28 Years Later: Memento Mori, Memento Amoris

We can endure hunger, thirst, and fatigue,
But not, no, no, no, not the chronic sight of them…
Boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again!
And there’s no discharge in the war!

It’s not so bad by day because of company,
But the night brings long files of forty thousand million
Boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again.
And there’s no discharge in the war!

I’ve marched six weeks in Hell and I can certify
It isn’t darkness or anything like that,
But boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again,
And there’s no discharge in the war!

— Excerpt from the poem “Boots” by Rudyard Kipling

Repetition can become overwhelming, annihilating... terminal in the worst cases. In almost every aspect of our daily lives, we often try to “veer off” or “avoid” certain behavioral patterns, or we simply make different decisions that lead to the same destiny. For example, a few days ago, instead of taking the bus that drops me a block away from the cinema I regularly attend for press screenings, I took another one that leaves me a few blocks farther. Why? This small detour allows me to walk through a beautiful park where you can see people exercising, others practicing tai chi do, and maybe even some dogs playing with each other.

In the long-awaited sequel to the massive zombie hit directed by Danny Boyle in 2002, which premiered a few days ago, deviation is driven by human curiosity and cultural regression. As if it were part of a ritual (one of those that tested masculinity sixty years ago), young Spike is introduced by his father to venture deep into the “mainland,” which is essentially the vast portion of land connected to the island he has lived on his entire life, joined by a concrete path that disappears when the tide comes up. The idea of the ritual is for the teenage boy to understand what he’s up against when stepping outside his home, to learn how the infected have evolved, and to gain some courage for adulthood during this first encounter.

But behind all this arises the question: what would it be like to live isolated from the rest of the world twenty-eight years after an apocalypse? Is it inevitable to “regress” mentally when the things we take for granted in this 2025 become scarce?

The poem I mentioned at the beginning—recited by actor Taylor Holmes in a 1915 recording restored by Boyle’s team—plays in the background as several images of war horrors blend with the march of a father and son venturing into pure terror, emphasizing the idea of repetition as a driver of chaos. The words spoken by Holmes, contextualized in the Boer War where several British soldiers went mad after hearing the sound of their own boots for hours, reinforce the idea. What’s better—to stay in your comfort zone or to face the terrifyingly familiar? This existential dichotomy is reflected in a story where overcoming, maturing—or forced adulthood, in this case—is branded intensely with survival, expressed in its most primal form.

Children will one day be skeletons, skulls piled into a monument to those no longer among us. They will become vivid memories or nightmares that linger in the minds of a few. The human being is complex. Perhaps the most complex creature on this Earth. Morality has destroyed our being since the very conception of our species, and just as death comes knocking sooner or later, life... finds a way. And the way stories are told... does too.

One of the first thoughts that crossed my mind after watching the fascinating, intensely emotional and visceral sequel to the horror hit directed by Danny Boyle in 2002 was: “I’ve lived this before, but now it feels different.” I lived it last year as if caught in a time loop with Gladiator 2, with Axel F., and with Twisters. But Boyle, who joins the long list of filmmakers resurrecting old glories and giving them a second chance in sequel, prequel, remake, or whatever form, is different. A rebel. And undoubtedly, far more intelligent and insightful than the rest.

It was 2002 when the British director decided to strap a Canon XL-1 to his shoulder, gather a few madmen like himself, and shoot a faux documentary about the ravages of a deadly virus unleashed in London that transforms people into bloodthirsty psychopaths spreading death across Great Britain until no one remains. That’s more or less how 28 Days Later came to be, but instead of turning a low-budget movie into a joke or parody, Boyle took it further. Alongside Alex Garland, writer of the first film, they considered several factors when bringing hell on Earth to the screen.

The first was the rise of found footage, a subgenre in decline at the time, revitalized by the release of The Blair Witch Project. While 28 Days Later isn't strictly a found footage film, it looks like a very well-made one. The grainy texture of the image, the ultra-realistic feel, and the chaotic editing make it seem like we’re living this post-apocalyptic nightmare alongside the protagonists.

The second was the growing fear of viral diseases, which spread (no pun intended) through word of mouth across the modern social apparatus of the early 21st century. The idea of a rapid, efficient annihilation via virus transmission still haunts us today, and there's no need to elaborate further.

I could go on, but there's no need to keep listing the reasons this film made such an impact…

That’s how Boyle, once again with Garland, doesn’t transport us to a near future, but rather to a past that feels like the premonition of a desolate future. 28 Years Later carries the same revolutionary concept despite certain palpable differences: the indestructible Canon XL-1 is replaced by countless iPhone 15 Pro Max units rigged up in different setups; desolate London is replaced by an island and some forests; uncontrollable infected are replaced by alpha infected (bigger and smarter) and a few genetic tweaks. But at the heart of the story lies the same core: human relationships, the family you’re born with and the one you find, and what we gain and lose along the way.

The story follows Spike, the young protagonist, fighting two battles in parallel. One is more personal, where he’s forced to feel like an adult by entering hostile terrain; the other, where he sheds that forced adulthood to become the responsible figure in his family, since his father Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and mother Isla (Jodie Comer) both deal with their own demons as a couple and as individuals. While she battles an unknown illness bedridden, he gets drunk, cheats on her, and tells others made-up stories in which Spike is seen by the community as a real hero who has killed dozens of infected.

After Spike passes the first test, he decides to leave the island again, only to face the second: seeing if he can shed his father’s shadow to help his sick mother. That’s when Dr. Kelson enters the scene (Ralph Fiennes in full Monsieur Gustave-after-the-apocalypse mode), a man prepared for chaos but who also harbors a strangely beautiful sense of humanity within. Boyle expands the mythology of this humanitarian disaster through two Latin phrases spoken by Kelson himself, which become part of a flag, a message:

Memento Mori: remember that you will die
Memento Amoris: remember that you will love

Today, more than ever in human history, it’s necessary to know this.

Published on JUNE 23, 2025, 20:27 PM | UTC-GMT -3

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