Didgeridown

WALKABOUT (1971)

DIDGERIDOWN

Australia sits down there at the bottom of the globe—like the earth’s underpants—so far south in the Pacific, parts of it seem but a stone’s throw from Antarctic and the South Pole. It sprawls out for 3½ million square miles, and yet it only sports a population less than the state of California —most of it hugging the coastlines. It is an island. It is more like a continent. It possesses a vastness at its center—a void, emptiness—just referred to as the Outback. In QUIGLEY DOWN UNDER (1990), there were a series of wide shots that gave us a taste of the actual vastness—spaces so wide that the vistas within David Lean’s LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (1962)—even the Sahara itself—could squat comfortably midst the big openness—possibly even be swallowed up—lost to the eye.

When we watched WALKABOUT in 1971—what did most of us really know about Australia ? Nicolas Roeg’s complex film became our travelogue, allegory, dream quest, and introduction. This film shed light where light does not like to bend—straight down. The neophyte Australian Film Commission loved it. It was Australia ’s foot in the International Door of the Arts and Cinema. The 1970’s became the Decade of Down Under—a time when many Australian movies would find their way onto American screens. We started to ruminate with a morsel of understanding—began to recognize Ayer’s Rock, the Great Barrier Reef , and the Sydney Opera House. We began to actually reciprocate the affection that Australians had showered us with ever since America saved their bacon in 1943—preventing the Japanese from invading with a US victory at the Battle of the Coral Sea .

I remember seeing the MGM film, KANGAROO (1952) at a big cinema palace in Seattle . I was eight years old. I was just beginning to know who Peter Lawford, Maureen O’Hara, and Richard Boone were. I certainly had no idea who famous director Lewis Milestone was—but I remember being fascinated by the huge herds of kangaroos—and the wide panoramas of “desert” that were used for location shooting. Later I read where this film had been the first Technicolor movie shot entirely on location in Australia . The winds had been prevalent—and there were no sophisticated sound equipment to edit it out—so Milestone had to re-dub much of the dialogue.

As a third grader I kept confusing this film with one I had seen two years earlier (when I was six years old) called KING SOLOMON’S MINES (1950) with Stewart Granger and Deborah Kerr. Both had black people in them—both were great adventure epics—both had heroes who wore wide-brimmed safari hats—both had deserts and exotic animals. Australia wasn’t too far from Africa —was it? Now by the time I was a sophomore in high school, and I watched THE SUNDOWNERS (1960) with Deborah Kerr, Robert Mitchum, Peter Ustinov, and John Meillon—hell, I was a young man, a 15 year old know-it-all citizen of my mind. By that point I actually knew where Australia was—and could talk for several minutes about aborigines throwing boomerangs, ten-foot worms, koala bears and other marsupials—and that Stone Age hybrid, the duck-billed platypus.

So in 1971 when I watched WALKABOUT in a small art house in the University district in Seattle , I was entranced with it. I started to get a “feel” for the place of visions called Australia . But one must recall that Peter Weir had not yet given us PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK (1975), or his paean to Aborigines, THE LAST WAVE (1977), with David Gulpilil and Richard Chamberlain. I had not yet been treated to the sight of a young American gone-native-Australian actor named Mel Gibson—first in MAD MAX (1979), and then in the classic apocalyptic blockbuster, THE ROAD WARRIOR (1981). I had not yet thrilled to the hard rides in THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER (1983) and its sequel. I had not yet began to appreciate those million miles of hot dusty red roads shared in ROADGAMES (1981), with Stacy Keach and the perky Jamie Lee Curtis, tooling along in odd-looking right-hand drive tall trucks—and none of us had yet chuckled at Paul Hogan’s Aussie antics in CROCODILE DUNDEE (1986) or its two sequels, co-starring both John Meillon and David Gulpilil.

No, Australia was still a bit of a mystery to me in 1971 as I trained to be a professional actor—sitting in that darkened theater being thrilled by Nicolas Roeg’s cinematography—all those Martian-like red rocks and soil, the strange deciduous trees, and those desolate dunes juxtaposed to lush valleys and foothills—where the deep greens seemed to have been imported from the Emerald Isles. Being thrilled and enchanted by John Barry’s musical score—amazed that this was the same composer that had scored all those James Bond movies. How could I have known on that evening, or afternoon, watching what I felt at the time was,” An odd little film—peopled with nameless characters who wandered through a wasted landscape devoid of hope—with enigmatic open-ended scenes that had little semblance of plotting and structure” that one day I would travel to Sydney as an actor—stand on those very bluffs shown in the film staring at the Sydney bridge—or spend several delicious weekends a tiny ways—up to 100 miles, Outback—into the belly of the island.

Watching WALKABOUT that first time I didn’t really notice the large black flies either. Let me assure you, when you are more than fifty miles from the sea—you will become pestered to death by those large black biting flies. I was told that since most of Australia is still agrarian, and sheep & cattle were still the main export—those wonderful flies bred in the dung and ruled the skies. While in Australia one could always tell a native—whether they were Aborigine or White. They could stand unblinkingly talking to you while hordes of flies peppered their every orifice. I remember thinking,” This must be the way it is in Africa too.” the heat, the flies, and the unflinching unforgiving sun. Whenever a film is made in Australia —pay attention to the flies. They are always present.

Nicolas Roeg, presently in his late ‘70s, in 1947 was a film editing apprentice, and he spent 21 years working in the British Film Industry. From 1960-1971, he worked first as a cameraman and then as a cinematographer. He co-directed PERFORMANCE (1970) with director Donald Cammell. That outrageous film with Mick Jagger and James Fox was actually completed in 1968. Distributors just didn’t know how to handle it, or release it. WALKABOUT (1971) was his first solo effort as a director, and his last job as a cinematographer.

Roeg once said,” I can’t tell how anyone can become a director without learning the craft of cinematography. I was very glad later—when I became a director—that I wasn’t helpless in the hands of a cinematographer—and just hoping he could do it well. I would know what he was doing—and we could discuss how that scene would, or should look. It was just lucky, in a way that I didn’t go to film school. I just learned all this on the floor. This idea of photography as an art is ridiculous. But that was my life—in a factory setting.”

Roeg had worked with David Lean on LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (1962)—with Trauffaut on FAHRENHEIT 451 (1966), and with John Schlesinger on FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD (1967). After WALKABOUT, he released a dramatic thriller, the classic DON’T LOOK NOW (1973), with Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie. The steamy love scenes bordered on soft core porn frankness with full frontal nudity. The juicy rumor at the time, in the industry, was that Sutherland and Christie actually had sex, and they just let Roeg edit it tastefully. I was fascinated with THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH (1976), with David Bowie.

Early on in his directing career, by the late ‘70s, Roeg had become a “player” in Hollywood . Then he met Theresa Russell while they were making BAD TIMING (1980). I believe they were married in 1982. Roeg divorced his wife of 20 years, and remarried. He and Russell are still married—which is quite a testament to their compatibility. He gave her starring roles in many of his subsequent films—most of which were not commercial successes. Films like EUREKA (1984) with Gene Hackman and Rutger Hauer,[I have tried in vain over the years to like this film—but so far I have not succeeded.]--INSIGNIFICANCE (1985), with Russell playing a Marilyn Monroe-like actress—TRACK 29 (1988) with Gary Oldman—COLD HEAVEN (1991) and HOTEL PARADISE (1995). Russell and Roeg have two children together.

Theresa quit working with her husband in 1995—but she remained a working actress—having appeared in two dozen more movies since then. In 1995, Roeg directed FULL BODY MASSAGE, with the gorgeous Mimi Rogers spending 90% of the film totally nude. Her breasts filled the silver screen like twin Kenworth trucks. I wonder if Russell had been offered the part. Two of Roeg’s films I enjoyed in the ‘90s were THE WITCHES (1990) with Anjelica Huston—a film that managed to be funny and frightening at the same time—a kind of lost classic, and a movie project he later did for the A&E network, HEART OF DARKNESS (1994), with John Malkovich as Kurtz, and Tim Roth as the assassin. This version was much closer to the original Joseph Conrad novel.

Nicolas Roeg once said,” Movies are not scripts—movies are films. They are not books—they’re not theater. It is a completely different discipline. It exists on its own. I would say that the beauty of it is that it is not theater—it’s not done over again. It is done in bits and pieces—not of a whole piece. That comes later, sitting in an editing room. While shooting—there are things happening which you can’t get again.”

James Vance Marshall wrote the novel, WALKABOUT. He was born in 1887, and he died in 1964—never even suspecting his slim book would become a classic film. He only published three novels—and two of them were published posthumously. WALKABOUT was considered a “children’s book”—recommended for ages 9-12. It was 158 pages in length. In the book, the central characters were American kids from South Carolina . Making them British for the film worked alright—but it could have been a stronger message if they had been American—absolute strangers in a strange land. Edward Bond wrote an 18 page film treatment, which became Roeg’s “screenplay”. Roeg didn’t want more than that. The script served only as a loose outline for Roeg’s vision. Bond has written 12 other film scripts, including NICHOLAS AND ALEXANDRIA (1971).

Roeg with his small cast and crew roamed about Australia for three months. According to him, they did consult with some guides and locals—but he never did any actual location scouting. I guess he loved that sense of surprise when a new location would just present itself. They lost a couple of weeks to torrential rains—which were off-season and unexpected.

Roeg was quoted to say,” I am one of those lucky people that can keep a story in his head. I have never storyboarded anything. I like the idea of chance. It fascinates me that film has become a university subject. I can’t believe it. Producers today talk about how films are ordered, structured, and market researched. In my day—again I was lucky that way—film was still a showman’s place—a walk-right-up kind of thing. There was something vagabond-like about it—and at the same time it was growing secretly.

WALKABOUT was rife with enigma—with red herring scenes and unanswered questions—and a few goofs. Adelaide was the city used in the novel. So when the Girl first meets the Aborigine and asks where is Adelaide —that really rings false. Sydney was the obvious city used in the prologue and epilogue—bridge, bay, and all. The scene segues were swift and almost inexplicable. How far did the father drive the VW into the Outback? Even though the Girl was only supposed to be 14 years old, was she so busy listening to her radio and daydreaming—that she had absolutely no idea where they were—no sense of direction? I guess they never studied geography or cardinal directions taken off the placement of the sun in that fancy boarding school the children are shown attending.

To the casual moviegoer, WALKABOUT is sometimes confused, or mistaken for the more recent film, A FAR OFF PLACE (1993), starring Reese Witherspoon as a young girl, after her parents are killed by vicious poachers, who escapes with her young brother, and a black friend. The black friend guides them across vast expanses of Africa , and they have assorted adventures along the way. It is a familiar plot.

Roeg’s camera loved texture. He would shoot red brick walls whenever he could—often using them as transitions into the next scene. In the prologue we meet a British family. The father, played by John Meillon, simply referred to in the credits as “Man”—was shown in his downtown office in Sydney . He emerged from work slowly, and then sat for a long time just staring at the sky—and at nothing. What was the problem—had he been sacked or laid off? Was he is dire financial need, and under a great stress to keep his waterfront flat and his children in private schools?

We meet the children while they are still at school. We are introduced to the mother, played by Hilary Bambergh—simply referred to as “Woman” in the credits. She has no dialogue. She putters around, smoking and cutting fruit in her spotless kitchen. The father is seen wandering out onto their small balcony, watching his children swimming in the apartment building swimming pool. Roeg liked the imagery of those who chose to swim in pale chlorinated water adjacent to the deep blue of the actual sea. The father stares for a long time at his daughter swimming. It’s a long shot, so we can’t really see his face—but some critics have postulated that perhaps he was harboring “impure” thoughts regarding his daughter. With repeated viewings, all I saw was a lost and vacuous look on the father’s face.

In the next scene, we found ourselves deep into the desert, with the VW Bug parked alongside the road. The children, oddly, were still dressed in their school clothes. The mother is absent. They have a picnic basket. They young boy began to play with his action toys and squirt gun, and the girl began to set up the picnic food and blanket. The father was staring at some geology papers and reports. Was that his vocation?

The camera is on the young son playing when we hear the first pistol shot—and the bullet ricochets off rocks very near him. He thought it was a game, so he began to dodge and weave, and even returned fire with his squirt gun as real bullets buzzed past him. Bullets hit near the Girl too. She bolted off and hid with her brother behind a large rock.

Father: Bring him out now. We are out of time. I am out of time. We need to go now. We are all out of time now. Bring him out! There is no more time. I need to go now.

We watched as the father doused the VW with gasoline. We heard one more shot, and that whooshing sound a fire makes when it starts quickly, as it gulps oxygen and turns into an instant inferno. We are shown the carbeque, and the man lying on his back with his face shot half off. Was he trying to hit his children with his first few shots, trying to kill them—or was he merely trying to drive them off? Did he have a nervous breakdown? The questions linger in the acrid air unanswered. The Girl grabbed the little boy’s hand, after she hurriedly gathered up some of the picnic food, and they scurried away from the tragedy.

That first night they slept exhausted on the bare rock. Roeg shot the scene day-for-night—but it still worked. Twilight or moonlight would have been moodier and more appropriate perhaps—but much of the detail of the place would have been masked. After a few days of wandering aimlessly, they ran out of food. Then they came upon a small oasis, with a tiny water hole nestled next to a single tree. They happily drank and bathed, and then slipped off to slumber. As they awakened, they realized that the sun had baked out the shallow pool—only red cracked mud remained.

White Boy: I don’t suppose it matters which way we go.
The Girl: We’ll stay here. Perhaps the water will come back.
White Boy: Where from?

While sitting midst their indecision and stupor, the boy was the first to see the appearance of the Aborigine. David Gulpilil played the Black Boy, and that entrance of his was classic. He started merely as a black dot on the reddish-white horizon. As he approached, he became the lithe hunter scampering about chasing and spearing lizards. As he grew near, we could see a darkly handsome face—the several spears and boomerangs he carried—and a half dozen dead lizards hanging from his belt. Hordes of flies hovered around the lizard heads—until the air was black with them. The Aborigine stared unblinkingly and unabashed at the White Girl and her little brother. He did not make any attempt to brush away the many flies buzzing his head and eyes.

There had been a written explication, prior to the opening credits—informing us that young Aborigine boys of 16, as a test of their manhood, had to leave the safety of their villages and wander the Outback—living off the land—surviving without intervention. This rite of passage was called a “Walkabout”. As viewers, we assumed that this young man must have been on one of those. The written explanation was put in by the studio. Roeg did not especially approve of it, perhaps feeling that those truths would become self evident within the body of the film.

The Girl: We’re English! English, do you understand? This is Australia , yes? Where is Adelaide ?
White Boy: Ask him for water.
The Girl: Water—drink—we want water to drink. You must understand! Anyone can understand that. We want to drink. I can’t make it any simpler—water—to drink. The water hole has dried up. Where do they keep the water?

Then the white Boy mimed drinking water—making glug-glug sounds. The Aborigine immediately understood. He took them back to the dried up water hole, and showed them how to push a thick reed deep into the mud and find water beneath.

Jenny Agutter played the Girl. WALKABOUT (1971) was not her first film. She had been working as an actress since she appeared in EAST OF SUDEN (1964)—when she was 12 years old. WALKABOUT actually was her 13th film appearance, which brings up some interesting and conflicting facts. The IMDb, the film bio information, and even Ms. Agutter herself on the DVD commentary—all asserted that she had been only 14 years old when she starred in the film. I’m sorry, but that is just not accurate. She was born in England in 1952. So in 1970 while filming Roeg’s movie—she had to be at least 17-18 years old. Why the false data or confusion regarding her age? The character was supposed to be 14—maybe that was it. A lot has been made of her nude scenes in the film. Her full frontal nudity drew an “R” rating from the MPAA. It was later reduced to a “PG” rating on appeal. Roeg had to cut 6 minutes of nudity out of the movie before its American release. So in actuality none of us had seen the original uncut film in its entirety until the DVD release. Agutter was feeling very self-conscious about her nude swimming scene, so Roeg sent most of the crew off somewhere else while he shot that scene. Upon completion, the crew returned and immediately stripped off all their clothes and conducted a nude swimming party.

Nicolas Roeg seemed fascinated with Agutter’s blooming sexuality—some critic felt too much so. There were all those delicious shots of her long legs under that short skirt—and during the tree climbing scene, we all spent a long time looking up her skirt at her white panties. There were several other scenes where she appeared topless, or bra-less—that may have been gratuitous. Roeg might have argued that some of the philosophic message of the film needed to be accentuated by her tempestuous sexuality. But anyone who reviews Roeg’s films can figure out his interest in Eros—whether integral to the script or not.

Agutter has racked up 67 film appearances since 1964. Right after WALKABOUT, she won an Emmy working with Richard Harris in a television film, THE SNOW GOOSE (1971). She is presently putting the finishing touches on the remake of that film—obviously not played the ingénue for this go-round. She was interesting as Molly, the milk maid, in THE EAGLE HAS LANDED (1976), with Donald Sutherland. She played Jill in EQQUS (1977), and in it she had several very erotic nude love scenes with Peter Firth. The movie was based on the award-winning play, and Richard Burton played the doctor. She was the Nurse in AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON (1981). She sparkled as the doomed Desdemona to William Marshall’s OTHELLO in 1981.

Lucien John played the little brother, the White Boy. Actually he was Lucien John Roeg—called Luc—the director’s 6 year old son. Roeg decided to mask his identity for artistic reasons. Luc was fine, in his child’s way. His dialogue, at times, was a bit hard to hear, or to understand—but his portrayal worked well. His character was the one that completely accepted the Aborigine lad—learned to hunt from him—learned to communicate with him through sign language. To heighten the mystery, I guess, Roeg let the Black Boy speak his native tongue—and we were never allowed to see any sub-titles. I don’t know if the film would have been improved with sub-titles, but I would have preferred it. Luc Roeg never acted again after this premiere effort. He grew up to be a successful producer. Since 1987 he has produced 12 films, and has managed to hire his father several times.

Using his son in this role was reminiscent of how fellow Brit director, John Boorman, used his son, Charley, in many of his films. Charley, at 8 years old showed up in DELIVERANCE (1977). He was young Mordred in EXCALIBUR (1981). Later, in 1985, he had a huge role as Tomme in THE EMERALD FOREST, with Powers Boothe. He played the downed Luftwaffe pilot in HOPE AND GLORY (1987). He remained an actor, and has appeared in 24 films.

The inimitable David Gulpilil played the Black Boy—the Aborigine lad on his walkabout. His was definitely the pivotal role. Roeg found him while auditioning in Sydney . He was a dancer, a performer—but he hadn’t done any acting. It was hard to know if Roeg let him improvise his dialogue in the film—or whether some of it was written in English in the Bond script. He was 17 years old [b.1953—making him a year younger than Agutter] when he starred in WALKABOUT. I felt that his sense of blooming sexuality, or early maturation was handled well. He was flat out fascinated by the Girl—but he kept a respectful distance—until he didn’t.

One has to remind themselves about the state of artistic freedom, regarding nudity, in 1970. Many of us had seen nudity in those “foreign” films from the late ‘50s and ‘60s—being amazed by the nude Brigitte Bardot and Sophia Loren. In retrospect though, it wasn’t until 1964, with Sidney Lumet’s THE PAWNBROKER, that any American director was allowed to show a woman’s breasts naked on the screen. It created quite a sensation at the time. In 1961, Marilyn Monroe, filming a scene for THE MISFITS, showed her breasts to the camera. John Huston had to snip that footage immediately. The world was just not ready to seen a woman’s breasts on the screen. The total frontal nudity—male and female—that Roeg originally included in WALKABOUT was pretty heady stuff in its day. Add to that the mixed race “love” story, black and white bodies nude together in one shot—and the prudes and rednecks ran amuck spreading the hue and cry warning all of its evilness. To push the envelope even further, Roeg created a kind of Shakespearean tragedy between this young black man and the young white English girl—that sent some critics into a tailspin. How silly it all seems today.

David Gulpilil has appeared in 16 films since 1971. He was Chris in Peter Weir’s THE LAST WAVE (1977), with Richard Chamberlain [They were filming it while I was in Sydney that year]—Billy in MAD DOG MORGAN (1976), with Dennis Hopper—and he played one of Paul Hogan’s pals in CROCODILE DUNDEE (1986). Recently I enjoyed him immensely in RABBIT PROOF FENCE (2002), with Kenneth Branagh—a film that scraped the scabs off the history of the Australian government’s handling and education of the Aborigines. They tried to make them all into “white” children. Just like in America , wherein the government took our Native American children and tried to get them to erase their heritage and accept “white” customs and ways—the results proved disastrous.

Australian actor, John Meillon, played the Man—the father. A familiar face in bunch of British comedies and war movies, he was born in Australia , but worked in London from 1959-1965. As a kid [Age 11], he worked on an Australian radio serial called STUMPY. He had appeared in 56 films since 1959. He, too, played one of Hogan’s buddies in the DUNDEE series of films. He died in 1989.


Roger Ebert wrote,” WALKABOUT is a superb work of storytelling—and its material is effortlessly fascinating. Roeg’s film is a very rare example of that kind of movie (pay no attention to the plot—just enjoy the movie itself) in which the “civilized” characters and the Aborigine exist in a wilderness that really isn’t a wilderness—but more an indefinite place for the story to be told. Roeg’s desert is like Beckett’s stage for WAITING FOR GODOT—that is it is nowhere in particular—and everywhere.
His cinematography keeps us a distance from the physical suffering of the characters. His camera work and John Barry’s otherworldly music—made the desert seem a mystical place—a place of visions. So that the whole film became mystical—a dream—and the suicides which frame it set the boundaries of reality.”

James Barardinelli of REEL VIEWS wrote,” It is considered Nicolas Roeg’s “lost work”. The film—which had five minutes of Jenny Agutter’s full frontal nudity cut for its US release—was never transferred to video.
[Actually it was. I have a widescreen VHS copy of the film on video.] This is the first time for most of us to see the entire uncensored version.
This movie is about the never-ending conflict between civilization and nature. Civilized humanity is the enemy—the scourge and rapist of Nature. Not every aspect of WALKABOUT is successful. Roeg occasionally resorts to intrusive camera “tricks” to get his point across—and without exception—these work to the film’s detriment. The use of still frames, handheld shots, and bizarre insects interferes with the simple beauty of the film—temporarily distancing the viewer. Those artistic “riffs” are uniformly more distracting than effective. Nevertheless, even considering that, this film has not aged as well as some other landmark ‘70s movies. Certain aspects of the film—notably it’s lush evocative photography and forceful emotional component—makes it a worthwhile experience for a ‘90s audience.”

Gary Johnson of IMAGES JOURNAL wrote,” Roeg tells a story where the visible known elements are vastly outnumbered by the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. However, the clues that it provides are so intriguing and compelling that it’s easy to get wrapped up in the storytelling—to trust that Roeg’s elliptical filmmaking may somehow get at greater truths than those typically provided in conventional Hollywood films. Roeg masterfully keeps his camera focused squarely on the three protagonists. Are there people searching for them? We don’t know. By refusing to leave the characters, the director keeps our emotion tied to them. We feel their confusion and exhaustion—and we share their concern.”

Actually, Gary —you have gone a bit astray there. Roeg purposefully provided us with several longish scenes that clearly established that the three protagonists were not alone out there. There was that long scene where the scientists were launching weather balloons—which later the young boy finds one of. Upon the first viewing of this movie, that scene baffled me. Who were these people, and how close were they to the protagonists? Roeg said at one point that he wanted to establish that there have been a lot of Italian immigrants in Australia —and that the protagonists have passed close to several other people. It was only happenstance that prevented them from all actually meeting. The female scientist (Noeline Brown) who appeared with her bare legs and unbuttoned blouse, caused most of her male compeers to stretch their necks and ogle her at every turn. What on earth did that comic and erotic scene have to do with the flow of the movie? The scene went on several times too long regardless of its reason to be included.

The other odd, and fairly long scene, opened up with a woman casually walking past the Aborigine boy—and they exchanged some small talk. The black boy walked off—and we saw the children standing below, waiting for him to return. The woman traveled on to a farm—where a group of aborigines were busy painting outrageously cheesy plaster statues and figurines of kangaroos, koalas, aborigines, and the Sydney Bridge . There was a white man barking orders, and who seemed to be in charge. He was not treating his work gang very compassionately—yet most of them were shown to be disregarding his bluster, smiling, and working at their own pace.

The woman was shown in the window of a house nearby, holding a child. She seemed very quiet and sad. Was she part Aborigine—part white? Was that why she could talk with the Aborigine boy? Was she the mistress of the obnoxious white man? Soon the white man took a break, and he entered the house—leering as he closed the door behind him. There was the suggestion that he wanted to include some afternoon delight on his break. The closing shot showed the woman sitting on the side of a bed near an open window—looking sadder than ever. This piece of parallel scenario did not seem to assist the narrative any more than the comic scene with the weather scientists. Roeg might have been able to achieve his desired outcomes with aerial shots, that could have pulled the lens back off the traveling children, and reveal other people in their unseen proximity.

Deserts have always been places of meditation, vision, and enlightenment. Even Jesus wandered in one for a time trying to sort out who he was—and what he was expected to do. Roeg seemed to want his desert to be a non-distinct, almost non-descript world where his coming-of-age allegory could play out. Truly, nowhere else on earth can one get a better view of sky and stars than on a desert on a clear night? Native American youths, and shaman, have spent parched days and nights searching for their vision quest—their totems and truths. Even I have been known to spend time wandering in the sand, or driving fast rolling up dust in the dunes—midst the gray-brown sagebrush. It is said that on certain parts of the desert in the southwestern United States —there are more UFO sightings than anywhere else. I can attest to that—but that is another story.

Shimmering visualizations and fever dreams emerge from the enigmatic sands if one is open to it—magical, with hidden joys and inexplicable sadness--sometimes. Ghosts of castles, cavalry forts, bison herds, unshod ponies, terrible deaths and blissful coupling all converge in the heat of the day and the chill of the night. After one of my personal forays into the world of the desert, in 1972, I wrote some dark poetry. I was neither depressed nor angry—yet the desert seemed to reveal a shadowed place within me that I had been unaware of—that needed to be birthed and baked and blessed.

WATER DEVILS

I was born stinking I was born stinking
Of fear, Of fear,
With vile placenta fluids With vile placenta fluids
Rushing off me. Rushing off me.
I found terror I found terror
In mud puddles In mud puddles
As they snarled at me. As they snarled at me.

Dew bubbles on the grasses of morning Dew bubbles on the grasses of morning
Stung me like nettles. Stung me like nettles.
A rainstorm would send me A rainstorm would send me
Scampering for shelter, Scampering for shelter,
And keep me imprisoned And keep me imprisoned
Beneath its incessant pounding Beneath its incessant pounding
On the roof On the roof
In my head. In my head

I could, though, I could, though
When I really concentrated, When I really concentrated,
Close my eyes— Close my eyes--
And that terrible clutching crawling And that terrible clutching crawling
Would retreat. Would retreat.
Oh yes, Oh yes,
I could swim, shower, wallow I could swim, shower, wallow
And be drenched And be drenched
In my dreams; In my dreams;
Only to wake up wet, Only to wake up wet,
Frightened Frightened
Of my own sweat, Of my own sweat,
As it slithered over my private parts. As it slithered over my private parts.

Each day Each day
I have flexed my muscles I have flexed my muscles
Against the water devils— Against the water devils--
Bashing and bludgeoning my dry fists Bashing and bludgeoning my dry fists
Into their fecund faces, Into their fecund faces,
As the sadistic slime swirled seductively As the sadistic slime swirled seductively
All about me. All about me.

I continued to fight until I continued to fight until
That damned dire day That damned dire day
When I realized that When I realized that
Man is but driftwood— Man is but driftwood--
His essence floating forever His essence floating forever
On the ocean inside— On the ocean inside--
And there is no escape. And there is no escape.

But none of that matters But none of that matters
Now; Now;
For I have journeyed For I have journeyed
Through hell-dampness Through hell-dampness
To lie To lie
On this flat hot rock. On this hot flat rock.

I stretch out, I stretch out,
Bleached like a bone, Bleached like a bone,
Brittle as a fall leaf— Brittle as a fall leaf--
And the sweat has left me And the sweat has left me
As I stare at the sun. As I stare at the sun.

I am now finally blind I am now finally blind
And my once blood-soaked brain And my once blood-soaked brain
Is nearly dry. Is nearly dry.
There is nothing left There is nothing left
But the beautiful baking But the beautiful baking
And the catharsis of fire. And the catharsis of fire.

My tears and my saliva My tears and saliva
Have fled— Have fled--
Evaporated and met morphed, Evaporated and met morphed,
First into mist First into mist
And then into the very air. And then into the very air.

Death rustles Death rustles
In my dry hair, In my dry hair,
And all is good And all is good
As the hot sand As the hot sand
Fills my waiting mouth. Fills my waiting mouth.


Glenn A. Buttkus 1972 Glenn A. Buttkus 1972

WALKABOUT from one perspective is a very dark fairy tale. It is a story framed by two suicides—one very violent and unstable—the other gentle, non-violent, and resigned. I believe that it was one of the first Australian films to deal so explicitly with even the implied intimacy between aborigines and whites. The novel identified the white girl as American. The film had her become British. Somehow, she could not be Australian in either case. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been able to be truly lost—if she had been a native.

The two white children were able to complete their journey—and they rejoined their pocket of civilization—a place they had only dropped out of for a time. The Aborigine completed his journey as well—but it propelled him beyond the rigors of reality rushing through a spiritual portal. Roeg said on the DVD commentary that the Aborigines are very sensitive—and mostly without guile. If one of them thinks that you do not like them—their rejection and grief can be all consuming. They can just lie down and die—just halt their broken hearts and force the oxygen out of their lungs.

In WALKABOUT there is unrequited love—a Romeo and Juliet mis-coupling. There is vast miscommunication and huge misunderstandings. The Aborigine lad was on his walkabout—and doing just fine. He happened on to those two lost children. He decided to help them, and they adopted each other for a time. They traveled together naked and unashamed—exchanging some of their cultural views and language—almost. The lack of true language led to tragedy. The Aborigine guided them past people to an abandoned ranch. He thought that was what the Girl wanted and needed—that and a mate. She was primed for it, and so was he. He wanted to create a “family”. He painted himself up and began the ritual of his mating dance—something bizarre and bird-like.

His sudden appearance and incessant dancing initially frightened the Girl. She thought he was just going to compromise her girlhood. Later she seemed to understand fully his intent—but she decided to reject his overtures—hoping to politely wait him out. But the Aborigine lad danced all day and all night. He danced non-stop until finally he had exhausted himself. The next morning the young white boy found him hanging in a tree—quite dead. Aborigines believe that at death, their feet should not touch the ground—or their spirits could be sucked into the earth. One critic wrote,” The black Boy had hanged himself”. That was technically not true. He had just perched himself in that tree—in a kind of self-imposed crucifixion pose—and allowed his anguished spirit to flee—and his terrible sadness fueled the journey.

Louis Noura wrote,” Critics say that Roeg’s anti-narrative disruptive intrusive techniques remind one of Godard without the apocalyptic vision. Roeg is illustrating how cinema—a pure idea of cinema that goes back to Eisenstein’s montage technique—enters another realm of the imagination—where events and time can collide and interact in a way impossible in any other art form.”

Richard Frankland, a theatrical director, playwright, musician, and sometimes film director is a Gunditjmara man, Aborigine on his mother’s side and Scotch/English on his father’s. In Australia , he is a legend as performer and teacher. At age 25, he was appointed as a senior advisor to the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths while in Custody. This experience was later manifested into plays and films. At one point, he mounted a theatrical production called THE CHAMBERMAID’S WALKABOUT. It was a multimedia show with actors, dancers, and musicians that “filled the gap in Nicolas Roeg’s tragic-comedy of mutual incomprehension.”

Frankland was quoted to say,” When you’ve got Art—you’ve got a voice. When you’ve got a voice—you’ve got freedom. With freedom comes responsibility. If anything, we should be promoting more art. There are some wonderful students coming up all around Australia . I mean this country is theirs. It doesn’t belong to people in our age group. We’re just the caretakers. The arts shape attitude, and record history as it truly was—much more accurately than Government historians—I might add.”

Gary Johnson wrote further,” This film simultaneously exhausts and exalts the viewer. Its drama stems not so much from the acting or the screenplay—as from Roeg’s gift of transportation. WALKABOUT is a magical experience—a seminal film which any movie lover should have in their collection—alongside other cinematic masterpieces which not only tell a great story—but also inspire wonderment and awe.”

Originally Roeg was going to end the film with the lost children wandering the junk yards within the abandoned mining town—peopled by that single odd company man that hardly noticed them, and didn’t listen to them. But Roeg felt compelled to put in an epilogue. We found the Girl grown up—living in an apartment in that same building in Sydney that she and her parents had lived in—preparing a meal and smoking just as her mother had in the prologue.[Whatever happened to the mother?] As the Girl’s young husband entered the scene, just returning from work much the way her father had in the prologue—she gave him an obligatory hug—but in her mind she traveled back to a sparkling pool of water in a hidden swimming hole—where she and the Aborigine and her little brother had all held hands, swam naked and unself-conscious. A narrator recited Part 40 of a poem in A.E. Housman’s A SHROPSHIRE LAD.

Into my head air that kills
From yon far country blows.
What are those blue remembered hills?
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content—
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went,
And cannot come again.

Nicolas Roeg liked that closing line,” And cannot come again.” The movie, the cinematic experience, the mental journey—all resides in memory now. But it does stir to the surface at odd times, and the red dust and the innocence lost and the odd joy swirls across my civilized brow—and I smile sadly. I would rate this film at 4 stars.

Glenn Buttkus 2005