It’s the eyes. The cheeky, mischievous twinkle of a man in love with life in all its absurdities and comic possibilities. When you conjure up John Clarke from memory or view any parts of his vast body of satirical work, his eyes, glittering with “anarchy” as Jana Wendt describes them, are foremost.
Wendt is just one of many colleagues, friends and collaborators interviewed in this affecting and fascinating documentary, But Also John Clarke, from writer/director, and eldest daughter, Lorin Clarke. All speak of their love for Clarke, perhaps none more so than old friend Sam Neill, still clearly upset at Clarke’s death.
For some time before this, Lorin had been collating material and interviewing her father, committing his life to cassette tape. The poignancy of the project is self-evident. Lorin began exploring her father’s career, friends and family, only for her subject to suddenly, and ironically, collapse and die while walking to the summit of Mt Abrupt in the Grampians/Gariwerd National Park in 2017.
This is not a documentary where the interviewer disappears behind the story. Lorin is highly visible; deliberately so. For this film is a conversation and a discovery. And not just between father and daughter. It resonates with Clarke’s ethos that his comedy is a collaboration with his audience.
Those crazy eyes, the grin; we’re in on the joke. Lorin is gently interrogative, and it’s here that her conversational style is strong, eliciting frequently painful recollections from her father about his relationship with his parents.
For someone who came from a home of “enmity…and loathing” between parents carrying deep emotional scars from WWII, it is perhaps remarkable that a “generous man” (says Andrew Denton) of “immense kindness” (Neill) could have emerged.
A childhood spent attempting to keep two people together informed Clarke’s understanding of “the two-ness of things” that underpinned much of his comedy. Clarke makes clear, though, the distinction between the “applied science” of his material and himself – “my life isn’t the point.”
In this context, the wealth of home footage and his decision to finally tell his story are uncannily, if tragically, prescient.
The film has a generally linear construction, but there are interesting digressions and circumlocutions along the way, such as when it canvases Clarke’s inspirations, most notably Peter Cook and Dudley Moore.
It also reflects on Clarke’s influence on later generations of comedians, like Flight of the Conchords. The overbrimming well of childhood trauma is returned to a number of times but has a surprisingly gentle finale. And the source of Fred Dagg’s distinctive voice is also revealed.
Moving from childhood battles with a bullying father struggling with PTSD, Clarke was next confronted with another unpleasant experience at Scots College in Wellington. Here, his anti-authority, smart arse behaviour – a life-long commitment, it must be said – was frequently punished.
Fortunately, Clarke finally found a receptive audience, including some lifelong friends, at university.
It is not made overt, but there is a sense that Clarke’s response to tribulation ultimately steered him to great happiness. His parents’ brutal divorce led him to London, where he met his wife, Helen.
His rise to iconic status as Fred Dagg, the cheekily anti-authority New Zealand everyman, whose voice was a “statement from his audience,” precipitated a backlash from powerful conservative forces. So much so that in 1977, Clarke relocated to Australia.
But it was here that he discovered his writing voice, establishing himself both as a screenwriter and in a decades-long creative partnership with Bryan Dawe. In Australia, he arguably produced his most effective material, including the long-running Clarke and Dawe and The Games. (Footage of two favourite episodes, Robbo and the 100 Metres and Reconciliation, is included.)
There is almost a tacit understanding that this is a film for fans. Some clips are untitled, though admirers will instantly recognise them. For example, Clarke’s car salesman in Never Say Die, or a clip from Death in Brunswick (though a later, extended excerpt is acknowledged).
Lacking, perhaps, is some comparison with contemporary comedic artists who had a similar effect on public consciousness. Someone like Paul Hogan. Then, again, this film is a personal reflection.
The quantity and variety of material assembled is quite extraordinary. There is a lovely piece of editing where archival footage of then-young screenwriter Andrew Knight is matched to seemingly the same discussion decades later. Indeed, Aleck Moton’s editing is one of the real pleasures of this film.
But Also John Clarke is not a critical dissection. It is a fascinating celebration of a life fully lived by a person who enriched many other lives. John Clarke was unique, an icon in two countries. Though there is an undercurrent of sadness for our collective loss, Lorin Clarke’s film unfailingly reminds us of the joy we received in the company of her dad.
But Also John Clarke opens nationally in cinemas on 4 September 2025.
Website: https://rialtodistribution.com/film/but-also-john-clarke/
Socials: https://www.instagram.com/rialtodistributionau/
Watch the trailer:
Film details:
Title: But Also John Clarke
Director: Lorin Clarke
Cast: John Clarke, Lorin Clarke, Bryan Dawe, Sam Neill, Stephen Fry, David Wenham, Ben Elton, Jane Wendt, Andrew Denton
Country of Origin: Australia
Distributor: Rialto
Rating: M
Duration: 103 mins
Check your local cinema for session times.
