
Oct. 30, 2001
By Erin Free
SYDNEY -- With a title like "He Died With a Felafel in His Hand," and Richard Lowenstein, director of 1986's offbeat "Dogs in Space," at the helm, could this film be headed anywhere else than directly for cult status?
After directing several award-winning videos for the rock band INXS, Lowenstein knows his way around wild subject matter. The film is based on John Birmingham's highly popular book about share-housing, based on his experiences of living in dozens of houses with dozens of people throughout Australia.
Driven by absurdist humor, random off-the-wall moments of originality and a generally anarchic tone, "He Died With a Felafel" mixes the heightened silliness of youth cinema with a more studied, film-literate approach.
It's the type of film that should click with festival audiences looking for a comedic shot in the arm among the usually more serious offerings. The fact that the film also drops references to all kinds of elements of popular culture, as well as several cinematic icons (such as Jean-Luc Godard and Hal Hartley), should make it a hit with serious film enthusiasts looking to spot the influences, too.
The oddball aesthetic, combined with its left-of-center cast, might deter mainstream audiences from embracing the Australian offering, but those who like their cinema on the edge should find a lot to enjoy here.
Danny, a fine study in comedic reserve by Noah Taylor ("Lara Croft: Tomb Raider," "Almost Famous"), is trapped in share-house hell. He moves from house to house, sharing space with people he hardly knows, watching his life slowly unravel.
It doesn't help that the same eccentrics keep following him from city to city: the boyishly sexy Sam (fresh-faced newcomer Emily Hamilton), French anarchist Anya (a very impressive Romane Bohringer) and drug-addled Flip (Brett Stewart).
But when he hits Sydney, and shares house with a bitter homosexual and a society bitch (Francis McMahon and Sophie Lee, respectively, are both sidesplittingly hilarious), Danny's rambling life finally catches up with him.
Lowenstein fills the screen with vivid imagery and even more vivid characters and manages to hold them back from overstepping the mark and falling headlong into complete absurdity. It's a risky ploy, but one that works. "He Died With a Felafel" walks on the right side of the fine line between being a charming mess and a total shambles.
--Erin Free/ The Hollywood Reporter - Review