Main Crew: prod, Jim McElroy, Hal McElroy; dir, Peter Weir; writ, Cliff Green (based on the novel by Joan Lindsay); dop, Russel Boyd; ed, Max Lemon; mus, Bruce Smeaton; art d, David Copping; cos, Judy Dorsman
In an age in which the world was re-discovering itself, Australians found solace in this ambiguous, but ultimately satisfying, work by Peter Weir. Following an age of re-identification led on by feminist movements, sexual liberation and the loss of faith in figures of authority as a result of the Watergate scandal and the Vietnam War, the '70s marked a new beginning for citizens from around the world. In Australia, too, people began to challenge authority in their quest for resolution. It was an age of social reform that, in Australia, was equaled only by the age of Federation that marked the dawning of the century.
It is perhaps for this reason, therefore, that a number of Australian films released during the 1970s, including Picnic At Hanging Rock, were set in the early years of the 20th century. Only through referring to such a turbulent age, in which cultures collided with misguided force and sexual repression was at its peak, could Weir create such a timeless and powerful piece to which citizens of the '70s could relate so closely.
As the film opens, we are greeted with scenes of exquisite beauty, enhanced by precise, smooth camera movements, slow motion photography, diffused light and the hauntingly sweet sounds of the panpipe. During the 110 minutes that follow, the ethereal, mystical beauty of the mise-en-scene continues to toy with our emotions as the film takes the form of a gothic thriller-of-sorts. Both the style and narrative of the film tell stories — stories that occasionally conflict; stories that are rarely resolved. During the process, a number of themes are explored. Perhaps the most explicit theme deals with extreme sexual repression and the wanton defiance of such traditional customs. Every part of the film's form and its setting exudes a sense of repression. The movie opens on St. Valentine's Day in a strict girls' boarding school and we are shown a montage of images as the girls prepare for the exciting day that lies ahead of them. During such time, Weir presents us with images of girls squeezing into tight, restraining corsets and lining up in rows obediently. The placement of the director's credit, too, illuminates the symbolism of one particular scene in which the main character is pressing a stem of daisies in a flower press. Not only is this the ultimate symbol of sexual repression, but it is representative of part of the plot that follows: the eternal preservation of Miranda's angelic, virgin image following her mysterious disappearance.
