By Matt Harries
Editor’s Note: for the first part of Matt’s special feature, click here.
So, Australia’s Outback can inflict lethal damage on the unwary. What, though, about the most dangerous beast of all? What happens to the man who lives there, far from the reach of the western world and its focus on ease of life and material comforts? Wake In Fright (1971) deals with this strange devolution of man as Gary Bond’s teacher John Grant sees his identity and values eroded and subsumed into the dusty outback mining town of Bundanyabba. Attempting to return to polite society at the end of term time, he intends to spend one night only there. After popping out for a quick beer though, he becomes embroiled in the booze and gambling culture of the ‘Yabba. He loses his money and the single day stretches into five. His life becomes a nightmarish tangle of drink, tawdry sexual escapades and senseless violence – the infamous scenes of the kangaroo hunt providing one of the most graphic moments of this intense and dizzying depiction of a downward spiral. The tagline reads “Have a drink mate? Have a fight mate? Have some dust and sweat mate? There’s nothing else out there.” Nothing except for the vivid rust red backdrop of dry scrub, which in its desolation drives this particular man to the brink of madness.
Not every white man fails to adapt to Australia’s harsh terrain of course. From the dual forces of the hostile, arid land and the looming punishment of the colonialists, the Bushranger was born. The most famous of these men, who escaped imprisonment and had the survival skills to evade his one time masters, was of course Edward “Ned” Kelly. Famous for his use of home made armour he has long been mythologized by many as a folk hero in the manner of England’s Robin Hood. The expression ‘as game as Ned Kelly’ arose to describe the Australian love of the plucky trier, but it is as an anti-establishment figure that Kelly has truly found his way into the hearts of the native population. Mick ‘Crocodile’ Dundee was of course the logical extension of this popularised image of the Bushman; all unconventional, laconic charm and cliched Aussie-isms. However, becoming a briefly popular figure in mainstream cinema was the ultimate sell-out for a caricature which was later to discover a darker side, one perhaps much more in keeping with the true nature of bush country.
Step forward director Greg McLean and, 20 years after Picnic At Hanging Rock, leading man John Jarratt. In that film, as local valet Albert Crundall, he represented the classically Aussie opposite to his toffish British master. In Wolf Creek (2005) he plays another recognisably Aussie figure – Mick Taylor. Now Mick might come across as your typical outback bloke, but the cocky young tourists who he finds, broken down in the middle of nowhere, discover that he in fact represents a hideous distillation of roguish stereotypes. A combination of Ned Kelly’s anti-authoritarianism, the guarded jocularity of Bundanyabba’s sheriff Jock Crawford, and the bush craft of Mick Dundee are underpinned by a sinister brutality which echoes the infamous Ivan Milat killings. Taylor’s depiction represents the dark underbelly of Australia, a nightmarish antithesis to its cosmopolitan and multicultural image and a reminder of its blood soaked history.
As well as the presence of Jarratt, the influence of Picnic at Hanging Rock is strongly felt in Wolf Creek. The environment, in this case the meteorite crater of Wolf Creek National park, exudes a desolate eeriness. The young travellers discover all their watches have stopped working, as does their car, prior to Taylor’s arrival. As with the missing girls, the backpackers are carefree and innocent. They come from another land – to all intents and purposes, another time. The biggest difference between the two films is that Wolf Creek does not flinch in its depiction of the menace only alluded to with the events at Hanging Rock.
If, like America’s former frontier lands, Australia’s vast wilderness provides ample opportunity for nature to warp the minds of men, it is also well worth looking much closer to the urban centres for the aforementioned dark side of Australian cinema. While the likes of Sydney and Melbourne are internationalist glamour hubs, the run down, deprived suburbs exude a disaffection and ennui that has given birth to stories equally as brutal as anything seen in the country’s less populated wild places. Continuing with the folk-figure, Mark Brandon Read’s unlikely assimilation into mainstream culture could, perhaps, only have happened Down Under. Chopper (2000) is the partly fictionalised tale of Read’s notorious life as an alleged armed robber, arsonist and murderer. His predilection for targeting members of the criminal underworld, as well as his roguish humour and ear (no pun intended) for a soundbite, has made him very much the successor to Ned Kelly in the affections of many Australians. Apart from a measure of success as a writer and visual artist, the old Chop-Chop also featured in government sponsored advertisements warning against drink driving and the consequences of violence against women.
For all his notoriety, Chopper Read’s crimes are in some cases the subject of much conjecture as to their exact number and details, no doubt a deliberately engineered ambiguity that only adds to the overall sense of myth. It is precisely this basis in truth that pervades the following trio of urban based films. A seam of reported truth that both authenticates and fictionalises these tales of brutal violence that take place a stone’s throw away, in blue collar suburbia. First up is Romper Stomper (1992), a tale of neo-Nazi gangs in Melbourne (Editor’s note: you can also check out Keri’s retrospective piece on Romper Stomper here.) Notable in part for being a break out role for Russell Crowe as Hando, the gang’s charismatic leader, it taps into Australia’s rich tradition of punk rock as a means of expressing the kinetic fury of the gang. For all the political posturing, the chief tension in the film comes from the old fashioned love triangle; Hando and number two Daniel (Daniel Pollock) fatally clashing over Gabrielle (Jacqueline Mackenzie) as a bus load of Japanese tourists look on – the final irony. Strong performances from the lead trio underpin a powerful film that is as hard-hitting as a boot to the head.
Animal Kingdom (2010), like Romper Stomper, follows underworld life in Melbourne, this time the criminal Cody family. This family of brothers, and close family friend Barry Brown (Joel Edgerton) are presided over by matriarch Janine “Smurf” Cody (Jacki Weaver). Smurf’s estranged daughter dies from a heroin overdose, leaving grandson Joshua, or ‘J’ seeking the protection of a family he barely remembers. Life as a criminal family has a tendency to end in tears, and with the Melbourne police equally as corrupt and murderous the Cody family unit soon starts to unravel. Again, there are plenty of strong performances throughout. Jacki Weaver (who also had a small roll in Picnic at Hanging Rock) stands out as the matriarch who is at once cuddly and sinister. Ben Mendelsohn as psychotic Pope emits characteristic menace, while James Frecheville is perfectly cast after being plucked from obscurity to play the role of J. All in all, a well acted, taut examination of the disintegration of a family unit.
The final example of these tales of ‘urban horror’ – 2011’s Snowtown – is once again based upon grim reality, this time the so called Snowtown Murders that took place north of Adelaide during the 90s. The story follows Jamie (Lucas Pittaway) as he is integrated into the world of John Bunting (Daniel Henshaw), one of the neighbourhood’s self-appointed watchmen. Alongside John’s friend Robert (Aaron Viergever), Jamie finds himself being drawn further and further into a world of violence, usually perpetuated against paedophiles and homosexuals. Despite his initial aversion to the actions of John and Robert the influence of John is strong, and Jamie becomes increasingly desensitised to, and finally a direct part of the brutality.
Like Romper Stomper’s Hando before him, Daniel Henshaw’s John Bunting is played with chilling intensity. They are characters who have the charisma and magnetism to draw people into their thrall, to join them in perpetuating acts which they might normally be repulsed by or afraid of. Through the lens of unflinching social realism Romper Stomper, Animal Kingdom and Snowtown portray people within our modern cityscapes whose lives are as seemingly lawless and violent as any dystopian fiction or Western. Perhaps the real horror is the fact that these crimes take place just under our noses, involving people of regular flesh and blood who walk in the sunlight just like us.
Based upon the writings of Jack Henry Abbott and research conducted with former prison officer David Hale, Ghosts…of the Civil Dead (1988) follows the rising tensions of an increasingly brutal and authoritarian modern prison situated in the middle of Australia. Featuring a cast of musicians, actors and a large number of ex-cons and ex-warders, the film utilises a wide range of narrative viewpoints; Wenzil (David Field) is not one of the most notorious or dangerous amongst these people, but becomes living proof that prison can indelibly change a man. Grezner (Chris DeRose) is a cop killer, who seems primed for the inevitable explosion and who seems to be preparing himself for war. Nick Cave makes a rare acting appearance as Maynard, one of those wailing psychos who usually belong in mental asylums. His arrival heralds the final straw for the inmates and guards alike, as the simmering tensions result in a sequence of bloody deaths and suicides.
Referring to the Roman term civiliter mortuus – a person without civil rights – Ghosts…of the Civil Dead is an atmospheric and disturbing tale of prison life. The inmates subsist in long stretches of narcotised boredom. Criminality is rife on either side of the cell doors. Corrupt and immoral justice is served as young men are turned into killers, while others are left to rot their lives away in solitary confinement, never to experience true adulthood. It is a film that blurs the distinction between criminal and lawmaker, questioning the morality of the faceless ‘Committee’ whose social experimentation turns the inmates against each other. It is especially apt that this film was produced in a land shaped by transportation and its history as a penal colony.
A very different type of imprisonment is featured in Patrick (1978). In this case, Patrick is a young man trapped 
within what the doctors who care for him believe to be a comatose body. A disturbing experience from his youth has left him in this state, lying lifelessly in bed supported by machinery and seemingly only able to spit, which is attributed by his doctor as nothing more than a reflex action. Kathy Jacquard (Susan Penhaligon) joins the home as a nurse and is immediately assigned to look after Patrick, whose inert, staring form seems to have a strange effect on the staff. Chief Doctor Roget (Robert Helpmann) is convinced something lurks behind the eyes of Patrick and sees his patient as a means of advancing neurological science. Head Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake) is a hard-liner who takes an instant dislike to Kathy. Unlike the new nurse, she has no desire to help Patrick, and even seems strangely afraid of him.
Needless to say there is more to Patrick than meets the eye. Perhaps because she is the first nurse to treat him as a person rather than a corpse draining valuable resources, he begins to communicate with Nurse Jacquard. Unfortunately for Kathy, Patrick is a rather disturbed individual. He wishes to claim her for his own, and what’s more, his telekinetic powers seem somehow able to transcend the confines of the hospital room. His malign influence extends into Kathy’s life outside the hospital as she battles to prove his sentience to others. Patrick attempts to remove the various suitors clamouring for Kathy, and in one memorable scene he deals with his old nemesis Matron Cassidy in ‘shocking’ fashion. Considering he remains motionless for virtually the whole film, Robert Thompson as Patrick maintains a chilling presence in this classic of early ‘Ozploitation’.
It is fitting that the final film in this article features our old friend John Jarratt once again, albeit in a cameo role in which his character – a small town cop – sits on the opposite side of the fence to Mick Taylor. 100 Bloody Acres (2012) is the story of the Morgan brothers Lindsay and Reg (Angus Sampson and Damon Herriman). Their patented blood and bone fertiliser business has been booming – they’re even due to get a precious advertisement slot on the local radio. However the raw material of their fertiliser has grisly ties to the local mystery of a fatal car crash which was missing actual bodies. So it comes to pass that Reg, very much second in command to his domineering brother, discovers a handy roadside deposit of the secret ingredient. After struggling to load his bounty alongside the ‘roo carcasses he’s on his way home with, when he meets a group of young festival goers looking for a lift. Reg sees a chance to finally prove his worth to his brother and continues on with his cargo…
100 Bloody Acres is a rarity on this list in so far as it’s a ‘comedy horror’. There’s a decent combination of gore and laughs and the cast all do a great job, helped by a genuinely smart script. Damon Herriman steals the show as the hapless Reg. Struggling to get out from under brooding Lindsay’s shadow, he battles with his conscience, his duty as a “small business operator”, and with his unfortunate lack of grey matter. He plays up to the image of the backwards Australian country boy but he’s about the most likeable bloke you could wish to meet, even if his choice of girlfriend leaves a lot to be desired.
So that brings us the end of this particular cinematic compilation. Forged in the searing heat and dust of the outback, influenced by distant memories of brutal colonial rule but with a unique brand of humour, Australia’s cult cinema is in plentiful supply, if you know where to look. It’s a vast country though. Whatever you do, don’t get lost. Something has been lurking in the dark heart of the continent for a million years…
…waiting just for us.