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.

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.

OscarsFest 2012: Ascending

This is all about the connections we have, to family, to land, to history. What we can hold onto and what we can't.

The Descendants is a slow burning film about a man coming to grips with the fact that he doesn't really know the people around him. In the opening moments of the film, Elizabeth, the wife of George Clooney's character Matt King, has a jet ski accident. Or perhaps a boating accident (I can't quite remember). She doesnt die, but she is in a coma. And her chances for life back to normal are very slim. He is faced with two daughters who are consistently testing which boundaries they can break through and which will hold them. He is faced with revelations of his wife's infidelity. And on the side, he is faced with the fact that as descendent of the indigenous royalty of Hawaii;his extended family wants to sell off their birthright - untouched paradise wilderness.

A crisis. On all fronts.

He questions what it is to be a father. A husband. A patriarch of a tribe. And a responsible custodian of the land of his ancestors.

The HSC English Area of Study is currently about Belonging. And that word kept clanging in my head throughout this film. Having said that, I don't necessarily think the dudes at The Boy Factory are going to choose this as their related text for themselves. As I mentioned, it is a little bit slow burn. Sparky wouldn't enjoy it, as it doesn't have much of the prerequisites of a Bloke Film. Swearing, Shooting, Fucking and Fighting. Instead, there is Awkward Running, Long Silences, Quiet Tears and Determined Facial Expressions. Far less Blokey.

The Descendants could be seen as a part of a series for director Alex Payne. Movies about dudes experiencing a serious schism in their lives. At a fault line of emotions and reality. Sideways, About Schmidt, Election and this one see our protagonist Paul Giamatti/Jack Nicholson/Matthew Broderick/George Clooney faced with a change in their lives that turns their world upside down. He tortures these characters with humilation and awkward running - seriously, in all four films, the running is at a level of awkward you could only cringe to - that inspires pity and that might be why we connect with them. This humiliation of running in a weird way is possibly what knocks the innate hubris out of the guy, so that we get on their side.

The Awkward Run

George Clooney is pretty phenomenal in this film. He may well be bestowed with more golden statues this awards season, but I think that is because the academies/voters will also be rewarding him for a thoroughly rich career of performances thus far. Just like they gave awards to Cate Blanchett and Russell Crowe a year too late, Clooney just might get the nod for being an all rounder, rather than just nailing this performance. Even better than him was his teenage daughter Alex, played by Shailene Woodley. Not to harp on about my own personal life experience but I know teenagers. I know their need for stability, and their self perceived right to simultaneously demand two opposing things, and their ability to spout violent spite in one breath and then respect and affection in the next. And man, does this chica nail it. Perfectly.

If I didn't already have a small plan to get to a piece of Hawaiin paradise some time in the next 12 months, this film would have propelled me to the nearest Flight Centre for sure. The premise that life in the tropical paradise is anything other than idyllic is shattered for sure by Clooney and Payne. But the blood deep bond with the land and it's history is tangible through the screen, reaching into my own veins and stirring up all those longings for wilderness and a little place of unspoiled paradise.

OscarsFest 2012: Life is a Cabret

Martin Scorsese loves films. He has made a lot of them, and has dedicated his life to being one of the greatest film makers the industry has ever seen.

Not all his films are to everybody's taste, and so he has finally made the kind of film that his kids can see. But Hugo is different.
Hugo is the kind of movie that kids can see.

But I don't know if they will love it.

This film is sumptuous in design. It is full of pathos and beautifully drawn (if two dimensional) characters. It draws from a rich history of film archetypes and devices. The threat of an orphanage. A mean, crippled ex-soldier. A child with a secret. An old man with a secret.

There is two stories in the narrative. Hugo Cabret and his attempt to reconnect with his dead father through repairing a clockwork man. And then there is the mystery of the angry old man. I am reluctant to really spoil it too hard, though of course all of the reviews I have seen tend to lay it all out on the table. Suffice to say, Scorcese gets to get down and dirty and play around with the history of early cinema. Each of these stories is emotional and deep, but bizarrely lacking connection to each other. There is a slow build to the arc of the combined narratives, but by the end, I was thoroughly invested and entwined with each of the characters.

My prejudice against the futility of the 3D fad meant that I missed out on seeing the magic that Martin created with the new form of cinema. My HT reckons I should have gone back to see it again, it made that much of a significant difference to the experience. But I didn't.

For me, the most magical parts of the film are the flashbacks and example of first generation stories on celluloid. I also loved the sumptuous colour, and the way Paris and the whole Art Deco design make this film so joyful to emerge yourself into.

Mr S said that he wanted to make a film that his kids could watch. And as a film nerd who is pretty immature, I really loved it. But I know kids, and I don't reckon they could sit through it.

OscarsFest 2012: It's time to get things started

I am fully aware of the tenuous connection between The Oscars and The Muppets. Nominations for Original Song still count as a nomination, dammit. And I won't hear another word about it.

One of the coolest things about summer is the really decent kids movies that get released. Since Pixar really kicked off their worldwide popularity with Toy Story there has been a very reasonable expectation that 'family' movies shouldn't just be about the kids. Shouldn't just be about the cutesy and the quotable and the merchandisable.

And I for one and very grateful about that.

My long standing fascination with The Muppets goes back to a point that I cannot remember. Even as a proper grown up, puppets fascinate me. Story telling through the animation of inanimate objects is an artform with a long history. And Jim Henson really nailed it.

How much do I love them? Let me count the ways.

The Muppet Theme is my ringtone.
One of my most beloved toys when I was a kid was a Rowlf puppet.
The first song I remember learning on the piano is "The Rainbow Connection".
I may well have chased my theatre loves based entirely on a desire to Kermit.
My darling Sparky's nickname in some circles of friends is Kermit.

This latest installment in adventures of furry stuffed creatures is a very self aware, very mature and amusing love letter to puppets. Once again, Jason Segel is involved in celebrating the floppy armed beings - last seen in the very amusing Forgetting Sarah Marshall. One of my favourite lines in that film is "How can you hate him? He's like ghandi. Except better - he's got puppets!"

This whole film feels like old fashioned, Holloywood family film. The kind of stuff I remember form my childhood. Except now I understand all the adult references that sailed over my short little head. Lucky I'm taller now. Because the adults jokes are rich and frequent, post modern, self aware and just plain funny.

There is a very clear Left lean to the whole movie as well. Big bad corporations trying to destroy all semblance of culture, history and joy in an attempt to make the big coin and to birth more crude oil into this world. And I speak here from my position that is firmly on the left - it was possibly a little too much. A belting over the head with the issue in the style of Gonzo slapstick.

The key messages of the film, about the power of unit, the restorative power of friendship, and the importance of performance and cultural expression for the health of a culture are all too true.

And the grand finale performance of "Rainbow Connection" sums all of these up perfectly. The new songs, particularly the Oscar nominated "Man or Muppet" are brilliant and joyful. Which stands to reason given they were penned by the musical and comic genius, Bret McKenzie. His resume includes Flight of the Conchords. Touching characters, dealing with the challenges of the human condition with hilarious lyrics. This is why he has recreated with his Muppets songs. They're fabulous.

There are some people who never got into The Muppets(like Sparky). There are some people that do ot care for the suspension of disbelief required when the characters break into song for no good reason (like my bro). These people will not enjoy the latest installment of Muppets adventures. But if you love major celeb cameos, if you love a little bit of meta-entertainment, if you have the nostalgia for the URST (unresolved sexual tension - staple of all TV shows and series of films) between a pig and a frog (I've still never quite understood it, but I love it anyway) then you will love this film.

I did!

Also - check out the publicity campaign on YouTube. Pisstakes of every genre imaginable. Gotta love a production company with a sense of humour!

OscarsFest 2011: Psychotic Ballerinas

Believe it or not. I used to to ballet. For 7 years, I donned tutus, and leather slippers, and pale tights. I slicked my hair back into a bun. I turned out my toes, and plied with the best of them. It may be difficult to comprehend, what with me not being the most graceful or coordinated of humans in my current state. I am the klutziest person I know, with falling apart joints and more scars and dings than I would like. But I used to be quite the lithe, flexible thing, with limbs under control. Of course that was before puberty hit. And an independent social life. And, as if by some strange coincidence (by which I mean no coincidence at all, in fact closer to the direct cause), my exit from the world of ballet coincided with the introduction of en pointe shoes to the class - the satin ones with the clonking great chunks of wood in the end.

Where I grew up, The Insular Peninsular, dance was a pretty big deal - the Morrison family had the monopoly on teaching all forms of dance in the sleepy suburb, and my high school had a pretty awesome track record at the Rock Eistedfordt. And then I encountered The Dancers at uni, another breed of female altogether.My views of them at the time were less than positive. They were always giggling, always wore their hair in a high, swishy ponytail, and in the theatre classes were always making inane comments that demonstrated limited knowledge of (in my not-so-humble-at-the-time opinion) of the far superior subject matter of the dramatic arts (as opposed to rolling around on the floor. Ooops I mean, modern dance.) When I went back to uni a few years later, a little older, wiser and far less arrogant, my opinion of The Dancer changed dramatically (pun entirely intended) as I worked with them in education classes. This is how prejudices are destroyed.

Black Swan does nothing to dispel a negative image of The Dancer. Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is a devoted ballerina - 28 years old. Young in comparison to the retiring Beth (Winona Ryder - a little bit of art reflecting life? She is playing the washed up has-been. And unfortunately it is a slipper that fits), but little effort has been made to disguise Portman's well earned wrinkles. She is given the once in a lifetime opportunity of playing The Role of Swan Lake, the twin blades of the weakling, fearful White Swan, and the vindictive, seductive Black Swan. She is a technically brilliant dancer, precise and detached - basically the White Swan is captured in her dancing perfectly. But she fails to evoke the passion and unpredictability of the Black. And this frustrates her misogynistic and autocratic director, Thomas (Vincent Cassel.)

The nightmarish experience of dealing with self-doubt, director's criticism and a smothering mother (Barbara Hershey) is the strength of the plot, as we a drawn through he experience along with Nina, never knowing what is real or what is her imagination gone haywire.The extreme pressure, or perhaps the predisposition for psychosis, but poor Nina drops fast through paranoia, hallucinations and full on schizophrenic episodes, in the quest for the perfect performance. The deterioration of her psyche is literally reflected and refracted through the ever-present mirrors that confront her everywhere she goes. The first act is weaker - establishing the misery of her strictured life through the power of a hand held camera is not nearly as interesting as her descent into madness.

There are a number of concepts arising from this film that have already been a bit of a preoccupation for me. The fact that I was aware of this in the middle of watching the film may say something about my level of absorption (is that even a word?) in the story, but I became more soluble towards the end I think.

First up, the whole idea of performance, of engaging the audience in a moment on the stage is certainly not foreign in my life. One might call my focus on the theatrical akin to obsession, especially about 10 years ago. And some of my friends from these heady days have actually become more than a touch successful. I am positive that all of my other friends are sick and tired of hearing the CLUNK of my name dropping about my fabulous tribe. But I digress... My point is that I have come to see up close just how the life of a performer is affected by them becoming their occupation. There is a bar scene in the film where a guy asks Nina who she is, and she answers "a dancer," because it isn't just what she does, it defines her absolutely. I have seen how this happens to real people, not just the elite New York prima ballerinas. I have seen relationships disintegrate under the pressure of the inward focus required of a performer. Portman and director Darren Aronofsky have captured this all-consuming introspection pretty perfectly - for Nina, she is the centre of the universe, and it is probably her pushy, ex-ballerina mother's fault.

The possibility of friendships - genuine, supportive and completely lacking in competition friendships - between women has also been something I have considered carefully. I think I first examined the issue when I was directing a show about the topic. Second wave feminism (oooh, I used the F word!!!) was in some ways striving to break down the barriers of competition - striving for the same men, the same jobs, the same money - and the intra-gender resentment that went along with that competitive streak. In the high-octane arena of performance - especially a female dense (read: bitchy) environment such as ballet - the competition is fierce. The thinner, the stronger, the more technical, the more artistic, the more passionate, the more reliable... the better? But what if that isn't the same person? The company director Thomas (pron: Toma. Under no circumstances should you pronounce the S!!) plays on this, by pitting the dancers against each other, and using their insecurities to his own ends - that being artistic adulation for him. Plus his over-use of the casting couch is more than a little unethical. A performer's ego is fragile and when there are younger, more vibrant girls lining up to stab you in the back (or drug you out of contention), the pressure is bound to be immense.

And speaking of the gender see-saw in the dance world, Thomas is really the only male of significance in the show. Sure, there are the 2 ballerinos, but they barely share 5 lines between them. Thomas is the centre of this microcosm, and he has surrounded himself with delicate flowers. Dance, as an industry, has never really had the reputation of being feminist friendly, even aside from the cut-throat competition and ambition. Anorexia is rife, weight pressure must be immense, not the accepting and welcoming environment for all shapes and sizes. I mean, one hardly gets the impossibly high cheek bones, razor sharp shoulder blades and the neck of a swan on a diet of hot chips and beer, right? And there is the sheer fact of The Gaze - Ballerina as The Viewed, not as The Artist. Thomas is the genius, and Nina is his moving canvas. There is very little empowerment for her, aside from the recognition of filling her potential within her director's vision. And how does this compare to the film as art? Director? Male. Writers? All male. Producers? Out of the 15, only 2 are ladies. Cinematography (the eye of the gaze)? Bloke. The production design, costume design and set design are all XX chromosomes, and they have done a particularly good job in it too.

I guess my point is that this film seems to be about a female character, incapable of dealing with the pressures of reality and her life, as contrived/observed by males. And I guess there is far too many of those films out there that I don't think that more examinations of the issue actually solve it. As has been said on Cougartown (an underrated comedy, I feel) "Them bitches be loco!!" But there doesn't seem to be much examination of WHY we bitches be loco, and what can be done to un-loco us, or at least un-loco the future bitches of the world.

But enough of the existential navel gazing. Sure this film made me think about things I have already thought about. But more importantly, what do I think it will do in The All Important Oscars stakes? It could get in on editing, and there is a chance for cinematography (it certainly is noticeable), but I highly doubt a director's or best film nod.

Best Actress though? Portman could well have it in the bag. She already has the SAG (teehee!) and the Golden Globe. And she is pretty darn phenomenal. Lots of reviewers (and my facebook friends) have commented on the weirdness of some of the plot points, but I think she carries these less-than-conventional horror scenes well. Her dancing is phenomenal, when the hand-held camera work lets us see it - wait, I think I am beginning to sound like David Stratton here... Anyway, from what I remember of ballet, she was pretty technically perfect. Excellent form, beautiful lines, elegance, poise... anyone might think she has been doing it all her life! She is capable of both the fragile and the passionate; she does not have the same battle that Nina has between the White and the Black sides of the role. Her confusion and frustration with her life, especially as it descends into chaos, is almost palpable, and I defy anyone not to be taken on this exceptionally emotional journey with her. Granted, I haven't seen any of the other Actress in a Leading Role performances (partly due to the shithouse delay on Australian releases, partly due to West Bubblefuck cinema being hopelessly inadequate in getting films not from the Family/Action/RomCom sections of the cine-file), but I think I will put my bet on Portman's sublime performance in this film.

And aside from the fact that she is rakishly thin in this role, she is totally stunning.

2010 - The year that was

This has been a pretty roller-coaster kind of year. In the style of ACA, lets have a look, shall we?

January - 2 weddings in the sun, and a few weeks in Bondi. My relationship with Sparky was just new, and exciting and full of promise. The Festival, otherwise known as the West Bubblefuck Country Music Festival was full of dancefloor fun, and far too many bottles of Pure Blonde to be healthy. The Basics, Bob Evans and The Bushwhackers were highlights. The lack of school for the month was also a sparkling gem. Won the Guess the Hottest 100 comp at Sparky's Hottest 100 party. Competitive? Moi?

February - Possibly worked the hardest in this month. New Year 7s asking fifteen bajillion questions, and constant supervision, distraction and conversation for Boys away from Home, finding their feet at The Factory. Got incredibly sick in Week 4, followed by year 7 camp in Week 5. Tried to compete in Oscarsfest, but failed rather dismally (still blaming West Bubblefuck cinema for being so crap). Joined a basketball team, The Flames, in C grade of the West Bubblefuck Basketball comp, kind of made me feel like a local?

March - Slightly less manic than the first half of the term. Got my PERMANENT JOB!! Feeling very validated and grown up, and a little bit like all my hard work had paid off. Bought my couch, my first piece of proper real grown up furniture. Took an hour and a half for the delivery guys to get it into my lounge room. Neglected to tell them that I had negotiated for free delivery... The start of my beloved Couch Time. Cruised on in to Easter. The start of football try outs, the debating team kick off - or the Boy Factory First IV. Won most of the games with The Flames.

April - Turned 30. Felt exceptionally good about it. All grown up (new permanent job), all loved up, and all liquored up. Fantastic party at The Coast House, with a dozen or so of my closest friends converging for a BBQ and prawns, and a few frosty beverages. The night before party of curry, carrot cake and 30 year old port was also a blast. Sprained my ankle with The Flames - changed direction without telling my feet I was going to do so. Trip 1 to Melbourne for The Comedy Festival, slightly more hobbly than wandery due to ankle injury.

May - Slightly swamped at The Factory again. So much so that I have little memory of May at all. A weekend in Sydney. More basketball, more Sparky time, more Couchtime. The Mighty U14s kicked into gear and started playing like a team of teammates, which is just what a Supercoach wants. Games of local rugby in the freezing cold

June - The World Cup, and the ensuing sleep deprivation that goes along with it. A lot of bandwagon jumpers to the round ball game, and overnight experts in team configeration. Henry broke down in the drive thru of Oporto. The Flames won the C grade basketball grand final, but I damaged my rotator cuff in the semis.

July - More delicious school holidays. A trip to Sydney to celebrate the success/birthday/bon voyage of good friends. Read the Chaos Walking trilogy, and excellent book decision. Became addicted to MasterChef, despite my own desire not to. The Flames were promoted to B Grade, but I wasn't playing due to my body falling apart. More football Supercoaching, more rugby games.

August - Got to see my favourite Shakespeare play performed by my favourite Shakespeare company playing at the West Bubblefuck theatre - and love it. Got flooded in at The Boy Factory as the drought of the past 10 years decided to break with great vengance. More football. Started a list of 100 things that make me smile. Finished reading the Hunger Games trilogy, and wished it was more than 3 books, a la Douglas Adams.

September - Supervised 2 dances in one week. No-one busted drinking on my watch. Saw my cousin get married, and nearly cried making a speech. Finished writing the list of 100 things that make me smile (100 is a big number! It took some time!). Got to hang out with The B team. Made a return to the court with The Flames, but tentatively - fitness an issue, and plagued by injuries. Mighty U14s narrowly lost GF, 1-0. A sad but proud Supercoach, here. Powderfinger, superb  Aussie band, started their farewell tour, including a brilliant night in West Bubblefuck, despite what the cynical locals say. Brought to tears by Bernard and the boys. Drowned a little in report writing. End of Term 3 insanity with Year 12, including the Annual Staff v Students Soccer Match and the Formal. Big month.

October - Marking marking marking of Year 10 trial exams. Sheesh. Almost total holiday wastage. Brilliant few days for Trip 2 to Melbourne with Little Red, with the excuse of seeing Tim Burton's exhibition at the ACMI. 80s dress up party for by boss' 40th. I looked AWESOME as Dana from Ghostbusters. Year 11 Leadership Camp. More report writing.

November - Not one single blogpost. Drowning in report writing. HP7 came out. Road trip with The O Team to see the Ultimate Powderfinger concert in Brisbane. Informed that I would FINALLY be teaching a DRAMA CLASS in '11, tres excitement. Quick trip to Sydney under the guise of learning to be an English teacher. Also a brilliant excuse for tax deductable flights to a Mad Men party - the birthdays of several excellent friends. Took Year 7 camping - like PROPER camping, in tents and stuff - by the side of the river.

December - River we were camping beside flooded, camp moved at midnight on day 2 and evacuated on day 3. High stress situation. Grandfather died. Took year 7 on tour to Dubbo, which was flooded. Sparky's mum died. Got close enough to a giraffe to touch it (but didn't because it was against the rules) but patted a wombat. Came home from Dubbo early due to flooding/weather. Fardy's funeral. Family friend died. Sparky's mum's funeral. Wagged presentation day. Family friend's funeral. One year anniversary understandibly ignored/forgotten. Well earned holidays. Caught up with friends who flitted home from OS, including engagement party. Enormous Christmas with Paternal Tribe. New Year's Eve long weekend with burgeoning Chosen West Bubblefuck Tribe.

And now I am here.

Julie & Julia: Comedy Jewel

The immenent Oscars has inspired a flurry of DVD watching. What with West Bubblefuck having a completely rubbish cinema that shows far too few of the nominated films... (I am never going to win the Most Films Seen award so long as I am here.) The flurry has also been assisted by my inability to be too far from my couch for too long, what with the inistent infections and vile viruses that have invaded me in the last week. I blame 24/7 work for 3 weeks. All work and no play makes Danne a sick little bunny. And not in a funny way.

So this weekend has seen me parked in front of my beautiful enormous tele, chowing down on soups and garlicky pastas, and consuming more Oscar fodder to try to prepare me for the decisions I face at the beginning of next month. What To Tip.

I missed Julie & Julia at the cinema. Mostly because it looked like a Mega Chick Flick with few redeeming features. But I am sorry I did so. Because I thoroughly enjoyed this film. The intertwined bio-pics of famous cookbook author Julia Child (the always-oh-so-fabulous Meryl Streep) and blogger/author Julie Powell (elfin-faced Amy Adams) deals with the question of fulfilment in life - doing what we love and what makes us happy.

Julia was a civil servant and wife of a diplomat (the ever-adorable Stanley Tucci) in paris in the '40s. Hardly the demure lady-who-lunches, Julia elbowed her way into advanced cooking classes, and the love of food gave her a sense of purpose - and eventually a very successful book deal.

Julie was a civil servant trying to pull together the pieces of post 9/11 New York, and aspiring to be a writer. Disillusioned with her life and surrounded by the bitchiest of smug successful friends, she embarked on a quest to complete Julia's Mastering The Art Of French Cooking in 12 months.

And then she got a film made about it.

I really enjoyed this gentle comedy. Possibly because I love food porn, and there is plenty in this. But there is a feminine funny to it. And I think that is mostly down to the goddess of acting that is Meryl Streep. I don't think she will get the Best Actress based on this performance - though she might get it based on the fact that she has been nominated about a million times, and not won it since 1983.

I was right in thinking this is a Mega Chick Flick. But I only mean that I don't think the XYs will get much out of it at all. So I don't mean it in a bad way.

Up: Where it belongs?

The format for the Oscars Best Film has changed a bit this year - it's now TEN films nominated rather than the usual 5. Which means the decision is going to be even more difficult in the Oscars Fest is going to be even more tricky.

The curliest of all those contenders thrown in is Up. Not just nominated for Best Animation, but also 'up' (teehee) for Best Film. Wow. Has to be a pretty awesome film in its own right, right?

What with the insanity of this last twelvemonth - both in a good/fun and and manic/work kind of way - I missed Up at the cinema. Lucky Sparky has such a similarly avid addiction to DVDs as I do, so his collection has come to the rescue.

The English Teacher in me screams "BELONGING TEXT!!!!". It begins with the love story of Carl Frederickson meeting his childhood sweetheart, and later wife Ellie. Their childish obsession with adventure and exploring unites them immediately, and keeps them together throught the duldrums of suburban life until her death. And that is all in 15 minutes.

Retired baloon-seller Carl is alone and eldery, and disconnected from the escalating skyrises around him, and he's feeling the pressure to shut himself into a retirement home to make way for the urban sprawl. He hatches a plan to use his house as a blimp to sail to South America - powered by helium baloons.

He reluctantly collects a band of followers - a boy-scout named Russell who happened to be on the porch of the elevating house, and who is lacking a father figure in his life. They also find Kevin, an exotic local bird and Dug, a hunting dog empowered with speech.

I would hope that my Year 12 boys could see the messages of Belonging in there - That Our Relationships and Friendships Are More Valuable Than Our Possessions. That Finding A Sense of Belonging Gives A Sense of Purpose & Identity. That The Places And People We Feel We Belong To Are Not Always The Only Choices We Have. But I am not holding my breath. Hopefully they will get there by November...

It is a brilliant animation. And a very good film. But it isn't going to get my pick in the Oscars Fest.

Modern Tragedy

I haven't seen a film like The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus before. That isn't to say there aren't films like it. But it is different to everything else I've seen. Director Terry Gilliam hails from Monty Python heritage, so it stands to reason that his films should be quirky and inexplicably confusing and random in its plot and execution. Plus having one's star die a very public death before the completion of filming is bound to force a director's hand to some less than conventional film making tactics.

Said dead star - Heath Ledger - is pretty phenomenal in this film. The fact that he didn't get to do any post recordings for the sound means that his cockney accent is pretty flawed - his Aussie nasal twang dips in and out. But his physicality, and his oniony character in this film - a vulnerability coupled with conniving, manipulative schemes - forces the audience to confront the idea that he was a brillant actor. That he was robbed of his Oscar for Brokeback. And it ignites the possibility that he could be posthumously nominated for awards for MULTIPLE films, considering how amazing he was in The Dark Knight.

His replacements (plural) work pretty well, with the shifting realities used as the reasoning behind his change in appearance. I wonder how much footage Ledger shot of these 'interiors' as David calls them in his review. But Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrel capture Ledger's Tony, each with their own spin on his character. I may have audible swooned when Johnny Depp came onto screen. It's a reflex. I can't help it. Tom waits makes a pretty wicked Devil, bowler hat and all, though Christopher Plummer's drunken Dr Parnassus is a little too drunken, callous and repetitive to really win me over.

The Imaginarium is a beautifully lush film. The design on it is quite extraordinary, sliding between centuries and realities and cities and artistic movements. Plus, as my brother said, "rangas in green are hot." And indeed Lily Cole is smoking as Valentina. All of the costumes and sets, the make up and props were just breathtaking.

The plot, however, is a little holey. Or just not quite clear enough. I never really knew when we were inside the Imaginarium and when we were not. And when we were in a flashback, and when we were not. Whether this is Gilliam in his fantastical keep-up-or-get-left-behind mode, or because the plot structure had to be dramatically tweaked without Ledger there to finish it off, I am not sure. There are a lot of things left unsaid, or possibly they were just glossed over and I missed them. Like what the markings were on Tony's face when he was 'dead'. Or why he knows how to speak Russian. Or how he ended up on the front page of The Sun (also referred to as The Mirror).

Underlying the whole film is the knowledge that this is Ledger's last. There will be no more acting credits added to his all-too-short list of 23 on IMDB. The final scenes of Tony (at that point played by Farrell) hold a poignance and a bitterness of truth that seem all too tragic to comprehend.

This movie is not for those who like to go to the movies to switch off. It is not a rom-com escapist or a mindless action blockbuster (not that there is anything wrong that... some of my best friends are mindless action blockbusters). It is a movie that will get inside your brain and move stuff around, so the next time you go to process a thought, you might forget how to do it properly.

PS/ That poster does NOTHING to sell the film at all. It looks more like a cross between Harry Potter and the Polar Express...

It used to be a shampoo bottle

Some People get post Christmas depression (hell, some people just get Christmas depression, depending on what their family is like), that deflated feeling of Boxing Day, when it is 365 days until the fat red man comes to bestow cheap tat to all once more. Maybe these Some People I am talking about are actually only 10 years old, but I am sure that there is a few of them, and I am sure that when I was one of these Some People, I felt the Boxing Day Anti Climax as much as the next kid.

But I don't feel that way on Boxing Day any more.

Now that feeling is pretty much earmarked for a Tuesday morning in late Feb or early March. It comes with the same feeling of sleep deprivation. And bloatedness. And a little guilt.

It's the Day After Oscars. (You might imagine my shoulders slumping with the forming of that phrase.)

So seeing as the months preceeding the ceremony offer me the chance to get all obsessive, with the scouring of form guides, and the hours in darkened rooms pondering the moving image, I figure I am allowed to post at least once about this more-than-minor obsession.

Now I am not going to give much of a commentary on the red carpet (the ladies from Go Fug do a fantastic job of that already) but I have a few things I NEED to say.

Firstly, Fuck I Hate Asymetrical Necklines.

They are not pretty. They are distracting and lopsided and... hideous.

Probably the only way to go if you are trying to emulate an origami swan...

And there were FAR too many ladies being strangeld by these nooses last night. I'm looking at you Frieda Pinto! The only one that managed to pull it off, was Winslet. And she receives the Best In Show award from me. Closely followed by Anna Hathaway. She looked hot too.

By only other Red Carpet Gripe is the Reds

Why, Oh, Why do the Rangas and Strawberry Blondes (as, apparently, they would prefer to be called) insist on wearing the washy outy pale colours. Do they not know that it makes them look like:

a) they need to vomit

b) they need to eat a pie

c) they want to eat my brains

d) they need to invest in some (moulin) rouge

??!???!

Once again, Kidman's effort this year prompted an all too loud "You've GOT to be Kidding me!!" from the comfort of my pyjamas and couch.

Tilda Swinton and Melissa George were not much better. At least Amy Adams had the decency to wear red. And

Enough of the gossipy shite. To the juicy bits.

This time of year makes me miss Sydney and My Girls even more than usual. It has been standard operating procedure in the last 4 years or so to devote the months before the Oscars to research and discussions. While isloated in the town where I currently reside, hereby known as West Bubblefuck, there IS a cinema. It has been showing Australia for 14 weeks. For almost every session I have been in, I need to leave to remind them to turn the house lights off at the start of the film, or fix the ratio, or turn on the subtitles, or change the reel... Slumdog only just made it here last week. The Wrestler isn't yet anticipated to arrive. Foreign films? Bah! I guess what I am trying to say is Oscars season has been a little frustrating this year. I drove with my parents for an hour and fifteen minutes, each way to Slightly More Northeast Bubblefuck just to see Button. I crammed on my weekends and Christmas hols in The Big Smoke, and there were some films that I just knew I wasn't going to get to. Which is tragic on a scale of Hamlet, of course.

But I still am digressing!

The anticipation, avoidance of all things newsworthy and general working myself into a late February frenzy... And at 9.30 pm, Our Hugh strutted onto the stage.

*swoon*

His opening number was HILARIOUS. Its a shame about Baz's Musical medley with the Obvious Miming Beyonce, and the naff High School Musical nerds... Channel 9 edited out 9 of the awards that were presented, but of the 15, I managed to pick 13 (lets not mention the 7 I got wrong out of the edited ones). I loved the new way of presenting the acting awards by getting the previous winners to analyse the performances of the nominees.

Sofia Loren being totally mashed as she slurred and swayed and tried to push her botox into shapes that would make words was really the only celebrity gaff. A more sober version of Sofia to be found here.

As for individual awards, not many surprises there. I tipped Penelope (though I haven't seen the film) and while I tipped Mickey for the Man's Gong, I was SO delighted when Sean Penn took it out, and delighted too that he didn't waste a chance at the pulpit.

Considering 2008 was such a baren wasteland of film, I think this year was not really too bad a ceremony!