Concept Analysis: AmericaniZation

Americanisation in Australian film and television has implications beyond the celluloid and digital realm, with Philip and Roger Bell aptly describing the concept as both “a model and a menace”. Americanisation is a social, cultural and economical predicament that can be viewed as either a model or a menace depending on how one looks at it. Many see Americanisation as a serious threat to the identity of Australian cinema as a national cinema. Others see it as an artistic dilemma, in that the economic desire of Hollywood budgeting and box office gross may impact negatively on the artistic integrity of many Australian films and television. These two points would be thus categorised by the Bell’s as a menace. On the other end of the spectrum, Americanisation is often seen as a Model as it is a dominating precedent in global cinema that may benefit a film or television programme, and indeed the entire industry, economically if Americanisation is employed.

The ‘menace’ of Americanisation is something that is both feared and combatted in Australian cinema and television, as it seen as an attack, regardless of intentionality, to Australian uniqueness, particularly the Australian national character. This threat is explored in great detail in Philip Noyce’s 1978 Australian film, Newsfront. The film relies much on the Australian sensibility of not selling out, and in the case of Newsfront, Americanisation is presented in a way that suggests it is a menace that is imminent and altogether inevitable. The villain of the film, Frank becomes a villain when he succumbs to Americanisation and thus ‘sells out’, essentially destroying his Australian character. This ultimately portrays Americanisation as a cultural vacuum that thrives on transforming, assimilating, or deforming (depending what perspective you take), the cultural identity of the Australian screen, and therefore a menace.

This brings forth the issue of what the Bell’s call creolisation, that is, the blending of two national filmic languages. This is something that is inevitable with the existence of globalisation, but still bears a hostile reaction, such as in the somewhat recent American remake of Kath & Kim. However, ironically, Kath & Kim is in essence aesthetically and structurally a creole. Although the humour, the characters and their surroundings are unmistakably Australian, the way it is shot and edited is not. The absence of a laugh track and the handheld camera was a trend at the time with American sitcoms such as Curb Your Enthusiasm and Arrested Development, rising in popularity and emulation. This thus seems hypocritical of Australian cinema and television to reject Americanisation when there is most certainly a presence of Australianisation.

“The United states remains a powerful social model and cultural precursor which other societies cannot ignore” – Bell’s. This statement by the Bell’s is one that best illustrates the aforementioned unavoidable pressure of America as a social and cultural model for the Australia screen industry. It also best illustrates the considerably negative artistic downfalls that are bundled with it. It begs the difficult question of whether it’s fair, as Australians, to substitute genuine Australian artistic integrity with Hollywood characteristics in order to succeed financially.

In order to answer this, one needs to look no further than Baz Luhrmann’s filmography. Mart Anne Reid describes Luhrmann as a director who has a “confident sense of audience”. His 1992 film Strictly Ballroom, for example, is definitely a more Australian film and indeed more highly acclaimed than the films that followed (Romeo + Juliet, Moulin Rouge! and Australia), however it did not perform nearly as well at the box office. In other words, Luhrmann Americanized the latter films for a more positive economic turnout. One may ask: is this fair? Or to put it more bluntly: Did Luhrmann, as an Australian, sell out? Does Luhrmann immediately and unquestionably have to adhere to the proud Australian standard and integrity? Although many may disagree, there are evidently both rigid, however, powerful forces on both artistic and economic sides.

It therefore seems justified to say that, although Americanisation is certainly seen as a menace, its social, cultural and economic influences on Australian cinema and television seem unavoidably crucial. It is a concept that is incredibly complex as it is in constant evolution, but can be most easily categorised as the Bell’s suggested, as both “a model and a menace”.

Film Review: Black Balloon

Set in the early 1990s, Elissa Down’s 2008 directorial debut, The Black Balloon, is in essence a nod to Australian 90s cinema. The film pays homage to the iconic, feel-good, quirky tragicomedies of the decade, with the casting of Collette (a heroine of early 90s Aussie comedies such as Spotswood and Muriel’s wedding) as heavily pregnant mother, Maggie, seeming all too deliberate.

Collette however takes a backseat to the action in The Black Balloon with Home and Away alumni and silver screen newcomer, Rhys Wakefield, claiming the lead role as the hormone-ravaged fifteen year old, Thomas Mollison. The film follows Thomas’ struggle through growing up and social isolation, all the while dealing with the acceptance of his autistic brother Charlie (Luke Ford). With the added burdens of fitting into a new school, his mothers looming labour and his father’s (Erik Thompson) military position determining another imminent, temporary relocation, Thomas finds an escape in a romance with local schoolgirl, Jackie (Gemma Ward). The film is essentially a story of growing up, dealing with mental illness, and finding the balance between the sudden, new inevitabilities of growing and the unchangeable forces of permanency.

The film carries all the typical traits of a mental illness comedy-drama, including faeces, unwarranted masturbation, and constant moaning. More than that however, the film feels aesthetically very much like an Australian film of the 90s; complete with denim overalls, Super Nintendo’s, moustaches and a creeping feeling of pre-9/11 innocent cynicism. The only thing missing is a Savage Garden soundtrack. The music however (predominantly a 21^st century synth-score provided by musician Michael Yezerski with the likes of Josh Pyke, Crowded House and David Campbell also contributing tracks) never feels as nostalgic as it probably should. It seems the film may only have been set in the 90s for the desire of a 90s cinema comparison, and the film to an extent achieves this. It tries to be Muriel’s Wedding with simple, yet quirky characters dealing with dysfunction, and The Black Balloon in a way certainly succeeds, but in other circumstances falls short.

As mostly unpretentious as the film may appear, the 90s quirkiness in the film often feels contrived and at times even clumsy, particularly in the relationship of Thomas and Jackie. This however seems at no fault to the acting of either Wakefield or Ward who both deliver solid performances, but rather to Down’s heavy-handed direction and writing of the romance. As physically unconvincing as supermodel, Ward, is as a pushbike riding, hot-pink helmet clad fifteen year old, her character Jackie is far more unbelievable. She is far too convenient and uncomfortably perfect, and her unwavering loyalty to Thomas through all the awkward poo-related and masturbatory catastrophes feels incongruous with the typical timid nature of a fifteen-year-old girl. The dialogue between the two, which is filled to the brim with mature insight and quirky quips, often feels a little ham-handed too, especially considering the discourse between other characters, which is mostly top-notch conversational dialogue.

With that said, most actors give stellar performances, particularly the always-excellent Collette who graces the screen with a humorous and smart presence. However the standout performance, and one that the film will be remembered for, is from Ford as Charlie. Ford gives a certain tenderness and restraint to a role that could have been otherwise uncomfortably over-the-top, delivering it in a way that challenges political correctness without seeming unrealistic. You can partly thank Down’s mostly fantastic script, which writes the character of Charlie as a very disconnected, however wholly believable and insanely likable asset to the cast of misfits. This is an understandable outcome considering Down’s upbringing in an autistic household, something that has a significant resonance in the film. There is a great sense of respect for the characters and storyline, which never appears insensitive and, albeit, never too sensitive. Apart from the few aforementioned hiccups along the way, for the most part, the conversational dialogue and relationships feel real, intelligent and deeply affecting.

All in all, Down’s directorial debut, The Black Balloon, is a strong, however flawed one. Though these flaws are easily forgivable considering the first-rate acting from the entire cast and a script that, as inconsistent as some of it may be, always comes across as respectful, delicate and sincere. It is a film that does its 90s predecessors justice, and one that will no doubt be looked back on in many years to come as the film that jumpstarted the careers of Rhys Wakefield (who recently appeared in the James Cameron-produced blockbuster, Sanctum 3D) and the brilliant Luke Ford (who recently appeared in the commercially and critically successful, Animal Kingdom).