From the moment Nia DaCosta's 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple settles into its rhythm, it becomes clear that this no longer the cult zombie movie franchise we know. Yes, the infected still exist, and the world is still broken beyond repair. But this latest installment shifts the narrative to something uncomfortably close to home: what happens when the monsters stop being the infected…and start being us?
That shift is going to be divisive. It already was when last year's 28 Years Later sidelined the infected, using them less as threats and more as the crucible for Spike's (Alfie Williams) ascent to adulthood. In The Bone Temple, there's even less of Alex Garland and Danny Boyle's seminal "zombie" stylings here. Now, the real horror doesn’t sprint at you foaming at the mouth; it stares back at you with unnerving intent.
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple follows three characters: the self-styled Sir Jimmy Crystal (Jack O'Connell), who leads a cult of psychopaths he calls his "Fingers" on a campaign of carnage; Spike, who was last seen in 28 Years Later being accosted by Jimmy's group and is forced to partake in their debauchery; and Dr. Ian Kelson (played with raw, compelling humanity by Ralph Fiennes), the haunted scientist who built the titular "bone temple" trying to spark a friendship with the "Alpha" infected he calls Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry).
I'm saying this right now, Fiennes owns this movie. In a world filled with humans who are just as bad as those infected with the Rage Virus, his Dr. Kelson feels like the only genuinely noble person left. Watching him try to maintain some sense of dignity—while literally surrounded by bones and death—is one of the most affecting things here.
And then there's Jimmy Crystal, one of the most loathsome figures the franchise has ever produced. O'Connell channels something primordially terrifying every time Jimmy is on screen, with a cruelty that is horrifyingly sincere, but it does sometimes overstep into the boundaries of camp.
In contrast to these two dramatic powerhouses, Alfie Williams as Spike tugs at the heartstrings with a vulnerable, albeit understated, performance. The movie draws parallels between how Spike and Jimmy both lose their innocence at an early age yet grew in wildly divergent paths, but unfortunately DaCosta wallows too much into the blood and gore to give this thread the attention it deserves.
And that's where The Bone Temple loses me. The emotional depth that made 28 Years Later so unforgettable feels dialed back here. Spike's arc (the most compelling element of the previous film, bar none) is practically reset to serve Jimmy's cult storyline, with mixed results.
And anything interesting the movie has to say—the corruption of innocence, Jimmy's downfall, Dr. Kelson's friendship with an actual infected—is over as quick as it began. There's no big emotional release, no satisfying payoff, everything feels like something's being held back for future installments. And once you see the epilogue, you'll know it's because they're planning more movies down the line. How that will shake out, I'm not sure I want to know.
In the end, The Bone Temple dares to create a different kind of dynamic in zombie movies. It ups the stakes when you're not just looking out for mindless monsters, because you have to watch out for your fellow man, too. Not sure that's the kind of message I want to hear when the real world is proving this right, though.
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