The Quarter unreasonable to suppose that not all that many films would be eliminated. (ii) Given this, one can speculate w hether some unannounced guideline might be invoked, whereby the jury would be instruc ted to keep the total number of nominated films below a limit — say 10. If this is so, the jury may be forced to ignore the best candi date for a specific category and go for the second or third best. For example, a certain film A may have the best sound but is so poor in all other respects it is not being considered for any other award. If, say, 10 films have already been chosen for other categories, there could be a temptation to ignore film A and put one of the other 10 films in its place (i.e., in the sound category). (iii) There is also the problem, seen at many past Awards, of landsliding one film at the expense of others. Because one film is so superior to the rest in many ways, there is a tendency among voters — and critics — to assume it is superior in all ways. Thus a film like Breaker Morant (in 1980) or Galli poli (in 1981), however deser vedly, sweeps the pool. This has happened in open voting, and it is conceivable it could happen even more so in pre-selection — especially if a limit is set. (iv) Perhaps most important, how ever, is the problem of choosing a jury. Given a very active industry, it will be hard to find many “eminent” people who do not have a vested interest. It is the old film board argument: if a person is talented enough to make judg ments about someone else’s work, he will be too busy working himself to make those judgments. Even if a jury can be found, there is the question of prejudice. Will it favor mainstream commercial cinema over low-budget features? Would, for instance, last year’s Wron& Side of the Road make it past a pre-selection jury? If it didn’t, it would be the AFI’s — and the industry’s — loss, to say nothing of the filmmaker’s. In short, the arguments against a pre-selection seem overwhelming. The only argument in its defence is that the number of films to be screened will be unmanageable. But it is a false argument. The closing date for finished prints is, as of writing, May 21. This was the date all producers and industry people have been working to, and the one on the application forms. The number of films eligible for entry appears to be about 28. Now, at least five of these will be in release around screening time, or have had a major release (three weeks or more). This means the maximum number of films needing a screening is 23. In 1977, the AFI showed 20 films.1 Screening three m o r e f i l m s s e e ms h a r d l y an unmanageable exercise. Also, not showing films already in release, and which are easily viewable, is a needed change in regulations. At present, too many AFI members wait until the Awards screenings before seeing a film (free). Surely, AFI members should be encouraged to see Australian films in their correct environ ment — at a cinema with a paying audience.
The Furore When the 1982 application forms were mailed and news of the changes reached the industry, there was a sudden, almost violent, reaction..Three days later, on March 3, at a meeting of
Continued on p. 192 1. Two were later withdrawn from voting, but 20 were screened.
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Chris Maudson
Chris Maudson
The untimely death of assistant director Chris Maudson, 36, from a brain tumor saddened the Australian feature film industry. Chris had worked on some 12 feature films1 in the capacity of assistant director, special izing in the difficult area of organizing actors for their appearance before the cameras. His special quality was to give actors the feeling that he cared about them as people, and that he would make every effort to put them at ease as they prepared to appear before the cameras. Chris was the link between the often slow progress on the set and the impa tient performers psyched up and ready to do their part, often getting irritable about waiting. But Chris was the kind of person with whom it was very difficult to get irritated. So, when he brought news to so many makeshift green rooms of yet more delays, even the emotional grandstanders found it hard to vent their spleen on him and the production he represented. Chris was likewise given the often onerous task of ringing the production office and giving producers and production managers the news that the day’s shooting was going into over time. His voice had a slight stammer, a disarming weapon that brought the news about the complicated shot that was just about to be completed and the couple of quick close-ups to follow up in no time at all and wrap up the day. Even when you knew he was talking about three hours overtime you wanted to believe him. Chris was a film buff with an overall love for all types of films and a particu lar passion for Jean-Luc Godard. Just a few weeks ago I was talking to Chris about my new film Undercover and how I wanted to look at films which fea tured spirited female leads. He dived upstairs into Richard Brennan’s attic, which houses a legendary collection of videos, and emerged with films starring Judy Holliday, Jean Arthur and Carole Lombard, and went on to give me plot summaries of the likes of Easy Living and Born Yesterday. The last job Chris worked on was casting for the forthcoming television series on the Whitlam years. His know ledge of actors and cinema gave Chris the perfect qualifications for the job of casting, and I believe that had he lived Chris would have found this to be his perfect position in the film industry. About 400 people attended Chris’ 1. Chris M audson’s credits: The Tres passers, Newsfront, A Town Like Alice, Long Weekend, Heatwave, Starstruck, Hoodwink, Fighting Back, Touch and Go, Barney, The Chain Reaction and Stir.
funeral. The line-up included directors Phil Noyce, Gill Armstrong, Mark Turn bull, Esben Storm and Stephen Wallace; producers Margaret Fink, Richard Brennan, Mike Thornhill, Errol Sullivan and Richard Mason; . stars Wendy Hughes, Kris McQuade, Arna-Maria Winchester, Lorna Leslie, Jo Kennedy, John Hargreaves and Bryan Brown; industry chiefs Joe Skrzynski, John Daniell and Jenny Woods; agents Hilary Linstead, Jane Cameron and Lidia Livingstone; and crew members Lynn Gailey, Stuart Green, Norma Moriceau, Cheryl Williams and Melody Cooper. Bryan Brown delivered the funeral oration, which began: “ In December 1976, I met Chris Maudson and Richard Brennan, and was introduced to 161 Victoria St. Over the next five years, I partici pated in countless discussions, mostly about film, around a certain round table in their kitchen. Many people here today, I know, share a similar experience. “ The hospitality and camaraderie existing at Chris and Richard’s helped many an unfinancial pro ducer, unemployable actor, job hunting technician, unappreciated writer or directionless director through a bad stretch. “To walk up the stairs and be faced by Chris sitting at the table always beaming and saying ‘Hi’ made you sure there was at least one person in this world who was glad to see you ... and he always was. His enthusiasm to be around people never waned.” On the set of Far East, work stopped and cast and crew stood on the roof of the ageing Supreme Studios where associate producer John Mason held a service for Chris. I believe Chris Maudson maintained the balance between actors and tech nicians better than anyone else in the industry. I appreciate the contribution that he made to my three features and I wish so much that we had him on the next one. Chris is survived by his 10year-old daughter Samantha, who has appeared in many of the films he worked on. _ David Elllck
the occasional light drama. In 1962, he moved to Britain where he was invited to direct an episode of Harpers W1 for ATV. This was followed by episodes of The Avengers, Callan, Public Eye, The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes and Enemy at the Door. He had also directed the feature What Became of Jack and Jill and several television plays, including The Importance of Being Earnest, Pretty Polly, The Listener and Father’s Help. Bain returned briefly to Australia in 1978 to work at the Australian Film and Television School. His role was that of guiding 12 third-year students through their television projects. In an inter view in Cinema Papers' he said: “One of the nice things about the AFTS is that all the people I know in the industry would have liked to come here. We all had a baptism by fire and are still pretending we know more about the technical side than we do. So I think that the more of us who can make a contribution to this place the better. “ Maybe I am idealistic, but I came out gladly to do this job. I believe in the potential talent this country has, though what it needs is focusing and discipline — also a place like this where people can make mistakes on the quiet and not have them thrown up on the television or film screen for all of us to think, ‘Jesus, isn’t that awful.’ ” Bill Bain was unquestionably one of the world’s finest television directors. His episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs and Callan stand with the best tele vision drama ever produced. One of the pleasures, in fact, of a series like Upstairs, Downstairs was picking whether a particular episode was directed by Bill Bain. If the show evoked genuine emotion without being sentimental, if it managed to turn the simplest linking scenes into magicallycharged moments, then Bain was probably the director. “ One’s concern is always to find the reality of a script, to sniff out what the dangers are likely to be. One must ride very carefully over emotional passages if you don’t want your characters to go soggy on you . . . “ It is also a caring on the part of the people who are working on a program. If you do something indif ferently it will come out as an indif ferent-looking piece. But if you can get a caringness going — a love for the thing itself — then you will trans mit some of that feeling.” Bill Bain transmitted that love. His presence in world filmmaking will be greatly missed. _ Scott Murray 1.
Cinema Papers, No. 17, p. 79.
Bill Bain For many, Upstairs, Downstairs and The Duchess of Duke Street typify excellence in British television drama. The leading director for both series was Bill Bain, an Australian. On February 22, Bain died of cancer in London. Trained as a school teacher, Bain soon turned to acting and then direc tion at the Australian Broadcasting Commission, where he handled child ren’s programs, sheep dog trials and
Bill Bain
CINEMA PAPERS April - 109