Raiders
03-05-2008, 02:18 AM
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Rolf de Heer's extraordinary allegory is more of a multi-media presentation rather than a straight film. Using both song and paintings as integral parts to the film, de Heer creates a vision of the bushlands of Australia as the site for a glimpse into the wasteland of intolerance and racial injustice. The plot is a simple expedition to find an Aboriginal man accused of murdering a white woman. It takes place in 1922 when the Aborigines were being assimilated into white, western society spreading across the expanse of the country.
De Heer makes no qualms about his film's existence as an allegory, eschewing any actual names for his characters. In a move like Murnau in Sunrise, de Heer names his five main characters simply the Fanatic, the Follower, the Veteran, the Fugitive and of course the Tracker. Also similar to Murnau, the universality of the names gives a face to the many. Smartly, de Heer does not rob his characters of personality or nuance and in the end, we do not need to know their names to appreciate, or despise, the ideals they believe. In particular is the way de Heer treats the Follower and the Veteran. Neither spew the racist, hateful babble of the Fanatic, but the film implicates them as part of the problem. The Follower accepts the behavior as a societal norm and the Veteran is too old and weary to object.
The film opens with long tracking shots showing our main characters, and continues in a manner similar throughout its running time. Often, de Heer will dwarf the characters against the landscape, which often times represents the oppresiveness of the surroundings, but here seems more insidious, suggesting the farther the policeman range from their comfort, the most "lost" they become. There's an undercurrent almost of a Conrad-ian journey, locating the heart of darkness here inside the men who declare themselves superior while they venture into the unknown, dependant upon the superiority of those they pretend to rule over.
Of course, likely the film's most radical formalist notion is to cut away from the violence on screen and use paintings by Peter Coad to acompany the soundtrack. Like Marker's La jetee, de Heer thus brings our attention to images and memories, realizing that the single frame, the haunting image of carnage, is far more lingering than any montage of violence. Essentially, de Heer is using current paintings as mock pieces of archival artistry, thus linking his fictional film as a document of past violence and oppression. The images stay in the mind like timeless testaments; they are de Heer's dedication to those who have perished for mankind's ignorance.
The soundtrack to the film is at times rather intrusive, but the lyrics by de Heer and vocals by Australian Archie Roach have a haunting melody and their words, both condemning and mournful, drive the action on screen. The scenes feel edited and individually scored to the music creating a unique and powerful fusion of both sound and image (much like the paintings and sounds of violence).
Of course, the film's eponymous character is a rather broadly drawn character up until the end, but throughout the film we are constantly aware of something under the surface. David Gulpilil's performance is mesmerizing and adds many subtle touches that add up to a remarkably intriguing character. In particular I think of a moment where he simply maps out a route through thousands of rocks, but does so in such a quietly irreverent manner that he is both respectful, intelligent and defiant all at once. De Heer has many shots that come in close on Gulpilil's darting eyes that see past the landscape--that is, he sees the truth underneath the rocks and the bush. His eyes are pathways into the mind and heart of an entire race.
It is a western that as seen through the eyes of a westerner such as myself presents an interesting situation in its turning the genre on its head. In particular is the interesting way to see how the westerns in America in the 40s and 50s often treated the Native Americans as faceless enemies, placing the white expansionist as the hero. De Heer shows that it is not manifest destiny that should be the barometer of success, but the level of humanism and dignity. The paintings ingrained in my head are testaments to the fact that violence of that nature is gruesome and disgusting regardless of context. They are images, unhindered by useless rationalization. Their inhumanity speaks for itself. And in the end, de Heer's film is a remarkably astute film, especially in view of the way it initially begins as a broad allegory and ends as a sad recollection of a nation beget by violence and racism.
Rolf de Heer's extraordinary allegory is more of a multi-media presentation rather than a straight film. Using both song and paintings as integral parts to the film, de Heer creates a vision of the bushlands of Australia as the site for a glimpse into the wasteland of intolerance and racial injustice. The plot is a simple expedition to find an Aboriginal man accused of murdering a white woman. It takes place in 1922 when the Aborigines were being assimilated into white, western society spreading across the expanse of the country.
De Heer makes no qualms about his film's existence as an allegory, eschewing any actual names for his characters. In a move like Murnau in Sunrise, de Heer names his five main characters simply the Fanatic, the Follower, the Veteran, the Fugitive and of course the Tracker. Also similar to Murnau, the universality of the names gives a face to the many. Smartly, de Heer does not rob his characters of personality or nuance and in the end, we do not need to know their names to appreciate, or despise, the ideals they believe. In particular is the way de Heer treats the Follower and the Veteran. Neither spew the racist, hateful babble of the Fanatic, but the film implicates them as part of the problem. The Follower accepts the behavior as a societal norm and the Veteran is too old and weary to object.
The film opens with long tracking shots showing our main characters, and continues in a manner similar throughout its running time. Often, de Heer will dwarf the characters against the landscape, which often times represents the oppresiveness of the surroundings, but here seems more insidious, suggesting the farther the policeman range from their comfort, the most "lost" they become. There's an undercurrent almost of a Conrad-ian journey, locating the heart of darkness here inside the men who declare themselves superior while they venture into the unknown, dependant upon the superiority of those they pretend to rule over.
Of course, likely the film's most radical formalist notion is to cut away from the violence on screen and use paintings by Peter Coad to acompany the soundtrack. Like Marker's La jetee, de Heer thus brings our attention to images and memories, realizing that the single frame, the haunting image of carnage, is far more lingering than any montage of violence. Essentially, de Heer is using current paintings as mock pieces of archival artistry, thus linking his fictional film as a document of past violence and oppression. The images stay in the mind like timeless testaments; they are de Heer's dedication to those who have perished for mankind's ignorance.
The soundtrack to the film is at times rather intrusive, but the lyrics by de Heer and vocals by Australian Archie Roach have a haunting melody and their words, both condemning and mournful, drive the action on screen. The scenes feel edited and individually scored to the music creating a unique and powerful fusion of both sound and image (much like the paintings and sounds of violence).
Of course, the film's eponymous character is a rather broadly drawn character up until the end, but throughout the film we are constantly aware of something under the surface. David Gulpilil's performance is mesmerizing and adds many subtle touches that add up to a remarkably intriguing character. In particular I think of a moment where he simply maps out a route through thousands of rocks, but does so in such a quietly irreverent manner that he is both respectful, intelligent and defiant all at once. De Heer has many shots that come in close on Gulpilil's darting eyes that see past the landscape--that is, he sees the truth underneath the rocks and the bush. His eyes are pathways into the mind and heart of an entire race.
It is a western that as seen through the eyes of a westerner such as myself presents an interesting situation in its turning the genre on its head. In particular is the interesting way to see how the westerns in America in the 40s and 50s often treated the Native Americans as faceless enemies, placing the white expansionist as the hero. De Heer shows that it is not manifest destiny that should be the barometer of success, but the level of humanism and dignity. The paintings ingrained in my head are testaments to the fact that violence of that nature is gruesome and disgusting regardless of context. They are images, unhindered by useless rationalization. Their inhumanity speaks for itself. And in the end, de Heer's film is a remarkably astute film, especially in view of the way it initially begins as a broad allegory and ends as a sad recollection of a nation beget by violence and racism.