Resident Evil: Death Island (2023)

Resident Evil: Death Island arrives as the fifth animated installment in a franchise that has long since perfected the art of the zombie action spectacle. The film assembles a roster of familiar protagonists, including Jill Valentine, Claire Redfield, and Rebecca Chambers, all of whom are competent and resourceful. Their presence, however, is a matter of inherited continuity from the video games, not a deliberate representative casting agenda. The lone non-white character, Maria Gomez, is a revenge-driven criminal, which does little to advance the cause of racial consciousness. The film's social awareness is, in short, vestigial.

There are faint gestures toward deeper themes. Jill's struggle with the aftermath of mind control is acknowledged, and she firmly rejects Chris's attempt to sideline her, a moment that registers as a mild feminist beat. The villainous Umbrella Corporation and a rogue private military firm provide the requisite evil-corporate foil, but this is the genre's standard furniture, not an anti-capitalist critique. The film does not lecture. It does not preach. It does not ask the audience to examine their complicity in systemic injustice. It asks them to watch a zombie outbreak on Alcatraz.

For those seeking a cultural crusade, Death Island offers little beyond the occasional nod to trauma and female competence. The action is brisk, the dialogue is sparse, and the moral instruction is essentially nonexistent. This is a film that knows its audience and makes no apologies for its lack of progressive messaging. It is, by the standards of contemporary social consciousness, a remarkably quiet affair. The zombies, at least, are equal opportunity.