Producers: Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice, Bernard Bellew, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland   Director: Nia DaCosta   Screenplay: Alex Garland   Cast: Ralph Fiennes, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Erin Kellyman, Chi Lewis-Parry, Emma Laird, Robert Rhodes, Maura Bird, Sam Locke, Ghazi Al Ruffai, Robert Rhodes, Connor Newall, Mirren Mack, Louis Ashburne Serkis, David Sterne and Cillian Murphy   Distributor: Sony/Columbia Pictures

Grade: B+

The sequel to last year’s “28 Years Later”—which was both a long-delayed follow-up to the 2003/2007 duo of “28 Days Later” and “28 Weeks Later,” about an English population that had been largely zombified by accident, and the first half of a projected new trilogy, which now reaches its second installment—is, in its own way, as good as its immediate predecessor.  But also quite different from it.

That’s apparent visually.  Sean Bobbitt’s cinematography eschews the weirdly mesmerizing images that Anthony Did Mantle captured using an iPhone, opting instead for an approach more technically conventional but no less compelling.  And while director Nia DaCosta doesn’t stint on the violence, some of positively stomach-churning, it’s less pervasive than it was in Danny Boyle’s film; she also cannily inserts moments of humor that at times give things a comic spin, something that Boyle pretty much failed to do.  

That’s partially because there’s less emphasis on the zombies this time around—although especially in the first reel they’re hardly absent, and the alpha among them (gargantuan Chi Lewis-Parry, a returnee from the last film) once again gets to show off his prowess in ripping a victim’s head from his body, complete with dangling spinal cord.  But the most gruesome exhibitions of brutality are committed by the group of fanatical Satanists led by maniacal Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal (devilishly sinister Jack O’Connell) against not only zombies but also any uninfected humans they happen to come across. Crystal’s mad obsession derives, fans will recall, from his childhood experience of watching his preacher father and his congregation annihilated by the undead; he called his crew “Jimmys” after notorious British media personality Jimmy Savile, who was posthumously outed as a prolific child sexual abuser.

Crystal’s followers include young Spike (Alfie Williams), who was rescued by the Jimmys from a band of ravening zombies at the conclusion of Boyle’s film.  The kid is compelled to demonstrate his fitness to become one of Crystal’s acolytes by defeating Jimmy Shite (Connor Newall) in combat, which the trembling boy manages to do with a sudden knife thrust to the groin, the bloodily fatal result of which delights Crystal.

But Spike is disgusted by Crystal’s idea of “charity,” which involves skinning his uninfected victims alive in service to “Old Nick,” whose son he claims to be.  Spike’s abhorrence comes to the fore when the Jimmys take over the home of a family led by an elderly survivor (David Sterne) and force Tom (Louis Ashbourne Serkis), strung up in the barn with the others, to do battle with one of the followers, the apparently elfin but sadistic Jimmima (Emma Laird).  She wins easily, but Tom’s pregnant wife Cathy (Mirren Mack), who’s eluded capture and is hiding in the loft, disrupts by mayhem by killing Jimmima, and the wounded Tom manages to set the place ablaze, in the process immolating another cultist, Jimmy Jimmy (Robert Rhodes).

The furious Crystal orders Spike to pursue Cathy, but he begs her to take him with her; she attacks him instead, leaving the boy to face Crystal’s wrath.  Jimmy Ink (Erin Kellyman), who’s also uneasy with the gang’s actions, assuages his anger with news of Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), the solitary maker of the Bone Temple that he’s fashioned from the skeletons of the dead—Spike had, of course, sought him out in the last film in a vain effort to cure his ill mother.  Ink has spied Kelson on one of her peregrinations and now suggest to Crystal that he is in fact Old Nick.   In actuality, Kelson has been experimenting with opioids as a means to subdue the zombies’ violent impulses, and has had success with the alpha, whom he names Samson.  They have become an odd couple of sorts, and Samson’s new placidity has already led to friction with his own followers, who turn on him.

Crystal now decides to parlay with Kelton, and despite their differences—Kelton is a rationalistic atheist and Crystal a crazed religionist—persuades him to play the part of Satan to cement his power over his dwindling crew.  The outcome is a fantastic show put on by Kelton to the amplified strains of Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast,” which gives Fiennes the opportunity to go outrageously over-the-top in an extraordinary performance that runs the gamut from sensitive refinement to brazen showmanship.  But finding Spike among the crazed charlatan’s crew, Kelton pivots to employ Crystal’s adherence to skewed religious principles to ensure that he get his just deserts in a bit of Christian imagery some will consider distasteful, if not blasphemous.

A coda then reintroduces a character from the 2003 film that started it all to serve not only as fan service, which it certainly does, but as an entrée to the planned final installment in the trilogy.

Some may be disappointed that the zombies play a relatively minor role in “The Bone Temple,” and that the film’s focus is limited compared to the geographically expansive setting of the previous entry, which took all of the infected, quarantined British Isles as its setting.  Others may regret the episodic character of Alex Garland’s script, or the secondary status Williams assumes here, compared to his prominence in the previous picture.  But he’s still excellent as the conflicted boy, and Kellyman matches him as his partner in uncertainty.  The entire supporting cast acquit themselves well, with Lewis-Parry standing out as the blissfully medicated Samson.

Bobbitt’s cinematography is but one element of the superb technical work.  The production and costume design by Gareth Pugh and Carson McColl is suitably dystopian, with Kelton’s temple again an impressive sight, though Crystal’s peacock duds add a touch of goofy grandeur to the mix.  Particularly important elements in setting the mood are Hildur Gudnadottir’s evocative score and Glenn Freemantle’s sound design which, along with Jake Roberts’ supple editing, create a tone that allows the horrifying, serious and comic aspects to merge without undue narrative dissonance.  The makeup supervised by John Nolan and the visual effects overseen by Dean Koonjul are expert, too.

DaCosta is fortunate that this is a series that, unlike the Marvel movies, allows a director to put an individual imprint on a film rather than simply follow a prescribed formula.  She’s taken the opportunity to give a distinctive spin to her contribution to a franchise that, in this reboot phase, has actually improved substantially over the original two installments.  “The Bone Temple” is so satisfying that it makes one look forward to another helping in the series, even if—as appears likely—Fiennes won’t be a part of it.     

       

Producers: Maria Ekerhovd and Andrea Berentsen Ottmar  Director: Joachim Trier    Screenplay: Joachim Trier and Eskil Vogt   Cast: Renate Reinsve, Stellan Skarsgård, Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas, Elle Fanning, Anders Danielsen Lie, Jesper Christensen, Lena Endre, Cory Michael Smith, Catherine Cohen, Andreas Stoltenberg Granerud, Øyvind Hesjedal Loven, Lars Väringer, Ida Marianne Vassbotn Klasson and Bente Børsum   Distributor: Neon

Grade: B+

Material that could be dismissed in other hands as soap operatic takes on considerable emotional depth as treated by Joachim Trier in “Sentimental Value.”   It’s fundamentally a tale of a troubled family in which two grown daughters reconnect with their father after many years of estrangement—a plot that even here doesn’t escape twinges of melodrama.  But because of Trier’s lucid writing and probing direction, and the collaboration of an exceptional cast, it becomes a remarkably moving experience.

The film begins with an introduction to the house that has long belonged to the Borg family and acts as the central location of the drama.  A prologue in which Kasper Tuxen’s camera pans over its exterior and interior, designed with exquisite precision by Jorgen Stangebye Larsen, while visual fragments of moments in its history periodically flash by is accompanied by memories spoken by a disembodied female narrator (Bente Børsum).  She’s apparently reciting an essay written years before by the elder of the two Borg daughters, Nora (Renate Reinsve), who has become a star of the Oslo stage. 

But as we see in a frantic sequence, she’s beset by crippling stage fright that almost derails the premiere of her new starring vehicle.  Only the intervention of the director and the backstage crew, most notably Jakob (Anders Danielsen Lie), a married colleague with whom she’s having an affair, keeps her from ripping off her costume and fleeing the theatre.  Her sister Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas), who describes herself as an academic historian, lives a quieter life with her husband Even Petersen (Andreas Stoltenberg Granerud) and their energetic son Erik (Øyvind Hesjedal Loven).

The women are shattered when their mother Sissel (Ida Marianne Vassbotn Klasson) dies; they’re surprised when their father Gustav Borg (Stellan Skarsgård), who abandoned the family many years before after tumultuous arguments between their parents that the girls heard from a distance, arrives from Sweden at the funeral reception with his entourage.  He’s a celebrated filmmaker, though he’s not made a fiction feature in years.  Apart from little Erik, Agnes’ family offers a somewhat cool welcome, and Nora is positively hostile.

Gustav comes with a proposal.  He’s written a script, which he denies is autobiographical but obviously is (a scene we’re repeatedly shown involves a child discovering his mother’s suicide), and he intends to shoot it in the Borg house, which had been assigned to Sissel in the divorce proceedings but he still owns because of a paperwork mix-up.  He asks Nora to star in the role modeled after his mother, which he believes would benefit them both.  She adamantly refuses, furious not only over his absences but because he has never attended her stage performances.  Later he’ll also propose that little Erik appear in it as well, playing a character modeled on young Gustav.  Erik embraces the chance, but Agnes, who played a role in Gustav’s most acclaimed film, a Holocaust drama about children fleeing the Nazis, angrily dismisses the idea, recalling how her father bonded with her while she worked with him but how she felt discarded after filming was over.

Gustav, however, is not ready to abandon the project.  He persuades American star Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning), who’s looking for something more challenging than what she’s usually offered, to take over the lead, and they begin working intensely together prior to filming.  Her presence will, as Gustav’s long-time producer (Jasper Christensen) notes, also help with financing.  Gustav hopes to enlist his old cinematographer Peter (Lars Väringer) to come out of retirement to collaborate with him, as in the old days.

But in the end, those hopes are dashed.  Rachel realizes as her work with Gustav continues that she’s not right for the role; she’s concerned about doing the film in English rather than Norwegian, and senses that he’s trying to mold her into Nora—dyeing her hair, for example.  Ultimately, she shares her reservations with him, and they agree, amicably, that she should depart the project.  And Gustav’s visit with Peter convinces him that his old friend is simply too frail to handle the work of a cameraman again.  The disappointments lead Gustav, already a heavy drinker, to physical collapse.

That’s not the end, however.  In her effort to understand why the film is so important to her father, Agnes does what a historian is trained to do—she undertakes research, studying records of her grandmother’s experiences under Nazi occupation that have long been kept under seal in the state archives.  When she shares with Nora what she finds there, as well as Gustav’s script and reminders of their shared history, their attitude to their father changes, and the outcome, while suffused with sadness, represents a reconciliation.

Directed with sensitivity by Trier from the incisive script co-written with Eskil Vogt, this is a serious study of familial trauma that flirts with melodrama but avoids descending into bathos.  Yet Trier manages a few nuggets of brittle humor, in terms of both film production (like Gustav’s irritation over funding from Netflix) and backstage theatrical life.  The acting is superlative across the board, with the three leads brilliantly capturing the family’s fraught dynamic and Fanning surprisingly sympathetic as a Hollywood type genuinely interested in film artistry.  Even in this exalted company Loven is a scene-stealer.

Excellent editing from Olivier Bugge Coutté, whose generally leisurely pacing allows the eruptions of emotion to register without feeling false, and a score by Hania Rani that’s supportive but never dominates, add to the film’s strengths.

This is potent, insightful filmmaking.