movie review
28 YEARS LATER: THE BONE TEMPLE
Running time: 110 minutes. Rated R (strong bloody violence, gore, graphic nudity, language throughout and brief drug use). In theaters Jan. 16.
The final scene of last year’s “28 Years Later” was pretty damn demented, even by the messed-up standards of a postapocalyptic horror series in which Great Britain is ravaged by a “rage virus” that turns people into monsters who indiscriminately rip innocents’ heads off.
After two hours of blood, guts and tears, a flamboyant band of thugs wearing colorful velvet tracksuits and blond Jimmy Savile wigs rolled in. All of them, men and women alike, were eerily named Jimmy.
It was as if a grotesque murder spree had been capped off by Rip Taylor throwing a handful of glitter into the air.
Some audiences found that stark tonal shift too wacky for an already strange movie that had an orange Ralph Fiennes erect a gigantic monument out of human skeletons.
Well, I ate it up. The eccentric crew, a bold addition, was spine-chillingly reminiscent of Alex DeLarge and his violent droogs from “A Clockwork Orange.”
Those “Later” punks go full-bore Burgess in “The Bone Temple,” director Nia DaCosta’s twisted, more brutal and freakishly funny continuation.
Cult-like, they have their very own lunatic lexicon. For instance, they call the gruesome skinning of their captives “charity.” And they refer to the god they worship — erm, Satan — as Uncle Nick.
Their smirking leader, Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), whose evil accessory is an upside-down crucifix, dubs his deadly lackeys his “Fingers.” Yuck.
Peel back Sir Lord Jimmy’s Peter Pan-like boyish pluck and you’ll discover a black hole of morality, fiendishly rendered by O’Connell with a smooth-talking “Devil Went Down To Georgia” sleaze. He’s a baddie for the books.
And he’s the opposite of his 12-year-old captive — the sweet, traumatized Spike — who just wants to find his way home after the death of his mom in the last flick. To get there, the scamp, played by a heart-wrenching Alfie Williams, must first free himself from the bleach-blond hairpieces.
The whole warped thing is captivatingly bizarre. And from the start of the sequel, when little Spike is forced into a knife fight to the death to earn his spot in the group, the Jimmys are revolting and teeming with menace.
DaCosta’s got a real knack for fear, having done a bang-up job bringing “Candyman” into the 21st century back in 2021. She doesn’t conceal much with her gorgeous and unsparing direction as she makes us wince and “Oh. My. God” over and over.
Squeamish, beware. “Bone Temple” doubles the savagery of its predecessor. We chomp on popcorn as a crazed dude chows on some poor sap’s brain. But the gore does not come at the expense of emotion.
Two tales are told here. Spike and the Fingers’ monstrous trek to mutilate anyone who doesn’t bend the knee, and the dangerous experiments of Dr. Ian Kelson — Fiennes’ tangerine-tinted role — on the snarling “infecteds” at his haus of bones.
In the previous film, we learned the creepy hermit can temporarily pacify the not-quite-zombies with a morphine dart. That was a major breakthrough. Could he be nearing a cure for the virus that’s cut off the UK from the rest of the world?
Fiennes is magnificent, and a scene involving him and Iron Maiden’s song “Number of the Beast” will go down as one of the most buzzed-about sequences of 2026. Were it written for a grisly horror movie, Alex Garland’s climax would fit snuggly into a Shakespearean comedy.
Fiennes adds fuel to the conversation of why Hollywood hems and haws about showering praise on big, committed horror parts when they’re equally as deserving.
During the current awards season, Amy Madigan of “Weapons” has been the latest actor to get the industry to take a long, hard look at its pretentious biases. C’mon guys — what’s the difference between brilliant creature-ish turns and Gary Oldman strapping on a Winston Churchill fat suit?
If I had one qualm with “Bone Temple” is that it’s quite brisk. Certain intriguing relationships, like Kelson’s connection to an infected alpha named Samson, could’ve used some extra screen time. However, I prefer a movie that leaves you wanting more to one that leaves you wanting a lobotomy.
Since it’s been widely reported, I don’t think it’s a spoiler to reveal that an original star returns.
His satisfying appearance, which is far from cheap fan service, sets up the rare 2020s threequel I’m putting in my calendar instead of on my hit list.
