Van Diemen's Land

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My friend Beth's review of Van Diemen's Land begins as follows:

From the very first moment that Van Diemen’s Land starts you know that you are in for a disturbing ride. Underlying the lamenting score is an unpleasant piercing sound; this film is an assault on the senses. You hear the wind brushing through the trees, the rushing water, every twig snap and every bone crunch - the effect is unnerving. There have been stories buzzing around the Internet about audience members vomiting or fainting whilst watching this film, for once this doesn’t sound like it is just publicity hype. There is definitely something physically unsettling about the film - not simply the storyline, but the whole approach taken to tell the story.

(Read more at Onya.)

Another film friend, Josh suggests:

The opening shot of Van Diemen's Land aligns the inhospitable Tasmanian bush land with the soul, Gaelic whispers over the dense landscape decry "This God forsaken land." As the shot pushes slower, deeper into the shapeless mass of the unknown a piercing atonal sound cuts like glass, instantly forcing you to accept the revisionist stance of Australian iconography the film demands. This is not an extended tourism commercial nor a romanticized capsule of the 'land down under' intended for an international audience. Looking at darker histories of the nation it attempts to challenge the meaning assumed inherent in the landscape by observing the journey towards a heart of darkness.

(Read more at 5 Sprocket.)

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A few of my thoughts:

"There's freedom in work, lads."

For a country built on the backs of convicts, the film's opening line speaks volumes. Van Diemen's Land is a confident and utterly compelling debut from Jonathan auf der Heide. His sweeping cinematography coupled with claustrophobic close-ups sees Tasmania transform into a treacherous, forboding landscape; indeed Van Diemen's Land is as much of an antagonist as Alexander Pearce.

The use of Gallic narration provided an added layer of fable, hinting at the subjectivity of the film's source material (i.e. Pearce's later confessions in court) and the mythology that surrounds this Tasmanian tale. The historian in me would have liked to have seen more, learned more about this man - who remains largely silent throughout the film - particularly when auf der Heide has been sharing some titillating tidbits from the confession on Twitter.

Conversely, however, I applaud auf der Heide for showing us, not telling us this story. The expressionistic shots, visceral soundscape and palpable pace make this film an atmospheric rendering of the Deleuzian 'time-image'. That horrible, bloody, body bag the men lug around the bush is such a potent symbol, one I still haven't managed to shake.

Hunger is a strange silence indeed.



Australian release date: 24 September 2009