Twenty months after Netflix dropped the Trent Dalton adaptation in January 2024, the show has aged into one of the few streamer-funded Australian dramas that didn't get cancelled out of spite.

The cattle-station saga runs on dust and family betrayal, and the score sits underneath both like heat rising off a dirt road.

Netflix built a cattle-station dynasty drama in the Northern Territory and staffed it with enough Australian actors to fill a muster, and the result is louder and messier than anything the ABC would commission.

The adaptation of Trent Dalton's novel is charming, violent, and uncertain about its own tone in exactly the same proportions as its source material.

The spend is up, the commissions are down, and the difference is explained by one word: scale.

The second season drops the reboot anxiety and lets Hartley High be a school where nobody learns the right lesson at the right time.

Celeste Barber's Netflix comedy is loud, messy, and allergic to likability, and the show is better for not trying to fix her.

The spend is real, the jobs are real, but the IP question remains unanswered.

The reboot is not for me and that is fine, but the moment I understood that was the moment I understood what nostalgia actually costs.

Netflix's fish-out-of-water comedy drops an American mobster in a tiny Queensland town, and the town is funnier than the mobster.

Netflix set a thriller in Oakland, filmed it in Melbourne, cast Adrian Grenier, and hoped nobody would notice the gum trees.

The ABC made a show about immigration detention; Netflix put it in front of sixty million subscribers; and suddenly Australian policy was international content.