Australian cinema has long carried a reputation for gritty realism and stark portrayals of history, but every so often a filmmaker comes along who is willing to bend that history into something stranger, bolder, and more entertaining. With Beast of War, writer-director Kiah Roache-Turner (Wyrmwood) takes the true story of the 1942 sinking of HMAS Armidale and reshapes it into a wild genre spectacle. Equal parts war drama, creature feature, and larrikin comedy, it’s a film that revels in its absurdity while never losing sight of the deeper cultural truths it wants to honour. The result is an audacious, blood-soaked thrill ride with surprising heart that’s anchored by spectacular performances, particularly from its lead Mark Coles Smith.
At the centre of the film is Leo, played with charisma and quiet authority by Mark Coles Smith, a Nyikina actor whose casting is nothing short of inspired. Leo is a First Nations soldier who enlists to fight for a country that does not fully recognise him as a citizen. Roache-Turner makes this contradiction clear: Leo is committed to his unit and to Country, yet he’s met with casual slurs, disdain, and systemic racism from his peers. His resilience, dignity, and sense of humour in the face of such treatment form the emotional core of the story. This perspective grounds Beast of War in lived history, paying tribute to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men who served with distinction despite being denied rights on their own land.
The film opens in the dense Australian rainforest, where Leo clashes with his sneering rival Des (Sam Delich) in a brutal training exercise. Here, Roache-Turner establishes the film’s rhythm: raw, physical combat shot with intensity, punctuated by moments of ridiculous comedy that break the tension. Their commander, played with gruff charisma by Steve Le Marquand, watches with a mixture of disdain and amusement, setting up the testosterone-fuelled but surprisingly funny dynamic that runs through the film.
From here, the soldiers are dispatched to sea, only to face immediate devastation when Japanese aircraft tear apart their corvette. These scenes are explosive and chaotic, captured with a scale rarely seen in modern Australian cinema. Yet it’s what follows that sets Beast of War apart. Adrift in the open ocean, starving, bickering, and increasingly desperate, the survivors soon realise they are not alone. A 20-foot great white shark, a terrifying animatronic creation named “Shazza,” begins circling the wreckage, picking them off one by one in gruesome fashion.
This is where the film truly flexes its genre muscles. Instead of the slick but weightless CGI that plagues many modern monster movies, Beast of War relies heavily on practical effects. Created by Steve Boyle and the team at Formation Effects, the giant animatronic shark is a marvel of tactile filmmaking. Every lunge and bite has weight and presence, every thrash sprays seawater into the air with visceral force. When characters are torn apart, the gore is gleefully over-the-top, with squelching limbs and bloodied torsos that feel more Evil Dead than Saving Private Ryan. It’s outrageous, messy, and spectacular, all the more so because it’s real, physical, and right there in the frame.
Yet Beast of War is not content to simply be a horror show. Roache-Turner infuses the film with a uniquely Aussie sense of humour that constantly undercuts the horror with irreverent comedy. Soldiers banter even as their comrades are devoured. The shark is mockingly christened “Shazza” as though it were just another mate down the pub. Leo cracks ocker one-liners—most memorably choosing his own piss over Fosters when dehydration sets in—that puncture the seriousness with much-needed levity. This push-and-pull between terror and laughter gives the film a distinctive voice, ensuring it never tips fully into despair even when the body count rises.
Cinematographer Mark Wareham (The Drover’s Wife) enhances this tonal juggling act with visuals that straddle realism and surrealism. The wreckage of the Armidale burns in seas shrouded with smoke and fog, evoking the nightmare palette of The Raft of the Medusa. Scenes shot in Brisbane’s purpose-built water tank achieve a heightened artificiality, turning the ocean into both a stage and a trap. The effect is like flipping through the panels of a dark WWII comic book—equal parts mythic and grotesque, a war story refracted through pulp horror.
What makes Beast of War remarkable is how it layers these aesthetics and genres without collapsing under the weight. On one level, it is a schlocky survival horror brimming with outrageous gore and gallows humour. On another, it’s a war adventure in the grand tradition of Australian cinema, paying tribute to unsung soldiers while unflinchingly acknowledging the racism they endured. And threaded through it all is a celebration of First Nations resilience, with Leo emerging not just as a survivor, but as a figure of strength, wit, and cultural pride.
Coles Smith’s performance is key. He’s magnetic on screen, equally capable of handling the film’s humour and its gravitas. His Leo is a hero for the pulp-horror age, yes, but also a representative of a history that mainstream war films have too often erased. Around him, the ensemble of survivors—including Joel Nankervis, Lee Tiger Halley, Sam Parsonson, and Maximillian Johnson—lean into the chaos, each bringing their own flavour of desperation and absurdity to the mix.
By the time the climactic showdown with Shazza arrives, Beast of War has fully embraced its identity as both a historical reimagining and a gleeful genre romp. It’s messy, ridiculous, and often shocking, but it’s also brimming with energy, invention, and cultural weight. Few films manage to juggle such extremes—horror and humour, pulp and history, tragedy and absurdity—but Roache-Turner pulls it off perfectly.
Beast of War is a ferocious and funny war-horror hybrid that honours First Nations stories while delivering jaw-dropping action and practical monster mayhem. With Mark Coles Smith commanding the screen and Roache-Turner embracing chaos with a wink and a snarl, it’s one of the most original and entertaining Australian films in years.
