By Claire.

Small town Western Australia, 1965. The bright and inquisitive Charlie Bucktin is woken in the middle of the night by the town’s mixed-race outcast, Jasper Jones. Begging for help, Jasper lures Charlie to a clearing in the bush on the outskirts of town to find a sinister end for local girl Laura Wishart. Charlie is thus whisked into a whirlwind of mystery and secrecy, as he tries to find out who killed this girl. Three kids swept up into a complicated adult world, Jasper Jones is the ultimate young Australian gothic, and one of the best Australian films I have ever seen.

Prior to university, when I thought of Australian film I thought of the low calibre, ocker and subversive. This perception was founded on too many viewings of Round the Twist, and little actual knowledge of Australian film. Here’s the thing, though: Australia can make great films, of high calibre - they just occur few and far between.

(left to right) Angourie Rice as Eliza Wishart, Aaron L. McGrath as Jasper Jones and Levi Miller as Charlie Bucktin

Directed by Rachel Perkins, Jasper Jones is an example of the standard that Australian films can demonstrate. What Perkins achieves, and sets the film apart, is a deep understanding and respect not only for the text, but for Australian stories. This level of respect is something last year’s Joe Cinque’s Consolation fell short of achieving. Both stories of crime, both adapted from books, but both with vastly different outcomes. In an article for The Guardian, James Robert Douglas argues the issue with Joe Cinque’s Consolation was that the author of the book, Helen Garner, wasn’t involved in the adaption. Based on a true story, instead of a straight adaption of Garner’s investigation, director and writer Sotiris Dounoukos chose to dramatise the events of Joe Cinque’s murder, in a way which had myself and others in the cinema cringing, not gasping. Harsh words, but the film had a distinct aura of not taking itself seriously. This could be due to it being Dounoukos’ first feature, or a lack of understanding as deep as only Garner’s investigative reporting and writing can provide. 

On the other hand, there is Jasper Jones. Adapted from the Australian modern classic by Craig Silvey, Silvey was primary writer on the screenplay and actively on set every day, keeping a close eye on the adaption and providing support as a person who knew the story. In addition, as revealed at the Cinema Nova Q&A, what eventually led producers Vincent Sheehan and David Jowsey to choose Perkins for the role of director was her deep understanding of the book. What results is a story taken seriously and filled with intricate details, and a film that hits the mark, spot on.

Charlie and Jasper confronting Mad Jack Lionel in Jasper Jones

This successful inclusion of the author is also the case for The Dressmaker. Directed by Jocelyn Moorehouse and based on the book by Rosalie Ham, The Dressmaker opened at #1 in the Australian box office - no small feat in a culture which often overlooks Australian film for the latest US blockbuster. Unlike Silvey, Ham did not write the screenplay for the adaption of her book, but early interviews indicate she was active in the production.

Like Jasper Jones, The Dressmaker is a mid-century Australian gothic set in a small town. In the hands of any other directors both films could have fallen into the all-too-familiar pit of the ocker and larrikin typical of many Australian male directors, as evident in the absurdly successful Crocodile Dundee in the 1980s and ever-present in Australian films ever since. The effect this has had on Australian films is the notion of cultural cringe, parodies of Australian life, as if the filmmakers are embarrassed of telling an Australian story. Perkins and Moorehouse avoid this, though, and tell Australian stories with heart. Perhaps this is due to them being women. The ocker and its ties to Crocodile Dundee is a masculine perspective, whereas women are not included in this identity. The ocker does not influence their style, and thus female directors offer a fresh perspective for Australian screens.

(left to right) Judy Davis, Sarah Snook and Kate Winslet in The Dressmaker

This is not to say Australian men can’t make beautiful films, such as Simon Stone’s The Daughter and Garth Davis’ Lion, but the perception of ockerness persists. The inclusion of female directors gives a fresh, more serious point of view to Australian cinema. Due to being outside of the traditional Australian identity, female directors know how to make a good film, as they aren’t bound to Australia’s history of the ocker and the subversive. Of course, this is improving, with Screen Australia’s Gender Matters initiative, and active conversations happening around the country and throughout the industry. Women need to be given more opportunities to tell stories, because time and time again these films have shown what should define the Australian film industry.


Jasper Jones is out in cinemas March 2nd.

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Cause a Cine do not own any images used in this post.

By Kate

The Bechdel Test originates from Alison Bechdel's comic 'Dyke to Watch Out For'

Last year I saw the film Swiss Army Man (2016, written and directed by Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan), featuring Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It was funny, endearing, creative and it had more heart than any film I’d seen in a long time. Yet it was about the woes of two middleclass straight, white guys, hardly a ground breaking concept. We demand better representation of race, gender and sexuality etc. in our media so can I justify liking and supporting a film that does none of these things? Shouldn’t I put my money where my mouth is?

My moral crisis is not I cannot like a film like Swiss Army Man because of its poor representation, but that I should not. I should not support a film that does not hire diversely, on and behind the camera. Where you spend your money matters. It tells the people who are making the thing to please keep making the thing the way that you are making the thing. If you want the studios to stop making the remakes of everything ever, stop going to see them. If you want the studios to stop making these blindingly white, male centric films, stop giving them money to do so. The power of the consumer is where ethics and economy meet.

A film does not necessarily have to jump over these bars that we set it to be a good film. There is no question in my mind that Swiss Army Man (and many other films that do not pass the Bechdel Test) is a good film. It is incredibility creative, charming, funny and beautifully written, shot and acted. It is, in essence, a good film, an excellent film and simply meeting the requirements of diversity in representation that we demand does not necessarily a good film make.

So could Swiss Army Man have been made differently? Certainly if an actor of colour had replaced Dano or Radcliffe it wouldn’t have made a world of difference to the film. If an actress had replaced Dano or Radcliffe we would probably have a very different film on our hands. Whether Swiss Army Woman would have been a better or worse film we will never know. 

Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe in Swiss Army Man

Whether or not I can love a film that isn’t diverse is simple: I can. I do. The Daniels have told a story that touches me somewhere in my heart. Whether I should like a film that is not diverse is more complicated. It disappoints me that more women weren’t written into the story in some way but I can appreciate the story that is being told. It disappoints me that the casting wasn’t more diverse but I will still praise the performances of Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe. It doesn’t align with my values but does that mean that I should swear off this film like a vegetarian swears off meat? Is it enough to be aware of the problematic elements in a film that is otherwise an excellent and original piece of cinema?

The conclusion I have come to is that I will continue to support Swiss Army Man because it does things that I do value and that I want to see more in cinema. It is an original and well-told story with heart and a message that makes me think. I will continue to demand diversity in my media but I will recognise a good story where it is due.

Cause a Cine does not own any images used in this post.

By Claire.

Warning: vague spoilers 

Movies where the protagonist is forced to go back to their home town after a tragic event and confront life (do I dare borrow from The Big Chill and call these stories of ‘Lost Hope?’) are some of my favourites, bonus if it’s an ensemble cast. I think this comes from my own upbringing in a country town which I couldn’t wait to get out of. It was for this reason, the casting of Kyle Chandler and the imagery shown in the trailer which all accumulated in me paying money for a ticket to see Manchester by the Sea. I wish I didn’t.

For the past three years, my sister and I have done our Big Oscar Watch, where we endeavour to see as many, if not all, of the Academy Award Best Picture nominations before the awards broadcast. All but too aware of Casey Affleck’s sexual abuse allegations, I went into Manchester By the Sea with a guilty heart. I tried my best to keep an open mind, but as soon as the credits (finally) started to roll, I broke my rule of waiting for the house lights to come up and was out of my seat and out of the cinema.

Manchester by the Sea is a story about Lee Chandler (Affleck), a domestic janitor forced to go back to his small, seaside hometown of Manchester, after the sudden death of his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler). Lee is now left with the guardianship of his teenage nephew, and the memories of the tragic events which forced his leave from the town in the first place. Basically, this movie is sad. It was sadder than I anticipated, and while the emotion was felt, the whole production came off as being for show. Despite being equipped with beautiful imagery and camera work in picturesque seaside Massachusetts, I’m ready to call out this movie for what it truly is: nothing more than a star vehicle to establish Casey Affleck as a Serious Actor, by giving him the role of the tortured soul.

Casey Affleck's one facial expression, as Lee (Left) and Lucas Hedges as his nephew, Patrick (Right)

Let’s be real, who had even heard of Casey Affleck before this movie came around? A name which has in no small feat only been escalated in the media due to his sexual abuse allegations, and outrage over his recent Golden Globes and BAFTA win, as discussed in this post. What better way to bring him into the Hollywood spotlight than by giving him a role where he seldom talks unless he is organising other people’s lives without explaining himself, punching men in bars just for looking at him funny, and has the same stoic expression on his face. I will admit, not all the acting was bad, but there are enough tortured soul white male roles out there, we don’t need another one.

What I also found disturbing is the treatment of women. This movie is so obviously made by men, it’s laughable.

First, let’s address Lee’s sixteen-year-old nephew Patrick (Lucas Hedges), and his two girlfriends. Not only is this knowledge made known in the trailer, but is brought up in the film without any repercussions. Like, are we supposed to be ok with this? Without going into the polygamy debate, the reason this irks me so is that neither girl knows about the other. While the brunette Sylvie (Kara Hayward) provides emotional support for Patrick while he grieves, the blonde Sandy (Anna Baryshnikov) only acts as an object for Patrick to have sex with, as goes the only plot point in their relationship. Why not get a girl who can do both? The secrecy of Patrick’s infidelity is a form manipulation and reinforces the idea that women exist for nothing more than consumption and pleasure, as so often told around the teen boy narrative such as teen sex comedies.

Secondly, I think Michelle Williams did an excellent job as Lee’s ex-wife Randi, given the circumstances her character are given. By this, I don’t only mean in her ability to grieve and move on, but how her character was written, especially in regards to Lee. In the scene where Lee and Randi bump into each other on the street and they both cry out their emotions, I understand the pain and need for closure. Yet, while Randi is sobbing out apologies for the harsh words she said all those years ago, Lee says nothing about his mistakes. She isn’t angry to see him back in Manchester, and if I were in her shoes, I would be.

Michelle Williams as Randi, confronting Lee (Affleck)

Dear Randi: your wicked words were and are still valid, this man’s negligence freaking killed your kids! I understand it was an accident, I understand you have found it in yourself to move on, but what I fail to understand is why you are standing there, in front of your ex-husband with your new born baby from a man who probably has his life together, sobbing apologies for a few harsh words and wailing “I still love you’s!”.  It is only in a man’s world in which a woman—a mother—would be so forgiving in such a situation, and still in love with their ex-husband who effectively murdered their children, without any, at the very least, on-screen confrontation.

During the scene, Lee, thick with tears, contends “No, there’s nothing there” in reaction to Randi’s declarations of love. This distances himself from her, and is a responsible reaction, as he recognises he is no good for her. Yet, due to the scripting and characterisation of Williams’ character, the resulting dynamic between the two though leaves Randi as the wailing woman, crazy and hopelessly in love with Affleck’s brooding, tortured soul. Like Patrick’s girlfriend’s, Randi is a device to redeem Lee as a character. What we are left with is the feeling that, if his ex-wife can still love him, he mustn’t be that bad of a man.

There are enough movies about the tortured white male, who can be an asshole without judgement because life has dealt him some bad blows. Furthermore, there are enough movies which feature 2-dimensional women, who only exist to make the tortured males look good. In today’s political and cultural climate, we don’t have the time for such movies, especially during award season. It is a record-year for African American stories and filmmakers at the Academy Awards, it’s no wonder Manchester by the Sea is receiving little to no recognition. I have already said my piece on the injustice of the continuous celebration of men in the film industry who are known sexual abusers in regards to Affleck’s Golden Globe earlier this year, but it’s no wonder it is getting overshadowed by Moonlight and Hidden Figures. We don’t need movies like this anymore, and quite frankly, I’m more than happy to see them go. 

Cause a Cine do not own any of the images used in this post.

By Rachel

*CONTAINS SPOILERS*

What do Louise Banks of Arrival and Ellen Ripley of Alien have in common? Extraterrestrial buddies, a troubled relationship with the military, and a tendency to defy authority.

What they don’t have in common, though, is infinitely more interesting.

After recently experiencing the grand, sweeping frames of Denis Villeneuve ‘s Arrival within a week of watching one of my all-time favourite science fiction works, Ridley Scott’s Alien, it sprung to mind that female leads of this genre used to come by once in a blue moon. Over the past few decades, though, female protagonists of science fiction have significantly increased in number.

Sarah Connor of the Terminator series, Eleanor Arroway of Contact, Evey Hammond of V for Vendetta, Katniss Everdeen of The Hunger Games, Furiosa of Mad Max: Fury Road, and Rey of Star Wars: The Force Awakens are arguably all iconic characters of the science fiction genre. Katniss in particular has played a large role in popularising female protagonists in a franchise that appeals to both teenage girls and boys.

In many ways, though, Scott’s film was revolutionary. It was still the 1970s, and here was a woman, out-surviving the men on a spaceship where at any turn H.R. Giger’s alien could tear her apart. Sigourney Weaver’s character is the first to see through the corrupt behaviour of the traitor Ash and the last left to initiate the self-destruction of the Nostromo. She is a badass kinda woman.  

 Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley in the Alien franchise [source]

It should be said, though, that I’m a little biased. Ripley is one of my favourite characters in film, primarily because she doesn't take any prisoners when it comes to leadership and doing what needs to be done. As much as she’s smart and rational, she doesn’t hide her emotions and isn’t afraid of showing her true colours. She is courageous and intelligent, while still retaining her sense of independence as the only female character capable of making cut-throat decisions on a mission where men blindly follow orders. She represents neither the archetype of the masculine woman out to prove herself in a man's world, nor the studious career woman hell bent on professional success with no interest in a family. She is something else altogether. As we discover in Aliens, Ripley had a family, back on Earth, and she shows great compassion to Newt, the young girl found orphaned after aliens take over her human colony. At the same time, though, Ripley decries the stereotypical feminine aesthetic of 'the only woman on the spaceship', as many would remember from the somewhat dated episodes of Star Trek and Lost in Space. She is muscular and agile, but this does not make her manly – she is simply a strong human being.

Of course, Scott’s work is not without its problems. Ripley is at times sexualised throughout the franchise – who can forget the nail-biting final scene of Alien where she single-handedly fights off the stowaway alien in her singlet and underwear? However, as much as science fiction has vastly changed over the years – and Arrival is indeed a positive example of these changes - Ripley will always represent an early step forward to more diverse characterisations in the genre.

‘This little girl survived longer than that with no weapons and no training’: Newt and Ripley in Aliens. [source]

Based on a short story by Ted Chiang, ‘Story of your Life’, Arrival reflects similar themes of female empowerment and independence, but in rather different ways. Naturally, they are different films with very different characters. But in terms of feminist themes, there are some interesting discrepancies in comparison to Alien.

Amy Adams takes the role of Louise Banks – a solitary academic in the world of linguistics who is chosen to aid the American military in their communications with an alien species. Banks is an intellectual, but her abrupt mannerisms and perceivably lonely existence portray her as fundamentally unhappy. We are led to believe that her unhappiness is due to her daughter’s recent death from cancer – although the viewer learns otherwise in later scenes of the film. Banks is admirable because she values intellectualism – especially its role in bringing humans together to form more powerful, peaceful communities. Her rational, intelligent decisions are in stark contrast to the meatheaded-ness of the military (a stereotype that grew slightly tiresome in this film). Banks proves to herself and the people around her that through knowledge, hard work and patience comes successful communication and, eventually, a sense of meaning. 

However, as refreshing as it is to still see such a strong female lead in science fiction, the characterisation of Banks is somewhat problematic. From the first scene to the moving final moments, Banks’ value as a human being seems to originate from her role as a mother.

Despite her knowledge as a linguist and her no-holds-barred approach to her work, the writers make sure that we don’t forget what has really given her life meaning – a child. As viewers will discover, the back-story of Banks’ family life is an essential plot device, so it could hardly be removed. But it still begs the question of why a successful, smart woman needs a child to make her life worth living.

Amy Adams as Louise Banks in Arrival. [source]

As much as I enjoyed the film, I couldn’t help but think that the story would be a little different with a male lead. That is not to take away from Banks’ story – she is a successful, driven and intelligent woman, and, incidentally, a mother. But imagine a man in the same position as Banks. It is much more difficult (although perhaps not impossible) to imagine a male linguist on a path to rescue humanity, pining for the happy memories of time spent with his now-dead daughter. Was he a good father? Did he make the right decisions? How does this affect his work on a high-profile, once-in-a-lifetime case to help ‘save the world’? It is not an impossibility, but perhaps an unlikelihood. As we see in Interstellar, Joseph Cooper is kept going by the love for his daughter back on Earth. The difference in Arrival is that all of Banks’ narration centres around the life of her daughter, despite her own vital role in aiding humankind. Alternatively, Cooper’s mission is informed by the love for his daughter, but his character is not defined by it (especially when he leaves his aging daughter behind to, again, ‘save humanity’).  

Following the revelation that her non-existent child is not yet dead (but will live and die in the future), the only tangible reason we’re given for Banks’ sad, lonely sequences at the beginning of the film is the fact that she’s single – albeit residing in a fabulous lakeside house with a high-paying university professorship to boot. But still, single.

Additionally, Banks’ decision to bring a daughter into the world with the full knowledge of what will happen to her is depicted as heroic and admirable. The audience is meant to respect her decision to continue on the path to motherhood despite the knowledge that her daughter will die young from a horrible disease. But what if Banks had decided otherwise? What if she had instead avoided pregnancy to save a child from horrific pain and suffering? Would she still be an admirable woman, or is this something only a pragmatic male would do? I would not blame her for either decision, but the alternative does make me wonder.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the majesty of Arrival; how it challenged my perception of language and the human idea of time and reality. Aliens, a female lead, and an excellent plot twist – what’s a sci-fi fangal not to love? It was a good film, and the recent Oscar nominations it’s been granted are well-deserved. I cannot wait to watch it again.

And I’m also not in the market for films in which all female characters are decidedly admirable, or representative of my own idea of feminism – I want them to be conflicted, mean, tough and foolhardy, without being perceived as ‘insane bitches’ – and in many ways, the increasing amount of women in science fiction will hopefully allow for a more diverse range of characterisations to take hold. It’s just a shame that Banks – an intelligent, strong and ethical woman –  was primarily defined by her motherhood, and not instead by her Ripley-esque rationale and independence.  

By Claire

I have never felt more “OMG I’m living in Melbourne” than when I was sitting on the train to uni, reading an article (printed on paper) about which of The Sound of Music character’s the women of Sex and the City are (Carrie is Maria, Samantha is The Baroness, Miranda is Mother Superior, Charlotte is Liesl, obviously).

Originally from regional Victoria, never in my time in Hometown Glory would I have imagined I’d be on my way to my Cinema Studies class reading a feminist film zine called Filmme Fatales. Tomorrow is the launch of issue #8, and my heart broke a little inside when I saw that this would be the last issue of Filmme Fatales, indefinitely. Surrounded by my own copies, lovingly read, and creased from living in my handbags, it’s time to say a thank you, to the zine and its founder and editor Brodie Lancaster.

Filmme Fatales is a Melbourne-based zine about the place where film and feminism intersect, published by The Good Copy and created by Rookie staff editor Brodie Lancaster. Publishing quarterly since 2013, each issue is based around a theme, such as The 20-Something Funk, Working Girls, One More Shot and Space. I stumbled across Filmme Fatales on Facebook in 2015 during the Melbourne International Film Festival. As I was scrolling through my newsfeed, I saw an article about a Melbourne-based feminist film publication’s Top Picks at MIFF, and instantly I was hooked.

Suddenly, issue #7 was in my letter box, and the rest soon followed. Like any zine, each page is hand-crafted with illustrations of various styles and passionate articles by writers and artists from all over the world. Inside you will find interviews with actress Mae Whitman, an article written in the defence of Megan Fox, a run-down on all the psychoanalytic theorists I struggled to understand in Uni – complete with the theorist’s faces collaged on top of images of Beyoncé and Jim Carey – and an article about my favourite film, Pretty in Pink, and how the spaces around Molly Ringwald’s character defined her. There was a feminist film community outside of university, and in between the pages I clutched in my hands were my people and my future.

There isn’t much to do in Hometown Glory. My saving graces were high school production season, my job at the bookstore and weekly visits to the cinema, which only played the most popular blockbusters anyway. I was fifteen when my love affair with movies really began, after witnessing the beauty of Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer. Ever since that fateful Saturday night, I spent my senior high school years eagerly awaiting the “Life & Style” (now called “Spectrum”) pull out of the Saturday Age. Sitting at the kitchen table, I would read about movies showing at Cinema Nova, the Kino or The Astor I could never see, unless I made the two-and-a-half-hour train trip to Melbourne. By the time I packed up my room for the big move to the city I adore so much, the back of my bedroom door was covered head to toe in articles I had cut out while waiting for this day.

My biggest fear about moving to Melbourne and stepping into my Introduction to Cinema Studies class was that my lack of film literacy would be mocked, and ultimately everyone would look down at me and sneer “You haven’t seen Easy Rider? What are you even doing here?” Of course, I hadn’t even heard of Easy Rider until my Hollywood and Entertainment class, and I still haven’t seen it…

Instead, what I had found were rooms full of like-minded people, who cared about movies as much as I did, and so many girls. My film friends in Hometown Glory were both guys, fondly dubbed my Film Bros, but from the day I sat in my first class, taught by a woman and surrounded by girls, my heart has stayed full. My female friends and I delightedly mocked Pretentious Film Snobs, deconstructed the logistics of Suddenly 30, and filled messenger inboxes with #phallicpanic and #castrationanxiety. This community of students is all I could have hoped for when I moved to Melbourne, but nothing can match the impact of discovering Filmme Fatales.

This all isn’t even to mention the utter amazingness of Filmme Fatales’ founder, Brodie Lancaster. A fellow tall girl, Brodie has contributed to Rookie, Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, Vulture and Kill Your Darlings, is managing director at Rooftop Cinema, a DJ, a defender of popular culture, teenage girls and fan culture, Kanye West’s biggest fan, and ultimate puzzle master. Not only do I want to be her, I have told my friends I want me and my love of the Jonas Brothers to be like Brodie and her love of Kanye.

After MIFF in 2015, I won tickets to see Brodie speak at the Women Writing Film talk with film critic Rebecca Harkins-Cross at the Melbourne Writers Festival. Seeing these women talk about their stories, about being a critic, and the lack of female voices in film criticism was the turning point for me as a budding film journalist. I still have advice from this talk saved into the notes on my phone: “Once you embrace the fact that you have a perspective no one else is going to have, you can be empowered by that” and “get involved as soon as you can”.

While I have yet to find the confidence to pitch my work, Filmme Fatales is the reason Cause a Cine exists. I cannot deny this blog is inspired by the zine. In the zine I saw a community beyond the classroom, I saw heart, passion, and I saw myself. The zine reminded me of my friends, our conversations about film, and our unique perspectives. I created Cause a Cine on the fervour the MWF talk and FF ignited within me. By no means is the blog trying to be, nor replace the zine. It’s a space for my friends and I to share our voices, for our unique perspectives as female-identifying to be seen. It’s where I can search for my unique perspective, and I hope one day I can create something which provides the same feeling of community FF gave to me.

Tomorrow night is the launch of issue #8, aptly named “The Future”. I already have it on pre-order, but my dear friend and Cause a Cine contributor Zoë and I are going to the launch party for the first time. I’ve had the date written in all-caps on a sticky note on my computer and I swapped shifts at work so I wouldn’t forget to go. When something means this much to you, you need to do everything you can to celebrate it and show your appreciation.

So, without further ado, thank you Brodie Lancaster, for Filmme Fatales and everything which has come with it. I can’t wait to see what “the future” brings (and will be the first person in line to buy your book).