A resurrection used to be special, the sort of thing you could build an entire religion on. Now, though, they're a penny a pound – on television at least.
The Ur-example of the posthumous comeback is Bobby Ewing's steam-assisted Lazarus act in Dallas, a bit of narrative jiggery-pokery that delighted and appalled fans of the long-running US prime-time soapie. Sorry, we didn't realise you loved him so much (of course you did); look, relax, it was all just a dream.
Now, the return of the living dead is a TV staple. Kenny has been killed (the bastards!) almost weekly since South Park began. Family Guy killed off the family dog Brian, then brought him back thanks to fan outrage and a time machine. Prison Break beheaded a character when the actor who played her couldn't agree a deal with the show's producers, then decided it wasn't her head in that box after all when she could.
But two recent examples suggest it's time this whole resurrection schtick was killed off for good. I refer of course to Jon Snow's gasping revival in Game of Thrones and Glenn's revival after being "eaten" by a horde of zombies in The Walking Dead.
Cor, steamy: Bobby Ewing (Patrick Duffy) comes back from the dead in Dallas.
These were two of the most emotionally challenging fictional deaths in television history, their impact amplified massively by the echo chambers of social media and obsessive fandom. So what are we supposed to make of the fact that neither demise could go the distance? That nothing lasts forever, not even death?
Killing off a popular character is one of the most powerful weapons in a program maker's kitbag. With good reason, it is seldom used and with great care. It can give a long-running program a jolt, paradoxically breathing new life into tired story arcs, resetting relationships and opening up new narrative pathways. It jolts audiences, too, out of their complacency, reminding them that nothing can be guaranteed in either this world or the fictional one, that even our most precious can be taken from us without warning.
Killing off a popular character also risks alienating fans. So how to get that jolt without putting the viewers offside? Enter the death-not-death.
In the case of The Walking Dead, Glenn's return was less a resurrection than a bait and switch: we only thought he had been eaten. Sure, we saw him screaming in horror and geysers of blood spurting from organs as he lay on the ground, but they belonged to Nicholas, whose body lay on top of Glenn's. Despite his screaming and writhing and general warm-blooded tastiness, Glenn was somehow invisible to the walkers hovering just inches from his face. Yeah, right.
The Walking Dead's Glenn (Steven Yeun), right, with Nicholas (Michael Traynor), just before they fell into a pit of zombies who devoured the one we didn't much care for.
Now, it's the turn of Game of Thrones. Jon Snow is back. He was stabbed repeatedly by his treacherous brothers of the Night's Watch at the end of season five, left to bleed in the snow, taken inside by some who remained loyal to him, and declared dead by Ser Davos. He'd lain in state for – well, who knows how long, but probably close on a day in the show's timeline and nearer to nine months in ours – before being restored to us, either through the spooky magic of the Red Woman or thanks to a rudimentary form of cryogenics.
Cryogenics, Game of Thrones style.
I don't know about you but I felt cheated in both cases.
Killing off a popular character is a brave thing to do. Merely pretending to kill off a popular character is gutless.
If you want to make us suffer, have the courage of your convictions. Knowing that even a character as beloved as a Glenn or a Jon Snow sends a clear message that no one is safe in these narrative universes, and that raises the stakes immeasurably.
Resurrecting them is no miracle. It's just an act of bad faith.
