A thrilling yarn within a yarn, Dutch expatriate Rolf de Heer’s 10th film marks a close collaboration with the Ramingining Aboriginal people of Australia, many of whom appear in the movie. Fans of Antipodean cinema are by now familiar with the solemnity that surrounds the appearance of such indigenous peoples. Ten Canoes, however, weaves together a string of bawdy jokes to create a richly textured folk-tale. Ironically, this bunch of gags about flatulence and naughty desires makes for a greater celebration of Aboriginals than the po-faced coda of Jindabyne or the legions of liberal guilt ridden ethnographs from the region.
Bookended by ‘once upon a time’ scenes down by the watering hole, Ten Canoes sees a disparate group of aboriginal tribesmen setting out on an annual goose-hunting expedition. Along the way they fashion canoes from bark (a really neat X-treme survival spectacle to behold) while an elder member of the tribe, Minygululu, regales his headstrong young companion, Dayindi — who happens to covet one of Minygululu’s three wives — with a cautionary tale about another headstrong young man smitten with his brother’s wife. Murder and war soon follow. Just imagine The Grand Inquisitor with decidedly pre-Christian morals.
Those waiting for something to get wrapped in cling-film or some other characteristically twisted de Heer tic may be surprised to see a film you could bring your racy HRT souped granny along to. But Ian Jones’ ravishing cinematography is sure to beguile, even if you came hoping for a cat killing.
Most commendably, as Ten Canoes deftly demonstrates, accessible and funny doesn’t have to mean retarded, and classy doesn’t have to drain you of the will to live.