Research Essay

See PDF file for my Research Essay on National Australian Cinema:

oz research essay

 

Comparing Beneath Clouds and Rabbit Proof Fence

I can’t seem to rid the film Beneath Clouds off my mind, and the more I think about writing about a film, the more I feel the urge to commit brutal dissections of that masterpiece by Ivan Sen. This time I will attempt to identify some of its similarities with another ‘aboriginal driven story’ (if I may call it so) Rabbit – Proof Fence (Philip Noyce, 2000) in the effort to understand the common themes and intentions that underlie these films and also to relate them to modern day Australian life.

I find it somewhat interesting that the film Rabbit Proof Fence, while set in 1930s Australia, implies almost identical meanings and messages to those portrayed through representatives of modern day Australia in the film Beneath Clouds. As an outsider living in Australia, it is probably not my place to draw assumptions and conclusions on issues surrounding the relationship between white and aboriginal Australians. Therefore my analysis here would be based solely on what I, as someone looking in at the Australian community, am able to draw from these two films.

The journey that Lena and Vaughn take is somewhat similar to that of Molly’s and Daisy’s (and Gracie’s), that is if one reads  their travels through the Australian landscape as symbolic of living a life laden with ambiguity attributed to insecurities, neglect and hopelessness. Oppression and abuse are exhibited quite explicitly in Rabbit Proof Fence and are also apparent in Beneath Clouds, particularly in the confrontation between the police and Vaughn’s aboriginal mates. Both sets of characters are driven by sheer hope and determination to escape their current situations and find new grounds and meanings for themselves – a better life, would be the more general and still applicable term here. The relationship between the two films provokes a frightening thought, if not a revelation. It is easy to feel disheartened and even angry while watching the blatant cruelty directed at aboriginals in the one that, as mention, is set in the early 1930s. The lack of outright violence or explicit anger associated with Beneath Clouds could mean that things may have changed since then. But then again, the deeply suppressed feelings of anger and hatred are so painfully palpable through the characters Vaughn and Lena who both live in contemporary Australia, almost as if implying the prevalence of such feelings persisting in concealment today. His mother’s death drives him to reconciliation and to forget the unpleasant past. It signifies the notion of gaining through loss, similar to the situation of Molly and Daisy when they had to leave Gracie behind (who was re-captured by the authorities)for their own safety and to ensure they could go on to find their mother. The shot of Lena on the train in the final scene, juxtaposed with shots of industrial sites and factories on the outside, so vividly demonstrate her mournful state at the insecurities associated with change, the fears experienced in this transitional stage, and the uncertainties that cloud the prospect of finding the security and sense of belonging that she and everyone who she represents are in need of.

 

Gunning down the exploitation debate

Exploitation cinema has been around for ages. Made famous by of course one of its quintessential directors and propagators Roger Corman, around at the more famous part of the global film community – Hollywood. Sex, violence, and all that triggers those chills, thrills and spills within you, are showcased within the magnified boundaries of the silver screen. The most long lasting effect it entails is none other than the familiar questions surrounding its horrifying degraded qualities and its frightening usefulness to the film industry. If you agree that Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969) is a teenage – motorcycle – exploitation flick, than you could be well on your way to champion the effectiveness of such exploitation cinema while still having some ammunition for the case against the claims of horrifying degraded qualities secured within your limited armoury. The same could be said for Australia’s very own Mad Max (George Miller, 1979).

However, the quality of exploitation films do little to pose too much of a concern, because frankly speaking (and I’m sure the films speak for themselves) they more often than not have very little of it. What is more important is whether or not these films, which most of the time portray cinema in the darkest of lights, have benefited national cinema and the film industry as a whole. Take Mad Max for instance – A fearsome Mel Gibson, clad in vicious looking leather, bolting through the desert land in an equally daunting, menace of a car. Exploitation? Cars – Motorcycles – Gangs and Guns – Macho male and a whole load of ‘exotic’ outback sand – Yes! Good film? No doubt. But what is most important is its role in building the Australian film industry. Money? Made for only 400,000AUD and garnering an eventual 100million from worldwide sales, good old trusty Wikipedia tells us that: “it was a major financial success.” And: “the movie held a record in Guinness Book of Records as the highest profit-to-cost ratio of a motion picture, conceding the record only in 2009 to Paranormal Activity.” So what’s so bad about it all? Well sadly for films like Easy Rider and Mad Max, ‘exploitation cinema’ is usually synonymous with B – grade films that never really end up being as good as them, thrusting all those carrying forms of exploitation with them right through to the common negative stereotypes. But, again there are buckets load of cash to be gained from making these films, which could in turn help the industry. Only logic and reason would dictate that richer filmmakers and producers can afford the choice between quality and quantity, or even both. Plus with the figures in hand and shotgun – wielding – Max Rockatansky for backup, who are we to stand against them.

 

Sequence Analysis: Beneath Clouds

I’ve always thought of the task of analysing the film Beneath Clouds as one too daunting to undertake. It is TOO brilliant a film, in my opinion, and I am still slightly afraid that I might do it injustice by presenting a wrongful interpretation of it. However, I find that as an obsessive lover of this film, it is my duty to attempt a dissection and thorough read of it. My excuse, would be that its director Ivan Sen, after all the work put into the creation of this beautiful and almost impeccable piece of work, would like to see it being appreciated through an effort of identifying and reading every bit and piece of its construct. Of course a thorough analysis of the entire film would be a little too much for this humble blog entry, so I will review a sequence from it and try to tie it with the ideas and themes that I THINK are echoed in this film.

Here we go…

Lena and Vaughn’s journey is symbolic not only of the search for identity and belonging that they are forced to delve into, it also signifies the status and place of Australian identity today. It works tirelessly to inform us that we are still in search for our identity, the meaning of that identity as well as for recognition and identification. The vastness and monstrosity of the Australian landscape is emphasised without any clear signs of exaggeration, and yet it does so well to display the extreme loneliness of the characters. We are immediately reminded of the role of this extravagant piece of nature in the Australian lifestyle and culture, and we instinctively think of the impossibility of the task that Lena and Vaughn are undertaking. A truly disturbing thought that implies the blatant hopelessness we tend to create towards the prospect of seeing one achieve self identification, recognition and security.  The film forces us to pay such close attention to representatives of minority communities that we have so often failed to sufficiently acknowledge. The absence or void surrounding Lena and Vaughn can only be symbolic of the ignorance or disregard we have towards the existence of the various minority groups. It toys with our sense of security and community as it reminds us of the loneliness rendered to the neglected. The characters Lena and Vaughn are such a powerful presence to us. We are constantly driven to look beneath the skin, behind the almost expressionless faces to seek out their thoughts and feelings, to pay due attention and care for these representations of the minority cultures. The very fact that we learn so much from the simple few words that they utter from time to time is testament to how much we do not know of them as well as the people and place they represent. Very often almost half of the entire frame is taken up by the beautiful and almost dream like sky and clouds, is this a reminder for us to remember the role of the aboriginal and their aboriginal and their cultures and beliefs, the significance of dream time? What I am sure of is that it adds to the idea of ambiguity, the same uncertainty that plagues our sense of identity in this period of transition. Its omnipresence becomes a statement of intent, a demand for acknowledgement and a place in the Australian community and at the same time a warning against intrusion of their own place and identity.

On a lighter and more optimistic note, our very ability and tendency to feel for both Lena and Vaughn and sympathize with them may very well indicate that we are on the right track in this journey of searching and providing recognition as well as finding a wholesome Australian identity for all.

 

Concept Analysis: Suburbia VS The Bush

As far as documenting the Aussie suburban life goes, Lantana (Ray Lawrence, 2001) is a great example. Big in scale, simplistic yet beautiful in form, complex in nature and deeply metaphorical in meaning -Much like the Australian landscape and nature, from which the film draws many parallels and references as well as its title. It is a film which carefully and quite brilliantly showcase the lives of a number of individuals, all of whose lives are in their own ways as complex and intricate as the paths and events that link their relationships to one another.

The significance of the Australian landscape, indelible and almost indispensable to the Australian culture, is given due importance alongside the portrayal of suburban life. The lantana bush, appearing as innocent and innocuous, hides away its innate viciousness, disguising its pricks and thorns behind the intricate twines and pretty leaves that surround it. Lying dormant in various parts of the suburb, it becomes the metaphorical message that underlies as well as drives the film’s plot. The lantana bush becomes the symbol of suburban life, as portrayed in the film, resembling the vicious lies and painful insecurities, sadness and jealousy that haunt the characters underneath their very own fabricated disguises. The film explores the theme of relationships, aligning it with ideas about adultery, divorce, happiness, love and loss and even (homo)sexuality. Each of its characters plays out a particular aspect or possibility that constitutes the mentioned theme. Claudia plays a policewoman fond of a man she hasn’t met, Nik and Paula play a young married couple, Leon and Sonja play the older married couple, Pete plays a homosexual who is dating a married man, Jane is the divorcee and John and Valerie the couple bereft of their child. Each one of them is as complex as the very fraction of the theme that they represent, not to mention the interwoven paths and relationships between one character and the other. When Valerie, the therapist who had been helping Sonja and Pete with their problems, is gone missing, almost everyone in this complex web of relationships are affected. As Leon investigates the case, the hidden personalities, lies and deceit associated with the characters are slowly dug up.

When it is finally revealed that it was not murder and that Valerie had fallen off a cliff after running through the bush in the dark, one is led to remind him/herself of the significance and monstrosity of nature, of the hidden pricks and thorns that can work to harm and even kill. The message resonated through Valerie’s death emphasises the importance to look beyond the surface and behind the appearance, to not be afraid to free oneself from the clutches of the past and our fabricated lives. It takes its course in becoming the turning point in the lives of the characters. It becomes the agent through which truth, reconciliation, faith and emancipation are attained. More importantly, it seeks to remind us that the role of nature can be just as overwhelming as it is overpowering. Its significance, like the prowess of the landscape that has often been undermined and even forgotten, thrusts itself onto the forefront of our minds, and a haunting thought about land, occupier and nature is called to surface.

 

Film Review: Japanese Story (Sue Brooks, 2003)

Japanese Story is Sue Brooks’ 2003 romantic drama about an unlikely relationship between an Aussie geologist in Western Australia and a businessman from Japan. The film is laden with all the well known and cliché elements that make up that typical cross cultural romantic story – initial resentment between the two culturally distinct characters, text book plot twist (this time their car gets stuck in the desert earth) that leaves the two stuck together in none other than a sticky situation, and the ensuing romance between the most unlikely pair of individuals. Its plot is painfully predictable, driven by narrative devices nicked from a filmmaking 101 handbook and characters with the most stereotypical characteristics imaginable. Its message is an interesting one, tying together erratic and yet fragile human emotions with the brutality of nature. It culminates quite fittingly to an emotionally charged denouement where Toni Collette’s character Sandy is overwhelmed by her lover’s sudden death and her realisation of the cruel fact that her world would not accept his presence despite boasting itself as one that has ‘so much space and yet so few people’.  The arrival of his widow teases her with that impenetrable side of the world that she may never be a part of but at the same time she is made aware of the fact that despite their differences, they share the same human emotions of sadness and remorse, the same feelings of loss and love. The film is not all that bad, in fact, minus the mentioned stereotypical portrayal of characters and cliché plot devices, it is not bad at all. Its contextual meaning and intended message is worthy of praise as much as it is of more in depth analysis. Its stunning cinematography that blends character and landscape with utter brilliance, its fusion of oriental and western harmonies that make up a truly beautiful and immersive soundtrack and Collette’s commendable performance are all enough to provide the film with potential to strike and puncture the very depths of its viewers’ emotions and, dare I say, heart. But sadly as it turns out, the combination of a cheesy, predictable storyline and over the top shallow, stereotypical characters is one guilty of being just too much of an irritating distraction, leaving no more than a few tickles on the surface of what would otherwise be a punctured gut.

 

SBS – six billion People… and counting

The one word that I think could best define the Special Broadcasting Service or SBS is that it is a breath of fresh air. It sits just outside and yet not too far away from the convoluting barrage of regular and often annoying mainstream broadcast. Here in the land down under, it is perhaps the best and most direct way to keep in touch with the world abroad. Coming from a country such as Malaysia, multiculturalism is for me an idea not all that foreign at all. The dominant broadcast service back home is provided through satellite TV which almost every household has a share of. The cultural constitution of the community here in Australia shares some common traits with the one I am most familiar with back home. And in terms of broadcasting stations or channels, the SBS can find itself a similarly motivated counterpart from that part of the continent.

It is a daring and yet noble effort to have a national broadcasting company functioning on the service for minorities. I fully understand the part of terrestrial television in Malaysia, their devotion to an every day multi – lingual broadcast service can be explained by the diverse ethnic groups, each of which speak their own language and make up, even on their own, a rather big part of the majority. On the contrary, in a country where the widespread medium of communication is only English, and where the majority of people speak that one same language, it is surprising that the existence of TV channel such as SBS was even suggested at all. For all that talk about neglecting minorities, I think SBS is one step in the right direction. It opts to take the most unusual stand by shying away from the majority, a move that could even be seen as neglecting the majority. But to attest the latter would seem unfair. SBS does so well not only to recognize and provide a service for minorities, it succeeds in even giving at least some decent entertainment for the majority. Not to mention the awareness it raises of other cultures within and outside the country. And while mainstream television more often than not have such bad programs on show, the ‘alternative’ entertainment provided  by SBS might just be seen as a step up from the aforementioned ‘decent’. Whatever the line up is like at the next station, one can always count on SBS to be a breath of fresh air, and more.

 

Nation Building and Identity through Cinema

Themes of loyalty, friendship and endurance that embellish the narrative of the film Gallipoli, is more often that not difficult to be identified as part of efforts in the name of nation building or awareness of identity. It is rare, especially for the mass audience, to associate a certain government’s or filmmaker’s agenda to promote national identity or nation building with a particular film that is being watched. There are two main issues that mark the mentioned problem. Firstly, all films have a narrative and characters that preferably can be identified with, and as a result of this basic story-telling practice, there lies a difficulty in distinguishing whether a character’s attributes are representative of the populous or just his own. The same could be said for the film’s narrative – does it tell the story of an isolated individual, a small fraction of a particular society, or the entire nation? Secondly, film genres, unique styles and narratives in films and audience expectations of what a film or an anticipated film is/would be about, inadvertently subdue their awareness of the details that may have been included for that ‘nation building through cinema’ propaganda, or in some cases for better government funding.

Gallipoli was a film that, for Australians, not only reminded them of that historical event, but also of what it means to be Australian, or the familiar attributes and practices that make them uniquely Australian. It was a film not just about Gallipoli and not so much about warfare, but more importantly it was about the Australian spirit and identity shown through and represented by the character Archie. But for the international audience, which I count myself a part of, there were only few uniquely Australian elements and details, and one of those few was the unique event of Gallipoli itself. It is not true to say that it wasn’t a film that tried to showcase Australian culture and identity. But access to a proper awareness of that culture and identity through this and many other films seem to be reserved only for those who are already familiar with the said culture and national identity. It is difficult to point out, the bits in this film that truly define Australian identity, the details and attributes that isolate Australian culture as specially and uniquely one of its kind. Similarly in most western cinema and films, it is difficult to recognize or identify the unique cultural and national identity that the people in those countries have. This is due to either a lack of investment in the said propaganda or to the fact that the screen is just too limited an avenue to showcase national identity. In the case of cultures that are deemed ‘exotic’ by international audiences, one could be forgiven for thinking that they have it easier when it comes to nation building through cinema/screen. Films like Slumdog Millionaire give one the immediate awareness of not only what the culture of the natives in the slums of Mumbai is like but also how unique it is, how different their culture is as compared to that of the majority of its international audiences. It may be true that they have it easier and filmmakers count on and use this exoticness at times specifically for international appeal. But as a result of that, the portrayal of a culture’s or nation’s identity may be and could be easily tainted, exaggerated or even exploited.

Nation building through cinema is in most cases ineffective and burdensome. It offers too narrow a platform for the demonstration of national identity and leaves attempts to showcase it short of either clarity or accuracy. But this is not to say that there is no hope and that there have not been successful attempts at all in the past.  Government funding should not only be allocated to films still riding on the ‘national cinema’ bandwagon. Growth of cinema as an industry should be encouraged and more creative output and artistic talent fostered so as to pave the way to a more influential and efficient national cinema. For now, there should be a quota system by which a specified amount of films from both the nation building and more independent camps would receive government funding.  This is probably the only way to attract filmmakers to produce films without the fears of being limited to certain ‘nation building’ content.  If one good film is but a narrow platform for nation building, mathematically and maybe logically, the longer run would produce more good films that could become a collective effort or joint-base for a potentially better and more effective form of that construction.

 

The Proposition and Unforgiven: Comparative Analysis

It is difficult to not compare a film like The Proposition (John Hillcoat, 2005) to the likes of Unforgiven (Clint Eastwood, 1992), which surely in more recent times has become somewhat of an iconic film for the Western film genre.  Elements of the traditional western film are evident in both these films despite the fact that they are set in two separate ends of the globe. The rebellious ‘anti-hero’ called into action for the sake of his family’s wellbeing, fighting the brutal landscapes, the bounty hunters and gunfights, while seeking to overthrow the law in order to attain what he feels would be justice. Their themes, characters and story line resemble each other, but there are some notable features in each of the two that make them genuinely distinguishable from one another.

The Proposition is, of course, set in the outback instead of Western America or the Wild West. But like in most Western films, there is alot of emphasis on the land or landscape. The director Joh Hillcoat adheres to this practice and has done well to utilize visual exposition to display, while enhancing the look of his film, the beauty of the Australian landscape. Every frame and scene in the film involves a typically beautiful view of the landscape with carefully crafted and constructed mise – en – scen and cinematography. In both The Proposition and Unforgiven, fear and bloodshed that resonate through the plot, caused by the brutality of the law and blood thriving murderers, are so effectively juxtaposed with shots showcasing the romanticism and spirituality that engulf the serene and picturesque landscapes. The protagonists in both these films (Charlie Burns in The Proposition and Will Munny in Unforgiven) share similar characteristics, which include a record or reputation for brutal murdering as well as a more peaceful and unusually humane and sensitive nature, which draw viewers’ sympathy and engagement with these characters as much as they become engaged with the aforementioned conflicting visuals of beauty and brutality.

One of the distinguishing features that The Proposition has is the presence of the aboriginal people and their culture. Although, sadly they play only small roles throughout the plot, serving as mere helpers or trackers for the British in their attempt to capture Arthur Burns. However it would be cruel to say that Hillcoat has included them only to make his film distinctively Australian. The Aboriginal people and their culture becomes the source of that spirituality and uniqueness that are associated with the landscapes that we see on screen and the setting in which the plot we engage in evolves and develops. The resistance of the land is brought to our attention, a distinctive culture teases our curiosity, the possibilities created by that uncharted or unknown territory provides heightened suspense and excitement. It adds depth to the story, and I believe this is where it triumphs over other Western films especially Unforgiven. Surely it is difficult to say that The Proposition is a better film than Unforgiven (and probably just as difficult as it is to say it is not), but I shall not delve into that, but merely state that I think the plot in Unforgiven included a rather desperate attempt to gain this extra bit of ‘depth’ by having characters like English Bob and Mr. Beauchamp. While it did, to some extent, compliment the overall suspense and tension created by the plot, it lacked the variety of feelings, that extra bit of probabilities and possibilities that were present in The Proposition.

The Proposition and Unforgiven are undoubtedly two great ‘Western’ films. Both are visually beautiful, heart-warming, and horrifying at the same time. But while Unforgiven gives you the usual and classic depiction of a GOOD Wild West flick, The Proposition takes you to the surface of the sacred and unexplored and on a deep emotional ride with many of its well crafted characters. But both films, in the simplest form of describing their similarities, leave you shaken, satisfied and in awe.

 

Ten Canoes – A Review

The film Ten Canoes is a strikingly original, clever and at the same time insightful documentary that sheds light on Australian aboriginal culture, specifically on that of the Yolgnu people. It is truly one of its kind much of that is due to its director Rolf de Heer, who uses various screening techniques to ensure that the aboriginal story be told by the aboriginal people themselves. Almost every shot throughout the film utilize and show only elements of aboriginal culture including the aboriginal language, the aboriginal people themselves and their land. In this respect, de Heer has made a great film or rather used the screen quite perfectly and accurately as a medium for the aboriginal people to tell their own story. Complying to rules and regulations are often the biggest barriers for filmmakers especially when these rules and regulations are so closely associated with issues of sensitivity and made more difficult when the film that is being made employs a narrative that have very little or no room for change. De Heer’s clever usage of filming and narrative techniques successfully rids this film of potential controversies or plausible claims of disrespect. His approach in this case is not only praiseworthy but is an example to follow.

De Heer uses different coloured film stock to demonstrate and distinguish the different time frames in this multi – layered documentary/story and does so to great effect. He shows us what I would like to call the documented events of the past through black and white film, like old photographs taken of real Yolgnu people in real time and setting; He uses coloured film stock for the scenes set in dreamtime and in the present, giving us not only a clearer understanding of what is going on in the film, but also knowledge or a reminder that the aboriginal culture is not something of the past nor does it only reside in the present, but also existent in a time and place that for us may either be out of reach or incomprehensible. At times the film may seem a little slow-paced. But while it is not your everyday edge-of-your-seat ‘thriller’ documentary, De Heer sure knows how to keep his audience attention, holding us in constant admiration of the landscapes he emphasises and that are home to the aboriginal people, preserving our deep engagement with the characters and their practices, while repeatedly inflamming our curiosity as the story reveals itself patiently, not to mention throwing in a few comedic moments along the way. More importantly, he succeeds in maintaining a notable authenticity throughout the film, making sure it is truly and genuinely aboriginal. As a result, the tale of the Yolgnu people and the accompanying knowledge it imparts is not just enlightening, but truly believable, captivating and remarkably effective.