Nitram (2021) The psychological dread of the unseen and “powerless” (VOD review)

Justin Kurzel is a filmmaker who understands dread and how to instil this feeling in his audience. Across his oeuvre, Kurzel has consistently created environments and narratives that create a sense of dread through intimate framing that bring the viewer queasily close, familiar spaces where horrific events occur and performances that are understated yet hint at something terrible lurking beneath the surface. Despite this, none of his films would typically be described as horror. Across his Shakespeare and video game adaptations as well as a non-biopic and what is effectively a social realist coming of age tale, the dread that Kurzel puts on screen comes from low-key cinematic techniques that hint at the potential for violence, within environments that are mundane yet also hostile.

Kurzel’s latest effort, Nitram, is something of a return for the director. After the expansive scope of his 300-inflected war epic Macbeth, the eerie time and space-distorting Assassin’s Creed and the western/crime (non) True History of the Kelly Gang, Nitram sees Kurzel focus on the family and small community situation of his feature debut Snowtown. Like Snowtown, Nitram is inspired by real events and follows the lives of people in the lead-up to a profoundly traumatic episode in a nation’s history. Also like Snowtown, the film focuses on a small community in rural Australia, specifically Port Arthur, Tasmania.

The Victoria locations superbly evoke a sense of place, with suburban houses, local businesses and open areas that feel non-specific and are therefore easily relatable. Small town Australia feels a lot like small town America or Britain, where youths can offer to mow lawns and walk dogs, local personalities are known for their eccentricities and familiar faces fill the local café and the pub. Director of photography Germain McMicking enhances the relatability of this non-remarkable environment with largely natural light, bathing what we see in a glow that is warm without being too rosy. The coastal location allows for beautiful shots of the sea, as well as a slight chill from the sea breeze that extends into the themes of the film.

These themes include isolation and non-understanding, as well as the powerless looking for some measure of power. All are encapsulated in our protagonist Nitram – not a nickname he cares for – in news reports from 1979 following an incident with firecrackers. From there, we see Nitram’s (Caleb Landry Jones) home life with his parents (Judy Davis and Anthony LaPaglia) as well as his unusual friendship with local rich lady Helen (Essie Davis). The relationship between Nitram and Helen provides the film’s more human moments, suggesting this might be a sort of Harold and Maude situation. However, it is evident that Nitram has social and psychological problems. Medication is referred to and at times he erupts into a seemingly uncontrollable rage. Imagine Forrest Gump, but rather than “Stupid is as stupid does”, Nitram’s response to being called stupid is likely to be more menacing.

Landry Jones’ physical discordancy recalls such performances as Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man and Leonardo DiCaprio in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? There is much to admire in the actor’s commitment to the role, giving Nitram the air of a child trapped in an adult’s body while also suggesting something more calculated. Imagine Ben Stiller’s ‘Simple Jack’ from Tropic Thunder combined with Ezra Miller’s Kevin in We Need To Talk About Kevin, and you have something akin to Nitram. Performances like this can often centre around inner problems, but Landry Jones’ large physique is used in such a way as to give him a sense of being dangerous. Nitram is unwieldy and unpredictable, which makes him not a figure of fun or charm or even pity, but someone unknowable and therefore unsettling.

Arguably, the film delivers an irresponsible portrayal of mental illness and is open to similar criticisms as those directed at Joker. However, it is never made explicit that Nitram’s eventual actions are the results of mental illness. Perhaps they are an expression of social frustration or a more generic act of supposed power by the self-perceived powerless. It is notable that mental health issues are not confined to Nitram, as his father, played with embedded world-weariness by Anthony LaPaglia, is plagued by depression that leads to one of the film’s most distressing scenes. Interestingly, while this sequence is unflinching in its depiction of interpersonal violence, Kurzel keeps later horrific events off-screen. One agonising sequence is shot entirely from within a car’s backseat, the viewer situated as a helpless observer as a long take captures the events from just outside the car up to the door of a house, before the events within the house are expressed only through sound. Later, the audience has no doubt about what is about to happen, but again the camera denies us access to the actual horror. Dread comes from this knowledge without needing to see it, although the final super text informs the viewer of the aftermath.

But just as we see no overt violence on screen, nor is there any explanation or indeed detail aside from that heard in news broadcasts. As a result, the violence is never justified nor explained, seeming senseless and inexplicable. Add this to the detailed sense of place, and the film seems to imply that such events have the potential to emerge at any point. Perhaps that is the most dreadful idea of all – we do not understand random acts of violence, nor the people who perform them, and therefore we cannot prepare for them, only dread their potential.

Nitram