Category Archives: Reviews

Take Another Look: Debra Winger in Betrayed, a ‘hate letter to the heartland’

The fifth in a series of retrospective pop culture reviews revisits the 1988 movie that predicted America’s slide into right-wing populism…


AT THE MIDPOINT of Costa-Gavras’s 1988 screen thriller Betrayed there’s a scene in which a young woman tucks her widowed boyfriend’s motherless children into bed in a Midwestern American farmhouse. It’s so ordinary that the horror she hears from the mouths of these youngsters eclipses almost everything in the screenplay by Joe Eszterhas.

We’ve already witnessed nightmarish scenes of racism and murder by this stage of the story, yet innocent kids blithely damning Jews, Blacks and Queers while putting their heads to the pillow are far more chilling than overt violence.

Debra Winger plays the woman settling the children: Katie Philips, the “combine girl” their widowed Vietnam veteran father Gary Simmons (a riveting portrayal Tom Berenger) invited home during harvest season.

HAPPY COUPLE Tom Berenger and Debra Winger.

Slight spoiler: Katie is actually FBI agent Catherine Weaver on her first undercover mission after the brutal killing of a Jewish shock jock in Chicago. Gary is in the Bureau’s sights as the brains behind a series of domestic terror threats, but it is Catherine’s creeping awareness of the depth of prejudice in the rural heartland that gives this story its emotional charge, not least because she develops feelings for the handsome and charismatic Gary.

As Katie’s attraction grows, so does Catherine’s fear about what she discovers in his community, and the danger she’s in. Welcome on his hunting and camping trips, Katie is transfixed; but Catherine is appalled at the white-supremacist subculture being stirred into paranoid resistance by nationalist preachers and self-interested politicians.

Sounds familiar, which makes Betrayed essential viewing four decades since its release.

Compost Heap

Despite a highly experienced team and an A-list cast put together by film titan Irwin Winkler, the production made a modest profit and didn’t really live up to its promise.

By the mid-1980s, Costa-Gavras was renowned for thrillers with a strong political edge. Eszterhas had entertainment chops built on a string of hits, including Jagged Edge (1985) which explored the attraction between a lawyer and the client she’s never quite sure is innocent.

For Winger, Betrayed was an opportunity to revisit the type of down-to-Earth American woman that had been so well-received in An Officer and a Gentleman; and Berenger’s career was at its peak after his Oscar-nominated role in Platoon in 1986.

The strong supporting cast included John Heard as FBI agent (and Catherine’s old flame) Mike Carnes; John Mahoney and Ted Levine as Shorty and Wes (Gary’s partners in crime), and Betsy Blair as Gary’s gentle yet deeply prejudiced mother. But critics saw only hints of brilliance in the nightmare.

“Winger is radiantly warm, smart and, against all odds, believable as a woman physically drawn to a man whose ideas are repugnant to her,” wrote Sheila Benson in the Los Angeles Times, “but she is sunk by the growing improbabilities of the story.”

Roger Ebert agreed: “More than anything else, Betrayed is finally just very deeply confused. Costa-Gavras must have considered it a political film, Eszterhas undoubtedly saw it as a thriller, and Winger and Berenger, to give them full credit, interpret it as the complicated human stories of their characters.”

Writing for the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, Peter Rainer cut to the chase: “As hate letters to the heartland go, Betrayed is right at the top of the compost heap.”

The Real Enemy

America took more than one look at its history of race relations on the big screen in 1988, with the release of Alan Parker’s Mississippi Burning four months after Betrayed. An exploration of the real-life murder of African-American civil rights activists in the 1960s, Parker’s film had its share of vocal critics concerned about historical accuracy, but it fared much better with audiences.

That might have been due to Mississippi Burning’s focus on sins of the past, whereas Betrayed demanded viewers look themselves in the eye during the latter years of the Reagan presidency and the peak of a recession, and identify the real enemy.

SHOOTING LESSONS Ted Levine and Maria Valdez.

Across the film’s second half, Gary, Katie and the kids visit a remote retreat. At the gate, a sign states: “The White Race is an Endangered Species.” The Klan is there in force, burning crosses. The children have “school lessons” – shooting practice aiming at racist caricatures – and political candidates spruik cheap promises to, “hand America back to real Americans” while collecting campaign donations.

Around the campfire, Shorty (John Mahoney) explains his motivations to Katie: the bank stole his farm, Vietnam killed his son, “I got nothing left to take,” he says.

This extended sequence normalises racism, the illegal arms trade and the radicalising of children. There’s even moments of humour in the horror show, when Katie has to pretend that Catherine isn’t a crack shot with an automatic weapon. But when the Neo Nazis arrive selling vintage weapons and paraphernalia, Gary draws the line at fraternising with the movement his father fought in World War Two.

Yet the point is clear: this is a lifestyle for big chunks of the United States. Furthermore, authorities like the FBI and the political class that underpins the Bureau seem impotent when compared to the self-determination of Gary and his charged-up mass movement.

This becomes particularly clear whenever Catherine asks the Bureau for support during her assignment. Mike Carnes (John Heard) is her colleague and and former lover, but he offers none of Gary’s virility and allure. Every one of Mike’s failings leave Catherine almost entirely to her own devices.

One of her lifelines is Gary’s daughter Rachel (Maria Valdez), and the connection between Catherine and this guileless daughter of the resistance fuels the emotional punch of the whole exercise, right to the unmissable final scene.

Yet for many viewers in 1988, the film’s betrayal of American values was not worth the ticket price. Audiences these days, accustomed to daily trashing of standards by right-wing nationalists, will have absolutely no confusion about this riveting movie.

Betrayed is streaming on Apple TV.

Postcards From Armchair Travellers

LITERARY ADAPTATIONS FEATURING plenty of yearning, unresolved romance and resilient creatives rising above the odds rank amongst my favourite movies. No surprise that they’re usually about writers and our work, one of the most elusive practices to effectively commit to the screen.

The tropes of cinema’s wordsmiths are well-used: chewing on the ends of pencils while gazing at the ceiling, screwing up pages and tossing them into a bin (usually a wire basket surrounded by plenty of scrunched paper), long walks in wild places, angst.

Overused, perhaps, but all based on truths that wordsmiths recognise.

Common threads and themes run through these films: America and Europe, past and present, queer and straight, Hopkins and Streep, readers and writers, love and loss, success and failure.

The use of unusual type-key symbols in the titles of these works (digits, ampersands, question marks, etc.) is also resonant of the old typesetting language that literature lovers understand.

Welcome to my list of guilty screen pleasures…

84, Charing Cross Road

Adapted from Helene Hanff’s 1970 epistolary memoir, this tale by the mother of all armchair travellers rode into the literary scene on a post-WWII nostalgia wave. Headed up by Anne Bancroft as struggling New York writer Hanff and Anthony Hopkins as reserved London bookshop manager Frank Doel, there is perhaps no better example of a genteel story that is “just” a collection of real-life letters, unfolding over decades via simple acts of human kindness. Hanff and Doel are literature-loving denizens separated by the Atlantic, helping each other through austere years with the soul food of literature and ration-busting hampers. Along the way they find shared humanity and unrequited love. The divine art of humane correspondence.

Julie & Julia

A food writer (Julia Child) and a food blogger (Julie Powell) embody the creation and purpose of Child’s 1961 culinary classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Meanwhile, their separate relationships are tested by the impacts of WWII and 9/11 on Paris and New York. In the hands of Meryl Streep, this is a raucous Julia Child counterpointed by the more subdued Powell (Amy Adams) as she cooks her way through the weighty tome decades after all the obstacles of its publication. Like Hanff’s story, food plays a pivotal role, but as a conduit for passion and a metaphor for commitment. Through cooking, Child and Powell find purpose in this call-and-echo tale on satiation, nurture and never giving up. The life-enlarging art of describing food with words.

Can You Ever Forgive Me?

When her career as a biographer stalls in 1980s New York, writer Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy) decides it’s easier to pay her bills from the takings of forging type-written letters by the city’s artistic icons, from Dorothy Parker to Fanny Brice. All seems harmless until the FBI picks up the trail, and Britain gets roped in with Israel’s partner-in-crime Jack (Richard E. Grant, although the real-life Jack was American). Apart from being a glimpse of how writers survive New York (not too far removed from Hanff’s experience), the beauty of this plot, taken from Israel’s 2008 confessional memoir, is that of course we forgive a struggling writer forced to pretend to be someone else in order to stay afloat in the book trade. The art of making believe.

{The} Hours

Michael Cunningham’s most beguiling premise springs off the page of his 1998 novel onto the screen in the hands of Nicole Kidman (as Virginia Woolf) pushing through demons to write her 1923 novel Mrs Dalloway; a suburban housewife (Julianne Moore) in 1949 Los Angeles, reading vicariously between the lines of Woolf’s classic; and a successful editor (Meryl Streep) in 1999 New York, embodying Mrs Dalloway’s brittle independence while throwing a party for a doomed poet. Taking viewers well beyond Hanff’s armchair, this time-travelling rumination on memory and regret weighs up the costs of liberating oneself from expectation instead of staying put. The art of making meaning.

Shadowlands

We fully cross the Atlantic in this counterpoint to the unrequited love of Charing Cross Road, to explore what happens when writerly penpals – quiet Brit C.S. Lewis (Anthony Hopkins) and boisterous Yank Joy Davidman (Debra Winger) – become the unlikeliest of star-crossed lovers. Their initial meeting of minds leads to a marriage of convenience, but when disaster strikes, it blossoms into a passionate betrothal. Several source materials went into this epic romance, none so visceral as Lewis’s own reflection on the experience in his 1961 book A Grief Observed. This screenplay wraps love, loss and literature into an icicle of fire shot straight from Narnia into your heart. The art of enduring love despite the odds.

Please tell me in the comments the examples I’ve overlooked…

A novel reckoning: five crime stories ignited by a gay-hate inquiry

THE NEW SOUTH Wales Special Commission of Inquiry into LGBTIQ Hate Crimes was a world-first judicial process that took place from 2022 to 2023.

In his final report to the state government, Commissioner Justice John Sackar summed up by stating, “There is always a risk that history such as this will fade from – or never truly enter – the broader public consciousness, and even the consciousness of members of the LGBTIQ community who did not live through this period”.

“The history of violence against the LGBTIQ community is an ugly one, but the trauma to and resilience of the LGBTIQ community through that period should have enduring recognition.”

Interesting examples of this consciousness are starting to appear in Australian crime writing, after a significant deficit of fiction that tackles gay-hate, includes gay characters, or at the very least has any reference to the state’s history of gay-hate crimes.

Such themes appear in these five titles to differing degrees, in the hands of authors who are LGBTIQA+ and those who are not. Queer characters at the height of the HIV-AIDS epidemic; gay journalists on the hunt for the truth; historical identities from Sydney’s crimey past, and homosexual cops.

Australia’s most courageous book publishers, distributors, booksellers and authors are digging deep to bring gay-hate stories into the mainstream. Time to get reading …

The Trap by Fiona Kelly McGregor

The gay-hate crime inquiry examined several historical deaths that took place at gay beats, very often public toilets. Such analysis was necessarily sterile, but McGregor’s novel puts the mysteries of queer cruising and entrapment into visceral focus. Wartime Sydney, 1942. In the half-light of brownouts, the city’s queers are prone to a nexus of ambitious police, toothless reporters and corrupt legal eagles. McGregor follows the fortunes of black, queer nightclub manager Ray Sayles, entrapped by cops in a cruel sting that runs right to the very top of the force, the media and the judiciary. McGregor’s raw blend of history and sexual politics makes this startlingly familiar.

Finding the Bones by Natalie Conyer

There’s just no credible way to portray crimey 1980s Sydney without including queer characters, and Conyer lines up a cast of cops, newshounds, crooks and misfits in this, her third crime novel. The plot reimagines Sydney’s reaction if the body of activist Juanita Nielsen – real-life bane of developers and organised crime bosses – was ever discovered. Conyer’s Nielsen stand-in is the feisty and alluring Belle Fitzgerald, friend and confidante of Nelson Guthrie, gay sex worker and former student of Belle’s who holds several pivotal secrets about organised crime, police corruption and hate crimes in Darlinghurst and King’s Cross. There are just too many spoilers in describing Nelson’s pivotal role in this crime cracker!

Death in the Gardens by Michael Duffy

In the opening of this Blue Mountains-set cozy mystery, a mention of the hate-crime inquiry is an example of what Justice Sackar hoped for in his report: that the homophobic crime wave is simply remembered. Keen gardener Serena Ives and local newspaper editor Bella Greaves meet at Leura’s Everglades after the discovery of disturbing graffiti. Bella places the womens’ last encounter in the 1980s by recalling the spate of violent gay death in Sydney at the time; but Duffy backs up his recurring sleuth’s memory by having her connect the dots with the announcement of the hate-crime inquiry the day before. Truth and resonance in one innocuous scene is all it takes to be inclusive.

Redbelly Crossing by Candice Fox

This one makes the list because of the courageous manner in which author and publisher have centred the trauma of a gay serving cop, DI Russell Powder, in a bestselling piece of commercial fiction. Queer cops are rare in popular culture, very often they are victims or problematic anti-heroes (think Al Pacino as Detective Steve Burns in William Friedkin’s 1980 movie Cruising). But Redbelly Crossing shows the degree to which the hate-crime inquiry can alter the stakes in Australian crime fiction, when it tackles the emotional landscape of gay men who also happen to be police officers. The result: no visible decline in a major author’s trajectory, for a book described by Sisters in Crime as, “one of Candice’s best.”

Dirt Trap by Michael Burge

“It’s been 20 years since the death of James Brandt’s cousin Tony, the first love of his life, and through that entire time his passing has been labelled a suicide – alongside several others in the small rural community of Kippen. Now, there is a major NSW inquiry into the deaths of same-sex-attracted men, with a particular focus on regional deaths. Michael Burge’s decision to return to the setting of his first novel, Tank Water, was inspired and driven by the recent NSW inquiry into LGBTIQ+ hate crimes. A captivating sequel, filled with genuine characters and heartfelt sincerity for the ongoing struggle of the regional LGBTIQ+ community and cements Burge’s place in the Australian noir genre.” – Glen Christie, Glam Adelaide