A Franchise Detour Straight Into Hell: Reviewing 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple
- Dan Brooks
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
Picking up right after 28 years later...As Spike is inducted into Jimmy Crystal's gang on the mainland, Dr. Kelson makes a discovery that could alter the world.
There are moments in life when you sit back in your seat, chocolate bar in hand, turn to your buddy, and silently mouth the words, “What the hell did I just watch?”
That was my entire post-credits experience with 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple, a movie I walked into expecting a good old-fashioned sprinting-zombie panic attack and walked out of feeling like I’d accidentally purchased tickets to a midnight séance hosted by a traveling anarchist commune.
My text to my friend afterward would’ve been simple: I think I want my money back.
Let me set the scene. Cineplex in London, Ontario. Dinner already polished off. Me and my buddy Jack armed with chocolate bars and assorted candy like two suburban raccoons preparing for cinematic carnage. The franchise history suggested infected chaos, pulse-pounding chases, humans making terrible decisions in abandoned buildings. You know - the classics.
Instead? I got cult rituals, demon worship, interpretive Satan dancing, and a roaming gang of kids called the Jimmies, which sounds less like the end of civilization and more like a youth bowling league sponsored by Monster Energy and evil.
The movie does start with a jolt - there’s an opening zombie attack that briefly tricks you into thinking, Okay, here we go, lace up the running shoes. And then… nope. Hard pivot. The undead shuffle offstage while the plot settles into a slow-burn mythology lesson about feral survivors, anarchists, and a satanic leader being worshipped like the world’s least comforting motivational speaker.
Now, performances. Ralph Fiennes is the gravitational center here. The man could read a grocery receipt and make it sound like Shakespeare. He carries the film’s weight, injecting menace, intelligence, and that distinctly British flavor of “I am absolutely going to ruin your life, but politely.” Without him, this thing might’ve collapsed under its own ceremonial robes.
Everyone else? Perfectly fine. Serviceable. Present. They didn’t embarrass themselves, but they also didn’t leave me scribbling imaginary Oscar ballots on my napkin wrapper.
The pacing, though - hoo boy. Once the film abandons its zombie-adjacent roots, it starts to slug along. Long stretches devoted to cult lore, wandering through wilderness, whispered prophecies, and people staring into firelight like they’re waiting for their DoorDash order from Hell. I kept thinking, Any minute now, a horde is going to crash this party.
It never really does.
And then there’s the… aesthetic choices.
Listen, I’m no prude, but Hollywood seems to be on a streak lately where every post-apocalyptic movie apparently comes with a mandatory “everyone’s naked because society collapsed” clause. These zombies - or feral survivors, or whatever sub-genre box we’re checking - are constantly unclothed, and after about ten minutes my brain just started filing HR complaints.
I didn’t come for two hours of full-frontal nudity and wilderness fetishism. I came for people being chased by things that used to be their neighbors.
The final straw for me was the big satanic dance near the end. You know the one: chanting, ritual movements, bodies swaying in firelight while the movie stares at you like, Isn’t this unsettling?
Honestly?
It felt silly. Tonally weird. And about three genres removed from what the title and franchise heritage promised. If you slapped a different name on this thing and sold it as an arthouse cult thriller, maybe I’d recalibrate expectations. But walking in under the 28 Years Later banner? That’s cinematic bait-and-switch with a ceremonial dagger.
Who is this for?
If you want a traditional zombie movie, run for the hills. Sprint. Hydrate first, but run.
If you’re into grim cult stories, people torturing each other, slow-burn satanic symbolism, and experimental apocalypse vibes… hey, you might get a strange little kick out of this.
Me? I left disappointed, sugar-buzzed, and quietly mourning the movie I thought I was about to see.
So here’s my closing thought, and I stand by it:
If you came for the zombies… run for the hills.
Ranking....5/10
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