Zombie cinema has rarely been short of metaphors. From consumerism to social collapse, the living dead have long functioned as mirrors reflecting humanity’s anxieties back at itself. In We Bury the Dead, Australian filmmaker Zak Hilditch approaches the genre from a quieter, more introspective angle, delivering a film that is less concerned with apocalyptic spectacle and more invested in the emotional wreckage left behind when the world stops making sense.

Following the critical success of his Stephen King adaptation 1922, Hilditch once again demonstrates a fascination with grief, guilt and moral ambiguity. Where many zombie films focus on the chaos of the outbreak itself, We Bury the Dead situates its narrative in the uneasy aftermath — a world where the catastrophe has already occurred and society is struggling to process what comes next.

The premise is deceptively straightforward. After a military experiment goes catastrophically wrong, large portions of the population are left dead… or something close to it. The government attempts to contain the situation by declaring the reanimated victims harmless and slow-moving, encouraging volunteers to enter quarantined zones to recover bodies and offer closure to grieving families. It is an oddly bureaucratic approach to the apocalypse — one that immediately hints at deeper layers of deception.

Enter Ava, portrayed with steely determination by Daisy Ridley. Driven by the possibility that her missing husband might still be found within the restricted zone, Ava volunteers to join the clean-up effort. What begins as a mission rooted in grief soon transforms into a descent into a landscape where the official narrative begins to unravel.

Because the dead, it seems, are not as harmless as the military would like the public to believe.

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Grief at the End of the World

At its heart, We Bury the Dead is not really about zombies. Instead, it is about the human inability to accept loss.

Hilditch structures the film almost like a road movie through the ruins of a broken society. Ava’s journey through quarantined territories becomes a physical manifestation of grief itself — a search for answers that may never come, fuelled by the stubborn hope that closure might still be possible.

The film repeatedly asks a troubling question: if the dead returned, even briefly, would we really want to let them go again?

This thematic focus places the film closer to reflective entries in the genre such as The Girl with All the Gifts or 28 Days Later, where the apocalypse becomes a canvas for exploring the emotional cost of survival rather than simply a playground for gore.

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A Different Kind of Undead

The film’s interpretation of the undead also deserves mention. Rather than the traditional shambling hordes popularised by George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, Hilditch presents a more ambiguous threat.

Initially passive, the reanimated bodies appear almost dormant — eerily calm, as if waiting. But as Ava moves deeper into the quarantine zone, something begins to shift. The dead become restless, unpredictable, increasingly aggressive.

The slow escalation works effectively because Hilditch refuses to rush it. The horror creeps in gradually, allowing the tension to build organically rather than relying on sudden bursts of violence.

This patient pacing will not satisfy viewers looking for relentless zombie carnage, but it serves the film’s more contemplative ambitions well.

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Atmosphere Over Spectacle

Visually, We Bury the Dead leans heavily into desolation. The quarantined landscapes feel eerily still, drained of life and colour. Roads stretch endlessly through abandoned territories while small settlements sit frozen in time, as though the world simply stopped functioning mid-sentence.

The result is an atmosphere that feels closer to post-apocalyptic melancholy than traditional horror.

Hilditch has always shown a strong sense of visual restraint, and that restraint works largely in the film’s favour. The horror rarely comes from the monsters themselves but from the creeping realisation that the official narrative surrounding the disaster may be deliberately misleading.

In other words, the true threat may not be the dead — but the living who are trying to control the story.

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A Thoughtful Entry in a Crowded Genre

While We Bury the Dead occasionally struggles with pacing — its deliberate tempo can at times feel slightly overextended — the film’s emotional depth helps it rise above many of its genre contemporaries.

Ridley anchors the story with a performance grounded in determination and vulnerability, carrying the film through its quieter moments of reflection and uncertainty. Her journey is less about survival than about acceptance — the painful process of realising that some answers simply cannot bring comfort.

In a genre often dominated by chaos and carnage, We Bury the Dead chooses a more sombre path.

It’s a zombie film about mourning.

And in that quiet, reflective approach, Zak Hilditch finds something unexpectedly powerful.

The Prognosis:

A thoughtful, grief-stricken take on the undead mythos that favours atmosphere and emotional weight over relentless action.

• Saul Muerte