Good stories told well that make us believe
WHEN I was a child, growing up in the flat weatherboard-clad streets of suburban Hamilton, a trip to the movies was still a huge treat. I can’t remember every one of the children’s films I saw, any more than I can remember every film I’ve seen as an adult, but I do know exactly when I made the transition. I was 7. My mum and dad had been arguing all Saturday morning. Some time in the early afternoon, my dad came and fetched me, drove me into town, and got us a couple of tickets to The Man with the Golden Gun. Looking back now, the Roger Moore James Bonds are pretty atrocious, and The Man with the Golden Gun is bad even by their standards. But I was entranced, and for one brief moment, because no-one in my classroom at Insoll Avenue primary had seen it, I might even have been a bit cool.
For the next couple of years, I would go to a movie whenever I could. I’d grown out of cartoons, but, during the 1970s, there were a lot of films made specifically for children – or so it seemed – and I happily sat through them all. They generally featured a plucky child, often orphaned, or living with a similarly plucky single parent, having to rise to some sort of challenge to defeat the bad guys, save the fortunes of the family, and teach the adults a few lessons about courage and honour. I watched a generation of young actors foiling jewel thieves, kidnappers, and pirates, emerge victorious, and then get hoisted up on the shoulders of some nearby father-figure, declared a hero, and told they can have all the lemonade they want. (Or, in the rare cases the lead was a girl, substitute the lemonade for a pony.) The stories were simple, the morals were unambiguous, and the endings were as predictable as the tides. It was a long time ago.
So you’ll understand if I tell you that, watching Kiwi Flyer, I did have a moment when I kind of drifted off, and just for a blink, I would have sworn I was back in Hamilton, in the Regent Theatre, working my way through a bag of pineapple lumps. It’s just that kind of film.
Ben is 12 years old. He lives with his mum. A few years ago, his strong and handsome dad died while helping him build a trolley for the Nelson trolley derby.
And since then, Ben has been forbidden from entering the annual event. But this year, in the face of fearsome opposition from some dastardly cheating Aussies, Ben is going to complete The Kiwi Flyer, and he’s going to race . . . Do I need to let you know what happens, or how it all ends? Of course not. But I can at least tell you that Kiwi Flyer, resolutely oldfashioned though it may be, is not without its charms. Tandi Wright and Edward Hall are good in their roles, and Vince Martin – from the tyre ads – is more than sufficiently hammy as the villainous Aussie dad. The whole enterprise looks and sounds fine, a couple of the racing sequences are quite well staged, and everyone I sat in the audience with seemed happy with the ending.
If you have a 7- or 8-year-old in your life, and you’re looking for a school holiday movie quite free of wizards, vampires, robots, or even special effects, then I suggest Kiwi Flyer will fit the bill. It may even inspire a few kids to put down the PlayStation and have a crack at building a trolley.
And that could only be a good thing, eh?
IN A remote, nameless, and entirely fictional village in wartorn Lebanon, a truce founded completely on ignorance exists between the Christian and the Muslim men. While all around them the country tears itself apart, the men of this village live in a bubble. Minefields surround their town, and – unbeknown to them – the women of the village, Christian and Muslim both – have conspired to make sure that no radio, television, internet, or newspaper can reach the town. And thus, not knowing that they are supposed to hate each other, the men live contentedly and neighbourly, side by side. That is the premise of Where Do We Go Now?, the second film from writer and director Nadine Labaki ( Caramel). I have to say, initially, I was a little uneasy about a film that is set amid the horrors of brutal sectarian violence and near civil war, but that still finds the time and impetus to slip into musical comedy and light romcom. But you know what, Where Do We Go Now? won me over. Labaki is an intelligent director, and – being Lebanese – she knows her subject well. If she says it’s OK to make light of Lebanon, via a lightweight rereading of Lysistrata, then I’m disinclined to argue. Her film is attractively shot and performed, beautifully scored, contains many moments of genuine wit, and genuine pathos, and is at least a fresh and original take on a subject that has brought out little but anger and self-righteousness in far too many of the male filmmakers who have turned their lens on it. If you’re looking for something unique, and truly entertaining to watch over the weekend, you could do a lot worse.