Main cast: Xavier Samuel (Marcus), Bob Morley (Craig), Georgina Haig (Liz), and Sophie Lowe (Nina)
Director: Dean Francis
Fans of horror movies know Australia produces some of the most gloriously unhinged movies in the genre. When you live among venomous spiders, man-eating crocodiles, and kangaroos that could probably win a boxing match, your creativity likely leans… twisted. And here we are, reaping the benefits of Ozploitation. Lucky us!
Things brings us to Road Train, or Road Kill for the non-Aussies, a film that combines supernatural horror, gratuitous outback shots, and just the right amount of “What were they thinking?” storytelling.
The premise is deliciously campy: a cursed road train barrels down the Outback, fueled not by petrol but by blood. Yes, blood. Forget Tesla’s batteries or hybrids; this truck takes the concept of “biofuel” to a horrifying extreme. It’s essentially Christine’s bigger, meaner Aussie cousin, complete with a mechanical abattoir in the back.
You don’t get much explanation for this bloodthirsty monstrosity—no ancient curses, no demonic contracts—just pure malevolent trucking. The mystery somehow works, making the truck itself the most compelling character in the movie. Yes, a truck is more compelling than the human leads.
Speaking of the humans, let’s meet the protagonists, four friends on a road trip. And by “friends,” I mean two people who hate each other, one unfortunate bystander, and Bob Morley’s abs. Marcus and Craig are supposedly besties, except Craig slept with Marcus’s girlfriend Liz, and Marcus blames Liz for the whole affair. Classic misogyny bingo! Meanwhile, poor Nina is Craig’s current girlfriend, blissfully unaware she’s wandered into a soap opera disguised as a road trip.
Naturally, Craig gets possessed by the truck and chaos ensues. Relationships crumble, tempers flare, and you start rooting for the road train to just finish these folks off. Marcus, in particular, is like that one friend who ruins every vacation with his whining and melodrama. Liz tries to salvage her dignity, but the script is more interested in painting her as the harlot. Nina? Well, she’s there. Mostly. Doing… something?
Credit where it’s due: the Outback is terrifying. The isolation, the vast nothingness, and the ominous road train are all genuinely unsettling. The atmosphere screams “Don’t mess with Australia!” But then the characters open their mouths or start fighting instead of solving problems, and the tension deflates faster than a kangaroo tire blowout. It’s like watching four hamsters try to escape a cage when one of them keeps biting the others for no reason. Entertaining, but not in the way the filmmakers intended.
Let’s address the engine that keeps Road Train watchable: Bob Morley. Or, more specifically, Bob Morley without a shirt. This man spends so much time topless that it feels like a contractual obligation. And honestly? No complaints. He’s smoldering, exuding psychotic bad boy energy, and somehow the only thing keeping this jalopy of a plot from veering completely off the road. If you’ve ever wanted to see a brooding bad boy literally channel his inner demon, this is the performance for you. It’s just a shame he’s stuck in this movie instead of, say, a better one.
Road Train gets points for its eerie premise, effective use of the Australian wilderness, and giving us plenty of Bob Morley eye candy. However, it loses traction with a cast of unlikable, illogical characters and a middle act that feels like it’s stuck in a repetitive loop. But hey, as long as Mr Morley is on screen, you’ll probably keep watching.
