David O'ConnellSamson and Delilah
May 19th 2009 03:09
Refusing to steer clear of the kind of unflinching social realism rarely seen in homegrown cinema, writer/director Warwick Thornton, in his feature debut, has crafted one of the most important films in this country’s history. A brutally honest depiction of his people’s turmoil, it also manages, like conjuring a magician's art, to validate a remarkable Australian spirit that, though wilting, can’t be easily broken.
Delilah (Marissa Gibson) lives in a barren and isolated Aboriginal community in the Northern Territory with her ailing Nana (Mitjili Napanangka Gibson). An aimless, petrol-sniffing youth, Samson (Rowan McNamara), who seems disconnected from all around him, has an obvious interest in her but not the means to express it, other than lurking in a manner that only irritates Delilah.
Thornton painstakingly establishes the empty repetition of these lives early on, and it has the desired effect, creating a reverberating, cyclical memory, like that of a helpless moth drawn to a flame. The hopelessness is only exacerbated by the subtle but severely limited, non-verbal means of communication these people have; as well as leaving a void impossible to fill, it creates an uncomfortable tension for the audience, immersing us in their silence, desperate to hear a familiar word.
Once the pair take flight in the settlement’s only car, battered and bruised – Samson via a beating from his brother, Delilah from the female elders who attribute Nana’s death to her neglectfulness – they break free from the repetition only to find it waiting for them in a new, but equally numbing context. Life doesn’t get any easier as they stray into Alice Springs with only the clothes on their back and a crusty blanket.
There are moments of remote and utter despair as the alien city begins to transform into an impenetrable surface covered with the admonishing eyes of white people. With powerful persuasion Thornton turns the perception of these teenagers into our own and we recognise the malevolent positioning of our own reflection as being wantonly judgmental and harsh. The lone voice we hear becomes that of homeless man Gonzo (Scott Thornton), who despite living beneath an underpass in abject poverty, willingly shares his food whilst simultaneously irked by their mute stares.
McNamara and Gibson, first-time actors, are both remarkable given the lack of dialogue. Somehow they manage to convey a depth of emotion that many a lengthy monologue is unable to. McNamara in particular has an impressive physical presence and undeniable charisma, whilst Gibson reflects the understated, steely resolve of Delilah, assuming the status of seniority in their relationship once they flee their community; again, the depth of her troubled soul is admirably communicated almost solely through non-verbal means.
Devastating moments which hint at the darkest possible fates for the pair are littered throughout but ultimately a very real, though unspoken, love binds them together and keeps them alive. It’s impossible to guess how Samson and Delilah will end but there’s a pervasive sadness that clings to every frame, threatening to bury another tiny story of desperation beyond the immovable force of convenient blindness.
This startling film, ultimately, has much to say about an unlikely but binding affection and the power of redemption. Yes, there are cynical reflections of religion and the neglect and exploitation of Aboriginal culture, abused for profit once pieces of it are callously removed from the suffocating confines of their world. But the final scenes, rather than presenting the unrelenting harshness of life as an insurmountable obstacle, provide both a sobering optimism and, more importantly, a reason to watch this vital film again and again.
Delilah (Marissa Gibson) lives in a barren and isolated Aboriginal community in the Northern Territory with her ailing Nana (Mitjili Napanangka Gibson). An aimless, petrol-sniffing youth, Samson (Rowan McNamara), who seems disconnected from all around him, has an obvious interest in her but not the means to express it, other than lurking in a manner that only irritates Delilah.
Thornton painstakingly establishes the empty repetition of these lives early on, and it has the desired effect, creating a reverberating, cyclical memory, like that of a helpless moth drawn to a flame. The hopelessness is only exacerbated by the subtle but severely limited, non-verbal means of communication these people have; as well as leaving a void impossible to fill, it creates an uncomfortable tension for the audience, immersing us in their silence, desperate to hear a familiar word.
Once the pair take flight in the settlement’s only car, battered and bruised – Samson via a beating from his brother, Delilah from the female elders who attribute Nana’s death to her neglectfulness – they break free from the repetition only to find it waiting for them in a new, but equally numbing context. Life doesn’t get any easier as they stray into Alice Springs with only the clothes on their back and a crusty blanket.
There are moments of remote and utter despair as the alien city begins to transform into an impenetrable surface covered with the admonishing eyes of white people. With powerful persuasion Thornton turns the perception of these teenagers into our own and we recognise the malevolent positioning of our own reflection as being wantonly judgmental and harsh. The lone voice we hear becomes that of homeless man Gonzo (Scott Thornton), who despite living beneath an underpass in abject poverty, willingly shares his food whilst simultaneously irked by their mute stares.
McNamara and Gibson, first-time actors, are both remarkable given the lack of dialogue. Somehow they manage to convey a depth of emotion that many a lengthy monologue is unable to. McNamara in particular has an impressive physical presence and undeniable charisma, whilst Gibson reflects the understated, steely resolve of Delilah, assuming the status of seniority in their relationship once they flee their community; again, the depth of her troubled soul is admirably communicated almost solely through non-verbal means.
Devastating moments which hint at the darkest possible fates for the pair are littered throughout but ultimately a very real, though unspoken, love binds them together and keeps them alive. It’s impossible to guess how Samson and Delilah will end but there’s a pervasive sadness that clings to every frame, threatening to bury another tiny story of desperation beyond the immovable force of convenient blindness.
This startling film, ultimately, has much to say about an unlikely but binding affection and the power of redemption. Yes, there are cynical reflections of religion and the neglect and exploitation of Aboriginal culture, abused for profit once pieces of it are callously removed from the suffocating confines of their world. But the final scenes, rather than presenting the unrelenting harshness of life as an insurmountable obstacle, provide both a sobering optimism and, more importantly, a reason to watch this vital film again and again.
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