I dove into Ziam expecting a pulse-pounding, fist-first romp, and it delivered most of the way, though not without a few jabs that left me wanting. It’s a no-nonsense thriller fueled by literal bare-knuckle combat, drenched in gore, shot through claustrophobic corridors, and set against a backdrop of a crumbling society. Think less philosophical horror, more visceral punch-fest.
Singh, portrayed by Mark Prin Suparat, is a quiet, contained man who once made a living unloading his strength as a Muay Thai fighter. When the world hollows out, fish vanish, crops fail, and an authoritarian government tumbles, he’s trying to step away from the ring. That is, until a botched “miracle cure” unleashed in his girlfriend Rin’s hospital mutates people into feral beings. Suddenly, his gloves are back on, not for titles but survival. It’s thrilling to witness his transformation: fists, elbows, knees, each strike delivered with an unyielding precision. You can tell he trained; it’s not superhero easy—it’s calculated, human combat in desperate moments.
Right out of the gate, the setting seizes you. The hallways of Prachamit Hospital feel ominous as soon as the first body convulses. The quick zombie burst is a distorted, jerky instinct that kicks off chaos, and from there, the pacing never lets up. Singh navigates floors upon floors, pushing through undead hordes, with only sporadic pauses to catch his breath or evaluate the map toward Rin’s location. The film knows its mission: propel its hero forward with every bone-crunching move.
By midway, the addition of Buddy, a scared, tenacious kid, imbues the story with a fragile heart. The child isn’t a gimmick. He’s the emotional tether that grounds Singh. Their bond grows amid the hellscape, with Buddy’s desperation for his mother echoing Singh’s determination. Under that shared weight, both men evolve. It’s rough, unpolished character work, but it works. Their connection replaces the otherwise underwritten romance between Singh and Rin.
And speaking of Rin Nychaa Nuttanicha’s performance is functional but a bit undercooked. As a doctor caught in the mayhem, her screams and tears convince you she’s terrified. But there’s less depth beyond that. A few flashbacks hint at a softer side, a bond to Singh that once anchored him. Still, without more scenes of their bond, it's harder to feel the full emotional cost of their reunion or potential loss.
Plotwise, Ziam walks a familiar line: famine, a corrupt entrepreneur, a miracle food source that backfires catastrophically. Evil scientists and morally bankrupt executives are almost too straightforward. Yet the choice to source the contagion from thawing pollutants in fish, rooted in climate-driven upheaval, adds weight. It isn’t world-class worldbuilding, but it stays cohesive. The film makes clear: desperation leads to disaster, and unchecked ambition kills more than hunger.
One bold stroke stands out—the zombies themselves evolve. At first, they’re frantic, mouthy, blood-spitting nightmares hungry for flesh. But toward the climax, some shift into something cruelly intelligent—glass-eyed, almost human in their deliberate menace. That transition lands with a punch. You haven’t just seen flesh-hungry brutes; you’ve met monsters that unsettle because they calculate. It’s one of the few times the story digs beneath surface-level horror, and it’s electric.
Combat choreography is the centerpiece. When Singh clashes with rival fighters—human or undead—the sequences stun. One-on-one bouts against a burly soldier deliver cinematic brutality: every jab, clinch, and elbow feels impactful. Watching Singh slow-burn his way through waves of walkers is equally satisfying, though some fights linger too long, repeating beat-for-beat. If the film had trimmed a few repetitive hallway melees, the impact would’ve remained sharp without dulling momentum.
Visually, Ziam is bold and bloody. Practical effects are jam-packed with gore: decapitations, shrieks, bone snaps. You’ll flinch; you’ll maybe look away. Yet it feels earned, not gratuitous. The hospital’s lights flicker, alarms wail, corridors smear with residue—it’s tactile. Among the carnage are clever, darkly comic moments: a zombie in a wheelchair rounding a corner or dentures slipping from a snarling mouth. They don’t derail the tone—they punctuate it, giving the carnage an odd levity.
But where Ziam stumbles is in character arcs and cohesion. The government’s totalitarian turn feels slapped on, and its soldiers a shadow threat rather than a personal antagonist. Rin’s plot mostly keeps her running or screaming; she rarely drives action. Secondary characters—like the fish-mogul Mr. Vasu—flash in as symbols of greed, but quickly vanish. Thematically, the film gestures at systemic collapse and corporate malice, but the ideas never take root. It’s a fast punch more than a thoughtful jab.
Still, it lands hard when it counts. The final act races to the rooftop, helicopters, military interference, and a fiery climax. Singh sacrifices, bracing for an inferno. We expect the worst. Then, mid-credits, the twist: he survived, hidden in a water tank, his eyes open under the cover of the explosion. It’s a classic false death with a purpose: to set up more battles. And it works, the final frame doesn’t feel cheap; it hints at a larger world.
In total, Ziam is 96 minutes of relentless, unpretentious entertainment. It knows what it is: a gory hybrid of Train to Busan meets The Raid, with a Thai martial arts heart. It’s strongest when letting Singh fly elbow-first into undead faces. It falters when leaning on underdeveloped relationships or generic dystopian trappings. But when those fists fly, when the zombies screech and corridors echo with bone-shattering hits, Ziam reminds you why genre blends can excite when they lean into their strengths.
If your taste runs toward spectacle over nuance, pure adrenaline over layered exposition, Ziam delivers. It doesn’t ask for deep philosophical commitment, just the willingness to ride the wave of chaos with a fighter who refuses to let go. It punches up where it counts, falters in shadowy corners, but ultimately leaves you eager for a sequel.
In a crowded zombie landscape, Ziam isn’t reinventing the wheel. But it is making it roll in a different direction, hard, fast, and bloody. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
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Publisher at Midgard Times