Ablaze

Overview

A documentary that's deeply personal for one of its directors, intensely powerful in surveying Australia's treatment of its First Peoples and crucial in celebrating perhaps the country's first-ever Aboriginal filmmaker, Ablaze makes for astonishing viewing. But while watching, two ideas jostle for attention. Both remain unspoken, yet each is unshakeable. Firstly, if the history of Australia had been different, Wiradjuri and Yorta Yorta man William 'Bill' Onus would be a household name. If that was the case, not only his work behind the camera, but his activism for Indigenous Aussies at a time when voting and even being included in the census wasn't permitted — plus his devotion to ensuring that white Australians were aware of the nation's colonial violence — would be as well-known as Captain Cook. That said, if history had been better still, Bill wouldn't have needed to fight so vehemently, or at all. Alas, neither of those possibilities came to a fruition.

Ablaze can't change the past, but it can and does document it with a hope to influencing how the world sees and appreciates Bill's part in it. Indeed, shining the spotlight on its subject, everything his life stood for, and all that he battled for and against is firmly and proudly the feature's aim. First-time filmmaker Tiriki Onus looks back on his own grandfather, narrating his story as well — and, as aided by co-helmer Alec Morgan (Hunt Angels, Lousy Little Sixpence), the result is a movie brimming with feeling, meaning and importance. While Aussie cinema keeps reckoning with the nation's history regarding race relations, as it should and absolutely must, Ablaze is as potent and essential as everything from Sweet Country, The Nightingale and The Australian Dream to The Furnace, High Ground and The Drover's Wife The Legend of Molly Johnson.

As the last filmic ode to a key Indigenous figure within cinema also did, aka My Name Is Gulpilil, Ablaze has a clear source of inspiration beyond the person at its centre. Appearing on-screen, Tiriki begins with two discoveries that put him on the path to making the movie: finding a suitcase filled with Bill's belongings, which included photographs of Indigenous boys in traditional paint peering at a film camera; and learning that the National Film & Sound Archive was in possession of footage of unknown origin that it believed to be linked to Bill. Accordingly, Ablaze is as much a detective story as it is a tribute, with Tiriki puzzling together the pieces of his grandfather's tale. Structuring the film in such a way is a savvy decision; even viewers coming to Bill with zero prior knowledge will want to sleuth along to solve the feature's multiple mysteries.

Connecting the dots starts easily, after Tiriki spies the boys in Bill's photos in the NFSA's nine-minute reel — footage from which it's an enormous treat to see in Ablaze. From there, though, the what and why behind the material takes longer to tease out. So too does exactly why Reg Saunders and Doug Nicholls — the first Aboriginal officer in the Australian Army and the famed Aussie rules footballer-turned-pastor, respectively — appear in Bill's silent footage. Also an opera singer, Tiriki guides Ablaze's viewers through the answers, while delivering a biographical documentary-style exploration of Bill's existence along the way — from being born in 1906 at the Cummeragunja Aboriginal Reserve, on the Murray River in New South Wales, through to his passing in 1968 following the successful 1967 referendum on counting Indigenous Australians as part of the population, for which he spearheaded the campaign.

As is any fascinating doco's curse, much in Ablaze could fuel several movies. Bill packed plenty into his time, although filmmaking, activism, and sharing his culture far and wide are recurring themes. Before shooting the reel that helps spark Ablaze sometime around 1946, Bill had gleaned how influential cinema could be to spread a message. And, from working on other productions — such as Charles Chauvel's Uncivilised in 1937 and Harry Watt's The Overlanders in 1946 — he was intent on using that power to tell the world about Indigenous Australians and their plight. In addition, with the same quest, he took to the stage. As Ablaze shows among its treasure trove of archival materials, white Aussies were flocking to a horrendously offensive-looking production called Corroboree, starring white performers in hand-stitched blackface bodysuits — which Bill set to counter.

Even the newly crowned Queen Elizabeth II was among Corroboree's audience, as seen in another of Ablaze's impressive compilation of clips from decades back. Contrasting that fact with glimpses of Bill's White Justice, his theatre piece inspired by the 1946 Pilbara strike by Indigenous workers — a show that was filmed and forms part of that unearthed reel — is just one instance of a trend that keeps popping up throughout the documentary. Each time that Tiriki unfurls a new strand to Bill's story, more infuriating horrors come with it. When Bill travelled overseas to attend a peace festival East Germany to draw global attention to the situation back home, he was reportedly surveilled by the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation. When he received an invite from Walt Disney to go to America, ASIO helped put a stop to it. The atrocities go on, and aren't always personal. As explained by actor and now-elder Jack Charles (Preppers), even the traditional act of making possum skin wraps that chronicled the wearer's life was banned by white Australia, with the animal fur commandeered for fashion instead.

With its mix of archival footage, motion graphics made from old photographs, animation and interviews — plus Tiriki's travels — Ablaze has a wealth of other threads weaved through its frames. As they're all stitched together, another truth solidifies: this film, and its wide-ranging examination of how Indigenous Australians have been treated since colonisation, is exactly what Bill was dedicated to bringing to the screen. Its moniker also feels extra apt, even after being outlined early (we have a caravan fire to thank for its subject's prowess behind the camera, and what he shot, being so little-known). Scorchingly obvious in almost every second of Ablaze, Bill was aglow with fiery determination. There's little that's remarkable about the way this cinematic homage to his efforts is put together but, given who it focuses on and his tireless crusade for equality, this doco was always going to burn bright.