The Drover's Wife: The Legend of Molly Johnson

This is not a fun female cowboy movie. It's not a action-packed western. It's a cinematic tale of identity, endurance, and the construct of justice, which I much prefer to the first two options. The cinematography is unparalleled, the performances incredible, and the story devastating but enthralling. I will say I found the orchestrations in the first half of the movie distracting, and certain side plot scenes contrived, but overall this film is testament to Leah Purcell's overwhelming talent both in front of and behind the camera.

Much of the acclaim for The Drover's Wife, it turns out, seems suspiciously like virtue signalling. Yes, it's a lovingly crafted, passionately felt adaptation of Henry Lawson's tale. But it is also a very mixed bag of a film, and much less effective than it should have been. The film's chief virtues are some strong performances and striking cinematography. But the storytelling is repeatedly undermined by dialogue and sensibilities that are more 21st century than 19th century. The dialogue also occasionally gives way to poetic patches that, however much they evoke Lawson, further undermine the dramatic intent. Rather than trust the story, Purcell resorts to some extremely heavy-handed underlining of theme and message - moments in which the film plummets into something akin to second-rate political theatre from an amateur women's collective. A somewhat clumsy and largely ineffective score doesn't help either. Reservations aside, Purcell is clearly a good director, and, for all its flaws, The Drover's Wife is infinitely better than most first films. It's well worth your time; just don't expect the masterpiece some have been trumpeting.

What would you do, an outback setting where there's few, not more than a brooding mare, only good for child care, have to take it on the chin, turn a cheek, you just can't win, no escape, there's no way out, just prepare for the next clout.

Leah Purcell leaves us under no illusion, with an outstanding performance, as to the challenges faced by women in the lost and lonely landscapes of 19th century Australia where abuse, torment and oppression are commonplace, and where racism and prejudice prevail - I'd like to say we've come a long way since, but you can make your own mind up about that and the reasons for it, so if this film does nothing other than get you thinking, then it's 90 minutes well spent.

If you see one movie this year or don't go out to see movies often, this one is a must see. Leah Purcell did the short story some incredible justice. The landscape and story are just perfect.

The Drover's Wife (2021) is a powerful, incisive movie that tells the story of a lonely bushwoman who struggles to raise her children and run the family farm while her husband is away. The movie is both a touching portrait of a mother's love and a searing indictment of the isolation and racism that continue to plague rural Australia.

Leah Purcell (who also wrote and directed) gives a powerhouse performance as the title character, bringing both strength and vulnerability to her portrayal of a woman who is fighting for her survival in a hostile environment. Rob Collins, as Yadaka, the Indigenous drover who comes to her aid, is also excellent, and the two have a great chemistry on screen.

The cinematography by Mark Wareham is breathtaking, and the Australian landscape is captured in all its harsh beauty reflecting the harshness of what first nation people had to endure following white settlement. The Drover's Wife is a slow-paced movie, but it's never dull. Purcell takes her time to develop the characters and their relationships, and the result is a deeply moving film that will stay with you long after the credits have rolled.

The soundtrack by Salliana Seven Campbell is also worth mentioning. It's haunting and beautiful, and it perfectly complements the mood of the movie although, on just a few occasions, it didn't quite resonate, for me, with what was happening on screen.

The Drover's Wife explores many themes in multiple layers. For example, the relationship between the drover and his wife is complicated by the fact that he is away for long periods of time, and she is left to fend for herself and their children. There's also the issue of race, as Yadaka is constantly reminded that he is an outsider in a white man's world. And then there are the themes of isolation, both literal and metaphorical, as well as the tyranny of distance. There is

Purcell has said that she wanted to make a movie about love, loss, grief, and country. And she has succeeded admirably. The Drover's Wife is a stunning achievement. It's must-see.