I know I don’t usually put these in my reviews (and there’s definitely an argument to be made that I should do so more frequently), but given both the subject matter of this film and what I have to say about it, I feel it is necessary to put this here:
*TRIGGER WARNING*
Nitram serves as the end of an impromptu trilogy of films directed by Justin Kurzel and written by Shaun Grant. Like Snowtown and True History Of The Kelly Gang, it is about an event in Australian history, except what is being highlighted here might be even more confronting than the Snowtown murders or our fraught colonial history. It is the story of Nitram (a backwards spelling of the real-life person’s name), played by Caleb Landry Jones, who in 1996 killed 35 people in a spree shooting in Port Arthur, Tasmania. It has remained the single worst massacre committed by a single person in Australia, and is understandably a particularly dark part of our collective history.
It being dramatised here through the perspective of Nitram himself has raised more than a few eyebrows, but the way his character is portrayed and written is almost oppressive in how personal it gets. Jones walks a very thin line with his characterisation here, essentially playing a mentally disturbed man who is the product of his environment. Not that the film claims he was directly influenced by others to do what he did; just that he didn’t have enough influence in his life to do anything else. His struggling father (Anthony LaPaglia), his abusive mother (Judy Davis), and just about everyone else he comes into contact with, don’t know how to deal with him. And what they attempt in that vacuum led him down the worst of paths. For the lack of positive influences in his life, he clung onto all the negativity around him.
As with Snowtown and True History Of The Kelly Gang, the story is presented with a viscerally confronting tone, like Kurzel actively wants to keep this event in the minds of the audience as something that actually happened. And being able to relate to someone like Nitram, knowing what he will do, isn’t something a lot of people are willing to admit to. That’s something that gets lost in the conversation surrounding these kinds of tragedies: For all the questioning of how a person could possibly conceive of doing such a thing, the masses tend to spend their time discussing just about everything else except that. Media influence, geopolitical conflicts, mental health; a lot of talk is made about collective reform, but that still leaves the individual out of the equation. The idea that someone could become so broken that this is what they end up doing.
There’s definitely elements of Joker in how the story is framed, along with the divisive reaction it’s likely to get out of people, but the main thing it reminded me of (bear with me on this one) is the music of Ill Bill. Specifically, his more biographical songs like Anatomy Of A School Shooting, Exploding Octopus, and even Make Them Die Slowly, which were written from the perspective of the Columbine shooters, the Unabomber, and a tribe of Amazon cannibals respectively. In his lyrics, he basically told the story through their eyes, namely why they did the things they are most known for, and while it doesn’t try to turn them into disregarded heroes or anything as crass, there’s an intent behind the words to make the listener understand that these actions didn’t come from nowhere. This film feels cut from the same cloth, and that’s ultimately a good thing, as being unable to identify the human element in such tragic events only makes it harder to prevent them from happening again.
And I’ll be perfectly honest here: I understand that. I grew up with negative experiences too as a result of my own mental health problems, going all the way back to when I was a child. I’d been threatened by parents of classmates, I had a camp counsellor say he’d punch my teeth down my throat, and while my darkest impulses nowadays usually lead me to implode rather than explode, that hasn’t always been the case. As I’ve discussed on this blog before, I was a violent kid. I’ve done damage to others before. And somewhere in the greater multiverse, there’s a version of me that became just like Nitram. You’d be horrified at how even the smallest of changes in a person’s environment can result in that much of a difference.
As you can probably tell by what I’ve already put down to paper here, this is nightmarishly effective at making the audience consider what is going on in all its facets. And unlike Snowtown and True History Of The Kelly Gang, where the history is so local that it will probably have the greatest effect only on local audiences, I actually think that overseas audiences could get something out of this too. Or, more pointedly, some overseas audiences need to get something out of this.
See, one of the key reasons why the Port Arthur massacre is such a crucial point in Australian history (and this is likely the only reason anyone outside of Australia will have even heard of it before) is that it was the impetus for Australia’s current gun control laws. Y’know, that thing that gets brought up consistently whenever spree shootings happen in the US, in the midst of cries that such legislation “just doesn’t work”, usually spouted by the same people who actively tried to stop such legislation from passing in the first place? Yeah, apparently trying to infiltrate Australian politics through its most fringe and laughably dipshit faction in One Nation wasn’t even the first time the NRA tried to spew its influence on our country; the more things change, eh?
What I’m getting at with all this is that the attempt to make the audience… well, if not empathise with Nitram than at least understand Nitram, is tied in with that history. Because of how much the event changed the laws over here, there’s room to actually discuss these things. There’s space to take the individual into account, as well as the outside factors that may have influenced them. But when it’s happening with such alarming regularity, it has become a part of everyday life, there is no distance. There is no room. It can only be viewed as part of a larger problem, meaning that all the smaller facets behind each individual instance has to put aside so that the larger conversation can take place. And while I agree that the larger conversation should take precedent, that doesn’t mean that the individual shouldn’t be taken into account at all.
The film ends on a note that explains the changes made with
the National Firearms Agreement… and then raises a truly horrifying thought:
What if the changes weren’t enough? Australia actually has more guns
within its borders now than it did before the laws were made official. This is indeed true (although it's something that NRA pundits usually leave out whenever our laws are brought up), and while I can't speak to whether that is the result of the law not working to the fullest extent or if that is a direct result of it actually working, what I can say is this: If I was in Nitram’s position, and I very nearly was, I wouldn’t
want it to be that easy to buy a gun. Hell, even in my own position, I still don't want that.
Okay, I know that this is a lot more political than I usually write on here, but these are the kind of issues this film forced me to think about, and really consider them in turn. And much like with Joker, I mainly see this as a painful and cautionary tale about the absolute worst case scenario when neglect and abuse are the primary aspects of a person’s environment. It in no way excuses what happened, or try to paint him or his actions in a romantic light; it only shows that such actions don’t take place in a vacuum. It’s unpleasant, and I can pretty much guarantee that anyone choosing to watch this won’t ‘enjoy’ it in the traditional sense, but that’s because this is supposed to get under your skin. And fucking hell, I can think of few things I’ve watched this year that genuinely terrified me as much as this did.
Winifred Joyce Aplin
Walter John Bennett
Nicole Louise Burgess
Sou Leng Chung
Elva Rhonda Gaylard
Zoe Anne Hall
Elizabeth Jayne Howard
Mary Elizabeth Howard
Mervyn John Howard
Ronald Noel Jary
Tony Vadivelu Kistan
Leslie Dennis Lever
Sarah Kate Loughton
David Martin
Noelene Joyce Martin
Pauline Virjeana Masters
Alannah Louise Mikac
Madeline Grace Mikac
Nanaette Patricia Mikac
Andrew Bruce Mills
Peter Brendon Nash
Gwenda Joan Neander
William Xeeng Ng
Anthony Nightingale
Mary Rose Nixon
Glenn Roy Pears
Russell James Pollard
Janette Kathleen Quin
Helene Maria Salzmann
Robert Graham Salzmann
Kate Elizabeth Scott
Kevin Vincent Sharp
Raymond John Sharp
Royce William Thompson
Jason Bernard Winter
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