The Castle

This odd little farce has nothing to do with the great work by Franz Kafka, though things do hit a Kafka-esque snare when a working-class family's ramshackle estate is annexed by the Australian government for the expansion of the ever present -- and ever noisy -- airport in their backyard. To Darryl Kerrigan, a man's home is his castle, so he rallies the family, digs in his heels, and goes head-to-head with the impersonal bureaucratic powers trying to usurp his domicile.

Rob Sitch's film is a prickly David-versus-Goliath turn that loses its edge as it gets bogged down in courtroom semantics and an unnecessary framework of sugary commentary provided by Darryl's youngest son. What keeps the picture afloat is the devilish, intrepid foolhardiness of its protagonist. As the self-empowered everyman (he's a tow-truck driver) and provider of the Kerrigan clan, Michael Caton incarnates Darryl's idiosyncratic ideologies -- neighborly good will towards the airport, the Zen of greyhound racing, and histrionic cooing over his wife's cooking at the onset of each meal -- with precise, understated verve. The rest of the cast, playing off Caton's indomitable lead, fill out the Kerrigan family circus, which sputters along like The Simpsons realized in the flesh and Down Under.

-- Tom Meek