Jennifer Ross’s documentary Age of Rage – The Australian Punk Revolution embraces the lifestyle of punk and informs much of the history of punk in Australia. Featuring a huge array of interviews from those who made the punk scene of the 80s and 90s what it was (take a look at the Age of Rage website for a full list of who’s in the flick), Age of Rage works as a historical document of the era, capturing the stories of many for the first time.
In this interview, Jen talks about becoming an accidental archivist, the joy of the Aussie vernacular, and what living a life of punk meant to those part of the scene. Age of Rage arrives alongside Andrew Leavold’s documentary Pub the Movie, both complementing one another as historical documents for the under-celebrated Aussie music scene.
Age of Rage screens at the 11th edition of the Antenna Documentary Film Festival which opens Friday October 14 in Sydney and runs until Sunday October 23. For complete program information and to purchase tickets and festival passes, go to www.antennafestival.org. It will also screen at the upcoming Adelaide Film Festival late in October. Visit their website for details here: https://adelaidefilmfestival.org/event/age-of-rage-the-australian-punk-revolution-2/
This interview has been edited for clarity purposes.
Where [did] the idea for [Age of Rage] came from? Was it this desire to make sure [the punk scene was] on record in some capacity?
Jennifer Ross: That’s the exact reason I did it. I just wanted to document that period in time before everyone died, basically. It was 30 or 40 years ago, so I felt that it should be done just to preserve that aspect of our culture.
How important is that culture to you?
JR: I think it’s important because as a young person, it shapes your view of the world. I think you wouldn’t get involved in punk if you weren’t already slightly an anarchist. [laughs] That certainly cements that view of trying to make the world a place which is fair for everybody to live in. Which is probably an impossible task, but a noble one.
I’m sure that a lot of people might just think that punk music is just punk music, but there is so much more to it. It’s a way of life. It’s politics. It’s everything.
JR: That’s what I wanted to convey in the film. I just thought if no one had ever met a punk in their life or had only seen [the look] on the cover of a magazine, I just wanted to convey that there’s more to it than the music and the Mohawks, and that there’s a number of different aspects to it. It’s a lifestyle and a culture and an attitude and an ethos.
How did you go about curating the footage? There’s so much footage here [from] the past that wavers in quality, but there is the very low fi, almost VHS style [imagery].
JR: It is VHS. It’s not almost VHS style. It is actually VHS. Super-8. Mini DV.
Basically, anything that people gave me, I archived it. People would turn up to interviews with a box of 30 years of their life. And I would scan every single element, even if it was a tiny one inch by one inch promo of their band in 1983 in Beat magazine. Every single thing I was given, I archived. Thankfully, later on, I was able to buy some hard drives that could store all of this video. People were generous enough to trust me with their old footage, which I was able to digitise, and back up a couple of times. In doing this film, I became an archivist. I didn’t just become a filmmaker, I became an archivist as well.
Was that an interesting revelation for you as you’re making it?
JR: Yes. I didn’t really know what I was in for. I didn’t know how long it would take. I didn’t know what people would give me. I didn’t know what their stories would be. So it was basically just one step at a time.
I love the variety of people that you’ve got here. One person in particular is Andrew Leavold. What I love is there is almost like this conversation that’s happening between your film and his film Pub: The Movie, which both released at the same time. I’m curious if you can discuss how important is to have two films that are discussing similar fields around at the same time?
JR: I met Andrew because I interviewed him for my film, but I became aware of him because he was doing the Fred Negro documentary. And I did interview Fred Negro in about 2014 for my film. By 2016 I realised that the story was taking a particular path and that Fred wasn’t necessarily aligned with that, but also that he had his own documentary.
When you say conversation, I’m not sure there was much of a conversation. We were both so busy having nervous breakdowns and anxiety attacks. But Andrew was so helpful, like every single person that gave me archival flyers, photos, video footage, etc. Andrew gave me many, many folders of that. And he’s really organised. He had a folder for each band. He lives in the Sunshine Coast, and I live in Melbourne, and the conversation that did take place was I would contact him and one by one, online on Facebook Messenger, he would label the photos with me. He would tell me who was in them, what year, all of that. He’s fantastic like that. Everyone was.
How long did you take to shoot and collate the interviews?
JR: COVID sort of paused my trajectory. I wanted to go to Brisbane, and that was the last city that I hadn’t been to. I didn’t go to Darwin, but I did get some Darwin stories in Adelaide. I kind of felt that that was probably going to be enough. I didn’t know if the film would be enhanced by going to Darwin. Brisbane that was the last city I got to and that was actually in the middle of COVID. And I’d already spent a year editing the film. It took about I think almost probably 18 months to edit it. Some of the people from Brisbane got in but mostly the story was already told. I am going to do a book, which can sort of give a bit more insight into everyone’s stories, so that will feature those people.
Reading about the film beforehand, there was a comparison to creating a cultural record in the same way that for A.B. Facey did for A Fortunate Life.
JR: I love that’s one of my favourite books. How lucky are we to have that book and get an insight into that time in Australian history?
It made me think that we lack so many different cultural touchstone moments and texts that are about really pivotal [moments] in our history. And that’s why I’m so grateful that you have documented this because for a lot of things, it kind of feels ephemeral. It almost disappears in time. If somebody’s not keeping it down on paper, it disappears.
JR: I’m kind of aware that that’s a very Australian thing, actually. It is. I read Bill Bryson’s book, Down Under, and he was saying that he went to the site of the massacres on the Goldfields. And he said, there’s no day of remembrance, or anything. It’s just a little plaque. I just thought that is so typical.
And that was well before I started the film. I had that in mind when I thought to make [the] film, it’s something that we do as a nation. We sort of just don’t celebrate or dwell on things. You just sort of keep inching forward, I guess. And I guess that’s how we started perhaps.
The digital age certainly has helped us have more accessibility to that, though. Ten years before I started my film, it would have been a lot harder to make it. Just having a DSLR camera, a digital camera made it possible. And having computers with programmes, rather than cutting and pasting an edit and needing really expensive resources, just made it possible. I think it’s partly to do with the time that we live in as well, because I didn’t have to rely on funding to start the project. And I think 20 or 30 years ago you might have had to wait to find some finance to start a project like this, or any other really.
What was the instigating moment that you decided ‘I need to do this’?
JR: It’s funny, because when I was 15, I went to TAFE college and I studied drama. And then I studied music, I was a singer. And when I was studying drama, there was a film component to the course, and I loved the idea of making a film. I was sort of involved in punk back then, [at] maybe 16-years-old. So I didn’t realise the importance of it at that time.
It was when I made my first short film, in 2012, I set about making this. It was sort of always in the back of my mind for a real long time. As I said, the digital age came about and it made it possible to start it. Otherwise, I probably would have been a filmmaker years ago, probably. But it’s hard to say. I’m not sure how many stories I would have had to tell you years ago. But I really feel like this was a story worth telling.
I love the animation which is so expressive, and reflects the stories completely. How did you go about sequencing those moments and organising the animation for those sequences?
JR: I had an animator, Juliet Rowe, and she’s very talented. I came across her on Facebook, she put a post in during COVID, and said, “I’m available for any animation gigs if anyone’s interested,” and I really liked her portfolio of work and I messaged her.
The animation was there to depict stories that I didn’t have any actual visual reference for. So that’s purely the reason that they were positioned where they are in the film. Ultimately, if I’d had a photo or a video to support the story, I probably would have gone for that first. I look back now, and if I thought about it, not so entrenched in the story, or the film or the process of making it, I might have added a little bit more animation here and there. But I guess I can do that on my next film. There’s always going to be some level of regret as to what you didn’t do, or what you could have done mostly? I’m pretty pleased with it, though. That’s purely why the animation exists in those places in the film.
As you were telling the stories, and in creating and collating them and doing the interviews, was there anything that changed in your views of the punk scene?
JR: I don’t think I became aware of anything new. How I think it worked well is that I could relate to the people, and I had a good starting point, because I knew them as young people. I learned a bit more about the crusty punks [who] went to live in the bush, and were [on a daily basis] actively rising up against the logging companies. That’s a pretty big choice to make in your life as a young person to say, “This is important for me to give up everything and fight this fight.” I think that’s an amazing thing to do.
I wasn’t as aware of that sort of thing as far as the punks were concerned. The level of political astuteness and the basic desire to live as an anarchist – one of the guys in the film, Ian Wilson, spent a lot of time in Indonesia and was living with underground anarchist groups. They were targeted by the police, watched by the police all the time, talked to by the police. I didn’t include that in the film because it would have been sidestepping, but [there are] just some incredible stories about people attempt attempting to undermine corrupt politics and politicians.
At the moment I’m reading a book called The Last of the Hippies by Penny Rimbaud from Crass, which is an anarchist punk band from England. It was written in 1974, but it’s been republished. He’s saying, “Fight back. Rise up. But don’t be loud about it.” And I just thought, ‘Yeah, that’s great advice. Just do the work. Keep your mouth shut, keep going.’ I think that’s really important.
What was a real surprise for me was the way that people in the scene had conversations with people in different countries. And that would be by sending satchels of mixtapes and stuff like that around the world. And it took me back to the age of bootlegging live concerts in the early 2000s, 90s. I used to be part of groups that would get live recordings of gigs, burn onto a CD, which at that time would take hours, and then you’d send it on to somebody in a different country and share these live gigs that you’d never be able to go to. It felt like this form of communication. Getting to hear the stories of sharing tapes and albums and songs and then finding your song on a mixtape, it was this beautiful conversation that you’re having with strangers and a completely different side of the world.
JR: And that’s life full circle, isn’t it? When you see your own work presented back to you in a different format or a different context.
That feels like something that doesn’t really exist anymore.
JR: Oh no, I think that exists. I just don’t think it exists by post. I think it exists online, which is a lot cheaper, too.
There’s another guy I interviewed – he didn’t get into the film – he’s from Adelaide, lives out past Burra. Where he lives is red dirt and one gum tree. It’s quite fascinating. In the 90s he had married a woman. She was originally from Eastern Europe, and they went over there and lived in a house that she inherited. He turned [the basement] into a punk rock venue. And then he had this building at the back which he turned into a radio station. He had bands touring from all over Europe. Unfortunately, another great story that didn’t end up in the film. It’s just that desire to connect with people and create a community and give people a place to go to. I think it’s just an amazing thing that people continue to do.
[What] is the importance of Australian identity and being able to capture that on screen for you?
JR: It’s a funny thing. When I was a kid, we used to go camping. I spent a lot of time in the bush listening to crunchy sounds and wind and dry dirt, And it sort of becomes part of who you are. When you go skiing, the trees are weighed down by snow, I went to Canada skiing one time. And it was a completely different experience. The fir trees and the cedar trees, the snow sits on [them] like it’s meant to be there. And in Australia, it’s not like that.
I grew up listening to the lawn mower on a Saturday in the suburbs and listening to the football in the background. My dad would lean out of the window with one elbow and say “Fillerup with super thanks mate.” And “Where do you get your licence from? A bloody Kellogg’s packet?” And “Bloody women drivers.” And so I grew up with this sort of vernacular and I kind of wanted to preserve some of that as well, even though it’s pretty old school. Women are better drivers. That’s been proven. We don’t have super petrol anymore, it’s all unleaded and whatever else. I wanted to preserve a little bit of that aspect as well, the way people spoke.
It’s a dry, windswept, isolated place, where in some ways people suffered because of that isolation. And in that sense, it kind of sets us apart from other people in the world. And so I thought it was important just to acknowledge that as well. And that’s why I wanted it to be a truly Australian story with just Australian people that nobody knew that spoke like Australians. That was important to me. And I tried not to compromise any of that.
It’s getting into some festivals overseas now. I’m glad other cultures and countries are interested in seeing what it’s like to be Australian. That’s pretty important. Because much like the way you feel in Perth, I think, overall, Australia [is] so far away that people that don’t really think about it. Although I have noticed recently watching American content on Netflix there’s always an Australian actor, there’s always mention of Australia. It’s becoming part of the conversation now. But it wasn’t back then. And it wasn’t really right up until the last five years. Unless you were a famous actor, like Nicole Kidman, or Cate Blanchett, or Paul Hogan, it wasn’t part of the daily conversation.
