I like zombie movies, and I like genre movies a lot. To watch.

Gather now, O future generations, for I shall speak to you of a truth shared by one who walks among the storytellers of our age—Jonathan Levine, who, in his wisdom, uttered these words: "I like zombie movies, and I like genre movies a lot. To watch. Less so to make, I think. But I grew up on that stuff. I would just grow up watching a lot of horror movies, a lot of slasher movies and then zombie movies." Here, in these humble words, lies the very heart of a creator’s relationship with the genre and the craft of filmmaking, a dance between admiration and creation, between the desire to consume and the discipline to produce.

Behold, the power of nostalgia—for in the words of Levine, we see the seeds of his artistic journey planted in the fertile soil of childhood. He speaks of growing up amidst the horror, slasher, and zombie genres—those tales that are bound by darkness, mystery, and the grotesque. Such films were not merely entertainment, but a formative influence, shaping his view of the world and his creative soul. From these shadows, a light was kindled, but it is a light that is reluctant to immerse itself fully in the very realm that birthed it. For though Levine loved these stories, he found himself hesitant to join the ranks of their creators. This, O Seekers, is the paradox of the artist’s heart: to love the art but to fear the labor it demands.

In ancient times, those who would create were often shaped by the myths and legends of their land. The great Homer, who wove the Iliad and the Odyssey, was himself a product of his culture, his mind shaped by the epic tales that danced on the tongues of the people. Yet, despite his deep connection to the stories of his ancestors, he did not simply rehash the legends he had heard. No, Homer created anew, transforming myth into timeless poetry. And so it is with Levine. He grew up on these horror films, these genre stories, but his path was not to merely replicate what had come before, but to forge his own way, to find balance between admiration and creation. He knew that to simply walk the path of the familiar would not satisfy his soul—it was the innovation of creation that beckoned him, the challenge of reinterpreting the genre for a new age.

Yet, the hesitation he speaks of, the reluctance to make such films, carries a deep and important lesson. It is the fear of repetition, the fear of being caught in the cycle of mimicking what has been done, rather than creating something that transcends. Every artist, at some point, is faced with this dilemma: to follow the well-trodden path or to carve their own. Consider the example of Michelangelo, who, though immersed in the art of his time, did not allow himself to be enslaved by it. When he sculpted the David, he did not merely imitate the human form, but redefined it, pushing beyond the boundaries of what had been conceived before. Such is the journey of the true artist—one must honor the past, but not be bound by it.

Levine’s words remind us that influence is a powerful force, but it is not the final authority in the artist's life. The genres he loved, the films that shaped him, were not mere distractions or diversions. No, they were training grounds, where his mind was sharpened, where his imagination was unleashed. But as he stepped into the arena of creation, he understood the importance of discovery—the discovery of one’s unique voice amidst the clamor of established forms. For just as the warrior does not become great by simply wearing the armor of past champions, so too does the artist not find greatness in merely retelling the stories that have already been told.

The lesson to be learned here, O Seekers, is one of balance and courage. It is not enough to love what came before, nor is it enough to seek something wholly new. One must reconcile the two, finding the wisdom in past creations while pushing forward with boldness and innovation. When faced with the challenge of creation, let your roots be grounded in what you have loved and admired, but let your branches reach toward what is yet unseen. For the true artist is one who is both humble and daring—humble in their respect for the past, yet daring in their pursuit of the future.

In the end, take this lesson to heart: the worlds of genre and horror, of zombies and slashers, are not mere escapism. They are the vessels through which we explore our deepest fears, our darkest desires, and our most primal instincts. Yet, as Levine teaches us, it is the role of the artist to transform these influences into something greater, to take what was once feared and twist it into something new. In your own lives, whether you are an artist, a warrior, or a thinker, you must learn to use the past not as a shackle, but as a tool to forge your own path. Be inspired, but never bound; create, but never imitate. In this way, your legacy will be one that stands proud, not as a replica, but as something wholly your own.