The town of Mildura is quiet tonight, as it has been for the past 10 days.

It's Monday. A balmy, late summer night; the end of a day filled with crisp gold light, across palm-lined streets, lovingly restored heritage facades; all under a deep blue sky. The sun has a bite to it, and the air has a whiff of cooler days ahead.

It is simply beautiful.

We are three days into the Mildura Wentworth Arts Festival and three days into Big Screen.

Since last Thursday 23 February, the town, the people, the families of Mildura have buried six of their young.

To come into a town on the tail end of such a tragedy is hard. When you are 'road-showing' with something like Big Screen - 'a celebration' of Australian film, your job is incongruous.

What do we do? How can we possibly bring anything of any meaning to a town suffering so badly? Do we cancel?

The Big Screen team - Elena, Cinzia, Cassandra, Bob and myself - work hard to build good relationships with all the towns we go to. The tour is a family. So the best we can do is to talk to everyone we know in Mildura: Chris and Carol at the Deakin Cinema Complex, Julie in the Council and Mark on the Council, Helen and Nicole at the Festival office, the Sunraysia Daily …

“No. Look…Life goes on,” is the message. “It's terribly, terribly sad, but we have to let everyone know that we're here, doing what we would always do. And we're here for them.”

I used to live in a very small country town. Until six months ago my home was Bangalow 2479, population 1800. I know how country towns work. If you've been reading or hearing about how Mildura has banded together, you'll have an idea of what it's like to have a whole town - a whole town - rally behind you.

Life in a country town can be an invitation to a sense of place that is so vast as to be heart-stopping.

What I'm trying to say is that community in the city is mostly defined by blood (family) and proximity (the street). Community in the bush is more often defined by experience. The country opens its heart and its doors at times like this, in a way that is unique.

So we opened with a free screening and party on Friday.

And Mildura came out, and really enjoyed a very sweet little comedy called Josh Jarman. The star of the film, Marcus Graham, travelled up from Melbourne to introduce and chat with the crowd. It was fantastic to hear how much they liked the film: the reaction was just about the most positive I have ever had for a Big Screen film. The smiles were wide, the eyes bright: they hunted Marcus and I out in the foyer to tell us how much they loved the it. Chris Mitchell is thinking of running it again.

This was the regional premiere for Josh. It's had short seasons in Sydney and Melbourne, played a number of international festivals and received healthy to glowing reviews. Probably the only place you'll be able to see it in the cinema now is on the Big Screen tour, so keep your eyes out for it.

Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon also had fantastic audiences for the Bub's Club screening of Hildegarde and the first of Mildura's triptych from the Geoffrey Rush Collection, Peter Weir's The Last Wave.

Compared to last year, the streets are noticeably quieter: you can park easily almost anywhere, any time of the day. Mildura is sad, yes, but still very much alive. This is what binds towns like Mildura and keeps very important memories alive.

The days are long and beautiful. The air clean and dry. The sky blue, and the river, gentle and warm.

A little bit like the lost seagull wandering along sandbar beach yesterday, we thank Mildura for the warmth of our welcome, for the safe place you give us to share our passion for Australian film, and the amazing support you have shown us, when really your hearts are elsewhere.

The Big Screen team