Oyster Farmer is one of those films that makes you glad to be a reviewer – nice enough for a rainy Easter Monday afternoon – but you’re glad you didn’t pay for the ticket. This tale of a city boy seeking refuge in the nether reaches of New South Wales’s Hawkesbury River is really just an excuse to showcase the stunning scenery of the area and catalogue the oyster farmers’ peculiar way of life – a life that is fast disappearing.

I know that the oyster farmers are disappearing because the director, Anna Reeves, told us so in her speech before the screening. The director being at the film leads to my next point. This film is described as a comedy – which it is – but, in truth, it’s not that funny; amusing at times, with a few chuckles along the way, but not funny. This, however, didn’t stop about five members of the audience wetting themselves at every chance that presented itself. Unfortunately I cynically suspected that their laughter was for the director’s benefit. We’re so damned polite in this country that to sit there in stony silence would have been an insult to someone who had come all the way from Australia to show us her film (and she’s originally a Kiwi). So they wet themselves.

There are some good comic moments delivered by the inevitable old Irish grandfather (of course it’s common knowledge that there are plenty of old Irish men in the Australian bush) but every scene involving the male lead, hunky Alex O’Lachlan, felt like a pilot for a Neighbours spin-off. They should have got that guy from Big Brother. There is a very nude but rather uncomfortable looking sex scene (busted old splintery jetty) and some good local colour in bit parts for some of the real locals, but otherwise it’s a leisurely walk in the National Park.

The breath-taking scenery is beautifully shot by New Zealand cinematographer Alun Bollinger but it felt somewhat wasted upon a ho-hum film like this. A good Lantana-ish drama would have made this an ideal setting for an Australian Rain or even an In My Father’s Den. Next time maybe.—Ian Christopher