The Australian film renaissance of the 1970s, lately dubbed the New Wave, brought a reinvigorated national cinema to local and overseas attention. The first of the New Wave features to find acclaim abroad was a hard yakka story about a bunch of salt-of-the-earth sheep shearers who congregate at a remote station to work, drink, sweat and battle their boss for a decent pay.
That film, Sunday Too Far Away (1975), was a first on other fronts, too: the first Australian feature film to play in the director’s fortnight category at Cannes, the first to be produced by the South Australian Film Commission and the first for its director, Ken Hannam.
It marks an early milestone in the career of the actor Jack Thompson, whose cachet as a fair dinkum alpha male would see him to return with numerous iterations of that role (and varying amounts of his facial hair) as the years progressed. Thompson plays Foley, a gun shearer circa 1956 who has held the record for the number of sheep sheared for a decade. He returns to work to give the job he’s good at one final crack before retirement, but loses his status to a rival colleague (Peter Cummins).
Sunday Too Far Away opens with that quintessential Australian image: a bright sun blazing in front of a yellow sky above a panorama of red dirt. On the ground Foley dozes off while driving his FJ Holden down a dusty road. The car topples several times before the protagonist emerges unscathed but a mite agitated.
Foley discovers there is blood on his face (“bugger me”) then picks up his bag and walks into town. The film’s first interior is, of course, the pub. Foley doesn’t have to ask for a beer before a drink is poured and the bar lady is informed of his plans. “I’ve come back but I’m not gonna bust my gut. I’m gonna shear nice and steady,” he says. “Ease up on the grog. Put a little bit away.”
At the shearing station the rest of the fellas are introduced, including an unpopular chef with an affection for lemon essence, and Foley’s roommate, an elderly alcoholic called Garth (Reg Lye). It doesn’t take long for the film’s staunchly pro-union pitch to kick in; the shearers um and ah about who their rep is (that job is forced on to Foley) but quickly rally for better conditions.
The men pass a motion prohibiting their boss from entering the premise (also, Foley has eyes on his daughter), laying the groundwork for a final act about taking a stand for workers’ rights. Most dramatically, the shearers fight the “scabs” sent to replace them. In the great blokey Australian knockabout spirit there’s a lot of shouting and a punch-up. But Hannam’s direction is also very close to his actors, and the wizened spirit of these men (the cast is terrific) leaves a lasting impression.
The film’s title comes from a legendary lament reportedly from a shearer’s wife: “Friday night [he’s] too tired; Saturday night too drunk; Sunday, too far away.” Those final four words also match up to a broader reading of the film: its portrait of lives spent working for the weekend and the dispiriting emotions that entails.
The work-life tussle is known by several labels: the rat race, taking care of business, working nine to five. While footage of Thompson and the boys shearing sheep in 50s clothes may feel a little like a time capsule these days, Sunday Too Far Away’s depiction of a sobering truth – that most of our lives are governed by need rather than choice – continue to make it relevant.
