Sitting on Trop of the world

SPOILER WARNING: If you haven’t seen the 2013 Tropfest shorts, particularly winning film Bamboozled, this piece of writing may reveal certain facts that will spoil the impact of first viewing. Please take that into account before reading.

Is it possible to make a good film without offending anybody?

Yes, I think so.

Is it possible to tell jokes that don’t offend?

Certainly. Is it possible to make a comedic film that is inoffensive?

It’s absolutely been done before. Can you do it in under 7 minutes?

That’s more difficult, but still possible.

So the big question is this – why does the world’s largest short film festival congratulate and reward a film that appears homophobic, that verges on transphobia, and that ridicules sexual difference?

It wouldn’t be Tropfest without an argument.

Every year (and twice in 2013, lucky us) twitter trends the #Tropfest tag as 16 (supposedly) unique stories are told by 16 (occasionally) unknown directors competing for their big break in the Australian film industry. Or perhaps a car. The festival offers huge national and international exposure, broadcast this year on SBS2 and watchable in perpetuity on the Tropfest YouTube channel.

Tropfest calls itself the “winner’s ticket to a successful career in film or television”, and vocally claims responsibility for international Aussie success stories like Sam Worthington, Robert Luketic, Nash Edgerton, Adam Zwar and Rebel Wilson among others. While the exposure and springboard potential of the festival may have helped, these stars first had to create something outstanding before the festival recognised them, and perhaps we can assert that the modicum of talent and hard work they all put in would’ve garnered them success in their own right anyway.*

The criticisms levelled at the festival in recent years range from tacitly permitting plagiarism to supporting racism/sexism/gender-based phobias/oppression; from reinforcing unequal gender/race/identity representations in the Australian film industry to the judges clearly making the wrong decision on the night couldn’t they see that the nice little film about the child with a lollipop was clearly superior??

I don’t envy the judges their job. They have as long as everybody else to decide which of 16 (usually) exceptional pieces is better than the rest, and they know their judgement will be questioned and dissected in the days and weeks afterwards with no thought of the immediacy and vast range of their choice. How do they judge an animation compared to a documentary? Do they generally prefer comedy or drama? Is production value more important than dialogue or story in their minds?

As with all art, the shorts presented in the Tropfest top 16 are open to subjective interpretation – we all view them through our own lens of perception and our enjoyment of them is informed by our own unique experiences. The family of a soldier may have been particularly affected by the quiet narrative in Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense, while die-hard romantics would’ve enjoyed the richly textured absurdist Makeover. It seems twitter was particularly fond of someone called Wolfman removing his shirt in Darkness Comes.

And many people found particular offense in the December 2013 winning film Bamboozled.

On the one hand, it uses transgender identity as a function of an elaborate punchline, and implies great shame in two men being caught sleeping together. On the other, it extrapolates the uncomfortable and exploitative lengths that television goes to in providing entertainment, satirising the media and reality television.

One’s perspective will depend entirely on one’s personal experiences.

I will admit to laughing at the setup – much of this is because of my friendship and experience with an actor in the piece, and I enjoyed seeing him clown around on national television – and at the first twist/reveal. I will also admit to feeling uncomfortable at the conclusion – the “we fooled you into sleeping with a man” grated on me more than “we fooled you into sleeping with someone you didn’t want to” or “we deceived you for the purposes of entertainment”.

I also felt that the transgender identity was more a functionary of the setup rather than the butt of the joke, but that is not my experience. I can see the potential for someone to take offence, and I wouldn’t try to dispute the assertion that the film is offensive to some.

I also wouldn’t claim that the winning film shows that the filmmakers involved or Tropfest in general are homophobic, transphobic, intentionally offensive, dismissive of minority groups, a waste of time or money, a bad film festival or a good film festival. It’s what the judges chose on the night, we don’t have to agree with it.

I would, however, question the collected perspectives and strategies used in selecting films for the top 16, when two of the films used the shame apparently caused by sleeping with a man as thematic points. I would question the fact that only two of the 16 directors were women.** I would certainly question the response that if the audience thought the winning film was Trans-/Homo-phobic then they are “completely missing the point”, because I believe if you want to make art you have to accept that it’s subjective and that you will invite responses from all perspectives.

You don’t have to let dissent tarnish the glow of your win, but you can maybe listen to the feedback and think about it from the point of view of someone who may not be a straight middle class white guy – honestly, the world supports our stereotype much more than we’re entitled to. We can afford to broaden our gaze and our mindset.

And I would hope that the official Tropfest response is something more than their past efforts of official obfuscation and shirking of responsibility. This may be an opportunity to focus on what Tropfest offers to the Australian film community, how they shape our cultural perception of marginalised groups, and how they can positively affect our national discourse surrounding persecution, judgement and diversity.

Ultimately, the standard you walk past is the standard you accept. I wonder what standard of film is acceptable for Tropfest?



*In fact, for someone who wins Tropfest that would be success in their own right, not the OzFilmGods descending to lift them to a higher plane of...whatever. I digress.

**And the assertion of Yumi Stynes that if women feel they are underrepresented in the Australian film industry, they should “stop complaining and go out and make a film, ladies”, because a 17 year old ex-neighbours actress could do it; but that’s more to do with SBS than Tropfest, and an unfortunately phrased comment in the heat of a live broadcast can probably be forgiven if we allow ourselves to think she likely didn’t mean it the way we all heard it.

Til Human Voices Wake Us

This REACTION contains references to the film Sleeping Beauty, which may dilute the impact of the film if you haven’t seen it. Please take this into account before deciding to read. 

A beautiful young woman living in a state of disillusionment and disconnection from the realities of the world. Protected from a harsher life she stumbles into a dangerous situation, the consequences of which she is not fully aware, and is eventually brought into real life by an unexpected action. 

This is a fairytale. 

In the version many of us know it is true love’s kiss that brings the beautiful princess back to life. It can be taken as a metaphor for emotional awakening and growing to maturity from a state of innocence and naivety to realise that we can withstand the dangers of the world if we live happily within the accepted definition of happiness. 

It is not an unattractive scenario. 

Julia Leigh’s debut film Sleeping Beauty has attracted attention and reaction, both glowing and derisive, after premiering at Cannes, including the wonderful phrase “psychosexual twaddle”, which I find a touch too demeaning for an unbiased review. 

I am a particular fan of Marc Fennell’s Triple J review, which states “It’s not necessarily badly made, it’s just a movie [pause for humourous effect] that hates you”. For the record I agree with almost all of Marc’s comments and find it a fair way to describe the film for a prospective audience of Triple J listeners, I just reached a different conclusion. 

The film doesn’t hate us – quite appropriately, it hates itself. 

Every character shows, in a variety of ways and degrees, dissatisfaction, disillusionment, regret and longing. The self-loathing humans can feel as a result of living in a perfect-image-based consumer society is evident throughout the film. 

Friends who happened to attend the same screening as myself commented that all of the acting felt self-indulgent and overly pretentious – a statement I don’t disagree with. Rather than saddling the actors with responsibility, I suspect it is a result of a first-time director working with their own material leaning on what is, to them, the most important direction of the work. 

I don’t think it’s a poor decision. 

It lends the film a distinct style – the coldness and distance that Marc Fennell describes – that is offset at unexpected times by moments that insist on feeling different. There is warmth to be found – a glimpse of gilt edging a bed, the rich red of the wine that Lucy (our sleeping beauty) pours, even the luxuriant image of flesh in a vulnerable position that is otherwise confronting and disturbing in its’ eroticism. 

All the warmth is found in Lucy’s possession, but she isn’t aware of what she holds. To emphasise her ignorance, almost every frame contains deliberate and overt sexual imagery – and possibly at this point my penchant for reading too much into a film takes over. 

The way two women consider each other locked together in a bathroom stall; fingers delicately probing a payphone in search of change; the particularly clear scientific testing of a gag reflex; even a lingering shot of two identical doors, one open one closed, describes the illusions and expectations present in any sexual transaction⁺. 

For my tastes it is a dense and intelligent exploration of sexuality as distinct from love and the disconnection we can feel in our lives despite living within a community that can support us. This is my opinion. 

Why does a film attract negative criticism? Of course it may just be badly made; possibly it only aims for too narrow an audience – the blue rinse set or lovers of matinee musicals will likely never respond well to the work of George A Romero. 

But sometimes we react strongly to art and stories, either positively or negatively, because we recognise so clearly the characters and situations they portray. The emotion that can overtake us in the experiencing of such material colours our viewing and our reaction whether we are conscious of it or not. 

Emily Browning’s Lucy is a passive force in her own life. Aside from a few brief and beautifully unexplained theatrical scenes with Ewen Leslie’s tragic Birdmann, she relates to other characters through an idea of her own sexuality that is uncertain and dishonest. She is the princess in an ivory tower who isn’t forced (or indeed able) to deal with the world. 

Every new step she takes to discover her sexuality and express it takes her further away from the real world – the fairytale she finds herself in, the life she thought she wanted, becomes more like a Grimm Brothers Fairy Story than the Disneyfied world of animals singing in harmony. Her reaction is self destructive and isolating – the common youthful cliché is ‘anything to make me feel’. 

While only snatches of her life prior to the film’s beginning are offered to the audience, we understand Lucy has experienced angst and torment that has (we can assume) caused her retreat from the world. When she asks for all the details of her enigmatic fairytale to be laid bare and eventually awakens (the metaphor is physical too), the pain and torment she experiences as a result of her immediate assumption carries with it the force of a burst dyke of repressed emotion. 

None of this is explained, but we feel it through Browning’s performance*. It is an unsettling and unresolved ending, despite the visual tag reminding the audience of what they already know – Lucy’s emotional realisation is based on a lie. 

And now I shall read too much into this. 

How many people live disconnected in some way from their world and the people in it? How many swear they are living the dream when they know, maybe only subconsciously, that they’re lying to themselves? How many among us have feared, in the isolation of a dark night, that we may never experience true happiness in love? 

Our greatest fears are often that, in achieving our greatest dreams, our fairytale will be exposed as a hollow lie. Is it better then to accept a safe alternative and protest (too much) that it is happiness? To say so many times ‘this is what I wanted’, that you start to believe it? 

And do audiences react so strongly to Lucy’s portrayal as passive in her own fairytale because they fear this reality in their own lives? If Marc Fennell is right, if the film does hate us, it hates us for accepting a second-rate fairytale.

It may not be a blockbuster actioner or a heartwarming rom-com, it may not be a touching story of an animated howler monkey, it may not be entertainment in any recognisable shape. What it might be is too much of ourselves. It is Hamlet’s mirror, held up to nature. 

It is certainly a challenge for an audience, but every challenge brings a reward. 

You just have to want to see it.

*Which is, in my opinion, stunning. She show’s amazing range with the smallest variation and beautiful simplicity. Plus, she’s gorgeous, which makes it much easier to want to support her emotional journey.

⁺Shakespeare puts it very well in Sonnet 129 – A bliss in proof, and prov'd, a very woe; / Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream. You should read it, it’s kind of excellent.

**This is a REACTION to Sleeping Beauty, in Australian cinemas now; as well as to Marc Fennell’s Triple J review of the film.

Shut up, the footy’s on the radio

I must preface this REACTION by saying I don’t hate sport. I have been known to attend sporting events and enjoy them, even to play the odd friendly game of soccer or basketball when my ankles agree. As I write this I’m watching the Tigers valiantly fall to the Swans. I have nothing against sport.

But. 

In a recent publication intended for Melbourne’s public transport commuters I found an article titled Watch the footy, you’ll live longer.

Describing the results of a study on young men between 16 and 25 who played football, the conclusions were “Sport provides a way for men and boys to connect with each other, to form broad social networks and build a sense of belonging,” along with “The footy game provides the opportunity to hang out with friends.” 

The final message of article and study was “having two or three good mates could extend your life by five to seven years. Doing things with good friends...is good for your physical health and longevity."

These results aren’t stunning in their revelation. To my understanding it has long been accepted that emotional stability and well-being can be linked to physical health and longevity. 

I wonder what the results would indicate were the study conducted on young men between 16 and 25 who participated in the activities of a community theatre group.

My strongest relationships, both personally and professionally, have been formed through my life in art. From community theatre groups to my training, and the professional opportunities that have arisen beyond, I have a strong network of friends that brings me joy daily. 

It is a common lament among my community that if only the Australian general public showed as much respect and admiration for our creative industries as our sport, we would all have many more opportunities for work and exposure.

A friend who recently visited New York reported that in that great theatre Mecca a young artist can find financial support from any number of wealthy philanthropists who are passionate about supporting the arts. The wistful remark that followed was “in Australia, the wealthy are only passionate about supporting football”. 

An article in today’s Herald Sun concerning patrons being affected by scenes of violence, gore and animal cruelty in new Australian film Snowtown drew some comments that were beyond belief – look particularly for ben scott at 8:12AM 12/06/2011 and Tim7 at 11:02AM 12/06/2011 for examples that horrify me as a lover of our screen culture.

The much decried Tall Poppy Syndrome seems particularly prevalent when discussing our more esoteric artistic or intellectual achievements, especially when compared to the celebration our sporting stars receive in the media daily.* It’s still a point of discontent for me that every nightly news broadcast has a dedicated sports section and rarely a mention of the arts. 

It is this same disregard for our arts potential on a national scale that creates a mindset in young actors of the apparent necessity to make it big in Hollywood before you can find any opportunities at home.

The ongoing uncertainty and fragility of our arts industry, particularly our screen sector, cannot withstand this exodus of talent and potential because our wider national culture refuses to support and nurture the next generation of creative genius. 

We have to encourage our young artists to form broad social networks and build a sense of belonging, to connect with each other, to extend our artistic life by five to seven to twenty to one hundred years.

If we can do it, I guarantee it will be good for our physical health and longevity.

*This is something that preoccupies my thought that I intend to write on further at a future date – particularly the creation of demand/supply in our media for sensationalism and scandal.

**This is a REACTION to the article Watch the footy, you’ll live longer by Michelle Ainsworth

**Published in MX, Friday June 11 2011, page 4.

Show us here the mettle of your pasture

Today Encore Magazine released their POWER 50, a list they describe as “a select group of screen professionals who have achieved new heights in 2010/2011, whose decisions influence and shape Australia’s audiovisual industry, and whose work has stood out from the crowd.”

The definition is broad, but the name says more to me – it presents as a list of the most powerful people in the Australian industry. Not the most successful , not the most influential, not those most likely to succeed – the most powerful. 

Let’s have a look, shall we?

By my calculation, the breakdown is 19 creative to 40 not. Now obviously every job has some degree of creativity in it and most of the people in the industry will have come from creative backgrounds, but I’m talking show as opposed to business. Some of the jobs defied the categories, so I erred on the side of creativity for fairness. 

The list is 59 people – 9 are listed as pairs in a single unit, 3 entries are hyphenates listed under multiple disciplines – consisting of 10 producers, 8 CEO’s, 2 Executive Producers, 2 Festival Directors, 5 Executive Directors, 8 Managing Directors, 2 Heads of Programming, a Head of Development, 2 Heads of Indigenous Development, a Network Script Executive, a Controller, a Head of Screen Culture, 15 Directors, 5 Writers, 2 Cinematographers, an Editor and a Medical Doctor. No prizes for guessing who that one is.

Oh yes, and a single actor*. That’s Chris Lilley, representing the entire Australian acting community, and I’d wager he was included more for his writing and producing efforts in bringing Australian work to the international stage. 

I understand that the list is solely the view of those at Encore Magazine, and possibly the appearance here that the business overpowers the show just reflects the accepted international norm, but I must admit the lack of actors irks me.

Yes the age of irrational actors winning all sorts of selfish demands is long past and yes actors are often the most celebrated entity of any given project, and perhaps this year there were no Australian performances that fit Encore’s definition, but the way the list reads I, as an actor, feel very much at the mercy of the hand that holds the purse strings. 

It doesn’t seem right to me that those with the most power in this industry are not those who can tell the best stories or create the most entertaining content, but those who count the money. If you’re in a position to allow others to practise their creativity, to tick a box and set a project rolling, you’re given more kudos. Is that right?

I know the finding, facilitating and financing of a film project is a mammoth task, I know that plenty of passion is put towards programming and development, and I know that without the business the show wouldn’t be anywhere near as viable. I’m also aware that the congratulations lauded on the creatives are far more publicised and that these 59 people deserve all the praise heaped unto them.

Perhaps what worries me most is the label POWER, and the notion that they have it. The secondary implication is that if they have it, the rest of us want it. Which puts us (the creatives) very much under the control of them (the power). Which is not a nice way of looking at the world.

The very idea that there should be a power in our industry is distasteful to me. I’d rather that we operated as a community, sharing ideas and developing them collaboratively, seeking greater truths in the work we undertake and changing the world with what we achieve. 

Power is an interesting ideal, but I think I prefer balance.

*Technically Jeffrey Walker is also an actor but he is listed only for his directing, having left acting after a range of children’s television shows

**This piece was a reaction to Encore Magazine's Power 50

We must have new forms

While my experiences as a theatre audience member encompass an eclectic range of forms, styles and themes, my personal preferences for entertainment – and the work I want to be involved in – are surprisingly traditional and mainstream.

I’ve watched a 150 minute one act Hamlet entirely in German and been enthralled. I’ve enjoyed the intense existential experience of a one man minimalist Beckett. I’ve been riveted by abstractly devised student works exploring death and romantic relationships through soundscape. And I would happily return to any of these experiences for a second taste. 

But if asked to name my perfect evening of entertainment I would likely admit to a straightforward narrative in a traditional proscenium arch theatre, probably with glitzy music and jazz hands and a romantic plot that resolves neatly into a happy ending.

In a recent conversation with a friend I mentioned playing the guitar and piano, which elicited from him a slightly patronising sigh and the comment ‘of course you do’, as if it explained everything about my artistic sensibilities that I played the most accessible instruments. And perhaps it does. 

The point being that I will often choose some easily digestible entertainment over something more difficult – a blockbuster film over something with subtitles perhaps. It’s not always true, and sometimes I reject the entire mainstream culture out of left-wing artistic guilt, but I definitely appreciate the place of a simple linear narrative in our stage culture.

With this in mind you may better understand me saying I have absolutely no idea what to think following Tuesday night’s preview of David Finnigan’s 22 Short Plays at MKA – it’s not that it doesn’t have a place in our theatrical landscape, just that I don’t personally understand what that place is. 

The format is literally 22 short plays varying in length from around twelve seconds to twelve minutes, with no common theme or narrative connecting them. Some had me choking from laughter, others just left me scratching my head for their lack of point. Some were among the worst pieces of theatre I’ve seen on the Melbourne stage.

This is not to say the acting or writing or direction was bad in any sense, but the difference between the vignettes in style and content was so great that just as I was getting into the swing of one, another would appear at random to throw me completely off balance. It’s an unsettling experience if you’re not expecting it. 

The three performers – Paul Blenheim, Conor Gallacher and Ellen Grimshaw – each tackle a range of characters of varying clarity with great invention, energy and charisma, and the intense intimacy of MKA’s new Prahran space creates an electric communication between the actors and audience that verges on invasive in the less obviously defined moments of the text.

I have to assume that Tobias Manderson-Galvin – both the director of the piece and MKA’s artistic director – had a reason for choosing this work in the first season of the ‘”Theatre of New Writing”, but I can only guess that the rationale was to present something entirely different to an audience. 

There is no thematic link, there is no greater social point, it truly seems to be about trying as many different things as possible on an audience to see what fits. Mostly I felt as though it was one big theatre experiment and I was the test subject, which is both exciting and insulting in equal measure.

It’s not easy or simple and I don’t know if it’s intended to be entirely liked or understood. I left amused, disgusted and thoroughly confused – which really isn’t a bad thing for theatre when you think about it.

**This is a REACTION to 22 Short Plays @ MKA.

**Running until June 18, 8pm Tues-Sat, Level 1, 211 Chapel St Prahran