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Sunday, 18 July 2004 |
  Martin has been blind since birth and from an early age has developed a distrust of those around him. How could he know, really, when they're telling him the truth? He also believes that his mother lied to him out of contempt for his disability. But did she go so far as to fake her own death to escape the humiliation of having a blind son? Martin believes so.
As an adult Martin is withdrawn, bitter, cold. One of the few things he enjoys is photography. It's an unusual hobby for a blind man, but for Martin being sightless is an insurmountable obstacle to the truth. His photographs serve as proof that the visual aspect of the world matches what his remaining senses tell him. There is a certain irony in this because he trusts no one enough to describe his pictures to him. Until he meets Andy.
Andy, working in a restaurant Martin frequents, describes himself as aimless and irresponsible. But Martin senses in him a guileless nature and takes a chance. Would Andy be willing to describe his photographs to him on a regular basis? Andy would, but he won't take money for it. Soon enough they're friends. Inevitably then, Andy meets Celia.
"She's one of a kind."
"Yes, like a rare disease."
Celia is Martin's housekeeper. She's in love with Martin, a love that's grown into an obsession. Martin himself has fostered this obsession by spurning her advances. For him, Celia's love would be tantamount to pity and he'll have none of that. Better to pity her unrequited love then to accept it. The two have thus evolved a spiteful relationship: Martin rebuffs Celia at every opportunity and she responds by moving the furniture around without telling him. But bruised shins don't make up for love denied.
Celia sees in Martin's friendship with Andy a chance to wound Martin, a chance to cause him the kind of pain she's experiencing. But what she doesn't realize is that with Andy, Martin is becoming whole. Is revenge more important than getting what she really wants?
Martin's suspicious nature may seem unreasonable (and by extension a not very credible plot device), but think about how difficult it is to really trust someone. Then subtract the ability to see. The world isn't made for the blind. For the sightless, the kindness and honesty of those who can see is crucial for survival. As for love, well, everyone is fumbling in the dark on that one.
Proof is a simple and direct film, a low-key character piece laced with black humor and pathos. Tightly scripted and paced, with balance and a minimum of distractions, it's my favorite kind of movie. Notable here are Hugo Weaving and Russell Crowe, early in their careers. Weaving, best known for his role as the monotone Agent Smith in The Matrix, plays Martin stiff and cold, a human antecedent to Smith. A less beefy Russell Crowe is Andy, in what is probably his most accessible character to date. Genevieve Picot excels in the difficult part of Celia - despite being vindictive and calculating, she remains sympathetic. It's obvious that she is nearly as troubled as Martin, whom she loves and wants to care for. Director Jocelyn Moorhouse, whose other films include How to Make An American Quilt and A Thousand Acres has never quite matched this freshman effort. Here's hoping she does.
"Your whole life is the truth, Martin. Have some pity on the rest of us."
Starring: Hugo Weaving, Russell Crowe, Geneviève Picot, Heather Mitchell, Jeffrey Walker, Saskia Post.
Director: Jocelyn Moorhouse
Studio: Australian Film Commission
Rated: R
Running Time: 86 mins
Release: 1991
Reviewer: Steve Gonzales |
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