Zombie films from the late 20th and early 21st centuries, especially the truly excellent ones, reflect the modern malaise of societal dysfunction.
George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) is a cornerstone of this modern monstrosity of ghouls, reflecting the bigotry of the US during the Civil Rights Movement.
Zack Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead (2004) aligned the rabid zombies with mall culture, which focuses on consumption. Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later (2002) revolutionized the character design of zombies by giving the usually lumbering creatures something sinister: speed.
28 Days Later revealed something even more sinister than fast zombies: the danger of militarization during times of duress. The military becomes a fascist machine in the film, presenting a decidedly modern dilemma.
Boyle returns with 28 Years Later (2025) and, alongside his writing partner Alex Garland, aims to modernize the zombie genre by bringing it back into the realm of myths. The film begins with discordant editing, featuring an overlaid layer of radio noise and clips from old historical movies depicting Medieval England, where soldiers shoot arrows into the air, targeting their enemy.
28 Years Later is a fantastic movie that explores the human impulse to tell stories, the cultural geography of monsters, and the anthropological need for narrative. The film has a simple story—one of Alex Garland’s genius strokes—that leads to harrowing complications.
This movie depicts the relationship between a son and his father, as well as his mother. For the father, the son must undergo a ritual of becoming a man or a vital part of the community. Even in the apocalypse, rituals controlling behavior persist. The dynamic between the son and his mother is where the incredible journey into mythology truly unfolds.
The movie is mainly set in the lush green Scottish forest. The zombies are no longer the modern, staggering creatures but have been transformed into what Filipino monster culture would call lamang lupa, or creatures from the earth, with their filthy limbs and overgrown, unruly hair.
There are no visible, open wounds where bites are usually found; instead, they become figures of lycanthropy—rabid wolves. There are plenty of fantastic scenes that are more magical than horrific, like will-o’-the-wisps or elemental spirits wafting in the air. The modern is truly gone here, replaced by a return to folk horror.
The zombies operate like a beastly horde, with an alpha no less. There have been movies about zombies embarking on collective action as if they are capable of societal organization and hierarchy. But trust Boyle and Garland to twist this into a sociological commentary on mobility: you have slug-like zombies, and some are nubile. This sociological community-building takes a distinctly British turn when people cluster themselves according to their sense of levity, mirroring contemporary notions of regional differences.
Trust Boyle and Garland to craft a horror story about monsters—usually depicted as brainless—into cerebral leaps of imagination.
You may reach Chong Ardivilla at kartunistatonto@gmail.com or chonggo.bsky.social
