MARK JOFFE



You were born in Russia. At what age did you come to Australia?

I was nearly five.

So you grew up here.

Yes.

But there seems to be a trend in Australian films from the mid-80s to the mid-90s where the image of the male hero is changing. We had Jack Thompson in the '70s and then Paul Hogan. But, with The Year My Voice Broke and Flirting, John Duigan has written a 'hero' for Australians to admire. He often looks and sounds 'nerdish', I suppose, but he has a lot more substance. Ben Mendelssohn in Spotswood and again in Cosi is very much in that line of the more unassuming, sensitive Australian rather than the macho Jack Thompson tradition.

Well, it's interesting you say that. You just do certain stories at certain times and see how they work out. But I think it is the maturity in our storytelling, telling whatever stories we want to tell. It's part of my hate but people say that it's part of the sort of quirky genre of Australian films. And I say, "Well, it's not. It just happens to be a good story that's come out now". It goes in waves of certain leading actors and I think that's fine. It's just the way it is. There's a lot of films coming out. But there'll be fewer action heroes. I would hope there's more dimension and more substance put into the characters. People aren't necessarily simple, so the more complicated they are, maybe they're more interesting.

Your films, your feature films and mini series, are quite diverse. Do you see any thread running through them besides the fact that you have chosen to make them?

I think the only consistent thing is one or two actors in the cast and my doing them. I'm guided by a good story and finding something that I could contribute to the story in the way I direct. It's not necessarily any genre that appeals to me. I'm like actors. I don't want to be typecast as a director. If there's a good story and it will work well in a film, then that's what influences me.

Cosi has a particularly Australian flavour. With Grievous Bodily Harm, Spotswood and Cosi, you are telling diverse but Australian stories. Or is that reading too much into them?

No. I think they can't help but be Australian stories. However, I was born in Russia. But I am Australian and it's just my natural perspective on things. Grievous Bodily Harm was an attempt at a film noir, a hard-edged thriller. It wasn't totally successful in its attempt but it tried to give a stylish rather than stylised view of that genre.

Spotswood was a different sort of film and, again, it was there to do. It wasn't a deliberate ploy to make it like an Ealing comedy or any particular kind of comedy. It just had the natural elements to it from the story.

Cosi is different yet again. I'm happy that they're different enough. I'd hate for them all to be so obvious, that there's some clear thread through the three films and people say, `oh yeah, well, there it is, another one of his films'.

Grievous Bodily Harm was quite grim in the subjects tackled, the madness of the John Waters character, the corruption of Colin Friels character and of the police. In 1988, when the film was released, Australians discussed these issues, the Queensland Royal Commission was in session. But in the 90s, especially with the New South Wales Royal Commission into police corruption and issues like paedophilia, a film like Grievous Bodily Harm could come into its own.

Well, look at New South Wales. There are horrific revelations every day. People are suspected. It's the culture being revealed that's stunning everybody. It's in the courts. But if you're doing a film about police corruption, well, there are very few places in the world where it doesn't exist. It's being exhibited here and now, but corruption is an aspect that is part and parcel of film noir. You've always got the tough cop or the corrupt cop. And, in the mid-90s, it was happening on a fairly grand scale in New South Wales.

Spotswood came out in the era of economic rationalism. It seemed to be such an antidote to the economic rationalism that it must have hit a spot for its audience.

Yes, that was a conscious thing. Not that we could ever make a political movie. It's not a political movie, but it talked about the manufacturing industry in this country and the economic rationalism of the government - which is still there. So, I suppose, in a gentle way - although I don't really like that term - it shows the human side of the economy and that is the side that probably appealed to the people who saw it. But yes, that was a deliberate thing.

Which makes Grievous Bodily Harm and Spotswood diverse but quite relevant. With Cosi, what were the particular characteristics that appealed to you? and their relevance to Australia in the mid-'90s?

I think their relevance is that as we move on, there's more awareness of people who don't have as many opportunities as other people. This is this case with mental patients. What's happening all around Australia and all around the world is that a lot of these patients are being analysed quite quickly and, if authorities think they're not a great menace to society, they'll be out on the street or in halfway houses.

Now, we don't touch on that greatly in Cosi, the film is not a forum for the issue. But it is a relevant part of it. I know there have been a lot of problems in Victoria. This is something not to be ignored. The social connotations are something that we did consider and we used, albeit not in a grand way because our primary task was to be funny and poignant. But they are relevant issues and that's one of the key reasons why we made this film contemporary, as different from the play which was set in the '70s.

One of the appealing aspects of Cosi is that there's a tradition in theatre of the fools speaking the truth. What you say about the humour and the poignancy coming through the six characters who perform Cosi, as well as all the others, patients and staff, enabled you to make many depth-true comments about the human condition.

Well, Louis Nowra being a writer, and a playwright, did want to put a lot of profound things in the script - and they are there, hopefully hidden quite nicely under the realistic base. It's not someone pontificating about this, that or the other. So I was on pretty safe ground because these characters could really say anything and, if it fitted into their character, they could comment. Barry Otto's character says some wonderful things about love and hate and humanity. And he does it so well that not only does he get away with it, it makes sense the way he says it.

It's just their perspective on things. They don't come from a blinkered view, they can be totally rational one minute, abusive the next and quite calm after that. I mean, it's just the way - you know, whatever psychoses they have - they manipulated themselves if they wanted, or we just treat it from certain perspectives.

Pamela Rabe has stated that on stage she thought she interpreted her character more angrily, but in the film there was greater sadness and pain.

I think that one of the most heartening things about the film is her pain, her performance of her pain, the way she acts that out. I haven't seen an audience not touched by that. I've seen the film forty or fifty times. You can feel the hush or hear the hush. You could hear something, the silence and the attention paid by the audience to her most tragic moments. That's a credit to her performance and, in some ways, it's a lovely contrast to everybody else. That's what's interesting about making a film like this: that all of a sudden, while they are a group, they're all physically different, and then you see that nice psychological, emotional difference between them as well. They all have their own neuroses - as we all do.

People ask me what's the difference between madness and normality and I say I don't know, a couple of pills perhaps. You can't be glib about this kind of thing and I'm not an expert. I've simply made some films.

The scene where Toni Collette sings `Stand By Me' is a very moving moment.

It's wonderful, very touching. It was planned that she would do something, sing a song probably. We were working out what we were going to do. We didn't want to be too hokey. We certainly wanted to make it realistic. What happened when Louis actually worked with these patients years ago - he was doing Trial By Jury - they would break into a vegie song or something. That triggered something for me - to change the whole notion: of course, something goes wrong! And it is a funny balance of a magical moment. I know people are quite amused by everyone getting into the sparklers and stuff. So it's a hokey moment and it's a very touching moment. It's quite genuine and I think that's what is appealing about it.

A character who does not receive much comment is Aden Young's director. Did he come from yours and Louis Nowra's experience?

I think he comes from Louis Nowra's experience. I couldn't knock back too many director jokes because I would have been labelled a bad sport, so we have a few jokes at the director's expense. Also the actors' expense - but not too many at writers' expense, actually, when I think about it. The only thing I did was to give Aden's character the second name Ward. I knew Vincent Ward very well and Louis had worked with him on Map of the Human Heart, so Aden became Nick Ward. I told him but I don't know if he was particularly impressed by that.

Was the performance of Gogol's Diary of a Madman in the play or was that something devised for the film?

Something for the film, because in the original play, as I said before, which was set in the 70s, there was more a social awareness. I can't remember - there might've been another play, I honestly can't remember. It may be a little heavy handed in its parallel between that and the characters' madness. I think it was good because it showed that this has been done before but in a caricature sort of way of what mad people are like. I think Paul Chubb's character does it very nicely where he just leans over and says, "You know, there's nothing about madness ...". So it was a nice sort of forum to us to say those things as well.

The Colin Friels character was interesting in that way. You assume at the beginning that he is simply going to be the wardsman. But then he becomes supportive of the whole enterprise. So, in a way, Cosi is really affirming those kinds of men and the Aden Young type of director literally gets knocked out.

Yes, that's a nice transition and Colin deserves the credit because he didn't have a lot of screen time to portray that. Speaking of that last moment between him and Ben, it's a really touching moment when he tells him, "You did all right, fella..." - it's the good old Australian thing, don't elaborate too much, don't get too emotional, but you're all right, fella. And that ........ and also ............ this or preconceptions change and that's a great thing.

I hate it when people say, "Oh, we know what's going to happen." In a lot of what we've done in this film, we've thrown a few things in there, but it's about putting on a performance. No one is really telling me that it's predictable - these things happen, but it's all the little touches that have made it believable and that's a good thing.

As well as The Great Bookie Robbery you made a telemovie, Watch the Shadows Dance?

I've got an AFI award nomination for it somewhere, but it was part of a bunch of telemovies that was made at that time. Nicole Kidman was in it and she was great. You know, there was a stage where I wanted to work and I wanted to get more experience. I came to Sydney from Melbourne and this telemovie was a sort of hybrid of fantasy and kids movie. It was a bit cheap, not so much in its production but in its notions, and I wasn't experienced enough to deal with it. But, you know, people have liked it. It's a strange little film. I haven't seen it for ten years and I'm not that keen to see it.



Interview: 21st March 1996