This is another one of those worryingly fashionable and prominent documentaries that offers plentiful sound-bites set to almost non-stop music, but precious little insight. Like that terribly overrated skateboarding flick Dogtown And Z-Boys, this is a barrage of information that you didn't care to know, delivered by people sometimes visibly salivating at the prospect of recounting a story that isn't really worth telling.
Many of these subjects are so rigorously determined to mythologize this period of Aussie film-making, that they end up telling tales that make them look like a smirking misanthropy collective. Wasn't it funny when that actress nearly drowned, just because some schmuck of a director couldn't get the shot that he wanted? How about when Henry Silva, an actor petrified of heights, almost p*ssed himself with fear because a camera crew took him 70ft off the ground without warning him? And that Etc sequence in Patrick? They considered giving the actor real shock therapy! What lovable rogues! What tw*ts.
Stir in the endless shrugging off of numerous instances of casual racism and misogyny, and you're left with a pretty empty document of little genuine significance.
There are a handful of interesting, level-headed contributors (one of them being an uncharacteristically restrained Quentin Tarantino) but there is no form, structure or analysis of any cultural impact that this movement may have had. Which is a shame, because such analysis may have justified the film's existence.
There may well be valuable things to say about this subject, but it'll take a much more ambitious director to do it.
Many of these subjects are so rigorously determined to mythologize this period of Aussie film-making, that they end up telling tales that make them look like a smirking misanthropy collective. Wasn't it funny when that actress nearly drowned, just because some schmuck of a director couldn't get the shot that he wanted? How about when Henry Silva, an actor petrified of heights, almost p*ssed himself with fear because a camera crew took him 70ft off the ground without warning him? And that Etc sequence in Patrick? They considered giving the actor real shock therapy! What lovable rogues! What tw*ts.
Stir in the endless shrugging off of numerous instances of casual racism and misogyny, and you're left with a pretty empty document of little genuine significance.
There are a handful of interesting, level-headed contributors (one of them being an uncharacteristically restrained Quentin Tarantino) but there is no form, structure or analysis of any cultural impact that this movement may have had. Which is a shame, because such analysis may have justified the film's existence.
There may well be valuable things to say about this subject, but it'll take a much more ambitious director to do it.