28 Years Later, a Masterpiece that Humanises Death and puts Memorials at the Forefront…
Still from ‘28 Years Later’ Image credit: SONY
(Includes Spoilers)
Danny Boyle’s and Alex Garland’s iconic rage-infected have returned to our screens last week with another instant horror classic, but what we didn’t expect was a cinematic experience that strips back our raw emotions when it comes to love and death.
After a promising opening sequence filled with a dark-humoured and rage-infected frenzy, it was a slightly surprising yet welcoming turn to have this story delve deeper into tones of empathy. It is clear that Boyle touches on the political and social climate we live in today by setting us within a fatherless Britain, which is quarantined in this post-apocalyptic world where life outside has moved on, and the survivors have set back into basic life skills; a nod to the isolation the post-Brexit Britain we experience.
This horror also contextualises the rather toxic and complex aspects of masculinity that are integrated through the relationship of 12-year-old Spike (Alfie WIlliams) and his father Jamie, (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) as they journey to the mainland to hunt rage-infected as a sign of strength and coming of age. A journey which ends in trauma for Spike as the foundations of his relationship with his father literally crumble once they cross back to the safety of their village. 28 Years Later becomes a cautionary tale in parallel to the society we live in now, but it’s through the incredible contrast of Spike’s relationship with his mother, Isla (Jodie Comer) that we see this horror twist deeper.
Still from ‘28 Years Later’ Image credit: SONY
Memento Mori
It’s through Spike’s relationship with his mother that we start to see grief, love and empathy and though Spike tries to take fate into his own hands, Boyle reminds us that there’s one thing you cannot escape after surviving on this dangerous and beautiful land: Death.
In the second act, Spike braves the mainland once more with his mother out of desperation to find a doctor who could heal her from a mysterious illness, which reveals itself as perhaps the most tragic one human face in life. Isla is filled with confusion and pain as she holds onto life whilst suffering from late-stage cancer. After a few close calls, Spike and Isla find Dr. Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), who has grown to live among the rage-infected and takes them in as he agrees to examine his mother. Surrounding them are columns, bones and monoliths of skulls. Initially thought to be insane by the village, we soon find that Dr. Kelson had become a living among the dead, dedicating time to commemorate loss. Dr. Kelson breaks the news of cancer to Spike and Isla, a gentle and emotional scene in contrast to the heart-racing montages within this horror, which leads to acceptance. An acceptance that is heavily buried in Spike’s mother as she walks into one of the most iconic settings from this film: a memorial of love and death.
An Architectural Insight: Memorials
Memorials act as a monument for emotion. Its design is often attributed to a simple and sometimes monolithic form, but the complexity relies on the concept of what manifests as grief and what event and surroundings contextualise it. Over time, memorials have taken many architectural forms, such as statues, sculptures, gardens and pools, which tend to consist of such permanence through their materiality. Stone and granite are often used and are prominent in their presence, a paradoxical use when considering that memorials are really a documentation of absence.
It’s through the act of commemoration that memorials work rather than erecting a national structure for ‘reflection’. In 28 Years Later, the memorial for the dead, both human and rage-infected, is kept alive by a single individual. A memorial of bones and skulls of those lost, bodies are burned, bones are cleaned, dried and gently placed within the forest of white bones, for what surrounding context is left in isolated Britain besides nature itself?
Memorials also act as a cultural representation. They symbolise the values and identity of a society and its culture at that time. A compelling take on the loss of culture and society in 28 Years Later can be seen in how Dr. Kelson was expelled from the community, deemed to be insane for what is later understood to be an act of burial and commemoration. It is profound to watch a single individual carry the weight of this act. A statement that is also not as fictional as what people face today. In a post-screening Q&A with Empire Magazine, Danny Boyle referenced the Covid-19 Memorial Wall in London when asked about the memorial in the film. What started with a wall has been transformed by the constant contribution of a community, providing a space for processing grief and allowing it to grow and inevitably age. Boyle’s 28 Years Later has provided me with a shift in perspective when it comes to defining a memorial, and perhaps in how we symbolise loss.
Over two decades since Danny Boyle and Alex Garland graced the screens with a legendary post-apocalyptic world, 28 Years Later has transformed the rage-infected horror into a land where you learn to live and love one last time.