Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather and Godfather II, Ridley Scott’s Alien and James Cameron’s Aliens, James Whale’s Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein . . . . It is not often that a sequel trumps its predecessor. Rarer still is when such occurs at the hands of a lesser director, as seen with the Alien quadrilogy but, alas, a blue moon has appeared once again. Juan Fresnadillo’s 28 Weeks Later is not only better than its paterfamilias but it rises above most every single one of its peers, which becomes all the more admirable once it is noted that the film is only the director’s second feature-length production and, at that, his first English-language work.
Like the godfather of zombie cinema, George Romero, Fresnadillo is aware that timing is everything. For the former, the reason that his quadrilogy missed a beat by skipping the whole of the 1990s (since Night of the Living Dead, the director contributed one work of undead theater every decade) was due to not having anything to say. Outside of the human predicament itself, Danny Boyle’s charter chapter, 28 Days Later, did house any overly relevant theme. It focused upon rage and its effects upon humanity (thus, the feature could have been made at any time). However, Fresnadillo waited until the time was right and, once that time arrived, he patiently–and with veteran skill–controlled his work instead of making the novice mistake of chomping at the bit. What results is a political allegory which, abominations of abominations, not only refuses to beat the viewer over the head with its platform, but in the process, ever-so-subtly takes sides.
Eleven weeks after a virus spreads throughout London, the United States military takes it upon itself to enter the war-torn metropolis to reinstate order. Yet, knowing little of the nature of the plague, the armed forces make the erroneous proclamation seven weeks later that the city is free from the plight and proceeds to repopulate the area. The virus reemerges and devastation resumes once more.
With parallels at every turn to the War on Iraq, 28 Weeks Later uses the genre as a metaphor to an eerily succinct degree and it is herein where the true terror lies. The premise itself is comparable enough: A foreign nation (the United States) enters a country in strife (Britain) and attempts to act as its policing agency in lieu of the fact it has little understanding of the nature of the conflict. Yet it is the details which reveal the scope of the inherent dread in such action. For instance–yes–flesh-eating, Trioxin-fueled zombies potentially lurk around every corner, but pandemonium is harbored due to one nation’s arrogance, thereby increasing the chances of death several times over. Whereas a Necro sapien might lunge out of a dark corner at any minute, so might a sniper catch you between his crosshairs (a masterstroke for the director for, by shifting the danger and making it absolute, we are scared once more when a zombie appears) because the military, unprepared for the worst, panics and issues a Code Red (has anyone else ever noticed the U.S.’s ironic use of the spectrum to signal terror levels, thereby simultaneously linking the trademark rainbow of the gay community with potential death?), thereby instituting a shoot-on-sight edict in hopes of–not containing the virus–but saving face. In the process, the U.S. kills the only hope that emerges for a cure in the form of a carrier of the virus. Thus, the SOP of Step 1: Kill the infected; Step 2: Containment; Step 3: If containment fails, Extermination, comes as no surprise yet nevertheless remains spine-chilling, moreso due to the coolly apathetic nature in which it is dispatched.
On the microcosmic level which–of course, equates with what is occurring on a broader forum throughout–the problem lies in parties operating solely upon self-interest. A father, Don Harris (Robert Carlyle), abandons his family and a solider, Sergeant Doyle (Jeremy Renner), leaves his company, thereby opening a flank and, thus, making the whole of the country susceptible to the plague. However, it is this component of the feature–its characterization–that many critics begin renouncing Fresnadillo, yet such does so at the expense of a true understanding of the scenario.
Like John Carpenter’s The Thing, given the circumstance involved, characterization would only occur at a surface-level at best. Needless to say, when apocalyptic chaos ensues, there is little time to shake hands and have a heart-to-heart. Likewise, as stated by James Berardinelli, “Apparently, Fresnadillo believes that the proper way to film any action scene is to shake the camera violently and pan it wildly back and forth, thereby making it virtually impossible to figure out what’s going on (and pushing viewers with motion sickness to the brink of voiding their stomachs). As if that wasn’t bad enough, in the editing room, Fresnadillo ensured that no single shot lasted longer than about a second.” Now, I ask you, should mayhem commence on a level which evokes riots, wouldn’t fleeting glimpses and, offset ones at that, become the norm? Granted, the question becomes whether or not, even if such is the case, does this make for a tolerable work of art but, alas, the director stays in control throughout and, ever so masterfully, interchanges the nausea-laden moments with–poignantly–prolonged lapses of innate boredom, the likes of which would naturalistically follow a catastrophic depopulating plague.
Another stroke of cinematic genius evidenced by Fresnadillo is his choice of casting little-known actors so that we are never guaranteed, just as during a cataclysm, who will live and who will die, which goes hand-in-hand with his finale which, unlike Hollywood, pulls no punches. To add to the exquisite nature of a film, the filmmaker reminds us that Picasso’s edict that destruction can be a work of art is axiomatic for we are given beautiful scenes of napalm wherein black-and-grays are juxtaposed with bright oranges, thus rivaling the magnificence of Boyle’s desolate gels of an desolate London. Lastly, and as if all of this weren’t enough, the director also takes time to insert an homage to Romero’s Dawn of the Dead as he gives us one of the most visceral, daunting action sequences of the year via the creative use of a helicopter.
Devastating. Honest. Unrepentant. Amazing. Masterful. These are words which don’t even come close to doing justice to Juan Fresnadillo’s 28 Weeks Later. Unlike its precursor, the director’s work stands as a philosophic, political, biological, and sociological whole while doing nothing short of keeping us on the edge of our seats throughout. It is not often that a young horror filmmaker terrifies his or her audience by way of his premise as opposed to exponential amounts of gore and, at that, while adhering such to real-world events. Is part of Fresnadillo’s success due to what made Boyle’s blockbuster so eyebrow-raising–premiering during a zombie drought? No, instead 28 Weeks Later is great because it is just that. Hopefully when Boyle returns to close the trilogy with 28 Months Later, he will take a few tips from his Spanish compatriot.
-Egregious Gurnow
- Interview with J.R. Bookwalter - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Andrew J. Rausch - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Rick Popko and Dan West - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Director Stevan Mena (Malevolence) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Screenwriter Jeffery Reddick (Day of the Dead 2007) - January 22, 2015
- Teleconference interview with Mick Garris (Masters of Horror) - January 22, 2015
- A Day at the Morgue with Corri English (Unrest) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Writer/Director Nacho Cerda (The Abandoned, Aftermath) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actress Thora Birch (Dark Corners, The Hole, American Beauty) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actor Jason Behr, Plus Skinwalkers Press Coverage - January 22, 2015
