My quick rating - 6.4/10. Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead is a breath of fresh air in the rotting lungs of the zombie genre. Australia once again steps up where others have gone stale, delivering exactly what fans like me have been starving for: comedy mixed with carnage. The last time I felt this kind of scrappy, blood-slicked joy was when New Zealand gave us a young Peter Jackson with Bad Taste and the masterpiece Dead Alive (Braindead for the purists). Since then, the zombie-comedy blend has all but vanished under the seriousness of The Walking Dead and the teen-friendly charm of Warm Bodies. Enter Wyrmwood, chainsaw roaring and middle finger raised.
Barry (Jay Gallagher) is your classic hardworking mechanic and devoted family man—right up until the world ends overnight in a spray of blood and confusion. His sister, Brooke (Bianca Bradey), doesn’t fare much better, as she’s promptly snatched by a mysterious military unit in gas masks and delivered to a mad scientist who treats human experimentation like an art form. While Brooke prepares her own gruesome jailbreak, Barry teams up with fellow survivor Benny (Leon Burchill), and the two hit the Australian outback armed to the teeth and fueled—quite literally—by zombie exhaust fumes. What follows is less a rescue mission and more a full-throttle demolition derby against the undead.
The film gleefully cannibalizes its influences while injecting fresh ideas of its own—most notably the concept that gasoline no longer burns, but zombie breath does. So naturally, our heroes convert their truck into a walking dead hot rod. The story is simple, almost proudly so. Zombies are here, no need to ask why. Survivors swap backstories, form a plan, and charge into hell to save Brooke, who’s becoming something more than human thanks to her unwilling lab time. The unknown cast sells it with total sincerity, which makes the absurdity sing.
Imagine Mad Max picking a fight with Dawn of the Dead after too many energy drinks. That’s the vibe. You get inventive weapons, gallons of blood, and one-liners sharp enough to decapitate. If you love the genre, this will hit the spot. If you don’t, you might still have a blast—you just won’t appreciate how lovingly twisted it really is.
It’s not perfect—hence my 6.4. Sometimes the editing is too frantic for its own good, and a few gags don’t land quite as hard as the sledgehammers do. But for sheer enthusiasm, creativity, and unapologetic grit, it’s a winner. Fans of Romero, Jackson, and the Soska sisters will feel right at home in this feral sandbox.
Best of all, it tees up a sequel so blatantly you half expect a post-credits title card that just says “BRB.” I've already watched and reviewed it, and you can as well HERE—preferably behind a spiked barricade with a zombie-powered leaf blower. History proves that when you find the right talent in horror, you hold onto them like a zombie to fresh meat.
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