Daryl Dixon: Season 3 has bid adios, and its seven mega-episodes kicked it all into high gear, as guided by Norman Reedus' titular hero, accompanied by his brave and kind kemosabe, Melissa McBride's Carol. And when I say they kicked it, I mean they kicked it way outta the park, with much of it fueled by Spanish, spaghetti-western grit.
Oh, the season had its "sensitive" moments, too, I suppose, but I'm not talking about any of that Harry Potter or Maleficent bullshit that passive-aggressive, Mary Sue/Gary Stu proponents embrace in their sequestered, urban sectors or wherever basement bums call home. Season 3's emotions suckled loves that could never be reciprocated (even if soldered), and when it came to its epic, "brother-against-brother" contention, as administered by Oscar Jaeneda's Federico and Eduardo Noriega's Antonio, it may not have been Cane and Abel per se, but the impassioned undercurrent still caught the drift.
Federico's reliance on (compliance to) lofty, bad men (like those entitled manipulators of The Magnificent 7, Guns for San Sabastian and The Wild Bunch) seemed a reasonable compromise on the surface, though foolhardy and futile in actuality. It's never wise to bow to terrorists, and if one must, there's got to be a clever contingency plan in wait. Unlike Federico, Antonio knew this, even while he played the sentimental film buff and ex-documentary man, who learned to despise the violent protesters who took the life of the woman he loved: the woman Federico also loved.
It's through their rivalry that Daryl and Carol maneuvered themselves, sometimes by brute force and other times, through subtle, Yojimbo (A Fistful of Dollars) techniques, doing what was required to return to the United States. However, because they're principled people, the duo didn't rush off, once again finding time to help those in need. (Daryl's assistance of a leper town was one of Walking Dead's best moments, referencing a similar scenario from Franklin Schaffner/Steve McQueen's Papillon, and believe me, that's a pretty high perch to reach.)
The season's walker moments hit the bullseye, too, including England's vegetated, prelude versions, and later the fancy, flesh-feasting puppets of the Spanish court (recalling a jolting scene from The Company of Wolves), but the living-dead-pulled locomotive was beyond unique, perhaps one of the most surreal sights in any zombie saga.
Yeah, this season was full of fine, chaotic sights and schemes, elevating an already superb spinoff to a new, memorable level.
I'm excited to see where Season 4 leads, confident it'll further entrench The Walking Dead as one of the best things ever to arise in modern zombie-dom. Let's face it, my friends. With Daryl Dixon, we've been dealt the cream of the post-apocalyptic crop. God bless its makers (and AMC) for implanting it.
