Zombie movies, much like the undead themselves, refuse to stay buried. But what happens when a zombie film dares to dig deeper into the human condition rather than just splattering brains across the screen? Australian director Zak Hilditch’s We Bury the Dead attempts just that, though it’s not without its flaws. Starring Daisy Ridley, the film blends the familiar zombie survival thriller with a poignant exploration of grief, creating a unique—if not entirely groundbreaking—addition to the genre.
In an era where even giant snake movies need a dose of 'intergenerational trauma' to feel relevant (as last month’s Anaconda reboot hilariously pointed out), We Bury the Dead could have easily drowned in its own self-seriousness. But Hilditch wisely keeps the tone balanced, delivering a zombie story that’s as much about emotional toll as it is about the undead. And this is the part most people miss: it’s not the body count that matters here, but the weight of loss on those left behind.
The story kicks off with a catastrophically believable premise: a U.S. military blunder unleashes a weapon of mass destruction in Tasmania, killing half a million people. Among the victims is the husband of Ava (Ridley), who travels to the disaster zone to join a team of volunteers retrieving and identifying bodies. Her real mission? To find her husband’s remains, even if it means venturing into a fire-ravaged, off-limits area. But here’s where it gets controversial: the locals aren’t exactly welcoming Ava with open arms, still bitter about American involvement in the tragedy. Her accent alone becomes a subtle yet constant reminder of the tension.
Amid the chaos, Ava finds an unlikely ally in Clay (Brenton Thwaites), a rule-breaking volunteer who agrees to help her. Oh, and there’s one more wrinkle: some of the dead aren’t staying dead. Why is this happening? And why are the undead treated more like curiosities than threats? The film never fully answers these questions, which might frustrate some viewers but also adds a layer of mystery. The zombies here aren’t the brain-hungry monsters of lore; they’re more like tragic figures, their reanimation a haunting echo of the loss around them.
Ridley delivers a standout performance, her character’s grief palpable in every scene. Her Ava is a woman grappling with the unbearable truth that her husband is gone—and the unsettling possibility that he might return. Would finding him alive be a blessing or a curse? Ridley’s ability to convey this internal struggle, often with minimal dialogue, is a testament to her range. After her post-Star Wars missteps (looking at you, Chaos Walking), she’s found her stride in smaller, more nuanced roles, like her anxious office worker in Sometimes I Think About Dying and her unsettling turn in Magpie.
Hilditch’s direction shines in the film’s visuals, capturing the stark beauty of the Tasmanian landscape and making the most of a limited budget. However, the tone occasionally wobbles, with jarring shifts between quiet reflection and over-the-top action sequences. Is this a zombie film, a grief drama, or both? The film can’t quite decide, and it’s a question worth debating.
By the finale, We Bury the Dead doesn’t break new ground in zombie lore or human emotion. Its ending feels underwhelming, echoing themes already explored in films like 28 Years Later. Yet, in a genre often criticized for its lack of originality, Hilditch’s effort feels refreshingly sincere. Is it enough to simply try something different, even if it doesn’t fully succeed? That’s for you to decide.
We Bury the Dead is now in U.S. cinemas and available to rent digitally in the UK, with an Australian release set for February 5. Whether you’re a zombie aficionado or a fan of character-driven drama, it’s a film that invites reflection—and maybe a few heated discussions. What do you think? Does the film strike the right balance, or does it fall short of its ambitious goals? Let’s hear it in the comments.
