Now where were we? Oh, yes: the boy had become a man (indeed had become the titular Man from Snowy River, six years past), but that wouldn't be an end to it, would it? There are still fillies (of two distinct species) to be mated, and class-barriers to be leapt over, and horse thieves to be run to ground. That's just life in the Australian High Country, and it could well roll on till The Old Man of Snowy River, thirty years and five sequels hence. If the movies kept showing the same level of improvement, that last one would be a marvel. This present one -- fortunate to have a new director, Geoff Burrowes instead of George Miller (not the George Miller, of the Mad Maxes, but another George Miller) -- is stoutly but not inertly old-fashioned. The stars (Tom Burlinson, Sigrid Thornton) are attractive, and they no longer have Kirk Douglas in a dual role to detract from them. And the photography of horses in motion is positively rhapsodic. In fact the traditional dilemma of the Western hero -- whether to kiss the girl or the horse -- arrives at a satisfactory compromise when this particular hero takes his girl (no slouch herself in the saddle) on a swooningly orgasmic ride up to the very heights of the High Country. This is "mushy stuff" that any eight-year-old can abide. With Brian Dennehy. (1988) — Duncan Shepherd
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