Although Stephen Hopkins’ film version of Lost in Space enjoyed moderate success in 1998, most recent tales of marooned travelers more closely resemble Robinson Crusoe. For example, in Barry B. Longyear’s 1979 novella Enemy Mine, along with Wolfgang Petersen’s 1985 film version, the human fighter pilot Willis Davidge finds himself stuck on a dangerous and hostile planet with the antagonistic alien Jeriba Shigan, clearly mirroring Crusoe and Friday. However, perhaps reflecting a modern-day enlightenment missing from Defoe’s colonialism, the two mortal enemies must learn to work together to survive their perilous conditions. Most recently, science-fiction has returned to the direct roots of “shipwreck survivalism” with J. J. Abrams’s television sensation Lost (2004–10). In this variation, an airplane crashes onto a mysterious and obstinately unchartable island; and although a healthy number of travelers survive, at least initially, their exploits and adventures mirror Defoe’s storyline. The Lost survivors build defensible shelters, recycle and reuse salvage from the crash, and learn to hunt and grown their own food—but they also struggle against a tribe of hostile “natives.” Like most of the shipwreck narratives described so far, the primary goal of Lost is not necessarily survival itself, but rescue, and the series charts numerous attempts to escape the confines of the island.
Although the survivalism subgenre regularly emphasizes protagonists stranded in faraway locations, the same tropes are also strong components of apocalypse narratives. As with many sci-fi subgenres, tales of global destruction originated in the nineteenth century, specifically with Mary Shelley’s The Last Man (1826) and H. G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds (1898). Shelley’s novel describes the results of a devastating plague, but her story focuses more on the deaths and social collapse associated with the pandemic than on Lionel Verney’s efforts to survive. In fact, The Last Man ends once Verney realizes he’s the only one left alive—the point when most apocalyptic survival narratives begin. Wells’ novel has a similar trajectory, emphasizing the destruction associated with an alien invasion rather than survivalism, but at the heart of the novel is a section in which the narrator and an unstable curate take refuge in an abandoned building. This chilling sequence not only features the active survival efforts of the novel’s protagonist, but it also establishes some key tropes of the apocalyptic survivalism subgenre: a loose alliance between antagonistic characters, hiding out inside a remote and somewhat fortified location, and the careful application of survival skills and supplies.
Many survivalism narratives of the past fifty years understandably explore the tragic results of nuclear warfare, as the Cold War convinced many that the world would likely end in an atomic holocaust. One of the earliest, Pat Frank’s Alas, Babylon (1959) follows the exploits of Randy Bragg, a Korean War veteran who lives in a small town in central Florida. After the Soviet Union launches a preemptive nuclear attack on the United States, Randy finds himself the leader of the Fort Repose militia, and his training and level head help to organize the community. He successfully addresses housing concerns, finds and distributes food and water, and rallies his new “troops” against roaming marauders. Another key example of this subgenre is Ray Milland’s 1962 film Panic in Year Zero. Harry Baldwin’s (Milland) family serendipitously survives a nuclear assault on Los Angeles because of a camping trip, but they find survival in the backwoods to be harrowing and dangerous. Harry takes drastic steps to keep his family safe, including stealing supplies, abandoning their camper for a secluded cave, and resorting to violence against murderous teenage rapists. Both of these narratives chart the tactics necessary to survive an atomic war,ii but other significant tales feature global devastation as a result of biological rather than nuclear assault.
Many stories of survival thus feature pandemics, plagues, and other forms of infection, threats that became all the more real and terrifying after the use of chemical and biological weapons during the first half of the twentieth century. One of the first modern examples is George R. Stewart’s 1949 novel Earth Abides, an alternative history of Berkeley, California, in which the majority of the population have died from some variation of the measles. The protagonist Ish Williams tries to rebuild civilized society upon an agrarian model, but the young survivors of the plague grow up to be both primitive and superstitious. Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend (1954) picks up thematically where Shelley’s The Last Man leaves off, as Robert Neville is the only living person in a world inhabited by vampires. Matheson’s novella does much to establish the tropes of the small-scale survivalism narrative, as Neville lives inside a heavily fortified home, roaming the city streets during the day in search of food, fuel, and other essential supplies. Using science in the face of superstition, Neville determines the biological nature of the vampire plague, and he makes a valiant attempt to cure the disease. Unfortunately, his efforts fail, and he is eventually killed by the new vampire race—the true “survivors”—as a monstrous outcast and murderer.
Not all plague narratives are as pessimistic as those from Stewart and Matheson; in fact, some of the more influential have decidedly positive resolutions. Stephen King’s The Stand (1978), for example, not only narrates in exquisite detail the destruction of US society because of a human-made biological weapon, but it also tracks the efforts of the survivors to rebuild civilization. Led by the messianic Mother Abigail, the righteous remnants of the nation make a pilgrimage to Boulder, Colorado, where they must relearn the difficulties of democratic government, reestablish the electrical grid, and find more primitive ways of feeding and clothing themselves. They also launch a war of faith against the evil Randall Flagg, a demon whose efforts at destruction are eventually overcome by the literal hand of god. David Brin’s 1985 novel The Postman, along with Kevin Costner’s 1997 film adaptation, similarly recounts a post-viral apocalypse society struggling to reestablish both the symbols and institutions of government and civilization. Although Gordon Krantz initially only pretends to be a postal employee, his scavenged uniform becomes a symbol and a rallying point for beleaguered survivors, who find the courage to stand up against a dangerous sect of “hypersurvivalist” and, as the end of the novel implies, unite with other communities to reform a healthy society.
The next category of apocalyptic survivalism narratives reacts not to modern warfare or dangerous technology but to natural disasters and environmental collapse. An early example of this is The Death of Grass (1956) by Samuel Youd, a novel about a global famine that forces John Custance and Roger Buckley to compromise their values as they struggle to protect and provide for their families. Jerry Pournelle and Larry Niven’s 1977 novel Lucifer’s Hammer weaves a similar tale of survival in the wake of a comet colliding with the Earth. Before the global devastation of the impact and the resulting tsunamis, people begin hoarding foodstuffs and making preparations for survival. After the “Hammerfall,” the survivors of the flooding gravitate into different communities and strongholds, and an entirely new social order is created that values useable skills and resorts to violence to protect not only people but also supplies. Kevin Reynolds’ rather infamous film Waterworld (1995) represents another example of environmental destruction, this time a world that has been transformed because of extreme global warming. With the melting of the polar ice caps, the entire planet is covered by water, and a new civilization has arisen composed exclusively of ships, boats, and rafts. The Mariner (Kevin Costner) is a mutant dirt trader who fights the sinister Smokers and leads a group of survivors to the dry land of Mount Everest.3
Finally, three exemplary post-apocalypse survivalism narratives that explore brutal survivalism after the end of modern civilization include Harlan Ellison’s A Boy and His Dog (1969), George Miller’s 1979 film Mad Max, and Cormac McCarthy’s award-winning 2006 novel The Road. Ellison’s tale, as well as the L.Q. Jones movie from 1975 starring Don Johnson, charts the violent and sexual survivalist adventures of Vic, a teenage boy with no conscience or sense of morality. Guided only by his psychic dog Blood, Vic must avoid marauders, androids, and genetic m
utants in his seemingly never-ending quest for food and women. In Mad Max, Australia has become a dystopian wasteland in which Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson) strives not only to keep his family safe but also to combat lawless biker gangs as a member of the Main Force Patrol. Tragically, Max’s wife and son are murdered as part of gang retaliation, and the movie becomes more of a revenge picture than a survivalism narrative. McCarthy’s The Road, in contrast, is hardly anything but a tale of survival, the story of a bleak road trip undertaken to keep the unnamed protagonist’s son alive. The two struggle through sterile landscapes and erratic weather, running from roaming gangs of cannibals and scavenging the most meager of provisions to keep themselves going.
Survivalism has clearly thrived in both castaway adventures and in apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic tales, but one of the most popular survivalism subgenres, if the least likely or realistic, is the zombie invasion narrative. Although many of these stories simply emphasize the destruction of society at the rotting hands of the reanimated dead, the more sophisticated texts focus on the needs of the struggling survivors both to remain alive and to reestablish and rebuild society. The first of the apocalyptic zombie films, George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), is at its heart a survivalist narrative, being based primarily on Matheson’s I Am Legend (Martin). Over the course of the movie, the antihero Ben (Duane Jones) systematically fortifies the rustic farmhouse where he and the other survivors of the zombie invasion are hiding, nailing boards across the windows and doors, fashioning crude Molotov cocktails, and shooting at the encroaching monsters with a rifle. As the film takes place over the course of one night only, the plot focuses not on eliminating all the zombies or finding a cure for their infection, but simply on staying alive until morning. Unfortunately, things go badly for the rag-tag group of antagonistic survivors: their efforts to refuel a truck fail disastrously, the men turn violently against one another, the house’s fortifications fail, and everyone in the house is eventually killed.
Later zombie movies expand the scope of their narratives beyond survival on the short term and instead address efforts at long-term existence. In Romero’s third zombie film, 1985’s Day of the Dead, a group of dysfunctional survivalists, including both soldiers and scientists, hide in a Cold War-era bunker, filled with food, weapons, medicine, and other supplies. Rather than being content with just waiting the apocalypse out, however, the survivors work diligently to locate other survivors and to find a way to domesticate the walking dead. Sadly, their efforts on both fronts fail, and the film ends with only a glimmer of hope for the future. Romero’s Land of the Dead (2005), on the other hand, depicts a community that appears to be thriving despite the raging zombie apocalypse. Residents of the Fiddler’s Green apartment building enjoy most of the luxuries of their former existence; unfortunately, their opulent lifestyle is only made possible by the desperate efforts of an impoverished, proletarian labor force, and the entire façade eventually collapses against an invading army of quasi-sentient zombies. Only Robert Kirkman’s sprawling The Walking Dead graphic novel series (2003– ) has managed to look at the long-term survivalist efforts that would be necessary to outlast a global zombie pandemic. His series, now also a television program on AMC, explores what humans would have to be willing to do to secure the food, fuel, shelter, and safety necessary for survival.
Survivalism exists across the literary spectrum, from action adventure to science fiction to horror, but what accounts for the popularity and longevity of this subgenre and its associated tropes? On the one hand, survivalist narratives provide the catharsis we need to face an uncertain future and potential social, political, and global destruction. On the other, watching others survive against terrible odds is both exciting and fun—in many ways, we wish we could be there with them. The survivalist fantasy thus indulges our hubris that we are smart enough, advanced enough, and strong enough to overcome any challenge or obstacle, but the post-apocalyptic scenario also gives us a world in which anything and everything we may want or need is ripe for the taking. A. Loudermilk calls this idealized depiction of the apocalypse the “Mall Fantasia” (93), a kind of capitalist utopia with commodities but no currency. Boris Sagal’s 1971 film version of I Am Legend, The Ωmega Man, includes a famous scene in which Robert Neville (Charlton Heston), in need of a new sports car, simply takes one from a dealership, driving it nonchalantly through the showroom’s plate-glass window. Such a consumerist fantasy is repeated, with minor variations, in Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978), Thom Eberhardt’s Night of the Comet (1984), and most recently in Zack Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead (2004).
Of course, the popularity of the survivalist fantasy is not limited to the realm of fiction alone; a real-world obsession can be seen in the number of survivalist guides, handbooks, training courses, clubs, and online communities that exist today. Real people can prove themselves in the manner of Robinson Crusoe on a number of reality television shows, including the Swedish Expedition Robinson (1997– ) and the US series Survivor (2000– ), and a post-apocalyptic community of survivors can test their mettle and resourcefulness on the Discovery Channel’s televised “experiment, The Colony (2009–10). Even those convinced a real zombie apocalypse is just days away can diligently prepare themselves by devouring the pages of Max Brooks’ bestselling The Zombie Survival Guide (2003). The bottom line is that we as a society love stories of perseverance, struggle, and survival, and although this trope can most often be found within the bounds of science fiction narratives, our world resembles such scenarios more and more with each passing year. In fact, these fictions may just be the very things that save our lives someday, as long as we have been paying close attention.
Works Cited
Klotz, Irene. “Journeying to Mars—on a One-Way Ticket.” Discovery News. Discovery Communications, 1 Nov. 2010. Web. 27 Nov. 2010.
Loudermilk, A. “Eating Dawn in the Dark.” Journal of Consumer Culture 3.1 (2003): 83–108.
Martin, Perry, dir. The Dead Will Walk. Disc 4. Dawn of the Dead ultimate ed. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2004. DVD.
Ross, Angus. Introduction. Robinson Crusoe. By Daniel Defoe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1985. 7–21. Print.
Notes
1In fact, Heinlein may soon be proven prescient, as scientists Dirk Schulze-Makuch and Paul Davies reason that “sending astronauts—particularly ones past their reproductive years—on one-way journeys to Mars is the most economical way to pioneer the space frontier and establish humans as a multi-planet species” (Klotz).
2This microgenre continues despite the end of the Cold War, as evidenced by the short-lived CBS television series Jericho (2006–2008).
3In recent years, such tales of environmental destruction and the resultant struggles for survival have become popular in young adult literature as well, as with Susan Beth Pfeffer’s Life as We Knew It (2006).
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Dr. Kyle William Bishop is a third-generation professor at Southern Utah University, where he teaches courses in American literature and culture, film studies, fantasy literature, and English composition. He has presented and published a variety of articles on popular culture and cinematic adaptation, including Metropolis, Night of the Living Dead, Fight Club, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Dawn of the Dead. He received a PhD in English from the University of Arizona in 2009, and his first book, American Zombie Gothic: The Rise and Fall (and Rise) of the Walking Dead in Popular Culture, is now available through McFarland & Co., Publishers.
DEBRA DOYLE AND JAMES D. MACDONALD
(1952– and 1954– )
Jim and Debra were two of the first writers I worked with in my first publishing job. They had a reputation for being good storytellers who were fast and professional if you were in a crunch and needed, say, a new Tom Swift book by next Thursday. Over the years I found they weren’t just good at rescuing books, but seem to have a unique ability to show up in a crisis with genuinely helpful skills. Perhaps as a result of all this rescuing, Jim has become a widely known expert on
publishing scams, has been a sysop and moderator for many genre-related internet sites, and spends his non-writing time as an EMT on rescue crews in mountainous northern New Hampshire.
When they met through Philadelphia-area fandom and married, Jim was a Navy man from New York State and Debra was a Texas-born Ivy League grad student finishing her doctorate in Medieval and Icelandic literature. Jim’s military career took them to Panama, where their transition to the writing life started in an odd way: during the “torture” phase of jungle school training, Jim resisted by writing a werewolf story in his head. While recovering afterward, he wrote down the rough story, Debra polished it into publishability, and they sold it as “Bad Blood” (1988, eventually expanded into a three-book young adult series).
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