Toomelah is a speck on the map between Moree and Goondiwindi in north-western NSW. A former mission, its history reflects that of Australian black/white relations in eerie synecdoche: policies of assimilation, church intervention and the Stolen Generation; recognition of legal rights, cultural amnesia and the social corrosion of drugs and alcohol; political apathy and ineptitude, interrupted services and decaying infrastructure.
Toomelah came to national attention in 1987 when it was visited by Marcus Einfield, then president of the Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission, to see first-hand its appalling living conditions, then again in 2008 when its district nurse resigned, exhausted by twenty years of bearing witness to endemic neglect and abuse. It’s also where director Ivan Sen’s (Beneath Clouds, 2002, Dreamland, 2010) mother grew up. His third feature is a quietly gripping portrait of the community and paean to childhood. The film opens with a young boy, Daniel (Daniel Connors), waking to an empty house—and fridge. His mother spends her days in a haze of marijuana smoke, while his grandmother sits quietly in the sun, alone with her memories. Free to fend for himself, Daniel wags school, dreaming of becoming the boxer that his father (Michael Connors) was before alcohol claimed him, or a ‘gangsta’ like Linden (Christopher Edwards), the local dope dealer and default father-figure to Daniel.
The film unfolds gently, what plot there is arising from the sluggish rhythms of daily life in the settlement. Daniel’s Great-Aunt Cindy returns for a visit, decades after having been stolen from her family; Daniel valiantly pretends he doesn’t care whether 10-year-old Tanitia (Danieka Connors) likes him or not, while nursing a grudge against another child, Tupac; and Linden struggles to maintain control of the local drug trade when Bruce (Dean Daley-Jones) is released from prison and returns to town.
Connors is excellent as the mischievous Daniel, a wide-eyed observer in an adult world, discovering its limits with thoughtful curiosity. It is at times a brutal world however, and Sen is unflinching in his depiction of the community’s degraded circumstances—some may be turned off immediately by some extremely coarse language—while simultaneously showing tremendous compassion towards his subjects: the elderly, burdened with a history of dispossession and cultural destruction; their addiction-ravaged offspring; and the new generation who seemingly face a bleak future of stunted opportunities and more of the same.
Sen wrote the film after visiting for several months, his observations of daily life and transcriptions of local conversation providing the raw grist for his script. Despite the spectacular natural beauty of the surrounding country, monumental landscape shots are few and far between; Sen instead shoots his script using a handheld Panasonic 3700 in a rough and ready naturalistic style that suits the material. In this respect, the film employs techniques Sen explored in his experimental second feature film, Dreamland, allowing the story to develop to some extent as the film was shot. Although he doesn’t strive for the kind of visual poetry achieved in Beneath Clouds, Toomelah brims with unobtrusively observed visual detail: black and white photos of people in traditional garb hanging on the school library wall; late afternoon sunshine cutting across kids playing footy in the dusk; a broken exercise bike lying discarded amongst rusted car bodies.
Some may feel the film’s technical limitations detract from its overall impact, however the benefits gleaned outweigh the advantages of a full production unit. Sen’s approach is personal and direct, allowing a level of community engagement that would otherwise have been impossible. Most roles are played by local non-professional actors, their efforts bringing an immense sense of authenticity to the film. That said, the acting, although generally effective, occasionally sags, a fact not helped by Sen cramming historical information into dialogue, to the detriment of the film’s otherwise mesmerising realism. Also, at 106 minutes, it goes for a quarter hour longer than necessary, its pleasing messiness sprawling into flab.
Ivan Sen has remarked that the film should “not be seen as political finger pointing”, and indeed it stands on its artistic merits. However, once the reality represented in Toomelah is accepted, politics must inevitably intrude. “What are you going to do with yourself?” Daniel is asked. “I dunno—what can I do?” is the ingenuous reply. Answering such a question is impossible for Daniel without having any perception of the realities of his circumstance—it is to Sen and the people of Toomelah’s credit that the beginnings of such an understanding might be gleaned from this wonderfully ragged film.
Toomelah was screened at 2011 Cannes International Film Festival in the Un Certain Regard Official Selection and at the 2011 Sydney Film Festival. Australian cinema release date to be announced.
First published in Realtime Arts, Iss. 104, Aug-Sept 2011, p 35
Showing posts with label Toomelah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Toomelah. Show all posts
Friday, August 5, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Interview: Beck Cole & Shai Pittman, Here I Am
Cinematic representations of indigenous life often seem to dwell upon the tragic aspects of the past, the overpowering weight of a traumatic history obscuring ongoing efforts to improve life in the present. While powerful and confronting films have been made on the ongoing disintegration of indigenous cultures in remote areas, stories dealing with the experiences of indigenous people in urban areas are rarely, if ever, told. With her debut feature Here I Am, writer/director Beck Cole has broken this mould, constructing a quietly engrossing portrait of city life for indigenous women in contemporary Australia that is imbued with gentle humour and a thoughtful and unassuming optimism.
Here I Am follows the struggles of Karen Burden (Shai Pittman) in her attempts to turn her life around on being released from prison. Desperate to regain custody of her young daughter Rosie (Quinaiha Scott) from her unforgiving mother Lois (Marcia Langton) while persuading the authorities that she’s put her drug-addled past behind her, Karen enters a women’s shelter run by the formidable Big Red (Vanessa Worrall), settling into the emotional hard work of straightening out her life.
Working from her own script, Cole’s film illuminates the reality of a “fairly common experience” through a simple but effective naturalistic style that allows her to lay bare the human story behind the statistics. “Karen comes from me really,” she says, “my experience and what concerns me and the things that I think Aboriginal women experience...There is a disproportionate number of Indigenous women in prison in this country, that’s a fact...You’re making a film that you hope will engage an audience, because everyone’s got a mother, most people are parents at some point in their lives, so it’s dealing with universal themes. But it is also taking you into a world where you (probably) haven’t been before, one that really exists.”
In this film, Beck Cole draws on her experience making documentaries—her previous work includes Making Samson & Delilah (2009) as well as the brilliant SBS series First Australians (2008) with Rachel Perkins—and the half-hour drama Plains Empty (2005), which also followed the experiences of a lone woman. Cole shot Here I Am on location in the “familiar territory” of Port Adelaide (her upbringing being punctuated by regular moves between Alice Springs and South Australia) to lend the film an inimitable aura of realism. “We were in that world all the time,” she comments, “it was a really good grounding, a reality check, to be making a story amongst it...we were really welcome there. [Adelaide’s] like a big country town, really laid back.”
Immaculately shot amongst cheap motels, decaying industrial infrastructure and cigarette-butt littered streets by director of photography (and Cole’s husband) Warwick Thornton, Here I Am is grounded by an extraordinary performance from Shai Pittman, who approached her task with similar energy and persistence to her director. “I love doing this style of work,” she enthuses. “I suppose being an actor you’ve got to be quite open to diverse, different people...Karen was really easy to relate to. There were times when I just thought, okay, this is a test...[but] I did it all, never questioned it.” Says Cole, “Shai was completely and utterly fearless.”
Karen’s story plays out against the backdrop of the women’s shelter, the makeshift camaraderie among the residents leavening the desolation that continually threatens to overwhelm her. As Cole notes, “it’s important to have a laugh in dire situations.” As well as giving roles to theatre veterans Betty Sumner and Pauline Whyman, Cole drew on predominantly Indigenous, non-professional actors from the local community in casting the supporting roles, their efforts adding to the film’s raw honesty. “I like to try and find the heart in people, get them to express that,” explains Cole, “but when you’re putting words in their mouths you’re dealing with something else, it’s a different scenario...It was challenging, and I think it’s just something that you’ve got to embrace and look for those little quirky moments...That’s what I like. I think you can tell when there’s that essence of that person’s heart in that moment on screen.”
Indeed, the roles of many of the institutional figures encountered by Karen—her parole officer, a job-seeking coordinator, a child welfare officer—are played by Indigenous women who hold similar positions off-screen, a decision that Cole believes reflects an encouraging trend in reality. “I’ve got loads of friends who work in those sorts of jobs...Women are in these jobs, right across the country. I think it’s a statement about employment, a statement about taking control of your own destiny and getting to change things for the better—you’ve gotta get in there and work from within. It’s not rocket science.”
Which doesn’t mean it’s easy. Against Pittman’s smudged and battered Karen, Cole sets the stony and unrelenting figure of Lois, who has achieved a position of stability through hard, repetitive but essentially restorative labour—she is employed, significantly, as a cleaner. Langton, a renowned academic and social activist, was by all accounts an inspiration on set, reading Senate Notes between takes—when not on Facebook. “She’s very strong,” says Pittman. “She reminds me of Indigenous mothers and grandmothers these days [who are] just like her; she’s strong like that. It was just like having my grandmother on set, or my mum.”
Much of the emotional power of the film comes from the ultimate reassertion of Karen’s individual dignity and sense of self-worth against the contemptuous judgement of her mother and society at large. In a remarkable scene towards the end of the film, she takes a shower, a simple symbolic act shot with uncomplicated grace. “I reckon you can forgive,” Cole muses, “...[but] the thing that is really hard to shake is shame...When I was thinking about Karen I was thinking: how do you get over the shame of neglecting a child? Because that is mega-shame. How do you forgive yourself for that? You can’t, all you can do is try to forget it—and you can’t do that either...It’s a hard question.”
A willingness to confront hard questions seems to lie at the heart of Cole’s filmmaking. As with other contemporary Indigenous filmmakers such as Ivan Sen (Beneath Clouds and more recently Toomelah) or Thornton (Samson & Delilah), Cole has received immense support from the Indigenous Branch of Screen Australia who recognise the importance of talented Indigenous storytellers sharing their stories. “I think there’s...an important place for films like [Rolf de Heer’s] The Tracker (2002) and others,” says Cole, “the more the merrier—the history of this country being told from all its perspectives is an important thing. But the reason why there’s a lot of support for films made by Aboriginal people about Aboriginal people has been largely I think due to a commitment by Screen Australia and its Indigenous Branch... it’s been strategic I think, and it’s great that there’s been such a high calibre of films released. It’s no longer this bullshit ooga-booga blackfella sort of stuff. These are stories that audiences can sink their teeth into and enjoy. That’s all you want for someone who’s paying 15 bucks to see a film...Now there’s more of a push to get the next group of people through, to keep this momentum up. It’s an exciting time to be a filmmaker in this country—particularly an Aboriginal one.”
Here I Am follows the struggles of Karen Burden (Shai Pittman) in her attempts to turn her life around on being released from prison. Desperate to regain custody of her young daughter Rosie (Quinaiha Scott) from her unforgiving mother Lois (Marcia Langton) while persuading the authorities that she’s put her drug-addled past behind her, Karen enters a women’s shelter run by the formidable Big Red (Vanessa Worrall), settling into the emotional hard work of straightening out her life.
Working from her own script, Cole’s film illuminates the reality of a “fairly common experience” through a simple but effective naturalistic style that allows her to lay bare the human story behind the statistics. “Karen comes from me really,” she says, “my experience and what concerns me and the things that I think Aboriginal women experience...There is a disproportionate number of Indigenous women in prison in this country, that’s a fact...You’re making a film that you hope will engage an audience, because everyone’s got a mother, most people are parents at some point in their lives, so it’s dealing with universal themes. But it is also taking you into a world where you (probably) haven’t been before, one that really exists.”
In this film, Beck Cole draws on her experience making documentaries—her previous work includes Making Samson & Delilah (2009) as well as the brilliant SBS series First Australians (2008) with Rachel Perkins—and the half-hour drama Plains Empty (2005), which also followed the experiences of a lone woman. Cole shot Here I Am on location in the “familiar territory” of Port Adelaide (her upbringing being punctuated by regular moves between Alice Springs and South Australia) to lend the film an inimitable aura of realism. “We were in that world all the time,” she comments, “it was a really good grounding, a reality check, to be making a story amongst it...we were really welcome there. [Adelaide’s] like a big country town, really laid back.”
Immaculately shot amongst cheap motels, decaying industrial infrastructure and cigarette-butt littered streets by director of photography (and Cole’s husband) Warwick Thornton, Here I Am is grounded by an extraordinary performance from Shai Pittman, who approached her task with similar energy and persistence to her director. “I love doing this style of work,” she enthuses. “I suppose being an actor you’ve got to be quite open to diverse, different people...Karen was really easy to relate to. There were times when I just thought, okay, this is a test...[but] I did it all, never questioned it.” Says Cole, “Shai was completely and utterly fearless.”
Karen’s story plays out against the backdrop of the women’s shelter, the makeshift camaraderie among the residents leavening the desolation that continually threatens to overwhelm her. As Cole notes, “it’s important to have a laugh in dire situations.” As well as giving roles to theatre veterans Betty Sumner and Pauline Whyman, Cole drew on predominantly Indigenous, non-professional actors from the local community in casting the supporting roles, their efforts adding to the film’s raw honesty. “I like to try and find the heart in people, get them to express that,” explains Cole, “but when you’re putting words in their mouths you’re dealing with something else, it’s a different scenario...It was challenging, and I think it’s just something that you’ve got to embrace and look for those little quirky moments...That’s what I like. I think you can tell when there’s that essence of that person’s heart in that moment on screen.”
Indeed, the roles of many of the institutional figures encountered by Karen—her parole officer, a job-seeking coordinator, a child welfare officer—are played by Indigenous women who hold similar positions off-screen, a decision that Cole believes reflects an encouraging trend in reality. “I’ve got loads of friends who work in those sorts of jobs...Women are in these jobs, right across the country. I think it’s a statement about employment, a statement about taking control of your own destiny and getting to change things for the better—you’ve gotta get in there and work from within. It’s not rocket science.”
Which doesn’t mean it’s easy. Against Pittman’s smudged and battered Karen, Cole sets the stony and unrelenting figure of Lois, who has achieved a position of stability through hard, repetitive but essentially restorative labour—she is employed, significantly, as a cleaner. Langton, a renowned academic and social activist, was by all accounts an inspiration on set, reading Senate Notes between takes—when not on Facebook. “She’s very strong,” says Pittman. “She reminds me of Indigenous mothers and grandmothers these days [who are] just like her; she’s strong like that. It was just like having my grandmother on set, or my mum.”
Much of the emotional power of the film comes from the ultimate reassertion of Karen’s individual dignity and sense of self-worth against the contemptuous judgement of her mother and society at large. In a remarkable scene towards the end of the film, she takes a shower, a simple symbolic act shot with uncomplicated grace. “I reckon you can forgive,” Cole muses, “...[but] the thing that is really hard to shake is shame...When I was thinking about Karen I was thinking: how do you get over the shame of neglecting a child? Because that is mega-shame. How do you forgive yourself for that? You can’t, all you can do is try to forget it—and you can’t do that either...It’s a hard question.”
A willingness to confront hard questions seems to lie at the heart of Cole’s filmmaking. As with other contemporary Indigenous filmmakers such as Ivan Sen (Beneath Clouds and more recently Toomelah) or Thornton (Samson & Delilah), Cole has received immense support from the Indigenous Branch of Screen Australia who recognise the importance of talented Indigenous storytellers sharing their stories. “I think there’s...an important place for films like [Rolf de Heer’s] The Tracker (2002) and others,” says Cole, “the more the merrier—the history of this country being told from all its perspectives is an important thing. But the reason why there’s a lot of support for films made by Aboriginal people about Aboriginal people has been largely I think due to a commitment by Screen Australia and its Indigenous Branch... it’s been strategic I think, and it’s great that there’s been such a high calibre of films released. It’s no longer this bullshit ooga-booga blackfella sort of stuff. These are stories that audiences can sink their teeth into and enjoy. That’s all you want for someone who’s paying 15 bucks to see a film...Now there’s more of a push to get the next group of people through, to keep this momentum up. It’s an exciting time to be a filmmaker in this country—particularly an Aboriginal one.”
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