January 2021 - GoMovieReviews

High Ground

Rated: MA15+

Directed by: Stephen Maxwell Johnson

Written by: Chris Anastassiades

Produced by: David Jowsey, Maggie Miles, Witiyana Marika, Greer Simpkin, Stephen Maxwell Johnson

Starring: Jacob Junior Nayinggul, Simon Baker, Callan Mulvey, Jack Thompson, Witiyana Marika, Aaron Pedersen, Caren Pistorious, Esmerelda Marimowa, Ryan Corr, Sean Mununggurr.

When you’ve got the high ground, you control everything

“Be quiet!” someone cussed at the other critics, chatting in the audience.

And then the film began, in complete silence.

Only the sound of birds twittering. And screeching.

High Ground is a revenge film set in the early 1900s. The days of the early settlers in Australia, when the indigenous population killing a cow could lead to massacre in retribution.

When a young boy, Gutjuk (Jacob Junior Nayinggul) witnesses his family killed by white settlers, Travis (Simon Baker), the army officer leading the team, takes Gutjuk in his arms, disowning the behaviour of his countrymen.

He leaves his army days behind.

Fast forward twelve years and we see the Wild Mob burning up settlements and causing mayhem.

Mayhem led by Baywara.

Gutjuk’s uncle taking revenge.

There’s more here than a little boy seeing his family killed.

There’s the complicated nature of finding the balance between the people already living on the land and those wanting to own the land; those who take and those who want to listen.

The complex nature of settlement is embodied in the character Travis. A white man scarred by the slaughter of innocents by his countrymen. He disowns the status quo but is unable to get away from his past.

There’s taking revenge to be someone, where standing in anger is better than feeling the pain of being treated like nothing.

Then there’s Gutjuk, re-named Tommy. The little boy taken to live in a white settlement. Loved. But never forgetting his roots.

The conflict is intense but the film is quiet, inviting the audience to listen. Really listen. Making High Ground a tense film built on the sound of the land.

I can’t recall a soundtrack at all. Just the sound of birds and language, the somehow warm slither of a snake across rock like fingertips over velvet. Like the animals provided another voice all set in the vast landscape of the Northern Territory: Arnhem Land.

The dialogue is simple. Sparse. Too sparse. But that’s what allows the sound of the birds to speak. So there’s an immersive brilliance to the film broken by confronting moments of violence.

I kept jumping.

But because of this quiet focus, some of the story felt glossed over. So I was in this magical moment, then frowning when the narrative didn’t add to the relationships of the characters, the storyline somehow underdone.

What absolutely hit the mark was the performance from Jacob Junior Nayinggul – I believed every single word, his character Gutjuk, a highlight.

But more than anything it’s bringing the land into the story that makes this film unique.

I am Gutjuk, meaning hawk.

The totem of the hawk a constant presence, a forever watchful eye. High above, everything.

Recommend watching this one on the big screen.

All Traditional Owners of the land on which HIGH GROUND was filmed gave their blessing for the film and provided unprecedented access to country. On request of the Jawoyn the Kakadu National Park management closed tourist access to one if its key attractions the stunning Gunlom Falls for the filming of key scenes. Many local Aboriginal people worked on the film in front of and behind the camera.

Full Statement by Galarrwuy Yunupingu ” HIGH GROUND is a both-ways film, First Nations and Balanda. It depicts a time of trouble in Australia; it honours our old heroes, reminds us of the past and the truth of our joint history in the country. I hope that this film can play an important role in Australia’s national conversation towards a First Nations Voice enshrined in the Constitution so that all our children will walk in both-worlds, never forgetting the past.” Galarrwuy Yunupingu AM Gumatj Leader

White Lie

Directed and Written by: Yoah Lewis, Calvin Thomas

Produced by: Yonah Lewis, Calvin Thomas, Katie Nolan, Karen Harnisch, Lindsay Tapscott

Starring: Kacey Rohl, Amber Anderson, Martin Donovan and Connor Jessup.

TIFF-nominated

White lie is the story of a girl who fakes having cancer. A story that sounds familiar, the unfortunate truth the basis of the film – see article: directors (Yoah Lewis, Calvin Thomas) on the real scams behind their film here.

I was bracing myself, wondering if I could be in the mood to watch, White Lies, but from the opening scene of Katherine (Kacey Rohl) with a ‘K’, shaving her head, I was absorbed.

Immediately we know something’s not right.

She’s on posters, she’s on the cover of a magazine, she’s the lead of a dance group.

People give her money.

People watch her and smile.

She’s the centre of attention.

Everything is going fine for Katherine, until she needs to produce her medical records.

I could not look away from the amazing performance of Kacey Rohl as the character Katherine lies to cover lies, to cover herself and see just how far this girl will go to keep her secret.

Does her girlfriend (Amber Anderson) know? I wonder as pillow talk turns to articles and donations.

Does her father (Martin Donovan) know?

How far can she take it?

That’s what kept me watching. Waiting to see the unravelling. Wondering what would drive someone to lie about having cancer. Wondering if that’s all it takes to fool people: a young, sad girl holding her nerve, allowing people to see what they want to see.

Not able to believe someone could lie but the suspicion once raised a trauma of seeing and not seeing.

Another story for the media. Another Facebook Page. Another sad story to believe and charity to donate to.

But rather than get bogged down in the sensationalism, the film directs a clinical eye to record the misdeeds of lie and cover-up, the seamless unfeeling fantasy underlined with the warped scratch of strings, the soundtrack the indication of a broken mind because watching Katherine, she seems fine.

But she’s not OK because she will never see the wrong in what she’s doing.

It’s like the audience is allowed a window to see the truth while those around her are thoroughly fooled. So instead of an unsettling fear like I expected, the film became a fascination.

Instead of another warning about social media, White Lie is an absorbing psychological thriller. A film simply told so the complication of an unsound mind becomes a watch that’s both subtle and revealing.

Penguin Bloom

Rated: PG
Directed by: Glendyn Ivin
Based on the book by: Cameron Bloom and Bradley Trevor Greive
Produced by: Naomi Watts, Emma Cooper, Bruni Papandrea, Steve Hutensky, Jody Matterson
Starring: Naomi Watts, Andrew Lincoln, Jackie Weaver, Griffin Murray-Johnston.

‘Mum’s not the person she once was and she’s not the person she wanted to be.’

When a railing on a rooftop lookout gives way under her weight during an idyllic family holiday in Thailand, Sam (Naomi Watts) plunges several storeys to the ground. Sam had been an ‘awesome’ mum, the type who would go surfing and skateboarding with her three boys and would be at the centre of all the fun until she finds herself wheelchair bound.

The film opens at first light with a soaring bird’s eye view of the cliff tops surrounding Sydney’s Northern Beaches. The ocean is calm and clear, and the location is stunning. It’s a year after Sam’s accident and she is failing to adjust to her new reality. It’s an adjustment that not everyone makes. When the boys fall ill it is their father (Andrew Lincoln) they call for; as a mother she can barely even make the boys a cut lunch for school. Sam has always loved the water, now she dreams that she is sinking to the bottom of the ocean trapped in her wheelchair and, to her horror, it doesn’t feel unpleasant.

It is not only Sam’s vertebrae that are broken, the family are barely managing either. In his room, Noah (Griffin Murray-Johnston) is secretly videotaping the fragments of his mother’s life that have survived after Sam momentarily gives in to her rage and pain and smashes all the photos of her former life hanging above the mantelpiece. Blaming himself for his mother’s accident, Noah cuts himself off.

On a trip to the beach with his brothers, Noah is wandering alone when he notices a large goanna. Following its eye line, he spies a magpie chick in deadly peril. The little black and white bundle of feathers had fallen from its nest high in the treetops and, while it had survived the fall, it had lost its mother and is about to become supper for a hungry reptile.

Noah carries the tiny orphan home, but it cries out pretty raucously whenever it is left alone and it isn’t interested in eating. Even when Penguin settles into the household, the bird is reluctant to fly. Noah muses that maybe Penguin isn’t able to fly because she is motherless: ‘I read that baby birds dream of their mother’s soul and that’s how they learn to sing.’

Penguin’s predicament is, in many ways, a parallel to Sam’s. Neither one was what they might have been before their fall but they will both become, ‘Much more than that’.

Penguin Bloom is a quietly poetic and uplifting film. One that asks those questions for which there are no answers, but need to be asked regardless. Every year 20 million people visit Thailand, and that railing could have collapsed at any time on any one of them, yet it collapsed exactly when it did.

By the way, if you like to walk out as soon as the credits roll you’ll be missing out on a treat this time.

Music

Rated: M

Directed by: Sia

Screenplay by: Sia, Dallas Clayton

Produced by: Vince Landay, Sia

Starring: Kate Hudson, Leslie Odom Jr, Maddie Ziegler.

Music opens onto an eye-poppingly bright yellow stage set, where a carefree girl in headphones twirls to the rhythms of African inspired music. When that scene cuts to the bedroom of the sleeping girl as she begins to awaken, the musical sequence resolves into a window onto the vivid dreams of an autistic girl who can only manage to shamble around in her waking life.

Music is the story of two sisters, Zu (Kate Hudson) and Music (Maddie Ziegler) Zu’s kid sister, each unable to take care of themselves. Zu, growing up with a ‘big’ Junkie for a mother, has followed in her parent’s footsteps, making a career for herself dealing drugs and abusing whatever substances she can scarf down. But Zu is failing badly in her profession, so when the film opens on her she is snoozing her way through a drug and alcohol diversion program. There are no flights into musical fantasy for her, just the cons she is trying to pull when she is awake.

Unlike Zu who has been eking out a life on the margins, the community has taken Music to its heart. Even though Music can barely speak, the news vendor collects clippings of dogs for her and her neighbours each in their own way all look out for her as she shuffles around the inner city streets. Until her beloved Grandmother is taken by a stroke, Music has been comfortably settled in a charmed world. But that is all about to change with Zu coming to take over her care.

Although Music is a heartwarming story and a surprise delivery in the final scene adds the perfect touch, the story takes a long while to take off. There is a fundamental conflict as to whether the film is a musical or a drama. This is particularly so in the early stages before we have had a chance to get know Music and engage with her. Although, the musical interludes have been designed to create a bridge between the mute and ungainly exterior of the girl and the lively person she is within, they slow the drama and for me they were overly long.

At the same time, there is a lot to like about this film and, ultimately, patience will be rewarded. The acting is outstanding, the drama beautifully crafted, the dialogue sparkling and the music sequences improve as they go on to reflect more conflicted inner realities.

Before it has even opened here, Music has sparked controversy with some arguing that the title role should have been played by someone genuinely affected by autism. The film clearly means a great deal to all involved in its production, including a surprise cameo by hard rocker and activist Henry Rollins. I wasn’t expecting that.

But, perhaps I should have been expecting the unexpected in such a quirky film where dealers have found a way to ply their drugs as an act of charity, so now, despite their past misdeeds, they are expecting to go to heaven or at least find their way to paradise.

The Unlit (Witches of Blackwood)

Rated: MA15+

Directed by: Kate Whitbread

Produced by: Kate Whitbread

Written by: Darren Markey

Starring: Cassandra Magrath, Kevin Hofbauer, Lee Mason, John Voce, Nicholas Denton, Susan Vasiljevic, Francesca Waters.

We’ve been waiting for you

The mood of, The Unit is like the reflection of a forest on a lake. Impenetrable.

Ominous.

Until a girl answers her mobile while being driven through the forest with, ‘Hey, what’s up?’

The comment just didn’t fit the mood, awkwardly dispelling the build of tension.

But as the film continued I stopped taking notes because they’re times the story scratches at the door of scary.

Cassie (Cassandra Magrath) is a cop on the edge after witnessing the suicide of a local boy (Nicholas Denton).

The mystery of his death is revealed as the film follows Cassie back to her childhood home in Blackwood after a call from her uncle Clifford (John Voce).

There’s been a death.

Her father.

Cassie is not feeling right with the world.

Cassie tells her boyfriend (Kevin Hofbauer) she has to go home to find answers.

Where it doesn’t take long to realise, The Unlit is a witch heritage story.

Yet there’s mystery because Cassie is followed by the trauma of understanding why the young kid committed suicide in front of her.

And when she finds letters written by her uncle about her mother, Cassie discovers there’s more to her mother then she realises or remembers. She discovers her mother’s obsession with the forest while in an asylum. Her mother. Presumed dead.

Yet still haunting the town of Blackwood.

The haunting is shown in the dark smudge across the eyes of the women who still live there, amongst the absence of men and children. The absence, or what isn’t said, noted by writer Darren Markey (at the recent Q&A screening at Lido Cinema) as an essential part of the structure of the story.

So there’s mystery but more than anything, there’s atmosphere, created by director, Kate Whitbread in 13 days of shooting.

What made me sit up was the scene set amongst the twisted pines just behind Lorne’s (Victoria) main beach. A fantastic setting to tap into the mood: a woman stood-too, questioned under the twisted branches of pine, otherworldly.

The trees and ocean are used well to speak like the voices of the dead as the mystery of Cassie and her heritage deepens.

There’s some clever here. But also some gloss. Or smudge, like the dark under the eyes of the haunted women of Blackwood is contrived, breaking that careful tone of mystery; like the use of a lamp to create atmosphere fails because, why wouldn’t you use the flashlight on your phone? Which is in hand, and used for just that function later?

There were times I wondered if the ominous trees were going to be the best part of the film.

So yes, The Unlit is a low budget film.

But as the story progressed the writing shone with some great acting: lead, Cassandra Magrath holding her nerve searching those haunted dark rooms, Nicholas Denton as the dead young Luke a powerful spectre and Nikola Dubois as the haunted friend absorbing in her twisted monologue.

The highlight for me was when John Voce as the uncle speaks of people not being sick, just knowing things we don’t. Goosebumps.

So, the film doesn’t always suspend reality and is a little obvious at times, but some of the scenes that play out the dark dialogue really tap at the door making, The Unlit, worth a watch.

Nat’s Top 5 Movies for 2020

Goodbye 2020. It’s been a strange year. I wasn’t at the cinema much this year so I’ve put together my top 5 instead of the usual 10. Here is what I did get to see, here is what kept me smiling, thinking, keeping me on the edge of my seat.