It’s always been a mystery to me why Australian filmmakers, who are mainly suburban and middle class, are so reluctant to show their ilk on screen. Any excuses about audiences preferring to escape than see themselves are easy to dismiss, since how often do Australian filmmakers show that they could care less about what the public wants to see? It seems to come more from a snobbish reaction against the soapies – that the suburbs are territory for the small screen not the big.
First with “Look Both Ways” and now with “My Year Without Sex” director Sarah Watt has shown that she is not afraid to explore middle class stories in her films, and I can’t tell you how refreshing that is. Both films start and develop in the same way – a big medical moment followed collection of small suburban moments. Natalie (Sacha Horler) and Ross (Matt Day) are well matched as the couple stumbling through the day to day family problems thrust upon them, including health issues, financial worries, pressure to over-consume and child-rearing concerns.
There is much to love in Watt’s observations of the minutiae of family life, which she keeps firmly in the real. When given the option to go for easy solutions (the lottery ticket scene in particular) it is almost like she’s waving her decision to keep the story grounded in the audience’s collective faces. This realist approach is both a blessing and a curse – if the small moments build into catharsis (as they more successfully did in “Look Both Ways”) then the story will feel satisfying. But there’s a lingering sense in “My Year Without Sex” that the journey has been entertaining but not much distance has been covered.
Which is not to say that some big questions aren’t asked, particularly about God and religion. In her vulnerable state Natalie comes into contact with a female priest (played by the wonderfully MILF-esque Maud Davey), but the priest’s motivations seem to be driven more by genuine friendship than a quest for a convert. In the end the film seems to suggest that the Tooth Fairy, Santa, the Easter Bunny and God are all equally valid explanations for the mysteries and randomness of life.
For a film which is chaptered by sex references there’s a strange reluctance to delve deeply into the subject of the title - the story is actually more about the year than the effects of a sexless marriage. Ross seems to be so unaffected by the forced celibacy that he comes across as neutered. A doe-eyed work colleague circles him but his blank reaction to her is something like Dougal in Father Ted. Perhaps this is in keeping with the irritating prudishness of Australian films - after the 1970s can you name one great sex scene in any Australian movie?
Still, for the film’s shortcomings I would prefer to spend 90 minutes in Watt’s world of questioning and honesty than with any other Australian filmmaker going around.
15 May 2009
11 May 2009
Samson and Delilah
I start this semi-regular look at Australian film and media with a question - is it more detrimental to the Australian film industry for critics to exaggerate the flaws of a poor Australian film or to overpraise a merely adequate film? The critical reaction to “Samson and Delilah” has been nothing short of rapturous, leading to reportedly strong attendances over the opening weekend. But is the film worthy of this admiration?
Director Warwick Thornton should be praised for many things – he has crafted a fine looking film with natural performances about a subject matter that has been overlooked for far too long. It should shame us all that Indigenous disadvantage has not been seen in this detail in a feature film until now. And Thornton largely avoids the sentiment and easy answers which could have steered the film into mawkishness.
But “Samson and Delilah” is painfully, mind-numbingly slow, as if Thornton does not have enough plot to fill out a feature length running time. The story is essentially a short film idea stretched way beyond its narrative limits. Samson has moments of cheeky charm, but it is almost impossible to be endeared by a main character whose every decision puts his love interest in harm. Delilah’s suffering heads towards over the top, particularly in a moment towards the end of the film which, while providing a neat shock, feels like a deux ex machina cheat.
The slow pacing seems to be largely due to Thornton making the new director’s mistake of not trusting that the audience understands what he is trying to say. One or two scenes of Samson with a petrol can to his nose is enough for the audience to get that he is an addict. The lengthy shots of this that pepper the film thereafter becomes indulgent. There is nothing worse than the audience being two steps ahead of the storyteller.
For a first film “Samson and Delilah” certainly shows a promising new talent, but a five star masterpiece it is not. Critics over-praising a moderately successful, small Australian film will only lead to mistrust from audiences, and a suspicion that this surely is not the best that Australian filmmakers can achieve.
Director Warwick Thornton should be praised for many things – he has crafted a fine looking film with natural performances about a subject matter that has been overlooked for far too long. It should shame us all that Indigenous disadvantage has not been seen in this detail in a feature film until now. And Thornton largely avoids the sentiment and easy answers which could have steered the film into mawkishness.
But “Samson and Delilah” is painfully, mind-numbingly slow, as if Thornton does not have enough plot to fill out a feature length running time. The story is essentially a short film idea stretched way beyond its narrative limits. Samson has moments of cheeky charm, but it is almost impossible to be endeared by a main character whose every decision puts his love interest in harm. Delilah’s suffering heads towards over the top, particularly in a moment towards the end of the film which, while providing a neat shock, feels like a deux ex machina cheat.
The slow pacing seems to be largely due to Thornton making the new director’s mistake of not trusting that the audience understands what he is trying to say. One or two scenes of Samson with a petrol can to his nose is enough for the audience to get that he is an addict. The lengthy shots of this that pepper the film thereafter becomes indulgent. There is nothing worse than the audience being two steps ahead of the storyteller.
For a first film “Samson and Delilah” certainly shows a promising new talent, but a five star masterpiece it is not. Critics over-praising a moderately successful, small Australian film will only lead to mistrust from audiences, and a suspicion that this surely is not the best that Australian filmmakers can achieve.
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