One of the real pleasures of running this site is it provides an easy excuse for me to continue searching out Ozploitation films. Ozploitation (a shorter, cooler term for the huge amount of films that fall under the umbrella of Australian exploitation cinema) is unique among exploitation film making for two primary reasons. The first is the sheer length of time in which Ozploitation were popular.
Starting in 1971, when Australia first introduced the R ratings, Ozploitation films quickly caught on and were made well into the 80′s. And while the “genre” took a brief rest during the 90′s, in recent years Ozploitation has once again reared its stylistic head to become one of the driving forces behind current Australian film making. While exploitation cinema was big for a time in the 70′s in the US, and various countries have dipped in the New Wave pool, that Australia has produced nearly two and a half decades of exploitation cinema is impressive to say the least. But what might be even more impressive, and surprising considering the quality, is that barely anyone has noticed. Which brings me to my second point.
Barely anyone knows anything about these films. Oh sure everyone and their mother knows Paul Hogan, Mel Gibson and Nicole Kidman, all three of which got their careers jump started by Ozploitation films. Directors like Peter Weir and Bruce Beresford have dabbled in the American mainstream with success, but outside of that small lot the exposure of Australian film making is surprisingly light. Let alone heralded.
Oh sure the occasional Mad Max film would catch the general publics eye, but compared to the now iconic look of blaxploitation films, Ozploitation isn’t even given a first thought, let alone a second. The same can be said when Ozploitation is compared to other 70′s exploitation genres like women revenge flicks, or women in prison flicks, or Nazi women prison revenge flicks. Or heaven forbid these Australian films had to go up against Mexican midget wrestling pictures. They simply weren’t even a blip on the public’s radar, which is a low down dirty shame.
As I’ve been researching Ozploitation films I frequently ran across the usual band of lauded suspects; George Miller, Philippe Mora and Brian Trenchard-Smith are all frequently mentioned as the best known filmmakers operating within the genre. But time and again I ran across a name who, despite his relative lack of notoriety, was routinely referred to as the best filmmaker in the genre. This man was considered so talented that he was even frequently compared to his more “artistic” contemporaries like Weir and Fred Schepisi. He is even referred to as the Australian Alfred Hitchcock, due in no small part to this director’s obsession with Hitchcock films, though for the purpose of this review I shall call him a poor man’s Alfred Hitchcock. The director’s name? Richard Franklin.
Patrick’s (Robert Thompson, a poor man’s Jude Law) mother has been naughty. Besides whoring around she also tends to disparage her son when she thinks he can’t hear her. But when Patrick finally snaps and kills his mother and her latest lover, Patrick falls into a coma in which he is far closer to death then to life. At least that is what his doctor (Robert Helpmann, a poor man’s Aaron Spelling) believes, but Patrick is simply honing his 7th sense (Pssst, it the one that lets you telepathically perform algebraic equations on a typewriter). And when Patrick begins to fancy his new nurse (Susan Penhaligon, a poor man’s someone I don’t recognize) strange things begin to happen to those working at the clinic. Patrick is the jealous type after all.
After reading so many compliments for Richard Franklin I quickly set about the task of tracking down a Richard Franklin film to watch. But unbeknownst to me I had already seen a Richard Franklin film. Several in fact. Odds are you’ve probably seen one too.
You see after the success of Franklin’s Australian films he was picked to direct several Hollywood films. Namely, Psycho II, Cloak & Dagger and F/X2. Franklin specialized in these stylized thrillers, and if it wasn’t for his disdain of the Hollywood studio system, he probably would have continued on his course to becoming a better known film maker before his losing battle with prostate cancer in 2007 ended any chance of that occurring. But before that happened, Franklin made sure to leave one hell of an impression with Patrick.
It doesn’t take Franklin very long to let the audience know that Patrick isn’t going to be your standard garden variety thriller. Opening with a shot of Patrick leaning against a wall as he listens to his mother and her lover remark on how deranged he is, the camera then quickly cuts to what appears to be a convex mirror in the corner of the bedroom. And just as you start to remark that no one would have such a ridiculous mirror the camera pulls back to reveal that it isn’t a mirror at all, but the bed post, which proceeds to bang against the wall with each orgasmic thrust. The camera then drifts sideways, revealing Patrick on the other side of the wall, agonizing at each pelvic induced bang. It is a truly inspired shot, and one of many tricks that Franklin bandies about with ease.
As the titular character, Thompson is utterly mesmerizing on screen in spite of the fact that his character doesn’t utter a word throughout the entire film. It might be hard to imagine how a character that doesn’t speak nor scarcely moves can be developed, yet screen writer Everett De Roche (a poor man’s spelling of Jean-Luc Picard), in a stroke of genius writes in a perfectly reasonable method of communication for Patrick and Nurse Kathy Jacquard (Penhaligon). And just when you get comfortable with that current trajectory, De Roche ratchets up the insanity with a fantastically bizarre twist that results in the truly iconic line, “Patrick is waiting for his hand job.” Adding to the stylish flourishes is the disturbing fact that Patrick’s eyes are always open, which makes for a character that continually makes your skin crawl.
But while Thompson is the linchpin that the whole film revolves around, the entire cast brings their A-game to what would typically be a crappy B-movie. Penhaligon pulls off the rather difficult act of looking convincing while having a conversation with a comatose patient as well as fending of said patient’s romantic advancements, while Helpmann is more then capable of playing the morally bankrupt lead physician of the clinic, a man more interested in using Patrick as a test dummy then showing the slightest bit of empathy.
Rounding out the cast is Julia Blake (a poor man’s Tilda Swinton) as Matron Cassidy, a woman overly protective of her patients due to the clinic staff’s rather abhorrent liaisons with the patients, and Dr Brian Wright (Bruce Barry, a poor man’s Roger Moore) who was enlisted by Kathy to help prove that Patrick is alive and communicating with her, yet he only goes along with it because he wants to get in her already married pants. Tis a charming group to be sure.
While Patrick does have its flaws (it is constantly bordering on the ridiculous and the sound effects in particular are incredibly corny) the tightly paced script rarely allows one to ponder the numerous implausibilities that keep popping up. In fact, Patrick impressively answers every question that a viewer can think up. Oh sure the answers are wafer thin, but they prove satisfactory enough to pull the viewer deeper into the rabbit hole. And sure enough, when the viewer needs more proof then a simple line of dialogue to provide some plausibility, Patrick answers with authority.
Such is the case when one character is trapped in an elevator. While typically depicted as a frustrating, but ultimately life affirming, prison in movies and television, Patrick takes a much darker and seemingly realistic approach. The captive is slowly drawn to madness, powerless to escape a prison he is neither responsible for, nor capable of escaping on his own. Also, please do pardon the mess in the corner, they were in there for several days after all.
That kind of sordid attention to detail, as well as the fascinating parallels it draws to the main character, is what separates Patrick from most thrillers. Every character has a purpose, every action a distinct and often grotesque payoff. Patrick isn’t content at merely scaring you, it is simultaneously entertaining you while setting you up for and ending that will knock you out of your seat. You’ve never seen a movie quite like Patrick, and once you do, you’ll never forget it.
