Film Review Series: Aussie Cinema

Header image: Simon Baker, Breath (2017), image courtesy of The New York Times 

Under the Cover of Cloud (2018) 

 

Ted Wilson, Under the Cover of Cloud (2018), image courtesy of Australian Cinematographer  
Ted Wilson, Under the Cover of Cloud (2018), image courtesy of Australian Cinematographer  

Ted Wilson’s Under the Cover of Cloud (2018) is something entirely unique. There is a degree of divine self-indulgence - there must be for a film such as Wilson’s to succeed; the focus, primarily, is Wilson himself – but there’s also artistry, insight and innovation. Wilson and his family are no more fundamentally interesting than any non-specific Australian. What Under the Cover of Cloud so acutely understands however is that every family is fundamentally interesting as a by-product its history and the dynamics that govern each interaction.  

The influences of John Cassavetes are immediate but Under the Cover of Cloud is not simply a recreation of Cassavetes’ distinctive style. The film blends the line of fiction and truth. Wilson, as himself, has lost his job and finds himself in need of direction and inspiration. He heads to Tasmania, his home state, to be with his family and maybe to write a book, he says. “I wanted to write something beautiful about cricket,” Wilson comments though we are left with the distinct impression that Wilson’s not entirely sure what a book like that looks like. 

Also inhabiting the film are Wilson’s siblings, in-laws, nieces, nephews and notably, his mum, Colleen. The family spend their time performing the task of family life: playing with the kids, heading to the pub, gathering for a family lunch. There’s no sense of narrative urgency because there isn’t a narrative. Wilson’s film savours the indistinct loveliness we can observe in familial interactions.  

Like Wilsons earlier short film, Family Holiday (2016), which focuses on a family as the endure a dispiritingly stale but painfully familiar holiday, Under the Cover of Cloud is aimless. This is not a criticism. It takes a special filmmaker to render the mundane engaging. Wilson is aware that his family will strike a chord because its audience connect its occupants and events to our own family members and memories. The film highlights the vague but certain universality of family love with insight and care.  

It’s difficult to say how Wilson managed to coax such naturalistic, engaging performances out of his own family. Perhaps there was an enormous amount of footage left on the proverbial cutting room floor. Knowing how much of the film, if any, is premeditated and how much is documentary would be to shatter the illusion that Under the Cover of Cloud establishes.  

Wilson claimed, when the film was initially released, that he was part of a fresh movement he dubbed the ‘Hobart New Wave’. In keeping with the tone of his film, there was an ambiguity to how much of these comments were in earnest. But Under the Cover of Cloud presents itself as something entirely original, wholly fresh. It’s not difficult to imagine that Truffaut and Godard’s early work or Vinterberg and Von Trier’s early work making a similar impact at the outset of the French New Wave or the Dogme 95 movement. In an industry that often rewards and perpetuates sameness, Under the Cover of Cloud absolutely deserves any attention it can get. 

Fell (2014) 

 

Kaismir Burgess, Fell (2014), image courtesy of Reel Good Film Festival 
Kaismir Burgess, Fell (2014), image courtesy of Reel Good Film Festival 

Kasimir Burgess’ Fell (2014) is another little-known Australian masterpiece. It follows a broken man, consumed absolutely by the force of anguish and by his obsession with the person responsible for it. The film asserts that it doesn’t matter how deep, how profound your pain might be: the world won’t stop for the sake of your grief. 

Grief is not something traditionally well-handled in cinema. Filmmakers can err towards histrionics too easily, or let their film sink into the melancholy and grimness that commands its subjects. Fell, Burgess’ debut feature, handles the tricky matter of sorrow with such deftness and delicacy one might easily mistake him for a veteran filmmaker. Fell is not a happy film, but it is also never anything less than compelling. 

Thomas (Matt Nable) and his young daughter, Lara (Isabella Garwoli), are on a father/daughter camping trip when tragedy strikes. Lara steps out onto the road as is hit by a speeding logging truck. The driver of the truck, Luke (Daniel Henshall) panics and rather than stop to deal with the situation, he flees the scene.  

Thomas, heartbroken by the death of his only daughter, descends into permanent despair. He rejects his wife, his job and his home, retreating to a new life of isolation in the very forest in which the accident occurred. Luke, arrested and convicted based on forensic evidence, serves five years in prison and then returns to his old life, shamed but arguably not fully enlightened by the experience. 

To reveal too much of what occurs between these two men would be to reduce the hold that Fell doesn’t relinquish until the end credits. The response of both men to their misfortunes is what Burgess is most interested in. There’s a simplicity to the film’s style and how it presents its subjects that belies the deep reservoir of feeling beneath the surface. Nable’s astonishing performance – embracing minimalism - perfectly complements this restraint. Though Thomas is a reticent individual, Nable’s capacity to convey complex emotions without resorting to artificiality is remarkable. Henschell is equally impressive, commanding our sympathies and frustrations concurrently. 

The logging industry is the final piece of the puzzle. Deforestation runs throughout Fell, the natural tranquil of the woods countered by the destructive force of logging. This conflict reflects the emotional pureness of childhood and its disunion with the destructive nature of grief. The environment that Thomas and Luke navigate is deliberately enticing and calm, a counterpoint to the story of redemption and revenge. It is seriously rare that a film is in command of itself to succeed every avenue it pursues perfectly. Fell is such a film. 

Breath (2017) 

 

Simon Baker, Breath (2017), image courtesy of Indiewire 
Simon Baker, Breath (2017), image courtesy of Indiewire 

Arguably less unsung is Simon Baker’s Breath. While it may follow a more conventional creative line than Under the Cover of Cloud and never reaches the dizzying perfection of Fell, Breath is nonetheless a sumptuous, elegant comfort film. This alone makes it something of a rarity within the canon of Australian cinema. 

Testing extremes and being young go hand in hand. Usually, the extremes we maintain as we grow older are the ones we pursued as youths and simply never let go. That the young cast a broader net is one of the reasons why coming-of-age films hold such special appeal. All of us can empathise with learning by experimentation.  

Based on Tim Winson’s novel, Breath, is all about extremes. The film follows two boys, Pikelet (Samson Coulter) and Looney (Ben Spence). Both are bordering on adulthood, living in a small community in Western Australia. And there are adults too, guiding and pushing the two boys beyond the limits of their own set of established limits. The pernicious influence of the older generation is a well-worn trope of coming-of-age cinema, but Baker nonetheless handles it with insight and elegance. 

Pikelet is nearly 14 and living in a stable home environment with his caring mother (Rachel Blake) and father (Richard Roxburgh). Looney is his best friend, as wild and restless and Pikelet is calm and leisurely. Looney’s situation at home is less steady. The boys have adolescence in common. We are immediately given the sense that their personalities are too unsuited for the friendship to last deep into adulthood. 

The boys connect over their love of surfing. “Never had I seen something so beautiful, so pointless and elegant, as if dancing on the water was the best thing a man could do,” an adult Pikelet tells us in a voiceover (performed by Winton himself). They stumble across a group of surfers while on an aimless expedition and both boys are immediately hooked.  

Soon enough, Pikelet and Looney are noticed by grizzled veteran Sando (Simon Baker), who appreciates their dedication and assumes a kind of informal mentorship role. The relationship quickly begins to tread the line between conscientious guidance and irresponsible pressuring. Sando’s limits of extreme exist within the world of big wave surfing, one the most dangerous recreations in the world. Eva (Elizabeth Debicki) is his wife. She is impersonal and a tad ill-natured toward the boys but its soon revealed that she is testing limits of her own. 

The strength of the central performances are crucial to the film’s success. Neither Coulter nor Spence had acted before and were chosen rather because of their competence with surfing. That we are able to see both characters actually ride these waves – in perhaps the best surfing scenes committed to film outside of documentary, ever -  is important to the sense of immersion that Baker hopes to foster. It is impressive then that these performances, from surfers rather than actors, are a flawless as they are. 

Breath deals in both common and specific truths. Just like FellBreath is a work of understatement. Even though the characters occupying the film pursue big sensations, Baker’s film always does less than you expect it might, in the best possible sense. It also vividly conveys the big sensation of surfing and the vibrant Western Australian landscape, like a 2D virtual reality.  

 

John Roebuck is the founder and former director of the ReelGood Film Festival, an independent short film festival based at the Lido Cinemas in Hawthorn. The festival, now in its 9th year, champions Australian independent filmmakers. He is the former Editor-in-Chief at ReelGood.com.au, the Melbourne-based film news and reviews website, and has also written for a variety of publications including: The New Daily, Portable, FilmInk, Bunjil Place and STACK.