Introducing the Dwights
By Charles Mudede

Two things work in Introducing the Dwights: one, the performance by Brenda Blethyn as Jean, a comedian, cafeteria cook, divorcée, and mother of two young men; and two, its focus on the social world of a working-class Australian family. There are no rich people in this film, nor does it show the very poor; all we see are those stuck somewhere between the bottom of the middle class and the top of the underclass. The film offers no direct critique of this type of social reality, or explore its politics, but gives us a taste of its type of laughter. In its laughter, we hear the subversive element of the working class—its rejection of stable social codes, family values, and Christian sexuality. These are the subjects of Jean’s jokes, which she performs for audiences in C-list clubs and casinos. The laughter is the only relief she and those in her class have from their imprisonment in low-paying jobs, broken marriages, and debt. The moment she tells her jokes to those in a station higher than her own, the laughter is not returned. There is dead silence. This is as political as the film gets.

The rest of Introducing the Dwights is about Jean losing her youngest son, Tim (Khan Chittenden), to a beautiful young woman, Jill (Emma Booth). Tim falls in love with Jill and begins to break with his family. The value of this part of the movie would have been zero had Blethyn not carried it with a strong performance. Jean’s failures, incestuous jealousies, heavy drinking, cherished memories of her youth, and fear of death are all pretty standard stuff for a middle-age, working-class mother. But Blethyn revives the exhausted personality, gives it a second life, a second chance. After her performance, however, the final burial of this type of character is called for. Please, do not bring her back to life again.

INTRODUCING THE DWIGHTS DIR. CHERIE NOWLAN | RATED R