Concrete Playground

Actors who announce, with much ado, that they have decided to work on such-and-such a film for free tend to get on my nerves: as if film stars who deign to play at make-believe pro bono deserve special veneration.

And then along comes an actor like Anthony LaPaglia, in a film like Balibo.

Director Robert Connolly’s unabashedly political third film is that rare feat of Australian cinema, one that manages to hold a mirror to some dark stain on our country’s past without setting audiences on the defensive.

It plays out, in chilling detail, the fates of the now-infamous ‘Balibo Five’, the young western journalists who were murdered for covering Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor in 1975. But it also tells the story of a sixth Balibo journalist, who tried to investigate the men’s disappearances and was brutally killed for his troubles; as well as the story of our own country’s complicity.

Both confronting and deeply human, the film’s potency lies in its conviction, in its integrity, and in its urgency. There are, of course, violent scenes, and there are times when it is tempting to turn away. But if nothing else, Balibo is a tribute of those who would not turn away.