The Rugby World Cup 2027 campaign ‘Go All Out’ channels Mad Max energy with custom-built miniatures, remote-control vehicles, a 90-person cast and largely in-camera effects. Directed by Scott Otto Anderson, the production fused gritty craftsmanship, practical stunts and CG flourishes to create a high-octane fan battleground for the global tournament.
The thunder and grit of George Miller’s Mad Max franchise has roared into an entirely different arena: the rugby field. For the upcoming Rugby World Cup 2027, creative studio Akcelo and Photoplay director Scott Otto Anderson have taken the cinematic wasteland and reimagined it as a raucous, dust-blown battleground for fans and national pride. The result is ‘Go All Out’ — an ambitious, four-day shoot that fused custom miniatures, remote-control vehicles, a 90-person cast, and a hefty dose of film-school madness.
In an interview with LBB, Anderson detailed just how far the team went to make sure the spot felt rugged and tactile rather than glossy and digital. They went through 180 make-up mock-ups, completed 19 storyboards, and stockpiled “terabytes” of test footage. Nearly 80% of the final film was shot in-camera, with CGI mainly reserved for the storm sequence and elements that physically couldn’t be achieved, such as a CG wallaby built out of old Holden vehicles. “It should feel like it isn’t the chemical of robotics or electronics,” Anderson said. Instead, the wallaby needed the personality of a machine cobbled together by “a guy who’s an earth mover, paired with someone who’s a part-time mechanic… with that ramshackle kind of feel.”
The hero vehicles for each team were bespoke creations. Most were built as expensive four-wheel-drive remote control rigs capable of carrying weight, maintaining speed and not tipping — realism was non-negotiable. The French team’s vehicle, for instance, resembled a rocket made from the fuselage of a Dash 8 airplane. The All Blacks’ Awaka ship began as a single-hulled model before evolving into a twin-hulled design referencing vessels from centuries past. Anderson said the carvings on the hull were deliberately “reductionist” to avoid implying warfare, while the tiny ropes, platforms and timber banks were faithfully recreated at a 1-to-10 scale. The outlier vehicles — Australia and Japan — were the only ones not based on premium remote-control frames.
Even the poultry had character. The chicken vehicle was pieced together from scrap tin, its plumage given a blistered fiberglass texture reminiscent of “some crappy ice cream truck”. The finishing touch was a silk tail fluttering in the wind, an unlikely nod to the flamboyance of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
The practical philosophy extended to the humans riding these machines. “Dozens, if not hundreds of fans” were individually filmed in a studio, then tracked, scaled and composited onto vehicles, flags whipping behind them as the CG storm rolled in. The players themselves were shot at 1-to-1 scale and later enlarged tenfold to match miniature angles. For the athletes on set, this meant 10 blistering hours sprinting under the sun while the crew logged a total of 13.
The film was supposed to be shot in Broken Hill — the spiritual home of Mad Max — but budget and weather forced the team to reroute to Kurnell, just 20 kilometres from downtown Sydney. Coincidentally, Kurnell also hosted shooting for Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, which lent a wink of legitimacy to the sand-swept dystopia they sought to recreate. The production spent two days on location, two days in studio, and another half day in the UK, where iconic rugby legends George Gregan and Johnny Wilkinson joined the fold. Anderson described the pair as “hilarious” and effortlessly charismatic, with Wilkinson playing the “good-looking goofball” to Gregan’s more understated reserve.
For the 90 cast members, the visual specificity bordered on obsessive. Each received two custom make-up mock-ups, and careful thought went into cultural cues. Aussie fans wielded flagpoles made of broomsticks, fishing rods and paint rollers — everyday objects chosen because they belong to the lived culture of the sport, not a prop house. Vintage Wallabies kits from the ’80s mingled with modern gear, allowing fans with keen eyes to connect lineage and nostalgia.
The scale of labor becomes even more striking when one remembers that many viewers will never consciously notice these micro-details. But in Anderson’s mind, that’s the point — authenticity is felt, not marketed. By going “all out,” the campaign collapses the divide between cinema spectacle and sporting spectacle. And in the process, it reminds audiences that in the world of rugby, as in Mad Max, the beauty lies in chaos, craft, and the will to keep charging forward.
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