The Zombie Evolution: 'Colony' and the Illusion of Progress
There’s something oddly comforting about a zombie movie in 2024. In a world where AI threatens to outthink us and corporate greed feels like a pandemic, the undead serve as a predictable, if gruesome, metaphor for our anxieties. Yeon Sang-ho’s Colony, the latest in his zombie saga, attempts to evolve this metaphor—but does it succeed, or does it merely shuffle forward like its brain-hungry protagonists?
One thing that immediately stands out is Yeon’s decision to give his zombies a hive mind. Personally, I think this is both brilliant and problematic. On the surface, it’s a fresh twist: zombies that communicate, strategize, and adapt in real time. It’s like watching a nature documentary where the ants have developed a taste for human flesh. But here’s where it gets interesting: the film frames this as a second cognitive revolution, a nod to our AI-obsessed era. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just a sci-fi gimmick—it’s a mirror held up to our own fears of being outpaced by the very technology we’ve created.
From my perspective, though, the metaphor falls flat. The film leans too heavily on the idea that perfect communication is the ultimate evolutionary leap. But if you take a step back and think about it, communication isn’t about efficiency or dominance—it’s about connection. The zombies in Colony communicate like a corporate algorithm, cold and calculated. There’s no soul, no humanity. And that’s the irony: in trying to critique our dehumanized world, the film itself becomes dehumanized.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Yeon tries to balance spectacle with substance. The action sequences are undeniably impressive—the bone-crunching contortions, the goo-smattered faces, the choreography that makes each zombie attack feel like a macabre dance. But here’s the rub: the characters feel like afterthoughts. Except for the brother-sister duo, who bring a spark of likability and physicality, the survivors are little more than plot devices.
Take Kwon Se-Jeong, the burnt-out academic played by Gianna Jun. She’s supposed to be the heart of the film, but her arc feels rushed and underdeveloped. Her primary role is to decode the zombies’ behavior, which she does with the precision of a scientist but none of the emotional depth of a human being. This raises a deeper question: if the characters don’t feel real, can their struggles—or their survival—mean anything to us?
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s treatment of Dr. Suh Young-Chul, the villain. He’s the embodiment of corporate malice, a man who injects himself with a vaccine before unleashing a virus on the world. But why should we care about his resentment toward his CEO? The script gives us too little too late, leaving his motivations feeling hollow. It’s as if the film is so focused on its zombies that it forgets to flesh out the humans.
What this really suggests is that Colony is a film of missed opportunities. It wants to be a critique of capitalism, ableism, and the dehumanizing effects of technology, but it never fully commits. Instead, it settles for being a slick, commercial thriller—which, don’t get me wrong, is entertaining in its own right. But in an age where we’re grappling with existential questions about AI, surveillance, and the erosion of empathy, Colony feels like a missed chance to say something profound.
If you compare it to Nia DaCosta’s 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple, the difference is stark. DaCosta’s film isn’t afraid to get philosophical, exploring themes of mortality and grace through its characters. Yeon, on the other hand, seems content to stay on the surface, relying on spectacle rather than substance.
In my opinion, the biggest flaw of Colony is its lack of emotional intimacy. The film is so busy showcasing its zombies’ evolution that it forgets to make us care about the people they’re hunting. And that’s a shame, because at its core, a zombie movie should be about humanity—our resilience, our flaws, our capacity for love and sacrifice.
What many people don’t realize is that the best zombie stories aren’t really about zombies at all. They’re about us. They’re about what we’re willing to do to survive, and what we’re willing to lose in the process. Colony tries to tap into this, but it never digs deep enough. It’s a well-crafted film, no doubt, but it lacks the emotional weight to make its metaphors land.
As I reflect on Colony, I’m left with a sense of what could have been. Yeon Sang-ho is a talented filmmaker, and his vision for the zombie genre is undeniably ambitious. But ambition alone isn’t enough. To truly resonate, a film needs heart—and that’s something Colony struggles to find.
So, is Colony worth watching? Absolutely. It’s a thrilling ride, packed with inventive action and stunning visuals. But if you’re looking for something more—something that challenges you to think, feel, and reflect—you might leave the theater feeling a bit like the zombies themselves: hungry for something more substantial.
