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Australia 2003
Directed by
Paul Goldman
100 minutes
Rated M

Reviewed by
Mike Esler
3 stars

The Night We Called It A Day

Synopsis: In 1974, mega-crooner Frank Sinatra toured Australia with his girl and entourage of tough guys only to fall foul of the local press, the trade-unions and brown, brown furniture.

A smart title and opening credit sequence leads us in short-lived hope into a routine depiction of a story that took place in Melbourne, is set in Sydney and will probably close the Cocklebiddy Film Festival. There are some nice touches within the good intentions of The Night We Called It A Day but not enough to satisfy anyone primed to watch the sparks fly between bad boy Franky and all that Australian '70s popular culture could throw at him.

Suffering the constraints of a mawkish, obstructive romance that bogs down rather than enhances, TNWCIAD misses too many opportunities for laughs. It lays the story out, then tiptoes around, busying itself with period gags and characters that reveal little in the way of complexity or intrigue. The clichés abound: the up-and-coming promoter one step ahead of the creditors and too busy to see the girl that’s right under his nose, the love-struck assistant, thuggish American heavies, the ubiquitous press pack baying at the foot of the staircase and of course the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Don’t even think of making an Australian film without it if you’re looking for an international release – how will people know what country they’re in for God’s sake?

The relatively deft script drifts awkwardly in the final act. The look and sound of the film are its strongest aspects and in truth there are spasmodic goodies to be had here. The denim–clad, hairy 70s are cleverly detailed through an abundance of sideburns, flairs, paisley shirts and furnishings that themselves garner voyeuristic interest. The fictional protagonist Rod Blue is played by Joel Edgerton who has all the makings of being the next Kurt Russell. He was the only good thing in the execrable Ned Kelly and has presence to burn. Dennis Hopper renders Sinatra with style, professionalism and dollops of believability. His lip-synching is totally convincing. A refreshingly-candid Goldman admits he didn’t direct Hopper so much as learn from him. Sinatra’s voice is eerily dubbed by Tom Burlinson although the fact this reviewer couldn’t pick it says little. David Field as Bob Hawke is both good fun and good caricature and could have been milked a little more. Films set in the past are fortunate in being able to mine humour by forecasting the future and a gag about Bob one day becoming PM, despite being an Aussie in-joke, is non-the-less clever scripting. Rose Byrne as the doe-eyed Audrey is prettily twee and Melanie Griffiths as Old Blue-Eyes’ dame is a suitable mix of restrained blousiness.

If ever there was a film that ran a couple of minutes too long it’s this one. I’d like to think the final stage scene was taken out of the director’s hands. It’s Hollywood schmaltz at its appalling worst. TNWCIAD isn’t laugh-out-loud hilarious but in Goldman’s defence he had just come off three years work on his longtime passion, the much-lauded Australian Rules and was looking for something lighter in style. He wanted to direct a comedy to make us smile. Perhaps we can look forward to him directing a horror film where his aim may well be instilling a sense of mild apprehension.

The Night We Called It A Day should have been either a riveting documentary or a full-blown, over-the-top comedy-musical. What we have is something struggling ‘twixt the two.

 

 

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