In 2007, my family arrived in Australia. I was 5 years old and fascinated by the country; all of my knowledge stemming from watching The Crocodile Hunter and Planet Earth. Scenes of vast, deserted landscapes and predatory animals at every turn occupied my imagination. Instead, we found ourselves staying in a high rise apartment in the heart of Sydney, overlooking tennis courts and gift shops. Days out to Bondi Beach and The Sydney Opera House were thrilling, but the swarms of tourists and architectural feats far from what my young brain thought Australia would be. We spent some time in the Blue Mountains, which brought me closer to the nature I craved, but again, the miles of greenery and snowy peaks were not the mangrove swamps and bushlands I had anticipated. Unfortunately, despite being surrounded by some of the most beautiful sights on Earth, most of my memories of this time are of sitting on the bedroom floor watching Muriel’s Wedding and reruns of House.
In 2014, I was 13 years old and we were staying in a bungalow in Tumbi Umbi, a rural suburb north of Bateau Bay. Life in Tumbi Umbi was not as glamorous as Sydney, as we were now in an area where we had to check under the car for red-bellied snakes each time we climbed in. My days alternated between spending hours sitting on the massage chair in the newly built home, swimming at the local retirement village, attempting to make friends with the cheery surfer twins living next door, ogling the neighborhood skateboarders and searching the nearby bushland around Bangalow Creek for wombats. I still was not quite living like Steve Irwin, but I was beginning to contemplate my surroundings more than I had when we first arrived. Tumbi Umbi felt strange. Something about lounging on a massage chair one moment, then searching for snakes in the driveways of suburban houses that mirrored each other so much it became disorientating, felt irreconcilable. Despite its densely populated areas, 95% of Australia is uninhabited. For the first time, at 13 years old, this fact truly made sense to me. From then on, I learned all that I could about the history of Australia. How it became the opposing environments that it is today, the introduction of non-native species, the penal colonies and the maltreatment of Aboriginal populations by settlers. As this passion grew, my focus began to shift towards how introduced species interacted with native species and the landscape, and if there was more to learn about how these alien animals have been represented on screen.
In film, the fear of Australia’s wildlife stems from colonial misunderstanding and ignorance, with the landscape and the animals dwelling in it representing a deeper anxiety of the unknown from a settler perspective. Australia is a country with a violent colonial history, but also one of great biodiversity and natural beauty, something that contemporary horror directors have attempted to combine. In recent history, bushlife and Australia’s natural landscapes have been celebrated internationally. From adventure films like Crocodile Dundee to television personalities like Steve Irwin, a connection with Australia’s nature has been associated with stereotypes of masculinity, often referred to as the “Ocker” stereotype. Throughout Australian cinema history, the Ocker has been a continued presence. In horror films, these stereotypes associated with nationalism stemming from colonialism and masculinity are shown to be the reason for violence, the bushman becoming misogynistic and murderous e.g. Wolf Creek, Killing Ground, Dying Breed and Charlie’s Farm.
The other representation, seen less in horror, is that of “rural bliss”; romanticized landscapes, untouched by corruption and industrialization, with rural folk being overwhelmingly innocent and heroic. Films such as Boar fit into this category in its representation of human populations, although the presence of the wild pig undercuts this idyll. The domestic pig, a species introduced by European settlers in the late 18th century, has parallels with colonial history, as well as the reality of the horror that came with the promise of a new world. Australia is home to over one million species of flora and fauna, many of which are unique to the landscape. About 82% of Australian mammals and 93% of frogs are found nowhere else in the world, making Australia one of the most biodiverse ecosystems on Earth. Due to this biodiversity, Australia also has some of the most stringent regulations in terms of its border control, particularly in terms of non-native plants and animals being brought into the country. The opposition between introduced (boars) and native species (crocodiles and sharks) is seen throughout Australia’s wildlife revenge cinema. The boar is a physical manifestation of colonialism and so called “progression,” or “civilization.” To create the boar, the domesticated pig had to become feral and mutated, representing the true barbarity of colonialism.
Since the inception of Australian New Wave and Ozploitation cinema in the 1970s, Australia’s landscape, culture and creatures have been a source of global fear and fascination. Australian horror is generally associated with the Outback, with films set here frequently displaying a strong sense of place and with the landscape often being crucial to the plot. Australian nature horror is a variation of typical European rural horror, only the stakes are higher because of the environment’s hostility, intense heat and dangerous wildlife. The Gothic came to Australia as an imported genre, at the time being mostly associated with literature coming from England. When the British settled in Australia, they brought the genre with it, shifting its conventions somewhat, as early on in the movement, the Gothic was thought of as being intrinsically linked with ancient European landscapes. As Australia’s terrain was explored further, the empty plains were considered in line with the Gothic. When Australian horror ventures outside of these conventions, it is generally to contextualize where their dangerous wildlife dwells, such as mangrove swamps (Black Water), rural hills (Boar), along isolated rivers (Rogue), forested areas (The Pack), or in the open ocean (The Reef).
The harsh realities of Outback life, from a settler perspective, were first explored in New Wave films such as Walkabout, Wake in Fright and Picnic at Hanging Rock; all films which depicted the Australian Outback as desolate, with its wide emptiness and vast terrain somehow making the characters in these films seem equally as exposed as they were isolated. These three films marked the beginning of a new cinematic movement; the Australian Gothic. The Gothic’s flora and fauna remain integral features of modern Australian cinema, and eco-conscious themes have been popular with Australian filmmakers of the past decade. Perhaps first introduced in Colin Eggleston’s 1978 film Long Weekend. The film centers around an unhappy couple’s trip to the Australian outback as they attempt to rekindle their marriage. As they take their frustration out on nature, nature begins to strike back. Long Weekend set up a fear of Australian wildlife and rural spaces that would be established in its cinema in later years.
One animal that is used in Australian cinema to signify deeply rooted settler anxieties, the untamable Australian wilderness and ideas of belonging, is the boar. The boar can be seen as a physical embodiment of the unknown that colonization would bring. The first recorded introduction of pigs onto the Australian continent occurred with the arrival of at least 48 animals with the first European settlers in 1788. Most livestock failed to thrive in the harsh landscape, yet free-roaming pig populations increased rapidly and soon became such a pest to the fledgling colony that orders for their control were issued within seven years of European settlement. Sailors and other mariners also deliberately released pigs on islands (specifically Kangaroo Island and Flinders Island) during the same period. At this time, feral populations became established from domestic herds and the wild boar became thought of as separate species from tamed pigs. Australian settler colonialism was an aspiration to replace all traces of the local indigenous population with imported people, and clearly also animals. Around the same time, rabbits and cane toads were also introduced and became invasive species. The narrative of introduced flora and fauna being out of place is seen in Razorback and Boar, both films which feature violent and territorial pigs at their forefront.
Since its release in 1984, Razorback has become an iconic title. Razorback is a film about an American journalist travelling to the Outback to investigate the kangaroo-pet food industry. During her investigation, she is attacked by a wild boar. The film deals with the dangerous implications of ravaging the land for commercial gain, the negative impacts of opal mining on the environment and the ethics of kangaroo shooting (a native species). Razorback’s subplot revolves around an elderly man whose grandchild is taken by the boar and is never found again. He goes to trial for the suspected murder of his grandchild and swears revenge on the boar. This subplot is interesting, as Razorback was released just four years after the highly publicized death of Azaria Chamberlain, a child who was taken by a dingo while camping with her parents. When Azaria’s body could not be located, her mother was charged with Azaria’s murder, although she was eventually acquitted in 1988.
One key quote from Razorback is the declaration: “God and the Devil couldn’t have created a more despicable species,” when referring to wild boar. This quote can be seen as a direct reference to the introduction of pigs into Australia by colonizers, or as this character refers to them, the Devil, alluding to the disdain for non-native species, human and animal alike. Both Razorback and the 2017 film Boar are exemplary of this distaste for the outsider. The plot of Boar revolves around a gargantuan pig that terrorizes a rural farming region, extending the mythology of Razorback. Boar is not set in the desolate Outback that audiences have come to expect from Australian cinema, but rather in a farming town. Instead of sand, tumbleweeds and desert terrain, Boar is set in green rolling hills, because the monster has been lured out of the desert due to industrialization and destructive hunting practices. The boar is in search of prey in a more densely populated area, representing the threat becoming less remote.
Boar as a text contains critiques of anthropocentrism, presenting unlikable characters, many non-Australian and/or urban dwelling. The film begins with a city-dwelling couple driving down an isolated country road. They are superficial characters and are clearly outside of their comfort zone in this area. They become frightened by dozens of small feral pigs running past their car, seemingly away from something. They soon hear a loud, ominous growl and watch as small pigs are flung violently through the air. The camera switches to a point of view shot as something large hurls itself against the couple’s car, which we later learn was indeed the titular boar. The POV shot is something often seen in animal attack films, (e.g. Anaconda, Razorback, Jaws, Rogue, Piranha, Lake Placid) as it aligns the audience with the “monster” and asks us to see from their perspective, questioning the animal’s motives rather than outright condemning them.
We are soon introduced to our main characters; husband and wife, Bruce and Debbie, their children Bart and Ella, Ella’s boyfriend Robert, and finally Debbie’s brother, Bernie. Bernie is presented as a heroic character; he is the only one in the group who was raised in the Outback and remained there. He is chivalrous and defends a woman in a bar when she is being disrespected, his height and build are continuously referenced throughout and he is seen to be very capable with weapons. Bernie is a typical “Ocker” stereotype, falling somewhere between Michael Dundee of Crocodile Dundee and Mick Taylor of Wolf Creek. In contrast, the American character Bruce constantly misunderstands Australian slang and fails to assimilate. Robert is a typical “city boy” stereotype, complaining about not having his comforts, speaking disrespectfully to and about his girlfriend, making negative assumptions about Ernie, a minor character played by an Aboriginal actor and eventually sacrificing Bruce to the boar to save himself.
The characters we are introduced to, for the most part, represent the outsider in this landscape. They are unwilling to adapt to the harshness of Outback life, much like early settlers in Australia, and unlike how the boar has adapted through time. Due to the recurrent boar POV shots, it is clear that the goal is for the audience to align themselves more with the boar than the family that it hunts. The hybrid nature of Australian society and the effects of colonialism are alluded to throughout the film, but one scene in particular indicates this. One scene depicts a couple on a camping trip who venture into the forest. The male character tells his girlfriend the Aboriginal folklore of the Yara-ma-yha-who, a vampire-like creature, in order to scare her. This speech lasts around five minutes, the longest in the film and is intercut with POV shots of the boar hiding in the bushes. At one point, the man says “I think there’s a wild pig out there,” growing worried after hearing grunting sounds. The woman does not believe him, assuming he is still trying to scare her. She mocks his story, stating it doesn’t make scientific sense, to which he retorts “It’s not my story, it’s an Aboriginal legend.” As they argue, we are once again shown a POV shot of the boar rushing towards them and mauling the woman. It is significant that the boar mauls the woman after she has mocked the folk tale and been dismissive of Aboriginal culture, which could be read as an instance of Australian wildlife avenging colonial attitudes of superiority. This scene demonstrates the influence of Aboriginal culture and customs on non-native populations, but unfortunately is only used as a scare-tactic, rather than providing any tangible Indigenous representation.
While watching how non-native species were represented in film, I began to wonder about my own position in modern Australia, as well as my family’s. While English settlers brought domestic pigs to Australia in the 1700s, they were not the only living thing they brought with them. During this time, some 40,000 Irish convicts were transported to Australia, the majority of them imprisoned because of their parts in various struggles for Irish independence, such as the Irish Rebellions of 1798, 1803 or in the Young Ireland movement. Today, up to 30% of Australians claim Irish ancestry, mostly because of the imprisonment of Irish people in the country for seeking freedom from British rule. It is hard not to see myself in some capacity while watching these animals on screen; as they represent the outsiders who have come to Australia, depleting it of its resources and harming its native species. However, it is important to remember why Irish people are so present in Australia, and it is not because we, like the English settlers, wished to take the land for ourselves, pushing Aboriginal Australians to the fringes and creating work camps. But because this was the price we paid for seeking freedom. Irish people continued to live under English colonial rule until 1916, although to call this “freedom” feels inaccurate. Under colonial rule, one million Irish people died in the Great Famine between 1845 and 1851, while the English continued to export Irish produce for their own financial gain. Of those who lived, over 2 million emigrated abroad. Under colonial rule, families were separated, our language was banned, our customs were mocked and our land was stolen. The effects of this barbarism are still felt today, as Irish people continue to fight for the reunification of The Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland and musicians like Kneecap fight for the recognition of the Irish language. To this day, the Act for the Settlement of Ireland has been described as “the greatest ethnic cleansing in early Modern Europe.”
While the representations of non-native species in Australia continue to be seen in media, it will be interesting to see what real world issues are tackled in the future, and if colonialism will continue to be criticized, or if over time the focus will shift to environmentalism, or something else entirely. It is apparent that the boar as an animal represents both colonial fears and the harshness of the Australian wilderness. The animal is genuinely capable of violence and is responsible for a number of attacks in the Outback, but it also stands in as an allegory for the land avenging itself against intruders. Additionally, the boar functions as a threat, because wild pigs have had a considerable impact on Australia’s tourism, economy and environment and are seen as a pest to the Australian population. These texts use the animal for these reasons, but also to comment on stereotypes of rurality and masculinity, ideas of belonging, environmentalism and fear of the outsider.
— Lauren Gallagher is an Irish writer, specializing in film and cultural criticism. She currently writes from the foot of the Wicklow Mountains, after a brief and uninspiring time of living in London. Her writing has been featured in Anfa Collective, Off Chance Magazine, Certified Forgotten, Vestisse Magazine, The Writing Disorder, Sleaze Magazine and Offcultured.