Australia has always historically had a bit of a self-depreciating streak about it, deemed unofficially cultural cringe and dealt with unofficially with what we call tall poppy syndrome. We don't like someone who goes out of their way to show off how high and mighty they are. So The Castle is inherently a classic battler (underdog) story, about the little man sticking it to the bullying corporation. But if you saw what he was fighting for you might struggle to hold in a laugh. Dale Kerrigan narrates his family's life on 3 Highview Crescent, Coolaroo. It looks like a nice enough place until the camera pans ever so slightly to the left to reveal an airport runway not fifty metres from their backyard. Darryl fancies himself a bit of DIY guru so he has taken it upon himself to fashion 'extensions' of sorts, propped up by creaky metal scaffolding and tarps flapping about majestically in the wind. He and his family constantly beam inwardly and pinch themselves on getting such a prime piece of land for so cheap (its value hasn't risen once, despite all of Darryl's handiwork with the fake lace and chimney).
Tracy is the prize hen of the Kerrigan's, and the only one in the family to have a Tafe degree (somewhat equivalent to a community college) in hairdressing, no less. The flip side of this situation is the black sheep, Wayne, who is in jail for attempted robbery. If you have ever lived in Australia you would know that we always start conversations or meetings with a "How are you" or a "how's it going", without actually wanting to know the specific answer to this question. It's a distinct pleasantry that has attached itself to our daily speech, and The Castle has a delightful play on this notion when Dale goes for his weekly visit to Wayne. They have nothing to talk about (Dale never mentions school, or a job, or anything remotely resembling a future prospect) so the entire conversation is basically a checklist of Wayne enquiring about the family's status: "How's Dad?", "Good", "How's Mum?", "Good", "How's Trace?", "Good" and so on for hours and hours.
But they love each other very much all the same, and The Castle never tries to deny this. The Kerrigans and their ways are only a slight exaggeration from some working class Australian families, so the film is not laughing at them, but rather laughing with them. A key aspect of parody is being able to recognise these faults, and this makes the film so much more valuable when one can point out all the details it gets right. The serenity of a sweaty summer night for example, save for the constant hum of the bug zapper (and the cicadas, which the film forgets). Or how Darryl makes sure to use 'serenity' twice, as if to proudly demonstrate his knack for mastering slightly bigger words. The voice-over narration follows put; Dale's thought process is so literal he is sometimes simply followed by the exact dialogue of his recount. A young Eric Bana also joins in, pronouncing disenchanted like he had just looked it up in the dictionary and wants to impress his father-in-law. The family marvels at the luxurious riches afforded them on their honeymoon, mainly the freedom of choice between fish and beef wellington (an exotic term to them). One running joke has Steve constantly interrupting with listings from the sales section of the newspaper, and Darryl entertaining the idea of buying anything and everything, then shooting down the asking price without a second thought. Dads want to show that they are resourceful, but also frugal; Darryl has the uncanny ability to identify the market value of anything that Steve might want to purchase. One guy is selling seven eskies all at once. You can never have too many eskies.
Rob Sitch would follow his directorial debut with another warmly Australian movie, The Dish, which was about the contributions of a small New South Wales town's radio telescope in the first manned mission to the moon. If these movies lean heavily on a certain type of caricature ala Ozploitation, then they do so in a good-natured way. They could never ever be set in the big city, where we have all but assimilated into the civilised ways of the west. These days, if we do say "You ripper!" it's probably in an intentional, ironic way, although like the film itself, there's an element of playing along with a grin.
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