Synopsis: The recent television mini series, Underbelly, was a nationwide hit; the story of an atrocious series of gangland killings, where drug dealers and murderers were slain in front of their children, in restaurants and in public streets. How did such a vile story capture the attention of the nation? Why did viewers tune in week after week and then pre-order the box set on DVD? One can only conclude that the series had some sort of resonance with the Australian Public. This essay will aim to explain why.
In life, there are many things that motivate people. There are needs; like the need for food, water, or shelter, and then there are desires; like the desperate yearning to succeed, to have better possessions or even to have total power and control. Underbelly was a 13 part TV series, based on actual events in Melbourne from 1995 to 2004, that demonstrated the lengths some people will go to fulfil their desires. It was a series that dazzled and intrigued millions of Australians, and won the cast and crew a slew of awards. However, the show was not purely a success because of the storyline. Yes, people were interested in the story of “Australia’s worst serial killer” as the show proclaimed, but mainly, they wanted to see it unfold. They wanted to know what these drug dealers and murderers would look like. They wanted to watch the violence. They wanted to relive it, to experience it. And how does one see, live and experience an event once it has already occurred? Through watching a re-presentation, a series of images. And that is why Underbelly was such a successful television series, because the creators could show Australians a piece of their history, could show them how the underworld lived, and could show them what happens when people live purely to satisfy desires.
“To be a top gangster you need to be ruthless, dangerous and cunning – but most of all you need to be born with a survivors instinct.” (Excerpt from the book Underbelly: The Gangland War, by John Silverster and Andrew Rule, page 160)
The show was a brilliant success. Millions tuned in every week, and a second series, a prequel, was forthcoming. But why was the seedy underworld so attractive to the viewers? Was it that deep down everyone has that innate desire to let the monster in them out? Did people see themselves in the characters? Or was the idea of the money, and the lifestyle that the characters appear to lead to tempting for the public to resist?
Perhaps what is in play too, is the spirit of Aussie pride. Despite the fact that the story is actually a series of brutal drug fuelled slayings, and probably because of it, Australians are drawn to it, they find it appealing. The story takes on a cultural significance because locals identify with the characters, even if only because they have seen them previously in Australian soapy’s or ads. The Aussie accents are also a welcome change for viewers who generally sit through hours of American or English broadcast, and the locations too are familiar. The Underbelly series seems to have captivated and divided Australians in much the same way that the Ned Kelly legend has. However, the visual aspect, and the absolute media saturation, on TV, radio, magazines and newspaper, has meant few could escape it. And as crude as it may seem, Aussies appear to like to have their own killers. But do they like them, or do they just fear or respect them?
“It was said he could kill for loyalty, be loyal for money, and take money for a kill.” (From the TV series, Underbelly, episode 6)
Andrew “Benji” Venjamin was described in the TV series as being “one of the most loved killers in all of Melbourne.” This statement is in itself interesting, as it demonstrates what was perhaps the greatest technique employed by the writers and directors of Underbelly. One of the contributing factors to the shows success was its ability to make the viewer both love and hate the character. The audience was expected to fall in love with, or at the very least feel some admiration for the characters. How could they not, even though most of the main characters were intrinsically bad, they were likeable. Cool, calm, collected, funny and often just silly. Mainly they were endearing. The characters were visually constructed that way; the way they were dressed, the cars that they drove, the venues they frequented, the food they ate, and the drugs that they used. There was, on some level, respect or perhaps even envy that viewers felt towards the characters. And yet every time one began to have such feelings towards the character, be it respect, admiration or love, the character betrays that bond by performing some despicable, unforgivable act. There is, for example, the scene where Benji is out at a nightclub, he is with a mate Rocco, and a girl he has just met. Rocco is rude to the girl and Benji defends her honour. Later, Roberta Williams calls Benji to come and consol her. He leaves, telling the girl that he will be back. Roberta is pregnant, and emotional. Benji comforts her, bringing her ice-cream and Vodka. He then returns to meet his new woman. These images are powerful, the tough and likeable hit man, abandoning his plans for the evening to comfort a friend, standing up to a rude and arrogant mate, and returning as promised to a date. However, that scene is quickly upturned when he arrives back at the club to find his mate has absconded with the girl. The next moment, Benji is at Rocco’s door, where he opens fire into his mates’ chest, as a payback for the betrayal. The date weeps in the apartment to the police, “He seemed like a real sweetie.” It is this contrast, visually presented without a word that once again distances the character from the viewer. As much as one wants to like him, he is still inherently evil, and there is the power of Underbelly, and the power of contrasting images.
Contrasting images were used repeatedly throughout the series as a way of piecing two narrative trajectories together. It also helped to create the distinction between the two rival gangs, “The Carlton Crew” and “The Williams Camp”. Another memorable scene was the aftermath of Jason Moran’s death. The Carlton Crew were sombre, attending the funeral. This scene was intersected with shots of the Williams family celebrations for their daughters’ christening. The black and grey scenes from the church contrasted with the bright and cheery scenes from the party. The releasing of balloons at the funeral paralleled the purple and silver balloons adoring the party room. The tears of sorrow compared with the smiles of elation, as both gangs reacted to the news of Jason’s death.
Violence was often broken up in an almost strobe like fashion. Martin Scorsese is reputedly one of the best directors of violent scenes, and he has said on many occasions that violence is often more scary when it is imagined. And that idea has certainly been explored on Underbelly. In the episode where Alphonse Gangitano descends into his hellish moral conflict, he begins by wreaking havoc with a pool cue in a bar. Images of the faces and wounds of the victims are flashed onto the screen, interrupting each moment of contact. The assumed violence is far more frightening when the hit isn’t shown, but the evidence is immediate. Following the violence, the audience is shown the containment cell, and then the surveillance camera where Alphonse is seen on his knees, vomiting onto the floor. It is as if the viewer is only shown the scene from a distance, as if they could not possibly relate to the character, and therefore cannot share the moment at his level, but rather experience it as an onlooker. This editing allows for the viewer to watch the characters decline. One sees his out of control behaviour, and his remorse. They may pity him, but they no longer respect him, and this sets Alphonse up for his death. “With filmed events, sequences of actions are not presented as they appear in the world but, rather, are structured in accordance with the principals of film editing (Hochberg & Brooks, 1978; Kraft, 1987b; Mascelli, 1965). Many frames are omitted from the live action, yet viewers are still able to comprehend and remember the depicted events (Kraft, 1987a).” (Communication Research, Vol 18 No. 5, October 1991 601.)
Carl Williams was one of the central characters of the series. He was depicted as being a slow witted, fat bogan who almost stumbled into the drug trade and saw “bumping people” as just part of his business. This was evident in a scene where he was piling wads of cash into a bag, his wife asking for thirty thousand dollars, to which he replied that money was tight this week. Her childish reaction further clarifying the family’s views, “Well my fucking jewellery won’t be on sale forever.” He was always depicted in a tracksuit, eating and was often referred to a being “fat”, “lazy” or “ugly”. He was set up from the start to be unlikeable. Not once was he seen in a suit, or in any type of car other than the run of the mill Commodore. Even his lieutenant hit man Benji drove a (stolen) late model Mercedes Benz. Carl was never intended to be respected or glorified in the way the other villains in the series were.
Roberta too was never glamorised the way characters like Danielle Maguire, Tony Mokbel’s girlfriend, was. Roberta wore a tracksuit the entire series, minimal make up, and spoke in a way that would make a sailor blush. Roberta was cheated on, made fun of and called a range of obscenities. Danielle was rewarded with gifts, wore Versace dresses and was always made up, complete with exquisite jewellery. She was wined and dined by gangsters. Danielle was to be liked, Roberta despised.
Alphonse Gangitano was meant to be liked, but also almost laughed at. It was meant to be humorous that he arrived at parties and demanded Opera music be played. It was meant to be humorous that he enjoyed fine red wine, commenting that one of “the sisters” got “ripped off love.” The viewer was meant to see the funny side of being more upset that his suit and shoes were ruined by blood stains, than the death of a colleague at his hands. His arrogance and his self-assuredness was meant to not only be amusing, but to play into the stereotypical Italian Mafia gangster caricature that most Australians seem to enjoy. This was clearly demonstrated when a police car pulled up in front of him, blocking his path. Alphonse hitched up his pant legs, climbed onto the bonnet, and continued walking across the car, rather than simply walking around it. This scene was key to informing the audience of the power and the attitude that these criminals possessed, particularly towards the police. This visual representation was one of the strongest indicators, and one of the most memorable scenes, despite the fact that it contained no violence, and no nudity, which many mediums accused the show of being all about.
Steve Owen was the detective who played a major role in investigating the gangland war and ultimately brought Carl Williams to justice. He was the ultimate good cop/ bad cop. He ranged between trying to do things by the book and harbouring such an intense hatred for the criminal characters that he would compromise his beliefs to see them behind bars. He was seen as fit, a clear visual contrast to his arch nemesis, Carl. He was, with the exception of one scene, either working out, or in a suit. On the one occasion that he was seen out of uniform, he was positioned lying on his couch, with empty beer cans adorning the table, and floor around him. An image that was powerful because it was so contradictory to his character, and illustrated clearly his feelings of hopelessness.
Jason Moran was seen as the ultimate thug. Raised tough by the streets, he wore the standard blue wife beater and jeans, and drove an older model Mercedes Benz. He had money, but not enough to live the lifestyle he dreamed. The book that the Underbelly series was based on, Underbelly: The Gangland War, says, “Jason Moran came from a family of career criminals, but had many chances to break free. But in the end, he loved the idea of becoming a gangster too much. The death of his wife’s father, as well as the murder of his half-brothers father, didn’t seem to show him that it was a career with limitations. In the underworld, fringe benefits can be tempting, but the redundancy package is distinctly unattractive. It is small, made of lead and arrives suddenly. You don’t see it coming.” (Page 206) Jason was rarely shown smiling throughout the series. He was a paranoid, ferret of a man, and was never intended to be respected by the audience.
Mick Gatto was perhaps the most interesting of the lot to consider. His character was stylish, articulate, witty and had a sort of cool factor. He was meant to be respected, or admired. Criminals looked up to him on the show, they respected him. He requested meetings and everyone from Carl, to Benji to Tony Mokbel would turn up. But the reason he is interesting, is that the TV series clearly showed Mick kill Benji Venjamin. He called him over, asked to see him out the back of the restaurant, and shot him in the stock room. The body lying on the floor, covered in blood and tomato sauce, an image that almost suggests a clouding or contamination of evidence. Which mirrored what was to happen in reality, where the real Mick Gatto was found not guilty of the murder of Andrew “Benji” Venjamin, due to a technicality. So what has essentially happened is that where evidence in court could not find Gatto guilty, the small screen has. The power of a succession of images has been demonstrated in this case, “…we know that photographs and film are representations and not the embodiment of truth or objective reality, but that is how they affect us: the images and the soundtrack overwhelm us, as it were, and make it difficult for us to remain impartial, distanced and critical.” (page 58)
The series also had an impact on the lives of those it was based on. Roberta Williams experienced a resurgence of popularity, appearing in a bikini in the men’s magazine, Zoo Weekly, as well as enjoying regular appearances on A Current Affair. The curious thing about her ACA appearances was that it actually highlighted the power of the image, rather than personality. Obviously appearing on the show was quite controversial considering many Australians regard her as a criminal. This was shown on several occasions when the nine network conducted Vox Pops on the streets of Sydney and Melbourne to ascertain what the general public thought of Roberta Williams. In Melbourne, where the TV series was banned (due to a Suppression Order by the Supreme Court) and where Roberta had experienced media attention in the years leading up to Carls arrest, the general consensus was that Roberta had paid her dues and most people thought “good on her” for trying to re-build her life once again. On the other hand, in Sydney, where the series had just been aired, most people felt that Roberta was a criminal, a drug dealer, and that she should be locked up. The difference between the two states was that those in the northern region had witnessed the way Kat Stewart portrayed Roberta; as a vile, snake like woman who clung to Carl for his money, ran the business while he was in prison, and cheated on her husbands openly and frequently.
“In 2003, Roberta Williams was an unknown nobody. In less than a year she became the best-known nobody in town. She of the toothy smile, pugnacious attitude and sharp tongue was a compulsory inclusion on the media coverage of Melbourne’s underworld shootings.” (Excerpt from the book Underbelly: The Gangland War, page 360)
The TV series, Underbelly, re-presented a reality. The events did in fact occur. Some thirty people were murdered because of the drug war. But it is easy to forget that the series was in fact just a story based upon the events. It was a re-creation, a dramatisation, a re-enactment. The murders were set up. The conversations were scripted. The characters were sexed up, made more attractive, wittier, more articulate, funnier, and craftier. Admittedly, that is done with all visual re-presentations, but concern arises when the medium goes so far as to glamorise the event to the point of glorification. And that is the power of the image. The viewer looks at what is presented on the screen before them, and witnesses something so impressive, so interesting, and so desirable; that they forget that what they are viewing is a framed re-presentation of something that is in fact so dirty, so false and so evil. That constructed image can, and has, in the case of Underbelly, fooled many viewers.
“We ‘trust’ the pictures because they are so close to the world as we experience it and we are simply accustomed to believing the evidence of our senses.” (page 58 of pscandochfg)
In conclusion, Underbelly has shown how images can influence opinion, as in the case of Roberta Williams; can cast doubt upon innocence, as with Mick Gatto; can educate, as the show has done by informing one generation and reminding another; and can thoroughly entertain.
References: • Underbelly: The Gangland War, John Silverster and Andrew Rule, Floradale Productions Pty Ltd and Sly Ink Pty Ltd, 2008. • Underbelly, 13 part series on DVD, • Extract from, Can we go Beyond the Image Wars, provided on vUWS website. • Extract from, On the Visualisation, The Sensation of the Historical Culture of the Image, provided on vUWS website. • The Coherence of Visual Narratives, Robert N. Kraft, Phillip Cantor and Charles Gottdiener, Communication Research, 1991; 18; 601. • Lecture notes from Peter Dallow, Autumn 2009 lectures on Visual Thinking. • Crossing Criminal Cultures, documentary on the works of Martin Scorsese, • http://www.australiantelevision.net/underbelly/ accessed on 15th May 2009 • http://www.news.ninemsn.com.au/article.sspx?id=377479 accessed on 16th May 2009 • http://www.smh.com.au/news/tv-reviews/underbelly/2008/02/12/1202760283935.html accessed on 16th May 2009 • http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underbelly_(TV_series) accessed on 16th May 2009 • Juvenile Delinquency and Behavior Patterning ,Walter C. Reckless, Journal of Educational Sociology, Vol. 10, No. 8, Research in Child Development (Apr., 1937), American Sociological Association.
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