The racial stereotype of modern day Aborigines: deprived, disadvantaged, work-shy, illiterate, apathetic, living hopeless marginalised life's; prone to boozing themselves into oblivion.
Was this film going to deviate from the stereotype to tell us something new, different, original? No.
Non-actors doing a lot of non-acting. Don't give them too many, or any – in Samson's case – words to say; this mute inexpressiveness representative of how Aborgine's – in the wider society – have not been warranted a voice; they've barely any valid means by which to express their identity – other than flogging their tatty dot art; or authenticate their indigenous existence – other than being stuck away in isolated dusty tin huts, and left to, well – waste themselves away inside a vacuum of apathetic poverty.
I didn't see Samson and Delilah as romantic lovers; more like inured victims torpidly wandering around one another with nothing much better to do. Chronic passivity seems to leech out their souls like some kind of fatal disease. Even the "action" scenes look limply acted; Samson whacks a bro on head. Bro whacks Samson on head. Delilah gets whacked on head by aunts and elders for letting her old nan die. But all this whacking feels faked; the sticks look hollow, the whacking lacks real fight or resistance. Maybe that's Aborigine Warwick Thorntons (director) point: Aborigines have lost their resolve to resist, their will to fight for themselves. So they give up, give in, without a protest, without a murmur. Stupefied victims.
This passivity follows the film around like a mute little dog. Various horrible humiliations Thornton ticks off a checklist of offscreen accidents and abuses to contrive ongoing narrative; thereby giving a prick or two to the liberal conscience of white audiences; while tacking these Aborigine amateurs along, not giving them too much character to express or emote or saying to do. Thornton even casts his own brother Scott as a homeless alcoholic gonzo living under a fly-over; Scott repeats his dialogue like he were reading the script off the back wall. In other words, once again, the acting feels fake. Maybe something as contrived as "acting" is something yer old fashioned original Aborigine never had to do. Pretending – as in acting, and faking it better – is what yer new style inauthentic Aborigine is going to have to learn how to get a whole lot smarter at.
But right now the attitude – as personified in this film – is: Aborigines can't really be bothered. Or if bothered, they have to be returned to the outback to shoot kangaroo living in state subsided tin shacks, isolated, disconnected, disappeared. But with original Aboriginal authenticity preserved, and with integrity somehow still in tact.
An implausible, hopeful, "faked" ending. About as phony as the rest of the film had been.
Was this film going to deviate from the stereotype to tell us something new, different, original? No.
Non-actors doing a lot of non-acting. Don't give them too many, or any – in Samson's case – words to say; this mute inexpressiveness representative of how Aborgine's – in the wider society – have not been warranted a voice; they've barely any valid means by which to express their identity – other than flogging their tatty dot art; or authenticate their indigenous existence – other than being stuck away in isolated dusty tin huts, and left to, well – waste themselves away inside a vacuum of apathetic poverty.
I didn't see Samson and Delilah as romantic lovers; more like inured victims torpidly wandering around one another with nothing much better to do. Chronic passivity seems to leech out their souls like some kind of fatal disease. Even the "action" scenes look limply acted; Samson whacks a bro on head. Bro whacks Samson on head. Delilah gets whacked on head by aunts and elders for letting her old nan die. But all this whacking feels faked; the sticks look hollow, the whacking lacks real fight or resistance. Maybe that's Aborigine Warwick Thorntons (director) point: Aborigines have lost their resolve to resist, their will to fight for themselves. So they give up, give in, without a protest, without a murmur. Stupefied victims.
This passivity follows the film around like a mute little dog. Various horrible humiliations Thornton ticks off a checklist of offscreen accidents and abuses to contrive ongoing narrative; thereby giving a prick or two to the liberal conscience of white audiences; while tacking these Aborigine amateurs along, not giving them too much character to express or emote or saying to do. Thornton even casts his own brother Scott as a homeless alcoholic gonzo living under a fly-over; Scott repeats his dialogue like he were reading the script off the back wall. In other words, once again, the acting feels fake. Maybe something as contrived as "acting" is something yer old fashioned original Aborigine never had to do. Pretending – as in acting, and faking it better – is what yer new style inauthentic Aborigine is going to have to learn how to get a whole lot smarter at.
But right now the attitude – as personified in this film – is: Aborigines can't really be bothered. Or if bothered, they have to be returned to the outback to shoot kangaroo living in state subsided tin shacks, isolated, disconnected, disappeared. But with original Aboriginal authenticity preserved, and with integrity somehow still in tact.
An implausible, hopeful, "faked" ending. About as phony as the rest of the film had been.