There is nothing more terrifying than the sight of a ravenous friend running at you full speed, tearing your throat out with dulled canines and forcing their thumbs into your eye sockets up to the knuckles. For all the fans of 2002’s “”28 Days Later,”” the new installment is a terrifying follow-up that delivers the goods – if your goods happen to be blood, raging violence and a constant, exhausting sense of danger. Dumping the entire former cast, “”28 Weeks Later”” cargos in Americans by the boatload and invites some newly homeless Brits back to the isle.
The cameras start rolling on a small band of survivors, quickly obliterated by a group of the infected; as the creatures rip apart their barnyard sanctuary and kill nearly everyone inside, only Don (Robert Carlyle) manages to escape, tragically losing his wife in the process. Fast forward 28 weeks (quite literal, this one), and the infected have starved to death, introducing an at-last disease-free England – brought to you by your friendly neighborhood American troops. The fresh batch of immigrants flood England’s safe zone and begin rebuilding British society under the guidance of Uncle Sam, as the military spends its time ridding the street of corpses and watching its charges through sniper rifle spy holes.
After their airplane finally lands, Don meets his young son and daughter and introduces them to their new life in the U.K. But, of course, all is not well in the restored city: Don’s wife returns from the barnyard massacre with a little something extra in her bloodstream. Soon enough, the virus is let loose upon the metropolis and the military once again loses control, declaring a code red – in other words, let’s blow Britain the fuck up already. The survivors then attempt to get the hell out of Dodge before the bomb drops.
“”Weeks”” offers the same brand of squeal-worthy jumps as its predecessor, with rabid people popping out from the quietest scenes and around the darkest corners, and gritty urban backdrops over eerily synthesized guitars and charged violins preserve the art-house feel that director Danny Boyle gave the first film – after all, he did hop back on for some “”Weeks”” filming and is executive producer of the sequel.
The only things that sully the nonstop horror of “”Weeks”” are the little leaps in logic the main characters tend to make. Why would three relatively intelligent nonrabids shout to each other in the darkness of a tunnel teeming with the possibly infected? And would the military really deem it prudent to lock everyone into one room without safeguarding both the front and the back doors? But this lack of human focus can be expected by any great zombie movie, as reason is shut off by action so stimulating that the little fear gland buried in your brain takes full control. Who cares if it makes sense? It’s fucking scary.
Like most doomsday films of its ilk, the movie takes a jab at the military, portraying America as the always well-intentioned but blundering do-gooder in times of international crisis. But why would the United States come to the rescue when its European buddies are right next door? Who would actually let someone from the other side of the ocean try to repopulate England so soon – or at all? The movie loses its gusto while exploring the slightly tired zombie-vs.-army shtick and borrowing directly from George Romero’s “”Dead”” trilogy, ultimately bogged down by its own political overshoots and attempts at having something deeper to say.
There’s just no way in hell anyone would want to go back to Britain 28 weeks later – if anything, the movie would have been better off titled “”28 Years Later.”” But all the flubs are easily bypassed by the terror: “”Weeks”” pumps your veins with so much adrenaline you’ll beg for the end out of sheer cardiac inability to handle any more scares. The inevitable grammy and grandpa who’ve wandered into the wrong theater will no doubt shake their heads at all the gloriously unrestrained gore, gasping in disgust as the infected grab fellow citizens and vomit blood into their faces. But let this weed out your true friends, who will be huddled in the seat next to you, screaming and loving every minute.
