Monthly Archives: July 2016

  • Wakolda

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Lucía Puenzo (2013)

    The alternative title is The German Doctor and the doctor in question is Josef Mengele.  In 1960, he is living, as part of a seemingly large community of German expatriates, in Patagonia, under the pseudonym Helmut Gregor.  As played by Alex Brendemühl, Gregor is suspiciously inscrutable from the start of Wakolda, which Lucía Puenzo adapted from her novel of the same name.  And the audience – or at least an audience watching this Argentine film with English subtitles – knows his identity from fairly early on:  Gregor is reading a newspaper and the subtitle helpfully informs us of the headline attracting his interest:  ‘Israeli agents search for Mengele’.  The title character is a doll, who belongs to a young Argentine girl Lilith (Florencia Bado).  The girl’s mother is called Eva (Natalia Oreiro).  Gregor gains Eva’s trust in order to inject Lilith with growth hormones; he also takes a keen interest in Eva’s latest pregnancy.  You’d have liked to have been a fly on the wall when Eva and her husband Enzo (Diego Peretti) decided on a name for their daughter:  ‘I know – since I share a name with Adam’s better-known wife, let’s call our baby girl after his Apocryphal first mate, created from the same earth as Adam rather than from his rib.  It may come in handy if she and I ever become characters with heavily symbolic names in a bad historical drama film.  Not precisely symbolic, of course, but it’ll help with the sinister flavouring if the movie’s central figure is a man notorious for his genetic experiments on human beings’.

    When, at the start of Wakolda, Gregor picks up the doll that Lilith has dropped and gets into conversation with the child, she remarks that Wakolda has no heart.  Gregor then asks if Lilith isn’t a bit old to be playing with dolls.  ‘How old you think I am?’ she replies.  He guesses nine or ten; it turns out she’s twelve but unusually small for her age.  This doesn’t quite answer Gregor’s original question – and it raises another (which remains unanswered):  does Lilith want to encourage people to think she’s younger than she is? – but this doesn’t concern Lucía Puenzo.  All that matters to her is that the exchange has conveyed the message that Lilith is physically underdeveloped and that her alter ego also has an organic deficit.  Wakolda is heartless so that Lilith’s father, a talented craftsman-cum-inventor, can design one for the doll – along with new hair and eyes.   Enzo and his wife have just inherited a hotel owned by Eva’s deceased mother but they seem to have very few guests apart from Gregor so that Enzo, even though his wife is pregnant with twins, has plenty of time on his hands to pursue his ambition of creating porcelain dolls.  Why do Enzo’s talents correspond with Mengele’s malign science – is Lucía Puenzo making a point about how men treat women?  I doubt it – I think she’s merely into image-making.  Gregor offers to bankroll the manufacture of the dolls:  he does so partly in a vain attempt to ingratiate himself with the suspicious Enzo, partly because the finished products presumably remind him of his own engineering interests – but chiefly to enable Puenzo to show rows and rows of the spookily identical dolls.

    Her camera also spends a lot of time moving over Gregor’s notebooks, full of unsettling anatomical drawings, but she isn’t remotely interested in credible character development or dialogue – or even in keeping things tidy.  For example, that opening conversation between Gregor and Lilith is followed by a sequence in which Lilith’s family are driving to the hotel they’re taking on.  One of Lilith’s brothers, who’s anxious about the welfare of the pet insect he has in a jar, reads about the creature and how it sheds a skin.  He asks his elder brother and parents what ‘shed’ means but they reply, incredibly, that they don’t know.  When, a few screen minutes later, there’s a conversation about the insect with Gregor, who mentions the skin-shedding, the little boy is no longer interested in finding out what this means; a bit later, however, Puenzo has the same child putting boldly frank questions to the German doctor.  When Gregor first asks Eva about her pregnancy and history of pregnancy, why doesn’t she react – or indeed tell him to mind his own business?  (This is before she thinks she needs to rely on him.)  I’d no idea how Lilith came into possession of Gregor’s notebooks, given that his fellow Nazis arrange for his transport to a new hiding place at the climax of the film.  (Lilith survives to provide, presumably as an older woman, bits of narrative voiceover that refer to the notebooks.)

    Wakolda may claim to be based on fact but using the Mengele story for a psychosexual thriller of this kind verges on the tasteless.  To add insult to injury, the film isn’t in the least thrilling.  There’s nothing much the actors can do in the airless aesthetic world created by Lucía Puenzo.  Diego Peretti and Florencia Bado are the best – perhaps because it’s easier to sympathise with Enzo and Lilith.  Elena Roger, as a photographer who has a fixed significant look in her very blue eyes from the word go, and Guillermo Pfening, as Gregor’s excessively creepy German sidekick, are the worst.

    13 August 2014

  • Wake in Fright

    Old YorkerFilm review

    Ted Kotcheff (1971)

    Released in the US as Outback, Wake in Fright developed a reputation, during the decades when it was unavailable on VHS or DVD and wasn’t shown on television, as a great ‘lost’ Australian film.   A digital re-release was shown in Australia in 2009 and the picture newly acclaimed.  It had screened in competition at Cannes in 1971 and, also in 2009, was shown for a second time at the Festival as a ‘Cannes Classic’ (a second screening of this kind is extremely rare).  Now Wake in Fright has been re-released in this country too and enthusiastically received.  It currently enjoys a 100% ‘fresh’ rating on Rotten Tomatoes.  It’s good news that the film has been resurrected but I can’t share the enthusiasm.   The movie, with a screenplay by Evan Jones based on a novel by Kenneth Cook, is set in the Australian outback, at first in a township called Tiboonda but principally in a mining town called Bundanyabba – known locally as ‘the Yabba’.  The protagonist is John Grant, a young teacher.  A middle-class, big city boy, Grant is stultified by his teaching job in Tiboonda.  It’s the start of the Christmas school holiday and he’s looking forward to going back to Sydney to spend some time with his girlfriend.   He needs to spend a night in the Yabba before catching a flight the next morning.  The seasonal setting is enough in itself to give an alien quality to a Northern hemisphere viewer.  There are familiar Christmas decorations on display and ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ on the soundtrack but people are drooping in the intense heat of Australian midsummer.  And John Grant is a stranger in the Yabba, a place where the relentlessly hard-drinking men are not so much men as psychotically macho.  Everyone Grant meets there comments that he’s not from around these parts.

    As played by Gary Bond, however, Grant isn’t even from Australia – he’s decidedly English, although no one comments on this so presumably the audience isn’t meant to notice.  It’s not just a matter of Bond’s not attempting the accent:  everything about him suggests a good public school education, perhaps a future career as a Tory MP.  Although good-looking, he’s bland and inert.  There’s the odd moment when his face recalls Peter O’Toole’s but Bond’s eyes aren’t alive and his acting is stagy.  John Grant hates teaching but Bond declaims this rather than expressing it; he makes Grant’s contempt for the ethos of the Yabba too emphatic also.  The whole performance is incongruous and stiff beside the temperamentally volatile Donald Pleasence, as an alcoholic medic, and the largely Australian cast some of whose playing is ropy but never as theatrically deliberate as the lead’s.   One of the oddest sequences in Wake in Fright comes when Grant vomits just as he’s about to have sex with the desperate and easily available daughter (Sylvia Kay) of a man (Al Thomas) who befriends him in a bar. I wasn’t sure whether Grant was sick because he was drunk or because the woman revolted him but Gary Bond is so emotionally remote that if would have been difficult to believe in congress between the pair had it occurred.  Grant has images in his mind of his girlfriend in the surf of Bondi Beach but there’s no other suggestion of sexual or even emotional appetite on his part.  Bond, who didn’t enjoy a long film career (or, sad to say, a long life:  he died of AIDS in his mid-fifties), makes Grant so oddly and excessively superior that he lacks the ordinary-but-civilised Everyman quality that’s needed for a viewer to identify with.  As a result, there’s not much power in most of the nightmare that John Grant experiences.

    The one exception (although its power isn’t because of Grant’s involvement) is the lengthy sequence of a kangaroo hunt.  This comprises two parts, the first in daylight, the second in darkness, when only the car headlights provide illumination.  The hunt is very shocking and is what stays in your mind after you’ve left the cinema.  It’s clear as you’re watching that, in a movie of more than forty years ago with a modest budget, animals were harmed in the making of this picture.  That still doesn’t prepare you for the having-it-both-ways self-approval of the closing legends, which explain that the film-makers shot a real kangaroo hunt and that the footage is included with the endorsement of animal welfare activists.  The implication of this is that the sequence isn’t in the movie as the culmination of Wake in Fright‘s description of the locals’ brutality but because it will help make more people aware that the kangaroo is an endangered species.  In which case, what a lucky chance that the hunt also illustrates the mindset that is Ted Kotcheff’s subject.

    Even though the film doesn’t exactly contradict contemporary European prejudices about outback Aussies, it doesn’t come as a surprise either that the culmination to the big-night-out shooting kangaroos and getting repeatedly drunk is the doctor’s making a homosexual approach to Grant, who wakes up next to him in bed.  That John Grant appears to be more disgusted by this than by almost anything else seems peculiarly pointless, given that it’s the aggressively male behaviour that’s meant to be shockingly reprehensible.  (Although it does help having Pleasence in the role of Doc Tydon:  he’s such an involvedly creepy and distinctive presence that at least the doctor’s perversion comes across as individual rather than representative.)  Some of Ted Kotcheff’s staging of the more documentary elements of the life of the Yabba works well:  the sexual segregation (the wives and girlfriends having a Christmas night out in a separate part of the bar); the locals’ coin-tossing gambling game, which is intriguing partly because it’s so basic.

    Grant wins big at this initially – big enough to decide to ride his luck in the hope of winning enough to give up teaching altogether (and, presumably, go to England – which he talks about doing at one stage).  Of course, he then loses the lot and hasn’t enough funds even to continue to Sydney.   Chips Rafferty, in his final screen appearance, has an easygoing menacing authority as a local policeman – it’s effective that the menace never materialises in the way you think it might.  But the acting is crude and overdone when macho depravity is in the foreground – as with the men who take part the most enthusiastically in the kangaroo hunt.  John Grant eventually gets back to where he started, in Tiboonda.  The satisfied look on the face of the man, played by Jack Thompson, who runs the boarding house where Grant rents a room makes clear that he knew what would happen to Grant.   Although it has seemed crucial to the scheme of the film that the Yabba is a world apart, Thompson’s closing look suggests its ethos prevails across the Australian outback.  This makes you wonder why John Grant never noticed it before – that his township life induced boredom rather than fear.

    10 March 2014

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