When Nature Calls, It’s Usually Hungry
If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Jaws traded the ocean for the Outback and developed a taste for bogans, Boar (2016) is here to answer that question—with a mouth full of screaming Australians and about a gallon of fake blood.
Directed by Chris Sun, the twisted genius behind Charlie’s Farm, this film is a love letter to creature features of the ’80s—written in blood, sweat, and kangaroo dust. It’s the kind of movie that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and thank God for that, because it stars a killer pig the size of a bus and twice as smart as most of the humans it eats.
Boar delivers exactly what it promises: big tusks, big kills, and bigger laughs. It’s not a masterpiece of subtlety—it’s an unapologetic slab of schlock that wallows gleefully in its own absurdity. And honestly, that’s what makes it glorious.
The Plot: You Came for the Bacon, Stay for the Bloodbath
The setup is beautifully simple, the way all great animal-attack movies should be:
A family—Dad (Bill Moseley), Mom (Simone Buchanan), daughter Ella (Christie-Lee Britten), son Bart (Griffin Walsh), and Ella’s boyfriend Robert (Hugh Sheridan)—take a road trip into rural Australia. There, they meet their uncle Bernie, played by real-life mountain Nathan Jones, whose biceps deserve their own billing.
Unfortunately, they’ve also wandered into the territory of a giant, prehistoric wild boar that’s decided the human species is a buffet. Within minutes, trucks are overturned, campers are shredded, and any character who utters the words “She’ll be right” is immediately proven wrong.
The film plays like a tourism ad directed by Satan: the skies are gorgeous, the accents thick, and the death scenes spectacular. Farmer loses dog? Check. Lovers in the woods? Check. Pub-goers who just had to investigate? Oh yes, check and double-check.
Soon, it’s up to Bernie—a man built like the boar itself—to face off against the creature and save what’s left of his family. It’s man versus beast, machete versus tusks, Outback masculinity versus nature’s rage, and by the end, you’re rooting for… honestly, both sides.
The Tone: Equal Parts Terror and Tall Tale
Boar operates in that sweet spot between genuine horror and barroom legend. It’s a film that understands exactly how ridiculous its premise is and leans into it with gusto.
Chris Sun doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel—he just makes the wheel run over a few tourists. The humor is distinctly Australian: dry, crude, and charmingly self-deprecating. Characters toss off one-liners between screams, and even as people are being impaled, there’s always time for a cheeky quip.
It’s that cultural flavor that sets Boar apart from its more self-serious American cousins. Where U.S. monster movies deliver solemn warnings about man’s arrogance, Boar simply shrugs and says, “Yeah, mate, the bush’ll kill ya if the beer doesn’t first.”
The Monster: A Hog With Personality (and Probably Union Dues)
Let’s talk about the real star of the show: the boar.
This beast isn’t CGI mush—it’s an honest-to-goodness animatronic monster, built with love and gallons of latex. You can practically feel the texture of its bristly hide and smell the rot on its breath. It’s not pretty, but it’s real, and that’s what makes it terrifying.
It’s also surprisingly expressive for a rubber puppet the size of a Toyota Hilux. When it charges through a fence or flips a car, you can’t help but admire its work ethic. This isn’t just any wild pig—it’s the Hugh Jackman of killer swine.
And in the grand tradition of movie monsters, the boar isn’t evil—it’s just hungry and tired of humanity’s nonsense. Honestly, after two hours of listening to drunk Aussies yell “Bloody hell!”, you might sympathize with it.
The Humans: Meat With Accents
Of course, what’s a monster movie without victims you can vaguely care about?
Nathan Jones gives a surprisingly endearing performance as Bernie, the family’s protector and reluctant boar-battler. Watching him go toe-to-tusk with the beast is like watching two mountains argue over who gets to eat the smaller hills. He’s the film’s emotional anchor—a gentle giant who can tear a man in half when provoked.
John Jarratt (of Wolf Creek fame) plays Ken, the grizzled local who knows exactly what’s going on and still makes every bad decision possible. Seeing him face off against the boar feels like a showdown between Australia’s two deadliest exports: serial killers and feral pigs.
Christie-Lee Britten as Ella and Melissa Tkautz as Sasha bring a welcome dose of badass femininity to the film, proving that while the men shout and shoot, the women are the ones who actually get things done.
And special mention goes to Ernie Dingo, whose mere presence makes the film 20% more Australian by default.
The Blood: Beautifully, Excessively Red
If you’re squeamish, Boar is not your movie. But if you love old-school, practical splatter, this is your buffet.
Every death is over-the-top, gory, and lovingly crafted. People don’t just die—they detonate. The camera lingers on crushed torsos, dangling limbs, and a surprising amount of rib meat. It’s disgusting, hilarious, and, in its own twisted way, kind of artful.
One particularly memorable sequence involves the boar ambushing campers mid-romance—let’s just say they go from “Netflix and chill” to “Netflix and kill” in about five seconds flat.
But the gore never feels mean-spirited. It’s cartoonish in its excess, more Evil Dead than Hostel. You laugh, you wince, and you reach for more popcorn.
The Direction: Chris Sun’s Outback Mayhem
Director Chris Sun knows exactly what kind of movie he’s making—and bless him for it.
His love for creature features bleeds through every frame. The pacing alternates between serene Outback vistas and sudden bursts of chaos, giving you just enough calm before the next eruption of screaming carnage.
And unlike most modern horror directors, Sun resists the temptation to drench everything in shaky cam and CGI. He gives you real landscapes, real lighting, and real monsters that occupy real space. You can feel the dirt, smell the smoke, and hear the snorts echoing through the night.
It’s not subtle filmmaking—but it’s effective, visceral, and oddly beautiful.
The Subtext: (Yes, There’s Subtext)
Underneath all the roaring and rampaging, Boar is weirdly about family.
The film’s emotional through-line isn’t the beast itself—it’s the people fighting to survive it. There’s a touching sense of unity between the survivors, even as half of them get eaten. The idea that love—and perhaps a good shotgun—can defeat even nature’s most terrifying creation gives the story an unexpected heart.
It’s Fast and Furious logic applied to monster horror: family is everything, even when the family barbecue is trying to barbecue you.
The Ending: Sequel Tease or Cosmic Joke?
By the time the credits roll, the boar is dead (mostly), the survivors are traumatized (definitely), and everyone’s learned a valuable lesson about vacationing in rural Australia.
And then—because Chris Sun knows how to end on a punchline—a second giant boar appears. Because why have one monstrous metaphor for environmental vengeance when you can have a franchise?
It’s the cinematic equivalent of the pig flipping you off as the lights go out.
Final Thoughts: Bring Home the Bacon (But Maybe Not From These Woods)
Boar is the perfect example of how to do creature horror right: give us a ridiculous premise, fill it with colorful characters, add gallons of blood, and play it straight enough that it almost feels plausible.
It’s a roaring, snorting, blood-soaked blast of Aussie madness—equal parts Razorback, Tremors, and Mad Max if Max were replaced by a feral pig.
Sure, it’s cheesy. Sure, it’s loud. But it’s also a riotously fun time—a big, dumb, smartly made monster movie with enough heart to make you cheer and enough gore to make you gag.
Grade: A-
Recommended for: Fans of practical monsters, Australian horror junkies, and anyone who’s ever thought “Crocodiles are bad, but what if pigs were worse?”
