The Walking Dead has, by and large, become a disappointment; whereas it was once a great show with a few typical low points, it's now relatively poor with too few bright spots.

However, inasmuch as we can come together to commiserate how bad it's become, and what might have been, it's actually a good feeling to realize that our disappointment is a direct function of how highly we once esteemed the show, because of how good it once was.

This hit home for me recently, after I posted the question Precisely when did The Walking Dead jump the shark? here in our TMDb The Walking Dead discussion board, and challenged people to feel free to really get into it, develop their ideas in long form, and the responses have been fantastic! In reading them, I was reminded of so many episodes and scenes that were masterpieces of writing, screenplay, storytelling.

So, yeah, we can complain as each new episode leaves us wondering WTF? But, we can also revisit those episodes or scenes that put The Walking Dead squarely up there as among the greatest shows ever.

Once again, I ask, flex your literary muscle, break it down, and let's collectively enjoy those positively masterful The Walking Dead moments.

To kick this off, here's one of my absolute favourite scenes in the entire history of film...season 5, episode 10, "Them", the ending barn in the storm scene...here's a clip on Youtube https://youtu.be/JUcPsVGx6Q8

There is no shortage of reviews of this great episode, and it's full of superb storytelling - one example is the loss of hope/faith across the group juxtaposted against several seemingly divine interventions, such as rain while dehydrated and a storm wiping out a threatening walker herd).

But, for me, that last scene almost always brings me to tears. Here's why...

They are in the barn, it's dark, they're tired, dejected, they've suffered immense losses, and are bordering on giving up.

Then, Daryl peeks through the barn doors and sees a walker herd approaching. What does he do? He immediately takes action. He doesn't talk, or call for help from the others, he takes action himself to ensure the doors are locked securely and push against their onslaught.

As others realize what's happening, they too respond; again, not with words, but by taking action, putting their own effort into their defence.

It is striking that all the "talk" of giving up hope is not reality - the reality is, they all still have it in them to keep fighting. One by one, they add their weight to the collective effort, they come together in the struggle to protect each other.

And then, the scene goes on, and on...it's raining hard, the walkers are pushing, the group is pushing back...when will it end? No one asks. How long will they have to keep this up? No one asks. There's nothing to discuss. Nothing to plan or orchestrate. There's no future, no past, no time. There is only here and now, and we are fighting. That's all there is. Us. Here. Now. Fighting. And they all know it.

That oneness. The unity that makes the unspoken unnecessary. There are too precious few times in this life when a group of diverse people are so wholly connected above and beyond what makes us different; when that group of people so clearly know what needs to be done, right now, and is willing to do what is necessary, even at personal risk, because the survival of "us" is bigger and is worth fighting for.

There are soldiers who are more comfortable in the theatre of war than at home with family, because only their fellow soldiers truly understand - without having to talk about it. There are ex-cons who, on getting out, commit a crime and deliberately get caught, just to get back to prison where, again, they are understood be fellow convicts. That feeling of connection is so powerful, people often choose adverse circumstances over what should be considered safer circumstances.

One may argue, as Mel Gibson's character did in We Were Soldiers, (and if you haven't seen this scene, do yourself a favour and watch it, here's a Youtube clip https://youtu.be/Uu77LGPAlPA) that the theatre of war - or, in this case, the barn in the storm - is what home really is. (This movie is based on true people and events; Mel Gibson played Lt. Col Hal Moore, who finished his first tour of duty, returned home to his wife and three daughters, and chose to leave them, to go back to Vietnam for several more tours). The adversity pales in comparison to the connectedness.

That's the message, for me, in this most powerful scene. The horror in life is not the storm, not the walkers, not adversity - the horror in life is to be disconnected, and the triumph over storms and adversity in life is to find connections.