Review: Age of Consent

James Mason stars as financially successful American-based Aussie artist Bradley Morahan, who decides to retreat to a simpler life back home away from snobby art aficionados and the city lights. He makes money, but seems to yearn for more than that in his work. He holes up in an old shack on a remote island (on the Great Barrier Reef) with his dog. Into his life comes local girl Cora (Helen Mirren, in her first major film role) who will become his latest nude model in an attempt to inspire something of merit in his work. Morahan’s presence on the island and his choice of muse are much to the anger of Cora’s fiercely overprotective grandmother Ma Ryan (a way overboard Neva Carr-Glynn). Also turning up are a shifty old pal of Morahan’s named Nat (Jack MacGowran) who has his eyes on Morahan’s money, whilst a randy young local (Harold Hopkins) has his eyes on Cora. Look closely for a young-ish Judith McGrath (from TV’s “Prisoner” and “All Saints”) as a bimbo at the racetrack.

 

Before the bodacious (but pretentious) “Sirens”, there was this 1969 Michael Powell (the extraordinary “Peeping Tom” and “Black Narcissus”) film based on a 1938 novel by the Aussie painter/author Norman Lindsay, which was seemingly semi-autobiographical. Adapted by Peter Yeldham (“The Liquidator”, “Call of the Wild”), this Australian-UK co-production is about as Aussie as a mostly non-Aussie film of the time could possibly get. Don’t forget, the ‘New Wave’ of Australian cinema hadn’t happened yet. It’s a solid enough film, but perhaps a bit too slight for some. I for one appreciated that it was a film about Australia from the late 60s-early 70s that thankfully didn’t focus on outback scenery and ‘ocker’ knockabout beer-swillers. Yes, in terms of land mass we are more comprised of outback/desert area than anything else, but from my experiences from 1980 onwards we really are more of a beach and urban culture over here, with some mountain areas thrown in here and there. This story happens to have been filmed on the absolutely stunning Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, which makes the job of cinematographer Hannes Staudinger (who otherwise worked in Austria and Germany) pretty damn easy, not to mention the local wildlife.

 

James Mason, so perfect as Humbert Humbert in Stanley Kubrick’s excellent “Lolita” is, on paper a pretty damn good choice to play the Lindsay counterpart here. If he weren’t so crap at Aussie accents, I would’ve personally cast James Coburn, as I think the rather counter-culture painter and ‘pants man’ role is better suited to someone more suave with the ladies than the guy famous for playing one of literature’s most notorious genteel perverts. Yes, even considering he’s still playing a guy cavorting about with a girl of questionable age. Hell, ex-pat Aussie Rod Taylor would’ve been perfect here, so long as he could lose the Yank twang he developed over the years. However, Mason (one of cinema’s greatest ever character actors) is still a fine choice, even if he too proves to be unable to quite nail the accent. At times he even seems to forget to put one on. When he does put on the accent, he certainly doesn’t mangle it, though it’s strange that he pronounces Brisbane (Bris-bn) correctly, yet botches Queensland for some reason. You’d think the latter would be much easier to correctly pronounce. Little things like that alert you to the fact that this isn’t a full-blooded Australian film (It’s co-produced by an ex-pat Aussie, though in character actor Michael Pate), but hardly ruin the film. In fact, given that there was a time when the Aussie and English accents weren’t too dissimilar from one another, it’s rather a minor issue. Non-Australians will barely even notice the problem I suppose.

 

Dame Helen Mirren has one of her earliest roles here, and she too struggles with an Aussie accent. Like Mason, she hits it pretty well some of the time, but other times she sounds awfully cockney for a native. I’ve never found her attractive, but you can’t deny she has a hot body here. Hell, it looks an awful lot more voluptuous than it later would in “Caligula” and “Excalibur”. I was quite surprised, though the hairy armpits did detract a lot for me. Yuck. The film isn’t quite as liberal with nudity as “Sirens”, but for its time I bet it was seen as pretty racy, especially towards the end of the film. I must say, though, that given the title and subject matter, I can’t quite work out why the film is called “Age of Consent” when Mirren was 23 at the time and looks a few years older, and unless mistaken, I don’t recall her character’s actual age even being specifically mentioned. She certainly looks older than a girl hovering around the age of consent, so that was weird. Look out early on for national treasure Frank Thring. Although Australian, Thring always sounded like an upper crust Englishman (and appeared in several big films internationally), and to be honest, always gave around about the same performance in everything. He wasn’t so much a character actor as he was a true character himself. He’s supposed to be playing a New York art gallery owner but doesn’t even try to change his accent, bless his heart. He gets away with it simply because he’s so much fun to watch and listen to, the film could’ve used more of him. Meanwhile, I’m not sure if I was meant to find the late Harold Hopkins hilariously awkward or not, but playing a wannabe lothario who never wears a shirt, he’s hilarious in his film debut.

 

A somewhat entertaining and certainly beautiful-looking film (both above and underwater), but there may not be enough plot here for some. Helen Mirren has never looked better, and typically rock-solid James Mason tries his best to affect somewhat of an Aussie accent, hardly disgracing himself in the part. Worth a look, certainly from a cultural perspective, and for the fact that it was sadly close to Michael Powell’s last feature directing gig.

 

Rating: B-