THIS
new post brings me back to the hugely underrated Australian film director, Paul
Cox. His films are out of fashion, and have been for years. Rarely do they make
much, or any, money. There are never any car chases or guns; rarely is there a
well- known face amongst the cast; the films have a very small budget; they are
not fast-action paced; they do not feature sudden loud bursts of music and
product placement; heads are never blown away and limbs are never severed; it
is doubtful anyone would ever buy ‘the soundtrack; the editing is often
slow-paced and the viewer often receives more than a second or two to think
about what is happening on the screen; often there is no murder or mystery or
particularly strong intrigue; often the people in his films have basic jobs and
live fairly ordinary lives. He is certainly no Quentin Tarantino or Steven
Spielberg, but he is no Ken Loach or Mike Leigh either. Paul Cox’s film, if
anything, resemble those quiet, reflective films of Europe- (think Krystof
Kieslowski and Ingmar Bergman) and Russia (Aleksander Sukorov).
I
like Paul Cox’s films because they are uncompromised and beautifully shot. Watching
his films is a meditative and rewarding experience. And you know that he has
put his heart and soul into the project, and thought more about the integrity
of the end product rather than the amount of money the film might make. Now that has to be a good
thing, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s also good that not every director is like Paul
Cox.
This,
my fourth Paul Cox-related adventure, took place on Sunday at the beautiful ‘Duneira’
property at Mount Macedon. We sat in the front row on the right, on a lovely
soft couch. There were about 50 people there, and I think we were the youngest.
Some people looked very arty, like they may have been in one of his films
before. Initially I felt like I was gate crashing a party, then after a while I
fully relaxed and felt the buzz of being a part of everything.
He
spoke briefly about the making of ‘The Diaries of Vaslav Nijinsky.’ Then he
showed the film, a small projection on the wall using a small projector. It would
have been more glorious on the big screen, but it was still very captivating,
and reminded me of his film ‘Vincent.’ There was a lot of imagery, and stills
of Nijinsky, and many dancers, both male and female, representing him and his
world. The voice over was by Derek Jacobi (an inspired choice, as was the
choice of John Hurt for the Van Gogh letters in the earlier film). Jacobi read
from his posthumous diaries. Nijinsky’s world became quite chaotic, and this
was captured in the at times seemingly random projection of images. Nijinsky’s
diaries consist of an ongoing critique of the world and an obsession with truth
and beauty. I read them years ago, and was fascinated by the way they chart the
slow mental deterioration of the man when his dancing career was finished and
he was surviving the post-war years of WW2. These were heartfelt and beautiful
sentiments. A repeated motif was the sad photo of Nijinsky as Petrushka, the traditional
puppet from his ballet of 1911, as well as shots of flying birds and grainy images of trees silhoutted against the sky. Much of
the film was made in France. It was a success in Europe, like a number of Cox’s
films, and had that real European sensibility that would make it impossible to
pick Cox as an Australian director.
Nijinsky,
along with Vincent, is a hero to Paul Cox. Cox himself has much in common with
both of them, not the least their uncompromising view of things and their
critical eye on what they perceive as the injustices of the world, as well as
their unique artistic vision that is seemingly always out of fashion and ahead
of its time. In one tragic scene Cox shot an actor acting out a chaotic dance
of Nijinsky’s in a nightclub, depicting his failing grip on reality and his diminishing
powers. His wife, Romola, sat, in the audience, looking embarrassed, perhaps ashamed.
At
the end of the film, Cox spoke to all of us about his herculean act of editing
such a difficult project and how it nearly made him become just as mad as his
subject. There were the caustic comments about the banks and capitalism that I have
heard before, the madness that is parts of the United States (its insane
worship of guns in particular), the sorry state of the Arts in Australia (his
disbelief that George Brandis is the Arts minister in the current government), his
anger on the subject of film censorship, and the way in which the premiere of
this particular film was cancelled on the afternoon of September 11, 2001.
Just
as Paul Cox got to know the great grandson of Vincent Van Gogh- (the filmmaker and
activist Theo Van Gogh who was murdered several years ago), after this film he
also came to know Kyra Nijinsky, the daughter of Vaslav Nijinsky. In his pocket
he carefully keeps as a talisman a black Jesus pendant given to him by Kyra,
which once belonged to Vaslav himself. Perhaps not coincidentally, Cox’s
daughter is also called Kyra.
Before
too long Paul Cox disappeared, and I left him with a carefully constructed Van
Gogh card ‘(Oleanders’) as a token of my appreciation. On the card I thanked
him and wrote of my Vincent pilgrimages, and incorporated some quotations from
Vincent’s letters.
At
the end of all that the mind feels incredibly enriched. The pettiness of the
modern world suddenly seems far away, until you creep back to the city again and
you discover that the Reserve Bank has generously kept interest rates on hold.
The best review of this film can be found at: http://sensesofcinema.com/2002/feature-articles/nijinsky/
The best review of this film can be found at: http://sensesofcinema.com/2002/feature-articles/nijinsky/