Review: Zach Cregger’s RESIDENT EVIL Gives Fans What They Never Knew They Needed

The imminent release of Zach Cregger’s Resident Evil means one very important thing: an end to the pre-release vitriol. No, there’s no Leon Kennedy, Mr. X, or Lickers to be found—but that doesn’t mean diddlysquat. The essence of Capcom’s survival horror franchise is alive, yet Cregger’s horror-comedy snapshot centered around the Raccoon City outbreak creates its own glorious nightmares. Perhaps humor is too prevalent, even after Cregger reportedly chopped loads of jokes during an edit pass; hardly a destructive quality. Resident Evil is a rip-rockin’ thrillseeker that sidesteps canon for its own good, giving Cregger full control of a supercharged hellscape that never ceases to terrify.

Austin Abrams was born to play everyman Bryan, a medical courier tasked with an urgent delivery to Raccoon City General Hospital. He’s in it for the double-rate payday, but unaware of the dangers that await. Mainly, there’s an outbreak in Raccoon City turning everyone into freakshow tentacle monsters—but Bryan won’t quit. His package is of grave importance, and he’s the only soul left who can complete the handoff. Too bad he’s not ready for any of the body-horror atrocities that are about to come barreling his way.

Cregger’s diabolical imagination runs rampant in Resident Evil (co-written by Shay Hatten). Tentacles aren’t foreign to the games—Las Plagas or monster plants—but they function here in an ickier way. Bryan’s pursued by this rat-king of zombie corpses that’s like Katamari meets Clive Barker (the remains of infecteds pull together into a growing mass of appendages). That alone showcases Cregger’s precise understanding of Resident Evil, as Bryan must flee a heat-seeking boss he can’t shake until an inevitable showdown. Cregger’s adoration of Capcom’s series shines through situational panic, distorted camera angles, the works. Yet, his movie still offers a fresh twist on familiarity without slavishly reproducing what the games have already accomplished quite cinematically.

Nostalgia isn’t a prison in Resident Evil. Bryan stumbles upon the waking hours of a biochemical apocalypse that we can’t predict. Overt Easter Eggs are passing winks: a typewriter, shotgun shells in a green box, an herb, an indestructible lock with a distinct symbol. More impressively, Cregger translates the Resident Evil gameplay experience. 

Over-the-shoulder camera perspectives replicate 3rd-person character movement, while tactical cameras can be strapped to long-barreled guns, recreating the intimate dread of peering around dimly lit corners to spy another grotesque monster. Cregger understands the suspense of moving through Resident Evil games like minefields of the undead, while also honoring the mounting escalation. One zombie chases you at first, then a mutant doggie, then multiple zombies, then contaminated vermin hordes, or acid pukers, or insectoid babies; the list goes on.

As Bryan ventures forward, he’s tortured with guilt over his dismissive response to finding out his girlfriend is pregnant. While Resident Evil operates like Bryan is sprinting down a buffet line, snagging every Umbrella-bred baddie along the way, at the core is his fear of being a father and how that drives his will to live. The skittish doofus who wants to start a family but was too scared to tell his partner. It’s a lighter touch of a thematic driver—what’s inside his zipped-up pouch takes precedence—but adds to Bryan’s urgency, which Abrams sells tenfold. 

Abrams is too good in the role, whether fumbling with ammunition, cursing under his breath, or stewing in hopeless exhaustion as Bryan’s ineptitude and stupidity bring out the worst of Raccoon City.

But the film is not flawless. Cregger’s sense of humor can be a distraction, siphoning fear from an otherwise nerve-shredding sequence (Paul Walter Hauser, for example, as comedic relief). Or there’s the extended opening farmhouse segment, where the first half hour rolls into the heat of momentum. Then comes a third act that solidifies the barrier between Cregger’s in-world take and what we know about Resident Evil, climaxing and then closing abruptly. For as much praise as I’ve heaped on, there’s an unevenness to execution that has nothing to do with Cregger’s stubborn refusal to adapt what we know. It’s more about the plug-and-play nature of scenes acting like levels, and how their tetheredness grows more distant toward the finale.

Still, Resident Evil packs a megaton punch when it comes to delivering rancid visuals that fit any game’s campaign. Pirates of the Caribbean cinematographer Dariusz Wolski nimbly captures the sweeping chaos enveloping Bryan, seamlessly flipping between camera modes in what’s a beautifully shot production. Clarity is important, since Legacy Effects and SFX legend Shane Mahan bust their chops to bring 2,000-pound monster puppets to life. No creature slacks in appearance, even when digital enhancements are required. Explosions of glistening gore are bountiful and zany in maternity wards covered in blood-red sacks or as the aforementioned rat-king assembles itself, on par with the ghoulish, grotesque, go-for-broke T-virus mutations that would make William Birkin blush.

The broken-throttle intensity of Resident Evil makes it an easy contender for the most entertaining horror film of 2026. It’s further proof that Zach Cregger should never be doubted; even in franchise mode, he’s still undeniably himself. This is the Resident Evil you never knew you wanted because Cregger didn’t have the opportunity until now. Hopefully, more video game adaptations follow suit and let their filmmakers expand a property instead of another soulless copy-and-paste job. 

No Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, or Barry Burton? No problem.

Movie Score: 4/5