The Film Heckler

Bran Nue Dae

2010-01-14T12:08:00.006+11:00

If there’s one thing worse than being brow-beaten by a film then it’s coming out of a cinema after 90 minutes wondering what the point was at all. One can sympathise with the filmmakers behind “Bran Nue Dae” – it’s understandable that after so many heavy-handed, glum social realist dramas they would want to shy away from a MESSAGE. Instead they’ve opted for a lighter touch for their glossy Indigenous musical. But the irony is that the less a film has to say then the less audiences will be inclined to see it. Rachel Perkins is not a timid filmmaker, so it’s surprising that “Bran Nue Dae” is such a lightweight, timid experience.

Though they are poles apart in budget and intent “Avatar” makes for an interesting comparison. For all the familiarity of the story at least James Cameron is true to his convictions and delivers a film about something. His anti-imperialist, pro-green message has not hurt the box office one bit - audiences are turning up for the style and are almost surprised to be delivered something of substance.

The key problem in “Bran Nue Dae” is that the main thrust of the story has Willie (newcomer Rocky McKenzie) going on a road journey from Perth to Broome with no great drive or purpose. If in Broome his childhood sweetheart Rosie (the radiant Jessica Mauboy) was in some sort of danger with Rocky’s rival Lester (Dan Sultan) then it would raise the stakes of Willie’s journey and make the audience care that he succeeds. Rosie actually seems better off with the hunky Lester – at least he has some sexy charm and knows how to have a good time. But once again an Australian film shows us that sex is something to be feared and avoided. Even “Grease” had more to say about teenage sexuality than this.

Along the way Willie encounters a series of special guest stars – Ernie Dingo and Missy Higgins (both surprisingly strong), Magda Szubanski and Deborah Mailman (both mugging their she-devil roles) – and takes it all in with a look of blank apprehension. Geoffrey Rush does what he can to pump up thin material. The highlights of the journey are an excellent Bangara-style dream sequence, some toe tapping songs, lots of colour in a “South Pacific” way and a beautiful Missy Higgins song. In the end Willie learns that he can be proud to be Aboriginal, though this did not seem to be the question that needed answering for him. Willie’s search for identity – whether to model himself on white men or his own people – could have been an interesting direction for the story to take.

It’s certainly encouraging to have two Indigenous films made in the same year, both of such different styles. But “Bran Nue Dae” is a good example of a film which could have been both entertaining and profound, but when stripped of anything contentious ends up as mildly enjoyable but empty.

Last Ride

2009-07-08T17:17:00.011+10:00

From the way in which “Last Ride” has slunk into cinemas with little buzz and a meaningless poster the hopes for a thrill ride were not high. Sure enough, “Last Ride” is yet another addition to the Australian canon of mopey, maudlin films about dysfunctional arseholes. Hugo Weaving does his best with the threadbare character Kev, and Tom Russell is passable playing his son Chook (though allowances should be made for child actors given their inherent lack of experience.)

But the story is the real villain here, an ill-defined, stop-start road journey across some admittedly picturesque South Australian countryside. Because the writer has chosen to slowly drip-feed the details of why the pair are on run, the stakes are never clear or compelling. Kev and Chook spend vast amounts of time sitting around, with little sense of danger or risk enveloping them. Coupled with the low stakes is the decision to make Kev a short-tempered, violent thug, so that even the most sympathetic of audiences would find it hard to care for his fate.

So how is it that we keep churning out these low-scale dramaless dramas that have no clear reason to exist as feature films? Here’s two explanations:

Often short films with more mood than substance are lauded by film festivals, hence the praise for director Glendyn Ivin’s short “Cracker Bag” which won the Palme D’Or at Cannes. Taking the same approach from shorts to features exposes the weaknesses of this type of storytelling. As with “Samson and Delilah” (see thoughts below), the story content in “Last Ride” could have been told in half the screen time, so we are left with long scenes of nothing much that limp the film towards 90 minutes.

Critics often applaud films of this nature and very few have the guts to call filmmakers to task. Hence the predictable hyperbole from the “At The Movies” duo, though Jake Ryan in The Age gives a more reasonable appraisal. Honest criticism from within the film industry is rare (no doubt “Last Ride” will feature prominently in this year’s AFI awards), so the filmmakers are rarely being told directly about their work’s shortcomings.

Ultimately though the key source of the problem is the filmmakers themselves, with their lack of storytelling ambition and nous. The upcoming “The Road” may provide a fascinating case study of how an Australian director working in the Hollywood system tells a father/son road journey, with stakes that are as high as their very own survival.

My Year Without Sex

2009-05-15T10:24:00.004+10:00

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.

Samson and Delilah

2009-05-11T12:59:00.006+10:00

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.