Tom Zubrycki. Photo: Ben Rushton
I want to say how deeply honoured I am in accepting this award. It’s absolutely fantastic to be acknowledged by one’s peers, and it’s humbling to be in such esteemed company – Pat Fiske, Bob Connolly and John Hughes to name just a few.
Coming to AIDC is like returning to a ‘home away from home’. You resume where you left off with people you last saw a year ago, and of course you meet a whole heap of new colleagues. AIDC is very much a meeting of the clan – a community I’d like to believe I helped build.
I want to thank various people, many of whom are here tonight. The AIDC Board, my partner Julia Overton for all the incredible support she’s given me over these many years, my editors – chief amongst them being the great Ray Thomas, the various cinematographers I’ve worked with, the sound recordists and designers, the graders, the composers, the accountants, the lawyers, the producers I’ve collaborated with, and not forgetting of course the various commissioning editors whom I occasionally managed to charm to support my work .
Looking back, it’s an extraordinary privilege to be able to find personal stories that illuminate the issues of the day, and to be able to access government funds to make them. It’s certainly left me with many amazing memories – like when Jose Ramos-Horta landed in Dili after 24 years in exile, or when Mobarak realized he could make his way in life without Molly, and that Australia was now his home.
However, privileges always come with costs attached. Documentary making is demanding work, seldom well paid, negotiating subject matter often very personally, ethically and technically challenging, and dealing with micro-managing bureaucracies that are not always sympathetic to creativity.
I think Stanley Hawes would have empathised with these apparent contradictions. As many of you know Stanley was the first Producer-in-chief of The Film Division, which in the course of time changed its name to the Commonwealth Film Unit, and then to Film Australia. I must say that for a long time I viewed Stanley as an archconservative. I was researching at the Film Australia film library back in the early 80’s for a series “The Migrant Experience”. I recall being less than impressed viewing those slick post-war documentaries – one after another after another – in that classic up-tempo narration – eulogizing a materially-comfortable resource-rich Australia, the ‘Lucky Country’ – which as a son of migrant parents I’d certainly never experienced. It felt like propaganda to me.
Was this really the legacy left by Stanley Hawes? But then one had to look at the context of the times. As we all know, in the 50’s, anti-Communist hysteria had taken over and ASIO was keeping files on so-called pinko directors, and even the Unit itself had to endure endless inquiries. Prime minster Robert Menzies even contemplated getting rid of it altogether.
It’s obvious that Hawes had to move with the political climate and that he had no choice but to play safe. It must have been doubly hard for him because from talks he gave before he arrived in Australia from England in 1946, it shows he was quite an idealist. He spoke about documentary “improving the human condition” and “making social comment”. He spoke about how directors should get “inside their subject…. and to “soak themselves in it …” and that “the film’s theme should grow from the material and should not be preconceived in the mind of the director.”
I can certainly relate to this ‘early Stanley Hawes’. One of the things that has always fascinated me about documentary is how it takes you below the surface of life, into this mysterious region where you start living life more intensely. There is something quite magical in the documentary pro-filming moment. It’s all very highly charged, and you suddenly feel yourself becoming a different person. Then daily for months on end you continue to live and breathe the film. You often wake up with the characters in your head, or worry about the developing story arcs. This completely immersive experience continues through the editing process. Then you have to slowly let go because the film has developed its own character and personality, and you realize that suppressing this is dangerous. It’s only then that the EP/Commissioning editor arrives in the cutting room, and then usually, but unfortunately not always in the spirit of constructive partnership, the film is fine-tuned and locked-off.
I’m not sure quite how I stumbled into filmmaking. I grew up in Canberra and I remember when I was about 11 my father often took me to Sydney in the train. I was the eldest of 4 siblings, so I was glad to get away. Inevitably he had meetings to attend and he used to leave me in the theatrette underneath the State where I watched cinesound newsreels for seeming endless hours before he picked me up again. Surely, if anything were to turn me off documentary it was this experience. I could never have imagined that 20 years later my first film Waterloo was structured from these same newsreels and the film itself would play in the big Theatre upstairs at a film festival.
So what really got me into documentary? Probably a mixture of things. Sociology at University, curiosity about the world, concern with community, or rather the disappearing community in Sydney’s’ inner suburban areas, and the opportunities offered by the video access centres, a Whitlam labor government initiative, based on a Canadian scheme called Challenge for Change.
It was 1974 and I simply started documenting what was going on in my own backyard so to speak. There was a small group of us. We worked closely with ‘resident action groups’, as they were then known – whether it was making videos about stopping expressways, or just local community projects. We used the bulky black and white portapaks – cameras linked to a large recorder that one carried on one’s back or on one’s shoulder. We edited by cutting from tape machine to tape machine. Edit decisions couldn’t be reversed. You started at the beginning and continued to the end. Distribution was limited! These were the days before VHS. So we rigged up monitors in community halls, pubs – even shop-window. It was enjoyable, stimulating and naturally – unpaid.
16 mm film was like “ a hallowed shrine” – the medium of real doco filmmaking. We dreamt of abandoning the primitive video technology we were using, and move into something modern and sophisticated. The Éclair camera, or the Arri and an edit machine called the Steenbeck.
I was lucky enough to be sharing a house with filmmakers Carolyn Strachan and Alessandro Cavadini who’d already made two films on 16mm including the critically acclaimed Two Laws. They took me to Canberra to an ethnographic film conference in 1977. I was like a kid in a toyshop, dazzled by films like Grey Gardens, Salesman – the classics of Cinema verite. But entering this world seemed like entering a religious order….. you had to abide by certain rules. There were things you could do, and things you couldn’t do.
It was a few years later before I realized these rules were only meant to be broken and that you were allowed to evolve your own style. Developing one’s own documentary style and sensibility is something, I firmly believe, that you can never learn from a book, and its not enough to just have a degree from Film School. You have to practice it constantly. Werner Herzog once said that “cinema does not come from abstract academic thinking, it comes from your knees and thighs.” As luck would have it, I took up bushwalking many years ago, and it’s served me well.
Seriously, if you asked me what skill is the most important one for a documentary-maker to have, I believe its storytelling, especially in my area of social documentary. It’s a kind of story telling on the run. You have to quickly learn that real life doesn’t follow a script. You have to be constantly adjusting to what’s going on, and of course be open to all a whole range of possibilities
There are also other important skills, not least of which getting people to trust you, and also knowing how to watch and listen… to find that unexpected scene that captures the essence of a story in a minute what a whole sequence might do in 10.
Finally, you have to acknowledge your shortcomings as a director, and defer to a creative editor. Good editors have this magic ability to create order out of the chaos. You have to admire and revere them. They become more than simply key collaborators they become sounding boards, confidants, and close friends. I’ve mentioned Ray Thomas who’s been my editor and associate for more than 10 films since the late 80’s. I’d like to share this award with Ray. It’s a tribute to his fine work.
I’ve often thought the films I’ve made all relate to certain stages of my life. The two films shown here Kemira-Diary of a Strike and Molly & Mobarak are 20 years apart and reflect quite different pre-occupations: my interest in social movements and the trade unions, and how that gave way to a passion to represent the migrant and refugee experience.
Kemira was my second film. It started as a little story in the paper, as do many of my films: 31 striking miners locking themselves underground defying the might of Australia’s largest company BHP. It had this David/Goliath ring about it, and I just had a gut felling it would make a great story to follow. I started with no budget apart from some money I’d saved at Film Australia which bought me 25 X 10 min rolls of film stock. I then contacted a couple of colleagues – cinematographer Fabio Cavadini and sound recordist Russ Hermann. Both Fabio and Russ were prepared to work on deferred wages. That’s the way films used to start-up – we basically worked on each others films – unlike now when most of us directors can just take a camera and start shooting.
Fortunately the budget arrived quite quickly – and from a government bureaucracy. A bit faster then it does these days! Anyway the strike was over after 16 days but I continued shooting. An equally interesting story was developing which was the aftermath of the strike, and I decided to personalise it through one particular family. It was here that I evolved the style and approach that was to become a template for later films.
However, this idea of following events as an engaged observer, and over a considerable time – was never without its fair share of difficulty. Ramos-Horta, the ‘hero’ of The Diplomat was an elusive character and didn’t like being followed by a camera. He preferred the 30 second sound grab. People who’ve seen the film may recall a scene where I trap him at breakfast. He’s eating a hard burnt sausage, and in his typical dry way he says: “This sausage is hard like a bullet. If I throw it on you it could kill you”. Well, it took a little while longer, but he eventually got used to my way of working, and secret doors started to open.
For me, ‘engaged observation’ means finding that delicate balance of being an involved observer and remaining a friend – knowing when to push things a little versus when to put the camera away.
I remember one particular scene in Molly & Mobarak. I was staying a week with Molly and her mother Lyn just before Molly was to leave for a holiday. Mobarak was quite stressed out over this. I remember checking some tapes at the back of the house when I heard a noise in the kitchen and a conversation starting. It was Lyn talking to Mobarak and I knew a heart to heart was going on about the subject of Molly. I crept into the kitchen and sat opposite them with the camera running. One part of me said – okay Lyn may want me to stop filming …..and I will, but if I don’t get the scene I’ll miss a crucial part of the story. She shot me a side-glance – ‘a knowing eye’, but she allowed me to sit there, and I did so for the next hour getting up and changing the frame only once.
Yet, it’s never easy to find stories. For every film I’ve made, there have been 5 or 6 others I’ve abandoned usually at very early stages. I can identify with David Malouf who once said in reference to the art of writing. “What else should our lives be but a continual series of beginnings, of painful settings out into the unknown.”?
With 14 and a half films behind me as director, I’m tending to now prefer others to go through this pain. This has involved mentoring and producing, which on the whole, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. Its been particularly gratifying to see some of the filmmakers I’ve mentored who’s never made a film before (like Adelaide’s Shalom Almond) get nominated for an AFI Award.
People like Shalom are passionately driven to make films – but filmmaking involves a fair degree of risk, certainly financially. I heard Robin Archer interviewed recently and she talked about risk-taking being part of the human condition for emerging artists. But what Robin also said is that if risk-taking results in excellence, then it should be rewarded by creating a supportive environment where those people should be adequately resourced. Same goes for film, but I fear that through the amalgamation of the three Federal film agencies that this important function of nurturing young talent has been compromised. Where do these first-timers go, to whom can they turn? To companies funded through Screen Australia’s Enterprise Program? I’m yet to be convinced this is happening.
I believe that as a documentary community we need to turn our attention to the importance of sustainability. I believe there is a lack of injection of new voices, and not enough regeneration of the documentary sector. I’ve done a fair bit of teaching over the last few years and know of too many talented people who have simply given up after their first film and left the industry.
So what’s the answer? The state agencies naturally have a key role in this and so, I believe, do the public broadcasters. They should be proactive in helping support and nourish a healthy and vibrant documentary sector. ABC’s JJJ Doc initiative is a great start, but much more needs to be done. One idea would be to reinstate the ½ hour documentary slot – perhaps along the lines of the program Inside Australia which unfortunately was axed by SBS a couple of years back. Inside Australia produced many memorable short docs and gave many a filmmaker a break to establish a career.
At the other end of the spectrum there is of course the feature documentary. Films that start-off commissioned as hours sometimes end up 80 to 90 minutes for reasons of simple storytelling. It hurts to make cut-downs to suit requirements of schedulers and sales agents, when these very same films are sold-out at film festivals, or have successful theatrical screenings. I’m not alone as a filmmaker who has to dance the line between raising finance, making the best film and contractual responsibilities. My plea is for flexibility from schedulers to allow for the occasional feature length documentary slot at prime time. I have a practical suggestion regarding the ABC. Recently Australian Feature films have been programmed on a weekend evening e.g. Samson & Delilah. Would it not be a good idea to programme Australian feature documentaries, from time to time, in a similar slot? Finally, a plea to both broadcasters: properly promote one-off documentaries, don’t just abandon them! One-offs often receive scant treatment from network publicists. And when the promos go out please include the name of the director.
Many years ago I recall a meeting at Paddington Town Hall of independent filmmakers. Must have been the late 70’s or early 80’s, and this was one of many such meetings. I remember them all as being noisy, fiery and passionate. It was typical of that era. David Bradbury had just finished his first film Frontline, I was finishing my first film Waterloo. We all voiced our indignation that apart from a couple of rare exceptions our films had not been picked up by television. By contrast, cinema exhibition happened to be very lively at the time. We could get our films screened at the Sydney Filmmakers Co-op cinema in Kings Cross, and even the Opera House became a venue for a while. Well the tide of protest worked, and the ABC opened its doors. It was a trickle at first, but the trickle turned into a flood.
None of us expected, however, as the years wore on that the ABC and SBS would gradually set the agenda for the documentary sector as a whole, and leave us filmmakers with fewer and fewer options to get our films commissioned. This is still the case despite the entrance of new pay channels like National Geo. Don’t get me wrong. We are pleased that public broadcasters are commissioning our ideas, but is this concentration of decision-making in a handful of people necessarily good for the industry, for diversity?
It’s my impression the ABC and SBS documentary slots are becoming more and more proscribed and rigid. Programs are tending to be format-driven, and lighter in content. Please understand that I’m not against entertainment per se, but I prefer entertainment with substance. I also feel that the range of subjects, viewpoints, and ideas is becoming narrower, while styles like the creative authored documentary and the character-driven social documentary are almost becoming extinct. It’s here, I believe, that agencies like Screen Australia have a vital role to play. We must argue not only to safeguard , but dramatically expand the Special Documentary Fund. Without the support of this Fund it’s not impossible, but certainly extremely difficult, to produce documentary work unconstrained by the imperatives of the broadcasters. In an ironic twist many films that receive support through this ‘back door’ end up being sold back to the broadcasters that rejected them in the first place.
The Special Documentary Fund is also one of the few places where filmmakers are able to get support for projects largely shot overseas that have no obvious Australian connection. As filmmakers we’ve been very good at holding up a mirror to our own society, but increasingly we’ve been driven by a curiosity about what’s happening outside the borders of our own country. Europe-based documentarians do it all the time – for example, the extraordinary Belgian film Darwin’s Nightmare (about the exploitation of the Nile Perch in Tanzania). So why can’t we do the same? Filmmakers here can offer a unique perspective on the world, especially the region we live in, but for some unaccountable reason our public broadcasters seem reluctant to come on board, certainly at the commissioning stage.
I return to the idea of sustainability. Most of us making a living as filmmakers wouldn’t stand a chance applying for Screen Australia’s competitive Enterprise Scheme, so we need to survive the best we can. That means being active through our guilds and associations. In the last year we’ve shown that we can exert pressure where it counts. For years we’ve argued that filmmakers deserve 100% revenue from Screenrights. Recently we were granted that concession.
2010 promises a fresh campaign. As we all know the government expects Screen Australia to make an ‘across the board’ cut to its total production funding, because the offset is supposed to take up the slack. However documentaries are already disadvantaged for having a 20% threshold as opposed to the 40% one for features. Apart from the threshold there are the obvious cultural reasons why documentary funding should remain at the existing levels. Screen Australia has shown they’re prepared to consult and listen to us. Let’s hope they continue to do so.
Fighting to achieve a sustainable industry however must not happen at the expense of advancing the art of documentary. Around the world documentary is becoming more inventive and complex. More docs are being made, more people want to make them, want to watch them, want to talk about them. I would like to table an idea – for an Australian documentary film festival that could run over 3/4 days every year and visit every capital city – showing a curated sample of local and international documentary. People overseas and interstate could be linked by skype.
I believe the AIDC could host this event in the same way Hotdocs does in Canada. The AIDC has become the main body championing Australian documentary, and I believe its influence should extend beyond the Conference. It’s already started to head in that direction with Doc Exchange. But we need something to complement online networking, we need to actually get together face to face. To listen to other filmmakers deal with issues of form, content, and ethics is to come away inspired and re-energised.
I notice there is a not dissimilar idea proposed by Gil Scrine called Cinema Ventures, though this will service regional Australia not the cities. I think the two ideas could complement each other. We seriously need to cultivate and grow a documentary community right across the nation!
In conclusion I would say that Australian documentaries have come a long way since those made by the Film Board presided over by Stanley Hawes. We now have an industry which has a reputation around the world. 13 films were shown last year at IDFA – the Cannes of documentary. The way to prevent this from just being a rare one-off occurrence is through courageous commissioning, inspired funding, and nurturing the new generation of emerging talent.
Werner Herzog, in an interview he gave recently, called a good film “a hornet that stings”. I’d like to believe that he was alluding to Lisbeth Solander’s alias “WASP”’ in Larsonn’s best seller which I’m sure many of you have read. All good documentaries need to impact on audiences, to leave them unsettled and force them to re-consider what they thought they already knew. If Stanley Hawes were still alive he would surely approve of this role for documentaries, because they would lead to, in Stanley’s words: ‘improving the human condition’: anotherwords creating a fairer, more equal society – an ideal he, and I’m sure all of us, believe in.
Thank you very much,
Tom Zubrycki
