Film Review - BMX Bandits

BMX Bandits is a film uncertain of its purpose. It divides its focus between two main characters and two main themes, never alighting on one path for long and if truth be known, never satisfactorily resolving either.

The two main characters are Whitey, played by Duglas T. Stewart and Moustache, played by Finlay McDonald, both of whose celebrity was born in seminal 1980s jingly, jangly guitar-pop band, the BMX Bandits. These are the BMX Bandits of the title and the first of the two themes, played out in the first and final quarters of the film, concerns their attempts to outdo one another in the pursuit of whey-faced, unpigmented simpleton, Nicole Kidman, playing Judy.

Judy is a kind of antipodean Jeremy Clarkson and Whitey and Moustache’s attraction is never justified. Nevertheless, they gamely perform cartwheels and other athletic feats in an attempt to woo her. At one point, Whitey brings Judy a semi-mauled field mouse and attempts to teach her to hunt as a domestic cat might. This rather clumsy allusion to Whitey’s predatory nature falls profoundly flat, as cats only encourage their offspring to participate in hunting play, not potential mates. Judy is also the quarry in this metaphor and would therefore occupy the role of the mouse. Unfortunately, this scene is symptomatic of how ill-thought-out this film truly is.

During the course of one of these courting shenanigans, Moustache is arrested and subsequently incarcerated. This leads us to the second of the film’s themes - the Panopticon. For those unfamiliar with the concept, the panopticon, originally devised by the 18th century philosopher Jeremy Bentham, was a form of prison in which inmates could be under constant surveillance. The crux of the idea was that prisoners would believe themselves to be being watched, even when they weren’t and would behave well accordingly. The idea has strong influence within contemporary society and has led to the use of speed cameras and CCTV in town centres. BMX Bandits attempts to address some of the issues that this growing reliance upon surveillance raises, with just about no success.

The prison in which Moustache is due to serve his time is constructed according to Bentham’s original design. It is a large circular building with cells arranged around the outer wall. At the very centre of the building lies, in effect, a second tower. This second indoor tower seems superfluous at first, but Moustache soon learns that it is from this darkened silo that his behaviour is monitored. An early disagreement with a second inmate concerning the meaning of life which spills over into violence is stopped in its tracks by shouts of, ‘Oi. Stop it,’ from within. From that moment onwards Moustache is determined to test the constancy of his surveillance. In reality there is only one viewer within the tower and the more acts which go unnoticed, the more Moustache’s behaviour deteriorates. This is the sole point made in this segment of the film. Surveillance is only successful as a means of social control so long as those being watched believe themselves to be under real threat of reprisals.

Having been released from the Panopticon, Moustache returns to find that virtually nothing has happened in his absence, so he returns to his half-baked circus tricks alongside Whitey. It is here that you lose all hope of a satisfactory denouement. There is no sense of progression and you feel that the previous segment of the film was entirely unnecessary and merely shoehorned in at the bequest of the director. The directionless feel of the whole film is only compounded by the downbeat final scenes in which Moustache, having endured the penal system and any number of heavy falls performing stunts for Judy, limps off home complaining of sciatic pain and possible tennis elbow, leaving the spoils to Whitey by default.

While the attempt to tackle a topic as pertinent as our burgeoning surveillance culture is admirable, the decision to place this study within a film about two musicians stalking an albino is fundamentally flawed.