Spear (M)
Directed by Stephen Page
Writer: Jessica Craig-Piper
Director Stephen Page’s ambitious, unconventional debut feature Spear is an arresting synthesis of cinema and modern dance. A journey into impending manhood, the film approaches thematically familiar terrain with a fresh eye, and contemplates what it means to be a young Indigenous man coming of age in contemporary Australia.
Visually spectacular, the project’s aesthetic finesse is as much a result of the superior technical team assembled by Page as his own distinctive vision. Having choreographed Bran Nue Day and The Sapphires and directed a segment of The Turning, Page is no stranger to screen work, but perhaps most evident here is the influence of his 25 years as Artistic Director of Bangarra Dance Theatre, where Spear was born as a dance production in 2000 and from which the movie was adapted.
Diverging from traditional cinematic narrative, the film plays out in a series of enigmatic and sequentially abstracted vignettes akin to a dreamscape, imbued with the rich and languid sensibility particular to cinematographer Bonnie Elliott (These Final Hours). Each movement interrogates the convergence of ancient Aboriginal culture and urban existence. In one sequence a smoke ritual is performed against the bleak backdrop of a sparse industrial space serving as a men’s prison. The audience must keep pace as settings flit unexpectedly from expansive, sun-drenched outback vistas to the stage-lit confines of a theatre set, and on to city locales- bowling alley, train station, apartment block, abandoned warehouse.
Travelling through these dislocating chapters is Djali, played by Hunter Lochard-Page, a cast member of the original production. Often accompanied by the wordless elder character Old Man (Demala Wunungmurra), Djali functions as the viewers’ proxy. By turns observer and participant, he reaches for meaning in each moment in much the same way the audience is required to derive their own understanding from the profoundly allegorical episodes artfully juxtaposed by editor Simon Njoo (The Babadook). This complex visual tapestry works in tandem with David Page’s innovative soundscapes, fusing traditional song with jarring contemporary noise, thick heartbeats and haunting echoes.
Viewers are challenged to bear witness throughout, and this may prove confronting for some. In one unsettling scene a man dances alone while the disembodied voice of his past abuser narrates. In another, Aaron Pederson delivers a blistering performance as Suicide Man, a raw chronicle of ostracism, marginalisation and disenfranchisement.
Not without humour, the film maintains a dark subversive edge even in moments of apparent absurdity. Djali and Old Man share a wry look when they happen upon a group of Indigenous dancers under a Welcome To Country banner in a rural town hall, performing a hokey, upbeat routine to the deeply racist British hit tune of 1961 “My Boomerang Won’t Come Back”. It is incisive and unflinching.
The stage influence is evident in the considered composition of each frame, and this highly stylised form will be too theatrical for some. Largely dialogue-free, Spear uses visceral, kinetic storytelling to connect with its audience, and at a sharp 84 minutes running time, the film is vigorous and immersive. The non-linear narrative is layered, dense and occasionally impenetrable. Heavy with symbolism, it is not always a comfortable watch and demands continual viewer participation in meaning-making.
Ultimately, Page’s anomalous cinematic creation is perfectly suited to its material; at the heart of Spear is a profound love and respect for Aboriginal culture and the complexity of its union with contemporary urban life, perhaps illustrated most beautifully in the striking final dance tableau.
This is a film for those who like to have their hearts and minds engaged simultaneously and fully.
“Spear” opens in cinemas for a limited time from 10 March. Screening details available at http://www.spear-film.com.au/
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