Huge spoilers for the end of 28 Years Later to follow.
The reviews are out, and the consensus is clear. 28 Years Later is a great, daring movie; it is also exceptionally weird. Eh, works for me: I don't know about you, but I'd rather sit through a film that takes big, risky swings than a cookie-cutter blockbuster that plays it safe. And if you allow yourself to settle into its curious rhythm, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland's zombie sequel is enormously rewarding. That isn't to say that it isn't chock full of odd stylistic choices, provocative plot points, and whiplash tonal shifts.
It certainly leaves you with lots of questions. Chiefly among them: If life in Britain came to an abrupt halt at some point in 2002, was Pierce Brosnan at least spared the ignominy of Die Another Day? Even if you were a zombie the size of an industrial fridge-freezer, would it actually be possible to rip someone's head off? And where the hell did Ralph Fiennes get all of that iodine? And yet none of these leave us scratching our chins so much as 28 Year's batshit, bizarre, provocative, dumb, bold, hilarious, and just plain silly epilogue, which mostly serves as a teaser for the sequel to come in January, The Bone Temple.
28 days after the death of Spike's (Alfie Williams) mom Isla (Jodie Comer), he has continued his solo journey further into the mainland, during which he has developed into a savvy survivalist. While cooking fish over a fire at his roadside camp, he's confronted by a handful of infected, the first of which he easily dispatches with his bow and arrow, but when more arrive than he can handle on his own, he opts to run. Alas, he soon finds that the road—nestled in the middle of a ravine—is blocked by a pile of boulders.
With a horde of infected barreling down on Spike, all seems lost, until someone else emerges from the lip of the ravine above. Finally, there he is: and it's Jack O'Connell! Only he is almost entirely unrecognizable in a blonde wig, bright tracksuit, and enough jewelry to stun a magpie. He introduces himself as Jimmy, and it's quickly apparent that this is the adult version of the kid we see in the gnarly Teletubbies prologue; among his stack of gold chains is his father's crucifix. He is clearly bonkers. Well, hey: that's what seeing your entire extended family slaughtered by rage-infected zombies will do to a guy.
Jimmy is soon joined by other Jimmies, all of whom wear variations of the same garish garb. They proceed to kick the infected's asses with a litany of crude spears and nun-chucks in a breakneck, bloody montage evocative of Tarantino at his most Grindhouse. They invite Spike to join them on the road, and there we have it: The Bone Temple, out in January, folks. Get your tickets now!
Such an ending has proven divisive for a few reasons. For one, it threatens to overshadow the poignant, cathartic conclusion to Spike and Isla's journey at the Bone Temple; you're still wiping away the tears when the O'Connell gang rocks up and starts cutting off heads. There's also the fact that the Jimmy cult are all dressed like… Jimmy Savile.
Look, Savile is never explicitly referenced in 28 Years Later, but he doesn't need to be. The multi-colored tracksuits, blonde wigs, jewelry, and the very fact that they are all called Jimmy make it clear enough: either this is staggering, nigh-on negligent coincidence, or the Mad Max-ian madness of the post-apocalyptic world has spawned a group of cultists who style themselves after Britain's most infamous sexual predator. (It's noteworthy that, in the world if 28 Years Later, the collapse of Britain preceded Savile's crimes coming to light, so presumably in-universe he is still most famous as the oddball host of Jim'll Fix It.)
In a film of a big, bold swings, 28 Years ends with a haymaker. And yet, though naughtily provocative, the ending doesn't feel overly out of step with the rest of the movie, and what we've learned about infected Britain. Early on, Spike's dad Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) cautions his son that people have largely gone mad on the mainland—evidence of which is provided in the form of Dr. Kelson (Fiennes), who might turn out to be a nice enough man, but did single-handedly build an entire death monument out of human skeletons. On a slightly deeper level, Garland and Boyle are clearly interested in exploring the new traditions, cultures and values that have emerged in the post-apocalypse. The community on Holy Island is glued together by a culture descended from old-school English nationalism (hardly surprising, given their enforced Brexit), while Kelson has found purpose in his preoccupation with memento mori. Even the infected have formed social groups, have sex, and (try to) bathe. Is it such a leap that a group of insane survivors would begin to mold themselves after a famous TV star then-best-known for his eccentric, singular look?
Make no mistake, it's jarring to go from Isla's emotional death to Jack O'Connell and company doing kung-fu in Jimmy Savile cosplay. The first time I watched 28 Years Later, I found that such a colossal tonal shift took away from the former scene's deep, meditative poignancy; this didn't bother me so much the second time around, but still, it would've been nice to have been able to sit with the feeling a little longer, without it being washed away by a B-movie bloodbath. Nonetheless, it's an effective tease, and you'd best believe I'll be seated for The Bone Temple.