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Last year, I took a look at the enduring (and sometimes unexpected) impact the music of ABBA, the wildly adored Swedish pop group, has had on the world of cinema. One of the key titles in that study was Muriel’s Wedding (1994), an Australian films from the Miramax-led art house wave that hit theaters during the grunge years. Now that you lucky dogs can watch it right here on Filmstruck as part of a “Starring Toni Collette” two-fer with another Miramax title, Cosi (1996), what better time could there be to take a closer look?
It’s hard to believe it’s been well over two decades since this film came out and made an instant indie darling of Collette, who had only previously appeared on the big screen in a small supporting role in Mark Joffe’s The Efficiency Expert (1992). It says a lot for her considerable screen presence and charisma that she manages to completely sell a character who’s more than a little disturbed and repugnant in concept, who uses her trapped existence in the oppressive town of Porpoise Spit as motivation to pursue her personal happiness at all costs with the flotsam of shattered feelings and even the death of someone close to her at least partially attributable to her actions. Miraculously, this deeply damaged protagonist still retains our sympathy more or less throughout the film, and despite the title, it’s a very far cry from your standard rom-com and will absolutely traumatize anyone looking for a traditional story about a girl’s hilariously mishap-laden trip to the altar. This is far darker, richer and more disturbing, and it’s no wonder Collette remains in high demand with a variety of credits in the interim including Velvet Goldmine (1998), 8 ½ Women (1999), The Sixth Sense (1999), The Hours (2002), In Her Shoes (2005), Little Miss Sunshine (2006) and The Way, Way Back (2013). Not too shabby for someone who had to deliver pizzas to get herself through acting school.
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I’m still not quite sure how Miramax managed to make a hit of this very odd, twisted fairytale, which seems to start out fluffy and sunny with The Rubettes’ infectious “Sugar Baby Love” blasting on the soundtrack and a floral bouquet flying through the air. I have a relative whose taste runs to the very mainstream, and she referred to this as “cute” when it was in theaters; a somewhat unusual way to describe a film that involves suicide, cancer, theft, verbal abuse, familial neglect, divorce and bullying, to name just a few plot points. It isn’t a feel-bad film exactly, but it’ll definitely push your emotions in some uncomfortable and fascinating directions if you kick back and go along with it. The skillful use of ABBA music to comment on the action (including unforgettable use of “Waterloo,” “Dancing Queen” and “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do”) may account for a lot of the film’s crossover appeal, but I think it goes deeper than that.
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Much credit for this film’s tricky tonal achievement has to go to writer-director P.J. Hogan, a largely unknown quantity in Australia at the time who seemed to burst out of nowhere with a sensibility that combined a daffy, effervescent approach with edgy, potentially horrific content. Nowhere is this more evident than Muriel’s relationship with best friend Rhonda (a pre-Six Feet Under [2001-2005] Rachel Griffiths), which manages to flip back and forth between hilarity and heartbreak. Hogan’s abilities were duly noted, and he was quickly snapped up by Columbia Pictures to direct what would become the crown jewel in Julia Roberts’ comedy career (at least in artistic terms) with another nuptial-themed film, My Best Friend’s Wedding (1997), which also featured a dark, all-too-relatable streak of pain and selfishness underneath its madcap musical numbers. Sadly, his subsequent films have proven to be troubled in the U.S.; Unconditional Love (2002) was hampered by its generic title and a lackluster ad campaign despite the presence of Kathy Bates and Rupert Everett as its stars, and his excellent, brave live-action version of Peter Pan (2003) has yet to get its full due. After striking out with an aborted pilot for a revival of Dark Shadows in 2005, Hogan headed back to Australia and reunited with Collette for the quirky and worthwhile Mental (2012), which made little stateside impact at all. More recently he and his wife, filmmaker Jocelyn Moorhouse of How to Make an American Quilt (1995) fame, wrote an adaptation of Rosaile Ham’s The Dressmaker, which ended up starring Kate Winslet and opened in the U.S. in 2016.
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Interestingly, for all of its success at the time with films like Pulp Fiction (1994), Miramax was in a slight slump when Muriel’s Wedding opened in American theaters in 1995 among interesting but underperforming titles like Four Rooms, Restoration and The Star Maker, with only Woody Allen’s Mighty Aphrodite really catching fire with both critics and audiences. The poster art promising a wedding frolic managed to do just the trick, bringing in hordes of viewers willing to bounce along with its soundtrack and cry a bit at its more startling plot turns. Looking back, it’s a bittersweet film to watch as it represents a high point in one of the most successful eras of Australian filmmaking, bracketed by such other films as Strictly Ballroom (1992), Babe (1995), Shine (1996) and The Castle (1997). If P.J. Hogan isn’t quite the same household name as peers like George Miller or Baz Luhrmann, it’s certainly not due to lack of achievement. Even if his Hollywood career only burned briefly and brightly, at least we have more than ample proof that Hogan deserves a slot among the boldest and most accomplished Aussie directors of his generation.
Nathaniel Thompson