Film Review: 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple (28年後：人骨聖殿) (2026) - UK / USA
Reviewed by Andrew Chan (Film Critic Circle of Australia)
I rated it 7.5/10
Rating: ★ ★ ★ 1/2
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A Haunting, Hallucinatory Detour from the Apocalypse - The infected are no longer sprinting through Piccadilly Circus. The frantic terror of “28 Days Later”, that gut-punch of a film that reanimated the zombie genre with digital grit and sheer panic, feels like a fever dream from another lifetime. “28 Years Later: The Bone Temple”, the direct sequel of “28 Years Later” arriving under the bold vision of director Nia DaCosta, takes Danny Boyle’s infected nightmare and transplants it into the windswept, rain-lashed moors of Northern England, trading urban decay for something far stranger: a landscape steeped in folk horror and surreal dread. The result is a film less interested in the adrenaline of survival than the slow, gnawing psychosis of a world permanently altered. It’s a fascinating, often beautiful, sometimes frustrating detour that prioritizes atmosphere and ideas over jump scares, earning its keep largely through sheer audacity and a towering central performance.
The Rage virus, we learn, is no longer an outbreak; it’s the ecosystem. Humanity clings to existence in isolated pockets, but the rules have changed. Enter Dr. Ian Kelson, portrayed with mesmerizing, bone-deep exhaustion and simmering mania by Ralph Fiennes. Kelson isn’t just surviving; he’s obsessively studying, dwelling in near-solitude near a structure that gives the film its unforgettable core: The Bone Temple. Forget CGI monstrosities; this haunting edifice, built from thousands upon thousands of practical mock-skulls overlooking the River Ure, is a triumph of tangible horror. It looms, it breathes, it means something – a monument to the dead, a locus of power, a character in its own chilling right. DaCosta and her production designers deserve ovations; this is one of the most striking, unsettling locations committed to film in recent memory.
Fiennes is the film’s anchor and its beating, albeit arrhythmic, heart. His Kelson is a man frayed at the edges, his intellect sharp but his sanity questionable. He embodies the psychological toll of this endless apocalypse – the weariness, the desperation, the dangerous glimmers of hope. His performance is a masterclass in controlled unraveling, making every quiet moment fraught with potential danger or profound sorrow. Opposite him, Chi Lewis-Parry brings unexpected, grunting pathos as Samson, an infected "Alpha." Their dynamic – part experiment, part twisted symbiosis, part fragile connection – provides the film’s most genuinely surprising and emotionally resonant thread. It dares to ask if humanity, once lost to the Rage, can be recalled, and the answers are as unsettling as they are moving.
DaCosta crafts sequences of undeniable power. An early trek across the desolate moors establishes a tone of eerie beauty and profound isolation. Then there’s the sequence: Kelson, employing pyrotechnics and the deafening blast of Iron Maiden’s "The Number of the Beast" to manipulate a feral cult. It’s a bravura moment – pure, unadulterated tension fused with jet-black comedy, a glorious, unhinged spike of energy that feels like a direct line to co-writer Alex Garland’s more provocative instincts. It’s a reminder that intelligence and savagery can coexist.
Yet, “The Bone Temple” cannot entirely escape the gravitational pull of its middle-chapter status. While its ambition is admirable, the narrative occasionally strains under its own philosophical weight. The second act sags, caught between Kelson’s compelling solitude and the introduction of Sir Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell, deliciously menacing but undeniably cartoonish in his satanic blonde gang aesthetic). Crystal’s cult feels like a distraction, a necessary but less interesting antagonist compared to the central mystery of Kelson’s work and his bond with Samson. The film’s deliberate pacing, so effective in building atmosphere, occasionally drifts into inertia when moving between these threads.
And then, the ending. The return of Cillian Murphy’s Jim is a guaranteed crowd-roarer, a visceral link to the franchise’s roots. Yet, it lands with the subtlety of a sledgehammer wrapped in fan service. It feels less like an organic culmination of Kelson’s harrowing journey and more like a studio-mandated stinger, a flashing neon sign proclaiming "PART THREE COMING SOON!" It’s a jarring note that slightly undermines the film’s otherwise distinctive, melancholic tone.
“28 Years Later: The Bone Temple” is a film about what endures when civilization crumbles – not just bunkers and weapons, but myths, madness, and the desperate flicker of scientific hope. It’s less a conventional horror sequel and more a post-apocalyptic fable rendered in haunting visuals and anchored by Ralph Fiennes’ career-best work. DaCosta takes significant risks, abandoning the franchise’s frenetic pace for something more contemplative and surreal. While it stumbles with pacing and a fan-service ending, its successes – the awe-inspiring Bone Temple, the profound weirdness of the Kelson/Samson dynamic, Fiennes’ mesmerizing performance, and DaCosta’s confident, atmospheric direction – resonate far longer than its flaws. It proves there’s fertile, terrifying ground left to explore in this infected world, even if the path it takes is decidedly, fascinatingly, overgrown. Go for the Yorkshire vistas, stay for Fiennes, but leave your expectations for relentless action at the door of the Temple. (Neo, 2026)