A flawed historical drama

Press, 27 April 1989, Page 13

A flawed historical drama

It’s 70 years and a healthy dose of post-war cosmopolitanism later, yet the mythology of Gallipoli and the Western Front still haunts the Australian sense of nationhood. The sprawling “Anzacs” mini-series is testimony to the producer’s belief that the story can still draw audiences in Australia. TVNZ shows that it concurs by the way it has scheduled it for New Zealanders over the last two weeks.

It may be Australian in its viewpoint but the keen young men look like those poignant memorial statues in New Zealand country towns. It’s about the same sorts of young country blokes who “didn’t want to miss out on a bit of fun” and who wanted to be part of the colony’s “first chance to prove something to the world.” The Australian slant comes from Pat Cleary, the older Irish larrikin, played convincingly by Paul Hogan, who says it all: “We’re a noble bunch of buggers.” The hell they ended up in forged male mateship and helped slough off any belief in duty to an imperial Britain. The script does some interesting things with history by introducing Keith Murdoch formally into the Anzac myth. He plays the go-between and operates as a kind pf protoinvestigative journalist. We see him now with the fellas, whose case he fights, now with General Haig and Lloyd George.

It becomes, almost, a case of inverse nepotism as Rupert’s dad fights the powers of darkness with pen and ink. The storyline leans rather too heavily on his insights (and stereotypes of modern journalists).

No trouble has been spared in the look of the series. Costumers, farriers, horse-handlers, vintage car clubs, munitionexperts, stunt-men, architects, collectors of old kitchen utensils, sleuths in National Trust locations and railway stations, character actors for Lloyd George, General Haig and all have been called up to get the period feel accurate. It’s awfully busy work simply to absorb all the background detail. But, as ever, handsome is as handsome does. Sure, the locations are perfect. Clones of Gallipoli can be found along several thousand kilometres of the coastline which Dampier described as the most miserable on earth. Any strip of recent burn-off in the Mallee after rain resembles Amiens after bombardment. But none of these very effective assets can compensate for the flaws that crop up here as in so much of antipodean historical drama. First there’s the besetting sin of overacting. It’s

aristocrats, bureaucrats, Brits and officers who come in for the full treatment here. Then there’s the sense of forever being at a Very Important Occasion. Even characters who wouldn’t have known politics from pop-guns during that period are given phrases like “this war is going to sweep away class,” just in case we’ve missed the point. Female characters have to carry the heaviest loads in this respect. In “Anzacs” there is really only one female character to carry not only the future of the union movement, and the great Aussie democratic way of life, but the entire baggage of equity issues, postharassment and career opportunities for women. As a result Kate can rarely open her mouth without sounding like an improving tract for highschool girls. And then there’s the way that Aussie scriptwriters, in particular, can’t resist fiddling with fact. They weave a highly credible tale of historical recreation and then shove in a bit of over-the-top fantasy. Worst of all, though, are the “time to laugh” scenes. We know they are coming on from the music. The generous among us just have to grin and bear it (though not necessarily to think of England). Music-track choice is something that Aussie film-makers should either take remedial courses in or be banned from attempting. There is something cheap and sloppy in the cliche-ridden sentimentality of the overused folk-song choices in “Anzacs,” matched only by Weir’s over-use of Albinoni in “Gallipoli.” But then who are we to boast? The best local offering on Anzac for a while is in the Commonwealth Games ad. And a handsome piece of work it is too, all in three minutes flat. It can’t compare with a canvas of 10 hours or so for local impact. Or can it? Within its own compass I’d say it certainly can.