Killing Ground

There is a long tradition within Australian cinema that deals with what can only be described as fear, be it fear of the country’s ancient and unknowable past, of the environment, or of the lawless, ungoverned spaces that make up much of the landmass. Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging

Rock and The Last Wave are examples of the first, and Colin Eggleston’s Long Weekend of the second. This new film from Damien Power falls into the third category, which puts it in the same realm as Wolf Creek.

The set-up is simple: a young couple, Ian (Ian Meadows) and Sam (Harriet Dyer), drive out to a remote national park for a few days’ camping during the Christmas holidays. When they arrive, they are mildly disappointed to discover another tent already there; but the following day, when its owners fail to appear, they begin to worry. Then they are shocked to find a scratched and bruised little boy stumbling down the trail, and begin to think something terrible has happened.

This may be straightforward enough; however, the director has chosen to tell his story as three separate timelines, intercut with one another. The first follows Ian and Sam as they try to deal with the immediate situation; another follows two brutish ne’er do wells, German and Chook (Aarons Pedersen and Glenane respectively), slobbing around trying to pick up girls; and the third follows the fate of the occupants of the abandoned tent. It is not immediately clear how, when or why the three timelines converge, but as the film progresses it all becomes terrifyingly apparent. In his once indispensable Film

Guide, the grand old curmudgeon of criticism Leslie Halliwell summarised the 1976 film Death

Weekend as a “hoary shocker chiefly concerned with rape, the threat of rape and various unpleasant methods of murder”, and that’s also a pretty accurate summary of Killing Ground. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it torture porn, but it comes pretty close. The violence isn’t of a particularly graphic kind but it is so overpowering as to crush the spirit not only of those suffering it but also of those watching it.

The reason it is so effective is because it is so skilfully made. The attention to detail is tremendous – often it’s the things glimpsed in the background or out of the corner of the eye that are the most suggestive, and Power also leaves gaps in the action which the audience has to fill in with nightmares of their own imagining. As such, there are scenes and images that stay with you longer than would be the case if everything had been laid on a plate. The acting helps too: Pedersen and Glenane are outstanding as the two thugs, managing to imbue even the vilest of men with recognisably human characteristics.

However, my main concern about the film is why it exists at all. It’s gut-churning, tense and gripping but it’s too upsetting to be described as entertainment; and, as regards verisimilitude, it (hopefully) tells us less about the real Australia than does

Neighbours. Consequently, I was left wondering – bearing in mind that the Australian film industry produces only a handful of home-grown features per year – if the enormous talent, energy and resources that went into this film’s production couldn’t have been put to better use on something else. Taken in isolation it’s a lean, efficient piece of work that delivers the goods and has an undeniable impact; but when you put it in a wider context it seems less impressive or worthwhile. Definitely see it if this sort of subject matter is your bag; but, if it is not, stay well away.

The violence is so overpowering as to crush the spirit of those watching