Cinema Papers November-December 1975

|t

IjjBíte. i i ^ r¿J®S ^ Jf ’* .'. v^'Sh ) .4. 'jìsSrkà

/ B Í^ /

M ~J^^

y

:

* 5 3 .1 ÂŤ B

. w* ^

G eorge Maiiaby Ivene Delaney Ken G o o d le t Belinda GibHn arles D n g w ell

The best break in television newÂŤ!

When news breaks you have to act fast; set up fast—get the picture back fast. O f the two alternatives the better way for on-the-spot, heat-of-the-moment, unrepeatable events is

transmissions, plus the versatility and portability of the film camera.

Film is great for the television news business.

the film way.

K odak color motion picture films for the television industry give you two great advantages. Technical excellence for color

KODAK (Australasia) PTY. LTD.

Motion Picture & Education Markets Division

K67/9329.

Kodak Motion Picture Color P rinting Methods - 16m m Low Contrast Color Reversal Original 7252

Color Negative Original 7254 or 7247

Projection Contrast Color Reversal Original 7 2 4 1 ,7 2 4 2 , or 7256

I I I

Color Release Prints

w 7241 KODAK EKTACHROME EF Film (Daylight) 7242 KODAK EKTACHROME EF Film (Tungsten) 7247 EASTMAN Color Negative II Film 7249 EASTMAN Color Reversal Intermediate Film 7252 EASTMAN EKTACHROME Commercial Film 7254 EASTMAN Color Negative Film 7256 KODAK EKTACHROME MS Film 7271 EASTMAN Color Internegative Film 7381 EASTMAN Color Print Film 7383 EASTMAN Color SP Print Film 7389 EASTMAN EKTACHROME R Print Film 7390 EASTMAN EKTACHROME Print Film

NOTES 1. Where multiple release prints are required, the use of a low-contrast original is recommended.

2. The choice of printing procedure depends on a number of factors, including the types of printing and processing facilities available and certain economic considerations. As a result, certain comp­ romises may have to be accepted.

3. The dotted lines indicate alternate, less common methods.

I I I

w

T he m ore you play, the m ore you’ll appreciate a w ell stacked deck.

With taped music, as in five card stud, you’ll always get the results you want when you play with a deck that always delivers what you want.

Take this deck, one of the three new cassette decks from A K A I. The G X C 325D . It comes stacked with features to make your music sound clearer. And richer. It has a three head function, with separate recording and playback heads for wider frequency response. It comes with a closed loop double capstan, which maintains proper back tension, and perfect tape and head contact.

And, like all A K A I Hi-Fi equipment distributed by A K A I Australia Pty. Ltd. it’s covered by our Complete Protection Plan.* Which simply means, 12 months’ full parts and labour warranty, 12 months’ free insurance, and a lifetime'guarantee on all G X recording heads. Make sure the Complete Protection Plan Warranty Card is with your A K A I equipment. Sound good?

At a recommended retail price of S535.00 we think the G XC325D is quite a deal. Care to call our bluff?

T h e A K A I H i-F i Professionals are: NEW S O U T H W ALES: A lb u ry: H aberechts Radio & T V Pty L td 610 D ean St Bega: Easedowns Pty L td 187-191 Cargo St B ow ral: F red Hayes Pty L td 293 Bong Bong St B roken H ill: Pee Jay Sound C entre 364 Argent St B urw ood: Electronic Enterprises Pty L td 11 Burwood Rd C oncord: Sonarta M usic Service 24 Cabarita R d C h atsw ood : A utel Systems Pty L td 639 Pacific Highway C rem orn e: Photo A rt and Sound 287 M ilitary Rd C row s N est: Allied H i-Fi & Records 330 Pacific Highway D ee W hy: M astertone Electronics 824 Pittw ater R d F iv e D ock: Douglas H i-Fi 65 Parram atta Rd G osford: Gosford H i-Fi 163 M ann St G riffith: T he Record Centre 222 Banna Ave H u rstv ille: H i-Fi H ouse 127 Forest Rd L ism o re: N orm an Ross Discounts 69-73 M agellan St M arrick ville: Apollo H i-Fi 283 Victoria Rd M iran d a Fair: M iranda Stereo & H i-Fi Centre Pty L td Shop 67 T o p Level M ona Vale: W arringah H i-Fi Shop 5 M ona Vale C ourt Bungen St N ew castle: Eastern H i-Fi 519 H unter St N ew castle: Ron Chapman H i-Fi 880 H unter St N ow ra: G P Walker & Son Pty L td 96 K inghorn St P a rra m a tta : M agnetic Sound Industries 20 M acquarie St P a rra m a tta : Selsound H i-Fi Pty L td 27 Darcy St R oseland s: Roselands H i-Fi Pty L td Gallery Level S o u th H u rstv ille: Selsound H i-Fi Pty L td 803 K ing Georges Rd S u m m e r H ill: Fidela Sound Centre 93B Liverpool Rd S u th erlan d : Sutherland H i-Fi 5 Boyle St S yd n ey city: Jack Stein Audio Pty L td 275 Clarence St S y d n ey city: M agnetic Sound Industries 32 York St S yd n ey city: D uty Free Travellers Supplies 400 K ent St S yd n ey city: Opta H i-Fi Pty L td 187 Clarence St T aree: T aree Photographies G raphic H ouse 105 Victoria St W ag g a W ag g a: Haberechts Radio & T V Pty L td Baylis St W o llo n g o n g : H i-Fi House 118 Keira St W o llo n g o n g : Selsound H i-Fi Pty L td 2-6 Crow n Lane A U S T R A L IA N C A P IT A L TERRITO RY: C an b erra C ity: Allied H i-Fi & Records 122 Bunda St Civic F yshw ick: Douglas H i-Fi 53 Wollongong St VICTO RIA: M elb ou rn e: Douglas H i-F i 191 Bourke St M elb ou rn e: Pantiles H i-Fi C nr Flinders Lane & Elizabeth St W arrn am b ool: A G Sm ith Pty L td 159 Liebig St Q U E E N S L A N D : B o oval: W oolworths (Qld) L td Brisbane Station Rd B risb an e: Chandlers Pty L td 112 Edward St B risb an e: T el Air Electronics George St F ortitu d e V alley: Packard-Bell Pty L td 302 W ickham St M ackay: David Jones Pty L td Sydney St M t Isa: T he Sound Centre West St N ew stead: H endrix Pty L td 107 Breakfast Creek R d S o u th p o rt: T revor Stokes Scarborough St T oow oom b a: Catchpoles Cassette Centre T & G Arcade Ruthven St T oow oom b a: Hum phreys H i-Fi C entre R uthven St T o w n sv ille: W oolworths (Qld) L td 345 Flinders St S O U T H A U ST R A L IA : A d elaid e: E rnsm iths 48-50 King W illiam St A delaid e: Flinders T rad in g Co 55 Flinders St A d elaid e: Sound Centre 2001 115 Gouger St G lenside: M etrovision T V Rentals Pty L td Conygham St W E ST ER N A U S T R A L IA : P erth : D ouglas H i-F i 883 W ellington St T A SM A N IA : B u rn ie: James L oughran& Sons Pty L td 29-31 W ilmot St H obart: Q uantum T h e n a m e y o u d o n ’t h a v e to Electronics Pty L td 181 Collins St L au n ceston : Tasm ans Acoustics Pty L td 62 T am or St L au n ceston : Wills & Co (1954) Pty L td 7-11 Q uadrant j u s t if y to y o u r fr ie n d s .

U lv ersto n e: G illards M usic C entre 57A Rejby St N O R T H E R N T E R R IT O R Y : D arw in: Pfitzners M usic House Sm ith St. " * T h e A K A I C o m p lete P ro te c tio n P lan does not cover e q u ip m e n t p u rc h a se d o u tsid e A ustralia.

PPA5075

Pathe introduce two craftsman cam erasD S8 and 16mm.

Both are professional.

Possibly the latest electronic Duolight cameras from the Pathe cockerell look like ugly ducklings, but look at their capabilities: The electronic double super 8 version takes one hundred feet of film which after processing becomes two hundred feet in the super 8 format.

The 16mm version of the camera is similar in design to the DS8.

Either camera will take an auxiliary 4 00 foot magazine with its own motor and automatic camera connections that will provide long running capability.

The new exposure meter has no moving needle, but solid state electronics with LED display. The CdS cell is behind the lens and gives accurate measurement whether the camera is running or not. It drives the lens

D EPEND O N IT

diaphragm automatically through a servo motor, so you can concentrate on filming.

The meter is also coupled with f.p.s. control, the variable shutter opening and film sensitivity (10-400 ASA).

The speed range is remarkable: 8, 18, 25, 48, 64 and 80 fps, forward or reverse, with variable shutter opening for lap dissolves.

Two sync sound systems: A built-in pilot tone, 50H z at 25 fps for use with pilot tone tape recorders and single frame pulse sync for use with the new pulse systems. No extras to buy.

Lenses are interchangeable, using a threelens turret that takes standard C mount lenses. You can also use some still camera lenses with adapters. Choose a lens to create the effect you want. You might like to start

with Angenieux's new f 1.2 zoom lens, with focal lengths from 6 to 80m m . That's a 13.3 to 1 zoom ratio.

Viewing is reflex through a ground glass screen with hairlines. It also provides an exposure indicator, battery charge level indicator and T V framing limits. Compare its compact dimensions and weight (7lbs) with what you're carrying around.

Now which is the ugly duckling?

When writing for literature, please enclose 30 cent stamp. Photimport (Aust) Pty Ltd. Melbourne: 69 Nicholson St, East Brunswick. 38 6922. Sydney: 17 Alberta St. 26 2926. Brisbane: 244 St Paul's Terrace, Fortitude Valley. 52 8188. Adelaide: L H Marcus Pty Ltd, 242 Pirie St. 23 2946.

Perth: L Gunzburg Pty Ltd, 339 Charles St, North Perth. 28 3377.

IT'S FROM PH O TIM P O R T

THE YEAR’S BEST FILM P. P. McGUINNESS, National Times

"MOST INSPIRING FILM OF THE YEAR" ANDREW McKAY, The Herald

FINEST SHOW IN TOW N” BRIAN COURTIS, Sunday Press

"COMPULSORY VIEWING” JACK CLANCY, Nation Review

■ ESI DOCUMENTARY FOR YEARS"

avo» the A * s tro lio o

Ho*>

from s film to

t i t u t e s

ÿ lN C & l

U B ****

COLIN BENNETT, The Age

“ Every government is run by liars.

Nothing they say should be believed.”

79-81 CARDIGAN ST., CARLTON SOUTH, 3053.

Telephone: (03) 347 6888

David Levine C opyright T 1968 NYREV

Cannes Edinburgh Berlin

A film by Jerry Bruck Jr.

I. F. STONE’S WEEKLY

Professional photographers have to be critical of the end result. After all, it’s their business.

With their background and experience they can tell at a glance if a job is up to standard.

And because they are specialists they are very conscious of the quality and reliability of the materials they use. That’s where Agfa-Gevaert enter the picture.

Agfa-Gevaert, the leading European

film manufacturers, produce photographic materials for professional photographers.

Our Gevacolor Print film - Type 985 is a good example of the material we produce. Gevacolor Print film Type 985 sets the standard for consistent quality, pin-point sharpness and reproduction from originals. It is fast and easy to handle for any laboratory using the current processing methods.

Consequently Gevacolor Print film Type 985 is appreciated by professionals as a technically perfect material. And it’s just one more example of the advanced Product-System that Agfa-Gevaert provide for professionals in cinematography and television all over the world.

AGFA-GEVAERT Ltd., P.O. Box 48 Whitehorse Road 372-380 NUNAWADING, Vic. 3131

THE AUSTRALIAN FILM COMMISSION IS AT

60 PITT STREET, SYDNEY POSTAL ADDRESS IS:

BOX 3984, G.P.O., SYDNEY TELEPHONE NUMBER IS:

277051

If you’ve got a conference we’ve got the location.

Exotic Tahiti, Tokyo, Sa vu Sa vu, A uckiand.

Indigenous P ort Macquarie, Darwin, Albury, Geelong, Canberra, Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide and Brisbane.

We’ve also got the information, ring Sue-Ellen Doherty (Sydney) 31 0388 for complete information on Travelodge’s facilities and our professional approach to conferences throughout South Pacific and Australia.

V o tfd Tilm

INEW RENTAL FILM LIBRARY

o

The South Australian Film Corporation is a total film enterprise involved in film research, production, marketing, distribution and library services established by the State Government and operating both nationally and internationally.

In the first two and a half years of operations, film of every type, total film, has been produced (won Awards), and is being sold by the South Australian Film Corporation.

If you want to talk film, total or in part, talk to us— soon.

SU N D V TO O nR M H r Producers: G il B realey-M att Carroll‘ Director. Ken Hannam O riginal Screenplay: John Dingwall

\

/

• //™

/

Produced by McElroy & McElroy in association w ith Patricia Lovell.

Filmed w ith the South Australian Film Corporation and B.E.F. Distributors.

C o n ta c t: I he D ire cto r,

v (V A South Australian Film Corporation ▼ ▼

64 Fullarton Road, N orw o od , S.A. Telephone 42 4973 (S.T.D. Code 08) G.P.O. Box 2019, Adelaide, S.A. 5001. Australia.

Among many 16 mm film s offered in our new Rental Library, is the 1925Charli Chaplin classic, THE GOLD RUSH. For film appreciation, there are studies of the works of Ingmar Bergman, his photographer Sven Nykvist, David Lean, Arthur Penn, Norman McLaren, and John Grierson.

Also included are titles which deal w ith im portant social issues such as conservation, world poverty and the political struggles of emerging nations.

For further information on titles available, prices and hiring conditions, SEND FOR FREE RENTAL CATALOGUE.

Educational Media Australia are producers and distributors of 16 mm Educational Film and Multi-Media Material covering a wide range of subject areas from primary to tertiary and adult level.

For catalogue particulars, price lists and preview facilities contact:

EDUCATIONAL /MEDIA MUSTRALIA 237 CLARENDON STREET, SOUTH MELBOURNE, VIC. 3205.

Telephone: 69 6340, 699 1806

vO

in Q

X

Oh

The crafty combination The Hasselblad 500C/M’s incredible versatility and ease of use have spoiled a lot of photographers for any other camera.

That’s a shame because they might find a 500EL/M even more to their liking. How about 70 2/4" square frames a minute? With one hand tied behind your back. Remote operation by cord or radio. Convenient when you have to “shoot” dangerous subjects (take a platypus for example) or some hazardous industrial process. Unattended sequence coverage is also possible with an intervalometer.

And you’ll no doubt find the motor-driven Hasselblad a time-saving asset in the studio. And using a Hasselblad 24 or 70 exposure magazine will increase your range and minimize moodbusting breaks to change film.

DEPEND ON IT

IT'S FROM PHOTIM PORT______

If you already have a Hasselblad 500C/M, you only need to get yourself a 500EL/M body.

Camera bodies for both models use the same accessories. That’s an advantage of a Hasselblad.

H asselblad For free colour brochures, write, enclosing a thirty cent stamp, to Photimport (Aust) Pty Ltd 69 Nicholson Street East Brunswick Vic 3057.

If you describe your special interests or applications, such as under­ water or close-up photography, we will send you specialist literature.

A rticles and Interviews Francis Ford Coppola; Interview

Antony I. Ginnane and David Stratton

202

Feminist Critique

Meaghan Morris

207

What’s it like on the receiving end of Australian film criticism?

Tim Burstall

214

Under Western Eyes

Noel Purdon

216

Paul Winkler: Interview

Norman Ingram

220

Core Collections

E. R. Vallacott and Barrett Hodsdon

223

Policy Statements

Film, Radio and TV Board and Australian Film Commission

226

David Roe on the Playbox Cinema: Interview

Francis Ford Coppola Interviewed: 202

Antony I. Ginnane and Scott Murray

232

Dusan Makavejev: Interview

John O’Hara

235

Sweet Movie/Dusan Makavejev interviewed: 235

Albert Wright: Interview

Erwin Rado

257

Features The Quarter 1975 International Women’s Film Festival 4th International Perth Film Festival Production Report: Caddie

Gordon Glenn and Scott Murray Production Survey Picture Previews: Jaws Australia After Dark 1975 Berlin and Moscow Film Festivals

David Stratton

200 210 227 243 251 266 272 275

1975 San Sebastian Film Festival

Erwin Rado International Women’s Film Festival: 210

Columns Soundtracks Ivan Hutchinson

277 280 282

Production Report: Caddie: 243

Film Reviews Night Moves Jack Clancy The Man From Hong Kong Jim Murphy The Great MacArthy Freida Freiberg Section Speciele John O’Hara Picnic at Hanging Rock Scott Murray Nashville Ian Stocks How Willingly You Sing Jack Clancy The Voyage Graham Shirley The Fortune John C. Murray Fear Eats the Soul Tom Ryan

261 261 262 263 264 268 268 269 269 270

Book Reviews The Strange Case of Alfred Hitchcock

Ken Mogg Tim Burstall on Australian Film Critics: 214

279

Your Introduction to Film and TV Copyright Contacts and other Law, and Motion Picture Distribution: Business or Racket?

Roger O. Thornhill

279

Night Moves Reviewed: 261

Editorial Board: Peter Beilby, Philippe Mora, Scott Murray. Managing Editor: Scott Murray. Contributing Editors: Antony I. Ginnane, Rod Bishop, Graham Shirley, David Elfick. Design and Layout: Keith Robertson. Office Manager: Glenda Dodd. Editorial Assistance: Andrew Pecze. Assistance: Pat O’Neill, Maurice Perera. Correspondents: London — Jan Dawson. New York — Dave Hay. Montreal — Dave Jones. Photography: Virginia Coventry, Gordon Glenn. Advertising: Melbourne — Barbara Guest, Tel. 3295983. Sydney — Zoo Adler, Tel. 261625. Printing: Waverley Offset Group.

Distribution: Consolidated Press Pty. Ltd. Cinema Papers is produced with financial assistance from the Film, Radio and Television Board of the Australia Council. Signed articles represent the views of their authors and not necessarily those of the Editors. Whilst every care Is taken of manuscripts and materials supplied for this magazine, neither the Editors or the Publishers accept any liability for loss or damage which may arise. This magazine may not, by way of trade, be reproduced in whole or in part, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Cinema Papers is published every three months by Cinema Papers, 143 Therry Street, Melbourne 3000 {Tel. 3295983); 365A Pitt Street, Sydney (Tel. 261625). Copyright Cinema Papers, November/December, 1975.

Front Cover: "What we see and what we seem, are but a dream within a dream. Picnic at Hanging Rock. (Reviewed on page 264)

Recommended price only.

% ACTION ON THE TRADE PRACTICES FRONT Phil Doyle, owner-manager of Mecca Entertainment which runs two suburban Sydney theaters at Kogarah and Hurstville, has sought the opinion of a Queen’s Counsel as to whether he has grounds for litigation against two major exhibition c h a in s and th e M o tio n P ic tu re Distributors’ Association under Section 46 of the Trade Practices Act (the "monopolisation” section).

Doyle claims he has been experienc­ ing trouble with the major distributors since he re-opened the Kogarah Theatre on March 20, 1975. Doyle says continual, sys te m a tic hara ssm e nt has been applied to him by the majors’ repeated habit of checking his theater pursuant to Clause 52a(ii) of the NSW Standard Form of Contract. Some time ago the MPDA set up the Australian Theater Checking Service which contracted with Metropolitan Security Services to attend theaters showing film s hired on a percentage basis to check actual atten­ dances against returns subsequently stated by the exhibitor. IMost indepen­ dent theaters are checked two or three times a year, but Doyle claims his theater has been checked over 70 times in the past eight months.

As a result of his protests to the reportedly ineffective Theaters and Films Commission of NSW, which administers the Standard Form of Contract in NSW, a number of MPDA members have refused to supply Mecca with releases. This is despite the fact that the cinema con­ sistently grosses highest of Sydney’s se­ cond run suburban theaters. Counsel ap­ parently takes the view that Doyle has a prima facie case. The Trade Practices Commission is anxious to join in the ac­ tion and an application for legal aid to contest the issue has apparently been given approval.

Meanwhile the MPDA has applied to the Trade Practices Commission for clearance for the Victorian and Tasma­ nian Standard Forms of Contract. As the NSW and Queensland contracts are bas­ ed on State legislation, clearances have not been applied for there as the MPDA apparently takes the view that any attempt by the Commission to strike out those two Stgte’ contracts would create an inter se dispute for the High Court. In South Australia where the contract has been lodged with a quasi-government body, no clearance has been applied for, The MPDA has also a p p lie d fo r "authorization” of the NSW “ payment in advance list” . This is, in effect, a black list of theaters which are slow payers and which are required to pay an agreed film hire in advance before the distributors will allow them to screen a film. (Normally the theater screens the film and then some weeks after returns its box-office report and a cheque for the agreed film hire.) There are also suggestions that the list may be more than a credit check and may have been used to “ muzzle” com­ petition.

Notable, too, since the Restrictive Trade Practices legislation articles were published in Cinema Papers, has been the decision of the Industrial Court in Top Performance Motors v IRA Berk (Qld) Pty. Ltd. There, the question of the “ market” was examined in passing by the Court. And clearly their definition of “ market” could well be a crucial one in any attempt to litigate against industry duopoly. And, in Queensland, the Court was prepared to hold that there was a “ market” for “ Datsun cars on the Gold Coast” . An independent exhibitor, for ex­ ample, may need to talk about the “ market” for a specific type of film in a specific locality. This decision '»of Mr Justice Joske goes some way towards 200 — Cinema Papers, November-December

helping an exhibitor get off the ground, although some commentators on the case suggest it may have been wrongly decided.

FILM AS BUSINESS Most motion picture and entertain­ ment stocks are rating very highly on Wall Street at the moment, as analysts continue to applaud the mid-1975 cor­ porate rally of the film and TV industry.

Walt Disney Productions, MCA, Twen­ tieth Century-Fox and General Cinema shares have all more than doubled in value in 1975 and the shares of Columbia Pictures, which lost $2,300,000 in 1974, have this year more than tripled.

Although the companies still depend on a run of box-office hits for really big profit gains, the “ boom or bust" earnings pattern that characterized the industry in the sixties has been smoothed out. The industry also, as a rule, does well in economic downturns.

The year 1974 saw profit gains ranging from 2 per cent for Disney to a mammoth 125 per cent for MCA Inc. which owns Universal Pictures. This year analysts are predicting rises of up to 15 per cent across the board.

The rapid rise in film stocks has been largely due to the surge in attendances.

Box-office receipts in the U.S. soared 18 per cent last year as the recession forced the public to “trade down” its choices of entertainment. Estimates for 1975 point up an additional eight to 10 per cent gain. But even more significant is the structure of the industry which is now composed of fewer companies. “ Everyone gets a bigger slice of the bigger- pie,” stated one leisure-time analyst and in 1974 the five biggest producers — Warner, Universal, Fox, Paramount (owned by Gulf and Western Industries) and United Artists (owned by Trans America) — accounted for close to 70 per cent of film box-office business.

On top of this, companies are holding down costs by producing fewer films.

Only 124 U.S.-made films were released last year, the lowest number in 25 years.

But an increasing proportion — such as MCA’s The Sting and Jaws, Warner’s The Exorcist and Paramount’s two God­ fathers — are turning into monster hits as the industry gets a better grip on public taste.

Not only is the industry producing a better product, it is marketing its films better and receiving a higher proportion of box office receipts. This has resulted in im proved p ro fita b ility fo r film operations and an increasingly stabilized earnings pattern which is less dependent on the “ big” film successes.

At MCA, for instance, the earnings jump this year and last year was due to several big film hits: Jaws, The Sting and American Graffiti. But smash record sales — sound tracks from these films plus recordings by such stars as Elton John and Olivia Newton-John — were also an important factor in the company’s 1974 profit surge.

Further, MCA’s strength lies in its p rim e -tim e TV p ro g ra m m in g (it produces 141/2 hours of prime time a week) plus syndication revenues from its. enormous library of TV series.

Finally, the 1975 Fortune magazine list of the top 1,000 industrial stocks in­ cludes these follow ing com panies: Paramount (Gulf and Western) rank 83; American Broadcasting (NY) rank 206; Warner Communications rank 263; MCA Inc. rank 279; Avco rank 382; General Cinema (Boston) rank 482; Twentieth Century-Fox Film rank 505; Columbia Pictures Ind. rank 542; MGM rank 564; Metromedia (NY) rank 630; Technicolor (Hollywood) rank 839; RKO General rank 905. , „

FIGURES, GLORIOUS FIGURES In an advertising supplement in The Australian newspaper of August 22 celebrating the opening of the Film and Television School, Hoyts Theatres listed the following gross box-office receipts: Alvin Purple: $1,913,296.

Alvin Rides Again: $750,342.

Number 96: $658,639.

Wake in Fright: $130,793.

Walkabout: $84,235.

Wheels Across a Wilderness: $80,205.

Northern Safari: $69,440.

Demonstrator: $16,464.

These receipts of course refer only to monies earned in Hoyts cinemas.

AUSTRALIAN FILMS ON RELEASE OVERSEAS Australian films are at last getting releases on foreign markets. Tim Burstall’s Petersen, which is being handled

by Columbia-Warner in Britain, opened in London recently at the 696-seat Warner West End I and the 220-seat ABC Fulham 4. After two weeks at both theaters, in which it took just over $US 15,000, it dropped out of the ABC Cinema but did one more week at the Warner for $5000. Nonetheless the film received much better reviews in London that it did in Australia and the prospects look brighter for subsequent British release. It is also due for U.S. release in 25 cinemas on November 14 under the ti­ tle Jock Petersen.

Brian Trenchard-Sm ith’s The Man From Hong Kong was bought for U.S. and Canadian release by 20th CenturyFox, who changed its title to The Dragon Flies. By early September the film had grossed $175,000 in 15 U.S. theaters, after a disappointing two-week premiere at the 600-seat Cine in New York, where it took $US 14,000. Under its original title it has just opened at the London Pavilion, but no figures were to hand when Cinema Papers went to press. Reviews in both London and New York have been generally unfavorable though it has been suggested that the producers expected this.

Richard Franklin’s The True Storv of Eskimo Nell is due to open shortly at the London Classic, Piccadilly, with its new title of Nell Down Under. It is being handled by the small art-sex distributor Amanda Films. Nell also received one of the funniest reviews any Australian film got at Cannes 75 when Ecran magazine reviewer, after labelling it “ le premier porno Australien", suggested it should be given “ le coup du kangourou” .

Philippe Mora’s Brother Can You Spare a Dime, although not strictly an Australian film, is doing extremely good box-office in the U.S. After a highly successful New York and Los Angeles launch by the previously sex-action oriented Dimension Pictures, Brother in six weeks has grossed $US 301,000 in 16 theaters and received rave reviews. The film was also sold to London Television, for what was then a record figure, before being given a West End run.

While Roger Corman’s interest in The Cars That Ate Paris for U.S. distribution is still unknown, his more exploitable Death Race 2000 is having big successes in the U. S. and Australia. Cars recently opened for a brief London season under the new distribution company, Crawford P roduction, which is a s p in o ff of Monarch Films and Gala. Reviews were good but the film closed after two weeks and the distributors are reported to have lost around $10,000.

TAX SHELTERS GO UNDER The U .S. H ouse of R e p re s e n ­ tatives Ways and Means Committee on Taxation Reform appears this month to have eliminated what many industry observers had been hailing as the saviour of outside investment incentive in film production.

Tax shelters for feature films have been based on the potential investor putting up cash for a project, not on any cash return basis for the future, but on the premise that he will receive substan­ tial tax relief by way of allowable deduc­ tions in his tax return.

Shelter deals appeared in the early seventies when the major studios and in­ dependent producers began to look around for other sources of finance as the enormous losses of the major studios in the sixties caused traditional sources to dry up. A number of Chicago tax at­ torneys suggested the notion by apply­ ing the principles of real estate financing to films.

The shelter concept can work for both purchase by studios of completed films, local and foreign, and for actual invest­ ment by producers in projects from the pre-production stage. For the former, an amortisation sale takes place and the producer receives from the distributor a small amount of cash with a large amount of renewable non-recourse notes secured by the film. The distributor depreciates paper losses against the total and largely fictitious purchase cost.

For the latter, a service lim ited partnership (unknown to Australian statutes except, apparently, in South Australia) is formed and all expenses are written off in the year they occur.

It is too simplistic to say that shelter projects invariably make a loss and that this is what the scheme originators in­ variably want, but it is certainly true in a large number of recorded instances and is probably what caused the House Com­ mittee to investigate.

The proposed reforms have been in the air for some time and although the in­ dustry generally seemed to be dreading the possibility, only Alan Hirschfield, president of Columbia Pictures In­ dustries, actively lobbied against the reforms. Columbia still owes millions of dollars on its rotating bank production loan and it is unlikely that it can turn in the forseeable future to traditional finance sources.

Hirschfield also noted that most of Columbia’s forthcom ing productions were financed with the help of outside in­ vestors, which represents a major con­ tribution to its financial program. He went so far as to say that if the tax shelter provisions were abolished Columbia “wouldn’t have a production program” .

Immediate response to the shut down of shelters has been suggestions of an increase in “ runaw ay” production, possibly to Canada, Germany, Iran and Israel. But of course the tax shelter laws in these countries are quite different to the U.S. provisions and for tax shelter film lawyers it’s back to the books.

Meanwhile it is debatable whether the tax reform has hit any Australian produc­ tions, but it is rumored that at least two Australian films shown at Cannes were in the middle of concluding shelter deals w ith U.S. d is trib u to rs . For local producers these deals could have provided anything between $U.S. 70,000 and $U.S.120,000 up front, which for the average Australian film is a goldmine.

And nobody would have really cared about the “ useless” $1 million debenture sitting in the office sale.

The reform wiil now make it even harder for any but the most commercial Australian films to get a U.S. release.

THE QUARTER

CENSORSHIP NEWS The Labor Government’s pre-election promise of no censorship for adults is still unhonored.

The Commonwealth Film Censor con­ sistently refuses certificates to hard-core pornography. It also goes without saying that any suggestion of sex with animals is totally verboten. At the same time the Censor has tried to honor its exemption agreement with the film festivals. This year, however, Thierry Zeno’s Vase de Noces (The Wedding Trough) caused a stir with its largely tedious and psy­ chological analysis of a man’s coupling with a pig. Despite the fact that the im­ porter was the Perth Film Festival, the C om m onw ealth Censor refused to classify it. The Film Board of Review then passed the film on appeal for both Festival and general audiences. It was classified “ R” on the special condition that an introductory statement precede the opening title giving a detailed ex­ planation of the film’s meaning.

The other film at the Perth Festival to strike trouble was Bert Deling's Pure Shit — a fictional film written and acted by Melbourne drug addicts. An appeal was lodged against the Censor's refusal to classify it on the grounds of its title, and the film was finally passed for festival screening. Its position regarding general release, however, is still unresolved.

John Lamond’s Australia After Dark was also recently passed on appeal with an “ R” without cuts, in spite of the initial insistence by the Censor that deletions be made in two scenes. These included close-ups of fellatio and penetration in the sado-masochistic and blue-movie sequences.

Overseas, meanwhile, “ le hard core” has finally broken through in Paris with record crowds for Exhibition, Story of O and H istory of the Blue M ovie, prompting the French government to bring down a “ porn tax” . In Britain, the system by which local councils, especial­ ly the Greater London Council, could overrule the film censorship body and allow contentious material, has ap­ parently broken down. Even though London censorship is still much stricter than Australian, anti-porn campaigners have successfully taken Common Law actions against theaters and theater managers screening Language of Love and More About the Language of Love, and more prosecutions are expected soon. Both cases are presently on appeal.

Because of the censorship structure here, there would appear to be legal dif­ ficulties preventing similar action inAustralia.

'

¿ » fy

— Wednesday, January 8,1975 — -

^

u p d a t ed a l l t im e film cham ps

TOTAL DOMESTIC RENTALS RECEIVED TO DATE The Godfather (1972) ...................................................... $85,747,184 The Sound of Music (1965) ............................................ 83,891,000

Just two to go!

COPPOLA LATEST Subsequent to the interview in this issue being recorded, Francis Ford Cop­ pola has abandoned the making of Apocalypse Now in Australia. This was rumored to be largely due to a lack of co-operation from the Australian Army and certain unions. Coppola’s latest plan is to shoot the film in Cuba with Marlon Brando.

FOREIGN PRODUCTION NEWS

----------------------------- Wednesday, January 8,1975 ---------------------- -——

¿Æëffifr UPDATED ALLTIM E FILM CHAMPS TOTAL DOMESTIC RENTALS RECEIVED TO DATE

The new clump!

FORUM ON FAMILY VIEWING In September a forum on Family View­ ing was held in Melbourne, its purpose to give members of the community the op­ portunity to join in discussions with those d ire ctly responsible fo r presenting programs on television. As there is com­ paratively little in the way of children's television here, it was not surprising that only one of the 16 speakers, Ms Kay Kinane of the ABC, could claim to hold such a position.

The commercial stations, although represented in the audience, contented themselves with the usual token speech by the information officer of FACTS. The secrecy of the station managements issom ewhat surprising , fo r they will staunchly defend one of their worst programs, rather than admit that produc­ tion of quality television in Australia is uneconomic.

Ms Julie James Bailey revealed that the advertising split of $1300 an hour at children’s viewing time could not support production costs. The South Australian Film Corporation, for example, cannot break even with their program Stacey’s Gym. On a budget of $16,000 an episode, they have been unable to sell it. The Seven network offered only $4500 an episode, while the other networks show­ ed no interest.

The new Minister for the Media, Dr Moss Cass, was disappointing. While read in g his p re p a re d speech he declared himself against censorship and

While some take the view that the theft was an inside protest against laboratory labor layoffs earlier in the year, others see it as the latest in a series of the thefts for ransom which have plagued Italy all year. Leone commented that unless the thieves were q u ic k ly located, the vulnerability of the industry to this sort of sabotage could mean more similar oc­ currences. Insurance companies could also be expected to raise premiums drastically.

T e c h n ic o lo r and the in d iv id u a l p ro d u c e rs have each re c e iv e d anonymous phone calls offering informa­ tion concerning the recovery in ex­ change for cash, but so far nobody has taken the offers seriously. And seven weeks later the footage is still missing.

The growth of Jaws. Top: from the front page of Variety, August 27. Bottom: Variety September 10.

compulsion, but did not offer a solution to the problem of audience size in minority viewing time. He suggested a foundation, sponsored by government or business interests, should be set up to co-ordinate the production of children’s films.

The conference then closed with Mr John Flaus, of the LaTrobe University Media Center, providing the highlight of the forum with his spirited defense of The Rifleman and Gomer Pyle. He accused some of the previous speakers of elitism and moral self-righteousness in their dis­ like of popular programs. After all, it is difficult to argue against the 700,000

viewers who enjoy Six Million Dollar Man every Sunday night.

HIJACKING, SKYJACKING, PRINTJACKING During the long weekend of August 15-17 the Technicolor laboratory outside Rome was broken into and 74 cans of original negative of Sergio Leone's The Genius, Pasolini’s 120 Days in Sodom and early footage of Fellini’s Casanova were stolen. The theft was not discovered until some days later.

Mike Nichols' as yet uncast new film Bogart Slept Here, will be written by Neil Simon, edited by Dede Allen and photographed by Bob Surtees. Phil Kaufman will direct Clint Eastwood in Outlaw — Losey Wales, while Eastwood will also star in Dirty Harry III. — director is as yet unconfirmed, though the script is by Sterling Silliphant. Meanwhile Roman Polanski’s The Buccaneers, an­ nounced in the last issue, as The Pirates, has been postponed till mid-1976.

Unavailability of star Jack Nicholson and the tightness of finance from Titanus’ Goffredo Lombardo and United Artists are rumored to be the reasons. Arthur Penn is to direct David Picker’s A Time to Die based upon Tom Wicker’s novel, w h ile R ic h a rd L e s te r is s ta rtin g preproduction on Terence McNally’s The Ritz, based on the Broadway comedy hit.

Roger Corman has announced he will produce a remake of Birth of a Nation.

Elia Kazan has signed Robert De Niro, Robert Mitchum, Jack Nicholson, Jeanne Moreau, Tony Curtis, Donald Pleasence and Angelica Huston for The Last Tycoon, based on F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel. Filming commences during the last week of October. Sam Peckinpah has Killer Elite with James Caan and Robert Duvall almost completed. Milos Forman is filming Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Martin Scorcese has Robert De Niro and Liza Minelli in New York, New York.

Betrand Blier’s next film, Calmos, with Jean Yanne, is the story of two men who give up women fo r “ the s im p le r pleasures in life” , and is expected to cause as much controversy as his earlier Les Valseuses (Going Places). Robert Bresson is planning The Devil Today which links C hrist casting of the moneylenders from the temple with an attack on consumer society.

After the disappointing Mes Petites Amoureuses, Jean Eustache is going to direct an erotic portm anteau film , Perverse Tales, with Jacques Demy, Alain Robbe-Grillet and Marco Ferreri.

Producer Pierre Braunberger also plans a feminist portmanteau film with Helly Kaplan, Liliane de Karmedec, Monique Lepeure, Sarah Mallison and Agnes Var­ da.

Novelist Francoise Sagan is at present directing her first film, The Blue Ferns, for producer Georges de BeauregardAfter quite an absence Bob Ravelson is to direct Stay Hungry with Jeff Bridges and Sally Field, while producer Ilya Salbrind has signed Bruce Dern for Claude Chabrol’s first U.S. film, The Twist.

APOLOGY John O’Hara’s name was inadvertently left off his article Political Cinema: Intention and Effect. The editor apologizes for this oversight.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 201

mam

' .;

202 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Above left: Francis Ford Coppola and father, Carmine, backstage at the 47th Academy Awards.

Francis Ford Copolla’s “The Godfather” and “The Godfather Part II” have between them grossed more than $100 million in film hire. No other director-producer in the history of cinema has ever made two such successful films. Only Alexander and Ilya Salkind with “ The Three M usketeers” and “ The Four Musketeers” have come close. And whereas the Salkinds con­ sider themselves producers solely, the production mantle rests un­ easily on Copolla, who thinks of himself as a writer first, a direc­ tor second and a producer third.

Copolla’s background is of particular interest to Australian filmmakers inasmuch as his introduction to the industry encom­ passed both the theoretical rigors of the UCLA Film School, and those of practical on-the-job training. Starting with Roger Corman’s small independent outfit he worked as an editor, producer and director, before joining Seven Arts Inc where he worked as a writer.

Since those early days Copolla has gone on to direct eight features including “You’re a Big Boy Now”, “ Finian’s Rainbow” and “The Rain People” , as well as scripting such films as “The Great Gatsby” and “Reflections in a Golden Eye.” Copolla was in Sydney recently to face Equity and Technical Unions turmoil over the proposed filming in Queensland of his new super epic “Apocalypse Now.” There he spoke to Cinema Papers contributing editor Antony I. Ginnane. The following in­ terview also incorporates material David Stratton compiled from two interviews he conducted with Copolla in 1969 and 1973.

There were no young filmmakers in those days, and there was no chance of getting into the Hollywood film industry. So one usually heard comments like, “ Well, maybe I can get a job as an industrial film­ maker” . That seemed to be the only hope. To finally get thejob with Corman, at 22, was just exhilirating. To be on the set with Ray Milland, do­ ing The Premature Burial, or with Vincent Price, doing The Pit and the Pendulum, was great and, of course, I had responsibilities. Roger was such a cheapskate that he really wanted to get something out of anyone he was paying.

He used to buy up Russian-made fairy tales from Mosfilm and release them without telling anyone they were Russian (though he had in his contract that it had to say, “A Mosfilm Production” , but that line was printed below the 1:85 matte so no one would ever see it). I said I could speak Russian and would do the translations. So I would just look at the scene and make up whatever I thought they were saying. One of the films was called, I think, Sadco which we re-titled The Witch That Froze the World, or The Day the Earth Froze, or something. I did everything. In one of them, which I think we called Battle Beyond the Sun, there is a scene on a planet where an astronaut sees the image of a golden astronaut holding a golden torch of hope and humanity. Roger had me matte that out and matte in two monsters fighting, with one devouring the other. Difference in translation between Russian and American science fiction!

You then went on to become a fair­ ly prolific screenwriter . . .

Well, while I was doing this kind of all-round-everything for Roger I won the Goldwyn Award for writing.

As a result of that I had two offers — one to work for Seven Arts as a screenwriter and the other from Universal. I thought if I went to Universal at that time I would be do­ ing sort of television stuff. So I went to Seven Arts and worked for them for two or three years, and wrote about six scripts a year. It was like a great college course for me; I was assigned to things and I would do them fast.

They gave me the chance to do Reflections in a Golden Eye because they didn’t know what to do with it. I wrote it in five weeks, and then they said, “You’re going to New York to w ork on This Proper t y is Condemned”. So they used me as a writer in problem areas, and the most incredible of these, my first worst nightmare, was Is Paris Bur­ ning? which was an unbelievable adventure.

I was about 26-years-old and they told me, “ Francis, you’ve been so good, you’ve written 11 scripts in the past year and a half, that we are gonna send you to Paris with your family and you can have a free vacation. The only thing is that the writer who is doing Is Paris Burning? is very ill and may die. When the pen­ cil falls out of his hand we want you to pick it up.” So I went to Paris.

This nice, sick old man didn’t know the arrangement and thought I was his assistant. He would criticize and Cinema Papers, November-December — 203

FRANCIS FORD COPOLLA

say my scenes were no good, and just as I was about to quit and get out of there, he did die! Suddenly I in­ herited this enormous project and they brought in Gore Vidal, too. It was unbelievable! The arguments!

The producer had made a deal with the French government under De Gaulle that if they colored history right, they could have the whole city of Paris — you’ll notice in the film that the word communist' is never ever mentioned.

Anyway they Finally Fired me for the Fiftieth time and the producer really bawled me out. So I was out of Seven Arts and broke again, and the whole thing was a mess. Fox was do­ ing Patton, and they heard I was a big war Film writer (which is a thing that happens — after I did Reflec­ tions, they heard I was a Southern writer, so I got This Property is Condemned). I didn’t know who General Patton was. I just read all the books I could get and worked from that. I had nothing to do with evolving the character the way George C. Scott played him. The script I wrote was very much like parts of the Film. You know the beginning, which was sort of more stylized with this character way out in the foreground. That was the opening of the original script, but more of my script was that way. I then went off to work on You’re a Big Boy Now, and Schaffner directed Patton, so I knew nothing of what was happening with the Film.

Was it about this time that Seven Arts merged with Warner Brothers?

No, it was after that. The seeds of dissent within Seven Arts had already begun. Elliot Wyman and Ray Stark were not getting alo-ng, and Phil Feldman, who was a businessman in the company, wanted to make his debut as a producer.

We had similar objectives: here was this young guy who was hot to direct a Film, and here was this businessman who was hot to become a producer. So we teamed up and after a lot of time and trouble, we got Seven Arts to finance You’re'a Big Boy Now. It was just after Big Boy was shot that they merged. It was produced by Seven Arts, and then turned over to Warners.

“You’re a Big Boy Now” seems a very loose film. Did it turn out the way you wanted it to?

Conversation back there in 1966, and it was while I was writing I got a phone call from a guy who asked me if I knew anyone who could direct Finian’s Rainbow.

This was something of a coin­ cidence, as I used to direct musical comedies in college, and had a love of musicals in general. But I told him I was going to make a little Film and I didn’t want to get involved with a studio. Besides, I didn’t really know anyone. Half an hour later he.called me back and asked me to direct it.

The temptation to be a 26-year-old guy directing a big Warner Brothers film, coupled with the fact that it was a musical and that I had come from that tradition, as had all my family, made me read the book of Finian’s Rainbow. I thought it was terrible, but I liked the music and as you know, I did it.

It was the experience I had at Warner Brothers, the old-fashioned

asked, “ What is, this crazy Film you’re making?” I told them, and they said, “ We’ll Finance it,” and they did.

It was while working on The Rain People in a little town in Nebraska that I realized that you don’t have to be in Hollywood to make Films.

I found you could be based somewhere else, have much more privacy and maybe get to a much more honest kind of Filmmaking. I had George Lucas, who was just 21, as my assistant, and we went to San F ran cisco , and t h a t ’s where American Zoetrope began.

In both “You’re a Big Boy Now” and “The Rain People” there are scenes where the female dominates the male . . .

The scene in The Rain People was specifically taken from a Strindberg play I had seen — Dance o f Death — in which the woman does that. And I never forgot it. No doubt it has something to do with me — not in any serious way, I hope. I think I would like to write and make Films that have to do with women es­ pecially.

Shirley Knight as the woman and James Caan as the tragic ex-football star.

The tragic story of a woman’s odyssey across America, T he R ain People.

Peter Kastner as the roller-skating library assistant from You’re a Big Boy Now. 204 — Cinema Papers, November-December

I had complete control over it. Of course, remember it was made around the time of A Hard Day’s Night. Everyone was influenced by that, and Dick Lester’s other Films hadn’t come out yet. I felt that if I could use Film as he did, but with a story that had a plot, it would be terrific.

Big Boy was a modest success in the U.S. and it effectively launched me as the first ‘young’ Film director.

I was aware that after that kind of American “young man success” it would be easy to blow it and make, some big production that went total4y down the tubes. I was convinced that the thing to do was to resist the offers that were coming to me, and instead to make another more per­ sonal film. So I started to write The

Jack Warner studio method, that got me to create American Zoetrope, because when the Film was over I knew I couldn’t make films that way.

I just wanted to get away with four or Five guys and make a Film. That’s when I took half a script I had written years before and made The Rain People. Originally it was about three women who left their husbands, but I just took the story of one of them. Even before I had Finished the script I started shooting, just to get away from Warner Brothers and their kind of films.

However, Warner Brothers in fact financed, or partly financed the ven­ ture . . .

What happened was that they

Shirley Knight and Robert Duvall as the cop she picks up on the way.

Was it envisaged that these films you were making away from the studios for Zoetrope would in fact be commercial ventures? * No. I am 36 now, and I was raised in that period in the U.S. when all those films were coming from Europe. My idea of what a personal Film was, was based on them. It was Bergman, it was the White Sheik, it was Antonioni. But we thought that we could go to San Francisco and produce a new cinema of contem­ porary stories, with more ambitious themes, shot with tiny and mobile crews, and making use of -the new Film technology.

I had a little money because I had been working for years. So I sold my house, and with about 10 people,

FRANCIS FORD COPOLLA

moved up to San Francisco and proceeded to build a studio of sorts. I had gone to Germany and ordered new editing tables and mixing equip­ ment without having the money to pay for them, though. I kind of trick­ ed Warners into backing the venture.

By this time I had put together quite a group. In San Francisco there was myself, George Lucas, John M iliu s , M a tt R o b b in s , H al Barwood, who wrote Sugarland Ex­ press, Willard and Gloria Hike who wrote American Graffiti, John Korty and A1 Pacino.

In fact Zoetrope oniy ever produc­ ed “The Rain People” and “THX 1138”?

Right, because the next films were all turned down by Warners, they pulled back their loan to me, which essentially put the company out of business and put me close to bankruptcy. We failed more because Warners abandoned us, than because we made films that were failures.

When I was doing Finian’s, about a week into it, everywhere I went there was this skinny little kid with a bear looking at me. I started getting nervous because I was very insecure.

After a while I went up to him and asked him: “What are you looking at?” And he said: “Not much!” But any rate, that was George Lucas. He had won a scholarship to observe me at Warner Brothers, and he was observing me. So, realizing that I tried to involve him by saying that every day he should come up with a brilliant idea, and every day he came up with one. I was very impressed with him. He was only a young guy — about 23 — just out of film school, and I wanted to sponsor him to become a director. So I got THX 1138 off the ground, which he wrote and directed and I produced. Now he has a big.success with American Graffiti, in which I am executive producer, and I think it’s a very nice film.

How did you move on to “The God­ father”, given this situation?

It was sort of a desperate situation. I had been offered The Godfather, and I turned it down on the grounds that I was only going to make these personal films. I wanted to make The Conversation. Then six months later they offered it to me again. At that point I was grateful to have a job, because I was hopelessly in debt and I didn’t know what to do.

So I took the job. I was almost fired every other week.

Once the film did come out, however, and once it became ap­ parent that it was probably going to be one of the top grossers of ail time, if not The’ top grosser, you were in effect made as a bankable writerproducer-director. What sort of change of attitude did that bring about in you?

It was a funny thing that happened to me, and I sometimes wondered if it wasn’t all a dirty trick. When The Godfather first looked like it was go­ ing to be successful and make me some money, I thought that if I could just make $1 million and invest it in stocks and stuff, then I could perhaps get $60,000 a year for the rest of my life. I could then write my own material, or just do anything. If something was a failure I could say, “Well so what, I have that $1 million in the bank.”

The great joke was that it made much more than $1 million for me, and Graffiti made another $3 million. So basically all that money made me like I was before I did Zoetrope, and I got back into doing ail this crazy stuff on five times a bigger scale.

Why did you decide not to direct “The Great Gatsby”?

To be frank with you, before The Godfather opened I didn’t know if it was going to be a success. I had been through a very difficult financial period and i didn’t want to be in that position again.

I read a very hostile article about Zoetrope in the 'Bay Guardian’ . . .

That was written by a writer who, like a lot of people, felt I had really misused him; that Zoetrope had mis­ used him. I think that article was a very slanted one. I know I am something of a promoter at times, but I don’t think of myself as much of a Sammy Glick as he painted me.

I never said" a lot of the things the ar­ ticle said I did. I did misuse people with Zoetrope, and the way I misus­

The gathering of the Dons, from T he G odfather.

Michael’s henchmen take revenge on another betrayer of the Corleone tradition.

The gathering of the Corleone clan. Michael (Al Pacino), Don Vito (Marlon Brando), Sonny (Jam es Caan) and Fredo (John Cazale).

ed them was I didn’t level with them, and the real reason I didn’t level with them was I didn’t know.I’d played with people on their most valued thing — their hopes. They really thought Zoetrope was going to be the answer, and I led them to believe that because I believed it.

When it didn’t work they really felt robbed.

When I read the article I was so angry at first I thought I would do something equally cruel, which was to send to the Bay Guardian the script he had written and let them publish it. But I didn’t.

Your association with George Lucas has worked very well, though.

How did you meet?

Michael (Al Pacino) respectfully kisses the hand of Don Francesco (Guiseppi Sillato) before brutally knifing him in the stomach.

Bqrzini (Richard Conte) claps warily while watching the Godfather (Marlon Brando) embrace a . compatriot.

I knew the Gatsby book, and I had written a script of Budd Schulberg’s The Disenchanted, for which I had done some research on the period. So I thought it would be a good way to make a hunk of money and do something interesting — to write the screenplay that is, not direct it. I did not want to direct it. So I wrote it, Jack Clayton directed it and I don’t know quite what happened.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 205

FRANCIS FORD COPOLLA

Did you have to put some of your own money into “The Godfather Part

New York, for opening this kind of film. But temporarily I felt that as there were some legal problems with Cinema 5 (namely a lawsuit between William Foreman who owned 25 per cent of the stock, and the company), I should not, at this time, vest Cinema 5 with all the things that we were doing. We were financing these projects 100 per cent, yet we own only 10 per cent of Cinema 5. So we created a new production company, kind of m erg in g C in em a 5 hypothetically with Coppola Cinema 7, thinking that should we at some time in the future resolve some of the obstacles, Coppola Cinema 7 would take over Cinema 5, or vice versa, and it would be the basis of an in­ teresting new arrangement.

11“ ?

No, I didn’t invest in Godfather II. What I am doing now with this film, Apocalypse Now, and with another film called The Black Stallion that Carol Ballard is going to direct, is 'that I am financing the whole com­ pany. These films, plus my magazine and radio station, are essentially where all that money is going.

What has happened to The Direc­ tors’ Company?

It was another company set up with me, Friedkin and Bogdanovitch.

It is now defunct. There was dis­ a g re e m e n t betw een us and Paramount, the nutshell being that we wanted to be a truly independent company. The three of us got along well, and even to this day we never had an a rg u m e n t, a lth o u g h Bogdanovitch and Friedkin were always feuding to some extent. But I think the reason we ultimately li­ quidated it was because Paramount never really wanted there to be a company with the autonomy that we wanted.

It was after that experience I realized the only way to have the control I wanted was to put up my money.

That’s why this new company, Coppola Cinema 7, was formed.

Who else is on the Board apart from yourself and Rugoff?

My associate Fred Roos and a lot of lawyers who are not film people.

You obviously must have acquired quite a cannon of business expertise, at least as far as film production is concerned, by now. Do you see this sort of producer’s mantle lying heavi­ ly on you over the next few years, now that you have set this machine in motion? Is it going to affect your “creative” writing and directing?

I hope not. One of the things I am most actively involved in now, is turning the various areas of my com­ panies over to other people. Coppola Cinema 7 I have turned over to Fred Roos, who I think is a very gifted person. We have about eight films now in preparation, all under his supervision. I have a lot of respect for him and he, by the same token, calls me in to ask my opinion of a script, or how to solve a particular problem, but ultimately it falls to him.

I am trying to do this sort of thing with various other things that I am involved in, so that I can be more of a chairman of the board — a kind of floating opinion. This should leave me free to concentrate on my work.

Could you tell us exactly what Cinema 7 is?

Specifically “Apocalypse Now”.

Tom Hagen (Kooert uuvali) gestures to Michael, heir to the Godfather’s power and domain, during the Senate committee in­ vestigation into organized crime in The God­ father Part II.

My own company, The Coppola Company, bought 10 per cent of Cinema 5, which is a public company (and an exhibiti'on-distribution unit) and got two seats on the Board. In the course of getting involved with them it became clear that if we were going to finance our own films, perhaps we could also distribute them through this new company.

Ultimately my objective in getting involved with Cinema 5 was to have some sort of hold on distribution and exhibition, because as you know it owns theaters, the best theaters in 206 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Surveillance expert Harry Caul (top) supervises the taping of a young couple’s conversation in a crowded San Francisco square, from The Conversation. With Gene Hackman as the ‘bugger’ and Cindy Williams and Michael Higgens as the lovers.

The origins of the script came from George Lucas introducing me to a school friend of his, John Milius, back in those early days of Zoetrope.

Milius was ranting on and on about some insanity that he had been hear­ ing about in doing an enquiry into the Vietnamese war. It sounded so fascinating that I suggested that he should write it as a screenplay. He did, and the idea always was that George was going to direct it after THX. It was the best script we had under that program.

Was it envisaged then that it would cost what it’s going to cost?

No. It was going to be done in 16mm and we were going to in­ tegrate it with a lot of stock.footage — fake it as much as we could. We use to think we could make it for about $1.5 million, but that was with an unknown cast.

Continued on Page 284

p o m a ri a c c w * "® tfs b o u R d to p ro v a te

The mythology of guts. Sam Peckinpah’s Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.

c h e e re d by so m e a s m n i d o f &$T r e a s y r @ o f

ihort,*rf

lotguts.

Meaghan Morris looks like Molly Haskell’s From Reverer$^fl% ?e, and Joan Mellen’s Women and their Ity in the New Film have broadened thj^McjM | of women in film by providing spedTOTexlles of ways tompprbacn the subject. Yet the ise “ feminist film criticism” still seems to ¡¡rate a sense of embarrassment, even.pMnsqn^ nen involved in that activity. j|e em barrassm ent is partly defensive, refi Igting an awareness of the many wa.^ssiiedpid the whole can Activists often snort at the fro trivi mes lg around ^with .films, at least" ins'ucn a as" writing about them. ‘ma Professional 'film critics — male and female — will yawn at the prospect of further predictable remarks on sexism in film, unless a particular film like Don Medford’s The Hunting Party, or Bertrand Blier’s Going Places happens to be so awful in most other respects that there is nothing else to say about it.

There is also pressure from those who feel in general that critical writing and thought about film is expendable, not to say despicable — par­ ticularly if it presumes to go beyond the polite limits fixed by the quick review to guide con­ sumers. s This last objection is raised most frequently when women try to talk about the methodology of writing criticism with a feminist perspective. It is an attitude which attempts to combat ‘preten­ tiousness’ in film writing.

But it seems infinitely more pretentious to dash off a plot summary and spice it with witticisms at the expense of the film, or bestow some praise, than to find ways of understanding more about what films are doing, and the ways of com­ municating ideas to other people. .

fact, a restricone limits th jj| cope of what is hat the l M l l M s . Obviously that® eology is not sexually based (in fact it fits in quip neatly w om b’s movemie t). Its minist ipsi^But it creates a general climate if which the other specific objecficm^fQt|fgninist d deism — frivolity and predictability — are most 1 ely to seem accurate. Set feminist criticism uf to be tit be oe. trivial, and that is exactly what it will iff much of the discussion on women and film has not always been stirring stuff. Like any other approach which attempts to establish meaningful relationships between art and politics, the connections seem at one moment so easy and obvious that the outcome is disappointing and repetitive. The next moment they are so hard to pin down that the whole prospect of trying is dis­ couraging. So the embarrassment which sur­ rounds feminist film criticism reflects, I think, not only the denigrating views of those hostile to it, but also an uncomfortable awareness of cor­ responding difficulties in writing about women and film. These difficulties need to be discussed, because they are distinctly inhibiting.

Many of the problems of method are politically based, and the most awkward and important of these is reductionism.

If all commercial films are defined as inevitably sexist (which is reasonable), and if that definition is regarded as always sufficient and significant, then it becomes difficult to make any dis­ criminations or discoveries in that area.

Most films tell the same tale — man oppresses woman. There is no important difference between any macho film like Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, and an aesthetic as well as political horror like Pr ° v *des>| | |

The Hunting Party, or indeed between either of those and Mary Poppins. There is little to say about films with broad political themes like The Conversation or The Parallax View, except that the men get most of the action and that men have made a mess of society. From this sort of perspec­ tive, it is difficult to avoid using the cinema as a stockpile of illustrations for foregone conclusions.

This kind of criticism is rarely printed outside movement papers, but can frequently be met in conversation; and the main error is not that it is intellectually ‘simplistic’, but that it just does not communicate very well. It just becomes a private, ritual exchange among the converted.

The strand of liberal, moderate and public criticism within which both Mellen and Haskell write, tends to produce reductionism of a slightly different kind. It is the ‘image of women in film’ approach which leans heavily, as did the early women’s movement, on studies of sex-role stereotypes — finding reflections of social roles such as mother, whore, sex object, fluffy chick, dumb broad, bluestocking and so forth. It ex­ amines the plot wherever appropriate, especially the ending — does she triumph at last, or doesn’t she? Thus Joan Mellen attacks Klute, Diary of a Mad Housewife and Sunday, Bloody Sunday, as sell-outs of feminism because of the respective fates of Bree, Tina and Alex.1 Another characteristic of this approach is the ‘character’ study, assessing the ^presentation of women characters in films as though they were real people. Often these are highly idiosyncratic and unsupported by reference to the actual film process which might be thought to have created that character. For instance, Mellen condemns Rohmer’s Chloe in the Afternoon on the grounds that Chloe herself is plain, coarse and mannish, and argues that the film excludes the possibility of an alternative to the uninspiring wife? But we are given no convincing evidence in the form of comCinema Papers, November-Decern ber — 207

Most movies tell the same story — man oppresses woman. The Sound of Music.

Miou-Miou as the girl in search of an orgasm. Bertrand Blier’s Going

ment on camerawork, lighting, film make-up (as distinct from the fact that Chloe often does not wear any) that her supposed repulsiveness is a value observably created by the film. Instead we get Mellen’s judgment that the actress Zouzou herself is ‘unattractive’.

Studies of stereotyping, plots, and the characterization of women in film have played a pioneering role in opening up the whole issue, and can certainly give us some interesting insights.

Especially in Haskell’s book, when they are com­ bined with a sense of film history which allows the consideration of change. Haskell writes, for ex­ ample, some fascinating material on the significance the much-maligned Doris Day had in the context of the fifties.

However, such approaches also prevent serious ' problems. The books of Mellen and Haskell have been reviewed in detail elsewhere3, but a couple of general points are worth making.

For one thing, there is nothing more stereotyped than the concept of a stereotype. It is easy to forget that as well as being a set of expec­ tations imposed on women in society, a stereotype is also a way of seeing things — an intellectual in­ vention, one which is highly useful at times, but which operates by selecting only what suits you.

As a tool of analysis, looking for stereotypes can reveal similarities between films, but it can also mask differences. If you choose to see Klute, Sun­ day, Bloody Sunday, Diary of a Mad Housewife, The Touch, Belle de Jour, Carnal Knowledge, Duet for Cannibals and Play It as It Lays, as all being variations on the ‘frustrated-victim’ stereotype, then you create a blur called contem­ porary cinema. You might then seem justified in denouncing them as unimaginative in their portrayal of women. But the argument itself won’t give you any means of distinguishing between those films which actively suggest women are born to be victims, and those which have something to say about the horrors of vic­ timization.

An extension of that weakness in the stereotype approach is the way it can be rendered rather im­ potent by films about women, which are complex essays on both 'the social and cinematic realizations of the classic stereotypes, like Eustache’s film The Mother and the Whore. And by films which satirize not only the stereotyping of women in society, but also the logic of the propaganda designed to combat it — like Kluge’s The Occasional Work of a Female Slave.

If irony, ambiguity and complexity are often ironed out by too much stress on stereotypes, the same goes for placing too much emphasis on the surface of the story. Apart from the interesting question of the politics of happy and sad endings, and how women in films are brought to one or the other, plots are hard to grapple with effectively, because of the habits bred by the traditional film review. Most reviews make up a short narrative which bears some resemblance to what ‘happened’ in the film. They then proceed to show how silly or splendid the story is, which for all intents and pur­ poses is one made up by the reviewer. Hair­ splitting or not, that makes a lot of difference.

Writing interferes and substitutes for the film.

Several reviewers have written ‘stories’ called Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, in which a silly woman, who cries a lot and spoils a revolting child, ends up in the arms of an impossibly tolerant godsend of a man who happens to own a farm and all that there is of peace and tranquility.

A feminist reviewer who liked the film could equally well write a story with the same title which left out the sentimentality, but put in an account of a woman who experiences and discusses the economic and social obstacles to female in­ dependence today, who learns to form a rewarding friendship with another woman (one that she has been conditioned to, despite socially), and who succeeds in persuading a man to actually accept her on her own terms (at least in principle).

This is politely known as a difference of opinion. However, familiar linguistic tricks of the trade can become dangerous when you wish, as most feminists do, to get a serious political point across. Reduce films too far and too furiously in the telling of the tale, and you’ve had it, if only because feminist criticism is subjected to far more severe scrutiny than most established kinds. It solves a lot of unpleasant problems if people can pass it off as moronic. Thus while it may be tempting to describe Klute as “the story of a wise­ cracking prostitute who implausibly ends up in the arms of a cop’’, and far more tempting to deride any ‘buddy films’ (Deliverance, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Dust, Sweat and Gunpowder, The Last Detail etc ad nauseum) as just a bunch of men running around proving their heterosexual virility by the strength of their relations with other men, it does not pay off in the long run. The per­ suasive reality of the film will defeat you every time if you argue with simple putdowns.

Contrary to the apparent beliefs of many well-

208 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Places.

We have to prove that sexuality, the political oppression of women, and the cinema can be fruitfully linked. Luis Bunuel’s Belle de Jour.

intentioned propagandists for feminism, the im­ aginative and critical faculties of most people are not stimulated by cliches (unless they already believe them, which rather undermines the point of the exercise).

If reductionism is a broad problem in feminist approaches to film, it is not the only one. But most of the others are politically based in the narrower sense. There is the possibly inevitable tendency towards prescriptive demands — which is something quite different from the open criticism of the women created by cinema and from the necessary insistence that better films about women ought to be made.

True prescriptivism is most disturbing when applied to the work of women filmmakers. It can be seen on the occasions when Shirley Clarke is criticized for having made The Cool World, main­ ly about black males, or when directors like Agnes Varda and Susan Sontag are rebuked for not revealing the requisite kind of consciousness.

This is a pest of an attitude at a time when the main point is to stimulate interest in the neglected cinema by women and it does not explain why films which are ideologically immaculate can be as dull as ditchwater.

There is also the question of the lament for the loss of the great romantic heroine, concentrated in understandable nostalgia for the films of the thir­ ties and the forties. Molly Haskell argues that romantic conventions are more congenial to the “ spirited woman” , when commenting on the positive results of the adoption of those conven­ tions in films about black women — Sounder, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pitman and Claudine.4 While few women would prefer the situation of Bibi Andersson in The Touch, to that of Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, such nostalgia tends (quite overtly in the work of both Haskell and Mellen) to a glorification of exceptional women, strong individuals, love, and the perfect partnership of the heterosexual couple. This effec­ tively returns us to a pre-feminist set of values and wishes most feminist analyses of the above matters out of history altogether.

Equally difficult is the question of discussing (with a feminist perspective based on the ex­ perience of women in white, middle-class and Anglo-Saxon society), films which do not come ■«out of that culture at all. Sexism may be universal — but the forms it takes, the meaning of its representation in film, the priorities of political

We must distinguish between the motivation of films and their recep­ tion by an audience. Zou Zou and Bernard Verley from Chloe in the Afternoon, a film Joan Mellon condemns for excluding the possibility of an alternative to the uninspiring wife, though there is no evidence in the film to support this view.

struggle are not. So Sambizanga has been criticiz­ ed for not ‘stressing’ a development of political consciousness in its heroine. However, the direc­ tor, Sara Maldoror, has pointed out that in the African context, a woman leaving her village on her own initiative to look for her husband is mak­ ing a radical break with her assigned social role5.

American cultural imperialism turns up in the oddest places.

If I have stressed the negative aspects of feminist film criticism as it has developed so far, it is not from a desire to promote intellectual subtle­ ty for its own sake. It is still less from a liberal tendency to plea for justice and fair play towards an industry which has, to put it plainly, done more than its share in the exploitation and degradation of women. It is because I believe that whatever we do has political consequences, and that we need to keep a wisely paranoid eye on our prospects of political survival.

Feminism might be described as the recurrent disappearing revolution. Many people believe that suffragettes were only concerned with the vote, and so they naturally disappeared with it. But they held work groups and meetings and discussions around a broad range of issues for at least two or three decades—and 40 years later their work and their very existence was virtually unknown. To take but another example, there are plays from the eighteenth century French theater which woud make one’s hair curl in their resemblance to debates one could have heard yesterday.

Why feminism disappears is another question.

What matters here is that at the moment, the predictability and limitations of feminist film criticism is our greatest political weakness. We have staked out an area for ourselves, which cer­ tainly needed to be done, but by the same token we can be trapped in it. That area could be caricatured as containing two activities.

On the one hand there is assault; attacks on the womanless films, the violent macho films, the buddy films, or on specific ‘pig’ directors like Peckinpah, Huston, Boorman. Attacks which can culminate in fine and convincing efforts of demythologization like Joan Mellen’s chapter on Bergman. On the other hand there is the rescue work: the rewriting of the history of women in all aspects of cinema; the critique of the caricaturing of lesbians in film (the syndrome of The Killing of Sister George and Les Biches); the demands for the re-evaluation and effective distribution of women directors; and the encouragement of a committed women’s cinema.

True prescriptivism is most disturbing when applied to the work of women directors. Mai Zetterling’s Loving Couples.

It is no use interpreting a whole work from one reference (say Sean Connery's exaggerated masculinity in Zardoz), as the Marxist critics did in the 30’s. We must broaden our approach instead.

All these activities are vital. The problem is how to go about them in the most effective manner, and how not to then find ourselves channelled off into an updated version of the women’s pages in magazines of ‘general’ appeal.

For example, if we feel that Mai Zetterling’s Lov­ ing Couples is a finer film about women than anything that the much-touted and welldistributed Bergman has produced so far, then we need to work out why in terms of the making of the film. It does not do to simply assert that it is because she is a woman if you wish to influence people who don’t think it matters.

The time is rapidly passing when people will listen to anything feminists have to say, or go to see women’s films out of a sense of moral obligation. That was obvious from the attendance at the Sydney screening of the Women’s Film Festival, where ‘film lovers’ were conspicuous by their absence. To me that is a danger signal.

Many people now feel that they can tell in ad­ vance what feminists have to say about film or in their own films. Sometimes they are right.

Feminists have placed, and been placed, in a fixed position — which is not tactically good in any

struggle. Once your position is known in advance and your movements easily predicted, then you can be neatly side-stepped, or swiftly stepped upon.

In this respect we have much to learn from the fate of the British Marxists critics of the thirties.

The main battle ground there was literature, but the problem is the same. Unlike their European counterparts, who had a long and complex history of theoretical and methodological work behind them, the British had to fight so hard to prove that class analysis had some relevance to the study of literature that they were condemned to producing and reproducing simple and obvious points which their opponents easily exposed as absurd. The point, again, is not their lack of subtlety, but that they lost, and badly, too. It took 30 years before politics and literature could once again be con­ sidered in that context with any credibility.

Feminists are now in much the same position.

We have to prove that sexuality, the political oppression of women, and the cinema can be fruit­ fully related. A feminist today who might look at a speculative film like Zardoz, and focus only on Sean Connery’s exaggerated masculinity, is work­ ing under much the same conditions as the thirties Marxist who found one reference to the working class in the novel Emma and succeeded in in­ terpreting the whole novel from that.

We need to broaden our approach as far as possible. As well as the satisfying activity of boo­ ing our villains and cheering our heroines, we need to ask feminist questions of the cinema and then, quite simply, rip off the most sophisticated tools of analysis that film criticism can provide to help us answer them. However, we need to keep a critical eye on the ideological assumptions of those tools and start developing more of our own.

From this point of view, the U.S. journal Women and Film, provides an exciting example.

It ranges from news, biography, history, inter­ views with women, contact with other cultures, personal comment, to complex theoretical articles and, in the last issue (Vol. 1, Nos 5-6) a brave attempt to get some useful comment from a smug semiotician like Noel Burch. In that same issue is a long and helpful article by Julia Lesage called Feminist Film Criticism: Theory and Practice, which provides a framework in which many con­ crete suggestions are made, particularly on ways to go beyond examining the apparent mechanism of sexism in film content.

Continued on page 286 Cinema Papers, November-December — 209

At the conclusion of the first International Women’s Film Festival*, the uniqueness of the event can be dis­ cerned. The most obvious difference was the dominance of films with female protagonists, including a number of films with almost exclusively female casts. In the feature films, most directors had scenarios depicting an indepen­ dent woman who retained her Independence through adversity. Such films eschewed traditional happy endings to concentrate on showing the price of independence.

Even the final ‘happiness’ of Nelly Kaplan’s A Very Curious Girl, was more a celebration of freedom and self, using revolutionary means, than any complacent formula happiness. Nevertheless the films were not unremittingly bleak in their portrayal of independence. Most endeavored to explore ways of surmounting our socialization by posing and testing radical alternatives.

The complete absence of common film genres, e.g.

Westerns, detective, science fiction and musicals, was noticeable. This is probably due less to restrictions of budget and more to a reflection of the priorities that women directors have. For most, the exploration of sex­ ual politics in a realistic social context is the prime con­ cern. The other major area in which women filmmakers are working is in documentaries. These were wideranging and contradicted the popular misconception that they would all be rhetorical protest films. In fact the sub­ jects and politics were various and there were also some radical departures in form.

The overall quality of the films was remarkable and the response of the audience was exciting. During the Festival a feeling of solidarity and discovery arose among the stayers and it became apparent how politicising an effect cinema can have. The Festival provided ample intellectual and emotional fuel to refute the still remaining prejudices concerning women and ' film. The pre-publicity tried not to alienate men, but the unfamiliarity of a ‘women’s film festival' kept many people away. Sixty to 70 per cent of the audiences were women and it is obvious that many men were deterred because of their preconceptions.

Organizing an inaugural Festival on such a vast and ambitious scale, far exceeded the dimensions of com­ parable events as the Melbourne Film Festival. In Melbourne more films were screened than elsewhere — 24 features and feature-length documentaries and 70odd short films. The reception of such ‘extras’ as video screenings, a photography exhibition, special screenings for schools, housewives and children, justified the work needed to organize them.

A competence and expertise was gained that we intend to employ even more effectively in future festivals. Next year a Festival of films both directed by women and about women is planned. Now that a context for viewing women’s films has been established it is essential to look closely and in detail at selected areas of interest. To make the Festival an annual event will require government finance and support. The Festival has established its credibility, the films were good and those who saw them should question why they were not previously available.

Suzanne Spunner, Christine Johnston, Pat Longmore, Sue Johnston.

Nelly Kaplan’s A Very Curious Girl (1969) was selected for the last night of the Melbourne and Sydney festivals as the cinematic and feminist climax, even though the only print available was without English sub-titles. That Australian audiences came en masse and sat in fascina­ tion throughout is a major achievement for Kaplan.

A Very Curious Girl is a fantasy of revolution —■ a revolution of female liberation from oppression, followed by a conscious course of revenge. And to give her myth greater universality Kaplan has used a fantastic, rather than realistic, style.

The plot itself is a set in the cast of a modern witches’ tale. Marie, a social outcast in the village, is constantly ex­ * See pp 109-10, Cinema Papers, July-August 1975.

210 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Nelly Kaplan's sobering reflections on how women will avenge themselves on their oppressors, A Very Curious Girl.

Sontag’s cold and alienating study of adult, erotic games. Duet for

ploited, both sexually and as a worker-slave. The ac­ cidental death of her mother and the murder of her billygoat lover liberates Marie from her lethargic passivity. She then takes her revenge on the village oppressors by using the only weapons at her disposal — her body and her sexuality. As a prostitute she is able to dominate the villagers and exploit them financially, and finally to expose their hypocrisies.

Marie’s position as a viable female model is an unusual one. Prostitution has been habitually regarded as a sex­ object role and is linked in the cinema with guilt, punish­ ment and repentance. But Marie transforms the whore, for through prostitution she realizes her independence and power. She achieves fulfillment as an individual and leaves the village to make a new life.

The universal statement Kaplan makes is a sobering one — that oppressed women, in finding their liberation, will avenge themselves upon their erstwhile oppressors.

Susan Sontag's first feature Duet for Cannibals (1969) has a curiously alienating effect on the viewer which is quite disagreeable. Given that the film is about the manipulative and erotic games Professor Bauer and his Italian wife Francesca play on a young student and his girlfriend Ingrid, one could expect it to be treated as a labyrinthine excursion into the realm of Henry James.

Instead the film is like science fiction — inexplicable and alien, a kind of intellectual jigsaw puzzle.

Sontag’s coldly formal style presents us with some strangely resonant sequences. For instance the two dinner scenes, which demonstrate Ingrid’s absorption into the Bauer household. In the first sequence Ingrid is a carefully tended guest of honor, the equal of the Bauers.

In the next, she is subservient — a maid, tending every need as they ignore her presence.

Sontag is able to manipulate the audience, as well as her characters, with unnerving facility. My main bone of contention with her is that I cannot trace in the film any suggestion that she is a woman, either in the content, photographic style, or direction.

lifestyle that society regards as at best unsatisfactory and at worst abnormal. This gives the character considerable stature as a culture heroine. Moreover, the film is a sen­ sitive and moving exploration of the alternatives possible in acute personal isolation. I watched it with both sym­ pathy and involvement.

In Meszaros’ The Girl, the woman is an illegitimate child rejected by her mother and brought up in an orphanage. Oppressed by the cold and formal environ­ ment there, she seeks out her mother in an attempt to re­ establish a family contact that will provide her with the emotional security and affection she yearns for. The visit to her mother’s village, however, results in an alienating rejection, and the girl is forced to re-evaluate her needs.

The sequence in which this process takes place con­ cerns a village dance. The matrons, looking drab in the traditional black peasantwoman garb, are dumped by their husbands to form a long row of seated non­ participant observers while the men booze, ogle the girls and dance with them under their wives’ noses. The sub­ mission of the matrons, in particular her mother, to this treatment makes the girl realize that she Is free to choose her own life role, and is liberated from the defunct social codes of morality and behavior.

Her mother on the other hand is a slave, trapped by conservative and constricting patriarchal village conven­ tions. She is emotionally crippled by guilt, and fears dis­ covery of a past indiscretion of which the girl is evidence.

In addition she is Insecure about her waning sexual attraction for her husband. Thus she is totally incapable of providing anyone with emotional security.

The girl retreats rrom the village with her independence fortified by a new self-sufficiency. Rejecting the family structure, she proceeds to feed her sexual and emotional needs through spontaneous and temporary liaisons, thus maintaining her freedom of choice and emotional in­ dependence.

As with The Lady from Constantinople, The Girl leaves the audience with a refreshing vision of balanced, self­ sufficient womanhood.

It was fortunate that both Hungarian films at the Festival were screened together as they complement one another splendidly. Marta Meszaros’ The Girl (1968) and Judit Elek’s The Lady from Constantinople (1969) shared a leisurely pace, beautiful black and white photography and a concern for women coming to terms with indepen­ dent and solitary lifestyles.

The women of both films experience a struggle with acute personal isolation which is not resolved, but to which they do not succumb. They face their condition with composure and stoic self-sufficiency which demands our respect.

In The Lady from Constantinople, the woman is an old widow (Munyi Kiss), living alone in a spacious apartment in a dingy city co-operative building. Her flat is crowded with relics of her past married life. But she begins to find these artifacts oppressive, and when her attempts to cultivate new relationships with her neighbors are brus­ quely rejected, she is forced back into a reality of the past.

Her solution is to swap her apartment for a smaller one which would contain only, a few of her material possessions. Thus she would be liberated from her oppressive past. The inspection of her flat by prospective flat swappers, however, snowballs into a rumbustious and impromptu party. At first the widow is delighted with the opportunity to interact and socialize with such company, but her viewpoint abruptly changes. She regards the guests as an unpredictable, uncontrollable force invading the privacy of her home.

The party is both the visual and thematic climax of the film as it poses the extreme alternative to the woman’s personal isolation. Thus she must return to the first state, albeit in the uncluttered environment of a new rural flat.

The film is open-ended. The woman has made some conscious changes in her situation, and we believe further alterations and adaptations are possible in the future.

The woman has a positive, fulfilling approach to a

Leontine Sagan’s Maedchen in Uniform (1931) is an anti-authoritarian, anti-fascist statement. The protagonist Manuela represents human individuality and sensitivity, while the school principal is a Leviathan of institutionaliz­ ed regimentation and repression.

The occasion for the conflict between these two forces arises when Manuela develops a lesbian infatuation for her teacher Frau Von Bernburg. Intoxicated at an end of term party, Manuela publicly declares her love, upon which the principal ensures she is to be rigorously ostracized. Manuela attempts suicide, but is rescued by her classmates. The incident is a setback to the regime of Frau Principal, because the disaster precipitated by her relentless discipline is averted by spontaneous action.

Theme aside, Maedchen in Uniform is an extraordinary cinematic experience. The penitential barrenness of the school itself reinforces the regime of austere repression, while the hideous and sinister statutory rules evoke the threat of imperialist fascism. Frau Principal’s dehumaniz­ ed rock-like physiognomy and stance is juxtaposed with the relaxed, spontaneous behavior of the girls and the mobility of their limbs and faces. The sequence in which Frau Von Bernburg gives each girl in the dormitory a goodnight caress is a sensuous delight, as humanity and affection struggle to survive in the school-prison.

Maedchen in Uniform and Jacqueline Audrey’s Olivia (1951) pose a fascinating comparison as both concern lesbianism in a girls’ boarding school. A distinct national character emerges in each film — a Germanic austerity and regimentation in the one contrasting sharply with liberalism and baroque luxury in the French mirrorimage.

■ A lthough both film s present lesbianism as an emotional manifestation to be repressed, the effect of the lyrical and sensual cinematic presentation of it, reinforces its attractiveness instead. The cloying artificiality and prettiness of Olivia, however, pale beside the warmth of observation characteristic of Maedchen in Uniform.

Sue Johnston

Cannibals.

THE 1975 INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S FILM FESTIVAL

Agnes Varda’s love poem to decaying Hollywood, Lion’s Love.

The McDonaghs’ deeply moral exploration of the consequences of kinship and loyalty, The Cheaters.

Meshes of the Afternoon, a poetic work of sustained surrealism.

Set in the Sweden of 1915, Mai Zetterling’s Loving Couples (1964) intricately weaves the lives of three women awaiting confinement in a provincial maternity hospital. Angela (Gio Petre) is the mistress, Agda (Harriet Andersson) her lower-class confidante and later her brother’s mistress and Adele (Gunnel Lindblum), the ser­ vant. We see in flashback their past couplings and the nature of their loving.

Zetterling shows the subtle variations of sex oppres­ sion within these particular classes by recording the per­ sonal life of each woman and their interactions with each other.

The most fully-rounded character in the film is Agda.

‘Plonked’ on the immense marble stairs of the hospital, her legs sprawled, belly distended, plaits bobbing, and stuffing herself with sweets, Agda trips up pompous gynaecologists by hopscotching in their path. She is daf­ fy, but thoroughly resilient, perpetually able to turn adver­ sity to her own end. An episode from her orphaned childhood shows how quickly she learnt this resilience: she gorges herself on cream cakes and hot chocolate, unconsciously parodying the lechery of the old gentleman who is footing the bill.

The character of Adele has the most potential, but her justifiable bitterness is so exaggerated that she becomes a Dickensian caricature of dissatisfaction. However, she does have great moments — some being endemic to the lot of women. As when she undergoes the indignity of gynaecological stirrups, amid stern paternal eyes, she asks, “ How do I get down?” Or when she looks at herself in a mirror and we see her face fall apart, losing beauty, grace and self in one long, cold, self-hating appraisal. At other times the source of her strength is the vitriol she heaps on her mistress — gloating over finding baby clothes in the unwed Angela’s cupboards, or taunting her husband for his genuine feelings toward the cool and reserved Petra.

Adele’s strongest moment could have been the tirade against marriage and class (“ It's all mud, slime and beds”) which she delivers at Agda and Stelian’s wedding breakfast. However, its force is undermined because Agda and Stellan are obviously happy in spite of their marriage. Consequently Adele’s rantings seem merely grotesque.

Indeed the nicest relationship is that between Agda and Stellan, the transvestite artist. Its appeal resides in the fact that he is imperfect but forgiving. From the begin­ ning, it is a web of illusions joyfully entered into, their ab­ surd romanticism tempered by a clear understanding of each other, which enables them to play without pain.

Such genuine levity about love is not for the embittered Adele and the serious Angela. Even the voracious older woman played by Eva Dahlbeck is, for all her fairness, too mannered to finally enjoy it as Agda and Stellan do, If Agda is the most sharply drawn character and Adele the most overdrawn, then Angela is the most elusive. A compliant girl who was always adult, she couples for love without resolving the lesbian implications of her school life and her relationship with Petra (her companion and surrogate mother). Her doubt about how to be a woman without being a daughter, is amplified in her choice of lover — a man old and detached enough to be her father.

Finally she and Petra return to each other and talking of “our baby” , leave the world of men and wars firmly behind.

Loving Couples could be compared with Bergman’s Smiles of a Summer Night, in that they share a common theme of class conscious lovers mingling on a Mid­ summer’s Eve. However, Zetterling’s social incisiveness enables Loving Couples to say more about the relationships between individuals and classes than Bergman, who is finally content to loll about in an idyllic pastorale. Zetterling, however, is prepared to face the world as it is.

Hills version of the Garden of Eden) it is a menage a trois and 'living theater’ in their own home. Lion’s Love is very enjoyable because it is warm and humane, affirming life and absurdity. It could also be called indulgent, insular and decadent, but this would be pedantic and would overlook its superb self-parodying qualities. It is con­ stantly witty, but in a droll, dreamy way, though the pace rarely wavers due to Varda’s exceptionally fine sense of timing and editing.

The most overwhelming visual aspect of the film is in its color — skies as blue as the painted swimming pools, tree greens that vibrate as much as the plastic palm fronds.

Amid lurid plastic pineapple lamps and fake birds of paradise, Viva and the boys make it seem just possible to love unselfishly and romantically without any attendant schmaltz. Their early morning telephone conversation in bed, with the Bank of America on one line and the phone company on the other and which concludes with the phones fighting it out, is ‘Absurdist’ comedy par ex­ cellence.

The film is dotted with absurd, but faintly plausible, in­ cidents that verge on black comedy. For instance they decide to be parents for a day and borrow a few kids on approval. Their solution of drugging the brats who have already drunk 15 bottles of Coke and peed 18 times, is something we may wish to do but wouldn’t dare.

The fact that the film never ventures outside paradise doesn’t mean it is not political. The world that comes via color television — Bobby Kennedy’s assassination and the pomp of his funeral — is political and indeed more un­ real than the artificial hothouse they cultivate and inhabit.

If the trio’s life is a travesty then at least they enjoy it, which is more than can be said for ‘middle-America’.

Basically it is about a filmmaker (Agnes Varda) coming to Hollywood to make a film about Hollywood (Lion’s Love) which includes a filmmaker (played by filmmaker Shirley Clarke) coming to Hollywood to make a film. This device is a brilliant and generous conceit which sustains the film. The film-within-films theme is continued in Viva’s send-up of her type-casting in all her Warhol and Morrissey films. As she states, she will just breathe on screen and does so for the last scenes.

Although thoroughly and archly self-conscious, Lion’s Love is never cute or precious — in fact it is totally dis­ pensable. But who would want to part with it? If you liked the film, and some did not, you wanted it to continue in­ definitely.

of limpid, lakeside idyll are reminiscent of Sydney Long’s paintings of bush lagoons at sunset.

One of the wittiest scenes in the film is when Isabel’s companion in crime, a real old trooper in the vein of Marie Dressier, all but gives a Mae West come on to the ‘policeman’ arresting her. The fact that it all turns out to be a put up job, lends in retrospect an element of “ high camp” to the scene.

Agnes Varda’s Lion’s Love (1969), a love poem to decaying Hollywood, is the best example on record of the self-conscious manipulation of cinema-verite. It explores the relationship between life and art by suggesting that life is but a dull imitation. Set in Viva’s mansion (a Beverly

Phyllis, Isobel and Paulette McDonagh were among the first filmmakers to strive for internationalism in Australian cinema — devoid of parched deserts, Dads and Daves and beery bushrangers. In The Cheaters (1929) they achieve a level of social sophistication comparable to U.S. films of the time. However, a tinge of naivety still remains, giving their work a refreshing naturalness.

The naturalness is derived from the carefully un­ derplayed acting Paulette has demanded and got — par­ ticularly from her sister Isobel the heroine, and her wronged ‘father’. Paulette wrote the scenario for this ‘society melodrama’ which is the story of a convicted embezzler who swears revenge on his employer.

The feel of the film emanates from the subtle characterizations and the delicately woven kinship of these two — caught between their sense of natural justice and natural affection. The film takes a deeply moral stance as it explores the consequences of kinship and loyalty.

The interiors are rich in detail and texture. The most ambitious exteriors are those at Long Bay Gaol, shot on location, which convey the wretchedness and injustice of enforced alienation.

The romantic scenes are beautifully set pieces that work because the acting conveys nervous and tentative sensuality. The hero is a contemporary Barrymore out of Fitzgerald’s Princeton (or its Sydney G.P.S. equivalent) with his convertible and rowing oars, The heroine is the worldlier of the two (as the hero’s father remarks, “That woman has seen life, son” ). Her attractiveness is her openness and vulnerability — she has a lot more to lose than he, the pampered playboy, ever could. Their scenes

Joyce Weiland’s Rat Life and Diet in North America (1968) is a Swiftian satire on power politics, which in­ geniously uses live cats and rats.

We’re Alive (1974) grew out of the video workshops conducted by three women graduate film students from the University College of Los Angeles at California’s only state prison for women. Fakenham Occupation (1972), by the London Women’s Film Group, covers the successful six-month work-in by women workers at Sexton’s shoe factory in Fakenham, Norfolk.

Both films are striking examples of the kind of political film where the way they are made is as important as what they are about. Through the means of collective film­ making, the filmmakers and their subjects come to an in­ creasing understanding of their oppression. What was so remarkable was the way in which they could say precisely how and why they were put down. Such films make one wonder how far the suffragettes could have gone had they been armed with portapaks and Arriflexes.

Susan Shapiro’s Women of the Rhondda (1973) attempts to present a hitherto ignored side of the epic miners’ strike of the twenties and thirties in the Rhondda Valley of Wales — the part played by the women. Hearing the miners’ wives, daughters, girlfriends, mothers and sisters recounting the events casts a new light on our un­ derstanding of the personal cost of strikes.

Women are doubly burdened because the task of keeping the family going during strikes falls solely on their shoulders. And the men, devoid of their breadwinn­ ing abilities, require additional emotional support.

From the film we get a fierce sense of the loyalty and community that grew out of the strike and still exists — scabs are still remembered. The old women of the Rhondda have remarkably strong and beautiful faces.

They have coped with, and ultimately defied, hardships through unity. In comfortable homes, their reflections are sharp and politically aware as they were then, though there is an element of mellowing wisdom as well.

In 1972, 26 women from the California Institute of the Arts transformed an old mansion in Hollywood into an en­ vironmental art and theater piece. Johanna Demetrakas’ Womanhouse (1972) attempts to expose the house, but does not succeed. It spends too long recording the un­ critical eulogistic 'raps’ of the women involved, and too lit­ tle time showing the creative and exhilirating art of the house.

Moreover, the camera’s exploration of the environment is unsatisfactory and frustrating. In an unusual situation where wide-angles should be mandatory, Demetrakas employs none. Thus it is impossible to capture the total sweep of each room, let alone of the whole house. We are left tantalized. .

The women’s theater pieces directed by Judy Chicago are crude and dated even for 1972, particularly in view of what women’s theater groups do in Australia. The only piece that was original and moving was the group wailing.

And, in contrast to the others, it was photographed with sensitivity. It allowed the patterning of the group of bodies acting as one voice.

The film is fragmented by editing that is all but random.

According to Maya Deren, “ Cinema provides a different order of space, and is able to create a different order of time” At Land (1943) and Meshes of the After­ noon (1943) are examples of her dictum. They work on a poetic level of sustained surrealism, surpassing early Buñuel in their ability to compress perceptions and create complete personal myths through simple and unsen­ sational images. Her other cinematic affinities are with Cocteau — in her ability, through exquisite timing and Cinema Papers, November-December — 211

THE 1975 IN TERN ATIO NA L W OMEN’S FILM FESTIVAL

Kirsti Kemppainen prior to her fleeing from the cattle ring of a dis­ cotheque to the country. Finnish Frustrations.

Sambizanga, obstacles to political consciousness.

Antonia: A Portrait of a Woman — the non-rise to fame of a woman conductress.

editing, to dislocate time and reality while maintaining a normal flow. Her observations of fractured reality — peo­ ple crawling through the undergrowth of a bourgeois dinner-party — are timeless, in a way that many so-called surrealist films are not. The illusions she creates are supra-real and cannot be relegated to mere theater of the absurd.

From the opening scene of Shirley Clarke’s The Cool World (1963), where a white junior high school teacher is lecturing a busload of Negro pupils on New York, one is acutely aware of the culture split between white and black America. After all, Wall St and the Declaration of Independence statutes are no more a part of these children’s city than are craters on the moon.

Shirley Clarke potently brings alive the world of these Harlem youngsters — a world that white America doesn’t acknowledge. These desperate and doomed children of a ghetto live in a world landscaped in garbage, drugs, guns and knives. Their fight for survival is a gangster­ dominated jungle.

Unfortunately, The Cool World becomes very messy.

The technique of the camera ‘smear-panning’ from scene to scene, as the monotone of misery and vice emerges, is eye straining. Lighting and editing also add to the con­ fusion. The absence of music works at times, by heighten­ ing aspects of the environment, but mostly tends to become boring. Moreover the dialogue is heavily loaded with slang and Harlem vernacular which does not help to clarify the action.

The youngsters’ discussions include trading comic books for marijuana and the gang’s private prostitute gets $1 for a fuck plus 50 cents for the clubhouse treasury. It doesn’t matter much whether Duke Custis (Hampton Clanton) and his Royal Pythons 'go down’ on the Wolves, or whether young Duke gets his ‘piece’ (pistol), for the strength of the film lies in the representation of Harlem life. .

The conclusion of the film is amazing. Like a Greek Tragedy it is the inevitable ending to these young lives.

The playground setting is ironic, and a poetic and passionate vision of the hopelessness of their situation.

The concept of these kids playing sophisticated adult games is appalling. But children cannot deal with desperation any more than can adults. And as the Wolves pounce upon seesaws and thrust flick-knives into Duke’s belly, the film ends on a pessimistic note of death. We are left with a loud and powerful cry of outrage directed at a society creating something as cruel as Harlem.

Few films on black America have had such honesty, and for this it must be commended.

Sarah Maldorer says: ‘‘What I wanted to show in Sam­ bizanga is the aloneness of a woman and the time it takes to march.” Unfortunately she leaves Maria’s situation un­ resolved, and one is left with the feeling that it is the Afri­ can men, not the women, who will lead that revolutionary march.

Eila Kaarresalo-Kasari is Finland’s leading woman director. Her first film, Finnish Frustrations (1969), made on a low budget without sync sound, is a brilliant record of the initiation of adolescent girls at the local discotheque, into the rites of adult female exploitation.

The girls huddle in protective groups on the edges of the dance-hall, consciously checking the hems of their mini-skirts and the sleekness of their skinny-rib sweaters.

They worry whether the effect is as desired — mascaraed eyes and vulnerable Shrimpton faces — while awkward loutish youths eye them off.

This wincing experience is presented through the eyes of one of the girls who looks as if she will be rescued from the tawdriness by the iocal Prince Valiant.

But it is soon apparent his motives are no less ex­ ploitative, and she flees the cattle-ring for the com­ parative freedom of the snow-covered country.

With her firs t feature Poor Maria (1972), Eila Kaarresalo-Kasari continues the theme of her short film Finnish Frustrations, that of a girl moving through in­ creasingly exploitative and self-alienating affairs. Poor Maria is a portrayal of the viciously cyclical nature of events and is depressing in its treatment.

Maria’s inertia and fatalism are the most disturbing elements in the film, for only rarely does she assert ■herself. One exception is the scene when her arrogant and well-heeled boyfriend complains that there is insuf­ ficient wine in the meal. She responds by upturning the. bottle into the casserole. However, the effect of this rebellion is instantly undermined by his vicious fucking of her.

Similarly her opportunistic manoeuvres to move from the typing pool to her own office (ignoring her frail female competitors) are ineffective, because in the process she fucks her boss and is immediately ignored by him. So ul­ timately her sexuality is a means of further punishment and oppression.

Finally, crushed and traumatized, she emerges alone and bereft of the material ambitions that had formerly in­ spired her, to roam the Antonioniesque landscape of a construction site. There she is taken in by a worker who seems capable of treating her as a person, but by this time there is little left of her spirit. And the film ends on that ambivalent note.

Karen Johnson’s Orange (1969) is the world in a grain of sand — unlimited eroticism in a juicy navel orange. A sensual and sticky experience in mouth-watering closeup. Commendable for its brevity and wit — a film to in­ spire new filmmakers.

In Jane (1973) by Suzanne Allen and Dianne Tamnes, a woman recounts an affair to a male friend. The relationship that emerges through her story is strong, tragic and utterly unsentimental. The fact that Jane can talk about it as she does is evidence she has come through. It’s a most sustained and moving piece of acting.

In fact the film succeeds in terms of theatrical quality. It employs almost neutral camerawork, comprising only two angles; Jane facing the camera, alternating with a reverse angle of her listener. It works primarily because the script and her interpretation of it ring true; the irony of casual sex with a stranger on a long bus ride through the U.S. Deep South, while her long-time lover is committing suicide in London; her ability is to contain the contradic­ tion of events which have no consequences and those which have so many you cannot expect to control them.

Suzanne Spunner 2I2 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Sarah Maldorer’s Sambizanga (1972) is a simple and beautiful film. Based on a novel by Luandina Viera, a revolutionary who was arrested in 1961 and jailed for 14 years, the film revolves around a woman’s struggle in a male-dominated world.

It is an example of a political educative style that allows for the development of a personal ‘politicalization’ of its central character, and the forces she comes into contact with that change her awareness.

The woman is Maria, whose husband has been brutally uprooted from his family life in an African village by Portuguese authorities. Like most African women she is not aware of her husband’s political activities, and this ac­ counts for her naivety about politics. But this changes in the course of her journey in search of her husband, resulting in her own political development.

Sarah Maldorer, though not African by birth, draws heavily on her observations of African life to depict the events leading up to the first rebellion against colonial rule in Angola — the storming of the Luanda Prison, on February 4, 1961. The film authentically reconstructs these events in a context where the future liberation of the African people lies in the development of militant con­ sciousness. It concludes on the optimistic note of the in­ evitable uprising of the African people.

However, throughout the film one is aware of the ob­ stacles the African people have to overcome to achieve this revolutionary consciousness — the alienation of the liberation activists who are forced underground, their ac­ tivities curtailed by communication problems. And such activities, even in a restricted sense, have men in a domi­ nant role.

Even though the film places much emphasis on Maria’s politicalization, it is a man who is approached by libera­ tion comrades to take over her husband’s political ac­ tivities.

Behind the Veil (1971) highlights the contradictions of a western-economic society against the oppressed situa­ tion of women in Eastern Arabia. Eve Arnold, an Ameri­ can stills photographer turned filmmaker, along with a crew of three women and a cameraman, examine society’s attitude towards these women by ‘exposing’ harem life during a wedding feast in Dubai.

These women are forced Into total seclusion and con­ stantly guarded in their husbands’ homes. They don’t have much chance to learn to read or write, and are not allowed to unveil their faces in public. They are viewed as objects and adornments for men’s satisfaction and status.

Eve Arnold’s objective expose reveals their plight, and it is not inconsistent when viewed against the context of machismo ideology. This is a society where a man’s priority values are his first-born son, his horse, his camel and finally — his wives. It is a society where female children are in danger of being buried alive.

In contrast to these centuries-old values are the absurd surreal images of camels racing alongside Mercedes Benz cars during the wedding feast, juxtaposing the past with the present technology. It highlights a society that is materially in the present, totally dominated by wealth of a few men, but unable to resolve the contradictions of this new power with the total oppression of the old society.

Eve Arnold has managed to view these contradictions sympathetically. This low-key emotive film is not an op­ timistic view of the future of these women, but a realistic appraisal of a society dominated and totally geared for the maintenance of male supremacy.

Introduction to the Enemy (1974) is a unique example of political documentary genre. It reveals, on a people-topeople level, what has previously been represented as ‘the faceless enemy’. It’s a Vietnam we have for so long been unable to see — “ a small underdeveloped country that history has placed at the center of the world’s con­ tradictions” .

Unlike Antonioni’s China, this film is a human trip through the hearts and minds of Vietnamese peasants, intellectuals, the aged and children. Jane Fonda, Tom Hayden, cameraman Haskell Wexler and editor Christine Burril take a closer look at the people of Vietnam — both in the north and the south. Through their contacts with the Vietnamese, one cannot help but realize the sincerity and warmth of a people who have unjustly been branded as the ‘brutal enemy’.

Throughout the film one is forced to reappraise the Vietnamese situation. The point that comes through strongly is that western imperialists, not Vietnamese aggressiveness, caused the devastation of a country that asserts "the needs of peace are greater than the needs of war” .

They sketch people who have managed to retain their humanity through 30 years of warfare without feelings of retribution towards the American people. As the Viet­ namese continually say in the film, they can distinguish between a population and its political leaders.

In spite of the low budget, the film has succeeded where Antonioni’s China failed, because its emphasis is on the hopes, feelings and apprehensions of the Viet­ namese people — against the twin landscapes of devastation and rebirth. And Wexler’s handheld camera brings alive the rhythm of the country and its people.

One important aspect of the film is the acknowledg­ ment of the part played by Vietnamese women in the country’s struggle. A feeling of optimism surges through the film that the struggle by women and men in a protracted war will succeed. And, as the film so touching­ ly portrays, people are the most precious of all things in the world.

Christine Johnston

Dorothy Arzner.

Jill Godmllow’s and Judy Collins’ color documentary Antonia: A Portrait of the Woman (1974) charts the non­ rise to fame of a world class conductor.

It reveals why a wall of silence surrounds the only female conductor in the western world. Using interviews intercut with stills of Antonia Brico’s past, the film ’s magic for a great part rests on the screen depiction and subtle revelation of her character.

Antonia w&s born in Holland, and raised in the U.S. by an aunt and uncle, the audience is made to share her frustration enduring childhood that did not include physical contact and personal warmth. You are made to understand her determination to surmount the shocked and humorous 'put down’ of her first hero conductor. He believed that any female music student who wanted to be a conductor was merely a romantic fantasizer, and said: “ Do not be silly, females cannot be conductors.”

But concentrated hard work helped Antonia earn some recognition through International tours and concerts. The U.S. media showered her with praise. She had the energy and audacity to form an all female orchestra so as to refute the premise that women of musical quality did not exist. The directors of the film are subtly imparting social values when this information is backed only by stills.

And then the problems set in. The famous tenor John Charles Thomas for one had much to do with it. Puffed up with conceit and bombast, he feared Antonia would be a greater attraction than himself. She reveals how Thomas once cost her a major appearance.

When Antonia tried to conduct an orchestra of men and women, she became disillusioned with musical entrepeneurs who were only concerned with the commer­ cial possibilities of the novelty. The precedent having been established, the male-dominated unions felt threatened, and she simply could not obtain support for a mixed symphony orchestra of quality.

Slowly, the media lost interest, and just as irrevocably the music world closed its ranks in the face of this rebellious invasion. At the peak of her career, Antonia’s concerts dwindled to five appearances a year. She gained some fortitude to face this during her long sojourn in A frica with the m issionary and organist, A lbert Schweitzer. Here the directors serve her best by investing her journey to oblivion with a certain air of unfiltered mystery.

Antonia is now in her seventies. Her male counterparts, secure in their fame, live and work in luxurious veneration. An indomitable spirit, with wry good humor, she carries on today passing her knowledge and skills to young students, living and loving through their ability to communicate with live audiences. This and her story is delicately communicated through the brilliant orchestra­ tion of Judy Collins’ and Jill Godmilow’s editing techni­ ques.

Dorothy Arzner’s The Bride Wore Red (1937) is a film designed to further the career of Joan Crawford. And the lavish sets and very expensive wardrobe indicate clearly that Arzner had been given a major MGM production.

Nevertheless it is a shock that the first shot of Crawford is a fusion of two successful formulae — the lighting and the position of her head in the frame is a complete steal from Deitrich, while her pageboy hairstyle is Garbo’s.

Arzner has also done her homework. When the postman (Franchot Tone) talks in terms of barriers between him and the 'lovely lady' on the terrace, she has her lighting cameraman light the sequence so that the social barriers are reinforced. Correspondingly she removes them when they are together on an equal footing in the forest.

Crawford is first seen in a sleazy waterfront bar in Trieste, where a drunken Count is theorizing that we are what we are because our birth has enmeshed us into a response to the interplay of economic and social factors.

With malevolent glee he offers her two weeks at an upper class resort, so that she can clothe herself literally and figuratively in the wrappings of an upper class existence.

He is convinced she can survive due to her innate predatoriness.

Mai Zetterling’s The Girls, its call to arms a cry of despair.

At the hotel, she meets a man of character and worth, the local postman, played by a smirking Franchot Tone, who is ill-cast as a man of the people. Robert Young plays the weak upper class male, who also sues for her favors.

Thus we have the classic fairy tale setting of capitalist society. Should the nubile female sell her body to a man she does not love in order to attain social mobility, or should she cheerfully accept the life of a poor but ‘good’ member of the working class?

Even working within the confines of the cliches, Arzner has some surprises in store for us. She gets an incredible performance from Billie Burke, as an acidic but not dis­ interested spectator of the Young chase. As the mother of his gallant and long term fiancee, she complacently accepts the double standard that allows him to have af­ fairs while courting her daughter. But with flashing wit she wards off any intrusion into upper class solidarity by a female whose credentials include the implied sexuality of a stint at a waterfront bar.

Discovering that o n e . of his infatuations is not seducable, Young falls back on the ploy of offering marriage, knowing it will destroy the social esteem of his fiancee. The Count sends a vicious telegram to Billie Burke drawing attention to upper class sensibilities which will be affronted by having to accept a ‘degraded’ woman as an equal. Hoping to have the covert security of an honorable name, Crawford uses her sexuality to induce the postman not to deliver the telegram. Of course, she discovers that given a chance, Tone ‘turns her on’. But Arzner has the ‘good’ postman deliver the telegram — his moral and righteous belief is that Crawford should admit to her background “for her own good” . So this smirking working class hero wins Crawford. However, he deserves her because Arzner has allowed us a glimpse of the frozen heart of C raw ford when she drops the Deitrich/Garbo mask. With a mannered voice and look of brutal determination she announced her intention to succeed in life no matter what the cost.

Pat Longmore

demonstrate the guilt, conflict and role-conditioning that bind ‘the girls’ to their traditional roles and make them un­ able to change themselves or the status quo. It is true that all the men are characterized as stolid Swedish boors and chauvinist pigs. But Zetterling’s typing of them is no more sexist than Pekinpah's typing of women. However it can be excused by the film’s preoccupation with female psy­ chology which itself reflects male oppression.

As Molly Haskell accurately noted: “The film's anger finally is directed not so much at inequality as at in­ difference; its call to arms is also a cry of despair, which has its own echo to keep it company” .

Kinuyo Tanaka, like Mai Zetterling, achieved fame as an actress before she became Japan’s first woman film director. In Love Under the Crucifix (1960), her only film screened here, she demonstrates delicacy in her direc­ tion of actors and a sensitive eye for evocative detail (a sprig of blossom, a necklace, a cross-embossed bible).

Her story is basically a women’s ‘weepie’ — a hopeless love affair terminated by a suicide — which narrowly avoids triteness.

Women at the Festival responded favorably to the characterization of the heroine, finding themselves for the first time capable of identifying with a Japanese woman in a Japanese film. This response illustrates our ignorance of Japanese films as much as it reminds us of the sub­ jugation of women in Japan. Japanese women have been trained to conceal their feelings and submit to the decisions of fathers and husbands. The best Japanese directors demonstrate this, while still managing to convey the feelings of their heroines in subtle, unspoken ways.

Kinuyo Tanaka’s heroine is uncharacteristic in flaunting her personal feelings and pursuing her own goals at the expense of her husband. Furthermore, the film is set at the turn of the 17th century, at a time when adultery on the part of a married woman was an offense punishable by death.- The characterization of Tanaka’s heroine is not merely anachronistic; it smacks of the influence of heroines in American and French melodramas, and does not ring true in a Japanese period setting. .

Mai Zetterling’s The Girls (1968) suffers from the same weaknesses as her earlier film, Loving Couples — it goes on too long, overstates its points and lacks a satisfying denouement. However, it is a much more personal and exciting film. The earlier film still betrays the influence of Strindberg and early Bergman, while The Girls has a style all its own. .

Bibi Andersson, Harriet Andersson and Gunnel Lindblom play the three lead actresses in a stage produc­ tion of Lysistrata, on tour in the Swedish provinces. While rehearsing, they each relate the actions of the play to the circumstances of their off-stage lives, in which they are chained to boorish male partners and children.

The apathetic response of provincial audiences so in­ censes Liz-Lysistrata (Bibi Andersson) that one night she steps forward after the show to harangue the audience.

But her efforts to engender some kind of response are foiled by the timely intervention of the play’s male lead.

The actresses become more militant as the tour progresses, though more in fantasy than in fact, and return to their domestic binds in the city. Liz alone shows some potential for individual revolt.

There are some exhilarating fantasy sequences in the film — a defiant ensemble striptease started by Liz hurl­ ing her bra into the startled face of her husband, and a cinema audience of women throwing eggs at a screen montage of political patriarchs. As well there are some brittle satirical ones — Marianne (Harriet Andersson) romping through the bedding section of a department store, cavorting from mattress to mattress with her man while a poker-faced shop assistant recites dimensions and brand-names.

It is a mistake to read the film as militantly feminist, because the most feminist moments are fantasy ones.

Inevitably they are followed by realistic scenes which

Freda Freiberg

Susan Sontag’s Promised Lands (1974) has a reputa­ tion which many of the Festival films do not possess. This is as much due to Sontag’s prestige as to the significance of the conflict it examines. It is not a ‘feminist’ film, and is in this sense similar to Duet for Cannibals (1969).

However, Sontag attempts to take a ‘liberal’ look at the problems faced by contemporary Israeli society.

Filmed shortly after the 1973 Yom Kippur War, it focuses on several aspects of the war’s aftermath. Images of decaying Egyptian bodies in the Sinai desert are inter­ cut with interviews with a correspondent from the government-line newspaper, Davar, an Israeli physicist who leads a moderate-peace group, and a psychiatrist from a rehabilitative institution for Israeli military per­ sonnel.

Time is spent observing the attempts by psychiatrists to force shell-shocked Israeli soldiers to relive their traumas and hopefully overcome their problems. The burial of battle casualties amid the emotional hysteria of their relatives, is also a major part of the film.

There have been many analyses of the Middle East conflict, but none of them have focused on the problems which women faced during the last 25 years. In this film, women are portrayed in only one scene — the burial of casualties — and although we sympathize with their plight, there is no extension from this into an examination of women’s rights and needs in Israeli and Palestinian society. , It is, therefore, rather strange that a woman with such a reputation as Sontag should produce a work like Promis­ ed Lands.

David Brous Cinema Papers, November-Decemher — 213

“ What’s it like on the receiving end o f Australian film criticismP” TIM BURSTALL

Pretty awful. Just how awful was brought home to me very forcibly by the week I spent in London last month promoting Petersen. Petersen, for those of you who haven’t seen the film, is about an electrician who goes back to university at the age of 30. If you had to say what the film was about, it’s about the collision of working-class values with those of the contemporary, universityeducated middle-classes. It is about the relationship between education and class, about modern marriage, career, about how love-affairs are conducted these days, and so on.

Now the simple difference between British and Australian critics is that the British knew what the film was about and discussed it in thosev terms.

Some of them liked it, some of them disliked it, but they all seemed open to the experience of what the'film was about.

That sounds a pretty simple proposition. But unfortunately in Australia things don’t go that way. The public grasps what the film is about all right and can talk to you about it, often at great length and with considerable insight. But the > critics are another matter. Let us give you some examples of what they see: “ Film producers Hexagon know their Australian movie audiences. Hexagon are the people who gave us Alvin Purple. But they only toyed with the prize-winning techni­ que with that offering. They have perfected it with Petersen.

They know Australian audiences don’t care too much about a strong story line — so in Petersen they simply left most of it out. They knew Australian audiences go jelly-kneed at the sight of bare flesh, so they gathered together a number of people and Filmed their bare behinds and what-nots. After that they photographed the actors talking — you have to do that otherwise the thing wouldn’t run long enough and peo­ ple might ask for their money back. The story? That’s about a dumb and boring electrician who gives up his trade to study for an Arts degree. He gets off with a couple of birds and flunks. Get the picture?” *

Take first of all the tone of the passage. It is in­ stantly recognizable. The cynical ‘smart-arse’ giv­ ing vent to the relaxed sneer. (Tune in to Parlia* Both the author and editor have been unable to determine the origin of this particular quote.

214 — Cinema Papers, November-December

ment or open the Nation Review next Friday). It is the voice of a man who knows ‘bullshit’ when he sees it and who automatically assumes that the low motive is at the crux of most human activities.

Just consider the propositions that underlie a passage like this: 1. Australian audiences are moronic.

2. Certain other moronic but cunning people (Hexagon) are in the business of exploiting those audiences, 3. However, I, the critic, am not moronic. I, the critic, refuse to be impressed. I see this squalid little conspiracy for what it is.

These first three propositions are, of course, classic paranoia. Let’s proceed: 4. Petersen, like Alvin Purple before it, is a for­ mula film.

5. Bare flesh in a film means only one thing: A sexploitation approach.

6. What story there is in the film concerns “a dumb and boring electrician who flunks.”

Now we are getting to the nub of it. What do these propositions tell us? Formula films are bad (presumably unless they are made by Hitchcock and Ford). Bare flesh is bad (unless we are talking about Women in Love or Last Tango in Paris).

Films should not be about dumb and boring Australian electricians — they should be about a ‘better’ class of person. That’s how it reads to me anyway.

John Flaust, of course, will tell me that I am not talking about critics, merely newspaper reviewers. I don’t accept this one — for my money it is just a choice between middle-brow and high­ brow journalism.

Here, for instance, is how Cinema Papers reviewed Petersen. (The critic is Virginia Duigan, alias “ Lucy Stone”): *” “ And so to Petersen — with the suggestion of a yawn. It’s not so much that it’s cast in the same mould as Stork or Alvin . . . simply that it testifies to a poverty of invention and t Australian film critic recently appointed to the Film and Television School.

AUSTRALIAN FILM CRITICISM

Take for instance this extract from Colin.

Bennett on Petersen: “One is sorry again to see Australian Film, which is young enough to build its own traditions and style, striving instead to keep up with the Joneses, to ape big brother Hollywood . . . But far greater cause for regret is the incorporation of the requisite number of bloody and brutal fights. This violence, inherited from the cinema of a country which lives by it, Finds Petersen saving a birthday party from invading bikies and in turn being beaten senseless when drunk by the Victoria Police Force.”

this is precisely why we laugh at them. Where there is no un­ derlying seriousness, there can be no real humor and because the progenitors of Alvin Purple have no detectable conception of what makes people laugh at matters sexual they are at no time capable of aiming any higher than the genitals.” . . . Q.E.D.: “Alvin Purple in all essentials is archetypally anti-sex.”

The other spot into which our criticschoolm asters can retire is, of course, specialization. (Instead of going abstract you go concrete.) With this, of course, goes a film jargon of “dolly” , “ pan”, “two shot” , etc, which allows the non-filmmaker to imagine he is entering the filmmaking process. I don’t think I can do better here than quote Mr Flaus: a grievously flagging imagination on the part of its creator.

And that is always sad to see.”

“ Between Wars can boast some remarkable things. The arrival of Schneider in Australia commences with the camera on Trenbow, Deborah and Avanti at the wharf, then it comes up to deck-rail on the liner and tracks part of its length, picks up Schneider and moves in tight on him as he approaches the gang-plank, stays tight as he descends, holds back a little as he steps ashore and approaches the waiting group: as they break into greetings the camera cranes up and away centering them in an almost empty dockside as it draws off into a high-angle extreme long-shot. The scene has been all in one take. For skill, grace and sheer professionalism it is a shot that Preminger at his peak could not have improved upon.”

Very sad, Virginia. The review continues in the ' same vein: “ . . . the screenplay reads like a Who’s Who of contemporary campus issues; . . . Jack Thompson is a souped-down Paul Hogan” ; the film settles for the compromise of trying to com­ bine comedy and seriousness, etc. Nowhere is the question of what the film is about even raised.

It is also a shot, alas, which is idiocy to What is the explanation? To be honest, I don’t attribute (in this sort of detail) to anyone but the know. Here are a few suggestions: (a) Patrick White in a despairing phrase camera operator. (c) My next suggestion is very tentative. But describes Australia as being a place where the my strong impression when I was in Britain a only culture that exists is that of “ the month ago was that the critics there wanted to res­ schoolmaster and the journalist” . In othej words, pond to a work of art. They took pleasure in being the John Flauses and the Colin Bennetts:}: rule the able to perceive something new in it. I know it roost. There may be all sorts of cultivated doctors, sounds ridiculous, but here a lot of them seem lawyers, publishers, writers, professional people bent on not responding. It’s as if they want to lock — a lot of whom I’d rate far ahead of the Flauses out the new experience. There is a passage in and Bennetts, but we never hear them except at Lawrence’s Kangaroo which describes what I am the occasional dinner party. And, of course, in a provincial culture like ours that is really more in­ talking about: “ Each individual seems to feel himself pledged to put terested in consuming than producing, it’s easy to himself aside, to keep himself at least half out of count . . . see how the critic’s role has been inflated. I sup­ This is done with a watchful will. A sort of duel. And above pose to large segments of Brighton and this a great geniality. But the continual holding of oneself Camberwell, Colin Bennett performs a similar aside, out of count, makes a man go blank in his withheld self . . . Probably this is more true of the men than of the function to a wine taster telling you about the women.” bouquet of a 1974 Quelltaler Hock. Same deal. (b) My next suggestion grows out of this last I’d even agree with the last line though I am point. The people telling us what we ought to like biased, I know. My best write-ups — apart from — these schoolmasters and critics — are not very the Jewish News — are always in the women’s sure of their responses (they aren’t very literate, magazines. they haven’t the rapid range of reference of the (d) My next suggestion is quite specific. It educated person) so the answer is to retire into seems to me critics — lam thinking of high-brow abstractions, into ideology. Erect a set of high critics in particular — are far too self-conscious falutin’ or not-so-high falutin’ rules which you about the form of a film (though I would add they majce do with instead of responses. Take Mr know nothing about it) and far too little conscious Tittensor, another genius from Cinema Papers of the way content has determined that form. (this is great stuff). ~ Orwell described this syndrome in literary critics “All jokes, and especially sexual jokes, are serious and as “influence sniffing” . You look first and foremost in a sequence for the influence of some other director, never for the pressure of real ex­ :j Colin Bennett is the Film critic of the Melbourne Age perience. newspaper.

What can I say? The week we were rehearsing the bikie gate-crashing sequence, a boy of 19 was killed at Altona by a gate-crasher to his party. I have been in two parties invaded by a group of very ugly gate-crashers, one at Woolloomooloo, where two girls finished up in hospital, another in Eltham where one of the invading bikies finished up a complete vegetable; it’s two or three years back now, but even Colin Bennett might remember that our one-time Deputy Prime Minister, Dr Cairns, was hit over the head by a bottle in similar circumstances.

On the score of police brutality, I myself, together with David Baker (the director of The Great MacArthy) were beaten up by the police in a scene which makes the Petersen one look like a picnic. The present Minister for the Media, Dr Moss Cass, photographed my face round at the Alfred Hospital after I was bailed out and I can promise you it looked worse than the way we made up Jack Thompson.

Colin Bennett, of course, will say these se­ quences are still unnecessary.

“They fail to further the story line, or tell us much more about our hero, except that he is not afraid of a brawl.”

If you had ever been in a brawl — particularly if it had taken place in a middle-class context where half the people were trying to imagine it was simply not happening — you do put a certain value on people who were not afraid of getting hurt.

My own instinct is that Mr Bennett’s denial of the existence of violence in the suburbs is a much more interesting sociological phenomenon than my so-called aping of big brother Hollywood. (e) My last reflection is this. I believe that whether they know it or not, most critics are heavily influenced by the way a film is promoted.

Two months before Petersen was released, I sat in on a conference up at the Southern Cross and listened to Alan Finney and Graham Burke* planning the campaign for Petersen. There it was decided that it was not an easy film to promote (it was in some ways a downer) and that the best hook we had to sell it on was a sex and violence one — “Jack Thompson Superstud. He loves his beer, his booze, his fights. He loves life and gives it a hell of a beating.” — etc. The university was never to be mentioned. David Williamson and I were not to be used in the promotion. The stars to be pushed were selected and decided on.

Well, it is a chilling fact that the way the critics almost universally received the film was in terms of the promotional campaign which was in turn interpreted as the intentions of the director — my intentions.

We’d get a crit like say Andrew McKay’s of The Herald: “ It is lit by that same coy spotlight which il­ luminates every awful soft porn movie in town.

It’s a second-rate movie. And it will probably make lots of money.”

Each time that happened Alan Finney would say: “ More, more, the more of that the better.”

And from a promotional point of view he was ab­ solutely right. The worse things said about the film, the more people wanted to see it.

The irony to me, of course, is that the journalist critics, who for God’s sake should be the least naive of people when it comes to the operations of the media, are apparently just as susceptible as the rest of us. ★ * Alan Finney is executive director of Hexagon and Graham Burke its deputy chairman.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 215

« I l i ÎSÊÊm ÊÊMW &

■

I

mm

I í’-í4'LhÍ'í |lj *I K'V . '.H' \ M • É '-' wâïmmmÊÊêÊm^

WÊÊmê-

; ;..r 1,■.■■■*•!

:^V:

M£ñ

bw ut

UNDER W ESTERN EYES

Now that Australian cinema has again achieved the status of international acclaim it held before the American takeover, critics are beginning to ask what it is that is specifically Australian about it. And it’s a more difficult question to answer than we might think.

On the one hand the response at Cannes and in London indicates a European celebration of qualities that are reminiscent of U.S. cinema as it used to be. David Robinsons’ review of the Cannes screening of Sunday Too Far Away is a model of this particular typology. “ . . . Sunday Too Far Away can be reckoned among the best films seen so far in the Quinzaine des Réalisateurs. “ . . . you can sense in director Ken Hannam’s work an admiration for Ford and Hawks, and there’s a Fordian quality in the ability to perceive a sort of grandeur in people of the most limited horizon and spirits . . .” “ . . . elliptical scenes trace the human issues of a strike a lot deeper than most of the earnest, left-wing reportage of industrial disputes to which we are still subjected.”

On- the other hand, we are considered by some to be a developing cinema of the Third World, a cinema of an odd and exotic country, as un­ derdeveloped as India and as sophisticated as Japan.

When one looks down the Sydney Film Festival’s checklist of Australian films, the cast of our history unrolls: bushrangers, convicts, squatters, stockaders, sentimental blokes, and women (a genre all to themselves).

What Women Suffer (1911) and Do Men Love Women ((1912) suggest the kind of preoccupation that was played upon. Those cosmopolitan Melbourne people, walking their monumental and speculation-based city in the Lumiere newsreels, scarcely get a look in after the early 1900s. By the time they return in the films of the McDonagh sisters, they have become the English-American ready-to-wear types of upper class fiction.

Until recently, Australians were interpretated in Europe as little more than ciphers (in spite of their appearances in Dickens, Wilde, Conrad, Butler, and Lawrence). So while the Englishman was typed as a repressed and hypocritical gentleman, and the French as an affected frog, the Australian found his niche in the form of a pedestal labelled “The Wild Colonial Boor” . And in that niche, Bazza, Alvin, and the lads are still cracking tubes, sheilas, and lousy jokes.

However, with Picnic at Hanging Rock, Between Wars and Sunday Too Far Away, one has the three milestones of our new cinema. And see­ ing them all in one week set me thinking about the way they clarified and brought to a head the specific qualities of Australian cinema.

Australians seem to live on the rim of an apocalypse, just as they circle their lives endlessly on the rim of a desert. The perpetual hope-threat of falling into this apocalypse is what generates much that is peculiar to Australian thought.

Every now and then, one of the walkers on the rim is thrown into the inferno and the others continue to circle at a slower and more wary speed. This is what constitutes our particular drama, and its ‘dynamic’ operates on two distinctive levels — class and sex.

For a nation of egalitarians and wowsers, Australians are peculiarly interested in both — not that every Oz infant clutches from its cradle a copy of Marx in the right hand and Freud in the left. The obsession is generally not realized at this level, but it pervades Australian culture, including films. And it plays especially strong roles in Between Wars, Sunday Too Far Away and Picnic at Hanging Rock, though both the sexual and political antagonisms are given typically disguised expressions.

These are set in a philosophical awareness of being in a particular place (as in animism), and set­ in a highly individual light, heat, color range, and landscape, with highly individual birds, animals, reptiles, and plants.

There exist sex and class antagonisms so prolonged and repressed in their operation that Opposite page: Sunday Too Far Away.

they give off a stench which can be mistaken for a metaphysic. Henry James in The Turn of the Screw, and Chabrol in all his films, draw much of their power from this compressed bomb. Nearer home, and set in a visionary space, it is the favorite arena of Patrick White, and of a great deal of the paintings of Nolan and the Boyds.

The Australian eroticism — that is all tits, reefs and flowers in Lindsay’s drawings and novels — keeps on appearing in Chauvel’s films, though usually transposed in a rather racist way onto primitive peoples, such as the Tahitians in Wake of the Bounty and the Aboriginals in Jedda. This eroticism has its overt male equivalent in the Lawrentian nudity of Sons of Matthew. Even here, however, it has a certain determined chasteness about it, like a lifesaver giving “ R and R” to his best mate.

The attitudes towards class and sex are com­ plicated in Wars, Sunday and Picnic by the awareness of interior and exterior space. These can be discovered as much through a study of location, set and set-dressing as through narrative. Each is rich enough to yield many systems, and I offer the following as a grid, fully aware that it can provide only notes toward the films, and not comprehensive explanations of them. , This grid is a suggestion for a schematic way of looking at the films on a series of levels, ranging from the latent content of the sexuality, through the class struggle which exists on the plot level, to the technical and stylistic meanings, seen with great clarity in the traditional INT/EXT division of the film script.

In Australia there exists sex and class antagonisms so prolonged and repressed in their operation that they give off a stench which can be mis­ taken for, or realized as, a metaphysic. Between Wars.

FILM

SEX

CLASS WAR

INT/EXT VISUAL MEDIATOR IN SPACE

Sunday Too Far Away

Balls

Graziers

Sheep

V.

Shearers

Picnic at Hanging Rock

Violation

Gentry

Rock

V.

Servants Repression

Between Wars

Establishment (medical, legal, political)

“Clothing” jackets houses cars

V.

Innovators (Freudians)

The violation of interior female sexuality by the masculine priapic force in the Australian bush: the climbers begin to climb the rock. Picnic at

.

To possess balls is to knock the shit out of somebody. Sunday Too Far

Hanging Rock.

Away

Cinema Papers, November-December — 217

UNDER WESTERN EYES

In contrast" with the elliptical linkage of Sun­ day* and the subconscious symbolism of Picnic, Between Wars operates on a principle almost like collage. Thornhill draws attention to this in the titles, both with the quote of Orson Welles on Scott Fitzgerald and the music, which is an ex­ traordinary medley of jazz, classical, pop and folk.

Thornhill is interested in the social reality, not the natural. And this interest is demonstrated well by the art-deco party, the Sydney University Revue, and the country fete.

This also raises the question of the Australian use of location, most notably in the landscape ex­ teriors and in the highly dressed interior sets.

The French trenches of Between Wars are sur­ rounded by trees whose shape and leaf structure mark them immediately as eucalyptus. Similarly with the tall date palms of the ‘British’ hospital, itself too recognisably Melbourne Boom-style. It is possible that Kew or Bournemouth might have such a Fine collection of sub-tropical flora in one place, but it is scarcely typical of a British garden, and therefore doesn’t establish the location as British. The result is that there is no distinction in the Film between France, Britain and Sydney, not only because the same group of very British characters appear to inhabit all of them, but because the exteriors look as if they all came out of the same location geography.

The real European-Australian split comes only with the country town of Gulgong, which couldn’t be anywhere else than in New South Wales, and whose real atmosphere of small town theatrics and sports day is richly used in such details as the jug band and picnic. The best feature is in the in­ teriors and the careful period use of cars and artdeco — e.g.: the shabby country surgery and the smart Sydney party.

There is similar attention to interior detail in the other Films. Compare, for example, the set dressing of Picnic and Sunday.

Picnic looks as if it made off with the entire swag from an exhibition of Victoria’s Jubilee. The camera movements and positions are perhaps a little too proud of this, slowly panning over Fin de siecle bric-a-brac and dissolving on expensive prints and photos. But, since this aesthetic in­ sistence is part of the Film’s point, the concentra­ tion is justiFiable.

As for its exteriors, the transformation of Strathalbyn is masterful — red dirt over the main road, stobie poles masked as verandah columns, and mocked up signs in the shopping center give the place a living authenticity. The school, of course, is perfect, and its classical storeys and symmetry provide Weir with some excellent and telling angles.

Sunday has the same subtle task of creating a period which most of us actually remember. It does so with such virtuosity that the camera seldom needs to draw attention to the details that swim before it in brawls and fast trackings: the Craven A packets, the Cooper’s Sparkling Ale, the baggy trousers and checked shirts, the old Fivers and the Pan paperbacks. Port Augusta is again well used as the perfect Australian town.

(It’s also in Robbery Under Arms, Bitter Springs, The Sundowners and Kangaroo.)

Throughout Picnic, Weir uses the Victorian and South Australian landscapes as a bizarre con­ trast with the interiors. He does this with another set of Australian-European opposites by borrow­ ing a number of European folk legends associated with St Valentine and transposing them to an Australian February, whose natural message is the end of summer rather than the awakening of spring. The result is an intensiFication of the * Not always successful — e.g. the scene where Foley breaks down in front of Sheila.

218 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Albert, the son of the Australian bush, with Michael Fitzhubert the delicate, upper class and feminine Pommie. Picnic at Hanging Rock.

emotions of melancholy and dread associated with stirring sexuality.

The structure of Picnic appears to be that of a mystery story, but a mere toddler could tell you that its true subject is sex. A great premium is placed on physical beauty, with the schoolgirls be­ ing divided into “fat girl” and dazzling rest.

In this orchard of flowering girls, the young ladies concentrate their erotic energies on each other. St Valentine is merely their convenient patron, Cupid disguised as a Victorian eunuch.

The true presider over their corset-lacing and cheek touching rites is Mamselle (Helen Morse), the lady from Lesbos. She governs their poetry­ writing, their hearts and flower sentiment, their deeper psychic passions. She may carry little weight with Ms Appleyard (Rachel Roberts), whosd Muse is obviously Ms Dorothea Hemans, guardian of burning-deck-standing boys. But the beautiful Mamselle has quite a coterie among the students. Insofar as Sappho receives direct per­ soniFication in the Film, it is in her flushed cheeks.

In formulaic terms, women are seen as essen­ tially European, interior, civilized, upper class, beautiful and graceful objets d’art. Men are essen­ tially Australian, exterior, pioneering, animal and lower class.

What happens is that this delicate interior female sexuality is violated by some unnamed ex­ terior masculine priapic force in the Australian bush. I say unnamed, and yet, of course, the eponymous Rock is obviously that force. Shot repeatedly low-angle, its phallic and religious suggestions of a sort of prick and balls Golgotha are insisted upon. Its ancient lava breaks whatever civilizing crust is put over it.

There are exceptions. Dominic Guard as Fitzhubert is male and yet not Australian. He is a Pommie, and therefore delicate, upper class and almost feminine. Note that the Rock attacks him in the same way that it got the girls, though there isn’t the same interminable insistence on his ‘in­ tactness’ and the state of his clothes. His uncle, also European, is clearly dotty — another un­ masculine trait. (Men must be incisive and direct.)

Ms McGraw (Vivean Gray), on the other hand, is speciFically mentioned as having a ‘masculine’ intelligence, underlined by her forceful rebuttal of the trap-driver’s opinions on the age of the rock.

Nonetheless, the mere fact of her femaleness is evidently enough for the Rock to exercise its Lawrentian mystique on her. And there she goes, ever upwards and without her skirt, to be “raped like a silly schoolgirl” , as Ms Appleyard despairingly remarks — only to fall victim to the

This orchard of young flowering girls, this Appleyard College.

Picnic at Hanging Rock.

Rock herself. Well roared, Lion! Well shone, Moon! Well hung, Rock!

The school servants, Minnie (Jacki Weaver), Tom (Tony Llewellyn Jones), and the orphans Albert (John Jarratt) and Sara (Margaret Nelson), complete the polarization of the characters along class ana sex lines. Even the police sergeant’s wife (Kay Taylor) is seen only in a night interior, whereas the exterior town is full of cheeky boys and murmuring rebellious men.

Minnie and Tom are shown enjoying a happy sexuality which causes them to pity the con­ stricted lives of the upper class adolescents. Sara is stuck in the interior Europeanness of the college, passively pasting souvenirs of a dead love into her scrapbook. However, she does stubbornly stand up to Ms. Appleyard. Her unrealized brother Albert completes the picture. He has become a son of the Australian bush, outdoor, masculine, an active agent, who refuses to serve the Governor at the European garden party.

It has been remarked that the “ Freudianism” of Dr Trenbow in Between Wars is a red herring, a radical fish dragged across his career by his German mentor, his nymphomaniac patient and his modish mother-in-law. In other words, the Film is presenting a consistent view of an inconsis­ tent person — a person who never even reaches

UNDER W ESTERN EYES

The attitudes towards class and sex are complicated in Between Wars by an awareness of interior and exterior space: the art deco party.

The have or have-not of balls. Sunday Too Far Away.

the stage of an ideology, but who is beset by the historical A ustralian vices of confusion, drunkenness and intermittent enthusiasm. In this sense, the title Between Wars is apposite.

What was Australia between the wars? The answer seems to be the same as that given by those of us in our early thirties who remember Australia after the war — Sydney Uni Reviews, heavy police, etc. But Sydney then, while maybe never the Viennese Circle, was a place where peo­ ple had read the Collected Papers and discussed them. So what I expect in the structure of a film which purports to show a failed or absent Freudianism is an awareness at least of what a genuine understanding of psychoanalysis might be. If this seems an unreasonable demand, im­ agine what you would think of a film which depicted a failed or fake revolution (Pontecorvo’s Burn) without showing a critical awareness of what a genuine revolution might be (Battle at

Algiers).

The basic tenet of Freudian position is that in spite of the operation of other dynamics in human social behavior — e.g. economic or class warfare — sexuality is the primary and constantly operating force. Freud’s development of an epistemology, which is also a therapy (psy­ choanalysis), forms the keystone of his system.

Where is all this in Between Wars? On a blackboard in one scene, and there it is timidly rubbed out by Dr Trenbow (Corin Redgrave).

So how is Freudianism seen in the film? (a) As the fashionable diversion of the middle class (“mother was a Freudian before Freud”); . (b) As a threat to the principles of Anglo­ Saxon authoritarianism; and (c) As a non-eventuating and repressed affair with the ‘nymphomaniac’ Marguerite.

Anyway the term ‘nymphomaniac’ is both non-

Freudian, over-used and sexist. Unfortunately, it has a very frequent Australian application in describing a woman who shows any sort of active sexual feeling whatsoever. Okay, so it’s a big joke, and the part is excellently played. But what, direc­ tor Mike Thornhill, of Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious? Freud’s constant point is that jokes have particular political meanings.

On this count the Film’s jokes, which form the most important principal of linkage (every scene ends on an up-beat, a quip or an incongruity) need careful examination. Certainly the Adelaide Festival audiences’ reaction to the joke about “those bludgers in Canberra” was an unfortunate tapping of anti-socialist feeling, and the sequence of Marguerite’s ministerial rebuff to her former therapist did no more than release the sort of an­ tipathy to politically powerful women which has so disgracefully dogged Australian politics.

Other jokes, like the cigarette dropping maid, find a more satisfactory base in the repudiation of class manners, which like the actors, are fun­ damentally ‘English’.

What kind of analysis the unfortunate woman Marguerite has received I shudder to think. We are given no indication except a sort of Rogerian “uh huh” from the analyst, a sense of boredom from her when she realizes she isn’t going to get a fuck out of it, Briseldan patience from his wife Deborah and nasty pouts from his son, who thinks it is all abnormal. Thornhill makes his comment in the careful variation of lighting and tone in these scenes. No, this doctor isn’t a Freudian, any more than, say, Bogart and Bacall were MarxistLeninists when they led a protest about the Hollywood witch-hunts.

The point is that, in the falsely ‘free’ West of the thirties and forties, any humanist attempt to create a dialectic about sex or politics was liable to meet with the same horror accorded to a genuine radical. Many a stately couple from Bellevue Hill and Dover Heights will see themselves frozen in the last tableau — bourgeois to the hilt, cut off from their landscape by their Europeanized culture, and about to suffer the loss of their son to yet another European war. The lights go out on them . . . placed in their harborside living room for eternity, people who had no identifiable part in historical change, but who merely lived between wars.

The superstructure of Sunday is a story about shearing. It’s intra-structure is about maleness, that wonderful macho feeling of all ‘having balls’, and the attendant neurosis of what might happen if you lose them.

To possess balls is: (i) To work. (ii) To be a good social boozer. (iii) To beat someone else. (a) By bettering their performance in a given activity e.g. shearing more sheep; (b) By knocking the shit out of them.

Much emphasis is laid on the fact that shearing sheep is competitive with all the sweat and sparks of a Royal Easter Show woodchop. The shearers establish their caste by rival tallies and bare knuckle fighting. The clothes washing scene takes its place as another example of competitive rivalry, complete with envious glances, rhythmic rubbing and a final comic defusion in the medium­ shots of wagging and naked arses.

The most honest expression of this sort of thing in Australian culture would probably be men looking at each other’s cocks while on a gay beat.

But by treating the scene comically, the film makes a different point. After all everyone knows that naked male arses are essentially funny, rather than erotic. And women, as expressed in the scene where the cocky’s daughter is allowed to watch the shearing, are seen as alien to working life as if they were possums hanging from the roof.

Continued on page 286.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 219

Requiem No 1, Winkler’s statement on his father’s grave in Germany.

Paul Winkler is an independent experimental filmmaker. He was born in Hamburg, Germany, in 1939, but emigrated to Australia in 1959 to evade military service.

Winkler is a bricklayer by trade and with few exceptions finances his own films. He travels overseas often, and in the first six months of 1975 went to Canada on a Creative Fellowship Grant. He showed his work to the Film Distribution Center of Toronto University and was offered a teaching fellowship as a result. Winkler refused, however, because he felt morally obliged to the Creative Fellowship Grant, and disliked the idea of lectur­ ing as opposed to filmmaking.

Winkler’s films have won numerous awards overseas and have been screened in New York, London, Cracow and Oberhausen.

Which film would you describe as your first?

Well my first films were all on 8mm, very short films exploring tex­ tures in close-up. At that time they were still pretty conventional. One was called Fountain. All it showed was a fountain in the middle and ac­ tion going on around it — kids p la y in g , b ird s sw ooping and drinking, and people just looking. I trie d to get in betw een the 220 — Cinema Papers, November-December

relationship of the textures — the water, the tiles and so on. It was all more or less intuitive. I did not apply a great deal of thought to it in the way I do nowadays.

Another film, Barkin Avenue, con­ sisted entirely of still shots of the house I lived in — the wrought-iron, the roof tiles, parts of the backyard.

Again it was more of a documentary, and like Fountain it had a sort of guitar sound going over it to create a bit of atmosphere.

The 1974-75 Fifth Experimental Film Festival at Knokke in Belgium selected “Dark” as the sole Australian film in com­ petition. As well the Festival Archive purchased copies of “Scars” and “ Dark” and commissioned Winkler to produce a film of his own choosing.

His films have also met with success in Australia. “ Dark” was screened at both the 1973 Perth and Brisbane Film Festivals, won the Allan Stout Award for 1973 and was equal First Prize in the 1974 Greater Union Award. “ Scars” was screened at the 1974 Melbourne Film Festival and won a Silver Award in the 1974 AFI Awards.

The following interview was conducted by Norman Ingram at Winkler’s Darlinghurst home.

Then came Moods which com­ pletely did away with the conven­ tional type of film. Here I was using a flickering pattern of color to bring out an emotional response. I was by then very much intrigued and in­ fluenced by Goethe’s Colour Series, a book in which he describes how people react to color. I worked out a theory of chromatic scales based on‘ his principles. It’s quite a simple thing: like white for purity; red for passion; blue for a mood where you

don’t feel too happy, a sort of labyrinth where you’re neither here nor there; bright yellow for hap­ piness, and dirt yellow for cowardice.

Presumably you are familiar with phenomena like the human aura and Kirlian photography . . . .

Oh yes. Basically it’s connected with something called ‘closed-eye vision’. In other words sometimes when I am shooting I close my eyes

The shriek of trees in Scars.

Experimental and I see all these things happening without me actually having to look through the viewfinder. They become established in my brain, and then it’s just a matter of pressing the button and capturing them on film. But it’s a slow organic growth that comes from inside you, it’s never forced.

Was there a moment when you realized that you were ready to go ahead with more ambitious projects?

Yes. It was at the time I was mak­ ing Isolated, which grew out of a black and white 8mm film. It’s a film about spastic people, blind people and handicapped people as such, who sit around the streets selling buttons and asking for small contributions to their cause. There is a constant flow of people walking past them, and they are forever groping in the air.

They are awkward, and people find them awkward to look at — in fact they are sometimes quite exciting to look at.

Isolated works by simply showing the facts. It is not exactly a straight­ forward documentary, there was a lot of reference-type editing. It is a film that evokes a lot of emotion in those who see it. It really quite grabs

Filmmaker

I want to refine my style to the point where it can contribute something towards the defining of a pure cinematic language, something that others may like to pick up, elaborate on and incorporate in their own films.

them. But that’s mainly by people who cannot come to terms with the films I make now. Isolated is history for me now.

Was it a turning point?

In a way, yes. Isolated was a very heavy film which is probably why I made Red and Green so quickly afterwards. It is a rather funny film.

I scratched some lines onto red and green leader, and these lines ran into absurd things like bees going around a flower, or Nuigini aboriginals dan­ cing. The lines were hitting objects that were totally unrelated to anything. It wasn’t meant to make sense.

certain things and I just have to make a film. Other people climb mountains.

Sometimes I look back at my stuff and I know that’s exactly how I felt at a certain time. In a way you could call it my version of the primal scream. Generally I get very angry, and with Scars and Dark these are things that sort of happened to me.

The only way I could get it all out was through the intensity of their im­ ages.

Is that why you work alone?

Is your motivation to make films a compulsion?

There is simply nobody else who could do it. In the early days I had someone shoot me a title, but since I found I could do my own I have eliminated even that sort of help.

I don’t know if it’s a love-hate thing or self-therapy, but I look at

How do you see yourself in relation to the Australian film industry?

I have virtually no connection with it. I have not mentioned this before, but I make my films very cheaply — Requiem and Neurosis cost only $280 each, Scars $500 and Dark $800. I use very little film stock in relation to the finished product, and I make my own sound and so on.

Perhaps from the union or in­ dustrial point of view this work should be given to a soundman or cameraman, but my argument is that another cameraman cannot do my job, since the way I do it is part of my growth. In fact I have had it said to me that I must ask for more money if I am going to make films under the grant system, because if I make films for such little money it looks bad for those who need a lot.

Can you say who your films are aimed at?

That’s always a tricky question. I usually counter it by saying that if I am happy with what I see when it’s finished, then as far as I am concern­ ed that’s it. If it turns out that my films get liked, I am glad; if they don’t it doesn’t worry me. If I like them that’s enough, anything else is incidental.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 221

PAUL W INKLER

How then do you distribute your films?

Some came over and said: “What are you doing rocking that camera around like that? You’ll get very blurry pictures!” I told them that was what I wanted. They whispered together and frowned. Some were openly hostile about the way I was treating the beautiful camera.

Through the Filmmakers’ Co-op.

I am lucky if I make $150 to $200.

The money isn’t part of your motivation?

Your last film “Brick Wall” has great clarity of image . . .

No, but it’s more gratifying to get rental and know that your Film is liv­ ing than to know that it is gathering dust on a shelf. The last cheque I had was for $200, which shows that my Films have moved about 15 times and that about 300 people have seen them. I know that something will re­ main with some of them.

Yes, it was shot with a close-up lens a couple of inches away from the surface. A lot of single frame stuff with the camera shifting each time.

Then I re-wound to shoot the same again in order to increase the density.

When I made Brick Wall I wanted to show what it’s like to lay thousands of bricks — you lay them until the sweat starts to run and sits in your eyes, and the bricks seem to shimmer in front of you — they way they did on the screen.

Your films exhibit a remarkable sense of timing *. .

Timing in my opinion is to do with judgment, which is to do with con­ Fidence. It is not a thing you can learn. It is something that you just have — a rhythm inside you that tells you “that’s enough, leave it there, don’t pursue the point any longer” .

When I am editing I generally get a feeling of excitement in my skin, and when that lapses I say, “Okay, cut” . It is also something to do with Kinetic Vision, and seeing basically immobile shapes like a reflection in a puddle or headlamp take on a momentary life of their own. One also has to be constantly alert. I have sometimes 40 or 50 Films going in my head and I have to discipline myself to make a choice, but the worst thing is to force oneself.

You obviously allow your materia! to dictate itself to you rather than vice versa.

That’s exactly it. I just look at the things I want to Film until I get some sort of feedback. Again and again - it’s the material that imposes itself on me and tells me how long I have to work with it. It even seems to edit itself. I took a sequence out of something recently and moved it forward, but very quickly it scream­ ed to be put back.

Does your political philosophy come into your films deliberately, or as a by-product?

There are political things that come through in my Films, but I generally try to make them more on the level of how I react to certain things. Neurosis, for example, was not only against the war in Vietnam, but against war in general. The same with Scars. Trees are not only cut and mutilated in Australia, but all over the world.

There was a very impressive anti­ clerical montage sequence in “Neurosis”. Can you describe how you did that technically?

I photographed, frame by frame, lots of little cards and things that I had bought in religious shops. I didn’t actually splice the shots into the Film, I had it all laid out in such a way that it was numbered in se­ quence and I just had to shoot it. The rhythm was worked out beforehand.

222 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Can we run through the seven films that were screened at the Melbourne Co-op recently? The first was “Moods” . . .

Basically it concerns two males who are fascinated by the same female. They are trying to be in love with her. There is a lot of aggression, and we see the quick cuts of knife, breast, knife, breast until they dis­ cover she is just a pinup and there is nothing to worry about.

Technically it’s very poor. Was this deliberate?

Top: Brick Wall, at different attitude on the endless repetition.

Above: the Greek orthodox cross moving endlessly in a black void, from Chants.

How do you work out the rhythm?

Do you know from experience whether a certain number of frames produces a certain effect?

Yes. You may have noticed that there was a lot of flickering in Neurosis. This was to represent bullets being fired and hitting your eyes. This was done by repeating one white frame, two red and so on. This method increases the intensity of the images and makes them very strong.

Many people have had to look away. “ It is too painful,” they say. I say “That is why I made it — killing is a painful thing” . They claim I could have made the point differently, but I say, “Sure, I just happened to choose this way” .

Why do you limit yourself to short films?

I never deliberately plan a film of a certain length. If I have an idea that can be said in 15 minutes, then that’s it. People have been condition­ ed to think in terms of 90 minutes so as to fit in with commercial interests.

If one day the material warrants it, I will make a long film..

Do you have any leaning towards making films with actors and dialogue? * Not at this stage, but it may come.

What then is the direction you feel you will go from here?

I want to refine my style to the point where it can contribute

something towards the defining of a pure cinematic language, something that others may like to pick up, elaborate on and incorporate in their own films.

How would you react to a commer­ cial film containing sequences that were obviously derived from you?

I would say at least they gave it a try. I have seen Tommy, and although it’s doubtful that Ken Russell ever saw any of my stuff he uses some effects that are similar to m ine. In fact he uses them gratuitously, without due regard to the whole concept and content of the film itself.

Some filmmakers are often in danger of becoming parodies of themselves. Do you feel there is any likelihood of that happening to you?

No, once I have exhausted a thing I think: “Okay, that’s finished” . I have heard people say: “Oh Christ, he’s going to use zoom-action forever” . This is not so, and Brick Wall proves it.

In the demonstration scene in “Neurosis” there is a section where the camera pans rapidly up and down between the crowd and the speaker.

What kind of reaction did you get from onlookers when they saw you us­ ing the camera in this way?

They thought I was nuts. There w ere a lo t of p ro f e s s io n a l cameramen around at the time..

Yes, it’s a very crude film. When I had it blown up I said to the labs, “ Don’t worry if the splices show, just print them because they’ll blend in quite nicely.”

The second film was “Requiem” I made that on a trip back to Ger­ many. It was the first time I saw my father’s grave. The statement of the film is self-evident — it’s to do with the release of emotions.

The latter part of “Requiem” is oc­ cupied by frenetic zooming up and down a church spire. Was this phallic symbolism?

Who can say what exactly is in­ volved with these subconscious processes. I was very angry with the Church.

“Requiem” had a very notable soundtrack. What was it?

Tibetan horns.

The third film, “Neurosis”, we covered earlier. The fourth was “Chants”, which frankly I found a bit boring . . .

Well never mind. Again this was simply made by rewinding the camera and making optical effects with a simple, plastic gold cross that I bought in a Greek shop. It was a meditative film, soothing images with a Gregorian chant underneath them.

Continued on Page 282

In a February submission to the National Library, the Film, Radio and Television Board of the Australia Council called for the expansion of the National Film Collection.

At present the collection has some 450 shorts and 200 features; mostly from the silent period.

The new intake would comprise more than 1,200 titles, at an estimated cost of $600,000. The Library also appointed Mr Andrew Pike as its consultant on film study resources to ensure a systematic purchasing policy.

The submission stressed that such expansion was vital for film study courses which are now available at tertiary and secondary levels. There are at present 31 courses at tertiary level, with six more in the process of being set up.

The Board’s submission is the result of research into Australian film study resources and needs, by its film consultant, Mr Barrett Hodsdon, and a series of meetings between senior educationists, academics, researchers and representatives of film and television interests in government and private enterprise.

The Council of the National Library which dis­ cussed the Board’s submission in April, agreed that the proposal deserved national priority. It voted that since the Federal Government had accepted full financial responsibility for tertiary level education the Library’s long standing role as the major supplier of films to universities and colleges had become one of its major lending func­ tions.

•" With a view to expanding the collection over three to four years, the Library sought in its an­ nual appropriation for 1975-76 an initial $200,000 for film study purchases. Unfortunately, with pre­ sent restraints in government expenditure, the planned expansion has been modified.

Although many of the proposed titles for the collection will be from commercial sources, with commercial rights still vested in them, it is not in­ tended that the collection should in any way com­ pete with organizations already offering film study material for rent. The film study collection is designed to supplement existing resources and liaison with these suppliers will be an important part of its development. And it is believed that many of the 1,200 titles listed for priority acquisi­ tion would not otherwise be economically viable.

The Library expects that it will obtain prints of a number of the titles from overseas film archives and museums through its membership of the International Federation of Film Archives (FIAF).

While it is intended that access to these resources should be as open as possible, several factors will affect their availability. These are: first, the intended purpose of the enlarged collec­ tion to service formal courses; second, the in­ terests of the owner of the rights, and third, the price the owner sets for non-theatrical distribution rights outside that for tertiary level courses. Use of the National Film Collection will be weighted in favor of adult borrower groups, as introduced in 1974, and limits to eight weeks the period which schools may lodge requests in advance. First priority availability will be given to tertiary level film courses, as the submission recognizes that the obligation of meeting curriculum needs of secon­ dary schools belongs to State Departments of Education.

The Library believes that its reputation for providing free services will enable it to obtain many films for limited study purposes at reasonable prices. This does not ignore the need to provide an adequate return to the Australian in­ dependent filmmakers, but it is possible that a government-funded program be introduced to make periodic payments on a degree-of-use basis analogous to the Public Lending Right fees now paid to Australian authors.

The Library believes that ready availability of Australian films should be an important function of the expanded collection so that the study and production of film in Australia might have a sound national basis. A variety of Australian films — ranging from features by Ken G. Hall and Charles Chauvel to recent experimental work

by Arthur Cantrill — is now being considered for loan purposes. The loanable prints of many of these films will be taken, as part of contracts with the filmmakers, from the preservation materials deposited in the historical collection of the National Film Collection.

To encourage the maximum use of the collec­ tion, the National Film Collection hopes to develop a series of teaching aids, consisting of detailed, authoritative notes about groups of films. The first of these will be about the Cantrill films. A new list of material in the National Film Collection of film study interest is now in prepara­ tion and should be available in October. Updated lists will be issued progressively.

An independent committee of film teachers and film specialists has been set up under the auspices of the Film, Radio and Television Board. It will comment on the development of the film study collection and offer advice on purchasing priorities and on the services provided by the Library in this area. The members of the com­ mittee are John Flaus, Barrett Hodsdon, Eileen Sharman, Albie Thoms, Prof Jerzy Toeplitz and Dr John Tulloch.

The proposed film study collection will make possible the effective teaching of film and televi­ sion for the first time. It will provide a diversity of film from many nations and from all periods of film history, with samples of all major movements and genres in the development of cinematic art.

E. R. Vallacott.

Chief Film Librarian of the National Library of Australia.

PROPOSAL

The following comments by Barrett Hodsdon are a response to the preceding article and should be read as being independent of National Library policy.

The Core Collection proposal was intended as a working document to assist the National Library in reappraizing its existing stock of film study titles!, and to encourage the formulation of objec­ tives for future film study acquisition. In the past, the Library’s activity in this area had been saddled by a lack of initiative, and a failure to establish any priorities in acquisition.

The preliminary list of Core Collection titles was in the region of 1200 to 1400 titles.** The in­ itial thrust of the program will be to acquire titles in 16mm versions. The Core Collection proposal is a starting point for a rethinking of the National Library’s role in film lending. Although the proposal is wide-ranging in its approach to film history, it emphasized certain moments in this history in. order to prompt some initial thinking on the part of priorities required. This does not preclude the possibility of further suggestions for areas of film history currently omitted from the proposal.

Of course, one encounters problems that pre­ vent any definitive formulation of the content of the Core Collection.

In some cases a conflict of acquisition objec­ tives may arise: (a) The need for research orientation, as wejl as user orientation, in an acquisition program; (b) Existing tertiary demand is only at a rudimen­ tary state, given the recent introduction of film study courses (in some instances). This state of affairs is compounded by a substan­ tial lag in the assimilation of the most relevant overseas theoretical work. It is further com­ plicated by the fact that film study can be in­ troduced at a tertiary level under a whole umbrella of disciplines — each with a different emphasis on criteria for course structures; and (c) Although the history of cinema is some 80 years old, there are many areas and aspects of cinema where research has just begun. Much cinema research to date has lacked purposeful and rigorous methodology. What are con­ sidered vital film titles today, determined by an orthodox descriptive view of film history, may be revised tomorrow as research progresses. t in terms of what they represented for an overview of film history. * This figure is purely arbitrary, and is not intended to have some ultimate significance. It is merely a starting point, sub­ ject to future revision and expansion.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 223

CORE COLLECTION

The lists of titles for the Core Collection were presented in terms of a four-way classification of film history: Narrative-fiction, Documentary (non-fiction), Avant-garde and Animation. (a) NARRATIVE-FICTION: This film embraces a mimetic view of image organization.

Historically its mainsprings are found in the tenets of literary fiction and the realm of the theatrical performance. The early bias of cinema towards storytelling and attendant spectacle, was reinforced by the emerging film industry structure which sought penetration of a mass market.

Within the space of 20 years the expositional canons of film fiction were set up and accepted.

For the next 30 to 40 years (allowing for the in­ ' troduction of sound), it was purely a question of narrative refinement within the constraints the commercial industry had set itself.

Causality and plotting, psychological motiva­ tion and characterization, dramatization and character empathy, linear structure and denoue­ ment were all submerged into the elaborate pre­ production stages in the evolution of a fiction film. The representation of people and events before the camera in the fictional domain was soon shrouded in a series of non-explicit (or par­ tially) assumptions about the function of cinema.

Only in the last decade or so has the narrativefiction tradition (Classical Cinema) been subject to vigorous interrogation and rupture; the fluency and linear simplicity of classical narrative have begun to crumble. (b) DOCUMENTARY: As a term documen­ tary has been debased in usage, because it is loose­ ly applied. In defining the term I have excluded those films made with a specific instructional (technical) intent, although films of this type can­ not be exclusively isolated.

In terms of emphasis for the Core Collection acquisition program, the definitional concern here was to emphasize the special relationship between the camera eye and rendering a moment of ac­ tuality that finds itself before the camera lens.

Yet, the mechanical recording function of'the camera cannot be placed in limbo. It has im­ plications (often non-explicit) as to the interven­ tion of the camera-filmmaker into a situation in the reality context where a variety of notions of verisimilitude come into play in the filming process. Unlike the classical cinema of fiction, the 224 — Cinema Papers, November-December

function of the image as a form of address lacks the clarity of definition. Documentary filmmak­ ing is less geared to a prior structuring than is the case with fiction films.

The submission placed considerable emphasis on cinema-verite in the history of documentary because of its philosophy in relation to verisimilitude (and its opposition to more manipulative traditions of the documentary). This movement, dating from the early 1960s, has a great deal of relevance for the current use of video. The representation of titles for this crucial era of cinema had been totally inadequate.

constrained approach to image manipulation.

Perhaps the most common approach within the avant-garde movement has been filmmaking as the ‘pure’ projection of the individual’s con­ sciousness. This in turn has channelled through to the autobiographical and diary film forms. Most avant-garde filmmakers believe film should be a vehicle for formal abstraction (the interplay of surfaces, colors, shapes, light, textures and struc­ tures). Often they see these as aesthetic goals in themselves. There is also a surrealist stream to the avant-garde; it revels in the perverse desire of con­ fronting audiences by stripping bare the subcon­ scious.

(c) AVANT-GARDE: Such filmmaking has always drawn its inspiration via its opposition to narrative fiction films. Historically it has aligned itself with painting and the kinetic arts. Thus the avant-garde tends to be scathing of the conven­ tions of story-telling films, preferring an un­

(d) ANIMATION FILM: In its purest form it does not work with the materials of the observable world; rather it is created frame by frame, a world of hand-made images, graphic designs, cut-outs and sometimes collage effects.

BREAKDOWN OF FILM HISTORY FOR ACQUISITION PROGRAM — Major emphases

Category

Probable supply source

1. Primitive cinema (1895-1914) ..............

2. Narrative-fiction film (1914-29) (a) U.S.................................................... (b) Europe—Sweden, France, Germany, Soviet Union ...

3. Narrative-fiction film (1929-60) (a) U.S.................................................... (b) Europe and Japan ..........................

4. Narrative cinema (post 1960) (a) Europe ............................................ (b) Third World .....................................

5. Avant-garde filmmaking (a) French avant-garde (1920s) .......... (b) U.S. (post 1945).............................. (c) Europe (post 1945) ................... .

6. Documentary stream (a) Miscellaneous titles Soviet Union and Europe (1920-60) (b) U.S. inter-war period ..................... (c) Cinema-verite (post 1960) U.S., France and Canada........ .......

7. Animation film (a) Pioneers (1905-1920) ..................... (b) U.S., Canada, France and Britain (1920-60) ............................ (c) Eastern Europe (1950+) ................

Archives

.

Archives and distributors Archives Distribution majors Production companies and agents.

Production companies and agents Production companies and govt, agencies Archives Co-operatives and filmmakers Co-operatives and filmmakers Archives Archives Production companies and agents Archives Production companies Government agencies 'IMIII IIHII I W —

i

* II mill ||

SUBSCRIBE and receive your copies Post Free 1 YEAR $7 N a m e ...........................................................................................................................

A d d re s s .......................................................................................................................

To com m ence CINEMA PAPERS

w ith Nov â–¡ 143 Therry St, M elbourne, Victoria, 3000

143 Th erry Street Melbourne Victoria 3 0 0 0

CORE COLLECTION

The history of cinema can be viewed in terms of a pool of self-referential titles. This is not to say that we should study films as hermetically sealed items blocked off from their original context. Yet, the fact remains that at certain levels of analysis the cinem a has an in tern al network of relationships, structures and associations which must be recognized and understood. This concept of film history is certainly crucial to the re­ quirements of formalist analysis.

It is true that the idea of the cinema as a closed field of study is more reconcilable in the realm of cinematic fiction, where mostly the final elements for filming have been subject to a highly selective filtering process. This may result in a striking aesthetic unity over-riding the films of a par­ ticular director, or a ritualized genre. In the case of the documentary film where the filmmaker is merely the intervening agent in the observable world, the internal structure of a film may be overlooked in favor of a naive extrapolation of the subject matter.

Obviously the notion of cinema as a closed system/subject for scholarship should not become a pretext for bypassing the relationship between cinema and its socio-cultural context!. On the other hand, in order to open up the domains of the sociology of film, and the ideological functions of film, it is necessary to start from the constituted objects and its description and work outwards.

If this methodological position is not recognized, it will be impossible to sort out the network of relationships, both cultural and aesthetic, which converge in a film text. Again this position should not be construed as a rejection of the usefulness of conceptual and analytic ap­ paratus from other disciplines in order to advance our understanding of cinema.

The approach I have suggested for the Core Collection is an attempt to give the project some guidelines where it is difficult to define them. The American Film Institute Core list fails to make any clear distinctions or definitions as to its com cept of film history. It merely adheres to some cliche of an elite group of film classics in historical chronology. These core titles stand alone as works of art, somehow salvaged from the cultural wreckage.

Film History’ segment, these categories are given a chronological stratification from 1895-1970.

The remarks on these categories are intended to be suggestive, rather than definitive statements on complex subjects in their own right.

CHRONOLOGY

Points of emphasis in the Proposal

(a) The chronological divisions comply with certain crucial points in the 80-year span of cinema history: (i) 1895-1914—Primitive Cinema — the period before Griffith’s Birth of a Nation; (ii) 1915-29 —High water mark of silent fic­ tional cinema; (iii) 1930-60 —The Classical period of sound cinema and the supremacy of Hollywood; and (iv) Post 1960—The dismantling of the Classical cinema and the re­ emergence of the avant-garde. (b) National Cinemas The Core Collection was not formulated in terms of a general survey of national cinemas throughout the world. Rather, the presentation framework focuses on crucial areas of filmmaking activity which are manifold in their implications.

Obviously the Soviet and German silent cinemas fall into that category. However, not all national cinemas have equal significance throughout film history in terms of the multiple criteria required to set up the network of relationships indicated earlier. There are certain situations that are more appropriate for the interlocking analysis of aesthetics, formalism, production structure and cultural context.

Determining what countries and moments in film history to concentrate on is inhibited by a rather superficial historiography of cinema in contradistinction, to a probing historicism. It is the latter which has suffered because it is bound by orthodoxy and non-explicit assumptions. For example, the Soviet cinema of the 1920s must be seen as a unique instance, a period of experimen­ tation in the search for a new socialist ideology.

This period rapidly receded with the advent of Stalinism. It was a singular isolated period in the history of cinema which has no parallel. The

The four classifications of film history embrace the whole gamut of what constitutes film history treated as a closed entity. In the ‘Breakdown of

t A highly restrictive view of cinema study as a dissociated art became too rampant in the sixties under the aegis of auteurism.

period is pivotal; in the framework of broad sur­ vey of national cinemas it recedes into oblivion. (c) Film History = sum of major artists’ works The Core Collection proposal tended to deemphasize the notion of the history of cinema as a loose collection of works by major artists. This idea of film history is often cited in academic situations as an implicitly correct approach for study. Because of the state of historiography on cinema, one inevitably falls back on the major ar­ tists’ criterion. Yet, this is quite reasonable when certain filmmakers have a special significance beyond standard auteur analysis. Their works may underpin key issues in debates over stylistics and innovation in approaches to filmmaking. Ob­ viously directors such as Renoir, Dreyer, Rossellini, Visconti and Bresson fit into this category. (d) American Cinema The American Sound Cinema proved to be a controversial area in preliminary discussions on the proposal. Again, one must recognize the need to build a collection of titles which extends beyond key works of a few major directors. Such an approach contravenes the very basis on which the American Cinema was founded. There are a number of reasons why the Core Collection should in the long term gather together a con­ siderable range of Hollywood output*: (i) Hollywood past and present is still the definitive model of commercial cinema. (ii) The historical flow of feature films from the U.S. has been the major element in the cultural inheritance of the Australian cinemagoer. (iii) The U.S. cinema raises all the issues per­ taining to a popular entertainment cinema — star system, popular culture and genre, production system and ideology, narrative­ ly and its conventions, audience response and identification, authorship and artistic vision. .

In the outline of the Core Collection proposal here I have tried to indicate what issues are at stake in any acquisition program of this sort. In the preliminary proposal I have been concerned to challenge a conditioned, but nevertheless, atrophied concept of Film history.

Barrett Hodsdon. * The extent of acquisition in this area will at any time be influenced by distribution policy of the trade itself.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 225

STATEMENTS Film, Radio and TV Board Australian Government assistance to film, radio and television can be likened to the dropping of stones into water. In 1969, a smallish stone was dropped into a fairly stagnant pool and caused a few sluggish ripples.

The Experimental Film and Television Fund was created that year, and plans were formulated to establish the Australian Film Development Corporation and the Film and Television School. Since then larger and larger stones have been dropped into the pool. In fact, in the last couple of years they have reached quite a reasonable size.

The Australian Film Development Corporation (now in­ corporated into the Australian Film Commission) nur­ tured the feature film production industry into a flurry of activity. The Film and Television School was at last es­ tablished, as a statutory body. The Australia Council's Film, Radio and Television Board was charged with the responsibility of developing a greater community awareness of, and participation in, these media art forms, as well as providing individuals with an opportunity to practise and improve their craft and skills as creative workers in these media.

The funds which these organizations have received in the past have created some quite good splashes. They certainly have made some excellent waves.

This financial year the Film, Radio and Television Board’s stone is smaller than last year. It will make a splash and it will create good waves. But both will fall short of people's expectations.

During the past two years, the Board implemented tremendous initiatives, including the setting up of the Video Access and Resource Centres, the establishment of the Alternate Community Cinemas, the travelling film festivals, the expansion of the production funds, and the increase in assistance to the filmmakers’ co-operative m o v e m e n t and c o m m u n ity -o rie n ta te d m e d ia organizations. These initiatives created considerable waves, and ‘rebounds’ off international shores were effected.

The Board, this year, has almost $300,000 less than its last year’s funds of $2,189,000. Obviously, the people, served by the Board are going to be disappointed after so much previous initiative and activity. That is to be ex­ pected. But we must all make certain that we drop this year’s stone where it creates the greatest overall benefit.

The film, radio and video community — all of us — will be involved in this planning and decision making process, but it must be done quickly. The programs of activity which organizations and individuals wish to embark on this year, must not be delayed. The waves must not weaken too much.

More important still, we must all select carefully a better stone for next year. We must plan effectively for the future so that the pool can never be allowed to return to its former stagnant state.

Tom M. Jeffrey

Australian Film Commission Industry Support — General Policy.

The Commission will provide support to the Australian film industry In all areas, including — but not limited to — script development, pre-production, production, post­ production, promotion, distribution, exhibition and an­ cillary services.

226 — Cinema Papers, November-December

In allocating finance, the Commission will consider, in addition to a project’s commercial potential, its thematic importance, Australian content, artistic value and the contribution the project will make to the development of an Australian film industry of high international standard.

The forms of financial support will obviously vary ac­ cording to the nature of the project involved. While it appears that the Commission must retain some invest­ ment interest, however limited, in any project granted such support, it is prepared, where appropriate also to offer loans, grants, subsidies, guarantees to private in­ vestors and completion guarantees. Such assistance will not necessarily be confined to producers, but may apply in some circumstances to Australian distributors and ex­ hibitors.

In view of the difficulties in obtaining completion guarantees for films in Australia, the Commission will give consideration to establishing a completion guarantee facility available to producers whether or not they are be­ ing financed by the Commission.

In determining methods of financial support, the Com­ mission will select what it thinks appropriate for each approved application. The Commission will also deter­ mine the amount of financial support for each approved budget, and the percentage of the annual budget to be used in support of the different categories of film making and ancillary services.

Further support will be constantly available in the form of advice to producers on finance, budgets, release con­ ditions in Australia and overseas, and on other produc­ tion or release problems. The availability of this advice will initially depend on the progress of the staffing arrangements of the Commission and the development of a fund of relevant information.

The industry’s assistance will continue to be sought in developing the framework for such advisory services.

A condition of any financial assistance by the Commis­ sion will be that the recipient accepts certain forms of supervision and control over the project by the Com­ mission. This will be necessary particularly in the area of financial or budgetary control and in the establishment of suitable release procedures for the project.

Strict procedures, based on sound business practice, will be introduced to maximise the use of the Com­ mission’s funds.

A major responsibility of the Commission will be to en­ sure or encourage the efficient use of resources available in the Australian industry — both manpower and physical resources. The Commission will reserve the right to specify conditions under which support will be granted, to ensure an active and stable employment of both people and facilities.

In providing funds for projects the Commission will keep in mind the necessity for maintaining a proper balance between all areas of production; feature films, documentaries, television programs and children’s short films etc. Each type of production has both a public im­ portance (in terms of social impact, national identity and international reputation) and an industry importance (in terms of opportunities for employment and the develop­ ment of creative talent and technical skills). Each is vital to the overall industry framework.

- The Commission will endeavor to establish confidence in film production as an area for private sector in­ vestment.

In this regard all sections of the Australian film industry, including the -major distributors and exhibiting com­ panies, have a responsibility to achieve this end. At the same time, the Commission believes It should play an ac­ tive role in seeking other sources for private investment in film production.

Genuine international co-productions are not ruled out.

In general, preference In this area will be given to projects in which the creative control resides with Australians, but preference will have to be given also to any co­ p ro d u ctio n s undertaken on the basis of form al government-to-government co-production agreements.

The desirability and feasibility of such agreements will be investigated by the Commission, in consultation with the industry bodies involved.

In connection with the problems of Australian content, the Commission will be guided by the provisions of the Australian Film Commission Act 1975.

Script development is of such Importance to the ad­ vancement of the Australian film industry that the Com­ mission is prepared to consult with all involved groups in­ cluding the Australian Film and Television School and the Film and Television Board of the'Australian Council.

Strict standards of selection will apply to applicants for script development money in order to minimise losses, but when costs are relatively small, more risks will be taken.

In engaging outside assessors the Commission has sought those with deep understanding and current knowledge of film or television, and a knowledge of script construction. The engagement of highly sensitive and skilled persons in this area is all important to the proper functioning of the Commission. The Commission is es­ tablishing new guidelines for its assessors, indicating the kind of analysis and evaluation desired, but to formulate detailed rules for assessment would be Inappropriate.

Project officers employed by the Commission will be fully capable of making their own written assessments of scripts and of total projects. Only then are they able to assess the work of outside assessors, which is as impor­ tant as assessing the projects themselves.

As personal taste will always produce considerable variance in judgments, assessment by a number of different individuals will doubtless continue to be the most suitable system. The choice of assessors is of the first importance and the overall selection of assessors is being widened to include all elements of the industry. An applicant will have the right to appeal against the decisions of the assessors. All assessors will first be ap­ pointed for a trial period.

Constructive advice is essential in any assessment of a realistic application and, where there is hope for a par­ ticular project, the Commission may “ invest” in a project in its formative stages by assisting the applicant through advice and consultation on those aspects of the project which are not properly developed.

Script assessors will not be asked to make recommen­ dations on the Commission’s investments. This is the function of the Commission’s senior staff, basing their decisions on a thorough overview of the project, taking in the assessors’ reports, commercial potential of the property including market research and the personnel proposed for certain levels of production responsibilities.

If Australia is to establish Itself on the international film market it is vital for producers to be given every oppor­ tunity to produce films of worth and quality. The Commis­ sion intends examining selected high quality projects which may involve some considerable commercial risk with a view to being the principal investor.

In “ risk” areas, a higher level of script development will be required, and the Commission is prepared to extend the level of development support in this area, particularly where it may be necessary to develop marketing potential for such projects. In all projects producers will be ex­ pected to have considered and developed ideas for marketing and distribution of their product while it is still at the script development stage. The Commission will be prepared to offer whatever advice and assistance it can in this area, once it has developed its staffing, consultancy and research arrangements. Some market testing of a project — even at the script development stage, may be made a condition of continuing support.

The Commission is prepared to provide support to pro­ jects it regards as “ high risk” investments, but will probably have to insist on more stringent Commission supervision and control with such projects commen­ surate with the level of the risk involved. Initially, some preference will be given to projects suitable for children, and special arrangements for distribution and exhibition will be considered for films of this nature.

The Commission will attempt to maintain a balance between feature films, television programs and short films etc., geared roughly to the apparent market demand for such product, but taking also into account the need for development of employment opportunities.

In the television area, as general policy the Commis­ sion will not commit itself to financial support for series production unless and until a “ pilot” for the series has been made and assessed for market potential and invest­ ment risk. It is prepared to provide support for such “ pilots” , subject to normal assessment requirements, but any such support cannot be taken automatically to imply continuing support for any proposed series.

Unless funds are specifically allocated for such pur­ poses by government, the Commission does not believe it can be expected to provide emergency financing out of its normal fund allocation for specific organisations. While the Commission accepts that it may be asked to act as an agent for emergency assistance by the Australian Gov­ ernment it believes that funds normally allocated to it by the Government should be provided to the industry as a whole on an even access basis and subject to normal organisational requirements and controls.

In the television and feature film areas the Commission believes that there is a need for production budgets to be reasonably geared to likely or known returns on the A ustralian m arket, unless firm com m itm ents — preferably involving “ up front” money — have been secured for overseas release or involvement. While it is accepted that circumstances surrounding particular pro­ jects may justify departures from normal assessments based on this assumption, from time to time, it must be emphasised that the level of such risk-taking must be geared to the level of funds available to the Commission at any given time. A simple expression of interest in dis­ tribution from a distributing or exhibiting organisation is not a firm substitute for “ up front” money. At the same time, the Commission urges that ail prospective applicants seek advice from the Commission before com­ mitting themselves to firm distribution arrangements.

Continued on page 273

4TH INTERNATIONAL PERTH FILM FESTIVAL native wisdom. What commenced as the case history of an individual emerges as the political and moral diagnosis of a culture.

Kluge’s method has some affinity with Brecht’s in the deliberate breaking of the dramatic illusion and in the ironic modification, by a later part, of the work of assump­ tions invited in an earlier part; his humor is a match for Brecht’s in its mordancy but his compassion — despite his show of objectivity — seems greater.

The method in all four films goes further than Brecht in its fragmentation and, as a consequence, also further in its implicit struggle to satisfy our need for order, for a model less encumbered than the reality. Kluge seeks to give his films a degree of density comparable with the historic-socio-political situation they configure. This paradoxical task, and his success is the measure of his importance in the cinema, is to show surfaces of reality we can see, in the hope that we will contemplate the reali­ ty we cannot see.

An art form may be deemed to have lost ascendancy over rival forms when critical discussion turns more upon its past than upon its present. Contemporary cinema is in danger of being relegated to just such a status as a “fine art"; the presentation at Perth 1975 has demonstrated that there are still frontiers to be advanced, thresholds to be crossed.

It is not the dominant elements that need description, but the suppressed. The Middle of the Road is a Very Dead End

After 20 years of attending film festivals in this country, I have come to regard them as much a hazard as a matter for celebration. Fortunately my first visit to the Perth Film Festival was a resuscitating experience. The proportion of the program which afforded occasions of surprise and delight — as distinct from interest or polite approbation — was far greater than in any festival of my experience in the eastern capitals.

The Perth festival has an advantage over the two eastern majors, in that it is not constrained by a desire to embrace the widest possible international spread. It can discrim inate creatively, sacrificing range for con­ centration, diversity for quality.

The feature film has reached a crucial stage, perhaps the most crucial stage, of its stylistic development. For more than a decade the illusionist dramatic and linear narrative have been in decline, and we can recognize that the communicative and aesthetic foundations of the feature film are under siege, ready to be transformed.

A significant minority of the international audience are conceding the radical stylists’ view of the house of fiction as a mouldering edifice. The manifestation of the process in the event is being explored and re-defined. The floors of tradition are dissolving; the boundaries between formal and random, rhetoric and idiom, contrivance and ac­ tuality, fantasy and polemic, are being crossed and re­ crossed by the incursions of the innovators.

Perth 1975 brought together works by Herzog, Eustache, Cassavettes, Terayama and Kluge (who looms as the most fundamentally inventive and self-defining talent since Godard), as well as works by filmmakers not previously represented in Australia — all of them con­ tributors to the present crucial changes in cinematic sen­ sibility.

The films of West German Alexander Kluge may be approached alternately or simultaneously as comic-epicnarrative in the historic present tense and/or ironicpolemic reportage in mosaic form. Like their principal protagonists, the films are possessed by a lust to struggle with the history around them; unlike the protagonists, they achieve a valuable measure of Insight into the pre­

sent m alaise of c a p ita lis m , in d u s tria lis m and bureaucracy.

Consistent with his view that the dominant elements in society describe themselves and it is the suppressed elements that need description, Kluge chooses as prin­ cipal protagonists women who have shifted their social milieu. In Yesterday Girl (1966), she is a young job drifter who is classified by the authorities as a delinquent; in Ar­ tists at the Top of the Big Top: Disoriented (1968), an acrobat who discards her father’s dream of radicalizing the circus to join the media rat-race; in Occasional Work of a Woman Slave (1974), a housewife who contributes to the welfare of her children with a back-room abortion practice, then throws herself into naive political activism.

In The Middle of the Road is a Very Dead End (1975), also known as In Danger and Distress, Compromise Means Death, an epoch-making film superior even to Godard’s Two or Three Things I Know About Her, there are two protagonists — a petty criminal who lives by robbing her casual lovers, one of whom is Frankfurt’s police chief, and a young spy from East Germany whose reports ex­ asperate her superior by preferring "irrelevant” feelings to “ legitimate” facts. The antagonists are mostly men who introduce themselves in terms of their professional definition, and proceed to behave accordingly. The films are about the protagonists, the instinctive battlers, differently from the way they are about the antagonists, the complacent role-players.

Kluge’s opening gambit is to gesture in the direction of the career-portrait type of film, in which the subject is a disadvantaged individual caught up in the toils of a system whose institutions are in paroxysms, because they have bitten off more of history than they can chew. The portrait proceeds by truncated narrative along one axis whilst a mosaic of aleatory observations of the current af­ fairs are laid out along another axis.

In the gaps between concrete image and complex idea a number of gnomic fragments are crammed: snatches of nursery tales, heradltean pronouncements, ironic snatches of music, grotesque or curious glimpses of the material environment, the absurd breaking the pattern of the familiar and tantalizing by its suggestion of an alter­

Jorgen Leth’s Good and Evil — the ontology of cinema, no less.

Jorgen Leth’s Good and Evil (Denmark 1974) is a kind of primer of representation cinema, especially pertinent to the dramatized film. A cool, slightly pedagogic voice in­ vites us to consider the phenomenal aspects of human existence.

We begin by regarding people as ‘they’; someway into the film, depending on the resistance we put up, we come to apply what we see of ‘them’ to ‘us’. __ Basic categories of behavior are proposed, somewhat like chapter headings, and examples of these categories are depicted as the building blocks of drama: faces, bodies, houses (for ‘they’ pass their lives in houses), feelings, thoughts good and bad, actions necessary and unnecessary, the attributes of beauty and ugliness, etc.

The categories become more abstract, the examples more complex. The dramatic element in them is rudimen­ tary, the narrative element embryonic. All of them are patently enacted; camera position, lighting, utterance and the isolation of the events from any inferrable narrative context demonstrate their synthetic, 'test tube’ nature.

With Good and Evil we are in the laboratory of the cinema, studying inchoate cells out of which dramatic and narrative organisms are composed.

We are invited to confront the mystery of the cinema: how does that flat enormous shadow-play in a darkened public hall become accepted and responded to as though it were ‘real’; how does it persude the intelligence, seduce the senses, and engage the emotions?

The investigation is assisted by the synthetic nature of his examples. There is not only psychic distance, but a psychic gap; we do not have to suspend disbelief, for they do not belong to any fictional continuum. Unencumbered by illusion. We can study specificity of the image even as against the incorrigible specifity of the image even as we we generalize from it. We can ask: What is the nature of the cognitive transaction whereby we see the particular as a manifestation of the universal, the unique event as manifestation of the typical process?

The film’s categories are geheral, but hardly com­ prehensive; its exam ples cultu re -d ep e n d e n t, but probably arbitrary. Leth’s film is not about human behavior, it is about how the cinema is about human Cinema Papers, November-December — 227

THE 1975 PERTH FILM FESTIVAL

Tonten for non-Nuiginians, however, is its level of plausibility. How smoothly the shock of allentation is ab­ sorbed when Tonten addresses the audience, because we are well aware that one of the film ’s premises is that the characters he encounters, and the audience he con­ fides in, stand in the same ‘real’ situation to him. He is the punctum indifferens between the world in the film and the world for whom the film was made. Events coincide with the historically implausible, but mythically necessary ease and frequency that Impels the narrative along unen­ cumbered by the demands of realism. In its own distinc­ tive convention it makes the analogy of functions pre­ eminent over the mimesis of substance.

Chac, at the intersection of history and myth.

behavior. “The ontology of the motion picture, no less.”

Chac (Panama 1974) stands at the intersection of history and myth. Set in a remote mountain village in southern Mexico and enacted by the local inhabitants who had no previous acquaintance with film, Chac has the strong intrinsic appeal of an exotic land, people and custom s, observed w ithout condescension, and photographed in exquisite color and definition.

The director, Roland Klein, has said of his film: “ Our technological world tends to dominate nature. Primitive societies had the need to be part of nature and for that, they possessed a certain permeability that mankind is rapidly losing: the quality of entering into resonance with the elements. What I attempted to do was to preserve, through a mythical drama, the power of the ancient myths as seen through the eyes of one of those cultures that developed away from science, and whose descendants still hold the ancient beliefs.”

Initially Chac presents itself as a dramatized document tary: the village is suffering from drought and the appearance of a comet alarms them. The Shaman is un­ successful in explaining the omen or lifting the curse, since a curse it must be in their anthropomorphic view of nature. The cacique, a relatively young man who has had contact with whites and knows something of their technology, declares that the old ways have failed them.

He sets out with a mute boy and a party of men on a pilgrimage to seek the help of a diviner whom the old men have spoken of. The diviner behaves in an enigmatic, ob­ scurely ritualized manner, some of which carries possible Christian overtones.

He leads the pilgrims into distant and alien parts. Some including the cacique who fears that he is really a witch, lose confidence, and it is the boy who takes the initiative in following the diviner. He leads them to a deep cave which contains the Mother of Waters, from which they draw off a portion for use in a ceremony to invoke Chac, the Rain God. Even up to this point the film might appear to be primarily an historical account of actions done with the telling of myth and performing of ritual as part of its sub­ ject matter. But the events themselves begin to deviate from that surface probability we term ‘realism’. The point is reached in our awareness where we realize that it is a myth of which its original historical plausibility is merely an ingredient.

Klein effects his own kind of magical revelation whereby the emotional manifestation acquires ascen­ dancy over intellectual order; history and myth, the con­ scious expression of social life and its unconscious foun­ dation, reverse their polarities in the mind of the audience.

Terayama’s Pastoral Hide-and-Seek (Japan 1974) bears strong thematic resemblance to Fellini’s 8 V2 — both films being characterized by pictorial indulgence. The difference between them is a measure of the decadence of fashion in the 1 1 years between their dates of produc­ tion. The comparison is instructive, in view of Fellini’s pre­ eminence in the' cultural establishment, while Terayama is a doubtful quantity at the box-office, even for specialized distribution.

Pastoral Hide-and-Seek is a fantastic pageant in which the filmmaker essays a voyage of return to his formative years in search of self-knowledge, self-definition.

Teryama is more liberated, resourceful and toughminded as an artist than Fellini, and is able to reserve 228 — Cinema Papers, November-December

satire for himself. His film can encompass more realism and fantasy than 8 V2 .

In the matter of sensibility, Terayama’s self-regard is disciplined and unsparing, compared to which Fellini’s is exhibitionist, pseudo-masochistic and, ultimately, ob­ scurantist. One sees himself in the world, the other sees the world in himself. Terayama seeks.to confront the demons of his past and exorcise them; Fellini conceals them under the cerements of fancy and seeks to embalm them.

Plctorially Terayama’s film is astonishing; his images radiate disturbing visual allusions as they surprise and delight. They are radically superior to the literalness of Fellini's symbols which contrive to flatter an audience, making it all safe while appearing to offer a challenge.

One expresses, the other refers to.

Pastoral Hide-and-Seek and 8 V2 are both the work of magicians: Terayama is the diviner who discerns public anguish through self-examination, and Fellini the alchemist who transmutes self-pity into public fantasy.

The case of Wokabout Bilong Tonten (Australia 1975) is possibly unique in cinema: a government propaganda film cast in mythic form and assimilated by a population which would find its political message meaningless in ver­ bal form. It’s a myth congenial to a ‘primitive’ sensibility, but shaped from and transmitted by the technological medium of cinema.

Tonten is a young Nuiginian, inhabiting a fishing village on the northern coast, who with his wife Leilani are proud­ ly awaiting their first child. But Leilani’s labor is difficult and Tonten seeks the help of the schoolteacher’s wife.

She and her husband are Papuans and consequently distrusted by the villagers, but this is an emergency.

Leilani dies giving birth and the outsiders are blamed.

Before Tonten can exact violent revenge, Leilani appears to him in a dream and asks him to find her brother.

In pursuance of this quest he traverses the nation from north to south, meets its peoples, learns their customs, is joined by one travelling companion after another, es­ capes death by drowning, and witnesses a tribal war. At all times his brother-in-law has been there ahead of him and has left memories as cordial as the reception Tonten is given. He finally arrives in Moresby, on Papua’s southern coast, enters freely into the ways of the city, gets into a drunken brawl and has his fine paid by the fellow he first assaulted.

Eventually Tonten finds his brother-in-law, now a disc jockey, and is taken to his European style home and new wife. So, in his meetings with the Papuans, Tonten Is per­ suaded that their medical science is not sorcery.

Tonten returns to his village, married, and astonishes his elders by declining to take bloody revenge upon the Papuan couple. The film ends with Tonten looking forward to the life of a traditional villager, now confirmed in his newly-found national consciousness.

The film, of course, is merely propaganda. It was made

by Film Australia at the behest of the PNG administration, which stipulated that the various principal roles be played by members of the tribes in question. No white face is seen, not even on the magistrate’s bench.

The dialogue is pidgin, a kind of play-school English which served colonialists well by nature of its cumber­ some constructions which hinder the transmission of anything but the most elementary information — this in a country where 700 languages are spoken.

The most significant aspects of Wokabout Bilong

At the age of three Marjoe Gortner was a barker for the Lord and godsend to the orphic fringe of American Protestantism. The media loved him: there he was at the age of four officiating at the altar, joining sailor and bride together in holy matrimony, a diminutive figure, archangelic golden curls surmounting Bartholomew features and Fauntleroy suit, tiny legs braced and thundering out the message of the Lord in ringing infan­ tile tones.

His parents were in the Bible-bashing business. When they realized their boy had the heavenly gift they gave him hell training it. He was well into adolescence before he shed the megalophasic role his folks had cast him in, but after partaking of the vanities of this world he went back into the profession of getting people high on Jesus, this time as a racket instead of a vocation. Skinny, hyperac­ tive and charming in a hip kind of way, he campaigned the chapels and tents of the faithful, blowing up a storm of ecstatic worship, laying on hands, ripping off dollars.

He was past 30 and he’d had enough and yearned for a more legitimate kind of show business — even if It was too late to emulate Mick Jagger. But before he got out he agreed to become the subject of a documentary, and on the evidence of Sara Kernochan’s and Howard Smith's Marjoe (U.S. 1972), he came out sane after all. He views himself as amusedly as he views his customers.

It is really an orthodox documentary film — which is an achievement, given its unique subject. It succeeds in maintaining a balance between three refracted views: the professional spell-binder, the prodigy of the past, and the person about to sever his ties with both past and present roles — each view is in contrast with the other two.

When Majoe lost his faith he didn’t lose his sense of awe. His customers, that strange, frightening, pathetic subculture of the Bible belt, still believe. We may think them pathetic, Marloe has too much humility to do so.

There is something poignant and terrible about a man who sees himself clearly, and continues, however inter­ mittently, to turn others on to an intense and comforting experience which he himself is incapable of knowing. The film shows it without preaching about it.

Arrieta’s Les Intrigues de Sylvia Couski (France 1974) is a catalogue of paradoxes. It is about an alienated kind of existence, but is an involving experience in itself. In place of characterization and narrative it evokes a trance­ like absorption, but it is a trance in which our perceptions remain sharp. It is costumed and scored as an evocation of European high life before the modern holocaust descended, yet it is happening in contemporary Paris.

It is a succession of figures bedecked, groomed and posturing in an apotheosis of feminine fashion, yet all the people In it were born males. It is saturated with kitsch, but observes its subject with the austerity of those films which are notorious for watching the paint dry. After a single viewing I find it easy to remember and impossible to analyze.

Made in New York (Germany 1973). Dead-pan humor is essentially subversive; it is an affront to common sense, clear communication, the social contract, logical positivism, objectivity and our inalienable right ot freedom from ridicule. These three young Germans with their color film and video really have no business making us feel insecure, even if it is all in jest, because their first visit to Megalopolis found the place more unreal than the vision it inspired in Fritz Lang 50 years earlier. Solid, but unreal. All that steam rising mysteriously from the ground beneath their feet, and those dreamy cats swimming aimlessly against the tide in a traffic narrows discoursing in the only kind of folklore left to them — rumor; perhaps it really needs sub-titles which read like German headlines. So, Tom Pynchon wasn’t kidding . . . there are legions of albino alligators inhabiting the New York sewers and the city fathers do commission armed patrols to keep them penned in the inner darkness. It’s a matter of time, and tolerance and taste, perhaps even credulity, before you conclude it’s all part of an extended lowvoltage joke. At least, I think they were joking.

Our acquaintance with Indian cinema has been dominated in this country by the work of Satyajit Ray. It has been a matter of regret, even dismay, for some of us to note his increasing self-consciousness, how the techni­ que has become polished, the compassion tinged with condescension, the ideas Imposed upon, rather than em ergent from , the m aterial. Lakshm inarayan’s Abachurina Post Office (1973) restores some of the vir­ tues which have been receding in Ray. Basically it Is that kind of conventionally realistic story which is fast becom­ ing inaccessible to our sophisticated sentiments; its simplicity is not vitiated by mannerism and its sym­ pathetic scrutiny of Individual character and behavior

THE 1975 PERTH FILM FESTIVAL

remains ascendant over considerations of social dynamics, psychological revelation, political implication, moral conflict, spiritual overview, etc. All these themes are present in the story, but as its ingredients not its determinants.

Abachurina Post Office manages to sustain and develop itself without recourse to high drama, narrative complexity or the machinery of evil-transgression-guiltpunishment within which the accidental sensibility is wont to purge itself. Of course, our liberal sentiments will hail the humanitarian spirit of clemency in the film, but our tendency to regard conflict and laceration as noncommittant with artistic stature will probably cause us to classify this as a good but “ minor” film.

In the midst of this extraordinary collection of films which fortify the present and prefigure the future, Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo’s Winstanley (Britain 1975) — a film on the doomed experiment of the Levellers to put a democratic ideal into practice in Cromwell’s England — stood as a remarkable anachronism.

The efforts of Kluge, Leth, Cassavetes, Herzog, Klein, etc., are revolutionary by virtue of their attempts to recap­ ture basic aspects of the cinematic process with an ex­ ploration of some of the turnings cinema has by-passed in its heady rush into populism. Winstanley attempts a style which has only existed as a theory — Eisenstein’s iconic fallacy. The action sequences are filled with a succession of hollowly impressionistic shots which don’t cut together as action and don’t flow together as ideas.

The dramatic development within scenes is jerked along by the scruff-of-the-neck technique of slamming into images which aspire to more than they can deliver.

The relationship between dialogue and image is predominantly at the most elementary stage of mise-enscene. This essentially authoritarian technique, which allows the audience little or no choice in sorting out its own loci of attention, also presumes a patronising attitude in its audience towards the human subjects of those "significant", expressionless close-ups.

Possibly there was irony in Brownlow’s decision to make a film about a persecuted idealist, whose ideas' were outmoded in his own time and even less practicable in ours, and embalm it in a style that has proved to be one of the cinema’s monumental dead-ends.

The Werewolf of Washington (U.S. 1974) is an example of contemporary American cinema digging itself deeper into the morass at the end of the road. An ingenious central motif, clever dialogue, superior color photography and solid professional playing are not enough to rescue a film which attempts to exploit a traditional genre without respecting the genre, or possibly even understanding it.

The grafting of political satire onto the horror film has a lot going for it; during the McCarthy years Florror-SF was a recurring vehicle for the mythic transformation of political tensions which could not easily find public ar­ ticulation, and War Hunt (1962) remains a model of the genre transplant — the Dracula structure within the modern combat film.

Writer-director Milton Moses Goldberg has not learnt the lessons of his predecessors and is content to emulate the abysmal crudities of his contemporary, Mel Brooks.

Consequently the Nixon years must await some other film to give competent expression to the undeveloped poten­ tial and misguided effort of The Werewolf of Washington.

His film has been made for an audience who are more familiar with the refined skullduggery of Washington than they are with the refined conventions of Hollywood. Op­ portunities galore are missed for enriching the satire with the genre, and vice versa. Lacking the midwife of wit, the whole project is stiliborn.

The American political films shown included the graduand efforts of two UCLA students, Ethiopian Haile Germia and Australian David Hay. In Child of Revolution Germia has identified strongly with the urban blacks. He expresses the ineffectual rage of the few with political in­ sight and bears down heavily on the delusions of the many who mistake a share of affluence for emancipation.

His rage is genuinely powerful but obsessive and un­ modulated, his method symbolically crude and repetitive.

His style is reminiscent of Joe Frazier’s — head down, bore in, keep on throwing haymakers in the hope that weight of accumulation will compensate for lack of finesse.

Hay’s Spirit of 76 by comparison is a model of the dramatized documentary which is essentially an exercise in specimen analysis: individuals in a particular situation in which the lineaments of a current issue may be ac­ curately discerned. A wage-slave of 20 years’ standing begins to dream of his own little business. He weighs the risk and pays the price — he gets sucked up in the vortex at the "arse-end" of capitalism: longer hours, less in­ come, relations with his wife polluted by business preoc­ cupations, an inability to make it in bed and in the marketplace, and a big company soft soaping him before wringing him dry and throwing him on the scrapheap of failed enterprises. The dream of being your own boss turns into a nightmare.

The Spirit of 76 succeeds because of the accuracy and succinctness of its characters and manners, the economy, relevance and momentum of its key scenes.

The fiction, the case history and the argument are in mutual reinforcement — a rare amalgam.

Pure Shit (Australia 1975) was the center of yet another

Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo’s film on the doomed experiment by the Levellers to put a democratic ideal into practice in Cromwell’s England. Winstanley.

censorship storm in Perth . An extraordinary film, all the more extraordinary for having been made in this country, bolder in concept if markedly less austere in style than Vase De Noces it writhes and threshes its way out of the genre straightjacket to assert its own frenetic idiom, desperate and funny by turns. A full critique will be attempted in the next issue of Cinema Papers.

John Flaus

The 1975 Perth Film Festival was a festival of disap­ pointments; the film of Herzog, Malle and Eustache, the non-arrival of Franju’s magical Sin of Father Mouret (destroyed by acid in a New York basement) and a cinema of quite inadequate projection.

However, despite these frustrations (due largely to severe cut-backs in funding) the festival did manage to present the world premieres of Louis Malle’s Black Moon, Burt Deling's Pure Shit and Gary Patterson’s How Willingly You Sing, and provide an opportunity to see films that would not otherwise be released. Unfortunately though, there was an annoying sameness about many of the films and I, for one, had to wait till the very last film, Touch of Zen, before discovering a film of any real note (excluding the films of Pialat and Erice, which I had already seen).

It is to be hoped that with increased funding and a new cinema, Perth can once again equal its extraordinary success of last year.

In 1828 Kasper Hauser was found standing in the village square of Nuremberg with a note to the local military commander requesting that he be cared for.

Before this Kasper had spent his entire life locked away in a darkened cell where he met no-one and was kept continually chained. .

However, the village soon tired of supporting Kausper and he was exhibited in a circus for profit.

In Werner Herzog’s Everyman for Himself and God Against All this circus is an assortment of characters from his earlier films. And I suspect that Herzog is being somewhat self-critical here, suggesting that he may also be guilty of exploiting actors. After ail the line between direction and exploitation is easily traversed.

Herzog's Kasper (Bruno S) then escapes from the cir­ cus and lands under the guidance of a benign old man who sets about his ‘education’. He does not by his own volition invert God and morality, much to the evident dis­ tress of the clergy, nor does he conceive of man’s “ logic” .

And his solution to the puzzle of how to tell whether a man comes from the village of liars or the village of honest men, has such simplicity and clarity that it invites a very strong emotional response. At Perth the audience cheered wildly.

Kasper’s answer also: (i) demonstrates the limitations of logic for those who lose sight of its in-built restrictions,

Kasper Hauser and his mysterious captor prior to his ‘release’ in the village of Nuremburg. Everyman For Himself and God Against All

and (ii) suggests that there exist solutions outside those posited by civilization.

The simple and gentle way Herzog raises these issues is part of his greatness, because he never allows jargon to alienate people from the possibilities he suggests. An ex­ ample of this is the orchard scene.

After having been lectured on the growth of apples, Kasper suggests they stop since the apples must be getting tired. "Apples don’t get tired — they don't have a brain,” he is told. And to prove this they set about demonstrating man’s supremacy. An apple is rolled down the path and the priest told to stop it with his foot. But as the apple nears him it hits a stone and bounces over his shoe. Kasper chases after the apple and, picking it up, exclaims: "Clever apple.”

Undaunted the old man turns to Kasper and asks how he has enjoyed his freedom, but Kasper replies that he’ considers it a fall. Herzog thereby suggesting that manners, education, and morality kill off all that is not human in man — his spontaneous and instinctual reac­ tions, his inconsistency and his care.

Unfortunately the film tends to over-simplify its case and at times verges on glibness. Points that have been cleverly alluded to become over-stressed with repetition and unnecessary dialogue. The circus sequence is an ex­ ample. That the townsfolk were exploiting Kasper had already been established during his capture and in­ terrogation.

I think part of the problem stems from Herzog’s ob­ vious uneasiness in making a period film. The setting is quite unconvincing and Herzog’s attempts at creating classical compositions fall hopelessly flat. The death scene, for example, was clearly set up for a tableau-like long-shot, but is awfully contrived and unbalanced.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 229

THE 1975 PERTH FILM FESTIVAL

Against these criticisms is the gentleness and purity one remembers from those moments Herzog allows to speak for themselves. After having found an unusual development in Kasper’s brain, the magistrate leaves his companions to return home. He is so full of joy that he sends his carriage away and decides to walk instead — joyful because once again he has been able to fit everything into a pattern. But what a pathetic gesture — a walk of 400 yards.

The sadness of seeing this man stumbling home in his pitifully small and enclosed world, will I’m sure remain with all those who see the film.

The second Herzog screened at Perth was the 56minute documentary for German television, The Great Ecstasy of the Woodcarver Steiner.

Steiner is probably the greatest of modern ski-jumpers and has been able to exceed those limits imposed by other skiers. As was 3:50 once thought the ultimate barrier for the 1500 metres, so existed ‘ultimate’ distances one could ski-fly. Steiner, however, keeps breaking these and it is his need to do this that fascinates Herzog.

In a story near the film ’s end Steiner tells of a raven that, because it is unable to fly, is killed by other ravens. It is the same for Steiner — fly or perish. ' The best sequence in the film is where Herzog es­ tablishes Steiner’s passion to test the limits of endurance.

In beautiful and extreme slow-motion a jumper leaves the ski-ramp and floats out into space. However, when he reaches his zenith, Herzog cuts to another taking off.

This happens three times, so by the time we see Steiner jump we have been lulled into expecting that his flight will also end at the same point — but it doesn’t. With the backing of an increasingly loud music track, Steiner carries past the ‘cut-off and floats down to the crowd in long-shot. Quick cut to him pushing through an admiring crowd.

It is an extraordinary and moving sequence, but it un­ fortunately is the only such moment in an otherwise dis­ appointing film. As with Everyman, the magic is absent and Herzog’s efforts to recapture it merely look forced. I s u s p e c t p a rt o f th e p ro b le m is th a t H erzog is now making film s in Germany instead of the jungles of Peru, or the deserts of the Sahara and Canary Islands. Without a struggle against uncontrolled land­ scape, Herzog and his films are somewhat passionless.

But even if they are failures they are still greatly preferable to most other films in Perth.

Bruno S, the lead actor in Werner Herzog’s Everyman for Himself and God Against All, was also the center of an 81-minute documentary by Lutz Eisholz. Committed to a mental home at the age of three, Bruno spent the next 23 years being shunted between reformatories and psy­ chiatric institutions in a sad parallel to the life of Kasper Hauser.

The main reservation I have with Bruno the Black (1970) is that it takes little interest in Bruno as a person. It is far more concerned with the political and social repressions that created him. And to illustrate the disrup­ tive effects of these forces, Eisholz deliberately attacks the conventions of traditional cinema, especially those of the documentary style interview. So, instead of using lip­ ' sync ciose-ups of Bruno retelling his past, Eisholz has endless shots of a Bruno staring vacantly into the camera — his previously recorded voice on the soundtrack. It cer­ tainly contradicts our expectations, but does it achieve anything else? (a) It does demonstrate the difficulty of assimilating dis­ parate sounds and images simultaneously, but this was discovered long ago. (b) When a person talks they convey information non­ verbally through their mouth movements, their facial changes and so on. But when someone silently stares down a lens for five minutes one does not necessarily learn anything of them. Though one can — as in Her­ zog’s Fata Morgana, where both the scientist and the boy convey a great deal by allowing us to observe many of their thought processes — where can l look?

How long is the take going to last? God, I feel ridiculous etc.

Bruno, however, is so totally a part of his self-created world, that looking at him is like looking at crystal — one’s gaze is just bounced back. One consequently has no greater understanding of him at the end than at the begin­ ning. And that would be nothing, save for the long in­ troductory title.

However, there are moments where Eisholz’s techni­ que does work to good effect — the scene of Bruno play­ ing his accordion in the village square for example. We start with a lip-sync medium shot which cuts to long-shot of Bruno sitting motionless, but with the music still playing. It then cuts to a close-up, once again in sync.

Here the disruption effectively conveys the ‘shut-off world of Bruno as he quickly slides from one world to another.

Ultimately though, one gets the feeling that the film is pursuing a dead end. It is a depressing film and an ex­ tremely difficult one to watch.

It is also extremely unpleasant to watch a person like Bruno being exploited for the sake of a trivial exercise. In this respect the film bears resemblance to the films of Kluge where politics and social reality are always put ahead of people. What results is a sterile and dehumaniz­ ed cinema of little value.

Jean Eustache’s Mes Petites Amoureuses is a rather curious film, for though it has much in common with other French films on childhood — Lea Quatre Cents Coups, L’Enfance Nue — stylistically it is different.

230 — Cinema Papers, November-December

The final scene from Jean Eustache’s Mes Petites Amoureuses.

Unfortunately Eustache seems intent on emulating the techniques of Robert Bresson as if to prove that the references in La Maman et la Putain are not merely flip­ pant. But, while he is able to utilize effectively Bresson’s set ups and editing patterns, Eustache is unable to reproduce his power — that intensity of observation that makes films like Quatre Nuits d’un Reveur simply glow.

For all its virtues Mes Petites Amoureuses is a film without a soul.

Martin Loeb plays a young boy who is dragged away from his native Narbonne and sent to live with his poor mother in a provincial city. He is forced to leave school and work in a bicycle shop, in-between which he lolls about the local cafe — observing. One scene has him spy­ ing on a local girl as she pets with different boys under a street lamp at night, before he realizes that she is in fact performing for him.

The boy’s passage through childhood is a cruel and despairing one — unlike those of the boys he surrounds himself with — and his sensitivity inhibits him from ever taking large steps for fear of being hurt. For example it is only after a boy some 10 seats away has wooed the girl in front that he attempts likewise. Slowly and awkwardly he leans forward and blows into the girl’s ear. As there is no sign of rejection, he kisses her dispassionately, the girl revealing no emotion whatsoever. Quickly he withdraws his lips and they resume their original positions as if returning to the table after being excused. His surprise at her easy acceptance is quite marked, but he, of course, doesn’t show it on his face—it registers only within. He leaves.

Eustache has created a very stylized film with his clever use of natural locations and unprofessional actors. With an unshakeabie belief in correct faces, Eustache has carefully cast the film, though often with little regard for acting ability. Not that this matters at all for the actors are required only to be totally expressionless. As with Bresson each image is flat and devoid of meaning — only with juxtaposition can an interpretation emerge. Martin Loeb, for example, walks thorough the entire film with the stoop and sorrowfulness of the country priest, though, of course, without his passion.

The main problem with Mes Petities Amoureuses is that nothing is ever allowed to develop past the obvious.

All the scenes on the mother’s spiritual suffocation add nothing to what one can immediately see in her face.

And it is with relief that we see the boy return to his grandmother, not because we suspect a lack of love on her part, but because she and her boyfriend live such cramped lives that they inevitably tend to cramp the lives of those around them.

So, though one may feel annoyed that her character doesn’t develop more, one cannot help feeling greatly saddened by the horrible reality of it all.

The Testival’s masterpiece, Touch of Zen, begins with a gentle, Kurosawa-like evocation of village life in the remote north of China, during the Ming Dynasty.

Ku Sheng-chai, the local painter, is a man of simple pleasures, dividing his time between the market studio and a home life with his mother. This daily routine is, however, unsettled by the arrival of a young girl at the deserted fort near their house. Ku investigates and the scene, set at night, is a classic of suspense, with director King Hu cleverly playing on our expectations of the ghost film genre.

The neighbor turns out to be the fugitive daughter of the Grand Censor Yang Lien, who was murdered by the Eastern Group, a notorious secret police force.

Then, with steadily increasing pace and tension, the film charts the attempts of Ku and Yang to avoid the traps of the Group. In one scene they are forced to defend themselves against a strong attack on the fort, a fight they

only win through a use of the brilliant strategy and decep­ tion Ku learnt as a child.

They are also aided by the group of Buddhist priests who save them from attack in a remote mountain area.

Using their knowledge of Zen to prevent evil, the priests can stop swords with their naked hands and are capable of such intense strength and speed as to be virtually undefeatable. In fact their only defeat is when the head priest allows his feelings of compassion to override his caution.

The film ends with the mortally wounded monk, his gold blood flowing, finding nirvana on a hillside, and Yang asking for and finding the direction which to follow. Ku though is left to stagger through some unknown forest carrying his child in his tired arms.

King Hu borrows many genres to create his own in­ dividual style. The scene where Ku and Yang make love in the fort, for example, is a masterpiece of controlled melodrama: the dramatic cut to a high angle, the contrast between the blissful melody and the thunder and the magical swooping into frame of a flock of birds.

The battle sequences are similarly masterful. No warrior left on the edge waiting his turn (as in most lesser films) and the special effects are quite breathtaking. In particular the sequence where Yang leaps to the top of a tree before plummeting downward, her sword pointing the way. ^ Touch of Zen is a film of great skill and is testimony to the innumerable variations this gentre appears to have.

Thierry Zeno’s Vase de Noces was, in spite of its m a g n ific e n t s o u n d tra c k and black and w hite photography, a major disappointment.

Set on an isolated Belgian farm, Dominique Gary plays a man who has an affair with a pig — though a rather one­ sided one judging by the pig’s frantic fleeing around the yard. The pig has ‘children’, but these end up dangling from ropes in the courtyard. Whether it was as a result of mass suicide or murder one can’t tell. Not that it matters, it is a totally, uninvolving film.

Evoking some ancient mystic rite, the man collects decaying matter in glass jars and examines it in the same low-angle every five minutes. The pig commits suicide in a pond. The man then begins to eat his own excrement and finally hangs himself.

This leaves us with the unintentionally humorous last shot of a d u m m y -lik e c re a tu re being dra g g e d heavenward by a rope strapped round its ankle.

It is an insufferably tedious film, and easily four times the length it should have been. This is best demonstrated in the opening sequence.

After gathering together some decapitated dolls’ heads, the man evokes an extremely powerful angelic im­ age by placing one on the head of a white dove. But one is not enough and the scene drags interminably with him transforming dove upon dove. Similarly he must have ex­ amined the glass jars at least 15 times, and given the poor continuity of their decomposition, seems to be observing nothing.

Fred Haine’s Steppenwolf was an extremely trivial film and one hardly deserving of comment except perhaps to say that the much-touted video sequences for the Magic Theatre fail badly.

Other films shown included Black Moon (to be reviewed next issue), The Mouth Wide Open, A Private Enterprise, Distant Thunder, Lacombe Lucien, Hearts and Minds, La Planete Sauvage and the extremely disappointing A Woman Under the Influence.

Scott Murray

THE 1975 PERTH FILM FESTIVAL

SHUJI TERAYAM A

Pastoral Hide-and-Seek.

One of the highlights of this year's Perth Festival was Shuji Terayama’s Pastoral Hide-and-Seek. In the follow­ ing article British film critic Jan Dawson talks with Terayama about his work and attitudes to film.

Shuji Terayama was born in Japan in December 1935 and is well known in his native country as an enfant terri­ ble (his passion for looking through keyholes has dis­ tressed hotel staff both at home and abroad). He is also known more seriously as a poet, photographer, playwright, critic, theater director, filmmaker, racing tipster and boxing correspondent. He first achieved a degree of international celebrity by winning the top Italia Prize for a radio script in 1964, and consolidated his reputation two years later, when he not only won the prize for a second time but also took his experimental theater, Tenjosajiki, on a tour of European drama festivals.

In 1971 his first feature film, Throw Away Your Books, Let’s Go Into the Streets, won the Grand Prix of the Bergamo Film Festival in San Remo. Four years later, his second feature, Pastoral Hide-and-Seek, was the official Japanese entry at the Cannes Film Festival. However dis­ respectful his work, Terayama was becoming respec­ table.

The year 1975 also saw him presenting a special program of his short films at London’s Institute of Contemporary Arts and at the Edinburgh Film Festival. He is scheduled to take his theater laboratory to Amsterdam later in the year and to put in another appearance at the Chicago Film Festival.

His work has changed less than the response to it. At 39, Terayama is still faithful to his early themes: the torments of adolescence, the obsessive nature of early sexual experience, the tyranny of tradition and family ties, the need to overthrow or discredit all authority figures.

In a 1970 short, Emperor Tomato Ketchup, a children's revolution brings about a new totalitarian state in which kids rape their mothers and arbitrarily condemn other adults to spanking or the firing-squad. The hero of Pastoral Hide-and-Seek is obsessed with the difficulty of killing his mother, literally or metaphorically. In Terayama’s view, “ If Freud had grown up in post-war Japan, he would have been more anxious to murder his mother than to marry her.”

What has changed is the extent to which the anarchy of the themes has permeated the forms. The screen itself, once loved by the director, has become another barrier, another authority symbol to be overthrown. In two short films made this year he physically assaults it. Der Prozess begins with footage of a man hammering nails into a city square, makes some erotic visual puns on the phallic significance of nails and ends with a live actor (rapidly joined by as many spectators as there are hammers) banging nails into the screen.

Rolla has the same actor, goaded on by three out­ rageous strippers, actually jumping through the screen, from which he emerges literally in the flesh after being stripped and assaulted on celluloid. “ For filmmakers, the screen is, often, a metaphor for order and the es­ tablishment, and it imposes on us a lot of restrictions . . .

Jan Dawson

Emperor, Tomato Ketchup,

My dream is to make a film without a screen . . . Next time, let me project my film on your face.”

Pastoral Hide-and-Seek involves no physical assaults upon the screen, but it does challenge the possibility of film ever being a medium for anything but fiction. It creates illusions only to shatter them and show the con­ trivance behind them. Its first “ movement” plunges us into a stylized and quirkily elegiac portrait of adolescence in a picturesque Japanese village, where circus artistes (including an inflatable woman) heighten the young hero’s desire to break free of his harridan mother and to elope with the neighbor’s beautiful wife. At which point the film is seen to snap in the projector and we are introduced to the character of the filmmaker, the boy as an adult, who is tormented by the extent to which he is embellishing the past and who proceeds, as an adult, to retrace the same events in the company of the child he used to be. In a final “ doda” , both visions — nostaligc and unflattering — are revealed as equally illusory. The only non-fiction is the present moment.

Surrealist technique; circus imagery; childhood revisited; the moment of sexual discovery — the com­ bination invites comparison with Fellini. Some Western critics even left the Cannes screening before the film auto-destructed into self-criticism, on the grounds that they did not care much for Fellini anyway.

I asked Terayama how he felt about the Italian film­ maker and whether Fellini was in fact an influence on him. “ In the first place,” he said, “you must bear in mind that Japan is a country with an entirely agricultural tradition; it depended exclusively on the cultivation of the soil. In the spring, we sowed the grain; in autumn we took in the harvest. Traditionally, each year was always a repetition of the year before; people always did the same things.

Whereas Europe, the West, has never depended entirely on agriculture; it has always had grasslands, meadows, prairies; it has sheep and cattle. The frontiers are not ab­ solute. Over the border or beyond the fence, you can see the same land continuing. “ I find in Europe — and i am not just talking about my films — that every time anything happens, people have a tendency to reach for analogies. To make comparisons.

With meadowland, people do have a tendency to wonder what is going on in their neighbor’s house, what is happening on the other side of the fence. There is a cons­ tant point of comparison. You can actually see what is go­ ing on in your neighbor’s house or field. You will tend to compare Mr X's beans with Mr Y’s. Whereas we don’t basically have this tradition of seeking for a comparison or a reference in the past. For a Japanese, this critical approach is extremely alien and disconcerting. In Europe, people seem to have a real need to find a comparative reference, preferably in the past but at least in an existing mode. “ Of course, we all of us have a tendency to imitate.

Some time, somewhere, a first person invented language, and ever since we've all been obliged to speak it. “ As far as my films are concerned (and I am not just talking about Pastoral Hide-and-Seek, but about my previous films as well), they have tended to excite a lot of fairly general comparisons with Fellini. Pastoral Hide-

and-Seek is different, insofar as I deliberately tried to contain within the film a certain criticism of European cultural tendencies — not just in the cinema, but in the other arts as well, particularly poetry. When poets and ar­ tists take childhood, their own childhood, as their subject — and it is a subject a great many of them have treated — it is always with a view to approving their own past, sanc­ tioning it, ratifying it. There is always an element of nostalgia, a sentimentality about both childhood and its setting. There is always the idea that everything turned out right, that the artist’s birthplace was the best place in the world. And I wanted Pastoral Hide-and-Seek to con­ tain a criticism of this sort of self-indulgence. That’s why I made the first part in that very lush style. “ People have talked a lot about Fellini, mostly because of the inflatable woman. But Fellini does not have a monopoly on enormous women or big-breated whores.

They were around where I grew up as well. I was using them in my stage plays long before I was 8 V2 . Besides, there is a big difference in the way I use them. In 8 V2 , the woman represents the lure of the flesh, she’s pure flesh; whereas in Pastoral Hide-and-Seek, the inflatable lady is completely empty inside. That is the exact opposite.

When she takes off her costume, she is just an ordinary woman, a nonentity. “ To get back to the point. I know there are some Western directors who don’t go in for the sentimental nostalgic approach. But what I am driving at is that when most people make films about their childhood, they are dealing with the knowledge that their individuality, their personality, is based on and formed by their childhood.

Their first experience is almost invariably described as a formative process. When they explore their childhood, they are really looking for the origins of their adult per­ sona, of their individuality. Whereas I, right now, don’t have a very strong conception of ‘myself, of what is uni­ quely mine and what is other people’s, i am no longer conscious of a rigid barrier between ‘self and ‘others’. I am not saying we should abandon the distinction entirely.

It is not a question I am taking sides on, I am just observ­ ing that it is beginning to disappear. For example, it is quite common for different people to have the same dream. You find it all the time in literature. Pain, for in­ stance, is a very private experience, but it is also a very common one.

“There was a time when I was interested in Freud, ob­ viously. But as far as I am concerned, the most noteworthy thing about modern times — by which I mean the years during which I grew up — is the absence of the father. His absence, or his unimportance. It is true Japan has retained vestiges of the imperial regime, but that regime has become completely informal. The Idea of patriarchal dignity has been dumped overboard, it is the mother who has taken the man's place, who has combin­ ed the role of father with that of mother. I think it is true everywhere, but it is particularly true of Japan.

“After World War 2, there were a lot of people who had lost their fathers, like me. But even those men who did return from the war came back completely impotent, morally speaking. They regretted their participation in the war, they had completely lost their authority and their dignity. “ Right now, Freud is only valid in the medical field, just as Marx is no longer valid to the extent that the workers, who produce, are also the consumers. New ideas are beginning to replace those of Freud and Marx, new ideas will replace the idea of the individual.

It is not for me to point the way. Rather, it is to discover the way that I make films and write poetry. What I can say — and I think it is fairly new — is that man is not dominated by or subordinated to the subconscious. But'I would like to reach the point where I have enough skill and Imagination to be able to select, organize and struc­ ture what is in the unconscious.”

TERAYAMA POEMS in life’s hide-and-seek I was always the one who looked while the village went dancing no stitch in time could ever mend the gap ’twixt my mother and me funeral flowers from a young girl’s hair falling, these too have their language set off to buy a new family altar vanished forever the bird and my brother glow from this cigarette points north to where birthplace lies eclipsed in the darkness if there’s a section for wood or for rice swallow where do they sell off old mothers? hoping to see more, prepared to slit my lids, find the horizon mirrored in the blade young bird and mournful bird of Shimokita sing my mother to sleep when I walk out on her

Cinema Papers, November-December — 231

E Of THE YEAR'S BEST FILMS' S U P ER B ! k BARE. AC H IEV E W EN 1

G. Glenn

E X H ILA R A T IN G —DON T M ISS iT ' J O Y TO W A T C H 5 O E L i O H i n a r e m a r k a b le ? m a r v el» m m . A B S O LU T ELY fii

A FI director David Roe outside the Playbox during a screening of its biggest success, I. F. Stone’s Weekly.

GETTING SMART ABOUT ART - David Roe discusses the genesis ^ and growth of the Playbox Cinema “ I don’t know exactly how to define an art house, but I recognize one when I see it” . This anonymous remark by an American distributor pinpoints the problem of identity that faces any theater that tries to lift its programming policy into the lofty plains of quality film.

With the introduction of the ‘R ’ certificate and the resulting importation of sexually explicit films, art cinemas have been fac­ ed with a declining audience. Now a genuine art cinema is as rare in Australia as it is in many overseas countries like the U .S.

Lately the Playbox Cinema, which is administered by the Australian Film Institute and funded by the Film, Radio and Television Board of the Australia Council, has moved into this area.

Antony I. Ginnane and Scott Murray spoke to David Roe, director of the Australian Film Institute and initiator of the Playbox’s new policy, about the difficulties of running an art house in Australia.

Let’s talk about the creation of the Playbox . . .

a release for their films doubtless in­ fluenced him. However, by the time the cinema opened in July 1974 there were in fact very few big budget Australian films still in this sort of situation.

The Playbox was an initiative of the Film and Television Board designed to provide an outlet for those films produced in Australia and to a lesser extent some specializ­ ed ones from overseas that were be­ 232 — Cinema Papers, November-December

ing deprived of a release in this country. At the time the original policy was formulated by Philip Adams most Australian produced films were being denied a release.

His own troubles with The Adven­ tures of Barry McKenzie, and the ob­ stacles that many other Australian producers had faced in trying to find

Did you have a shortage of product?

Yes, we certainly did. You see­ not enough thought had been given to formulating precisely what the cinema was to be when it opened, and I think that this has been one valid criticism of the venture. The policy of the Film and TV Board was by any standards inflexible, giving no little opportunity to experiment with

PLAYBOX CINEM A

programming. It had been decided prior to the Australian Film Insti­ tute being invited to undertake the administration of the scheme and had we in fact been asked, we would not necessarily have expressed the same views as regards exhibition in Australia. In fact we have had rather strong and differing views on it, but I’m pleased to say that after a year of operation the Board has endorsed our policy as their own.

What sort of identity did the AFI or Film and TV Board try to build around the Playbox?

Originally the Board saw it as an Australian film showcase. However, the Board has recently offered the control and operation of the Playbox to the AFI. At this stage we haven’t accepted the offer, although we are in reality operating the cinema as if it was under our complete control.

As to the identity the AFI is trying to create, it’s no longer appropriate to talk about providing an outlet for Australian films that were being deprived of release, because most'of them are mow receiving a release through commercial exhibitors, and it is of course in their interests to negotiate release with commercial exhibitors.

After all we have only one cinema in one city. We cannot cross adver­ tise with other cinemas and we don’t have a drive-in that can subsequently re-release the film. Because film production in Australia is as expen­ sive as it is, it’s essential, if Australian producers are to get their money back in this country, to have access to major exhibition sources.

But it is something that we cannot provide.

Not only that, I would argue that it would be inappropriate for us to try. Each cinema in each capital city, and there are exceptions I suppose, has a particular identity: an identity that’s been built up over a period of years. The Bercy T h eatre in Melbourne, the Mayfair in Sydney and the Rivoli in Melbourne each show a particular type of film and, by and large, exhibitors tend to avoid complicating the issue by releasing Rollerball at the Rivoli or Scenes From a Marriage at the Mayfair.

Thus you can’t really think of the Playbox as an outlet for, on the one hand, Eskimo Nell, secondly Promis­ ed Woman, thirdly Sunday Too Far Away, and fourthly Alvin Purple. No ' commercial exhibitor would have placed those four films in a row in any one cinema. For the same reasons, the Playbox and the Melbourne Co-op cinema comple­ ment each other.

In other words, the idea of having just one theater screening one nationality of films was misconstrued from the beginning . . .

Yes. Just as it would be stupid of any commercial exhibitor to open a cinema showing exclusively French or German or Japanese films. What we should be involved in, is providing an outlet for films of quality that are otherwise being deprived a release.

And that includes Australian films in the same predicament. That is the

identity we have been trying to, and to some extend succeeding, in creating.

Was it originally intended that when the theater opened in July 1974 it was to be a commercial venture?

It stands to reason that if a cinema is there primarily to provide an out­ let for films that have been denied release by commercial exhibitors and is to provide an outlet on comparable term s, it therefore has to be something of a commercial outlet. It has to be, in theory, available for producers of films such as The Removalists, The Great MacArthy, Promised Woman, The Office Pic­ nic, and be in a position to provide as many of the advantages that would be available to them had they gone through a commercial organization.

But there was something of an in­ herent contradiction in stating that at the same time the cinema has to be available to groups, such as film societies and other non-commercial organizations, that wish to exhibit films that were considered to be of a specialized nature.

Was it ever considered as part of the original programming policy to subsidize films that had absolutely no possibility of taking any money but which should be shown?

That is something that has always been in the back of our minds, and in effect we aim to program the high quality cinema that we can afford to.

I don’t think it was initially con­ sidered by the Board and I still don’t think it really understands the crisis that’s facing distribution of quality films in Australia. It’s a similar problem that Australian producers face even now when trying to find a release for their films.

The fact is that the house expense figures of most commercial cinemas are so excessive (and that’s not to say it’s entirely their fault), that, quite suddenly, it is no longer profitable for a commercial distributor to im­ port a film by, say, Eric Rohmer or Jean Eustache.

It is no longer really possible for them to be able to break even on the distribution of such a film — let alone make a profit.

We are concerned that this should be the case, because it has led to a state where in fact significantly fewer films of this nature are being im­ ported into the country. For ex­ ample, the Rivoli’s expense figure ranges between about $3,500 and $4,500 each week and Rivoli 2’s $3,­ 00 and $4,000 a week. If, say, a film showing there takes anything between $2,500 and $3,500 a week — which is about 1,500 people — it is not sufficient for them to be able to recoup their costs. And yet, clearly, a substantial number of people are in­ terested in seeing this type of film.

The Playbox expense figure for a week of $3,000 odd, by the same token, is not very different from Rivoli 2 . . .

You must of course bear in mind that the Rivoli only operates about

seven sessions per week whilst in most weeks the Playbox operates as many as 30 — depending on the film.

To reduce the number of sessions to seven would still cost about $2500 a week. Sometimes it is justified, sometimes not — it depends on whether or not a film can attract day trade.

In the end it comes down to the fact that film exhibition is a very ex­ pensive business, and there is very lit­ tle we can do about it. All the money goes on rent and paying award wages.

What I was trying to get on to was whether it might be possible for the Film and TV Board to conceive a sub­ sidy, over and above the actual runn­ ing expenses, so that although it might cost $3000 to run the theater per week the practical cost might be reduced to say half, say $1500 . . .

To a degree that is what happens at the moment — we can cover losses up to a point.

If we were able to provide a cinema in Melbourne, and ones in other capital cities, with a house ex­ pense figure that was a lot lower, we would be in a much better position to encourage the distribution of quality films.

I don’t see anything wrong or im­ proper in encouraging private in­ dividuals to import films that are of merit. I consider that a positive and worthwhile thing to do. Unfortunate­ ly the Film and TV Board seems to feel some concern about getting in­ volved in the area of commercial dis­ tribution. It doesn’t, on the other hand, see any contradiction in providing funds for a privately own­ ed film magazine such as Cinema Papers, or to any producer to produce a film in his own name. Now any one of the films that it funds could theoretically be an outstanding commercial success.

What sort of effect will Govern­ ment cutbacks to the arts have on the AFI and Playbox?

It’s probably going to affect the AFI, as a whole, less than most organizations that the Film and TV Board deals with, but it would affect the Playbox, on the other hand, quite substantially. At the moment the Playbox seems likely to be subjected to a cut approximating 45 per cent, which in our view is unfair, given that the cutback to the arts is not anything like that.

Just who in fact in the AFI is specifically responsible for the programming policy of the Playbox cinema? Apart from yourself, to what extent are other executives at the AFI, and the manager of the cinema, involved?

The policy was largely re-defined by me, but with a bit of assistance from the AFI executive — par­ ticularly Michael Thornhill. The ac­ tual programming, particularly over the past three months, was also done by me — b u t n o t w ith o u t some debate within the AFI as to which is the best scheduling. I would

say that my involvement with the project will diminish as the identity becomes more firmly established and need for so actively soliciting programs lessens.

What specifically brought about this re-defining in policy?

The cinema has been operating for over a year and I think that the ex­ pertise of the Board had been shown to be, if not nil, at least lacking. We said that the old policy was just un­ workable, and finally we were believed.

As far as programming went?

As far as the operation of the cinema was concerned, not just programming.

How much control did the Film and Television Board try to exert over the AFI in terms of programming, finance or management?

In fact, they had all the control, but after they had done their budgeting it was simply that they would not permit us to negotiate with commercial distributors. And that effectively eliminated a great number of films that are now available to us.

The success of “I.F. Stone’s Weekly” and the need to minimize loss — is there going to be a con­ tradiction developing here between the need to maintain standards and the need to make a profit?

That question is far too simplistic.

Who would ever have thought that I. F. Stone’s' Weekly was going to be the tremendous success that it was.

After all the film is a 62-minute black and white documentary about an American journalist, that no-one in Australia ever really heard of. We think it is fantastic it was such a success.

In fact it may well have saved the Playbox from extinction. For the future we will continue to program according to merit what we can af­ ford to program, and that’s what it basically comes down to.

Does that mean in effect that the expense figure will increase?

No, it doesn’t mean that the ex­ pense figure will increase, it just means that we will be able to stand fewer losses. And that is really where the crunch comes. We will be allow­ ed less freedom than we have been.

We will be able to take fewer risks.

You see at the moment if the film falls below the expense figure, we can cover the difference. But if, as is pro­ jected, the Playbox receives a greatly reduced subsidy, we will have to become more conservative. And if that is the case, then we will start to defeat our aims. We would certainly not program Enter the Dragon or Blazing Saddles just to keep going.

We would rather close down.

Would it be possible to avoid budgeting difficulties at the Playbox by cutting down on other areas of AFI spending?

Cinema Papers, November-December — 233

PLAYBOX CINEM A

low, it means that the film can be kept on for quite some considerable time. This would benefit some otherw ise com m ercially dicey Australian films enormously.

The answer is no. The video scheme, for example, is operated by the AFI on behalf of the Board, although ultimate control is vested in the Board. As much as we might be inclined to, we can’t re-allocate these or any other funds.

Has any thought been given to the idea of club or subscription selling for late shows etc?

Does that mean that once again makers of uncommercial Australian films will be without an avenue of release — which after all is why the Playbox was started?

I don’t accept that at all. I don’t believe we are denying Australian filmmakers access to the cinema. I am saying the films have to reach a certain level in quality — and that’s the first consideration. The second is what can we afford to do with them.

That might be anything from one screening to a six month run and depends largely on the subsidy. And if there are more Australia films awaiting release than I suggest, then the Cinema Papers ‘In Production’ column is somewhat inadequately researched.

You see, an Australian film of merit is more likely to succeed in a cinema that has some identity and a reputation for presenting good films than it is in a cinema that has a reputation for merely presenting Australian films. And that’s what we’ve been keen to try to do, to build up a reputation for the Playbox of presenting films of artistic merit.

It should sometimes include films that we think not only are of merit, but which are of limited box-office potential, and in that sense I don’t think we’re for one moment con­ tradicting that original premise.

We’re defining it further, making more sense of it and making it more realistic, but not for one moment are we compromising it.

Given that, then is there any possibility of questionably commer­ cial Australian material emulating “I.F. Stone’s” success?

C e r ta in ly th e re a re m any Australian films that would be class­ ed with I.F. Stone’s Weekly, as non­ commercial, potential disasters, only suitable for television, if that. At the Playbox they could become commer­ cial successes, as certainly I.F. Stone’s Weekly has been. The producer of I.F. Stone’s Weekly has done extraordinarily well from this one season in one city of Australia.

Would you say the success of “I.F. Stone” was the result of a magic for­ mula that you have evolved after 12 or 18 months of running the theater, or was it just good fortune and chance?

No, it’s not entirely good fortune and chance. It has a lot to do with the effort put into a carefully planned promotional campaign. Ultimately of course a film succeeds or fails on what people say about it. If people say good things about it, it has a greater chance of succeeding than if people say bad things about it, which is not to say it is necessarily bad.

People said good things about I.F. Stone and it greatly enhanced its 234 — Cinema Papers, November-December

,

^ g 3 Former Playbox manager Rob Kelley in the projection room. I. F. Stone’s Weekly can be seen on the screen in the background.

potential. It also said a lot for our astute programming in that we programmed Mr Symbol Man with it. It made it a great attraction not just to audiences, but also the media. .1 would hope that with astute p ro g ra m m in g , well p la n n e d promotion, and the capacity — and that’s where the subsidy becomes im­ portant — to take a risk we will be able to continue to program in this way. But we have really got to be allowed to take risks and make mis­ takes.

What other changes are likely to occur at the Playbox in the future?

In the area of programming let’s look at problem films — Diary of a Switchboard Operator by Makavejev, for example. The film Tas not been released in Melbourne. The question is whether it should be released in the normal fashion or in some other way.

If the film was to be released on a normal basis, it would probably be

off after two, maybe three weeks. On the other hand, if it was to be releas­ ed at 10 o’clock at night, with a house expense figure one quarter of what it is for eight o’clock at night, we would not necessarily be forced to take it off after one or two weeks.

And over a period of time it might even be able to build up momentum.

It will be a very interesting ex­ periment, though. It is not entirely without precedent here. The Gala in Sydney was programmed in this fashion years ago with films like Husbands and Watermelon Man, and there is no reason why films couldn’t succeed on that basis now.

We’ve been running Monday to Saturday at 10 o’clock for quite some time. We are not making money out of it, but we are not losing money, and the distributor is getting something that he wouldn’t get otherwise.

What I would say is that there is no reason why we couldn’t make quite a bit more with a first release film. Because the expense figure is so

The Playbox Cinema opened in July 1974 and is currently operating on a weekly house expense figure of $2,100 plus $500 contractual advertising, for 13 sessions. The figure increases slightly when day sessions are included in a season.

The AFI estimates that running costs will increase by approx­ imately 20 per cent over the next 12 months and the figure will probably increase to about $3,100 (including contractual adver­ tising). The AFI says it will be attempting to generate an average weekly gross box-office return of $2,400, which, after allocation of film hire, leaves about $1,560. This means the AFI is seeking a 50 per cent subsidy for the cinema for the next 12 months.

The AFI says the Playbox reached rock bottom during the “silly season” in December 1974 when Private Collection took only $45 in 13 sessions over one week. The highest weekly gross a film has received for the same number of sessions was $4,073 for I.F. Stone’s W eekly and Mr Symbol Man. The cinema, however, has grossed in excess of $5,000 a week for the same double bill when day sessions were included.

The Playbox normally offers a producer or distributor a “ quarter scale deal” that provides for a minimum film hire of 25 per cent or an 80/20 split after recovery by the AFI of the house expense figure — whichever is the greater. Promotional costs of around $1,000 are normally shared.

We’ve thought about in terms of trying to make available films that would not otherwise be. The fact is that some films are imported on an exclusively non-theatrical basis often through embassies. If we were to ex­ hibit these films at the Playbox we would be permitted to only admit members of an organization, which has led us to the view that perhaps we should consider, and we have done no more than that at this stage, ad­ mitting persons who join for example a Playbox Club at the door.

This is something that perhaps we could seriously explore with the National Film Theatre.

Who is the typical Playbox filmgoer?

I suppose if any cinema really cracks that question it will have dis­ covered the secret of success. In fact it is becoming an increasingly hard question to answer, because the Playbox is actually making more and more inroads into the discriminating filmgoing clientele. It has attracted a substantial audience, which is something that I coudn’t have said even six months ago. It is starting to acquire the sort of reputation that the Rivoli has, or had.

Could we talk a little about the Hobart cinema, which opens in early November. Is it going to be a Tas­ manian Playbox?

We certainly don’t want to impose the Playbox policy on the people of Hobart. There seems little doubt that we will open with some Australian film, and that we will attempt to release as many good Australian films as we possibly can. At the same time, it’s true to say that there are many films that have been released in Australia that have not been released in Hobart, and we will want to release them in Hobart.

By the same token, none of those films are likely to do as well as they have done in other states, simply because there is not the population.

So I doubt whether it will be anything of a long-run cinema. I look upon the Tasmanian project with some anticipation, because we own one of about three cinemas.

Arguably we have one-third of the market. In reality it will probably be something less than that, but it is go­ ing to be an interesting development over a period of time. I only hope that the Film and TV Board is going to allow such development.

I still doubt the wisdom of opening a cinema in Hobart so early. I would have considered it of far greater im­ portance having opened one in Melbourne, to have then set about opening one in Sydney at the soonest opportunity. I’m still sorry that that hasn’t been able to come about. ★

After graduating from Belgrade University in psychology, Dusan Makavejev joined Zagreb Studios to produce a series of 31 shorts. He completed his first feature, “ Man is Not a Bird” in 1965 and his second, “ Diary o f a Switchboard Operator” , in 1967. The censorship troubles this latter film encountered es­ tablished Makavejev as cinema’s most controversial director, an image that somewhat belies the serious intent of most of his films.

In 1968 he discovered and annotated a lost Serbian film by Dragoljub Aleksic and incorporated it into his own film “In­ nocence Unprotected” . This was followed in 1971 by his greatest critical success, “WR — M ysteries of the Organism” , which also ran foul of the censors, especially in Yugoslavia where the film was quickly suppressed.

Makavejev’s biggest commercial success, however, is his latest film, “ Sweet M ovie” , which triumphantly emerged during the 1974 Cannes Festival. It was helped greatly, no doubt, by the legal furore over an alleged breach of contract regarding certain nude scenes of the film’s lead actress Carole Laure.

The following interview, conducted by John O ’Hara during Makavejev’s brief visit to the 1975 Melbourne and Sydney festivals, concentrates largely on his last two films. It begins with Makavejev discussing the importance of Wilhelm Reich in his film “ W R ” . those hidden lunatics who call themselves normal just to separate out some sensitive people and put them into prisons and mental hospitals.

But aren’t there some people who feel they’re being persecuted though it’s just a private fantasy?

There is not one mental case that is not transparent, if you take into account social setting. One of the great tricks of our society is to ex­ clude social setting, then discuss the case as sickness. So when you have Do you think these feelings of his- people who are not able to work, you don’t question what type of work came from a kind of paranoia? they are doing, you just decide that I just don’t believe in paranoia. I the person is losing his concentration think paranoia is a label invented by and becoming depressive.

I think that whatever he was say­ ing was normal, but it was triggered by some painful emotional situation, a kind of emotional earthquake. He also felt that he was not accepted in this family of mankind. Yet what we learn from Buckminster Fuller and through seeing men walk on the moon is that we are also spacemen.

We recognize ourselves as people who can walk on another planet, on this spaceship earth. But we do not seem to care about this planetary consciousness — and Reich did.

What sort of social setting did you want to put in “WR” to explain Reich in America?

I did not discuss it enough, but Reich changed five countries before he went to America. America was for him the ultimate freedom, and I think that he just was not able to accept it. Firstly he was disillusioned because his fam ily had been destroyed, and there is some indica­ tion that he was functioning as a child. When he was very young he “accidentally” revealed to the father that his mother was having an affair with his teacher. So Reich’s conflict with Freud was not with the father, but with the teacher. Secondly his mother killed herself. His father did in a way too because he was drinking and died two years later. I think Reich was very sure that there was a part of his guilt in that family quarrel.

When you say that he couldn’t cope with this absolute freedom . . .

No I didn’t say he couldn’t cope.

What I want to say, however, is that when he was a student in Vienna, he was highly motivated to discover sex — that strange force which makes people forget social conventions.

Reich was brilliant although he was not able to get along with Freud. He went to Germany, and was one of the highly energetic and motivated lead ers of the re v o lu tio n a ry movement, but was thrown out and turned up in Scandinavia.

Metaphorically speaking he was like a series of abortions — he was always being rejected. He thought that America was a great chance for him. But the McCarthy period made America a great intra-uterine hell, a kind of self-mutilating gigantic heart — incredibly self-castrating and selfhating. I think it was too much for

him. He died because he was afraid of getting out, of being free again in America.

At the end of “WR” you cut to Milena’s smiling face, then dissolve to Reich’s smiling face . . .

I wanted to keep him alive, and have him forgiving. There is a strong identification in the last two shots between Milena, Reich and myself.

It was the only dissolve in the film.

A kind of catharsis?

Yes. Also a kind of loving gesture.

It is quite terrifying when the severed head starts talking, but this is another catharsis from the terrible knowledge that so many “crazy people” get killed. One reference is to the millions of people who were killed in Siberian concentration camps. Trotsky was just one of the tens of thousands of good people who were carefully picked out and killed by the m ovem ent. O bviously something monstrous had happened in the movement. The movement shaped itself in such a way that whoever was creating had to be killed. It’s quite terrifying, and I think that this terror is still not ex­ pressed.

Is that why Milena is killed?

Basically we have this satirical story about two lovers: one militant and romantic and another who is, let’s say, militant and stiff. In a way she created the conditions for her own death by accepting him. So I was probably telling myself never to speak with these kinds of people again. People with good intentions can be very religious, very com­ munist and very militant. But this kind of perfection that Milena has reveals that what they do is mixed up with some kind of deadly and twisted Cinema Papers, November-December — 235

DUSAN MAKAVEJEV

The severed head of Milena Dravis before the image dissolves to a smiling close-up of Wilhelm Reich.

sex. It’s very easy to differentiate between them and the genuine neurotics who are not only changing conditions, but changing themselves.

They keep their self-critical at­ titudes, unlike those perfectionists who are always organizing a kind of endless rape.

There’s an interesting cut from Milena speaking on the balcony to Mao and the Chinese communists in Red Square. Then to Stalin. What is behind the two cuts?

There are several possible ex­ planations, so let’s be cautious. I’ll tell you one of them. Milena did not experience sex and was lonely, and she was pushed into a kind of crisis.

Out of desperation she starts making this speech, and everybody starts laughing. Finally it all ends in a great communal ritual, with people danc­ ing and praising love and sex. So ob­ viously you can be deprived of some things yourself and yet still create good things for others.

And then it expands. This group of, let’s say, a hundred people ex­ plodes into millions in Red Square. I was myself surprised when I brought these two scenes together and by how a very political scene like the meeting in Peking can take on the quality of a pulsating image. I was also using the metaphor of how many lovemakings were necessary to create all these people. I Find the Chinese revolution something very alive and moving.

I then cut to Stalin in black and white. The scene is so symmetrical that I feel this juxtaposition reveals immediately which revolution is liv­ ing and which is dead. I don’t want to make the Soviet Embassy unhappy with my statement, because they might try to do something to me, as they do from time to time. But take Red Square with the corpse in the center and this incredible line of peo­ ple who have kept this corpse p re s e rv e d . L en in was very passionate, very alive, so can you do anything worse to him than to turn him into a beautiful corpse, like a

I think it’s important not to be ap­ parently political, because if you believe in a film as a kind of actioncreated structure, then it has to be as neutral as possible, so that people can be free to accept or refuse ideas.

As soon as you start promoting ideas, then you are trying to seduce people to your point of view. If I’m going to seduce people, I want to seduce them for themselves — to do something for them.

But by the way you arrange your dips, you are presenting a very strong, say, anti-Stalinist point of view . . .

Yes, but I believe that even people who don’t know who Stalin was can understand that what I am doing is basically anti-authoritarian. It is not specifically against this or that monster, but against anything that is outside our normal sense of what is human.

How did the therapy commune become part of “Sweet Movie”?

Part of the script included a kind of anti-psychiatry mental hospital.

piece of pink pastry? It tells something about their relationship to Lenin.

So you’re saying that the revolution has gone dead in Russia, but is alive in China . . .

I don’t want to say that because I believe it lives in so many different things. Kruschev was a good exam­ ple of living revolution because he was able in an unfavorable situation to explore a lot of truth. So I don’t believe the revolution is dead anywhere, the revolution is always alive.

W as your film banned in Yugoslavia because it was anti­ communist, or because it was anti­ Stalinist?

I think it was clearly understood as being anti-Stalinist. Basically I think that people thought my questioning of everything was un­ a c c e p ta b le . It was not even specifically political or sexual. There is a sentence in Marx where he says that it’s very important to practise ruthless criticism on everything that exists. Now this type of thinking was considered by some politicians as not only relativistic but kind of under­ mining. That’s not true, because whatever is going to endure does so in spite of being questioned.

How did they actually ban the film?

It was a very elaborate process of social events. The Film was never released, although for more than a year it had a censorship licence. This was then challenged by a district at­ torney who used a paragraph of law that was not actually applicable. So for some time the Film was stopped, but I was still working, still prepar­ ing another Film.

What happened to you during this period? ^ I Finally moved to Paris and made my Film there instead of staying and

Facing page: Sweet Movie is like halva — it is so thick and sweet that people can only eat one or two bites. ......

Miss Virgin 1984 (Carole Laure) in the chocolate bath.

A therapy session of the Milky Way Commune from Sweet Movie — breathing under stress conditions.

p articip atin g in this kind of irrational dialogue.

Did “Sweet Movie” turn out to be the kind of Film you were thinking about making in Yugoslavia?

No, I had wanted to make it much more positive. It was planned as a hilarious comedy, and I believe it would not have been so strong and heavy. When making films I always follow what happens around me, and in this case some doubts kind of crept in and they became heavier and heavier. Then, in the middle of shooting, Solzhenitsyn was thrown out of Russia and I very strongly em­ pathized with him. When they put him on the plane he looked very sur­ prised, and this surprise is expressed in the way we shot the suitcase.

“Sweet Movie” doesn’t look on the surface to be as much a political film as “WR” . . .

When I met them, I wanted to do part of the Film in Vienna, but we brought them to Paris instead.

They are a group called the Therapy Commune. They live on a farm about 30 or 40 miles out of Vienna, with pigs and cows and hens and things. About 50 people, equally men and women. Now they have six babies, and as they all make love together each baby has 25 fathers.

They are very nice people. It is the only alternative community that I have met that is not heavily into drugs.

How did they get into a commune to start with?

The main guru is Otto Muehl the painter and organizer, who dropped all his public performances to start the commune. To be normal is to be heavily repressed and very insane, and the only way to become alive and normal again is to forget about Cinema Papers, November-December — 237

DUSAN MAKAVEJEV

Confronting people’s castration complexes in Sweet Movie. “A kind of critical, macho self-criticism play.”

property. So individually they have no money, they share everything.

They are just middle class people, very normal, and highly educated people. In the commune they became warm and happy and rid of all their social rigidities.

In the film the scenes of them urinating and vomiting are associated with violent scenes like the knifing in the bed of sugar . . .

I think it’s a very sensual violence, because they d o n ’t really do anything. The screams are actually very strong breathing. Once by acci­ dent we ran the screams of this man in therapy and we got a baby’s cry.

Incredible! A baby’s cry, but because he’s an adult you don’t recognize it.

It is the basic way of breathing under a stress situation. They do this kind of thing as part of their regular therapy.

It is kind of Janov therapy, like the primal scream . . .

It’s deeper. Janov is a fake. I dis­ covered that when I talked to him and read his books. He is really sell­ ing your sufferings — selling your babyhood.

How are these people different?

They get into real regression, but with real mutual support. They are very conscious of what they are going through, and are very often discover­ ing things from their childhood.

They experience the basic stresses of facing their mother or father, of reaching their own terror. This gets rid of the main blocks, because terror is a block. They also do it publicly because they know it turns others off, and that’s a way for them to defend themselves, because whenever they are nice, people come in flocks. Peo­ ple are very corrupt and as soon as they feel that people are sexually free, they run to them just to profit from sexual freedom, just to steal some sex. You have no idea how nas­ ty we normals are. We are very ex­ ploitative and greedy.

The scenes you presented in the film, though, don’t appear as much a

documentary as a kind of extended fantasy, particularly when associated with the bath of sugar and the girl bathing in liquid chocolate . . .

I was interested in exploring sen­ sual imagery, which for me was a kind of fantastic imagery. It brought some strength to the film and people are quite shocked. They believe in it — they don’t understand that it was staged, though it is very clear that it was. If you watch them carefully you see that they are doing this for the camera.

One of them takes out what looks like his penis, puts it on the table and chops it off. How is the audience sup­ posed to see that as therapy?

This was not done by the group, but by an Argentinian actor I brought into it. So he’s part of, let’s say, my play. I liked it because it is a kind of self-castration, a very critical macho self-criticism play. There is also the idea that we have enormous cocks. I like this setting because not only am I confronting us with castra­ tion periods, but because a second later when we see the real thing it is so vulnerable.

And small . ..

But still big enough for her. It’s a pity we are not able to go further.

Did you choose the dinner table for the central scene because of the suggestion of a family coming together?

I wanted this. We are not con­ scious of how we are affected by millions of taboos, not only about sex and death, but even about the edges of plates. If you spill food on the table, you are not supposed to eat it. If something falls into a glass of water, you are not supposed to drink it. There is incredible embarrassment when food is spilt. But you can just look around and see how parents are eating their children, and how people are eating each other emotionally.

Really in our society I think peo­ ple are scared and this reminds them of what happens in families. The whole family represents emotional

238 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Right: sensual as opposed sexual imagery.

Sweet Movie.

sa

ยก1 B I $

DUSAN MAKAVEJEV

Miss Virgin and El Macho (Sami Frey) experience penis captiva on the Eiffel Tower. Sweet Movie.

food for father. They are sacrificing some emotions and the father is like a monster eating them, kind of mak­ ing them smaller. Millions of women are completely invisible because their reality is eaten away by powerful men.

Do these kinds of images suggest themselves during filming or are they from a working script?

I planned a program with a day of eye contact, a day of food, a day of piss, a day of shit, a day of sex, a day of blood, a day of death.

Why did you divide them up like that?

Well, I just wanted to have some kind of basic situation. Not in the sense of classical drama, but in that I ' was going to explore psycho-physical response.

The first day we were successful.

Anna came out from the kitchen carrying this salad and they started throwing it around. It was very nice because suddenly the connection between the food and the girl appeared completely improvised and unplanned. But Carole was not able to follow through with it because she started having problems with nudity.

She was able to be naked in a number of scenes, but mostly when she was alone. She believed that she was going to be fucked by all of them in front of the camera.

The idea was that they were going to undress and bathe her, and treat her in a very sensual and gentle way.

Then one tear was going to appear in the corner of her eye. The next step was the awakening of the mouth, then a food orgy that persuaded her to be gentle with sex. So a whole series of events were very carefully planned to bring her back to life in a number of very small steps.

How did you intend the massacre scenes in the forest to fit in?

The massacre is something com­ pletely dissociated from our con­ sciousnesses, so if it appears in the film as something completely ar­ bitrary it corresponds to its own 240 — Cinema Papers, November-December

nature. This massacre, as well as other massacres that are not quite normal, are very quickly forgotten.

It only appears as a kind of reminder, a reminder of the existence of some moral issues that are com­ pletely unresolved.

This use of documentary film clips fits in well in “WR”, because the sex­ ual fantasy is political anyway. But in “Sweet Movie” the sexual fantasy is not political . . .

In Sweet Movie it is more a kind of sensual imagery than sexual fantasy.

So obviously the decaying corpses are on the way to losing their iden­ tity. They are halfway between iden­ tity and non-identity, halfway between people and earth. This decaying quality introduces some very specific sensitivity. You can ex­ perience all kinds of anxieties while watching it. It’s like something from another world.

How do you think people react to the massacre?

My feeling is that the main reac­ tion to this kind of necrophiliac ex­ posure of death is shock. The material is showing that death is something to be displayed. Also I really wanted to have some black and white footage in a color film. We have three black and white points: the cadavers, the baby training and the black and white shot of the corpses at the end. This is the point when my fiction story becomes documentary. All this black and white footage then changes back into color to show that there is some kind of process of transformation; a trans­ formation of Anna from a love­ bringing woman to a fear-bringing one.

Then you have the constant fear of birth because the life after birth is the life on earth. There is Carole coming out of the suitcase, and her coming out of the swimming pool; which are also sorts of birth. Then there is the boat which has this kind of sweet feeling.

The boat on the canaf looks very much like a symbol of birth . . .

Yes, I am very happy with it. But I was not conscious of that aspect dur­ ing shooting.

Why did you start off with the ‘Miss Virgin’ television spectacular?

I think that’s a mistake. The film should start with the boat. This was the remnant of a script, the remnant of chronology. Actually there was no boat in the script, there was only a shot of two lovers flying away after she kills him in the sugar. So instead of having a small scene with the boat, the boat became almost the whole film. The fact that the boat is not at the very beginning is a sign that the editing process is not finished. I don’t think it is correct that when films are finished one abruptly loses contact with them.

I also think that with clever dis­ tribution I could make different ver­ sions for different countries. This means that I could trim the film in some places, and sharpen it in others.

I discovered that the French are more concerned with food, the Scan­ dinavians with violence. The Italians are more political so in Italy the film was shown with five titles. Pasolini did one with my approval. It was In­ fantile Malady of Left Communism.

Children vomiting the food of their parents, and shitting on the plate of bourgeoisie. The whole commune was seen as a political excuse for a kind of radical mood. These days we have a lot of radical movements, so people understood it. I was asked in Rome if that was my intention and I told them that I never give Marxist definitions to my sequences. But I think that what Pasolini did was right.

What’s “Sweet Movie” done for your commercial reputation?

The great success in Italy was very useful, and Sweet Movie was about 60 per cent more successful in France than WR. Still, WR brought me a much better reputation in France than Sweet Movie, which turned some people off. It seems that the better success of the film did not work for me. Obviously in the sexual sense Sweet Movie is much milder than WR, though people believe it is stronger because of the food and elimination scenes.

They can’t even speak of these taboos; they don’t know how to say shit, they don’t know how to explain why they are disgusted. Actually they are more desperate than dis­ gusted, they are just lost. And this is something unimaginable.

It’s going to make it difficult for you to get money for your next film though if you make a film which turns a lot of people and critics off . . .

Yes. My feeling is that as soon as they discovered how strong the material was, they ignored a lot of material. We had another hour of great material. You can’t stop watching it, it’s so strong. We should make separate films of this material, but for this kind of thing you need a flexible producer. But it was not possible to put all the material in this film.

However, as most people only see a film once, it must be difficult to con-

vey the wealth of imagery that you put in . . .

This is one thing that I don’t know how to handle, how to solve. My Films are not for just one viewing.

They change the more they are seen.

But as you use stereotypes to a degree in “WR” and “Sweet Movie”, does this mean that after a couple of viewings the film’s usefulness for dis­ cussion diminishes?

My feeling is that I use cliches as bricks, as blocks. They are mostly exposed to critical examination and doubts,' so they reveal their real nature, especially if you watch them several times. Then you discover that cliches are disappearing, and they reveal their real soul.

This is again assuming that the audience that makes your film successful is different to the mass audience . . .

I think that if I want to reach large audiences, I have to produce three films a year instead of one Sweet Movie, but with the same actors and the same story. Sweet Movie is like halva — it is so thick and sweet that people can only eat one or two bites.

When you talk about freedom, about film as being a guerrilla art, and about yourself as being revolutionary, what precisely do you mean by that?

First I don’t know if I am revolutionary and, secondly what gives me the right to say I am.

Sometimes I know I’m very creative and some of my sequences are brilliant, but I don’t know if it’s right for me to say whether I’m a genius or not.

I think being revolutionary is different to being a genius. I mean, you might be both, but they’re* different things . . .

Yes, but it is the same question. So I probably have a talent for some things and a concern for others.

Sometimes these go together, sometimes not. Sometimes I produce difficult things and sometimes I produce socially relevant statements that can hopefully influence social situations. In this sense you can judge whatever is revolutionary or not. Many people judge my work as counter-revolutionary. That I am not offended by this kind of labelling tells me that I know what I’m doing.

FILMOGRAPHY SHORTS 1953 1955 1957 1958 1958 1958 1958 1959 1961 1961 1961 1962 1962 1962 1962 1964 1964

Jatagan M ala The Seal ^ Anthony’s Broken M irro r Don’t Believe in the Monuments Damned Holiday Colors are Dreaming Beekeeper’s Scrapbook W hat is a Workers’ Council Educational Fairytale One Potato, Two Potato . . .

Smile 61 Miss Yugoslavia 62 Film About the Book Parade Down W ith the Fences New Toy New Domestic Animal

1967 1968 1971 1971 1974

M an is N ot a Bird D iary of a Switchboard Operator Innocence Unprotected W R : Mysteries o f the Organism Sweet Movie

FEATURES

Facing page: the first stage in the bringing back to life of Miss Virgin — the awakening of the mouth. Sweet Movie.

mmยง

Bolex announces the H16EL, with a new kind of meter that is ultra sensitive to light changes and built for hard use.

The motor is electronically controlled. When you stop, it stops. And the shutter closes. You can use your original film without having to cut frames from both ends of each take.

The viewfinder has high brightness and 13x magnification, plus built-in comfort with either eye. Two red light diodes in the viewfinder indicate correct aperture. No waiting for a needle to settle down. The diaphragm of the new Vario-Switar 12.5-100mm f2 lens is fully open for accurate focusing and closes down automatically when you squeeze the button.

Power is supplied by a Ni-Cd battery. Take your choice of two power packs, two chargers.

With the usual Bolex attention to detail, a full range of accessories is available, including a removable 400 foot magazine that is used with a take-up motor providing constant film tension.

The whole unit is built like a tank. It is a rugged and reliable piece of gear that is as fail­ safe as Bolex know-how can make it, despite its light weight (about 71bs for body and power pack).

The Bolex Shoulder brace provides excellent stability with good weight distribution, and frees the camera­ man’s hands to operate camera and lens.

When writing for literature, please enclose 30 cent stamp.

Photimport (Aust) Pty Ltd Melbourne 38 6922 Sydney 26 2926 Brisbane 52 8188 Adelaide L H Marcus 23 2946 Perth L Gunzburg 28 3377

PBO5076

A built-in light meter once turned even a ruggedly built pro camera into a delicate instrument.

Enter the H16EL, with a silicon cell instead of the conventional CdS cell. Results: 1. Instant response to light variations. Shift from blinding light to deep shadow with perfect results. 2. No sensitivity to temperature variations. 3. No corrections needed, because of its straight response curve. 4. Equally responsive to all colours from blue to red.

Manual light measurements are made through the lens in the body of the camera so the camera can be fitted with any optics, including long telephotos, macrolenses, even extension tubes. For extreme changes of light, use a lens with built-in automatic exposure adjustment.

Bayonet lens mount for quick and precise changes. So strong that you can carry the whole camera by the lens.

Film speeds 10-50 fps, single frame, reverse and crystal control are electronically regulated and are coupled automatically to the meter, with a selector knob rated from 10 right up to 630ASA.

^ i|^ J |J ||||Ìjj|g

Helen Morse as Caddie.

PRODUCTION REPORT

Adapted by Joan Long from the autobiography of the same name, “ Caddie” stars Helen Morse and Takis Emmanuel, with Jack Thompson, Jacki Weaver, M elissa Jaffer, Ron Blanchard and Drew Forsythe in the supporting roles.

The screen adaptation begins in 1925 when Caddie and her two small children leave the security of their suburban home after the behavior of her unfaithful and violent husband becomes in­ tolerable. The film then follows the course of her life over the next seven years as she struggles to retain her dignity and keep her family around her. And to this end Caddie is forced to take the only work that will pay enough, that of a barmaid in a tough inner city hotel.

Though the film is essentially an account of the problems and adventures of a woman on her own, it is also a personal account of a place and an era.

Since 1970, when the producer Anthony Buckley bought the book’s rights from its British publisher, the film has had a dif­ ficult, but not unusual history.

With the aid of a promotional brochure which simplified the ideas and plot of the script, Buckley approached 47 potential in­ vestors. These included influential and wealthy women, as it was

thought they might have a special interest in its story. Many large companies were also approached, including mining concerns and major distributors. On more than one occasion, however, invest­ ment was conditional to a change in Federal Government.

The final budget of $385,000 is made up of the following in­ vestments: Australian Film Development Corporation $250,000, Australian W omen’s Weekly-Channel 9 group $60,000, Inter­ national W omen’s Year Secretariat $50,000, Roadshow $25,000.

The Women’s Year investment is re-circulating in that any returns on its investment are to be used in future projects by or about women.

Sets were built on the old Cinesound stage at Rozelle, though most of the shooting was on locations in and around inner Sydney. Many of these, including the old hotels, were virtually unchanged since the 1930s and required little alteration or dressing. In the use o f these, and the employment of nearly 500 extras, Buckley hopes to give his film the expensive look needed for success on a world market.

Directed by Don Crombie, “ Caddie” is the first feature produced by Anthony Buckley Productions, and will be released through Roadshow at Easter 1976.

Cinema Papers, November-December — 243

ANTHONY BUCKLEY P ro d u c e r Anthony Buckley is one of the most experienced feature film editors now working in Australia. After an apprenticeship at Cinesound under Ken G. H all, Tony worked for numerous production houses, both in Australia and overseas. Among the features he has edited are Ted K otcheffs “W ake in Fright” , M ichael Pow ell’s “ Age of Consent” and Tom Jeffrey’s “The Removalists” .

It was while awaiting the chance to set up “ Caddie” , Tony’s first attempt at feature film production, that he joined Film

Australia. There he produced Peter W eir’s “ Whatever Happened to Green V alley” and Don Crombie’s “The Fifth Facade” .

Tony has also directed two films: “ Forgotten Cinema” , a com­ plete history o f the Australian film-industry, and “ Snow, Sand and Savages” , the story o f Frank Hurley’s life. “ Caddie” was into its second last week o f filming when Gordon Glenn and Scott Murray spoke to Tony at his Rozelle production office.

What made you change from editor to producer?

against art films, but I’m personally aiming at a quality commercial film.

Well to be quite honest, after Don Quixote there wasn’t any work around. I’m not very good at cutting commercials and I wouldn’t pretend that I am because some of the com­ mercial editors in Melbourne and Sydney are fantastic. I do feel at home in drama and I feel at home in documentaries. There was nothing in the editing business at all at the time, and Film Australia offered me a job as a contract producer. I must admit I had a lot of qualms about it, but with Caddie in the back of my mind even then, I thought the opportunity a good one. Certainly the experience was invaluable.

My philosophy is that you can’t put yourself up on a pedestal in A u s tra lia and call y o u rs e lf something, because there isn’t the industry here to do it. When Caddie is finished and launched, and while Donald and I wait to get another one off the ground, Don’s got to go back to directing whatever is offered and I to whatever editing is offered me.

You have to keep your feet on the ground.

Would you have got any money without the AFDC? Is that really a necessary first stage?

Did you at any stage consider the possibility of editing “Caddie”?

No. In fact a lot of the investors queried why I wasn’t editing the film, but the director has the producer over him anyway, without the poor bugger having to go into the cutting room after he’s finished shooting and finding the producer sitting there with another hat on. I don’t think • that would be very fair at all.

Do you then consider yourself a creative producer?

Yes. I have taken the precaution of making sure that not only do we have professionals, but very good people who I can rely on to back me up. And that goes right through this production office, production ac­ countancy and all. But I’ll make the decisions and sometimes they are a bit ruthless, yet I’m still prepared to make them.

What made you select Don Crom­ bie as director?

Well when I was at Film Australia I worked with Don on The Fifth Facade — the Opera House film. I 244 — Cinema Papers, November-December

Director Don Crombie (left), producer Tony Buckley, visiting British director Michael Powell, and Kevin Powell. Buckley edited Powell’s Age of Consent.

I personally think it is at the moment. Certainly during the last four years no investor would even offer you a cup of coffee unless he knew you had already got something from the government. I think that’s changing slowly, I think that people like Tim Burstall and Peter Weir, who now have admirable track records, will probably have less dif­ ficulty in raising private money, whether they have government money or not.

I still think the government end of it is an essential ingredient.

Australian films are going to cost more, whether we like it or not. The AFC has got to be realistic in its approach, because if our films are to reach an international market, they have got to have a look about them that makes them acceptable to that market. And that’s why The Man From Hong Kong, which cost a half a million, looks a million dollars on the screen. Now we should be mak­ ing Caddie on a $450,000 budget, but we haven’t got it. So we have to take short cuts all the time, and some of these are now dangerous to take.

felt he had great potential and was autonomy. One distributor who was somebody who was not being given a very interested was Columbia Pic­ chance. tures, and I believe that their interest Basically though, Donald pleases is genuine. me because he’s very balanced and I think the position is changing has a good rationalization of things. though. The fact that Tim Burstall’s I think that this time next year we’ll got Warner Brothers interested in all be talking about people like Peter Mrs Fraser is terrific. Greater Union Weir and Donald Crombie which I have always shown Australian films, think is very important. We’ve still and are now investing in local films. got the problem of finding the direc­ Roadshow likewise. But what are tors and getting them up there so Hoyts and Twentieth Century-Fox Can you give any indication of that people say, “ Yes, you can do doing? which ones? it’’. There is still a shortage of first When you approached the dis­ assistant directors in this country Art direction are really having a who really know how to run a crew; a tributors did they respond to “Cad­ shortage of production managers die” as a good story, or as something battle, because we’ve got $10,000 for construction, $10,000 for props and who really know how to organize a that fitted a formula? it’s not enough. I mean, you’ll never film and get scripts broken down. If know. You’ll think it’s a million That's a very interesting point. It you don’t have an efficient produc­ dollars on the screen, but it means tion manager and an efficient first varied. Columbia liked the story a lot assistant director, your film could go and thought it was definitely com­ they are working long hours and do­ ing all sorts of things to bring it in hopelessly over schedule and be com­ mercial. Michael Tarrant made an with that look. Costume and art pletely muddled. We are very lucky interesting comment when he said it to have both. At the moment we are was the best script that he had read . should be operating on a budget of still on budget, which is quite a relief. . locally which had an international in­ around $50,000 for a period film.

We’ve made a rod for our own backs gredient. I asked what that was and in making a period film, because Was one of the conditions of the he replied: “ It’s about a woman, and Australian Film Development Cor­ there are some very valuable markets that’s a difficult thing to do in this poration that you had to get involve­ for that subject.” I think that’s day and age. You have to decide ment from a major distributor? something, and Graham Burke of on which of the two possible types of Roadshow would agree with me. film you are going to make: either you concentrate on the low budget Yes. We hawked ourselves around What I’m really asking is whether $250,000-$300,000 film and be very to all the majors and we had the usual reactions: “No, we don’t go they saw it as a ‘quality film’ or as a careful with your selection of your subjects so you can get your money into this sort of thing — we don’t ‘formula’? back in Australia, or you go for the have any autonomy” . They were I’d leave it for them to say. I’m $400,000-$450,000 type of film. I very pleasant and very nice about it, think to make a quality film for but it was the same old story. And, in aiming at a quality commercial film, $250,000 is soon going to be pretty fairness to them, they haven’t got not an art film. I have nothing

PRODUCTION REPORT

Above: From the happy period of Caddie’s life: Caddie and her Greek lover Pete (Takis Em­ manuel).

well impossible. I would say that from next year on, the minimum budget for a quality type of film should be $450,000. Now I know Tim Burstall disagrees with me on this, but if we start limiting our budgets too far and lim iting ourselves to a certain type of film, then the industry will go down very rapidly. The costs of production are going up all the time: chemical costs went up three times just between September and now. You go on location and you are up for $60,­ 000 straight away, for crew, per deums and motels.

I also think we have, probably got to think from time to time of bring­ ing in an overseas lead if we are aim­ ing at that budget, because they won’t back you for $450,000 with just a local cast — not all the time.

There was great pressure put on me to bring Sarah Miles or Julie Christie to play Caddie, and I fought that all along the line. Who else could play an Australian barmaid during the Depression, but an Australian? I think that paid off, and we are very pleased about it. We brought in the Greek actor Takis Emmanuel because there was cer­ tainly nobody here who could have played that role.

The big argument two years ago was that budgets couldn’t be more than $250,000 because on a four to one ratio that meant you required at least one million in box-office. Now when you say $450,000, you are talk­

Below: Jack Thompson as the SP bookie Ted, with Caddie at the Digger Benefit Dance.

ing about a million and a half or over.

Is that possible in Australia?

No, not always. It’s a high risk area. Therefore, we have to look more carefully at what we are mak­ ing and how we are making it, because the market has become such that we cannot just get our money back in this country. We are going to have to sell them overseas, and sell them well. It depends, you can’t predict. I think Sunday Too Far Away will probably just skimp its costs back here, while I think its profit will come from overseas. Pic­ nic at Hanging Rock looks as though it has taken off and will get all its money back here.

It’s no secret Roadshow and ourselves have got to get a million and a half back on Caddie if we are to get our money back here, but at the same time we are already gearing ourselves up to look very carefully at the overseas market for sales.

Do you think you have a chance of getting it back in Australia?

I’d like to think we have. I’ve always said we will, provided we go very carefully about it — and that depends on promotion. A producer must get involved and show an in­ terest in how his film is going to be sold, and follow it through. It is no use leaving it to somebody else once you get your answer print. It’s up to all of us to work together and make sure the public knows about it. Even Cinema Papers, November-December — 245

PRODUCTION REPORT

The Panavision camera tracks along with Pete and Caddie as they stroll along a Sydney beach.

if we produce a failure, we’ve still got to go out and sell it, because the only way one can survive as a filmmaker is by getting one’s money back — at the box-office.

office film, and they totally misjudg­ B urstall film. T h a t’s a great ed their audience. breakthrough. If the Sidecar Racers people had thought of that approach, By aiming too low? they wouldn’t have had the disaster they have on their hands, because I Yes, and by putting American B- don’t believe that any Australian grade values on Australian A-grade film director would have put his au d ien ces. D o n ’t fo rg et our hands to such a terrible script. audiences are paying much more to Anyway, it’s no use, in my mind, go to the cinema than they are in making films like Sidecar Racers America. They made a total mis- because they can make them so judgment and that reflects on us too much better over there. Whereas if because none of those sort of films we a re g o i n g to h a v e any have helped us get any sort of image. breakthrough at all, it’s going to be They are destroying and undoing all based on the ingredients that are in­ the good we have been trying to do. digenous. If Petersen is taking off Fortunately there has been a lapse well in America, it would be in­ in that type of production, which has teresting to analyze why. It must be given us a chance to get ahead. I’m some ingredient that is not apparent all for co-productions when we are in their own films. Now, Picnic is a ready, but if we go into co­ classy film, and Sunday has productions willy nilly we will be marvellous indigenous humor. For swamped. We don’t want to ever see example, the rolling the meatballs what happened to Spain and joke — very corny, very typical, very England, where they walked in, well done. You don’t see it in a bought everyone with inflated British or an American film. I think that’s what’s important about getting our films on those overseas screens.

The other thing I would say about “Sunday” and “Picnic” is the almost unique way they have used the Australian landscape. They haven’t exploited it, they’ve just understood it. Consequently, the landscape has become a beautiful and haunting quality of these films . . .

One final question on budgeting — do you think we are underselling our actors and technicians? I’m thinking particularly of Jack Thompson who must have contributed a great deal towards “Sunday” doing so well.

Now, he only got a figure of something like $7000.

Basically I think the payments are fair and adequate. Certainly based on the figure you just quoted me, our figures are more than ‘comparable, especially taking into consideration that Caddie is a cameo film. I do believe that your lead star, like Jack Thompson or Helen Morse, should 'be offered a percentage of the producer’s gross. It’s an incentive and they become more interested in the film and how it’s being sold. For example the amount of time Jack Thompson has given to the promo­ tion of Sunday is really fantastic — and I don’t think he is even on a percentage.

It is one area though where we must be careful not to abuse our ac­ tors too much. You know you’ve got Jack in this picture as an SP bookie.

Well, he was only here for a week’s shooting on the set, but all the girls from the building next door would wait outside all day just to see him.

Jack Thompson is certainly becom­ ing a household word.

Director Don Crombie discusses the love scene with Takis Emmanuel and Helen Morse.

I think that’s absolutely right.

Perhaps that’s where we did go wrong in the thirties to a point — with the exception of the comedies, which are the one indigenous thing that has always been successful whether good, bad or indifferent.

The Sentimental Bloke exploited the Australian background, as did a lot of other films at the time. The Squatter’s Daughter, for example, by t o d a y ’s s t a n d a r d s a c o r n y melodrama, has Frank Hurley’s lush photography of the Australian land­ scape. That sent people packing into

Thousand Horsemen has quality, but other films of Charles Chauvel don’t.

The Ealing films in Australia tried for it and I think Tim Burstall has attempted to achieve it in a visual form, which is important. The Cars That Ate Paris has quality. As for the cheapies and quickies, I didn’t think so — I think they have often lacked taste.

It seems a particularly rewarding situation when good Australian films like “Picnic” are making money . . .

I think that’s true. I think there is a c h a n g in g a t t i t u d e am o n g Australian audiences. Even down at the local Balmain newsagent they have seen Sunday Too Far Away. I asked why they went and they said, I don’t think it’s coming for the “because it’s an Australian film and first time, I think we had it and we we like Australian films now” . I ask­ lost it. I think some of the overseas ed whether that meant they didn’t cheapies helped us lose it and our like them before and they replied: sense of values. I think The Sen­ “ Yes. The others weren’t very good, timental Bloke has enormous quality, and some were a bit crude.” I think as a lot of the early twenties films do. that’s important. Picnic, Sunday and I think Ken Hall tried to put quality hopefully Caddie and End Play, are into several of his productions and proving that you can give them quali­ achieved it, but then budgets and ty as well as box-office. With Sidecar time reduced in other areas. Forty Racers, they aimed at making a boxThere is a very strong feeling around at the moment that quality has come back to Australian films — especially with “Sunday” and “Pic­ nic”. What are your feelings?

246 — Cihema Papers, November-December

Director of Photography Peter James and his Spectra, with Takis Emmanuel and Helen Morse.

salaries and then left them in ruins.

We can’t afford to have that happen to us. That’s why I’m very pleased to see that Warners are talk­ ing to Roadshow, and, in particular, Hexagon, about investing in a Tim

the cinemas, both here and in England. We lost that, because they went into studio situations and made artificial films.

With Picnic and Sunday it has now come back.

HELEN MORSE /DON CROMBIE “ Caddie” / Director Helen Morse, one of Australia’s most highly regarded actresses, graduated from N.I.D.A. in 1965. After several roles in television plays and series, she secured the role of the country schoolteacher in Cliff Green’s Marion. Her feature film roles in­ clude Stone (1974), Petersen (1974), Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and now Caddie.

Don Crombie spent most of last year with the South Australian Film Corporation where he made Who Killed Jenny

Langby?, the pilot and one episode of Stacey’s Gym and a couple

of documentaries. Before this he had a 10-year stint at Film Australia directing The Fifth Facade, The Choice and Personnel or People, among others. He also spent 1971 in Britain working for the BBC. Caddie is his first feature film.

The following interview was conducted by Gordon Glenn and Scott Murray at the United Sound theaterette, where the crew had just finished watching the previous day’s rushes.

Is there much of you in Caddie?

Morse: I don’t know. I probably won’t know that until I have seen it all together. Sometimes I see something in the rushes, and think, “ Shit, that’s not her, that’s me.’’ It kind of worries me at times because it’s not me up there, it is a totally different person.

Obviously some things of me come through, when an attitude that she has is one I have. But there are also thoughts and experiences she’s had that I haven’t. It is from these that you create a character and make it live.

Do you find it difficult to carry a mood between takes?

Morse: It is always difficult, though it is probably easier if you have had a lot of experience. One of the big challenges of film is that it is such a highly technical business that you have to relate to all the other people very closely. For example when Peter James is lighting a scene, part of my job as an actor is to be aware of what he is doing, because he will light me in a certain way to achieve a particular effect. Now if I don’t take any notice I might end up saying my dialogue outside the lighting environment he has created.

Helen Morse (Caddie).

Are you conscious of the lenses used?

Morse: Yes, I am. I am very into lenses (giggle).

The kids look good . . .

Are you using rehearsals?

Crombie: No, not really. Our problem is that we are working under great pressure, and we haven’t got time to indulge in a lengthy dis­ cussion, a rehearsal, walk through and more discussion again. We have a walk through, the lights are set up and then that is it. We can’t then go back and change our minds, because if we do we could lose a scene a day.

It is a terrifically tight schedule.

Morse: What I usually do before a particular scene is read through any notes and bits of information that I think might be useful in terms of the character-attitudes, life history, period details, etc. So by the time we do a walk through I have a basic line on the character.

In the script Caddie has a certain main objective, and I concentrate as much as I can on what that is. My job is to make the moment in the frame come true — without acting it.

One thing that would really worry me is if for a tough wharfside pub scene we have a room full of young male models. After all, there is not much point in spending a lot of money on art direction if you ruin it by using the wrong faces.

For the dole queues we have got some young men from an agency in Sydney. They had done a commer­ cial for the army for which they all had short back and sides. By the time we got to them it had all grown back.

We gave them haircuts and they real­ ly had that lean look you associate with the Kokoda Trail and the films of Damien Parrer. It is really good.

We are also grateful to Equity for allowing us to bring in a percentage of “actuals” . This is very important for the future, because one must be allowed to bring in some actuals to get the faces you can’t from a casting agency.

There is also a documentary feel to the film that we didn’t really expect.

A lot of the scenes have been just happening while we record it, rather than the other way around which is the standard feature film technique.

All the same, we have not let people just go and grab. In a way it has always been choreographed and rehearsed. So the film should be a mixture of the documentary style, like in the pub scenes, and what are fairly standard dialogue scenes. I hope it will work, but until it is put together we won’t really know.

Don.Crombie (left) with Takis Emmanuel and Helen Morse.

Crombie: One of the first things we did was have Helen involved in the final script re-write. She was then able to change some of the dialogue to what she thought would work best for the character.

Then we had a week’s preproduc­ tion with various key people like Jacki Weaver and Melissa Jaffa, and discussed in reasonable depth how they would each play their roles. We also brought Takis Emmanuel out from Greece a week early. This was necessary because although Joan had

researched the Greek customs and ways of life, she wasn’t absolutely certain of how a Greek would speak in English.

You seem to be using a lot of ex­ tras?

Crombie: We went to enormous trouble in the casting of Caddie — I think I interviewed something like 400 actors. So far we have had reasonably good luck, and especially in being able to keep within types.

Crombie: I wish you had seen yesterday’s rushes, because that little girl is really quite phenomenal. We did a scene the other night where Helen comes home and finds bed­ bugs crawling all over the kids and lifts them out. And, in Take 1 Deb­ bie (aged 2) dropped the doll that she was clutching, and said: “ Oh mummy I dropped my doll” . She then went back for it which was a lovely piece of natural action. I think Simon then looked at the camera and we had to do another one. Take two, she dropped her doll. She did it time and again for five takes, dropp­ ing her doll at the same point, and repeating the same dialogue. I’d say she performed as well as a seasoned professional actress, as far as timing and movement went.

The rushes seem to have quite a lightness about them in spite of them being set in the depression . . .

Cinema Papers, November-December — 247

PRODUCTION REPORT

m r ..— WÆ

, »tnwiw'ni' 111, 111., ...

Caddie’s awkward first day at the bar — with Josie (Jacki Weaver).

Crombie: Well one of the in­ teresting things that happened during shooting was that the film had much jnore humor than we anticipated. It has been fascinating for me because I have always been worried about Cad­ die being too depressing a story. In the scene I was just describing for ex­ ample, Caddie has to drag this bugridden mattress out of her room and swap it for another. On paper the scene reads rather sadly, but when we shot it it became instantly very funny, because Helen is only 5ft. 3in. and just peers over the top of the mattress.

You are not worried by the fact that it is funny?

Crombie: Not at all, I think it adds to the scene.

Similarly Caddie’s relationship with the SP bookie is very straight on paper, but when we got Jack Thompson and Helen together the thing just took off. That is the sort of thing I don’t think you know until you actually get the actors together.

And another problem of these low budget films is that you just don’t have the time to explore these relationships deeply. We have just got to get in there and shoot.

Some days you have to push against all odds to get your shots done, yet on others it just sort of clicks together. On a number of oc­ casions, we have run out of time or something and just had to go without a rehearsal. We did that on a bar 248 — Cinema Papers, November-December

scene, which was planned as five shots. We ended up doing it in one amazing tracking shot where everything happened in front of the camera. That one did work — I will claim that one.

It is the use of time that is of prime importance. If we continue to make these sorts of films for around $400,000, then we have to be dis­ ciplined in making sure the money ends up on the screen.

That is why the art department is so important. If you have a hearse in a scene then it can’t be cut out and dropped on the editing floor because it would be a waste of a hundred dollars. Your extras have to be used properly, and you have to shoot your set in such a way that you don’t need reverses because then you only need two walls instead of three.

Given the need to put the money on the screen, is there a risk that this policy could get in the way of thè characters?

Crombie: I don’t think so. I think it is a different thing.

Morse: I can only remember it happening once, and that was in the dressing room with the three bar­ maids. The art department hadn’t been able to get in and do a complete job and I think one wall had still to be finished. But in fact that worked brilliantly, because Don was then forced to shoot into mirrors and he ended up getting a beautirul in­ terplay between the girls. It made

that little dressing room come alive.

Crombie: I don’t think it would make much difference if we had a budget of a million dollars, because then we would be sitting here saying: “Oh we’ve only got 10 weeks to shoot it — we need three months. Oh if only we had two million.” It is just the same problem on a larger scale.

It is interesting talking to people who have made the $20,000 Film and TV Board films. I would think that all these directors are no worse off than me. The fact that my budget is 10 times what theirs is doesn’t mean that I am under 10 times the pressure. I think it’s exactly the same problem. They have two or three weeks to shoot 60 minutes, and I have six weeks to shoot 90. I don’t feel under any greater pressure on this film that I have felt on any other I have made.

How helpful then was the Film Australia experience?

Crombie: The biggest problem with me, and perhaps with other directors in Australia, is that I don’t get much opportunity to work with 35mm. Certainly not in the freelance world of drama, because let’s face it, who can afford it. So I had become unfamiliar with the 1.85 to 1 ratio, and was not used to the camera, the equipment and what it could do. I had spent the last two years working in 16mm for television, and it is hard to suddenly start thinking in terms of

the big frame where you can do much more in one shot. I remember Peter Weir saying exactly the same thing when he came back from making The Cars That Ate Paris.

And this is where Film Australia is very, very good. You get an oppor­ tunity, and if you fail, it is not instant death. There is a recognition of the need to experiment.

While that is good for directors, what about actresses like you Helen?

Do you have a continuity of work that allows you a chance to experiment or practice?

Morse: Well, the continuity of work in films is not over good. There was Marion and Stone, which both taught me a great deal. I have been very lucky this year because I have done Picnic at Hanging Rock and this. I can only just hope it continues.

Do you ever feel that you are acting in a vacuum in Australia?

Morse: No, I feel that I am acting in a very exciting environment. I think it is fantastic. The people I have met and worked with all generate great energy. You could say that I can afford to be positive, because I have been lucky enough to work on good films. But I think that if everybody is a bit more positive, everything is going to get better.

Hopefully, we have got out of that terrible stage of knocking everything that comes along, because we have some very talented people here. I think the Australian film industry

PRODUCTION REPORT

Barmaids Leslie (Malissa Jaffer) and Caddie.

has an awful lot to offer, and an aw­ ful lot to teach the rest of the world. I don’t want to be part of the Swedish film industry. I think it is fantastic, but I don’t want to be part of it — I want to.be part of the Australian film industry.

I would ultimately like to see all the people who are making a film getting into a group relationship. I experienced bits of this on Stone, Picnic and Caddie, where we had that ease musicians have when they work — that sort of jamming together.

Crombie: Filmmaking is a com­ munity enterprise. I don’t think there is in Australia a director who has total artistic control over his film, where everybody is subservient to his wishes. I suppose people like Hi t c hc oc k would have such eminence that their operat or wouldn’t dare.argue with them. But in Australia it is so much a group thing. I am grateful if-people tell me if they feel something is not working — I won’t get offended. If is better they speak up.

How much importance, in terms of shooting style and pacing, was placed on commercial considerations?

Crombie: Well we are making a commercial film. We feel very strongly about that. If it fails to be commercial it won’t be because we decided to make an art film.

What we are getting into now is the overall politics of the film in­ dustry in Australia at the moment. It is terribly important that this film, Picnic at Hanging Rock, Sunday Too Far Away and The Removalists succeed, because these are the first films that are not the Bazza McKen­ zies and Alvin Purples. I don’t like to call them ‘serious’ films because I don’t want to suggest that these others are not.

In other words we are trying to make commercial films out of sub­ jects like Caddie, out of girls dis­ appearing on Hanging Rock. It is important that these films succeed, because we have a tremendous responsibility to see that these sorts of films continue to be made.

Morse: I have to disagree with

you. You make a film to get across to people to communicate with them.

To me there is just no difference.

I read an awful lot of rubbish about films being labelled as com­ m e r c i a l or i m p o r t a n t and meaningful. It just gives me the shits, because on every film I have been in­ volved with, everybody has cared so much about it and put so much effort into it. Yet it gets labelled “rip-off’, or “arty” .

Do you ever feel caught up in the question of the great Australian film?

Crombie: No, I don’t feel there’s any pressure on me, because quite honestly if we worried about what people thought, as well as the money and hopes that are riding on it, we would go mad. All I will say is that I feel we have got to succeed so others can follow, because if we fail it makes it harder for them. I don’t think it makes it impossible, because let us face it, 75 per cent of all films fail. It is a tough business, and a high risk one. I think the pressure is on us, particularly in the current political climate, because if there is a change of government in the next 12 months, we have got to be able to go up to them and say: “ Look, we are making commercial films for $300,000$400,000, please let us keep making them.” We have to keep the Film Commission’s budget up.

You must be heartened though by the way “Picnic” and “Sunday” are doing financially.

Crombie: We are delighted. We who are following can only wish them continued success.

It will be interesting to see how Caddie goes, because it is the second film that has dealt vaguely with this period, and there is a hell of a lot of interest in it among the older generation. It will be interesting to see what the market will be, whether the younger people go, or not. There are two schools of thought, one is that the younger people will be in­ terested in it because they want to see what life was like, while the other is that the oldies will go for the nostalgia.

Peter James adjusts a scrim while camera operator John Seale checks the framing.

CREW Director ............................................. Don Crombie C addie.........................

P roducer......................................... Anthony Buckley P e t e r ...........................

Unit M a n a g e r.....................................Errol Sullivan E s th e r.........................

Production Secretary .............................. Pom Oliver Josie ...........................

Director of Photography .......................Peter James Ted ............................

E d ito r ...................................................Tim Wellburn Mardie ......................

Production M anager........................ Ross Matthews Leslie...........................

Art D irector....................................... Owen Williams Bill...............................

Production Accountant .................... Treisha Ghant Sonny ........................

Assistant Production A cco u n tan t.......................... John Marsh ..............

Sue Gatfield Mater ........................

Wardrobe Designer...............................Judy Dorsman Pawnbroker ..............

Sound R e co rd ist.................................................... DesBone Paper Boy ................

First Assistant Directors ....................... Janet Isaac, Terry March (age 5) Hal McElroy Terry Marsh (age 11) Second AssistantD irector................... Mark Turnbull Ann Marsh (age 2) . .

Third Assistant Director .............. Steve Knapman Ann Marsh (age 9) . .

Camera Operator ..................................... John Seale Middle-aged Man . . .

Focus P uller................................. David Williamson Black E y e ..................

Boom O p e ra to r..................................Graham Irwin Mrs Norris ................

Mrs M a rk s................

C lapper/L oader..................................Garry Phillips Mrs Sw eeney............

G a ffe r....................................................................TonyTegg Continuity ..........................................Adrianne Read Slight M a n ................

Art Department assistant .................... Jenny Green Male Drinker 1 ........

G rip ......................................................... Ross Erickson D aisy..........................

Assistant Editor ........................................ Les Fidess Male Drinker 2 .........

Assistant G r i p .................................Noel McDonald Alcoholic Woman . . .

Still photography ....................................Geoff Neild Raffle Man ..............

H airdresser...............................................Jenny Brown Billy ............................

Best B oy.................................................. Derek Jones Male Drinker 3 ........

M ake-up...................................................Peggy Carter Bar Useful 1 ............

Wardrobe standby.................................Mandy Smith Policeman I ..............

Seamstress ..............................................Joyce Stokes Constable 1 ..............

Wardrobe assista n t............................. Lindsay Brown Male Drinker 4 ........

Property Master ..................................Grace Walker Male Drinker 5 ........

Dubbing E d ito r....................................... Sara Bennett Tipsy M a n ................

Standby P ro p s.....................................Monte Fieguth Smart A lec................

Electrics 1 ................................................Paul Moyes Mrs P l a t t ..................

Unit Runner .......................................... Dennis Oran Mr P la tt....................

Research assistant....................................Lissa Coote Pianola Woman . . . .

Construction M a n ag er.......................... John Denton Doctor 1 ....................

Taxi Driver 2 .............

Assistant to Construction Department ................

Rod Horner Hospital S ister..........

Carpenters ............ Merv McLaughlin, Ron Loebel Maudie Friend 1 . . . .

Assistant Dubbing Editor ...................Helen Brown Maudie Friend 2 . . . .

S ta n d in ....................................................... Jenny Ogle Brewery D riv e r........

Catering ............................................. Harry Williams Boys' Home Matron V ik k i...........................

Unit D o cto r.................................Dr R.D.A. Currie L aboratory................................................... Colorfilm Wally .........................

Sound laboratory ................................ United Sound Hotel Boss 1 ............

Hearty M a n ..............

Man in Saloon ........

I v y .................... ..........

Hotel Boss 2 .............

Bar Useful 2 .............

Landlady 2 .................

Shop W om an............

Dole C le r k ................

Bar Useful 3 ............

Welfare O ffic e r........

Doctor 2 ......................

M issus........................

Sarah Tonks ............

Police Sgt. 3 ............

Neighbor I ................

Neighbor 2 .................

Paddy Reilly ............

Solicitor ....................

Ted's R u n n e r............

Unemployed Man . ..

Man at B a r ..............

Man’s Voice..............

Man at Counter . . . .

Mr Norris ................

Girls’ Home Matron Saloon P ia n ist..........

Landlady 1 ................

J o k e r ..........................

Hum ..........................

Lone Drunk ..............

V ictim ........................

Constable 2 ..............

Party P ia n is t............

.......... Helen Morse .. Takis Emmanuel ..........Kirilli Nolan . . . Jacki Weaver . . Jack Thompson ............Lyn Curran ........Melissa Jaffer . . . Ron Blanchard . . . Drew Forsythe ........Phillip Hinton ........Mary Mackay ..........Lucky Grills ..........Jamie Bonic ........Simon Hinton ........ Sean Hinton Deborah Kounnas Marianne Howard .. Karol Florsheim . . . . Robin Nevan .......... Pat Everson .......... June Salter .............. Joy Ruby ............ Rob Steel . . . . Johnny Craig .............Jan Ardele . . . . Johnny Craig . Shirley Cameron ........ Stan Penrose ............ Sid Heylan . . . Doug Scrooper .......... Pat Rooney ............ Bob Hallet ..........Dennis New ........ Reg Gorman ...............Dick Moss ........Ray Marshall ........Dave Allenby . .Dolore Whiteman . . Richard Gilbert . .. . Carmel Cullen ........Brian Wenzel ........Barry. Rugless ............Judy Ferris ..........Lorna Leslie ..........Linda Keane ...................Bill Lyle ............... Joan Lord ........Jane Harders .. . Johnny Gredula ............ Reg Gillam . . . Barney Coombs . . . . Danny Adcock ,. Elizabeth Chance ............ Alan Penny . . Stuart Campbell ........Margot Lloyd . . .. Beryl Marshall ........ Brian Nyland . .Frankie Davidson . . . . Kevin Howard ........ Willie Fennel . . . . Doris Goddard . . . . Jenny Howard ........ Colin Hughes ........ Julie Dawson ........ Connie Hobbs ............ John Ewart ............ John Gaden Johnny Quicksilver , ........ Ray Mitchell .. Johnny Garfield ................ Ed Turley . . . . Gough Vockler .......... Les Foxcroft ........ Dairy Harper ............... Jack Allen . . . . Shirley Donald ...............John Kelly .......... Frank Lloyd . . . Ernest Butchard ................ Ai Kenny . . . . Terry Hawsley .. Darryl Freestone

Cinema Papers, Movember-December — 249

Made by professionals for professionals, Sennheiser microphones are designed to meet the exacting requirements of the film, television, broadcasting communications and recording industries.

A whole range of microphones are available from miniature Lavalier types to the latest transistorised condenser microphones and Electret types, offering directional characteristics for every situation.

In addition to the host of accessories such as windshields, stands, goosenecks and booms, there is the famous Sennheiser ‘Microport’ system,

an RF microphone communication unit which offers truly cordless operation.

Like to know more about the huge range of Sennheiser microphones?

Come and talk to Cunninghams!

VIC.: 493-499 Victoria St., West Melbourne, 3003 Phone: 329 9633 N.S.W.: 4-8 Waters Rd., Neutral Bay, 2089 Ph.: 909 2388.

QLD.: L. E. BOUGHEN & CO., 30 Grimes St., Auchenflower, 4066. Ph..70 8097.

S.A.: Arthur H. Hall Pty. Ltd., 1-3 The W.A.: 65 Balcombe Way, Balga, 6061.

Parade West, Kent Town, 5067.

Ph.: 49 4919.

Ph.: 42 4506.

TELEX: Melbourne 31447, Sydney 21707, Brisbane 41500.

35 MM

PRODUCTION SURVEY

35 m m PRODUCTION SURVEY THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

MAD DOG

Director ......................................... Philippe Mora 35mm PREPRODUCTION 35 mm IN RELEASE Screenplay ................................... Philippe Mora P roducers................................Jeremy Thomas, Philippe Mora ■ Associate Producer ...............Richard Brennan Production Company . . .

Mad Dog Pty Ltd for THE BIG FELLOW END PLAY Motion Picture Productions Pty Ltd (Working title) Director ............................................. Tim Burstall Cast: Dennis Hopper, Jack Thompson, Frank Screenplay ........................................Paul Martin Screenplay ....................................... Tim Burstall Thring, David Gulpilil, Hugh Keays-Byrne,.

Production C om pany.......................Prana Films Producer.......................................... Tim Burstall Michael Pate, Wallace Eaton.

Synopsis: The film is about an ex-Premier of Associate Producer ........................ Alan Finney Synopsis: The film is based on the legends and NSW, the late Jack Lang, and his second and Production Com pany............................Hexagon facts surrounding the tragic and spectacular most turbulent term of office (1930-32).

Cast: George Mallaby, John Waters, Ken career of bushranger Daniel Morgan (1830-65).

B u d g e t..................................... $350,000 approx.

Goodlet, Robert Hewett, Kevin Miles, Charles Director of Photography........... Michael Molloy Length ...................................................... Feature Tingwell, Belinda Giblin, Walter Pym, Mai E d ito r.............................................................. JohnScott Progress ........................................Preproduction Bryning, Barry McQueen and Reg Gorman.

Production Manager ...............Richard Brennan No further details available.

Synopsis: Mystery-thriller based on the Russell Production Designer ....................... Bob Hilditch Braddon novel beginning with the murder of a Production Co-ordinator............... Jenny Woods young hitch-hiker on Melbourne’s Maroondah Assist, to the D ire cto r................................. PeterBeilby STORM BOY Highway.

Costum es/W ardrobe.................................. BruceFinlayson S cre e n play......................................... Sonja Borg Director of Photography........... Robin Copping Sound Recordist............................................. KenHammond (from the book by Colin Thiele) E d ito r................................................David Bilcock First Assistant D ire c to r................Michael Lake Producer .........................................Matt Carroll Production Manager ......................Ross Dimsey Second Assistant D ire c to r....... Chris Maudson Executive Producer ...................... John Graves Art Director........................................................BillHutchinson Camera Operator .............................. John Seale Production Com pany..................................SAFC Sound Recordist................................. Des Bone Focus P u lle r.................................................. PeterRogers Distribution C o m p a n y ................................SAFC Assistant D ire cto r...........................Ross Dimsey Boom O p e ra to r............................................... JoeSpinelli Release Date ......................................May 1976 Focus P u lle r.................................. Ivan Hexter Clapper/Loader..........................................RobertMorden Cast: Sandwich (the pelican). Actors’ casting not Camera A ssistant........................... Dan Burstall G a ffer....................................... Brian Bansgrove commenced.

Boom O p e ra to r............................Graham Irwin Continuity .......................................

Gilda Barachi Synopsis: A young man and his father who live in Clapper/Loader............................ Gordon Phillips Sound Re-recordist ........................Peter Fenton an isolated coastal wilderness known as “the G affer.............................................Lindsay Foote Assistant Art Directors .............. Monte Fieguth, Coorong” , rescue and raise a young pelican. The Continuity ............................... Alison Loftus-Hills Robert Jones bird changes both the relationship between Grip ..............................................Joel Witherden Barry Adler father and son and their future.

Still Photography ............................Susie Wood Grip ............................................ Graeme Mardell Director of Photography.....................Ron Lowe Make-up ................................... Lois Hofenfels Assistant Grip .......................... Noel McDonald Art D irector..................................David Copping Wardrobe ........................................Kevin Regan Hairdresser : ................................ William Kenrick Animal T ra in e r.............................. Gordon Noble B u d g e t.................................................... $244,000 Best B o y ........................................... Paul Gantner B u d g e t.................................................... $220,000 Progress ............................... Release print stage Make-up .............................................. Liz Mitchie (Investment of $82,000 from Australian Film Electrician..................................... Simon Purtell Commission) LET THE BALLOON GO R unner............................................ William Mora Length ...................................................... 80 min.

D ire c to r...........................................Oliver Howes GIVE THE DOG A GOOD NAME B u d g e t.................................................... $350,000 Color Process .............................. Eastmancolor S creenplay......... Ivan Southall, G. W. Howson Director ........................................... Gary Jackson Length ............................................... 100 minutes Progress ............................ Shooting November.

P ro d u cer..................................... Richard Mason Screenplay ..................................... Gary Jackson Color Process .......................................Eastman Associate Producer ...................... Jim McElroy P roducer........................................................ GaryJackson Progress .........................................In production Production Com pany................. Film Australia Production Com pany............................ Datafilm Panavision Distribution Company ................................. BEF Distribution Company ................................. BEF Release Date ........................................

May 1976 35 mm IN PRODUCTION Cast: Vincent Gill, Hudson Faucett, Steven JarTHE TRESPASSERS Cast: Robert Betties, Janet Kingsbury, John vin.

Ewart, Bruce Spence, Ben Gabriel, Ken Goodlet, D ire c to r............................................ John Duigan Synopsis: Charles is an aborigine, the dog is his.

Ray Barrett, Sally Whiteman, Matthew Wilson, Screenplay .......................................John Duigan There is a conflict of business Interests centered Terry McQuillan.

P roducer.......................................... John Duigan on real estate, resulting in the apprehension, CADDIE Synopsis: Based on Ivan Southall’s book of the Executive Producer .................Richard Brennan conviction and detention of Charles Nacky-Noo. D ire c to r........................................... Don Crombie same name, the film is set in a small country Production Com pany......................... Vega Film M u s ic .............................................Paul Radcliffe Screenplay ......................................... Joan Long town in 1917 and is the story of a young boy with Productions Pty. Ltd. Director of Photography............. Gary Jackson P ro d u ce r..................................Anthony Buckley a physical disability, who battles to overcome it.

Release Date ..................................... April 1976 E d ito rs ...........................................Gary Jackson, Production Com pany............. Anthony Buckley Cast: Judy Morris, Briony Behets, John Derum Director of Photography..............................Dean Semler Peter Blaxland Productions Pty Ltd Synopsis: The film is a study of a relationship in E d ito r...............................................................Max Lemon Production Manager ...................Gary Jackson Cast: Helen Morse, Takis Emmanuel, Kirilli transition. It is concerned with the impact on two Production Manager .................Rod Freedman Production Co-ordinator...............Carole Laird Nolan, Jacki Weaver, Jack Thompson, Lyn people of the deep-seated questioning of Art Director..................................David Copping Color Design ..................................Carole Laird Curran, Melissa Jaffer. traditional roles taking place in society as Production Secretary..................................Jenny Day Sound Recordist..........................Paul Radcliffe Synopsis: Based on the story of a young woman highlighted by their association with a third per­ Wardrobe ........................................ Ron Williams Mixer .............................................Paul Radcliffe and her two children during the twenties and son.

Sound Editor .........................................Greg Bell Sound editors ..............................Paul Radcliffe, thirties.

M u s ic ............................................................ Bruce Smeaton 1st Assistant Director .............Elizabeth Knight Peter Blaxland Director of Photography__ ____ Peter James Director of Photography.............................VinceMonton 2nd Assistant D irector...................... Phil Noyce Special Photographic Effects . . . Gary Jackson E d ito r........................................... Tim Wellburn E d ito r............................................................. TonyPatterson 3rd Assistant Director ................ Mike Rubetzki Camera Operator ........................

Gary Jackson Production Manager ................. Ross Matthews Production Manager .................... Lynn Gailey Focus P u lle r..................................... Peter Moss Continuity ...........................................Don Ezard Art D irector.................................. Owen Williams Art Director.......................................................

Gill Armstrong Boom O p e ra to r............................................... JoeSpinelli Sound Re-recordist .................... Paul Radcliffe Wardrobe Designer ................... Judy Dorsman Production Secretary.....................Jenny Woods Clapper/Loader.............................................TonyGailey Choreography ................................... Don Ezard Sound R ecordist............................................. DesBoneG a ffer............................................................ BruceGailey Sound Recordist........................................ LloydCarrick Script Assistant..... ......................Val Udowenko Assistant directors Janet Isaac, Mark Turnbull, Assistant D ire cto r.........................................ChrisMaudson Continuity ..................................... Gilda Barrachi Special Effects..............................Gary Jackson Steve Knapman Camera A ssistant..................

Malcolm Richards Sound R ecordist........................... Don Connolly Scenic A rtis t................................. Gary Jackson Camera O p e ra to r......................................... JohnSeale Boom O p e ra to r............................................ ChrisGoldsmith G rip -............................................ Geordie Dryden Stunts................................... Charlie Nacky-Noo Focus P u lle r............................ David Williamson C lapper/Loader........................... Robert Marden Still Photography ........................ John Delacour Narrator.............................................Vincent Gill Boom O p e ra to r............................ Graham Irwin G a ffer......................................... Brian Bansgrove Make-up ...................... Jose Perez, Liz Mitchie A n im a to rs...............Don Ezard, Gairden Cooke C lapper/Loader............................ Garry Phillips Continuity ...........................................Jan Tyrrell S tunts................................................ Grant Page Animators’ Assistants ...................... Marie Orr, G a ffe r..............................................................TonyTeggB u d g e t....................................................$275,000 Assistant Art Director ................Sue Armstrong Rodney De Silva, Gary Jackson C o n tin u ity .....................................Adrianne Read Grip .................................................. Noel Mudie Length ........................ ........................... 100 min.

Titles ...............................................

Gary Jackson Unit M anager................................................. ErrolSullivan Still Photography and Color Process ....................................... Eastman B u d g e t....................................................... $15,600 Production Secretary......................... Pom Oliver Production A ssista n t........................

Julie Bates Progress ....................................... Editing stages.

Length .................................................... 15 mins.

Art Dept. A ssistant......................................JennyGreen Best B o y ......................................................... PaulGantner Color Process .........................................Eastman Grip ................................................Ross Erickson Make-up .....................................Anne Pospischil Progress ..............................................In release Still Photography .............................. Geoff Neild B u d g e t.................................................... $145,000 Hairdresser...................................................JennyBrown Length ................................................. 90 minutes Best B o y .......................................................DerekJones Progress .................................................Editing.

Make-up .......................................... Peggy Carter Electrician........................................................PaulMoyes For details of the following films see Catering .......................................... Harry Williams previous issues: B u d g e t....................................................$386,000 Plugg Length ...................................................... Feature Picnic at Hanging Rock Progress .........................................Editing stages D ire c to r.............................. Frederick A. Schepisi Stephanie Cinis P ro d u cer............................ Frederick A. Schepisi Rhonda Schepisi Screenplay ....................... Frederick A. Schepisi Production Com pany.The Film House Cast: Nick Tate, Arthur Dignam, Charles McCallum, John Frawley, Jonathan Hardy, Thomas Keneally, Garry Duggan, Peter Cox, Simon Burke.

M u s ic ........................................... Bruce Smeaton Director of Photography.................... Ian Baker Editor ..................................... Brian Kavanagh Production Manager .................... Greg Tepper Art Director....................................... Trevor Ling Production Secretary...................Jenny Woods Costum es/W ardrobe...............Bryce Finlayson Sound R ecordist.......................... Don Connolly Assistant directors ..........................Mai Brying, Rhonda Schepisi Camera Operator ......... Ian Baker Camera Assistant . . . . Peter Sykes Boom Operator .. . . . Joe Spinnelli Clapper/Loader..

Wolfgang Kress G a ffer................... . . . Brian Adams Continuity ........... . . . . . . Jan Tyrell Grip .................... . Joel Witherden Assistant Editor .. . .. . Rodney Jay Still Photography . John Gollings Best B o y ............. .. . Denis Nikolic Make-up ............. . .Ann Posplchill T itles.................... ........... A1 Et A1 B u d g e t................. ........... $300,000 Length .................

90 min. approx. ........... Eastman Color Process ...

Progress ............. .. . .Final editing

For details of the following 35mm films in pre-production, see previous issues: The Far Out Adventures of Captain Thun­ derbolt Barney

Above: End Play

The Man From Hong Kong Scobie Malone The Box The Removalists Sunday Too Far Away

C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er — 2 5 1

16 MM PRO DUCTIO N SURVEY

16mm PRODUCTION

SURVEY 16mm PRODUCTION SURVEY ADAM D ire c to r......................................... Paul Bugden P ro d u cer..........................................David Perry S creenplay...................................... Paul Bugden Production Com pany................. .. Quest Films, Paul Bugden Cast: Wayne van Heekeren, Bob Hughes, David Calcott, Luda Apinys, Noel Brady, Jeremy Chance.

Synopsis: A young man’s inability to cope with his own sexuality when confronted with it through an unfulfilled relationship with an older man.

Photography......................................David Perry E d ito r......................................Ronda MacGregor Production C o-ordinator........... Debbie Symes Sound R ecordist................................ Chris Doig Lighting A ssistants.......................Kym Newman, Russell Mulcahy Make-up ........................................Robert Dallas B u d g e t.........................................................$2,000 Length .......................................................30 min.

Progress ....................................Awaiting release

ALCESTIS D ire c to r.........................................Ken Quinnell Cast: Angela Korvisianos, Colin James, Virginia Sewickis, Kent Sanderson, Graham Pitts, Chloe.

Synopsis: “ A contemporary ritual presentation of Europides’ melodrama” — Ken Quinnell.

Photography................................... Russell Boyd E d ito r..........................................Vince O’Donnell Production Manager ...................Box and Dice Sound R ecordist............................Carlo Tachi Special Effects...........................Lauchlan Wilson P ro p s ......................................... Derrick Chetwyn Length ........................................................ 30 min.

Color Process ........................................Eastman Progress ..........................................In production

APPLAUSE PLEASE D ire c to r...................................................Ivan Gaal Cast: Max Gillies, Bob Thornycroft, Joe Balza.

Synopsis: A co-operative effort by the director and cast to create a satire on our daily commer­ cial ‘television diet’ and its viewers.

M u s ic ........................................... . .Frank Zappa, ■ Franciscus Henkle Sound .............................................David Hughes Length ........................................................ 20 min.

Color Process ....................................... Eastman Progress .................................... Awaiting release

CONTRIVED MIND FLASHES D ire c to r......................................Russell Mulcahy S cre e n play................................ Russell Mulcahy Production Company ...................... Film Images Cast: Anna Gramme, Kym Newman, Brian Anderson, Tom.McConkey.

Synopsis: A day in the life of film, with a difference. It's contrived, but what isn’t. It’s flashy, but what isn't. It's obscure, but what isn’t.

The film is a rocky, confusingly clear analogy of a serious fake joke. No matter whether it’s bitter or sweet at least it’s juicy.

M u s ic ...................................................... Tamasha Photography....................................Col Wardrop E d ito r............................................... Col Wardrop Sound R ecordist...................... Anthony Morath Length ........................................................ 40 min Progress .................................... Awaiting release

DAFFY D ire c to r............................................David J. King Screenplay ....................................Robert Davies, David J. King P ro d u ce r.......................................... David J. King Cast: David Smith, Helen Kostiuk, Julie Rysdale, Robert Davies.

Synopsis: The last days of a perverted student’s life.

252 — C in em a Pap er s, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

Director of Photography ..............David J. King EVERYMAN DOWN THE ROAD E d ito r..................................................................IanHarvey D ire cto rs................................David G. Westray, D ire c to r................................................David Elfick M u s ic ........................................................ Control Joe Clark P roducer..............................................David Elfick Sound R ecordist............................................... IanHarvey Screenplay ........................................... Joe Clark Production Com pany.................... Voyager Films Continuity ..................................Phyllis Hodgkins P ro d u cer...............................................Joe Clark Cast: The skate board champs.

Sound Re-recordist ....................................Gable Associate Producer ...................Patrisha Wortly Synopsis: Fish-eye lens view of the skate board Summertime Productions Production Company .Miracle Film Productions phenomenon cut to Eric Clapton song Down the Length ...................................................... 17 min.

Cast: Philip Mitchell, Nola Percival, Gayla PerRoad We Go.’ Progress .................................... Awaiting release cival, David Carver, Russell Neal, Tony Mitchell, Photography......... Mike Molloy and Ian Stocks Keith Wiseman, Patrisha Wortly, Sue Best, Helen B u d g e t........................................................ $1,500 McLachlan, Ian O’Hara, Wendy Critchley, Julie Length ............................4 minutes 25 seconds DEL IC IO US DREAMS DESPITE Simpson, Gary Best.

Gauge ...................... 16mm blown up to 35mm DEPRESSION Synopsis: An adaption of a medieval play well Progress ....................................Post production D ire c to r.......................................................RussellMulcahy known in the Catholic church. Based on a Screenplay ................................. Russell Mulcahy passage from Romans 14 “that every man Production Com pany..................................... FilmImages HEART AND SOUL should give an account of himself to God” — Cast: Kym Newman, Paddy Madden, Gretal.

D ire c to r......................................... Wayne Moore shows a cross-section of one man’s life.

Synopsis: Set sometime in the future, a person is Screenplay ....................................Karen Murray M u s ic .................................................... Rod West starving and the alternatives of 'standard' food (Story by Wayne Moore) Director of Photography....... David G. Westray and the conflict of obscured instincts confront P roducers........................................... Keith Cox, Editor .................

Joe Clark him. A thrill film . . . a ‘meat movie’.

Ross Sutherland Production Manager ..............David G. Westray Photography......................................................ColWardrop Cast: Susan Spencer, Bruce Barbour, Lyn Production Co-ordinator....... David G. Westray E d ito r.................................................. Tony Croft Wright.

Music D ire ctor.......................................Rod West Sound R ecordist......................... Anthony Morath Synopsis: Comedy thriller about the undead.

Costumes/W ardobe.................... Gayla Percival Still Photography ............................. Rhyl Shirley M u s ic .................................................Stan Predo Sound R ecordist.......................... Neville March Make-up ............................................ Rhyl Shirley Photography................................. Richard Adams Mixer ...................................................... Phil Judd Special Effects................................. Ellis D. Fogg E d ito rs ...................... Keith Cox, Wayne Moore Sound Editor .........................................Joe Clark B u d g e t......................................................... $1,000approx Sound ................................................ Eric Hassell Assistant D ire cto r........................................GaylaPercival Length ........................ ................ 10 min approx Continuity ....................................... Karen Murray Camera O p e ra to r.................... David G. Westray Progress ........................................ Editing stages B u d g e t........................................................ $1,832 Focus P u lle r......................... .David G. Westray Length ...................................................... 24 min.

Boom O p e ra to r........................................... Bruce Horsborough Progress ............................Shooting November Clapper/Loader.....................................Rod West THE DEVIL’S PARTY Continuity ..................................Wendy Critchley Director ............................................... Don Friend Grip .......................................John Horsborough, Screenplay ...........................................Alan Bond FELIX Ian O’Hara Original S to ry .................................. Trevor Scahill D ire c to r........................................... Noel Purdon Technical advisors ...............David G. Westray, P ro d u cer...............................................Alan Bond S creenplay......................................Noel Purdon Joe Clark Cast: Yvonne Kurener, Trevor Scahill, Daryl P ro d u cer........................................................ CraigLahiff Script A ssistant........................... Margret Jacket Hood, Morris Hatter, Christine Croome, Paula Cast: Henry Salter, David Gulpilil, Sue Mac­ Make-u ............

Louise Helton, Samuelson. donald.

Leslie Reed Synopsis: Four young people attend a mystery M u s ic .................................................. Jim Currie Electrician.......................................................JohnHorsborough surprise party with bizarre and deadly conse­ E d ito r....................................- , .. . Judy Szekeres T itles................................................. Lynette Clark quences.

Production Manager ........................Craig Lahiff B u d g e t........................................................ $4,000 Photography......................................... Alan Bond Sound .................................................. Jim Currie Color Process ....................................... Colorfilm Sound recordists ............................Bob Cooper, Wardrobe .................Alan Ingram, Jenny Miles Progress .................................... Awaiting release Jim Dunn Camera ............................................. Viano Jaksa Lighting .................................................. Jim Dunn Lighting ............................................. Viano Jaksa Continuity .............................

Don McNair Make-up ......................................... Lloyd James DR. K B u d g e t.....................................................$3,000 Design Consultant .....................Roger Liminton Director ...............................................Phil No>ce Length ................................................. 30-40 min.

B u d g e t............................................................ $650 Script E d ito r..........................

Anne Brooksbank Color Process ........................................Eastman Length ........................................................ 7 min.

P ro d u cer..................................... Richard Mason Progress ......................................... In production Progress ........................................Editing stages Production Com pany.................Film Australia Cast: Henri Szeps, Peter Cummins, Robin Nevin, DOUBLE DEALER HARD KNOCKS Martin Harris, John Gaden, Kevin Healy, Ben D ire c to r..............................................Allan Dickes Gabriel.

D ire c to r.................................................Philip Bull Screenplay ..................................... Phillip Avalon Synopsis: Part documentary and part dramatiz­ Screenplay......................................... Greg Flynn P ro d u cer......................................... Phillip Avalon ed fiction. Dr. K traces the life of Dr Archie P roducer...........................................John Flocco Associate producers . . . . N. Stevens, A. Fields, Kalokerinos and his work with aborigines in the Cast: Frank McKallister, Geoffrey Gibbs, Olwyn R. Bradly, M. Far-Comini, northern New South Wales town of Collarenebri.

S u m m e rs , R o b e rt F a g g o tte r, N ic o le M. Butler, A. Trott, B u d g e t.................................................. Unknown Desmarcheller, Jon Tyrrell, James Setches, R. Smeal Progress ...............................................Unknown David Witt, Steve Jodrell, Wendy Arnold, Tony Production Com pany.....................Phillip Avalon Watts, Thea Calzoni.

Productions Synopsis: Satire concerning a footballer/politiCast: David Callcot, Guy Peniston-Bird, Phil THE DREAM OF LOH cian set in an Australian context.

Avalon, Sharon Smith, Tony Fields, Suzanne Director ................................... Wolfgang Graesse Photograpy....................................................Philip Bull Hunt,. Roslind Richards, Bob Lee, Mike Lyon, Screenplay ............................. Wolfgang Graesse E d ito r............................................................. Philip Bull Edward Leong, Judy Mathews, Sue Church, P ro d u cer..................................Wolfgang Graesse Production Manager ...................... John Flocco Michelle Napier, Harriet Whitehouse, Eric Reade, Production Com pany........................ Arrow Film Sound R ecordist.........................Aneurin Smith Bob Burdock.

Cast: Brenda Sinan Leonq, Pino Bosi, Geoffrey Assistant D ire c to r.......................Roger Hudson Synopsis: Story of an undercover drug ring, set Barnes, Francis Yin, Lai-Moon Tshi, Isao Hirata, Camera A ssista n t.......................Harry Bardwell in Australia.

Takahashi, Janette Lowe, Pack-Shung Shull, Lighting A ssistant.....................David Valentine M u s ic .................Southern Contemporary Rock Simon Shung.

Make-up ........... Suzie Craddock, Liz Maddock Assembly Synopsis: In 1622, between the downfall of the B u d g e t..........................................................$8,000 Photography................................ Richard Bradley Ming Dynasty and the beginning of the Manchu; Length ........................................................40 min.

E d ito r.................................................Brian Hicks a young Chinese girl experiences her future life Color Process ......................................... Eastman Art D irector....................................... Chris Smith Progress ................................................. Unknown in a bizarre time warp. Loh, the heroine, meets Production Co-ordinator............. Lionell Slutzkin her former lover who is a westerner, in a strange­ Sound recordists ............................. Neil Jaeger,. ly similar situation in 1937 Shanghai. The film, Ben Osmo set in both ancient and modern China, is con­ A HIMALAYAN JOURNEY Sound Editor ......................................Chris Doeg cerned with the relationship between China and D ire c to r.........................................Michael Dillon Assistant D ire cto r................................Peter Bell the West.

S creenplay................................... Michael Dillon Camera A ssista n t......................................... LarryO’Shea M u s ic ........................................... John Sangster P roducer....................................... Michael Dillon Lighting Cam eram an....................... Matt Butler E d ito rs .................................. Wolfgang Graesse, Photography................................. Michael Dillon Boom O p e ra to r................................Jim Bursan David Stiven Synopsis: Eighteen Australians encounter the C lapper/Loader............................. Phillip Noonan Special Effects...................... Wolfgang Graesse mountains and people of Nepal, and vice versa.

Continuity ........................................... Julie Miller Assistant D ire cto r............................ Gary Shead E d ito r.....................................Annabelle Dickson Grip ......................................... .........Rick Teodo Camera A ssista n t....... Eddy Van Der Madden N arrator......................................... David Brierley Production assistants .............. Beatrice Stone, B u d g e t...................................................... $13,000 Length .......................................................50 mins Yvonne Foster Length ...................................................... 90 min.

Color Process ............................Kodachrome II: Still Photography ............................ John Collins Progress ....................................... Editing stages Ektachrome Make-up ...................................... Bronwyn Jones Progress ...............................................In release Casting.............................................................NoraBurnett B u d g e t...................................................... $45,000 Length ........................................................ 90 min Color Process __ ; ................................Eastman Progress ......................................... Release print Above. Last Drive-In Movie

ILLUMINATIONS Make-up ............................................ Liz Michie NO PLACE ELSE IN THE WORLD TO BE D ire c to r................................................... Paul Cox B u d g e t...................................................... $17,500 D ire c to r......................................... Patricia Edgar Screenplay ............................................. Paul Cox Length ........................................................ 35 min P ro d u cer....................................... Patricia Edgar P ro d u ce r........................................Tibor Markus Progress ................................Final editing stage Synopsis: A documentary on the International Executive Producer .....................Tibor Markus Women's Year Conference In Mexico City, Associate Producer ............... Rodrick McNicoll Jyne/July 1975. The film covers the United LAST DRIVE-IN MOVIE Production Nations Conference and the Tribune, the views D ire c to r...........................................................BrettSouthwick Company ......... Illumination Film Production of women from different countries and the at­ Screenplay ..................................Brett Southwick Cast: Gabi Trsek, Tony Llew ellyn-Jones, titudes P ro d u cer......................................................AdrianPickersgill of Mexican men and women to potential Norman Kay, Athol Shmith, Sheila Florence, changes.

Production Com pany....... Drive-In Productions Alan Money.

Photography..................................Gordon Glenn Cast: Tony Mack, Georgina Beard, Richard Synopsis: A young couple live in an almost E d ito r.............................................Patricia Edgar Maine, Sarah Jane Jenklnson, Peter Green. hallucinatory world. The film makes an attempt Production Assistant ........................ John Flaus Synopsis: Ronnie, a virgin, is placed in a situa­ at extending consciousness beyond the limits Sound R ecordist.......................... Lloyd Carrick tion where he has to prove himself. imposed by our ego.

Assistant e d ito rs ................................Greg Dee, E d ito r............................................................HaydnRough M u s ic ...........................Norman Kay, Alex Berry Paul Healey Sound R ecordist...........................................PeterGawler Director of Photography . . . . Wolfgang Beilharz Length ........................................................ 48 min Lighting C a m era .............................. Ellery Ryan E d ito rs .........................Russell Hurley, Paul Cox Color Process ................................

Eastmancolor Camera A ssista n t............................ John Ruane Art D irector............................. Alan Stubenrauch Progress .............................................. in release Boom O p e ra to r................................Peter Gwen Production Designer ........... Alan Stubenrauch G a ffe r.................................................Chris Oliver Production Cor-ordinator and Continuity .............................................. Judi Neil ONCE Dialogues .................................... John Morphy Sound Re-recordist ........................ Wally Shure Directors ..............................Mark D’Arcy-Irvine, Music D ire c to r................................... Alex Berry Still Photography ........................ Wanda Tucker Gerry Archibald Costum es/W ardrobe............ , . Brigitte Lindsay B u d g e t........................................................ $3,000 Producers............................Mark D’Arcy-Irvine, Sound R ecordist........................................ RussellHurley Length ........................................................

15 min Gerry Archibald Mixer .............................................. Russell Hurley Progress ........................................ Editing stages Synopsis: Animated film satirising the world and Sound Editor ................................. Russell Hurley its constant urge to destroy itself by nuclear Special Photographic weapons.

E ffe c ts ................................................Paul Cox E d ito r........................................... Peter Blaxland THE MAN EATERS Assistant D ire c to r.........................Bernard Eddy N arrator................................... Roger Newcomb (Working title) Camera O p e ra to r........................ Edward Keogh Animation ............................................ Mas Sani, Director ...............................................Paul Martin Camera A ssista n t......................................... BrianGracey Garry Archibald, Screenplay ......................................... Paul Martin Boom O p e ra to r.........................Maurice Hambur Mark D’Arcy-Irvine P ro d u cer.......................................

E.JD. Brookes Clapper/Loader.........................................Andrew Jones Inking and painting Production Com pany........................Prana Films G a ffe r.................................................................KenWright supervision....................................Judy Lengal Synopsis: Six convicts escape from penal settle­ Continuity ................................... Brigitte Lindsay B u d g e t.......................................................... $2300 ment in Tasmania in 1823. Film traces their Second Unit Photography ................. Wim Cox Length ................................................. 7 minutes decline into savagery until they are reduced to Assistant Art Director .......................Alinta Uren cannibalism.

Progress ....................................Awaiting release Set Decorator ........................... Sandra Leveson Art D irector....................................... Steven Allen Still Photography ............... Julie Higgenbotham Sound ........................................... Steven Harris T itles................................................Julian Eddy PURE SHIT B u d g e t..................................................... $30,000 B u d g e t......................................................$25,000 Director ...............................................Bert Deling Length .................................................90 minutes Length ................................................. 90 minutes S creenplay....... John Hooper, David Sheperd, Gauge ......... 16mm (to be blown up to 35mm) Color Process ....................................... Eastman John Tulip, Box Weiss, Color Process ...................... ................ Eastman Progress .................................... Awaiting release Bert Deling, John Laurie, Progress .................Preproduction — shooting Alison Hill, Ricky Kallenda, December/January JOG’S TROT Anne Hetherington P ro d u cer............................................ Bob Weiss D ire c to r................................ John Papadopoulos Cast: John Laurie, Anne Hetherington, Carol S cre e n play..................................................... SallyBlake MRS BILSON Porter, Ricky Kallenda.

P ro d u cer..........................................Harvey Shore D ire c to r............................................................. GillArmstrong Synopsis: A long, hard night spent with a small Associate Screenplay . . . Gill Armstrong, John Pletter — group of Melbourne drug addicts and the P roducer...........................John Papadopoulos from a short story by Alan Marshall shadowy contacts they must make to stay one Production c o m p a n y ..............Pendragon Films ‘fix' ahead of the ever menacing narcotics squad.

P ro d u cer........................................................... GillArmstrong Cast: Arthur Dignam.

Cast: Ruth Cracknell, Elizabeth Crosby, Russell Music . . . Spo-de-o-dee, Toads, Red Symons, Synopsis: Film chronicles the after-life of the Martin Armiger Keefle. main character, Jog. A born loser, he goes Photography.......................................Tom Cowan Director of Photography............... Russell Boyd through the process of changing his self-created Production Manager .....................Errol Sullivan E d ito r.................................................. John Scott hell into a personal paradise.

Production Designer ..................Sue Armstrong Dubbing Editor ........................ Peter Whitmore Director of Production managers .................Larry Meltzer, Sound R ecordist......................................... LaurieFitzgerald Photography .....................Brian Probyn BSC Camera A ssista n t...................Malcolm Richards Russell Kirby Art D irector.........................................Sally Blake Sound ........................................... Lloyd Carrick G a ffe r..............................................................Brian Bansgrove M u s ic ..........................................................CharlesPilesco G a ffe r................................................ Terry Jacklin B u d g e t....................................................... $20,000 Sound R ecordist.............................. Carlo Tachi Length ........................................................ 95 min Length ......... ............................................. 50 min Continuity ........................................... Fred Blake Color Process .........................................Eastman Progress ................................................In release Make-up ............................................. Sally Blake No further details available.

Progress ........................................

Preproduction E lectrician................................. Brian Bansgrove Wardrobe ....................................... Rose Jackson B u d g e t.......................................................$25,000 QUEENSLAND Length ................................................. 45 minutes D ire c to r.............................................John Ruane ME DAD USED TO RIDE ROAD BIKES Progress .....................................Awaiting release Screenplay .................John Ruane, Ellery Ryan D ire c to r..........................................................PeterCooke P ro d u cer........................................... Chris Fitchett P ro d u cer....................................................CynthiaAndersen Production Com pany............................ Film Noir Script and Research ........... Cynthia Andersen KAZZAM INTERNATIONAL Cast: John Flaus, Bob Karl, Alison Bird, Tom Production Com pany...................Clnemix Films D ire c to r............................................. Bruce Petty Broadbridge, Jack Mobbs, Gary Metcalf, Les Synopsis: The world of the dirt bike rider from S cre e n play....................................... Bruce Petty Carter, Patricia Condon. the bush trail to the speedway track. This film P roducers....................................................... ErrolSullivan, Synopsis: The struggles from day to day of traces the sport from it shumble beginnings and Richard Brennan Doug, a factory worker (and his sidekick Aub); examines the problems faced by today’s genera­ Cast: Jude Kuring, John Derum, Gordon Chater, his search for his former de facto wife Marge, tion of riders.

Noeline Brown, John Geden, Martin Harris, Max and their hopes of heading north.

Photography......................................Peter Cooke Gillies, Chris Haywood, John Stephen.

Director of Photography................. Ellery Ryan E d ito r................................................. Peter Cooke Synopsis: Australia is given her first chance to E d ito r..................

Mark Norfolk Sound recordists ...............Roger Wellingham, contribute a role in the long-running all-nations Production Manager ............ Adrian Pickersgill Jan Murray revue. She makes it but at-the cost of some in­ Sound R ecordist....................Brett Southwick Studio S o u n d ............................ Sound Australia nocence.

Assistant D ire cto r............................ Peter Gawler R em ix................................... Murray Film Sound Photography..............................David Sanderson Camera A ssistant.................................Tim Smart Second U n it.............................. Ray Robinson E d ito r..............................................Wayne Le Clos Boom O p e ra to r.................Andrew ‘Slug’ Jones Narration .....................................

John Knox Art D irector..................................... Monte Fieguth G a ffe r....... ..........................................Chris Oliver Interviewer ................................Ray MacGregor Sound R ecordist...................... Lawrie Fitzgerald Continuity ......................................... Ruth Jones Length ........................................................ 50 min Assistant C a m e ra ............................ Peter Moss Key Grip ...............................................Rob Doyle Progress ..............................Release print stage Boom O p e ra to r...............................David Cooper Grip ...............................................Peter Gwynne G a ffe r........................................Brian Bansgrove Still Photography ............. ..............John Ruane Continuity ..........................................Lynn Gailey B u d g e t...................................................... $12,000 Production assistants ___Stephen McClyment, Length ........................................................ 50 min Patrick Cook Color Process ..................................". Eastman Progress ...................... ... .Final editing stages Above: The Dream of Loh

THE STUDENT D ire c to r......... ..................................... David King Screenplay ......................................... David King P ro d u cer............................................. David King Cast: Darylin Hansen, David Foster, Malcolm Ross.

Synopsis: A student’s involvement — fact and fantasy — with a girl student.

M u s ic ........................................................ Shroud Director of Photography................... Peter Lane Production Manager .................... Helen Kostiuk Sound R ecordist........................ Reginald J. Ball Mixer ...................................................Ian Harvey Camera A ssista n t...............................David King Boom O p e ra to r........................ Damien Morgan Continuity ....................................... Helen Kostiuk Script assista n ts.......................... Robert Davies, Helen Kostiuk, No further details available.

Peter Lane

SURFABOUT 75 D ire c to r................................................David Elfick P ro d u cer.............................................. David Elfick Production Com pany................... Voyager Films Distribution Company .......................Seven Keys Synopsis: Entertaining, upbeat documentary on 1975 Surfabout contest, the richest surfing con­ test in the world.

M u s ic ........................................................ Sherbet Length ..................................................11 minutes Gauge .......................16mm blown up to 35mm Progress ....................................Awaiting release

SURRENDER IN PARADISE (Working Title) Director ..................................................Peter Cox S creenplay............................................. Peter Cox P ro d u cer.................................................Peter Cox Associate Producer .........................Chris Collier Production Com pany.................Paradise Pictures Release Date ................................ February 1976 Cast: Ross Gilbert Snyopsis: Set in Queensland, the climax reveals that what has gone before may not have been what It appeared to be.

Music ................................................ Ralph Tyrrell Director of Photography............. Don McAlpine Assistant D ire c to r.......................... Toivo Lember B u d g e t......................................... $35,000 approx.

Length ......................................... 85 min approx.

Progress ...................Shooting November 1975.

THE UNDERSTUDY Director ................................................Eric Luithle Screenplay ........................................ Eric Luithle P ro d u cer........................................................ EricLuithle Producer’s Assistant ..............Christine Morgan Production Com pany...... Sandbar Productions Cast: John McTernan, Jeannie Drynan, Don Barkham, Graham Pitts, Ivar Kants, Robin Bowering.

Synopsis: A film within a film and what transpires when actors don’t relate to a situation as the director believed they would.

Photography................................Gale Tattersall E d ito r.............................................Bill Anderson Production Manager ..................... Errol Sullivan Sound Recordist...........................................CarloTarchi Assistant D ire c to r..........................................ErrolSullivan 2nd Assistant D irector.................Dianne Kearns Camera O p e ra to r.................Malcolm Richards Continuity .............

Lynn Gailey Lighting ....................................Brian Bainsgrove B u d g e t....................................................... $28,000 Length ...................................................... 75 mins Color Process .........................................Eastman Progress ............... r ....................... Mixing stage

ZODIAC FAIR-GROUND D ire c to r...........................................................AllanDlckes S creenplay...................................................Phillip Avalon P ro d u cer.......................................................Phillip Avalon Production Com pany.................................. Phillip Avalon Productions Synopsis: Futurist drama set in the year 2000 with a fair-ground backdrop.

B u d g e t........................................................$50,000 Color Process ......................................... Eastman Progress ....................................... Pre-production See page 255 for 16mm productions In previous issues.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r — 253

» » » » 1

«ST

TH ER ES ALWAYS SOMETHING NEW A N D E X C IT IN G AT SAM UELS0NS

SORERQUALITY on STANDARD /6mm

S# »IIC T I«M L

I V

I C

t S

P TY . LTD .

TOP FLOOR- 2 EDEN STREET,CROWS NEST, N.S.W. 206S

COMPLETE POST PRODUCTION ON COMMERCIAL & DOCUMENTARY WORK EQUIPPED 16mm/35mm The ultimate in optical quality for 16mm productions is the remarkable COOKE VAROTAL variable focal length lens. Con­ sider its technical specification:

CUTTING ROOMS FOR HIRE

A zoom range of 9.5:475 mm.

Maximum aperture of T1.5, and phenomenal optical performance even at this extreme speed (think of the financial saving on big night-for-night scenes).

(02)920244 CONTACT MARK WATERS OR KARL SODERSTEN (02)928077

Close focussing — pin-sharp as near as 27” from the film plane and all the way through to infinity.

CINE SERVICE PTY. LTD. LABORATORY AND STUDIOS

235

MORAY S T R E E T ,

S O U T H MELBOURNE,

3205

The latest off-line video facilities are now available to clients in the South Melbourne Studios of Cine Service.

They enclude:Studio equipped for talent auditions. Storyboards.

Training or promotion productions in color.

Off-line video tape editing and dubbing facilities on 1” IVC with electronic edit as well as %” U matic and 'A " Phillips VCR. Color telecine facilities including film to tape transfers from 35mm and 17.5mm double head.

16mm double head or composite optical, also 35mm slides and film strips.

Viewing facilities in comfortable and well equipped theatre.

Fully equipped mobile unit designed to provide com­ plete on-location studio facilities.

If you would like to make an appointment to discuss ways and means, phone Cine Service at 697346.

Freddie Young BSC used two Varotals shooting the TV Spec­ tacular Time for Aznavour’, and Ken Higgins BSC(shown above) used one throughout the shooting of his second series of London Weekend International’s ‘Black Beauty,’ and he told us — ‘Once the Varotal is on the camera I see little point in taking it off. It does every kind of shot for me, so I don’t waste time changing it unless Robin Browne, my operator, wants something smaller and lighter for hand holding.’

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

ftiiitfttf sA

m

a s o N

film service Australia pty. ltd 25 SIRIUS ROAD, LANE COVE, NSW 2060 Phone: 4285300 Telex: 25188

GENERAL PR O D UC TIO N SURVEY

GENERAL PRODUCTION

SURVEY ■ OLGA DE AMARAL

AUSTRALIAN FILM COMM ISSION

Film projects given financial support July-August 1975.

Preproduction Approvals Peter Maxwell Project: Mutiny at Castle Forbes $3,500 Martin Williams Productions Pty. Ltd. Project: Earth Patrol $3,000 John Paice Project: Invasion of the Pink Porridge Eaters $3,000 Martin Williams Films Project: Southern Cross Minor Expedition $3,000

Production Approvals Homestead Films Project: Tandarra $25,000 Educational Media Australia Project: Educational Films $30,000 Ron Taylor/Time Life Ron Taylor Film Productions Pty. Ltd. Project: Shark film $12,700 Cinetel Film Production Services Project: The Living Goddess $

22,000

•

Anthony Buckley Productions Pty. Ltd. Project: Caddie $25,000* Picnic Productions Pty. Ltd. Project: Picnic at Hanging Rock $18,481.26*

Post-production Approvals Taries Film Distribution Pty. Ltd. Project: Between Wars $5,978.45* Voyager Films Pty. Ltd. Project: Crystal Voyager $2,500*

* Projects marked thus have previously received finan­ cial assistance.

For details of the following 16mm produc­ tions, see previous issues: Australia After Dark On Any Morning Antonio Gaudi — To a Dancing God Melanie and Me May Fly Ceremony Summer Shadows Bo Dream Don’t Talk to Me About the Blues, Baby Floating

TRANSPORT PLANNING

SOUTH AUSTRALIAN FILM CORPORATION

D ire c to r............................................................ RonSaunders Director of Photography........John Leaks ACS Screenplay .....................................Ron Saunders S creenplay........................................ Brian Bergin P ro d u ce r............................................. Sue Mogg P ro d u cer........................................... John Leake Executive Producer .................... Terry Jennings Executive Producer ...................Malcolm Smith Production C om pany............. S-M Productions Production Com pany................... Motion Picture Release Date ............................ December 1975 Associates Synopsis: Visual interpretations of a weaving ex­ Distribution Company ................................. SAFC ADELAIDE’S WATER — CAN’T THEY DO hibition.

Synopsis: A film aimed at a general audience SOMETHING ABOUT IT? M u s ic .........................................Schmoe and Co to stimulate discussion about the problems fac­ D ire c to r...........................................................JohnDick Director of Photography.............................. JohnEllson ing transport planners — and showing some of Screenplay ....................................Russell Porter E d ito r............................................................. Kerry Regan the possible solutions. .P roducer................................... Milton Ingerson Length .......................................................... 5 min Director os Photography . . . . John Leaks ACS Executive Producer .....................Peter Dimond Gauge ........................................................ 16mm Production Manager ......................... Kim Dalton Production Com pany..........................Production Color Process ............................................ 7247 Assistant D ire c to r......................

Brian Bergin Centre Pty Ltd Progress .........................................Editing stages Length .......................................................20 min.

Synopsis: Shows the extensive measures being Color Process ................................ Eastmancolor taken to improve the quality of Adelaide’s water.

Sponsor . . . South Australian Department of Director of Photography......... Milton Ingerson PRIORITY PROJECT SCHOOLS Transport — Policy and Planning.

E d ito r......................................... G. Turney-Smith S creenplay....................................Ron Saunders Production Manager ....................Brenton Robb Executive Producer ...................Malcolm Smith Sound R ecordist........................................ RobertAllenDistribution Company ...............................SAFC YORKE PENINSULA Length ........................................................ 14 min Synopsis: The film is aimed at changing negative Gauge .......................................................... 16mm D ire c to r.........................................Ron Saunders teacher attitudes towards students in lower Color Process ................................ Eastmancolor S creenplay................................... Ron Saunders socio-economic areas.

Sponsor . . . South Australian Engineering and Executive Producer .....................Peter Dimond Length ........................................................ 20 min Water Supply Department.

Synopsis: Shows a quiet, unspoiled area close to Gauge ........................................................ 16mm Adelaide which is rich in historical Interest.

S ponsor......................................South Australian Holidaymakers can enjoy scuba diving, surfing, Education Department DEMOCRACY fishing or study the thousands of sea birds along Screenplay ..................................... Bob Caswell, the rugged coastline.

Malcolm Smith, A ROAD IN TIME M u s ic ....................................... Schmoe and Co. Allan Lloyd Director of Photography....... ......... John Ellson D ire c to r.................................................

John Dick Executive Producer ................... Malcolm Smith E d ito r.........................................Wayne Le Clos P ro d u cer......................................... Brian Bosisto Distribution Company .................................SAFC Production Manager ....... .. Nicholas Cockram Executive Producer ...................Malcolm Smith Synopsis: Apathy is perhaps the worst enemy of Length .......................................................10 min.

Production Com pany.......

Bosisto Productions democracy. This film is aimed at students Distribution Company ........... ................... SAFC Color Process .............................. Eastmancolor primarily in the 16-18 agebracket. Its intention is S ponsor............. South Australian Government Synopsis: History of road making in South to show the value and importance of the vote.

Tourist Bureau.

Australia.

Length ........................................................ 20 min Length ........................................................ 20 min Gauge ...........................................................16mm Gauge ........................................................

16mm Color Process ................................ Eastmancolor Color Process ............... .•.............Eastmancolor WESTERN REGION S ponsor......................................South Australian S ponsor..................................... South Australian Screenplay ......................................... David Tiley Electoral Department Highways Department Executive Producer ................... Malcolm Smith Distribution Company ................................ SAFC HARVEST OF THE GULFS Synopsis: Showing the challenges and rewards RURAL STUDIES D ire c to r............................................. John Leake of teaching In the Western Region of South S creenplay....................................... Brian Bergin S cre e n play.........................................Ray Wood Australia.

Executive Producer ................... Malcolm Smith Executive Producer ................... Peter Dimond Length .........................................................30 min Distribution Company ................................ SAFC Production Com pany................. Motion Picture Gauge .........................................................16mm Synopsis: Aimed at farmers to show the value of Associates Pty. Ltd. Sponsor...............Education Centre — Whyalla continuing their education.

Synopsis: Shows the research being carried out Length ........................................................ 20 min in South Australian waters on the Western King Gauge ........................................................ 16mm Prawn.

Progress ....................................... Preproduction Director of Photography...............................JohnLeake S ponsor............... South Australian Department E d ito r........................................................... RobertWalker of Further Education In view of the rapid growth of Production Manager ......................... Kim Dalton Length ........................................................ 10 min Australian production the co­ Gauge ........................................................ 16mm THIS IS THE LIFE . . . IN ordinator of this column would Color Process ..................................Ektachrome SOUTH AUSTRALIA S p o n so r..................................... South Australian be greatly assisted by in ­ Director ...................................Robert Walker Department of Fisheries dividual producers and direc­ Screenplay ...................................Ron Saunders P ro d u cer........................................... John Leake tors sending their production Executive Producer ....................Peter Dimond MUSIC details and stills to: Production Com pany.................Motion Picture . . . Ron Saunders S creenplay..........................

Associates Pty Ltd . Milton Ingerson Production Survey, P ro d u ce r............... ..............

Synopsis: British migrants in differing socio­ .. Malcolm Smith Executive Producer ...........

Cinema Papers, economic positions tell of their life in South ......... Production Production Com pany.........

Australia.

143 Therry Street, Centre Pty Ltd Director of Photography.............................. JohnLeake Distribution Company ................................SAFC Melbourne, Victoria, 3000.

E d ito r........................................................... RobertWalker .Synopsis: A series of eleven short films on the Production Manager ......................... Kim Dalton teaching and maintenance of musical in­ Length ........................................................ 15 min struments.

Gauge ...................................................... 16mm Director of Photography............... Paul Dallwitz Color Process ..............................Eastmancolor E d ito r......................................... G. Turney-Smith Sponsor . . . Development Division of South Sound R ecordist............. Soundtrack Australia Australian Ministry of Development and Mines in Length ..................................................... 165 min association with the Bank of New South Wales.

Gauge ........................................................ 16mm Color Process ..................................Ektachrome S ponsor............... South Australian Department of Further Education

Above: Me Dad Used to Ride Road Bikes

C in e m a Papers, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r — 255

FULLY EQUIPPED 3 5 MM AND 16MM

mi

See the latest motion pictures in super 8mm sound and vivid color in the comfort of your own home.

Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation offer you this new service.

Let our experts advise you how to book some of the top films from the studios of Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.

These include:

FEATURE FILMS TELEVISION SERIES SHORT SUBJECTS DOCUMENTARIES COMMERCIALS M o d e rn air-c o n d itio n e d p rem ises c o m p l e t e with CLEANERS and sec s y s te m

Call Marilyn and Ron Delaney on (02) 922 3607

NEGATIVE GUTTING SERVICES PTY. LIMITED 13-15 MYRTLE STREET. CROWS NEST, 2065 Serving producers throughout Australia

Flight of the Phoenix The Undefeated The Detective French Connection Hello Dolly The Paper Chase High Wind in Jamaica Vanishing Point Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines The Salzburg Connection The Blue Max 11 Harrowhouse Young Frankenstein Planet of the Apes Patton Ring: Ken Jackson in Sydney on 2114955, Frank Henley in Melbourne on 417139, Sonny Schattling in Brisbane on 443621, Mervyn Pinchbeck in Adelaide on 514337, and Allan Randell in Perth on 282587.

CINEMA M P E R S

BACK ISSUES |

|

□

□ □

□ □

Copy(ies) o f Number 1 @ $ 2 .3 5 * ................

Copy(ies) o f Number 2 @ $ 2 .3 5 * ................

C opy(ies) o f Number 3 @ $ 2 .1 0 * ................

Copy(ies) of Number 4 @ $ 2 .1 0 * ................

Copy(ies) of Number 5 © $ 2 .1 0 * ................

Copy(ies) of Number 6 @ $ 2 .3 5 * ................

*Includes postage TOTAL A M O U N T EN CL OS E D: $ ............

N am e .............................................................................................................

A d d r e ss........................................................................................................... .......................................................................................... P o stc o d e .............

C INEM A P A P E R S. 143 Therry Street, Melbourne, Victoria, 3000

SP EC IA L OFFER

B O U N D VO LU M ES V O L U M E 1 1974 N U M B E R S 1-4

H A N D S O M E L Y B O U N D IN BLACK W IT H E M B O S SE D LETTERING.

GOLD

400 lavishly illustrated pages of • • • •

Exclusive interviews with producers, directors, actors and technicians Valuable historical material on Australian film production Film and book reviews Surveys and reports from the sets of local and international productions

BOUND VOLUMES STRICTLY LIMITED EDITION. ORDER NOW! $18 POST FREE Please send me .......... bound volume(s) of Cinema Papers, Enclosed cheque/postal order for $..........

Volume I, 1974.

NAME A D D R E S S ...........................................................

Cinema Papers, 143 Therry Street, Melbourne, 3000.

POSTCODE

. :-

m

Above: A. Wright (16 years) is standing behind the second projector. The Gaiety Theatre projection room, 1916.

The first time I remember seeing a film was at the Richards Opera House, later re-named the Tivoli. It was mentioned in the program with just one word, ‘bioscope’, and always shown at the end of the show. The projector was in the dress circle — no booth — and operated by a woman.

The thing that struck me then was that there was no take-up drive — the film just went into an open basket. This could not have been nitrate film, as there was in those days a safety film made by Pathe Freres of Paris. It was considered a safe film and was 33mm — not the sub-standard size. Its weakness was that it deteriorated and became very brittle.

Bourke St was the street for enter­ tainment, as it is today. In nearly all the theaters the film went right across the back wall, with no attempt at masking off the image. They usually had one projector with the main feature spooled up on one over­ size container. This kind of projector was banned after a while, but as late as 1925 I was still using one, and they were common in the country.

Why was it banned?

Because of the fire risk and the approach of continuous theaters. But at least two city theaters had single machines — Wests and Spencers.

When the big spool ran out, a slide was shown which read: “ The orchestra will now play a popular chorus” .

Although the city was the main cinema center, the pick of the films were screened over Prince’s Bridge.

Where the YMCA is now, was Wests Pictures, and where the Art Centre is, was the site of Spencers Pictures, formally Wirths Park. Wirths built the circus arena holding about 6000, and later leased it to Spencers on off­ seasons.

What kind of screen was used?

I think it was linen, not canvas as one would expect. But that screen had a double purpose. Just before World War 1, the prices were two shillings and one shilling, but on Saturday night the place wqs usually so filled that if you came late you could go around to the back of the screen for sixpence.

Down in front was the sound

G. Glenn

Albert Wright was a projectionist in and around Melbourne for more than 57 years. During these years he saw the introduction of sound and the era o f the giant cinemas. He also studied the developments in film presentation, including Kinemacolour’s ear­ ly attempts to simulate color with filters.

In this interview, conducted by Melbourne Festival director Erwin Rado, Mr Wright begins with some reminiscences on the early days o f cinema in Australia. effects man; he fired off guns, made galloping horse noises, blew whistles and did anything he could think of.

He read out the titles since everything was back to front. He also used a megaphone, as the orchestra was in opposition on the other side of the screen.

There is a strange sequel to this, for underneath the circus seats behind the screen were the laboratories belonging to Pathe Freres, of Paris. It was here the newsreels were processed, and when I went to work at Herschells around 19211 met the man who used to be in charge. He told me that since he would sometimes forget to cover his tanks he would find on Monday mor­ nings peanut shells and ‘lolly’ papers floating in them.

Some of the early ‘big’ films — the original Quo Vadis made by Cines in Rome and another called Maciste — were shown over the road, at Wests.

Bourke St had mostly smaller films.

much. It was possible to show a documentary for a week. I remember seeing the construction and opening of the Panama Canal at Wests. Also South with Shackleton photographed

by Hurley.

It was a long time before we had extended seasons, mostly a weekly change and a Saturday matinee. A big change came to the film industry when the Phillips Bros came out from America. Their aim was to promote continuous films in Aus­ tralia. They opened the first theater in Sydney, the Crystal Palace. It was a great success, and a second theater soon followed next door.

The Phillips Bros were also in B ourke S t, but th e ir ho u rly programs were confined to short sub­ jects. An hour’s run would highlight a drama of around 2500 ft (762 m).

Along the road, Hoyts rebuilt St George’s Hall and re-named it the Hoyts De Luxe.

Hoyts was Australian owned then?

Were they one or two reelers?

A mixed bag, anything from 300 ft (91 m) to 3000 ft (914 m). In early days star value did not count for

Yes, there never was a real person called Hoyt. It was controlled by a George Griffity and a dentist named Russell.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r — 257

ALBERT W R IG H T

How many theaters did Phillips have?

The Melba Brittania, the Palais, and of course Luna Park.

Wasn’t the Palais built in 1927?

The new Palais was, but before when Luna Park had got under way, the Palais de Danse was built across the street. The first war had only started, and after a while complaints were voiced about dancing while our men were overseas fighting for us.

Phillips were conscious of this, and as America was not yet committed to the war, they closed the Danse and re-opened it as Palais Pictures.

Let’s talk about yourself. You started in films in 1912 . . .

Yes. I came from the then little town of Cheltenham where Satur­ day night was the weekly film night: one shilling adults, sixpence for children. One particular night I happened to be sitting not far from the portable projector room when the operator beckoned me over. He was having take-up trouble, and needed my help to keep the film from runn­ ing onto the floor. So my introduc­ tion to the business was as an extra pair of hands on no pay — only 57 years ago.

The projector was the beater type — the film passed around a hard wooden ercentur cam that pulled down the exact amount of film with each turn of the beater, and the aper­ ture moved up and down for framing it.

The illuminant was limelight, a poor substitute for what we have now. It consisted of a cylinder of oxygen and a device called a saturator made of six sections of water piping in series, filled with a substance not unlike ‘flock’ in those days. A quantity of ether was poured into one end and given time to allow for the vapors to circulate through the pipes. Inside the lamphouse was a lump of lime, about the size of a cork, and on lighting up, the lime becam e iridescent. A m irror helped to converge the rays onto con­ densers, and you had all the light you could expect. A single blade shutter in front gave the maximum light time. You couldn’t afford to turn too slow as the flicker would be too pronounced. Consequently the early film shows were called ‘the flicks’.

How did you get to the Gaiety?

I was working in a department store across the road, near the Theatre Royal when I saw an adver­ tisement in The Age intimating that I could be taught biograph operating if I applied to the Gaiety. I went across at lunch time, saw the chief and was told I could be taught for 10 pounds.

I borrowed this from the local publican and with that I was in the business professionally.

After a while the two chief operators took a lease on a theater in Canterbury — the Maling, the old one next to the station. So with another boy, also an assistant, we opened the Canterbury show. We did everything — swept the theater, 258 — C in e m a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

collected the programs from the city, delivered handbills within a two mile radius, and pasted up posters — all for $5 a week.

About 12 months later, on my 18th birthday, I enlisted in the Aus­ tralian Infantry Force, but just as I was about to embark, the war ended.

So I was back in Canterbury, but not for long. I had an opportunity to go into the city as an assistant at the Auditorium.

I was fortunate to be working with the projectionist who originally came out from Britain to project Kinemacolour. Invented by Chas Urgan, the film was in black and white, but every alternative frame was sensitiz­ ed photographically. The first orthochrom atic, the next pan­ chromatic. It was standard 35mm; the projector was a Simplex from Britain. Behind the mechanism was a color filter.

One section was orange-red, the next blue-green. I believe there were four openings. A two-blade shutter in front completed the set-up. In order to get the color effect (and it was only an effect) the projector had to travel twice as fast as normal — 32 frames per second.

For example take the Union Jack.

In the first frame the George Cross would be bright allowing the red to predominate, while the blue cross of St Andrew would be dark and the blue filter held back. Then in the next frame the pattern would be reversed — blue filter, bright St Andrew; no red filter, dark George Cross.

It was color certainly, but very hard on the eyes. Unless you joined the film up correctly, you were in trouble. You would have a red sky or green faces. However, this was an­ ticipated, and a clutch was fitted to the shutter shaft that slipped a tooth and brought the film back into register.

Cecil B. de Mille’s The Ten Commandments, the film that opened the Capitol.

TYPICAL PROGRAM AT A CONTINUOUS THEATER Empress Theater, Sydney. Monday, December 30, 1912 TYPE

1

Comedy

2

3 4

TITLE

MADE BY

Le C iou........................

514

Trick

PO TIAE WILL BE BACK IN FIVE MINUTES UNDEFENDED FRUIT

Lux .............................

300

Comedy Drama

HOW ALGY PAID HIS CREDITORS OFFICER 174

Saviao ........................

365 985

-

What year was that?

About 1918. The only other color at this period was Pathe color from France — quite good, made from a negative that had sections removed by an electric stencil cutter. A frame by frame job. The process resembles batik or silk screen work of today. It was very popular, although it did have a chocolate box look.

We are now approaching the pre­ sent era, and around the twenties the American influence was being felt.

Overseas Paramount was on the march with the De Mille produc­ tions. It was the time of the Barry­ mores, Gloria Swanson, Wallace Reid, Bill Hart, and all the great first ‘stars’. And the public became aware of personalities.

We had a small advantage at the Auditorium over other shows, in­ asmuch as to close the first half we would present a vocal or instrumen­ tal number — top bracket artists.

Then we had what was called an “at­ mosphere prologue” . A little playlet out in front, all in mime. It put the audience in the mood before the film commenced.

Our little stage show was rounded off with the Melbourne Phil­ harmonic Choir of 60 singing the Hallelujah Chorus.

5 6

7

Feature

Comedy

TOPICAL BUDGET MT. KOSCIUSKO The Roof of Australia. First ascent with a motion picture camera (EXCLUSIVE)

THEIR IDOLS (EXCLUSIVE)

TOTAL FOOTAGE ...........................

1

LENGTH (in feet)

Imp., who made the first Dr. Jekyli and Mr. Hyde featuring King Babbitt and screened at St. George’s Hall.

T. F. Co.........................

W illiam s......................

(This was the J. D. Wil­ liams who came to Australia with the Phil­ lips Bros.)

A.B...............................

(A.B. is the American ■Biograph Co. who later made the first “classic” in film. The Birth of a Nation — s ta rrin g Henry Walthall)

500

120 0

593

4617

Thurs. - Fri. - Sat. — Continuous shows always had a mid-week change.

NOT LISTED Comedy Drama

THE LISTENERS’ LESSON

Essenay ......................

(Made by Spoor and Anderson. Anderson later became famous as Bronco Billy.)

996

3

Comedy

REWARD OF PERSEVERANCE

Barker .................... ..

(Early British Co.)

410

4

Drama Topical

TWO ACES SALMON FISHING IN SWEDEN

C & M ..........................

1070

5

Saviao ........................

6

Feature

THECRINGER

Lubin ..........................

363 1080

7

Comedy

THE TWO BIDONIS

Cines .......................... (later to become a pro­ minent Italian company making the first QUO VADIS)

2

TOTAL FOOTAGE ...........................

414

4333

A LBERT W R IG H T

You then left and went to Herschells . . .

Yes. I’d been projecting for years without a break, so I went to Mildura for a while. When I returned I joined Herschells Pty Ltd, and managed their cinema division. They represented Pathe Freres and soid machines, cameras and raw stock.

They also had a home library of safe­ ty Films with about 600 titles — a few American products, but mainly French. It was sub-standard, about 28mm, but I have forgotten the exact size. In my free time I could project at one night stands.

I also had to lend a hand with photography. Herschells had im­ ported the First ultra rapid camera in Australia — made by Pathe — and what a brute it was. It took two hands to crank it up to speed using maybe 300 ft (91m) of Film in the ef­ fort. Running at 128 frames per se­ cond it was eight times slower than normal and we used to Film the Mel­ bourne Cup Finish, the Head of the River etc, for Paramount News.

My job was to Film the Finish at norm al speed while the other cameraman did the slow motion. We also Filmed Walter Lindrum, the world champion billiardist, and the eclipse of the sun at Goondiwindi, So work at Herschells was as varied as one could wish.

However, Herschells Pty Ltd were in a parlous position in that their product could not match the Ameri­ can style of projector — both in im­ provements and screen results. I could foresee the closing down of my division, as only India and Australia were buying from the head ofFice.

We are now getting to the time of your involvement with the Phillips Brothers. Was this the time they decided on building the Capitol?

Yes, it’s an interesting story. The brothers were always back and forth to the United States where they knew the Film world intimately. Adolph Zukor was a personal friend of Leon’s and in time Zukor became the head of Paramount Pictures.

Soon the better class of Films were on the move. When The Ten Command­ ments was made it was decided that a better location was needed for these better Films. Herman Phillips was the theater brain. With the other two representatives he formed Central Theatres, and then planned the Capi­ tol. Leon approached Burley GrifFin — designer of Canberra — and he went to work immediately.

When the theater was completed I was offered the position as second chief, but as the shifts were in threehour rotation — 11 until two, then Five until eight, I didn’t fancy the broken time. I was quite happy at Herschells, so I stayed there. That was around 1925, or just a bit before.

The Capitol opened with The Ten Commandments, and for the First time Australia had a super cinema.

Extended seasons soon became the accepted thing as the Film ran for about nine months. It was fantastic.

Everyone wanted to see the theater as well as the Film. It had Five color circuits in the ceiling and the display

put on each evening from 7.30 became the talk of the town. They also had the First Wurlitzer in Mel­ bourne and a 20-piece orchestra.

Not many months after this the old Palais was destroyed by fire.

Arrangements were then made to build a second Capitol in the sub­ urbs, a super cinema for St Kilda — and this they did.

To what extent was Burley Griffin involved in this?

As he was returning to America he just left suggestions — some of which must have been incorporated. The main dome has a GrifFin touch, in that some of the motifs are incor­ porated in Newman College.

The theater was not dated like the atmospheric monsters of the thirties.

The interior still has the handtextured walls, untouched since 1927.

It took 20 months to build and cost 160,000 pounds. The architect was a man named White.

I was then engaged by Mr Boss at the Capitol to become the Palais’ chief projectionist.

Where did you project from, the old room or the present one?

The original position of the projec­ tion room is where the present one is, at the back of the circle 183 ft (56mj from the screen. In those days the St Kilda Council allowed smoking in cinemas as an inducement to come to St Kilda. You can imagine what it was like with a majority of 3000 patrons smoking, to say nothing of a fog coming up the bay and all our in­ put fans facing towards the water — you couldn’t get a picture through to the screen!

It was then decided to place the projection room at the back of the main dome and suspend it from the outer girders. It had a concrete floor and was quite independent of the theater. The projection angle was 25:4 which was dreadful when you consider the screen was perpen­ dicular and had to ‘fly’ in order to present the stage attractions as quickly as possible.

How long was a live show?

Anything from 10 minutes to two hours — we had an ice show that ran two hours and played it with a feature.

But essentially it was a film house?

True, but we were giving them something that no other cinema could offer. What is more we played to capacity.

Did you have extended seasons?

No, the Film changed every week.

We had an arrangement with Hoyts to buy all their output. It was nothing to have eight or nine features to choose from. There was no need for seasons.

Did Hoyts have a big suburban theater by now?

Not by Palais standards.

Was the Victory there by then?

Yes, it was owned by a trio, one of whom was a man named Marshall.

While I was at Herschells he sold his interest in Hoyts and went into Film production on his own. He made a film entitled Environment. He produced, directed and acted the ‘heavy’ in the piece. It was not a s ucces s t h o u g h it was well photographed by one of the Higgins brothers.

It was silent, of course . . . , Yes. Produced in Wirths Olympia after it was finished as a circus and before it burned down. It Finished up 14.000 ft (4267m). Impossible to screen, so we started to ‘edit’ it.

Who cut it?

I think everybody had a hand in it.

Did Herschells produce it for him?

No, Marshall Financed it himself. I was in charge of lighting. We processed it for him and Finally trimmed the Final print to around 10.000 ft (3048m). It was screened at the Palace, top of Bourke St. It played for two weeks, but where is the print now? It was an honest effort to make domestic drama without kangaroos and koalas.

What was your involvement with the production industry then?

Well we also ran a dance hall call­ ed the Wattle Path which later became an ice rink. When we gave up the lease Frank Thring Snr took it over as a studio. Thring had no pro­ jection equipment, so it fell to me to screen his rushes after my own show was over — unmarried prints with the sound on one and print on the other.

Another time Cinesound came with a view of impressing the brothers into investing in the infant business. Likewise the McDonagh sisters from Sydney brought over a complete feature made on 10 in 33,1/3 rpm discs. The recorded tracks varied a good deal and that meant continually changing discs.

Warner Vitaphone was on disc, 16 in diameter, playing from the center out. It had an arrow on the First groove in the disc and start mark on the leader. You were syn­ chronized with a motor-control box which was very dependable.

What was the first sound film you put on?

It was a Vitaphone short, an aria from The Pearl Fishers. A fair number of the early ‘sound’ Films were only part talkie, the rest silent with titles. They had music and sound effects until dialogue came in again. At the Palais we retained the full orchestra and when the dialogue cut out on the Film we would have our own music accompaniment rather than the “canned” music as it was called.

The First sound Film I ever saw was shown at Spencers Pictures over the

bridge. I think it was called the Edi­ son Kinetaphone. I heard Harry Lauder sing I Love a Lassie. The or­ dinary Edison phonography was used with an extended horn. He was Film­ ed singing and the synchronization was purely mechanical, but it was a talkie and it was long before the Jazz Singer era.

Who had the first sound in Melbourne?

Phillips at the Capitol were waiting to see if the latest venture was going to stick and had not so far placed an order. The Athenaeum and Auditorium were ready, .and at last the Capitol signed, via their agents Paramount.

Under an agreement one theater could not open before the others, so the First two had to wait until the Capitol was wired. This took a little time, and by then the First talkie was made and the Capitol opened with it, Warner Baxter in Old Arizona. The other two screened the Films already booked. Protection was six months until product and equipment built up. ' I was in the Capitol as often as possible to go over the details of learning a new form of projection. It was a revolution. A licence was in­ troduced into Victoria, most other states did not bother. The one time ‘second job’ in the evening became a full time one with emphasis on cleanliness. A strand of hair could give you no end of trouble. Daily checking of battery banks, cell by cell, and logging these on cards provided by the sound company.

Remember it was not yours, you had it on lease. A decade later and you had new equipment, easier to handle and you bought it outright.

The Depression came and went and another decade passed. It never affected you much, for people had to have amusement. But a change was on the way, new theaters sprang up and the family car took you to the nearest cinema. They had the same program as you, and comfort und elegance didn’t seem to count for much.

The increasing use of the stage caused the word ‘pictures’ to be deleted from the building and the approach of television was awaited.

When it did arrive, the results were hard to believe. For a theater that had for four decades shown to near capacity all the year round to suddenly open to a house of 50 was hard to take. But we did not close.

Live shows continued with increasing popularity and the Film festivals continued to keep things afloat.

After 42 years of service my eyesight had started to be affected and I found it hard to focus correctly at 183 ft (56m) projection distance, despite the use of binoculars. So, at 69, I retired. I still help at spotting when required, and at film festivals I arrange for the collection and assembling of programs, and their subsequent return. It has been a long time since I stood alongside a projec­ tor and handled 35mm films. I was in the business for 57 years, and I can only add that I enjoyed every bit of it. ★ Cinema Papers, November-December — 259

The terrifying motion picture from the terrifying No. 1 bestseller.

MARTIN BRODY The Police Chief. For him — a terrible responsibility.

QUINT The shark hunter. For him —a bloody vendetta.

MATT HOOPER Oceanographer and shark specialist. For h im — a perilous opportunity.

ROY SGIEIDER

ifliiil mm m

ilGHAii DREYFIISS

m

Ctt-stamog LO M E ■ • 11 i l l ! •A K M 1111 • S c # ! P E I H i ! ad C l f i l l Based on tk ravel If fill IEIC 1E! • Music If I I 1EEI18■ Diiccld If 8IEIEI S IH G • Pioduced If I I I I. IIIC I and I I I I I I l f H f l l l - i f l i l l l l f f i i ' (F o r fu lle s t e n jo y m e n t — see it fr o m th e beg inning!)

Distributed by Cinema International Corporation.

NOW

IN N A T I O N W ID E

RELEASE.

ELLEN BRODY The Police C hiefs wife.

For her—a threat to those she loved.

N IG H T M OVES Jack Clancy When academics come to write on the American cinema of the seventies, an obvious subject will be the revival of the private-eye film — a genre, dead, dormant or parodied out of existence in the luxurious sixties. And neatly available will be Altman, Polanski and Penn, all filmmakers of considerable ac­ complishment and seriousness of intent. Elliot Gould’s Marlowe (The Long Goodbye), Jack Nicholson’s Gittes (Chinatown) and now Gene Hackman’s Harry Moseby (Night Moves) provide a rich basis for an investigation into cross-references, contemporary allusions and backward glances to a genre’s history.

For example the use of water as a symbol in the Polanski and Penn films can easily be link­ ed to the Watergate business. Thus the films can be seen as making direct and pointed references with what are arguably visual puns — the opening up of water gates which reveal the covering up of something foul. Think too of the downbeat trend in the scripts, the world­ weariness and the knowledgeable pessimism so appropriate to these disillusioned times.

Alan Sharp’s script of Night Moves circles incessantly around such a tone. Thus when given a choice between feeling fine and feeling lousy, a character replies: “ More lousy than fine.” And when Gene Hackman is told by a wayward 16-year-old girl that life is no fun, he replies: “ I’ll tell you something. When you get to forty it ain’t any better.” This trend usually centers on the detective himself, so at one point we find Moseby saying: “ I didn’t solve anything; it all fell on top of me” . So, if he is not the slovenly Marlowe or the disastrously innocent Gittes, he is a Harry Moseby, with a wife who not only deceives him, but who pours scorn on his profession to undermine the one essential quality of the private eye, his professional pride.

The contemporary script can indulge in two sorts of luxury denied its ancestors, though whether the films are better for it is arguable.

The dialogue can, of course, be more sexually direct, although when a comparison is made between a line like: He’d fuck a woodpile just on the chance there was a snake in it” and the racehorse exchange between Bogart and Bacall in The Big Sleep, the loss is obvious.

The contemporary script can also rely on and allude to a cinematic past that is rich in associations. When Moseby is asked whether he is the kind of detective who will follow a case through no matter what, he replies: “That was in the old days, before we had a union” .

He is sufficiently in the traditional mould, however, to dismiss a rival agency as “an in­ formation factory” , and to ponder about the way Sam Spade would have handled the situation.

Night Moves shares with its contemporary and antecedent parallels a familiar plot struc­ ture which in itself is an inevitable part of the film’s meaning. Hired for an apparently sim­ ple task (the tracing of a runaway child) the detective becomes aware of more complex issues, is warned off, stubbornly persists and finally is instrumental in bringing the unplea­ sant truth to light at the cost of the death and injuring of a number of the principals. The un­ pleasant truth is something which has a direct contemporary relevance, so that audiences are led from the simple action/adventure or psy­ chological manoeuvring level, towards something of s ig n if i c a n c e . Here it is the smuggling and commercialization of Central American art works.

And if the contemporary emphasis has shifted, it is towards a concentration on the level of the private investigator’s personality.

Beneath the increasingly fragile persona of toughness, coolness and competence, he is seen as self-doubting, slightly desperate and even unsure of his own identity. Gould’s Marlowe asserts himself finally by the most direct act of will — he tracks down the villain, a former friend, and simply shoots him.

Nicholson’s Gittes is himself the central ironic focus of the film’s statement. Described by Dunaway as “an innocent” he laughs, “That’s one thing that no-one has ever accused me of” , and yet it is precisely his innocence that is so fatal to the people he is trying to help.

Moseby’s case is more complex. For much of the time, he overwhelmingly reminds one of Tom Buchanan in The Great Gatsby. A former football star himself, Moseby fits Fitzgerald's description as “ one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax” . Perhaps, like Tom, “ he would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game” , and perhaps his chosen profession is a way of sustaining that wistful dream.

However, Moseby does have intellectual capacities foreign to Tom Buchanan, and equally, a capacity for withdrawal. He regrets the missed perfection of a solution to a chess game played before he was born, and he recalls how he used his professional skills to track down his father, but then refused to con­ tact him.

Moseby’s own self-doubt comes out in an answer to the woman who objects to his cons­ tant questioning, “ I just want you to know I’m here” . And a heavy-handed Penn lays his final defeat on us in the last shot — a long receding zoom of a disabled boat turning in an aimless circle, while Moseby lies crippled on board.

Night Moves has great textural richness and is a film of first-class performances, especially those of Gene Hackman and Jennifer Warren (Paula) — Penn’s skill with actors has definitely not diminished in his five-year absence from filmmaking.

At the same time, one is inclined to lament the sense of sour defeatism which pervades the film. Andrew Sarris wrote that Joseph von Sternberg’s characters “ . . . retain their civilized graces despite the most desperate struggles for psychic survival, and it is their poise under pressure, their style under stress, that grants them a measure of heroic stature and stoic calm” A touch of those qualities, in frightened, uncertain post-Vietnam, post­ Watergate America, would be welcome. After all, is it really necessary to have Moseby, ex­ football star, cuckolded by a man who is crippled enough to need a walking stick?

Perhaps the symbolism here, seen in con­ junction with Moseby’s failure to solve the mystery, works to equate both Moseby and the game itself on a level of futility. But if Moseby the private investigator is an irrele­ vant anachronism, might not the private eye film be equally irrelevant?

NIGHT M OVES. Directed by A rthur Penn.

Distributed by Columbia-Warner. Produced by Robert M. Sherman. Screenplay by Alan Sharp.

Director of Photography, Bruce Surtees. Edited by Dede Allen. Music by Michael Small. Production design by George Jenkins. Players: Gene Hackman (Harry Moseby), Jennifer Warren (Paula), Edward Binns (Ziegler), Harris Yulin (M arty Heller), Kenneth Mars (Nick), Janet Ward (Arlene Iverson), James Woods (Quentin), Anthony Costello (Mary Ellman), John Crawford (Tom Iverson), Melanie Briffith (Delly Grastner), Ben Archibeck (Charles). . Technicolor. Length, 99 min. U.S., 1975.

THE MAN FROM HONG KONG Jim Murphy Tongue in cheek, knee in groin action is what the Australian-Chinese production The Man From Hong Kong is all about. Like any good (or bad) kung fu film, it is all vastly im­ probable; in fact, one slashing spree with ex­ otic oriental machetes is so gorily absurd that it invites comparison with the cutting down to size of the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Making no apologies for the comic book scenario, writer-director Brian Trenchard Smith has done a first-class job of delivering a product that will delight its target audience.

One may moralize on the sadistic nature of the violence — and it i s sadistic, with each fight unnecessarily protracted — but this,, ap­ parently, is what Eastern audiences want.

Trenchard Smith has not only given it to them in buckets, but has also contrived to make the film entertaining on a simple adventure level to English-speaking audiences with excellent use of locations, a sprinkling of genuine humor and a surreptitious spoofing of Chinese kung fu film prototypes.

What else but parody could be intended by Ros Speirs’ line (as the Australian journalist, gazing at Hong Kong: “ It’s beautiful, squalid, exhilarating, frightening . . . all the contradic­ tions of the East in one city”? And the suspi­ cion of send-up surrounds the giving of com­ edy lines to Chinese star Jimmy Wang Yu (who can't speak English and had to be dubbed). In bed with Miss Spiers he asks: “ Will you review me in your column?” Later, in similar context with Rebecca Gilling, he

Harry Moseby (Gene Hackman), one of those men who drift forever seeking.the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

Arthur Penn's Night Moves.

C in e m a Pap er s, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r — 261

TH E MAN FROM HONG KONG

replies to her, “ this is nice” with a “ What did you expect—acupuncture?” Similarly a smart edit to a close-up of a pool table just as someone receives a kick square between the legs may not be terribly sophisticated, but it is evidence of a sense of humor at work.

The story has Inspector Fang, of the Hong Kong Police Special Branch, coming to Australia to extradite a prisoner. After beating the man senseless in a Sydney prison cell (an example of Chinese interrogation methods) and later losing him to a sniper, he stays on to give the local constabulary a lesson by busting the drug racket of the formidable Mr Big. The format had to allow for all in­ teriors to be done at the Golden Harvest studios in Hong Kong, while nearly all ex­ teriors were shot in Australia. They match well, and the film has a gloss that eludes many Chinese filmmakers, combined with a cracker­ jack pace that not even Warner Brothers, with their Enter the Dagon, could match.

Jimmy Wang Yu, presumptive to the man­ tle of the late Bruce Lee, snorts, squints and dilates his nostrils in the manner that passes for acting in these farragos. His Inspector Fang is a character of pure rice paper, and he is not even remotely convincing in those few moments he has at rest. George Lazenby makes a better Mr Big than a James Bond (but only just) and there is a good cameo from Frank Thring, underplaying judiciously for once, as Mr Big’s secretary — a sort oFsinister Richard Wattis.

Acting honors unquestionably go to Hugh Keays-Byrne, the refugee from the Royal Shakespeare Company, who was so im­ pressive in Stone. In this film Keays-Byrne provides comic relief as an Australian ‘under­ cover’ narcotics agent who delights in flashing his identification papers to all and sundry. He supplies the film’s most memorable moment when, skipping up to the front door of a house, he displays the ID to an idly passing cat. It’s a superb example of how inspiration during a take can be funnier than anything already written.

For all this, the action is about 95 per cent of the film, and Trenchard Smith handles it admirably, getting a strong sense of involve­ ment and realism for all its improbability. One might have expected these sequences to be good since they were done in Hong Kong with plenty of expert advisers on hand. it’s the Australian-made stunt work and special effects that are eye-openers, however: a fight atop Ayers Rock; a helicopter pursuing a car that rolls and explodes with the mammoth rock as a perfect backdrop; a multi-car chase along bush roads that ends in one vehicle ploughing through a house; superlative aerial sequences of hang-glider flying over Sydney and Hong’Kong; and a climactic blowing up of the Esso Building’s top floor.

Russell Boyd’s color photography is first­ rate. It exploits every scenic location to the fullest and achieving such arresting shots as the one from inside the speeding car as the driver fires at the helicopter which is held in perfect frame by the car window. Noel Quinlan’s music is also a useful contribution, and the soundtrack of assorted grunts, thwacks and agonized groans is as expert and effective as it is unstable.

The Man From Hong Kong is the sort of bread-and-butter film that has always been the backbone of film industries. Entirely without intellectual pretension, and being nothing more than the 1970’s counterpart of yester­ day’s kid matinee fare, it ought not to be judg­ ed alongside Between Wars or Sunday Too Far Away. But for what it is, and what it set out to be, it is extremely good, better probably than the genre deserves.

THE MAN FROM HONG KONG. Directed by Brian T renchard-Sm ith. Distributed by BEF. Produced by David Hannay, Andre Morgan.

P roduction com pany, The Movie Com pany: Paragon (Hong Kong). Screenplay by Brian Trenchard-Smith. Director of Photography, Russell Boyd. Edited by Alan Lake and Ron Williams.

Music by Noel Quinlan. Players: Jimmy Wang Yu, Hugh Keays Byrne, Ros Speirs, Rebecca Gilling, Frank Thring, George Lazenby. Eastman-Cinemascope. Australia 1975.

262 — C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

THE GREAT MACARTHY

Hugh Keays-Byrne and Roger Ward as the undercover narcotics cops in The M an From Hong Kong.

THE GREAT MACARTHY Freda Freiberg The Melbourne cult of Australian Rules football has been celebrated and satirized by several Australian writers. Actor-playwright Alan Hopgood kicked off with his play, A n d th e B ig M e n F ly , which opened at the Russell St Theatre during the height of the 1963 foot­ ball season. Its ingredients were simple but dramatically effective: a tall story plot, ‘strine’ dialogue, and caricatures who were all wellknown folkloric archetypes — the rustic inno­ cent with all brawn and no brain who becomes a star, the urban tycoon who as president of the club decides all means are justified so long as his team wins, and the ubiquitous sporting commentators and parasites spawned by the big business interests.

Poet Bruce Dawe follows with his satire of the Victorian religion, L i f e - c y c l e , and Barry Oakley in his full-length novel, S a l u t e to th e G r e a t M a c A r t h y , extended the satire beyond football fever and types to encompass all urban predators. His country boy MacArthy, like Hopgood’s Achilles Jones, finally rejects the corrupt and all-devouring lifestyle of the Big City and returns to his original rusticity.

It was inevitable, given the present boom in the Australian film industry and its dearth of good scripts, that The Great MacArthy would be filmed. And with good business sense David Baker hired just about every star of stage, screen and television in Australia, acquired the assistance of the South Melbourne Football Club, and launched the film in Melbourne, the capital of Aussie Rules, at the height of the season.

The Great MacArthy begins with great verve and promises to be a thoroughly enter­ taining film. The whole pre-credits sequence moves briskly, employing a full battery of slapstick techniques — ‘strine’ narration, a speeded-up country football match, ex­ clamatory captions, crude gestures and ex­ pletives, a Western-like confrontation between

The brisk, slapstick kidnapping of MacArthy by the Swans. The Great M acA rthy.

the ‘big three’ of the Kyneton Football Club — and culminates in the kidnapping of MacArthy by the big two in a fast helicopter getaway. As the helicopter soars into the sky with its flashing lights illuminating the team’s name, and the country yokels gazing heavenward from below, Baker cleverly cap­ tures a visual embodiment of the mystique of big-time football.

Following this inspired moment, we await' the rest with great expectations. Unfortunate­ ly these expectations are not fulfilled, for the film loses its pace and verve from the moment it sets foot in Melbourne and only inter­ mittently picks up during it.

The film is an uncomfortable pastiche of

styles and influences. The long-held close-ups of the distorted and maniacal faces of the boss and business tycoon are reminiscent of the' style of The Cars that Ate Paris; the sexual gymnastics on the hospital bed betray the in­ fluence of Alvin Purple and Petersen; and the football sequences are filmed in the style of a tourist promotion. The film abounds with various types of humor: high school revue (the office boy mimicking the boss’s antics), absur­ dist (Vera’s manic outburst in the drive-in) and slapstick (MacArthy as a crash-diving Batman). There are also the inevitable scenes which use homosexual persons and Jewish parents as butts of humor.

The film lamentably lacks satire. The

THE GREAT MACARTHY

SECTION SPECIALE

More generally, it is impossible to believe in the basic seriousness and intelligence of CostaGavras’ leading characters. If corruption is in­ evitable because of the stupidity and ambition of the ministers, then their moral scruples become quite uninteresting.

Costa-Gavras irons these out like a steam­ roller. As the Interior Minister says, “ We must not allow judicial quibbles to interfere with national security” . Or a little later, “ I am sure you are right from a legal and human stand-point, but the state comes first.”

Essentially the film allows us no sense of the kind of pressures that might have influenced Frenchmen to subvert justice as they did. Sec­ tion Speciale has effectively obliterated any apparent realism by its crude and insistent diagrams of human response.

The second major focus of the film is the Above: if corruption is inevitable because of the stupidity and ambition of the ministers, then their moral scruples become quite un-interesting. Section Speciale. long-drawn court room episode. This itself is Above right: with relentless scripting and didactic camerawork, Gosta-Gavras sharpens his film like an over-zealous pencil grinder until the point disintegrates. so farcical that it is difficult for the director to get us to take it seriously. The lawyers and businessmen come across as grotesque heavies SECTION SPECIALE with severe warnings of a gloomy, but rather judges are reduced to stark idiots who cannot rather than caricatures, and the intellectual vague fate (“the mantle of doom is about to cope with any intervention of argument. Shots Miss Russell is inappropriately played too of the defendants are inter-cut with flashbacks fall on you.” ). The political opportunists cloak John O’Hara close to life. Alternatively the sketches on in­ of their past; one peasant is shown dancing their deceptions in the most transparent tellectual life in action in Petersen had much with his girl, and as we watch, the young man words: “Today it is from yourselves that I in­ more bite. The English tutorial, for example, Costa-Gavras who hit the jackpot with Z in tend to save you.” slowly fades into the figure of the careworn is a gem of acute observation, while the 1969, has been casting about for another ever prisoner.

The structure of the film falls readily into English lesson from MacArthy is, in com­ since. He followed Z with The Confession in the form of an illustrated lecture. One can Through this relentless scripting and didac­ parison, flat and lifeless. Part of the reason, I 1970 and State of Siege in 1972 — a succes­ easily imagine Costa-Gavras standing beside tic camerawork, Costa-Gavras sharpens his suspect, is the miscasting and poor direction of sion of films concentrating on state repression the screen with a pointer. There are the formal film like an over-zealous pencil grinder until MacArthy. John Jarratt is too urbane, he just and individual resistance to it. speeches at the opera and in Parliament, the point disintegrates. As one of the judges does not look out of place in these settings.

He has canvassed Greece, Czechoslovakia, lengthy shots of Cabinet meetings, press con­ remarks, the dilemma concerns “hundreds of However, it is not only the characterizations Latin America, and now, with Section ferences, and group discussions among the hostages versus a misfit of insignificant human of Miss Russell and MacArthy that are at Speciale, France during the World War 2. revolutionaries. These are often shot in ex­ value.” And as another judge ponders, “ I was fault, the eye behind the camera is too bland Costa-Gavras attempts to illustrate the treme close-up, like the opening shots of Z, as moved by that man; there was a very human and indiscriminating. mechanics by which this improper legislation quality about him.” though the camera will isolate and iterrogate The football sequences are all blue skies, — which punishes men for crimes yet undefin­ the conspirators.

Section Speciale illustrates a simplified and green grass and undifferentiated movement, ed — is rushed through Parliament. He is also righteous moralizing, and a reduction of com­ As in the earlier films, the sense of extreme and accompanied by a repetitive and romantic concerned with the consciences of those in­ plex issues to slogans. Righteous anger and and superficial contrasts is reflected in the cut­ theme. It is not as if there is a shortage of volved, with the ways in which they betray sentimental indulgence also contribute to a ting: from a violent street demonstration to a models, for local television has produced themselves, their professional standing and peaceful riverside; from an execution to a film that is predictable, boring in the extreme many examples of competent football repor­ fellow countrymen. merry-go-round.. As a Minister is preparing to and laughably facile. It attempts to make up tage. In the TV version of A n d th e B ig M e n Section Speciale has the same appearance as corrupt the Cabinet, his small daughter its own dramatic conventions as it goes, and F ly , the lethal nature of the game was con­ the earlier films — although by now it is appears and leads him by the hand to a family the director has no sense of interior drama of veyed by the insertion of a montage of nasty breakfast. ' starting to wear thin — and Costa-Gavras is how a crisis of conscience might appear incidents culled from numerous football still tracing out a primitive logic about the differently to the various participants.

Everything is stressed and over-extended. replays, and the mythic prowess of Achilles misuse of power. He tracks through a state Even the most trivial incident of a German of­ The young people appear briefly, then lost Jones was demonstrated by displays of in­ conspiracy, characterizing those who sell their ficer being annoyed by a band in a restaurant, for the rest of the film. The Justice Minister credible heroics on the ground. Baker does not consciences as rich and bourgeois, gross and starts off opposing the rigging of the law for requires three separate shots of the band. convince us that MacArthy is a star footballer, old and clearly despicable. The bright young no clear reasons. Then, for equally obscure But the unvarying intention to sentimen­ for his skill is never demonstrated. More dis­ freedom fighters, though, sing as they swing motives, he supports it. talize this series of dramatic incidents and turbing still is Baker’s apparent lack of strong along country roads, cheerful, loyal to relationships is revealed most clearly in the The spirit of this literal filmmaking is feelings, for or against, the game itself. As a themselves and their country. The result is a betrayed in its conclusion. There is the in­ central scene of the German officer’s death. result, the film lacks any central or motivating boring and even stifling caricature.

His murder provokes the need for the new dignation of Costa-Gavras in a voice-over: force.

Costa Gavras and fellow scriptwriter Jorge legislation and brings about the most complete “ After the emergency, no serious action was Semprun, hammer out their ideological betrayal by the Vichy government of their taken against the judges.” And then, the com­ country. points, and flatten the characters into forting hope that “the people of France will sit awkward carboard figures. Each side is drawn in judgment some day.”

The German is shot on a subway train by TH E GREAT MACARTHY. Directed by David so sharply, the conflicts presented in such two youths armed with pistols. As he is shot, Presumably, Costa-Gavras hopes, after Baker. Distributed by Seven Keys. Produced by David Baker. Associate producers: Richard Bren­ black and white terms, that the film almost they have seen his film. his body is photographed falling in slow nan, Allan Benjamin. Production Company, Stoney immediately loses any pretence of dealing with motion; the scene of the youths appearing to Creek Films. Screenplay by John Romeril (from the a real historical situation and the moral and stampede along the platform is also in slow novel by Barry Oakley). Photography, Bruce McNaughton. Edited by John Scott. Music by Bruce political dilemmas of those who have lived motion. Their Figures go in and out of focus SECTION SPECIALE. Directed by Costa Gavras.

Smeaton. Players, John Jarratt (MacArthy), Judy through it. while the audience is expected to register their Distributed by Roadshow. Produced by Jacques Morris (Miss Russell), Kate Fitzpatrick (Andrea), The dialogue rings like asbestos, with rapid breathing.

The sound of urgent heart­ Perrin and Giorgio Silvagni. Edited by Françoise S an d ra M cG regor (V era), Barry H um phries original appeals to patriotism (“ Are you a beats is faded up and the film cuts back to the Bonnot. Music by Eric Denarsan. Length, 102 min.

(Colonel Ball-Miller).

France, 1975. man of stone? Hold back your tears, your body as a girl kneels beside it, her mouth tears of pain, weep for your country.”), and opening in a soundless cry.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v em b er-D ecem b er — 263

P IC N IC AT H A N G IN G ROCK

“ I'm going away, up north . . . to Queensland". Picnic at Hanging Rock.

PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK Scott Murray

Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock is a film of great nuance and subtlety. With finely controlled compositions and pace'it holds its audience constantly enchanted. And in its direction and scripting, Picnic is a film of con­ siderable intelligence, a film which for me at least, is certainly the best yet made in Australia.

■ It opens with a credit sequence that ef­ ficiently establishes the nature of the school and its pupils. In finely controlled pastel shades these daughters of the well-to-do are evoked in all their virginal purity. Their physical closeness is nicely set off against their idle and distancing remarks — though their dialogue is as much a trying out process as a means of expression.

However Weir deliberately takes us beyond a mere re-creation of 1900 school life and into the surreal. The richness of the flowers against their surroundings is over-intense and the compositions are over-cluttered with finery and brie a brae. The groupings also tend to take on a note of the absurd, as with the girls lacing each others’ corsets.

Clearly this is to build up a dream-like aura of purity and light that will lessen away to darkness, in parallel to the doom-like effects the disappearances have on all concerned. The mechanics are a little too obvious, but this is hardly worrying since the changing pattern of light is so constantly involving — mainly I suspect, due to the finely controlled use of light and filters by Russell Boyd.

• The party of girls sets off from Appleyard College and arrives at the mysterious Hanging Rock, though it is hardly what one expects of

264 — C in e m a Pap er s, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

a threatening monster. And the use of lowangles and incessant panning away to rocky crags only tends to bond them with the rock.

Quite a point is made of this throughout the film, as no-one is able to remember either the girls or Miss McGraw (Vivean Gray) leaving — though, of course, Mamselle (Helen Morse) saw the girls depart. “ Don’t worry about us, Mamselle dear; we shall only be gone a very little while.”

It is, however, during the scene of the girls crossing the creek that the film begins to exert its most powerful spell. As the last girl Miranda (Anne Lambert) takes her turn we see her jump in slow motion. The film then quickly cuts to the observing British aristocrat Michael Fitzhubert (Dominic Guard) and back again to Miranda (still in slow motion).

It could be a romanticized interpretation of Michael’s point of view, but it seems unlikely.

Michael then excuses himself from Albert (John Jarratt), but finds the girls already dis­ appeared from view, as if swallowed up by the bush.

Then, as the girls climb higher up the rock, inserts of slow motion re-appear and it becomes apparent that the rock is distorting time around them. Not only have all the clocks stopped and the party drifted into a lull, but the barrier to ‘inside’ the rock is like that of a time zone.

The unease this creates in the viewer is beautifully judged — and he|d.

The rock also has a clearly feminine sexuali­ ty about it, with its womb-like cavities and crevices. And under its spell the girls remove their boots and stockings and proceed barefooted, as if on some sacred pilgrimage.

Later we learn that Irma (Jane Vallis), at least, has also removed her corset. So in a s t a t e of sex u al a w a k e n in g , th o u g h metaphorical in that they preserve their in­ tactness, they disappear from view.

The school erupts into predictable bedlam: Mrs Appleyard (Rachel Roberts) thinks only of the disrepute the tragedy will bring to her

school, while the girls feel an increasing despair in their ignorance. Stern ‘guidance’ fails to revive the school’s spirit and so encroaches the darkness.

The film’s center of emphasis now changes to that of Michael and his nobly obsessive search for Miranda. Like many past gentlemen of leisure he considers knowledge instinctual. There was no decision made to find her — there was simply no choice. And in his rather childlike sense of urgency he is helped and finally befriended by his uncle’s steward, Albert.

The first time we see them together is during the auntie’s luncheon at the lower slopes of Hanging Rock. Their class differences are readily apparent, and Michael’s awkward attempt at talking with Albert balances nicely on a test of strength over how a beer bottle is to be returned. Unfortunately the point is belabored by a quite unnecessary line of dialogue. When Albert remarks that Miranda has fine legs “ right up to her bum” , he is quickly chastised for being rude. He replies, “ I say them, you only think them” . That it should strike so discordant a note, however, only demonstrates the remarkably under­ stated way Weir has controlled his film.

Michael returns to the rock in a final, desperate bid to save Miranda, but undergoes the same warping process as the girls and in slow-motion collapses to the ground. Again the feminine sexuality of the rock is stressed.

After all it is an unconsummated and heterosexual love that draws him there.

Later, Albert finds him in a state of shock.

And, as he is being taken away, Albert grabs his hand in reassurance, only to find on open­ ing his own palm a tattered piece of a once white dress. This fragment is passed from one to another unseen by us, because it is a transference in “ bond” . He rushes back up the rock and finds the unconscious Irma.

On examination it is found that only her hands and face are bruised, the rest of her body unspoilt and intact. Precisely as one

would expect since the rock takes it “children” as if to the womb. It can in no way violate their purity, though it can, as seen with Mrs Appleyard, be a catalyst to evil.

Irma recovers and decides to visit the school. However, on entering the ballet class in the Temple of Calisthenics, she is met by a deathly silence, the only movement that of the dangling rails. Suddenly the tension snaps and the girls attack her viciously, craving to dis­ cover what actually happened on the accursed rock.

Fortunately Mamselle is able to halt the fight and, bewildered by what they have done, the girls leave the room.

Mamselle then finds the neglected Sara (Margaret Nelson) still cruelly strapped to the posture-board. Too often personal nightmares occur at the expense of others — especially if they be authoritarian ones.

Then in a beautifully timed movement the camera settles behind a rail which directly threatens the lens. After all the responsibility is as much on us as them.

It is from here that Weir occasionally lets the otherwise neatly judged pace slip away.

The scenes of social criticism — the restless town and invading tourists — are misjudged and only tend to dissipate the spell the film has so marvellously held. The end also resolves itself untidily and is far less a success than Sara’s beautifully handled suicide. The n arrator is inappropria te, as are Mrs Appleyard’s mourning clothes, though the in­ evitable slow track forward is most effective.

After all, this is where the constantly darken­ ing drama has been resolutely heading.

Well, what of the mystery itself?

On the basis of only one viewing I offer three avenues of exploration, though- any number could meaningfully exist. The film doesn’t seem to posit a solution, which, despite an audience’s desire to know what a c t u a l l y happened, is a very intelligent decision. For it is the sheer “ impossibility” of finding a solu­ tion that makes one want to try.

The dangling rails shift restlessly around Miss Irma (Jane Vallsi) before the attack. Picnic at Hanging Rock.

1. The Poetic — Miranda as swan.

Throughout the film Weir places great emphasis on birds and flight. At the beginning of the picnic he superimposes a flock of parrots over a close-up of Miranda. The con­ nection is clear.

Later Michael sees Miranda in the corner of his garden but she turns into a white swan and flies awa^. Also during his convalescence the swan sits at the end of his bed looking over him.

Apart from these direct references are the allusions, such as the graceful way Miranda turns her head and glides over the creek.

Similarly great emphasis is placed on Mamselle’s remark that she is “ a Boticelli angel” .

2. The Sci-fi — rock as time zone.

Given the rock’s ability to warp time around its perimeters, one can view the monolith as a king of time zone, one that absorbs people into a fourth dimension. Irma's reappearance can then be explained as a fall from inside the zone, which also neatly accounts for the relatively few bruises on her body.

However, while this analysis is satisfying in “explaining” the mystery, it somewhat jars with the tone of the film. For within this sur­ real and exaggerated environment one always •believes in the reality of an event. Sara’s “journey” to see her brother Albert is totally believable.

3. The Romantic — disappearance as es­ cape.

Early in the film, and during the beautiful interchange between Sara and Miranda, Miranda gently suggests: “ Sara dear, you must learn to love others apart from me. After all I will not always be around.”

This seems to suggest that Miranda is hiding something, a suspicion confirmed much later by S ara’s comment to Mamselle: “ Miranda knows things other people don’t know — secrets . . . She knew she was not

coming back.” So Miranda either feared an unknown fate or had some plan to escape from Appleyard College. W h e r e is revealed by ari earlier remark: “ You must come and visit me, Sara dear, in Queensland, on our property.”

The w h y is revealed by Michael’s comment to Irma after their boating trip: “ I am going away . . . up n-orth, to Queensland.” It could, of course, be mere coincidence, but I doubt it.

Given that Cliff Green’s script was solely based on Joan Lindsay’s book*, I then read it in the hope of finding support for this in­ terpretation. And it is certainly there. Miran­ da’s property is referred to as Goonawingi and when Michael tells Albert of his plans to ex­ plore Australia he says: “There’s a big cattle station I want to see — away near the border.

It’s called Goonawingi.”

So what does all this leave us with in the end? Perhaps an image of Miranda and Michael sharing domestic bliss in northern Queensland. As for Marion and Miss McGraw I cannot guess, though murder I am sure, was not their end. For whatever mystical power the rock may possess it seems largely a poetic ability to conjure images of transmuta­ tion and flight. Unknown and unknowable, but certainly' not dark. The darkness only comes from within those who confront it.

* Interview with Cliff Green, December 1974, p. 311.

C in e m a

P apers,

PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK. Directed by Peter Weir. Distributed by BEF. Produced by Jim and Hal McElroy. Screenplay by Cliff Green. Director of Photography, Russell Boyd. Edited by Max Lemon.

Original music by Bruce Smeaton. Art Direction by David Copping. Sound by Don Connely. Players: Rachel Roberts (Mrs Appleyard), Dominic Guard (Michael Fitzhubert), Vivèan Gray (Greta McGraw), Helen Morse (Di De Portiers), Kirsty Child, Anne Lambert, Karen Robson, Jane Vallis, Christine Schuler, Margaret Nelson, Ingrid Phillips, Jacki Weaver. Eastmancolor. Length, 120 min. Australia 1975.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v em b er-D ecem b er — 265

PICTURE PREVIEW

She was the first . . .

The Mayor of Amity (Murray Hamilton) argues with Brody and Hooper about keeping the beach open.

The harpooned shark drags along the fishing boat.

Right: Brody stands alone to face the shark . . .

266 — C in e m a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

Icthyologist Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfus), right and Police Chief Brody (Roy Scheider).

A shark warning sends bathers frantically rushing for the shoreline.

Amitv the fourth of Tulv

The second victim . . .

HOW WILLINGLY YOU SING

N A SH V ILLE

NASHVILLE Ian Stocks

Nashville is Robert Altman’s magnum opus, a three hour epic that stands as a sort of U.S. W a r a n d P e a c e . It is set in the cultural wasteland of U.S. country music, Nashville (“ the Athens of the South” ), where illusions are re-processed and spewed out in neverending myths of humble beginnings, thwarted love and grass roots moralizing.

Tennessee is also the state which successful­ ly predicts the winning Presidential candidate, and as such it is a political touchstone for the Presidential elections.

The beginning of Nashville is slow and ironic. In a studio, Haven Hamilton (Henry Gibson) — one of the grand old men of Grand Old Opry — is recording 2 0 0 y e a r s , his hymn to the U.S. nation, Intercut (in Altman’s effective mirroring of documentary styles), is another day in Hal Philip Walker’s campaign for the Presidency.

The unseen Walker is a mystery candidate who is using political hype men to ensure he takes Tennessee. He is an antithetical radical, his political speil promises a complete refor­ mation of the U.S. dream.

So the opening of the film sets up two main com p lem entin g them es which are in themselves dialectical opposites . . . The Dream vs Reality: Individual vs The Mass: The Powerful vs The Powerless: Stability vs Change.

With superb orchestration Altman feeds in the subplots and supporting characters: a witless BBC reporter with a permanently dangling tape recorder (Geraldine Chaplin); a Peter, Paul and Mary style pop group; a superstar female country singer (Ronee Blakley) making a comeback after traumatic injuries in a motel fire; the hangers-on and hustlers; the about-to-make-its and the hasbeens.

The characters themselves are super-real and self satirizing. The music and lyrics are a parody on the U.S.’s illusions and beliefs.

With horrible sentiments, pathetic sexual posturing, frenetic image building, Altman lards scene after scene with bitter irony. A retired singer (Lily Tomlin) in a typical U.S. home teaches her deaf children to speak. The lady country star sings from her wheelchair as a sort of broken “ Spirit of America” . There’s a burial, a hospital ward, a four lane car smash, even a political fund raising where a hopeful singer (Gwen Welles) is forced to strip instead. The film is anthropological, with its stuttering, unformed characters swimming in their own egos.

Altman rejects the individual psychological analysis and looks with desperation at the effects of mass conditioning. To do so he makes a shift into the past, the U.S. of ten years ago, recreated as an antidote to crisis.

Altman’s premise is that they are all coming back to Nashville —■the hip singers looking for fresh inspiration; a desperate girl in tatters; a Vietnam veteran with a single dream and his aggression just under control. And finally the mystery man — an “all-American” boy with glasses, short hair, a battered guitar case and a cheap pistol.

But, while Altman ruthlessly attacks the characters he has created, he fails to attack the central problem of the origins of mass con­ ditioning and manipulation. Instead he keeps his camera on the performers and on the gulli­ ble hysterical public that feeds off them. Alt­ man, like the manipulator he is, does not ac­ cuse the manipulators. If he has an alter-ego in the film, then Altman is the Presidential can­ didate, the brooding unseen presence in a bullet-proof Cadillac.

Perhaps to compensate for this, Altman deliberately uses the documentary form to c r e a t e a sense of ‘r e a l i t y ’. S lo p p y camerawork, poor framing, inadequate sound and unrehearsed dialogue — these patterns reinforce a false sense of familiarity.

Only very rarely does-Altman allow ex­ pressionism. Once, in the way he photographs the deaf children of the “ all-American” 268 — C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

Robert Altman’s magnum opus Nashville. Ronee Blakely as the quickly rising country and western singer, and her manager Allen Garfield. mother. Again at the end of the film after the lady country singer, the “Spirit of America” has been shot in a Lee Harvey Oswald type assassination by the “all-American” boy. The political rally is ending in chaos, the Great Country Stars are dead, wounded or running and finally only Lady Pearl is left to sing. She is the torn-stocking deadbeat who has been trying to escape from her Okie husband throughout the film. As she sings I D o n ’t C a r e the camera roves feelingly over the passive faces of a trusting audience.

But the gesture and the expressionism is empty because Altman himself cannot believe that there is any hope of reversing the con­ ditioning that has shaped the U.S. So in the end, the patient, trusting and lobotomised peo­ ple are left with nothing except the music. The would-be President (“ Some people say he’s mad” ) has left in the bullet-proof limousine.

The tattered freaks have had their moment of glory, but the real evil goes unexposed.

For this reason Nashville is an unsatisfying film, the bitter cynicism of the opening has devolved into the easy conceptualizing and saccharine sentimentality of the final scenes.

Nashville becomes a film cliche, a cinema verite feature, as corny as the dress worn by Karen Black, impressive only because the director has the audacity to wear it.

N A SH V ILL E. Directed by Robert A ltm an.

Distributed by CIC. Produced,by Robert Altman.

Executive producers, M artin S targer, Jerry Weintraub. Production Company, American Broad­ casting Companies Inc. Screenplay by Joan T ew kesbury. D irector of Photography, Paul Lohmann. Edited by Sidney Levin, Dennis Hill.

Music arranged and supervised by Richard Baskin.

Sound by Jim Webb, Chris McLaughlin. Players: David Arkin, Barbara Baxley, Ned Beatty, Karen Black, Ronee Blakley, Timothy Brown, Keith Carradine, Geraldine Chaplin, Robert Doqui, Shelley Duvall, Allen Garfield, Henry Gibson, Scott Glenn, Jeff Goldblum, Barbara Harris, David Hayward, Michael Murphy, Alan Nicholls, Dave Peel, Cristina Raines, Bert Remsen, Lily Tomlin, Gwen Welles, Keenan Wynn. Length 161 min. US 1975. '

HOW W ILLINGLY YOU SING Jack Clancy In Gary Patterson’s How Willingly You Sing the central character Simon Dore (Gary Patterson) clearly carries a great deal of the film’s author with him. He is involved in a kind of search for meaning, enlightenment, and knowledge. As the external world can he hostile, threatening and something to be resisted or turned away from, the search becomes a kind of interior exploration, a seek­ ing for alternatives. All of which can leave the filmmaker open to temptations of self­ indulgence, portentousness and obscurantism.

Gary Patterson very sensibly, and neatly, avoids these traps, largely through a lively sense of the ridiculous and a very sharp and attractive sense of humor.

His hero Dore is placed nicely in perspective by the cleanly executed visual conceit which takes us by stages from a view of the world to a view of him in his room — the kind of thing S te p h e n D ed alu s (and m any o th e r schoolchildren) worked out in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man . . .

Stephen Dedalus, Clongowes Wood College, Saliins, County Kildare, Ireland, Europe, The World, The Universe.

So that when he finds himself being follow­ ed by a man with a camera and discovers that his dreams are being interfered with, we can’t take him too seriously, though we can be in­ terested in what happens to him. His sessions with a psychiatrist, who is clearly sane enough to be quite mad, are great fun, and his holi­ day on the farm has some pleasantly lyrical and funny moments, especially when he plays with children. (Another element common to this kind of film is the substitution of children

for innocence, simple delight, responsiveness etc.).

Dore is sensible enough to take the psy­ chiatrist’s instructions literally, so when told to go out and talk to people, he conducts a series of street interviews; told to be happy and enjoy himself, he sings A b b a D a b b a D a b b a outside the Albion Hotel (a reference to Between Wars), and gets plastered with eggs for his trouble. There is, too, the inevitable, and by now very tired, device of talking about, or referring to, the film within the film.

Similarly How Willingly You Sing speculates on, and begins to play games with, the notions of real and cinematic time.

There are lots of funny moments in the film, and even the corny gags have an appropriate kind of charm to them (comparable perhaps with the way T h e G o o n S h o w cannot only get away with but makes capital from murderous puns). At one point a cop picks up a bust of Bach and reads “ Back” . “That’s not the back, it’s the front,” says he. “ Not Back, but Bach!” he’s told, to which he replies, “ It’s not bark, it’s plastic.”

In contrast not all the attempts at seriousness come off. The Vietnam and Nazi footage seems to be inserted out of some vague sense of duty or obligation, and the statements of the old astrologer thud pretty heavily on the film’s otherwise tight texture.

Still, How Willingly You Sing manages to skate over or slip past its self-created weaknesses and is evidence of a talent at work.

HOW WILLINGLY YOU SING. Directed by Garry Patterson. Distributed by Melbourne Filmmakers’ Co-operative Ltd. Produced by Garry Patterson.

Screenplay by Garry Patterson. Associate producer, Gail Hannah. Production company, Inch Films.

Director of Photography, Peter Tanner. Edited by Garry Patterson. Music arranged by Robert Patter­ son, performed by I n n e r C i r c l e . Sound by Spence Williams. Players: Garry Patterson, Isaac Gerson, Jim Robinson, Jerry Powerly, Morris Gradman, Graham Glass, Allan Levy, Rosy Smith, Pamela Munro, Jeff Turnbull. Length, 90 min. Australia, 1975. "

THE VOYAGE

THE FORTUNE

THE FORTUNE John C. Murray.

The Voyage, based on a novella by Luigi Pirandello — the last Film of Vittorio de Sica. Sophia Loren as seamstress Adriana who marries the brother of Cesare (Richard Burton).

Almost classically The Fortune shows that intelligent acting can overcome the worst ex­ cesses of uninspired writing and weak direc­ tion. In conception at least, the story had possibilities (two bumbling fortune hunters conniving to get their hands on a wealthy flapper’s inheritance, First by an arranged marriage, and then by faking her suicide), but few of these came to anything. Adrien Joyce’s script is singularly short on humor both in situation and dialogue, and what potential is left is killed by Mike Nichols’ uncertain direc­ tion.

The infelicities are legion. At one point, Oscar (Jack Nicholson, looking uncannily like a debauched Art Garfunkel) goes through the old routine of setting up a deck chair to bask in the Californian sunshine, only to have it collapse as he settles back into it. Properly handled that chestnut could still have generated some laughs, but Nichols mis­ calculates right down the line, heavily planting the situation and failing to do anything with the pay-off, except to blandly record that it happened. Shots are held on screen long after their content has been exhausted, and inex­ plicably the camera, on two or three oc­ casions, is made to swing round in a slow cir­ cle eventually to alight on some piece of ac­ tion.

Virtually all of the long, crucial sequence where Oscar and Nick (Warren Beatty) mis­ manage the ‘suicide’ of Freddie (Stockard Channing) and float her trunk-encased body out to seals so poorly directed and timed that there is only the evidence that Nichols intend­ ed it to be amusing to keep alive interest in what he is doing.

But rising above the directorial ineptness (and making The Fortune worth the price of admission) are Beatty’s, Nicholson’s and, to a

casionally great director, quite satisfying historically. Re-investing old material with new life The Voyage reintroduces the terminal disease aspect which dominated A Place for Lovers (1969), intensiFies the scrutiny of fami­ ly which was the essence of Finzi-Continis and interweaves the village and domestic commen­ tary of several of his very early Films.

The success of this Film lies in the conviction of its telling, for the situations and dialogue are by no means new to romantic Films. So while seeming to derive from these traditions, The Voyage creates an anomaly by making its mark in a ‘primitive’ sense.

Having perfected his craft decades ago, de Sica had by 1973 passed through an age of commercial compromise, to a period where all the flufFier trimmings were unnecessary. A large budget and well-chosen locations ob­ viously help, but what set pieces do exist are remarkably disciplined.

One actually senses that The Voyage is the sort of Film from which de Sica, with more production and story control, might have derived personal satisfaction in the early 1950’s.

Oddly, the style of the Film seems uncertain up to the death of Antonio. It is hard to accept Burton and Ian Bannen as brothers, or even that Burton could be as passive as the narrative’s earlier scenes require. After a while, however, the presence of ‘the stars’ is submerged below the slow, thronged ritual of life in an Italian hill town, with its funerals, sudden rainstorms and gossiping peasants.

Once the action moves to Palermo, tightly choreographed city life pervades and the black garb of the home town gives way to the more cosmopolitan colors of blue and yellow. Here, the constant summer activity of the garden ad­ joining the doctor’s surgery prompts an awakening which furthers the voyage.

And, as elsewhere in the Film, the settings are just as influential as the people that Fill them. One recalls Adriana visibly wilting as she is formally guided for the First time around the museum-like family home.

Similarly during mourning for her husband, Adriana waits until the darkened house has

lesser extent, Channing’s performances. More times than not while playing out long, un­ broken scenes within the wide-screen frame, the trio consistently strike sparks off each other.

Beatty especially is remarkably in charge of his role as the irascible, dim-witted Nick, alternating between Fits of irrational bad temper and blubbering depression. His reading -of the character (anticipated in its stiff-backed walk and tougher - than - thou delivery by some of the earlier scenes in Bon­ nie and Clyde is wholly sustained from beginn­ ing to end.

Nicholson too, in spite of a slight tendency to overplay the unlovely Oscar’s shiftiness, makes the character concrete with an easy skill that gives the writing a richness it does not intrinsically contain.

Stockard Channing is perhaps less fortunate with her part as the sanitary-napkin heiress,

THE VOYAGE Graham Shirley

It’s easy in some ways to see why Vittorio de Sica’s last Film The Voyage (1973), has had only a limited release in Australia. It has little of the tautness or the fashionable martyrdom of The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, and at times its plot staggers for want of solid motivation. Yet by three quarters of the way through, it has begun to manifest a frail charm and by story’s end one is full of admiration for the way de Sica has made it all work.

Based on a novella by Luigi Pirandello, the Film is set amongst the Sicilian aristocracy of 1904-14. Cesare (Richard Burton) has, in ac­ cordance with the will of his late father, to plead for the hand of the seamstress Adriana (Sophia Loren). However, as she waits joyful­ ly in the next room, her mother learns with dismay that Cesare has come to propose not on behalf of himself, but for his brother An­ tonio (Ian Bannen).

In spite of protests from Adriana the marriage goes ahead, and in the six years that follow, Adriana has a son, becomes ill and withdrawn and Antonio loses whatever self­ confidence he had. Then several months later Antonio crashes the car Cesare has imported for him and dies. Worsening in health, Adriana is taken by Cesare to visit some specialists and, as she awakens to life outside the small Sicilian town, they hear the worst.

Realising there is little time to develop the affection which has always existed, the two travel on to Venice, but within weeks are being implored by Adriana’s mother to face the con­ sequences. Cesare then telephones her to an­ nounce their intended marriage, but upstairs, unnerved by the contents of her mother’s letter Adriana has a coronary. Several minutes later, Cesare returns to Find Adriana close to death.

Though the story is sentimental and downbeat, it is, as the last Film of an oc­

Two bumbling fortune hunters connive to get their hands on a wealthy flapper’s inheritance. The Fortune. Stockard Channing, Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson. emptied, then runs breathlessly up the stairs to fling open the door to the roof terrace. It is there, among the wind-blown sheets, that Cesare later Finds her and makes his First hesi­ tant attempt to remove the barriers between them.

This scene is one of The Voyage’s more positive turning points and in terms of its beauty alone, almost justiFies for de Sica those lessons learned during the more ‘commercial’ chores of the Fifties and sixties.

THE VOYAGE. Directed by Vittorio de Sica.

Produced by Carlo Ponti. Photography, Ennio Guorenerri. Adapted from a novella by Luigi Pirandello. Location filming in Noto, Palermo, Naples, Venice and Milan. Players, Sophia Loren (Adriana), Richard Burton (Cesare), Ian Bannen (Antonio). Italy 1973.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v em b er - D ecem b er — 269

AT 263 ADDERLY ST., WEST MELBOURNE, 3003 TEL: 329 5422

WE HAVE FINE FEATURES AND SHORTS ON 16MM AND 35MM AVAILABLE FOR HIRE. WRITE OR RING FOR OUR NEW FREE CATALOGUE WITH LA TEST ADDITIONS.

Motion Pictures from all over the world

brought toyou

SUMMERTHING 76 ENROLMENTS NOW OPEN In c lu d e s a w id e ra n g e o f c o u r s e s in th e c r e a tiv e a rts a n d o th e r s u b je c ts R e s id e n tia l a n d n o n - r e s id e n t ia l

ITALY

ENGLAND GLENDA JACKSON MICHAEL CAINE HELMUT BERGER

BURT LAN C ASTER H ELM U T BERGER SILVANA M A N G A N O

C O U N C IL OF AD U LT EDUCATIO N 256 FLINDERS STREET, MELBOURNE Telephone: 63 4231.

in

LUCHINO

VISCONTI'S

T h e R o m a R tic E n g lis h w o m a n

conuersation piece

AUSTRALIA

A R E C O L L E C T IO N O F E V IL

TECHNICOLOR

IN RELEASE 1975

Los Olvidados Exterminating Angel Viridiana Love 27 A

I Can Jump Puddles Tony and the Tick Took Dragon The Big Dig 100 a Day Ballet Adagio Elnaufrago de La Calle Providencia — 50 minute color documentary about Luis Buñuel Ophelia

THE FORTUNE

FEAR EATS T H E SOUL

“ What’s happiness? There is such a thing as decency” . Brigitte Mira and El Hedi Ben Salem in Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s Fear Eats the Soul.

Freddie; but this, one suspects, is more the script’s fault than hers, for it is never clear just what Freddie is supposed to be like. At least Channing has the right touch of round-faced, pout-lipped sensuousness associated with 'twenties temptresses, gnd she does manage her key scenes (including the home-cooked meal to end them all) with a steady comic aplomb.

If one had to select examples to show what ensemble playing is all about, one could do worse than point to the sequence in The For­ tune where Nick, Oscar and Freddie are out motoring, all three crammed in the front seat of a roadster. As Nick and Oscar build up from mildly irritated exchanges to a full­ blown slanging match over Freddie’s head, her mood slips from boop-boop-de-boop gaiety to wild anger. The whole scene, largely unbroken by cuts, is beautifully paced by the actors.

There are other good moments, particularly the scene towards the end where Nicholson, first play-acting the distraught bereaved husband, collapses into a genuine, tearful con­ fession as Beatty furiously tries to make him understand that a team of suspicious cops are enquiring about a missing bus, not a murdered wife. It is probably the one fully hilarious se­ quence in the film, and again it emanates from what the actors have been able to create.

A final point to the credit of The Fortune is the excellent score, made up of popular twen­ ties tunes adapted by David Shire. An in­ terpretation of " M y H o n e y ’s L o v i n ’ A r m s " which backs one scene is ingeniously redolent of that great Biederbecke - Venuti - Tram­ bauer era of jazz.

The pity is that these admirable elements in the film are not fortified by a stronger grasp and livelier imagination on Mike Nichols’ part. Where The Fortune succeeds, it does so in spite of him.

T H E FORTUNE. Directed by Mike Nichols.

Distributed by Columbia. Produced by Mike Nichols and Don Devlin. Associate Producer, Robert E. Schultz. Screenplay by Adrien Joyce. Director of Photography, John A. Alonzo ASC. Edited by Stu Linder. Music adapted and conducted by David Shire. Production design by Richard Sylbert. Art direction by W. Stewart Campbell. Set decoration by George Gaines. Players: Stockard Channing (Fred­ die), Jack Nicholson (Oscar), W arren Beatty (Nicky), Florence Stanley (Mrs Gould), Richard B. Shull (Chief Detective). U.S., 1975.

FEAR EATS THE SOUL Tom Ryan One of the most prominent characteristics of much of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s work is the way he is able to draw on what he has learned from the films of Douglas Sirk.

For a start, Fear Eats the Soul is a rework­ ing of Sirk’s AH That Heaven Allows, though the two films have more in common thansimply a narrative similarity. However, it is not my intention to suggest that Fassbinder’s films are merely imitations of those of his avowed spiritual mentor. Rather, my concern is with the use he is able to make of some of the thematic and stylistic constructs Sirk had employed to define a perspective more com­ plex than may at first be apparent on those narratives which provided the skeletons for his melodramas about American life.

On one level, it is possible to talk of both Sirk and Fassbinder as social commentators, exposing through their art the corruption of human values by forces outside the control of individuals, yet expressed through them. In All That Heaven Allows, Sirk’s subject is the suf­ fering which results when a well-to-do widow (Jane Wyman) decides that she wants to marry her gardener (Rock Hudson) and finds herself condemned by the children, her friends, and the middle-class world to which she belongs. In Fear Eats the Soul, Fassbinder shifts the starting-point: the location is con­ temporary Germany; the widow, Emmy (Brigitte Mira), is a .window cleaner; her love, Ali (El Hedi Ben Salem), is an Arab worker, a foreigner generally treated with contempt. The hostility which greets their liaison is based on an all-too-familiar notion of what is proper — Emmy’s disapproving neighbor observes to a sympathetic young man, “ What’s happiness?

There’s such a thing as decency.”

The sexual basis for much of the dis­ approval, an important factor in the Sirk film as well, is foregrounded in the treatment of Ali as a sex object, and Fassbinder is clearly wanting here, as elsewhere*, to suggest the power of the hidden world of the Id, controll­ ing and directing social behavior.

Yet while it is important to view their work * His play C o c k - A r t i s t in particular has much in common with Fear Eats the Soul in its treatment of the sexual resentment of a Turkish worker by his German colleagues.

within such a context, it would be a gross error of judgm ent to reduce either Sirk or Fassbinder to Marxist or Freudian schemata.

The quality of their work, finally, is in the style which grows out of their subjects.

Perhaps the most important feature of this is the visual phrasing that they employ, their in­ sistent placing of characters in relation to their surroundings and in relation to the creation of the film itself which has brought them into a fictional existence. Fassbinder’s images, like Sirk’s, constantly place objects of decor in the foreground so that the center of our attention, the human drama, has to be viewed through them. The major aspect of this in Fear Eats the Soul is in the self-conscious shooting of characters through doorways and windows, having them pursue their “performances” enclosed by framings within the framework of the screen.

This has the effect of creating, on the one hand, a sense of characters being imposed on by their surroundings and, on the other, of setting us at a distance from them, of making them objects within a “ play” upon whom we can reflect, as if they were figures in a painting.

Complementing this, and here is where Fassbinder moves away from the strict adherence to narrative which ruled the studio product during Sirk’s Hollywood days, are the numerous “ posed” framings which appear throughout Fear Eats the Soul, Fassbinder’s camera lingering on faces and groups which remain unmoving, unalive. In the opening se­ quence, as Emmy enters the bar where she is soon to meet Ali, Fassbinder cuts between the group around the bar looking up at the in­ truder, and Emmy entering, pausing and then taking her seat. He holds each shot con­ siderably longer than required for conven­ tional narrative flow, and, in effect, calls the action to a halt. This treatment of exchanges is repeated throughout the film: when Emmy calls her children together to tell them of her marriage, when she and Ali become aware of the waiters watching them in the open-air restaurant, and when she goes to Ali in the garage where he works and pleads with him to come back.

Ali himself is constantly locked, motionless, within the frame, standing expressionless as people watch him. He is treated by others as an object. To the girls in the bar he represents sexual potency, to Emmy’s family and friends, his color and race make him repugnant, and even to Emmy his body becomes a subject for

discussion with her friends. As a result he sees himself in the same way, referring to himself in the third person, allowing himself to be mothered and admired by Emmy and rejected by her family, all without any attempt to assert himself. His only articulation of his willed anonymity is his explanation to Emmy, “ Think much, cry much” , and although, for a while, he is able to find solace in her comfort, he retreats from her as she becomes more dis­ tant, a condition which coincides with the ending of her exile from her society which has found it expedient to accept her again. At the end of the film, disturbingly, afflicted by a per­ forated stomach ulcer, he lies unconscious while she urges his recovery. The “happy en­ ding” , the reunion, remains ambiguous.

Fassbinder’s method is directed towards a study of characters imprisoned within their surroundings and within their own con­ sciousness. Their individual lack of awareness provides a measure of their limitations, while the film’s cyclical structure suggests that those limitations belong to a broader pattern of ex­ istence constantly repeating itself, of unhappy characters seeking happiness, catching a glimpse of it, destroying it or having it destroyed, and trying again.

It is in the ability to assert oneself against the fact of one’s limitations and in the face of an apparently set pattern of existence that an individual is able to come alive. Emmy is con­ stantly striving to break through barriers — her inhibitions when she first meets Ali, the social hostility which humiliates them, those forces of her own personality which reduce the feelings between her and Ali. In the scene in the open-air restaurant, she breaks down, tell­ ing1Ali that it is because she cannot stand peo­ ple forever watching them, yet throughout the film she is constantly facing and overcoming her fears of this, most notably towards the end, in the garage and in the bar, when she makes public her desperate need for Ali. Similarly, she challenges the doctor’s diagnosis over the sick Ali that, as with all the foreign workers, lack of a recuperation period will lead to a relapse within six months, a sub­ sequent recovery, another relapse, and so on.

At the same time, she challenges the cyclical structure which binds the fiction in which she is placed. The film, echoing the last scene in All That Heaven Allows, ends with her declaration that, with her help, Ali w ill recover.

One of the major problems I have with Fassbinder’s work in general and with Fear Eats the Soul in particular, is his treatment of the human contexts in which his dramas are placed. There is a clear delineation of the per­ sonal problems of the main characters, but those who occupy the background exist as lit­ tle more than objects, part of the decor, serv­ ing no dramatic function beyond that of the objects which intrude upon the foreground of his images. Of course, the recurrent still tableaux, and their implications do have an important dramatic function, to which I have already referred, but because they remain fix­ ed and essentially “unalive” because they are denied the individual life which is given to Ali and Emmy — to suffer, to yearn, to seek hap­ piness within their social and human limitations — they reduce the stature of the work which contains them.

Having offered this reservation, however, it seems to me that Fassbinder, the most prolific director working today (barely 30, he has made more than 30 feature films in the past five years, to say nothing of his activities in the theater), is also one of the most impressive. It is to be hoped that Australia’s “ alternative cinema” outlets — for his work is decidedly “ uncommercial” , though not unfashionable — will soon offer more of his work.

FEAR EATS THE SOUL. Directed by Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Distributed in Australia by An­ tony I. Ginnane. Produced by Rainer Werner Fassbinder." Production company, Tango Films and Filmverlag der Autorn. Screenplay by Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Director of Photography, Jurgen Jurges. Edited by Thea Eymes. Players: Brigitte Mira (Emmy), El Hedi Ben Salem (Ali). Length, 93 minutes. Germany, 1974.

C in em a Papers, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r —

271

PIC TU R E PREVIEW

Top right: A Melbourne artist paints nude models who then create his mural In time to classical music.

Far left and left: the sado-masochistic party of Madame Lash.

Center and below left: director John Lammond and cameraman Gary Whapshott film a nude model ex­ periencing the sensations of wet mud.

Below right: the ecologically minded Tina gathers a prize catch In her night.

No wardrobe mistress was needed for Australia After Dark, John Lamond’s pot-

pouri of exotic and erotic happenings. Se­ quences include a homosexual wedding, a restaurant that serves cooked snake and witchetty grubs, an artist who uses nude models to paint his murals and an orgy where a girl has cream, strawberries and honey eaten off her naked body.

PO LICY S T A T E M E N T S

FILM TEACHERS Special Offer for rest of 1975: 4 issues of METRO - $4 ($5 for schools) + screenings, workshops (tax-deductible)

r ........................ ...........................................-............................... i

King KongT-Shirt Please send me:

|

J p e(j

[~ ~|

|

White

| Yellow

L

$3.75*

□ □ □ □ □ □ □ □ □

Limited number available

S

M

.— . New I__I Member

Name ..

Address ....................................................................................................Postcode .. *Price Includes postage anywhere in Australia.

Cinema Papers

143 Therry Street

Melbourne, Victoria 3000

Policy Statements Continued from page 226 The Commission will assist in efforts to bring cohesion to the industry, particularly by promoting exchange of in­ formation, seeking information from the industry and providing information to the industry.

The Commission will maintain close contact with all sections of the industry.

The Commission’s policies and any revisions of these policies will be made known to the industry.

Advice from the Commission will be made available to all producers, whether financed by the Commission or not.

Project Development Structure of Project Movement.

1. Initial enquiry. (a) All enquiries to the Australian Film Commission regarding funding will be automatically referred to the Project Development Group. (b) A Project Officer will provide information regarding Commission policies on project support that is available to the applicant in various areas (example: feature film, documentary, short film, TV production etc). This paper will be subject to minor alteration based on funds available in any year. (c) Project Officer sets out basic conditions for applica­ tion and issues standardized application forms together with comprehensive instructions on how to fill it out. For interstate projects, a Group Officer will visit interstate on a monthly basis to undertake inter­ views and give assistance in completing and prepar­ ing applications. All enquiries to the Australian Film Commission will be responded to and where possible all-applicants will be Invited to visit the office of the Commission and fill out their application form with the assistance of a Project Officer. (d) Application:- All applicants will fill out the simplified application "Form A” . This form is designed to in­ clude the p re lim in a ry in fo rm a tio n regarding applicant’s name, company, type of project, but will not include information on company structure or any corporate intricacies of the subsequent form — “ Application Form B" — which will emerge only when the project has been initially approved by the Australian Film Commission.

2. Completed Application Received “Form A”. (a) Project file opened by Project Officer.

Project Officer makes preliminary assessment. , Project Officer evaluates for consideration at weekly

Name Address ATFAV 112 Normanby Rd. Kew 3101.

p ro je ct status m eeting. His recom m endation deliberated upon by Project Development Group; decision reached by group and forwarded (with others decided upon) to appropriate Comlssioner. (b) The Commissioner’s decision is put forward at the weekly full-time Commissioners’ meeting. The Com­ missioners will examine the application and decision and table the documentation for consideration at the monthly meeting of the full Commission. (c) The Australian Film Commission approves/rejects the project for preliminary funding.

B.1. The D irector of P roject Developm ent may recommend: (a) Acceptance of the application; (b) Rejection of the application subject to the obtaining of independent assessments for the consideration by the Project Development Group; (c) Rejection and interview with applicant to assist in re­ application (if necessary).

B.2. (a) In the event of the Director recommending approval of the application a file is opened and is forwarded direct to the weekly meeting of the full-time Com­ missioners for their consideration. (b) In the event of action being taken in accordance with B.1(b) a Project Officer is to open a file and is to collate all data (including assessors’ reports) for presentation for evaluation by the Project Develop­ ment Group conference.

B.3. Applications evaluated by the Project Development Group conference are forwarded to the weekly meeting of the full-tim e Commissioners, for ratification of the recommendations so made.

B.4. The weekly meeting of the full-time Commissioners ^ may accept the recommendations made either by the Director or the Project Development Group con­ ference or may reject such recommendations. This meeting may direct the Director of Project Develop­ ment Group to take any such further action as is deemed necessary.

B.5. It is implicit that at any stage of development a pro­ ject can be rejected by the Commission.

B.6 . The full-time Commissioners at their weekly meeting may grant preliminary approval to an application and provide funds for such application up to $5000 on such terms as they think necessary.

B.7. Applicants have the right of appeal at all stages of the evaluation process.

B.8 . Upon acceptance for funding at any level, the organization of the Commission will be ipso facto In­ volved in the scrutiny of the project. All elements of the Commission, financial, legal, administrative, etc, will be mobilized for the maximum effectiveness of

the project at every level. Marketing will be apprais­ ed and their initial opinions elicited.

Acceptance of Project — Production Funding (a) In the event of funds having been approved for ad­ vancement by the Australian Film Commission, the applicant now receives “ Form B” , which is submitted to him by the Projects Officer. When completed, the project is submitted to the Director. (b) The Director evaluates the project and may call for further assessments. At the same time he obtains evaluations from the financial, legal and marketing sections as to the project’s viability in those areas. (c) If the financial and legal sections so recommend, and the Director’s evaluation of the assessments so in­ dicates it, the project will be put forward to the monthly meeting of the full Commission. Wherever possible, the Director shall abridge and summarise the information regarding a submission; it shall be his responsibility to reduce the paperwork of the full-time Commission regarding projects which have had approval at all stages of their movement through the organizing to final funding approval by the Com­ mission.

Project Consideration Period Every effort will be made to ensure that from the initial application the acceptance or rejection of a project must not be more than 60 days (i.e. the application arrives and is considered by the Commission at its meeting in the next calendar month). ' Project Assessment (a) In engaging outside assessors the Commission will look for those with deep understanding and current knowledge of film or television, and a knowledge of script construction. (b) Project Officers appointed to the Commission will be fu lly ca p a b le of m aking th e ir own w ritte n assessments of scripts and of total projects. (c) An applicant should have the right to appeal against the appointment to a project of any individual assessor. (d) The Commission will lay down guidelines for its assessors, indicating the kind of analysis and evalua­ tion desired. (e) S cript assessors w ill not be asked to make recommendations on the Commission's investments.

This will be the function of the Commission’s Project Officers, basing their decision on a thorough knowledge of the project, including the assessors’ reports, those proposed for command positions, and commercial potential. ★ C in em a Pap er s, N o vem ber-D ecern ber — 273

SUPREME FILMS F A C IL IT IE S FOR IN D E P E N D E N T P R O D U C E R S

• SOUND RECORDINGS and TRANSFERS H IG H Q U A L IT Y A T M O D E R A T E P R IC E S

Rock-and-Roll or loop recording in 35mm, 17.5mm or 16mm — Voice overs — music — jingles — Fx recor­ dings live or from disc/tape — post syncing — PreMix — Final Mix and M&E recorded at one time — Radio Commercials F A S T A N D E F F IC IE N T S E R V IC E

mSOUND STAGES % 70’ x 38’ with large Cyclorama $ 60’ x 32’ ® 20’ x 15’

• MUSIC and EFFECTS LIBRARY • EDITING ROOMS — 35mm and 16mm with 35mm and 16mm PIC SYNCS, 16mm Intercine, MOVIOLAS etc.

TPF VIDEO TAPE ORGANISATION LOCATED ON PREMISES Phone 317760 FOR PARTICULARS

11-15 YOUNG ST., PADDINGTON, NSW 2021 PHONE 310531

Master^ Cofor 457 Church St, Richmond, 3121 Phone: 42 5160, P»0. Box 238, Eisfernwick, 3185

^

ULM LABORATORIES TAKE PRIDE IN PRESENTING AUSTRALIA’S NEW COLOR FILM

GEVACHROME II THE NEW REVERSAL COLOR FILM THAT OFFERS A SUPERIOR SYSTEM The Gevachrome II system comprises three camera films with a striking color saturation. Two of them are high-speed films which are mainly intended for newsreels: Gevachrome — Type 710, for artificial light (3200K): 125 ASA — 22 DIN. Gevachrome D — Type 720, for daylight (6000K): 125 ASA — 22 DIN. The third film Gevachrome S — Type 700, for artificial light (3200K): 80 ASA — 20 DIN. is more specifically calculated for production work.

Films of the artificial light type (Types 700 and 710) are also suitable for shooting under other lighting conditions provided an appropriate conversion filter is used.

HIGHEST QUALITY AND PROMPT SERVICE PHONE OR CALL PERSONALLY WITH ANY ENQUIRIES YOU MAY HAVE. Andrew Johnson Chris Garner

—

THE 1975 BERLIN AND MOSCOW FILM FESTIVALS David Stratton

The 1975 Moscow Film Festival opened only two days after the Berlin Film Festival closed, and although it would seem that the two events couldn't have that much in common, they In fact turned out to be all too depressingly similar.

As one would suspect both Festivals were Intensely political. The socialist countries of Eastern Europe were com­ peting in Berlin for the first time this year, so it was a foregone conclusion that the jury (headed by British actress Sylvia Syms) would give a major award to the Soviet entry, 100 Days After Childhood.

The film was a rather feeble piece on young love in a pioneer camp, which won for its director, Sergei Solowjov, the prize for Best Direction — a decision somewhat mitigated by the jury’s award of the Golden Bear (Grand Prix) to the excellent Hungarian entry, The Adoption.

Marta Meszaros' sensitive study of the friendship between two women, The Adoption, and winner of this year's Golden Bear.

Directed by Marta Meszaros, the former wife of Miklos Jancsco, The Adoption stars Kati Berek as Kata, a widowed factory worker in her forties, who enjoys an oc­ casional love affair with the married Joska.

One day she decides she wants a babv. but Joska refuses to father a child, even though Kata assures him she will make no further claims on him. By way of response, he takes her to his home and introduces her to his wife and children without, of course, telling them who she is. Kata is ap­ palled at the condescending way he treats his wife. In the meantim e, Kata is approached by Anna, whose parents have sent her to a home for unruly teenagers.

Anna wants to use Kata's spare bedroom so she can meet her boyfriend there. Kata refuses, then agrees, though she is at first shocked by the open sexuality of the young couple. Gradually, however, she and Anna become firm friends and she decides to help the young girl.

Stories of male friendship have been a staple theme of the cinema since the beginning, but films about friendship between two women are comparatively rare. This is an unsentim ental and thoroughly convincing study of a warm

relationship between two women who have virtually nothing in common except for their sex. Ms Meszaros and her two w onderful actresses have created a memorable, low-key film and a worthy prize-winner.

The other Eastern European films in Berlin were a mixed bag. I missed the Polish entry, Zanussi’s The Balance, but unfortunately saw the Rumanian film, a comedy by former animator Ion Popescu Gopo, about a spaceship which lands in Bucharest, called (optimistically as it turn­ ed out) Fantastic Comedy. The East German film, Jakob the Liar, was better and won for its leading actor, Vladimir Brodsky, the Best Actor prize.

Set in a Jewish ghetto during World War , it’s about an old man who, to keep up the morale of his friends, pretends he has hidden away a radio and, from listening to the BBC, knows that the Russians are on the way. This does wonders for morale, but Jakob’s lying gets more and more com­ plicated as the rescuing Russians never materialize. The film, directed by Frank Beyer, just manages to avoid the pitfalls of sentimentality and becomes genuinely moving at the inevitably tragic conclusion.

High hopes were raised by the an­ nouncement that the Czechoslovakian entry, Who Seeks a Handful of Gold, marked the return to the screen of Jiri Menzel who, in the heyday of the Czech new wave, directed Closely Watched Trains and Capricious Summer. Hopes were quickly dashed, however, for Menzel (who, significantly, did not accompany the Czech delegation to Berlin) has obviously found it almost impossible to put any of his unique personality into this, his first film since the banned Larks on a String, six years ago.

The young hero gets a job at a dam con­ struction to earn quick money and enable him to marry his headstrong girlfriend.

Just occasionally, in the few scenes at the girl’s parents’ house, there are flashes of the Czech cinema of the sixties: the way the young people sit, bored stiff, as the parents and aged grandmother watch in­ term inable TV program s and chew pretzels. Then, when the television shuts down, the young man is packed off, only to clamber quietly in through the g irl’s bedroom window to spend a furtive night with her. One morning he oversleeps, with amusing complications; but these odd flashes of inspiration are few and far between in a film which was obviously rigidly controlled from the top.

One of the best films, Abroad, made in Berlin by Iranian director Shahid Saless, was ignored when the prizes were handed out. The film concerns Turkish workers trying to make a decent life for themselves in West Berlin, and, not surprisingly, fin d in g it v e ry to u g h . H u s s e y in , meticulously played by Parviz Sayyad, has a deadeningly boring factory job and shares a tiny apartment with several friends. As in his film Still Life, Shahid Saless studies the day-to-day routine of his protagonist as if through a microscope: the weekday grind of work, eat, sleep is hardly improved at the weekends when attempts to meet girls or befriend the often openly hostile Berliners are doomed to failure.

Saless presents a universal problem without emotion, but one senses that he sees his characters from the inside, that he cares deeply about them. By the end of the film, the audience cares too.

The two American entries were both highly enjoyable: Love and Death .is Woody Allen’s scabrous satire on War and Peace and other classics of Soviet lite ra tu re , handsom ely produced (in

Hungary) and continually funny; while Posse, directed by and starring Kirk Douglas, is an ingenious post-Watergate western with Douglas as a Nixonian la'wand-order marshal who,, with his ruthless and wen-trained posse, sets out to capture wily bank robber Bruce Dern and win an election in the process.

2

Love and Death, Woody Allen’s scabrous satire on the classics of Russian literature.

The British entries were slighter.

Overlord, directed by Stuart Cooper, is a new look at the events leading up to DDay, seen through the eyes of a doomed recruit which makes copious use of rare documentary footage culled from the Imperial War Museum. On the other hand, Alan Bridges’ fatuous Out of Season, which at the outset asks the viewer to accept Vanessa Redgrave as Susan George’s mother, is a turgid tale of incest set in a wintry seaside resort with Cliff Robertson floundering way out of his depth as an American returning after 20 years to meet a former mistress.

However, if any prizes were being hand­ ed out for sheer idiocy, one of the Italian films would have been well out in the lead.

This monster, titled Love Dance Under the Elms, is set in the Austrian Tyrol and has

Anne Heywood as a comely widow en­ couraging her 15-year-old daughter to have her first love affair with the similarlyaged son of a man she meets. The youth is played by Mark Lester, a long way from Oliver, and looking acutely embarrassed at the nude love scenes he becomes in­ volved in.

The second Italian film, The Plate is Crying, by Paolo Nuzzi, was better. It is a raucous comedy set in a small town in the mid-thirties with a bored male chauvinist setting his lecherous sights on a pretty visitor from Milan.

There were echoes of early Truffaut and Godard in Lily, Love Me, the French entry and the debut of Maurice Dugowson, a rather overlong, but perceptive comedy starring Rufus as a man whose friends set about cheering him up when he is deserted by his wife (Zouzou).

In theory, one advantage of the Berlin Film Festival is the Forum of Young Cinema, virtually a separate event, and held concurrently with the main competi­ tion in another venue. The Forum was set up after 1968 with the aim of showing in­ dependent films ignored by the main Festival. It now appears to have become even more moribund than the Festival proper. True, the best film shown in Berlin was in the Forum — this was the Greek director Theodor Angelopoulos’s Journey of the Actors (already screened in Cannes) — but otherwise, and with a couple of notable exceptions, it settled for polemical, tedious, overlong ‘talkfests’ on every current political subject under the sun.

These screenings were frequently in­ terrupted by one group or another handing out petitions, and almost all were notable for their lack of anything rem otely approaching cinematic art . . . Apart from the Greek film (and apparently a good Danish Women’s Lib film which I missed) the exceptions were the German Lina Braake and the Interests of the Bank (already seen in Sydney and Melbourne), and the Soviet The Red Berry Tree.

This fresh and honest film was directed by and starred the late Vassily Shukshin as an ex-convict who goes to visit the Siberian girl who corresponded with him in prison, but finds her old-fashioned, suspicious parents rather hard to take and finally gets tragically involved with his former criminal associates.

For those unexcited by the solid com­ petition films, or the didactic Forum films, there was the retrospective of Greta Garbo films, beautiful 35mm prints of every Garbo film still existing, loaned by the Eastman House Archive. About half the films were from the silent period, and the brilliance with which directors like Clarence Brown, Jacques Feyder, Sidney Franklin and others, aided by the out­ standing photography of William Daniels, not to mention Garbo herself and a fine stock company of actors, created this whole series of memorable films (including one or two masterpieces) staggers the im­ agination.

Looking at most of the new films in Berlin and comparing, the inescapable feeling is that somewhere along the line the art of the cinema has almost been forgotten.

And so to Moscow, which is very much a Third W orld Festival. The problem , however, remains much the same: many of these films are interesting, some very much so, but most are very poor. Even the Cuban feature, The Other Francisco, directed by Sergio Giral and concerning the horrors of Negro slavery in the last century, is a pale shadow of the great Cuban film s (L u cia , M e m o rie s of Underdevelopment, etc.).

There was, however, one outstanding C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er — 275

T H E 1975 B E R L I N A N D M O S C O W F I L M

F E ST IV A LS

iÊ ËSm

■ 1 1

i he Asian mountain man and the young Soviet Captain he guides through remote Siberia in Akira Kurosawa’s Soviet epic Dersu Uzala.

African film, Ousmane Sembene’s Xaia, ' from Senegal. Here Sembene returns to the satirical mood of The Money Order in a delicious hatchet job on his country’s bourgeoisie. El Hadji is a businessman in his fifties, a respected member of the D akar C ham ber of C om m erce, an organisation that makes a great public dis­ play of getting rid of foreign influence while secretly accepting massive bribes from the white representatives of multi-national companies who ultimately have the final say.

Although he already has two wives, in two separate homes, El Hadji decides to marry again, this time a young girl the same age as his daughter. The entreaties of his family to change his mind fall on deaf ears, and the elaborate wedding ceremony is attended by every member of the Senegaiese moneyed class. However, when it comes to his wedding night, El Hadji cannot consummate the marriage: he is suffering from the dreaded xala — impotence! In his frenzied efforts to find a cure, the wretched man neglects his business, is drummed out of the Chamber, bankrupted, and finally abandoned by all.

It is a harsh, bitter comedy, but often a very funny one. In his witty observations of how the African rich live and behave, Sembene could almost be called a Third World Buñuel. It is to be hoped that this very clever and accomplished film will be widely seen.

The jury gave three Grand Prizes, a common practice in Moscow. One prize always goes to a Soviet film, another to an American — such is the spirit of detente.

However, detente does not seem to have filtered through to the Motion Picture Producers’ Association of America, whose apparently vindictive head, Jack Valenti, withdrew American participation from the Festival at the last minute, allegedly because the Russians weren’t buying enough American films. How many Rus­ sian films do the Americans buy, I wonder?

With the Americans out (amid much bad feeling, especially since joint space flights 276 — C in e m a Pap er s, N o v em b er - D ecem b er

were going on at the same time), the other two Grand Prizes went to Poland and Italy.

All three winners were, for once, welldeserved.

The Soviet film, Dersu Uzala, is directed by the great Akira Kurosawa, and is his best film since Yojimbo. Filmed entirely on Siberian locations (and magnificently photographed in 70mm), this is a mellow, romantic film about love and friendship, and is inescapably reminiscent of John Ford.

The year is 1905, and a young and rather green Russian officer, together with a small group of men, has been given the assignment of mapping a remote region of Siberia. After making slow progress, they accidentally meet Dersu Uzala, an Asian mountain man of indeterminate age, who agrees to be their guide. He proves to be a loyal friend, and when he and the Captain get lost on a vast frozen river, he saves the young Russian’s life. As winter sets in and the Russians return to the city, there is an emotional farewell, but the Captain meets up with the old man again the following year and this time is able to save his life when he falls into a fast-flowing river and is almost swept over a waterfall.

The film’s epilogue is autumnal and sad, with the spirit of Ford very much in evidence. Happily, Kurosawa was able to overcome the problems inherent in filming in a country other than one’s own (especially under circum stances as different as these must have been), and come up with a new masterpiece.

Of the other films not many came near it, though Andrzej Wajda’s Thé Promised Land was, in its own rather florid way, an exciting experience. Wajda tells (in three hours) a saga of three friends who at the turn of the century try to raise the money to build a cotton mill in Lodz, an industrial city in the German section of partitioned Poland. The friends — symbols of the three threads of Polish life during the period — are a German, a Jew, and a Polish nobleman. With bold strokes and a vivid visual sense, Wajda stunningly

recreates this factory town with its poor ghettos and outlying mansions of the rich mill owners. His favorite actor, Daniel Olbrychski, brings rough authority to the role of the Pole, who ruthlessly stops at nothing to get what he wants; and the film has one unforgettable moment of horror as two struggling men fall into a machine with pieces of their shredded bodies flying out in all directions.

Daniel Olbrychski as the ruthless Pole in Andrzej Wajda's The Promised Land.

The Italian film, We Loved Each Other So Much, by Ettore Scola, is a filmgoer's delight. Three friends who fought together in the war, separate when all three fall in love with the same girl (Stefania Sandrelli).

One, Nino Manfredi, becomes a n , am­ bulance driver. Another, Vittorio Gassman, marries into money. The third, Stefano Salta, is an excitable film critic who, in one hilarious scene, recreates the Odessa Steps sequence from Battleship Potemkin on Rome’s Spanish Steps. in another scene, Scola recreates the shooting of the Trevi Fountain sequence from La Dolce Vita, and has Feilini (playing himself) interrupted during a discussion with Marcello Mastroianni by a breathless fan who has, however, mistaken him for Rossellini. There is also a moving se­ quence involving Vittorio de Sica, to whom the film is dedicated.

Harriet Andersson deservedly won the Best Actress prize for her role as an aban­

doned wife in Stig Bjorkman’s The White Wall, a brief, bleak little drama which says more about its subject in 70 minutes than more portentous films have with far longer running times. The Hungarian film, Zoltán Fabri’s The Unfinished Sentence, was an over-exotic, but occasionally successful (yet overlong) saga of a bourgeois family in the thirties whose son (Andras Balint) tries unsuccessfully to make contact with the working class through an affair with a com­ munist girl.

More nostalgia was to be found in Jean Eustache’s My Little Loves, another throw­ back to the nouvelle vague, which seems quite autobiographical in its telling of a lonely boy’s life in a small provincial town of the early fifties. Full of charming vignettes (including a half-hearted attempt to pick up a girl during a screening of Pan­ dora and the Flying Dutchman) the film is honest and perceptive enough to offset its rather protracted running time, though it must be counted a disappointment after Eustache’s earlier The Mother and the Whore.

The biggest curiosity at Moscow was a florid Argentinian film called Nazareno Cruz and the Wolf, directed in homage to Ken Russell and Alexandro Jodorowsky, by ex-actor Leonardo Favio. Nazareno, doomed to become a werewolf because he is a seventh son, meets a smarmy Devil who wants to go to heaven, several assorted witches who change into various birds and animals at will, and a nubile blonde with whom he indulges in some steamy love-making in giant close-up on some very painful-looking rocks, while the soundtrack pounds with a repetitious melody now heard on every jukebox in Europe.

Judging by the films selected by these two big European Festivals, the standard of cinema in 1975 is not too high. But as long as Berlin could honor the film of Marta Meszaros and Moscow the films of K u ro sa w a and W a jd a , I s u p p o s e something is working out right — in spite of all odds. ★ __

THE 1975 SAN SEBASTIAN FILM FESTIVAL _ 1*

titilli!

Jose Luis Borau as the idiotic provincial governor in his The Poachers.

Ever since the lamentable demise of the Venice Film Festival, San Sebastian has been fighting to take its place as a major art-fiim festival. Cannes, of course, is the unchallengeable commercial festival, but this year, the 23 year-old San Sebastian Festival achieved its aim — it was un­ doubtedly the most interesting of the com­ petitive festivals in 1975. The selection was of a high standard, the jury competent and the prizes fairly chosen.

It is all the more puzzling why the Australian Film Commission chooses to enter Australian films only at Cannes. Pic­ nic at Hanging Rock, for instance, would have made a considerable impression at San Sebastian, and could have received a major prize.

D em onstrating against the death sentences on the Basque terrorists, Sweden withdrew its delegation and entry, while the true-to-form chairman designate of the jury, Miklos Jancso, failed to turn up, repeating his non-appearance at this year’s Melbourne and Sydney Festivals.

Jacques Clouzot, who was honored by a retrospective, pleaded illness and Truffaut was suddenly too exhausted to appear.

The best film in the festival was The Poachers, a Spanish entry by the relatively unknow n Jose Luis B orau. Borau produced, directed and starred in the film.

The screenplay concerns a young man and his mother who make a comfortable living from poaching in a remote, moun­ tainous area. Their hermetic and in­ cestuous relationship is disrupted when the young man, Angel, brings^ home a delinquent girl, rudely tosses his mother from the family bed and installs his love as the ruling mistress of the household. He wants to marry the girl, but after various complications, the girl appears to have run away with her former lover. When Angel discovers the cause of her disappearance he sets out to reap revenge.

One could read the story as a veiled allegory about man’s right to live a free, unfettered existence, but one tends to read symbolism into all films from countries in which political censorship exists. The Poachers was held up, in fact, for a whole year by the censors here, mainly on sexual grounds, but the director persisted and the commercially released print is only slightly different from the one presented in the Festival, where all films are uncensored.

To everybody’s satisfaction, the film won the Grand Prix. The direction is skilled, the construction solid, and the performances uniformly good. Lola Gaos, a famous Spanish actress, in the role of the elderly, widowed mother, is especially impressive.

Volker Schloendorff’s The Lost Virtue of Katharina Blum exposes the collusion of the police with the press in West Germany, where — allegedly — it is not the police who leak information to the press, but the press who feed the results of their own in­ vestigations to the police.

Katharina Blum picks up a stranger in a night club, and takes him home — but he leaves in the early hours. Next morning, the police invade her flat, looking for a member of an anarchist gang. She is brutalized by them, the press attacks her, and she receives anonymous telephone calls, all because she is assumed to be an accomplice of the man. A newspaperman pursues her relentlessly by innuendo, fa b rica tio n s and threats. When the anarchist is finally caught, and the reporter offers her money for an exclusive story of their one night of love, the desperate girl shoots her torm entor. In a satirical postscript, an orator at the reporter’s funeral, laments the death of this martyr to the freedom of the press.

Schioendorff based his film on a story

by Heinrich Boell. He keeps taut directorial control over the material, and translates the literary work in fully cinematic terms.

The film is shot in muted, greyish colors, m o s tly in d ra m a tic c lo s e -u p ; the camerawork is impeccable, and so is the central performance of Angela Winkler in the difficult role of Katharina Blum.

Maximilian Schell’s Murder on the Bridge (winner of the Silver Trophy), was based on the Duerrenmatt story, The Judge and his Hangman. It is a disap­ pointing film after the fine The Pedestrian, and part of the fault is the story, which has intellectual pretensions that are never realized. The direction is also surprisingly lame for an actor-director of Schell’s talent. Martin Ritt, though, in the role of the grumpy, bearish police officer is engaging, but Robert Shaw and Jon Voight are both wooden and ineffective.

Hungary’s entry, With Bandaged Eyes, was directed by Andras Kovacs, who made the impressive Cold Days some years ago.

The story, also by Kovacs, centers on an incident during World War 2: a soldier about to be shot for desertion disappears when the execution is disrupted by a bombing raid. The soldiers think that he was miraculously saved by a man about to be canonized, but a young priest who befriended the prisoner, fights against the ' rumored miracle. However he is put into a sanitorium by his superiors, as they believe faith of any kind must be preserved for the good of the soldiers.

The parable is obvious; just read

Top: Director Francois Truffaut and lead actress Isabelle Adjani. The Story of Adele H. Above: Adele and her lover, the English officer she pursues across the world.

political faith for religious faith. The story spells out the agonies of those who doubted the methods of the regime in Hungary, while trying to preserve their faith in the ideals of Marxism.

Hardly a cliffhanger, and often bogged down in doctrinaire polemics, the film, in stark black and white, is nevertheless an honest analysis of a crisis of conscience.

And though the film does not work as cinema, it is most illuminating as a political tract. It is excellently acted and handsome­ ly photographed, but the script lacks even a single spark of humor, and the endless soul searching becomes hard on one’s patience.

Truffaut's The Story of Adele H was un­ iversally and, to me, inexplicably, disliked.

Based on the recently published memoirs of Victor Hugo’s younger daughter, the story is about a young girl’s love for an English officer. They meet at the Channel Islands but he rejects her. She follows him to Canada and then to Barbados where she is driven out of her mind by the dis­ covery that he is happily married.

Truffaut tells the story in pulsating, significant scenes shot in medium close-

up, which are always rich in detail, and firmly placed in their milieu. The film shows the director’s exquisite skill in creating period atmosphere and character w ith ju s t a few d e ft stro k e s . The background of the love affair remains shrouded, but the elemental passion of the girl’s obsession, the strangers who watch her helplessly and the cold bewilderment of the officer, are faultlessly portrayed. The subtle lighting, with its subdued colors in Canada and frenetic orgy of sunshine and full-blooded colors in Barbados, is impec­ cable. So is the vital and dramatic perfor­ mance by Isabelle Adjani in the leading role.

Finally, La Ruabto, a splendid little Argentinian film shown only in the market section. This true story of a boyish young delinquent girl was unfortunately replaced as an official entry when Torre Nilsson entered his War of the Pigs. A great pity, because Nilsson’s heavy-handed opus is not in the same class as this fresh and honest re-creation of the life of an asexual urchin struggling to live her life her own way.

All in all — a simulating and highly successful festival.

C in em a Pap er s, N o v e m b e r - D e c e m b e r — 277

Probably the m ost beautiful film ever made in Australia Based on Joan Lindsay's haunting novel, Picnic a t H angingRock is a thriller set in the year 1900, a macabre story of a party of schoolgirls w ho set out on a picnic Some were never to return....

A Penguin Paperback

JOHN PR1NICS I ANCHOR P00KJH0P First Floor, Crystal Palace Building, 590 George Street, Sydney, 2000.

Phone 61 2569 or 61 2604.

L A N S D O W N E PRESS proudly announce the publication o f their m ajor book on the Australian Film Industry from 1896-1975

FAMED SPECIALISTS IN FILM BOOKS AND MAGAZINES

(for Fans and Professionals)

Among our comprehensive stock the following titles are now available:

• Deeper Into Movies — Kael

P/B $4.50 e Hail Columbia — Larkin

$17.95 • A Discovery of Cinema —

Dickinson $6.45 • Five C’s of Cinematography

— Mascelli e Film Is — Dwoskin P/B $8.95 e I R em em b er it W ell —

Minnelli $9.95 e Independent Film Making —

Upton $5.85 e World Encyclopedia of the Film — Cawkwell & Smith

We Carry Good Stocks of the Best Film Magazines (Back Issues, Too, of Some) Among those always stocked: Sight and Sound Monthly Film Bulletin Films and Filming Film Quarterly Take One Focus on Film Film Comment

etc.

$7.95 and hundreds more.

Write for our full stocklist (please enclose 18c stamp) All Mail Orders Postage Extra

size 10| x13-jj

304 pages

The Strange Case of Alfred Hitchcock

by Raymond Durgnat: Faber and Faber — Recommended price: $17.00.

Ken Mogg

Some major filmmakers are beginning to attract the level of informed criticism they deserve. Donald Richie’s study of Kurosawa, for example, which because of its discipline and balance, provides a classic model of the ‘descriptive’ approach.

In Alfred Hitchcock’s case, the criticism has been of a different, more seductive order.

Robin Wood got in first with an only sometimes manipulative analysis of some key films. And now Raymond Durgnat has sur­ veyed the whole of Hitchcock’s output in a galloping prose of rather mixed blessings.

In 400 pages of text Durgnat comes closer than even the perceptive Wood to taking Hitchcock’s measure. But he considerably diminishes the effect with ‘prescriptive’ writing that suggests lack of proper ‘attention’ to the films as public experience.

It is difficult to illustrate my criticism with direct quotation, since it largely derives from a feeling that Durgnat simply doesn’t know when to shut up. When Iris Murdoch used the term ‘attention’ she meant it in the sense of a regard for the reality of things undistorted by wilful imagining; hers was a (moral) emphasis on seeing things whole*. Durgnat rushes headlong, time and again, into wishful thinking. His sober judgments, though, are another matter; “ Hitchcock’s emptiest films move, merely, from a never-never land of plush simplicities to melodramatic banalities. But even in the most thoughtful films the experience lies not so much in the vision to which one penetrates, nor indeed in the vision from which one penetrates, as in the sense of a process of penetration.

That is the very best of Durgnat, nailing his dislike of the Selznick Hitchcock’s (‘a nevernever land of plus simplicities’), offering a bold overview of the Hitchcock canon (all the way from “ the emptiest” to “ the most th o u g h t f u l ” ), and con clu din g with a stimulating corrective insight into the ways of narrative form. Still less, could the mature Hitchcockian object to the fairness of this appraisal? . ‘‘S ch em atically, we may say that Hitchcock’s virtuosity enables him to provoke an easy yet powerful dramatic response while'introducing a variety of ed­ dies which without weakening the emotional current, complicate our involvement — not profoundly, but rapidly, back and forth. He catches us in that semi-serious, semi­ infantile area'where we accept innocent and wicked as real moral states, and then insists that we grow up, a little.”

Durgnat is canny enough not ttf fall too easily under the spell of Vertigo (1958). This film, after all, cannily forestalls the public’s objections to being served up another roman­ tic f o r t i e s ‘ p o r t r a i t ’ m e l o d r a m a (Dieterle/Selznick’s Portrait of Jennie) or downbeat fifties ‘film noir’ (Kubrick’s Killer’s Kiss) by combining elements of both — though it is precisely Hitchcock’s cruellest films, Sabotage (1936), Psycho (1960) and Vertigo, that Durgnat seems to prefer. The *

T h e S o v e r e ig n ty o f G o o d

and Keagan Paul.

(1970) Rutledge

choice, in fact, is unremarkable. Where Durgnat cannot do Hitchcock justice in as many words, and leave it at that, is at a higher level which the phrase “ civilised detachment” must suggest.

I believe it was composer John Addison who called Hitchcock “the most civilised man I have ever met” . No such tribute flows from Durgnat’s pen. Yet, if a popular film like Ver­ tigo is to be defended against the crucial charge of Iris Murdoch that “refined sado­ masochism can ruin art which is too good to be ruined by the cruder vulgarities of self­ indulgence” , then I would want to allege Hitchcock’s objectivity.

Vertigo certainly punishes its characters.

But isn’t James Stewart’s obsessed pursuit of Kim Novak through the streets of San Fran­ cisco the very paradigm (and, therefore, evidence of Hitchcock’s arrival at detachment) of the subtlety of the sado-masochistic drives; drives “that, while constantly leading atten­ tion and energy back into the self, can produce, almost all the way as it were to the summit, plausible imitations of what is good”?

Further, Durgnat says of the comedythriller North by Northwest (1959) that “it has to be sensed superficially, because on close ex­ amination its meaning turns out to be a variety of possibilities, some mutually exclusive.”

Maybe, but consider the counter-claim that Hitchcock’s directorial a p l o m b makes him a master of the open statement — the sort of person who, with total virtuosity, can hold a mixed company enthralled by the sheer tone of his address.

It will be nice to have a book on Hitchcock from a woman, the good news being that daughter Pat Hitchcok is preparing his biography.

Durgnat’s study is not ‘the plain man’s Hitchcock’ (as its sub-title claims), let alone the plain woman’s. It is sometimes abstruse and occasionally turgid. The film stills are groups in a very facile way, a few are miscaptioned. The text, too, has some errors (Durgnat builds a case around the use of split­ screen in The Wrong Man, though there isn’t any; he describes the opening rooftop chase in Vertigo as taking place in Los Angeles).

All things considered, though, one may say that it’s a choice touchstone of the state of current criticism.

Your Introduction to Film and TV Copyright Contracts and other Law

by Johnny Minus and William Storm Hale: 7 Arts Press. Recommended price: $(U.S.)10.

Motion Picture Distribution: Business or Racket?

by Walter E. Hurst and William Storm Hale: 7 Arts Press 1975.

Recommended price: $(U.S.)10.

Roger O. Thornhill These guides to film and television law were o rig in ally notes for the p rodu ctio nmanagement law course at Columbia Univer­ sity. Their fictitious authors are in fact pseudonyms used by a leading Hollywood film attorney.

Both books are written in a jocular, breezy style, with liberal use of the question and answer technique, cartoons, tables etc. Most of the material is directly pertinent to the

Australian scene-. The material on copyright,, however, needs to be supplemented to equate with local statutory enactments.

I n tr o d u c tio n

to

F ilm

and

TV

C o p y r ig h t

takes a fairly wide view of those areas of the law a fledgling film producer may encounter.

It begins by indicating to the layman how much law is already known to him through habit and custom. The book then deals with the basic concept of contractual relationships: the legalities of borrowing money, unions, labor law and worker’s compensation, and privacy and libel laws.

A section on U.S. and foreign copyright provides material from the U.S, Copyright Office, with explanations on the differences between statutory and common law copyright.

It explains the term ‘publication’, and gives a list of signatories to various international copyright conventions.

Only brief reference is made to the law on obscenity and pornography, but there are some interesting observations on the economic techniques of pro-censorship harassers.

On production, the'author provides sample forms for actor, producer and writer con­ tracts. But the book’s deficiencies become most apparent when long contracts are reproduced, with little attempt being made to discuss or explain the dangers the unwary may encounter in blindly reproducing them.

The book also has an interesting analysis of the various proprietary rights in films, a glossary and bibliography.

M o t i o n P i c tu r e D is tr ib u tio n is probably an even more useful book because, as the author points out, this is an area of film business that has almost never been examined in print. It covers those aspects of distribution-exhibition

relationship that are important to the budding producer, with special reference to areas where a producer could be deprived of his just return.

The producer-distributor relationship and distributor-exhibitor relationship is also analysed, as well as the concept of sub­ distribution. This largely U.S. practice is relatively unknown in Australia, where major distributors and independents license agents in various states to handle films for them for a percentage, removing the need to maintain ex­ pensive branch offices. Cartoons are used to il­ lustrate, particularly the common rip-offs employed by unscrupulous exhibitors and dis­ tributors.

The book is eminently practical and matters like “ four-walling” , theatre expenses, franchising, and print and advertising costs are considered.

The two books are not available in Australia at the moment, but could be obtain­ ed direct from the publisher.

BOOKS GIVEN FOR REVIEW The Wit and Wisdom of Hollywood

by Max Wilk Published by Cassell & Co. Ltd., London Distributed by Collier MacMillan Australia/Cassell Aust.

Ltd. Recommended Price: $8.85.

APOLOGY M ick Counihan's review of Im age and Influence: Studies In the Sociology of Film in the last issue in a d v e rte n tly c o n ta in e d two diametrically opposed reviews. The editor ex­ presses his regrets to Mr Counihan.

C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er — 279

AUSTRALIAN WRITERS’ GUILD The Australian Writers' Guild emerged from its annual general meeting with David Boutland as the new president, and Cliff Green and Ted Roberts as vice­ presidents. Nan Moloney is continuing with the Guild and has been appointed general-secretary.

The Guild has also reintroduced the concept of a voluntary committee. The new members are: Shan Benson, Don Catchlove, Bob Caswell, John Dingwall, Kit Denton, Brian Faull, Howard Grif­ fiths, Tom Hegarty, John O’Grady, Charles Stamp and Moya Wood.

In spite of our calls to the Government and channel operators for higher Aus­ tralian content, many TV shows were ax­ ed. When writers are out of work, nobody notices for a while. That is because they often prepare scripts up to six months ahead of production dates. But once they stop, it is only a matter of time for direc­ tors, actors and technicians involved in the respective shows.

We h a ve m e m b e rs — g o o d professional writers who wrote for top series — now out of work. They had serv­ ed the industry for a decade.

Yet, the Guild is at work. While main­ taining pressure on the Minister for the Media, Dr Moss Cass, and the channels, the Guild is preparing for the first-ever Affiliation meeting in Sydney, in 1976.

Representatives of the American Wri­ ters’ Guilds, East and West, the British Guild and ACTRA (the Canadian Guild) will be attending a conference at which protection from imports will be one of the main topics.

The Guild’s new executive has also resumed negotiations with the channel operators, represented by FACTS, on the Industry-wide Agreement. The principle of residuals, recognized in every English­ speaking country, has been a hard one to crack in Australia. But today, FACTS and independent producers have joined the ABC in accepting their obligation to adhere to this principle. The Guild hopes that the Industry-wide Agreement will be signed, by the new season in 1976. The agreement will place Australian TV writers on the same footing as those working under the protection of overseas guilds.

At the same time, the Guild is prepar­ ing a standard Film Agreement, with Sunday Too Far Away writer John Ding­ wall, Heading the sub-committee, and a Stage Agreement, with Bob Caswell co­ ordinating a sub-committee composed of Ron Blair, Alex Buzo, Peter Kenna and David Williamson.

All we need now is a 75 per cent Aus­ tralian content quota, a stable TV in­ dustry, and a little work.

ASSOCIATION FOR A NATIONAL FILM ARCHIVE The Association, in its six months of existence, has become increasingly aware of the anomalies among ‘film archive’ bodies in Australia. The co­ ordinating responsibility for archives is in the hands of the Federal Government, but the main problem, at the moment, seems to be: “Who controls what, and how widely?”

If at this point we disregard the smaller state-run organizations which may claim to offer film archive facilities, it leaves us with two major Commonwealth bodies.

The location of the National Library in Canberra has been a problem to film researchers. And just as problematic is I the setting up of uncoordinated state 280 — C in em a Papers, N o v em b er-D ecem b er

facilities by the Special Minister of State’s Australian Archives.

While the Australian Archives centre at Vilawood helps fill the gap in the storage of historic records to some extent, its “ bower b ird ” method of acquiring Commonwealth-funded film and video­ tape is questionable. This means that un­ less the Archives’ staff are aware of the absence of significant items, they will rely entirely on the choice made by staff members of contributing bodies such as the ABC and Film Australia.

A film archive, in the internationally recognized sense, has a team of experts to select and acquire material in con- sultation with producers and production company librarians. But the experts, not the production bodies, decide on what material should be stored in the archive.

The Australian Archives, however, was not set up to pursue the selective and aggressive role of a more specifically identified film archive. Its centers were set up as repositories, and both selection and user services are supplementary to this role. The Australian Archives is also regional in its approach to acquisition.

There will be little housing of another state’s film or TV material, so the National Library’s problem of having to wait for the availability and transit of that material will continue.

If the Australian Archives .is looking after the ABC, Film Australia and other government-funded history, what about the rest? If a film is prominent perhaps the National Library may ask for a print.

But it has no policy of selection — the first film of an ‘unsung genius’ may be regarded as trash. But it may find recognition in 10 years. In fact many of today’s films are not being stored under conditions that will ensure their preser­ vation.

The archives should not be subor­ dinated to other collections. It should be allowed to stand on its feet as a resource center and a representative for the nation’s film and television industries.

The P rim e M in is te r, Mr Gough Whitlam, and the Special Minister of State, Senator Doug McClelland, are believed to be satisfied with existing film and TV archive facilities, but the gaps remain: important films are not being preserved, while public demand for access to these films is still not being considered.

The Association’s newsletter may be obtained from the Secretary, Associa­ tion for a National Film and TV Archive, PO Box 137, Gordon, NSW 2072.

Meanwhile, the Association would appreciate foundation sponsorships from the public. A sponsorship is $10.

NATIONAL FILM COLLECTION ACQUISITIONS Recent acquisitions in the National Library’s National Film Collection include Nagisa Oshima’s Shorten (Boy). The feature, in color and cinemascope is bas­ ed on an incident where a boy is used by his parents to extort damages from un­ wary motorists. It was presented at film festivals in Venice, London, New York, Melbourne and Sydney in 1969 and 1970. ' .

The loan collection will soon have a large group of Third World films, in­ cluding a Chilean feature, The Promised Land. Directed by Miguel Littin, it is a film in which historical events are depicted as a folk tale, with symbolic characters, songs and processions. It was an entry in the Cannes and Moscow festivals in 1974.

The Third World collection also has film s from M orocco, M ozam bique,

China, Argentina, Bolivia and minority groups in the U.S. Among the recent additions are films by independent Australian filmmakers, including several by Nigel Buesst, par­ ticularly Come Out Fighting and Bonjour Balwyn. Other acquisitions include Time in Summer, The Set and several shorts

by Gary Shead. Also in the collection is Along the Singing Trail, a one-reel short from the late 1940s, featuring the Australian “Western” star, Smokey Daw­ son.

The historical resources of the National Film Collection have been sub­ stantially increased with stills and posters from the National Film Theatre of Australia. The NFTA collection which in­ cludes about 70,000 stills and 6000 posters, as well as other film advertising material, will double the Library’s collec­ tion. This rationalization of collection ac­ tivities is part of the discussions between the NFTA and the National Film Collec­ tion on plans for further co-operation.

PRODUCERS’ AND DIRECTORS’ GUILD OF AUSTRALIA The Guild is a non-political association of professional producers and directors from all fields of the performing arts.

Directors and producers who make their living from this work may apply for membership — although preference is given to those with significant credits in their field.

We are vitally interested in Australian production in all its areas, and at present have several projects under way.

We are planning guidelines for local television production. A questionnaire is being prepared to provide information on salaries and conditions for directors.

We have been in touch with the Sydney commercial networks and will soon be meeting them to discuss the guidelines for local producers.

We hope to publish a guide to Sydney’s video facilities for independent production in our next newsletter.

The Minister for the Media, Dr Moss Cass, explained his media policy at our annual meeting. We have since written to his department requesting a Royal Com­ mission.

We are also in consultation with the Attorney-General’s Department about the proposed Performance Copyright Bill, and will be involved in the Control Board's current revision of television standards.

We are also working on a submission which will outline the Guild’s attitude to the present system of assessors and assessments existing in the Film Com­ mission and Australia Council.

Television is not the only area where the Guild is active. We have a widemembership covering independent film, radio, television and theater, as well as directors and producers from such Government bodies as the ABC and Film Australia.

We have started a regular series of screenings where local producers and directors can present and discuss their films with Guild members.

We have guest speakers at meetings to talk on relevant topics, and provide forums for the disparate elements that make up our membership.

We are also drawing up standard con­ tracts for producers and directors — not only for their own conditions, but also to provide guidelines for performers’ con­ tracts and information which will be u s e fu l in d ra w in g up c o p y rig h t agreements.

This year we have a woman president,

Ms Suzanne Baker, who is a producer at Film Australia.

If readers have queries about the Guild, or their eligibility for membership, they may write to the Producers’ and Directors’ Guild, P.O. Box 332, Double Bay, NSW 2028.

THE MELBOURNE FILMMAKERS CO-OPERATIVE LTD. Melbourne’s Co-op Cinema is finally thriving, justifying the struggle of the last seven years.

The Cinema, which is part of the Mel­ bourne Filmmakers Co-operative, dis­ tributes and screens Australian 16mm films made by independent filmmakers and producers.

It also launches controversial overseas features and shorts — Bof!, Last Grave at Dimbaza and the Godard season have been recent successes.

In September, crowds queued nightly for Garry Patterson’s How Willingly You Sing, which was supported by Peter Tammer’s shocker, Struttin’ the Mutton, starring Carlton’s own Danny Kramer.

Dr Ian Mills’ study of the alienation of a suburban housew ife, Solo Flight, screened to enthusiastic audiences in October, as did Steve Ottman’s The Innermost Limits of Pure Fun. Forthcoming seasons include Zbignew Friedrich's A Procession of Windows and Doors and Rod Bishop’s Rainbow Farm, supported by Gordon Glenn and Keith Robertson's documentary, On the Track of Unknown Animals.

At the 10 o’clock Overseas Session, Dimbaza played to an overflow ing theater and the stunning dramas from New Zealand’s Aardvark Films were well received.

Our box-office successes- are proving to be a landmark in promoting and dis­ tributing independent 16mm films, and a full-time staff of five is now necessary.

However, it hasn’t always been this rosy. A hard core of hardbitten local film­ m a ke rs e n d u re d ye a rs of s m a ll audiences, budget and venue hassles.

But the Co-op won out through people like John Matthews, Bert Deling, Denys Finney, Mark Laidlaw, Ann Wookey, Pat Longmore, Andy Trenouth (now setting up the Hobart Co-op Cinema), Don McLellan and Peter Tammer, to name but a few.

Only two years ago, Deling ran the Cinema on a pittance in the original Spring St venue called Babylon, later known as The Mind’s Eye Cinema.

Then 18 months ago, the Co-op received its first major grant from the Film, Radio and Television Board, enabl­ ing us to move to Lygon St, Carlton.

The ever-enthusiastic hard core con­ verted the old Holdsworth Undertakers (who had laid Squizzy Taylor out) into a comfortable 68-seat cinema, a large film library for the public, editing rooms and darkrooms.

The Co-op has always run as a collec­ tive with mass meetings of members every month cross-examining the direc­ tors and the staff. The meetings elect the directors, the directors hire the staff.

Membership is $4.50 for Program Subscribers, who receive a monthly newsletter and concession tickets to the cinema.

Full membership is $10.50, entitling, one to voting rights, access to production facilities at low rates, the monthly news­ letter and concession prices to the cinema.

For further details and information, write to the Co-op Cinema, 382 Lygon St, Carlton 3053.

Film Review Information Service

J O H N HEYEf^ F IL M

COMPANY PTY LTD

C onsultants and Producers

The George Lugg Library welcomes en­ quiries on local and overseas films. On request, photostat copies of synopses, ar­ ticles, reviews will be forwarded. Please detail specific information required and send S.A.E. plus 50 cents search fee for each three titles to: The George Lugg Library P.O. Box 357 Carlton South Vic. 3053

SYDNEY: P.O. Box 89, Paddington 2021 02-31 053)

42 AWARDS:

Brussels, Budapest, Cannes, Cape Town, Cortina Edinburgh, Harrowgate Johannesburg, London, Mannheim, Melbourne, Montevideo, New York, Padua, Rouen, Trento, Trieste, Turin, Vancouver, Venice.

The Library is operated with the assistance of the Australia Council Film, Radio and Television Board

.films 467 Old South Head Rd Rose Bay Tel: 371 0266

Smart St Films wish to let you know that they have cutting rooms, production of­ fices, and theaterette on which deals are open to all 16mm filmmakers.

CAsi'sf d rs

!

Ho, ho, ho

ALAN DOBLE & ASSOCIATES FILM AND VIDEOTAPE PRODUCERS

Specialising in documentary, training and promotional projects Call MURRAY BROWN on

LONDON: 3 Ulva Road, SW15 6AP 01-788 6958

699 5722

20 THOM SON STREET, SOUTH MELBOURNE 3205

SOUNDTRACKS

Ivan H utchinson

Fashions in composers of Film music come and go, and are often dictated more by the commer­ cial success of the film than by the intrinsic value of the music itself. Maurice Jarre’s score for L a w r e n c e o f A r a b ia , a singularly dull one, apart from the appropriately grand main theme, promoted this Frenchman to such international success, that at one stage in the sixties it seemed as if every Film was carrying a Jarre score — all of them embarrassingly alike.

Elmer Bernstein, Henry Mancini and Lalo Schifrin, skilful musicians all, have each had their year or two of glory in that same decade. Even songwriters such as Burt Bacharach and Rod McKuen have managed screen credits for themselves, the former winning two Oscars for B u tc h C a s s id y a n d th e S u n d a n c e K id (one quite correctly for the Raindrops song, the other ridiculously for the inept score itself), and the latter having the temerity to accept the scoring of T h e P r im e o f M is s J e a n B r o d ie , which he then buried in his saccharine inadequacies.

At present the man of Hollywood is undoubted­ ly John Williams, born in New York in 1932 and educated musically at the University of California and Juillard. This talented pianist, arranger and composer has been associated with over 30 major films, but has really come into his own over the past three years. Since T h e P o s e id o n A d v e n tu r e he has become the lucky charm for disaster Fdms: first E a r th q u a k e , then T h e T o w e r in g In fe r n o , and now J a w s . [Williams did not write the melodies or lyrics for the hit songs that emerged from P o s e id o n and T o w e r in g In fe r n o — these were the works of A1 Kasha and Joel Hirschorn.j John Williams, on the basis of his scores now available on record, is an eclectic professional, capable of providing appropriate music for a wide variety of Film assignments. The earliest example of his recorded film music goes back to 1962 (when he was more cheerily billed as Johnny Williams) and Charlton Heston’s D ia m o n d H e a d .

With orchestrations by the ubiquitous (and always brilliant) Arthur Morton, and a main theme by Hugo W in terh alter, it is an effectively professional score, but quite indistinguishable from those of a dozen other capable writers.

Other early efforts from the sixties include the music from the Hepburn-O’Toole H o w to S t e a l a M illio n , Natalie Wood’s trivial P e n e lo p e , and V a lle y o f th e D o lls , where he primarily worked in the role as a slick and skilful light-weight Paul Winkler Continued from Page 222

T h e n e x t Film , “ S c a r s ” , e n d s w ith a c o n v e y o r c h u te w h ic h lo o k s a s i f i t ’s v o m itin g m in c e d f o l ia g e in to th e a u d ie n c e . W a s th a t in te n tio n a l?

Yes. I was living in Paddington when I watched them cut down trees and put them into this ‘mincemeatmachine’, and I thought it a rather strange ending for a tree. So the idea grew that if trees could react, if they could scream or something, what would they do?

I stood watching and felt the vibrations of the machinery coming through the soil and I felt that if I could show this turmoil coming 282 — Cinema Papers, November-December

composer-conductor, on a level, perhaps, with Mancini and Schifrin, but not nearly as in­ teresting as other young Americans, such as Jerry Goldsmith or Jerry Fielding.

Nevertheless, he was rising fast. He received his First Academy nomination (in the Best Scoring category) for 1967’s V a lle y o f th e D o lls , and his second (for best original score) in 1970 for Steve McQueen’s T h e R e iv e r s. By this time, ‘Johnny’ had been replaced by ‘John’ on the credits, and he was beginning to make his mark on the music world at large. His score for The Reivers (CBS SBP-233803) was spirited, open-air music, splen­ didly written for strings, and strongly Americanflavored in its hoe-down style and folk-like thepies. .

The same year he went to Britain, and in Oc­ tober recorded the music for the George C. Scott­ Susannah York J a n e E y r e , originally made for American television, but released elsewhere in cinemas. Here was another side to Williams, a score which revealed hitherto unsuspected capabilities. The Film’s bland treatment of the Bronte book did not inspire anything like the brooding and compelling score Bernard Herr­ mann provided for the Fox version of 1944, but using harpsichord, oboe and strings to advantage, Williams fashioned a romantic score in the classic mould. It had a lovely romantic theme, some chilling effects in the mad scene, and some com­ positional techniques and devices of great assurance. The score (Capitol SW-749) lacks real romantic fervor, but then so did the Film.

In 1972 he won his First Academy_Award for his adaptation of the Broadway success F id d le r on th e R o o f — he didn’t have much to beat in that year (Walter ScherFs W illy W o n k a and Kostol’s B e d k n o b s and B r o o m s t ic k s , for example), but it was the real beginning. He was nominated twice in the following year for his original scores for Robert Altman’s fascinating I m a g e s , and T h e P o s e id o n A d v e n tu r e .

[This was the year Hollywood tried to assuage its collective con­ science and gave the music award to Charles Chaplin for L im e lig h t — an entirely unwarranted award]. The P o s e id o n score was never recorded and although The Morning After was soon thrashed into oblivion by the disc jockeys, Williams did compose some Fine credit music to match the impressive opening vista of a stormwracked seascape. The I m a g e s score was exotic and bizarre, matching Vilmos Zsigmond’s wonderful photography and Altman’s moving direction of this study in schizophrenia. Possibly a lot of its effectiveness was, however, due to the

through my lenses it would be the perfect vehicle to carry the scream of the trees. Then I hit on the idea of us­ ing slow speed Film and manipulating the zoom lens, which I had modiFied a little bit. It couldn’t have been shot in any other way. The response I needed from the trees was screaming through the machinery that was destroying them.

A n d y o u r n e x t f ilm , “ D a r k ” . . .

I felt some identiFication with the Aboriginals. I knew that what those people go through is far worse than the hassles I had as an immigrant.

When I walk in the street, you can’t tell I am German, but an Aboriginal has black skin and there is no way out of it for him.

W hat about “ D ark”?

th e

sound collage devised by Stomu Yamash-Ta and others.

The worldwide success of P o s e id o n started the disaster cycle, and took Williams along with it.

Both E a r th q u a k e and T o w e r in g In fe r n o featured ‘plastic’ people and Williams’ music is all surface brilliance and little else. Nevertheless, it is brilliant, particularly the two main title themes he devised for the co-incidentally similar helicopter flights which open both Fdms. Both are strongly melodic and rhythmically exciting, the theme for T h e T o w e r in g In fe r n o , with its soaring melodic leaps of an octave and more, being particularly suited to its setting.

The orchestras on the recordings (Earthquake on MCA MAPS-7640 and Inferno Warners BS2840) play the dazzling scores with nonchalant ex­ pertise, including the particularly horrendous sec­ tions for horns. Both discs have, filler tracks which do not appear in the Fdm, and the Earthquake main theme Fits a little too easily into standard Hollywood hit song patterns for comfort, although, mercifully, nobody put words to it. The most extended composition on both records is the 10 minute or so climax music from T h e T o w e r in g In fe r n o which, musically effective in the Film, does not stand up to repeated listening in isolation.

J a w s , due to open in November, is a tremen­ dously exciting film, brilliantly directed and edited., and for it Williams has written a splendid­ ly effective score (MCA-MAPS 7999). Eschewing anything remotely resembling a singable main tune, Williams has used the lower reaches of the orchestra (particularly the double basses) in a simple but effective manner (two notes, a semi­ tone apart, increasing in tempo and building throughout the whole dynamic range of the orchestra) to signal the arrival of the shark in the vicinity. Combined with the camera work and editing in these sequences, this works in a peculiarly unnerving manner, and the jagged Stravinsky-like rhythms and stabbing muted brass effects make the scenes of panic even more hair-raising than they might have been. His writing for the harp throughout this Film is es­ pecially successful. In addition, the record con­ tains an attractive sequence (entitled Promenade — Tourists on the Menu) which I don’t recall in the Film, and is an extremely attractive piece, full of the feel of the sea and ships. Director Spielberg likens Williams’ work on J a w s to Korpgold’s S e a H a w k and Herrmann’s P s y c h o in terms of effec­ tiveness, and it is hard not to agree with him.

The subject matter of J a w s does not allow the ‘sheer bravura’ display open to Korngold in T h e S e a H a w k , or the darkness of character which P s y c h o gave Herrmann, but in every way that matters the music for J a w s is absolutely gripping.

With his name attached to what seems likely to be the biggest box-ofFice success of all time, the career of John Williams, now in his early forties, could hardly be brighter. ★

so u n d tra ck

to

It was a recording of a didgeridoo run on two tracks, one always ahead to maintain an echo. “ B r ic k W a l l ” w a s th e la s t. D o y o u w a n t to a d d to w h a t y o u h a v e a lr e a d y sa id ?

Well, to me it’s one of my most satisfying Films in terms of pure cinema. I chose the subject not only because I am closely related to it, but because we all live within brick walls and most people tend not to take in any account of this fact. Bricks are, after all, a very common type of material that we come every day into contact with.

I wanted to show that they can be quite beautiful, and there comes some satisfaction from the fact that after seeing the Film you may change your attitude and take a different look at a brick wall the next time you pass one. ★ FILMOGRAPHY (Incomplete) (All films listed are produced, directed, photograph­ ed and edited by Winkler) 1964 Mood 1968 Isolated Red and Green 1971 Requiem No 1 Neurosis 1972 Scars 1973 Dark 1974 Chants 1974 Brick W all

THE HOUSE OF STARS S YDNEY

The House of Stars This glamorous name was given to the Sebel Town House at a time when a lot of actors and actresses were accommodated at our hotel while appearing as guest-stars in a locally-produced television series.

Since then many more celebrities have been hotel guests or guests-of-honor at receptions held in the Function Centre, and the Sebel Town House has become firmly established as The House of Stars’.

Recently, we were honored to play host to the dis­ tinguished delegation of film directors who attended the 1975 Sydney Film Festival.

In recognition of the film directors’ influence on the successful ascent of any ‘star’, perhaps we should change our sub-title to: The House of Stars and Star­ makers.

Home was never like this . . .

.

Few establishments could match the elegance, the comfort, the impeccable service offered by the Sebel Town House in Sydney.

Every one of the 190 spacious rooms and de-luxe suites presents a magnificent view and contains the “thoughtful” extras now so often missing from other hotels.

The rooftop swimming pool is heated in winter and the surrounding sundeck commands a breathtaking panorama of the city skyline and harbour foreshores.

A fabulous Function Centre . . .

For all social and business gatherings the Sebel Town House is the perfect venue, combining luxury surroundings, excellent catering, and the most upto-date technical facilities.

Sydney’s leading venue for . . .

If you’re planning a function . . .

Consult the experts at the Sebel Town House Function Centre.

Our experienced and helpful staff will be happy to assist with the detailed planning and organization of your next function.

Contact Valerie Oliver, Banqueting Manager, or Nicholas Trusweli, Function Centre Manager. Telephone: 3583244, or write for full color brochure, menu suggestions and quota­ tion to:

The Sebel Town House, 23 Elizabeth Bay Road, Elizabeth Bay, 2011.

Conventions . . . Seminars . . . Exhibitions . . .

Fashion Parades . . . Board Meetings . . . Product introductions . . . Lectures . . . Luncheons . . .

Dinners .. . Cocktail. Parties . . . Wedding Recep­ tions . . .

These are accommodated in a flexible complex of beautifully decorated function rooms connected by unique “disappearing” walls.

¿00b)T H E FUNCTION CENTRE

Telephone: Sydney 358.3244 Canberra 95.7375 Melbourne 62.5170 Brisbane 52.2295 Adelaide 42.4858 Perth 21.5992 or Telex Sydney 20067

FRANCIS FORD COPOLLA

Francis Ford Coppola C o n tin u e d f r o m P a g e 2 0 6

H o w h a s it d e v e lo p e d s in c e th en to th e fo r m th a t it is in n ow ? I t a k e it th a t y o u a r e p la n n in g to d ir e c t it.

What happened was that when I read the first draft of A p o c a ly p s e , I really thought in many ways it was the perfect film story, the metaphor of a journey up a river to find a guy.

It’s based on Joseph Conrad’s Heart o f Darkness. In fact my script which I am re-writing from the original is based on it to an even greater extent.

The original script was profoundly interesting, and made a really in­ teresting and unusual statement about the war, that was not political in a very short or myopic sense, but in a big sense was really political.

I tried to get George to do it, but he was always too busy. Then, as we were selling our upcoming films to various foreign markets in advance, they were buying the other films, in­ cluding A p o c a ly p s e , because they wanted to get my next film. But my next film (the Tucker project) was going to take a year and a half to get off the ground. I thought, what if I direct A p o c a ly p s e , then a whole bunch of things would fall into place.

I was under a lot of pressure from my foreign distributors, since I had promised them one film of mine, which as I hadn’t written it was going to be two years off. The A p o c a ly p s e project looked like being very costly, and John Milius was the only one we had to direct it. I felt that the things I didn’t like in the script would only be magnified if he directed it..

It has a lo t of o ffe n siv e paramilitary stuff that is irrelevant and shouldn’t be stressed — Milius’ whole mythology of hunting people down and so on, which I am not par­ ticularly in. Yet aside from that there is an incredible film in A p o c a ly p s e .

So I decided to do it.

T h e id e a o f fin a n c in g th e “ A p o c a ly p s e N o w ’’ an d o th e r C o p ­ p o la p r o d u c tio n s th r o u g h fo r e ig n p re­ s a l e s , is a c o n c e p t th a t s e e m s to h ave b e e n u se d b y a n u m b er o f E u r o p e a n p r o d u c e r s fo r q u ite a lo n g tim e , but d o e s n ’t s e e m to h a v e ta k e n o f f very m u c h in th e U . S . a s a fo r m o f fin a n ­ c in g . W h y h a s n ’t it o c c u r r e d to s o m e o th e r “ h o t - s h o t ’’ p r o d u c e r s -d ir e c to r s lik e R o b e r t W is e , a fte r “ S o u n d o f M u s i c ” , F r ie d k in , B o g d a n o v itc h or M i k e N ic h o ll s , to u se th e m a c h in e r y th a t y o u h a v e o b v io u s ly n o w s e t in m o tio n to g iv e y o u t o t a l in ­ dependence?

Because of a principle that ought to be known as the “such-and-such” effect. It’s that whenever a director or a filmmaker gets to a position where he has the weight to do this, the studios make it so attractive for him not to do it, that he doesn’t. In other words, why have the hassle and responsibility of blazing that new territory when they are happy to treat you like a king — you come here, make your film, they give you everything you want, a million dollars up front, even a limousine to pick you up. There is a principle in 284 — C in em a P ap ers, N ovem ber-D ecem ber

modern capitalist society that if there is an opportunity to change something, that’s when the odds, the stakes get lifted high. The only reason I am doing it is because I am stupid, and because I said I would.

O n th e o th e r h a n d , it c o u ld w o r k .

Yes, it could work. That’s why they make it so attractive for you not to do it, because if I do it and make it work, then Bogdanovitch and Friedkin will do it, and that will be the end of the major American com­ panies.

W h a t a r e y o u r m e d iu m an d lo n g te r m p la n s a s fa r a s y o u r n e w ly c r e a te d c o m p a n y s tr u c tu r e is c o n ­ cern ed ? D o y o u s e e y o u r s e lf a s m ov­ in g a lo n g th e lin e s th a t A m e r ic a n I n te r n a tio n a l w e n t, m o v in g fr o m a s m a ll o u tfit in to a la r g e u n it, in e f f e c t , a n o th e r m ajor?

I don’t know. I have been through a lot of trouble in the past few months with my magazine, and what it’s essentially made me feel is why am I fooling around? I already have all the money I could ever want. I have the wonderful opportunity to write and make the films that I want to do. Why am I leaving myself open? I think if I am successful in finding people who I can turn things over to, then I can have the pleasure of seeing them use their talents and making things work, and yet in some way be a part of it.

A m e r ic a n G r a ffiti, for example, was a very gratifying experience because, although I did not make the film, I helped George both in financ­ ing it, and making it. He got into trouble a couple of times and I was able to help out, which was really nice and exciting. I would like to do that with other films. I would like to do it with the magazine. I am very proud of my involvement with G r a f­ fiti and I would like to be proud of this magazine and the radio station we have, but if I am going to have to do it all myself, I am going to run away to Bali and just have fun.

D o y o u s e e y o u r s e lf a s a s o r t o f b e n e v o le n t m o g u l, a s a T h a lb e r g o f th e se v e n tie s?

No, because Thalberg basically was just an administrator. I am not.

I want to make my films, and believe it is possible to have a small com­ pany run by competent people.

E x a c t ly w h a t s o r t o f A u s tr a lia n in ­ v o lv e m e n t , in w h a te v e r s e n s e , is p r o p o se d fo r “ A p o c a ly p s e N o w ” ?

Basically the only real Australian involvement, as far as the fibre of the thing is concerned, is an Australian distribution company. We began by selling the distribution rights to A p o c a ly p s e N o w to 21 territories about six months ago. For one of them we raised a record amount of money — $11 million.

One of the participants is this Australian company, Seven Keys. In return for the deposit they made, they have the rights to distribute the film. The film in fact can be made in

any number of places, but when Fred Roos, and Dan Tavoularis, the art director of G o d fa th e r I I , came to Australia for the G o d fa th e r opening, the Cinema International Corpora­ tion people introduced them to a lot of Australians, like McClelland, etc.

As a result they came back upbeat about the prospects of making the film in Queensland.

I myself had been very depressed with the bribery and corruption that went hand in hand with making G o d ­ fa th e r II in the Dominican Republic.

However, when I arrived in Australia the attitudes were a little different. I don’t mean to be negative at all, but I became exposed to the more prac­ tical kind of Australian thinking that goes: “We don’t know that we want a great big American film in Australia.

What’s in it for us?” So we were caught a little short. After all the first reception had been so great. Our company has never been really ex­ ploitative in the places we have gone.

We only bring in small groups and always employ larger groups of people, rather than just laborers and stuff. At any rate it became clear that there would have to be much more than that. So we met with the relevant unions to find out whether the project was possible. If it wasn’t we could always make it in the Philippines.

W h a t is th e o u tc o m e , up to th is p oin t?

The outcome is that generally everyone has now put their stamp of approval on the project with the ex­ ception of Actors’ Equity. They have a young kind of Marxist labor super­ visor who has got a little bit of the anti-big business thing. He is quite right I guess, and he is being very tough. But negotiations have gone back and forth and we think we have come upon some sort of compromise that might be workable.

S p e c if ic a l ly , a s fa r a s c a s t and cr e w a r e c o n c e r n e d , w h a t s o r t o f p e r c e n ta g e d o e s th is m ean ?

I think in terms of crew there would be more Australians employed than Americans. I think it will be at least one for one, and probably two to one. There will be about six or seven Italians, Vittorio Stararo and his crew, and there will be about 15 to 18 Americans — technicians, producers, myself and so on.

American actors will probably be nine or 10, and the rest Australian.

It won’t be like it would be with a co-production. The Australian com­ pany is a technicality, in the sense that when you come into a locality you want to abide by the rules and routines of that area. Many con­ tributions have to be made, even after the company has ceased filming — health, welfare and so on. It tends to be more practical to work hand in hand with an Australian company, even though they are not really the co-producers.

T h e b u d g e t is b e in g m o o te d a t over $ 1 0 m illio n , is th a t c o r r e c t?

That’s correct.

W ith n a m e s lik e S te v e M c Q u e e n b e in g s u g g e s te d it s e e m s th a t in th e

w a k e o f “ G o d fa th e r I I ” y o u h a v e , a t le a s t fo r th e m o m e n t, s e t y o u r s ig h ts fa ir ly s tr o n g ly on b ig m u lti-m illio n d o lla r p r o d u c tio n rr h e r th a n th e s m a ll- s c a le “ C o n v e r s a tio n ” ty p e p r o d u c tio n .

Right. I felt this could be a worthwhile film and a very unusual one. It could make money for all our foreign distributors and earn such an enormous amount of money for our company that we could use it as a fund to do everything that we want to do for the next 10 years. So we felt why not?

Y o u s a id , I th in k , in a n in te r v ie w in F ilm C o m m e n t, th a t y o u d id “ T h e G o d fa th e r ” b e c a u s e y o u w e r e b r o k e a^d in d e b t; “ T h e R a in P e o p le ” a n d “ C o n v e r s a tio n ” b e c a u s e y o u w a n te d m o r e th a n a n y th in g e ls e to b e a w r ite r . Y o u a ls o s a id th a t y o u w o u ld never d o a n o th e r b ig film a g a in u n le s s y o u h a d s o m e s p e c ia l p o in t to m a k e .

W h a t d o y o u th in k is th e s p e c ia l p o in t a b o u t “ A p o c a ly p s e N o w ” ?

One is the area of the film itself, thematically what it says, and how it says it, and secondly the fact that it seemed to be the cornerstone on a business future; that this kind of film could make all the things that we want to do in the future possible.

Thematically I would say just go back to Heart o f Darkness, especial­ ly in the light of the Vietnamese war.

It will be a real experience to see if it works as I see it. This is a really big film and I think we can do it pretty well. It will make $100 million. It is certainly the most ambitious film I have ever tried.

A t C a n n e s th is y e a r y o u d id a lo t o f p r e -s a le s an d y o u g o t s o m a n y d o lla r s in a d v a n c e s . A r e th o s e a d v a n c e s so s tr u c tu r e d th a t in th e e v e n t o f th is , or s o m e su b s e q u e n t film , n o t p e r fo r m in g w e ll, th en s o m e o f th e s e m o n ie s w ill e ith e r n o t in e f f e c t e v e n tu a te , o r w ill b e refu n d e d .

No, those advances are firm ad­ vances. A p o c a ly p s e had in a sense already done over $30 million before it was made. It is already in profit. It can’t lose. The only way it can lose is if halfway through it something happens and we don’t make it. ★ COPPOLA FILMOGRAPHY 1962 Eamon the Terrible — short 1963 Come On Out — contains footage from un­

released ‘nudies’ Coppola directed 1964 Dementia 13 (The Haunted and the Hunted) Screenplay, Director 1965 M y Last Duchess (later filmed by Ken Hughes as Arriverderci Baby or Die! Die! M y Darling) Screenplay 1966 You’re a Big Boy Now Screenplay, Director 1966 This Property is Condemned (Sydney Pollock) Screenplay 1966 Is Paris Burning? (Rene Clement) Co­ screenplay 1967 Reflections in a Golden Eye (John Huston) Screenplay 1967 Finian’s Rainbow Director 1969 The Rain People Screenplay, Director, Producer 1969 Patton (Franklin J. Schaffner) Co-screenplay 1970 T H X 1138 (George Lucas) Producer 1971 The Godfather Co-screenplay, Director 1973 American G raffiti (George Lucas) Co­ producer 1974 The Great Gatsby (Jack Clayton) Screenplay 1974 The Conversation Screenplay, Director, Co­ producer 1975 The Godfather Part II Co-screenplay, Director, Producer

AUSTRALIAN FILMS Private Collection A fte r P ro u s t

from the

VINCENT LIBRARY Australian Film Institute 1975 Catalogue Available

($ 2) 79-81 CARDIGAN STREET, CARLTON SOUTH, 3053.

TELEPHONE: 347 6888 TELEGRAMS: FILMINSTITUTE/MELBOURNE

365A PITT STREET, SYDNEY, 2000 TELEPHONE: 61 2743 TELEGRAMS: FILMINSTITUTE/SYDNEY

MANLY SILVER SCREEN

PROJECTORS

ENQUIRIES 977-5503-NORTH STEYNE RD. SYDNEY’S TOP SPECIALIST CINEMA SHOWING NIGHTLY A SELECTION OF POIGNANT DOUBLES STRICTLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT. LATE SHOWS EVERY FRIDAY AND SATURDAY NIGHT FOR INSOMNIACS. A TOP LINE-UP OF FILMS WITH LIVE GROUPS PERFORMING BEFORE EACH FILM. MUSICALS AND NOSTALGIA PRESENTED SUNDAY AFTERNOONS FOR LOVERS OF GENTLER TIMES. SUNDAY SPECIALS EVERY SUNDAY NIGHT FEATURING DIRECTORS’ DOUBLES, AWARD WINNING PERFORMANCES AND JUST DAMN GOOD MOVIES.

SILVER SCREEN FILM REN TALS A SELECTION OF AUSTRALIAN AND AMERICAN SURFING FILMS FOR HIRE. SURFING FILMS AND ROCK CLIPS WILL BE PROVIDED TO MAKE A COMPLETE PROGRAM. S I L V E R S C R E E N REISTALS, PO B O X 590, MANLY,] 2095 E N Q U I R I E S A N D B O O K I N G , R I N G 9 7 7 4 6 3 Si

1 — Pr. RCA Brenkert 100 Projectors — with RCA Heavy Bases —• Brenkert Enarc Lamps — Ballantyne Soundheads, 5M Ft Upper and Lower Mags. All near new. $6,995.00. FOB Vancouver, B.C. Guaranteed for .

■ 7~ ...One Year 7 ' . ' ■ 7 ' W RITE TO

DOMINION THEATRE EQUIPMENT CO. LTD..

9 7 0 DAVIE ST..

VANCOUVER. B.C., CANADA

or PHONE

(604)6821848.

TRACKS there's more to life than riding waves ...

FEM IN IST CRITIQU E

Feminist Critique C o n tin u e d f r o m p a g e 2 0 9

We need, as she suggests, to distinguish between the motivation of films and their recep­ tion by an audience, and between this and that vague phenomenon, its social ‘effect’. As Patricia Edgar pointed out in her article on screen violence ( You Don’t Blow Up Ladies — Cinema Papers, December 1974), these relationships are not so easy to work out as convincingly as one might im­ agine. It is a particularly interesting question to ask about precisely those sixties films which are accused of co-opting feminism — how did people see K lu te , M c C a b e and M r s M ille r , C a r n a l K n o w le d g e , D ia r y o f a M a d H o u s e w ife ? What about the men in those films — if the women are not granted wonderful lives, do audiences take the weakness and cruelty of the men for granted as ‘normal’, or are they brought to question it? Does it matter to them either way?

There are lots of ways in which feminists can use the work done on the sociology of film. Just in passing, I would like to know something about the relationship between sexual habits and therepresentation of fucking on screen. Why is the scene in D o n ’t L o o k N o w so unusual, and do peo­ ple respond to the two-minute grunt ( S w e e t M o v ie , L a s t T a n g o in P a r is ) , in which women characteristically scream with ecstasy after a few bumps and grinds, as though it is some kind of ¡ideal model?

Seriously, feminists need to ask more directly general questions like what is the difference between pornography and eroticism in film; when is portrayal of female sexuality and sexual ex­ perience in all its facets — including rape — ex­ ploitative titillation and when is it ‘serious social comment’? What is the difference between a realistic and critical portrayal of existing social conditions and a wilful perpetuation of them?

Similarly, we need to find a convincing way of establishing a relationship between films and history. One of the most interesting parts of Mol­ ly Haskell’s book is the way she studies the effects of the Production Code on the characterization of women in U,S. films and the specific way it 'developed.

Too often feminists have used a simple catechism approach to explain why films should go one way rather than another. Why were there such interesting women in the films of the forties?

Because there was a war on. Why are women so maltreated in current films? Because there is a backlash against the women’s movement. This does not get you very far; and it is partly a func­ tion of feminism, through its stress on stereotypes, re-inventing the old-fashioned ‘mirror’ approach to art. It is a method which has never worked very well for anyone else in the past, and I don’t see why it will work for us now.

One positive suggestion is that feminists could profitably explore the possibilities offered by semiotics — the study of film language. I know this is not a popular suggestion, and there are a lot of good reasons for opposing it. There are some poor ones too — intellectuals often show their in­ tegrity and are accepted socially by proclaiming loudly that they can’t understand anything much and don’t like ' ‘ideas’. This is very odd; a photographer would scarcely be praised for boasting that she did not know one end of a camera from the other.

But the reasons to be wary can be more justifiable than that. Feminists have learned a great deal about the mystifying powers of language, the oppressive function of much socalled ‘science’ in the past, and the way the language of these sciences can function to simply exclude women not in control of them, and give them a proper sense of their inferiority. On the other hand, many women have learned only too well the lesson they were taught much earlier, that women by definition cannot think.

The kind of encounters most women who read about film tend to have with studies of film language would certainly predispose them to 286 — Cinema Papers, November-Decern ber

UNDER W ESTERN EYES

finding it mystifying, oppressive and exclusive.

There is the disconcerting experience of happily reading a review written in the conventional chat­ ty, rhapsodic or sarcastic mode, and then sudden­ ly stumbling across a stray ‘syntagma’ or ‘diegesis’. This is usually put there to let one know what the reviewer’s been reading lately, or as an indication that he or she would rather have written the whole thing a different way but wasn’t quite game.

The word ‘structure’ in these efforts is often used as though it had haloes twining smokily in between the letters. There is, as well, the total futility of writing articles on women and film in such a way that it would take most people years of research to understand your first paragraph.

But semiotics basically offers us a way of un­ derstanding how meaning functions and how it is created. This is its inestimable value. We need to know how meanings about “woman” work, how they get into our minds, how they stay there and how they can be broken down. In this we have to guard against calls for ‘the obvious’ and for ‘common sense’ — because women more than any other group should be aware that commonsense is often a far more powerful agent of mass social control than the obscure discourse of academics.

It is obvious, after all, that women are made to have children, and commonsense that the female should be feminine.

Finding out about film language is one thing, making that kind of research accessible to other people so they can use it is another. It is probably the most difficult task we face. Professional and apolitical specialists are not obliged to worry about that. We asfeminists are. You cannot com­ bat simple, rich beliefs about ‘femininity’ with a tortured tangle of jargon any more than you can with a transparent, tired cliche. Finding a weapon in the middle is up to the feminist writer — of film criticism, or of anything else.

What is the point of it all? Of playing with theories and methods? Well, let me return to my analogy between feminism at the moment and the British Marxists of the thirties. I recently heard a conversation in which a male radical was one mo­ ment abusing the “intellectual heavies” he knew, and the next bemoaning the lack of frenzied political activity in Australia, as compared with Italy and France. It did not seem to bother him that both those countries — and U.S., one might add — have had a long tradition of such ‘heavies’ who have been willing and able to make critical ideas accessible and intelligible to people.

Ideas do spread, provided they are being put up in the first place, and they turn out to be useful (which you won’t know unless you are prepared to put them up in the first place). Secondly, it is worth remembering that ‘zappy’ putdowns of chauvinism, while fun to write and having some local effect, fade as fast as cinema verite. The word ‘chauvinism’ now has a slightly musty ring to it. We have to find ways of keeping the debate going which will also give us long-term payoffs.

And Finally it is only sensible to find out exactly what you are up against.

Sitting through T h e W ild B u n c h , in the midst of a pack of howling, adolescent males at a universi­ ty lunchtime screening, is one way of experiencing the simple brutalities of the situation. But the problem is that running off and writing an article pouncing on Peckinpah is not necessarily the best way to fight back any more than punching the person next to you. Righteous anger is okay. It gets you going, but what we need now is a little cunning, and some unexpected, unpredicted, sneaky moves.

FOOTNOTES 1. Joan Mellen, W o m e n a n d t h e i r S e x u a l i t y in t h e N e w F i lm (DavisPoynter, London, 1973), ch. I. 2. Joan Mellen, W o m e n a n d t h e i r S e x u a l i t y in t h e N e w F i l m , ch. 6.

3. There is a review of both books by Jane Gruchy in H e c a t e , Vol. 1 No. I, Jan 1975 — critical of Haskell and appreciative of Mellen.

I wrote a review of Mellen’s book in G L P : A J o u r n a l o f S e x u a l P o l i t i c s , No. 6, Jan-Feb 1975; the substance of which I still agree with, but it is unjustifiably vicious on tine.

4. Molly Haskell, F r o m R e v e r e n c e t o R a p e (Penguin, 1974), p. 329.

5. W o m e n a n d F i l m , Vol. 1, Nos 5-6, p. 75.

Under Western Eyes C o n tin u e d f r o m p a g e 2 1 9

The true process developing in the film is a tragic one — sexual repression, political un­ derdevelopment, cultural waste, economic stupidity, and reckless self-destruction. By tran­ sposing the car-crash, originally scripted as the last shot of the film, to the beginning, the producers have subverted this. Unfortunately they also make nonsense of what we have seen for the past hour, and the upbeat conclusion, with its pseudo-political implications, adds more fuel to the individualist sub-proletariat declusion in which the Australian worker can pretend to be a revolutionary.

It all gets down to the have or have-not of balls, and receives its overt expression significantly in the sheep. The prime point of the docky’s an­ tagonism to the shearers is his fear that they will cut his prize rams; and Foley’s direct retaliation is to pretend that he has actually castrated one.

Not to possess balls is: (i) To enjoy leisure. (ii) To be ‘effeminate’. This carries the archaic Elizabethan sense of being concerned with feminine affairs (e.g. solitary letter writing) rather than masculine ones (e.g. being part of a gang). The true but repress­ ed homosexual feeling of the latter is neat­ ly inverted and turned onto the man with a genuine attachment to women. Thus Beresford (Sean Scully), caught in the act of writing to his wife, is asked savagely whether he is “queer or something?” (iii) To be a boozer from solitary necessity, like old Garth (Reg Lye). (iv) To be too young — the rousties still need to prove their manhood. (v) To be too old — Foley (Jack Thompson), by telling Old Garth he is an alcoholic effectively kills him.

Comparisons with American works belie Hannam’s real affinities. Compositionally there is the world of difference between Ford’s deep perspec­ tives, shadows and epic framing, and Hannam’s flattened space and dazzling light.

This is the cinema of an entirely new continent.

Thornhill’s habit of allowing lines to hang in the air during fades, Hannam’s sensitivity to moods, and the stylish dissolves and step printing of P i c ­ n ic , are put at the service of a light which moves between transparency and the thunderstorm.

These three films are the equal of anything coming out of Europe and the U.S. and as an Australian I celebrate them with nationalist joy.

The post-syncing of S u n d a y , which operates as a glue over the hacked-about editing, bothers me no more than the same thing used as a deliberate con­ vention by Europeans. Boyd’s craftsmanship in W a r s and P i c n i c , and the collaboration he seems to have built up with assistant cameramen and lighting people is masterful by any standards.

M oorhouse’s and Dingwall’s scripts, and Thornhill’s zappy direction, have an acute awareness of historical placing. Peter Weir is a genuine auteur director and has already developed the kind of visual language for which Bertolucci is justly celebrated.

In all of them we see emergent an Australian national consciousness that is at last able to use the colors our painters came to terms with early in the nineteenth century. This consciousness looks anxiously behind itself into a mirror in which Europe is reflected. From this mirror it takes, above all, its idea of style. But the vision that results, in its content and inner structure, draws its special power from the new language it creates — a language based on a series of assumptions as different from the European as are the languages of the Aboriginals.★

For an yo ne concerned w it h booking films the FILMMAKERS CO-OPERATIVES CATALOGUE OF INDEPENDENT FILMS for 1 9 7 5 / 7 6 is an im p o rt a n t , comprehensive reference. In it you 'll f in d details of over 5 0 0 mostly Australian films.

Films on the fo ll ow in g topics - A D O L E S C E N C E , E C O L O G Y , E N V IR O N M E N T A N D C IT Y L IV IN G , SEX A N D SEXU AL M IN O R IT IE S , O L D A G E, P H Y S IC A L A N D M E N T A L H A N D I­ C AP S, P R I S O N S , M I N O R I T Y G R O U P S , M I G R A T I O N , I M M I G R A T I O N A N D E M I G R A T I O N , W O M E N S ISSUES, C O M M U N IT Y A C T IO N , G E O G R APH Y, FO L K L O R E , T R A V E L , E X P L O R A T IO N , A N T H R O P O L O G Y , FILM S C H IL D R E N LIK E , C O M E D Y , H U M O U R , S A T IR E , R E L IG IO N , M E D IT A T IO N , S C IE N C E , P A I N T IN G , S C U L P T U R E , C R A F T S , M U S IC , D R A M A , P O L IT IC A L FILM S FROM A U S T R A L IA , CUBA, EURO PE, T H E M ID D L E EAST, L A T IN A M E R IC A , N O R TH A M E R I C A , T H E U .S .A ., F I L M S O N F A N T A S Y , M A G I C , _ L I F E S T Y L E S , F E S T IV A L S , SPORTS, E X P E R IM E N T A L F IL M S 4 F E A T U R E FILM S A N D SHORTS. '

Whatevet your requirements there are possibly films to suit your every program needs. Write for y ou r copy of the catalogue now. Send $ 2 . 5 0 (includes postage) to:

S Y D N E Y FIL M M A K E R S C O -O P E R A T IV E P.O. Box 2 1 7 , Kings Cross 2011 N.S.W . Tel: 31 3 2 3 7 M ELBO URNE F ILM M A K E R S C O -O P E R A T IV E 3 8 2 Lygon St., Car lto n 3 0 5 3 V I C . Tel: 3 4 7 2 9 8 4

SOUTH A U S T . M E D IA RESOURCE CENTRE P.O. Box 3 3 , Rundle St., Adelaide 5 0 0 0 S.A. Tel: 2 2 3 1 60 0 B RISBANE F IL M M A K E R S C O -O P E R A T IV E 109 Edward St., Brisbane 4 0 0 0 O L D . Tel: 21 0 9 8 7

N a m e ...................................................................

A d d r e s s ..............................................................

PERTH FIL M M A K E R S C O -O P E R A T IV E 70 East St., Freemantie 6 1 6 0 W . A . Tel: 3 5 1 0 5 5 Postcode Enclosed please find postal order ( [ c h e q u e ( ) for ( ) copies of the Filmmakers Co-Operatives C A T A L O G U E OF IN D E P E N D E N T FILMS.

HO B AR T FIL M M A K E R S C O -O P E R A T IV E P.O. Box 1, K E M P T O N 7 4 0 9 T A S.

THE FILM, R A D I O AMD TELEVISION BOARD OF THE AUSTRALIA COUNCIL

P.O. BOX 302,

NORTH SYDNEY, N.S.W. 2060

NORTHSIDE GARDENS, 168 WALKER STREET, NORTH SYDNEY, N.S.W. 2060

John Papadopoulos — JOG’S TROT

APPLICATIONS TO THE NEXT ASSESSMENT FOR CREATIVE P R O D U C T IO N F U N D S W IL L CLOSE ABOUT MARCH 1976. FULL DETAILS WILL BE ANNOUNCED LATER.

CUC ASIAN NEIGUBCUCS SECIES TEN EILHS C C C C LC EC c y III M A l S U AI IA

OUR ASIAN NEIGHBOURS is a programme of films which aims to convey everyday life in Asia. The first of the series, covered Thailand. This series is devoted to Indonesia and brings to life its people, customs and their music.

Each film captures the lifestyle of the people in their own environment and vividly identifies with the viewer.

These films are made so as to stimulate interest in and to promote a greater understanding of our asian neighbours.

The stories are told with visual impact and the music is, in most cases, the actual sounds recorded on location; the actors are the people themselves who live, work and play in this absorbing and fascinating region.

FILM AUSTRALIA Eton Road Lindfield (PO Box 46 Lindfield) NSW 2070 Australia Telephone 46 3241 Telegrams 'Filmaust'Sydney Telex 22734

British and U.S. enquiries through Australian Government Film Representatives: Canberra House, 10-16 Maltravers Street, The Strand, London. WC2R 3EH. Australian Information Service, 636 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10020, and at all Australian official posts abroad.

DEPARTMENT OF THE MEDIA