Christmas

This is a classic NZ film! AND DEFINITELY ONE OF THE BEST NZ FILMS!

I would love to see it get the attention and credit it deserves.

What other NZ film comes near the quality of realism, mis en scene, performance and intelligent unique storytelling on display here... um um um...

I am assuming that the low fi and confrontational aesthetic of Christmas is something unfortunately that some people just can't get past to be able to appreciate its undeniable brilliance.

It will be interesting to see in time whether this film does indeed gets its just deserts and recognition or remain a relatively unknown cult.

In borders recently I flipped through a glossy hardback book titled 100 essential NZ films and noted that it didn't even make the top 100, let alone the top ten where it should stand.

Gregory King's films in general deserve to be critically appraised and explored, I think it is very telling they are not.

A friend from the Czech republic who has been living here for several years now recently wrote about NZ saying - 'A little isolated country in denial, with its head up its arse and in love with itself...'

Who am I to disagree!

Christmas is a painful, gaping portrayal of a lower-class New Zealand family. It covers a week's time in which grown children return home only to fall apart... repeatedly. The film is amateurish, with poor sound and dull lighting, but this contributes remarkably to the feeling of utter emptiness that pervades every scene.

First up, if you are looking for an antidote to Hollywood saccharine bullshit, this is for you. Not even so-called independent US cinema comes within a million miles of this film for stark, raw, bleeding emotion, and portrayal of physical and mental despair and decay. Not even the great UK film 'Nil By Mouth', a previous bench-mark for harrowing examination of the human condition, matches this for intensity.

If all that makes it sound like hard work to be avoided, don't get me wrong - this is an utterly compelling film with universal resonance. There are moments of grim humour that balance the intense darkness which engulfs the protagonists, and although one might come away feeling soiled, as a guilty voyeur might feel, at no point do you doubt the truth of the characters and the world revealed.

As a piece of film-making this is a bravura achievement that inspires enormous respect. The acting by a virtually amateur cast is simply mind-blowing.

To my mind this is Punk film-making - quick, low-budget but incredibly rich in emotion and commitment - the true essence of great punk (and great art, for that matter). This is not just a primal scream of angst. Writer/director Gregory King has created and breathed life into a whole extended family of characters, each with her or his distinct personality and inner demons, and each interacts, or not, with the others in a totally believable way.

Punk indeed. Pared down, stripped to its basics, this is all the more powerful for it. Where 'Nil By Mouth' had an unfolding storyline, character development and the sweet salve of redemption, there's no such indulgence here. Here the action is confined to a house and yard, and silences as significant as the rages are held to the point where we almost scream ourselves.

If we come to relate to the characters at all, it's not on a personal level, nor is it at the other extreme, the way we might be interested in insects in a display-case. It's more perhaps as a compassionate god might, with a sigh of recognition, an acceptance of responsibility and a feeling of non-judgmental love.

Underlying all the painful failures to cope, there is the great irony that the action takes place against a backdrop of meaningless babble on the radio and TV (not to mention Christmas itself), which subtly poses the question: is there any less emptiness in the wider society outside the claustrophobic confines of this particular family home? What appears at first to be a family of misfits may in fact be closer to 'normal' than we dare think.

In New Zealand, Christmas falls during the onset of summer: in the far north, where Greg King's digital feature Christmas is set, it can reach a sweltering tropical humidity. It's hot and sticky which, depending on your mood and circumstances, may be either blissful or excruciating. The holiday itself is like that for many of us; if you've ever had a Yuletide break which felt more like a prison sentence than a reprieve, then this movie hits a chord which few others have ever managed to tap, and with expert precision and intensity at that.

Like a Kiwi Solondz, King's approach is to compassionately acknowledge the horror of being ordinary: the humiliation of being unable to change your face, your age, your past in a world where advertising and consumer market-research defines what makes a person good or successful. The shame of not being rich, famous, or supermodel-sexy is something even the most well-adjusted of us have pondered from time to time. King's gift is that he can summarise these feelings in simple single-person tableaux (the bathroom provides a fragile oasis of privacy where the depth of each character's inner conflicts are revealed wordlessly) and in direct, believable scenes of familial interaction, neither of which flinch where scenes in similar films might lose their nerve: each family member's pathetic attempt to hold on to their dignity, and the passive-aggressive means by which they do so, are immediately recognisable, and this makes the long, sustained takes unbearably tense, but also makes them appallingly funny and even strangely poignant. Especially when shot at a remove just gentle enough to afford the viewer both a vicarious intimacy with, and an objective overview of, all of the characters (the term "voyueristic" is not unwarranted).

It's a hard film to watch, but an even harder film not to admire once you've seen it through to the end. A bitterly funny, shockingly honest portrait of the individual hell that familial obligations demand we all endure from time-to-time - preferably in silence for fear of "ruining everybody's holiday".