THE LAST OF THE RYANS
Australian, 1996, 90 minutes, Colour.
Richard Roxburgh, Tony Barry, Paul Sonkilla, Zoe Bertram, Beverly Dunn, Dennis Miller, Ian Mune.
Directed by George Ogilvie.
In a year when Australian audiences have been able to see three Hollywood films on capital punishment (and themes of repentance and forgiveness), Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995), Last Dance (Bruce Beresford, 1996), The Chamber (James Foley, 1996), the telemovie, The Last of the Ryans, has some stiff competition for audience attention.
The three movies are powerful pleas for greater understanding of the barbarity of the state killing one of its citizens, making itself the equivalent of the killer that it has found guilty. They also highlight how society needs to examine its conscience about its own structural sinfulness rather than simply blame a convicted killer, even scapegoating the killer for society's inability and/or unwillingness to deal with its problems which have shaped the consciousness and behaviour of the killer.
The Last of the Ryans tries to do this but is comparatively mild in its presentation of its issues. It raises questions about how effectively insightful drama can be if its chosen public is the average home viewer watching a free to air commercial channel with its ad interruptions at 8.30 p.m. after the day's work when the presumption is that there will be something entertaining to see. Crawfords, the Nine Network and writer Graeme Farmer (The Feds, Cluedo, Newlyweds and mini-series The Darlings of the Gods, Glass Babies) have opted for the popular series style of easy-of-access treatment and writing. The benefit is that a lot of people watch a film about Ronald Ryan and respond to its questions. The loss is that the film can be critically considered as avoiding complexities of issues and coming across as rather bland.
Director George Ogilvie has a strong reputation in theatre, film and television. He elicits credible performances from his cast and has made quite a stylish-looking telemovie (with Jaems Grant as cinematographer and Bruce Smeaton as composer). However, the characters have very limited screen time and, with the popular treatment of issues, they have to rely on broad strokes (Tony Barry as Fr John Brosnan, Paul Sonkilla as Governor Ian Grindlay, Douglas Hedge as Mr Philip Opas), on I-invite-you-to-hate-me caricature (Ian Mune as Henry Bolte) or familiar posturing (Julie Herbert and her pious, hands-joined praying, Going My Way style as Ryan's mother).
Richard Roxburgh, on the other hand, has an assured screen presence and has the opportunity to offer several facets of Ryan's character. Ryan's personal charm (a mixture of conman and lovable Ocker larrikin) has been attested to and Roxburgh certainly communicates this. But he is also presented as an ineffectual thief, an absentee husband and father and a man ready to resort to armed robbery after his escape from Pentridge. The film indicates doubts as to whether he actually killed Prison Warder George Hodson while trying to escape, even uncertainty about whether he fired a shot, or whether the warder was accidentally shot by another guard.
Ryan may have had charm but he also had more than a share of ruthlessness.
But, the central issue is whether Ryan, guilty or not but convicted of murder, should have been sentenced to death in Australia, 1967. This emerges clearly from the film. The dialogue and actions given to Ian Mune to portray Henry Bolte fulfil all the feelings of hostility Victorians might have against an overbearing and arrogant premier. He refers to Ryan as a `two bob crook' and remarks that the law is like the transport or the waterworks of the state and that he can turn them on and off as he wishes. He judges that the public are on his side about law and order (and the subsequent election seemed to vindicate his stance). He had no personal interest in Ryan, no qualms or hesitancy about the application of the death penalty.
Complications about the law concerning murder and its connection with escape from gaol are alluded to as well as appeals to the Privy Court. Changes of heart by some of the jurors are reported, declaring that they might have found differently had they known the death penalty would be invoked.
But there were class issues in the background of the Ryan case. He has married Dorothy George (Zoe Bertram) who came from a wealthy family who looked down on Ryan. This is easier to communicate in a telemovie than legal issues and so Beverley Dunn as Dorothy's mother treats Ryan with disdain while Dennis Miller as Dorothy's father seems to like him. But Dorothy divorces Ryan while he is in Pentridge and re-marries.
One of the best known features of the Ryan case is his prison conversion experience. This is presented quite sketchily, a fade out just as Ryan is about to make his confession. Had the writer found a dramatic way for Ryan to confess so that the audience heard the confession, the religious dimension of the telemovie would have been enhanced. (This was one of the great strengths of Dead Man Walking, Last Dance and The Chamber.) So we have to rely on Ryan devoutly receiving communion and his weeping and sighing mother knowing that her prayers were answered at last. This means that Ryan's dramatically powerful last words to Fr Brosnan, `Never forget that you were ordained for me' lack dramatic resonance.
A television comparison for The Last of the Ryans is Lewis FitzGerald's docudrama, The Last Man Hanged. This 58 minute film has the advantage of interviews with Ryan's wife and daughter, with the Pentridge governor and with Fr Brosnan himself. This makes the scene where Colin Friels, as Ryan, speaks the final words to Fr Brosnan (John Clayton) a very powerful experience.
The Last of the Ryans is not the telemovie event that it might have hoped to have been. It is a Wednesday Night at the Movies contribution to the debate about capital punishment, the role of the state, politics and law and the possibility for a `two bob crook' to find some meaning in his life and death.
