The Daughter | Little White Lies

The Daugh­ter

27 May 2016 / Released: 27 May 2016

Three adults, a man, woman and older man, walking on a forest path amidst fallen branches and trees.
Three adults, a man, woman and older man, walking on a forest path amidst fallen branches and trees.
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Anticipation.

An acclaimed stage production makes its way to the big screen, with writer/director and some cast members along for the ride.

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Enjoyment.

Festen your seatbelts.

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In Retrospect.

A solid debut feature, with strong hopes for Australian cinema both behind and in front of the camera.

There’s a touch of Thomas Vin­ter­berg about this impres­sive Aussie debut from Simon Stone.

A brief glimpse of the cred­its and pro­mo­tion­al mate­r­i­al for Simon Stone’s The Daugh­ter might cause red flags to pop up in the mind of cer­tain view­ers. But fear not, as any neg­a­tive pre­con­cep­tions you might har­bour about the­atre direc­tors mak­ing the leap from stage to screen are dis­pelled pret­ty swiftly.

Set in mod­ern day Aus­tralia, the film is a rework­ing of Nor­we­gian play­wright Hen­rik Ibsen’s The Wild Duck’, an 1884 play about an ide­al­is­tic son expos­ing his cor­rupt mer­chant father’s deceit, only for the reveal to back­fire and destroy the lives of those he intend­ed to help. Stone’s con­fi­dent direc­tion suc­cess­ful­ly for­goes the stagi­ness that can often ham­per screen adap­ta­tions of plays; it’s less in the vein of for­mer Nation­al The­atre don, Nicholas Hyt­ner, whose screen adap­ta­tion of Alan Bennett’s The His­to­ry Boys’ almost felt like lit­tle more than a filmed play, and more in line with the lyri­cal, moody and brood­ing style of fel­low Antipodean Jane Cam­pi­on, in tone if not nec­es­sar­i­ly sub­ject matter.

Return­ing to the Aus­tralian tim­ber town from which he fled to the US, Chris­t­ian is set to attend the mar­riage of his aloof father, Hen­ry (Geof­frey Rush), to a much younger woman, Anna (Anna Torv). An alco­holic tee­ter­ing off the wag­on, Chris­t­ian is meant to be serv­ing as his father’s best man despite despis­ing every fibre of his being. And so he ditch­es most of the rehearsal to catch up with child­hood pal Oliv­er (Ewen Leslie), who’s just been made redun­dant by the clo­sure of Henry’s tim­ber mill. This meet-up also gives him some time to forge a con­nec­tion with Oliver’s bright-spark, teenage daugh­ter, Hed­vig (Odessa Young).

A pen­chant for bluish hues veer­ing between both the warm and chilly is where that Cam­pi­on com­par­i­son begins to reg­is­ter on a visu­al lev­el. Yet any­one famil­iar with Thomas Vinterberg’s 1998 fea­ture Fes­ten might find traces of that film’s DNA in Stone’s take on a fraught fam­i­ly reunion descend­ing into chaos on account of a patriarch’s dev­as­tat­ing secret. A num­ber of key Cam­pi­on col­lab­o­ra­tors (Sam Neill, com­pos­er Mark Brad­shaw) are among the cast and crew, which also includes Amer­i­can Paul Schnei­der, a scene-steal­er from Campion’s 2009 fea­ture Bright Star. His char­ac­ter, Chris­t­ian, is our ini­tial entry point into the dra­ma, yet the film goes on to dis­trib­ute equal atten­tion among its vast, excep­tion­al ensemble.

As the title omi­nous­ly fore­shad­ows, Hed­vig becomes the story’s focal point as Chris­t­ian seeks to expose cer­tain sus­pi­cions regard­ing his pop and the dam­age he’s wreaked upon the town. While the film’s nar­ra­tive twists are always a mite pre­dictable, it stead­ies the ship with its sheer emo­tion­al force, hit­ting many a raw nerve thanks to the vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty and sim­mer­ing pain con­veyed by its cen­tral play­ers – Leslie and Young are par­tic­u­lar stand­outs. The fall­out from the rev­e­la­tions is espe­cial­ly wrench­ing and destruc­tive. There’s a claus­tro­pho­bic, men­ac­ing qual­i­ty that makes it at times feel like all the dark secrets may man­i­fest as lit­er­al demons lurk­ing in the shad­ows amid the win­try wood­lands. It’s a fam­i­ly tragedy with a tinge of the spectral.

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