Dogs in Space is a film I've never really liked although it is a film I have seen numerous times over the years.
The film is, loosely, a vague series of Polaroid pictures of a Melbourne squat in the seventies and the punk band that lived there (who actually occupy less narrative significance than the happenstance jumble of non events that occur in and around the house). This zero narrative circumstantial drift is punctuated problematically by a mishandled attempt to bolt a 'narrative' on to fabricate a filmic climax in a dodgy jab at a narrative cinematic conclusion. It is in this attempted narrative where the film falls flat on its face as it reads as a contrived and clichéd commercial concession which is at odds with the deliberate non narrative structure of the rest of the film.
A little research and reading tells us that DOS is a more or less autobiographical film by pop promo director Richard Lowenstein about his time living in a house a Melbourne punk band whose lead singer Sam Sejavka would go on to front the Oz band Beargarden (like, god help them, a poor mans Inxs). Incidentally Lowenstein was so anally specific in his reminiscences that the actual house where the original events depicted in the film took place was rented and redressed at considerable expense (although oddly Lowenstein removes himself from the films house and attributes some of his own memories to the character of the other band member - Tim). To be fair the film does partially succeed in its shambolic rambling recreation of time and place although I do wonder how this may have been improved with a more competent and perhaps less personally involved director.
However running uncomfortably next to this is the films occasional 'narrative' about the handsome but dislikeable lead signer of the titular punk band (played by Michael Hutchence arguably well cast in that he plays a vainglorious nob, who, other than 3 minutes of brief interest first watching the pop video for THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED in the cinema, I've always thought of as a vainglorious nob) and his unfortunate girlfriend.
Their sketched relationship however never manages to draw enough focus to legitimate its status as the films 'narrative core' (their scenes are simply other fragmented events which occasionally occur throughout) yet becomes the crux of the films contrived conclusion when her death due to a heroin overdose marks the end of the times and the final eviction from the squat (I suspect that this is a fiction and in reality that they all just moved on or grew up). Her 'departure' scene is a dreadful pop video cliché distracting from the narrative tragedy of her death by making it seem all rainbows and smiles (it depicts her shiny happy dreamy smacked up death drift but the reality of her cold puke drooling into her nodding boyfriends hair would have been more honest). Worse still is Hutchence kneeling at her grave during the funeral, her family members seemingly tolerating his bad junkie boyfriend presence to permit some faux pop promo angst. Even worse is the pop video performance footage of Hutchence (in perhaps more overt commercial concessions) dressed in a nice suit with neat hair singing some lame ballad at the end. This at best might be interpreted as an ironic jab at former punk singer Sam Sejavka (a youtube search can find a clip of Beargarden similarly suited in the 80s performing on an Oz TV show) however this is probably speculative wishful thinking following research and reading into DOS and would therefore not be apparent to the films casual viewer.
The films other problem is that every moment is probably profound and significant for those who were in and around that house and generally thereabouts in that scene but the rest of the watching world are excluded from these specific gnomic remembrances as Lowenstein cannot seem to step away from his own material and review it from the removed position of his audience. Anyone and everyone left of the mainstream has colourful remembrances of running about as teenagers on the drugs of their choice listening to the music of their youth but these unmediated events can often only be shared significantly with people they were directly experienced with at the time and the nostalgic fragments of those misspent youths do not necessarily make sufficient material for a satisfying film.
In conclusion DOS is a deeply flawed film which sadly had the potential to be far better than it actually turned out to be. It is a shame that the films incidental kitchen sink 'reality', its only real strength, is jettisoned in the concluding scenes for a plasticized pop video fabrication. I feel that Lowenstein should have had the directorial balls to dump the commercial concessions (and the pop star) to make the narrative free film of random fragmented Punk squat memories he only partially made and unfortunately compromised.
The film is, loosely, a vague series of Polaroid pictures of a Melbourne squat in the seventies and the punk band that lived there (who actually occupy less narrative significance than the happenstance jumble of non events that occur in and around the house). This zero narrative circumstantial drift is punctuated problematically by a mishandled attempt to bolt a 'narrative' on to fabricate a filmic climax in a dodgy jab at a narrative cinematic conclusion. It is in this attempted narrative where the film falls flat on its face as it reads as a contrived and clichéd commercial concession which is at odds with the deliberate non narrative structure of the rest of the film.
A little research and reading tells us that DOS is a more or less autobiographical film by pop promo director Richard Lowenstein about his time living in a house a Melbourne punk band whose lead singer Sam Sejavka would go on to front the Oz band Beargarden (like, god help them, a poor mans Inxs). Incidentally Lowenstein was so anally specific in his reminiscences that the actual house where the original events depicted in the film took place was rented and redressed at considerable expense (although oddly Lowenstein removes himself from the films house and attributes some of his own memories to the character of the other band member - Tim). To be fair the film does partially succeed in its shambolic rambling recreation of time and place although I do wonder how this may have been improved with a more competent and perhaps less personally involved director.
However running uncomfortably next to this is the films occasional 'narrative' about the handsome but dislikeable lead signer of the titular punk band (played by Michael Hutchence arguably well cast in that he plays a vainglorious nob, who, other than 3 minutes of brief interest first watching the pop video for THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED in the cinema, I've always thought of as a vainglorious nob) and his unfortunate girlfriend.
Their sketched relationship however never manages to draw enough focus to legitimate its status as the films 'narrative core' (their scenes are simply other fragmented events which occasionally occur throughout) yet becomes the crux of the films contrived conclusion when her death due to a heroin overdose marks the end of the times and the final eviction from the squat (I suspect that this is a fiction and in reality that they all just moved on or grew up). Her 'departure' scene is a dreadful pop video cliché distracting from the narrative tragedy of her death by making it seem all rainbows and smiles (it depicts her shiny happy dreamy smacked up death drift but the reality of her cold puke drooling into her nodding boyfriends hair would have been more honest). Worse still is Hutchence kneeling at her grave during the funeral, her family members seemingly tolerating his bad junkie boyfriend presence to permit some faux pop promo angst. Even worse is the pop video performance footage of Hutchence (in perhaps more overt commercial concessions) dressed in a nice suit with neat hair singing some lame ballad at the end. This at best might be interpreted as an ironic jab at former punk singer Sam Sejavka (a youtube search can find a clip of Beargarden similarly suited in the 80s performing on an Oz TV show) however this is probably speculative wishful thinking following research and reading into DOS and would therefore not be apparent to the films casual viewer.
The films other problem is that every moment is probably profound and significant for those who were in and around that house and generally thereabouts in that scene but the rest of the watching world are excluded from these specific gnomic remembrances as Lowenstein cannot seem to step away from his own material and review it from the removed position of his audience. Anyone and everyone left of the mainstream has colourful remembrances of running about as teenagers on the drugs of their choice listening to the music of their youth but these unmediated events can often only be shared significantly with people they were directly experienced with at the time and the nostalgic fragments of those misspent youths do not necessarily make sufficient material for a satisfying film.
In conclusion DOS is a deeply flawed film which sadly had the potential to be far better than it actually turned out to be. It is a shame that the films incidental kitchen sink 'reality', its only real strength, is jettisoned in the concluding scenes for a plasticized pop video fabrication. I feel that Lowenstein should have had the directorial balls to dump the commercial concessions (and the pop star) to make the narrative free film of random fragmented Punk squat memories he only partially made and unfortunately compromised.