miracle. It’s a new Australian movie that you will probably never see. It stars Judy Davis: I would climb mountains to see her ever since I saw her in Life with Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows. (Woody Allen used her for awhile but now we are now told to hate Woody Allen.) In Nitram Davis plays the mother of a very violent man — I guess he is psychotic, it’s hard to tell exactly what’s wrong with him — though the acting by Caleb Landry Jones as the son is so scary, touching, and real that he’s already won several international awards. (Alas, no Oscars for this work of genius, as the film is not entirely politically correct and features no deaf people). Nitram (the leading character) appears to be ‘retarded’ (I think that term is used in the film) or slow -- but also deeply troubled, terminally lonely, a doomed outsider (there is something of the ‘incel’ about him). Writer Shaun Grant and director Justin Kurzel have fashioned a deeply moving, hauntingly naturalistic portrait of a depressed murderer. And, fascinatingly, we identify with him — or at least feel his pain. He’s even charming and touching at times, despite his fascination with guns. None of this is acceptable to the powers-that-be these days; the film has been pretty much banned in Tasmania where it was made (no one will show it, it's how stuff disappears now: i.e. Louis C.K.'s I Love You, Daddy). I won't to give away the whole plot -- but let’s just say Nitram has very important things to say about bad gun laws. Don't get me wrong. I would never extol a movie that was merely dedicated to reminding us how lax gun laws are-- this movie is not a platform, it is a deeply human document. Nevertheless the Australian and Tasmanian governments have come out against it.The Tasmanian Police Union has complained that the mental health of its members may be ‘impacted' by Nitram.This is 'Woke Victim-speak’ for ‘cancel this film it’s hurting me!’ In fact a member of the Australian parliament has complained that Nitram made him ‘uncomfortable.’ (God forbid!) But art is now so dangerous we must be protected from it. At one pre-Covid play I saw they were offering a room suppled with crayons, where you could do ‘colouring,’ to calm you down. (I would posit that any adult who can actually be calmed down by a colouring book is already irretrievably nuts.) One theatre in Toronto now offers 'a facilitator who will be available to provide one-on-one emotional support.' So if you need to gather your senses after being assaulted by some hateful, hurtful piece of art, there will apparently be people there to comfort you. A somewhat unexpected side effect of COVID-19 -- has been the end of art. (I've been complaining about it for awhile now). No one will notice; art was always a hard sell anyway, and just a few hapless Canadian artists like me ever bothered to stand up for it; no one ever listened. It seems quite clear that after COVID-19, art will just limp away as it did in the Dark Ages. People will forget that the the best plays and films and books should upset you. Just as in medieval Europe -- where the unwashed masses were offered church windows and the occasional passion play that reaffirmed the story of Christ -- today we are given films like CODA to remind us of the plight of deaf people, endless appeals to save the environment, and trans hagiography, but, God forbid (!) -- nothing that might make us uncomfortable! This of course will lead to more crime, drug addiction, and suicides -- more unresolved human pain. Art, in case you hadn’t notice, can be a harmless drug. At the moment reruns of The Sopranos are kind of keeping me alive. Tony leads a much more stressful life than I do, which reassures me -- but I also love it because I can experience madness, pain, and death in heavy doses, something we all need to be familiar with, because our lives will be touched by those things at one time or another -- and art is the only place where we can practice them without ever actually going mad, or shooting up an elementary school, or dying. I will use this blog to say farewell to art, in hopes that someone, somewhere will remember. Okay, what about Judy Davis’ portray of Nitram's mother? She is sublime, understated, and, thank God, she smokes, (There is something about Judy Davis smoking a cigarette that drives me nuts.) She’s still amazingly beautiful, though alarmingly wrinkled. What makes the movie triply controversial is the handling of Davis's character; Nitram neither entirely blames nor entirely forgives her, we are left hanging in a disturbing zone of paradoxical tranquility (where art should leave us). She watches her son commit atrocity after atrocity and does nothing, because, you see, she loves him. She says ‘I gave birth to him’ with a savage force -- like Brecht’s Mother Courage she is at once admirable and contemptible. The final shot is her, smoking, looking off into the distance, listening to a TV news program that exploits her son’s crimes. Nitram is a work of art because it offers up a real anti-hero -- not some sexy marvel pseudo-tortured joke like The Batman. But, hey -- incel as hero; there’s a real anti-hero for you.
