Volcano Zombies: Because Apparently Sharks and Tornadoes Weren’t Enough
Every now and then, a movie comes along that boldly asks, “What if zombies… but hot?” Enter The Burning Dead (a.k.a. Volcano Zombies), a 2015 horror film that answers that question with the cinematic grace of a science fair project powered by duct tape and despair.
Directed by Rene Perez and written by Jeff Miller and Jason Ancona, The Burning Dead stars Tom Downey, Moniqa Plante, and—because someone lost a bet—Danny Trejo as a mystical Native American named Night Wolf. The movie’s tagline might as well have been, “Yes, we know it’s bad, but we already cashed the check.”
This is not just a bad movie. This is a movie that looks you dead in the eye, hands you a bucket of popcorn, and says, “You think Sharknado went too far? Hold my magma.”
The Plot (Such As It Is)
The premise—if you can call it that—is as simple as it is stupid: long-dead cannibals are resurrected when a volcano erupts. Because apparently, geological activity now doubles as necromancy. A small-town sheriff and his daughter must team up with a ragtag group of survivors to battle the lava-based zombies and, presumably, the laws of thermodynamics.
That’s right. These aren’t your average undead. They’re magma zombies. Flaming corpses that walk around spewing smoke, melting logic, and defying every rule of physics known to man.
And yet, the characters spend the movie treating this like it’s Tuesday. “Zombies made of lava? Sure, just another day in the woods.” Nobody questions it. Nobody panics for more than 30 seconds. They just run, scream, shoot things, and deliver dialogue so wooden it could spontaneously combust.
Sheriff Denton: America’s Most Mediocre Hero
Tom Downey stars as Sheriff Denton, a man whose chief qualifications for leadership appear to be “owns a hat” and “has facial hair.” He spends most of the movie squinting into the middle distance and barking exposition like a man allergic to nuance.
His daughter Nicole, played by Nicole Cummins, provides the film’s emotional depth—which is to say, she occasionally screams louder than the others. Together, they fight to survive, though “fight” mostly means jogging away from zombies while firing guns that never seem to run out of bullets or logic.
Denton’s character arc, if you can call it that, goes something like this:
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Sheriff sees volcano erupt.
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Sheriff sees zombies.
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Sheriff stops caring about science.
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Sheriff delivers one-liners that sound like rejected Walker, Texas Ranger dialogue.
He’s the kind of man who would lecture you about firearm safety while actively shooting at molten corpses.
Danny Trejo: Cameo by Contract
Danny Trejo appears in this movie for roughly as long as it takes to heat a Hot Pocket. He plays Night Wolf, a wise, mysterious Native American who warns everyone that the volcano is cursed, as if the lava zombies didn’t already clue us in.
Trejo’s scenes feel like they were shot in a single afternoon on a completely different continent. He pops in, says something vaguely spiritual about “the fire of the earth” or “the ancestors’ rage,” and disappears before the script can make him regret it.
To be fair, Trejo could read the back of a cereal box and make it sound menacing. But even he can’t save The Burning Dead from itself. You can almost see the regret behind his eyes, the internal monologue whispering, “They told me this was a prequel to Machete.”
The Zombies: Extra Crispy and Scientifically Impossible
Here’s where the movie’s real genius—or utter lack thereof—shines. The zombies are made of lava. Literal walking magma. And yet, the characters fight them with… guns. Wooden barricades. Occasionally, fists.
Let’s think this through: if a lava zombie touches you, you should immediately become a human s’more. Instead, the victims in The Burning Dead just kind of fall over and moan like they stubbed their toe. The fire effects look like they were added in post-production using a pirated copy of Windows Movie Maker.
At one point, a zombie literally spits lava like it’s mouthwash. Another one punches through a door without setting it on fire. The laws of nature file for divorce around the 20-minute mark and never look back.
The Script: Hot Garbage with a Side of Sincerity
The dialogue in The Burning Dead deserves its own obituary. Every line feels like it was written by someone who’s only seen other people describe movies. Gems include:
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“They’re not dead—they’re burning dead!”
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“The mountain hungers for revenge!”
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“It’s like the earth itself wants to kill us.”
If you’ve ever wondered what happens when a geology textbook gets drunk and writes fan fiction, this is it.
To their credit, the actors play it completely straight. They deliver these lines with Shakespearean commitment, as if they’re auditioning for Macbeth instead of Magma Cannibal Apocalypse. You can almost respect the effort—like watching someone passionately play the kazoo in a symphony orchestra.
The Production: Ashes, Dust, and No Budget
Rene Perez shot the film in California’s Lassen Volcanic National Park, which means the scenery is gorgeous—unfortunately, it’s also the only beautiful thing in the movie. Every other element looks like it was borrowed from a garage sale and glued together by interns.
The camera work is shaky, the lighting inconsistent, and the sound mixing so bad you’ll strain to hear dialogue over what sounds like an active leaf blower. The zombies’ makeup looks like leftover barbecue sauce, and the lava effects are what happens when you Google “flame clipart” and call it a day.
The film reportedly took 1.5 years from script to release. Most of that time was probably spent convincing people it wasn’t a prank.
The Tone: Torn Between Comedy and Catastrophe
The movie can’t decide what it wants to be. Is it camp? Satire? Straight horror? The result is a tonal lava flow of confusion. One scene tries to be genuinely suspenseful, followed immediately by someone yelling, “We have to outrun the volcano zombies!”
You half expect someone to break into song, just to fully commit to the absurdity. Instead, the film doubles down on self-seriousness, insisting that you treat it like an actual horror story. It’s like being told to fear a flaming marshmallow.
The Ending: Stop, Drop, and Roll Credits
The climax involves our heroes trying to escape an encroaching wall of lava zombies while the volcano spews fire and bad CGI in every direction. Characters die. Others survive. You stop caring halfway through.
When the credits finally roll, you’re left wondering: was this an elaborate joke? A dare? A coded message from filmmakers trapped inside a B-movie bunker? We may never know.
What we do know is that The Burning Dead doesn’t end—it just stops, as if the editors collectively agreed, “That’s enough punishment for one day.”
The Verdict: A Slow Roast of the Undead
The Burning Dead is less a film and more a cinematic traffic accident—horrible, loud, and impossible to look away from. It’s a disaster movie where the biggest casualty is your brain.
And yet, there’s something almost admirable about its sheer commitment to stupidity. This is a film that looked at Sharknado, Zombievers, and Lavalantula and said, “Hold my beer.”
If you ever find yourself on a rainy night with nothing to do and a strong desire to lose faith in art, give The Burning Deada spin. Just don’t expect logic, terror, or even coherence.
Final Score: 2/10
A flaming dumpster of camp and confusion. Proof that sometimes, the only thing deader than the zombies is the script.
