The opening sequence of Resident Evil introduces a man entering a hospital. The camera pursues him from behind in a single, uninterrupted shot, soon revealing that this isn’t a routine night in the emergency room but something far more perilous. As if it were a video game, Zach Cregger casts Bryan (Austin Abrams) as the protagonist—a man hired by medical centers to transport urgent and confidential supplies from one location to another. Near the end of his shift and on his way home to a wife who greets the news of impending fatherhood with resentment over his distant reaction, he receives one final assignment in Raccoon City, a taxing hour’s drive down a desolate, snowy road.
From this premise unfolds a true odyssey filled with action, shocks, and a very dark strain of humor. When Cregger was asked to helm a film in the franchise, he agreed only if he could do something different, something not tied to existing characters or plots. That latitude is precisely what makes the movie stand out from most blockbusters and installments of established franchises. The director of Weapons offers his vision, straddling the line between seriousness and mischief, and he has a grand time exploring this iconic apocalyptic universe.
Resident Evil isn’t merely a grand celebration of genre cinema; from its staging, it also functions as a love letter to video games. Moreover, on a narrative level, the film reveals its gamer soul with the classic structure in which a character must carry an object from point A to point B. And what happens along the way, as one would expect, is a catastrophe brimming with tension and bodies exploding like fireworks.
Turning the wildest violence into pure enjoyment has something liberating and deeply stimulating. It aligns with the finest horror cinema, where suddenly the screen becomes an entryway to our own demons and our most terrifying instincts. This is the essence of Resident Evil, for Cregger’s talent to balance atmosphere, terror, and humor is genuinely valuable. The screenplay continually toys with the protagonist’s small misfortunes—within the larger disaster—and, somehow, things tend to turn out okay for him despite lacking extraordinary gifts and being as lost as any ordinary person would be when faced with the prospect of mowing down zombies left and right.
If for most of the film’s runtime the pace and swagger imposed by Cregger suffice to make Resident Evil one of the most engaging horror outings in recent years, the third act begins to show signs of wear. On more than one occasion, it threatens to become overly repetitive, and the ending, while it at least promises a sequel, leaves a somewhat unsatisfying aftertaste.
On the other hand, the movie’s reflections on family and new fatherhood don’t entirely meld with such a savage orgy of violence, especially because nothing in its discourse directly ties to the unfolding tragedy. Yet, in Resident Evil, the strong narrative drive supplied by Cregger and the charisma of Austin Abrams ultimately prevail. Undoubtedly, they form a formidable duo to keep in mind should a zombie outbreak ever occur.
