A grimly authentic Australian western, written by Nick Cave and reflecting many of the enduring themes inherent in his music- betrayal, retribution, murder and flies. Lots and lots of flies. It quickly becomes obvious that in his screenwriting, as in his lyrics, Cave seems unable to think in anything other than archetypes; the characters here are utterly irrelevant beyond what they represent- the civilising force, the darkness of nature, the double face of progress. Only the very finest actors- namely Ray Winstone, Emily Watson and John Hurt- manage to squeeze anything especially memorable from their drastically underwritten parts; lesser talents, most notably Guy Pearce, are reduced to trotting around the desert looking glum and trying to avoid getting shot, with a notable lack of success. Which is a shame because the premise- the proposition itself- is so perfect. It would have been interesting see what a writer or a director with a real understanding of (or interest in) humanity- Peckinpah, for instance- would have made of this material.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: 35mm print
15 Mar 2006 8:33 AM | Submit Comment
