The Year of Living Dangerously
(1982)
Peter Weir’s second (and most likely final)
collaboration with Mel Gibson is also the last to bear his Australian heritage
on its sleeve. It is a typically rich Weir film, resonating through performance
and thematic content. But it could not really
be charged as attempting to present a historical account of events in Jakarta
during 1965; its preoccupations are less to do with specifics and more with the
human condition (be it themes of western responsibility, personal morality,
career versus ambition or fantasy versus reality).
While Weir has continued to find
inspiration in history, this story -
ostensibly of a love affair between an Australian journalist (Gibson) and a
British Embassy official (Sigourney Weaver) - is very much a character piece
where the events of the Indonesian coup of 1965 form the backdrop. While Weir
is concerned with such issues as western interference and voyeuristic distance,
he does not appear interested in providing a history lesson outlining
Indonesia’s past and (within its setting) present.
To some extent, this could be any (Third
World or Developing) country undergoing political upheaval. Year does not have the specificity of,
say, Oliver Stone’s Salvador. It is
possible that Weir had this in mind when he bought the rights to Christopher
Koch’s novel (Koch was involved with the screenplay at an early stage); the
confusion over who is on whose side, and just what exactly is going on
(journalists scrabbling about for any quote, or left with a story containing
little of consequence), is part and parcel of the murky territory of that
period. The official story is the one endorsed by President Suharto, the Major
General who took power from Sukano following the coup attempt (and who ruled
until 1998); that it was led by the PKI (the communist party).
The heart of the film lies with the
diminutive Billy Kwan (Linda Hunt), a photographer who “adopts’ Gibson’s Guy
Hamilton (no, not the Bond director)
and invests in him all his hopes and aspirations for making a difference. Billy
has high moral standards, particularly in contrast to the cynicism,
indifference or career tourism of his fellow journalists. But his is a deeply
flawed conscience. Weir invites us directly to identify with Billy; it is his
voiceover that engages us at the outset and introduces us to Hamilton.
And it is he who introduces the viewer to
the puppet master concept as a means of understanding the system of rule in
Indonesia. Yet our appreciation of this idea comes through Billy’s attempts to
control and manipulate the players (Guy, Weaver’s Jill Bryant). Increasingly we
see that, for all his huge heart (adopting a local mother and child) and poetic
soul, Billy is a fantasist with a fastidiously developed interior world; one
that follows from his much-mocked physical aspect (which also denies him the
world of love and pleasure). He keeps files on his friends (not, as Guy
suggests, because he is a spy, but because of his would-be controlling
personality) and engineers the love affair between Guy and Jill (who once
spurned him). It is when reality refuses to comply with his intent (Guy putting
his career first, the fate of his adopted child) that his careful, reserved persona
spirals out of control (“I created you!”
he implores Guy).
Gibson’s ambitious journo is straightforward
in comparison; he learns his values the hard way (it’s a physical beating that
guides him back toward Billy’s plans) and lacks the insight that comes through
experience (“Think of me Guy, when you
are sitting in some nice café in Europe”, Kumar tells him, his own fate in
great doubt). Nevertheless, he is much more fully fleshed-out than Weaver’s
character. Despite struggling with an English accent, she gives Jill far more
substance than there is on the page. You could never accuse Weaver of taking
“pretty girlfriend” parts, but she is at her most striking here. I’m not sure I
completely buy into Jill’s romance with Guy, but that’s more an afterthought;
Weir creates such an immersive environment that you are fully engaged by their
relationship while simultaneously conscious that it is a heightened, subjective
experience (the scene where they are caught in a downpour and escape to the
shelter of Guy’s car, or the tense sequence where they break through a
roadblock, their nervous relief enforced by the triumphant synths of Vangelis’ L’Enfant).
Indeed, it is this worldbuilding that is
Weir’s greatest signature; throughout his career, and no matter how apparently contrasting
the setting, you believe fully in the environment he explores. And so, here, you
feel that palpable danger and unease; the heightened world of the foreign
correspondent, where the big scoop takes precedence over self-preservation.
Which makes it no less threatening. Michael Murphy’s cocky, crude journo is
overjoyed to learn that he is being posted to Saigon (against any usual
standard of commonsense); but celebrations in a local bar are curtailed when a
soldier levels a pistol at him and guy; Noel Ferrier’s character is outed,
meaning that he will be departing the country post-haste.
The performances all have the necessary
conviction; Gibson doesn’t have long left for everyman roles at this point.
It’s strange enough to see him in a suit here. Like Sean Connery, he can’t
disguise his star wattage no matter the role. He was only 26 when Year came out, but has the presence of
an actor 10 years older (another aspect he shares with Connery; he aged
significantly during his thirties, making him a very young Vietnam vet in Lethal Weapon). His energy is always
that of Mad Mel; restless, darting eyes and that open mouth, always on the
verge of exasperation over the slings and arrows he faces. Gibson astutely
remarked that he shared his character’s immaturity and “rough edges” (whether either ever lost them is open to debate).
Linda Hunt’s Best Supporting Actress Oscar
was well-deserved. Far from being a stunt-plaudit (or, even if that was the
attitude of voters, giving it to her because she played a man), Hunt is outstanding
in the part. She exerts a magnetic pull on the viewer, both in her screen
presence and in her precise, inviting diction. Who knows how the film would
have worked if the originally cast David Atkins had remained (Weir decided the
chemistry wasn’t right; he considered Bob Balaban and Wallace Shawn as possible
replacements before finding Hunt).
The production wasn’t the smoothest;
filming took place in the Philippines as Indonesia point blank refused
permission. It then transferred to Australia after death threats against Weir
and Gibson (who brushed them off; perhaps playing a tolerant character rubbed
off on Mel); some thought the film would be anti-Islamic.
The film is beautifully shot by Weir
regular Russell Boyd, capturing the claustrophobic humidity of the Jakarta. It
would be their last collaboration until Master
and Commander 21 years later (perhaps coincidentally, also Weir’s first
historical setting since Year). While
the main score is the work of Maurice Jarre, it is the aforementioned Vangelis
who makes the most memorable contribution (in a piece that was not specifically
composed for the film).
The
Year of Living Dangerously represents a turning
point for both Weir and Gibson. Hollywood beckoned them, albeit the former proving
more discerning in his choices (even though he attached himself to another bona
fide star for his first two projects there). A harbinger of this was perhaps
the funding of the film, which came from MGM after the Australian financing fell
out. Year may not be Weir’s most
fully-rounded, wholly-satisfying film but it is certainly one of his most
ambitious thematically. In that sense it departs from other ‘80s pictures depicting
war reportage, such as Salvador and The Killing Fields.
If those films capture a very specific
outrage, Weir is more interested in exploring the idea of the westerner as the
vicarious voyeur; one who doesn’t really understand, or want to understand, the
environment he encounters (and plunders). In those terms, the romantic subplot
between Guy and Jill could be seen as every so slightly clumsy, as if wrested
from a broader, less nuanced work. But it could also be regarded as emphasising
exactly that point; ultimately the troubles of this country amount to very
little, only so much as they interfere with these westerners’ privileged
personal lives.
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