Neil Marshall's love letter to stunted outpost civility, and despairing post-apocalyptia. A mega virus has left Scotland quarantined, the North anonymous, and London quaking. When riot cases start breaking in the capital, thuggy fascists dispatch slinky killer Rhona Mitra to scout out survivors and cures up in Alba. There, she finds various subsistence tribes calibrated to widely disparate genre disciplines. Doomsday is a magpie grab-bag of late 70s, early 80s wasteland vintage. Marshall has fashioned a modestly budgeted retrospective best-of. Spot the references! Mad Max! Aliens! Escape from New York! Cannibal Holocaust! Excalibur? The list trudges ever on. Thankfully, Marshall has a fan's eye for the material, adding gonzo flourishes as he pillages - Road Warrior car clod collisions account for fragile human cargo, spraying gallons of grue on impact. It's double reward feedback! Marshall's only major beat misstep is ditching the invaders' tech-might in the medieval section. Who doesn't want to see plate armour knights folding under a relentless hail of bullets? Maybe Marshall wanted to sidestep a Bedknobs and Broomsticks cue? Destined for infamy.
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