When a fictional world's creator steps back, it can mean one of two things. On one hand, they may have diminishing interest or faith in the longevity of their vision, and hope to disassociate themselves from ensuing projects; just look at James Cameron backing away from the Terminator franchise after T2 (1991). On the other, maybe the universe they've created is so robust, with such richness of possible stories to tell, another director could bring in a personal style and successfully push the world forward in their own way. 

Fortunately, that second option is the case with the latest installment in the 28... franchise, as 28 Days Later (2002) and 28 Years Later (2025) director Danny Boyle smoothly hands off the reins to Nia DaCosta for another spine-ripping, blood-pumping zombie flick about the Rage Virus and its victims. With series visionary Alex Garland still penning its script, The Bone Temple has just as much fear — and social commentary — as its immediate predecessor last year.

Readers will remember the gripes of "sequel bait" from that predecessor, and The Bone Temple picks up right at the cliffhanger on which we left. Young Spike (Alfie Williams) has been rescued by the roving band of "Jimmys", self-styled after pre-Rage British celebrity Jimmy Savile under the cult-like leadership of Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal (Jack O'Connell). The Jimmys force Spike into a gladiatorial showdown that he, almost unintentionally, survives, de facto becoming a member of their troupe in the process. Spike is horrified by the gleeful violence that the Jimmys direct at zombies and human survivors alike, eyeing escape windows and staying wary of Jimmys no matter how cruel (Emma Laird) or kind (Erin Kellyman) they seem. 

Meanwhile, Doctor Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes) continues building his titular ossuary, avoiding zombies and at peace with his solitude after helping Spike and his mother in the previous film. In his repeated run-ins with the local Alpha zombie "Samson" (Chi Lewis-Parry), however, it slowly dawns on him that there may be more to the Alpha than meets the eye. Akin to domesticating a dog, the two develop a strained but codependent friendship: Kelson likes the company Samson provides, and Samson enjoys the morphine-laced peace Kelson's drugs induce. Pondering this humanity beneath Samson's animalistic Rage, Kelson seems close to a scientific and interpersonal breakthrough when, one day, the Jimmys spot him from afar and a clash become inevitable. 

Picking up from the physical brutality and societal trauma of 28 Years Later isn't easy, so DaCosta wastes no time, with capable direction turning this installment from its first scene into a bludgeoning sub-two-hour masterclass of action, horror, and heart. DaCosta herself is the first to share credit for the fast pace with Garland, going so far as to openly blame the shortcomings of her last two films (2021's decent Candyman and 2023's box-office bomb The Marvels) on "the lack of a really solid script" and extolling Garland's virtues ensuring that wouldn't be an issue here. Their tonal shifts work, though; The Bone Temple returns us to the post-Rage British Isles but yanks us out of the initial complacency of Spike's relatively peaceful home island from the first film, instead hitting immediate shots of femoral vein punctures, eye socket gouges, and skull shatters that convey the dangers of Spike's new surroundings. Appearances don't count for anything, either; a docile homestead soon contains flayed bodies, a pregnant woman isn't as helpless as she seems when she sucker-punches a boy, Alpha zombies are grotesque but may be the closest to humanity, and a young girl looks nervous yet is the most sadistic of the Jimmys. 

The Bone Temple's physical world is shown just as isolating and disorienting as ever, too, with raggedy clothing, off-kilter makeup, and satisfyingly icky prosthetics from creative supervisor John Nolan and costume designers Gareth Pugh and Carson McColl, while Sean Bobbitt's cinematography balances shaky-cam violence with slower close-ups for moments of healing or introspection. 

If the script ensures The Bone Temple won't be a failure, and the direction and crew elevate it further, Fiennes as Dr. Kelson is the pièce de résistance. It's an inherently goofy role — delivering Shakespearean monologues to well-endowed zombies, therapizing a cult leader, and head-banging to Iron Maiden — but Fiennes brings a theatrical gravitas to it that fits the serious yet inquisitive doctor like a surgeon's glove. His care also improves the performances of all those around him, such as by tempering the psychotic malice of O'Connell (no doubt a rising star after this and Sinners) in a crucial conversation, accentuating the youth and innocence of Williams and Kellyman, and eliciting two moments out of Lewis-Parry that will each surely stand in the best one-liners of 2026.

These movies are post-apocalyptic thrillers in their own right. But where 28 Years Later rose above genre fare through an eviscerating commentary on the human costs of isolationism and the modern world order, The Bone Temple puts religion and charismatic leadership under the microscope. How much of our conceptions of faith, or hopes for ourselves, are based on misunderstandings or skewed memories from our childhoods? What role does scientific inquiry and hard-nosed data have in combatting willful ignorance? How many of our actions are meager attempts at fulfilling our the imagined hopes of our parents? What share of religious fervor and mythology are purely borne out of indecision, anxiety, and fear of the unknown? How can a group put so much blind trust in one deeply misguided man? 

Through Spike, Dr. Kelson, and hordes of Infected, DaCosta attempts to answer each of these questions. But she also delivers some teeth-clenching kills — and that's just as important.