Thursday, 12 February 2015

Film review: Australian Rules



Released in 2002, Australian Rules represents one of the few attempts by filmmakers to use the greatest game of all as a muse. (Wikipedia lists only five films ever made about the code.) Like all good sports films, it isn’t really about sport, instead using it as a jumping-off point to explore deeper social and political issues.

The film takes place in the fictional Eyre Peninsula town of Prospect Bay, home to a football club (the Magpies), a pub, a runners-up medal in a 1993 Tidy Town competition, and little else besides. The first scene takes us into the club’s dressing rooms, where coach and local butcher ‘Arks’ (as in ‘I’ve arksed you blokes a thousand bloody times’) is giving his pre-match address. He is against handballing, “buggerising ‘round the flanks”, and general “finessin’”, i.e. every tactical innovation made since Ron Barassi strutted around Arden Street in a blue suit, and instead commands his charges to “go the guts”. A sign on the wall reads ‘NEGATIVE THOUGHTS CREATE NEGATIVE RESAULTS’ (sic).

We soon realise that the Magpies’ colours are supposed to symbolise the town’s racial divide. (This is probably why they wear Collingwood’s evenly-coloured stripes instead of Port Adelaide’s predominantly black ‘prison bar’ guernsey.) It is the week of the Grand Final, and with Prospect Bay’s Aboriginal ruckman having been arrested, his duties fall to the central character, Gary ‘Blacky’ Black (Nathan Phillips), an autodidact who immerses himself in books such as A More Powerful Vocabulary, and a sentimental bloke who feels alienated by the harden-the-f***-up culture of rural Australia.

The deterioration in race relations in the town is already underway when the Magpies’ indigenous contingent turn up with only ten minutes remaining until the opening bounce, almost missing another of Arks’ inspirational addresses. Prospect Bay’s opponents are Gundaroo, playing in red guernseys with a white yoke (an uncommon design – one would expect a South Australian team to go with North Adelaide’s red with white ‘V’). Blacky is losing every ruck duel (even copping a few in the old Jatz crackers), and the score is 15.10.100 to 6.4.40; it seems like a rather high-scoring game but is perhaps realistic given the parched nature of the turf. Race is the fuel for an all-in brawl (a Gundaroo players taunts his opponent with the line “you and your black mates”), and the Magpies go to the sheds battered and bruised.

Sports films often suffer from predictability in terms of their on-field outcomes, and this one is no different. Blacky leads his team in doing some of that “finessin’” that Arks dislikes, realising that his team’s height disadvantage isn’t conducive to moving the Sherrin down the middle of the field, and instead distributing the ball diagonally to indigenous speedsters like his best friend Gumby. The credit for the tactical switch must, however, go to Blacky’s mother, Liz, who in an earlier scene at the family dinner table, used sauce bottles for goalposts and a loaf of bred for the centre square to demonstrate how the Magpies might use space to neutralise their opponents’ superiority in the air.

Long story short, the Magpies win by one point, 18.15.123 to 18.14.122. An Aborigine kicks the winning minor score, and while the other thirty-four players are seemingly in Prospect Bay’s forward fifty (flooding apparently being the only post-Whitlam tactical innovation that Arks has absorbed), Blacky gets knocked out blocking a counter-attack by Gundaroo’s ruckman. Cut to the post-match clubroom celebrations, where the Magpies’ president (played by the guy who was in those Beaurepaires ads years ago) informs us that it is the Bays’ first flag in thirty-eight years, while another local dignitary waxes lyrical about the joys of football, noting sagely that “whenever men get together, great things happen”.

This is where it all kicks off. Dumby appeared to the naked eye to be the Magpies’ best player on the ground, but the Gray Medal is instead awarded to a white player. Blacky begins a fling with Dumby’s sister, Clarence, while Dumby and a cousin lead a robbery of the clubrooms which results in his being shot by Blacky’s father. As the town’s white population are in denial about the shooting, Blacky makes the trek across the highway to the indigenous reservation to attend Dumby’s funeral, stealing the Gray Medal beforehand to ensure that his friend would be buried therewith. Having been discovered in bed with Clarence, things come to a head between he and his father. After some random violence and some this-town-ain’t-big-enough-for-the-two-of-us standoffs, the father leaves in his rusty old car and Blacky is free to carry on his budding relationship with Clarence.

In terms of its portrayal of the culture of football, Australian Rules kicks a goal. There is the way in which the local club serves as the focal point for the civic life of towns like Prospect Bay (due, in part, to the fact that Australia’s comparative lack of local government areas leaves most localities without the mairie that characterises small-town France). Then there is the antediluvian tactical obscurantism of Arks’ ‘go the guts’ philosophy, inevitably outmoded by the space-creating barcelonista style used by the Magpies in the second half of the Grand Final in a perfect metaphor for the way in which the influx of Aboriginal players has altered the game. There was the awkward running through the banners (country footballers not being as well-versed in this art as the chaps on Mr. McLachlan’s circuit), the speechifying at the post-match presentations, and the roles played by women in football.

The film is also a feast for those of us who enjoy the visual side of football. We see Blacky training in a Melbourne guernsey, Arks in the old Port Adelaide prison bars, and one of Blacky’s younger brothers in the yellow-sash-on-royal-blue strip of pre-merger West Torrens. Dumby, we learn from his choices of guernsey, is a West Adelaide man, training in the Bloods’ erstwhile milanista red and black stripes and being buried in their more recent Essendonesque sash design. The on-field action scenes look staged, but at least capture that beautiful sound of boot striking Sherrin and that even more beautiful sound of flesh hitting drought-ridden turf.

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