by Pauline Adamek
Worth: $12.00
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Charlie Miller, Ian Bishop, Lisa Williams
Intro:
… has an undeniable warmth; its humour is mild, its sincerity unpretentious.
The Golden Spurtle is a warm, cosy look at a competition that most of the world probably has never heard of, yet many might find unexpectedly endearing. The World Porridge Making Championship has been staged in Scotland since 1994, presenting a main prize of the fabled “Golden Spurtle” trophy and the title “World Porridge Making Champion” for the best traditional porridge made with only oatmeal, water and salt. A prize is also awarded for the best “Specialty” porridge, which is also made with oatmeal, but to which contenders can add their own ingredients. Every year, the small and picturesque Scottish Highland village of Carrbridge hosts the event.
Much like you can’t rush the preparation of a good bowl of porridge, the documentary adopts a deliberate, unhurried pace as it follows the 30th World Porridge Making Championship from 2023. Director Constantine Costi unearths charm in the personalities and adopts a deliberately unfussy filming style, using mostly static, wide shots, and allowing us to hear the occasional question posed off-camera. This restrained approach creates space for the quirky characters of Carrbridge and their annual championship to unfold naturally. The result is a gentle, good-humoured portrait of a community bound by ritual, tradition, and their shared love of oats.
At the heart of the story is Charlie Miller, the longtime organiser and self-described “Porridge Chieftain,” preparing what may be his final year presiding over the event. We see him turning slender pieces of wood on his lathe, carving out designs on the handle of the deceptively simple stirring tool known as a spurtle.
The film follows Miller through the rhythms of village life, introducing us to local landmarks such as the Packhorse Bridge, the village cemetery, and the tiny railway station. In reflecting on the legacy of a competition that has grown far beyond its humble origins, Charlie’s presence gives the film its emotional anchor, showing us a man who is attentive both to tradition and to his community.
Around him gathers a wonderfully eclectic crew of competitors. Local veteran Ian Bishop returns for another crack at the title, embodying the deep-rooted pride of long-time entrants. Reigning champion is Lisa Williams, exuding the kind of calm intensity you’d expect from a returning champ. Spoken of in almost reverent tones by her peers, we get the sense that her mastery of traditional porridge has been elevated to folklore. Former champions such as Neal Robertson offer technique-driven insights (he swears by medium oats soaked overnight, with salt only added at the end), while British café owner Nick Barnard muses on how something as simple as “water, oatmeal and salt” can still verge on magic.
The international arrivals bring a contrasting burst of energy. Sydney taco chef Toby Wilson approaches the contest with both humility and curiosity, aware that he’s entering a deeply Scottish tradition but eager to introduce his own flair. Younger competitors such as Adam Kiani, as well as entrants from countries as wide-ranging as the United States, Ukraine, Zimbabwe, Indonesia, Canada and the Netherlands, illustrate how far the competition has travelled since its humble origins back in 1994. Their collective enthusiasm underscores the surprising global appeal of a dish often regarded as modest, even basic.
Local colour abounds, in the shape of former dishwasher Barbara Kuwall, local artist Alison (“We have our village of dreamers, of characters”), railway master Chris Price insisting porridge should always be cooked with water, historian James Ross delivering commentary in front of a park of cheery mechanical dinosaurs, and the indefatigable Raffle Queen Jane Weston keeping the community spirit intact.
Competition founder Roger Reed recalls how he was looking for a way to promote the village and had the bright idea to create the competition, given that porridge is “the epitome of Scottish food.” The event itself is pleasingly straightforward. Contestants have thirty minutes to prepare their porridge for judging, with head judge Neil Mugg scoring on taste, colour and texture. The best six from the heats advance to the final, where tradition meets innovation and where even the choice of oats is guarded like a state secret. Amid this, one competitor notes that the key is “to let the oats sing,” a philosophy that neatly reflects the film’s own restrained approach.
Although light and understated, The Golden Spurtle has an undeniable warmth; its humour is mild, its sincerity unpretentious. This is not some fabricated drama, rather a celebration of how a humble dish, when prepared with care using a simple wooden spurtle, can bring together seasoned locals, enthusiastic newcomers, and a village that proudly rallies around its charming tradition. The Golden Spurtle may not be a flashy film, but it doesn’t try to be. Its slow, steady approach suits the simple subject matter just fine.
