28 Years Later: The Bone Temple review: Nia DaCosta delivers an exhilarating horror epic
With 28 Days Later, director Danny Boyle and Alex Garland rewrote the rules of the zombie genre. With 28 Years Later, they did it again by rejecting the tropes they themselves had forged. No longer were zombies (or to be more accurate, infected persons) merely running mindless, fueled by a ravenous rage. Some had grown smart and brawny, becoming Alphas, while others grew slow and wriggled on the ground. No longer were audiences to be fed on the grim carnage of a city decimated by a rampaging virus. Instead, the filmmakers offered a picturesque wilderness and a touching — while scary as hell — coming-of age tale. Now, Boyle has entrusted The Bone Temple, the second chapter of Garland's emerging 28 Years Later trilogy, with American filmmaker Nia DaCosta, who grows this saga with sensational daring and depth.
Much like "superhero movie" has become a nebulous concept as more filmmakers push the boundaries on the subgenres' expectations, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is a zombie movie, but also much, much more. Thanks to riveting performances from Ralph Fiennes, Jack O'Connell, Alfie Williams, Chi Lewis-Parry, and Erin Kellyman, this horror offering — like its prequel and also like 2025's other smash horror hit, Sinners — transcends the grimier aspects of the genre to unearth something gnarly and sublime.
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple unfurls the mystery of Jimmy.
After wowing audiences with a vampire jig in Sinners, O'Connell stunned us by popping up at the end of 28 Years Later as a dubious savior, modeled after the Teletubbies and Jimmy Savile. He's a self-proclaimed prince with a band of manic minions, all of whom dress in his uniform of Lancelot blonde hair and a velour tracksuit. They all call themselves Jimmy (or some variant thereof), and they've taken in runaway Spike (Williams). But despite their wide smiles and stellar skills at slaying the infected, this is not a safe community for Spike to join.
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We first met Jimmy at the beginning of 28 Years Later, as a child who watches his pastor father willingly get eaten alive by a horde of zombies. Whether inspired by the scene or traumatized by it (or a little of both), adult Jimmy has since started his own religion — a perversion of his father's Christian father, a brand of Satanism that crowns him son of Satan.
With a twisted sense of humor and an iron fist, he rules over not only his Jimmy-named gang, but also any survivors who have the misfortune to cross his path. But what will happen when Jimmy and his crew run into Dr. Ian Kelson (Fiennes), a seeming madman with skin dyed red by iodine and a home surrounded by human remains built into a bone temple? As teased in the film's trailer, this becomes the central conflict of the 28 Years Later sequel, creating a fascinating collision of religion versus science in a post-apocalyptic landscape. But that's not all.
Garland's script also plunges deeper into the minds of Kelson and his Samson (Lewis-Parry), the Alpha infected, who stalks like a lion through the fields and woods. And still beyond that, Spike — who is more a supporting character here — tries to understand his place in a kingdom run on madness and blood. His only ally seems to be Jimmy Ink (Eleanor the Great's Kellyman), a sharp-eyed girl who spies the holes in her devil prince's preaching.
The Bone Temple is gory and glorious.
I hesitate to tell you more about the plot of the movie, because the discovery of it was exhilarating. Typically, zombie movies have a pretty direct quest: Survive the night. Even 28 Years Later tapped into that, with a first act that presented Spike and his dad running for their lives as they are tirelessly chased by an Alpha — a magnificent sequence, gorgeous and harrowing. As in that scene, the cold, brilliant stars shine down on a landscape of human suffering, utterly indifferent. But this time, there are men looking back up at them, finding a moment amid the pain and fear and surviving to inhale wonder.
Kelson's plotline pushes that — to steal a line from Star Trek and Station Eleven — "survival is insufficient." Even a man who makes a temple of bones needs conversation, music, and dancing. Kelson pursues these things with an openness that is both heart-warming and terrifying, due to the risks he takes in their pursuit.
Like Coogler did with Sinners, DaCosta unites horror and song and dance to a tremendous effect in The Bone Temple. Sure, there are scenes of zombie carnage and human depravity, in keeping with the franchise's toll of blood. And these are deeply unnerving. Yet the sequence that had the audience in my screening not only awestruck during, but then applauding and cheering afterwards, was one of dance. It was an extraordinary surprise, and the thrill of it still surges in my heart and stings my eyes with tears for the sheer excitement. Afterwards, my reaction on Letterboxd was, "My brain feels like pop rocks."
Nia DaCosta makes her best movie yet with The Bone Temple.
DaCosta started out strong with the indie thriller Little Woods. Then, she took on one bold follow-up after another, reviving Candyman with a daring sequel, then helming the superheroine ensemble adventure The Marvels. Admittedly, amid these studio projects, her thumbprint was muddied, and the reviews were mixed. But then came Hedda, a sexy and pulsating interpretation of Anton Chekhov's Hedda Gabler that reimagines the classic anti-heroine as gifted, Black, queer, and freshly furious about being thwarted.
With Hedda, DaCosta reignited the fire that sparked in Little Woods, fueling it with her recurring leading lady, Tessa Thompson, who delivers a scorching performance bolstered by composer Hildur Guðnadóttir's seething score, made up of orchestrated human moans and gasps. Guðnadóttir reteams with DaCosta for The Bone Temple. Seamlessly, these artists pick up where Boyle left off, expanding his world without losing themselves to it. The heat of emotion that swelled and strategically overwhelms in Hedda burns on here. The music swarms to emphasize mounting fear, fury, or even bliss. Yet this is not the only music that will feed the fire of The Bone Temple. A precious record player warbles familiar tunes diegetically that take on a sharper meaning in a world gone mad. And so perhaps we can relate, listening to songs from seemingly simpler times with a nostalgia that is addictive.
Jack O'Connell is menacing and marvelous in The Bone Temple.
All of this, and O'Connell too. That Sinners, 28 Years Later, and 28 Years: The Bone Temple should all be released within 12 months of each other feels like an embarrassment of riches for horror fans. That O'Connell sets the screen ablaze in all of them is just extraordinary.
He delivers on the promise of Jimmy's mesmerizing intro in 28 Years Later with a portrait of a power-hungry fool whose ego is dangerously fragile. Far from flatly scary or simply deranged, O'Connell brews Jimmy with curiosity, charisma, and a terrifying spontaneity. At any moment, Jimmy seems capable of any mad demand. And so we shiver, but cannot look away.
His tingling intensity makes for a bewildering chemistry opposite Fiennes' serene doctor. And then into this mix is young, sweet Spike and the enigmatic Jimmy Ink. Williams is once more moving as a little boy adrift in a big, bad world. Kellyman, however, is extraordinary as a smart girl who's learned the power of viciousness and strategic submission. Then. Lewis-Parry brings new depths to the Alpha Samson, making for scenes terrifying and tremendous.
Now, as you might expect from the second film of a trilogy, The Bone Temple won't tie up all these threads. Thankfully, what is left to dangle isn't frustrating. This film tells a satisfying story, then promises another chapter — with a reveal that's sure to make fans of 28 Days Later shriek with delight.
Ultimately, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is a phenomenal film. As a sequel, it builds the saga of Spike without retreading its predecessor's steps. As a zombie movie, it delivers scenes of gut-churning violence and haunting loss. As a horror film, it is sublime, gorgeous, rich in visual splendor, surging with feeling, and intoxicating in its unexpected twists. Simply put, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple fucking rules. I left the theater rattled and elated. I can't wait to go again.