John Curran’s Tracks has a brethren in the director’s third film, The Painted Veil, in that both could together be aptly termed ‘cinema of the pleasant’; the images are pretty, while there’s not much in the way of conflict or probing into character. A based-on-fact tale about Robyn Davidson’s (Mia Wasikowska) decision to cross 1,700 miles of Australian desert in the mid-70s, director Curran and screenwriter Marion Nelson nobly eschew much of Davidson’s troubled backstory and instead focus on the journey itself, but Wasikowska’s deserved lead role (and rare appearance with her native Oz accent intact) is marred by giving her only the bare bones of a character to work with. It leaves Tracks as a fine, “pleasant” road movie, when it could have been – especially with Curran’s available resources – quite a bit more.
It seems rather foolish of Curran to offer such a talented actress such a dearth of complexity – Wasikowska engages, but she could’ve stretched further, instead having to settle with a rather one-note lead whose only character trait is to be staunchly independent. The film’s opening third, which has Davidson mentally prepare and learn how to train the camels she’ll be taking across Australia with her, doesn’t fill you with much confidence for the rest of the movie: dialogue is on-the-nose, and there are stock characters to be found here. Wasikowska and Adam Driver as Rick Smolan, National Geographic photographer and Davidson’s occasional travel companion, never allow their roles to descend into cliche, though the hard-ass mentor, the absentee father and the wise old native are all overly-familiar.
No, much like Davidson, Tracks doesn’t do so well around people. And unlike last year’s superlative survival tale All is Lost, where each drop of water and every morsel of food felt crucial, Curran’s film lacks a sense of danger when the cross-country travelling gets underway. Davidson never seems in any great peril – food is seemingly unlimited, while the path is laden with drums of water placed along the way by Rick, who’s lent a typically inherent likeability by Driver, even in ruthless journo mode. Surely a film about survival should feel that bit strenuous to the viewer? A lot of the film rather becomes about the will they/won’t they romance between Davidson and Smolan, reducing an epic journey to something less than it should be. 1,700 miles of desert never seemed like such a stroll.
Curran instead chooses to depict Davidson’s journey as a spiritual rather than physically arduous one; in that sense, he has more success. The luminous Oz geography, soundtracked by Garth Stevenson’s plaintive, echoing piano chords and gently marching percussion, means Tracks is always watchable. Any sense of urgency may not be felt until the film’s final minutes, but the film is at least its best self here – save for a pair of unnecessary flashbacks attempting to bare Davidson’s history, the finale is a fluid, beautifully shot collection of scenes describing Davidson’s relieved last steps. There’s never anything less than a sense of forward momentum throughout Tracks, but this final lurch shows the rest of the film what it’s been missing.
