“There’s 14 people here and I’ve met each one individually,” said host Adam Spencer to kick off a wet and sloppy Tropfest. The rest of the audience was at home on Twitter, conjuring a storm as big as the one that threatened to shut the whole thing down.
Blackface, sexism and racism were the buzz words online from the get-go, and while opener Little Bondi wasn’t quite the ‘insensitivity apocalypse’ that social media made it out to be, it wasn’t funny either. Its barrage of loosely aimed jokes failed to land.
Too many of the dramatic films suffered from the same illness, with Spirit Stones, Inverse and The Home Video relying on over-loud, melodramatic soundtracks at the expense of substance and characterisation. Untitled tackled depression, managing to strip the mental affliction of all its complexities, reducing it to: ‘What people get when they can’t find love.’
Most of the comedies fared better. Grand prize winner Granny Smith lowered the scope and focused on building rich, realistic characters. The tale of a lovable bludger faking his grandmother’s death to get the day off was classic Australian truancy. Superb comedic timing was all it took to win the hearts of the 14 people in attendance. Twitter gave it a ‘pass’ – perhaps the highest honour the scornful beast can muster.
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