One afternoon, a thirty-five-year-old ex-television weatherman strays into a barroom in a hot, dusty town near Alice Springs, Australia, carrying a baby kangaroo. He attempts to order a salad. “We have ham sandwiches,” says the owner of the bar. “Can I have lettuce?” the ex-weatherman asks. “No,” the bartender replies, “because I don’t have lettuce.” Then he asks for Icelandic Glacier sparkling water. “Get that horrible thing out of here,” she says, pausing for effect and pointedly looking down at the animal being carried. “I was talking to the kangaroo.” “Tourism Australia should put you on retainer,” the ex-weatherman snarls. “I hate this town.”
“Kangaroo” (Screen Australia), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, faithfully follows the story arc laid down by “Doc Hollywood” (1991), a movie starring Michael J. Fox. The general idea is that a wealthy, handsome, male city slicker (plastic surgeon or weatherman) has a motorcar accident which strands him in a country-bumpkin-filled community; but, against all the odds, he falls in love with someone, or something—will he or will he not end up staying? The challenge in films of this kind is to avoid the considerable temptation to let the handsome movie star completely take over. It is a challenge that our own LandxSea Festival must navigate with caution. In 2024, opening night sold out two complete screens with “Billy & Molly: An Otter Love Story,” a film which played its human stars more softly than its animal star and drew upon National Geographic’s enviable experience of landscape and nature photography to shining success. In 2025, “Future Council,” a film in which children confronted mega-corporations about their business practices, was much less successful as it over-relied on the filmmaker’s own screen presence.
The cinematography of the red, barren, sandy rock, the kangaroos and other animals of the outback is one of the biggest strengths of “Kangaroo.” One gorgeous shot early on shows a group of “‘roos” drinking side-by-side from a river. A twelve-year-old local girl, Charlie, played by Lily Whiteley, who has a habit of hiding baby kangaroos in her bedroom, helps ex-weatherman Chris to look after the one he finds after he killed its mother speeding. “She thinks your her mum,” Charlie says. Returning later, she hands him a gift. “I got you a pillowcase,” she says. “Thank you,” says Chris, “that’s very kind.” “It’s for her, dummy,” Charlie replies. “Makes them feel they’re in a pouch.” Charlie’s grandparents offer Chris a remote hut in which to live. When they arrive, grandfather sniffs. “No snakes,” he says, “all good.” Chris looks at the sky. “Should I be worried about those dark clouds?” he asks Charlie. “You are the weatherman,” she shoots back. “What do you reckon?” The following morning, he is the subject of the town’s ridicule as he parades in full lycra gear. Going into one of the town’s shops, the ‘roo pees on the counter. “Cute,” the shopkeeper says, and then looks at Chris—“I meant you.” (The unguarded focus on how attractive Chris is leads to some strange lines such as “I peed less on a juice fast.”) “Kangaroos aren’t a protected species,” the local vet says. “It’s kinder to put them down. We can take care of that here if you’d like.” Startled, Chris picks up the kangaroo—after it gently licks the right hand side of his neck—and goes on his way.
Chris fetishises his motorcar, his career, his looks, his social-media reputation. “I’m just trying to imagine someone out here being cancelled,” he says. Later, as he convincingly bonds with the baby kangaroo, improbably takes a job as a tour-bus driver, daringly saves an adult kangaroo from a mad-dog hunter, and unwisely fights with it as a bet (“five bucks says the ‘roo guts him”), he rebuilds a social media following—“from weatherman to kangaroo mother”—and boasts, “I’m famous. I was in a dental floss commercial. The commercial was on in Brazil by the way.” Much of the social-feed scrolling presented to the cinematic audience is of the emoji variety—a smiling face or an approving hand signal—and enhanced by some sort of superlative. The commentary from the general public seems directed at the ‘roos—although Chris invariably appears in the pictures to which they react. But the town’s schoolchildren—who sit on the roof of the barroom, where there is access to the internet—mock him. “You still here then?” one asks. “Thought you’d be getting your bum waxed.”
Both the bartender, played by Rachel House, and one of her customers—an elderly, sunburned, educated scholar of literature, who has the complexion of a heavy drinker and entertainingly dictates essays for the schoolchildren to submit as their homework—fill the screen each time they appear and provide comedic ballast. But the most intriguing performance is by Deborah Mailman as Charlie’s mum, Rosie. She lost her husband (and Charlie her dad) one day not long ago. She plays the mum who, while concerned that Charlie struggles to find friends and “wags” school, nevertheless loves her unconditionally. She believes that her daughter is an animal-loving young girl who should be treated with patient acceptance and not subjected to strict enforcement of the rules. And Charlie, in turn is suspicious but hopeful of Chris. “Told you he was the one,” she whispers to one of the baby ‘roos.
One of the most remarkable shots of the whole movie is the opening sequence. Charlie’s small hand rests flat on the red/orange earth. The camera pans out; she starts to run—confidently—barefoot in the middle of a huge group of ‘roos. Later in the film, that panorama returns to the screen; Chris has become dehydrated after ignoring old-timers’ advice. Charlie finds him. “You look really bad,” she says. He replies, “In a ruggedly handsome sort of way?”
Adam Poole
9th February 2026
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
