28 Years Later [2025]
“It’s your big day, Spike!”
22 years after the release of their guerilla-style horror darling, 28 Days Later, director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland have again reared their bloody heads and given us the third installment of the series after abandoning its sequel, 28 Weeks Later [for better or worse]. Why they didn’t just wait a couple more years to be on timeline… The world may never know. Why they made a sequel [threequel?] to a horrendously mediocre movie that nearly nobody asked for… The world may also never know. But what the world does know is that it exists, it’s divisive, and it’s likely going to be one of those films people love to talk about with their noses in the air as they say “You just didn’t get it,” if you have any opinion that doesn’t start or end with the word “masterpiece”. As a very short summary, 28 Years Later is an auteur art-film that will resonate in some ways, shoot high and wide of the mark in many others, and really showcases what the “Lucas Effect” looks like when applied to the horror genre.
This review will be a lot more spoilery than what I usually write.
28 years after the Rage Virus rampaged through the United Kingdom, small pockets of survivors still mange to exist within the desolate quarantine zone. One such commune survives on an islet only accessible by a causeway during low tide, and when Spike, now of age to venture into the dangerous neo-wilderness of mankind’s once civilization, seeks a cure for his mother’s mystery illness, there’s no telling what horrors the pair will have to overcome.
28 Years Later is a movie with a plethora of concepts [all of which are interesting], artistic stylings [most of which are interesting], mini stories [a few of which are interesting], and characters [almost none of which are interesting]. It suffers immensely from bloat and lack of direction while insisting “that’s the point” with its overarching themes of chaos, the fragility of civilization, and the cyclic nature of human history. It’s a nearly 2-hour jaunt through various plots that mean little to nothing, uneven executions of ideas, characters and threads that go nowhere, and one that manages to fold all of this around an incredibly effective and meaningful drama that I wish was told outside of the 28 universe instead.
We begin the story following Spike and his father as they venture out of their commune in a sort of rite-of-passage for the growing boy. We’re fed a few lines about how Spike is a little younger than most and reminded of the rules that there are no rescues once you leave the gate… Lines that [like many other things in the film] mean absolutely nothing and come up a total of 0 more times. Almost immediately upon the gate closing behind them, the film devolves into trope as the father makes the son recite the rules of the causeway [something that’s done for the sake of the audience, not the characters]. Counter to this, we’re also given one of the more artistically interesting elements of the film as their short journey away from home is spliced together with footage from 28 Weeks Later, WWI and II [I think], and a film called Henry V from 1944. This artsy editing is interesting, engaging, and weird in a way that very effectively showcases one of the themes I mentioned above: the cyclical and destructive nature of our history, along with the dangers of leaving home, and in some ways, the perseverance, strength, and cunning of the land’s people [the scenes from Henry V, for instance, are primarily taken from the Battle of Agincourt; a historical encounter where the English used muddy fields and their advanced archers to topple an overwhelming French force. This message is further implied by the specific mention of a French patrol boat looking for escapees of the quarantine zone later on]. Though potentially confusing and jarring, this artistic soiree is one of my favorite moments of the entire experience because, even if you’re not familiar with anything being shown, the discordance of imagery along with the impressively haunting and nearly overpowering rhythm of Rudyard Kipling’s "Boots" escalates the sense of tension and dread of the world in an extremely impressive way that almost made me forget the annoying hand-holding of the causeway explanation… That is until we meet our first infected and the whole movie careens into a very lazy and silly videogame-style experience for the next several minutes.
Once on land, we’re almost immediately introduced to our first zombie infected variant [a concept that is neither explained, nor given any sort of time during the film; something we’re just supposed to accept exists now that the virus has been around for three decades and move on from]: the “Slow Low”, a version of the infected that crawls on the ground and screams when prey is nearby. For reasons unexplained [or that I just didn’t catch through the audio mix], Spike is told that you have to shoot them through the neck to kill them… Despite the next several that we see being shot straight through the head and chest [double despite Spike’s father, Jamie, specifically saying “they’re strong in the chest”] without any consequence. Also inexplicable and of 0 consequence: The pair get into a short shootout with a number of the creatures lurking nearby [one somehow managing to sneak up on them in an entirely silent forest…] where Jamie draws, sights, and then lets the final monster escape… Something that doesn’t make sense in the moment, is never explained, and also never matters. Shortly after this, we’re introduced to our second variant: the “Alpha”, whose one trick is to rip out the heads [with spine attached] of its victims and also be real tall and hard to kill… Every. Single. Time. This creature has almost no traits beyond the head rip, an angry yell, and a big-ol-dong that flaps around in the wind. Like several things in this film, these new creatures are a mostly meaningless distraction from the narrative and serve no real purpose beyond the vague implication that the virus is somehow changing.
Now, it’s not so much that simply having variants of monsters is gamey in-and-of itself [though it is a little bit], it’s that the way these creatures are introduced is specifically through stop-and-stare exposition from one character to another in a world where we’re shown ample examples of kids learning how to use a bow to fight them, we’re nearly 30-years into surviving this virus, and it makes no sense that this is the first conversation about these things the characters would be having. There’s some great and interesting cinematography, story, and editing between these moments [such as characters not discussing that they don’t retrieve their arrows because of how infectious Rage is, or the strange, red-tint shots of infected themselves that showcase the anxieties of the characters imagining danger around every corner], but there’s also a ton of stupid and annoying things as well that really pulled me out of the story [the aforementioned part where the father son pair is somehow snuck up on by a Slow Low, the lack of explanations of how infected tissue hasn’t somehow been carried across the ocean by birds, fish, or the tide, and no mention of how the infected have managed to sustain themselves for 28-years on an island where they rampantly kill and destroy everything]. The story is just sort of… convenient at times, and that’s a recurring theme that really drove me nuts.
Anyway…
On their short adventure, the pair see a large fire that his father sort of handwaves away, they get stuck in the house from the prologue, and, after escaping an Alpha that can’t seem to catch up to them for some reason [the perfect moment for the script to have talked about the causeway without holding our hands] in a scene taken straight out of a Resident Evil game, the duo partake in a party, during which Jamie embellishes his son’s exploits in a way everyone except for Spike himself seems to expect; a series of white lies that make Spike uncomfortable… Though for what reasons we never learn. Spike then catches his father drunkenly cheating with a local woman, and he decides to leave the festivities to spend time with his ill mother, Isla. We don’t know what her ailment is, but we know it causes fits and outbursts, coupled with some sort of dementia or confusion, and that the boy cares for her deeply. Here, the person caretaking Isla during the party tells Spike that the large fire he and his father saw on their outing belongs to a doctor, a “GP” [a term Spike isn’t familiar with given the fall of local civilization] named Kelson, and the next few scenes involve Spike being further angered by his father’s lies, threatening to stab him [seems extreme], and being told a story about this doctor that I think is either brilliant [because it exemplifies his father’s fear and how it clouds his interpretation of events] or very stupid [because the story that’s supposed to make us think Kelson has gone mad is actually pretty reasonable if you stop and think about it]. Either way, between the lies at the party, the “lies” about the bonfire, and his father’s cheating, Spike banishes him from the house and creates an extremely irresponsible ruse to abscond both himself and his mother out of the commune so they can go find this doctor… An irresponsible ruse [the burning of a major supply shed] the repercussions of which are never explored, seen, or felt.
Now back in the wilderness with his mother, we’re greeted to a series of scenes that both establish the most moving and interesting plot of the film, and an entirely new cast of characters that disappear nearly as fast as they’re introduced… And somehow add even less. On one hand, we’re given yet another nonsense scene with a Slow Low where, in the middle of the night, one creeps up on our sleeping protags [this is fine]. As the creature moves in for the kill, its head is suddenly bagged from offscreen and the monster is disappeared, only being seen again the next morning where it’s evidently been bashed against the side of the stone alter our characters were sleeping against. What an interesting mystery!
Who did this?
Why did they do it?
Where did they go!?
Oh wait, no… It isn’t interesting, because we’re instantly shown a flashback of Isla being the attacker and smashing the infected’s brains against the rock. Alright… Fine… But what does it mean??? The answer… Is that it means nothing. Based on how Isla looks at the body beside the altar, we’re not entirely sure if this was an act of delirium or protection [something the film never explores], the act is never mentioned it again, and Isla never does anything even vaguely similar again [though she does do a few stupider things]. Sooooo… what was the point of any of this? It doesn’t make us feel for Isla — she just did something badass… Maybe stupid… But still badass — and it doesn’t make us fear for Spike being in her presence — there’s no indication that she would/ could hurt him because of whatever her sickness is —… It just sort of happens and then is both instantly forgotten and entirely unimportant for the rest of the runtime.
Why?
“… when you look at it, you’re seein’ into the future… Do you remember that?”
Also in this part of the film, we get an incredible moment in Isla’s story: Moving through the countryside, Spike and Isla come across a large steel statue of an angel she’d seen in her youth. As her dementia takes hold of her once again, she begins to confuse Spike for her father, and remembers that he told her the monument “would stand like this forever; like the Pyramids, or Stonehenge. So when you look at it, you’re seein’ in to the future,” and, in her reverie, she asks how many years they’ve fallen ahead this time, taking on an air of fear. Spike calls to her and she comes to as an infected appears in the flowers behind her. They kill it, run from a pack of previously unseen monsters, and move on with the story, meeting one of the more meaningless and distracting characters in the entire film [I’ll talk about him in a second though]. The scene with the angel is a great moment that really emblematizes some of the very strong vision and writing herein [placing the angel — symbolizing both her past and idealized future in front of her — and the infected — a reflection of human violence and the actual future — behind her, with her son caught somewhere in the middle]… but also shows the weakness of slotting Isla’s wonderfully vulnerable story into this particular film; something the movie repeats in an equally annoying way later on with the conclusion of her tale. While I’m fairly certain this is an intentional metaphor for the careless way the world continues on whatever course it’s made for itself, and these small human moments only matter within our microcosms of existence… I still don’t like it in the context of storytelling, and I think it weakens the overall effect of the film in a large way. I wish scenes like this had been given a little more patience. Speaking of things I wish were given more patience [or omitted entirely]…
Shortly before the above scene, we’re introduced to a squad of NATO soldiers whose boat has capsized and have now been thrown into the mix with the rest of the survivors here on the mainland. Predictably, they’re meaninglessly cut down by a seemingly never-ending gang of the infected, and we get another scene of an Alpha doing its one party trick. One soldier survives and, shortly thereafter, runs into Spike and Isla as they escape the infected pursuing them from the angel. He rescues the pair from inside a gas station filled with fumes that, convivially, torch all the baddies… but leave the heroes totally unharmed. How fun.
Enter comedy hour. [It’s not really an hour… It’s 7-minutes… But it feels like an hour…]
We’re now fed a number of scenes that are both intentionally and unintentionally hilarious. Erik [the soldier] makes a few obviously funny jokes [that do land genuinely well] and shows Spike pictures of his fiancé on his cellphone [a device Spike has never seen or heard of… which feels a little weird even for someone who’s grown up without any sort of tech. It seems like the community would at least talk about the outside world, if even in only a mythological way…]. The two have an intentionally comedic exchange about how Erik’s fiancé’s puffed lips make Spike think she has a shellfish allergy, just like a girl in his village. Then the phone dies and he tosses it into the grass with a needlessly silly whooshing sound to be entirely forgotten by the story [much like Erik himself… But we’ll get to that in a second]. All of the exchanges during these scenes are kind of odd and meaningless as they both rend the serious dramatic tones from the angel scene a few minutes before, and take away all sense of urgency or dread from the undead action as well; placing you into a sort of horror-comedy zone that just doesn’t really have a place or purpose and, like many things I didn’t like about this movie, all culminate to mean absolutely nothing in the long run. On top of this weird atmosphere is some of the unintentional comedy, such as when Erik is describing a cellphone as “something like a radio, but with photos”. The camera cuts to Isla during this description — looking confused and lost, tilting her head as if in thought, similar to a dog that’s been asked a question — as a modem dial-up noise plays softly under the scene… I don’t think it was meant to be funny, but the idea that her brain was making the internet noise we all know and love was just too damn silly and caused many a laugh throughout the theater. Though, none of this is nearly as silly as what comes next…
Enter pregnancy hour. [Also not an hour… But you get it.]
The trio hear what are very obviously the sounds of an infected in the near distance as they continue on their Tolkien-trek across the country and, because I have to assume this otherwise I’ll rip my own hair out at how stupid the ensuing action is, Isla’s disease causes her to seek them out, thinking they’re a person in distress. Then, in a moment invoking a malformed vision of the group screaming scene from Midsommar, Isla not only encounters, but midwives a baby from a pregnant infected inside a train, inexplicably pacifying the creature with the bonds of motherhood kinship or something. Whatever the never-explained-explanation is, the baby appears to be healthy and clear of the virus as the mother then attacks Isla and Spike before being shot down by Erik. During all of this, an Alpha has somehow managed to silently appear on top of the train car and, once again, performs its only function, yanking Erik’s head and spine from his body… Giving Erik, just like the other NATO soldiers, approximately 0 purpose to the narrative of the film.
Again… Why?
Had I not already been 80-minutes into the movie at this point and been suffering from sunk-cost, I would have left. The last few bits were all just so unnecessary and so meaninglessly silly that any credibility the film had built with its few interesting scenes was almost entirely thrown out the window. I’m glad I stayed, because the conclusion of Isla’s story is truly excellent, but God it was a tough choice to make at this point. Fortunately, we only have one more stupid scene to get through before we get to Isla’s finale… Though it is incredibly stupid.
Enter convenience hour. [I’ll stop.]
Running away from the train-ninja-Alpha, we see it pick up the corpse of the pregnant infected and become enraged as it drops her body to pursue Spike and Isla, implying that infected have some form of either recognition or courtship between them. Interesting, but, like so many things, never explored or given significance in any way… Ugh. Anyway… The trio [they now have the infant with them] scamper through the train, shooting arrows and closing doors as the Alpha, with all his speed and strength, manages to make just about no headway on them for the second time in the film. Convenient. Throwing open the final door of the carriages, Spike and Isla jump out of their tubular prison and begin to escape through the weeds as the Alpha problem solves and leaps out a side door after them. Lo and behold, Dr. Kelson happens to be standing just out of frame [convenient] with his Metal Gear Solid tranquilizers that stun and pacify the Alpha nearly instantly [also convenient]. It’s never really explained why Kelson was there to begin with, as the last time we saw the bonfire that represents his location it was miles and miles away… But hey, at this point, who cares. Not I… And apparently none of the characters either because, after grabbing Erik’s head from the drugged Alpha’s grip, the whole party then leaves the creature standing there and does nothing at all to attempt to deal with it in any permanent way without any explanation as to why… But hey, at least when Spike introduces himself he tells Kelson, “I’m Spike. This is me mum, Isla,” as the camera then switches to Kelson who repeats their names, greeting them, before snapping back to the completely human-looking zombaby in Isla’s arms as Spike continues, “and this a baby…” Once again, eliciting laughs from the entire theater because…
Uh…
Duh?
Yes. Thank you. Dr. Kelson has eyes and you didn’t bother to explain that it was a baby from an infected… You’ve just pointed out that it is, in fact, “a baby”. Goodness 🙄. The baby line is more goofy than frustrating, but the whole series of scenes makes absolutely no sense and is somehow ever stupider than watching a zombie give birth through the magic of girl-power.
Fortunately however, now all we have to do is survive Kelson’s weirdo line that his little ropes that guide him across a slow moving, ankle deep river somehow “help to keep them out”… Again, without any sort of explanation or example… Whatever, we’re finally at the third and final good part of the film [Spoilers, they quickly absolutely ruin it… But we’ll get there].
These sockets saw, and these jaws spoke and swallowed… This is a monument to them… A temple.
Dr. Kelson now takes us into a truly incredible set-piece where he’s tied tens of thousands of bones to the trees of this area, creating a forest of charnel memories that greets us with a both very frightening and very impressive skeletal skyline, as he explains what this place means to him:
“Memento mori: Remember, you must die.”
This is a place of echoes, of truths, of reverence.
Spike, in his curiosity, touches one of the skulls, toppling it and becoming both guilty and apologetic as Kelson immediately encourages him that,
“It’s not precious in that way. The structure is solid, but the bones will fall apart due to time, or the elements… Or Spike’s hand… The memento mori is actualized.”
And he says it in the same calm veneration that he speaks most of his words; truly not angry or even put off by Spike altering the state of his shrine to all who’ve been lost. He’s a doctor, a practitioner of life and a guardian on the path to peaceful death. In this place he tells Spike, “There were so many dead, infected and un-infected alike… Because they are alike,” showing that, to him, each death is tragic, each life is meaningful, and that the state of things is a horror no matter the side of the virus he’s on. [I also have to hope this is the reason he doesn’t try to kill the Alpha from before… Though it’s never discussed or implied…] Kelson then asks Spike if he knew the man who’s head he now holds. Spike tells him, “His name was Erik… He saved our lives,” and Kelson, in that same admiring, almost fatherly tone, says, “Well then, let’s find Erik a home,” and we’re introduced to a scene both disgusting and deifying all at once as Kelson, with Spike’s help, burns, boils, and cleans the flesh from Erik’s skull, spliced with images of Isla wandering around the bone city, looking both at peace and contented within herself. At its end, Kelson intentionally misquotes Hamlet, “Alas, poor Erik,” — an attempt at humor that misses Spike completely; showing how he neither understands the true modern world of cellphones and internet, nor knows history outside the immediate fences he grew up in; the Rage virus is creating a pocket of humanity that knows only one thing: “survival” — and, after becoming serious [almost apologetic for his joke] hands the skull to Spike, telling him to, “Choose a place for him." Spike does, and the two get to talking about the reason for his visit. It’s here that Spike finally mentions the baby is from an infected, a fact that Kelson takes in stride and shows a passing curiosity towards — mentioning that he’d “wondered if that might happen” — instead choosing to focus on Isla and mentioning that the baby will need milk to survive. After a brief and impressively tender set of moments where Kelson examines Spike’s mother, he determines that it’s likely she has cancer and that it either began in, or has spread to, her brain. Isla admits that, though she’s often confused,
“Not all of me’s confused… I thought it might be cancer… I didn’t know how to tell you, Spike… I was too scared. I needed someone else to tell you… but no one did,” as she holds back tears both for her feelings for Spike and facing the sure reality of the situation for perhaps the first time.
After a series of absolutely incredible performances from all three cast members where Spike insists there must be a cure and Kelson assures him there is not — that the cancer will kill her “soon,” he says — our hearts are ripped right out of our chests as Spike — both fearful and crushed — asks,
“Will it hurt her?” and she responds through near tears at the pain she’s been enduring for years, finally giving herself space to truly feel and accept it.
“Spikey, me love,” she says with a tragic acknowledgement, “it already hurts.”
Though Spike protests, both Kelson and Isla know her fate, and he prepares to ease her suffering as she embraces her son for one, final time, nodding to Kelson as he prepares a tranquilizer dart to pacify Spike from behind. As he falls under the spell of the drugs, Kelson asks Spike to remember what “memento mori” meant, and he slowly recalls that it means,
“Remember, we must die,” as the camera, somehow embody the feeling of Isla’s love for her son, pans between the characters while Kelson intones:
“It is true. There are many kinds of death… And some are better than others. The best, are peaceful, where we leave each other in love. You love your mother?”
“I love her,” and, knowing this is the end, looks up at her as she smiles down at him, warm and entirely present; maybe more than anytime in the last several months or even years.
“And Isla, you love Spike?”
She breathes the cool night air, taking in all of her precious boy that she can before whispering over the crackle of the nearby fire, “So much…”
As Kelson, now holding both Spike’s grief and future with his words, “Memento amoris: Remember, you must love.”
Kelson then stands up, asks Isla to come with him, and, through an expression that contours both pain, loss, acceptance, and release all in one, she breathes out, caresses her son’s arms, kisses him on the head, and tells him she loves him as she walks into the darkness with Kelson.
Our vision is now drawn to the piles of bones, shadows moving carefully through the dark, the woosh of Kelson’s dart, a fire that rages — ready to both cleanse and burn and rend and cure —, a memory of Spike and his mother being silly together, and a whirling set of twin flames that scatter and multiply — filling the air with all that Isla was, wanted to be, and couldn’t muster in her short time with her beloved son. She is gone. Her pain is ended. The world has moved on, and Spike is simply left to remember each scintillating piece of her.
Memento mori
Kelson then returns with a fresh skull and, echoing what he told Spike to do with Erik, he says, “Spike, find a place for her… Best one of all…” and gives him a knowing glance. Both Spike and Kelson then look to the top of the skeletal cairn in the center of this mausoleum to all humanity — a pile of skulls that towers over all around it — and Spike begins to climb the tower in the crepuscular darkness that only predawn can bring. He reaches the top of the structure as the sun crests the far horizon, illuminating a world that doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or simply can’t see what is happening to this land of monsters, and he kisses her skull — reminding her that he loves her — before setting it atop the spire and facing her eyes towards the rising sun — giving her an eternal peace that she wasn’t allowed in life.
Memento amoris
This is not only my favorite part of this mostly very dumb movie… But it’s one of my favorite film moments in all of 2025. Even in reviewing the scene entirely out of context for this writeup, I’m absolutely moved to tears by the music, the performances, the words, and the cinematography. It’s such a powerful examination of humanity and love… And this annoying, pointless zombie film simply doesn’t deserve this amazing moment…
Which is fine because, like the angel scene, it is instantly ruined by an action set piece that’s both boring and meaningless as we hard cut to Kelson and Spike diving into an underground hidey-hole to escape the Alpha from the train. Predictably, the creature makes a sinister attempt at growling and screaming them out of the hole, then manages to entirely disappear from the soundscape before punching through the earth and attempting its only function on Kelson’s head/ spine, being thwarted by Spike poking it with another of Kelson’s sleep darts. Woof.
Don’t worry though… 28 Years Later isn’t done making fun of you for taking it seriously just yet… There’s still 8-minutes left.
What we get now is a very lame and lazy montage of Spike trekking back to his home with the baby in a shopping basket — a journey that took several days previously — with no indication of how he’s keeping the infant alive or how they manage to avoid encounters with the infected, as a letter is narrated over the action. In it, Spike explains the journey to his father and that he isn’t coming home yet, but that he’s fine. We get a shot of Spike entering the causeway at low tide and, after a very corny onscreen text of “28 Days Later”, we get another confusing and stupid moment where it’s revealed that Spike has somehow left the baby at the gate of the commune with the letter being read to us having been placed inside her basket… Now, I feel the need to remind you that this commune is approachable from ONE direction, and ONE direction only… It’s also approachable during LOW TIDE and has a gate that is ALWAYS WATCHED from a guard tower posted just beside it… How in the WORLD did Spike secretly deliver a baby here??? This whole setup makes absolutely no sense and is perfectly emblematic of the stupid conveniences this script gets away with when it can.
We made it, we’re at the end of the movie… And it has to just end… Right? It can’t do something more stupid than meaningless characters, undead births, or daytime baby drop offs… Right? Right???
[So, so wrong…]
After all this, we’re show Spike venturing along a roadway and cooking a fish as an infected stumbles upon him. The creature quickly falls to his bow with more monsters in tow and he runs, pursued by too many to kill. He quickly finds himself face to face with a very climbable rock wall that he chooses to stop and fight at instead. Shooting one of them down, a voice sounds above him as a host of people, looking like Mad Max meets the Slav Squat, step up to the edge of this wall, offering aid. The infected continue to sprint down the roadway as the perceived leader of these apocalypto-clowns tells them to “hold…” until the monsters are nearly upon them. He then tells them to “a-fucking gooo,” as the music shifts from hollow, tense drums to death metal while the troop begins to flip, kick, slide, and juggle around the infected; killing them with spears, lassos, golf clubs, and bike chains [completely disregarding that you can get infected via their blood]. The whole thing has a very Power Rangers feel to it that doesn’t match any tone in any scene in the rest of the film, makes basically 0 sense, and is incredibly jarring and stupid. I get that it’s a reintroduction of a character from the prologue… but God this just can’t be the best way to do it, and it just makes the concept of the next movie extremely unpalatable.
Fortunately, we cut to credits and the pain is over. Unfortunately, we’ve still sat through all the nonsense it took to get here. We’ve seen extremely stupid scenes, extremely good scenes, mostly had our time wasted with meaningless storytelling surrounded by a few smatterings of shockingly good writing, and I’m not really sure where I think 28 Years Later exists in the world of horror, or even the current zeitgeist at large. Will it be looked at two decades down the road as a cult classic the way the original film is? I sort of hope not… Though it does have many honestly impressive aspects to it even when it’s being stupid and pointless. The action scenes [removed from any storytelling context that makes them annoying] are amazing. They are cool and sharp and dangerous and hyper-stylish in a way that nobody else is doing… And, maybe most importantly, they feel good. Each infected kill feels like you’re there with its over-violence and jittery cameras. Even the way many of the more staged kills shift through stop-angled shots at the moment of impact just feels so good to watch. It’s an impressively visceral film and one that’s easy to engage with on any level one should choose…
It’s just also an impressively confusing and inconsistent one.
There’s times the music is phenomenal [Isla’s death, Kipling’s “Boots”], while other times it’s really strange and disjointed in a confusing way [the gas station]. There’s times that scenes hold the weight of the world on their shoulders [the angel], while other times scenes pass by and mean literally nothing [anything with the soldiers, Isla killing the infected].
In some ways, it’s great to see a movie that isn’t afraid to be different. In others…
Sometimes there’s a reason things are done a certain way.
I’d have loved to see a zombie action movie and a separate drama about revering life and all it holds… But the combination of them simply doesn’t work here and weakens both concepts significantly.
At the end of the day, no matter how much I loved both Isla’s plot and the execution of it, I can’t help but call 28 Years Later: A pointless subversion of the genre with an artistic flair that dares you to rebuke its vision while taunting you with its meaninglessness by insisting “that’s the point” when you raise issues. It’s a movie that tells a story which pauses for all-too-brief moments of solemnity, only to embarrass you for feeling sincere and vulnerable mere moments later. It drags you in with extremely impressive and stylistic action scenes and heavy heavy drama… But then bashes the mix together like a kid playing toy soldiers with no regard or respect for the very thing it’s managed to create. Taken scene-for-scene and ignoring the context of anything before or after, 28 Years Later is a helluva ride, and one I’d actually recommend. Taken as an art-piece — a metaphysical examination of human history and our cyclic nature of violence against one another — I’d also recommend and anoint this as “visionary” or even “important” in some ways. But, good God, as a coherent storytelling vessel? This just sucked. I had such a bad time with this weird mishmash of pointless concepts, meaningless characters, and convenient contrivances that I simply wouldn’t recommend this movie to anyone without making them a custom edit first.
I wanted to like this, and there are things about it to like [things about it to love even] but, 23 years later, the only thing 28 Years Later will be infecting is the bottom of my 2025 watchlist.
“Memento mori” indeed.
