A comment was made here that Australian films are more than just about "three drag queens in a bus tripping across the outback, or a cast of actors falling all over each other because the lead actor is American." Well, thank God for those kinds of Aussie and Kiwi films, because between the sturm und Drang of ONCE WERE WARRIORS, THE UGLY and now this, you might start to think that Down Under is a place you'd never want to go to in a million years...
Anyway, about the film. Very few American filmmakers visit this kind of cinematic territory, not because it isn't worth examining, but in most cases it alienates an audience looking for "entertainment" from Jump Street. The comparison to TAXI DRIVER is indeed apt, but you might say it's also been cross-bred with a touch of AT CLOSE RANGE as well.
THE BOYS certainly reminds us all too well that we Americans certainly don't have the market cornered on testosterone-fueled, dimwitted, nihilistic, misogynist sociopaths, and here we get three for the price of one, and brothers yet. Though it tries to show us in small, subtle ways why they are the way they are, it's kind of difficult to muster up any sympathy for people who are this far gone into their own murky little world, especially when every frame drips with menace, and the potential for brutality that could explode at any moment (and eventually does.)
Where American screenwriters and playwrights have dealt with the rage and hopelessness borne of lower class socio-economic circumstances in such "literary" fare ranging from A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE to TAXI DRIVER, the dynamics mapped out in THE BOYS are closer to LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN, both Hubert Selby Jr.'s undiluted novel of industrial strength squalor and despair, and director Uli Edel's gut-wrenching screen version.
David Wenham gives us a psycho/sociopath every bit as memorable and searingly portrayed as Robert DeNiro's Travis Bickle, the only difference being that even in the depths of his growing isolation, rage and despair, Travis managed to have some redeeming qualities, could stir some sense of empathy within us. Don't expect to find any of that here with Wenham's Brett Sprague. Already pretty far gone when he was arrested the first time for attempted robbery, assault with a deadly weapon and grievious bodily harm, he helps underscore the failure to rehabilitate any felon by incarceration, no matter what country you're in, and he comes out with a chip on his shoulder double the size of the one he had before. In fact, that coffee table he totes out of jail in the opening scene makes a fine metaphoric symbol.
John Polson and Anthony Hayes deliver fine performances also as his brothers, Glenn and Stevie; half-wit ne'er-do-wells without a whole brain between them until Big Brother comes home. Domineering and manipulative, Brett is all too aware of how equally dangerous his brothers are compared to him. All they need is a spark to light the fuses of their dormant rage, and he has the matches to do it.
The most truly depressing part of the film is not witnessing the human train wreck of the Sprague family's existence; it's having one look at their mother, Sandra (Lynette Curran) and realizing exactly why the brothers Sprague are the way they are. It would be easy to lay the blame all on Sandra's head, but you just know by the ineffectual way she tries without success to corral "her boys," that she was probably raised no differently, nor were her parents...if they stuck around long enough, nor were THEIR parents, back and back, ad nauseum, ad infinitum. The same can be said for at least two of the women involved in their lives: Nola (Anna Lise), Stevie's pregnant girlfriend who may or may not be having his child, and Michelle (Oscar nominee Toni Collette, here in a role very unlike what we've seen her in lately), who is drawn to Brett's bad-boy charms like a forbidden aphrodisiac, but is certainly not ready for the bitter aftertaste of the venom that comes with it.
The entire cast and crew have done an impeccable job of rendering a slice of urban Australian life we would not otherwise be aware of, under the direction of Rowan Woods, who is responsible for some of the darker episodes of the spectacular series FARSCAPE.
Most notable is the growing sense of disaster that builds with every blackout, even with the flash-forward device that jerks us into the aftermath of "the boys'" horrible crime, until the devastating ending, when after making his speech about "being our own gods" to his acid-tripping siblings, the last three words he speaks: "Let's get her," hold all the gruesome implication of the entire body count of the first SCREAM movie. All this, and you never see the actual crime they committed.
Which is exactly the point, so effectively made here. You don't have to, to know how brutal it was.
Looking for a light-hearted romp for the evening? Better skip this one. Want a hard-bitten, dark-as-midnight, kitchen-sink drama, warts, scabs and all? Help yourself. The Spragues sure can't do likewise.
Anyway, about the film. Very few American filmmakers visit this kind of cinematic territory, not because it isn't worth examining, but in most cases it alienates an audience looking for "entertainment" from Jump Street. The comparison to TAXI DRIVER is indeed apt, but you might say it's also been cross-bred with a touch of AT CLOSE RANGE as well.
THE BOYS certainly reminds us all too well that we Americans certainly don't have the market cornered on testosterone-fueled, dimwitted, nihilistic, misogynist sociopaths, and here we get three for the price of one, and brothers yet. Though it tries to show us in small, subtle ways why they are the way they are, it's kind of difficult to muster up any sympathy for people who are this far gone into their own murky little world, especially when every frame drips with menace, and the potential for brutality that could explode at any moment (and eventually does.)
Where American screenwriters and playwrights have dealt with the rage and hopelessness borne of lower class socio-economic circumstances in such "literary" fare ranging from A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE to TAXI DRIVER, the dynamics mapped out in THE BOYS are closer to LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN, both Hubert Selby Jr.'s undiluted novel of industrial strength squalor and despair, and director Uli Edel's gut-wrenching screen version.
David Wenham gives us a psycho/sociopath every bit as memorable and searingly portrayed as Robert DeNiro's Travis Bickle, the only difference being that even in the depths of his growing isolation, rage and despair, Travis managed to have some redeeming qualities, could stir some sense of empathy within us. Don't expect to find any of that here with Wenham's Brett Sprague. Already pretty far gone when he was arrested the first time for attempted robbery, assault with a deadly weapon and grievious bodily harm, he helps underscore the failure to rehabilitate any felon by incarceration, no matter what country you're in, and he comes out with a chip on his shoulder double the size of the one he had before. In fact, that coffee table he totes out of jail in the opening scene makes a fine metaphoric symbol.
John Polson and Anthony Hayes deliver fine performances also as his brothers, Glenn and Stevie; half-wit ne'er-do-wells without a whole brain between them until Big Brother comes home. Domineering and manipulative, Brett is all too aware of how equally dangerous his brothers are compared to him. All they need is a spark to light the fuses of their dormant rage, and he has the matches to do it.
The most truly depressing part of the film is not witnessing the human train wreck of the Sprague family's existence; it's having one look at their mother, Sandra (Lynette Curran) and realizing exactly why the brothers Sprague are the way they are. It would be easy to lay the blame all on Sandra's head, but you just know by the ineffectual way she tries without success to corral "her boys," that she was probably raised no differently, nor were her parents...if they stuck around long enough, nor were THEIR parents, back and back, ad nauseum, ad infinitum. The same can be said for at least two of the women involved in their lives: Nola (Anna Lise), Stevie's pregnant girlfriend who may or may not be having his child, and Michelle (Oscar nominee Toni Collette, here in a role very unlike what we've seen her in lately), who is drawn to Brett's bad-boy charms like a forbidden aphrodisiac, but is certainly not ready for the bitter aftertaste of the venom that comes with it.
The entire cast and crew have done an impeccable job of rendering a slice of urban Australian life we would not otherwise be aware of, under the direction of Rowan Woods, who is responsible for some of the darker episodes of the spectacular series FARSCAPE.
Most notable is the growing sense of disaster that builds with every blackout, even with the flash-forward device that jerks us into the aftermath of "the boys'" horrible crime, until the devastating ending, when after making his speech about "being our own gods" to his acid-tripping siblings, the last three words he speaks: "Let's get her," hold all the gruesome implication of the entire body count of the first SCREAM movie. All this, and you never see the actual crime they committed.
Which is exactly the point, so effectively made here. You don't have to, to know how brutal it was.
Looking for a light-hearted romp for the evening? Better skip this one. Want a hard-bitten, dark-as-midnight, kitchen-sink drama, warts, scabs and all? Help yourself. The Spragues sure can't do likewise.