Limbo (2023)

 

Writer/director Ivan Sen

LIMBO           B                                                                                                                 Australia  (108 mi)  2023  ‘Scope  d: Ivan Sen

Sometimes you can just never find the truth.  You’ve got to find another way to make peace.       —Charlie (Rob Collins)

Not to be confused with the John Sayles film Limbo (1999), Ivan Sen’s MYSTERY ROAD (2013) and Goldstone (2016), both featuring an Aboriginal police detective, were extremely popular with the Australian public, where the lead protagonist held immense appeal, leading to a spin-off television series, while this takes us into that same barren wasteland, but from the perspective of a much more flawed white homicide police detective who stirs things up in the middle of nowhere by searching for sufficient clues to determine if there’s enough evidence to re-open a 20-year old unsolved murder of a local Aboriginal girl whose body was never found, a case left unsolved by a disinterested and incompetent police investigation.  A bleak and layered drama filled with long pauses and endless silences, where you can hear the sound of gravel underneath the wheels of a car, time simply moves more slowly out there, as we find ourselves in one of the most desolate places on the planet, like living in oblivion, where the land is as abused as the characters living there, discovering that people remain damaged and disconnected both from themselves and each other, and most especially from their families, as things that don’t make sense tend to happen all the time, causing confusion and bewilderment, where justice or trust are simply not part of the local vocabulary.  Another director who writes, directs, produces, shoots, edits, and scores his own films, Sen flips the script with this strangely detached “outback-noir” tale, shot in just 16 days in the Coober Pedy region of South Australia, known as the opal capital of the world, where the world-weary residents are beaten down by the dire and exhausting circumstances, expecting and saying very little, as they’re literally in limbo, featuring stunning aerial viewpoints and stark black and white photography that accentuates a treeless, moon-like terrain where nothing grows in the scorching daytime heat of this barren landscape, filled with the cratered remnants of extensive opal mining and underground dwellings to escape the heat.  Sen’s earlier features highlighted the constant police harassment of Indigenous people (referred to in the film as blacks), offering the perspective of the justice system through the eyes of an Indigenous police officer, but here he turns an unflinching eye on the effects of that harassment, expressed through a pervasive aversion toward the police, who are viewed suspiciously.  This is a world where black girls and women are routinely targeted by predatory white men, but the police turn a blind eye, refusing to invest resources, ask questions, or take a young Indigenous girl’s disappearance seriously, as if it hardly matters, incidents that are all too common with Indigenous family histories, shifting the blame from the real perpetrators to instead targeting local black men and boys with endless threats of violence.  This film explores the deeper impact of a crime on one Indigenous family through the eyes of a white policeman, taking place in a ghost town where there’s no conceivable local authority, examining the damage caused by a failed justice system and the resilience of those who continue to endure its consequences, discovering lost souls crushed under the weight of longstanding racist indifference.   

At the center of the picture is Simon Baker, who surprisingly made an early appearance decades ago in Curtis Hanson’s L.A. Confidential (1997), but more recently starred in the TV series The Mentalist (2008-2015), taking his earnings to support the Australian film industry, specifically working with Indigenous filmmakers, seen here playing Travis Hurley, a white policeman who is sent to this lone outpost to determine if there’s enough evidence to reopen the case of a young Indigenous girl, Charlotte, who disappeared twenty years ago without a trace, where the negligence of the police investigation has corroded the community and torn the family apart.  But Travis is no ordinary cop, as we see him preparing and shooting narcotics into his arm at the local hotel, whose underground rooms are built into the old tunnels of a mine, where the cave-like walls resemble a tomb, as the people that live here are calloused by the harshness of the landscape and the merciless disregard for their lives by the authorities, leaving each one of them isolated and alone, cut off from the outside world and each other, living in a no man’s land where all hope has been abandoned, recalling the message outside the gates of Hell in Dante’s Inferno, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”  Travis starts with the family, who are eviscerated by loss and grief, beginning with Charlie (Rob Collins), the girl’s brother, an opal miner who lives alone in a trailer, exiled away from his family, where he is wracked by guilt, loneliness, and regret.  Emma (Natasha Wanganeen from Phillip Noyce’s RABBIT-PROOF FENCE in 2002) is the surviving sister working as a waitress in a local café, raising two girls and a boy, one of her own and two of Charlie’s estranged kids, living in what feels like worlds apart.  The reclusive and suspicious Joseph (Nicholas Hope) is supposedly the aging brother of a white prospector named Leon, named as a suspect in the original investigation, who’s alleged to be dead, having suffered from dementia, where some form of forgetting seems to have afflicted the entire nation, yet Joseph barely ever sees anyone and stays alone living in his mine with his dog, with literally nowhere else to go.  It’s clear from the start that the case was never properly investigated, as at the time the girl was initially reported missing, it took weeks before the police even investigated, shifting away from the known white suspects to threatening the local Indigenous population, shoddily covering it up by framing her brother Charlie, an easy target who became something of a racist smokescreen, yet typical of the way these investigations have gotten sidetracked by economic and social privileges for the past hundred years, incidents that routinely tear families apart, leaving behind a lingering stench of racist disdain.  In many ways this mirrors the fiasco surrounding the Bowraville murders, unsolved serial killings of three Aboriginal children in the early 1990’s, where the white murder suspect has continually eluded criminal prosecution.  This devastatingly tender film, mostly comprised of small, casual moments, symbolizes the history of atrocities committed by white colonial settlers against Aboriginal peoples over centuries, reflective of the White Australia policy and the collective amnesia of the nation, leading to decades of exploitation and community neglect just in the last century, emblematic of how difficult it is to survive in this forbidding landscape and for traumatic wounds to heal.   

Delving into the godforsaken territory explored in Jane Campion’s television mini-series 2013 Top Ten List #9 Top of the Lake, this is not a white savior movie, offering no redemptive salvation and no quick fix, as a disillusioned Travis is a bit jaded himself, with his own troubled past, coming from a broken marriage, leaving him something of a shell of a man, hardly the answer to anyone’s prayers, listening to evangelical religious messages on the car radio as he arrives into this outback mining town, literally searching for his own personal salvation, which is intertwined in his quest for meaning, informing children “I came out of the sky” when asked where he comes from.  Moving from person to person, becoming a stoic intermediary whose greatest strength lies in his ability to listen, even if only fragments and hints are offered to him, he slowly makes inroads as people who initially clammed up on him for fear of reprisals become more outspoken, offering relevant bits and pieces of insight as he begins to piece together what happened.  Leon, the prime suspect, was known for hosting drinking parties that lured teenage black girls into his cave, where these women had a habit of feeling drugged and sedated when they woke up the next morning, like having their memories erased.  At the outset, Joseph indicates his brother died in the past year, yet no one else remembers Leon ever had a brother, leaving unanswered questions that oppressively linger in the air, with suggestions that not everyone is telling the truth.  Charlie had been falsely accused of Charlotte’s murder in the early days of the investigation, after the corrupt police tortured two other men into lying, saying they had witnessed the crime.  After an exasperated mental breakdown, Charlie questioned his own fitness to adequately parent, so his two kids began living with his sister Emma.  And that is simply par for the course in this part of the world, exposing the marginalization faced by Indigenous communities, with no reliance on outside help, faced with systemic racism and the lingering effects of colonialism, where revisiting generational trauma by failed attempts to respectfully redress injustice highlights the complexities of loss experienced by Aboriginal Australians.  This is no ordinary police thriller, reduced to a series of conversations, though part of its unique effect is the way it subverts our own expectations, slowly unraveling, yet never arriving at any sense of resolution, with Travis ultimately becoming a kind of catalyst and healer within this fractured family, yet we’re left adrift, cut off from any form of justice, much like this Aboriginal culture, an otherworldly living culture that has never been truly embraced by the larger Australian community, remaining at odds, like its own force of nature, which can be felt but not seen or truly understood, in much the same way nature is presented in the Peter Weir film Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975).  Notable for its ambiguity, and its moody mix of bare-bones plot and eccentric characters, Aboriginal culture is a metaphysical presence that remains an enigma that mainstream white Australia fails to grasp, forever haunting us with its own intrinsic mysteries, where it’s rare to find a film that explores the depths of psychological damage with this degree of complexity.    

Goldstone

Director Ivan Sen on the set with actress Jacki Weaver

GOLDSTONE            B+                  

Australia  (110 mi)  2016  ‘Scope  d:  Ivan Sen                      official site

Like the Tony Hillerman detective stories taking place on the Navajo Indian Reservation that show insight into what it means to be an Indian in the 21st century, several filmed by Chris Eyre, a Cheyenne-Arapaho Native American, including SKINWALKERS (2002) and A THIEF OF TIME (2004), with more than a few similarities to Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River (2017), this film offers an Indigenous perspective in the remote Australian outback, creating a clash of racial and cultural interests, featuring an oppressive film noir atmosphere that literally reeks with malice.  In a follow-up to his hugely successful earlier film MYSTERY ROAD (2013), Aaron Pederson returns as Indigenous detective Jay Swan who enters the murky waters of a land that has been compromised for well over a century, evidenced by sepia-toned archival photographs that open the film, which resemble similar American photographs of the first railroads being built across an open frontier, which included a mysterious Chinese presence that has all but been excluded from the history books.  Despite getting himself tossed into the pokey for swirling on the road and driving drunk, Swan’s introduction to local white cop Josh Waters (Alex Russell) is a contentious one, searching for a missing Chinese migrant girl, continually warned that he doesn’t belong there and that he should turn back around and head home.  Literally every single white person he meets offers this exact same advice, all of which suggest a small cabal of nefarious criminals and thieves.  With much of the land fenced and declared off-limits, containing extensive mining deposits, where dynamite blasts are a regular occurrence, Swan’s rented trailer out in the middle of nowhere is shot up by a greeting biker gang party that officially sends the message that he’s not wanted around there.  To his credit, Swan is not deterred, a man of few words, in the Eastwood mode, with Josh helping him relocate to an even more isolated cabin.  Viewers know things will get more interesting once vehicles start taking the dirt roads, which are offshoots of the more traveled paved roads, which stretch for miles in a straight line, obstructed by absolutely nothing along the way.  Sen, an Indigenous director who also writes, shoots, and edits his films, while also writing the music, likes to use aerial shots that reveal the extent of the emptiness in the vast landscapes that lead to nowhere, where the clearly visible geometric straight lines of the roads imposed by the whites is a sign of cultural oppression, as it expresses an artificial structure imposed on nature.   

Swan is officially introduced to several town notables, including Johnny (David Wenham), the Furnace Creek Mine boss, who is attempting to buy, or more likely steal, huge parcels of Aboriginal land for an unspecified development project, Tommy (Tommy Lewis), the corrupt head of the Aboriginal Land Council, and then, of course, there’s that lethal smile from the town mayor, Maureen (Jacki Weaver), easily the most diabolical character in the film, all of whom make nice little speeches about how they like the way things are in these parts and they don’t need any outsiders stirring up the pot.  Swan has apparently heard and seen all this before, recognizing signs of government authorities trampling on the rights of Indigenous people, yet he’s a world weary character with a mind of his own, which includes wandering into the restricted areas where he sees a transport plane bringing a handful of Asian girls to the vicinity, signs of sex trafficking, but as Josh quickly reminds him, he has no proof.  Nonetheless, viewers see the girl’s passports taken away, as each one is paying off a family debt, essentially becoming prostitutes for the mining workers, where they are treated much like they have been for the past hundred years.  There are quirky developments that make this film interesting, as there’s a woman in a pink trailer with a neon sign that advertises Pinky’s, where she’s basically a woman for hire, but shows a cunning spirit that suggests an entrepreneurial mindset, as she’s pretty much left to operate on her own with no hassles from the police.  This little detour doesn’t get Swan any closer to his missing person, but it does offer a glimpse into Swan’s distressing past and gives him a lay of the landscape, as everybody in this town is paid off and gets a cut of the action, which allows them free access to do as they please.  Another detour leads him to Jimmy, David Gulpilil from Walkabout (1971), RABBIT-PROOF FENCE (2002), and THE TRACKER (2002), now affectionately described as the “old man,” an Aboriginal elder, a keeper of the spirits, who actually knew Swan’s father, as he was part of the “Stolen Generation,” where as many as 100,000 Aboriginal kids were abducted from their families and raised as whites.  Jimmy takes him on an exploration of a sacred site, a spectacularly tranquil creek that wanders through a breathtakingly beautiful rock formation that contains Aboriginal rock paintings, suggesting a timelessness, literally worlds apart from the corruption and utter desolation surrounding it.  It’s Jimmy’s daughter Maria (Ursula Yovich) who reminds Swan, “This land, you belong to it.” 

The corruption of the region represents the colonialist mentality from the days of old, which has continued into the present, as no force on earth has stopped it.  Sen approaches the subject with an almost anthropological point of view, where the present is an extension of the past, with each character representing an historical cultural interest, where the pieces may need to be realigned.  When things don’t go the way the scheming developers planned, they resort to murderous plots and ruthless dealmaking, eradicating any obstacles that stand in the way, all of which have a smell of stench attached to them, but in this remote and underpopulated area, that has never stopped them before.  What changes is Josh, as he has a sudden shift of social consciousness and civic responsibility, developing an interest in the affairs of others, including Michelle Davidson as Mei, one of the sex workers, piqued by their obvious unwillingness to talk to him, suggesting there’s plenty more underneath the surface that he’s never bothered to consider, always looking the other way as a matter of convenience.  He never wanted to be the guy to interfere or rock the boat, and was comfortable with the laissez faire idea of live and let live.  After a series of curious inquiries about her situation, Mei, however, stops him dead in his tracks by confronting him with the ultimate question:  “If you find the truth, what will you do with it?”  This realignment of the stars eventually brings the two law enforcement officers together, reluctantly at first, but both are the only ones with an interest in uncovering the truth, though Swan’s had his finger on the pulse from the outset.  It’s the latecomer that swings the balance of power, a multi-racial task force to eradicate the evil elements, which ends up in protracted gun battles that are carefully choreographed and staged, including the infamous biker gang and other hired thugs protecting the capitalistic interests of the unscrupulous mining company and developers, who view the land as essentially worthless except for the money it can produce.  Perhaps these two guys should have joined forces at the outset, as racial stigmas and common misperceptions (not to mention payoffs) may have played into that, while nobody likes to hear someone else tell them what to do, but mutual interests finally turn the tide, becoming a rousing modern western in contemporary times.  Extremely successful in winning Australian Film Critics Association Awards, with Sen winning best director and best cinematography, Pederson winning best actor, while Weaver won best supporting actress, The Guardian (The 10 best Australian films of 2016 | Film | The Guardian) called it the best Australian film of the year.