Movies to Watch From Australia

Only a few people in Dita’s house are related by blood, but you wouldn’t know that by how they move. They’re tight-knit but argumentative, loving at times but spiteful in other instances. In other words, they’re complicated just like any other family. Housekeeping for Beginners makes a compelling case for the validity—and at times necessity—of found families like Dita’s, who all found each other after being shunned by their race and sexuality. As in his previous works, Director Goran Stolevski paints a realistic and relevant portrait here, one tinted with striking pain and poignancy, bound to leave your heart aching long after the credits roll.

In what is only his second feature, Greek director Christos Nikou crafts a singular universe that is orderly and enticing. The dystopian premise that you can now scientifically test for love may be bizarre, but it answers to one of the biggest anxieties humans share. That said,  this particular world feels so close to ours today, that you want to dive right in it, weirdness and all. Even the topos of the love clinic, where couples get evaluated and take on exercises before they take the test is framed as a space for hope. There’s no underlying cynicism in Nikou’s film, which is perhaps the most surprising fact about it; on the contrary, longing—however painful it may be—abounds and seeps through the carefully composed images of shared doubt and suspect intimacy. Last, but not least, the chemistry shared by Buckley-Ahmed-White is nothing short of explosive.

The Royal Hotel sees Hanna (Julia Garner) and Liv (Jessica Henwick) resorting to take up a dire live-in job behind the bar in a remote desert part of Western Australia. Although they’re warned that they’d “have to be okay with a little male attention” in the outcast mining town, their financial precarity overrides the potential fear. Curiously enough, the fiction film is based on a real story, already told in the 2016 documentary Hotel Coolgardie by Pete Gleeson, but The Assistant director Kitty Green pulls no punches when representing how suffocating it must feel to be encircled by such unmediated male aggression. The brawls, the spilled beer, the c-word as a greeting all form the unnerving paraphernalia of life then and there. For Australian independent film devotees, there is actor Toby Wallace, who reprises his bad boy role from Babyteeth, and he’s joined by the ranks of Herbert Nordrum (The Worst Person in the World) and an utterly terrifying Hugo Weaving (The Matrix).

As the third instalment in Paul Schrader’s “man in a room” trilogy after First Reformed (2017) and The Card Counter (2021), Master Gardner rounds up the issues at stake in a most profound way. For anyone who’s seen a film either scripted by Schrader (such as Taxi Driver) or directed by him, there will be no surprises here: lost men, despairing men, men who are desperate to believe in something. But the salvation of love lurks around the corner and the new film makes no exception. An unconventional couple, Joel Edgerton and Quintessa Swindell (as Maya) make up the beating heart of this suspenseful drama with an emotional push and pull delivered in small doses. What could have been a kitschy, insensitive work blossoms into a treatise on how gentle the harshness of life can be. 

Director Garth Davis (who worked with Jane Campion on Top of the Lake) adapts Iain Reid’s novel Foe with little concern about realism and veracity. The psychologically dense event at the film’s centre—an impending separation of husband and wife—renders the whole world around them meaningless. Saoirse Ronan stars as the self-assured Henrietta (Hen) and Paul Mescal, as the belligerent Junior, two of the last remaining people in rural and farm areas. The year is 2065 and Earth is unrecognizable (peak Anthropocene) and life can be reduced to the impossibility of letting go. One fine day, a stranger comes to visit (Aaron Pierre), informing the couple that Junior has been drafted not to the military, but to a space colonization mission. A most curious triangle forms when Pierre’s character decides to stay in the family guest room: there is no telling where Foe will take you, but it will be a long, hard fall; either to the pits of despair or desire, ambivalence galore. 

One of the most overlooked films in recent years, Boiling Point is an intense British drama about the life of a head chef. We get to view his world for exactly 90 minutes and, yes, it is all shot in one go. No camera tricks or quirks, just pure filmmaking. Many other movies have tried to capture the chaotic life inside the restaurant business, but none have worked quite well as Boiling Point.

Working alongside the phenomenal actor Stephen Graham, director Philip Barantini hits it out of the park in his second feature-length film. Together, they bring to life some of the most unnerving 90 minutes ever put to film. Think Uncut Gems but with Gordon Ramsay as the lead.

June Again is quite a charmer. The Aussie comedy can be a bit predictable, but even as it goes through familiar family fare, there’s something refreshing about the way the film tries to resolve the Wilton family’s conflicts. It could be that the film keeps things realistic. Everything that happens is within the realm of possibilities and within that short time frame. However, June Again mostly works because it understands the devastation of losing one’s self to dementia, of having to live in a world that’s completely changed without any context behind it. The film softens the blow with the comedy, like the way June “borrows” things, but the drama keeps its focus to what’s at the heart of each family member, and balances it quite adeptly.

Real life serial killers are interesting to see on screen because the very crime they committed is so unusual, that you can’t help but wonder what the heck pushed them to do such a thing. However, doing so can be tricky because a bad depiction can seem to glorify their drama at the expense of the real life victims. Thankfully, Nitram doesn’t do that. Based on the 1996 Port Arthur massacre, it does depict the killer’s perspective, but director Justin Kurzel just depicts it as is, never dramatizing or sympathizing or blaming anyone else for the killer’s actions, keeping the camera solely on Nitram himself. And it works because Caleb Landry Jones captures the killer’s off-putting intensity, and resulting loneliness, through his excellent performance. It’s not an easy watch, but Nitram is an intriguing character study that doesn’t mine drama from tragedy.

Due to the possibility of death, Buoyancy cannot be made as a documentary. This film, after all, sheds light on today’s real life slavery. But that doesn’t mean it’s no less true. The script was written based on interviews with real life survivors, who, of course, would rather not be filmed due to their safety. The characters were written to closely reflect them, which was why, even though the studio is Australian, they casted Thai and Cambodian actors, and wrote the dialogue in their respective languages. And the story that writer-director Rodd Rathjen created, gradually escalates the terror Chakra faces on the whims of a cruel captain, with each new experience slowly scrapping off the innocence that was supposed to be protected. Buoyancy is not a documentary, but it works as a necessary exposé of slavery in Southeast Asian seas because of Rathjen sticking true to the sadly real life atrocity.

After you get back home, and you tuck your kids to bed, we search for some easy entertainment in the late-night talk show. Quips about today’s news and intimate conversations with guests are just the thing to wind down, but theoretically, anything can happen at late night. Late Night with the Devil plays as a pseudo-documentary centered on late show host Jack Delroy on a Halloween night, pairing the charged, uncensored atmosphere with a supernatural twist. The film alternates between the color-toned show and black-and-white behind the scenes, and as Delroy tries to lead the show to safe entertainment, with David Dastmalchian’s genial aura, things don’t go as planned as Lily becomes host to a scary demon with Ingrid Torelli’s terrifying physicality. It’s creepy and slightly comedic, with the classic selling of the soul for fame interrupted with words from their sponsors, and it’s certainly a fun twist to the late night we’re used to seeing.

This artistic Australian coming-of-age drama stars Eliza Scanlen (Little Women, Sharp Objects) as Milla, a teen from a dysfunctional family. The father is a psychologist and the mother suffers from depression, so he medicates her under the table. Meanwhile, Milla, a 16 year old, starts dating a charismatic almost-homeless 24 year old drug dealer. Unusual circumstances make the family tolerate the relationship in this story where every character feels like the main one. 

If you’re looking for something different, you will love Babyteeth. Something happens to Milla in the 10 minute mark that descriptions and reviews online all mention – but is definitely a spoiler. Just know that it’s not all romance and coming-of-age, there is slow-burning darkness to this movie. 

The 400 billion (!) dollar industry of medical devices is director Kirby Dick’s latest fascination (Oscar winner Twist of Faith, Oscar nominated The Invisible War). This is one of those documentaries that will raise your awareness about a topic from 0 to I-should-do-something, as the number of victims and the negative impacts these devices are having are astounding. Of course, just like with any other careless American industries, greed, money, and lobbying are the culprits. This is an important watch that will probably come in very handy when you or a close one needs a medical device.

Possessor announces a visionary new voice in Brandon Cronenberg, and is one to watch for the concept alone, brilliantly melding science fiction and horror into one. Cronenberg’s direction is reminiscent of a cross between Christopher Nolan’s Inception and Jonathan Glazer’s Under The Skin, but has more than enough originality to stand well on its own. However, unfortunately, it is surprisingly slow at times, and is far from the mind-blowing gore fest that was promised, resulting in a well made but underwhelming experience. BUT, if you were in the mood for a trippy introspective sci-fi thriller and are able to keep your expectations tempered, this is well worth a watch

Documentaries about musicians — or anyone famous, for that matter — are often mythologizing puff pieces, essentially feature-length airings of PR material. But Against All Odds has more to it than flattery. It chronicles the rise of Australia’s first drill rappers, five young men of Samoan origin who soared to fame from their disadvantaged Sydney neighborhood after going viral and catching the eye of artists like the UK’s Skepta and Australia’s own The Kid Laroi. 

ONEFOUR’s rise from “the trenches” is compelling in itself — far more so than some of the dull origin stories that often pad out this kind of movie — but the documentary is given even more weight by its examination of the forces that sought to put out their fire: New South Wales police. ONEFOUR’s lyrics, which often reference violence, put them in the crossfires of a police tactical unit determined to, in one officer’s words, “make [ONEFOUR’s] life miserable until [they] stop what [they’re] doing.” Amazingly, the on-camera police interviews feature even more brazen admissions of the ways they “lawfully harass” ONEFOUR, a fact that makes this documentary an eye-opening portrait of both aggressive (and allegedly racist) policing and the resilience of the group in the face of it.

From The Babadook director Jennifer Kent comes another horror, although this one is more about the horrors of humanity. Set in 1825 Tasmania, The Nightingale follows Irish settler Clare as she seeks bloody revenge on the monsters who wronged her and her family. She teams up with an Aboriginal guide named Billy to accomplish her goal.

Because of its often violent and disturbing tone (the film is rated R for its potentially triggering scenes), The Nightingale understandably polarized audiences upon its release. But it’s also an excellent conversation piece, best watched with friends or anyone up for a discussion-filled movie night.

Renowned choreographer Benjamin Millepied brings an 1875 opera leaping into the 21st century with this modern retelling — through dance and drama — of Carmen. The plot is reimagined along the US border and recenters the titular character (Melissa Barrera), a newly orphaned refugee from Mexico making her way to her godmother (a fabulous Rossy de Palma) in LA. In places, Carmen recalls Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet: aided by Nicholas Britell’s operatic score, it embraces its grand origins to evoke a star-crossed sense of looming tragedy over the romance that blossoms when reluctant border patrol guard Aidan (Paul Mescal) saves Carmen’s life and flees with her to California. 

Where Carmen really soars is in its translation of drama into dance. It’s an inspired move, pairing this almost mythical story with such a primal medium — but, while the movie achieves visceral emotion that words would struggle to produce in its choreographed scenes, there’s something lacking in the moments where dialogue is crucial. The conversations never move as fluidly as the dancing bodies do, and the passion and the fury falter as a result. That being said, this is largely still a boldly inventive filmmaking experiment, one that spotlights the thrilling potency of pure movement as a storytelling medium.

It’s difficult not to compare Of an Age to other beautifully shot and tenderly told queer love stories like Call Me By Your Name and Weekend. Like them, Of an Age gives its young lovers ample time and space for their relationship to blossom over a short while. And like them still, it’s made of intimate moments that will haunt the lovers long after their first meet, crystallized as they are with affection, longing, and the knowledge that they might not feel as deeply about anyone ever again.

But if Call Me By Your Name is awash with Italy’s grandeur and Weekend is snugged in Britain’s cold embrace, then Of an Age is distinctly Australian, all humid suburbia and sunbaked roads. The film hones in on emotional and cultural specifics alike, and by doing so, it successfully captures the immaculate and unforgettable heartache of first love.

Although it opens on Janet Frame’s first steps as a baby, this Jane Campion-directed biopic of the celebrated New Zealand writer doesn’t take an exhaustive approach to its subject’s life. We frequently only learn of milestones — the many awards she won, the death of her mother — later on and in passing. In a beautiful gesture that feels like a tiny righting of the many wrongs done to Janet, it’s her perspective that guides the film. 

That embedded approach also makes the emotions that come with her heartbreaking yet uplifting story more profound. And there is much heartbreak here: alongside the several tragic losses Janet experienced as a child, she was misdiagnosed as schizophrenic as a young woman and spent eight harrowing years in psychiatric hospitals. Throughout all of this, she wrote fiction and poetry, work that saved her life in more ways than one: as well as being a rare constant source of joy, it won her a literary prize just days before she was scheduled for a lobotomy, prompting her doctors to reconsider. Neither Campion nor Janet allowed this experience to define her, however, and the film empathetically grants her real moments of joy and choice throughout — making for a deeply sensitive and uplifting watch.

At the heart of Bring Her Back is grief. It’s already painful to lose a family member, but this supernatural horror unpacks the ways grief can be complicated, when shared or carried alone. It just so happens to be presented with brutality and gore. We do have to warn some viewers: It’s pretty intense. The newcomer cast deliver incredibly visceral performances, especially that one knife scene that nearly had us puking our guts. But if there’s one performance you have to see, it’s Sally Hawkins as this film’s mysterious foster parent, wielding her signature empathetic style of acting to sinister effect.

What would you do if your parents were Nazis? Based on the second novella of Rachel Seiffert’s The Dark Room, Lore tells the story of a Nazi officer’s children travelling together after the Allied victory. It’s a harrowing journey, of course, given the end of the war. But writer-director Cate Shortland takes that journey even further, as she pushes the children through terrible situations in such stunning naturalistic shots. The contrast makes it seem that while everything has gone right for the world, it’s only inevitable to dish out societal shunning towards them, but Shortland still manages a tightrope balance between empathizing with the kids, while still acknowledging the natural weight of the guilt, the shame of having benefitted, even if not complicit, in one of the world’s worst atrocities ever committed. It’s because of this that Lore is such an intriguing, complex, but necessary movie to watch.

At first, The Tracker seemed to be a straightforward Australian Western with three white men tracking down a murderer, with the help of an Aboriginal man more familiar with the Outback. But The Tracker takes unexpected paths. First, no one is given an actual name– they’re referred to in the credits by titles (e.g. The Fanatic, The Follower, The Veteran, and of course, The Tracker). Second, the soundtrack seems to act as somewhat of a Greek chorus, with Archie Roach crooning the beliefs each player seems to hold. And third, the violence becomes more gripping because of the way it’s presented– intercuts to Peter Coad’s paintings depicting the violence inflicted upon Aboriginal people in just a frame. These choices craft an entirely unique approach. Rolf de Heer’s approach takes a familiar Western plot but doesn’t adhere to the genre’s conventions and it’s totally fitting for a film actively examining a part of Australian history that most of the country wouldn’t want to talk about. And of course, it’s all tied together by The Tracker himself, by David Gulpilil’s powerful performance.

One’s home country should be the place where a citizen has their rights, but that’s not the case in Charlie’s Country. At times, the film seems like a simple, straightforward depiction of an Aboriginal man living in a Westernized society, but David Gulpilil, who stars and who co-wrote the script, subtly infuses his community’s rage towards a system seemingly made for them to fail. While the pacing might be frustrating for some viewers, it’s quite a palpable way to recreate the community’s frustration as they bump against the arbitrary restrictions placed on them, but it also emphasizes how necessary art has become as one of the few ways to preserve their culture. It’s because of this that Charlie’s Country is unforgettable.

Of the three Brontë sisters—all of whom are accomplished writers in their own right—it’s Emily who remains the most enigmatic to this day. She died early and left in her wake just one work: her first and only novel, Wuthering Heights. The book shook England back then; it was rugged and sexual and violent, and the film honors that by filling the gaps in our knowledge of Brontë’s life with the excitement of her work. Emily, the film, may be historically inaccurate, but it is wildly enjoyable, even if it is pure fantasy. The cinematography is sensual and the sound production screeching; the vibe is equal parts erotic and eerie as Emily loses herself in the mysticism of the moors. It seems apt that a film about Emily leans more toward arthouse than commercial, but it’s also impressive that director Frances O’Connor is able to achieve all this while maintaining a universally romantic appeal about it.

Consisting almost entirely of a single camera angle and long stretches of either silence or mundane conversation, The Plains makes for a particularly challenging—but incredibly unique—example of slow cinema. While its premise may seem almost too minimalist for its own good, the way the film is set up immediately draws us toward how distant people in the present day can be to each other despite our urbanized society. Stuck in this car with these two characters, one becomes hyperaware of how things are both moving too quickly and too slowly, and how so much of life is made up of the in-between moments. The film’s fiction elements eventually break the docudrama illusion a little too bluntly (mainly through some suspiciously structured dialogue), but by then one should be too invested to want to get off.

Bad Boy Bubby is not an easy watch. Within the first ten minutes, the indie drama seemed to be one of those films created only to provoke the viewer, and not much else. We won’t deny that the intro is provocative– in fact, we’re warning you outright that it includes domestic violence, abuse towards the disabled main character that’s implied to have started since childhood, and the killing of a cat– but with such a harrowing introduction, Bubby being thrown into the wider world actually becomes something optimistic. His escape is written to be full of possibilities, the possibilities that we ordinary folk take for granted, but possibilities nonetheless. There’s nowhere to go but up, for him. Writer-director Rolf de Heer matches this unusual characterization with unusual style, with 30+ cinematographers shooting with different styles as Bubby learns from each person he meets, and with the binaural audio recorded to simulate what Bubby would actually hear. It makes for a very weird, experimental film, but Bad Boy Bubby also reveals to be a surprisingly hopeful drama that celebrates the goodness of ordinary life.

Relationships mostly come and go, but to some lucky people, they find love early, hold onto it, and never let it go. Holding the Man is a drama based on a memoir on a fifteen year love affair between John Caleo and writer Tim Conigrave, who first met in high school, and chose to stay with each other despite parental disapproval, diagnoses, and same-sex activity being illegal. While Ryan Corr and Craig Stott do seem unconvincing as high school students, they share a realistic, endearing chemistry that makes you hope for a happy ending for the two, despite the knowledge of what they would have to face that decade. The film captures the nostalgia of the times in such a relaxed way, while also sticking to the frank tone of the book. Holding the Man reminds us to cling to the people we love, because there might be a time where we cannot.

Held back by awkward and uninspired musical numbers but otherwise a surprisingly funny and sweet animated comedy, Leo gets a lot of mileage out of being simply weirder than many of its direct-to-streaming contemporaries. As the titular lizard works through his cynicism by spending his last days helping others with their early years (a premise heartwarming enough to stand on its own), the film expresses itself through plenty of cutaway jokes and throwaway lines, excellent physical comedy, and a few particularly bizarre character designs. Everything is played in good fun though, and the movie’s witty, easygoing personality allows it to overcome any limitations from its admittedly ordinary animation.

A cracking cast including Guy Pearce and Joel Edgerton elevate this dark and gripping Australian crime drama, which was received with glowing reviews from critics but was sadly forgotten with time.

Breakout star James Frecheville plays J, a teenager who goes to live with his grandmother, the head of a Melbourne crime organization. As the heat closes in and things go awry, J finds himself caught between his family and a detective who wants to save him.

Jacki Weaver is outstanding as the conniving grandma and the film put Ben Mendelsohn on the road to Hollywood stardom. Animal Kingdom is a superior crime saga with plenty of emotional depth to match the tense drama.

The Western had its heyday in the 60s, but the decades have proven that there’s still stories from the deserts that we haven’t heard yet, and gems that twist the genre on its head. The Proposition is a unique Western, being from the East, in Australia where the Brits have started to form colonies. As the British Empire builds society, and the police start to enforce the King’s justice, writer Nick Cave and director John Hillcoat crafts a bloody tale, where promises between men are betrayed for the State, where vengeance can only be met through brutality, and where the line between civility and savagery is drawn and moved by the will of an angry majority. The Proposition is quite violent, but it’s performed well, scored by a moody, moving soundtrack, and it surprisingly contemplates Australia’s bloody past.

Where The Secret Garden championed the restorative powers of tending to a garden as well as one’s thoughts, Swiss novel Heidi touched on similar themes a few decades before, celebrating instead the natural beauty of the Alps mountainside, and the titular character bringing back joy and hope to her family. The film remains faithful to the novel, playing out the book’s events with a more sleek look and even more stunning landscapes of the Swiss Alps. While previous generations would inevitably compare the version of their time to this latest version, 2015’s Heidi is a decent adaptation, recreating the classic tale for today’s kids.

Empirical truth is something that is observable, objective, and verifiable. However, without the ability to observe, one must find other means to obtain a set of observations– repeated, consistent answers to eventually parse out the reality. One must obtain proof. Proof is an Australian drama about a blind photographer named Martin, who uses his photos to get multiple viewpoints of what was present in that specific moment. Writer-director Jocelyn Moorhouse brilliantly uses that idea to craft a character that wields objectivity in order to protect himself and keep himself distant, as seen through the way he instantly trusts Andy due to his straightforward demeanor, and the way he attempts to drive away his housekeeper Celia to get her to see the worst of him, instead of the idealized, perhaps fetishized, image she creates of him. Proof challenges the photograph as a medium of truth, as well as the idea of complete honesty and trust in another person.

I loved this movie. It starts a bit weird but gets so good. In a parallel world where human frequencies determine luck, love, and destiny, Zak, a young college student, must overcome science in order to love Marie, who emits a different frequency than his own. In an attempt to make their love a reality, Zak experiments on the laws of nature, putting in danger the cosmic equilibrium of fate and everything he holds dear. This unique and experimental drama blends science fiction and romance to create a futuristic tale where love, science, and fate collide.

In certain heartbreaking instances, children are separated from their parents by the State, supposedly in hopes of finding them a better home. But for plenty of British and commonwealth orphans, the government process is, at worst, systematically designed to separate families to support the Kingdom’s colonies. While the film isn’t really focused on the details and the rationale behind the program, Oranges and Sunshine is much more concerned with the fact that it happened– that it has harmed hundreds of thousands of children for hundred years, and that it only took someone who cared enough to pay attention for things to actually change. It’s a decent depiction of Margaret Humphreys’ work, and it does a great job in promoting the Child Migrants Trust.