AFI 2011: SNOWTOWN

Jamie (Lucas Pittaway) in Snowtown.

Brain freeze

By Don Simpson

Sixteen-year-old Jamie (Lucas Pittaway) lives with his single mother, Elizabeth (Louise Harris), and two younger brothers in Adelaide’s severely disenfranchised northern suburbs. On one fateful day, Elizabeth brings home a new boyfriend, John (Daniel Henshall). Jamie instantly connects with John, discovering the father-figure he has always desired. John seems like a nice enough guy and he provides Jamie’s entire family with a stability and sense of family that they have never known.

Eventually, though, John chooses to indoctrinate Jamie into his self-righteous world of bigotry and malice. An ultra-conservative redneck vigilante, John has made it his life’s mission to rid the world of unacceptable behavior. John assembles a consortium of like-minded townspeople to assist him with compiling a target list of anyone who is rumored to be a child molester, drug addict, gay, obese, or otherwise deemed abnormal.

Jamie begins to tag along with John’s gang of simpletons as they capture, torture and murder their prey. Seemingly by osmosis, Jamie begins to take on some of John’s personality and philosophy. All the while, Jamie retains enough reason to be uncomfortable with the killings and some of John’s motivations, but loyalty and fear cause him to continue down the downward spiral of senseless bloody mayhem.

A biopic about Australia’s most notorious serial killer — John Bunting — Snowtown is a surprisingly restrained and contemplative film. True, it does delve quite graphically into the very darkest recesses of brutality; but rather than showcasing (glorifying) violence in order to merely shock and awe the audience, writer-director Justin Kurzel is much more interested in coercing the audience to relate to Jamie and therefore sympathize with him. We are wooed by John just as Jamie is. It is difficult not to believe, at least at first, that John means well -- that he is merely trying to protect Jamie’s family.

Snowtown relies heavily upon the audience’s belief in Jamie’s story. Kurzel certainly reveals no doubts in Jamie’s version of the events, but that does not mean it is historically accurate. Remember, this is a very specific perspective of John Bunting’s story — whether or not you believe it is totally up to you.

AUSTIN 2011: SOME GUY WHO KILLS PEOPLE

Ken (Kevin Corrigan) in Some Guy Who Kills People.

That Crazy Ken

     

By Don Simpson

Will Kevin Corrigan -- the indie film darling who was rivaled only by Steve Buscemi in his near-infinite number of quirky supporting roles clocked in during the 1990s -- ever live down "that ugly guy" (Walking and Talking) moniker? Probably not, because as Some Guy Who Kills People's Ken, Corrigan becomes one of the ugliest characters of them all.

A 34-year old, socially awkward, sad-sack loser -- oh, and former mental patient -- Ken works at a local ice cream parlor and lives with his disapproving mom (Karen Black). Otherwise, Ken just keeps to himself and sketches fantastical images of himself murdering the high school bullies who tortured him as a teenager, made him suicidal and essentially got him away in the loony bin for god knows how long.

One fateful day, Ken discovers that he has an 11-year-old daughter, Amy (Ariel Gade); he also stumbles upon a potential love interest, Stephanie (Lucy Davis). Add a sprinkling of some off-beat cops (Eric Price and Barry Bostwick), and you have a witty black comedy about some guy who is a mysterious serial killer. Some Guy Who Kills People might have a moral about bullies buried somewhere in the story, but does it really matter? Are you really going to watch a film titled Some Guy Who Kills People for its strong moral fiber? Oh, and keep any eye out for a humorously placed lens flare a little over an hour into the film. It is absolutely priceless.

FILM REVIEW: DAYDREAM NATION

Thurston (Reece Thompson) and Caroline (Kat Dennings) in Daydream Nation.

Teen Age Riot

By Don Simpson 

The year this story takes place is the year that nearly everything happened to 17-year-old Caroline Wexler (Kat Dennings) -- or at least that is how Caroline's narration introduces Daydream Nation. Caroline's widowed father (Ted Whittall) has relocated them from a big city to bumble fuck suburbia, a town purportedly with more incest than an Atom Egoyan film...and a white-suited psycho killer (Qu'est-ce que c'est?) is on the loose.

Caroline, immediately realizing she is mentally superior to the drugged-out lowlifes in her new high school, opts to pursue the one male who she considers to be her intellectual equal, her 30-something English teacher, Barry (Josh Lucas). As a disguise for their tawdry affair, Caroline simultaneously develops a relationship with a sweet and awkward -- but also troubled -- classmate, Thurston (Reece Thompson). Cue the bizarre love triangle. ("Every time I think of you, I feel shot right through with a bolt of blue...")

A hyper-intelligent high school girl with an Algonquin-table wit, Caroline is really not all that different from Easy A’s Olive, except that I found Caroline to be a more well-rounded character -- and I am not talking about her ample bosom or voluptuous lips -- until she becomes just another conniving young vixen bouncing between the beds of two suitors. Love is a battlefield and Caroline leaves a casual victim pile in the wake of her so-called sexual revolution.  

Where Daydream Nation succeeds is in portraying two male -- Barry and Thurston's -- fantasies of who they want Caroline to be: Barry wants Caroline to be his young sex toy and literary muse while Thurston dreams that Caroline is the sweet yet friendless new girl next door. (Taken out of context, that last sentence reads like I am reviewing a lost episode of Joss Whedon's short-lived television series, Dollhouse.) But this is Caroline’s story -- she is our narrator; this is clearly from her perspective -- so who knows what we should believe. 

Caroline is our daydream believer in Daydream Nation; surrounded by a sonically youthful indie rock soundtrack (Beach House, Sebadoh, Stars, Sonic Youth, Devendra Banhart and Emily Haines) she struts through the dazed and confused narrative like a sexy kool thing. In this hyper-exaggerated fantasy world, Caroline's one wish is to be rescued from the fools of this podunk town -- where the guys are all sexist and the stupid girls just eat it up -- that insufferably pervade her existence. Until then, she will dream, dream, dream... 

The Sonic Youth record from which this film derives its name was ground-breaking in its anarchistic deconstruction of known musical paradigms. Sonic Youth ignored all preexisting musical genres and created a sound collage that was unique. Without Daydream Nation Nirvana may have never existed. Who knows what music would sound like now? Very few records in the late 1980s can claim to be as influential as Daydream Nation. 

What does Canadian writer-director Michael Goldbach do with his film Daydream Nation? Well, for one, he over-relies on the crutch of Caroline's narration -- which all but ruins the film for me. Goldbach also falls way short of developing Caroline into the strong feminist role model she purports to be. The worst foul of them all: Daydream Nation ties up all of its plot lines with one simple and concise action. Sure it is an expected conclusion, but it is too damn preposterous to matter.

Okay, so Goldbach does deserve some credit for developing such a weirdly demented coming-of-age rom-com, but the strangeness seems all too purposeful and rarely works in the context of the plot.  

Essentially, Goldbach's Daydream Nation is as genre-redefining as a brick over the head. That said -- the transcendently cinematic visuals (lensed by Jon Joffin) are quite stunning and I love the soundtrack, especially the use of the Stars' track "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead."