Emily Barclay comes of age in the slimy and scandalous Suburban Mayhem, a new Australian take on the god-awful ’burbs so successfuly portrayed in the likes of Chopper and The Boys. Destined for the World Cinema Showcase in March and April, JACOB POWELL reviews.


WANNA FUCK? This question, which opens Paul Goldman’s Suburban Mayhem, appears as a text message on the phone of youthful protagonist Katrina Skinner, whilst seated on a pew at a church where her father’s funeral is taking place. She appears neither embarrassed nor particularly aggrieved, but instead smirks as she strokes the hair of her baby daughter beside her. Yes, this kind of event is commonplace in this film, so if you’re of a tender moral constitution then you may want to grit your teeth some before the lights dim and the celluloid rolls.

If you’re like me, you would have seen In My Father’s Den (2004) and cried afresh that New Zealand cinema had come of age, even if its female lead hadn’t quite. Now, a couple of years on, you see the selfsame New Zealand actress, Emily Barclay, cast in the lead of an Australian film compared favourably to other recent across-the-Tasman releases: Little Fish (2005) and Chopper (2000), and you suspect that you’ll be in for another good ride when you bust into the theatre for 90-odd minutes of Suburban Mayhem. But will you?? Whatever the case, suburban mayhem is what you’ll find; all frenetically worked to a soundtrack of great local and overseas talent – including Magic Dirt’s Adalita, Little Birdy, and Billy Childish – and a score composed by Mick Harvey of Bad Seeds fame.

Emily Barclay is convincing in the lead role of (late) teenage malcontent Katrina Skinner. Well, as convincing as the script allows her be. Disturbingly enamoured of an only brother, imprisoned for perpetrating a violent murder, Katrina is a seething cocktail of all-too-self-aware sexuality, bitterness, petulant cruelty and self-obsession in equal measures. Accompanying her crazed ride through life and death in the suburbs are her unfortunate father John, her unfortunate toddler daughter Bailee, her unfortunate boyfriend Rusty, her brother’s unfortunate and mentally unstable friend Kenny, and whole streets full of unfortunate neighbours. I guess you can see the theme here. Katrina is trouble. But like the moths we are, the people who come into her sphere of influence are drawn to her red hot, though somewhat predictable, flame.

Suburban Mayhem reads like a black comedy-cum-teen angst mockumentary. The narrative is interspersed with media “interview” segments and flashbacks from friends and observers of the titular “mayhem” to which Katrina is (un)deniably connected. Each, though mostly appearing a little camera-shocked, basks in the reflected glow of her dubious celebrity whilst waxing somewhat less than lyrical about their friend/girlfriend/neighbour/beauty clinic client (etc.) in the wake of a recent murder.

Katrina does not present as a likeable protagonist, though she is certainly not meant to. I found it hard to empathise or connect with her on any level. She is not so much in the rebellious throes of youth as she is a completely unreasonable and self-absorbed sociopath. People, on the whole, just aren’t this unbelievably shallow, callous or emotionally distended – though maybe I’m hanging around with the wrong people (or is that the right people?!?). Other characters seem adrift in a world where they have temporarily given over control of themselves, preferring the enthralling pall of fear and excitement that Kat casts over them.

I still wholeheartedly believe that Emily Barclay will go a long way in her acting career, but when, in years to come, people review her body of work, Suburban Mayhem will get lost in the shadow of her pivotal role as Celia in Brad McGann’s In My Father’s Den mentioned above. Suburban Mayhem’s screenwriter, Alice Bell, could stand to learn some tricks from fellow countryman Scott Ryan whose 2005 debut, The Magician, perfectly nailed both the black comedy and mockumentary genres; provoking thought as it made us laugh and cringe.

To the writer and director’s credit, Suburban Mayhem maintains a high level of energy that evenly matches the blistering pace set by its cranked up soundtrack. Though the action is low on scale it is nevertheless engaging and the film’s hour and a half runtime never drags. The movie has almost as many entertaining qualities as it has distasteful ones, with generally sound performances and worthy production values. There is a sort of gritty, cartoonish polish to the way that Suburban Mayhem’s overriding aesthetic quality is a stylised version of middle class white trashdom. Katrina – all bad girl, disproportionately endowed with sexual power, literally leading the local male populace around by their collective suburban phallus – possesses a kind of mythic quality you’d usually equate with a (sub)urban legend.

I don’t pretend for a minute that director (Paul Goldman), writer (Alice Bell) and co. are taking themselves too seriously in this picture. Suburban Mayhem provides a fast, ‘boganly’ slick ride through a shocking suburban murder mystery based on a true life occurrence. The film seems more focused on the style and feel, than on the actual events or on stimulating thought, and it is this lack that left me patently unsatisfied at the end of my viewing experience. I like clever and fresh genre reworking – Rian Johnson’s recent teen noir masterpiece Brick is a case in point – but Suburban Mayhem, for all its ballsy ‘fuck you’ attitude and pub punk vigour, never quite transcends its sub-iconic exterior. Sure, the present was nicely wrapped, but when I got inside, it wasn’t really what I’d hoped for. Maybe it will be more your thing...

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