Revenge, rebellion and oppression during British colonial rule in Australia take centre stage in the powerful The Nightingale and the brutal and bold True History of the Kelly Gang.
The Nightingale could be labelled a revenge thriller, but it’s so much more. Jennifer Kent’s film is an exposé of the inhumanity and horror of colonialism and the differing experiences of oppression from Islanders and Aboriginal people to those forced to call Australia their home.
Set in 1825, as British troops enlarged their territories by forcibly taking Aboriginal land in Tasmania, Clare (Aisling Franciosi) is an Irish convict and servant owned by Lieutenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin). Of course, ‘convict’ is a loose term for those sent from Ireland to Australia by the British, as many had not committed any crime other than being Irish. Clare is long overdue for her freedom and longs to be with her husband and child, but the cruel and power-hungry Hawkins refuses to relinquish control. As tensions between Clare’s servant husband and Hawkins rise, Clare finds herself and her family the subject of a horrifying act of violence.
These gut-wrenching scenes are challenging to watch as Clare’s life is torn apart in the soft candlelight of the cabin. The masculine dominance, entitlement and oppression Kent’s opening scenes portray only highlight a disturbing truth of colonial rule, and one many people like to airbrush from history: British colonialism was built on rampant xenophobia and a belief in racial superiority.
Stripped of everything that made her life bearable and complete, with Hawkin’s free from the justice he should face, Clare hires an Aboriginal guide, Billy (Baykali Ganambarr), to help her find him and his troupe of men – a need for revenge ferociously burning in her soul. From here, Kent rejects the male dominance of the classic Western revenge thriller by fully embracing Clare’s rage and fury. But within this female rage, she also allows us to explore the intersections and differences between Billy and Clare, both victims of the ‘white’ European male. As an Irish woman, Clare knows she sits above Billy in the pecking order, and on first encountering Billy, she treats him with the same disdain the British use toward her. Here, Kent powerfully explores the layers of oppression that see social, religious and cultural groups separated and divided into racial hierarchies.
While revenge sits at the heart of The Nightingale, it is Clare’s dawning realisation that control and persecution take multiple forms within a purposefully divided and segregated society that sits centre stage. As Clare’s journey ends, there is no relief from revenge or a real sense of justice; only an uneasy feeling of release. The Nightingale is a stark reminder of a period of British history many would rather forget: one that still haunts Australia today. Jennifer Kent’s film carries extraordinary power, with performances that match as it lays bare the abject horror of colonialism, the unchecked power of empire and the brutality of racism and state-orchestrated oppression.
History is full of figures who fought institutionalised oppression by breaking the law and becoming folkloric legends, from Dick Turpin to Jesse James. In Australia, Ned Kelly and the Kelly Gang have become a part of the country’s social history, their story a reflection of the anger and oppression of colonial rule and the fight for self-governance and freedom.
There are countless stories surrounding Ned’s life and death at the tender age of 25, and his actions continue to spark debate in Australia. But on film, few movies have managed to move beyond the folklore, with both Ned Kelly (1970), starring Mick Jagger and the 2003 film of the same name, starring Heath Ledger, struggling to explore the young man beneath the legend.
Justin Kurzel’s True History of the Kelly Gang could have taken a similar track to its predecessors, but instead offered a different take with a layered character study rooted in dirt, dust, grime, and abuse. In Kurzel’s film, based on the 2001 Booker prize-winning novel by Peter Carey, the volatility, trauma, and anger of an oppressed young man who tried to ‘fit’ the damaged world around him sit centre stage. Like the book, Kurzel’s film is raw, sharp and unafraid to dig deep into the darkness of Australia’s past. It’s a film burning with the fire of rebellion and the inescapable turmoil of a land built on blood.
However, it is within its nuanced exploration of masculinity and class divide that True History of the Kelly Gang truly shines; here, Kurzel takes Carey’s words and dissects the image of the traditional Western male as we follow Ned from his childhood experiences of violence and control to his eventual adult rebellion – his destiny, pre-determined no matter how hard he attempts to steer a different course. Oppression, toxicity and violence surround him from his youth to his teens and early twenties. In this world, society demands that the innocent boy die and be transformed into a violent and unforgiving man. Yet, Ned holds on tight to the innocent boy within, hoping it will keep him from falling like the other men around him.
In the hands of George MacKay, there is a poet and scholar who screams to be set free from the expectations of those around him, including his mother, Ellen (Essie Davis). There is a fluidity in his sexuality, love in his heart and uncertainty in his actions as he attempts to navigate a world of men who lurch from the opportunistic, controlling yet vulnerable Sergeant O’Neil (Charlie Hunnam) to the erratic, manipulative and power-hungry Constable Fitzpatrick (Nicholas Hoult) and the violent and brutal Harry Power (Russell Crowe). It is a world of men he longs to escape, yet one he knows will eventually consume him.
True History of the Kelly Gang may not be entirely true, but its ability to dig beneath the legend and explore the horrors of colonial rule, the toxicity of unchecked power, and the violence of a world built on social divides feels far more authentic than any Ned Kelly story that came before it.
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