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

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.

When the scoring budget dropped, Australian composers did what they have always done: made do, made less, and made it work.

The orchestras are smaller, the budgets are tighter, and the music is better for both.

The masthead runs on conviction, the readership is small, and the question of who we are writing for has not gone away.
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