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ACTOR
Anthony LaPagliaJulia BlakeJustine ClarkeJohn Clarke
DIRECTOR
Matthew Saville
SYNOPSICS
A Month of Sundays (2015) is a English movie. Matthew Saville has directed this movie. Anthony LaPaglia,Julia Blake,Justine Clarke,John Clarke are the starring of this movie. It was released in 2015. A Month of Sundays (2015) is considered one of the best Comedy,Drama movie in India and around the world.
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A Month of Sundays (2015) Reviews
Lovingly presented. A rare opportunity not to be passed up.
Real estate agent Frank Mollard (Anthony LaPaglia) can't move on. Divorced but still attached, he can't connect with his teenage son. One night Frank gets a phone call from his mother who died a year ago. This leads him to explore his grief with wise elder, Sarah played by Julia Blake ('Man of Flowers', 'Prisoner', 'Innocence', 'Wolverine'). Set in the leafy suburban streets of picturesque Adelaide, it's a gentle tale of modern life during a real estate boom and of the human connection that makes a house a home. It is really about everything; parents, children, regrets, love, work, grief and ordinary people finding improbable salvation. Adelaidey-odlians will find it especially poignant because it involves a nostalgic nod to the ¼ acre block with fruit trees that is rapidly being consigned to history. But with the superb cast, it's a very fine film, regardless. LaPaglia (ex-Norwood High School) and Julia Blake (at 79 years) are note perfect in the lead roles. LaPaglia's real estate agent, Frank, is a sad sack with his rut deeply, sharply cut. All locations are described with his realtor's double-speak, even when he comes home to his Linden Park unit after work; "Needs a little attention, decorator's dream" etc. Mixed with the serious themes, there's plenty to laugh at in Frank's interactions with his newly successful ex-wife played by Justine Clarke, and in his clumsy interactions with his son and potential home-buyers. His boss is played by ex-Kiwi, the beloved comic John Clarke who inevitably steals all his scenes with hilarious dead-pan contributions. There's also a hearing impaired element to the story which can make this film that rare, rich experience for the deaf community (in its closed caption version) and the wider audience. With equal parts comedy, tragedy and heart-warming wisdom, writer director Matthew Saville (Tim Winton's 'Cloudstreet', 'Roy Hollsdotter Live' & Chris Lilley films) has created an understated masterpiece to sit alongside great suburban Adelaide films such as 'Travelling Light', 'Return Home' and 'Look Both Ways'. (Snowtown is in another genre!) Cinematographer Mark Wareham throws our streets and backyards onto the big screen with great understanding and skill, so best get yourself secure housing in Adelaide if you can, before the whole world sees this big-hearted film and comes a-bidding. Andrew Bunney, Let's Go to the Pictures, 9-11 AM Thursday, 3D Radio, Adelaide 937FM, Digital, iTunes
A thoughtful and well-acted portrait of an emotionally convoluted archetypal Australian male who exists just this side of clinical depression.
Some films attract critical consensus while others trigger polar opposite opinions like A Month of Sundays (2016). Australian colloquial drama is not for everyone and it takes patience to engage with slow-paced laconic narratives that rely on insider humour for meaning. Aussie horrors and dystopian thrillers are well known but there are few films that stand tall for sensitively exploring the inner world of male emotion. In fact, we have culturally fortified ourselves with a style of Ocker farce to shield us from knowing too much about what lurks within the Australian male. Lacklustre real estate agent Frank (Anthony LaPaglia) is the quintessential Aussie bloke. He is a poor salesman and has neither the verbal wit or emotional maturity to deal with the double-barrel grief of his recent divorce or his mother's recent death. By extraordinary coincidence he takes a misdirected call from Sarah (Julia Blake) who sounds just like his mother and the few minutes on the phone fills an emotional void. One thing leads to another, they become friends, and Frank learns to open up on the various emotional fronts of his life. The sub-plot lines include redeeming the relationship with his son, resolving feelings about his wife and mother, dealing with Sarah's health issues, and experiencing the ordinary pleasure of being nice to people. It's a simple narrative arc, but dense with emotional side-tracks and blockages that Frank cannot resolve alone. Themes of emotional estrangement, aging, death and grief are lightened by the deadpan humour exchanged between Frank and his boss (John Clarke) and the constant running commentary in real estate language, a clever device that mocks the Aussie obsession with property ownership. The filming has many long fixed frames and scenes where nothing happens except what we can infer is going on inside Frank's head. When he appears to be struggling emotionally, the recurring real estate babble kicks in to punctuate the silence while he retreats into his private world of make- believe sales talk with imaginary buyers. Some critics have panned the film's central premise and slow-burn plot, but it stands out as a thoughtful and well-acted portrait of an emotionally convoluted archetypal Australian male who exists just this side of clinical depression. Frank is ordinariness personified and not very likable at all, but he is very recognisable in this country. This is an original funny-sad look at a type of Aussie male who should watch this film for their own good.
Film Makers' Film That Dignifies Australia And Our Craft
Even favourable external reviews of this witty, wise and beautiful film have been almost dismissive and certainly offhand. One shouldn't be surprised that the aggregated rating on Rotten Tomatoes is so preposterously low [29% at last glance- I will glance no more!]; it's a representation of the level of ignorance that's out there in official critland, especially North American critland, but as well in the UK. They have almost no clue what makes Aussies tick, and they won't get this film. 'Professional' reviewers lacking the ability to bring real wisdom to bear no matter how broad their knowledge of film, and still feel entitled to adopt such condescending tones as the following: "could find a few art house takers in Anglophone territories", "well-worn notions of redemption and acceptance". To take this tone, vaguely accusatory of unoriginality while finding it crucial to make sure the reader takes note that the reviewer has IDd at least two of the themes is a lot like that old joke in which a man wouldn't join any club that would accept him; 'I guessed what the film is about, therefore it's too easy and beneath me'. Shakespeare dealt in 'well worn' themes. They're well worn because they are deeply required themes to be represented for humanity, and they should be eternally worked over. One external newspaper reviewer, someone we need to know is super- clever, found fault with a long camera shot which, being a tribute to another director/film, was 'distracting'. Bring it on I say. The richer the film's material, the more there is to love. Life is also full of subplots and digressions. What's wrong with a little whimsy? It's thoroughly enjoyable. Another claims that the film's central friendship is too unconventional and that suspicions of serial killer madness might be fitting; that the film might better have been made as a thriller. What a poisonous notion, that friendships can only be allowed to exist founded on introductions by mutual friends with the right credentials. I'd like to thank the film makers here for showing Australians what we really do still need to be reminded of, namely that the most desolate culturescape is enriched by the people who dwell therein. We have everything needed for nourishment of the soul to offer each other if we can transcend convention and ennui and only connect. There is nothing wrong with editorialising, nothing wrong with a little didacticism. Why conceal it? You don't have to agree. Just don't find fault with the fact some real values are being presented. Australia has for years been afflicted with a housing 'bubble'. Whole generations of the population are being screwed. People can't afford to buy shelter these days, and television therefore proliferates with architecture/house/reno/interior design porn. In Month of Sundays we are shown that even profiteers in this giant racket are demoralised and damaged in such a climate of greed and exploitation. As in another film I love, The Cave of the Yellow Dog, Month of Sundays has plenty of amusing little 'lessons'. As two people cathartically indulge grief-filled nostalgia on the site of a demolished former family home with their backs to the street, behind them processes a bunch of fairy-costumed little girls with party balloons in colours impactfully vivid. The lost past is desolation, but here behind you is the bright and alive present if only you could turn and look. A death is a cruelly unexpected breakup, but if and when you can find the courage to let go, the many colours of life await. The welcome mat is reversed: welcome to the world. Everybody is vulnerable without a single toothmark on the scenery, ever. The acting in this film is really seriously fine and so are the editing decisions. I love a contemplative film that respects actors and the subject enough to let duration pass. This sort of style is powerfully immersive, especially for anyone who may recognise the many cultural references that bring us straight to our memories of very particularly Aussie times and places without recourse to cliché or stereotype. Not enough can be said in praise of this film. External critics, drop your complacent posturing and lift your games!
Meanderd along pleasantly
Seeing John Clarke in the cast was one of the main reasons that encouraged me to see 'A month of Sundays'. On that score, I wasn't disappointed, Clarke gave a polished performance with a few of his usual sarcastic/humorous one liners perfectly delivered. While obviously a film of redemption, son's trying to justify and/or prove themselves to their elders, to me the movie lacked a real plot or something to bond it together. It meandered along in its own way, much like the main character, struggling real estate salesman Franks, played by Anthony LaPaglia who did do a great impression of a Real estate agent, albeit not an over enthusiastic one ! Overall it was watchable, but for me fell a little short of being memorable.
A film that the industry will quickly forget but never forgive.
I attended a preview screening of this film, which was followed by a Q and A with director Matthew Saville along with stars John Clarke and Anthony LaPaglia. To condense this film's monumentally mind-numbing existence into one word, it's 'terrible'. In fact my entire experience was terrible. The film was bad enough with its incompetent script, non-existent character development, irresponsible pacing, average performances and stock-standard cinematography. But, it was the Q and A that supplied the icing on this unpalatable cake. It provided evidence that the team behind this cinematic catastrophe have no place in the industry. Saville was unable to answer any of the questions posed to him regarding his inspiration or creative process, despite, apparently, writing and directing the film. The post-screening session divulged into a chummy, self-indulgent exercise of recalling the good-times back on set with absolutely no informed discussion about filmmaking or acting. All this was despite insightful questions from the three audience members who were given the chance to have their voices heard. To speak positively, the film's one element of quality would have to be its score. It offers a refreshing shift from a traditional soundtrack, containing unique instrumentation and motifs. What's sad is that it accompanies an absolute bomb of a movie. "A Month of Sundays" is a clumsy attempt to comment on a cluster of clichéd themes. Themes including death, illness, family, divorce, disability, fame and (somehow) homosexuality, are conspicuously injected into it's clinically malnourished structure. However, beneath this wafer-thin surface lies the fact that this film is nothing more than a prolonged advertisement for Adelaide and, I would argue, an incredibly weak one. What continues to puzzle me about Australian films, this one being no exception, is how they are green-lit and approved for funding when the ideas are fundamentally flawed from their inception.