The Book of Revelation

Last night was the official, red-carpet opening of the beautifully renovated Westgarth Cinema in Northcote, coupled with the official premiere of the new film by Ana Kokkinos, The Book of Revelation. Being the media-whore that I am (although I don't, as some friends have gently teased, attend the opening of an envelope; envelopes are so last century...) I bounced eagerly along, despite having heard some very bad whispers about the movie.

My plus one for the evening was Mike, being the film-buff that he is. I figured I owed it to him after taking him to a very low-rent premiere of The Fellowship of the Ring several years ago: apart from a couple of AFL players and a soapie-star or two there was no-one of interest in attendance, and no sense of glamour to the event. That's because the official Australian premiere was being held simultaneously in Sydney, I later discovered. It was such a let-down; especially because I had a hopeless crush on him at the time and was trying to impress him! These days of course the crush is a thing of the past and we're good mates, but I still felt I owed him a proper premiere...

Which brings me back to last night. The renovations to the Westgarth are superb. They've retained the Art Deco feel of the cinema, but successfully divided it into three seperate theatres, by means of partitioning the balcony. The seats were extremely comfortable, unlike the former Westgarth seats, and the sound system was superb - a far cry from the last time I attended the venue earlier this year.

And yes, there was a red carpet, a veritable fountain of free booze and nibbles, and a few celebs to poke sticks at. As Mike observed, TV and movie people are inevitably shorter in real life than you possibly expect them to be.

Which brings us to The Book of Revelation. God it was bad. It failed dramatically, erotically, on so many levels simultaneously. It's the story of Daniel (Tom Long) a contemporary dancer who is kidnapped and repeatedly raped by a trio of mysterious women over 12 days. After his release, he turns his back on his career and his girlfriend and tries to track down the women responsible, although the only clues he has to their identity are a strand of hair, a birthmark and a tattoo.

The film's feel was distant and artificial, as typified by Paul Heath's over-produced sets that looked like ads from Home Beautiful rather than the dwellings of real people. This vibe extended to the film's characters, who were stilted and distant; unbelieveable and unengaging. No-one reacted to Daniel's subsequent re-appearance and apparent trauma post-kidnapping with anything resembling reality, which further added to the film's implausible air.

While it lifted slightly in its final act, primarily due to the charismatic appearance of Deborah Mailman, overall The Book of Revelation is an 'erotically-charged thriller' that has neither thrills nor frisson. Tom Long lacked the physicality required of a dancer, again rendering certain key scenes unbelievable, and save for one or two briefs moments, and the deft cinematography of Tristan Milani, I found nothing in this film to engage, move or haunt me. It's a shame, because while I think it's flawed, I do like Ana's debut feature Head On, and I adore her dark 1994 featurette Only the Brave.

Next week I'm dragging Mike off to the premiere of Geoffrey Wright's Macbeth - I just hope it's better than The Book of Revelation, which I heartily recommend you avoid.