Snowtown (2011)

Happiness. Sadness. Heartache. Nervousness. Excitement. Fear. 

Films regularly provoke these feelings and emotions. For a film (generally a story that doesn’t involve the audience personally) to provoke these feelings is an achievement; however the achievement is belittled by the everyday, or at least regular, use of these feelings. It is for this reason that ‘Theatre of Cruelty’ has such a hard-hitting impact. In the ‘Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms’ Theatre of Cruelty is described as:

“a term introduced by the French actor Antonin Artaud in a series of manifestos in the 1930s, collected as Le Théâtre et son double (1938). It refers to his projected revolution in drama, whereby the rational ‘theatre of psychology’ was to be replaced by a more physical and primitive rite intended to shock the audience into an awareness of life's cruelty and violence.”

However, it is no longer enough to replace inward, Stanislavski style acting with physical and primitive performances. New methods have needed to be introduced in order “to shock the audience into an awareness of life’s cruelty and violence.” Since the 1930s cinema censorship has adapted, boundaries have been pushed and the theatre of cruelty has crept onto our screens and keeps shocking new audiences. How do films that implement the theatre of cruelty succeed in affecting audiences deeply where other films fail? It’s due to the feelings that are provoked. As humans we actively seek the everyday feelings mentioned above, the happiness helps us feel good about ourselves and the sadness and heartache make the happiness, excitement and love we feel all the stronger. Disgust is not a feeling we pursue, it’s not a feeling we like, or understand to be necessary. But it’s a feeling that provokes deeper thought, which in turn provokes debate.

While writing an article about the range of audience reactions to his controversial comedy, Ricky Gervais struck a point that transcends comedy and reaches at performance in general:

“When dealing with a so-called taboo subject, the angst and discomfort of the audience is what’s under the microscope.” – Ricky Gervais

Part of the debate sparked by visceral performances and horrific films is a debate about the reactions of audience members. The horror and disgust of some audience members speaks volumes about them, but just as important are the lack of reactions of those who are able to casually watch films that implement the theatre of cruelty. The same can be said about controversial comedy.

John Bunting was a serial killer in the 1990s who was able to manipulate the people around him to help kill eleven people in Snowtown, just north of Adelaide, South Australia. He tortured and killed, primarily, people he thought to be paedophiles or homosexuals. Snowtown (2011), an Australian film directed by Justin Kurzel, tells the story of Bunting and these eleven murders. The film is written from the point of view of Jamie Vlassakis, a young man that Bunting manipulates and becomes a paternal figure to. Playing the story out through a less guilty party allows the audience the option to relate to a key character. This of course creates a connection with the film that would be far less likely than if the film was from Bunting’s perspective. This technique was used in a similar way in the film Der Untergang (2004), or Downfall, a film about Hitler’s final days. By viewing it from his secretary’s perspective it allows a voyeuristic view of Hitler, turning him from a cartoony monster, into a sometimes frail, human being, making the thoughts of his crimes even more shocking. That is one of the keys to making Snowtown all the more shocking, painting Bunting as a charismatic human being, not a caricature of evil.

The film is distinctly Australian, the opening title cards make sure everyone is aware of this, but the audience don’t get the coral reef, clear sky, white sandy beaches they expect of Australia from travel brochures. The surrounding locations are grim, dilapidated with natural colours seemingly muted. The very scenery seems to uphold the bleakness that the rest of the film promises. There is a large cast, but the majority of them are on the side-lines, the key characters are John Bunting and Jamie Vlassakis played by Daniel Henshall and Lucas Pittaway. Pittaway was a none-actor who stepped into the role of the young, abused Jamie. Henshall gives a performance that is both enigmatic and tough to turn away from. Is he helping Jamie? Or is he just carrying on the cycle of abuse in a different way? Although the answer is clear, the paternal relationship is not. The relationship is there, but does Bunting care for Jamie like a son, or does he simply want to be looked up to like a father? Henshall flips from charismatic friend to aggressive abuser with ease, while Pittaway generally plays his passive character with monotony; he doesn’t have a great deal of lines, he doesn’t do a lot. Vlassakis constantly gets abused and goes along with stronger, more alpha personalities. It is this monotony that adds depth to his infrequent outbreaks and tears.

Justin Kurzel’s feature directorial debut is filled with tension from the opening to the end. After a quiet start it is revealed that Jamie and his brothers are victims or a local paedophile, they allow themselves to be taken photos of with no apparent resistance. The lack of resistance continues as Jamie is raped by his half-brother. The apathy to such actions creates a bleak depression rather than a gruelling disgust. Bunting’s arrival is a blessing despite the audience’s knowledge of his future actions. His charismatic paternal relationship with Jamie is a ray of light in an otherwise dismally dark story, as Bunting, with the help of Jamie and his brothers, forces the paedophile out of the town. But the promising light is shadowed with the knowledge that this is a story of John Bunting’s violent murders. Jamie soon becomes a victim, not of sexual assault, but of Bunting’s stranglehold on the community. Jamie is made an accomplice first in the murder of a dog, and later into the murder of humans, some of which are his friends and family. While it is clear to the audience that Jamie has been passed from one form of abuse to another, it isn’t clear to him. The first time Jamie shows any strong emotion is when his mother reveals that she had a fight with John, his new friend and mentor. Despite the mental abuse clear in the relationship, Jamie orders his mother not to ruin his new situation. He cares more about making sure John sticks around than his mother’s happiness.

The film requires the dedication of the audience; the mental dedication to sit through two hours of dark tension, but also the dedication to have researched the story. There are a lot of important plot points or character details left to implication. Many characters aren’t properly introduced or developed, but this is to keep the focus on Jamie, whose story is deeply disturbing in itself. The film doesn’t explain who the victims are or why they were victims, perceived paedophilia or homosexuality is implied (which seems to sit alright with the surrounding bigoted society), but some victims are clearly neither. Depending on how well you know the story, you will either see this as a failing on the part of the filmmakers, or the complete opposite. The lack of surrounding information provided helps provoke questions that make the audience feel the need to learn more about the subject. The film is not supposed to be educational, like a documentary about the events, but a story about a false parental relationship between a sadistic man and a naïve, impressionable boy. 

There are some deeply disturbing scenes of violence and torture, scenes that are tough to watch, but tough to shy away from (in the key torture scene Bunting keeps shouting at Jamie to stay and watch, also seemingly daring the audience to keep their eyes focused on the screen). However the majority of the violence is implied. The deaths are implied by answer phone messages to loved ones explaining the necessity to move away, or by shots of a bath-tub stained with blood. The film is an incredible tour-de-force and well worth the mental torture the audience have to endure, but a film that clearly wasn’t designed for a wide array of audiences.

Written by Edward L. Corrigan on 24/11/2011