Memento Amoris: 28 Years Later and the Plea for Humanity

Danny Boyle and Alex Garland return, turning a horror film into a folk tale about memory, grief, and endurance.

28 Years Later (Columbia Pictures)

Two posts in one week?! Who is she?

It’s rare for a third entry in a series to feel this tender. Danny Boyle’s 28 Years Later is a surprisingly soulful continuation of a story that began with rage — quite literally. Rather than replicate the raw grit of 28 Days Later, this film leans into quiet mythos and the lingering humanity within the infected. I originally shared this review on Letterboxd, but it felt right to bring it home to Rewind & Revive, too.

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A mythical folk tale disguised as a horror film — and I’m truly glad for it. To this day, 28 Days Later remains one of my favourite zombie films (yeah, yeah, technically not zombies, whatever). So when 28 Years Later was announced, I was equal parts giddy and nervous. Refreshingly, Boyle and Alex Garland refrain from lazy callbacks. They understand that the gritty, punk ethos of Days can’t be replicated over two decades later, nor should it be. That film was novel, kinetic, and raw — infected that ran at that speed? No, thank you. Instead, Years shifts its gaze: quieter, more tender. It becomes a story about growing up, about the bond between a mother and son, and about the need to continually grasp for what makes us human.

Rewatching Days before seeing Years left one moment lingering in my mind. Ironically, it was a post-production accident. In the 2002 film, as Jim (Cillian Murphy) fights off an infected boy, there’s a split-second where the child seems to gurgle, “I hate you!” Though never meant to make the final cut, it stuck with me. Boyle has always emphasized that these infected are still human; not undead in the traditional sense. That seed finds deeper expression here. Years imagines what might happen if these beings continued to evolve. Of what echoes might actually remain.

Years’ shift toward the mythic and mournful doesn’t erase its bite. When the infected do make an appearance, DP Anthony Dod Mantle (reuniting with Boyle from Days) brings back that breathless, twitchy energy. Though I wasn’t quite as scared this time, my heart definitely picked up the pace a few times.

28 Years Later (Columbia Pictures)

What moved me most in Years was the tenderness, something I associate with Boyle’s work (and sorely missed in 28 Weeks Later when he wasn’t attached as director). In Days, society’s decay was mirrored in the low-grade digital footage — until its final shot on 35mm film, presented as a glimmer of hope. Here, that hope matures into something softer: grief, remembrance. In a genre that so often insists the real horror is man, Boyle chooses to plead for humanity. Ralph Fiennes’ Kelson may seem unhinged, but perhaps he’s the most human of all. Memento amoris.

Do I think we need two more sequels? Not really. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious to see where this strange world takes us next.

P.S. If you’d like more of my thoughts on the entire trilogy — with a focus on 28 Years Later — check out the latest episode of The SchmearCast podcast, with Gabriel Frieberg, now live wherever you get your podcasts.