Summer Heights High Review

The great Oscar Wilde once said that, “life imitates art far more than art imitates life”. This quote certainly rings true in the television program Summer Heights High.  In the television show, Chris Lilley plays the lead three roles of which none are remotely similar to the others. Liley’s roles include Ja’mie, a  snobby  16  year  old  private‐school  girl,  Jonah  –  a  troubled  13  year  old Tongan, as well as Mr. G, the school’s wildly self-absorbed drama teacher. Although all three characters, though incredibly diverse, benefit from an audience that is familiar with stereotypes of similar characters, Lilley’s characters comes across as authentic. In this case, Oscar Wilde was right: in a case of life imitating art, elements of dialogue from the show entered into Aussie school-yard lingo (Mattesi, pg 1).

            The show is brilliantly done, as it balances the three oft-kilter characters beautifully, rarely if ever having them interact. Ja’mie is the prototypical obnoxious private school girl, who upon entering the school on exchange begins judging the school and its inhabitants immediately.  “Those bins are so random… Public schools are so random”, Ja’mie says within minutes of being delivered upon the premises of Summer Heights High. These quotes, amongst many others from each of the characters I have heard echoed both on campus at UNSW, as well as amongst my friends at home in the United States. The effects of this show and its excellent portrayal of a secondary school in Australia are deep and far-reaching.

            Mr. G’s inappropriateness and inability to censor himself leads to uproarious laughs from the audience. He is a drama teacher that is a complete control freak and embodies all that is negative of a teacher. His insensitivity to situations is blatantly obvious from his first scene, which he talks about his most recent play put on by the school. Tsunamara is the story of the devastating tsunami that hit Indonesia and Thailand, which is set to the music of the pop group Bananarama. He repeatedly tries to “keep the students on their toes” by popping into classrooms and telling them that “there’s a pedophile in the school…” or by creating a play about a student who has died and turning it into a mockery.

            The third character is arguably the most influential and indicative of Australian character in the show, Jonah. Jonah is of Tongan descent and is a destructive, yet troubled year 8 student. Physically superior to his peers, he struggles to stay out of trouble, constantly bullying other students, eventually being expelled from his third school in under two years. His character is the most fully-rounded character, because as the season progresses we see him change from an immature student who is incessantly bullying students and acting out in class, to a more mature student who apologizes for his behaviors and even prevents his friends from bullying his “rival” in the final episode. He clearly begins maturing throughout the season, unfortunately he is expelled before he has a chance to turn the year around for himself.

            Though I have never been to Australian secondary school, based off of this show I feel as if I would have a relatively good idea of what to expect. The show portrays issues in the school with social cliques, bullying, teenage slang, stereotyping, profanity, racism, and homophobia by showcasing the characters through completely different lights. This program did an excellent job in satirically depicting everyday life for a public school student in Australia, and is highly recommended from myself to others. 

The Masculinity Factor of Mad Max

Brett Pinto

Arts 2062

The theme of masculinity is very common throughout movies, with the genres of action/adventure and Westerns being jam-packed with it. Mad Max embodies the best of both genres, as it is a modern (for the time it was made) reinvention of a western flick. Max Rockatansky, portrayed wonderfully by Mel Gibson, is the manliest of men in the dystopian Australian future. He is the most efficient cop around, seemingly never missing his mark. Throughout the film, it is clear that Max is a head and shoulders above the other cops in his exploits, evidenced both by his having the Interceptor as well as the respect that is paid to him by both his superiors and by his targets. He keeps his cool regardless of the situation, considering his partner Goose, wife and son were savagely slain by the bikers. The film consistently portrays Max being “the man” amongst men, while also promoting Australian masculinity in a number of ways.

One influential way that the director George Miller displayed the theme of masculinity in this film was by having nearly no female characters in the film. Only Jessie, Max’s wife, played a prominent role in the movie, yet when she is killed it seems to bring out the inner vengeance of Max. The only other females that I can recall in the movie is Nightrider’s girlfriend or companion, who also is killed off very early in the film.;  the other is Jessie’s mother  or the owner of the property they were staying on in the country. Another important motif to look out for in the film is the ruggedness of the Australian male. It is an important thematic value in the film as it resembles the fortitude, strength and ruggedness of the Australian male. The fact that Max drives off into the wilderness at the end of the film only works to further solidify this point. Max is forever changed from and he cannot return to what his life was.

Another successful way of aggrandizing Australian masculinity was through the emphasis on cars, as well as the bikers’ motorcycles. In a world where gasoline is at a premium, having the best and fastest car was a priceless commodity. Max's relationship with technology, and with his V8 Interceptor in particular, underlines his heroic status as the number one driver on the roads. Max’s “Interceptor” was the fastest car on the road, and instilled fear in others—notably Nightrider in the opening scene. In that opening scene, Nightrider wreaks havoc on the roads, destroying police cars left and right. By the time he sees the Interceptor, his sheepish grins and hearty laughs turn to tears, as he is aware of the legend that is Max. He knows that death is the only alternative to prison and braces himself for an unwinnable car race.

The brilliance of the way Max’s mysteriousness is portrayed largely again in the opening scene as he prepares to join in on the Nightrider chase. As his colleagues fall by the wayside (or roadside) in a frenzied chase after the Nightrider, the camera repeatedly returns to the lone figure of Max who slowly and methodically dresses and calmly prepares to join the chase. He washes his oiled up hands, then a cut back to the chase; Max puts on his jacket, then his holster, all the while he is as calm as can be as he prepares to track down a cop-killer. Not showing Max’s face creates an aura about him that the viewer immediately knows that the character is certainly no one to mess with.

Australian film and the Western, for that matter, have seemingly been built on one necessary contradicting theme, Wilderness versus Civilization. The motorcycle maniacs enter the civilized city from the wilderness of the land and then systematically deconstruct the structure that has been set in place. They are anti-establishment, anti-authority and, as a result, carnage and mayhem are played out. Max becomes more involved than he originally bargained for, even though he already had quit for what seemed not to be the first time he’d done so, he was dragged into the battle personally when the bikers killed Goose along with his wife Jessie and his son.