Independent Australian film, television, and culture. Criticism with its eyes open. Reporting with its receipts shown. Six years of it, and counting.

The NFSA's restoration returns Ken Hannam's shearing drama to full clarity, and what comes back is a film that honours the work without ever romanticising the men who do it.

David Hirschfelder had to write original music that lives under the loudest warhorse in the piano repertoire, and the quiet writing is what carries the film.

Gillian Armstrong's 1979 debut took a heroine who refuses the marriage plot and made the refusal the whole shape of the picture.

This column has spent six years listening to what Australian cinema sounds like, and the answer keeps changing.

The shows are good, the platforms are crowded, and the audience is splitting into fragments too small for any one show to own.

The film opened in twelve cinemas, the score opened in none of the conversations about it, and both deserve better.

Purcell took a Henry Lawson story, stripped it to the frame, and rebuilt it as a story about the women Lawson's Australia was built to forget.

The programme is strong, the Australian titles are stronger, and the question of who will be in the audience remains.

The development fund is the widest part of the funnel and the least visible, and the conversion rate tells the real story.

Blanchett produces Australian work, funds Australian stories, and has not starred in an Australian film in over a decade, and nobody quite knows how to talk about that.
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