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.

 

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.

 

Hotel Chevalier (Wes Anderson, 2007)

Hotel Chevalier (Wes Anderson, 2007)

Not the entire short film. The first 3 minutes of it is not in here. I decided to do my analysis beginning from the scene where the woman enters the room, so I guess this sequence is good! Plus I couldn’t find any links to the full video except one that came with very large and distracting spanish subtitles.

Here is the one with the very large and distracting spanish subtitles.

For the first half:

And the second half:

 

Short Film Sequence Analysis: Hotel Chevalier (Wes Anderson, 2007)

Hotel Chevalier is a short film written and directed by Wes Anderson. It is a 13minute short companion piece or prologue to Anderson’s 2007 feature length film The Darjeeling Limited.

The entire film is set inside the Hotel Chevalier, beginning with the reception desk at the lobby, to the interior of the main character’s hotel room and ending with a view of Paris from his balcony. A very obvious yellow colour palette is used for the hotel room, creating a strangely golden atmosphere that coincides well with the strangeness of the characters in the room. Anderson uses white, yellow and brown coloured props to enhance the colour created by the yellow lighting, which work well to create that warm homely feel as the two lovers reunite as well as to echo the slight tension experienced by the two. The blood red floor as if a symbol of their suppressed passion comes into view, teasing their senses as they sit down in face to face conversation, slowly beginning to submit to their desire for each other.

Anderson cleverly builds this scene by allowing the slow and pleasant diagetic music to continue playing and accompanying the tension and excitement within the room. The alternating wide shots between the man and the woman seated at opposite ends of the room accentuate the space between them and enhance the audiences’ as well as the characters’ own longing for reunion. The props in these two sections of the room contrast each other quite significantly. One side has a more comfortable set up, with personal ornaments and paintings as decoration, with wooden furniture and a carpet that give it a more homely rather than the typical hotel room look. The lady, whom the man left, sits on this end. The opposite end resembles the typical hotel room and the man sits there behind his large suit case, like the traveller who left his home and his loved one behind.

This sequence of shots is cut rather abruptly to a close up shot of the man opening a small piece of chocolate, and as soon as his (and our) attention is diverted away from the chocolate, the woman gets up and moves towards him, before asking him to come home. Our attention is drawn to follow their slow progress towards each other, fuelling our excitement for the resolution as they sit on the bed and then suspending that excitement by maintaining a clear line of separation as they lie down. An abrupt cut away again as the knock on the door rings out and the man goes to open it. As soon as the waiter leaves, they begin their passionate kiss, as abrupt as the preceding knock on the door. An instant reminder of the strangeness of these characters and the uncertain rhythm their relationship seems to dance to.

In the end, they finally accept each other as she takes off her clothes and apologizes to him. As if shedding her own skin or her old self, she stands naked by the man’s stereo set playing the same song he played at the start of their meet, when she was first introduced. Accompanied by the re-playing of the song, she is somewhat re-introduced to us as a whole new person in this scene, naked like a new born baby, waiting for the man. The man walks over with a yellow hotel bathrobe and clothes her with it, as if accepting her new self as a part of his home and a part of his life. They step outside onto the balcony and look at his view on Paris, which turns out to be another block of apartments.

 

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.



 

Ten Canoes – Some analysis

De Heer uses black and white film stock to show what I would like to call the real documented events of the past. The said black and white film is edited so as to have a somewhat greenish colour that resemble the photographic pictures of the Yolgnu people that he acquired and that inspired him to make this film. The use of this technique is significant as it gives a sense of authenticity to what is seen on screen. It is as if the Yolgnu people were just there at that moment carrying out their usual activities without acting them out for the camera. It also creates a tangible effect, as if implying that these are the events that regular people outside the community can see and take pictures of or document. Where else the culture of the Yolgnu people appears to be on a different level. It is more than what can be seen on photographic images or on everyday tangible documentation. It presents itself in what is known as the dreamtime. This culture is described through a simple tale told by one of the Yolgnu people. De Heer uses coloured film stock for the scenes that depict the Yolgnu people’s story to not only distinguish the different time frames and show us what the emphasis in his film is, but also to suggest that part of the film as being in the said dream time, wherein all that exists are considered more real than reality itself.

Another use of coloured film stock is in the scenes set in the present. These scenes are mostly comprised of wide shots, long shots, bird’s eye view shots and tracking shots. Most, if not all of these are shots of landscapes that are not only used to establish the place and type of place the film is set at, but also to remind us that the Yolgnu people and their story, their culture, is still present among those landscapes. It is also interesting to note that most of these shots do not have any of the Yolgnu people in them. Seeing that all the shots of the Yolgnu people (outside dreamtime) were edited to look authentic as if they were real pictures of real Yolgnu people from olden times, it is possible that de Heer didn’t intend on purposely getting the Yolgnu people to stand in front of his camera for the ‘present-time’ shots as that would have affected the said authenticity of this film. What I am sure though is that these shots tend to suggest that these landscapes are sacred, uncharted territory, and reserved especially for the people who live in them. De Heer’s words are testament to that – “For me (Ten Canoes) is the most difficult film I have ever made, in the most foreign land I’ve been to…”