One Paragraph Movie Review: The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith

Seventy-fourth film: The Chant Of Jimmie Blacksmith, a 1978 film that reminds us of the twin truths that racism is bad and Bryan Brown is in every Australian movie ever made. Uncomfortable for both the way earlier (cough cough) white Australians treated the indigenous population and for extreme and shocking violence, this movie also makes you want a cup of tea from a nice pot, a scone from underneath an embroidered tea towel, and a quarter-tumbler of whisky in a rough-hewn cottage. From props to landscape it looks completely bloody beautiful, with all the familiarity of Jack Bloody Thompson, Ray Flamin’ Meagher, and Ruth Cracknell, who things do not end altogether well for. A slightly over-acted ripper with extremely nice hills in it. Three and a half gaping mouth wounds out of five.