Why so curious?

Sometimes you see a play, or a film (or in this case a theatremovie), and it just feels perfect.

I read The CuriousIncident of the Dog in the Night Time a few years ago because I was tutoring a girl from Calrossy and she was studying it for the HSC. And I loved it. It is a novel  about an autistic kid written from his perspective, a seriously limited first person narrative. It explores some of the issues of relationships with autistic people, the difficulties of parenting, of honesty, of emotional nuance… But it is a really easy read.

When I found out the National Theatre (one of my favourite theatre companies, based in London, right down the road from where I used to live) was developing a production, I was sceptical. I mean, this is a really internalised novel, we get everything from Christopher’s perspective. How in the hell would they be able to translate that to bodies-in-space-and-time? Into a physicalized, theatrical performance? It’s not just a matter of having people say the lines, theatre is much more about immediacy, showing the audience the story rather than just the words on the page.

Then I read reviews. People I know. People I follow on twitter. The rest of the internet.

And it was universally loved.

Then by chance I saw that it was on at our little cinema, and it was just a chance that I needed to get on.

This is a story perfect for the stage.

They have externalised the sensory overload that autistic people can feel, and used some state of the art theatrical technics to really bring it to life. Performed in the round, with a floor made of LED displays, and crystal clear floor projections, it really immersed the audience into the performance, and this even translated onto the film. The ensemble cast nailed the transformative acting, and the dance/movement parts were so poignant and beautiful. I love it when the actors play all of the furniture in some of the scenes. And the guy playing Christopher? AMAZING!! He really captured the behaviour and difference of an autistic kid, without making it about disability or pity.

I wish I’d brought you guys with me. I wish I could take all of my classes, hell the whole damn school. If people say they don’t like theatre, I dare them not to be drawn into this personal, universal world.

Gravity Sucks

It has been far too long since I blogged. And the boot in the pants to get back to it is of course OscarsFest. If Tori can get back into creating amazing meals for each of the nominated Best Films, then the least I can do is a quick write up. (Especially since I already wrote one for my teaching blog.)

So here goes...

Gravity Sucks

By which of course I mean the gravitational pull of the earth, the force that attracts all physical bodies to each other. It sucks us to the Earth.

But the film doesn’t.

I saw Gravity today.

Wow.

One of the problems presented by space films is the emptiness. But Sandra Bullock really fills the blackness. Her performance is phenomenal. This is a story about survival and hardship and perseverence.

Given my emersion in all things Cold War last year, of course I couldn’t help but view the film through those lenses. The whole issue of getting Lost In Space was caused because those irresponsible, pesky Russians created too much space junk. The Reds are in the wrong again.

It could also be seen as an allegory of grief, a woman facing the chasm of grief, the unexplorable, unexplainable emptiness of life without meaning, without love. An unfathomable challenge.

There is also that hint of conservation story telling here. Lets stop junking up our skies, our planet, our lives. Because we only have one.

As I said, Bullock is incredible in thius film. She commands that character in a way I have never seen her do. Street beyond Gracie from Miss Congeniality. Such gravitas on the screen. Though George Clooney's performance is impressive as well. He's back to his thoroughly likable self.

I am actually pleased that I didn't see this at the cinema, and I'm stoked I didn't see it in 3D. I probably would have hurled all over the 3 rows in front of me. The cinematography is powerful and lurching, and imersion in that world would have sent my poor little tiny balance sea-sick ear bones into a tailspin. And given the fact that The Secret Life of Walter Mitty got no joy in the cinematography category, this is now my pick.

As far as space flicks go, this doesn't have goodies and baddies. There is no force or warp speed or beaming anybody up anything. Its real people, in tiny spaces, with loose tethers to things, the world, each other, themselves.

Worth it.

She saved the world. A lot.

Apparently it is still all about sexy vampires...
Sometimes, end of term smacks me around a bit.
Sometimes, it lays me flat. It lays me on my couch, with droopy eyes, and pale skin, and aches and pains in all the wrong places.

Tonsilitis is a real pain in my neck, and my special variety of Holiday Tonsilitis is a special variety of pain.

Solution? A well viewed DVD, or several; end on end. Really get that flatscreen cranking.

Over the course of this term, culminating in a panadol-infused binge, I have rewatched the entire 7 series of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.

Yep, this show is old. Fifteen years old. And I am STILL in love with it.

For seven years, for 152 episodes, for 6,384 minutes, Joss Whedon created a show about a young woman and her friends finding a place for themselves in the world, through high school, college and beyond. And along the way they fight demons and avert multiple apocalypses. Sure it has dated a bit (did I mention it is FIFTEEN years old??) but it is still rivetting, relevant television.

I was initally skeptical. I mean, who wouldn't be? Could they have chosen a more vacuous sounding name than "Buffy"? Could they have created a more naff sounding title? But that is entirely the point. The expectation is that Buffy is going to be some incapable blonde bint more concerned with nail integrity than saving the world. And the irony is created when that expectation is utterly confounded. She does care about nail integrity AND saving the world. (Side note: I managed to actually teach my year 9 boys what Irony is. And at least 5 of them got it. I'm calling it an Educational Victory!) I remember scoffing about it to my flatmate at the time, and he persuaded me to give it a shot. I fell way more in love with it than he did.

The central metaphor is not difficult to grasp; the demons and monsters she fights represent the challenges and battles faced by  us all in our lives - making friends, keeping a boyfriend, dealing with parents... just magnified into big rubber suits, prosthetic make up and mucusy slime. A friend of mine from uni wrote her thesis on it (and I would STILL love to read it...)

In season 2 (not seen it yet? a. you're an idiot, b. there will be spoilers in this paragraph) Buffy and her vampire-with-a-soul brooding boyfriend Angel (what kind of a tough guy name is that??!?) consumate their relationship for the first time, in a very tender, fleshy montage with lots of close ups of hands and closed eyes. The act of lurve, the moment of perfect happiness breaks the curse on Angel, and frees him of his soul, returning him to the nasty, manipulative, violent vampire he was before. A little bit like that older guy who convinces that teenage girl to give up her V-Plates and then immediately after the act turns into King Jerk of Jerk town. Except with more blood lust and desire to torture. See? The analogy is not really that much of a stretch.

As the series progressed, each season dealt with increasingly more complex issues. Politics. Science. Theology. Grief. Community. Communication. Power. Leadership. Humanity. Not all just broken nails and boy troubles.

Back in the dark ages of the late 90s, there wasn't much in the way of kick-arse chicks on television. Sure, we had Xena. But she was so overly stylised and camp, that she couldn't really be applied to real life. Buffy was (and evidently still is) a pretty kick arse hero of the show. She isn't a heroine. She is not the tacked on, token female character. She isn't the love interest. But she also isn't masculine either. She fights bad guys using mad kung-fu moves in rediculous high heels. She chases down other bad guys in floaty fabric blouses. Her hair is pretty hot, almost all the time (not as hot as Connie Britton from FNL, she still wins the hottest hair award.) The show only ever really makes a big deal about Buffy being a girl when it is ridiculing people who make a big deal out of her being a girl. Those enemies or bystanders who refer to Buffy as "just a girl" or "a little girl"usually come to a sticky end. Or at least quickly change their mind. But that is it. They don't harp on about it. To harp on about how empowered would completly undermine the empowerment in the first place.

The legacy of her kickarse status as a female hero is not difficult to see. Sydney Bristow Alias followed not long after her. Sarah in Chuck isn't the hero, but she is a damn site more kickarse than the central character. Recently we've seen Emily/Amanda in Revenge. None of these would have been the same without the pioneering work of Joss and Sarah Michelle Double-Barrel Gellar and pals.

In his own creations, Joss continues to create girls with guts: Zoe in Firefly and Echo in Dollhouse, and while she is kind of on the perifery, Scarlett Johannsson's Black Widow does some pretty awesome arse kicking in The Avengers. He's even done a modern reworking of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, the Bard's most arsekicking feminist play of all.

I've spoken before about my love for Joss and all he does, but my inspiration for the Buffy rewatch was a meme I saw on facebook. And I love it.

(I decided to end the rant of love there. I don't think there is room for me to discuss the nuances of the other characters, the hero's journey and redemption, the understated representation of a gay couple, the delightful intertextual geekiness, the postmodern thinking that runs through every scene, and every line of dialogue... My love for this show runs way too deep)

Just one final thought:

Pushing Fantasy

I'm not usually a fan of fantasy novels. It has to be a special kind of fantasy to get me hooked. Harry Potter for example had me thoroughly hooked right from Privet Drive. But (and I confess this with a healthy dose of the Sheepish) Lord of The Rings I found confusing, all those Saurons and Sarumons and beared humanoids of differing heights. It wasn't until I saw the brilliant film version and could get Viggo and Sir Ian and the Seans differentiated in my head that I could then tackle the weighty tomes of Tolkein. But once I had the casting straight, I found it a breeze.

It is a similar story for A Song of Ice and Fire. Or as fellow HBO fanatics call it Game of Thrones.

I have had Sean Bean brooding on this spiky seat on my bookshelves for over a year. A very clever fellow from the Boy Factory pointed me in its direction AGES ago, more specifically to the HBO series, and I like to do the book first.

And I tried.

But I just couldn't separate the Roberts and the Robbs. The Eddards, the Edwins and the Edwards. My imagination just didn't have the casting sorted out. So I dove right into the HBO series.

And when has HBO ever let us down?? Entourage, Sex & the City, True Blood, Band of Brothers. Can they do ANYTHING wrong? I think not.

As ever, HBO structure each episode in a V shape. Most narratives are an A frame: introduction, building action, climax, resolution. A Shakespearean tragedy does it in the most text book way. But an HBO episode of almost everything does it in the kind of opposite way. It usually starts off with a BANG, and then the action kind of dwindles a bit. Then the characters go through the motions, and stuff begins to get exciting again, and just as it is about to really kick off????

Credits. Wait 'til next week. Or even worse, next YEAR if it is the end of the season!

I got stuck in to the HBO Game of Thrones on Good Friday. And what a good Friday it was. I was meant to be cleaning my house and packing for a holiday. But instead I just watched 10 eps of TV gold, back to back.

And then promptly went out and bought the second book, A Clash of Kings the next day. Just because I NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!!! And once again, with the casting all sorted in my head, the book was a breeze.

So what is it? A multi-perspective story of a fantasy/medieval nation in the grips of the vices of humans - lust, greed, ambition, corruption. The title refers to  the machinations of a number of characters as they tussle for the top job in Westeros.

King Robert asks his mate Eddard to leave the cold North to be his right hand man.

Eddard keeps telling everyone, in a most foreboding fashion, that "Winter is coming"

 Robert's toxic wife Cercei doesn't seem to have much loyalty to anyone, especially her husband.

Her similarly toxic son Joffery is heir to the throne. Have you ever seen a more slappable face? Ever?

Her short-statured brother is sensible, but much maligned for his height, or lack thereof. Peter Dinklage is pretty darn awesome in this role, but sometimes his English accent is a little Over Done, which grates on me a little. I've been told to let it go...

Meanwhile in exhile is the stunning silver-haired Daenerys Targaryen is being sold into marriage as her brother tries to manouver himself back to his rightful spot on the Westeros throne - Robert usurped his family before we even got there. She is my favourite. Maybe because we don't get to see enough of her, with the directors always leaving us wanting more. But mostly because her name is Dany...

There are battles, sex sword fights, sex, a litter of direwolves (like super-wolves), more sex, a possible winter-induced zombie invasion from Beyond The Wall (read: Scotland) and complex polital system of banners and manner and symbols and slogans that needs vast tracts of explanation in the back of every novel. In fact there is SO much sex combined with complex backstory, that the term "sexposition" has been coined - exposition + sex! The way to make boring explanation just a touch more palatable. And with the complicated backstories like these, there needs to be a spoonful of sugar.

"They" are calling Game of Thrones a "cross-over hit" or a "gate-way drug" to fantasy. I think of it more like Clayton's fantasy. The fantasy you like when you don't like fantasy. I have been a little bit evangelical with this, trying to push it onto fantasy tee-totallers. Once they give over to the idea, they are pretty much as hooked as me!!

Post-Script: I'm now up to Book 5 of  A Song of Ice and Fire and there is still another one to go!! And at 1000+ pages, the reading of these is a significant achievement!!

Two Weeks with the Sleep

I guess I must be still recovering from the trauma of Term 1.
Term 2 wasn't exactly traumatic, but it is always hectic. Four straight weeks of hunting reports is manic and draining. And yes, I could just create a formula, a report by numbers. But I do actually really care about what I write for my students. It is important to me that they (and their parents) have some idea of their progress... I am not wired to write "Billy is progressing well in this class" and leave it at that.

But this is why we get the two weeks. Two weeks to catch up on housework (it took me two and half hours to tidy my desk/dining room table). Two weeks to eat way too much fabulous food (my clothes are a little bit tighter now. I do so love the fact that Sparky can cook!!) Two weeks to make a quick trip to the Big Smoke and remind my Farest and Dearest that I still love them (and in the process drink few too many coffees and glasses of vino). Two weeks to catch up on DVDs and TV (Friday Night Lights, Game of Thrones, Mad Men and starting The Wire? Sounds FAB!!) Two weeks to catch up on registers and programming and planning and marking (but of course there is no bottom of the pile when it comes to being an English teacher!)

So now I am staring down the barrel of Term 3. The business end of My First Advanced HSC Class (I can just imagine them as My Little Ponies... Seriously, I can picture some of them as mauve with lemony yellow hair!!) and a term of football finals and chilly mornings.

Bring it on!!! 

Radio Silence

So things have been pretty quiet around here, haven't they?

This last term has been my most difficult one ever, and I have wanted to write about it, but it really hasn't been my stuff to write about.

So I haven't written.

In the mean time, as well as smothering myself in work, and trying to figure out how to compartmentalise my thoughts (why can't I be more like Sydney Bristow??!?!) there has been much good stuff in my life that really needs acknowledgement.

The Hunger Games film was released. And I have been evangelical about these books for a few years, and now it seems the rest of the world is on board.

Game of Thrones has sucked me into its gritty castle walls. All ten eps of season one devoured on the first day of the holidays, and now I'm sucked in to the books. Full post on that one to come.

I said goodbye to Henry. And I said hello to Jezabel. New wheels is a pretty big decision in a lady's life.

And here comes Term 2. A new football season. A new lot of reports. A new set of promises to myself about how to keep myself much more sane. Like: Write more on this blog.

OscarsFest 2012: The Rusty Bitch

No doubt, Margaret Thatcher was a formidable woman. No doubt she shattered glass ceilings and broke barriers that have made way for women to do many other things in the fields of politics, business and any other thing she fancied.
But that doesn't change the fact that I think she should be remembered as a toxic character in history, whose blatant disregard for the lives and quality of lives infected the political landscape of the world. Her vision was blinded by the bug picture. Economic rationalism at its sort potent.

I was reluctant to see The Iron Lady because I didn't really want my sludge coloured lenses infected by any rose colouring at all. I didn't want to feel any sympathy for her. I didn't even want to see the background biography of How and Why she became such an economic hardarse. But, bound by a commitment to the OscarsFest code of consumption, and an overwhelming admiration for all things Streep, see it I did.

As a tangent (me? Never!) a few days earlier, my mother took my grandmother to see this film. Thinking she was taking her to see a fairly unemotional and innocuous biopic, Mum persuaded Grandma to see the first film she has seen since she moved back to West Bubblefuck. Certainly since my grandfather passed away 14 months ago. But it isn't just an unemotional empty shell of a film about an unemotional shell of a woman. The framing of this narrative is all about Mrs Thatcher coming to terms with her dearly departed (and much more good humoured) husband, played near perfectly by The Busiest Man In British Cinema, Jim Broadbent. She knows that her hallucinations and conversations with him are not real. His belongings to be packed and sorted and sent to good will shops bring forth a tirade of conveniently chronological flashbacks. But this wasn't something that Grandma was emotionally braced for. This wee anecdote broke my heart, even more than seeing Michael Gambon resemble Fardy during last year's OscarsFest, and that was when his memory was still very raw.

But back to my much more clinical and unbiased (ahem) review. Meryl Streep does make Maggie more sympathetic than I would have liked. But I think the is much more to do with her phenomenal ability to find the pathos in the character than the idea that Thatcher was a likable human at all. There is some explanation as to How and Why she became the hardarse. There is some insight into what her life was like, the battles she faced against classism, sexism, bigotry and war. But none of this endears the character to me at all. It was the grief she experienced having lost the love of her life that did touch me. But perhaps I was just seeing Grandma and Fardy, and feeling that loss all over again.

Director Phyllidia Lord uses stock footage beautifully to illustrate the world that Thatcher is governing. There is a huge chasm between the upper middle class life that Margaret lives, and the world of the miner and the inhabitants of the Falklands. Images of protestors being bludgeoned by police, or trampled by mounted police, in an attempt to control their behaviour was sickening. I was still left utterly perplexed how she could see this privatization and hard line economics as "strengthening the country." But I suppose I AM. A bleeding heart liberal, and I DO actually think that the individuals are important and the human stories are essential, and that the "economy" of a country is not nearly as important as the quality of life of the people that live in that said country. Granted, when it comes to the idea of international markets and strength of currencies etc, I am a complete idiot. I guess I just care whether or not kids are being fed...

Physically the resemblance is pretty perfect. In the kind of way that Meryl looks more Margaret than Margaret does, just like when I saw Keating The Musical.

Pic via wearemoviegeeks

As far as Golden Statues go, Meryl has seen more nominations that pretty much anybody. She is under recognized and could quite conceivably be handed the weird naked gold man for any role that she takes on. Some commentators think that she won't get the gong because nobody saw the film. Or because nobody likes Mrs Thatcher. But she HAS fulfilled some of the requirements usually required for the Best Actress, namely Uglied Up and Suffered Greatly. If she wins, I will hardly be surprised.