David O'Connell
The Naked Country
April 22nd 2009 21:55
Matt Shea is a guest writer on 20/20 Filmsight, and has his own excellent movie review site at Screen Trek.
In the early 1980s, the Australian government announced a new set of funding incentives for local filmmakers, chief among them being the 10BA deduction. 10BA allowed investors to claim a 150 per cent tax concession and to pay tax on only half of any income earned from the investment. As a result, a massive amount of money began flowing into the Australian film industry and a number of new productions kicked into gear. One of the artistic outcomes of these days of plenty was 1985’s “The Naked Country”, the film adaptation of Morris West’s 1960 potboiler about land rights and sweaty outback love.
Set in the 1950s northern Queensland outback, the film opens on the sprawling leasehold lands of cattle rancher Lance Dillon (the malt-voiced John Stanton, best known as Australia’s greatest exponent of the advertising voiceover) and his dissatisfied wife, Mary (Rebecca Gilling). Having just taken possession of a Brahman bull, Dillon’s ambition is to establish a new breed of cattle more resilient to the harsh northern Queensland conditions. Unfortunately, the rancher is also having troubles with members from a local tribe of Aborigines. Lead by the abrasively egalitarian Mundaru (Tommy Lewis), the group resent their sacred places being carved up for such commercial concerns as cattle breeding. Mundaru’s sympathies earn little sympathy from Dillon and when the Aboriginal kills the prized Brahman during a fit of rage, it triggers a battle of wits between the rancher and the tribesman that will see Dillon stranded and hunted within the vastness of his own property.
“The Naked Country” is an odd film, full of ambition and sorely lacking in execution. The troubles start with Ross Dimsey’s script. Dimsey, in adapting West’s novel, had in early drafts focused on an illicit romance that burgeons between the neglected Mary and a local constable (Ivar Kants) charged with finding Dillon. But once Tim Burstall had come onboard as director, he encouraged Dimsey to write a fresh draft that focused more on the land rights issues of the story; certainly a brave move for 1985, but probably not the right one for this film. Instead of being an insightful look into the fiery issue of land rights or the tale of a torrid love triangle, "The Naked Country" is instead a broken and undercooked cross between the two.
Things aren’t helped by flat and uninvolving photography from David Eggby and some absolutely terrible casting decisions. The soft and thoughtful Ivar Kants as the drunkenly reckless constable and former mercenary is such an ill-considered move it turns his already underwritten character into a bizarre sideshow. Elsewhere, the Indian actress Neela Day was drafted in to play Mundaru’s bride-to-be and looks absolutely out of place among the genuine Aboriginal actors, her sooty paint job changing shades scene to scene. It’s a shame, because elsewhere there are some inspired choices, with the physical Stanton filling Dillon’s boots perfectly and Tommy Lewis giving Mandaru an invigorating angst.
Ultimately, “The Naked Country” was an opportunity lost. While its attempt to enlighten audiences about land rights issues was admirable, the final treatment is awkward, underdone and would have perhaps served better as a subtext to a more character-driven tale. There’s plenty to admire with this film, but the whole thing’s undermined by its many flaws and a distinctly old-fashioned feel, even for 1985, from the static photography right down to the Bruce Smeaton’s ridiculous score. One can’t help but feel how different a modern production of this story would have turned out but, as it is, “The Naked Country” remains simply a curiosity, as unsatisfying as it is frustrating.
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