The Devil Went Down to Tasmania (and Forgot His Lines)
If you ever wanted to watch Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years get chased through the woods by demonic marsupials, congratulations—your oddly specific wish came true in Tasmanian Devils, the 2013 Syfy original that answers the question no one asked: “What if Looney Tunes’ Taz was an apex predator with a hunger for human stupidity?”
Directed by Zach Lipovsky and written by Brook Durham, this Canadian-made “creature feature” aims for Jurassic Parkbut lands somewhere between Sharknado and a taxidermy exhibit gone rogue. It’s 91 minutes of chaos, clichés, and CGI so bad you’ll wish the monsters would just eat the rendering software.
In other words, it’s everything you’d expect from a Syfy Channel original—except even Syfy might’ve regretted this one.
Plot? More Like Roadkill With Dialogue
The premise is classic creature feature nonsense. A group of American thrill-seekers parachutes into the Tasmanian wilderness to BASE jump off some cliffs, because apparently Darwin Awards: The Movie needed new material. Naturally, they land smack in the middle of an ancient Aboriginal burial site guarded by demonic Tasmanian Devils—giant, horned beast-things that look like what happens when a video game crash screen comes to life.
Meanwhile, a group of park rangers, led by the world’s least convincing wildlife officer (Danica McKellar, still more believable as a math tutor than an action heroine), tries to wrangle both the tourists and the devilish monstrosities. Cue lots of running, screaming, and monsters that resemble rejected Pokémon.
As expected, the characters start dying in ascending order of importance, leaving McKellar’s character to save the day with her trademark combination of stern disapproval and light algebra.
Danica McKellar: From Wonder Years to “Why Did I Sign This Contract?”
It’s not that Danica McKellar is bad—she’s actually trying. You can see it in her eyes: the same mix of determination and regret you’d expect from someone realizing mid-shoot that she’s acting opposite a tennis ball on a stick meant to be a “demon wombat.”
She plays Alex, a no-nonsense park ranger who delivers lines like “We need to contain them before they reach the ridge!” with such conviction you almost forget she’s talking about a CGI gremlin rendered on a Pentium II. McKellar carries the film the way a substitute teacher carries a class full of feral children—reluctantly but professionally.
It’s hard not to root for her, though, especially when you imagine her explaining this role to her agent:
“So, I fight demon possums?”
“No, Danica, Tasmanian Devils. It’s completely different.”
Apolo Ohno: Skating on Thin Plot
Then there’s Apolo Anton Ohno, Olympic speed skater turned actor, proving that while gold medals may win you races, they can’t save you from bad dialogue. Ohno plays one of the thrill-seekers, which is fitting since his entire performance feels like a dare gone wrong.
He delivers lines like “Man, that thing’s fast!” with the enthusiasm of someone reading their own eulogy. His character’s primary contribution is sprinting through forests and making you wish the devils would learn to skate so we could end this faster.
If this was meant to be Ohno’s breakout role, it’s safe to say he broke out—of acting, forever.
The Monsters: CGI That Belongs in a Museum (of Failure)
The real stars of Tasmanian Devils are, of course, the devils themselves—hulking beasts of fury and pixels. Unfortunately, they look like someone merged a gremlin, a bulldog, and an outdated PlayStation cutscene. These creatures aren’t terrifying; they’re nostalgic, like a reminder of the days when The Mummy Returns Scorpion King was the pinnacle of bad CGI.
Each time one appears, you can practically hear the rendering engine groaning. They snarl, leap, and tear through people with cartoonish glee, leaving behind fountains of blood that resemble tomato soup under fluorescent lighting.
They’re supposed to be ancient demonic guardians, but they behave more like hangry raccoons guarding a trash can. You can’t fear them—you just pity them.
The Script: A Devilish Mix of Dumb and Dumber
Brook Durham’s screenplay is a masterclass in bad decisions. The dialogue alternates between expository nonsense (“These devils are part of an ancient curse!”) and generic one-liners (“Let’s send these devils back to hell!”). It’s as if every line was generated by a malfunctioning action-movie chatbot.
The pacing doesn’t help either. There’s too much talking for a film with so little to say. When characters aren’t dying, they’re debating strategy as though Tasmanian Devils were a geopolitical thriller. One particularly inspired exchange goes something like this:
“We can’t outrun them.”
“Then we’ll have to outsmart them.”
“How? They’re devils!”
“Exactly.”
That’s right—logic itself is an endangered species in this film.
Deaths by Dumb Luck
If there’s one thing Tasmanian Devils does consistently, it’s kill people in hilarious ways. Parachutists get shredded midair. Hikers are mauled in slow motion. At one point, someone gets thrown into a pit and devoured by what looks like a glitch from Resident Evil 2.
The deaths are so absurd they border on slapstick. You don’t feel horror—you feel like you’re watching a nature documentary narrated by a very bored demon:
“Here we see the human in its natural habitat: making poor choices.”
By the halfway mark, you’re rooting for the devils, not because they’re sympathetic, but because they’re the only ones with a sense of purpose.
The Production: When Nature Fights Back (Against the Budget)
Shot in the Canadian wilderness pretending to be Tasmania, the film’s setting at least looks good—when it’s not obscured by fog, shaky cameras, or badly composited monster inserts. The cinematography by Norm Li tries its best, framing the forests and cliffs with grandeur, but even the prettiest landscape can’t distract from CGI that looks like it escaped from a screensaver.
The editing by Garry M.B. Smith ensures the film never quite achieves coherence. Scenes cut abruptly, as if the movie itself is trying to escape. There’s a certain charm to how haphazard it all feels, like the film is aware of its own incompetence and leaning into it.
The Music: Because Even Hell Deserves a Soundtrack
Composer Jeff Tymoschuk delivers exactly the kind of score you’d expect: pounding drums, ominous synths, and the occasional musical sting that arrives three seconds late, like a ghost of suspense that died somewhere in post-production.
It’s serviceable, but it can’t make the film scarier—no soundtrack can fix a scene where a Tasmanian Devil roars like a malfunctioning garbage disposal.
The Final Battle: When Logic Packs Up and Leaves
By the finale, the survivors find themselves in a conveniently explosive environment (because it’s a Syfy movie, and explosions are the closest thing to catharsis). McKellar delivers her obligatory inspirational speech about facing fear and saving lives, which would be touching if she weren’t addressing creatures that look like stuffed animals from a cursed carnival.
When the dust settles—literally, because something always explodes—the devils are gone, the heroes are scarred, and the audience is spiritually dehydrated. You expect an emotional epilogue but get a shrug and a fade-out, like the movie itself gave up halfway through its own ending.
Final Verdict: Tasmanian Deja Vu
*Tasmanian Devils* is not the worst Syfy movie ever made—but only because Sharktopus exists. It’s a film that wants to be scary, but ends up feeling like a wildlife PSA directed by a caffeinated intern.
There’s unintentional comedy in every frame—whether it’s the rubbery monsters, the serious dialogue about ancient curses, or Apolo Ohno trying to act surprised for the tenth time. It’s dumb, it’s cheap, and it’s weirdly proud of itself.
The real devil here isn’t supernatural—it’s mediocrity, and it wins every time.
★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5)
A Syfy original that even Syfy should’ve exorcised. Tasmanian Devils is a hellish reminder that not every creature deserves a movie, and not every actor deserves this kind of CGI betrayal. Watch it only if you enjoy pain—or if your Wi-Fi is possessed.
