After nine seasons of zombie-killing intensity, it was bound to happen, no matter how hard our heroes may have fought against the inevitability: Snow.
Whether you want to chalk it up to climate change or not, a wintry storm finally came for The Walking Dead, for the first time in the history of the show. Given that the series films in Georgia, it’s not surprising the writers have resisted pitting the characters against a seasonal occurrence that rarely happens in the state. In addition to the unlikely scenario of natural precipitation lining up with the shooting schedule, there’s the simple fact that it probably really sucks to shoot cold-weather scenes when it’s warm out, bundling up while the sun beats down, cooking the actors to a fine medium roast. But the combination of CGI and what I assume is a serious amount of artificial snow flocking on the landscape succeeded in creating an icy environment, the perfect setting in which to marinate while we watched the chilly emotional fallout from last episode’s mass murder.
The show has always tended to follow up installments in which noteworthy characters die with brooding and meditative stories, moments in which both audience and characters can stop and take stock of where they are, reevaluating themselves and asking if it’s all still worth it. (Yes, that is very much a task for those on both sides of the screen.) And for all the live-or-die snowbound action of the episode, “The Storm” is very much in line with this tradition, a reflection on grief in the wake of trauma, and how it can quietly have significant unforeseen consequences, even weeks or months later.
It’s been awhile since the deaths of Henry, Tara, and the others, as Ezekiel makes clear in his radio communique that bookends the episodes. The Kingdom’s fortunes plummeted in the wake of the disastrous trade fair, the water and electricity failing despite their best efforts, eventually forcing the King to abandon his land, leading his people to Hilltop before the oncoming snowstorm laid waste to the countryside and trapped them without sufficient food, water, or heat. Forced to take up sanctuary mid-storm at, well, the Sanctuary, Michonne proposes they cross through Alpha’s territory, before they’re stuck in an even worse location for starving to death. And while the members of the Kingdom make their desperate trek through enemy territory (and across a frozen river that could crack at any moment), a group of Alexandrians stumble through the heart of the roaring snowstorm, trying to get to Aaron’s house where the fireplace still works.
Against the backdrop of the storm, three primary stories unfold: The destruction of Carol and Ezekiel’s relationship, Lydia’s death wish, and Negan’s rescue of Judith after she runs off to try and save Dog. There are a few moments of other subplots—the sturdy bond among those planning to care for Rosita’s child, Michonne’s hopes for reuniting the communities (not to mention her tentative moves toward reuniting Negan with the outside of his jail cell)—but the focus is on the aftereffects of the pain caused by Alpha’s murder of Henry. The unraveling of Carol and Ezekiel’s romance is the most artfully done of these, simply because it’s the most true to life. The grief of losing Henry drove a wedge between them, the same way losing a child so often does for couples in the real world. Watching the distance created between them, conveyed largely in pained glances and awkward exchanges, felt honest in a way the show all too rarely does.
And Ezekiel’s efforts to repair the damage, as well as Carol’s resigned acceptance of the end, were finely detailed and relatable. Ezekiel asking Daryl to leave Carol alone once they get to Hilltop—sad, honest, not trying to be rude—was the epitome of misplaced problem-solving. “He only blames you because he can’t let himself blame me,” Carol tells her old friend, and it rings true without sounding forced or like writerly rhetoric. (The “we made it.” “Did we?” exchange between the King and Carol after arriving at Hilltop was a more overwrought bit of dialogue.) Their relationship always felt like it only worked because Ezekiel was able to convince Carol that his over-the-top exhortations were a safe space in the world; stripping it away exposed what a fragile edifice their love was built on.
Lydia, by contrast, is dealing with some serious survivor’s guilt, her feelings for Henry causing her to assume that she should’ve died in his place, which leads her to do things like offer her exposed arm to a walker frozen in the ice, inches from its mouth. By the time she tries to run off, begging Carol to kill her (“no one has to know”) and spare her from the misery she’s going through, it’s clear the former Whisperer desperately needs some human connection to get her through this. It’s sure not coming from Alden, who throws some blame her way before Daryl tells him to cut the shit. (Nice attitude, Alden, coming from a guy who had his life spared despite being part of the Sanctuary’s posse attacking our people.)
Alpha’s daughter has been a surprisingly strong presence during these last few episodes, and it has everything to do with Cassady McClincy’s performance. She has consistently located the raw-wound heart of the character, making even those groan-inducing moments of teenage romance between Henry and herself maintain a degree of appeal that would otherwise curdle into cloying nonsense. If she’s our new avatar for the kids following the deaths of Enid (Katelyn Nacon was always good, but the character had been sidelined for quite some time) and Henry, the show will have a net gain.