Not Quite Hollywwod
Not Quite Hollywood explores the spate of subversive Australian “exploitation” films of the seventies and eighties, which began with titillating films and reached its climax (so to speak) with action films such as Mad Max.
Some of the films are tasteless. Well, many of them, in fact. Some of them (admittedly few) are actually quite good, and would stand the test of time. Mad Max, is a good example of the latter. Many of the not-so-good films, are nonetheless entertaining. It’s difficult to watch a film like Turkey Shoot without laughing hysterically. Not because it was well made; certainly not because it was well acted. But because it was … well, spectacularly awful and therefore, entertaining.
Mark Hartley’s documentary is a bright and bubbly procession of talking heads and film footage presented in a way that captures the irreverence and devil-may-care attitudes of the films of the Ozploitation genre.
But it also raises some interesting questions, which are never satisfactorily examined in the film. Though in fairness, it was clearly not the film’s intent. Not Quite Hollywood is a labour of love, and not without its charm.
The emergence of this genre on the white water of second wave feminism, for example is significant. At its essence, this genre, and its fans, are predominantly men. It has been suggested that the nudity and sexual content of these films was a sign of the liberation of the times: this in glaring contrast to the name of the genre (which concedes an exploitative element). It can be difficult to relax through a sitting of tales of women being offered more money to remove clothing, and saying that to not be topless was simply not cool sounds more like peer group pressure than liberation.
The sight of one notably revolting filmmaker in particular, talking of his fondness for wanting to film a “…bird getting slashed while she’s screwing” is downright creepy, and supplemented by the disturbing tale of a woman who was nearly drowned in a scene where she was dunked head-first into a fish tank, and instructed by the director, to wriggle her legs when she started to run out of air. We then see her legs writhing frantically. Many people in the audience laughed. Yet when a stuntman was killed on the set of Love Serenade, he was treated as a hero. One can’t help but suspect that this woman’s life was worthless and dispensable: a suspicion confirmed by the laughter in the audience upon hearing the story.
The stories recounted by this particular filmmaker also confirm the belief that those who enjoy producing/directing/watching titillation on screen, are usually emotionally truncated types who don’t tend to have the attractiveness, charm or anything else, for that matter, to see naked women any other way.
The recurring presence of Quentin Tarrantino as a talking head, extolling the greatness of this genre doesn’t help matters. Tarrantino has produced entertaining and occasionally excellent work. But his specialty is a particular type of film that often smacks of adolescent yearnings and unbridled testosterone, and is ultimately limited.
Then there’s the cultural element. Are these films quintessentially Australian? It’s ironic to think of Barry Humphries, the erudite lad from Camberwell, being anything like the “Australian” characters portrayed in Barry McKenzie Holds His Own. In fact, rather than being a loving tribute, as has been suggested, couldn’t his stereotypes be considered patronising, and the filmmaker’s note in the credits that the film was made at SPECTACULAR expense by the taxpayer, arrogant? A smear of smugness at the tail end of an already condescending film? Fondness, like a pat on the head. Barry Humphries can be quite clever. But let’s not think for one moment, that he ever identified with the likes of Barry and his ocker cohorts. He was, after all, one of the Australians who fled to London in the sixties, in search of cultural fulfilment.
Just as Barry Humphries delights in levelling Australian culture (while distinguishing himself from it), it would seem that the makers of this film expect the audience to do likewise, by joining in the frivolity. Presumably one would be classified as a wowser for suggesting that the historically explorative films that were being made in parallel to the genre films, were better and far more worthy.
So, is Not Quite Hollywood a harmless romp, or an exercise in ploughing tall poppies?
This viewer couldn’t help but think that a film like Ten Empty, with its analysis of the need for men to develop more emotionally authentic, mature and supportive relationships is, in fact, a far more liberating film than any of those mentioned in Not Quite Hollywood. What, then, is the true nature of liberation? Could it be the ability to produce films that are artistically and culturally meritorious without being apologetic, and without relying on cheap tricks or Aussie charm.
This film, and the concurrent Focus On: Ozploitation series at ACMI, raised another salient point. In a recent interview with 3MBS’s Screenthemes, ACMI’s Richard Sowada, who co-curated the Focus On: Ozploitation series with Not Quite Hollywood’s Mark Hartley, made an impassioned and noteworthy plea for filmmakers to ensure that all of their work is archived.
No valuable discussion of these or any other films can be conducted without reference to the actual footage. Moreover, love them or hate them, these films are a part of our cultural history.
For someone who has equivocated in regards to this documentary and the films it discusses, there is an ironic comfort in knowing that one facet of the Australian identity that has been present from the outset, it’s that curiously irreverent attitude we possess, that compels us to question.