What 28 Days Later really exposed wasn’t just the horror of the infected—but the far scarier truth: what humanity becomes when we let rage and fear take control.
The success of 28 Days Later cracked the door wide open, inspiring a new wave of filmmakers to dive into the genre. It marked the rise of Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg, and Nick Frost with the genre-blending brilliance of Shaun of the Dead. We also saw a bold reimagining of Romero’s Dawn of the Dead in 2004, thanks to James Gunn and Zack Snyder. And perhaps most fittingly, Romero himself returned to continue his iconic saga with Land of the Dead.
It also inevitably paved the way for a sequel - 28 Weeks Later, released in 2007. Watching it again recently, back-to-back with the original during a double feature with my wife, I was struck by just how star-studded the cast was—something I’d completely forgotten. But almost immediately, the shift in tone was obvious.
This film had a bigger budget, no doubt about it. The increase in gore, the wider scope, and the more polished visuals made that clear. But what it gained in production value, it lost in emotional weight and thematic focus. 28 Weeks Later lacks the raw urgency and intimate terror that made 28 Days Later so unforgettable.
That’s not to say I dislike it—far from it. When viewed as a standalone entry, it’s a solid, adrenaline-fueled thriller. But it trades in the haunting questions about human nature for more conventional spectacle. The infected, for the most part, are treated more like high-speed zombies than the horrifying mirror of humanity they were in the original. The one exception is Robert Carlyle’s Don, whose arc brings back a flicker of that unsettling human darkness—but it’s not quite enough to recapture the original’s bite.
With the wave of successful requels and legacy sequels fueling audience appetite for nostalgia, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland have timed their return perfectly with 28 Years Later. Fans eager for a fresh chapter in the series have been rewarded with the original creators stepping back into the story, balancing respect for the past with new perspectives.
28 Years Later hit theaters on June 20th, 2025. Made on a $60 million budget, it went on to earn $150 million at the box office. And recently it has hit digital streaming services.
The Film
Set 28 years after the original Rage Virus outbreak, 28 Years Later follows a remote community living on the island of Lindisfarne, off England’s coast. The story focuses on 12-year-old Spike (Alfie Williams), his father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), and his mother Isla (Jodie Comer), who is suffering from a mysterious illness marked by violent episodes and confusion. Desperate for a cure, Jamie and Spike set out for the mainland—still ravaged by the lingering effects of the Rage Virus.
As they navigate this dangerous new world, they encounter mutated infected and hostile human factions, including a cult led by Sir Jimmy Crystal (Ralph Fiennes), whose eerie resemblance to the disgraced British TV figure Jimmy Savile adds a chilling layer to the story. The film delves deep into themes of survival, resilience, and the dark undercurrents that emerge when society collapses.
This past weekend, my wife and I finally sat down to watch 28 Years Later. We’ve both been big fans of the first two films in the series—they really left a lasting impression on us. So, we were genuinely excited about this new installment. To keep the experience fresh, we avoided any trailers or spoilers and went in completely blind.
Right from the start, the opening grabbed our attention. It felt like a seamless continuation of the story from the previous two films. The film quickly established the nature of the infected and revealed what had become of key characters from the original outbreak—especially Jimmy, the young boy introduced in the opening scene. That scene packed a serious punch. I was genuinely impressed; it was both powerful and unforgettable.
After that gripping opening, we got the iconic 28 Years Later... title card—always a highlight. One thing I’ve always appreciated about these films is how they skip traditional opening credits, jumping straight into the story.
We’re quickly introduced to Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), his son Spike (Alfie Williams), and his wife Isla (Jodie Comer). Right away, they come across as relatable and grounded—an ordinary family trying to live in extraordinary circumstances. But it doesn’t take long to sense something deeper going on with Isla. She’s forgetful, distracted, and has unsettling flashes of anger. I couldn’t help but feel for them—their dynamic really pulled me in.
At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure where the story was headed. I even found myself wondering—was Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s character supposed to be the young boy from the opening? I kept waiting for some kind of reveal, some clue about what happened to young Jimmy.
It eventually became clear that this wasn’t Jamie’s story—it was Spike’s. We follow him as he journeys to the mainland with his father and embarks on his first so-called “hunt.” Looking back, it didn’t feel out of place within the series. In fact, it echoed the way the military was initially portrayed in 28 Days Later—seemingly helpful at first, only to reveal something far more sinister. That same arc applies to Jamie: what starts as a protective father figure slowly shifts into something more complex—and far more unsettling.
The first act zeroes in on Jamie and Spike’s relationship, framing the story around their father-son bond. It’s a solid foundation, and it gives us a clear sense of Jamie through Spike’s eyes—a father he admires, even idealizes, and is desperate not to disappoint. On that level, it works. The emotional beats land, and the setup is engaging enough.
But as the act wrapped up, I couldn’t help but wonder if the film was playing it too safe. It started to feel a little too familiar—like we were just watching a post-apocalyptic road movie with a family twist. I kept asking myself: is this all there is? Is the goal just to get back to Isla on the island? For a franchise that’s always pushed boundaries, this early stretch felt a bit restrained. It was effective—but it left me hoping the film had more to say than just, “get home.”
As we moved into the second act, the tone began to shift. If the first act was about Spike’s innocence—his sheltered view of the world—then the second act is where that illusion starts to break. He’s forced to confront the harsh reality of the world around him, starting with his own community.
The townspeople, once seen as survivors, begin to resemble something closer to a cult—rigid in their ways, disturbingly eager to celebrate Spike’s first kill. What should be a sobering moment is instead treated like a rite of passage, and it’s jarring.
Spike also sees his father in a new light. Jamie, once the strong and steady protector, is revealed to be far more broken and morally compromised than we—or Spike—realized. It left me questioning how many times he’s crossed lines like this before. Was this just one instance... or part of a pattern?
Then the film pivots again, sending us back to the mainland. Only now, the dynamic has changed—it’s no longer a father-son survival story, but a mother-son journey through a devastated world. The genre shifts with it, becoming a more familiar post-apocalyptic road movie. And while the emotional core remains, I started to feel the weight of the film’s structural repetition creeping in.
The second act dragged. Sure, the goal was clear—get Isla to Dr. Kelson—but the journey felt padded and slow. We got a few glimpses of the infected, but they lacked the impact or urgency of the first act.
There were a couple of memorable scenes, but not enough to keep the energy up. By this point, the film was starting to lose steam, and it showed. The tension dipped, the pacing sagged, and it felt like the story was just spinning its wheels. A new military character was introduced—then immediately reduced to comic relief and written off just as quickly. It felt like a missed opportunity and added little to the story beyond a brief tonal shift.
Then we hit the third act, where Isla and Spike stumble upon a baby—and suddenly, the film throws a dozen new questions into the mix. Was this meant to suggest an evolution in the infected? A commentary on the thin line between humanity and rage? Are we supposed to believe there’s a possibility of coexistence between the infected and the uninfected? It’s hard to say, because just as these ideas are introduced, the film barrels forward without exploring any of them.
The pacing in this final stretch is jarring. It shifts into overdrive, rushing through plot points without giving them time to breathe. One moment you’re trying to process what this baby might symbolize—and the next, the credits are rolling. It felt like the third act was in such a hurry to reach the finish line, it forgot to make the ending land.
The lead-up to the ending was a tough pill to swallow. Without giving too much away, there’s a moment that feels completely out of character and doesn’t make much sense within the story’s context. It disrupts the flow and throws the film off course in a way that’s hard to ignore.
While the intention might have been to deepen the mother-son dynamic, the execution falls flat, adding little emotional or narrative depth. For me, this misstep seriously undercut the film’s impact, to the point where I’d caution viewers about it—because it can be jarring and disappointing in a way that lingers.
When the film finally reaches its conclusion, the reveal about what happened to young Jimmy comes as a surprise—but sadly, it feels like a missed opportunity. By that point, the earlier missteps had already eroded my investment in the story. The payoff was too little, too late, leaving me emotionally distant and uninterested in where the sequel, The Bone Temple, might take things next.
The ending underscored a larger issue: the film struggled to build meaningful momentum or depth throughout, and that final reveal couldn’t repair the disconnect. Walking away, I felt a profound disappointment—not just because of what the story was, but because of what it could have been.
Rating: 1 out of 5. If you enjoy the earlier installments, I highly caution to avoid.
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