OK, OK, so one year on and it's like I've been dead, no? Actually the last couple of days I've felt like I HAVE been dying. Gastric flu no less. I'm assuming it's the fault of the bloke at work who I happen to know didn't wash his hands after taking an uncommonly vile dump. Anyway, feeling wretched has meant that I have been able to watch a couple of movies (between brain-comforting episodes of Poirot), starting with Michael Powell's penultimate full-lengther, 1967's 'They're a Weird Mob'.

It's a peculiar movie is this, and it does show the remarkable degree to which Powell relied on Emeric Pressburger to provide the essential structure, the bones of the films, with his startling screenplays. Despite Pressburger's absence, 'They're a Weird Mob' is not a dud by any stretch, and it has one or two delightfully steotypically ideosyncratic Powell moments, but it's also not actually much good, and it demonstrates how little support Powell was left to work with after the absurd and shameful fall-out from the 'Peeping Tom' witch-hunt.

Taken from John O'Grady's autobiographical novel of the same name, 'They're a Weird Mob' ostensibly tells the story of an Italian (Irish in the original novel I believe) immigrant to Australia, who has arrived unknowingly under false pretences and, therefore has to learn the hard way the difficulties and barriers to assimilation. Interestingly however, Powell chooses to show Australia very much in the "new society" mode, as one in which although there are racists and flamin' hoons (to quote the mighty Alf Stewart), they tend to be drunken fools and in fact the majority of the working Aussies are relatively open to strangers, especially ones who demonstrate a willingness to work hard.

As a product of its time many of the film's social positions can be explained, even understood, but of course time can be, quite rightly, extremely cruel to certain opinions and the fact that the pay-off in which hard-nosed corporate bitch Kay Kelly comes to realise that she needs to soften up and thereby realises that she actually is in love with Nino (who she had previously been chasing through the courts for pots of cash, for reasons which I won't bother to go into), is predicated by the revelation that no man will ever love her if she doesn't start dressing and behaving like a woman seems particularly gruesome. Ha, back in the kitchen ladies, and no answering back or you get one of these. As the closing song (ironically? I'm not so sure) has it, it's a man's country sweetheart...

In many ways the film stands solely on the performance of Walter Chiari as newly arrived Nino Culotta, and it's fair to say he carries it off with a totally relaxed and naturalistic performance, and often one feels as if he isn't acting at all, making the character effortlessly likeable and supportable. The problem then however is that he almost feels out of place in a film which portrays down-under by turning the screen upside-down.

Anyway, it's an interesting curio and in its own right its worth seeing for those little flashes of Powellian genius (the filming from Nino's point of view when helping dig a trench, the distorted POV shot when Nino meets Kay's father), but on the whole its a rather dispiriting reminder of the power of the media to cripple anyone, no matter how brilliant, talented or insightful, if they so choose.

Oh yeah, also, early on in the film when Nino is learning what a "shout" is, check out the barmaid - it's only Anne "Helen Robinson" Haddy.