(August 10, 2015 at 1:32 pm)Clueless Morgan Wrote:(August 10, 2015 at 11:24 am)Lemonvariable72 Wrote: The walking dead comics are better then the show. Tyreese kicks ass.
This doesn't change the fact that I don't feel like the comics develop the characters to the same degree that the show does, though (or a novel of TWD would if they were novels). Nor resolve my ambivalence about whether I like comics.
I agree with the sentiment about Tyreese, though. On the show he's kind of a weenie.
Also, I like Andrea in the comics WAAAAAAAY more than on the show. On the show I was waiting for her to die because she was so annoying and selfish, but while I like Andrea more in the comics, I feel like I knew Andrea on the show better - she felt like she was more fleshed out as a character whereas I feel like all I know about Comic-Andrea is that she's a good shot, likes to sew, and is in a relationship with Dale...
Also, I think Michonne was also more developed on the show.
But, again, I don't know if this is an artifact of just how comics are, an artifact of where I am in the comics (I'm starting Volume 10 and there's 100+), or what.
Quote:Also I would recommend that if you want to read world war z and since you like the walking dead, grab the ultimate zombie survival guide. By the same author as wwz and is a good read.
I'll have to check it out. (Despite current events pointing to the contrary, I'm not actually all that into zombies.)
I personally like zombies as way to use the stories to explore humanity like 28 days later or the walking dead comics. You will see many of the characters get more fleshed out though
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.