Review: Snapshot

Young hairdresser Sigrid Thornton quits her job on the advice of glamorous lesbian customer (and model) Chantal Contouri to hook up with oddball photographer Hugh Keays-Byrne and become a model. A topless model, in fact. Nervous at first, the promise of good money nonetheless helps do away with any inhibitions. Soon, though, she finds herself being exploited by the sleazier elements of this subset and she is also being followed by an unseen person in a Mr. Whippy van. And then a pig’s head ends up in her bed. Vince Gil plays Thornton’s disgruntled ex, Denise Drysdale plays one of her arty flatmates, Julia Blake is her unsympathetic mother, Jacqui Gordon is her bratty sister, and Robert Bruning is a horny ‘ol perve associate of Contouri.

During the 70s and 80s, Australian cinema saw many of its most memorable and acclaimed films being released (Not to mention fun schlock like “Razorback” and “Roadgames”). But let’s face it, there was a lot of horrendous shit being made too. Films like “Turkey Shoot”, “The Cars That Ate Paris”, “The Coolangatta Gold”, “The Man From Hong Kong”, “Day of the Panther”, “Strike of the Panther”, etc. I could go on and on. Also known as “The Day After Halloween” (groan) and “One More Minute”, this 1979 film from debut director Simon Wincer (who went on to helm “Harlequin”, “The Lighthorsemen”, and “Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man”) and writers Chris (who never worked in film again it would appear) and Everett De Roche (“Harlequin”, “Roadgames”, “Razorback”) is definitely one of the worst of the lot. Aside from spotting the “Prisoner” alumni (I counted Sigrid Thornton, Jacqui Gordon, Vince Gil, Julia Blake, Lulu Pinkus, and Christine Amor), the film’s only real area of interest is frequently showing a topless Sigrid Thornton. Sigrid Thornton topless in a film about a stalker in a Mr. Whippy van, I might add. She looks positively lovely, but honestly guys, just use the internet for screencaps, forget the film itself.

Like a lot of Aussie genre movies of the time, the film goes out of its way to be anything but the slasher film it obviously should’ve been. I’ve heard it suggested that it was meant to be a mystery/suspense thriller, but the plot is slasher all the way, yet the treatment is subpar soap opera. Throw in an excruciating musical performance from a bizarro individual called Bob Brown (who is not the former leader of the Australian Greens Party), some obvious red herrings, a couple of shithouse Sherbet songs, and no matter how lovely Thornton’s boobies are, you’ve got a recipe for sheer boredom. Oh, did I mention there’s an endless scene in a soap bubble-filled nightclub? I have no idea why, but it’s there. I would’ve had more scenes involving the ice cream van, schlocky or not, at least then it would be more of a horror/thriller and not a tedious soap opera about a young girl finding herself in the world of advertising/modelling only to be used, abused, or cracked onto by horny men (and one woman!). I mean, how the fuck does a film about Sigrid Thornton getting cracked onto by a lesbian, showing her tits, and being stalked by a loon in a Mr. Whippy van not manage to entertain? Then again, how in the hell did Thornton end up such an esteemed figure in the Australian film and TV worlds after appearing in this? At any rate, the treatment results in a thriller with no thrills, tension, suspense, or excitement beyond Thornton’s chest. By the time a pig’s head turns up in Thornton’s bed, it’s too late to care. It’s barely any stalk and no slash. The ending is particularly pathetic, barely resolving anything, and if it does suggest what I think it suggests, it’s awfully un-PC to say the least.

I also have to single out the music score by Aussie stalwart Brian May (“Mad Max”, “Turkey Shoot”, “Gallipoli”, the American film “Death Before Dishonour”). The theme over the opening credits is OK piano stuff, but the rest is ghastly 70s lounge music crap, with an occasional 70s cop show chase score thrown in for no real good goddamn reason at all.

The acting is a mixed bag, but probably the best thing about the film at the same time. Thornton is merely OK in the lead, but with her character alternating between naive prude and something altogether more headstrong and rebellious the next moment one can hardly blame the actress. Her character just hasn’t got any consistency. Hugh Keays-Byrne is entertainingly off-kilter as always, but he and Vince Gil are set-up as such obvious suspects that they don’t really get all that much of interest to do or say beyond being weird.  Keays-Byrne, sadly disappears for great lengths of the film, further ruining any chance at character depth. Gil, meanwhile, is just plain awful. He’s not a bad actor (well, he was pretty bad in a guest stint on “Prisoner” and hammy as hell in “Mad Max”), but he’s really off his game here. Perhaps due to the shockingly poor lighting employed by cinematographer Vincent Monton (“Newsfront”, “Roadgames”), the director didn’t notice that Gil was visibly off his nut to such a hammy degree that it is completely unbelievable that he and Thornton were ever romantically/sexually linked. In addition to an obvious age difference, he doesn’t look or act like anyone Thornton would’ve even associated with up to that point. With Keays-Byrne, his weirdness is less of an issue because it’s largely a professional relationship, but no way would Sigrid Thornton have had sex with creepy Vince Gil. No way.

Meanwhile, Julia Blake may well be one of Australia’s most respected actresses, but at this point in her career she wasn’t above appearing in shit like this and “Patrick”. Like Gil, she is wholly unbelievable, not acting even remotely like any human being I’ve ever met, let alone someone’s mother. Aside from Keays-Byrne, the most memorable work in the film is by Chantal Contouri and beloved Aussie entertainer Denise ‘Ding Dong’ Drysdale. Contouri looks like a truly glamorous movie star here and adds a touch of class to a pretty risible role. Drysdale, meanwhile, is hilarious, especially her very first moment on screen. It’s not a big role, but you’ll remember her more than anything other than Thornton’s breasticles.

If this sorry film is any indication, Australian filmmakers of the 70s and early 80s just had no idea how to make genre entertainments. Agonisingly slow, deathly dull, soap opera-like stuff that isn’t even saved by familiar faces and some pre-fame nudity.

Rating: D