ProgressiveHead

In what seems to be a near-future society, a frustrated boy manages to escape from a home environment full of petty rules, materialism and an obsession with reality-TV by joining up with a gang of time-traveling bandit dwarfs who have stolen a special map from their former employer the "Supreme Being" who gave them the sack after they created a 600ft red tree that smelled terrible.

The script (written by Terry Gilliam and Michael Palin) features plenty of Python-esque humor, and director Gilliam brings his usual visual flair and surrealism. For the most part, this is a very funny and charming fantasy adventure suitable for the whole family but also highly recommended for fans of Python and/or Gilliam.

An early scene in The Shout (based on the short story of the same name by Robert Graves) shows a cricket match getting underway in a small English village. One of the scorers, Charles Crossley (Alan Bates) tells a story of a musician/sound effects artist (John Hurt) from the local village, who is unfaithful to his wife. Along comes a stranger (Alan Bates again) who invites himself to lunch at the married couple's house and tells them of his time in Australia living with an aboriginal tribe, during which time he claims to have perfected a shout that has the power to kill anything nearby. Eventually he is given an opportunity to prove it.

This is a strange horror film. It tells its story subtly and not necessarily always in the order the events occurred. This approach could be part of the reason The Shout isn't at all well-known, despite its good qualities.

Rich in symbolism and open to interpretation, this film drew me in and by the end I was both satisfied with the story that had been told but also left wanting. A second viewing helped me piece together a few more plot strands such as the significance of certain objects such as bones and a lost belt buckle, but also left me with a few more unanswered questions.

From reading some other people's thoughts on The Shout, it seems to get compared to films such as Don't Look Now, The Wicker Man and Picnic at Hanging Rock. While I don't think it's quite as good as any of those, I would recommend it to fans of those titles. It fits into the mould of the more artsy genre films of the 70s, where the storytelling is complex and (in this case) rewards the discerning viewers attention.

At least as bizarre as it sounds, this early feature from Peter Weir (Picnic At Hanging Rock, Witness, The Truman Show, Dead Poets Society) begins with two brothers driving into a small, isolated, rural town. Upon entering, they have a serious car accident which kills the older brother and leaves the grief-stricken younger brother, Arthur Waldo (Terry Camilleri), to undergo his physical and psychological rehabilitation in an unknown place, surrounded by more than a few rather strange characters. The local mayor takes Arthur under his wing, offering him board at his house with his family and a respectable job at the local psychiatric ward, later on appointing him town Parking Officer. On the surface all is well in Paris... although newcomers seem to have rotten luck on the roads in and out of town.

The film operates very much within the confines of a western (overtly so during one scene, being something of a standoff - Arthur is asking some of the local carheads to park their vehicles in a different spot).

Performances are generally very good, particularly John Meillon as the mayor. Also features a demented Bruce Spence, who many will recognize from Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, in a supporting role.

The film's score may well divide audiences. Personally I liked it very much as it was willing to take risks. There wasn't just the usual dramatic flurries and simmering undercurrents - there are some great pieces and it offers a bit more than many modern Hollywood productions. Disturbingly effective at several points was the gentle music following the restoration of the idyllic structure of the small town, so restored often as a result of grossly immoral acts. (Think of the Men's Group in The Stepford Wives or "the greater good!" mentality of the townsfolk in Hot Fuzz).

The Cars That Ate Paris comes admirably close to being a full-on classic, and offers much to seasoned genre fans (providing you don't mind Australian accents, and I notice they were noticeably thicker in these older films).

Peter Weir would later go on to bigger and better things, but The Cars That Ate Paris remains a genuine cult classic and an important piece of early Australian cinema.