Humanity emerges through Temple’s bloody surface
Nia Da Costa’s 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is two movies in one which, unfortunately, vary drastically in quality. This middle chapter in a new trilogy of the Danny Boyle franchise is a frustrating exercise, one that in moments soars with innovation and daring, and at others, wallows in the worst of genre conventions. Adhering to a disturbing brand of violence – gratuitous for even zombie films – the director spends far too much time catering to the basest needs of franchise fans. The repetitious nature of these sequences is disturbing, but more problematic is they detract from the movie’s more meaningful, rich alternate plotline.
Picking up from the previous entry, young Spike (Alfie Williams), still reeling from his mother’s death, has fallen under the sway of Sir Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell). His small but devoted cult regard him as a doomsday messiah, fearful of his mania, acting to appease him for fear of violent reprisals. Waging a campaign of slaughter, Crystal has instructed his followers – all rechristened “Jimmy” by the raging narcissist – to kill any innocents who cross their path in the most heinous manner possible. He’s convinced them the suffering and death of their victims are tributes to the devil, the dark lord soon to appear to praise and take them to a dark realm.
Da Costa dwells on their reign of terror, involving skinning people alive and other niceties, to the point that the horror in these sequences soon gives way to disgust. While their gratuitous nature is intended to drive home the loss of morality in this dystopian world, it all becomes too much. The length and graphic nature of these sequences wind up being a distraction, overshadowing and obscuring the movie’s more positive qualities.
Those would lie in the parallel story being told, focusing on Dr. Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), who continues to build the titular monument to the dead. The shelter he’s built contains remnants from his past that serve to remind him of a more civilized time. While foraging outside his compound, he defends himself with morphine laced darts, which he uses repeatedly on a rage virus-inflicted behemoth he’s dubbed Samson (Chi Lewis-Parry). Their encounters have become so frequent that the good doctor has noticed a change in the afflicted man’s behavior. Closer, repeated contact with him suggests to Kelson that he may have stumbled onto a cure for the sickness that’s laid waste to the world.
The gradual building of trust between Kelson and Samson are the highlights of the film, the giant gradually evolving from a mindless, raging brute to a docile, devoted friend. Scenes in which they are seen simply sitting in a glen, dancing and ultimately conversing are suffused with a gentleness and hope that runs counter to those involving the Jimmys.
This counterbalancing proves effective in displaying the effectiveness of these differing approaches to survival. Every apocalyptic story boils down to this, a choice to either reestablish a sense of order and civility or give in to our basest urges, acting on our most violent and hedonistic thoughts. This is put into stark detail, once the characters from the two storylines converge, Kelson and Crystal’s incompatible ideologies destined for a reckoning.
Fiennes is a wonder here, his humanistic rendering of Kelson providing the viewer with a plausible, hopeful alternative to societal chaos. The path he’s taken is one of great hardship, fraught with setbacks that leave him vulnerable to those of lesser moral character. Yet, beneath its bloody surface, is a testament to the necessity of taking this higher road, despite its hardships. The zombie film, more than any other, has proven to be the most malleable genre in terms of reflecting our social concerns. That Temple provides us with an example of grace during chaos helps negate many of its faults, Fiennes making sure this message isn’t obscured by the carnage. In Theaters.
Scattered Choral salvaged by sincerity
Possessing good intentions can sometimes compensate for other faults and such is the case with Nicholas Hytner’s The Choral. This tale, set in an English town grappling with the ramifications of World War I, brims with moral conundrums and far too many plotlines. Yet, the skill with which the story is executed and the deft touch applied by Hytner and his cast help negate the film’s shortcomings, providing genuine sentiment to what could easily become a cloying, melodramatic exercise.
Like some many English communities, the Yorkshire town of Ramsden has seen an inordinate amount of its young men go off to fight in “The Great War.” Among them is the choir master, leaving the board of the Ramsden Church, Bernard Duxbury (Roger Allam), Joe Fytton (Mark Addy) and Herbert Trickett (Alun Armstrong), grasping at straws. In desperation, they hire Henry Guthrie (Ralph Fiennes) to take over their annual production of Bach’s “St. Matthew Passion.” This proves problematic, as the conductor has just returned from Germany, where he spent years studying their music and culture. His homosexuality doesn’t sit well with most of the conservative community either. That the group will be performing a German work is yet another bump in the road.
Less than impressed with the quality of the voices he’s inherited, Guthrie sets out to recruit some new members. His visit to the local veteran’s hospital, where those wounded and rendered infirm by the war are staying, raises some eyebrows but proves fruitful. He also decides the choir will perform Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius, though the locals object to the composer’s Catholic background.
An entire film could be made solely about Guthrie and his battles, but screenwriter Alan Bennett has quite a few other narrative fish to fry. Young Bella (Emily Fairn), thinking her MIA beau has been killed, falls for one of her choirmates. However, when Clyde (Jacob Dudman) comes knocking on her door, complications ensue. The group’s gay pianist, Robert (Robert Emms) is ridiculed for registering as a conscientious objector, while three of the group’s younger members (Jacob Dudman, Shaun Thomas, Taylor Uttley) each take a different approach to their impending conscription. Then there’s the issue of if Elgar will give permission for his work to be performed …
Obviously, there are a lot of moving parts, so many that most never seem fully developed. The majority of the plotlines seem truncated or wrapped up too quickly, each requiring another scene or two in order to be fully satisfying.
Yet, there’s a reverence in the way the material is rendered that for the most part, trumps these concerns. Fiennes provides a solid center for these characters to orbit around and, as expected, his nuanced turn holds it all together. Few can convey as much as he can by doing so little. In his hands, a glance or gesture is weighted with meaning, none of it done in a grand or self-conscious manner. A scene in which Guthrie is informed the German ship his lover was assigned to has been sunk, the choir members cheering this news, he stoically dealing with his heartbreak, is among his finest moments.
While the film may have benefitted from a slightly more overt dose of emotion and more fully developed subplots, the innate power of its story is undeniable. The lessons contained in The Choral may seem obvious, yet it’s glaringly obvious they still need to be taught. Thanks to Fiennes and company, they hit just the right notes to drive it home. In Theaters.
This article appears in January 15-21, 2026.
