Cargo

In a near‑future Australia where a relentless virus turns anyone who shows symptoms into the walking dead within forty‑eight hours, the landscape is a stark mix of sun‑baked rivers and silent, wind‑scoured bush. The threat looms over every ripple of water and every distant rustle, creating a world that feels both breathtakingly beautiful and chillingly unforgiving. The story unfolds in this fragile frontier, where survival hinges on the smallest supplies and the strongest bonds.

At the heart of the tale is a small family isolated on a modest houseboat. Andy, a pragmatic yet tender‑hearted husband, spends his days navigating the river and scavenging for food, while Kay, his fiercely protective wife, balances hope with the grim reality of dwindling rations. Their one‑year‑old daughter, Rosie, represents both the innocence that fuels their determination and the fragile future they cling to. Together they must decide how far they are willing to venture beyond the safety of their floating home, all while the clock ticks toward an inevitable transformation.

Beyond the boat, the wider world is hinted at through encounters with the land’s original custodians. A young Aboriginal girl, Thoomi, moves through the same riverbanks, her quiet rituals a reminder of a deeper connection to the land that persists even as chaos spreads. Her presence suggests an untold network of people navigating the same peril, offering a glimmer of community in an otherwise solitary struggle. Figures like Willie, a seasoned local, hint at hidden sanctuaries where strangers might find temporary refuge.

The film’s tone is a measured blend of stark survival drama and lyrical observation, painting the apocalypse with a brush that respects both the terror of the unknown and the tenderness of familial love. Every sunrise over the river feels like a fragile promise, and every splash of water a reminder that life endures even when the world around it seems to be fraying at the edges.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 02:36