Toomelah (MA). Director: Ivan Sen. Starring: Daniel Connors, Christopher Edwards, Dean Daley-Jones. 97 minutes
Warwick Thornton's Samson and Delilah (2009) probed the euphoric and demonic realities of substance abuse. Brendan Fletcher's Mad Bastards (2011) portrayed Aboriginal men in a remote Kimberley community struggling to find healthy means of expressing anger. Alongside these two films, Ivan Sen's Toomelah forms a kind of unofficial trilogy of stories of cultural displacement and disadvantage on remote Aboriginal communities.
It is named for the northwest NSW mission town where it is set; a place to which Sen himself has a profound connection. 'It's the home of my mother, it's where she grew up, a lot of my Indigenous family comes from there,' he tells Eureka Street. 'I've always wanted to make a film there, it was just a matter of when and how.'
Substance abuse, male anger and violence, all with roots in displacement, are realities in Sen's story as they were in Thornton's and Fletcher's. But Sen focuses more pointedly on the fact of cultural extinction — emblematically, the loss of language (the characters speak exclusively with a bastardised, subtitled form of English) — and the ongoing effects of this absence within the lives of his characters.
'Cultural extinction is the major issue facing a lot of Aboriginal communities,' says Sen. 'You don't hear a lot about it from government. You hear about health, education and housing. But cultural extinction is directly related to the psyche of the people. And a lot of these communities are struggling to find a system of living.
'They haven't connected with the western style of living. The church at one point had a big influence, but the people it influenced are dying out now. They're an amazing people that have had this amazing culture for such a long time, and now just remnants of it are left. Reclaiming that culture is a major part of moving forward.'
Toomelah delves into the cultural vacuum and finds ten-year-old Daniel (Connors). His mum is a stoner, his dad is a drunk and, after the latest in a line of serious classroom misdeeds, he has been kicked out of school. Daniel is drawn to affable local drug dealer Linden (Edwards), who takes him under his wing. Soon Daniel witnesses violence when a rival dealer (Daley-Jones) returns from jail to reclaim his turf.
For Sen, the story really started to take shape when he discovered Connors. 'I wanted to give people a chance to see what it’s like for a kid growing up somewhere like Toomelah. But I wasn’t sure which way the story would go. Then I found Daniel. What stood out was his bravery and his cheekiness. He had an amazing presence, and a strong voice. I started following him, observing his life, and to integrate that into the script.’
The violence Daniel witnesses contrasts with the mute grief he observes in his recently returned aunt, who was removed from Toomelah decades previous, a member of the Stolen Generations. Both her grief and Linden's violence have roots in dispossession; a truth Sen's film evokes gently. Daniel becomes curious to understand this history, and his own culture. It is this desire that may finally keep him in school and out of trouble.
Sen insists that Toomelah is not an 'issues' film, although a range of issues naturally make up the fabric of its story, as they are part of the life of the community. 'It was always going to confront a few issues because you can't get away from them. If you follow someone for a day in Toomelah you'll find numerous issues that will intersect. I could have explored other issues that are more difficult for people to watch and be confronted with.'
Given his family connections, it is no suprise that Toomelah is close to Sen's heart. It was important, then, that his film would not be a dirge, or a piece of poverty porn. The harsher elements are balanced by humour, and by the cinematographer's attention to the haggard, almost mystical beauty of the place itself. 'For me Toomelah is beautiful,' says Sen. 'Every time I go there I feel an amazing connection with the people and the land.'
Tim Kroenert is Assistant Editor of Eureka Street.