Spoilers
My Mom told me, very bluntly, that she was dying. No, that's not why I said spoilers, Lol.
She'd gotten a cancer diagnosis in early October 2021 and died December 3rd. She said she wanted to have a Living Funeral before she went (something that never ended up happening). But I was in classic denial. I didn't accept it. I couldn't accept it. My family and I have had rampant health problems, hospital visits, surgeries, etc. for decades. My childhood was spent basically being ⅓ bubble boy; I spent most of middle school at home or in the hospital. My Mom had been through even more: in 2006 she got cancer and survived after having the tumor removed. In 2018 she had a heart attack and survived that, too. She'd survived so much before that that we would joke that she was indestructible.
So when the cancer came back and riddled her entire body, including her blood, I handwaved it away with "She'll be okay, it'll get worse before it gets better." She would tell me, pretty persistently, that she was dying, but I kept denying it. She'd tell me to plan for it, to brace for it, to accept it; it's happening. I'd plead with her to go to other doctors, other hospitals, to see specialists, get second or third opinions. Eventually she just went along with it, opted to comfort me instead of telling me over and over that she was a goner. She enabled me.
I don't know if I resent her for that now or love her for it or a complicated mix of both. Probably both, to be honest. I wish I had accepted it and spent more time with her. It was in my delusion that I didn't always prioritize visits with her because, again, she's not going anywhere right??
One morning I woke up for work and I'd had 5 missed calls from my Stepdad and a voicemail of him telling me she was gone. I called him and asked what room she had been put in at the hospital; still in denial. I was screaming and panicking and shaking my head uncontrollably. I hung up on him, called him back, kept saying "but she said she was going to go to a specialist, she was going to get better."
I think we simultaneously know our parents are going to die someday but also think it's not going to happen anytime soon. I didn't properly prepare for it. It didn't fit into my plan. Hell, I still catch myself in disbelief; I've grieved her and I've accepted it but I'll never be used to it.
So when 28 Years Later gets to the last act where Isla is diagnosed, Spike has a moment of teary denial, Dr. Kelson kills her with morphine and Spike is presented with her skull: I'd never felt more vulnerable in a theater.
When Dr. Kelson tells Spike to "pick a spot for her," I closed my eyes, and when he finished it off with "best one of all," I joked to a friend of mine "Haha...I need to leave." Watching Spike hold it in disbelief and then climbing up the tower, kissing it, placing it on top and facing her toward the sun...fuck. And I'm not just susceptible to the Dead Mom trope, it has to be executed well (lol, remember The Flash?) so know that I'm not caving to the trap of relatability. Genuinely, with no hyperbole: this is one of the most profound depictions of death I've ever experienced in media.
...but it's also one of the most morbid? It's not far off from keeping or spreading one's ashes, which is what we did for my Mom. But...to actually hold her skull? It reminds me of the first time I learned that Ed Gein was, apparently, a really good babysitter? No joke: he was really good with kids and was frequently asked to babysit. Now imagine if he was your grief counselor: Dr. Kelson is kinda like that. But in the Post-post Apocalypse where death is treated coldly and only referenced in terms of spectacle or warning, Dr. Kelson's methods are the more humane approach.
The way Boyle and Garland constantly juxtapose and dichotomize the infected from the uninfected is so unexpectedly thoughtful, in a movie that's bursting with surprises. The score itself is so odd it's kind of unbelievable. Sometimes it's so on the money and really soars while other times it's the complete opposite of what a scene calls for, yet...Boyle makes it work no matter what. The way Promised Land plays over the opening is so fucking inspired. Or the absolutely magnificent Causeway making the big chase scene feel gargantuan; it's such a beautiful track that it feels deceptive considering the horror on screen. Then there's the use of BOOTS or the end track, Pals, sending us off with tense, threatening uncertainty.
That extends to Boyle's editing, with how borderline glitchy it is but also, again, very thoughtful. There's a great scene where Isla talks about losing track of time around The Angel Of The North statue when she was a child because her Father told her that statues last for hundreds, even thousands of years. And now, with her brain cancer, she is lost to time again, regressing and calling Spike "Dad," asking him how far into the future they've fallen. Boyle then cuts to a time-lapse of the statue as the clouds and their shadows zip past the landscape; the whole movie is full of shit like that.
I don't have the time nor inclination to cover just how formally bold this movie is. Every image is memorable: every kinetic movement, every vista, every crunchy iPhone pixel being blown up to give us some of the brightest color I've seen in a major release. Ugh. It's overwhelming how good this movie looks and how fun it is to just experience Boyle's hyperactive imagination; he shot this movie like he had a gun to his head and the threat of death if he did anything boring. At no point was he ever close to death. There's a mounted Go-Pro shot on one of the infected's back and when it cuts to a reverse, it's revealed that this was the POV of a crow picking at the infected. Just.......
And the ending, my God! This is where Boyle shows us that he was the one holding the gun because only a madman would make something like this, with Sony's money, no less.
For about 2973636 reasons: one of the most unforgettable movies of this decade and it's not even close.
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