The film was a critical and financial flop, even drawing ire from fans of the genre and character. It won several Razzie Awards, awards for the worst films of the year. Many have said that there is little narrative or character development. Even to me the aesthetics seems forced and overdone.
Martin is a well regarded film reviewer and author of several books on film and culture. He sits highly in what is a well populated community of Australian reviewers, each with their own ideas and approaches to rating the medium, but all facing the same pressures.

I have come to my own personal conclusions as to how a film as critically panned as Pitof’s (Anybody with one name should automatically raise some suspicion.) could earn such a positive review from such a good reviewer.

These are the three options:

a) He had had the best sex of his life in the cinema toilets 10 minutes before the movie, leaving him in such a mood that anything would have been the aesthetically pleasing, feminist masterpiece he described it as;

b) That having suffered short-term deafness and blindness the Braille adaptation of the film he was given was written by Raymond Chandler from beyond the grave, creating a masterpiece of suspense not seen on the big screen;

c) The hallucinogen he took made him see things in the movie that simply weren’t there (Maybe he thought that Catwoman’s S&M outfit represents the tension felt in America in a post September 11 world?).

In April this year, Jim Schembri (The Age) wrote in his article ‘So you want to be a film critic?’ that he dislikes the title ‘film reviewer;’ rather, ‘I prefer ‘film warden.’ This is how I see my job, running around with a whistle and a helmet with ‘W’ painted on it, telling people ‘all clear’ or ‘proceed with caution’ or ‘duck and cover’.’

Upon reflection, Schembri is still happy with this idea of himself. ‘The film warden thing, I am very, very happy with that, because it is like that. I will take the bullet for you [the audience] because in the times we live in there is a lot of crap out there.’

Schembri argues that he acts like a poison taster for the audience. ‘At the end of the day, it is 14 or 15 bucks for one ticket. If you are taking someone out, if it is a night out, you’re talking double that. If you are going to dinner, parking, if you are taking your family, you are talking a chunk of change. Now I don’t want people wasting their time or money.

‘There must also be balance for the reader; they might disagree with you, as they often do…but the idea is to inform the reader and not give some of these flaky, ‘Oh it might be worth checking out’, you know I am really tired of these phrases. If it is worth seeing I’ll tell them; if it’s not I will say that too. I will put qualification in, like it might be a good Friday night movie.’

This approach sees the movie-going audience as consumers, reading reviews largely for the purpose of helping them make choices of ‘product’: particularly important with the ever increasing presence of marketing. A reviewer, in this mindset, acts like a gatekeeper of good and bad to the vulnerable public.

Megan Spencer, reviewer for triple j and SBS, explains it like this: ‘From a purely consumerist aspect of it, we are a navigation tool. We provide information about film, context and opinion. And I think partly the audience will have to trust you, get to know you…I don’t think we are there to make people’s mind up for them, but I think we are there to provide a broad amount of information and also critical opinion within the scheme of things, and the scheme of things is cinema history and cinema culture.’

Schembri argues that his approach is journalistic, as opposed to that of a critic or cinephile. ‘At the end of the day you have to address your responsibilities as a journalist. You are a journalist who works for the reader; it is your job in whatever capacity to keep the interests of the reader at heart.’ He is not the only reviewer to follow this tack and usually these critics cause the most public discussion, often tearing to shreds ‘important’ pictures, while sometimes championing films that are seen by more ‘sophisticated’ types as ‘Hollywood pap’. Schembri earlier this year caused a stir with a negative review of Brokeback Mountain.

Spencer, however, insistently flags other roles for reviewers and reviews. ‘Criticism is a critical discourse. I think we are having a discussion with our audience, in the same way a film is having a discourse with its audience, and it up to us to work out what the discussion that the artist is trying to have with the audience might be.’

Spencer comes to reviewing from a different background: film-making. At this year’s Melbourne International Film Festival, her documentary Lovestruck: Wrestling’s No.1 Fan (a documentary about wrestling fanatic Sue Chuter) is on show. But Spencer is mindful to offset any perceived biases towards the film industry in her reviews. She contends that her involvement aids her own reviewing. ‘What being a film-maker does is it provides me with knowledge of the process that the film-maker went through… I think I provide a unique viewpoint to film criticism because I make it, but also watching all these films I bring my own understanding of film language to a review.’

The connection between the Australian film industry and reviewers has always been contentious. In August 2002 famed Australian film critic Margaret Pomeranz said that she had been gentle on Australian films in the past as, ‘I’ve always been quite open about the fact that I think Australian films deserve a little bit more tenderness than the American films that are thrust down our throats.’ These comments came at a time when the Australian film industry was struggling, and some cultural commentators were arguing that a stronger critical landscape was needed.

The reviews that critics produce are subject to pressure from film industry insiders and popular opinion. With the ever increasing commercialisation of film festivals (even the traditional ‘art’ festivals of Berlin, Venice and Cannes), favourable critical reviews are an imperative for distributors and studios, pushing their annual entries to the international festival and summer blockbuster audiences. In short, there is money, fame, and prestige involved here.

‘I think it is important to be honest,’ says Spencer. ‘I think this whole culture of consensus is bogus, and trying to second-guess the audience is fatal. Writing a review because you think the audience might like it and you don’t want to be out of step with them, that’s not criticism, that is just buying into the commercial imperative, and this consensus thing is just crap really.’

Adrian Martin goes further. ‘I think it’s imperative for critics to try to shut out at least some of the ‘consensus opinion’, which is usually manufactured by the commercial industry and its powerful vested interests, and not true ‘popular opinion’ÔøΩÔøΩand to try to see a film fresh. After they have a feeling and an idea about the film, then they can deal with all the crap in the media about it, if they want or need to.

‘I stand by this review [Catwoman] all the way, until the end of time!’ says Martin. ‘I went to this film ‘direct’ÔøΩÔøΩnot via the killing hype that turned everyone against this fine movie. I found it’and believe I argued this logically’a very intelligent as well as exciting and stylish movie. But it’s a modern feminist movie from Hollywood, and they are not such great box office at present… People should think for themselves about movies, not follow the industry gossip, which is even more of a tidal wave in the internet age.’

When someone reads a review they should be reading an individual reaction to a film, devoid of hype and commercial influence. Erin Free reviewer for Filmink.com.au puts it like this, ‘I think it’s impossible for a critic to be impartial. You can’t really review a film solely on its technical merits or on how it ‘works’. Reviewing is largely about the effect that a film has on your personally. Your specific tastes will always come into it.’

Spencer thinks that the audience should play favourites with reviewers. You should get to know a reviewer and trust their tastes and judgment. And so here is why I trust Martin. I didn’t like Catwoman, but I liked his review. Martin says, ‘For me, quite simply, every film reviewer should strive to be a film critic’that is, someone who is erudite and intelligent, who writes well, who knows their subject. Sometimes complex things can be condensed into a quite short journalistic piece. That’s a challenge, not a limitation.’

Maybe one day someone will adapt his Catwoman review for the big screen and I will die a happy man.

Although it set out to break the conventions of mainstream cinema, the Dogme95 movement began with its own set of rules. The Vow of Chastity written in 1995 by Lars Von Trier and Vineberg listed 10 commandments that any Dogma film had to stick to: ‘A Dogma film couldn’t use any props or sets, fixed cameras (only handheld camera), special effects (whether audio or visual), and, above all else, couldn’t conform to any existing film genre.’ A movement more akin to the historical significance of Film Noir, in that there are a specific few films allowed to be classified as Dogme95. The whole thing was over before it started, and the world calmed down.

Now we all have a reason to get excited again about the Scandinavian country renown for legalised drugs, schnapps and the second largest rock concert in the world. This year’s Denmark Nu section gives us the latest work from Nicolas Winding Rein, whose unashamed Pusher I, II & III trilogy is only upstaged by the documentary on his painful journey to produce the Pusher sequels.

Country specific cinema can sometimes go awry, creating stereotypes difficult to avoid, but the latest offerings coming out of Denmark are making waves. Denmark Nu is the new Denmark, and it’s worth a long look.

Tan’s latest film 4:30, which departs in terms of style and controversy, is a quiet film of urban isolation; observing the mundane, lonely existence of 11-year-old Xiao Wu who becomes fascinated with his equally melancholic tenant, 31-year-old Jung. Their relationship is laced with deliberate ambiguity, fusing imagination, a father’son connection and homoerotic tension into one. ‘I try to portray a human side to Singapore,’ says Tan, ‘which is not all synthetic and unreal.

‘Everyday something old that is part of our heritage is destroyed in Singapore,’ Tan says; hence his drive to ‘immortalise’ these images. Indeed 4:30 is crammed with the authentic’each scene a carefully composed mise en sc‚àöÔøΩne of the old. From the collapsible garment wardrobe, the ubiquitous green Telecom phone in the ’70s to the ice cream motor cart, early Singapore is showcased with nostalgia.

Born in 1976, Royston is perhaps not a relic, but draws his acumen for the old from traditional Chinese Wayang (Street Opera). Watching theatre, what he fails to decipher inspires him, he said; and it might be argued that the unique style of MTV editing prominent in Tan’s works, in fact, pays homage to this vanishing street spectacle.

Tan professes colours excited him, ‘Every word translates into a visual for me.’ It was one sentence that triggered his first feature-length film 15. ‘It won’t hurt if you don’t think about it.’ This single sentence was translated by him into a gritty social documentary of Singapore’s problem youth; a film that received a total of 29 cuts from the Censorship Board and was subsequently banned nationally. This was followed closely by Cut, Tan’s token protest to censorship, which activated some 15-hundred artists from the around the country, contributing to a humorous satire of Singapore censorship laws.

‘The censors are paid so much that you have to torture them a littleÔøΩƒ∂’ says Tan. ‘It’s really funny when you see their censorship surveys’ÔøΩÔøΩDo you think the violence affects the community? Yes/No,’ ‘Do you think sex is bad? Yes/No.’ÔøΩÔøΩ

A man for whom the grey regions between black and white ‘have always been’, Tan had lived on the periphery of the lives of his young charges in 15, withholding his judgement as he befriended them. ‘If I ever had a secret agenda for the film, it would be to show them what they’ve experienced,’ Tan says.

For Tan, who believes that art mirrors life, the big screen is a cathartic reflection for the realist in him. ‘Maybe I am not a very happy person, that’s why I seek comfort in film-making’to portray harsh reality and then be able to sugar-coat itÔøΩƒ∂ It gives me a second chance at life.’

Being an icon of rebellion or a harbinger of artistic freedom are only temporal labels to Tan. The label of the ‘Asian Hero’, it seems, ultimately appeals less to him than his identity as a Singaporean. ‘My works are a reflection of the way I see Singapore and of the things I believe in,’ he says, ‘I won’t be tamed.’

Since then, SBS, satellite television and DVD imports have somewhat bridged the gap between a truly eclectic and innovative film world that circulates just outside our doorsteps, and the persistent uniformity of commercial fare in Australia derived mainly from anglophone markets. Yet it takes an event like the Melbourne International Film Festival to show how much we miss out on by marginalising cultural exchange between Asia and Australia.

From its inception, the Regional Focus program at MIFF has offered filmgoers a snapshot of the state of cinema in the Asia-Pacific region. This year, 16 films have been chosen as exemplary works that contribute to the vitality of the cultural output from Hong Kong, South Korea, the Philippines, New Zealand, Singapore, Thailand and Indonesia. (Japan is a notable exception to this group, as new Japanese cinema is featured in a separate program Brain Monkey Sushi).

The selection signals the accomplishments of emergent film-makers as they lead the charge for their burgeoning local film industries (Royston Tan, Eric Khoo), while showcasing the maturation of established directors as they navigate the difficult terrain of consolidating on their previous achievements (Tsui Hark, Park Chan-Wook). Genre pieces featuring flawed heroes, mutant monsters and revenge-driven individuals share the screen with more nuanced explorations of contemporary life in the Asia-Pacific.

Such is the pace of social upheaval in China, Hong Kong and Taiwan that MIFF has programmed a special focus called Transience: The Asian Metropolis. The films in this section respond to the social, political and cultural changes that have transformed these locales from colonially exploited trading outposts to ultra-modern cosmopolitan societies.

According to the slogan of this year’s Festival, it’s a long way from Hollywood. Yet despite our close geographical proximity, the distance between Asia and Australia seems even greater as mainstream Australian culture obstinately looks to Euro-American markets as the measure of success. This does not have to be the only way.

Consider the trajectory of a last-minute addition to this year’s MIFF guest list, Christopher Doyle. Doyle left his suburban existence of 1970s Sydney to explore the world, ending up in Hong Kong where he became recognised for his work as Wong Kar Wai’s cinematographer. His most recent collaboration with Thai film-maker Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, Invisible Waves, is screening at this year’s Festival. Notable actors from Japan, Korea, Hong Kong and Thailand come together in this film, conversing in broken English as they come to terms with the circumstances that have taken them away from home.

In fact, the use of multiple languages is becoming more prevalent in Asian cinema as film-makers pool the resources and talent from Pan-Asia. It is a remarkable cross-cultural mix that is taking place. Australian voices have yet to really join this conversation’at a time when even Hollywood has its own share of Asian influences’but events like MIFF ensure that we are not left out of the loop altogether. I, too, try to engage with Asia in my own way with my broken Cantonese picked up all those years ago from those video cassettes. But it’s never too late for anyone to start enjoying the Asian selection at this year’s MIFF.

In a way, it’s heartening that Melburnians throw themselves into cinema spectatorship with such gusto. No casual ‘How about a fillum tonight, dear?’ for us. Oh no. We have MIFF schedules, and we plot them with the steely resolve of battle-hardened army generals.

But some people take it too far. When the only topic of conversation is what films we’re seeing, when birthdays are forgotten and dinner parties skipped, when rent cannot be paid, when favourite city haunts become crammed with film buffs’that’s when the horror begins.

The first sign of impending zombification is the Festival Guide. It appeared mysteriously some weeks ago, and now dog-eared copies litter cafes across town and can be spotted peeping from people’s bags. MIFF zombies in the early stages of infection can be found leafing painstakingly through it, looking confused. In restaurants, they shovel food absently and ignore dining companions as they ponder What to See.

And once the spectatorship escalates, so does the zombification. The second stage of infection is the Mass Email of Doom’an obnoxious form of correspondence that is sent to all the sufferer’s friends, peppered with self-deprecating jokes about square eyes, caves and the need for coffee. But the basic message is always the same: ‘Hi everyone! Here’s my MIFF schedule. If you want to see me in the next two weeks, you’ll have to come to one of these films.’ One of my more sadly afflicted friends even proposed a ‘palate cleansing’ expedition to IMAX between MIFF sessions.

The Mass Email is terrifying proof that MIFF zombies have lost all interest in any social plans that don’t involve seeing films. Indeed, just as regular zombies feed on the brains and flesh of the living, MIFF zombies assume that everyone else in Melbourne is there to feed their obsession. Friends. Family. Bar staff. The hapless MIFF workers who book and take their tickets. They are so zombified that they aren’t even troubled that the DJ at the Coopers Festival Lounge has the absurd name of DJ Le Coq Funkee.

It’s in this final stage of infection that our loved ones grow hollow and bleary-eyed, shambling from queue to queue, stripped of all social skills beyond primitive mutterings about genre, auteurism, mise en sc‚àöÔøΩne, woeful miscasting and ‘was that just Spike Jonze I think it was do you think he’s scouting locations for Where the Wild Things Are?’

While it’s impossible to stop this depressing escalation of zombie behaviour once it takes hold, it is preventable. Here are my tips:

One Film a Day. Surely you will enjoy your cinematic experience more if you make it about the film rather than the Schedule. Rather than hurrying off to the next screening, take time to ponder what you’ve seen in a bar or over a meal. But for the sake of your fellow Melburnians, do it quietly.

Be More Spontaneous. Don’t agonise over what to watch, or let yourself be paralysed by choice. MIFF doesn’t have to be about research and meticulous planning. Why not check out a movie on impulse, or open this magazine to a random page and read what someone else thought?

Do Other Things Too. Why not catch a play or a band, see an art exhibition, hang out with friends, cook a meal, or read a good book in the crisp winter sunshine? Don’t neglect the people in your life for the sake of the people onscreen. And rather than watching the world mediated through celluloid, take time to appreciate your own world.

Melbourne is a lovely place. Please don’t turn it into Zombieville.

Research
Every film in the program is written up in such glowing terms that it’s hard to know which of them are actually any good. If you have limited time and money, you don’t want to waste your Mini Pass selections on a dud. This is where websites such as the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com), Senses of Cinema (www.senseofcinema.com) and even plain old Google are invaluable. Finding a few reviews of the films you’re interested in from other festivals or overseas press can go a long way towards helping you determine your final Festival selection.

Eavesdrop
Queues are a part of life at MIFF, and while they may be annoying, they also provide an excellent means of discovering which films are the hot favourites of the Festival each year. Despite the fact that your mother probably told you it was impolite to listen in on other people’s conversations, eavesdropping in a MIFF queue is a great way of discovering what the people around you have seen and what they might recommend. So while you’re standing there, waiting to shuffle slowly forward, prick up your ears and tune in to the conversations around you: you might chance upon something special as a consequence.

Make new friends
Introduce yourself to the person sitting next to you. Ask them what they’ve seen, what they recommend, and what films they would avoid this year. Not only will this pass the time until the film starts, but it’s also an excellent way of widening your radar to include some film choices you may not have considered. It might also encourage you to cross a film off your list if your neighbour describes it as ‘a cinematic abomination’ or ‘the single worst film I’ve ever seen’.

Take some risks
Are you normally the sort of person who avoids a particular genre of film the way John Howard avoids apologies? Maybe this year it’s time to let your hair down. Take in a documentary on a subject unknown to you, or submerse yourself in a short film package. If you adore Iranian cinema, take the chance on a British horror film as well. Think of the festival as a buffet’pile up your plate with a little bit of everything. MIFF is a cinematic feast for all manner of palates, and you shouldn’t be afraid to sample widely from the menu.

Queue-jumping
This will be a point of contention with some people, but in the dead of winter, do you really want to stand at the end of a long queue in Russell Street? Handy tactics to cut into the queue include keeping an eye out for friends and acquaintances further up the line, and claiming that you need to use the toilets in the Capitol foyer, or the upstairs candy bar at the Forum, and afterwards merging with the line as it begins to flow forward. A little cheating goes a long way when it ensures that you can grab a good seat.

Eating
Plastic bags rustling noisily behind me in the cinema are one of my pet hates, and I know I’m not alone in this. If you’re taking supplies of food and other substances to help sustain you through the Festival, then try to ensure that they’re not going to impact on the crowd around you when you decide to have a nibble halfway through the film. Nuts, dried fruit and other healthy snacks are recommended, as is a thermos of good coffee or a revitalizing hipflask of scotch.

Documenting
If you’re seeing three or four films a day, they’re going to start blurring together after a while. A notebook is handy for jotting down comments on the films that you’ve seen, and will also proves useful should you manage to score a date’or at least the suggestion of a good film in the program that you’ve overlooked’in the queue for your next movie.

Richard Watts is the host of 3RRR’s flagship arts program, SmartArts, which airs Thursdays between 9am-midday on 102.7 FM.

Rather than revelling in his position at the top of one of Australia’s favourite cultural events, Hewison seems to have enjoyed exploring communities. Rather than acting as gatekeeper of the cultural elite, he has encouraged audiences to step out a little further, ‘offering films, which explore, which challenge and ask questions’. When he began, Hewison regarded himself as ‘sorely lacking, completely out of my depth in some areas; certainly in some of the areas in which I am now proud have become a focus for this Festival.’ His term at MIFF has allowed him to uncover new passions and to share these with Melbourne audiences.

Travelling to festivals across the globe, Hewison takes in fare from the ‘frantic, crazy fishbowl’ that is the showbiz of Cannes to Rotterdam, with its focus on ‘emerging work from directors who are really covering new ground’. These are the places where he meets with film-makers, convincing them that their films should be a part of MIFF. Based on ticket sales, his balance of films that are widely popular (many going on to be distributed in Australia afterwards) and the niche discoveries, the tiny gems to be found and shown to smaller audiences, have hit the mark.

If, as Hewison describes, Cannes is about the ‘big deals, big stars and big auters,’ Rotterdam is about ‘emerging work which take risks, film-makers who are creating new perspectives and challenging audiences,’ then what is Melbourne about? To Hewison, our Festival is defined by its audience. ‘The success of MIFF is purely in its audience, which is to say that it is supported and enjoyed by the community. It is their reception of the films, their continued patronage that drives it.’

While Hewison feels that the Festival has pretty much reached its cap in terms of audience growth, the reputation of MIFF has also grown exponentially. This puts the Festival in great stead to build on its history of hosting high-profile guests and films. In his last year, Hewison is as buoyant as always about the offerings of the Festival. His ability to invigorate those around him about a film he is passionate about is one that will be hard for new Director Richard Moore to match. Hewison imparts his own enthusiasm without sounding like he belongs is the polished film PR role he used to fill. With a genuine connection to the community he curates, he is well placed to take on his new role at the AFI. But will Hewison be able to relax and watch what somebody offers up onscreen for him this time next year? Ever optimisticÔøΩƒ∂’I can only hope so.’

At the time of the revolution I was 18-years-old. I was one of those who came to the streets and participated in the demonstrations that would lead the schools to closure. We thought then that we were achieving a great goal. We were nae’ve of the fact that any revolution in the world that is ideology-based can lead to tyranny and dictatorship. Such a revolution won’t tolerate dissent, or alternative thoughts and ideas’and this impacts on all issues’social, economic, political and the rest.

Your films have made me think about contemporary Iranian society as they are one of the only windows I have into your country’apart from news media. They talk about children and women, and society. With the election of President Khatami in 1997 there was a lot of talk of supposed ‘reform’. Now Iran is largely a young society’there are more young people than there are old people. There’s a new generation who have a different relation to what came before the revolution. Two characters in Crimson Gold come to mind as examples’the 15-year-old soldier who has an unrealistic sense of what life was like before; and the bachelor, who is just as alienated as Hussein. The bachelor has been in America and on his return, finds he can no longer relate to the Iran he left behind. Can you talk to that?

As you stated, Iranian society is a young society. The young have difficulty in adjusting to what is going on around them. They have a more modern outlook; however, their fate is in the hands of 15 per cent of the population who are traditionalists’those who have no regard for their aspirations. The young are the people who think of peace, like the girl (from Offside) who says that ‘I had to be born in Japan so that I could go to the stadium to watch the game.’ The young want the rights that are enjoyed by the rest of the world. Of course, everywhere in the world, all societies have problems of their own. Some Iranians were born outside of Iran and raised up outside, and they endeavour to do something to contribute to their society. But they are in doubt as to which direction to choose’they are at a crossroad.

Unfortunately Khatami’s promise of reform remained merely a slogan. His government was saying good things’at the level of superficial reform’but Khatami didn’t want to go deeper into real reform for Iran. Superficial reforms may produce effects but the effects are transient and momentary. What you see of Iran in the media around the world is a portrayal of the 15 per cent of the population with power. However, the ordinary people of Iran are the ones that you see in my films. And they are the ones who would like to remove the boundaries placed around them. But in doing so, they don’t want to harm anybody. They even want to make friends with their guards (if they are prisoners), because the guard is one of them, not someone different.

Your films seem to convey a particular humanity about Iranian society. In the West, it’s a lot about difference and opposition. But as you say in your films, the guards and the police are not good or bad, they’re just people. There’s a degree of solidarity’would you say that?

Militaristic films always portray soldiers as someone to be afraid of and there are always some bad people that have to be annihilated. However, the prevalent thinking among the intellectuals and people in our society is far from that. They are equally upset about what is happening in Lebanon as much as what happened in 2001 in America, and what is happening now in Iraq. They always have a global message. If they are talking about nationalism, they never mean it to be regarded as chauvinistic ideology.

They are talking about a renaissance’a resurgence of the civilisation that is deep-rooted within Iran. They want to revive that glamour. It is like what happened during the time the Church ruled in the Middle Ages and the way the Europeans looked at their past to get out of that era. The song that Offside ends with has the same message.

In this new national song, there is no mention of the regime or of the government. Rather it talks about the purity and the goodwill of the Iranian nation. It talks about Iranian art, without dependence on anything else around the world. All of the words are Persian, not even Arabic. The song conveys a message of peace. It says that we are a nation that is very much alive and wants to live in peace with others.

How did the idea for Deliver Us From Evil arise?

I had been a journalist for about seven years when I started working on stories about paedophilia within the Catholic Church for CNN. I met Father Oliver O’Grady, the paedophile priest, during this time and realised I had an incredible opportunity to document his story for a feature-length film. I didn’t really have a personal interest in the subject matter before this. I wanted to include Oliver’s perspective because it is a side we don’t hear very often, and I think it’s important that we include it to balance with the stories of his colleagues and of the victims.

Your film takes a sympathetic view towards the child abuse victims. You have also tried to understand O’Grady’s views about what he has done’he committed abuse of children while a priest for decades. What answers did you come up with?

Well, he acknowledges it (paedophilia) as an illness and that his abuse of children shouldn’t have happened. But he is also in denial. When he talks about some of the instances when he hurt children, he is very vague. He never goes as far as to say he raped a child. He talks very indirectly about what he has done, always skirting around the extent of it’talking about ‘touching’ and ‘cuddling’ and so on. Another interesting point is that he was himself abused as a child, but he refers to these events as ‘sex’ and not ‘abuse.’ I think that if he did fully acknowledge these traumas of his childhood, he would then have to face up to himself in light of what he has done to hundreds of children…and he doesn’t want to do that.

An excerpt from the Deliver Us From Evil website says, ‘Church hierarchs may believe their divinely ordained status relieves them of accountability to their followers.’ How do you think the Catholic Church justifies covering up abuse perpetrated by inside Officials? And what about them answering to their victims?

Catholic Church officials’the Bishops, Cardinals…they don’t try to justify or explain the abuse in the slightest. Their view is, ‘what happens stays in the Church.’ And the rule of a confessional between Priest and Bishop means that everything said must not be repeated, and that has and still does include criminal activity. The church justifies the cover up because they value members of the Priesthood above children. Cardinal Mahoney of Los Angeles, who appears in a lot of video footage in the film, believes that the Priest and rules of the confessional are more important than the rights of children’he doesn’t acknowledge what has been done to the victims of abuse at all. Victims have sought meeting up with Church officials but this request has not been met. Nor has there been an apology to abuse victims on behalf of the Catholic Church.

Cardinal Roger Mahoney was aware of O’Grady’s record as an offender and was culpable for allowing O’Grady to continue working as a Priest. How do you think his refusal to report O’Grady would fare outside the institution of the Church?

Well, he would be fired or killed, wouldn’t he? There is a great opportunity now for the Catholic Church to change the way people look at them, yet they’re going the other way. They perpetuate myths such as, ‘Homosexuality is linked to paedophilia.’ There are no reports saying homosexuals are more likely to be paedophiles. The psychologist I interviewed in the film substantiates this. Pope Benedict XVI, formerly Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, has the power to set up investigations that set out to prevent future abuse, but nothing is being done. He presided over the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Vatican office that ran an inquiry into child sex abuse. Nothing positive was done during this time. He ordered that the Church’s investigations into child sex abuse claims be carried out in secret. But you have to remember, we’re talking about a Church that won’t support the use of condoms in AIDS stricken countries.

Do you think Evil exists or is it only a religious concept?

No, I don’t think it does. I don’t want to speak for the victims, but I know that for at least one of them, O’Grady speaks for the devil. I’m not religious in a Christian sense, but I’m very spiritual. I think we all get lost and make bad choices…and we’re individually responsible for those choices.
I’m interested in the power of thoughts and how they manifest themselves, how we can control them.