Phillip Noyce: The art of Noyce

The director Phillip Noyce, sick of waiting for Harrison Ford to say yes to blockbuster projects, made two 'personal' films. And, as he tells Fiona Morrow, he's been in trouble ever since

Phillip Noyce is a great bear of a man: tall, broad, with a mane of steel-grey hair and another chinful to match. Nevertheless, it's his eyes that you notice first, twinkling away happily; this is a man who knows he has done something worthwhile, something he can be proud of.

It might sound harsh but, let's face it, it's been a while. The Australian director's early, home-grown flicks crossed issues with genre – racism in the road movie Backroads, dodgy property development in the thriller Heatwave. But it was the combination of terrific visuals and heartstopping tension in 1988's Dead Calm that brought Hollywood to his door with its chequebook open. Duly hired, he delivered the bums on seats and flogged the popcorn: Clear And Present Danger; The Bone Collector; Patriot Games – big budgets, big bangs, big box office.

And then, something changed. Offered a juicy script set in Australia, Noyce turned it down, because he was due to make the Tom Clancy movie, The Sum of All Fears. "Harrison [Ford] hadn't committed to it, and the studio were very anxious that I persuade him," he says, rolling his eyes. "I finally got sick of what I was doing – which was waiting for Harrison to say 'Yes'. I woke up one morning and just decided to go to Australia instead." (In the event, Ford pulled out of the project as well.)

Making up for lost time, Noyce poked his head back over the parapet and fired a couple of shots outside the system. The result? Two films made within weeks of each other, edited in neighbouring rooms, and released here almost simultaneously: Rabbit-Proof Fence opened earlier this month; The Quiet American is released next week.

"Well, at least it's not boring," laughs Noyce when I remark that this is a working method that borders on the schizophrenic.

At first glance, the two films hardly seem related. Rabbit-Proof Fence is based on the book, Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence, by Doris Pilkington, whose mother and aunt were two of the "Stolen Generation" – mixed race or light-skinned Aboriginal children forcibly taken from their homes to be "de-programmed" by British missionaries.

The Quiet American is, admittedly, another literary adaptation. It's a version of the classic Graham Greene novel set in 1954 in French-occupied Saigon, and stars Michael Caine as the journalist, Fowler, long since disengaged with his career and conducting an adulterous affair with Phuong, a Vietnamese woman many years his junior. Into the mix comes the American, Pyle (Brendan Fraser), apparently a medical charity worker, quickly professing both his love for Phuong and his belief in the formation of a US-backed government to take the place of the communists currently in control. Published in 1955, the plot shows Greene at his most prescient; first test-screened in New York on 10 September last year, the movie's timing is equally acute.

"Both of these films are about the disastrous results of well-intentioned deeds," says Noyce. "They're about symbols of colonialism; in their own ways, the old world and the new world are completely corrupt and self-serving. And, I suppose, both films have a little guilt in them."

It's a personal thing: Noyce explains that when he was growing up in Australia he was hardly aware of the hundreds of Aboriginal people living just outside his town in the local reservation. "Because we didn't see them," he explains, "we didn't have to ask anything about who they were or what their history was. We could get on with our lives, ignoring them."

Vietnam loomed larger in the young Noyce's life: "We were sold the domino theory very effectively," he recalls. "Because we were the final domino – the jewel in the South-east Asian nations destined to fall, one by one, to communism. As a teenager, I bought it hook, line and sinker," he shrugs. "I took my high-school compulsory military training very seriously. I was shown how to avoid the spikes of a Vietnamese bamboo booby trap awaiting me somewhere in the jungle."

If the motivation was personal, the fall-out has been entirely political. Both films have proved highly controversial. "The idea," Noyce smiles, "that doing the right thing could be equated with genocide is, for some people, a connection that they can't tolerate because genocide demands guilt."

The Quiet American's criticism of US foreign policy would hardly have been swallowed easily pre-September 11, but in its aftermath, even liberal Americans recoiled: "A year ago, we thought that we need not bother to finish it," admits Noyce. "The month after September 11, it went down and down at test screenings, it was sinking like an anchor, hitting all the wrong chords with the audience.

"This is a film with no heroes, only deeply flawed people – Americans thought we were being real smart alecs, I think. We seemed to be offering answers when they didn't even want to ask the questions – they wanted only action, revenge involving killing."

Though the film was put back on track by an enthusiastic reception at last year's Toronto Film Festival (it is released in New York and LA today, and goes wider in January), the US press continues to bay for its blood: "They argue that Greene created Pyle a misguided innocent not the damn straight liar of the movie," booms Noyce. "But I disagree. Fowler may say that Pyle was innocent, but he's a character in a book. Greene clearly saw him, at the very least, as highly manipulative." He dismisses all talk of the notoriously interventionist distributors Miramax attempting to nix the film: "They have never tried to censor it or in any way suggest cuts," he insists. "In any case, they didn't have the rights to do that – Sydney Pollack [one of the producers] had the final-cut rights and he didn't exercise them. We were lucky in that respect."

He is clearly impassioned and energised by this return to his principles. Has he tired of Hollywood? "I've had 10 years as a migrant guest worker and it's been great," he replies. "As a director for hire, inevitably you make genre films. And I loved all the movies I made. Just watching that coloniser, Hollywood, the most successful coloniser the world has ever known – more successful than the Romans – watching that machine that's managed to convince all of us that the reality they screen is more valid than our own lives. It's quite an achievement, and it has been achieved by a mastery of promotion and selling.

"But you do get sick of telling other people's stories," he admits with a sigh. "And you do get sick of feeling that you're not really a part of the society. You live in a big house, you have a nice car, you get paid money, but you're an outsider. Perhaps best exemplified by the fact that you can't vote – so you don't make any difference, either. The only difference you make is at the supermarket when you buy something." The sardonic smile creeps back. "And my blockbusters... they're Colonel Sanders movies – savoured at the eating but you can't wait to get them out of your system."

It sounds as though this has been more than a quick professional detox for him, that he's starting to question the value of his work and, thus, his life. He laughs: "Yes, you could say that." He gives it a moment's more thought before adding: "And, let's face it, the decision to make the movies just happened to coincide with me turning 50."

'The Quiet American' is released 29th Nov