Spit (2025)
You don’t need to know a thing about Johnny Spitieri to get into Spit. Sure, he’s been around before — apparently in some early-2000s Aussie flick — but the beauty of this film is that it stands on its own two feet. You meet Spit where he is now: a scruffy, hyperactive Aussie battler with a dodgy past, a mullet that’s seen better days, and a knack for causing chaos without meaning to. And somehow, he ends up in the middle of something much bigger than himself.
The film kicks off with Spit trying to sneak back into Australia after years overseas using a fake passport. It doesn’t go well. He gets caught, detained, and thrown into an immigration detention centre. That’s where most of the story unfolds — not in the outside world, but inside this strange, in-between place where people wait, wonder, and worry. It’s not a political thriller, and it’s not trying to be. It’s a character study, an oddball comedy, and a quiet reflection on who belongs and who decides.
Spit, as a character, is a bit of a walking contradiction. He’s irritating and lovable, clueless and sharp, self-absorbed and deeply loyal — often all in the same scene. David Wenham, who plays him, commits fully. He doesn’t try to smooth out Spit’s rough edges, and that’s what makes the performance work. He’s not playing a caricature of an Aussie bloke; he’s playing a man who’s out of step with the world but still trying to find his place in it.
What’s surprising is how heartfelt the film becomes. There’s this beautiful thread that runs through it — a friendship between Spit and a young detainee named Jihad, played by Arlo Green. At first, it’s all misunderstandings and awkward silences, but slowly, something genuine grows between them. Watching them connect is the emotional backbone of the film, and it’s done without fanfare. No big speeches. Just small moments that hit home.
The humour here isn’t broad slapstick or polished wit. It’s messy, dry, and often painfully awkward — the kind of stuff that sneaks up on you. You laugh not because the jokes are perfect, but because they’re honest. And a lot of it comes from Spit being totally out of his depth, trying to teach others how to “act Aussie” like he’s running some weird cultural boot camp. It’s silly, sometimes tone-deaf, but also kind of sweet in its own broken way.
Visually, the film keeps things simple. The detention centre is bleak and sterile — lots of washed-out colours, chain-link fences, and harsh lighting. But the camera work draws you in close, focusing on faces, on quiet glances, on things left unsaid. It’s not flashy, but it’s effective. You feel the claustrophobia, the stuck-ness of the characters.
The soundtrack does its job without pushing too hard. A few moments lean on acoustic guitar or soft ambient tracks to underscore emotional beats, but it’s mostly there to support, not lead. That restraint works in the film’s favour — it lets the characters do the heavy lifting.
One thing that might trip people up is the tone. It walks a tricky line between comedy and something much heavier, and it doesn’t always balance it perfectly. There are moments when it leans into the absurd — Spit ranting about Aussie values, misusing slang, bumbling through his own memories — and others where it pulls back to reveal something raw and painful. Some of those shifts are jarring. But that unevenness also makes the film feel more real, like life doesn’t always come neatly packaged in one genre.
You don’t need to come into this with context or background. Spit tells its own story. It’s about a man who doesn’t fit in anywhere, thrown into a place full of people who feel the same. It’s about finding a bit of humanity in a system that seems designed to strip it away. And somehow, it’s about hope — in a sideways, crooked, quietly powerful kind of way.
Is it perfect? No. It stumbles here and there. A few scenes drag. Some jokes miss. But there’s a kind of rough honesty to it that makes it hard to shake. Spit might not be the hero you expect, or even want — but by the end, you might find yourself cheering for him anyway.