The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith

The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1978) makes for bleak viewing. Fred Schepsi's Outback epic achieved notoriety for its extreme violence, which is only part of its rich texture. It's a disquieting mediation on race and colonialism, trapping its protagonist between rebellion and self-destruction.

Jimmie Blacksmith (Tom E. Lewis) is a half-caste Aborigine raised by the Reverend Neville (Jack Thompson). Jimmie tries to fit in to Australian society, working as a laborer, farmhand and policeman and marrying the white Gilda (Angela Punch Macgregor). But he can't overcome engrained white prejudice and grows increasingly bitter. Then Gilda gives birth to a white child, whose parentage Jimmie doubts. His latest employer (Don Crosby) finally pushes Jimmie too far, triggering a bloody killing spree. 

Outwardly, The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith seems a standard liberal outrage picture. Australia's had a long history of mistreating or exploiting its aboriginals, whether through extermination or intermarriage with whites. This subject's informed a number of recent films, notably Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002) and Australia (2008). Some later scenes do espouse an overt message, as when schoolmaster McCreadie (Peter Carroll) enumerates the "benefits" (namely alcohol and measles!) that Europeans introduced to Australia. But Schepsi, adapting Thomas Keneally's novel, mostly makes his points through nuanced storytelling.

Jimmie starts out submissive and cheerful, wearing white clothes and smiling at insults. He's considered a hopeful prospect for civilizing: Neville encourages him to marry a white girl to produce quarter-black offspring (and hence dilute the native gene pool). But his efforts to act white only earn suspicion and condescension. McCreadie's friendliness unnerves Jimmie: a man who unblinkingly killed an infant can't bring himself to harm someone who genuinely respects him. Whether playing the "good native" or rapacious savage, Jimmie's lost his own sense of agency: he's defined and destroyed by the European mindset.

Yet Schepsi avoids making Jimmie Blacksmith a revenge fantasy, or its protagonist a Civil Rights martyr. Indeed, Jimmie's a morally compromised character from the start: he doesn't mind maiming Aboriginals as a policeman (though he draws the line at murder). He certainly forfeits our sympathy when he butchers whole families with rifles and axes. This rampage makes the Apache depredations of Ulzana's Raid seem chivalrous, yet points to the story's tragedy. Australian society, from callous officials to a ruthless posse, now has license to slam uppity "blacks" into place.

Schepsi skillfully evokes turn-of-the-century Australia, mixing period design with dialogue about the upcoming Federation and the Boer War. (One pointed aside has a character contrasting Britain's critique of Boer racism with their own treatment of native Australians.) As expected the violence is graphic, complete with axe murders, shootouts and brutal beatings. It's contrasted effectively with beautiful Australian scenery, bolstered by Ian Baker's gorgeous photography and Bruce Smeaton's suitably tragic score. It's a gritty, violent show that nonetheless achieves aesthetic grandeur.

Tom E. Lewis (The Proposition) gives a remarkable turn. He's effortlessly charming yet lets hints of Jimmie's frustration periodically slip through. His first murder impacts viewers like a carefully timed explosion. Steve Dodd and Freddy Reynolds play Jimmie's relatives drawn into his vendetta. Several up-and-coming Australian stars feature in supporting parts: Jack Thompson (Breaker Morant) as the Reverend, Angela Punch Macgregor as Jimmie's wife, Peter Carroll (The Last Wave) as the obsequious McCreadie and Brian Brown in a walk-on role.

The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith is a remarkably powerful film. Rarely listed among the highlights of the Australian New Wave, its violent pessimism earns comparison to that period's best American Westerns.