Film Review: The Sapphires

Released: Wednesday 7th November 

Director: Wayne Blair

Starring: Chris O'Dowd, Deborah Mailman, Jessica Mauboy

Verdict: Great acting and singing and some genuinely funny moments, but a loose plot means it never really shines.

***

It’s 1968 and three Aboriginal sisters are performing a country song in the talent contest in a local bar before a hostile white audience and a bemused Irishman. Although they miss out on the prize, the girls pick up a manager/pianist in the form of the aforementioned Irishman, self-proclaimed soul man Dave (Chris O’Dowd). Armed with an advert calling for entertainers to perform for American soldiers in Vietnam, the four head off to get the reluctant blessing of the girls’ parents. 

When youngest sister Julie (Jessica Mauboy) is refused permission, older sisters Gail (Deborah Mailman) and Cynthia (Miranda Tapsell) set out to recruit their cousin Kay (Shari Sebbens), who used to sing with them when they were children. Joined by the ever resilient Julie and with old tensions returning to trouble Kay and Gail, Dave persuades the band to ditch the country and find their inner soul stars as they jet off to romance and danger in war-torn Vietnam.

The film starts off strongly, drawing on the chemistry between the sisters to create a promising premise. The main characters all have their own problems; Dave is a borderline alcoholic, ambitious Cynthia is hurting over a broken engagement, young mother Julie vaguely mentions something about making a better life for her son, stoic Gail is busy watching out for everyone and Kay is confused over how to handle her muddled racial status in racist Australia. 

On this last point, the film should be credited with not shying away from Australia’s troubled racial past, although it generally ignores the history of American segregation. However, as it goes on, these personal issues are generally ignored in favour of various blossoming romances, of which only one seems to reach a clear conclusion by the end of the film. Loose ends are acceptable when they are clearly intended, but in a film billed as ‘the feel-good film of the year’ (I’ve fallen for that line before, Danny Boyle) it seems odd that two of the three major relationships are seemingly forgotten, as are Julie’s plans for fame.

Although no one could accuse this film of aiming to be the next Apocalypse Now, it does generally offer an alarmingly rosy view of the Vietnam War. While most scenes set in the war show soldiers cheerfully gambling, smoking and singing along to some wonderful soul classics, the most graphic image of war is an amputee watching the band perform with a wistfully forlorn expression, as though he has just remembered he forgot to buy the milk. Of course the women are the focus, but the film somewhat loses its impact in the wake of this rose-tinted representation of war. Also, the suggestion that a bit of soul might calm the black troops after the assassination of Martin Luther King is patronising bordering on offensive.

However, while this film is clearly not perfect, it has moments of brilliance. The sharp comedy is pulled off perfectly, particularly by O’Dowd and Mailman, whose chemistry shines throughout, and the performances themselves are breathtaking, often thanks to Mauboy’s superb vocals. Despite being rather forgotten by the end, Tapsell manages to play to both the comedy and pathos of the film. Although determined to maintain the upbeat heart of the story, the filmmakers take care to show the disturbing impact of racism in Australia.

Despite the actors’ best efforts and some sharp, well-delivered jokes, The Sapphires never transforms into anything more than an uplifting comedy with some outstanding performances of soul classics.

We’ve all been there... the Mystery of the Safe Place

First and foremost, I would like to clarify that I am not, in fact, referring to the mental realm that my yoga teacher tells us to visit as we lie on the floor at the end of a session, trying to work out which body part hurts the most. I am instead talking about the Safe Place where you put things of High Importance to keep them from getting lost, only to immediately lose them.

I have heard several theories as to the mysterious vanishing act executed by the Safe Place. The first is that after carefully putting the item there, you are so overcome with your own efficiency and organisation that while you are congratulating yourself on having permanently secured the safety of said item, your brain decides that since it no longer needs to worry about this, it promptly forgets it and moves on to other important agendas, like wondering what’s for dinner and why seals always look so forlorn. Seriously, they are adorable and everyone loves them, so why the puppy dog eyes? Thus, when you come to need your item of High Importance, you cannot for the life of you recall where you put it, only that you did, indeed, put it Somewhere Safe. Cue lots of self-berating and halfhearted cursing of seals.

Another suggestion as to why exactly the Safe Place is so inefficient draws on the fact that usually, in order to protect the item from becoming collateral damage in the process of your daily existence, you choose a place far removed from your general field of awareness. This place can range from somewhere vaguely sensible, like the tallest shelf in the house or at the back of a wardrobe, to the illogically quirky, such as in a once-loved and now forgotten shoe.

While this may well prevent it from getting jumbled up with other daily accumulations, or becoming yet another item that’s got lodged in your foot, it also means that you are less likely to casually come across it and vaguely store it in the useful part of your brain which likes to pop up every now and again and help out. You know the bit I mean; it’s the part that notes that your phone is on the arm of the sofa as you glide obliviously past, and reminds you of this fact when you are about to start turning the house upside down half an hour later in search of it. By its nature, the Safe Place must be somewhere isolated from damage, and as such it passes under your brain’s radar.

It seems, then, that much like tacos, chocolate-flavoured tea and scarves with pockets, the whole concept of the Safe Place is brilliant in theory but flawed in practice. Unless you plan on investing in a safe, accept the rule of the Safe Place, shove everything on the bedside table or into a shoe and hope that your brain will pick up the slack.

Five things to do during a power cut

Dreading the next time a blackout leaves your evening plans in ruins? Here are five power cut-proof activities to keep you entertained.

Light candles. Usually left untouched in the back of the Messy Draw, the humble candle is undoubtedly the hero of the blackout. Suddenly that lavender scented beauty you received two Christmases ago seems like the most thoughtful gift ever. Now if only you could find the matches...

Play board games. The TV won’t work? The internet is down? What fresh hell is this? For those of you who have yet to discover the joy and bloodlust that result from a highly competitive round of Articulate, prepare to forget all about the delights of Don’t Tell the Bride and find your fighting spirit next blackout.  

Jump out on people. Surely the first course of action when darkness suddenly descends: added points if you can include a torch-under-the-chin stunt in your performance. Win bragging rights forever if the neighbours come running, but fair warning: expect a cold and calculated revenge.

Save the ice cream. Power-less Ben & Jerry’s fans: your frozen goods need you. The fish fingers and pizza might be out of the question, but grab a spoon and don’t let the ice cream go to waste. So what if the power came back half an hour ago? These things can be temperamental, so better finish it just to be sure. If you want to be extra resourceful, use the frozen peas to soothe the lumps induced by bumping into things while you were stumbling round in the dark looking for the candles.

Tell ghost stories. The TV won't wake up and all the Monopoly money has vanished: time to revert to practically prehistoric forms of entertainment. If you can’t think of any ghost stories of your own, simply summarise a classic film or book. Can't remember it all? Improvise: who says that The Shining wouldn't have been improved by ten foot clowns with bat wings? Just be sure to remember that while seeing your housemates trembling in terror may seem fun at the time, you’ve got to go to bed in total darkness too.

What can we learn from the 'Day of the Dead'?

At least this explained why he always seemed
to have art on the brain.

Falling on 2^nd November, Mexico’s ‘Día de los Muertos’ ('Day of the Dead') has a history that can be traced back for thousands of years. With an emphasis on remembrance, family and celebration, there are crucial lessons to be learned from a day that brings death to life.

Despite the many positives, let’s address the inevitable problems that arise with such a suggestion. Firstly, there are the religious overtones to consider. In Mexico, food, such as sugar skulls and special ‘pan de muerto’ bread, and blankets are left out for the soul of the deceased, and some families build shrines to them and to the Virgin Mary. For atheists and other non-Christians, these traditions would be irrelevant or even inappropriate. A second concern is that what would begin as a festival dedicated to the dead could quickly become another opportunity for companies to shove merchandise down our throats: cue an endless array of cards, banners, bunting, toys, sweets and cakes all appearing in shops three months in advance in a tacky attempt to obscure the true meaning with pound signs.

These are, of course, important issues, and as such I am not suggesting that we take every element of Mexico’s traditional Day of the Dead activities, rituals and beliefs and transplant them to the grey November streets of Britain. It is, rather, the essence of this festival that I believe we could learn a lot from. Day of the Dead seeks to unite families in order to celebrate an individual who has died, a complete contrast to the stiff upper lip that we Brits are often expected to maintain, at least to some degree, when faced with the death of a loved one.

Although traditions concerning children tend to be more sober, a significant part of the celebrations are devoted to taking a humorous look at the person’s life. While I have, fortunately, never died, I think I would prefer to be remembered for my wild sense of humour and wacky flights of fancy than as a disconnected, staid and noble figure. Besides, I am all for encouraging dressing up and the consumption of sweets in my honour.

Of course, everyone must deal with death on their own terms, but a festival which encourages mourning as a celebratory group activity rather than a sorrowful solitary pursuit means that families and friends can support each other through grief. While facing that telling space in your life can never be easy, bottling up painful emotions will not help in the long run, and repressing sweet memories that are now bitter with loss means losing part of your life with that person. Having just one person to discuss your loss with, particularly with a humorous overtone, can reassure you that you are not alone. Each individual’s memories of the departed will keep them alive and refreshed, mourned but not idealised, gone but not forgotten. 

While the thought of skulls, souls and altars might make you cringe, it is the message at the heart of this festival that is of primary importance. When people die, it is OK and even healthy to mourn for our own loss, but also do them the honour of celebrating their life, complete with wonders, warts and all.