Hot Wax Zombies on Wheels (1999) is one of those films that exists purely to confound, amuse, and occasionally disgust in equal measure—and it succeeds spectacularly at all three. Directed by Michael Roush, this low-budget horror-comedy delivers a plot so bizarre that it almost feels like the filmmakers dared each other to see just how many insane ideas they could cram into 83 minutes. At its core, the movie follows a small fishing village thrown into chaos when two eccentric beauty salon operators roll into town, offering hot wax hair removal that has a truly unexpected side effect: anyone waxed becomes a hairless, horny zombie obsessed with spreading the curse of bare skin. And, of course, these zombies occasionally hop on motorcycles for dramatic effect—the “Wheels” in the title is not a joke.
The story is absurd from start to finish. Lingerie shop owner Sharon (Jill Miller), her boyfriend, and their friend Sven (Trevor Lovell) immediately recognize the threat posed by these weirdos, while the rest of the townspeople eagerly embrace the bizarre new beauty trend. The addition of two ancient sea captains, who seem to have seen this horror before, adds a delightfully random layer of lore: apparently, the only way to stop these waxed zombies is to throw sawdust on them, which miraculously makes hair grow back and kills them. It’s nonsense, yes—but it’s nonsense delivered with a grin.
Where Hot Wax Zombies on Wheels really shines is in its unapologetic commitment to absurdity. The movie revels in its own ridiculousness: corny jokes fly fast and furious (some land, many don’t), sound effects punctuate the action at bizarre moments, and musical interludes like La Bamba appear entirely at random. There’s even a brief scene involving two rats having sex, which, bizarrely, stands out as one of the more memorable moments. Add in plenty of nudity, flying fish, and over-the-top zombie antics, and the film becomes a chaotic carnival of late-’90s low-budget filmmaking.
The performances match the film’s tone perfectly. Gwen Somers, Jon Briddell, and the rest of the cast deliver their lines with a mix of seriousness and overacting that somehow makes the movie more entertaining. There’s a sense that the actors know they’re part of something completely ridiculous and are leaning into it, which makes watching the chaos a lot more enjoyable. If you’ve ever played those full-motion video PC games from the ’90s—like Harvester or Dark Seed—the acting style will feel strangely familiar.
Visually and technically, the film is rough. Grainy, low-budget visuals and clunky editing give it a VHS-era charm, and while it may be hard to call this “good filmmaking,” that’s precisely the point. The movie’s chaotic energy, bizarre story beats, and unapologetic silliness create a cult charm that no slick modern production could replicate. In a sense, it feels almost avant-garde, a love letter to absurdity, chaos, and the sheer joy of doing whatever the hell you want with a camera.
In the end, Hot Wax Zombies on Wheels is not a film for everyone—and that’s part of its charm. It’s extraordinarily stupid, gloriously ridiculous, and occasionally uncomfortable, but it’s also endlessly entertaining if you embrace its absurdity. It’s the kind of movie that invites communal laughter, shared disbelief, and the occasional groan at just how far off the rails it goes. Compared to much of today’s high-budget horror-comedy, it feels like a tiny, anarchic masterpiece: chaotic, dumb, ridiculous, and surprisingly enduring.
Verdict: Hot Wax Zombies on Wheels is a gloriously insane, chaotic, and wildly entertaining cult gem. A film that’s so dumb it’s good, it rewards viewers who revel in its absurdity, embrace its low-budget charm, and aren’t afraid to laugh at the sheer nonsense of it all. For fans of offbeat horror, late-’90s weirdness, or just the occasional flying fish, it’s an experience unlike any other.
Jessie Hobson