THE GOLDEN SPURTLE

One of the documentary's strengths is seeing how each person is treated with dignity and affection, whether they're a returning champion or a nervous newcomer praying that their oats don't clump. While acknowledging the humour in watching grown adults fret over salt levels and bowl presentation, there are no caricatures, no winks to the camera, and there's certainly no mockery of earnestness. Instead, 'The Golden Spurtle' recognises and congratulates the idea that any pursuit, no matter how humble, will always be meaningful when people pour themselves into it. The stakes are small, but the emotions are real, and that combination is endlessly endearing.

Another master stroke is how the documentary leans fully into the intimacy of the competition, further exacerbated by the fact that the crowd can't even fully fit into the village hall. Carrbridge is presented not as an idyllic postcard town but as its own living being, battered by terrible weather and then tended to by those who return every year, spurtle in hand.

Despite being only 75 minutes long, there's something deeply calming about the documentary's pace. Some of the film's loveliest moments are also its most quiet, from Toby practicing his stirring technique in his Sydney townhouse, to the volunteers setting up tables with the practiced efficiency of people who have done this for decades. These scenes are shot with a softness that borders on reverent. You can feel the heat of the portable stoves, the chill of the early-morning Highland air, the warmth of the local whisky that spectators sample between competition rounds. Of course, the slowness might not work for everyone, but that's key to the documentary's charm. When the winner is awarded the titular Golden Spurtle, it doesn't feel triumphant so much as communal, a shared celebration of craft rather than personal conquest.

Costi also brilliantly addresses the bittersweet idea of legacy and tradition under threat of change. Charlie is seen contemplating his retirement, whereas the younger contestants wonder how The Golden Spurtle can survive in a world moving faster than oats can simmer. In this, the competition becomes a reminder that communities are held together not just by geography, but by the rituals they choose to maintain.

'The Golden Spurtle' ultimately feels less like a documentary and more like a warm conversation with a stranger who unexpectedly makes your day. Leave your cynicism at the door and settle in for sincerity, craft and love. In the noise and bombast of the current cinematic landscape, the gentle nature of 'The Golden Spurtle' feels almost radical.

And honestly? You'll most likely exit your screening as I did; in search of the closest café serving a big bowl of porridge.