Category Archives: Speculative Australia

Impressions of “The Roo” by Alan Baxter and why the novel deals with so much more than just a killer kangaroo

Posted on by angela99
Reply

Imagine one day you wake up and suddenly people from your town start going missing one by one without any explanation. You find out that this is because of a monstrous kangaroo that has made it its task to destroy every living thing that comes along its way. Doesn’t matter if it’s men, women, or children. Once you face that creature it’s over for you. That monster will crush you, rip your body parts off, and impale you. Doesn’t sound too nice, does it? However, this is the reality for the small town of Morgan Creek in the Outback of Australia in Alan Baxter’s horror novel “The Roo”. The story was inspired by a news article about an Australian town being terrorized by a kangaroo attacking people and eating gardens which made its rounds on Twitter. Baxter saw the article and decided to just run with it. At first glance, “The Roo” seems to be just about killing, blood, and guts, but trust me, it’s not. This unserious text actually has a lot of seriousness hidden behind its violent plot. But more on that in a bit… first I would like to focus on how Baxter portrayed violence in “The Roo” before analyzing how the novel can be seen from an academic point of view.

Forms of Violence in “The Roo”

The truth is: I am not the biggest fan of horror novels and the sight of blood makes me go dizzy, so I was a bit scared of how I would react to “The Roo”.  However, the fact that the novel was very fast-paced and just outright bloody made my reading experience actually quite entertaining and funny. For the most part of the novel, violence is mainly portrayed by the roo brutally killing every living thing that comes its way. In his article “Violent Vibes”, Lucas Mattila defines the “over-the-top representations of violence” as one of the main characteristics of the slasher-horror narrative (65). Moreover, the misogynistic inclinations that can also be found in slasher-horror narratives appear at the end of the novel in the form of domestic abuse which is portrayed through the situation of Pauline. She wants her abusive husband Bill dead and therefore summons this monstrous roo. In the end, she sacrifices herself to stop the bloodbath by ordering Sheila to shoot her dead. Lucas Mattila sees this form of violence as “slow violence [which] enters the picture when it becomes apparent that domestic abuse frequently includes a multigenerational chain of abusers and victims that stretches back and is also expected to continue” (72).

What I found interesting to see was that for the most part, I was actually desensitized to the roo killing people. As it became a constant repetition, I was prepared for what was about to come next. However, I did not expect Pauline’s death and the reason behind the whole bloodbath at all, so I felt genuinely sorry for her. I think that to feel for the deaths of the characters, you must have an emotional connection to them, and for me, that was only the case with Pauline and maybe Scott and his daughter.

Seriousness in unserious texts

Because of the constant brutal killing, one might think that the only purpose of “The Roo” is to entertain and that it does not provide us with any profound meaning. However, every “unserious” text has the power to be discussed in an analytical and critical manner. I would now like to focus more in-depth on the topic of domestic abuse and toxic masculinity which plays a big role in the novel. Baxter put domestic abuse in contrast to the absurd killings of the roo, thus emphasizing domestic abuse and also calling out for action. Alan Baxter states in the afterword that “domestic violence is a massive problem everywhere in the world and especially in Australia. The links between domestic violence, particularly violence against women, and greater acts of domestic terrorism are well-established. DV and male suicide are particularly prevalent in country areas in Australia. Men, we need to be better. We need to feel our emotions, learn how to cry, how to ask for help, and how to look out for each other. We need to bring our sons up better than we are”. Considering this quote by Baxter, I really liked how he created strong female characters that turned out to be the ones solving this mystery (when most of the men are shown to be very misogynistic throughout the novel). While the men of the town try to fight the roo with violence, the women team up and search for the people they haven’t heard of for a while. This is how they find Pauline and with her also the source for all the violent killings. It is also Pauline, a woman, who is strong and brave enough to end this nightmare.

Conclusion

Surprisingly, “The Roo” was extremely entertaining to read despite the fact that it was quite hard to keep track of all the characters mentioned. I also loved that there was an actual answer to all my questions at the end (unlike with “Picnic at Hanging Rock” by Joan Lindsay). However, what really sets this novel apart from other horror novels, and is therefore a must-read, are the several strong messages hidden within its plot. 

Surprisingly, “The Roo” was extremely entertaining to read despite the fact that it was quite hard to keep track of all the characters mentioned. I also loved that there was an actual answer to all my questions at the end (unlike with “Picnic at Hanging Rock” by Joan Lindsay). However, what really sets this novel apart from other horror novels, and is therefore a must-read, are the several strong messages hidden within its plot. 

Übersetzungskommentar zu “Das Dieselbecken”

Posted on by australianfantastic
Reply 
von Mandy Bartesch, Ava Braus und Lina Langpap

Eine junge Frau steht allein am Ufer einer Art unterirdischen Sees. Giftige Dämpfe wabern durch die Luft, sie kann kaum atmen. Die Oberfläche dessen, was Wasser sein sollte, aber keines ist, kräuselt sich, Tentakel tauchen aus den dunklen Tiefen empor, greifen nach ihr. Der Geruch von Diesel steigt ihr in die Nase.

Kaaron Warrens Kurzgeschichte „Das Dieselbecken“ baut stark auf Elementen des Lovecraftschen Horrors auf, der Furcht vor dem Unbekannten und dem, was wir nicht verstehen, um in den Lesenden ein Gefühl der Beklommenheit und des Schreckens hervorzurufen. Das Grauen steigert sich langsam, aber stetig, bis am Ende schließlich die abscheuliche Kreatur enthüllt wird, die den Kern der Geschichte ausmacht. Als Lesende verfolgen wir den Abstieg der Protagonistin in ein Tunnelsystem unter dem Old Parliament House in Canberra. Das Gebäude sieht nur noch wenige Touristen, seit das Gerücht die Runde macht, es sei asbestverseucht.

Die quasi-namenlose Protagonistin, die von ihrem verstorbenen Vater den Spitznamen Jenny Haniver bekommen hat, ist Sexarbeiterin, wohnt in ihrem Auto und besitzt die einzigartige Gabe, Geister wahrnehmen und mit ihnen kommunizieren zu können. Einer der Geister erzählt ihr, dass es in den Tunneln und Höhlen unter dem alten Regierungsgebäude Becken voller Diesel gäbe, Überbleibsel aus dem Krieg, aus denen sich Geld machen ließe. In Begleitung eines Mannes namens Lance, der im Old Parliament House arbeitet, folgt sie dieser Spur in die dunklen Tunnel hinab. Es stellt sich heraus, dass es tatsächlich ein Dieselbecken unter dem Gebäude gibt, aber das ist nicht das einzige, was Jenny dort findet. Das Becken wird von einem seltsamen Besucher bewohnt, einem, dem es nach frischer Luft giert, der jedoch nicht imstande ist, die dunkle Grotte zu verlassen, die über die Jahre zu seinem Gefängnis geworden ist …

Wie Lovecraft baut auch Warren die düstere Atmosphäre ihrer Geschichte nur langsam auf und steigert den Schrecken mit jedem Schritt, den Jenny tiefer in die Tunnel hinab steigt. Erst ganz am Ende enthüllt sie das ganze Ausmaß des Grauens, das dort unten lauert. Es ist eine existentielle Art des Horrors, die sich nicht auf blutiges Gemetzel oder billige Schockeffekte verlassen muss, um unheimlich zu sein. Diese dichte, spannungsgeladene Atmosphäre ins Deutsche zu übertragen, erwies sich als recht schwierig, denn sowohl als Lesende als auch als Übersetzende erleben wir die Ereignisse ausschließlich durch die Augen der Protagonistin: Wenn sie verwirrt ist, sind wir es ebenso, wenn sie Schwierigkeiten hat, zu unterscheiden, was echt ist und was nicht, geht es uns ebenso. Die Art, wie sie ihre Erlebnisse schildert, ist besonders oft durch Ellipsen geprägt, etwa wenn sie die Erinnerungen an ihren Vater völlig abrupt, sogar ohne Satzzeichen abbricht (Warren 74). Als Übersetzende müssen wir uns fragen, ob wir diese Leerstellen füllen oder doch lieber leer lassen sollen, und ob das etwas daran ändern würde, wie ein deutschsprachiges Lesepublikum die Geschichte wahrnähme.

Darüber hinaus stellt sich die Frage, ob wir während des Übersetzungsprozesses Erklärungen für Kulturspezifika einfügen sollten oder nicht. So finden sich im Ausgangstext Textelemente wie Old Parliament House, tent-embassy, oder Summernats, die in der Kultur von Australien, speziell von Canberra eingebettet sind und bei denen wir als Übersetzer erwägen müssen, inwieweit wir als Kulturmittler agieren sollen.  Etwa der Begriff Summernats, ein in Canberra jährlich stattfindendes Autofestival, bedarf in der Übersetzung eine zusätzlichen Erklärung. Ein weiteres Beispiel: gibt man beispielsweise den Begriff tent-embassy bei Google ein, so lässt sich leicht feststellen, dass es hierfür eine feststehende deutsche Übersetzung gibt, und zwar Zelt-Botschaft. Jedoch gehört dieser Begriff und der damit zusammenhängende kulturelle Kontext nicht zum Allgemeinwissen deutscher LeserInnen. Daher haben wir uns dazu entschlossen, eine Fußnote einzufügen.

Weitere Übersetzungsprobleme, auf die wir gestoßen sind, waren die Nachbildung der eigenen Stimmen der Figuren und die mit dem Genre des Kosmischen Horrors zusammenhängende Schwierigkeit der Erschaffung einer spannungsgeladenen Atmosphäre und eines Gefühls des Unbehagens, das bei H.P. Lovecraft mit der Furcht vor dem Unbekannten verbunden ist. Warren‘s Kurzgeschichte baut dieses Unbehagen langsam auf, enthält mehrere Plot-Twists und endet mit einer schrecklichen Enthüllung, die in der Übersetzung genauso schockierend sein musste, damit der Horror-Aspekt der Geschichte funktioniert. Während die Sprache bei Lovecraft mit seinen langen Schachtelsätzen etwas altmodisch und fast schon gestelzt wirkt, spricht die Protagonistin Jenny in „Das Dieselbecken“eher einfach, direkt und umgangssprachlich. Doch auch hier finden sich einige Bilder, die schon ins Absurde gehen, etwa wenn Jenny den Geruch der unterirdischen Grotte mit dem eines im Dunkeln vor sich hintrocknenden Spüllappens vergleicht (Warren 75). Dann ist da noch Lance, der in sehr ominösem Ton spricht, aber auch manchmal absurde Lächerlichkeiten von sich gibt. Diese Eigenheiten der Figuren sollten auch in der Übersetzung nicht verloren gehen.

Wir hoffen, diese Besonderheiten von Genre, Figuren und unserer Übersetzung gerecht geworden zu sein und wünschen allen LeserInnen viel Spaß mit der Geschichte! Ihr findet sie hier.

A young woman standing alone on the shore of what seems to be an underground lake. Toxic fumes waft through the air, she can barely breathe. The surface of what should be water but isn’t ripples; tentacles emerge from the murky depths, reaching out for her. The smell of diesel fills her nose.

Kaaron Warren’s short story “The Diesel Pool” heavily draws on elements of Lovecraftian horror, on the fear of that which is unknown, that which we do not understand, in order to invoke uneasiness and dread in the reader, building up to the grand reveal of the abominable creature at the heart of the story. As readers, we follow the protagonist’s journey into the underground beneath Canberra’s Old Parliament House, a building mostly abandoned by tourists since the rumor of asbestos in the walls made its rounds.

The kind-of-nameless protagonist, nicknamed Jenny Haniver by her late father, is a sex worker operating from her car, who possesses the unique ability to see and communicate with ghosts. One of the ghosts leads her to believe that in the tunnels and caverns beneath the old government building, there are pools of diesel, remnants of the war from which she could potentially make money. She follows this lead into the dark tunnels, accompanied by Lance, a man working at Old Parliament House. As it turns out, there is a diesel pool beneath the building, but that is not the only thing Jenny finds there. The pool is occupied by a strange visitor, one that is hungry for fresh air but unable to leave the dark cavern that has become his prison over the years …

Like Lovecraft, Warren builds her atmosphere of terror slowly, raising the level of dread with every step Jenny takes further down the tunnels, only revealing the full scale of horrors lurking down there at the very end of the story. It’s an existential kind of horror that does not need to rely on gore or cheap thrills to be scary. Translating this dense atmosphere of suspense into German proved to be difficult, since we, as readers and translators, experience the story exclusively through the eyes of the protagonist – when she is confused, so are we, when she has difficulty discerning what is real or not, then so do we. The way she narrates her experience for us is especially often characterized by ellipses, for example when her memories of her father get interrupted abruptly (Warren 74). As translators we have to ask ourselves whether to fill those blank spots or leave them blank and whether that would change how German readers would then perceive the story.

There is also the question as to whether we should include explanations for culturally specific elements of the story. The story contains concepts specific to Australian, specifically Canberran, culture. As translators, we had to decide how much of it to explain to readers. There is, for example, Summernats, the name of an annual car festival held in Canberra, that needs explanation. Another example: If you search up the term tent-embassy on Google, you easily find the German term for it: Zelt-Botschaft. But it is not that simple, since most German readers won‘t be familiar with the cultural and political context of the term — the tent-embassy means a tent erected by Indigenous Australians to symbolize their protest against injustice and violence perpetrated against them by the European settlers. So we decided to add an explanatory footnote.  Attention should also be paid to finding respectful, appropriate terms when mentioning Indigenous people in the translation.

Another translation difficulty was recreating the the characters‘ voices and the sense of dread and tense atmosphere of the Cosmic Horror genre, which is connected to the fear of the strange and unknown in Lovecraft‘s writing. Warren‘s story slowly builds up the dread, contains several plot twists, and ends with a horrific revelation that needed to be just as hard-hitting in German as in the original to make the translation work. While Lovecraft‘s syntax is old-fashioned and sometimes stilted, the voice of Warren‘s narrator is direct and colloquial. Still, some of her descriptions seem almost absurd, like her comparison of the monster‘s smell to an „an old dishrag left to dry in the dark“ (Warren, 75). Then there is Lance, whose tone is ominous, coupled with occasional absurdities. We tried to not let these aspects of the characters to get lost in the translation

All in all, we hope to have done justice to these specifics of genre, characters and Australian culture in our translation and wish all readers of „Das Dieselbecken“ a great time with the story! Here it is!

Using the Gothic for good with ‘’Ghost Species’’ and ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’

Posted on by rob227
Reply

With my first blog post being about ‘’Ghost Species’’ and my second on ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, what better way to end the trilogy than by combining the two. For those that have not yet seen or read ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, I want to once again recommend you do. It’s not only a great and iconic piece of Australian Gothic, but also just a stellar work in general. Now then, on with the topic:

By now we’re most likely all very familiar with typical Gothic elements and their intended use. I will focus on three of them for this blog post. These being the uncanny, which blurs the lines between what is real and what is not, effectively heightening the sense of unease. The sublime, which evokes feelings of both sheer horror and simultaneously sheer beauty through vast landscapes for example. And finally the monster, arguably the most famous Gothic trope which unsurprisingly serves as a source of looming terror for both the reader and the characters. In short, these tropes are closely linked to horror and the macabre. But that is not always the case.

Here is where ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’ and ‘’Ghost Species’’ come into play. Take Eve for example. Initially, everything about here is presented in a way that makes it clear for the reader that she is something not human, more specifically not like the rest of the humans in the story. Her appearance and her behavior are always purposefully kept in the twilight zone between human and not human, a state of uncanniness. As the story progresses and her character gets much more fleshed out, it becomes apparent that her differences are much more superficial than previously assumed. She is a Neanderthal, though possesses qualities that resemble those of a Homo Sapiens. She is much stronger than those around her, but can be just as delicate and is very capable of feeling and expressing deep emotions. The entire sequence at the party is a great example of that, where it shows Eve pondering feelings of love not unlike anyone in this day and age would. Towards the very end of the novel, when Lucas is almost killed, the source of the uncanny becomes a source of hope when Eve decides to use her inhuman strength to fend off Drago. I consider this a really great and effective subversion of the classic monster trope in Gothic literature and a nice twist on the uncanny on top of just being a really exciting moment in general.

In ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’, the ominous rock, looms silently and is always made to appear alluring yet threatening. Both its beauty and its terrifyingly mysterious aura capture the essence of the sublime quite nicely. It is initially framed by Mrs. Appleyard as something dangerous that is not to be explored, only to be observed from a safe distance. To the girls that eventually decide to explore the rock though, it serves more as a symbol of emancipation and independence. They can be seen taking off both their gloves and eventually their shoes the further they ascend, which shows how they free themselves from the chains of Appleyard College and the strict societal norms of the early 20th century in general. This gained independence is thanks to the previously demonized rock that is now painted in a completely different light than in the beginning.

Overall, the use of Gothic elements in both ‘’Picnic at Hanging Rock’’ and ‘’Ghost Species’’ serves to subvert what readers and viewers have come to know as traditional elements of the Gothic. Instead of purely horror and fear, these elements are a symbol of strength and independence among others. Eve uses her inhuman abilities to protect and the rock gives the girls the freedom to explore a world outside of the confines of a facility that is arguably more fit as a symbol of the uncanny and sublime than the rock itself.

The Great Gatsby – an Australian Movie?

Posted on by laura
Reply

By Laura Himmelmann

The Great Gatsby is a novel and movie adaption most of us are familiar with, hopefully. The majority of people are unaware that on paper, it could count as an Australian movie rather than American.

Looking at the cast, we are confronted with Leonardo Di Caprio, Tobey Maguire and Carey Mulligan. All American actors that are well known for their movies. However, if we look further, we are met with a whole list of people that have Australian origin. It is a presence that is palpable.

Baz Luhrmann, the director of the movie, is Australian and he brought in his team which consisted of fellow Australians: so does the movie count as an Australian one?

What makes a movie Australian?

The plot of The Great Gatsby follows Jay Gatsby, a millionaire who carries a mysterious aura wherever he steps foot in. His long-lasting crush Daisy, someone he knows, is out of reach. We view the story from Nick Carraway’s POV, years after everything we are about to witness, happened. The message of the movie is to warn of the dangers of the American dream and the death grip materialism has on people. It also depicts the irresponsible lifestyle of the rich, especially with the focus on parties and alcohol.

While it takes place in the fictional town West Egg, imitating New York City, the director moved the filming process to Sydney. In other words, the movie was filmed in Australia but depicts the America of the 1920’s. Throughout the years there have been various novel and movie adaptions that are associated with different countries. Such as The Piano, set in New Zealand, written, and directed by a New Zealand team but produced by an Australian (DailyTelegraph). Therefore, it is accepted as an Australian movie by award associations. For The Great Gatsby, we have a hugely known American novella as source material, but an Australian team in the background. So, we must consider it as a possibility of representation.

What is meant with that?

The source material should not limit the creative adaption but rather encourage various people to take over and add their nuances. The Great Gatsby is a prime example of Australian influence and the success it may carry. It creates differences to the original, those that may change the setting, acting and developing of a plot, but it does not need to be connected to negativity. Furthermore, it opens the door for representation in Hollywood, for recognition and acceptance apart from the usual norm.

So, yes, The Great Gatsby needs to be seen as an Australian movie, for that it not only consists of mostly Australian cast and crew but it also offers a difference to usual Hollywood blockbusters. It opened the doors of possibilities and the space to think about productions that not only consist of Americans when telling a story even one set in America. This is thanks to people like Baz Luhrmann who pour their individuality and ideas in big projects, turning them into something different, something new.

Sources:

‘Great Gatsby’ and the Australian influence (chron.com)

Is the Great Gatsby really an Australian film? | Daily Telegraph

Nick Cave and the Gothic

Posted on by anbud103
1

Nick Cave is an Australian singer, songwriter, poet and author who dives into the multifaceted abyss of human consciousness. In his works, and especially song lyrics, he frequently makes use of themes such as mortality, morbidity and surrealism. All of these are motives we are familiar with from the genre of Gothic. But how exactly are these themes realized in Cave’s art and can they be categorized as belonging to the subgenre of Australian Gothic?

To answer these questions let’s first take a look at some examples of Gothic themes in Cave’s songs. In the album Murder Ballads, published in 1996 by his band Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, themes of horror can be found frequently. As the title suggests, almost every song includes the story of at least one and sometimes several murders. “The Curse of Millhaven”, for example, tells the story of a mad young girl comitting several murders. In “Song of Joy”, a father recounts the brutal murder of his family by a serial killer. Both songs feature detailed, very morbid descriptions of the murders. Interesting to note is that both these songs are written from the perspective of the murderer. Both depict their spiral into madness.

This theme of madness and violence developing from a place of love can be found in several other songs as well. The general feeling of many of these songs could also be described as a depiction of the ordinary and unknown in an unusual, surrealistic way. Cave presents horror and violence from the hands of ordinary people like a school girl, father or lover.

To answer the question whether Nick Cave’s art can be classified as Australian Gothic we must first take a closer look at the characteristics of this subgenre. In general, it shares some aspects with European and American Gothic but also has its own distinct features. Early examples of Australian Gothic can be dated back as far as the late 19th century but are quite obscure. The genre developed alongside colonization and is therefore marked by racist ideas. Indigenous Australian people are portrayed as uncivilized in contrast to the civilized, rational colonizer. Another feature is the perception of the landscape as hostile, dangerous and haunted.

One song which we would like to inspect closer is “Where the Wild Roses Grow”. Cave recorded this song together with fellow Australian artist Kylie Minogue in 1995. The duet narrates the story of Elisa Day and her unnamed murderer who is also her lover. At the height of their relationship, he promises to show her the place “where the wild roses grow”. This place is depicted as a beautiful, mysterious place of desire only he seems to know of. It is here at this almost otherworldly place of natural beauty where he strikes her down with a rock.

Contrary to most Australian gothic fiction, the environment here isn’t potentially harmful or even dangerous. Instead it is depicted as a beautiful escape. Nonetheless, the surroundings are abstract and surreal, almost too perfect and quickly stained by the brutal murder of Elisa Day. It appears as if Nick Cave subverts the expectations of the genre, by turning the innocent and beautiful landscape into a murder scene, instead of the land itself bearing the horrors and danger. This idea of subverting the Australian Gothic can also be found in the way evilness is depicted. There is no strange “other” who poses a threat. Instead evilness and violence can be found within the community from people you would never expect to be capable of such things. The kind of horror Cave uses is psychological, often allowing the listener to get an insight into the murderers thoughts by having the songs be written from their perspective.

A Review? Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead & Apocalypse

Posted on by Julian
Reply

It seems like everybody is in their villain era lately. Horror cinema has become mainstream to the extent that wider audiences are becoming more aware of the hidden cypher of morals and taboos lying beneath the human and not-so-human monsters on the silver screen. And for a lifelong and passionate fan of everything scary (as I am), this is the true nightmare. Because making horror suitable for bigger audiences came at the cost of sacrificing much of the boldness of the genre.

Looking for a fun zombie movie to watch with my mum (the biggest The Walking Dead fan I know) I came across the Wyrmwood series, consisting of Road of the Dead (2014) and Apocalypse (2022). Both of which are movies produced and directed by brothers Tristian and Kiah Roache-Turner with a budget of only about 160,000 Dollars each (TWD has a budget of 3.4 million per episode). And yet, this low budget franchise has given me all I wanted from a zombie movie, and so much more.

I want to address both movies back-to-back, not only because their refreshing take on zombie movies made me binge-watch them in one sitting, but also because they are exactly like consecutive movies should be: siblings, not twins.

I have honestly grown tired of the endless conversations about morality and humanity. Whole episodes of The Walking Dead without a single dead person walking in sight. Just people talking about the evil deeds of their fellow survivors and unsolvable battles being fought out in eternal discussions.  I just want to see guts splattering on the screen, is this too much to ask for?

Enter Wyrmwood, the very Australian lovechild of Mad Max and Day of the Dead.

Director Kiah Roache-Turner appeals to his audience’s media literacy: most of us know zombies better than our own grandma. “Everybody knows what the set up is, let’s just cut to the chase. There’s zombies everywhere, you know what I mean? It’s some kind of vague, Biblical metaphor, meteors have landed, let’s put the leathers on and get a double-barrel shotgun out, and it just cuts straight to the chase […].” (Kiah Roache-Turner on flicks.co.nz) Hence, there is not much of a plot to address here. The brothers have reduced the zombie movie formula to the bare minimum. First, it is about people trying to survive in the apocalypse, and then, madness ensues.

It is a zombie movie set in “a world that is cool – it’s a zombie apocalyptic wasteland where the zombies can attach to vehicles and generators as a power source, and you’ve got somebody who has developed the power to control zombies like puppets […].” (Kiah Roache-Turner on Gamerant) Both of these ideas just blew my mind. Not because they are symbolically deep or anything. They are just fun concepts for a movie and look amazing in action sequences.

Their video game-like approach is not only apparent in their ideas, but the camerawork also borrows from this aesthetic. It is incredibly fast, chaotic, with interesting angles and quick shots. Certain scenes have a very game-like boss-fight style to them. (spotlightreport.net)

Especially the visuals and action sequences of the sequel Apocalypse are amazing. The Wyrmwood movies rely on practical effects, rather than special effects. The makeup of the zombies does look quite good (despite the contact-lenses being a bit too obviously fake at times), and the splatter action is amusing. There is no doubt that a low budget movie with practical effects will age better with time than a million-dollar series like She-Hulk, clearly overdoing it with special effects.

Also, it is a very Australian movie, proudly sporting the influence of Mad Max, with heavily modded cars and cool apocalyptic fashion. (Roach-Turner on moviefreak.com). From the usage of cricket players as weapons, to the song Red Right Hand by Nick Cave being used in the opening sequence of Apocalypse. Plenty of shots of the characteristic flora of the outback, warm colours and lonely roads. For once, we get the feeling of a country that is not plagued by overpopulation (in contrast to the vast hordes of many US cantered zombie franchises), there are no big crowds of zombies surrounding the protagonists. In fact, they eventually even struggle to locate one to use as fuel. Especially the second movie, filmed with only a few sets and locations, manages to create a unique feeling of isolation, despite being action packed to the brim.

The dialogue in Wyrmwood is cut down to a minimum as well. It gets the story across, and characterizes the protagonists: nothing more, nothing less.

The zombie genre is a genre that is generally quite good at depicting a diverse cast of characters, and it is something that puts me in a good mood. Wyrmwood is no exception to this rule, as it features a cast consisting of men and women, white people and people of colour, featuring three main characters who are indigenous. But honestly, the women of the franchise steal the show.  My personal favourite is zombie-controlling Brooke (Bianca Bradley), who goes from slightly shy, but still tough in the first movie, to an animalistic, crazed-out zombie hybrid in the sequel. And it is honestly delightful to watch her telepathically make zombies use guns and grenades. Honestly badass, and, like everything in these movies, just plain fun to look at.

Despite its fast pace and straight-up out there characters, Wyrmwood somehow manages not to become ridiculous or overly goofy. There are serious moments and a solid storyline, likeable characters, and vile antagonists. And the worldbuilding is refreshingly unique and consistent.

So, in conclusion, this is as much as a review, as it is a criticism of modern horror cinema. Stop telling me about the depravity of humankind. Show it to me. I want to see the bloody roots of it. Brains and all.

___________________

If you want to give your own brain some slack and relax with some fast-paced, bloody action, at the time of this blog’s writing, Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead is currently available for as little as 0,99 Euro on Amazong VoD, and Wyrmwood: Apocalypse is free on Amazon Prime.

Sources

Raven Brunner. “Kiah Roache-Turner Talks Wyrmwood: Apocalypse, Chatting With Fans, And A Potential Third Movie” https://gamerant.com/kiah-roache-turner-wyrmwood-apocalypse-interview/

Skyjoker. Interview: ‘Wyrmwood Apocalypse’ Director Kiah Roache-Turnerhttps://spotlightreport.net/featured/interview-wyrmwood-apocalypse-director-kiah-roache-turner

Steve Newall. Interview: ‘Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead’ director Kiah Roache-Turner. https://www.flicks.co.nz/features/interview-wyrmwood-road-of-the-dead-director-kiah-roache-turner/

Moviefreak. “Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead” – Interview with Director Kiah Roache-Turner. http://moviefreak.com/wyrmwood-interview-kiah-roache-turner/#.Y9QsqK2ZO3A

H2O: Just Add Water and the Aboriginal Mermaid Myth

Posted on by Lucas Mattila
Reply 
by anonymous

The show H20: Just Add Water is a children’s show about three teenage girls Emma, Cleo and Rikki (And later, Emma is replaced by Bella) who become mermaids and grow tails as soon as they touch water. The first episode shows their encounter and how they end up taking a boat out for a spin. The boat runs out of fuel and they decide to paddle to the nearest land, Mako Island, where all three of them fall into a crater of a dormant volcano. Their only way out is to dive through the reef. While the girls are in the water, the moon shines over the volcano and the water around them begins to bubble. The next day, after making it out of the crater, the girls grow tails and develop superpowers over water.

Already in the first episode, many Australian characteristics, such as the setting of the series, can be seen. Set on the Gold Coast, the series features a very summery beach and surf aesthetic that non-natives often associate with Australia. Another very Australian feature is the production, including the actors and their distinctive accents. All of this supports the authenticity of the show. But these are not the only aspects. The show also shows a connection to the mermaid myth, also known as the Yawkyawk, of the Aboriginal people.  

The Yawkyawk is a female creature originating from the mythology of Aboriginal people from the northern territories of Australia. Yawkyawk translates to “young girl with a fish tail” and resembles mermaids with seaweed for hair. They are described as freshwater creatures that lived in lakes and rivers. In addition, the Yawkyawk were able to shapeshift into snakes, crocodiles, swordfish, or other animals, and they could manipulate the weather when they were angry. Thus, they played a major role in the indigenous culture and language. Aboriginal paintings depicting the Yawkyawk creatures still hang in Australia’s national museums.

Knowing this myth, one can assume that the show H20: Just Add Water was inspired by it. The main similarities that stand out are the fishtails, obviously, but especially the supernatural powers that the girls develop in the series. Each of them develops a different power, such as freezing, boiling, and moving water. Often these powers are used when they get angry or try to help their friends. Later in the series, weather control also is revealed as a mermaid power. The existence of the myth is also mentioned in the series, when they try to find out more about the origin of the mermaids.

However, there are also many differences between the depiction of the mermaids in the show and in the myth. The Yawkyawk are said to live in the water, while the girls in the series only grow tails when they touch the water. Their superpowers are also different from those of the Yawkyawk in most cases. These differences can be attributed to the fact that it is a children´s show. The myth of the mermaid is found in many different cultures, such as Native Americans, ancient Greeks, Asians, etc., and they are usually associated with negative expectations. In some cultures, the creatures are described as possessors, sirens, or unlucky omens that bring disaster or attract and kill sailors. It is to be expected that these characteristics are not appropriate for a show aimed at a young audience. In summary, despite the differences, the show is a good example of typical Australian culture and emphasizes the reference to Aboriginal mythology. Thus, it raises awareness and brings us closer to the indigenous culture.

The Infinite Man – Movie Review

Posted on by Lucas Mattila
Reply 
by Eva Musat

The Infinite Man is a 2014 Australian science-fiction film directed by Hugh Sullivan that is about Dean, a scientist, who wishes to relive a special weekend he had with his girlfriend Lana. When Lana’s ex-boyfriend Terry interrupts them, Dean tries to make things right by traveling back in time. The film takes place in only one location, the hotel where said special weekend took place, and only has three characters.

The limited setting, few characters, and time travel plot are the things that drew me to this movie in the first place. It is quite similar to the movie Coherence (2013), which I think is one of the most innovative thrillers I´ve seen recently. However, The Infinite Man develops more into the genres of romance and comedy, whereas Coherence belongs to the surreal and thriller genres.

I had high hopes for this movie, but I ended up being a little bit disappointed and by the end, confused.  This doesn´t mean it was bad, I just didn´t like it as much as I expected it to. The first part of the movie intrigued me, but started to feel a bit static; in the middle and toward the end of the movie the cleverly written dialogue helped turn the movie around.

The very first thing we see is Dean, while his inner monologue is heard, where he talks about loving his girlfriend and understanding her neurochemically, in a way that nobody else can. He believes he is the only one that can make her happy because, having studied her from the perspective of a scientist, he knows exactly how. This sets an interesting tone for the movie and I expected that we delve into the scientific details behind Dean´s knowledge of Lana, but that never happened.

The overall plot was well structured. It had very few plot holes, which was quite surprising, but it lacked the clarity needed to understand the movie. I think that maybe a small difference in the characters´ appearance for each time travel loop would have helped. I understand that in order to relive the weekend Dean wants every character to wear the same clothing each time; after all, if the perfect weekend happened once, why shouldn´t it work again, if the same conditions and circumstances are met? But a small change in hair color, hairstyle, or facial hair would have helped the viewer a lot.

If one wants an interesting plot and an exploration of time travel, the movie falls slightly short, as it is easy to get confused with the timeline. This confusion can be solved by some research, which led me to a website that explains the different time travel plots in detail and even includes a chart.[1]

While the plot is lacking, if anybody needs inspiration for unique directing, cinematography and editing, this is by all means the movie to watch.

The technical aspects of the movie, are just beautiful. The colors have a specific yellow and orange vintage look about them and the notable choice of music both make for a unique viewing experience. Especially eye-catching is the way the camera follows our characters, more specifically the way it follows the places Dean points to when he shows Lana where they were last year. Additionally, the film editing is very striking, in the way it cuts to different paintings and even the list Dean made for the perfect weekend, as are the different transitions used in the film.

Overall the movie is fun to experience, but difficult to grasp without looking at some sort of explanation. Still, it can be enjoyable and even interesting to watch, if you like unique technical aspects such as camera work and film editing.

[1] Swaminathan, B. (Barry). (2019, October 17). The Infinite Man Explained (2014 Australian Film). This Is Barry. https://www.thisisbarry.com/film/the-infinite-man-ending-explained-2014-film/

“Melbourne Calling”

Posted on by mara
Reply 
by Mara Geißen

For my last blog post I have again chosen a short story to write about. The short story, “Melbourne Calling” by Silvia Brown, doesn’t seem to have much to do with horror at first. However, monsters are mentioned from the beginning, which Colin apparently sees. The monsters he mentions, however, seem to come from his subconscious and are therefore less real. “I closed my eyes and counted to three like the psych had suggested and the vision went away, leaving a path of slime over my shoes” (140).

The story seems like a normal teenage – love story with the difference being that this is not a traditional, heteronormative couple, but a homosexual one. The two are portrayed in a very cute way. They seem to have really searched for and found each other. Due to the depiction of their relationship, as a reader one feels wrapped in a warm and cozy blanket. It recalls one´s first love and the strong emotions and sensations felt at that intense time. Typical and comprehensible is also that Collin and Josh have their own song “London Calling”, which they even personalise for themselves into “Melbourne Calling” (142). The title of the story already indicates that this song will be significant for the plot.

Out of nowhere, the boys are attacked by an old man and Josh is killed in the attack. “A blast went off as the headphones snapped onto his ears. Flesh exploded. Glass and wood shattered. [… I] saw the broken window […], and what was left of Josh, the pointy end of a shotgun still levelled at where his head had been” (144 – 145). As a reader, you are torn from the cozy blanket and thrown into a pool of freezing water. You might expect a supernatural monster, like the one in Colin’s wardrobe, but no. The monster described here is a man who wants to kill, or kills two boys. “The old man behind the gun looked me in the eye, seemingly indifferent to the loss of life and property” (45). Definitely such people can be called monsters. Monsters are not only slimy creatures with tentacles, but also people without hearts and empathy. However, the old man is in Colin’s eyes not only a human monster but also a fantastic one. “The old man´s partly hidden features became more obvious as he moved into the light of the store window. His human face fell into a mass of feelers from the lips down, minuscule tentacles lurking in all directions” (145). As a reader, one is not quite sure if this monster is real or if just Colin’s mind portraying this man as a monster.

The story only becomes clearly fantastic at the end, when the song “London Calling” is heard again by Colin. The song seems to have created such a strong connection between him and Josh that he seems to hear his voice calling his name (146). Colin follows the voice in his mind and thereby loses himself in “limbo” (146), where he finds Josh. Now they can sing together again,  “from the top of [their] lungs” (146). The story ends on a sad note, since both boys are dead. Colin seems to have died too, as he is said to fall “into the abyss” (146). Nevertheless, one also feels a positive or lightening feeling, knowing that at the very least Josh and Colin are together.

A Review: Catching Teller Crow

Posted on by juliariffel
Reply

“In telling this tale, we were informed by two sets of stories that are the inheritance of Aboriginal peoples. The first set are stories of our homelands, families, cultures; the stories that speak to the connections which sustain us and which we sustain in turn. The second set are the tales that entered our worlds with colonization; stories of the violence that was terrifyingly chaotic or even more terrifyingly organized on a systemic scale. Both sets of stories inform our existences, and thus our storytelling.”

(Kwaymullina 191)
Spoilers ahead!

Catching Teller Crow is a novel about a grieving father, Michael Teller, that can see the ghost of his daughter Beth. Michael Teller is a police detective and was sent to investigate a murder in a rural Australian town. During the investigation Beth notices another ghost following them and befriends her. And as it turns out, the girl, called Catching, is the key to solving the murder and uncovering the town’s secret.

         The novel deals with many different topics such as grief, trauma, and relationships. It is clear from the first page that Beth is worried about her father as he does not deal with well with Beth and her mother’s respective deaths. If we were to see the ghost of someone close to us, we would probably assume that we are losing our mind or that it is a manifestation of our grief. But for Aboriginal people this would not be that strange. Some Aboriginal people believe that humans go through different stages of existence (cf. Books+Publishing). Similarly, that everything is connected is part of Aboriginal systems (cf. Kwaymillina 2013, 4). So seeing a ghost would not be that strange as they are just souls at another part of existence. And because everything is related, Beth’s and Catching’s stories are related even across time.

         Beth and Catching tell their stories in different ways. Beth ‘talks’ in prose. Catching in verse. According to the authors, Beth’s voice is like a river ‘sometimes fast and sometimes slow, but always saying a lot’ and Catching’s voice is like ‘the beat of the rain, sometimes steady and sometimes sharp and uneven. She says little, but every word has weight.’ (Wyld). Even though both stories have a lot to say about the two girls, Catching’s verse makes her story feel more important- and it’s not just the words either. The historical implications behind her story, the being taken by strangers, being talked about as if she isn’t there, the fear, makes it feel real.

         Let’s now talk about Crow, the last girl mentioned in the title of the novel. Crow is and remains a mystery in the novel, but her being a crow tells us a lot. Crows are most known to represent good or bad omens- even death. But those black birds are also known for their intelligence and adaptability. They can also be a sign for transformation and the future. And maybe this is all true for Catching Teller Crow as in the end of the novel (the chapter called ‘The Beginning’) all three girls turn to crows.

“We bathed in the clouds and sang in the sun and let the world paint our souls and our souls paint the world. And wherever we went, we went together.”

(Kwaymullina 190)

References:

Books+Publishing. “Reaching out: Ambelin and Ezekiel Kwaymillina on ‘Catchin Teller Crow’”. https://www.booksandpublishing.com.au/articles/2018/07/05/110945/re   aching-out-ambelin-and-ezekiel-kwaymullina-on-catching-teller-crow/. Accessed Feb. 19, 2023.

Kwaymullina, A., B. Kwaymullina, and L. Butterly. “Living Texts: A Perspective on Published Sources, Indigenous Research Methodologies and Indigenous Worldviews”. International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies, vol. 6, no. 1,   Jan. 2013, pp. 1-13, doi:10.5204/ijcis.v6i1.106.

Kwaymullina, Ambelin and Ezekiel Kwaymullina. Catching Teller Crow. Penguin Books, 2019