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As a straightforward tale, Chopper's adult life was hardly the stuff of dreams and Pulitzer Prizes; the vast bulk of this time spent incarcerated, kept apart from society. No, it's the brief instants within which Chopper is free to roam the streets of Brisbane that enervate Chopper. Fortunately, Chopper (as an author) saw this, subsequently feeling free to dramatise his actions within best-selling novels. Equally, writer-director Andrew Dominik realises this and so plucks only the most memorable titbits from those long years behind bars. The end result is a script that fairly gallops along, a rush of speed underscored by sad loneliness.
In the beginning, it is in prison that we meet Chopper. Trailed by his mates Jimmy Loughnan (Simon Lyndon) and Bluey (Daniel Wyllie), Chopper is engaged in a power struggle with Keithy George (David Field). This is the set-up that first demonstrates, as he viciously assaults George, just how coldly ruthless Chopper is in action. And yet, when the deed is done, Chopper seems almost horrified, maybe even a little remorseful. This is the schizophrenic, paranoid outlook that defines him; one minute joking, the next holding a gun to your forehead. Bana and Dominik capture this colourful persona superbly, with all of its ready wit, disregard for human life and braggadocio intact. The movie might not be a biopic, but it feels like one.
It's somehow fitting that Chopper should be one of Australia's best-selling writers, irrespective of the country's convict past. The thought behind this statement is that Chopper's a self-made star, a man who consciously set out to become notorious. An inveterate self-publicist, Chopper purposefully blurred the line between fact and fiction, making the whole image thing a mind-game. Dominik seems happy to continue this tradition, directing Chopper as an exercise in ambiguity and overlapping scenarios; very true to the title character. Yet even with this intended confusion, the film knows exactly what it wants to be and achieves this with some determination (paralleling Chopper's own quest for infamy).
Technically, photographers Geoffrey Hall and Kevin Hayward capture scenes in a gritty, unvarnished style. Characters oscillate between the stark bareness of jail cells and the neon-lit grime of bars, knowing very little in-between, and it suits them. In one of the later story threads, the camera positions itself next to a corpse on the pavement; with a short burst of fast-forward, we can't help but see things from the victim's viewpoint. Elsewhere, Ken Sallows' editing boosts Chopper with a spot-on sense of what it's like to be flying on speed. The movie doesn't depend upon these embellishments, it's painfully intense enough anyway, but they do heighten your involvement in the story.
All in all Chopper is extremely, blackly humorous but throughout there's an undercurrent of menace, since you absolutely can't predict what's going to come next. At times the action is bloody and violent, so much so that were it not for the kernel of truth within you wouldn't accept it, but here such episodes are essential. Each act of naive insanity merely broadens your feel for Chopper's dangerous charisma, both repellent and attractive. Dominik doesn't glorify or condemn these personality traits, he merely turns them into compulsive viewing and leaves judgement to the audience. So, it's us who must cogitate on Chopper's murky superposition of typical human failings with a serious lack of compunction about hurting people. The film doesn't give you many answers but if you're looking for questions, step forward.
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