Undead is the cinematic equivalent of someone pouring a bunch of Red Bull into a blender with leftover Vegemite toast and calling it “dinner.” This 2003 Australian zombie sci-fi horror-comedy (because apparently horror alone wasn’t horrifying enough) is written and directed by the Spierig Brothers—two men who apparently asked themselves: What if George Romero’s zombies had a one-night stand with “The X-Files” and then got drunk at a Mad Max convention? The answer: Undead. Unfortunately, much like a one-night stand, the whole thing sounds fun in theory but leaves you hungover, confused, and questioning your life choices.
The plot is deceptively straightforward: a small rural town in Australia gets pelted by meteorites, which—as meteorites tend to do in low-budget films—turn the locals into zombies. This already sounds familiar, but before you can say “discount Night of the Living Dead,” the film throws in acid rain, alien abductions, shotgun porn, and a hero who looks like Crocodile Dundee’s gun-nut cousin. By the end, it’s less of a movie and more of a cinematic grab bag where none of the items go together. Imagine if you ordered pizza and someone delivered a pineapple, a bottle of bleach, and a shotgun instead.
Rene: From Beauty Queen to Zombie Wrangler
Our “heroine” is Rene (Felicity Mason), a former beauty queen who has just lost her family farm to the bank. This makes her relatable if you’ve ever thought, Wow, my 2003 was tough too, but at least I wasn’t running from brain-eating meteor zombies while still in my pageant sash. Rene plans to leave town, but instead gets caught up in the zombie apocalypse. She spends most of the film alternating between screaming, running, and wondering why her agent didn’t get her an audition for Neighbours instead.
Rene’s defining character trait is that she doesn’t immediately die, which in a film like this makes her the Australian equivalent of Wonder Woman. She eventually becomes a reluctant zombie-killer, but you never shake the sense that she’d rather be back at the farm, sorting through overdue mortgage notices.
Marion: Gun Nut, Alien Abductee, Hero?
If Rene is the film’s damsel with an attitude problem, then Marion (Mungo McKay) is the film’s…well, problem. He’s a paranoid gun hoarder who claims he was abducted by aliens, which is the Spierig Brothers’ way of foreshadowing their bizarre genre mash-up later. He’s also the kind of guy who probably thinks seatbelts are a government conspiracy. Marion has more weapons than the average militia starter kit, including a custom-built four-barreled shotgun that looks like it was assembled in a garage with duct tape, spare pipes, and pure testosterone.
Marion is the quintessential B-movie action hero: laconic, heavily armed, and allergic to basic logic. When zombies arrive, his plan is essentially “shoot them, yell at everyone, and then mutter about aliens.” In fairness, it’s the same strategy half the internet uses when discussing politics.
Zombies, But Make It Weird
Now, here’s where Undead earns its reputation as a “comedy-horror-sci-fi hybrid” (read: cinematic trainwreck). The zombies themselves aren’t particularly memorable—just your standard shuffling, growling, headshot-required crowd. But then the movie decides zombies aren’t enough. No, no. We also need:
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Acid rain. Because nothing says horror like being slightly inconvenienced by damp weather.
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Alien overlords. Hooded glowing figures who descend like discount Sith Lords and spray people with disinfectant mist. Turns out they’re here not to destroy humanity, but to clean up the zombie mess. Congratulations: the real heroes of Undead are basically intergalactic janitors.
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Floating abductees. Apparently, when you get “taken,” you just hover in suspended animation above the clouds like a macabre Macy’s parade balloon.
By the third act, the film is juggling zombies, aliens, acid rain, and a conspiracy plot. At this point, you half-expect a velociraptor on a skateboard to show up just to keep things spicy.
Characters You Don’t Care About
The supporting cast is a parade of clichés, all of whom are as fleshed out as the zombies they’re running from. We’ve got:
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Wayne (Rob Jenkins): The designated idiot, who somehow manages to escape in a plane, ensuring that the infection spreads. Thanks, Wayne. Truly the MVP of ruining everything.
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Sallyanne and Harrison: A bickering couple whose arguments make you wish the zombies would hurry up and eat them already.
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Molly and Chip: Characters whose deaths are so unremarkable you’ll forget they existed before the credits roll.
Their dialogue ranges from “awkward exposition” to “embarrassing improv,” but none of them ever achieve the most important trait in horror cinema: making you care whether they live or die. Instead, you root for the zombies, who at least have a clear sense of purpose.
The Alien Twist: When in Doubt, Blame E.T.
Just when you’ve accepted this as a straightforward zombie flick, the aliens swoop in. They’re here to spray Windex on the infected and abduct townsfolk for “safekeeping.” In other words, the zombie apocalypse is basically a pest-control problem, and Earth is the bug-ridden apartment. This revelation might have been clever if the film had set it up with any subtlety, but instead it feels like the Spierig Brothers lost a bet: “You can only make your zombie movie if you also include aliens, acid rain, and a cure that looks like laundry detergent.”
The big twist is that Wayne, everyone’s least favorite survivor, escapes the alien quarantine and spreads the infection anyway. The aliens leave thinking their job is done, proving that even hyper-advanced extraterrestrials are just as incompetent as the humans they babysit.
Style Over Substance, But Without the Style
Visually, Undead wants to be stylish, with desaturated colors, dramatic slow-motion, and shotgun ballets ripped straight from The Matrix. Unfortunately, when you apply that aesthetic to scenes of Australian farmers fighting meteor zombies, it feels less like cutting-edge cinema and more like someone discovered the “cool filter” in iMovie.
The action sequences are often so over-the-top they circle back around to boring. Marion unloads shotgun after shotgun, bodies fly, and yet none of it has any real impact because the film treats gunfire like punctuation marks. By the halfway point, the audience is numb to the mayhem, silently begging for an actual plot point instead of another gratuitous headshot.
Final Thoughts: A Comedy of Errors
Undead is one of those films that thinks it’s clever for blending genres, when in reality it’s just messy. Zombies plus aliens plus acid rain plus a farm-girl-turned-warrior equals chaos, and not in the fun, grindhouse way. It’s like ordering a cheeseburger and getting served spaghetti, sushi, and a live ferret on the side. Bold, sure. Edible? Absolutely not.
The film’s one saving grace is unintentional comedy. Between the laughable special effects, the deadpan delivery of lines that don’t deserve deadpan delivery, and the sheer absurdity of the alien janitor twist, Undead becomes watchable only if you treat it as a drinking game. Every time someone says something dumb or fires a shotgun, take a shot. You’ll be unconscious before the aliens arrive, which is frankly the kindest outcome.
Verdict
Undead tries to be a genre-defying cult classic, but instead ends up as a cinematic participation trophy: “Hey, at least you made a movie!” It’s too silly to be scary, too sloppy to be smart, and too confused to be fun. By the end, you’ll be rooting for the acid rain to fall on you, just to end the suffering.
