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by anya fielding
28 Years Later: Breathes new life into the crowded zombie genre
Artful cinematography elevates classic horror tropes but is let down by clunky dialogue
The original 28 Days Later was made two decades ago with $8m, a budget so small, production originally ran out of funding to film a satisfactory ending and had to ask the studio for more money. It featured mostly unknown actors, with the exception of Christopher Eccleston and Brendan Gleeson, and was shot on a Canon XL1 digital video camera.
It became a box office success, grossing 10 times its budget and reinvigorating the zombie horror genre.
This latest instalment, 28 Years Later, brings back the original writer and director duo, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland – along with a $60m budget and an A-list cast – for another thrills-packed trek through post-apocalyptic Britain.
As with any good zombie flick, the film centres on the emotional and social realities of survivors, rather than its monsters. We follow Spike (Alfie Williams), a 12-year-old boy from a sheltered island village, as he embarks on his first trip to the mainland with his father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), in a coming-of-age ritual.
The editing shines as the pair’s journey through the Lindisfarne is interspersed with images of British archers in chainmail, black-and-white footage of children marching, pre-teens learning to shoot with zombie scarecrows for targets at the village – all set to an oppressive beeping and a haunting century-old recording of Rudyard Kipling’s Boots. It unsettles the viewer, communicates perfectly Spike’s anticipation as he keeps an eye out for the infected, and overall elevates the story to a universal and timeless tale of survival.
There are welcome nods to the original’s cinematography and design: red-and-black scenes from the infected’s point of views recall the iconic red poster for the first film; most of the scenes were shot on an iPhone 15 Pro Max, with several shaky running scenes reminiscent of 28 Days Later’s.
Moreover, the cinematography’s beauty cannot be understated. An aesthetic staple of the post-apocalyptic genre is that of nature reclaiming land and buildings, and the film delivers stunning vistas of lush grass, meadows of shoulder-high flowers and hundreds-strong herds of running deer.
The film’s highlight combines all its strengths into a nighttime chase sequence. After the unexpected appearance of an alpha – a super-zombie – the father and son duo run desperately towards home via a partially submerged causeway. They race atop pitch-black waters and below the streaming Northern Lights with the relentless, thudding killer dogging their heels.
The second half focusses more on Spike’s emotional maturation. After his successful venture, he returns to the mainland with his ailing mother, Isla (Jodie Comer), in the hopes of finding Dr Kelson (Ralph Fiennes) to help her.
But weaknesses in the dialogue lessen the impact of the more sentimental scenes. The opening sequence has a child mutter ‘Dad, why have you forsaken me?’ as he clutches a crucifix and watches zombies tear apart his father, a priest, in a church. The clunky dialogue is compounded by a frequent lack of subtlety: at one point, mother and son stumble upon a petrol station which reads ‘hell’.
This carries over into the spine-ripping violence which reads a little cartoonish rather than chilling. The camera lingers on kill shots, featuring spurts of blood and video-game-like slow-motion, creating a dissonance between the gratuitously graphic gore and the sincere sentimentality of its cast’s first-class acting.
Its emotional climax brings the breakneck momentum to a halt with little finesse: Spike accepts the inevitability of death amid the towers of bones Dr Kelson has artfully assembled – just as the dawn breaks. This conclusion feels trite and drawn-out because of its clichés, despite the bone temple’s striking visuals.
The ending scene itself leaves something to be desired, as it is clearly a set-up for a sequel, and its comic violence and loud, dated rock music clash with the film’s previously melancholy aesthetic.
