In the midst of an off-season for Australian cinema comes a bold and audacious crazy quilt of a film that resembles its own mini-Aussie New Wave. Tim Winton's The Turning, which premiered at the Melbourne International Film Festival on Saturday, is being marketed as "a unique cinema event." That it is to say the least. The passion project of creator Robert Connolly, this three-hour epic is a wholesale adaptation of Winton's short-story collection. Each of the book's 18 stories is interpreted on film by a different team of filmmakers, including collaborators from the worlds of theatre, photography, visual art and dance.
Connolly has said he wants the film to feel like a group exhibition. To that end he's secured quite a slate of notable Aussie directors, including Warwick Thornton (Samson and Delilah), Tony Ayres (The Slap), Claire McCarthy (The Waiting City) and Justin Kurzel (Snowtown). Two high-profile actors, Mia Wasikowska and David Wenham, make impressive directorial debuts. Connolly and crew have hedged their bets with formidable stars on the other side of the camera, too, including Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, Miranda Otto and Richard Roxburgh – which should help entice viewers into cinemas on September 26 for the film's special limited Australian release.
The idea of such a curated project is noble, but it wouldn't be worth much if The Turning didn't work as feature-length entertainment. Omnibus films often feel like the cinematic equivalent of a meal of cocktail hors d'oeuvres; one of the achievements of The Turning is how well-crafted, cohesive and satisfying it is as a film. Despite its sprawling ambition and daunting runtime, it's surprisingly light on its feet – engaging, entertaining and frequently mesmerising throughout, with only a few missteps along the way.
It also effectively recreates the experience of being sucked into a top-notch short-story cycle by a gifted author. While most episodes here would stand alone, it's hard to recall another omnibus film with such narrative unity. Characters re-appear in different episodes at different stages of their lives, fleshed out in snapshots that explore recurring themes from different angles. In that sense it works a bit like a TV series, where different creative teams adhere to one master vision (with Connolly as showrunner, perhaps). The different disciplinary approaches and mixed media generally keep things fresh and interesting.
It's also a beautifully, unapologetically Australian film, imbued with the rhythm and detail of life in the remote coastal towns and hinterlands of Winton's home in Western Australia. The lives of fishermen, surfers, AFL players, the working class and angst-ridden suburbanites are chronicled with sometimes dark themes, including alcoholism, child homicide and police corruption. A number of key episodes feature Aboriginal characters and symbols. Though the film courts the mystical, it's grounded with romance and macabre suspense.
The collection begins with a stunning animated preface from director Marieka Walsh that establishes central motifs, including the sea, fishing and fire. The first story, Thornton's Big World, draws the viewer in with a story of boyhood friendship and regret that's as affecting as it is evocative. Like the best pieces here (especially the outstanding centrepiece stories, Aryes' Cockleshell and McCarthy's The Turning) it succeeds by avoiding the precious, one-dimensional quality of so many short films; it trusts the audience enough to present a tantalising glimpse of a fully-formed dramatic world. Most episodes are strikingly open-ended; the same characters are played by different actors, often of different races, creating a dreamlike quality.
The film's ambition occasionally gets the best of it. The interwoven stories aren't easy to track if you haven't read the book. (A glossy 40-page guide to the film and its characters will be handed out at each screening.) A couple of episodes intended to flesh out the overarching story are muddled, especially Reunion from theatre director Simon Stone, which despite the heavyweight presence of Roxburgh and Blanchett can't seem to find its tone. Wasikowska's blackly comic piece Long, Clear View is excellent, but the transition from the catastrophe at sea which ends the previous episode is awkward. Yaron Lifschitz's modern-dance piece Immunity, though gorgeous, disrupts the overall flow. Even supporters will admit the film as a whole is too long.
Despite these stumbles, Connolly and his collaborators have come up with something really special. Like a good compilation album it sticks with you as an organic whole and should reward repeat viewings, especially in home formats.
From here.
