28 Years Later: Bone Temple (Nia DaCosta, 2026)
Clearly the most hallmark-card-take in the series. But all the better for it. Since the first instalment Garland and Boyle have been hammering home the same message: in a world of literal flesh eating zombies it is humans who, at the first sign of collapse, will forgo their humanity. And in a series marked by Boyle’s manic film-making it has always been that one scene of tranquil connection that has allowed the movie to transcend its histrionics and pull at the strings of the heart so blackened by cynicism.
Nia DaCosta isn’t pressured to imitate Boyle and it works in what feels like a minor cut-scene in this planned tetralogy. The violence does feel less visceral and a bit indulgent with Jack O Connel acting as a rabid child of Satan leading his acolytes across the wasteland with the sole purpose of plundering and skinning his victims. But DaCosta’s temperament is suited to the quieter moments with Dr Kelson, especially in his sit downs with the alpha — nicknamed Samson — and O Connel’s Jimmy. The writing falls just short of verbalising the thesis and as a result the conversations feel sincere even if verging on the sentimental. Ralph Fiennes is magnificent, and I’m not talking about that inspired bit of convulsing to Iron Maiden, but in the way he listens, nay searches, Samson; the way he tries to decipher and is ultimately haunted by Jimmy Crystal. It feels unfair but cosmically just that in having rightfully betrayed his Hippocratic oath (and luring Jimmy Crystal to his death) Kelson must accept that he too must be struck down. And he does so with such grace.
This is Garland at his least cynical, most solemn. Shout out to the excellent Chi Lewis-Parry.
’Moon’ Samson utters, at that first sight of light in the dark and there blooms a hope that is sure to spread faster and further than any virus possibly can.