Fortune begins with Napoleon’s triumphant entry into Berlin on 27 October 1806. Does it matter whether the popular image of the emperor astride a magnificent white stallion is an embellishment? ‘Time sullies every truth,’ Lenny Bartulin tells us. History is as much a fiction as this tale of derring-do and dire misfortune heaped on innocent and wicked alike. Coincidence, improbable and highly amusing, propels the narrative in a series of fast-moving, often farcical vignettes that recall Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532), Voltaire’s Candide (1759), and Joseph Furphy’s classic Australian yarn Such Is Life (1903).

With a mixture of comic bawdiness and earnest philosophising, Bartulin successfully adapts the satirical novel to suit twenty-first-century expectations. He shuffles the overlapping lives of characters as if they are cards in a deck of infinite possibility and combination, thus exposing both their selfless acts and darkest secrets. From Europe to the Dutch colony of Suriname and the penal colonies of New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land, an otherwise incident-driven narrative is lent pathos by Bartulin’s inventive and insightful attribution of motive both to characters who are major players in historical events and to their most abject subjects. He makes the thoughts of Napoleon, his wives and generals, as banal and elevated as those of ordinary folk affected by the vagaries of their so-called superiors; he forcefully exposes Europeans’ barbarism in the abhorrent treatment of the beautiful slave Josephine and her brother Mr Hendrik.


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  • Custom Article Title Francesca Sasnaitis reviews 'Fortune' by Lenny Bartulin
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    Fortune begins with Napoleon’s triumphant entry into Berlin on 27 October 1806. Does it matter whether the popular image of the emperor astride a magnificent white stallion is an embellishment? ‘Time sullies every truth,’ Lenny Bartulin tells us. History is as much a fiction as this tale of derring-do and dire misfortune  ...

  • Book Title Fortune
  • Book Author Lenny Bartulin
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  • Biblio Allen & Unwin, $29.99 pb, 292 pp, 9781760529307
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John Berger describes emigration as ‘the quintessential experience of our time’ (And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos, 1984), and gives credence to the concept that geographic and psychological exile is pervasive to the human condition. ‘No one willingly chooses exile – exile is the option when choice has run out,’ says the protagonist of Invented Lives, Russian-Jewish émigré Galina Kogan.

Andrea Goldsmith’s eighth novel opens in Leningrad. It is the mid-1980s and Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika and glasnost have been eagerly embraced by the West. Soviet citizens are more sceptical. Shortages and privations remain daily facts of life, and long experience has taught them the value of promises made by those in power. Quickly, before the rules change yet again, Galina and her mother, Lidiya, apply to emigrate. But Lidiya dies, and Galina is left alone to make the decisions they would have made together.

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  • Custom Article Title Francesca Sasnaitis reviews Invented Lives by Andrea Goldsmith
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    John Berger describes emigration as ‘the quintessential experience of our time’ (And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos, 1984), and gives credence to the concept that geographic and psychological exile is pervasive to the human condition. ‘No one willingly chooses exile – exile is the option when choice has run out,’ says the ...

  • Book Title Invented Lives
  • Book Author Andrea Goldsmith
  • Author Type Author
  • Biblio Scribe, $32.99 pb, 336 pp, 9781925713589

According to the online resource Climate Action Tracker, Australia’s emissions from fossil fuels and industry continue to rise and are heading for an increase of nine per cent above 2005 levels by 2030, rather than the fifteen to seventeen per cent decrease in emissions required to meet Australia’s Paris Agreement target. What this means for our environment and how the changes will manifest is a matter for speculation.

Lucida Intervalla is set in that not-so-distant future: the atmosphere is ‘smudged’; Centralia is the barren heart; posting, tweeting, and messaging are out of control; surgical and genetic modification has brought humanity a step closer to immortality. The joke is that Perth hasn’t changed that much. But this is not a typical ‘pisstake’ (the title of one of its many short chapters) in the style of Ben Elton’s Stark (1989), though the themes are similar. Acclaimed eco-poet and self-confessed anarchist John Kinsella lampoons big business, ignorant government, and ineffectual activism almost as an aside, a habitual response to a culture and society he finds inexplicable at best and reprehensible as a whole.

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    According to the online resource Climate Action Tracker, Australia’s emissions from fossil fuels and industry continue to rise and are heading for an increase of nine per cent above 2005 levels by 2030, rather than the fifteen to seventeen per cent decrease in ...

  • Book Title Lucida Intervalla
  • Book Author John Kinsella
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  • Biblio UWA Publishing, $24.99 pb, 240 pp, 9781760800079

In 1952, Marion May Campbell’s father was killed in an apocalyptic accident when his World War II RAAF Dakota was knocked out of control by contact with a waterspout and was ‘unable to effect recovery’. There were no survivors and little wreckage. The outmoded Dakota was on loan to the CSIRO to conduct experiments in artificial rainmaking that required flying into turbulent cumulonimbus clouds. ‘Rainmaking is the work of the Devil,’ his daughter heard. Had the radio physicists on those flights discovered how to make it rain over drought-stricken areas of Australia, they would have been hailed as heroes. As it was, his grieving widow received a nasty anonymous letter intimating that the crew got what they deserved for ‘interfering with nature’.

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  • Custom Article Title Francesca Sasnaitis reviews 'The Man on the Mantelpiece: A memoir' by Marion May Campbell
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    In 1952, Marion May Campbell’s father was killed in an apocalyptic accident when his World War II RAAF Dakota was knocked out of control by contact with a waterspout and was ‘unable to effect recovery’. There were no survivors and little wreckage. The outmoded Dakota was on loan to the CSIRO to ...

  • Book Title The Man on the Mantelpiece
  • Book Author Marion May Campbell
  • Book Subtitle A memoir
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  • Biblio UWA Publishing, $24.99 pb, 232 pp, 9781760800031

For a homeless person, home is the street and the moveable blanket or bedroll. Ultimately, the only home remaining is the body. Fiona Wright is not homeless, she has been un-homed by her body’s betrayal. Whether she can ever feel that she fits again is the primary theme of her second collection of essays, The World Was Whole. That her body was once fitting and knowable, that the world was once whole, is suggested by the title, which comes from Louise Glück’s poem ‘Aubade’:

A room with a chair, a window.
A small window, filled with the patterns
light makes.
In its emptiness the world

was whole always, not
a chip of something, with
the self at the centre.

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    For a homeless person, home is the street and the moveable blanket or bedroll. Ultimately, the only home remaining is the body. Fiona Wright is not homeless, she has been un-homed by her body’s betrayal. Whether she can ever feel that she fits again is the primary theme of ...

  • Book Title The World Was Whole
  • Book Author Fiona Wright
  • Author Type Author
  • Biblio Giramondo, $29.95 pb, 256 pp, 9781925336979
Monday, 27 August 2018 09:45

The Insult (Palace Films)

‘No one has a monopoly on suffering,’ says Wajdi Wehbe (Camille Salamé), the barrister representing Lebanese Christian mechanic Toni Hanna (Adel Karam) in his law suit against Palestinian Muslim refugee Yasser Abdallah Salameh (Kamel El Basha). Wehbe’s statement is intended to address what he perceives as an imbalance in the level of sympathy and support offered to the (minority) Lebanese Christian community. To what degree suffering can excuse, not just explain, retaliatory violence lies at the heart of The Insult.

Toni is a very angry man – later we find out why – and hates the influx of Palestinian workers in his Beirut neighbourhood. His pregnant wife, Rita Hayek (Shirine Hanna), urges him to move back to their hometown Damour. They are rebuilding there, she says; they would have more room for the baby. But he summarily dismisses her idea. It helps to know that in 1976 during the Lebanese civil war, Damour’s Maronite Christian community was attacked and massacred by left-wing Muslim militants aided by the Palestinian Liberation Organisation (PLO).

At home and in the auto shop, Toni constantly has the radio or television tuned to Christian Party supporters spouting nationalist rhetoric not dissimilar to that of Pauline Hanson’s One Nation. It is clear that Toni’s antipathies are deeply rooted in the complex religious and historic divisions of the Middle East.

Yasser is an engineer, a proud and ethical man reduced to acting as foreman of a repair crew made up of refugees like himself. When water cascades from Toni’s improperly installed drainpipe, Yasser demands its replacement. Toni’s defiant reactions seem disproportionate. When Yasser confronts him, Toni speaks the fateful, provocative words – ‘I wish Ariel Sharon had wiped you all out’ – and Yasser retaliates. An apology is sought but not forthcoming. Violence escalates.

It is also important to note that the Damour massacre happened as a reprisal for the Karantina massacre earlier in 1976, when the predominantly Palestinian Muslim slum area of Beirut was overrun by the right-wing, predominantly Christian Lebanese Front. Over 1,500 people, mainly Muslims, died in that massacre. One reprisal follows another, seemingly without end, and hostilities linger long after the war is officially over. This is the other message of The Insult and its writer/director Ziad Doueiri.

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    ‘No one has a monopoly on suffering,’ says Wajdi Wehbe (Camille Salamé), the barrister representing Lebanese Christian mechanic Toni Hanna (Adel Karam) in his law suit against Palestinian Muslim refugee Yasser Abdallah Salameh (Kamel El Basha). Wehbe’s statement is intended to ...

  • Review Rating 3.0

The narrator of David Malouf’s virtuosic ‘A Traveller’s Tale’ (1982) describes Queensland’s far north as ‘a place of transformations’ and unwittingly provides us with an epigraph for this collection.

Without doubt, every story selected from Meanjin’s cache of the last thirty-eight years deserves this second airing, but if, as editor Jonathan Green attests, short fiction hardly sells, then his parsimonious introduction could bear expansion. It would be interesting to know, for example, why 2009 boasts five contributors, among them Georgia Blain’s astute rendition of childhood injustices in ‘Intelligence Quotient’, and Chris Womersley’s account of a sudden flood of grief spiked with ghostly undertones in ‘The Very Edge of Things’; and why the 1990s warrant a scant two inclusions, both of which, ‘The Wolfman’s Sister’ (1996) by Barbara Creed and ‘The Swimmer’ (1999) by Kevin Brophy, portray disconcerting aspects of gender relations. Nor does Green’s alphabetical-by-author arrangement illuminate his claim for the gradual admission of the broadest range of voices to Australian letters.

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  • Custom Article Title Francesca Sasnaitis reviews 'Meanjin A–Z: Fine fiction 1980 to now' edited by Jonathan Green
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    The narrator of David Malouf’s virtuosic ‘A Traveller’s Tale’ (1982) describes Queensland’s far north as ‘a place of transformations’ and unwittingly provides us with an epigraph for this collection. Without doubt, every story selected from ....

  • Book Title Meanjin A–Z
  • Book Author Jonathan Green
  • Book Subtitle Fine fiction 1980 to now
  • Author Type Editor
  • Biblio Melbourne University Press, $29.99 pb, 225 pp, 9780522873696

The map of In Cahoots is a tracery of journeys made by road and air, like songlines traversing the continent, speaking to points of departure, conjunction, and communion, and to the central theme of the project: communication.

Involving six Aboriginal art centres partnered with five individual artists and one collaborative duo, each artist and community presents a singular set of issues, not merely dealing with the logistics of distance and accessibility, but also bridging vast cultural differences.

The main wall of the Tony Albert (Queensland/New South Wales) and Warakurna Artists (Western Australia) installation is hung with a colourful array of figures, from hovering helicopters to camels, trucks, donkeys, children and footballers, houses, babies, musical instruments, a bride and groom; the full panoply of community life fashioned from painted, rusty tin, a joyful testament to Albert’s engagement and inclusiveness. Individually, these pieces seem naïve; together they make a coherent whole. On the remaining walls hang vibrant photographs from the Warakurna Superheroes series: children dressed as their favourite superhero, in costumes handmade from recycled materials, pose flamboyantly atop the rusting hulks of abandoned cars and farm equipment.

Louise Haselton (South Australia) described working with Papulankutja Artists (Western Australia) of the Blackstone Community as challenging. She had to cope with isolation and negotiate the tricky terrain between initiating artwork and taking over. Eventually, she was forced to let go of preconceptions, a recurrent theme of the collaborative process, and accept a different world view and ways of communicating.

Haselton posited incorporating Papulankutja desert grass weaving with bronze, equating the antiquity of the casting process with traditional tjanpi practices. When she returned from a residency in Berlin with bronze holders for the woven tjanpi, she was taken aback by the reaction of the women, who found the dull brown metal too sombre. They reclaimed ownership by irreverently painting the bronzes with bright concentric circles that mimicked their cradled weavings. The results bear comparison to spectacular lollipops.

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Warakurna Superhero 1Warakurna Superhero #1, Tony Albert, Kieran Lawson, and David Collins (photograph by David Collins, Sullivan+Strumpf, Fremantle Arts Centre)

 

In the silences that accompanied concentrated periods of weaving or painting, Haselton began to see a complex range of signals pass between the women. They had no need to speak aloud. She learned to sit and let their silences and their stories wash over her like a meditation, finding that time slowed. With that, her desire to control the outcome of their collaboration evaporated.

Initially, the spot-lit pieces ranged around the walls of the Neil Aldum (Western Australia) and Baluk Arts (Victoria) installation seem self-conscious. Baluk is the only urban Aboriginal art centre represented in this exhibition, and the least homogenous. Members of the Mornington Peninsula community come from diverse backgrounds and locations. What unites them is a shared narrative of displacement, and what I had mistaken as a lack of authenticity, a pretence to traditional aboriginal crafts, was more a reflection of my limited understanding.

To pick one example from this group: Dominic Bramall-White trained as an artist before discovering his Tasmanian aboriginal ancestry. For him, Baluk became a safe place to explore the ramifications of his adoption, his loss of family, and his Aboriginality. His methodology is to forge the tools he uses to fashion tradition materials in contemporary contexts. His North East Vessel skims the waves with bull kelp sails and a black wattle hull, a beautiful, dark object balanced between sea and sky, black and white; reminiscent of ocean going tragedies like the Flying Dutchman or slavers’ ships.

North East Vessel ABR ArtsNorth East Vessel, Dominic Bramall-White (photograph by Daryl Gordon, Baluk Arts, Fremantle Arts Centre)

 

Similarly, the furniture salvaged from mangled car wrecks by Trent Jansen (New South Wales) and Mangkaja Arts Resource Agency (Western Australia), seems ill-served by overly dramatic lighting. Jansen, the only designer amongst the visiting artists, might be accused of imposing formalism and perfectionism on his collaborators. His practice may not encourage inclusiveness on a Tony Albert scale, but his projects are consciously co-authored and involve a genuine exchange of artisanal skills. In fact, Jansen attributes the perfectionism of the finish applied to the sharp metal edges of Collision, and an unerring eye for form, to his collaborator Johnny Nargoodah. He also credits Nargoodah with the tanned hide draped over a rusty metal seat, transforming a harsh, ridged machine into an irresistible, sensual flank.

Jansen has an interest in creature mythologies and cultural cross-overs. The Jangarra Armchair, another deliciously tactile piece, is based on collaborator Rita Minga’s drawings and stories of a big, hairy man-killer who hides behind large rocks and anthills, and is the Fitzroy Crossing equivalent of a bogeyman. The bulging, organic armchair, constructed from carved and inverted coolamons (water-carriers), fixed to a wooden armature, and studded with traditional human hair string, looks as if it might arise at any moment.

At Parnngurr, Claire Healy and Sean Cordeiro (New South Wales) worked with Martumili Artists (Western Australia). The couple’s usual concept-based practice had to defer to the demands of process, another case of ‘letting go’ which brought freedom from preconceived outcomes. Like several other groups, they chose to incorporate parts from the wrecks littering the landscape with Minarri desert grass weaving. The combination of organic forms and the uncompromising geometry of car doors is texturally stunning, especially Nancy Karnu Taylor’s Jurtupa and Wawal, a pair of doors with a giant breast protruding from one window, and an ambiguous crater woven into the frame of the other.

Unattributed paintings, artefacts from the Parnngurr art shed, and photographs of abandoned wrecks painted in Gothic script with words that name animals as well as cars find random placement on the walls. The carcasses of Swifts, Impalas, Colts, and Stags baking in the Pilbara heat remind the viewer of the brute force of these contemporary beasts.

Jurtupa and WawalJurtupa and Wawal (detail), Nancy Karnu Taylor and Sean Cordeiro (photograph by Bo Wong, Martumili Artists, Fremantle Arts Centre)

 

Every collaboration has its highlights and catastrophes. Healy is open about the difficulty she and Cordeiro had reconciling their conceptual art practice with Martu art making, and about her doubts as to whether a true collaboration was achieved. Perhaps that is why the pairing of Curtis Taylor (Western Australia) and Ishmael Marika from the Buku-Larrnggay Mulka Arts Centre (Northern Territory) struck me as the most integrated collaboration and the most aesthetically successful.

The two Aboriginal filmmakers are of similar age and grew up in remote communities, the Western Desert and Northeast Arnhem Land, respectively. Both studied at universities in urban centres, were interested in representations of ‘Aboriginal horror’ in film, and wanted to work together. For this project, they visited Marika’s family, where Taylor was informally initiated into Yolngu traditions. Then Taylor returned the favour, inviting Marika to Punmu, his grandmother’s Country. They continued to film around both communities but were also excited by the prospect of working with physical materials and incorporating traditional skills from both cultures.

Now, hanging from the ceiling of the gallery, are one hundred spears made from desert acacia and mangrove wood, symbolising Martu and Yolngu collaboration. The coloured ochres under the spears provide a focal point for this cultural exchange, and the gigantic spool of hair string in one corner likewise represents the connection between the two cultures. In the opposite corner, a bank of television screens shows short videos from both locations, archival footage, and Taylor’s powerful Ngarnda (Pain) (2015), which explores blood as ritual, as symbolic of family and cultural knowledge, and as a visceral enactment of dispossession.

Curtis and IshmaelSpears made from desert Acacia, Curtis Taylor, Ishmael Marika, Wokka Taylor, Desmond Taylor, and Wilson Mandijalu, 2017 (photograph by Bo Wong, Fremantle Arts Centre)

 

I am hard-pressed to sum up In Cahoots. The results are as diverse as the individuals involved, and represent a major coup for Fremantle Arts Centre. Curator Erin Coates deserves our accolades for managing to bring off this mammoth undertaking in a little under two years. For those not fortunate enough to participate in the artists’ talks during the opening weekend, a sense of the complex stories underpinning the exhibition can be gleaned from the accompanying catalogue (FAC, 2017).

If I may borrow a final word from Tony Albert’s eloquent appraisal of difference: ‘The humanity [is] familiar.’

In Cahoots: artists collaborate across Country continues at the Fremantle Arts Centre, until 28 Jan 2018.

ABR Arts is generously supported by The Ian Potter Foundation.

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  • Custom Article Title In Cahoots: artists collaborate across Country (Fremantle Arts Centre)
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    The map of In Cahoots is a tracery of journeys made by road and air, like songlines traversing the continent, speaking to points of departure, conjunction, and communion, and to the central theme of the project: communication. Involving six Aboriginal art centres partnered with five individual artists and one ...

I grew up in a New Australian household, and admit at the outset to a biased view. My Lithuanian-born parents were actual Baltic immigrants among the other nationalities referred to by the blanket designation ‘Balt’. Much of the anecdotal material of Jayne Persian’s Beautiful Balts was deeply familiar to me from childhood: stories of the shock of a new culture and country so at odds with the idyllic descriptions handed out to prospective migrants; the oddities of Australian English; heart-warming stories of kindness; humorous ones of petty provincialism; and tales of less kind or frankly hostile reactions to difference. The sequence of events, dates, statistics, and official policies were less familiar and, therefore, of greater interest in so far as the data filled some blanks in my knowledge.

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  • Custom Article Title Francesca Sasnaitis reviews 'Beautiful Balts: From displaced persons to new Australians' by Jayne Persian
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    I grew up in a New Australian household, and admit at the outset to a biased view. My Lithuanian-born parents were actual Baltic immigrants among the other nationalities referred to by the blanket designation ‘Balt’. Much of the anecdotal material of Jayne Persian’s Beautiful Balts was deeply familiar to me from childhood ...

  • Book Title Beautiful Balts
  • Book Author Jayne Persian
  • Book Subtitle From displaced persons to new Australians
  • Author Type Author
  • Biblio NewSouth, $39.99 pb, 250 pp, 9781742234854
Tuesday, 31 October 2017 11:05

On Chesil Beach

On Chesil Beach is not Ian McEwan’s first screenplay, nor his only adaptation for the screen. The Children Act (2017), directed by Richard Eyre and based on McEwan’s 2014 novel, is also due for release in 2018. In an interview he gave at the Toronto International Film Festival, where both films premièred, McEwan said that his challenge was to find cinematic equivalents for literary devices, without resorting to the obvious solution of the voiceover. What he achieves feels like déjà vu. Interior monologues, intertwining thoughts and memories, and McEwan’s succinct narratorial commentary, return seemingly verbatim in conversations and extensive flashback scenes. Only the novel’s implicit theme, ‘the power of words to make the unseen visible’, suffers in translation.

It is 1962. The film begins with a wide-shot over neatly parcelled, green countryside. The camera pans slowly down to the coast and Dorset’s famous twenty-nine-kilometre shingle beach. The landscape seems desolate, but in the distance, walking along the beach, are two indistinct figures. As the camera moves closer, and the figures resolve into those of a young man and woman, their voices become clearer: the woman speaks with what would once have been called an educated English accent, the man, with a mild country lilt, the first of many dichotomies that signify the fissures in their relationship. Their heads are close. He skips around her, passionately trying to explain the genius of Chuck Berry. It’s very bouncy and merry, she says, desperate to appreciate his enthusiasm for rock and roll. He calls her the squarest girl in the world. Does he love her despite her shortcomings? He loves her because of them, or so he insists. And she loves him, but classical music is her passion.

The first sentence of McEwan’s novel (published in 2007) baldly states their predicament: ‘They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible.’ Under Dominic Cooke’s direction, watching these two naïve, young people, stymied by the unspoken rules and conventions of the period, is exquisite torture. Both leads – Billy Howle as the self-conscious but defiant Edward Mayhew, and Saoirse Ronan as Florence Ponting, tilting the perfect oval of her face on that swan-like neck – invite us with the smallest gestures, the nervous foot-tapping, hand-clenching, and subtleties of vocal and facial expression into the intimacy of their thoughts.

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Ian McEwan ABR OnlineIan McEwan (Wikimedia Commons)

 

‘I love you,’ each declares. They believe themselves to be sincere, but lack the insight to realise that what they adore is the idea of being in love, so eager are they to embark on their own versions of adult life. Both are unprepared for a reality of patience and compromise. ‘I love you too,’ each replies, as if the word might satisfy Edward’s sexual longing and free Florence from her revulsion at the physical act.

But Florence is not only the reticent, compliant creature of Edward’s imagination. As lead violinist of the Ennismore Quartet, she is ambitious, demanding to the point of tyranny, and not above behaving dismissively towards her colleagues. Edward admires her straight back and autocratic manner. For him, she promises to play the Mozart String Quintet No. 5 in D major (the one he can hum) at her Wigmore Hall début. He hardly appreciates her music, or the magnitude of her gift, but promises in return to be in seat C9, bellowing ‘bravo’ when that day comes.

Nuanced performances are not restricted to the leads. Anne-Marie Duff deserves a BAFTA Award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role as Edward’s brain-damaged mother, changing within a breath from uninhibited nakedness and taking credit for household tasks she is no longer capable of performing, to speaking lucidly about the great Renaissance artist Paolo Uccello and his painting The Hunt in the Forest. Florence’s kindness and gentle banter with Marjorie is one of the film’s most poignant scenes, and in stark contrast to her relationship with her own mother. Violet (a matronly Emily Watson) is a controlling bigot and anti-Semite whose academic career takes clear precedence over her daughter’s musical ambitions. Florence’s father Geoffrey (Samuel West) is a self-loathing bully, if possible even more vile than Violet. In memories triggered by a Rachmaninov piece for piano there are intimations of abuse. Here, music takes the starring role, not as background to action but as plot point, as subtext, as a sublime agent provocateur.

On Chesil Beach ABR OnlineBilly Howle and Saoirse Ronan in On Chesil Beach (British Film Festival / Palace Films)

 

What could have been cut is the coda, the least successful section of the novel, and worse on film, where the painful consequences of a single act in 1962 are spelled out by youthful actors imperfectly aged for 1975 and 2007. I prefer the ambiguity of the final scene, back on the shingled beach where the film began, with Edward standing silhouetted against the heavy sky, and Florence, by a clever trick of cinematography, apparently seated in an abandoned dinghy. At this moment, with him staring out to sea and her safely planted on land, whether they remain thus divided by a failure of empathy and forgiveness is still open to speculation.

On Chesil Beach, directed by Dominic Cooke, screenplay by Ian McEwan, 110 minutes, BBC & Number 9 Films, is screening around Australia during the British Film Festival (Palace Cinemas) until 15 November 2017.

ABR Arts is generously supported by The Ian Potter Foundation.

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  • Custom Article Title On Chesil Beach ★★★1/2
  • Contents Category Film
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    On Chesil Beach is not Ian McEwan’s first screenplay, nor his only adaptation for the screen. The Children Act (2017), directed by Richard Eyre and based on McEwan’s 2014 novel, is also due for release in 2018. In an interview he gave at the Toronto International Film Festival, where both films premièred, McEwan ...

  • Review Rating 3.5
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