D: Peter Weir. S: Cliff Green. Novel: Joan Lindsay. P: Hal McElroy, Jim McElroy. Cast: Rachel Roberts, Anne Lindsay, Dominic Guard, Helen Morse, Jacki Weaver. UK dist (Blu-ray/DVD): Second Sight.
A prehistoric megalith at once ancient and young; a magical divinity in the prime of youth; both drawn together by a reciprocal magnetism, one languid afternoon in 1900. A triumph of mystery over reason, Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock is dreamlike, hypnotic and deeply, unforgettably disturbing: at once a study of the latent powers of adolescent female sexuality and a quietly surreal observation on Victorian sensibilities, exposed to the raw nature of the Australian outback.
Ostensibly inspired by true events (but actually a fabrication by novelist Joan Lindsay), Picnic is best approached as a beguiling, insoluble metaphysical puzzle; viewers in search of a concrete resolution are advised to look elsewhere. When a party of schoolgirls arrives at Hanging Rock – a remote beauty spot, if your definition of beauty incorporates primal, brooding menace – they awaken deep forces slumbering in the rock, triggering an event transcending all human understanding. Time appears to stop; one by one, the girls fall asleep in the shadow of the Rock; and four of the girls are drawn, trancelike, to explore its ageless labyrinths. Only one of them will ever be seen again.
Picnic’s lasting power resides in the tension between the black, alien Rock and the ethereal Miranda, more an elemental force than a simple schoolgirl; exuding an almost Zen-like charisma, she commands undying devotion from a single sunlit glimpse. As photographed by Russell Boyd, Miranda (played by the extraordinary Anne Lambert) literally glows: a creature not entirely of this earth, she has perhaps just begun to recognise her true nature. (She is likened, on more than one occasion, to a Botticelli angel, even to a goddess – an allusion made literal in one visionary scene ultimately cut from the film.) Whatever transpires at Hanging Rock, only one thing seems certain: Miranda is the key.
From the opening credits (the Rock emerging from the mist like a dark and terrible dream), Picnic grips the viewer with a sense of unavoidable doom. An escalating bass rumble – in fact a recording of an earthquake, slowed to a menacing crawl – accompanies Miranda and her friends’ sensual exploration of the Rock’s passages and tunnels, inexorably stoking the anticipation of disaster. When Gaspar Noe utilised a similar sound design in 2002’s Irréversible, the effect was simply aggravating; here the results inspire genuine, honest-to-god awe. The sequence ends on a scream, amplified almost to distortion, as human reason is routed by forces ancient and unknown. It leaves a silence that echoes for the remainder of the film.
No discussion of the film is complete without some mention of its music: Gheorghe Zamfir’s pan-flute supplies an unforgettable theme for both Miranda and the film, aided by Bruce Smeaton’s sensitive and evocative original score. (Why the latter remains unreleased is another timeless mystery; some forward-thinking soundtrack label really needs to put this out, preferably alongside Smeaton’s other neglected masterpiece, 1978’s The Silent Flute.) Incidentally, an extended ending to the novel purporting to have been written by Joan Lindsay, and suggesting a science-fictional cause for the events at Hanging Rock, was published in 1987 by HarperCollins in Australia (as The Secret at Hanging Rock), though its authenticity has attracted some controversy. It’s an intriguing curio, but (assuming the chapter is genuine), Lindsay was quite right to remove it. Some mysteries resist explanation.
UK home video outfit Second Sight has been shaping up to be a major contender with its recent releases, and its 3-disc DVD edition of Picnic at Hanging Rock is a must for serious fans of the film. Disc 1 offers the familiar Director’s Cut (7 minutes shorter than the 1975 theatrical release, in anamorphic widescreen and room-shaking 5.1 audio), Disc 2 the full-length original edit (transferred from a noticeably-harsher anamorphic 1.66: 1 master) and Disc 3 a raft of extraordinary supplements, best of which is a wonderful 2-hour documentary (A Dream Within A Dream), including candid interviews with virtually everyone involved in the production, plus outtakes – including the unused original ending, which very definitely tips the film into supernatural territory. Also included is a 1974 interview with Joan Lindsay, an audio interview with actress Karen Robson, a contemporary on-set documentary from 1975, a poster/still gallery with an excerpt from the novel read by actress Helen Morse and, most unexpectedly of all, some short clips from the first, unofficial adaptation entitled The Day of Saint Valentine – an aborted amateur production begun in 1969 by a 13-year-old moviemaker (who also supplies commentary). Scenes deleted from the Director’s Cut are also collected here for convenience. And the packaging (prominently featuring Anne Lambert) is ravishing.
NB. Second Sight has since released a Blu-ray edition of the film, offering the Director’s Cut in a lovely 1080p high-def presentation. All the above extras – with the notable exception of the original theatrical cut – have been ported over to this single-disc HD release; it goes without saying that devoted Picnickers will want to own both releases.