There was a brief period when America was obsessed with Australia as some kind of primordial wonderland of charming Ockers and mystical First Australians. When Kitty Green‘s The Royal Hotel opens with a strangely sardonic drum ‘n’ bass version of Men at Work’s “Down Under,” it’s a knowing nod to the resilience of that myth, even if it has been culturally undercut by true-ish crime horror Wolf Creek and the restoration of febrile Outback nightmare Wake in Fright.
Green had previously explored the hideous and silent pressures of institutionalized misogyny in the post-Weinstein corporate chiller The Assistant, and here she reunites with star Julia Garner (We Are What We Are) to look at a decidedly more blue-collar version of the same plague. Garner plays Hanna, partying her way across Australia with her best friend, Liv (Henwick (Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery), until they run out of cash and resort to taking a bar job in a remote mining community. “You’re gonna have to be OK with a little male attention,” they’re delicately warned by an office worker at the employment agency in Sydney, who similarly understated the remoteness of this job – a train, a bus, and a hitchhike away from anywhere. Most especially, it’s a long way from any restraint on the actions of the men who dominate both sides of the bar, who try to write off every leering moment as just a joke.
Whether it’s an almost unrecognizable Hugo Weaving as Billy the foul-mouthed barkeeper, Toby Wallace as the somewhat charming Matty, James Frecheville as the lumbering Teeth, or Daniel Henshall as Dolly, the most obviously menacing of all the barflies, so many different incarnations of implied sexual violence are given full form that The Royal Hotel is often a skin-crawling stay. However, Green’s script, co-written with Oscar Redding (Van Diemen’s Land) doesn’t let Liv and Hanna completely off the hook. There’s a sense of the perils of cultural naivety, and Green never lets them shake off the shadow of the Ugly American abroad. Liv’s willingness to write off the implicit violence in the actions of the rough-hewn men of this unnamed backwater clashes with Hanna’s increasing determination that none of this is acceptable – starting with Australia’s favorite obscene epithet, which is an abomination to her ears but just like drawing breath to the locals.
Unfortunately, The Royal Hotel ultimately lacks the subtle ambiguity about complicity and power that made The Assistant so fascinating. Instead, it’s a feel-good ending that borders on trite, and even oddly carries a whiff of cultural imperialism. It’s one of those instances in which a longer stay may have benefited the whole stay: Instead, it feels like an early and rushed checkout.
This article appears in October 6 • 2023.
