Ten Canoes is a simple, beautiful story that opens a window into a time and culture that is so far removed from my own it could belong on a different planet. But I’m glad it doesn’t, and I’m honoured to have had the chance to glimpse a forgotten, compelling way of life I previously knew nothing about.
I watched this at the Bloor Cinema, which of course is an amazing venue for all and any films, but was particularly well-suited to Ten Canoes, which, like the Bloor itself, hearkens back to a simpler era. (Side note for friends – anyone have any theories about why I’m so enthralled with old stuff?? Any ideas would be welcomed because I’m at a loss to explain it…)
The film is set in a remote corner of Australia, and is said to be the only movie thus far to have been shot in the language of the Ganlabingu people, with the assistance of English subtitles and narration.
The simple veneer of this legend-like tale is a bit deceptive, because it unfolds on several levels.
The narrator explains that he is telling a story that belongs entirely to him and his people. It begins with a group of men setting out to a far-off forest that contains trees with bark suitable to making canoes, which the men will then use for a goose-hunting expedition.
Among the group are two brothers. The elder has three wives and is a respected and stately leader, while the younger is single, just becoming a man, and has a deepening crush on his older brother’s youngest and prettiest wife.
The sojourn is rendered in a timeless, epic fashion. From the ghostly, remote forests that provide the canoe-making materials, to the swamp where the men sleep on log platforms tied to the trees to protect them from crocodiles, each frame is a work of art in itself, and I was riveted to the screen despite the somewhat meandering storytelling.
It felt like every details was authentic, from the language to the locale to the Aboriginal actors, and as though it took as long to make the film as it did for the actual expedition to happen – because every detail is just so right.
During the trip, the older brother, Minygululu, begins telling his sibling Dayindi a folk-tale about two of their ancestors, also brothers, who found themselves in a similar situation, with the younger developing feelings for one of his elder brother’s wives.
He is patient and gentle as he unfolds the story, telling it in installments as their expedition progresses. One chapter is told while they strip bark from the trees, another as they shape the canoes, another as they stand motionless in their flimsy boats in the middle of the swamp, waiting for geese, another resting on the high platforms out of harm’s way.
The film switches effortlessly between eras as the story is related, with the different time periods rendered in black and white, and colour, to indicate what strand of the story is being followed at any given time.
This is quite helpful, since actor Jamie Gulpilil plays the younger brother in both stories… make sense?
In the more ancient strand of this story, a tribe led by older brother Ridjimiraril (Crusoe Kurrdal), runs into trouble when a stranger -- offering to trade “objects of magic” -- shows up from another region, causing worry and distress among the villagers even though he is quickly sent away.
Shortly afterwards, Ridjimiraril’s second wife disappears, and he links the two events, assuming the stranger kidnapped her, which eventually leads to the accidental spearing of another stranger by Ridjimiraril, out for revenge.
This means Ridjimiraril must follow tribal law, and take part in Markaratta, which can be translated as payback, and will involve the great warrior standing target for the other tribe’s spears until he is struck.
But in a true showing of brotherly love, Yeeralparil (Gulpilil) joins his brother and the two become like ghosts evading the spears, until Ridjimiraril is eventually struck, but is proud enough and strong enough that he walks home, nursing his wound.
Later, in what is the most gripping scene of the film, he takes part in a mystical warrior’s dance, induced by his wound, and it becomes clear that this story is rooted in Aboriginal oral tradition. That it is essentially a tribal legend passed from generation to generation until the truth and mythical aspects have melded indistinguishably into one another, and it no longer really matters which is fact and which is fiction.
The scene is beautiful and powerful and makes up in spades for any slowness in the storytelling to that point.
The end of the tale, like most legends passed down through oral cultures, doesn’t tie up all the loose ends in a nice package you can take home with you – it leaves many unanswered questions, but in such a way that your imagination can fill in the gaps, and indeed I think that’s the point.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” says narrator David Gulpilil, deadpan, before breaking into raucous laughter. “Naaah, I don’t really know what happens after that.”
It’s a perfect ending for the story. No clear answers were spelled out for Dayindi by his elder brother’s history lesson, but the culturally transcendent tale still has the ability to change his life forever.
Watch this movie because it is thoughtful and compelling and provides a new window into a culture that is probably as strange to you as it is to me. But also because its lessons about people are as relevant to our culture as they are to that of Australia's Ganlabingu, or magpie goose people clan.
And do yourself a big favour and see it at the Bloor Cinema.
