For more than two decades, Australian producer, writer and director Jeff Purser has worked across both commercial hits and critically acclaimed cinema, helping bring stories as varied as Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys to the screen. With a career spanning film, television and streaming, Purser has seen the industry evolve through changing technologies, audience habits and business models, yet one belief has remained constant: audiences respond to stories that feel authentic. As he prepares a new international feature film and streaming series, our Peter Gray connected with Purser about why originality still matters, what Hollywood continues to misunderstand about audiences, and why Australia’s greatest cinematic strength may be embracing the stories only we can tell.
This year we’ve seen films like Backrooms and Obsession become genuine cultural events despite arriving without the budgets or built-in audiences of major franchises. Do you think audiences are actively rejecting spectacle now, or are they simply responding to films that feel like they have something personal to say?
I don’t think audiences are rejecting spectacle. If anything, films like Top Gun: Maverick and Oppenheimer prove they’ll still turn up in huge numbers for a big cinematic experience. What I think they’re rejecting is spectacle without substance.
The conversation around films like Backrooms and Obsession has focused on the fact they were created by YouTubers, as though that’s some kind of revolution. I’m not convinced it is. Cinema has always evolved by embracing wherever the next generation of storytellers and audiences are coming from. It borrowed from theatre, then novels, then radio, then television, then comic books. Today it’s YouTube. The platform has changed. The principle hasn’t.
Actually, I think the film industry is far more cyclical than people realise. Every decade or so Hollywood convinces itself that bigger budgets, bigger stars and bigger franchises are the safest bet. Eventually audiences tire of the formula and start looking for something that feels fresh, personal and authentic. A new voice breaks through, often from outside the traditional system, everyone rushes to imitate it, and before long the cycle starts all over again.
History is full of examples. Cleopatra was meant to be the pinnacle of the great sword and sandal epic. Instead, it became symbolic of the genre’s collapse, and studios largely abandoned historical epics for almost thirty years. Then Gladiator arrived. Ridley Scott and Russell Crowe didn’t reinvent the genre. They simply reminded audiences how great it could be when it was done brilliantly. Audiences hadn’t rejected sword and sandal films. They’d rejected tired versions of them.
I’ve been fortunate enough to work on films like Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys, and one thing they taught me is that audiences can tell when a story is trying to imitate something else. Those films weren’t designed by committee. They came from real communities, real voices and a very specific point of view. Ironically, the more specific a story becomes, the more universal it often feels.
Hollywood has always been driven by risk management, yet ironically some of its biggest successes this year have come from films that probably looked like risks on paper. What do you think that says about how studios are judging audiences?
I think Hollywood has become very good at analysing what audiences loved yesterday. The problem is that audiences don’t watch films backwards. They’re always looking for what’s next.
I’ve joked for years that comic book films are a bit like Mexican food. The ingredients are largely the same. You just wrap them differently. Sometimes it’s a taco. Sometimes it’s a burrito. Sometimes it’s an enchilada. They’re all enjoyable, but eventually you just feel like Italian.
I think that’s where studios sometimes misjudge audiences. They assume people have rejected a genre, when often they’ve simply grown tired of repetition. The biggest successes often look risky on paper because originality always does. If everyone already agrees it’s a great idea, it’s probably not that original.
In my experience, audiences are actually far more adventurous than the industry gives them credit for. They’ll embrace something fresh if it gives them an emotional experience they haven’t had before. I don’t think Hollywood’s challenge is taking bigger risks. It’s recognising that originality isn’t the opposite of commercial success.
More often than not, it’s where commercial success begins.
When you look at Australia, do you think we’re taking enough creative risks, or are we sometimes guilty of trying to make films that feel internationally marketable instead of culturally specific?
I think Australia sometimes falls into the trap of trying to make films for everyone and, in the process, they end up resonating with no one.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt as a producer is the difference between creating a project from the inside out versus the outside in. Inside out starts with something real. A story you’ve lived. A community you know. A conversation you can’t stop thinking about. It begins with a genuine spark and grows from there.
Outside in is when you look at the market first. You ask what’s popular, what genre is selling, what streaming platforms are buying, and then you try to reverse engineer a film to fit the opportunity. I’ve made both kinds of projects during my career. The ones I approached from the outside in almost always felt forced because I was trying to second guess an audience.
The projects that started from the inside out, like Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys, came from real places and real people. They weren’t trying to be everything to everyone. They knew exactly who they were.
Ironically, I think that’s the paradox. The more culturally specific a story becomes, the more universal it often feels. Audiences don’t connect because they’ve lived the same life as the characters. They connect because they recognise the truth inside the story. For Australian filmmakers, I think that’s our greatest advantage. We’ll never out Hollywood Hollywood. But we can always out Australia everyone else.
People often say Australia produces world-class filmmakers, actors and craftspeople, but comparatively few breakout films that travel globally. Why do you think that gap still exists?
I don’t think it’s a talent problem. Australia consistently produces world class actors, directors, writers and crews. We punch well above our weight.
I think one challenge is that we’re competing in one of the toughest domestic markets in the world. Australians grow up watching Hollywood films. We speak the same language, so every Australian film goes head-to-head with the biggest stars, the biggest budgets and the biggest marketing campaigns on the planet.
Compare that with somewhere like France. French audiences naturally have a stronger tradition of watching French language films. Australian filmmakers don’t have that advantage. We have to win over audiences who can just as easily choose the latest Hollywood blockbuster. That doesn’t mean we should try to beat Hollywood at its own game. I think it means we have to give audiences something Hollywood can’t. A perspective, a community or a story that’s uniquely ours. That’s where Australian cinema has always been at its best.
Some of Australia’s most distinctive stories come from communities that don’t often see themselves represented on screen. Why do you think those stories can actually be our greatest international asset rather than our biggest commercial risk?
I think people often underestimate how curious audiences are. We sometimes assume international audiences only want stories they already understand. I think the opposite is true. They want to be invited into worlds they’ve never experienced before.
That’s certainly what I learnt working on Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys. Neither film tried to explain itself or sand off the rough edges to appeal to everyone. They trusted the audience to come along for the ride.
When a story is honest about a particular community, it usually reveals something universal about people. That’s why a Korean film can resonate in Australia, or an Australian story can resonate in Europe. You’re not connecting with the postcode. You’re connecting with the characters. Ironically, I think our most distinctive communities aren’t a commercial risk. They’re one of Australia’s biggest creative advantages.
Looking back at Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys, those films weren’t trying to imitate Hollywood – they were unapologetically rooted in very specific Australian communities. Do you think audiences today are actually craving that kind of authenticity more than they were twenty years ago?
I’m not sure audiences have changed all that much. I think they’ve always responded to authenticity. What’s changed is how quickly authentic stories can find their audience. When we made Fat Pizza and Cedar Boys, we weren’t sitting around asking how to make them more commercial or more international. We were just trying to tell stories that felt true to the communities they came from. Some people loved them. Some people didn’t. But nobody accused them of being generic.
Today, social media, streaming and word of mouth can amplify those kinds of films much faster than twenty years ago. If people genuinely connect with a story, they’ll do the marketing for you. I think audiences have always rewarded honesty. They’re just much better at finding it now.
Every producer has probably heard “no” more times than they can count. Have you found that getting projects made is less about convincing everyone, and more about finding the few people who genuinely believe in the idea?
Absolutely. I’ve always had a saying when pitching films. The best answer is yes. The second best answer is no. The worst answer is, “We like it… we’ll get back to you.” At least a no gives you certainty. You know where you stand. You can move on, refine the project or find someone else who believes in it. It’s the endless maybe that drains your time, your energy and, eventually, your enthusiasm.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt is that persuasion isn’t about getting everybody to say yes. It’s about finding the people who already see what you see and giving them the confidence to back it. Every successful film starts with a handful of believers. The mistake is thinking you need unanimous support. You don’t. You just need the right people saying yes.
You’ve spoken about turning rejection into opporunity. Was there a project where someone saying “no” ultimately forced you towards a better outcome?
Almost every project I’ve worked on has had moments like that. Rejection feels personal at the time, but with a bit of distance you realise it often pushes you towards a better version of the project.
I’ve learnt not to ask, “Why did they reject it?” I ask, “What does this rejection allow me to do next?” Sometimes the answer is a better creative partner. Sometimes it’s more time to develop the script. Sometimes it’s simply waiting for the market to catch up.
A “no” isn’t always the end of the conversation. Sometimes it’s just poor timing.
I talk about this more, and my experiences, in my new book, Yes Yes Yes: The Persuasion Playbook.
Do you think social media has accidentally become the best marketing tool independent films have ever had?
Word of mouth now seems capable of competing with advertising budgets that would’ve been impossible to match twenty years ago. I think word of mouth has always been the most powerful marketing tool. Social media has simply put it on steroids. People trust recommendations from other people far more than they trust advertising. If a film genuinely surprises someone, they’ll share it. If it doesn’t, no amount of marketing spend will save it.
For independent filmmakers, that’s incredibly exciting because it means a great idea can compete with a much bigger budget. You still need a good film. Social media doesn’t fix that. But if you’ve got one, audiences can become your marketing department.
Streaming services promised unlimited choice, but many filmmakers argue they’ve actually encouraged safer decision-making. Has the algorithm made originality harder to finance?
I don’t think algorithms are the enemy. Most of the time they’re actually very good at giving us more of what we already like. The problem is they can become an echo chamber.
I say this to my kids all the time. If you only follow the algorithm, you’ll keep watching more of the same films, the same YouTube videos and the same ideas. Every now and then you’ve got to deliberately step outside it. I do it myself. I’ll jump onto Reddit, film forums or recommendation lists and actively look for something I wouldn’t normally watch. Otherwise, I’m just being fed more of the same.
I think the same applies to filmmaking. Algorithms are brilliant at recognising patterns, but originality doesn’t begin as a pattern. No algorithm would have predicted the impact of Sex, Lies, and Videotape before it happened.
Algorithms are a fantastic servant, but I don’t think they should ever become the master. Sometimes the best creative decisions come from deliberately stepping outside your own algorithm.
When people ask what the next great Australian film could look like, what kind of story excites you most right now? Is there a voice or community you think we’re still overlooking?
What excites me most isn’t a particular genre. It’s the new voices that are emerging. If you look back over Australian cinema, some of our most distinctive stories have come from first and second generation Australians. Greek Australians, Italian Australians and Lebanese Australians brought perspectives that simply hadn’t been seen on screen before because they were navigating two cultures at once. That created stories that felt fresh, honest and uniquely Australian.
For more information on Jeff Purser, read further at his official site here.
