When "28 Years Later: The Bone Temple" opens in theaters this week, audiences will find themselves dropped back into the bleak, brutal world first constructed by Danny Boyle and Alex Garland nearly a quarter-century ago. But this time, with Nia DaCosta at the helm and Garland still penning the script, the franchise's latest chapter manages to carve out new ground—both thematically and emotionally—while unleashing some of the most savage violence yet seen in the series.
The film, released about seven months after its predecessor "28 Years Later," picks up almost immediately where the last installment left off. Spike (Alfie Williams), who survived the harrowing events of the previous film and bid farewell to his cancer-stricken mother, is now thrust into the clutches of a violent and deeply disturbed cult known as "The Jimmys." Led by Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), a character disturbingly inspired by the disgraced British media figure Jimmy Savile, the gang roams the devastated British mainland, dispensing cruelty in the name of a warped religion.
According to JoBlo, Jimmy Crystal isn’t just another post-apocalyptic warlord—he styles himself as the Antichrist, skinning his victims alive as offerings to “Old Nick,” his moniker for Satan. The cult’s rituals and beliefs, filtered through Crystal’s deranged worldview and childhood trauma, are as terrifying as the infected themselves. O’Connell’s performance, as noted by reviewers, is both charismatic and deeply unsettling, channeling a leader who is as much a product of the outbreak as he is a shaper of its ongoing horrors.
Spike, initially an unwilling participant, survives by his wits—at one point, he kills a cult member in a knife fight, earning a grudging place in the gang. Erin Kellyman’s Jimmy Ink, one of the more humane members, offers small mercies to Spike, but the film makes clear that ambition and survival often blur the line between good and evil. Emma Laird also appears as a particularly ruthless member of the group, rounding out a cast that, according to JoBlo, delivers compelling performances across the board.
Running parallel to Spike’s ordeal is the journey of Dr. Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), whose character takes center stage in this installment. Kelson, once a kindly doctor, now maintains an eerie memorial known as the Bone Temple, a monument to the dead fashioned from the remains of the fallen. He forms an unexpected bond with Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry), a hulking Alpha infected whom he subdues with morphine darts. Kelson’s hope—fleeting as it may be—is to unlock the secrets of the infection and perhaps find a way to treat it. As Substream Magazine observes, Kelson’s scenes are tinged with a strange optimism and even humor, as he spins Duran Duran records and reminisces about life before the outbreak.
The film’s structure, as The Playlist notes, is reminiscent of other "middle chapters" in trilogies, where the narrative feels like it’s jogging in place, setting the stage for an inevitable showdown rather than delivering seismic changes. Yet, DaCosta’s direction brings a fresh energy to the franchise, leaning hard into horror and eschewing the more philosophical musings of the previous film. The result, according to JoBlo, is a "deeply unsettling series of encounters in the wasteland that is now Britain—a place where the infected are less dangerous than the humans left behind."
Visually, "The Bone Temple" pays homage to the raw, kinetic style of "28 Days Later," using iPhone cameras, small digital devices, and drones to capture the desolate British countryside in all its overgrown, post-human glory. Cinematographer Sean Bobbitt and composer Hildur Guðnadóttir, as highlighted by Awards Radar, contribute to an atmosphere that oscillates between dreamlike and nightmarish. The film’s violence is unflinching, but DaCosta also finds room for dark humor and even a bizarrely memorable dance sequence—a testament to the franchise’s willingness to take risks.
One of the film’s most intriguing aspects is its exploration of faith versus science, a theme that runs like a fault line through the story. Dr. Kelson’s quest for a cure is juxtaposed against Jimmy Crystal’s religious fanaticism, with both men seeking to impose order on a world gone mad. As Substream Magazine puts it, "the battle is not merely between Gods and monsters, but truth and diseased testament standing on opposing sides." The film doesn’t shy away from social commentary, drawing uncomfortable parallels between cults, zealotry, and the ways in which power can corrupt even the most well-intentioned beliefs.
The infected, long the face of terror in the "28" universe, are here portrayed with a touch more nuance. Through Kelson’s experiments on Samson, the film hints at the possibility of redemption—or at least understanding—within the madness. Yet, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the true monsters may not be the infected at all, but the humans who exploit chaos for their own ends.
Despite being the middle entry in a planned trilogy, "The Bone Temple" manages to deliver a satisfying narrative arc. The climactic showdown between Kelson, Spike, and The Jimmys is both unpredictable and exhilarating, featuring a heavy metal needle drop that, according to JoBlo, had audiences cheering. The film’s ending sets the stage for Danny Boyle’s return to the director’s chair in the next installment, but some critics argue that DaCosta’s vision has reinvigorated the franchise to such a degree that her absence in the finale will be keenly felt.
Critical response has been overwhelmingly positive, with reviewers praising the film as the best installment yet—an impressive feat for a franchise that has spanned more than two decades. Awards Radar calls it "the best of the franchise to date, and yes, that’s including the original," while JoBlo urges even those disappointed by the last film to give this one a chance, calling it "such a huge improvement you’ll barely believe it."
As "28 Years Later: The Bone Temple" tears into theaters, it offers more than just blood and guts. It’s a reflection on the nature of humanity, the dangers of unchecked power, and the thin line between hope and despair. The infected may still prowl the ruins, but it’s the living—and the choices they make—that ultimately shape the fate of this broken world.
