Beer is welcome, but Crocs are not: The Crocodile Dundee pub embarks on a fresh journey
Imagine the thrill in an outback pub as a giant Bowie knife spins through the air and slams into a wooden bar, igniting excitement among a group of rugged men clad in leather hats, blue jeans, flannel vests, and worn-out tees. This vivid scene, straight out of an Australian classic, captures the wild spirit of a place deeply tied to the nation's film history.
Suddenly, a man bursts in through the front door, seemingly engaged in a fierce battle with a saltwater crocodile. The crowd bursts into laughter when they see the "mad bugger"—decked out in crocodile teeth and skin—managing the stuffed reptile and ordering two drinks: “One for me, one for me mate.” But the moment turns tender when his eyes meet a woman’s strikingly pristine white shirt and flawless Hollywood looks, so out of place in this rough-and-tumble bar. With a smooth move, he pulls his knife from the wall, saunters over, cracks a joke, tips his hat, and introduces himself with a mischievous grin: "Michael J. ‘Crocodile’ Dundee." Then, just like in the movies, he whisks the blonde lady away to dance.
This unforgettable character made waves worldwide in the 1986 film that remains Australia’s top-earning movie to this day. Now, nearly four decades later, the iconic pub featured in that film has turned a new page—opening a chapter that those involved hope will outshine the less successful Dundee sequels.
Located in McKinlay, Queensland’s Gulf Country—a remote town roughly 1,600 kilometers northwest of Brisbane—the Walkabout Creek hotel recently changed ownership after sitting on the market for about three years.
The new proprietor, Angus Brodie, a 33-year-old cattleman, brings a unique connection to the film’s legacy. When he was around eight, he tried out to be an extra for Crocodile Dundee 3, hoping his local roots would land him a role alongside Paul Hogan. Though he missed out on the cameo, Brodie reflects on the experience with good humor, joking, “Not many people even know about that film. Probably for good reason.”
Still, the spirit of the original Crocodile Dundee movie remains deeply woven into the fabric of the Walkabout Creek hotel, its town, and neighbouring cattle stations. Brodie treasures this connection, recalling how traveling overseas often sparks conversations when he mentions his local pub’s fame.
"You say, ‘Oh yeah, my local pub is from Crocodile Dundee’—and people are amazed whether you’re in New York or London," he says. "It gives our small community a bit of pride and bragging rights."
Ruari Elkington, a lecturer specializing in creative and screen industries at Queensland University of Technology, points out that the character of Crocodile Dundee has left a long-lasting cultural imprint on Australia’s identity. It shaped not only global perceptions of the country but also influenced the public’s view of Australian cinema.
"That opening scene in the pub—the croc in hand as Dundee approaches the bar—is iconic and carries a lot of impact," Elkington explains.
However, Elkington also notes a sharper edge to Dundee’s legacy. The film glorifies the rugged outback lifestyle, which doesn't actually reflect the lives of most Australians, who largely live near the coast and far from the wild bush settings portrayed.
"We still carry this myth about the outback that's not grounded in most Australians’ reality," he adds. "Especially in the US, where that image has stuck since the film came out."
Elkington also critiques the film’s pub scenes for being "pretty reductive" and overwhelmingly male-centric, with a sense of close quarters and a lurking threat of violence—elements that don’t fully capture the true diversity of these communities.
Brodie reassures that while the Walkabout Creek hotel’s atmosphere might resemble the film’s setting, the real pub is far more welcoming and diverse.
"It’s not quite as wild west as the movie made it seem," he chuckles, referencing the film’s bar fights. Instead, the pub is a lively gathering spot where locals, station workers, passing jackaroos, tourists, and families all mingle.
Brodie and his wife Jo Cranney, who both manage the pub and run a nearby cattle station, also have young children, with a third on the way. This family-friendly vibe offers a fresh and inclusive dynamic, far from the rough-and-tumble image portrayed on screen.
"Our clientele is truly a mix from all walks of life," Brodie shares. "Everyone sits around the bar to share a chat. Everyone’s welcome."
The Walkabout Creek hotel preserves its rich historical significance while also embracing a more modern, inclusive spirit. In fact, Brodie points out an ironic twist: despite the pub’s fame in crocodile country, saltwater crocodiles don’t actually inhabit the area.
"You have to travel a few hours north before you reach real saltwater croc territory," he reveals, highlighting a fascinating fact that perhaps even some fans might find surprising.
But here’s the question: Does the enduring mythology of Crocodile Dundee and its iconic pub do more to help or hinder Australia’s cultural identity? Is it time to move beyond these legendary but somewhat outdated images? Share your thoughts—do you think this legacy is something to cherish or to rethink? The debate is wide open.
