TRUE SPIRIT

Stars: Teagan Croft, Cliff Curtis, Anna Paquin, Josh Lawson, Todd Lasance, Alyla Browne, Bridget Webb, Stacy Clausen and Freya Callaghan.
Writers: Rebecca Banner, Cathy Randall and Sarah Spillane; based on the book True Spirit: The Aussie Girl Who Took On The World by Jessica Watson
Director: Sarah Spillane.

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

Since 2010, when the then 16 year-old defied every naysayer and some of the planet’s harshest conditions to become the youngest person to complete a solo, unassisted and non-stop trip around the world, Jessica Watson has remained a devout advocate for self-belief and goal-oriented living. Named the 2011 Young Australian of the Year, she has spent the best part of the last decade instilling in a generation of young people the will and drive to make dreams come true.

Director Sarah Spillane’s adaptation of Watson’s bestselling memoir instils a similarly aspirational tone, while hitting all the beats that those familiar with the adventurer’s journey will expect. With ace DOP Danny Ruhlmann in peak form, Spillane’s second feature (after 2013’s Around the Block, with Christina Ricci) exhibits a strong cinematic flair that demands you see True Spirit on the big screen, during its brief local theatrical window (it hits Netflix on February 3); a sequence against the night sky and set to Bowie’s ‘Starman’ is especially breathtaking. Her collaboration with Oscar-nominated editor Veronika Jenet (The Piano, 1993; Rabbit Proof Fence, 2002) is also top-tier, with the criss-crossing flashback/present day narratives meshing flawlessly.

As the sailor driven by a yearning to connect with the planet’s great watery expanse, Teagan Croft delivers a revelatory central performance. From the unshakeable realisation that the world’s oceans are her calling to the psychologically debilitating loneliness on becalmed seas to the life-threatening storm fronts that batter her physically, Croft embodies all that we have come to understand about the remarkable person that is Jessica Watson. It is a star-making turn for the young actress, whose potent screen appeal and ability to convey both fragility and fortitude in key moments represents a rare acting commodity.

Some dramatic licence is afforded the ‘family and friends’ support network that Watson drew upon before and during her voyage. Josh Lawson’s portrayal of father Roger Watson conveys a level of anxiety that has been tempered from the real-life version; the family patriarch was very vocally at odds with her daughter tackling the journey. A terrific Cliff Curtis plays Jessica’s spiritually-aligned mentor Ben Bryant, a wholly fictional construct by Spillane and co-writers Rebecca Banner and Cathy Randall that represents several guiding figures in the sailing community who helped prepare the teenager. Also conjured are scenes invoking a pre-teen Jessica’s early focus and conviction, brought to life by the radiant and commanding Alyla Browne.

Jessica Watson is that rarest of iconic archetypes - a person so flesh-and-blood real as to be instantly relatable, yet a heroic figure whose accomplishments are unlikely to ever be rivalled. That is a tough combination to capture and convey in a film, especially when so many details are already indelibly etched in a nation’s conscience. Yet Sarah Spillane and Teagan Croft have pulled off the adventurer’s story with all its bewildering reality and existential joy intact. The production not only deeply respects her seafaring accomplishments, but also the legacy it has afforded her name.

BLONDE

Stars: Ana de Armas, Bobby Carnavale, Adrien Brody, Lily Fisher, Dan Butler, Xavier Samuel, Evan Williams and Julianne Nicholson.
Writer: Andrew Dominik, based upon the novel by Joyce Carroll Oates.
Director: Andrew Dominik

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

Andrew Dominik has spent the best part of a decade writing his adaptation of Joyce Carroll Oates novel or, as she calls, fictional biography; a mighty 700+ pager that reinterpreted the real-world celebrity of Marilyn Monroe as a case study of abuse, mental torment and workplace exploitation. Hollywood and, in one of many shocking sequences, Washington DC, discovered a pliable public goddess figure in the industrially-crafted form of ‘Marilyn Monroe’, deciding early on that the impact upon the emotionally fragile woman that was Norma Jean Baker was inconsequential.

That is the version of the Monroe mythology that Dominik is undertaking in his bold, occasionally brilliant, sometimes infuriating 2.5 hour wallow in fame deconstruction. It is a film full of people who, like the American public since Monroe first appeared on screen in Don’t Bother to Knock, fall willingly and blindly in love with false idols. In tearing down the carefully manufactured facade that was ‘Marilyn Monroe’, he is also merciless in his depiction of baseball great Joe Di Maggio (Bobby Carnavale) and President JFK (Casper Phillipson), fellow icons of America’s golden post-war years.

Enduring the tortuous mental deterioration as Dominik’s Marilyn is Ana de Armas, and the actress is both entirely at one with her director’s vision and, more often than not, significantly better than it. While there are legitimate issues that one may have with Dominik’s style or structure or perceived intent, there can be no reservations as to the bravery and depth of character that de Armas demands of herself. Physically, she is as cinematically luminous as Monroe at her most photogenic, while also offering a stark portrayal of an emotionally incomplete and constantly deteriorating victim of lifelong abuse and loneliness.

The Marilyn Monroe biopic that captures her business acumen and comic timing and acting prowess, aspects of her life that critics have noted is absent from BLONDE, is another film entirely; Dominik’s wildly ambitious work is the story of what the American entertainment industry is willing to do to draw every last drop of humanity out of those it selects to exploit. It is a sad, bitter, horrible tale, which is not how those invested in her legend want to see Marilyn portrayed. But it is a version of her life that is as important in its telling as the perpetuation of her screen-goddess myth.

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPEN

Stars: Mark Rylance, Sally Hawkins, Rhys Ifans, Christian Lees, Jonah Lees and Jake Davies
Writer: Simon Farnaby
Director: Craig Roberts

Rating: ★ ½

The Phantom of the Open is based upon the true story of Maurice Flitcroft, a factory worker who offset the anxiety of his impending retrenchment by acting on a whim - he liked the look of golf on the tele, so he filled out the entry form and somehow managed to gain a spot in The 1976 British Open Golf Qualifying Round. Of course, having never played the game, he shot the worst round in Open history, yet became a folk hero in the process.

These ‘sports underdogs’ stories have a long and rich film history, the best of their kind being pics like the 1979 cycling drama Breaking Away or the 1993 bobsled comedy Cool Runnings, but Phantom of The Open isn’t really like those films. Sure, it’s got sport in it - the cinematically-challenging spectacle of golf - but those films identified with and seemed to actually like their heroes. But Phantom of The Open feels like a piss-take, a shot at both this dippy, working-class dolt and the establishment he snuck one pass to become a national laughing stock.

No, Phantom of The Open is more like another film I hate, the 1997 Australian film The Castle. Both base their “comedy” upon the premise that you have to be a bit dim to stick to your working class morals in the face of modern society, and it's a bloody hilarious miracle if by doing so, you get the outcome you’re hoping for. The Castle turned working class Australians into idiots and then conned us into laughing along at them, and Phantom of The Open tries to pull off the same schtick.

It is also no surprise that Phantom of The Open is written by one Simon Farnaby, whose script for Paddington 2 earned him a BAFTA nomination (wtf?). In Mark Rylance’s terribly mannered, vaguely condescending performance as Flitcroft, you have what is essentially a cartoon figure, like Paddington, trying to cope with the real world around him and the real world deciding to laugh along at his buffoonery.

Actor-turned-director Craig Roberts pumps up his Forrest-Gump-on-the-fairways story with period-appropriate add-ons, succumbing to the cinematic feel-good shorthand that disco hits and flared trousers provide. It’s all so shallow and flash-in-the-pan as to suggest there wasn’t that much to Flitcroft’s achievements or, in Rylance’s one-note portrayal, the man himself, in the first place.

CHARLI XCX: ALONE TOGETHER

Featuring: Charli XCX, Huck Kwong, Twiggy Rowley, Sam Pringle and Matthew Laughery.
Directors: Bradley Bell and Pablo Jones-Soler

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

With her chart topper ‘Boom Clap’ paving the way, pop songstress Charli XCX was forging the kind of cultural superstardom and creative freedom to which artists aspire, when the COVID pandemic hit hard. Alone Together is a chronicle of how lockdown forced her to reassess the essence of her creativity, fragility of her mental health and relationship with her fanbase.

Central to her life beyond her public persona in a way that only the most devoted fans can be, Charli’s ardent disciples are known as The Angels, a vast network of loyalists, many with strong ties to the global LGBTIQ+ community. When the performer decided that her time spent in lockdown was going to be used to create a new collection of songs, she reached out via social media and drew directly from their devotion and understanding. In some terrific sequences, she interacts with followers to improve lyrics, create artwork and ultimately launch her ‘COVID project’ album, How I’m Feeling Now.

The ‘fly on the wall’ music doco is not a new genre, but the format has had to address and adapt to the nature of modern fandom. In the past, it was sufficient to glimpse some backstage drama, maybe see the boyfriend / girlfriend providing support; think Bring on the Night, about the making of Sting’s Dream of The Blue Turtle album; the star and her dancers in Madonna: Truth or Dare; more recently, the insight provided in Katy Perry: Part of Me and Justin Bieber: Never Say Never.

Charli XCX: Alone Together is not just for fans, but about them. It addresses them in their language - via mobile screens, Zoom cameras, text messages. The singer constructs her album from her home base, sending elements to management and producers only after her fans have been consulted. In doing so, she carries them, and them her, through periods of self-doubt, loneliness and anxiety. 

While there is an unavoidable degree of vanity in constructing a project like this, Charli reveals a refreshingly self-aware, largely vanity-free attitude towards herself and her celebrity. She is open about the burden of mental ill-health and the complex psychology that began forming as an adopted child. It is a revealing look at the life of an early 20-something star in an era when there is already so much insight into personal space of the rich and famous.    

Ultimately, Charli XCX: Alone Together is a celebration of voice when you feel like no one’s listening. In addition to the driven yet warm presence of the star herself, it is a film filled with everyday personalities that are uniquely individual. The strength they find in each other’s solitude, of being alone together, becomes essential to the pop starlet; she enjoys their adoration, but finds as much strength in them as they do in her.  

 

LOVE & MERCY

Stars: Paul Dano, John Cusack, Elizabeth Banks, Paul Giamatti, Jake Abel, Kenny Wormald, Brett Davern, Erin Darke, Johnny Sneed and Bill Camp.
Writers: Michael A Lerner and Oren Moverman.
Director: Bill Pohlad.

Watch the trailer here. 

For 2015 Sydney Film Festival screening information, click here.

Rating: 4.5/5

The ‘musical biopic’ often adheres to a narrative that captures the subject’s life like a Wikipedia page. This approach is actor-bait; it allows for moments of life-defining drama from which a committed thespian can milk grand emotions. It is why everyone remembers Jamie Foxx as Ray Charles or Jessica Lange as Patsy Cline or Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis, but also why no one remembers much else about Ray or Sweet Dreams or Great Balls of Fire.

Love & Mercy, Bill Pohlad’s refreshingly daring take on the life of Brian Wilson, transcends the biopic conventions. Finding kindred spirits in scripters Michael A Lerner and Oren Moverman, the director never settles for a ‘crib note’ version of the life of the Beach Boys creative centre. Pohlad captures the vibrancy of Wilson’s artistic peak, that early 60’s period of musical production that led to the Pet Sounds album, as well as his highly publicised and crippling mental health issues in the 1980s. Intercutting between decades, the film (named after Wilson’s 1988 comeback single) evokes the elusive brilliance that defined young Brian’s extraordinary songwriting talents as much as his descent into depression, and his re-emergence from a prescription drug-addled haze as middle age approaches.

The band’s rise to super-stardom has levelled out by the end of an exhilarating opening credits montage. As the brothers and bandmates jet-off to Japan, young Brian sets about constructing what would become the definitive record of the ‘California Sound’ era. Baulked up to play Wilson at a time when his weight gain signalled the early stages of dependency behaviour, an enigmatic Paul Dano pulses with the manic energy of a musical genius in the thrall of his talent. The young actor has already established an impressive resume (There Will Be Blood; Little Miss Sunshine; Ruby Sparks; Meek’s Cutoff), yet every new performance feels revelatory; Love & Mercy is his most warmly engaging work to date.

The ‘modern day’ Brian is introduced distractedly buying a new car, suggesting his life is now one of dull modern routine and scant creativity. But this low-key set-up develops into a beautifully realised ‘meet-cute’ between John Cusack’s gentle, over-medicated Wilson and Elizabeth Banks’ tarnished angel, Melinda Ledbetter. As the woman that would wrestle Wilson from the grasp of enabling drug-doctor, Eugene Landy (a full-tilt Paul Giamatti), Banks is the best she has ever been. Alongside Cusack, contributing his most nuanced and incisive character work in years, the actress brings a warmth and strength only hinted at previously.

The ‘two Brians’ plot device culminates in a fitting sequence for a story that combines the trippy SoCal surf-&-drug culture of the Sixties with the navel-gazing self-help LA mantra of the Eighties. Pohlad stages Wilson’s moment of inward realisation with Kubrick-ian clarity, particularly striking given the otherwise sunny, naturalistic ambience of DOP Robert D. Yeoman’s camera. Like the blackness of acute depression itself, the manifestation of which left Wilson infamously bedridden for years, the denouement creeps up on the film before fully enveloping it in its entirety. 

With only one directing credit to his name (the little-seen 1990 drama, Old Explorers), Pohlad’s industry credibility stems from his producer credits; his directorial eye has been honed in the presence of Ang Lee (Brokeback Mountain, 2005), Doug Liman (Fair Game, 2010), Terence Malick (The Tree of Life, 2011) and Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave, 2013). His recent collaboration with Jean-Marc Vallee on the Reese Witherspoon true-life drama, Wild (2014), imbues his storytelling here. These films alternate seamlessly between recollections filled with both promise and regret and a present day journey filled with hope.

As Wilson’s dense instrumental experimentation consumes studio time, an increasingly frustrated Mike Love (Jake Abel) barks, “You’re not Mozart, man!” Yet, in ‘musical biopic’ terms, it is Milos Forman’s Amadeus that Love & Mercy most closely resembles. Like Mozart, Brian Wilson is portrayed as both driven and doomed by a talent that was all consuming, saved time and again from the brink of self-destruction by the unwavering commitment of his soul mate pairing. All the while, he created music that defined an era and changed lives. In succinct and sublime tones, Love & Mercy convinces that God only knows where American music would be without Brian Wilson.