Wyrmwood: Apocalypse is the kind of sequel that doesn’t just pick up where the first film left off—it sprints in, covered in blood, duct tape, and engine parts, yelling “Oi, watch this!” and then blows something up. Kiah Roache-Turner’s follow-up to 2014’s Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead is a chaotic, gory, extremely Australian action-horror that somehow manages to be both completely ridiculous and surprisingly sincere.
It’s what you’d get if Mad Max, a DIY backyard FX team, and a crate of energy drinks formed a production company during the apocalypse.
Rhys: The World’s Most Polite Kidnapper
Front and center this time is Rhys, played by Luke McKenzie, a heavily armed outback soldier who lives in a shipping container, works out with car parts, and has the emotional range of a guy who has never once been asked, “Hey, how are you doing really?”
At the start, Rhys is doing “good soldier” work for the military-industrial nightmare in charge of what’s left of civilization. His job: hunt and capture survivors, especially hybrids, and deliver them to the Surgeon General and The Colonel—two men who look like they were grown in a lab marked “Very Bad Idea.” Rhys is efficient, loyal, and just morally confused enough that you know it won’t last.
He’s basically a one-man apocalypse Uber, except instead of dropping you at your destination, he delivers you to human experimentation. Five stars for punctuality, zero stars for ethics.
Brooke and Barry: Sibling Chaos, Round Two
Fans of the first film get a bloody bonus: Barry (Jay Gallagher) and Brooke (Bianca Bradey) are back. Barry is still the weary, battered everyman trying to do the right thing in a world where “right” usually involves some level of improvised explosives.
Brooke, meanwhile, is no longer just a victim of mad science. She’s a full-on zombie-controlling, telepathic, nosebleed-powered superweapon. Imagine Eleven from Stranger Things if she’d grown up in the Australian bush, inhaled diesel fumes, and decided that mind-controlling the undead was an acceptable coping mechanism. Bradey leans into the role with feral intensity: part tragic experiment, part living middle finger to anyone in a lab coat.
When Rhys’ path inevitably collides with Barry and Brooke, the film flips from bleak lone-wolf survival story into a messy, dysfunctional family reunion—with extra headshots.
Maxi and Grace: Apocalypse with Representation
Shantae Barnes-Cowan’s Maxi and Tasia Zalar’s Grace add heart, grit, and much-needed grounding to the carnage. These sisters aren’t there to be rescued; they’re fully capable, resourceful survivors who’ve been navigating this nightmare world long before Rhys has his moral awakening.
Maxi, especially, steals scenes with a mix of vulnerability and steel—you get the sense she’s seen way too much for someone her age and has simply decided to keep going anyway. Grace feels like the big sister who will patch you up, then smack you for doing something stupid that got you hurt in the first place.
Their presence gives the story more dimension than just “blokes with guns yell at zombies.” It’s still mostly that, but now it feels like people worth saving exist, not just walking meat for the plot.
The Colonel and the Surgeon General: Science, but Make It War Crimes
On the villain side, Jake Ryan as The Colonel and Nicholas Boshier as The Surgeon General give Wyrmwood: Apocalypse its delightfully unhinged comic-book evil. These two aren’t subtle—this is not that kind of movie. They are militarized cruelty and unethical science in human form, wrapped in uniforms and surgical gloves.
The Surgeon General, especially, radiates the energy of a man who was not hugged enough as a child and compensated by injecting strangers with mystery fluids. He pokes, prods, and dissects the infected (and the not-yet-infected) with an enthusiasm that suggests he’d be doing this even if the world hadn’t ended. The apocalypse just removed the paperwork.
Zombie Fuel, DIY Gore, and the Joy of Ridiculous Worldbuilding
One of the joys of the Wyrmwood world is its absurd internal logic. In this universe, zombies emit flammable gas that can be harnessed as fuel. That’s right: the apocalypse breaks out, and some Australian immediately figures out how to turn the undead into petrol. Of course they do.
Wyrmwood: Apocalypse continues that gonzo approach:
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Vehicles are held together with scrap metal, blood, and optimism.
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Weapons look like they were built during a drunken argument with a hardware store.
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Every action scene has at least one moment where you think, “Okay, that’s completely stupid,” and then immediately follow it with, “…but also awesome.”
The practical effects are gloriously gnarly—gooey zombie headshots, vivisection nightmares, and enough limbs flying around to make you appreciate whoever handled the cleanup on set. It has that scrappy, inventive feel where you can tell a lot of love, sweat, and possibly real engine oil went into making things look this gross.
Action with a Pulse (Usually Someone Else’s)
The film doesn’t waste much time. Once the pieces are set, it explodes into a series of chases, shootouts, and brutal close-quarters brawls. Rhys tearing through hordes of zombies is pure action-figure fantasy, while Brooke using her psychic connection to turn the undead into weapons adds a wild, almost superhero twist.
What keeps it from becoming empty spectacle is that beneath the chaos, the film genuinely cares about its misfit crew. When people get hurt or die, it stings. When they manage small victories—rescuing someone, sabotaging a lab, blowing up something that really deserved it—you feel the catharsis. It’s gory, but not empty.
Gallows Humor, Australian Edition
The humor is pitch black, but rarely mean-spirited. It’s more, “We’re all doomed, might as well crack a joke before the next wave of zombies arrives.” Characters banter mid-crisis, insult each other affectionately, and occasionally react to unbelievable horrors with a resigned, “Yeah, that tracks.”
It’s that very specific Aussie tone: no grand speeches about destiny, just a lot of swearing, sarcasm, and a willingness to improvise when the plan goes sideways—which it does, often, and usually with viscera.
A Sequel That Actually Levels Up
As a follow-up to Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead, Apocalypse does something admirable: it doesn’t just repeat the first movie with a bigger budget. It expands the lore, shifts the focus to a new protagonist in Rhys, brings back beloved characters without leaning on pure nostalgia, and plays with new ideas—bioengineered zombies, growing resistance pockets, and the long-term consequences of turning the undead into a power source.
It still feels proudly scrappy, still has that indie grindhouse soul, but it’s bigger, slicker, and more confident. Like the original grew up, found a better camera, and learned a few new ways to dismember people.
Final Verdict: A Beautiful, Bloody, Bonkers Road Trip Through the End of the World
Wyrmwood: Apocalypse is not here to philosophize about the human condition in the face of oblivion. It’s here to strap you to the hood of a zombie-powered truck and floor it through a wasteland of mutant science, military madness, and telepathic chaos.
If you want tasteful, restrained horror, this is absolutely the wrong address. But if you’re in the mood for:
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inventive action
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gloriously trashy gore
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a surprisingly likable pack of survivors
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villains you will cheer to see eviscerated
…then this movie is a grinning, blood-splattered good time.
In the end, Wyrmwood: Apocalypse feels like a love letter to anyone who ever watched a low-budget zombie flick and thought, “This is great, but what if we added rocket launchers, psychic powers, and more mullets?” It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s wildly entertaining—and in a world this bleak, that’s about as close to hope as you’re going to get.
