The Girl With All the Gifts (2016)

From Spotlight on Science Fiction, published 2022

The human survival impulse is extraordinary, and apocalyptic fiction could not exist without it. No matter how bad things get, certain characters push on, determined to keep the species going into an uncertain future. There’s no alternative.

The Girl With All the Gifts would like to challenge that assumption. In Colm McCarthy’s virus/vampire/zombie mashup, the girl of the title isn’t entirely human, but she’s certainly the future.

The basic plot has a lot in common with 28 Days Later, with England (and presumably the rest of the world) overwhelmed by a virus that rapidly transforms people into fast, mindless killers. There are exceptions, though – the children born of infected mothers, who have normal cognitive skills. Like the “hungries,” they can still be triggered to cannibalistic violence by the smell of human bodily fluids, and the circumstances of their births are truly horrifying. But they at least seem like average kids most of the time.

Melanie (charming newcomer Sennia Nanua) is an especially polite and cheerful member of this group. Sheltered with soldiers, scientists, and other hybrid children at a military base, Melanie has a level of self-control that astonishes anyone willing to pay attention. The terrified soldiers don’t much care, but teacher Helen (Gemma Arterton) has compassion for all of her students, and a special fondness for Melanie. Dr. Caldwell (Glenn Close) is also fascinated by the kids, but thinks they merely “present” as human children. To her, they are soulless test subjects, useful only in her search for a cure. She wants to use them to eradicate themselves.

It takes a while for Caldwell to realize it’s too late. A horde of hungries destroys the base, leaving her, Melanie, Helen, and three soldiers as the only apparent survivors. They make their way to London, hoping to establish communication with another base, using a scent-blocking gel to avoid detection by the infected. They find an abandoned mobile research station that provides some refuge, and Melanie proves vital to the team, as the only one who can move freely among the infected. Her journeys help her understand her place in this strange environment.

It’s not the place the other characters have in mind. Caldwell can see the virus mutating – it’s carried by a parasitic fungus, which now covers large areas, and seems poised to take over entirely. The hungries are decaying and merging with it, sprouting millions of seed pods. One good fire or rainstorm, and the pods will open, releasing spores into the air. When that happens, no uninfected person is safe.

Caldwell is still determined to create a vaccine in a desperate attempt to save humanity, if anyone else is left. Melanie is the key to this, but she’ll have to die to be of use. Caldwell tries to use Melanie’s fondness for Helen against her, insisting there’s no other way to prevent the girl’s beloved teacher from becoming a monster.

Caldwell expects Melanie to sacrifice herself for humanity (or at least for Helen), literally donating her body to science for the greater good. But is it greater, or good? Melanie’s high intelligence and insight have made her aware of some truths that her handlers don’t see and probably don’t want to: The virus is unstoppable. Most adults are infected or soon will be. A vaccine won’t save enough of them, if it ever even gets out of the lab. Meanwhile, the children are capable of thriving with the right guidance. They’re evolving into something special, just like the contagion that created them.

Melanie’s solution is both elegant and ruthless. “Why should it be us who die for you?,” she asks Caldwell, before setting a fire that will open up the pods. Everyone will be infected now, paving the way for Melanie and her kind to become the dominant species. She makes a point of saving Helen, who can continue teaching and caring for them, the only adult consistently willing to do so. Even that decision has a cold efficiency, as it requires Helen to be a prisoner in the research lab, where she can avoid exposure to the virus.

The Girl With All the Gifts is the movie George Romero probably should have made after Land of the Dead. He was heading toward similar themes, looking at what happens when the mindless killing machines start using their minds and taking initiative. What does the world look like when healthy, living humans become the minority, and can no longer fight for their own existence? Sadly, Romero rebooted his own series and never got the chance to explore these ideas further. Mike Carey’s script for this film (based on the novel he wrote as M.R. Carey) takes that close look at the threat to humanity, and effectively makes it the hero.

It’s not as if humanity has done such a great job. The “normal” people are mostly selfish, weak, easily manipulated, and prone to violence not caused by an illness they can’t control. Helen is morally superior to most, and also able to bring out the best qualities of the children. If Melanie becomes the de facto leader of her new species, it’s because she learned the best lessons from an adult she admires. You wouldn’t expect a violent fast-zombie thriller to be a sensitive love letter to the teaching profession, but that’s a big part of Carey’s message.

It’s also a celebration of storytelling. Instead of forcing them to recite memorized data, Helen tells her class tales from Greek mythology and encourages them to write stories of their own. These children have no concept of the world before their time, so this is how they learn the values civilization once held dear (or pretended to). The lessons foreshadow several later character choices, especially Melanie’s decision to open her own Pandora’s box. Instead of acting out of curiosity, she makes a considered, deliberate move, adding a rather perverse twist to the myth. What she unleashes is terrible for humanity, but the hope that remains is the basis for a whole new society.

Race is a factor in The Girl With All the Gifts, too, albeit a more subtle one. Melanie is a black child being kept as a medical experiment by the white Dr. Caldwell. Even after all the characters have acknowledged Melanie’s personhood, Caldwell still wants to use her body to save others. Melanie’s refusal to submit is a revolutionary act on behalf of her “race.” In this case, that race is other hybrid children, but the visual signifier of a black girl making the decision is powerful (especially since the black adult characters have been unceremoniously killed off in standard horror-movie fashion). In the book, Melanie is white and Helen is black, and the switch adds a layer of meaning when Helen is kept alive to benefit Melanie and her companions. Helen is not mistreated, exactly, but she is being used as a tool for another group’s survival. McCarthy is a veteran director of TV shows like Black Mirror and Peaky Blinders, so he knows how to work complex ideas into a concise narrative. If the ironic racial flip is not intentional, it’s an impressive accident.

As advanced as she is, Melanie is still emotionally immature, which adds even greater ambiguity to the ending. She takes violent leadership of a group of feral children, forcing them to attend Helen’s lessons, but they don’t even use language. How long before they tire of her attempts to civilize them? She releases the other kids from the base, and they are as educated as she is. What if one of them challenges her? Will this new dominant species become as dangerously tribal as the old one? Who else is out there, and what kind of society are they building?
And what about Helen? The logistics of keeping her alive are complicated enough, but she is also trapped, presumably forever. Will she seek to escape somehow? How loyal is she to Melanie and the children? Would infection be preferable to isolation? Would death?All these questions lead to one overriding one: Will there ever be a sequel? Carey’s prequel novel, The Boy on the Bridge, has an epilogue that offers a few answers, but there’s so much more of this story to tell. Like Melanie, Carey has created a fascinating, difficult new world. It would be fun to keep exploring it. – Loey Lockerby