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The Rover review – an Australian road movie that runs out of road The Rover review – an Australian road movie that runs out of road
(2 months later)
It’s It’s time to put away those Robert Pattinson jokes – the kid can act. He showed more attachment to the elephant in Water for Elephants than co-star Reese Witherspoon, but then he probably knew better how it felt: Twilight turned him into the most gawped at mammal on the planet. He cut like a blade through the first film, cheekbones set to stun, as pale as a rock star in recovery, summoning a palpable sense of threat.
time to put away those Robert Pattinson jokes – the kid can The series emasculated Edward as it wore on, shoving him to the side of the action, while Bella grew increasingly impatient – it was the only vampire series in which the vampires were afraid of the virgins, and exploited Pattinson’s greatest flaw as an actor: his passivity. He was coolly dissipated in David Cronenberg’s Cosmopolis, as a megastar essaying the end of the world in blacked-out limo shades, but the film, and the role, both stayed well within the confines of the comfortably numb. In his new film, The Rover, Pattinson tries a different tack in his pursuit of a world seen without yellow contact lenses: he acts his socks off.
act. He showed more attachment to the elephant in Water for Elephants When we first see him, he is face down in the Australian outback, bleeding out into the dirt. He’s been abandoned by his brother (Scoot McNairy), who heads up a gang of thugs making their getaway in a truck, with another member bleeding in the back. What they have done, or even who they are, is never made clear. The film, directed by David Michod, is set “10 years after the collapse”, in a future where resources like petrol and water have gone much the same place as the world’s reserves of narrative exposition.
than co-star Reese Witherspoon, but then he probably knew better how The whole thing is told in the mythic-elliptic style first pioneered in the spaghetti westerns of Sergio Leone and later retrofitted as pulp by George Miller in the Mad Max films, where the post-apocalypse means never having to explain yourself. This movie gives nothing up.
it felt: Twilight turned him into the most gawped at mammal on the So we never find out the exact circumstances that led to Pattinson being left for dead, or why he is speaking in a southern white trash accent, while everyone else speaks Australian, or why he is being hunted by squadron of American soldiers. Did he desert? What is important is that he crosses paths with Guy Pearce, about whom we know even less, except that a) he never cracks a smile, b) he looks pissed even before the gang make off with his car, and c) he wants it back. That’s how mythic he is: his character is carved out in the dust cloud left by his actions. He’s the Man With No Ride Home.
planet. He cut like a blade through the first film, cheekbones set to For the first 20 minutes or so, all this enigma flashes brilliantly in the midday sun. Michod draws his two plotlines together as if gathering a noose, the sense of suspense brought to a head by a wonderful of shot of Pearce sitting in a dimly lit bar, his eardrums pounded by karaoke, as a car tumbles past the window behind him, unheard, in the blinding sunlight. It’s the kind of shot that makes you yelp with joy, it’s so damn good. There follows a chase, with Pearce in hot pursuit, the camera slung down at fender level, as it was for Spielberg’s Duel. It ends with a tense standoff between the two vehicles, now stationary at 30 yards distance, the camera lodged just behind the front tyre of one, watching to see who makes the first move.
stun, as pale as a rock star in recovery, summoning a palpable sense What Michod has made, you realise, is a kind of western – one of those zero-sum Peckinpahs in which men, like scorpions, sting each other to death beneath a baking sun – and would that it were anywhere near as good as those electrifying first 20 minutes. The rest of it is a road movie that runs out of road, as Pearce, now with a captive Pattinson in tow, attempts to turn him against his brother and get that car back. That’s it. I would happily deliver more spoilers but the whole thing is so studiously minimal, that you are now in possession of as many facts about this movie as I am.
of threat. “You must really love that car,” says the madame of a local brothel which, like everyone, claws out an existence servicing mankind’s baser needs from a ramshackle out-house tucked to the side of the highway. The soundtrack, meanwhile, features an assortment of ambient twangs and shivers that sounds like a didgeridoo in the final stages of labor. It’s all enough to make you wonder if post-apocalyptic road movies aren’t for Australian directors merely a way of toning up, like Shakespeare for Brits, or movies about losing your virginity for the French.
The series emasculated Edward as it wore on, shoving him Michod is the man behind the scarily good 2010 crime drama Animal Kingdom, which also centred on brothers, all turning on each other like vipers. That film felt properly nestled in an Aeschlyean thicket of betrayals. This one feels more skeletal, never quite summoning the hidden iceberg heft that would render its minimalism mythic – it just feels unexplained.
to the side of the action, while Bella grew increasingly impatient – There are spasms of violence, as people are shot in just about every which way (in close-up, in long shot, medium shot, on-camera, off-camera) interspersed with long, campfire conversations between Pearce and Pattinson, the young star eager to please as a stuttering half-wit with a buzzcut. It’s the kind of disappearing act, top-heavy with technique, that Brad Pitt used to pull when in initial recoil from his global fame. Pattinson even gets one great moment, singing along to the lyrics of a song – “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful” – while lit only by the dashboard of a car at night. It’s a lovely image, framed in long-shot, playing off Pattinson’s iconicity and his intense desire to be alone. Garbo couldn't have asked for better.
it was the only vampire series in which the vampires were afraid of Strange to say, the weak link is Pearce. The Rover needed someone bigger and more brutish in the title role, I think, like Joel Edgerton, in whose eyes we could have sensed all the violence that is to come. With his slender build and intelligent, alert features, Pearce was a natural fit for the terrier-like, by-the book detective Exley in LA Confidential, but his best route to badass status has always been to go with that slight air of fastidiousness he brings to a role, as he did as the epicene killer in John Hillcoat’s Lawless.
the virgins, and exploited Pattinson’s greatest flaw as an actor: As things lie, the question of what is driving Pearce’s nameless, vengeful justice-seeker quickly outpaces the film’s ability to answer it. Eventually we find out and the film brushes up against a fascinating theme – what happens to the guilty who go unpunished? As anyone who has tracked the post-trial descent of OJ Simpson can tell you, the idea that there are moral laws at work in the universe exceeding our man-made attempts at justice is a great one, worthy of a great film. One day, hopefully, Michod will make it.
his passivity. He was coolly dissipated in David Cronenberg’s
Cosmopolis, as a megastar essaying the end of the world in
blacked-out limo shades, but the film, and the role, both stayed well
within the confines of the comfortably numb. In his new film, The
Rover, Pattinson tries a different tack in his pursuit of a world
seen without yellow contact lenses: he acts his socks off.
When
we first see him, he is face down in the Australian outback, bleeding
out into the dirt. He’s been abandoned by his brother (Scoot
McNairy), who heads up a gang of thugs making their getaway in a
truck, with another member bleeding in the back. What they have done,
or even who they are, is never made clear. The film, directed by
David Michod, is set “10 years after the collapse”, in a future
where resources like petrol and water have gone much the same place
as the world’s reserves of narrative exposition.
The whole thing is
told in the mythic-elliptic style first pioneered in the spaghetti
westerns of Sergio Leone and later retrofitted as pulp by George
Miller in the Mad Max films, where the post-apocalypse means never
having to explain yourself. This movie gives nothing up.
So
we never find out the exact circumstances that led to Pattinson being
left for dead, or why he is speaking in a southern white trash
accent, while everyone else speaks Australian, or why he is being
hunted by squadron of American soldiers. Did he desert? What is
important is that he crosses paths with Guy Pearce, about whom we
know even less, except that a) he never cracks a smile, b) he looks
pissed even before the gang make off with his car, and c) he wants it
back. That’s how mythic he is: his character is carved out in the
dust cloud left by his actions. He’s the Man With No Ride Home.
For
the first 20 minutes or so, all this enigma flashes brilliantly in
the midday sun. Michod draws his two plotlines
together as if gathering a noose, the sense of suspense brought to a
head by a wonderful of shot of Pearce sitting in a dimly lit bar, his
eardrums pounded by karaoke, as a car tumbles past the window behind
him, unheard, in the blinding sunlight. It’s the kind of shot that
makes you yelp with joy, it’s so damn good. There follows a chase,
with Pearce in hot pursuit, the camera slung down at fender level, as
it was for Spielberg’s Duel. It ends with a tense standoff between
the two vehicles, now stationary at 30 yards distance, the camera
lodged just behind the front tyre of one, watching to see who makes
the first move.
What
Michod has made, you realise, is a kind of western – one of those
zero-sum Peckinpahs in which men, like scorpions, sting each other to
death beneath a baking sun – and would that it were anywhere near
as good as those electrifying first 20 minutes. The rest of it is a
road movie that runs out of road, as Pearce, now with a captive
Pattinson in tow, attempts to turn him against his brother and get
that car back. That’s it. I would happily deliver more spoilers but
the whole thing is so studiously minimal, that you are now in
possession of as many facts about this movie as I am.
“You must
really love that car,” says the madame of a local brothel which,
like everyone, claws out an existence servicing mankind’s baser
needs from a ramshackle out-house tucked to the side of the
highway. The
soundtrack, meanwhile, features an assortment of ambient twangs and
shivers that sounds like a didgeridoo in the final stages of labor.
It’s all enough to make you wonder if post-apocalyptic road movies
aren’t for Australian directors merely a way of toning up, like
Shakespeare for Brits, or movies about losing your virginity for the
French.
Michod
is the man behind the scarily good 2010 crime drama Animal Kingdom,
which also centred on brothers, all turning on each other like
vipers. That film felt properly nestled in an Aeschlyean thicket of
betrayals. This one feels more skeletal, never quite summoning the
hidden iceberg heft that would render its minimalism mythic – it
just feels unexplained.
There are spasms of violence, as people are
shot in just about every which way (in close-up, in long shot, medium
shot, on-camera, off-camera) interspersed with long, campfire
conversations between Pearce and Pattinson, the young star eager to
please as a stuttering half-wit with a buzzcut. It’s the kind of
disappearing act, top-heavy with technique, that Brad Pitt used to
pull when in initial recoil from his global fame. Pattinson even gets
one great moment, singing along to the lyrics of a song – “Don’t
hate me because I’m beautiful” – while lit only by the
dashboard of a car at night. It’s a lovely image, framed in
long-shot, playing off Pattinson’s iconicity and his intense desire
to be alone. Garbo couldn't have asked for better.
Strange
to say, the weak link is Pearce. The Rover needed someone bigger and
more brutish in the title role, I think, like Joel Edgerton, in whose
eyes we could have sensed all the violence that is to come. With his
slender build and intelligent, alert features, Pearce was a natural
fit for the terrier-like, by-the book detective Exley in LA
Confidential, but his best route to badass status has always been to
go with that slight air of fastidiousness he brings to a role, as he
did as the epicene killer in John Hillcoat’s Lawless.
As things
lie, the question of what is driving Pearce’s nameless, vengeful
justice-seeker quickly outpaces the film’s ability to answer it.
Eventually we find out and the film brushes up against a fascinating
theme – what happens to the guilty who go unpunished? As anyone who
has tracked the post-trial descent of OJ Simpson can tell you, the
idea that there are moral laws at work in the universe exceeding our
man-made attempts at justice is a great one, worthy of a great film.
One day, hopefully, Michod will make it.
• The Rover is out on 13 June in the US and Australia, and on 22 August in the UK• The Rover is out on 13 June in the US and Australia, and on 22 August in the UK