"Genuine moments of terror, married seamlessly with humane comedy"

A pounding soundtrack. The Umbrella Corporation. Racoon City – and a contagion plot as old as the genre itself, deployed here with the confidence of something that knows exactly what it is. 

Alongside the raw, feverish genius of 28 Days Later and Train to Busan, the Korean juggernaut that left audiences breathless and bereft in equal measure – Resident Evil never pretended to occupy the same space. Its currency was always escapism and for two decades, that was more than enough. Now comes the reboot nobody was sure we needed – and a director who might just be the reason we did. Zach Cregger, the filmmaker behind the unsettling Barbarian and the recent Weapons, strips the franchise back to its bones and rebuilds it from the ground up. This is not a retread of what came before – it’s a complete revamp, and in the best way possible. More faithful to the spirit of the games than anything previously attempted before, loaded with Easter eggs for those who know where to look and entirely unconcerned with holding your hand. 

The premise is bracingly simple. Bryan (Euphoria’s Austin Abrams), is a medical courier, almost carefree in his disposition, laser focused on one thing; getting this package delivered, getting a signature and going home. Home to a newly pregnant girlfriend and a reality he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to face. Whether the double-pay night shift is necessity or escapism is left deliberately ambiguous – much like loading up a game when adult life gets a little too loud. The fact that Racoon city has other ideas is, to put mildly an inconvenience. 

What follows is ninety minutes of non-stop survival. Dead ends, acid vomiting mutants, lifts that become death traps. Mission-like in its structure, gamelike in its logic, utterly relentless in its execution – the first person camera placing you squarely behind Bryan’s eyes, pressing buttons you wish you could actually press. 

The jump scares arrive early, often and with genuine craft. From the opening frame Cregger establishes his footing, breathless viscerally and barely pausing for breath. The ravenous mutants are grotesque in the best tradition of body horror and there is one image; crimson against the white snow that will linger long after the credits roll. 

What makes the first half sing is the unknown. Bryan is terrified, the audience is terrified, and Cregger holds his nerve in that shared uncertainty with the precision of someone who has been here before. It recalls the early hours of a horror game – every door a potential ambush, every corridor a held breath. The second half is where the film loses some of its grip. Once the monsters are known quantities, the tension that made the opening so electrifying begins to dissipate. The final thirty minutes leans increasingly on comedy, and while humour has been one of the film’s great pleasures, landing audible laughs and groans in equal measure it eventually tips the balance. Certain script lines arrive with self-satisfaction of something that sounds clever but lands a fraction flat on screen. 

But for the majority of its runtime, this is sharp, funny and frightening. Cregger has done what nobody managed across six previous attempts – made a Resident Evil film that feels like a game. Game over, and what a way to go.