Monthly Archives: November 2017

  • Sweet Country

    Warwick Thornton (2017)

    The physical setting of Warwick Thornton’s ‘kangaroo Western’, shown at this year’s London Film Festival, is perhaps not the title character but it is the star of the show.  The adjective in the film’s name is ironic:  Thornton describes the violent racism of a 1920s frontier-town and its environs in Australia’s Northern Territory – the persistent physical and verbal abuse of Aborigines, the heedless miscegenation.   The director is also the cinematographer and Sweet Country’s atmospheric visuals are impressive.  The bleached ground and red mountains are pitiless.  The heat is intense.  A murder trial takes place alfresco – in one of the film’s rare comical touches, the public gallery is a couple of rows of deck chairs.  The man on trial is Sam Kelly (Hamilton Morris), a middle-aged Aboriginal stockman, and his face is no less compelling a camera subject than the vast landscape and skyscape.  The look of the film isn’t matched by its other elements.  The script by David Tranter and Steven McGregor is weak.  There are good people in the cast – Ewen Leslie, Bryan Brown, Sam Neill – but there’s some laboured acting from a few others.

    Sweet Country begins with an image that’s immediately confirmed as emblematic.  A cauldron of liquid is boiling on a campfire.  On the soundtrack and off-camera is accompanying argy-bargy between two male voices – one of which insults the other in racist language.  It turns out that the black man on the receiving end was Sam:  as a result of this dispute, he, his wife Lizzie (Natassia Gorey-Furber) and her daughter[1] moved to work on the land of Fred Smith (Sam Neill), a Christian preacher.  Decent (and naïve), as well as devout, Smith believes ‘we are all equal in the sight of the Lord’.  Before going off to town for a few days, he arranges for Sam to help Harry March (Ewen Leslie), a newcomer in the territory, renovate the cattle yards he’s recently taken over.  Also assigned to this work are two non-whites who work for another white station-owner (wooden Thomas M Wright) – his stockman Archie (Gibson John) and illegitimate son Philomac (played by twins Tremayne and Trevon Doolan).  The viciously screwed-up Harry March soon emerges as a racist and a rapist:  he disciplines Philomac by chaining him to a rock; he forces himself on Lizzie.  Smith has left Sam in charge of his house while he’s away.  In a shoot-out there, which March initiates, Sam, in self-defence, shoots him dead.

    Sam and Lizzie go on the run, with the local lawman Sergeant Fletcher (Brown) leading the posse in pursuit of them.  Archie acts as tracker; Smith comes along too with a view to ensuring that Sam is brought back alive.  The search is fruitless and the posse breaks up; Fletcher nearly dies in the punitive heat and owes his survival to Sam.  The latter, when he discovers his wife is pregnant, returns home.  Since Sam isn’t able to father children, he knows that March must have impregnated Lizzie.  At his trial, the fair-minded, out-of-town judge (Matt Day, also wooden) finds Sam not guilty and tells him he’s free to go.  The verdict is intolerable to the white community.  As he and his family leave the area, with Fred Smith providing the transport, Sam is killed by a sniper’s bullet.  In a closing, rhetorical appeal to the heavens, the distraught Smith asks, ‘What hope is there for this bloody country?’

    Perhaps there’s a positive answer to Smith’s question in the wily mixed-race youngster Philomac, who not only escapes his punishment by March but turns out to be the resourceful survivor of the story as a whole.  The film says more unequivocally, however, that Christianity and legal justice are ineffective in the face of gun law.  Although that seems meant to be the clear message of Sweet Country, it’s skewed by the fact that both Harry March and Sergeant Fletcher have recently returned from fighting in the Great War, which has left an indelible impression on both.  March stands in the yard outside his station, doing lone rifle drill.  Indoors, he sits by the fire, haunted by memories that he tries to drown in alcohol.  Fletcher is less extreme  – he’s given to reciting the ‘They shall not grow old …’ lines from Laurence Binyon’s For the Fallen – but he, as well as March, is described as ‘mad’ by another character in the course of the action.  The traumatic legacy of warfare makes the piece more historically specific but March is such a crucial figure in it that his disturbed state of mind dilutes the force of the idea that the terrain of Sweet Country is fuelled by inherent human racism and brutality.

    Warwick Thornton fancies up the sparse plot with subliminal flashes back and forward in time, some more easily comprehensible than others.  The lethal wounds of March and Sam are shown in extended gory close-up.   It’s presumably symbolic that the only significant white female character (Anni Finsterer), who runs the local bar and shares Fletcher’s bed, is a non-speaking part.  There is no music either.  This is effective:  it deprives the audience of what might have been a protective distance from the unyielding geography that dominates Sweet Country.

    13 October 2017

    [1] The actress isn’t credited on IMDB or Wikipedia.

  • Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool

    Paul McGuigan (2017)

    Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool recreates Gloria Grahame’s affair, in the last two years of her life, with a young Liverpudlian actor called Peter Turner.  The film ends with her death from cancer, at the age of fifty-seven, in October 1981. The screenplay by Matt Greenhalgh (Control, Nowhere Boy) is based on Turner’s memoir of the same name.  He was nearly thirty years Grahame’s junior and a jobbing actor.  She had behind her four marriages, only one of which lasted more than a few years (her ex-husbands included both Nicholas Ray and Anthony, his son from a previous relationship), and movie stardom that was also short-lived.  Perhaps their relationship has come to seem increasingly extraordinary to Turner with the passing years (during which he’s had work but hasn’t achieved fame).   It’s certainly not surprising that he decided to write an account of his love affair with Grahame and it’s a tale worth telling.   Paul McGuigan works his way competently through the unhappy events of the story but it’s hard to dramatise this material on screen without certain elements (such as the key stages and crises of a terminal illness) coming over as generic – an effect occasionally reinforced by McGuigan’s choice of image (bereft Peter standing alone in an empty street).  Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool features fine performances but it left me feeling glum – I think because, as well as being miserable, it felt somewhat routine.

    In an absorbing opening sequence, in her dressing room at a Lancashire theatre, Gloria (Annette Bening) prepares to go on stage as Amanda Wingfield, in a touring production of The Glass Menagerie.  At the end of the sequence, she collapses in pain.  Admitted to hospital, she makes contact with Peter (Jamie Bell) in Liverpool.  The narrative that follows is divided into the present tense of late summer 1981 and flashbacks to the earlier phase of her relationship with Peter.  They first meet in 1979, when each is renting a room in the same Primrose Hill house.  He has never heard of her; it’s only when they’re in a pub and the barman recognises Gloria that Peter realises she was once a Hollywood name.  (The barman is film-buff enough to tell Peter that she ‘won an Oscar too, as I recall’.)  After discharging herself from hospital, Gloria comes to stay with Peter and his family – his parents (Julie Walters and Kenneth Cranham) and brother (Stephen Graham).  They welcome her warmly as an old friend:  Gloria has stayed with the Turners before although the film doesn’t cover those relatively happy times.   Its past tense concentrates largely on the time the couple spends together in America, where Gloria’s concealment of her ill health is the cause of increasing friction between them.  An exasperated Peter eventually returns alone to Liverpool, after getting a part in an Alan Bleasdale stage play.

    Annette Bening has played real-life figures before but not ones with well-known voices.  Her vocal impersonation of Gloria Grahame takes a while to get used to but only a short while:  the voice is soon an integral part of the character she creates.  In the early stages, I wondered too whether the keen intelligence that Bening naturally projects was right for Grahame, before realising I was making unfair assumptions about the latter, based purely on her screen personae (Ado Annie in Oklahoma! as well as her trademark tarnished beauty in a succession of noir roles).  Playing a dying woman, Annette Bening’s vividity takes on a special poignancy.  Her Gloria is funny and charming but painfully brittle – physically as well as psychologically.  Jamie Bell’s emotionally fine-tuned Peter is impressive:  there’s a convincing rawness about him – callowness and sensitivity are two sides of the same coin.  It’s great to see Bell dancing again, albeit briefly (and not with Julie Walters this time), in Peter and Gloria’s dynamic groove to a disco track in her room in Primrose Hill.  The choice of music works well throughout, especially the repeated extracts from Elton John’s ‘Song for Guy’, which becomes in effect the theme song of the love affair.

    You take for granted Julie Walters’s excellence in a role like Mrs Turner; what’s remarkable is that she still makes it fresh.  Kenneth Cranham partners her admirably.  He has a very strong moment when Tim Ray (Tom Brittney), one of Gloria’s four children, appears on the scene, determined to take his mother back to America.  (She died in New York City the day after leaving Liverpool, hence the title.)  Mr Turner calmly tells the distraught Peter that he must accede to Tim’s wishes; Cranham’s eyes show the father’s distress at his son’s distress.  Stephen Graham is good, as always – in spite of a wig that makes him look less like Peter’s brother than kin to the Scousers in the Harry Enfield sketch.  Vanessa Redgrave is miscast in her cameo as Gloria’s mother Jeanne, who recites John of Gaunt’s speech from Richard II grandly but falteringly.  Redgrave’s very presence fundamentally contradicts the theatrical fraud this woman seems meant to be.  As Gloria’s rancorous elder sister, Frances Barber is funny when she first opens her mouth, with a flat, scornful prompt to her mother:  ‘Eden’.   It’s a pity the script then requires Barber virtually to repeat herself with each of her subsequent one-liners.

    Gloria’s long-held, never fulfilled ambition to play Juliet is, against the odds, a more successful Shakespearean element of the film.  Shortly before their final parting, Peter arranges with a contact at a local theatre for him and Gloria to visit while there’s nothing going on there.  They sit together on stage reading, very well and affectingly, lovers’ lines from Romeo and Juliet.  Paul McGuigan makes the right decision, when Peter watches Gloria in her Hollywood heyday in Naked Alibi (1954), to show the actual film instead of attempting a reconstruction.   This links nicely with the closing clip of the real Gloria Grahame in 1953 receiving her Academy Award, as Best Supporting Actress for The Bad and the Beautiful, from Edmund Gwenn.  I’d seen this before and been amused by the brevity of her acceptance speech (four words:  ‘Thank you very much’) and hurried exit from the stage. ‘She just made it’, jokes Bob Hope, the MC, as she disappears.  Coming at the end of Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool, the clip, though still funny, is also a saddening confirmation of the transience of Grahame’s time in the limelight and of her far from long life.

    12 October 2017

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