While Justin Kurzel’s depiction of the Port Arthur Massacre buildup has drawn social criticism, its exceptional technical craft cannot be overlooked.
★★★★✰
The Western audience is known for its ferocious appetite to consume all things crime. In trying to placate the demand, modern media has often created an echo chamber that capitalises on trauma for the sake of entertainment. Arguably lacking in sensationalism, the creation of Nitram has still caused a stir—yet knows how to stop before it says too much.
During the mid-90s in southern Australia, a young man known only as ‘Nitram’ (played by Caleb Landry Jones) does little with his life. Alluding to a possible diagnosis of mental illness, Nitram’s life revolves around his parents, until meeting estranged neighbour Helen (Essie Davis). As his behaviour becomes continually erratic, Nitram’s decision to branch out on his own has disastrous consequences.
Before Nitram had even finished filming, its existence drew a mass of criticism. There is immediately a moral question surrounding the respect of those affected by the Port Arthur Massacre, but also causes potential concern in its depiction of mental health issues. By choosing to frame the two together, Kurzel’s direction could be seen to create the social attachment of ‘illness’ to ‘crazy’. The majority cannot speak for neurodivergent viewers, and are guided by the overarching sense of realist grounding that’s present in Nitram’s actions. What Kurzel chooses to leave out is testament to a smart script.
Much like the seductive Australian wildlands on screen, the information that’s drip-fed through Nitram’s narrative is barren. There are no names, no obvious locations, no direct ties to any factual history. Perhaps, no accountability. Subtly leaving enough clues to adjoin Nitram to killer Martin Bryant (such as the name), there’s no potential comeback to bite them. Instead, viewers are left with stark visuals, exceptional performances and a sobering protagonist that could well be anyone.
On technical merit alone, Nitram stands out as an exceptional piece of filmmaking. Nitram’s need to act on quick compulsions is perfectly juxtaposed by long, moody frames of Australia’s coast, haunting in its vastness. Caleb Landry-Jones maintains an air of eerie splendour through his navigation of the titular role, effortlessly supported by homegrown acting royalty Judy Davis and Essie Davis. The ease of maintaining lies is shockingly rugged against visceral depictions of violence—stopping short of the massacre itself.
Highlighting the complexity of cinema itself, Nitram showcases the convolution of vastly differing opinions sitting inside one person. Sounds slow down or heighten in intensity while the individual want to assimilate and be active pushes forward. Chaos can be found in the most minute details, while simultaneously questioning class, emotional repression and the long-lasting effects of offensive terminology. The most truthful conversations in the film take place through its anchoring women—Helen highlighting how like attracts like, while the standoffish questioning of Nitram’s mother shows a lack of supposed love.
To accurately assess Nitram, it should be viewed through two separate frameworks—technical and moral. As a standalone film, its technicality is incredibly robust and well-rounded. As a question of ethics, its moral stance cannot be seamlessly rated. While audiences will have differing opinions, the endless layers of nuance that need sensitive answers make Nitram a boggling riddle that cannot be solved with anything definitive.
The Verdict
While Nitram is sparse in sensible moral judgement, its overall output and educational framing make it a strong contender for a legacy of cultural significance. There’s bound to be a continued cause for concern—one example of which being a Change.org petition to stop the film being publicly released—and rightly so. Now that Nitram unarguably exists, it delivers a gut punch in quality filmmaking and social commentary that’s hard to ignore.
Words by Jasmine Valentine
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