The Tracker (2002)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Tracker (2002) – R. de Heer

Not really an allegory, despite the characters being given only labels such as The Tracker, The Fanatic, The Follower, and The Veteran, rather than names.  Instead, the film shows us the relations between a group of white men and Indigenous Australians in 1922 as a sort of microcosm or potent example of the wider relations between the invaders/colonisers and the First Peoples.  And although the prejudice and devaluation are explicit and brutal then, there can be no denying that prejudice and devaluation remain, perhaps institutionalised, perhaps living on in those who miss the White Australia policy. As the Tracker, David Gulpilil has the toughest role and plays it with great subtlety.  We see him assisting the white men (led by Gary Sweet as the Fanatic) who are hunting an Aboriginal man who has been accused of killing a white woman – and of course, we wonder what has led The Tracker to “betray” his people (which in itself is a problematic thought, since we soon can infer that the Tracker is from a different nation).  When the hunters interact with other Indigenous people, The Tracker is in the middle, perhaps feeling guilty or at least awkward.  No doubt there are strong situational forces that have put him into this position.  But after a brutal act (or multiple acts) by the Fanatic, The Tracker (as well as the Follower, Damon Gameau, and the Veteran, Grant Page) begins to distance themselves from him.  The movie continues until the Fugitive is caught and there are a number of dramatic events en route.  However, the plot itself is possibly less important to the impact of the film than other aspects:  1) the impressive landscape (always important in Aboriginal cultures); 2) the music (songs sung by Archie Roach with lyrics that comment on the characters and actions driven by almost psychedelic soulful rock); and 3) artworks (dynamic primitive paintings by Peter Coad are used to avoid presenting violence realistically) heighten the power of the film and its ability to convey its important message.  If only these lessons could be learned. 

Talk to Her (2002)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Talk to Her (2002) – P. Almodóvar

Almodóvar may be an acquired taste – his work can be filled with subtlety and humanistic questioning or it can be broad and outrageous and even crass.  His best work is unpredictable, character-driven, and thought-provoking, even when leavened with comedy. Talk to Her finds Almodóvar in serious mode, following two men who care for women in comas and charting their developing relationship.  He tracks backward to show us events in their lives that led them to their current present day situation (including information that might ordinarily reduce our sympathy – but somehow not here).  Then he allows the narrative to move forward to a somewhat shocking climax (Almodóvar is never one to shy away from melodrama) and a fanciful abrupt denouement.  Along the way, the director includes a surreal “silent film” excerpt that sees a shrinking man climb into a giant vagina.  Well, you can’t be serious all the time. He also shows us the similarities between ballet and bullfighting (copping some flak for emphasising the latter), with a guest role for Geraldine Chaplin as a dance instructor.  Despite the sometimes jarring changes in tone, everything holds together and the resulting feeling is that we have been exposed to real life in all of its sometimes problematic weirdness, sadness and joy. Digging a little deeper, it seems clear that Almodóvar is also raising some questions about male-female relationships where the "perfect" relationship for one man is when the woman is powerless. The powerful woman just happens to be afraid of "snakes" and might be willfully trying to escape a relationship where the man "talks AT her" rather than "to" her . More here than at first glance...

  

Sweet Sixteen (2002)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Sweet Sixteen (2002) – K. Loach

Ken Loach makes social realist films, similar to the Dardennes Brothers from Belgium, but he has been at it for a lot longer (his 1969 film, Kes, is a real tearjerker about a poor boy whose falcon becomes the only thing that makes life worth living).  Jonathan Rosenbaum refers to these films as “social deterministic” and I suppose they do point to poverty and its ill effects as causal factors – or at least constraints – that lead to all the sad and bad outcomes that his characters face.  In Sweet Sixteen, newcomer Martin Compston plays Liam, a teen with an unstable family life in Greenock, Scotland (subtitles are required).  His mum is in prison and her boyfriend is a vicious drug dealer aided by Liam’s own grand-dad.  His sister is estranged from the family and is a single teen mum herself.  After a row, Liam leaves to join his sis and optimistically plans a future where he can live with his mum in a caravan overlooking the scenic River Clyde.  This takes money so he and a friend steal drugs (from his mum’s boyfriend) and begin dealing, eventually catching the eye of the local drug kingpin, who signs them up for bigger things.  Compston’s portrayal of Liam is exhilarating – he is full of energy and laughter and basically fearless, getting into a lot of scrapes and earning a few hard knocks.  However, despite his optimism and positivity about the future, we know that this is not the kind of enterprise that leads to good things and this is not the sort of movie where things work out.  Loach (and screenwriter Paul Laverty, who also co-wrote Loach’s most recent hit, I Daniel Blake, 2016) has a different message to convey.  But he does it with a true affection for his characters and sympathy for their plight and their often fruitless and frustrated attempts to deal with it.

  

Accattone (1961)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Accattone (1961) – P. P. Pasolini

Pasolini’s first film as a director; he was previously a poet, writer, and screenwriter; for example, of Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria (1957).  Similar to that earlier film, Accattone focuses on people living on the lower rungs of society’s ladder, but it isn’t quite neo-realism.  Instead, Pasolini’s film has a lyrical and intense quality (and a startling dream sequence) that brings it closer to the films of the arthouse masters (Bergman comes to mind).  Accatone himself (a charismatic Franco Citti) is a scumbag, convincing girls to become prostitutes because he doesn’t want to work himself (his nickname equates to beggar/exploiter/freeloader).  But Pasolini doesn’t want to judge him – he shows us Accatone’s tender side as well as his weaknesses.  We see him try honest physical labour for pay (and give up on it straightaway).  In his context, a bunch of shiftless guys on the street, some thieves, mostly the idle poor, he is the class clown, the butt of all jokes -- and he seems to relish it.  Despite (or because of) the seediness of the milieu and the transgressive acts on display, the film is mesmerizing and probably shocking for its time (although Pasolini would shock even more in his later films).  The cinematography by Tonino Delli Colli is beautiful (though the environs are not); the actors often look straight into the camera offering beautiful portraits for the viewer.  In the end, this heightens our sympathy for those who are barely scraping by (and nevertheless often enjoying themselves) in line with Pasolini’s Marxist philosophy.  A great debut.