Screen Scene with John Heal

28 Years Later is a film that reframes apocalypse not as a sudden rupture, but as a long, slow unspooling of what it means to live, endure and eventually forget how things once were. Rather than retracing the chaos of its predecessors, it leans into a quiet, almost meditative examination of a world where survival has become ordinary — routine, even — and where the true horror lies not in infection, but in what’s left behind.

At its centre is a lead performance rooted in weariness and restraint. The protagonist doesn’t scream or grandstand. They drift — both haunted and hardened — through a landscape that feels less like a battlefield and more like a graveyard. This isn’t a fight for survival. It’s a reckoning with the emotional wreckage of having survived too long.

The score is sparse but effective, surfacing only when needed and often receding into ambient tones that echo the film’s emotional distance. The cinematography, too, works in silence — framing empty streets, decaying structures and pale morning light in compositions that feel both desolate and strangely peaceful. There’s a beauty to the ruins, and the film doesn’t shy away from it.

Structurally, the film divides cleanly in two: an introspective, almost dreamlike first half that lingers in stillness and reflection, followed by a more urgent — but slightly uneven — second act. Hints at broader political and societal themes emerge but don’t fully cohere. A subplot involving a group attempting to rebuild the world teases complexity, only to fade before its full potential is realised.

Yet 28 Years Later thrives not in answers, but in atmosphere. It’s a film more concerned with emotional truth than narrative resolution. It asks viewers to sit with discomfort, to notice what isn’t said and to question whether a return to ‘normal’ is even desirable — or possible.

This isn’t just another chapter in a zombie saga. It’s a study in aftermath, in silence, in the weight of time. 28 Years Later lingers, not because of what it shows, but because of what it refuses to let go of.

Cinematography: 4.5/5

Score: 4/5

Plot: 4/5

Dialogue: 4/5

Pacing: 3.5/5

Ending: 4/5

Overall: 4/5