The Australian Film Institute showed Men's Group to the faithful who troop along, year in year out, to view the year's cinematic harvest and vote for their favourites. The group I hang out with spent the lunch break talking about nothing else than the surprisingly powerful impact of this deceptively simple, small scale film.
On paper it seems to be yawn making. Blokes sitting around talking about how bad their lives are.
But the clever use director Michael Joy makes of cut-aways to provide the back story, humour to lighten the very intense subject matter and fabulous performances that enoble the suffering souls of the characters, vicariously drags the viewers into their world for 104 minutes. Enter into this cinematic experience and you will share the banality of their lives, the devastating disappointments and the small triumphs of this circle of suffering strangers.
There is a very clever scripting device that opens out the story and breaks what could have been a very static viewing experience. It is interesting to speculate on the factors that lead to this break out.
Is it the intimation of intimacy arising from having another human applying make-up and body paint as a precursor to primal mens' rites that unlocks long gone memories, that sensitises the participants and leaves them dangerously vulnerable.
Is it the cruel taunt by the most tightly wound member of the group that drives another over the edge of the abyss of despair just as they are beginning to come together, empathise with each others' problems, socialise together?
Do therapy groups ever achieve anything that sensible social intercourse could deliver?
Are one-off abreaction experiences ultimately any more valuable than light relief?
Is it the cruelty of womankind that has driven these men to the desperate straits they are navigating their way through?
Is this film doing for group therapy what awakened libido did for the doomed hero of American Beauty?
They are some of the question this film inveigles into your subconscious waking state for days after you have seen it.
Mens' Group punches well above its weight.
On paper it seems to be yawn making. Blokes sitting around talking about how bad their lives are.
But the clever use director Michael Joy makes of cut-aways to provide the back story, humour to lighten the very intense subject matter and fabulous performances that enoble the suffering souls of the characters, vicariously drags the viewers into their world for 104 minutes. Enter into this cinematic experience and you will share the banality of their lives, the devastating disappointments and the small triumphs of this circle of suffering strangers.
There is a very clever scripting device that opens out the story and breaks what could have been a very static viewing experience. It is interesting to speculate on the factors that lead to this break out.
Is it the intimation of intimacy arising from having another human applying make-up and body paint as a precursor to primal mens' rites that unlocks long gone memories, that sensitises the participants and leaves them dangerously vulnerable.
Is it the cruel taunt by the most tightly wound member of the group that drives another over the edge of the abyss of despair just as they are beginning to come together, empathise with each others' problems, socialise together?
Do therapy groups ever achieve anything that sensible social intercourse could deliver?
Are one-off abreaction experiences ultimately any more valuable than light relief?
Is it the cruelty of womankind that has driven these men to the desperate straits they are navigating their way through?
Is this film doing for group therapy what awakened libido did for the doomed hero of American Beauty?
They are some of the question this film inveigles into your subconscious waking state for days after you have seen it.
Mens' Group punches well above its weight.