In the independent comedy, That's Not Me, Alice Foulcher plays Polly, a young woman dealing with constantly being mistaken for her twin sister, a famous actress. We took a few moments with Foulcher and her director, Gregory Erdstein.
A young couple on a road trip, Ian (Ian Meadows) and Sam (Harriet Dyer), run afoul of two opportunistic back-block predators, German (Aaron Pederson) and Chook (Aaron Glenane), in Killing Ground, an assured survival horror from debut feature director, Damien Power.
Killing Ground is the latest in a long tradition of Aussie “don’t go into the bush” terror tales; Wolf Creek is only the latest, most visible example, but Power is savvy enough to draw influences from deeper cuts, such as 1978’s Long Weekend. While the two Aarons provide the most immediate, unnerving threat to our wayward city couple, the setting itself is also a villain. This is a classic Bad Place narrative. We’re casually informed at one point that the isolated camping ground where Power sets his horrors is the site of of an Aboriginal massacre, and it’s no accident that our lead antagonist is played by the Indigenous actor Pedersen (Mystery Road) in an incredibly menacing turn. A sense of foreboding is established early on in the proceedings that never lets up, only growing inexorably heavier and more agonising as the inevitable atrocities loom nearer.
The sense of terror is heightened considerably when the film makes the bold choice of splitting its narrative, jumping back in time to explore the fates of an earlier set of victims once Ian and Sam discover an abandoned family tent at their remote campsite. It’s a clever conceit, subverting the usual straight-forward plot construction of the survival horror genre.
It also ups the body count significantly. Power doesn’t shy away from confronting and, at times, genuinely upsetting imagery, although when it comes to actual depiction of brutality and assault he knows when to let viewers draw their own conclusions from what is implied onscreen. There’s a stark, harsh matter-of-factness to the violence we see; the film doesn’t bother with exotic weaponry or elaborate, ritualised tortures, instead reminding us that a cruel man armed with a rifle is terrifying enough. It’s the plausibility of the scenario that chills; add to that an element of child endangerment (a toddler is thrown into the mix at one point, and the film milks the poor mite’s terrible vulnerability for all its worth) and there are times when Killing Ground is almost unbearable.
In that good way, of course. Horror fans are in for an absolute treat here; Power and his team understand the conventions of their genre and know exactly when to subvert them and when to double down. Killing Ground might lack an iconic figure like Mick Taylor around which a real cult audience could form, but it’s the real deal; a taut and torturous journey into darkness.
After being robbed in Bali, Finnish backpackers Stephie and Lina find themselves desperate for cash in Perth (never a good position to be in). Through an agency, they find jobs as barmaids at the Denver City Hotel in the remote mining town of Coolgardie.
Once there, they find themselves in a testosterone-and-booze-soaked milieu populated by rough as guts miners and local characters like the perpetually pissed “Canman”. Thrown in at the deep end, they’re given a brief handover by the departing British barmaids (the turnover rate is remarkably high) while the publican who hired them yells increasingly abusive advice and the local gentry try to woo them, having already laid bets on who will bed the newcomers first.
Hotel Coolgardie is an ugly film but a revealing one, uncovering the sexism, tribalism, and outright xenophobia that lies under the surface of the Australian “ocker” self image. Director Pete Gleeson adopts an observational, fly-on-the-wall approach, letting the events of the film play out for his camera without interfering. Largely, this consists of a number of men throwing their best double (or hell, even single) entendres at the pair, being gently rebuffed, and loudly complaining that they did nothing wrong.
There are points where the film becomes almost unbearably uncomfortable, as the locals try to see how far they can push their luck without straying across the line into outright sexual assault – it’s clear at a couple of points that the presence of Gleeson and his camera probably stopped something terrible from happening. Stephie and Lina find no succor with the few women we meet, either. Their foreignness makes them suspect. They don’t “get the joke” and their very discomfort with their treatment only alienates them more. As the film progresses and it becomes clear that the behaviour we’re seeing is not just some heavy handed hazing but the actual character of the bar and its patrons writ large, Hotel Coolgardie becomes downright sinister, a kind of verite Wake in Fright.
The larger picture being painted is one of incredible social and cultural isolation. The Coolgardie we see is a flyspeck on the map; as portrayed in the film, there is literally no life to the town outside the pub, no event more noteworthy than the arrival of fresh meat behind the bar (a fact advertised on chalkboard!), nothing to do but drink. In a charitable moment you might see the sleazier characters here as mere products of a brutal environment, robbed of any chance of socialisation by their circumstances. Then one of them is being forcibly ejected from the girls’ room after feigning being too drunk to leave, and it all snaps back into focus – these are awful people.
It’s worth remembering that the film was made with the full knowledge of the (now former) owners and patrons of the hotel, and what we’re seeing isn’t hidden camera footage, but themselves as they are comfortable being portrayed. As a nation, we’re very proud of our larrikin reputation. After seeing Hotel Coolgardie, you’ll wonder why.