With The Bone Temple, the 28 franchise doesn’t just continue—it deepens, challenges, and evolves in ways that few long-running horror series ever manage. What’s truly astonishing is that this is a January release, a sequel to a sequel, arriving barely a year after 28 Years Later—and yet it stands confidently as one of the strongest entries in the entire saga.
Picking up almost immediately after the wild tonal whiplash ending of 28 Years Later, The Bone Temple leans into the chaos rather than retreating from it. That previous film closed with Jack O’Connell’s Jimmy and his cult of identical blond-wigged followers—“the Jimmys”—descending upon Spike in a moment that felt like A Clockwork Orange filtered through a surreal children’s action show. It was bizarre, off-putting, and strangely magnetic. This film takes that energy and fully commits.
At its core, The Bone Temple is a film about belief systems in a world that has lost all structure. On one side stands Sir Jimmy Crystal, a religious fanatic who has transformed despair into dogma. On the other is Dr. Kelson, a man of science who clings to logic, empathy, and research as the last remnants of civilization. These two ideologies—religion and science—are placed on a collision course, not as simple good-versus-evil stand-ins, but as competing obsessions shaped by the same apocalyptic trauma.
Villains, Saints, and the People Caught Between
Jack O’Connell delivers a career-defining performance as Sir Jimmy Crystal. This is villainy stripped of romanticism. Jimmy is cruel, narcissistic, and utterly merciless, hiding his savagery behind ritual and rhetoric. O’Connell plays him with chilling confidence, making him instantly detestable while remaining endlessly watchable. It’s the kind of performance where you find yourself counting the minutes, waiting—and hoping—for the moment he finally gets what’s coming to him. Coming off Sinners, O’Connell is quietly building one of the most impressive villain résumés of the decade. This is absolutely a Villain of the Year contender.
Opposite him is Ralph Fiennes’ Dr. Kelson, and it cannot be overstated just how extraordinary Fiennes is here. This may genuinely be one of the finest performances of his career. Kelson is gentle, curious, and stubbornly humane, even as the world collapses around him. He believes science can still save something—if not the world, then at least a soul. His compassion is radical in a landscape defined by brutality, and Fiennes plays him without irony or condescension. There is a quiet moral weight to his performance that anchors the entire film.
Caught between these extremes is Spike, once again played beautifully by Alfie Williams. Spike remains the emotional center of the franchise—a young person forced to decide what kind of future is worth believing in. His interactions with both Jimmy’s cult and Kelson’s quiet optimism pose the film’s central question: When everything is broken, who do you follow—and why?
A standout addition is Erin Kellyman as one of the Jimmys, a follower who still seems to retain a fragment of humanity. Her dynamic with Spike is subtle but deeply affecting, suggesting that indoctrination is not always absolute. She feels like someone on the edge of awakening, and the film wisely leaves space for that possibility. Her presence adds emotional complexity to the cult storyline, and it’s exciting to see her positioned as a key player going forward.
Cults as Contagion
One of The Bone Temple’s most compelling ideas is how it frames cult mentality as a parallel infection. Just like the virus, fanaticism spreads through fear, isolation, and desperation. Jimmy’s followers are not merely villains—they are victims of belief weaponized against them. The film draws a clear line between blind faith and survival instinct, suggesting that both religion and science can become dangerous when treated as absolutes.
This thematic tension reaches its peak when Sir Jimmy and Dr. Kelson finally share the screen. Their conversation crackles with philosophical energy, not because it’s loud or explosive, but because it feels inevitable. Two men, both convinced they are right, both shaped by the same apocalypse, standing on opposite ends of what it means to “save” humanity.
Unexpected Humanity in the Infected
One of the film’s most surprising—and effective—elements is the relationship between Dr. Kelson and Samson, the alpha infected played by Chi Lewis-Parry. Their dynamic occasionally evokes the energy of a stoner buddy movie—not because it’s played for big laughs, but because of its laid-back, oddly tender rhythm. Scenes of the two lying in the grass, dulled by morphine, accompanied by needle drops, introduce moments of calm absurdity that humanize the infected without ever defanging the horror.
These sequences don’t make The Bone Temple a comedy—but they add texture. They remind us that even in a world defined by violence, moments of strange companionship can still exist. Samson becomes more than a monster; he becomes a presence, a friend, and a quiet challenge to everything we think we understand about the infection.
Direction, Sound, and a Metal Apocalypse
Nia DaCosta deserves enormous credit for her direction. Rather than attempting to replicate Danny Boyle’s unmistakable style, she builds on it—borrowing the franchise’s kinetic energy while asserting her own voice. The camera work is visceral, the pacing confident, and the film never feels like it’s imitating what came before. This is unmistakably a Nia DaCosta film that understands the DNA of the 28 universe.
Musically, the absence of the Young Fathers’ score from 28 Years Later is noticeable, especially given how powerful that music was. However, The Bone Temple compensates with carefully chosen needle drops—most notably a blistering Iron Maiden track—that elevate the film’s final act into something transcendent.
The last 15 minutes are pure, unfiltered catharsis. It feels less like a movie climax and more like a heavy metal ritual, erupting in chaos, violence, and spectacle. Audiences cheering, chanting, and applauding weren’t exaggerating—this is one of those endings that instantly becomes part of franchise lore.
And then there’s Cillian Murphy.
His return is seamless, impactful, and deeply satisfying. The film doesn’t overplay it or treat it like a gimmick—it simply reintroduces him as if he never left. The final moments all but confirm that the closing scene of The Bone Temple will be the opening chapter of the next film, and it’s impossible not to feel excited about where this is heading.
Final Thoughts
It’s astonishing to say this in mid-January, but The Bone Temple already feels like a top-10 film of the year. It’s ambitious, brutal, thoughtful, and emotionally rich. Few horror franchises dare to interrogate belief systems this deeply while still delivering unforgettable spectacle—and even fewer succeed.
The 28 franchise isn’t just back. It’s doing the most interesting work of its entire existence.
And honestly? I can’t wait to see how it all ends.
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple = 83/100
