Sometimes a big-name star will so dominate a film that the surrounding cast appear utterly inanimate; however for eighty percent of I Am Legend Will Smith’s on-screen rivals literally comprise a handful of shop dummies. Francis Lawrence’s “last man alive” zombie nightmare pits New York’s sole survivor, military scientist Robert Neville, against legions of “dark-seeking” mutants. Three years have elapsed since a globally-administered cure for cancer mutated, killing 90% of humankind and turning almost everyone else into the obligatory demonic foes. Conveniently immune, top virologist Neville elected to remain in the evacuated city, searching for the cure to this doomsday disease.

For a film with such a grand premise, and despite the impressive computer-generated expanses of New York City reclaimed by nature (think cornfields in central park, Times Square crumbling among the weeds), the focus is exclusively personal. This film is all Smith, all the time, and the pressure of carrying such a blockbuster single-handed is remarkably intense. Few A-list stars would feel comfortable operating with naught but a German shepherd for a co-star; but for a sparse smattering of flashbacks and the final twenty minutes, he is devoid of human contact. 

So it’s really saying something that by far the best scenes are those where we are gradually introduced to the daily routines and deep fears of humanity’s last hope. We watch as he hunts deer through the streets, scours deserted houses for supplies and broadcasts radio messages in the hope of contact with other survivors, all the while keeping a close eye on the time, for as sunset approaches the monsters come out to play. The transition from light to dark exerts a powerful change on our hero; gone is the reggae-whistling optimist hitting golf balls off an aircraft carrier and here is the last of humankind trembling with fear and running for his life. 

This couldn’t be further from gung-ho heroism if it tried. More than once are we led to question the psychological effects of Neville’s isolation and obsessively methodical routine. And while he may be packing an assortment of weaponry (not to mention a frankly obscene array of muscles – they couldn’t resist a token topless exercise shot), Neville’s fragility, and by extension, that of all hope for the future, is never in doubt. The film keeps the idea of a happy resolution hanging in the balance, and is at its powerful best when focussing on Neville’s sense of guilt and obligation that drives him to keep searching for a miracle cure in the face of overwhelming adversity.

So it’s a real shame when the last section of the film takes a turn for the predictable. Without wishing to spoil too much, Neville is met by two other survivors, Anna and her son Ethan, and all hell breaks loose when the zombies come after them. After spending a good hour or more slowly introducing us to the evil menace, from hearing their shrieks at night, and catching glimpses in Neville’s torchlight to small encounters, the blockbuster impulse breaks free and hundreds upon hundreds of less than convincing zombies are flooding the screen. Cue multiple explosions and visceral fight scenes (just how does becoming subject to a mutant virus, living in darkness and subsisting entirely on a cannibalistic diet ALWAYS manage to endow cinema zombies with superhuman strength?) but, credit where credit is due, not once does Smith resort to type – no “attitude” here, no tough-guy ‘Oh HEELL no!’ ass-kicking action hero antics whatsoever. 

Sadly the final scenes exchanged emotional impact for sentimentality, and seemed hastily cobbled onto the end of what was, for the most part, an engrossing look at apocalypse from an unexpectedly personal perspective.  Fortunately, the film still does enough to make it well worth the viewing.