In this opening clip to
the film 28 Days Later, we are immediately faced with a naked man lying
helplessly in a hospital bed. This instantly connotes vulnerability, putting us
as the audience on edge right from the start and developing a sense of
wariness.
The frame then changes to a close-up of the character’s face as he
peers through the blinds to the corridor beyond; his eyes are the focus here as
we note the obvious confusion there.
Following this shot, we are then given a
frame of what he is seeing: a hallway littered with clutter and an overturned
bed, increasing our suspicion. Upon breaking out of the ward in which he has
been locked, the character then clothes himself in vividly green scrubs –
perhaps to make him stand out more once he’s out on the streets or to connote
the feeling of safety often associated with the colour green – and shuffles
through the hospital, continually calling out, “Hello?”
When the protagonist stumbles
across a mess of vending machine stock and begins to slurp on the Pepsi can, we
gain an understanding of his obvious thirst and therefore the suggestion of him
being there for a long time; this poses the question among the audience of How long has the hospital been completely
empty, save for one, like this? Where
has everybody gone? The shot depicting him as a small figure on the screen
compared to the clutter on the floor could signify that perhaps he – or humanity
as a whole – is insignificant now, whereas before they were thriving.
A few
frames later brings the character outside onto the streets of London, which he –
and we – discovers is completely empty and abandoned.
We’re also shown another
shot where he is a tiny figure on the screen, further suggesting insignificance
or perhaps the idea that humanity is no longer the most powerful and
influential being, but rather small in comparison.
As the character moves on,
the camera depicts only his feet, crushing miniature Big Bens that cascade
across his path; this seems to me to symbolise the fall of civilisation,
relating to the feeling of insignificance and loss of power.
Mere frames later,
we are met with the shot of an overturned bus (in the middle of the screen,
making it the focus) with its windows shattered; the fact that it is so clearly
overturned seems to stand as a metaphor for an overturned world.
Money litters
the streets, too, coming as quite a shock to the audience, who begin to
understand its lack of worth in this new, deserted world. The fact that the
character begins to scrape it all together with fear/awe etched on his face
suggests that he fears the worst – that he is the only one left in a world
where humans are scarce.
We note the character’s gait changing rapidly as he
discovers a devastated London: at first he is cautious, visible in his uneasy
shuffling, but then he quickly gets more anxious and afraid when he realises he’s
alone, illustrated by his gangly traipse through the streets. As he quickens
his pace, the music – before, calm – begins to quicken too, becoming more
urgent, especially when a car alarm pierces it, making the character and the
audience jump out of their skins! The sound of the car alarm and the surprise
it causes is significant to the film as it accentuates the desolate city and
the solitude felt by the character.
One of the final shots of the opening scene
is a close-up of a newspaper stating that there has been an ‘EVACUATION’ in big
bold letters; this seems to offer some closure to the audience, who previously
have felt uneasy due to the not knowing. The music continues to grow ever
faster following this discovery, reflecting the character’s anxiety, who by
this time has stumbled across a wall plastered with people’s messages and
photographs. The camera panning around the character’s face as he looks around
desperately reflects his hopelessness and, as he leaves the shot (which then
goes on to focus on a photograph before fading to black) we are left with the
same feeling for him.
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