At the Movies: I’m Not Harry Jensen
Stanley Merse is a true crime writer with a problem. He’s so immersed in his upcoming book on notorious serial murderer Harry Jensen that the killer is getting to him.
“He’s in my head,” he laments to his seedy literary agent, who needs the finished book yesterday to pay his own gambling debts. “I can’t write it. I need a break.”
“Go on a trek. Get your head together. F***ing find yourself again,” curses the frustrated, self-interested agent (Expletive alert – it is an R16).
So the beleaguered Stanley joins a tramping party and is helicoptered into remote bush for some serious hiking and soul-searching. By the first night round the campfire the group dynamics are starting to establish themselves, and they’re not all healthy ones. In fact, at dawn, Stanley wakes to find blood on his hands and one of the trekkers dead in their sleeping bag. As the action climbs, he is forced to battle the demons in his head to determine his own sanity, and fight the claustrophobic bush of the Waitakeres to survive.
The bush itself has a character as strong as any cast member’s. Hostile and oppressive, it besieges the increasingly terrified trampers and pumps up the conflict. Though you can tell how the story will play out, there are surprises.
This suspenseful, Kiwi-made directorial debut has been described as “urban noir meets backwoods whodunit.” It’s not an extraordinary psychological thriller, but overall, it is an extraordinary achievement by two young and very determined actors-come-film-makers.
Inspired by the legendary Coen brothers (who raised US$750,000 for Blood Simple by screening a short trailer and asking private investors if they wanted to help finish it), writer/director James Napier Robertson (nephew of actor Marshall Napier) and actor/producer Tom Hern paid for a three-minute teaser for their script, and over 12 months found 20 investors, mostly family and friends, who chipped in between NZ$1000 and NZ$45,000 each. Then, in a country where movies usually cost $3-$5 million to make, the pair attracted an experienced cast (Ian Mune, Ilona Rogers, Renato Bartolomei) and shot the movie in 18 days for $175,000.
The result makes a very good discussion piece for Kiwi cinema. I’d be showing it to film students, firstly to show them what’s possible, second for what it says about our culture and film industry, and third for a bit of a brainstorm. Some scenes need compressing. One or two are redundant. Other than Stanley perhaps, the characters are not deeply realised and the psychological motivation behind their behaviour is often unclear. Most characters play to stereotype and few break the mould in any original way. The script also loses its grounding here and there: When and where does Kiwi killer Jensen await execution? We abolished the death penalty in 1961.
But, that said, it’s tense and gritty, with good editing, a scary, effective soundtrack, a buttock-clenching climax, and a story that was simple enough to film without expensive sets or effects, but complex enough to create intrigue. Playing the world-weary and embattled Stanley must have been demanding work, but Gareth Reeves (Insider’s Guide to Love, The Cult) totally inhabits the role.
This movie’s got balls. It’s got a young, male, testosteroney, aggro energy to it that keeps it fresh and just dares you to admire it. And surprisingly, despite my middle-aged, female, estrogeny ways, I actually did.
Maria Polglase
