Nicholas Hoult's Warm Bodies Put A Refreshing And Charming Spin On Zombie Movies
When you think about zombies, it's natural to imagine mindless bodies shambling in the streets, crazed and hungry for human brains. Within the bounds of the zombie movie genre, it is almost inconceivable to expect these fictional monsters to develop self-awareness, let alone a strong sense of empathy for their prey. After all, zombies are driven by a primal need to feed and lack the necessary faculties for self-actualization. However, in Jonathan Levine's "Warm Bodies," a zombie named R (Nicolas Hoult) opens the tale with an existential outcry: "What am I doing with my life? What's wrong with me? I just want to connect." No, this is not a zombie flat-out denying his true nature — R is acutely aware of his undead status, but still yearns for connection and wants to claim some semblance of individuality.
Canonically, zombies have always been treated as obstacles in a horror setting, as these ghouls are never driven by sentient goals or complex thoughts. The basic premise for "Warm Bodies" can be traced back to Isaac Marion's 2010 novel of the same name, in which he portrays R as a highly conscious being who craves love and affection just like humans do. In R's case, he is still human but in a terribly altered state, which makes his aspirations more difficult to achieve, and his romantic feelings more complicated than usual.
What's refreshing about "Warm Bodies" is its unabashed Shakespearean treatment of the central love story, which is both tongue-in-cheek and sincere in the way it evolves the dynamic between a zombie and a human. Despite being a post-apocalyptic story, there's little trauma attached to the situation at hand — instead, the film explores the sweet awkwardness inherent in an unlikely, star-crossed love story, and the bittersweet possibilities that come with it.
Can the undead feel empathy?
Empathy is something one chooses to invest in, as it is a deliberate choice, much like love, that one makes every day. As R is naturally more inclined towards these self-actualizing concepts and even retains some of his human memories, it is instinctive for him to save Julie (Teresa Palmer) when she is attacked by his own kind. There's good reason for this, of course: Julie makes him feel "alive," granting him the autonomy to give in to his humanity instead of just going through the motions, and he gradually falls in love with her. This is also a teaching moment for Julie, as she realizes that not all living dead can be homogenized, as some of them harbor hopes and dreams just like R does.
The "Twilight" comparisons here are inevitable, but R is not Edward, as he can keep his impulses in check pretty well, and is actively deciding to go against his nature to protect a human being. Moreover, Julie is no damsel in distress, as she hopes that the undead will be cured someday, which is a pretty unpopular opinion among the human population after the apocalypse. Their mutual outcast statuses draw R and Julie towards one another, and they quickly bond over their hobbies and develop a chemistry that feels sickly sweet and electric at the same time.
Over time, R chooses to be more empathetic towards humans: he starts to feel remorse after devouring the brains of Julie's boyfriend and even starts feeling cold when it rains. More importantly, Julie makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside when she's around, which is a feeling that is alien to the undead, whose only sense of warmth is derived from snacking on human brains and ... warm bodies.
Is there hope for the undead?
The human perspectives in "Warm Bodies" posit interesting counterpoints to R's lived experiences. For instance, Julie's boyfriend Perry (Dave Franco) detests zombies after his father turned into one, a feeling that is intensified after the zombie outbreak that claims millions of human lives. As R is able to relive human memories when he devours someone's brain, he experiences Perry's trauma firsthand, which helps him understand his hatred better, and harbor complex feelings about his kind.
The war between humans and zombies is still waging when R and Julie kiss for the first time, but this blissful moment of hope is quickly dismantled when Julie's father shoots R in the chest. Something baffling happens next: R bleeds, like a human, which stuns everyone. While this might have felt hopelessly goofy in a film that takes itself too seriously, "Warm Bodies" champions the power of love trope with charming zest and sincerity, leading to a turning point that feels earned. If love is able to transform someone's worldview and physiognomy, surely, it will be enough to halt a decade-spanning war between two species? This moment singlehandedly prompts both parties to work together, as R's very existence becomes an act of revolution.
After this, the walls in the city are broken down, as the gap between humans and zombies is bridged by a single instance of hope. As the rest of the zombies also cooperate in the end, it is probable that they too, like R, have managed to tap into their humanity and look at the world with fresh eyes. "Warm Bodies" charts the way back to empathy, even for those who've lost themselves in the chaos. While that does sound too good to be true, what are movies but the best form of suspending disbelief?