Aboriginal Australian director & cinematographer Warwick Thornton’s subtle and unnerving directorial debut Samson and Delilah (2009) won
the prestigious 'Camera d’Or' for best first feature film at
the Cannes Film Festival. It was a fascinating study of the indigenous
community, its identity, and the irreparable aftershock of colonization. Now
his latest film Sweet Country (2018), a melancholic outback western, explores
the fractured white-Australian national identity, the institutionalized racism,
and the dehumanization plus disenfranchisement of the native populace. Sweet
Country is also a remarkable character study, chronicling one oppressed man’s
fight to survive in an unforgiving world. Director Thornton evokes the gorgeous
visual tropes of classic Westerns, made by John Ford and Howard Hawks. But at
the same time he eschews genre conventions and never shies away from pointing
out how the Australian national identity evolved through the brutal
appropriation of Aboriginal bodies, places, and culture. You could say that
it’s an angry film, which enunciates the prejudice and violence that happens to
have laid the foundations of modern Australia. But the rage is expressed in a
nuanced manner, making it foremost ‘a good cinema’ and not just ‘a indigenous
movie project’.
Based on a true story, this slice of
Australian frontier history is set in its Northern territories in the late
1920s. The movie begins with a prolonged close-up shot of a boiling cauldron as
we hear a fight breaking out between a white master and a black (aborigine)
farmhand. It’s one of the many foreshadowing techniques Thornton employs to
warn us of the inevitable brutality in this wilderness. Compassionate preacher
Fred Smith (Sam Neill) lends his Aboriginal stock-man Sam Kelly (Hamilton Morris) to the odd new neighbor Harry March (Ewen Leslie) to work on his cattle
station. March is a PTSD-afflicted war veteran and an alcoholic with a vicious
temper. Sam takes his wife Lizzie (Natassia Gorey Furber) and young niece to work on March’s farm. The bigoted March’s behavior
instills unsavory experience for Sam and his wife.
On a neighboring farm lives Mick
Kennedy (Thomas M Wright), yet another brute, who has a mixed-race son Philomac
(played alternately by twins Tremayne and Trevon Doolan). Philomac defies his
master every chance he gets and sets off a chain of events that leads Sam to
gun down mad March in self-defense. Sam has a good understanding of what he
would be subjected to for shooting a ‘white fella’ (even in self-defense). So he
and Lizzie go on the run. Meanwhile, a hotheaded police Chief Sergeant Fletcher
(Bryan Brown) leads a posse to hunt down Sam. The posse
that chases after Sam comes across conflicts and soon the hunter-hunted
dynamics undergoes a change. Nevertheless, Thornton never leaves us in doubt
about Sam’s fate. Tolerance, justice, culpability, and empathy are far-fetched
concepts in these weather-beaten lands, where human minds are poisoned by
institutionalized racism.
Screenwriters
David Tranter and Steven McGregor’s depiction of Aboriginal characters doesn’t
make them one-dimensional good people. On one hand soft-spoken Sam’s spiritual
connection to the country is evoked. On the other hand, there are indigenous characters
like Philomac and Archie (Gibson John) who aren’t helpless
victims and are rather driven to do or say anything to save their own skin. This
de-romanticized portrayal of Aboriginal characters is pivotal to understand the
aftermaths of slavery and colonization, where there isn’t a simple preordained
category of ‘innocent natives’ and ‘brutal whites’. Archie, the Uncle Tom-type,
is particularly an interesting character whose utterly submissive nature
invalidates our easy moralizations. While Thornton zeroes-in on Aboriginal’s
fear and lack of faith in white-man’s system, he also doesn’t forget to
showcase the mood of insecurity and unease in the minds of white settlers. The
white men’s inner conflict was very well fleshed-out as much as the tribal
native people. Mick initially comes across as a villain like Harry March. But
in the end he looks like a pathetic guy, never feeling at home in this relentlessly
harsh landscape. Even Sergeant Fletcher doesn’t withhold one-note villainy and
his impulse to avoid vigilante justice is unexpected. Thornton often counters
the white community’s bigotry by the rare yet vital expression of empathy. The
compassionate judge delivers true justice in the form of a fair trail. Nevertheless,
individualistic expression of empathy is swiftly over-turned by the
establishment hell-bent on ostracism, which gradually strips away the native’s
rights, lands and bodies.
Warwick Thornton makes good use of the flash-forwards pointing to the stark events that are waiting to hit us on a gut
level. It would be ridiculous to say that these flash-forwards makes things
predictable; as if we could expect anything different in a system built on hate
and distrust. Similar to Lynn Ramsay’s recent riveting drama ‘You Were Never
Really Here’, these fleeting shots showcase the never-ending trauma stitched
throughout time and history. The harsh beauty of outback is something
repeatedly mentioned from the days of Wake in Fright & Walkabout (both
released in 1971). So, it’s no wonder that Thornton captures the landscape in
all its glory. There are few interesting ironical glimpses at white-Australian
identity. It’s overtly evident in the scene where people of the lawless town
watch 1906 silent film ‘The Story of the Kelly Gang’. They are enchanted and
empowered by the violence of the famous criminal figure, but they want to hang
a ‘black-fella’ [who also has Kelly in his name] for shooting in self-defense. The
performances throughout the film are brilliant with Morris, Sam Neill and Brown
adding extra layers to their characters. Morris and other Aboriginal characters
are played by non-professional actors who lend a fine authenticity to the
proceedings. Thornton takes a less-is-more approach with Morris whose calm
presence imbues a strong tone of tenderness and dignity to the narrative.
Sweet Country (113 minutes) is a nuanced discourse on the
trauma and suffering experienced under colonialism and systemic persecution.
The slow-burn design may frustrate some viewers, but this understated sociopolitical
drama is visually stunning as well as deeply emotional.
Trailer
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