Viral doom made infectiously fun
What is it about London and flesh-eating viruses? In "Doomsday," the year is 2035, and the city is beset by people keeling over with bubbling chins. They've got something called the "Reaper" virus. Yes, the government is desperate for a cure. No, they haven't tried Noxzema. Instead, they've dispatched an elite team of heavily armed specialists, led by the lethally efficient Eden Sinclair (Rhona Mitra), to head into quarantined Scotland and find the cure. (Long story.)
I know what you're thinking, and I couldn't be more excited to tell you how wrong you are: "Doomsday" is not a sequel. It's not even based on a video game. It's a flying circus from the agile mind of writer-director Neil Marshall, who moves past the movies that sound a lot like this one (those often starring Milla Jovovich or Kate Beckinsale) and builds a sleek new car from old parts.
And we get what he's up to. Rather than ponder the craziness of erecting a Hadrian's Wall around Scotland (again, long story), Marshall prefers to send a severed head flying toward the screen. He brings schlock as close to pop art as it can get.
In his last movie, "The Descent," Marshall pitted a group of tough, thrill-seeking women against albino vampires. His first film was a sophisticated military horror show called "Dog Soldiers." They were both unexpectedly excellent. So it shouldn't be shocking that "Doomsday" is so much smart fun. And yet it is. It's partly that title. It's partly the fact that Rogue Pictures opted not to screen the movie for critics.
But "Doomsday" turns out to be a brilliant remix of the zombie films it initially resembles. In fact, the zombies attacking Eden and her rapidly diminished crew in Scotland don't appear to be zombies at all. They're just a race of nihilist punk-rock freaks - more human than human, as Rob Zombie once sang. They wear Mohawks, armbands, face paint, tattoos, and leather. They eat people, but only after they've been cooked. Their leader, Sol (Craig Conway), is a cross between Johnny Rotten and coked-up evil Gremlin. His lady-love is like Amy Winehouse remade as a kind of aboriginal American Gladiator.
But Marshall doesn't stop there. Naturally, the anarchists need someone to rebel against. Why not Sol's dad, Kane, who might know a thing or two about the cure? He's no punk. He's a stodgy lord whose medieval kingdom is like something out of "Excalibur." He's played by Malcolm McDowell, simpering on the other side of the generation gap he made iconic in "A Clockwork Orange."
Eden and her crew find themselves sandwiched amid the squabble. And with a quick train ride, the movie chugs from Thunderdome to "Highlander." Marshall switches environments the way you change a channel. The time warp is imaginary, but the cultural divide is hilariously real. The nihilists hate the feudalists; 1977 is rebelling against 1677.
"Doomsday" showcases its grimy punk subculture with breathless razzle-dazzle. Hundreds of Sol's followers gather in a makeshift amphitheater, and he takes the stage to bombastically introduce the soldier they have caught, hoisted up, and are eager to barbecue - which, in unsparing detail, they do. This all happens while the Fine Young Cannibals and Siouxsie and the Banshees play on the speakers, and dirty dudes do the can-can on stage. Marshall reveals himself to be a terrific showman of chaos and comic savagery. This is Baz Luhrmann's "Mad Max."
Wesley Morris can be reached at wmorris@globe.com.
