois maigres et noueux. Une
calvitie précoce dénuda son crâne. Mais autour de ses joues
creuses grisonne une barbe abondante dont il laisse pousser au
hasard les touffes inégales. Il a le teint couperosé. Ses sourcils
broussailleux tracent une barre d’ombre continue d’où saillit un nez
aquilin, d’une courbe tout hébraïque. Ses lèvres violâtres
s’entr’ouvrent sur une denture mal rangée où la carie découpe des
créneaux. Dans ses yeux bleus, très enfoncés, brille la pure flamme
de l’amour divin. Mais une ophtalmie, que rien ne peut guérir,
corrode ses paupières dépourvues de cils et où suinte
continuellement une humeur sanguinolente.
 La disgrâce de son physique le rend timide et gauche. Lorsqu’il
s’est présenté dans une assemblée, par exemple chez ces Grecs
épris de belles formes : les Corinthiens, l’infirmité répugnante dont il
souffre, sa laideur, la difficulté qu’il éprouve à s’exprimer dans une
langue qui n’est pas la sienne l’ont tout d’abord desservi. Les
artisans très frustes qu’il espérait conquérir à Jésus l’ont plaisanté.
D’ailleurs, ils étaient prévenus contre lui par les Judaïsants qui le
suivaient partout pour le dénoncer comme un imposteur n’ayant
point mission d’annoncer la Bonne Nouvelle.
Malgré tant d’obstacles, il ne lui a pas fallu beaucoup de temps
pour les persuader. Telle était la vigueur de son zèle, telle, l’ardeur
de sa conviction qu’il réussit assez rapidement à faire des chrétiens
de ces ignorants voués jusqu’alors au culte grossier de l’Aphrodite
populaire.
Plus tard, leur rappelant, sans amertume, les railleries qu’ils lui
avaient prodiguées, il leur écrivait d’Éphèse : « Vous avez dit que
j’étais chétif de corps, désagréable à regarder, incorrect dans mon
langage. »
Maintenant, voici qu’ils l’aiment, voici qu’ils sentent que nul ne
saurait, au même degré que ce vilain petit Juif, les maintenir hors
des ténèbres du paganisme, les ouvrir au soleil de la Grâce.
L’apôtre n’eut pas toujours à lutter, comme à Corinthe, contre la
malice humaine. Les bons Galates, l’aimèrent tout de suite et le
plaignirent à cause de ce mal qui, parfois le rendait presque aveugle.
Aussi, avec une gratitude émouvante, il leur écrit : « Je témoigne
que, s’il eût été possible, vous vous seriez arraché les yeux pour me
les donner. »
Mais pour que Paul ne s’attribue point le mérite de ses victoires
sur le démon, son Maître lui inflige une épreuve si humiliante qu’il
frémit rien qu’à en évoquer les tourments. « L’aiguillon de la chair »
c’est-à-dire son tempérament sensuel ne cesse de le solliciter,
d’obséder son imagination de prestiges voluptueux, tandis que son
âme, imprégnée des chastes lumières que Jésus prodigue à ses
biens-aimés, plane bien au-dessus des marécages de la basse
luxure. Quoi, il obéit passionnément à sa vocation d’assainir les
mœurs immondes des païens vers qui Jésus l’envoya, il lave, il revêt
de blanches tuniques tous ces impurs et voici que lui-même subit,
avec une horreur indicible, les tentations dont il vient de les libérer !
Avec quels accents pathétiques il s’en lamente ! Il s’écrie : « Je
me plais dans la loi de Dieu selon l’homme intérieur, mais je sens
dans mon corps une autre loi qui lutte contre la loi de mon âme…
Malheureux homme que je suis, qui me délivrera de ce corps de
mort ? »
Jamais il ne put s’accoutumer à cette torture permanente et qui
redoublait d’acuité chaque fois qu’il venait de fonder une nouvelle
église. Vingt ans après le chemin de Damas, il écrit : « De crainte
que la grandeur de la révélation que j’ai reçue ne m’inspire de
l’orgueil, il m’a été envoyé un ange de Satan qui me soufflète. Trois
fois, j’ai supplié le Seigneur de m’en délivrer, Mais le Seigneur m’a
répondu : Ma grâce te suffit car ma puissance éclate mieux dans ta
faiblesse. »
Alors Paul se résigne ; il accepte que la pointe de l’aiguillon qu’il
détourne de ses enfants en Jésus, ne s’émousse jamais pour lui-
même et il ajoute : « C’est pourquoi je me complais dans mes
faiblesses, dans les outrages, dans l’indigence, dans les angoisses
de l’âme pour le Christ puisque quand je suis faible, c’est alors que
je suis fort. »
Incomparable leçon d’humilité ! Les Saints sont forts parce qu’ils
sentent leur faiblesse, parce qu’ils abritent leur volonté dans la
volonté de Jésus. Nous, au contraire, nous nous éprenons de notre
propre volonté ; en cent occasions, nous la suivons avec une
confiance dérisoire. Nous appelons force notre faiblesse. C’est pour
cela que nous piétinons si souvent sur place aux étapes du chemin
qui mène en Paradis.

Maintenant, voici le passage de la lettre aux Corinthiens où Paul,

informé des dissensions qui menacent d’abolir en eux les dons du
Saint-Esprit, leur définit la vertu sans laquelle nulle pensée, nulle
parole, aucune œuvre ne comptent devant Jésus. C’est la charité,
l’amour de Dieu avec sa conséquence nécessaire : l’amour des
âmes.
Les phrases où l’apôtre nous en avertit sont pareilles à des
flèches de feu qu’il décoche à nos cœurs pour y allumer l’incendie
dont lui-même il se consume.
Écoutons :
« Quand je parlerais toutes les langues des hommes et des
anges, si je n’ai pas l’amour je suis comme un airain sonnant ou une
cymbale retentissante. Quand je serais doué pour la prophétie,
quand je connaîtrais tous les mystères et toute la science, quand
j’aurais la foi intégrale au point de transporter les montagnes, si je
n’ai pas l’amour, je ne suis rien. Et quand j’emploierais tous mes
biens à nourrir les pauvres et que je livrerais mon corps pour être
brûlé, si je n’ai pas l’amour, cela ne me sert de rien.
L’amour est patient ; il est doux ; l’amour n’est point envieux ; il ne
se manifeste pas avec ostentation ; il ne s’enfle pas d’orgueil ; il n’est
pas ambitieux ; il ne cherche pas son propre intérêt ; il ne s’irrite pas ;
il ne pense pas le mal ; il ne se réjouit pas de l’injustice mais, au
contraire, il se réjouit de la vérité. Il supporte tout, il croit tout, il
endure tout… Par l’amour, je connaîtrai Dieu comme je suis connu
de lui car il y a trois grandes vertus : la foi, l’espérance, l’amour. Mais
la plus grande, c’est l’amour. »
A relire ces paroles fulgurantes, qui ne ferait un retour sur soi,
qui, sondant son propre cœur, ne se dirait avec effroi : — Comme je
suis loin de posséder cette clé qui ouvre la porte de la Béatitude,
l’amour de Dieu et, en répercussion, l’amour de mes semblables
dans l’amour de Dieu !…
Je m’adonne aux œuvres. Mais si elles ne me procurent point
tout de suite des satisfactions de vanité, je m’impatiente, je me
courrouce, je me démène pour les mettre en évidence. Dans
l’assemblée des fidèles, je voudrais qu’on me distinguât. Si, autour
de moi, l’on semble faire peu de cas de mes empressements, ce
n’est point à mon insuffisance d’amour que j’attribue la blessure de
mon orgueil, c’est à la sottise ou à la jalousie d’autrui. Bien plus, si
autrui souffre d’un déboire du même genre, je penche à me réjouir
secrètement de le voir humilié. Bien plus encore, toute action dont je
ne saisis pas immédiatement le sens, je m’empresse d’en penser du
mal. Je suis injuste à l’égard de mes frères parce que je suis partial
pour moi-même. Je cultive peut-être en mon cœur un atome de foi,
un commencement d’espérance ; mais, parce que je me pavane en
mon mérite prétendu, je n’ai pas l’amour. Car si l’on me crucifiait à la
droite de Jésus-Christ, je me plaindrais moins de mes souffrances
que de voir l’attention des témoins du supplice se porter sur Lui et
non sur moi.
Notre nature, défigurée par la Chute, s’étonne que sa laideur ne
soit point beauté au regard de Dieu. Tant que nous ne nous voyons
pas tels que nous sommes, c’est à dire dénués d’amour véritable,
nous aurons beau venir à la Sainte-Table en répétant des : Non sum
dignus d’une sincérité très relative, user notre larynx à chevroter
d’innombrables litanies, briguer la présidence de cinquante œuvres
plus ou moins charitables d’intention, la grâce d’amour ne descendra
pas en nous…
Or j’entendis, un jour, un moderniste fourvoyé dans le sacerdoce
qui connaissait peut-être « toute la science », mais qui certes
manquait d’amour de Dieu, tromper son auditoire en lui affirmant que
la parole redoutable de l’apôtre n’avait qu’une signification historique
et donc ne s’appliquait qu’aux seuls Corinthiens. Pour ceux qui
l’écoutaient, il paraissait les considérer comme une réunion de
Saints en qui l’amour flambait avec une ardeur incomparable.
Comme je ne pouvais absolument pas prendre pour moi cette
interprétation captieuse du texte sacré, je le regardais avec
effarement. Alors il me sembla qu’un vent glacé venait d’éteindre
tous les cierges de l’autel. Il fit noir dans l’église. Et les paroles qui
tombaient de la chaire je les entendis résonner sous la voûte comme
le rire aigre des cymbales que le démon entrechoque avec
allégresse chaque fois que nous travaillons pour lui.
Je me hâtai de sortir. Et il était temps, car j’allais m’écrier : — Je
suis de Corinthe !…
 IV
Un souvenir

Chaque fois que j’entends chanter le Graduel, ma pensée se

reporte à un cinquième dimanche après Pâques où j’assistais à la
grand’messe dans la cathédrale de Strasbourg.
Le chœur était composé des élèves du Séminaire et des enfants
de la maîtrise. A l’écouter, je dus convenir que jamais chant d’église
ne m’avait fait éprouver une émotion religieuse d’une intensité aussi
salutaire.
Ailleurs, j’avais subi des messes en musique où, parmi les
ronflements gras d’orgues sans discrétion, des violoncelles, des
bassons, et je ne sais quelles prétentieuses clarinettes luttaient
d’acrobatie avec les coups de gosier pointus ou caverneux des
chantres pour recouvrir d’intempérantes vocalises, d’arpèges
gambadeurs et de fioritures criardes l’austère nudité de la liturgie.
Ici, rien de pareil ; nul instrument profane n’intervenait. Sans
gargouillades efféminées, sans vociférations tonitruantes et
saugrenues, les voix viriles alternaient avec les voix enfantines pour
un plain-chant respectueux qui conservait toute sa valeur de pensive
oraison.
Ce fut surtout au Graduel que je me sentis pénétré, soulevé au-
dessus de moi-même par la force d’adoration de cette grave
harmonie.
 Le chœur disait : Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Surrexit Christus et illuxit
nobis quos redemit sanguine suo. Alleluia !
Par ce texte, l’Église rappelle que le Christ ressuscité nous
prodigue sa lumière au prix du sang qu’il a versé pour notre rachat.
Je le sentis en toute sa profonde beauté, pour la première fois. C’est
que, chanté lentement presque à mi-voix, avec une ferveur
concentrée, mille fois plus persuasive que les cris emphatiques de
virtuoses distraits, il donnait même aux Alleluia joyeux un accent de
gratitude prosternée et scellait ainsi dans l’âme des fidèles le
souvenir du sacrifice permanent de notre Sauveur.
Compris, rendu de la sorte, le Graduel renforce et prolonge
l’enseignement de l’Épître. Il nous mène, tout recueillis, à celui que
l’Évangile va nous offrir. Par lui, Notre-Seigneur se penche vers
notre misère ; il nous affirme sa volonté de nous en tirer pourvu que
nous ne nous montrions pas indignes de sa miséricorde. Nous
cependant, nous nous élançons vers lui. Nous le remercions, nous le
louons, nous lui présentons l’Alleluia comme une corbeille de
violettes.
Le Graduel, chanté par la maîtrise de la cathédrale de
Strasbourg, c’est un trait d’union entre l’âme et Dieu…
 V
En marge de l’Évangile

Il y a quelques années, j’ai rencontré une dame « bien-

pensante » qui ne voulait pas qu’on méditât sur Notre-Seigneur en
prenant pour point de départ les circonstances les plus humbles de
son passage sur la terre.
— Ainsi, lui dis-je, vous ne sauriez admettre que je me plaise à le
contempler lorsque, au temps de sa vie cachée, il façonne des
charpentes dans l’atelier de Saint Joseph ?
— Fi donc, s’écria-t-elle avec scandale, c’est trop vulgaire !
Au risque de passer pour vulgaire auprès des personnes qui se
guindent si haut dans le sublime qu’elles ne sont peut-être pas loin
de soutenir, avec certains hérétiques du I I e siècle, que le corps de
Jésus ne fut qu’une apparence dont il enveloppa sa divinité, je me
permets, sur ce point, comme sur une quantité d’autres, de me
mettre à l’école chez Sainte Térèse.
Or la Sainte recommande, au contraire, et à diverses reprises,
comme un exercice d’entraînement à l’oraison fort efficace, de
s’attacher à l’humanité de Notre-Seigneur. Elle avertit les âmes, qui
dédaignent cette pratique, comme indigne de leur transcendance,
qu’elles s’égarent.
Elle écrit avec l’incomparable bons sens qui la caractérise :
 « Vivre séparé de tout ce qui est corporel et sans cesse embrasé
d’amour, c’est bon pour les esprits angéliques ; mais ce n’est pas
notre affaire à nous qui habitons un corps mortel. Comment donc
nous éloignerions-nous de ce qui fait notre trésor et tout notre
remède : la très sainte humanité de Notre-Seigneur Jésus-Christ ?
« Sans doute ces personnes n’en sont point là ou elles ne
s’entendent pas elles-mêmes. Manquant du vrai guide qui est le bon
Jésus, elles ne trouveront pas le chemin ; ce sera beaucoup si elles
restent en assurance dans les autres. Lui-même a dit qu’il est le
chemin. Il a dit aussi qu’il est la lumière, que nul ne peut aller au
Père que par lui et encore que celui qui le voit, voit son Père.
Quelques-uns allèguent que ces paroles doivent s’entendre dans un
autre sens. Pour moi, je ne conçois pas cet autre sens ; le premier
est celui que mon âme a toujours senti être le vrai et je m’en suis
très bien trouvée. » (Le Château intérieur, sixième demeure, chapitre
VII.)
Comme c’est bien dit. Comme, pour ma modeste part, je préfère
aux visées orgueilleuses de ceux qui, dès ce monde, se croient
doués de la vision béatifique, la simplicité d’une vieille femme dont
un excellent prêtre m’a raconté l’histoire.
C’était une très pauvre lavandière qui, ayant perdu
prématurément son mari et ses enfants, était obligée de travailler de
l’aube au soir pour gagner son pain avec pas grand’chose dessus.
Une autre se fût peut-être découragée ou elle aurait murmuré contre
un sort aussi dur. Elle, point. Malgré l’âge et les infirmités, elle
accomplissait sa tâche avec une joie paisible dont s’étonnaient les
gens de la paroisse. Rivés étroitement à la terre par un féroce esprit
de lucre, ils ne pouvaient concevoir qu’elle ne se souciât point de
l’argent. Et même, la voyant toujours prête à compatir aux afflictions
de ses voisins et à leur rendre des services désintéressés, ils la
jugeaient un peu folle.
Le secret de sa sérénité résidait en ceci qu’elle vivait
complètement unie à Notre-Seigneur et à sa Mère. Par l’effet d’une
de ces grâces de choix que Dieu réserve aux âmes vraiment,
essentiellement humbles, elle était, si l’on peut dire, intime avec tous
deux.
« Elle se montrait toute naturelle dans le Surnaturel, me rapporta
le curé. Un jour où j’étais allé la voir et où je la trouvai très fatiguée,
je ne pus m’empêcher de la plaindre. Mais elle me répondit en
souriant : — Oui je suis passablement lasse. Je viens de finir une
forte lessive pour le château. Cela pressait et il y avait tant de
choses pas trop faciles à mettre propres que, d’abord, je ne savais
trop par quel bout commencer. Mais j’ai demandé à la Sainte Vierge
comment elle s’y prenait pour laver les langes de Notre-Seigneur. Et
elle m’a donné de bons conseils, de sorte que je me suis tirée
d’affaire sans presque m’en apercevoir.
« Une autre fois, elle dit : — Je ne dors pas beaucoup. Alors pour
passer le temps, je vais avec Notre-Seigneur partout où il va. La nuit
dernière, je l’avais suivi au désert. Je me pensais qu’après son jeûne
de quarante jours, il devait avoir terriblement faim. Je réfléchissais à
la bonne soupe que je voudrais lui offrir. Et j’ai vu qu’il était content
que cette idée me soit venue. »
Le prêtre avait les larmes aux yeux en me citant ce magnifique
exemple de vie unitive. Étant lui-même très humble, il ajouta : —
Cette bonne vieille m’en apprend plus long sur l’amour de Dieu que
tous les traités de théologie.
Ce récit stimula mon penchant à méditer, dans la vie de Notre-
Seigneur, les passages où il apparaît le plus près de nous — pourvu
que nous soyons pauvres par dilection. D’ailleurs, est-ce qu’il ne
nous y encourage point par la tendresse qu’il témoigne aux gens
obscurs que ne gâtent ni la fortune ni les honneurs, par les
comparaisons familières qu’il emploie dans ses paraboles et par la
façon dont il manifeste aux disciples que s’il est Dieu, il est aussi un
homme ?
J’ouvre l’Évangile au hasard et je tombe sur le chapitre XXIV de
Saint Luc où il est dit que les deux disciples qui revenaient
d’Emmaüs se hâtèrent de se rendre dans la maison où les apôtres
étaient réunis avec d’autres fidèles pour leur apprendre qu’ils avaient
vu le Bon Maître.
« Ils furent accueillis par cette parole : — Le Seigneur est
vraiment ressuscité et il est apparu à Simon !
A leur tour, ils racontèrent ce qui leur était arrivé en route et
comment ils avaient reconnu Jésus à la fraction du pain. Mais
quelques-uns se refusaient toujours à croire.
Pendant qu’ils discutaient ainsi, Jésus parut soudain au milieu
d’eux et leur dit : — La paix soit avec vous. C’est moi. Ne craignez
point.
Eux, pleins de trouble et de frayeur, ils croyaient voir un spectre.
— Pourquoi cette épouvante ? reprit Jésus. Pourquoi les pensées
de doute qui se lèvent dans vos cœurs ? Voici mes mains et mes
pieds. Touchez, rendez-vous compte : un fantôme n’a ni chair ni os
comme vous voyez que j’en ai.
Ayant dit cela, il leur montra ses mains et ses pieds [percés par
les clous du supplice].
Ils reconnurent leur Maître, mais dans le saisissement de leur
joie, ils ne pouvaient encore en croire leurs yeux.
Alors Jésus leur demanda : — Avez-vous ici quelque chose à
manger ?
Ils lui présentèrent un morceau de poisson grillé et un rayon de
miel. Et, après qu’il eut mangé devant eux, prenant ce qui restait, il
le leur distribua. »
Cette relation, si émouvante en sa simplicité, constitue, à mon
avis, l’une des preuves les plus décisives de la véracité des
Évangiles.
Je suis convaincu que des imposteurs, se concertant pour fonder
une religion et voulant imposer la croyance à la résurrection du
personnage légendaire qu’ils prétendent faire passer pour un Dieu,
s’y seraient pris d’une autre manière. Ils auraient composé
l’apparition comme une scène de féerie. Ils en auraient fait une sorte
d’apothéose à grand orchestre. Ils auraient prêté à leur soi-disant
Messie un langage emphatique. Probablement ils lui auraient fait
prononcer, selon les préceptes d’une pompeuse rhétorique, un
discours aussi prolixe qu’ampoulé.
Ici, au contraire, nul artifice, nulle avance à la superstition. Mais
quel sobre et puissant réalisme dans l’exposé des circonstances. Ce
n’est pas de l’art — c’est bien plus que de l’art.
On reconstitue facilement, par la pensée, l’entretien de ces âmes
en désarroi depuis la mort de Jésus et qui n’ont pas encore reçu le
Saint-Esprit.
Les disciples d’Emmaüs arrivent tout bouleversés de ce qu’ils
viennent de voir et pressés d’en informer les fidèles. Dès qu’ils sont
entrés, les plus confiants dans la toute-puissance de Jésus leur
crient : — Le Maître est ressuscité : Simon l’a vu.
— Oui, oui, répondent-ils, nous aussi nous l’avons rencontré sur
la route. A l’auberge, nous l’avons reconnu à la fraction du pain. Et
tandis qu’il nous parlait, notre cœur brûlait d’amour dans notre
poitrine comme quand il nous menait par les chemins en nous
expliquant l’Écriture. C’est lui ! C’est lui !…
Et ils rapportent, avec une éloquence spontanée, tous les détails
de la rencontre.
Mais, dans l’assemblée, il y a des esprits méfiants qui, si naguère
ils subissaient l’ascendant de Jésus, étaient toujours enclins à
rapetisser ses enseignements à la mesure de la pauvre sagesse
humaine. Ceux-là tiennent, on le devine, des propos de ce genre : —
Madeleine qui, la première, a cru voir le Seigneur, est bien exaltée.
Elle ne mérite pas beaucoup de créance. Quant à Simon, depuis son
reniement, il vit dans une fièvre de chagrin. Il aura eu quelque
hallucination.
— Mais, insistent les disciples d’Emmaüs, nous que vous
connaissez, nous ne sommes pas des exaltés et nous n’avons pas
la fièvre. Nous avons vu le Seigneur et nous lui avons parlé comme
nous vous voyons et comme nous vous parlons.
— Bah ! vous aurez pris pour lui quelqu’un qui lui ressemblait et
qui s’est amusé de vous…
 Tel est l’aveuglement de notre raison, si la Grâce ne l’éclaire, que
les arguments des sceptiques et le ton d’assurance avec lequel ils
les formulent, commencent d’ébranler les plus disposés à croire. Ils
ne savent que répondre. Et il est à remarquer que Saint Pierre, qui
est là et qui devrait semble-t-il corroborer de son témoignage
l’affirmation de disciples d’Emmaüs, Saint Pierre garde le silence.
Un doute angoissant pèse sur tous.
A ce moment, Jésus se dresse au milieu de ces hommes
perplexes, sans que la porte soigneusement verrouillée, « par
crainte des Juifs » se soit même entr’ouverte. Ils ont peur ; croyant à
un fantôme, ils s’écartent de lui en tremblant ; peut-être vont-ils fuir.
Mais lui prononce les mots par lesquels il a coutume de les
saluer. Et comme cette phrase bien connue ne suffit pas à les
rassurer, il les invite à le toucher. Puis, comme il l’a fait tant de fois, il
leur demande de la nourriture, mange devant eux et les convie à
partager avec lui ce repas improvisé, suivant le rite qu’il institua pour
bien leur démontrer qu’après comme avant la croix et le tombeau, il
est l’Homme-Dieu qu’ils vénèrent autant qu’ils le chérissent. Alors
seulement ils le reconnaissent tout-à-fait et leur joie éclate…
J’imagine que si, d’aventure, elle lit l’Évangile, la dame raffinée,
dont j’ai parlé au commencement du chapitre, juge passablement
vulgaires ce rayon de miel et ce poisson grillé. Quoi, pas même une
périphrase élégante pour désigner des aliments qu’elle se ferait
scrupule d’offrir à son directeur de conscience lorsqu’elle l’invite à
dîner !…
Mais il est à supposer qu’elle ne lit guère l’Évangile parce que le
Saint Livre choque sans cesse le sentiment « distingué » qu’elle se
forge de Notre-Seigneur.
Or qui veut faire l’ange fait la bête disait Pascal…
Pour moi, la religion affadie, enrubannée de fanfreluches, où se
complaisent les mondains m’écœure. J’adore, jusque dans les plus
humbles détails, tout ce qui se rapporte au Bon Maître. Je ne fais
pas de choix. J’aime Jésus lorsqu’il se transfigure au Thabor. Je
l’aime également lorsqu’il prend son repos dans la maison de
Zachée, homme décrié parmi les Pharisiens. Aux heures où Il
daigne s’offrir à ma contemplation dans la lumière de l’oraison, je
n’ignore pas que cette faveur insigne m’est octroyée parce que
d’abord, docile à la Grâce, j’ai ramassé les miettes qui tombent de
sa table et que je m’en suis nourri. Et combien d’autres font mieux
que moi pour lui plaire !…
 VI
Le Credo est une étoile…

Quel réconfort pour la foi, pour l’espérance, pour la charité que

ce chant du Credo lorsqu’il n’y a pas une bouche qui ne le profère le
dimanche, à la messe ! Il est le symbole des mystères où notre vie
intérieure s’abreuve pour refleurir toujours plus vivace. Il résume
l’histoire des luttes de l’Église contre les hérésies insidieuses qui
tentent de diviser ceux que l’Esprit-Saint a réunis. Il est l’affirmation
immuable de la doctrine transmise par les apôtres, hommes
sanctifiés par le Seigneur lui-même, pour nous ouvrir la voie du salut
à travers les âges.
L’époque ténébreuse où nous sommes condamnés à vivre
voudrait faire dévier les enfants de l’Église vers les marécages où
tremblotent les feux-follets de son orgueil. Des sophistes
argumentent, subtilisent, jonglent, avec les vocables, comme des
turlupins de foire, avec des boules brillantes et creuses. Des savants
attestant l’évidence de la matière éternelle, présentant comme des
axiomes décisifs leurs conjectures versatiles, construisent des
cheminées aux fourneaux du démon pour que la noire fumée qui
s’en échappe dissimule le monde à Celui qui créa toutes les choses
visibles et toutes les choses invisibles et qui les embrasse d’un seul
regard. Des réprouvés, qui se donnèrent une peine infinie pour
arracher en eux les racines de la foi, errent çà et là en ricanant — de
quel rire lugubre — et déclarent : — L’humanité, maîtresse d’elle-
même comme de l’univers conquis par sa science, n’a plus besoin
de votre Dieu…
Cadavres ambulants, troupeau sinistre que rassemble, pour son
domaine, celui-qui-nie, celui qui n’a pas voulu servir — l’odeur de la
mort flotte autour d’eux.
D’autre part, voici nos frères séparés du protestantisme. Ils se
plaignent de voir s’éparpiller en milles sectes les adhérents à l’erreur
qu’ils s’efforcent de maintenir. Mais comment n’en irait-il pas ainsi ?
Quand on pose en principe que chacun a le droit d’élire, parmi les
dogmes, ceux qu’il juge de nature à flatter son imagination et
d’écarter ceux qui lui déplaisent, on ne peut s’attendre à fonder une
religion stable. La confiance qu’ils accordent au sens propre,
aggrave l’aberration de la fausse doctrine. Niant l’autorité révélée
dont l’Église garde le dépôt, le dissident lui reproche de ne pas
évoluer selon les caprices multiples de l’inconstance humaine. Il ne
comprend pas que la force en Dieu de l’Église procède du fait qu’elle
a promulgué, pour les siècles, la formule de la certitude par la foi.
Cette formule c’est le Credo. On ne peut rester catholique si, par
fantaisie personnelle, on la mutile ou si l’on en modifie les articles. Il
est arrivé que l’Église opérât des changements dans sa discipline ou
dans sa liturgie. Jamais elle n’a touché, jamais elle ne touchera au
dogme. Et c’est pourquoi, tandis qu’autour d’elle, les schismes et les
hérésies tombent en décrépitude ou se pulvérisent dans le doute,
elle garde la claire vision du Dieu qui réjouit sa jeunesse
impérissable…
Aussi, de quel cœur plein d’une sérénité joyeuse je chante
Credo, je crois, à l’unisson avec tous mes frères répandus sur le
globe entier, reclus pour un temps, au Purgatoire, bienheureux au
Ciel ! Credo, c’est la rémission des péchés, c’est la communion des
Saints. C’est la conviction qu’il n’y a qu’une seule Vérité, qu’une
seule Église. Comme je respire à l’aise me sentant une parcelle de
ce corps mystique dont Jésus est la tête !
Le Credo, c’est une réponse à la parole de Dieu : Que la lumière
soit ! c’est un écho de la voix qui nous enseigne le sens surnaturel
de la vie par les prophètes, par le Verbe incarné, par les apôtres, par
les Pères de l’Église.
Le Credo donne des ailes à ma prière ; il me secourt dans la
tentation ; il m’arme pour le combat de tous les jours ; il me fera
espérer dans la miséricorde divine à l’heure de l’extrême-onction et
du linceul.
Sans le Credo, je ne serais qu’une feuille sèche, emportée par la
bise.
Le Credo est une étoile fixe dont aucun nuage, suscité par
l’enfer, ne réussirait à voiler le rayonnement. Si des vagues
ennemies assaillent la barque de Pierre, si des écueils se hérissent
alentour, je n’ai qu’à lever les yeux ; je vois l’astre auxiliateur briller
au-dessus de l’assemblée des fidèles.
Par lui, je suis orienté, consolé, rassuré, par lui, je sais que Jésus
protège ma faiblesse.
Reste-moi donc toujours présente, ô belle étoile du Credo !

Je voudrais maintenant rappeler l’admirable développement du

Credo attribué à saint Athanase qui fut l’une des plus hautes figures
de l’antiquité chrétienne. Évoquons d’abord, s’il se peut, cette gloire
de l’Église.
Athanase naquit dans la ville d’Alexandrie en l’an 295. Il reçut
une forte instruction et marqua, dès son adolescence, par son goût
des lettres sacrées et des lettres profanes. Petit de taille et
d’apparence chétive, tant qu’il se taisait, beaucoup étaient enclins à
le considérer comme un personnage des plus insignifiants. Mais dès
qu’il prenait la parole, l’ardeur de sa foi le transfigurait et l’on ne
tardait pas à s’apercevoir qu’en ce corps frêle habitait une âme
indomptable. De même, ses écrits donnent l’impression d’une telle
vigueur que ses adversaires, mis en déroute par sa science des
choses saintes et sa foudroyante dialectique, ne savaient où se
reprendre pour lui tenir tête. Et ce qui prouve sa maîtrise c’est
qu’alors, suivant la coutume des polémistes impulsifs, ils
répondaient à ses raisons par des injures. Le plus passionné d’entre
eux, Julien l’Apostat s’écriait : « Croirait-on que ce n’est pas un
homme mais un homuncule qui ose me contredire ! »
Très jeune encore, Athanase mena, quelque temps, la vie
d’ascète au désert de la Thébaïde et l’on suppose qu’il s’y mit sans
l’obédience de ce Maître de la Pénitence : saint Antoine. Il écrivit
dans cette solitude son Discours contre les Gentils où il pose ce
principe que la source de toutes les erreurs qui troublaient le monde
à son époque c’est le paganisme c’est-à-dire l’adoration des forces
naturelles ou des facultés humaines divinisées. Il prend pour objet
principal de sa critique non pas la vieille mythologie qui tombe en
pourriture au fond des temples abandonnés, mais surtout le néo-
platonisme en faveur parmi un grand nombre d’Alexandrins. Avec
une sagacité merveilleuse, il analyse le désordre intellectuel et moral
qui en résulte malgré les formes subtiles « éthérées » que les néo-
platoniciens donnaient à leur idolâtrie. A leurs rêveries il oppose la
doctrine catholique du Verbe. Et il le fait avec une solidité
d’argumentation et une élévation de pensée bien définies par
Bossuet lorsqu’il écrit : « Le caractère d’Athanase fut d’être grand
partout. »
De retour à Alexandrie, il entra dans le clergé et y exerça
pendant six ans l’office de lecteur. L’évêque le distingua, l’appela au
diaconat et le choisit comme secrétaire.
C’était le temps où Arius, curé d’une des paroisses les plus
importantes de la ville, commençait à répandre son hérésie.
« L’évêque Alexandre apprit avec tristesse, dit M. Mourret, dans
son excellente Histoire de l’Église, que des doctrines étranges
circulaient parmi son peuple et son clergé au sujet de la Personne
du Fils de Dieu. Des hommes soutenaient que la seconde Personne
de la Trinité n’avait pas existé de toute éternité et qu’elle n’était que
le premier-né des créatures. Pour ceux qui proféraient ces
assertions, l’Incarnation et la Rédemption, mystères d’un Dieu fait
homme et se sacrifiant pour notre salut, n’étaient plus que de vains
songes. » On voit la conséquence : « L’insondable abîme creusé par
les philosophes païens entre la pauvre humanité et la Divinité
inaccessible se rouvrait ; le monde n’était pas plus avancé après la
prédication de l’Évangile qu’avant la venue du Sauveur. »
Telle fut l’origine d’une hérésie qui séduisit beaucoup
d’intelligences, suscita de terribles luttes, et, sous la protection de
maints empereurs, égarés dans la controverse, aurait peut-être
conquis le monde si Dieu n’avait fait naître pour la défense de la
Vérité unique d’incomparables athlètes. Au premier rang, Athanase.
Or l’évêque qui, d’après les historiens de l’époque, semble avoir
été un indécis, peu porté à prendre des initiatives et fort ami de son
repos, hésitait à sévir contre Arius et les adeptes que celui-ci, très
habile, très éloquent, consommé dans l’esprit d’intrigue, s’était
acquis.
Inquiet de voir le prélat temporiser, tandis que le péril pour la foi
ne cessait de s’accroître, Athanase, qui était la volonté même, lui
représenta d’une façon vive, l’urgence qu’il y avait à condamner
l’hérésie nouvelle. Stimulé par le jeune diacre, l’évêque se décida
enfin à prendre des mesures énergiques contre Arius. Il le cita à
comparaître devant lui, en présence de tout le clergé d’Alexandrie,
pour expliquer sa doctrine. Il y eut deux audiences à la suite
desquelles l’hérétique fut condamné et frappé d’anathème. Comme
on le devine, Athanase avait eu grande part à cette
excommunication.
Mais Arius ne se soumit pas. Au contraire, secondé par ses
partisans de plus en plus nombreux, il accentua sa propagande. Non
seulement la ville et le diocèse en furent gravement contaminés
mais encore les provinces voisines et bientôt tout l’empire d’Orient.
Maints évêques inclinent à l’hérésie, suivis par leur clergé et par
force laïques trop amoureux d’innovations. Les membres de l’Église
s’entre-déchirent. Et Satan qui souffle allègrement la discorde, se
frotte les mains.
Toujours à l’instigation de l’infatigable Athanase, l’évêque
d’Alexandrie adresse à tous les diocèses deux lettres où l’erreur
d’Arius et ses menées sont dénoncées sans aucun ménagement.
Elles déterminent partout un mouvement de réaction salutaire chez
les orthodoxes. Et c’est alors que l’empereur Constantin, soucieux
de rétablir la paix dans l’Église, convoque le célèbre concile
œcuménique de Nicée.
Athanase y accompagna son évêque et s’y fit tout de suite
remarquer. « Athanase, dit l’annaliste Socrate, apparut à tous
comme l’adversaire le plus vigoureux des Ariens. »
Nous avons aussi, sur ce point, le témoignage de saint Grégoire
de Nazianze : « Lorsque, rapporte-t-il, les Ariens voyaient le
redoutable champion, petit de taille et si frêle mais le port assuré et
le front haut, se lever pour prendre la parole, on voyait passer dans
leurs rangs un frisson de haine. Pour la majorité de l’assemblée, elle
regardait alors d’un regard confiant celui qui allait se faire l’interprète
irréductible de sa pensée. »
De fait, nul ne savait comme Athanase « saisir le nœud d’une
difficulté et, mieux encore, exposer le fait central d’où tout dépend et
en faire jaillir ces flots de lumière qui éclairent la foi en même temps
qu’ils démasquent l’hérésie ».
On sait que le concile de Nicée prononça la condamnation
d’Arius et formula l’essentiel de ce symbole, le Credo que nous
récitons tous les jours avec les additions qu’y joignit pour écarter
d’autres hérésies le concile de Constantinople.
Trois ans après l’assemblée où la divinité du Verbe incarné fut
ainsi promulguée, l’évêque d’Alexandrie mourut. En ses derniers
jours il avait exprimé le désir qu’on lui donnât pour successeur le
diacre Athanase. Les fidèles acclamèrent ce choix. Les évêques de
la province d’Égypte le ratifièrent. Le nouvel évêque fut sacré le 7
juin 328 au milieu des ovations de tout un peuple qui répétait :
« Athanase ! Athanase ! C’est un vrai chrétien ! C’est un ascète !
C’est un véritable évêque ! »
Athanase avait à peine 33 ans. « Outre les qualités du pasteur
accompli, écrit Monseigneur Duchesne, Dieu lui avait donné un
esprit clair, un œil bien ouvert sur la tradition chrétienne, sur les
évènements, sur les hommes. Avec cela, un caractère hautement
indomptable tempéré par une parfaite bonne grâce, mais incapable