Poor Spike (Alfie Williams) hasn’t been having the best time during the zombie apocalypse. After the events of 28 Years Later saw him lose his mother, become disillusioned with his father’s hard-nosed attitude and come acropper of Sir Jimmy Crystal’s (Jack O’Connell) ultra-violent troupe of acrobatic Saville acolytes, the opening of sequel The Bone Temple isn’t any less stressful. He’s reluctantly forced to take part in afight-to-the-death for aplace in Crystal’s marauding gang – while he survives the trial by pure fluke, donning the shaggy blonde wig and tracksuit uniform of the Jimmys predictably only leads to more trouble.
The group eke out their existence in the ruins of the British countryside through violence, descending on survivor communities without permission, relieving them of their resources, and mutilating or murdering them at will. Screenwriter Alex Garland likes to hammer home that man is the most wicked creature of all – while the rage-infected zombies kill out of instinct, the eerily calm Jimmy Crystal claims his wrath is aspiritual gift, handed down to him by his father Satan and doled out through his “seven fingers” (the members of hisgang).
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Meanwhile, GP-turned-graveyard keeper Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes) has made some interesting progress with the alpha zombie Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry) after noticing that he seems to be intentionally returning for doses of the morphine-xylazine blow darts that Kelson uses to subdue him. Kelson theorises the drugs offer Samson temporary respite from the virus; the two unlikely allies bond as Kelson laments Samson’s inability to communicate with him. Unfortunately for Kelson, their relative tranquility will soon be interrupted by the arrival of the Jimmys, who understandably have afew questions about the bloke covered in iodine hanging out with azombie and living in agiant bonehouse.
The differences between 28 Years Later and its sequel are apparent from the off, with newcomer Nia DaCosta opting for some shocking displays of violence that contrast from the tranquility of the countryside, sunlit and peaceful aside for the occasional zombie groans. The world doesn’t expand much from what was established in Boyle’s previous film, but the focus on the way trauma can mutate into inflicting violence on others and the private psychosis of religious fervour ensures there’s enough meat on the bone, and Jack O’Connell delivers anicely malevolent turn as the false prophet in chief, fast becoming one of Hollywood’s best bad guys. He’s upstaged only by Ralph Fiennes, who is the film’s indisputable standout, balancing Kelson’s uncommon empathy and curiosity with asense of humour and an utterly thrilling set piece where he lip syncs to Iron Maiden’s ‘Number of the Beast’. Fiennes hasn’t appeared to be having as much fun on screen since The Grand Budapest Hotel, and his welcome presence adds some much-needed levity amid all thegore.
A stumbling block does exist in Garland’s inability to write aworthy finale – the film builds and builds only to tumble into aquick resolution in the last 15minutes, not much helped by the cheesy Marvel-style reveal of Cillian Murphy’s bike courier Jim whose return to the franchise has been highly anticipated. One also has to wonder if Garland can resist the temptation to go down the obvious route in the trilogy closer and have the character find acure for the virus – an impulse that forgets the least interesting thing about this franchise is the prospect of the virus ending. As it stands though, The Bone Temple offers aheady mix of stomach-churning violence, absurdist humour and surprising glimmers of tenderness. Plus asurprising number of Tellytubby references. What more could you want from azombie apocalypse?
