Nitram

ISSUE THE

OF FILM

film •film• f i l m • 4 STARS

The gun lobby is likely to be up in arms about Justin Kurzel’s new movie which explores a notorious massacre in his Australian homeland. Emma Simmonds finds that the Cannes-winning Nitram contains difficult truths that everyone should pay attention to

The dark underbelly of sun-kissed Australia is once again highlighted in the fifth feature from director ustin Kur el. is last effort, True H istory O f The K elly G ang , looked at the country’s legendary outlaw ed Kelly, while with its suburban setting and true-crime origins, N itram (pronounced it-ram, if you’re wondering covers similar territory to Kur el’s debut Snowtown, a film that felt almost relentlessly chilling. is latest adopts a very different tack. orking from a screenplay by regular collaborator haun rant, Kur el looks at events preceding the ort Arthur massacre in Tasmania, which remains the worst crime in modern Australian history to be committed by an individual. rovocatively, things are largely seen through the eyes of the massacre’s perpetrator artin ryant, known here by his much-hated childhood nickname of itram (his name spelt backwards who, rather than being portrayed as a shadowy and monstrous figure, is someone the film is interested in truly knowing: the good, the bad and the very, very ugly. itram is played in brilliant yet unshowy fashion by the American actor Caleb andry ones, who makes a decent fist of the accent too and was rewarded with est Actor at Cannes for his efforts. ith his head lolling and hair hanging, he often sports the sulky sneer of a petulant toddler or angsty teen despite being in his twenties, possessing a grungy Kurt Cobain-ness about him. ones is supported terrifically by udy avis and Anthony a aglia as his e asperated mum and soft-hearted but increasingly depressed dad, and by ssie avis (who also happens to be Kur el’s wife playing a reclusive and eccentric heiress who itram befriends and moves in with.

The film doesn’t shy from the gorgeousness of its backdrop, presenting the area’s radiance in marked contrast to itram’s spiralling behaviour and increasingly disturbed psyche Kur el is a resident of Tasmania and is as in love with its beauty as he is repelled by its horrors. As itram goes from moderately dangerous (playing recklessly with fireworks which he uses to try and impress kids to someone fascinated by guns, the way he gambols about without a care for conse uences morphs from childlike to sinister in a film that specialises in creeping, rather than solidly oppressive, unease. iven his recent forays into spectacle-driven moviemaking ( ’s magnificent but financially unsuccessful M acbeth and the more e pensive flop Assassin’s C reed , there’s something immensely satisfying about seeing Kur el take on something so modestly scaled and interrogatory. Although the director doesn’t try to absolve itram of responsibility by painting his life as a never-ending stream of misery, the attempts to understand him result in a clearly compassionate portrayal of a serial killer that has already proven controversial, especially in Australia.

or those who are grieving, this will, no doubt, feel like too much too soon and, honestly, who can blame them. ut it’s one of the responsibilities of artforms to confront truths that we may be unable or unwilling to recognise and perhaps shape them into something to learn from. Kur el’s insight here is admirable. itram is presented as intellectually disabled and lacking in impulse control through his mother’s recollections, the film suggests that he may have been wired wrong, yet it has much more to say. It illustrates his cruel treatment at the hands of others (which pushes him to the peripheries of society , the twin tragedies that befall him, the paltry help and support received by his family and, most devastatingly and damningly, Australia’s appalling gun-control regulations.

It was the latter and the lack of properly enforced changes in the years that followed which prompted screenwriter rant to tell the story from itram’s perspective he wanted audiences to ‘sit with a character who clearly should not have access to firearms and watch as they are so easily granted access to them’. ith such crimes unfortunately not as rare as they should be, particularly in the U , this is a film that contains some important lessons. et’s hope those who most need to hear them sit up and listen.

comedy• comedy•

Regional Trinket

The comedian with ‘a face that only a mother could love’ and who can open his phone’s facial recognition app with ‘a potato and a pair of glasses’, reassembles himself for this much-delayed touring show. Alan Carr’s allegedly ‘cursed’ one-man stand-up Regional Trinket (a play on his current near national treasure status) traces his peculiar trajectory to, through and beyond lockdown. Matching the comic persona Carr has perfected over the last decade and a half, the show is irreverent, filthy and chaotic but oddly warm and occasionally euphoric. It reminds us that he is more than an omnipresent if gifted TV presenter and quiz master.

Like the comedians Carr grew up watching and studying (the 1980s alternative comedy set and Frankie Howerd among them), his schtick is belligerence, defiance and anarchy with a side order of working-class camp. He’s the wailing banshee at the gates of the aesthetic and politically correct, pushing buttons and threatening boundaries of taste and decency (he controversially once dedicated a media award to Karen Matthews, mother and fake kidnapper of her daughter Shannon).

Huffing, puffing, circling and criss-crossing the stage, Carr rakes over the last half a decade with barbed wit and self-mockery. Suspect romance, a celebrity wedding, the disintegration of that marriage, rubbing shoulders with a real gay icon superstar (Celine Dion: hilarious), alcoholic excess, and excursions into the odd world of ancestral-history reality TV are all detailed, embellished, derided and ultimately dismissed.

Combative, irascible and riotous, Carr pushes his tall tales of overindulgence and embarrassment along at an impressive clip. He’s also a brilliant physical comedian. Gag after gag is fortified by uglifying facial turns, weird body movements and fey fake injury. As it should be, this trinket is a gift of no purpose or pomposity. (Paul Dale)

n Edinburgh Playhouse, Friday 8 & Saturday 9 July; King’s Theatre,

Glasgow, Sunday 10 & Monday 11 July; reviewed at Perth Concert Hall.

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(Directed by Emer Reynolds)

‘I’m not going back, I’m going forward,’ insists Olivia Colman’s ironically named Joy as she ploughs ahead with a plan to give away her baby and establish a new life abroad. This modestly budgeted and slightly ramshackle Irish roadtripper makes moving on its focus, with the movie certainly lucking out in securing the services of this much-loved Oscar-winner, giving her just enough to work with.

The narrative feature debut of documentary-maker and editor Emer Reynolds centres around the onthe-nose pairing of Colman’s struggling new mum and a motherless young lad (Charlie Reid’s Mully). They come together when he nicks the proceeds of his late mum’s fundraiser to save it from his dodgy dad (Lochlann O’Mearáin) and makes his getaway in the taxi Joy has been sleeping in, kick-starting a rollicking odd-couple adventure.

Joyride’s willingness to be frank about maternal anxiety and post-natal depression can feel refreshing but the overarching story is slight and a touch cheesy, with the awkward blend of sunny caper and probing drama resulting in a seesawing tone. However, Colman makes every second she’s on screen matter, newcomer Reid is a winningly plucky partner-in-crime, and it builds to a touching, if overly neat conclusion. (Emma Simmonds)

n In cinemas from Friday 29 July.

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