While I do try to support the Australian film industry (being Australian myself) occasionally an stinker comes along and, I'm afraid, 'He Died With A Felafel In His Hand' is one of them. Much has been made of this movie as it is the adaptation of a book by John Birmingham. A book that traces the author's life through various share houses around Australia and humorously captures the ups and downs of house sharing. Dealing with an array of strange guys who collect their pubic hair, live in tents in the lounge room and complain about our materialistic and corrupt society. Putting these characters to life would have been a difficult task for the director Richard Lowenstein and this is clearly evident as the film isn't as successful as the book. While Noah Taylor is good as Danny, the tortured writer, the other characters in the film are two dimensional and not worth worrying about or caring for. The characters are merely caricatures of 'weird and wacky' people and the dialogue inexcusably overbearing, the delivery hopelessly bland. Too often characters come in, talk a lot in a very convoluted and quirky manner and then leave only for this routine to be repeated again and again (with different combinations of characters) throughout this meandering wreck. The set design is well done though but only reinforces the fact that this film is all about surface. Much has been made of the soundtrack which is good. Any film that starts with the Stranglers' 'Golden Brown' deserves a shot. But what happens from there is merely pot luck...
Read the book!
Read the book!