The Australian director is known for his bold sense of decoration, but overall, he practices a mundane visual zippiness. The screen is often colorful and busy, though sloppily so, without any sense of meaning or thrill. Here, the aesthetic more recalls early Peter Jackson and John Waters, but with the transgressions snipped and the grotesqueries rendered thoroughly vanilla.
The director’s exaggerated approach pushes the proceedings to the brink of outright parody. However, the affection he clearly has for his narrative formulas and archetypes is so enthusiastic that the action comes to feel like a tribute to the enduring power of age-old routines, and the way in which dressing them up with novel embellishments doesn’t destroy them but, in fact, serves to enhance their lasting appeal and affect.