Film Review: Head South (2025) - New Zealand
Reviewed by Andrew Chan (Film Critic Circle of Australia)
I rated it 7.5/10
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New Zealand director Jonathan Ogilvie’s “Head South” arrives not with a polished sheen, but with the scuffed boots and slightly frayed energy of the very scene it lovingly documents: the nascent, DIY post-punk explosion in Christchurch, New Zealand, circa 1979. It’s a film blessed with a specificity of time and place that feels lived-in, not researched. Ogilvie, who was there, avoids the nostalgic glow and neon clichés often applied to the era. Instead, he gives us the "True South" – a Christchurch rendered in chilly grays, damp concrete, and the pervasive scent of stale cigarettes clinging to damp wool sweaters. It’s a world where rebellion feels less like a pose and more like a necessary escape hatch.
The plot skeleton is familiar territory: a teenager starts a band primarily to impress a girl. But “Head South” injects this well-worn trope with a potent dose of atmospheric grit and a central performance by Australian young actor Ed Oxenbould (“Paper Planes”) that transforms Angus from a potential caricature into a deeply relatable, if painfully awkward, hero. Angus is a private-school boy adrift, a "pathological fantasist" whose life finds sudden, jarring meaning not in scripture or sport, but in the jagged, revolutionary sounds of a Public Image Ltd. record sent by his absent brother. This vinyl artifact becomes his lifeline, his scripture.
His target is Holly (the effortlessly cool Roxie Mohebbi), older and existing on a plane of bohemian sophistication Angus can only desperately mimic. To reach her orbit, he commits the classic, cringe-inducing sin of the young and insecure: he lies. He claims musical prowess he doesn’t possess, landing a gig he is spectacularly unprepared for. The film’s true spark, however, ignites not just in Angus’s flailing ambition, but in his accidental partnership with Kirsten. Played with disarming naturalism and dry wit by pop star Benee (a revelation), Kirsten is the quiet chemist assistant who possesses the actual musical talent Angus only pretends to have. Their dynamic – his chaotic, performative desperation meeting her grounded, slightly bemused competence – is the film’s beating heart.
“Head South” excels as a masterclass in atmosphere. Ogilvie and his team craft a Christchurch that feels palpably real and slightly dangerous. The production design isn't showy; it's tactile. You feel the scratch of the sweaters, smell the damp in the practice rooms, sense the oppressive weight of the gray skies. This authenticity bleeds into the music. Shayne Carter’s soundtrack and score aren't mere accompaniment; they are essential characters, throbbing with the jagged, thrilling, and often amateurish energy of the post-punk movement. The music drives the film, reflecting Angus's internal chaos and the scene's raw potential.
The film isn't without its stumbles. The second act occasionally loses its rhythmic momentum, meandering slightly before regaining its footing. More jarring is a late-game family tragedy that introduces a sudden, heavy tonal shift. While it undeniably adds weight to Angus’s journey towards maturity, the transition feels abrupt against the wry, comedic, and musically charged energy of the film’s first hour. It briefly threatens the delicate balance Ogilvie has so carefully established.
Yet, “Head South” ultimately transcends its minor flaws. It’s more than a coming-of-age tale or a nostalgic trip. It’s a perceptive exploration of authenticity versus artifice, set against the backdrop of a musical revolution that prized raw truth over polish. It’s for anyone who ever felt like an imposter fumbling towards their own voice, who found salvation in a crackling guitar chord or a pounding drumbeat. Charming, bittersweet, and sonically electric, “Head South” is a grainy, hyper-local love letter that resonates with a surprisingly universal truth: sometimes, finding yourself starts with pretending to be someone else, badly, until the real you bleeds through. (Neo, 2025)