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.

Let's not and say we did

All of the good stories have been told. All the good ideas have already been created. There is no originality left, and there is no goodness left in the search for originality. These are pretty much the central tenants of the post-modern world we live in.

But the good news is, in this po-mo wasteland, that if we look at all the good stuff that has come before, all we need to do is mash it together in new and interesting ways to create new and interesting works of art. Everything old is new again.

And this is where we find Easy A.

In the minefield that is John Hughes' resume, there are several diamonds of coming of age films. He is the greatest auteur of the teenage film to date, and I can't see him being superseded at any point in time. Chicagoan high schools have not been examined by anyone else with such detail, insight or poignant  The Breakfast Club plays with the archetypes of high school, all forced together in the confines of a weekend detention. And they each learn about each other, and themselves, before the detention in over.

The seminal 80s flick, Ferris Bueller's Day Off has so many dead ends in plot, so many enormous question marks about the relevance of various elements - as Easy A rightly points out, there really seems no point to the street parade with "Danke Shoen" and "Twist & Shout", but it truly is a great deal of fun. Maybe the point is that in adolescents, so much of the stuff that is done has no other purpose than mindless fun.

And my personal favourite, Cameron Crowe' Say Anything. Film makers and TV show creators have been paying homage to this film for decades now. South Park, Greek, Grey's Anatomy, The Simpsons, House and Lost have all made reference to the oh so iconic scene of John Cusack, boombox held aloft on the front lawn, belting out Peter Gabriel. Of course, the one I love best is the Spaced, with Tim and the gang in a stolen army tank, belting out Take That to win back Marcia into the modern urban family. It is such a shame that Crowe then went on to make such steaming piles of crap as Vanilla Sky (and if you haven't seen that film, please never do - it is two and half hours of your life you will never ever get back) and Elizabethtown. He is great with music though - Almost Famous is pretty brilliant, and at least the soundtrack for Elizabethtown is pretty good. But I digress, in a fairly major way.

And all of these 80s cinematic gems get a nod in Easy A, as the pinnacle of all things aspirational in a teenager's life. Judd Nelson's victorious fist pump, as evidence of his emotional connection to a lass. Escape via a ride on lawn mower chariot. And John Cusack, revealing his innermost soul through ghettoblaster speakers.

The premise of the film is basically this: Olive (Stone) lies to her bestie (whom she doesn't really like - it must a teenage girl thing, because I think I remember that sensation) to get out of weekend camping. Her lie involves a steamy date with a older boy, where she loses her V-Plates. News of her de-plating spreads fast, and she is branded all kinds of double-standard-derogatory-names by the viscious rumour mill of high school. The boys of the lower castes of high school get wind of the fact that it is a lie, and she gets all kinds of favours and gift cards to lie to the rumour mill about various sexual favours she performed for them - so they can get sexual kudos. Meanwhile, her social stock dwindles to nothing, as she takes up the Harlot mantle she has been branded with with great aplomb. But then it all kind of falls to pieces. So she uses the power of the internet to broadcast the truth about the whole sordid affair.

Emma Stone is golden in this film. Her spunky attitude and husky voice have easily made her the sexiest thing about both Superbad and Zombieland. She carries the film well, and delivers the sharp and pacey dialogue to perfection. I am always a sucker for fast-paced chat in any kind of pop culture, and when it is rich in double entendres and decorated with 80s film references, all the better! Why her character feels like such a shrinking violet is a complete mystery to me - the girl is smoking hot.



There has been some criticism leveled at Easy A for being a less-than adequate remake of Nathanial Hawthorne's antiquated and dry The Scarlett Letter, a la Clueless/Emma. But I don't think it is a REMAKE of the book - a book I think I studied in Year 10 or 11 (and thought was lame and dumb and stupid. Unfortunately, I didn't find the message inside it with such clarity and poignancy as Emma Stone's character did in this film.) It may well be a relook at the themes and events of the book, through the lens of the 21st century. But even then, the approach to adultery is just a little bit too Overly Judgemental for my liking. I mean, I realise that most of my time is spent with Boys in this here Factory, and the film mostly focuses on the Girls and their perspective. And perhaps in Australia, teenagers have a slightly more cavalier attitude to sexing than in the mostly-white suburbs of California. The whole notion of being branded a "super-slut" after reportedly sleeping with just one guy is a bit difficult to swallow. But I do still know the awesome power of the rumour mill, which is still alive and kicking in West Bubblefuck, even if it is slightly less judgemental in the adultery stakes.

But that is basically the butt of the satire here - people treat sex with such a strange mixture of fear, excitement and hypocrisy, and the human desire for salacious gossip is really its lowest form of entertainment. The twisted Chinese Whispers games of high school actually don't change much as life goes on. It crosses cultures and countries and generations. And it really shows the nastiest side of human nature when it happens. Don't get me wrong, I've been a Grade 1 Gossiper in my time, and have been stung from the rumour mill myself.

The Evangelicals are also susceptible to some scathing parody in this flick. Amanda Byrnes is brilliantly over the top as the incredibly pious and uber-bitchy leader of the God Squad. She seems to have forgotten the Golden Rules of Do Unto Others, and Judge Not... And instead delves into the mucky gossip with great gusto and furious piety. I read somewhere that she came out of retirement for this film. How old is she? And WHY is she retiring? I mean, I know she only has a repertoire of 7 facial expressions, but she is really very good at all of them. The Bible Bashers don't often cop a beating of their own, especially in mainstream Hollywood fodder. And I think it is interesting how the Kumbayah mob are really shown to be shallow and judgemental rather that sharing, caring Christian souls. And when it comes to High School Holier Than Thous, I have seen, and I know where the truth truly lies.

The Real Love Interest (rather than all the Red Herring Fake-Shags) that Olive has is Mascot Todd - the delectably-chested (if tiny-nippled) Penn Badgley, also seen being broody and clever in Gossip Girl. And while he is incredibly good looking and pouty, he still hasn't quite shown any depth of talent, other than skin deep. Really, give me John Cusak any day of the decade.

The highlight of the whole film are the slivers of scenes with Olive's parents. Patricia Clarkson and my super-fave tiny bald man, Stanley Tucci are just delicious in the scenes of suburban bliss. They are the kind of parents that don't get on celluloid very often - witty and slightly awkward but not embarrassing. The biggest difference between Olive's folks and mine is that I still can't extract salacious details about my parents youth from them,but Olive's are all about the overshare.

Oh, and the tagline of the film was already in my everyday vernacular - "Let's not and say we did"

Physics in action.

And I'm an English teacher.

I was never much good at Physics at school. I am ashamed of how little I know about amps and watts and terminal velocity (other than the Wesley Snipes film, which is appauling).

But I seem to recall a little pithy piece of information from the dark recesses of my Physics memory.

It is more difficult to gain momentum, than to keep momentum.

As in Physics, so in life.
This week (and it is only Tuesday, mind) has heard me tootling along in my off-key voice "The first week is the hardest," bastardising Rod Stewart for my own ends. And it is. I know we teachers get great masses of holidays, but I firmly believe they are earned. We work damn hard those weeks that we are on, and we do a job that The Haters wouldn't touch with someone else's tax file number.

And nobody likes that Back To Work feeling, post blissful summer. Not the Boys, whining in their trussed up ties. And not the teachers, with their soon-to-be-faded thong tans on their feet.

Don't get me wrong, the prospect of being back in a classroom is exhilerating. And the notion of My First Ever Drama Class has me excited out of my skin. But as much as I love my job, "It's always better on holidays." Thanks Franz.

Mixed Metaphor Gold: In case of snakes...

It has been some time since I discussed the shining jewel of language after which I have named this here collection of ramblings.

The Mixed Metaphor is a moment in time when a mistake is made. A malapropism. A tumbling together of at least two juicy, fatted cliches, into a phrase (or indeed paragraph, or more even!) that is so chunky you could carve it.

Today's example made me laugh perhaps with a touch too much gusto...

"in the situation where there is a brown snake, it's every man for his dog"

Both Kinds of Music: The Bushwackers

When we were kids, Australia Day was brilliant. Before I knew about the genocide of the First Fleet and the invasion of Terra Nullius. Before Triple J's Hottest 100 became the world's biggest music poll, and the rudder that steers the whole hot January day. My parents and brother (because there was only one then) would join forces with a couple of other families from the Northern Beaches. I imagine the parents got boozy, but there was always lots of great food. And dancing. And music. A real life lagerphone. Other home-made booze related instruments, such as the goonbox filled with rice. And a steady soundtrack of Australian bush music. Redgum featured heavily. And The Bushwackers. These memories are young and golden and untainted with self-conciousness. One of the first memories of music I have, like my musical spiritual home.

The Bushwackers are a staple of the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. This year they celebrated their 40th Anniversary, and have kicked off the year in style. Their Chardonnay Show is a yearly feature of the Festival Program, and it is almost always sold out. Sunday afternoon in the Beer Garden of the Longyard, armed with squirty bottles and stubbie coolers to last the whole day through. It is the Full Stop of the 10 day festival, except a full stop is not nearly flamboyant enough a piece of punctuation to really give this show justice.

They pride themselves on a complete lack of American influence, and are instead more heavily rooted in traditional Irish music. A double bass, a piano accordian, fiddle, bodhran (Irish drum), tin whistle and all manner of other percussiony and guitary kinds of instruments create a wall of upbeat and rollicking sound. They tend to sing about folk heroes, like Ned Kelly, and the best things about being Australian. They do focus on the bushmate cliches, and are very heavy on songs about sheep - and both seem entirely fitting in the lofty wooden hall and beer garden at the Longyard.

The Bushwackers in flight

They are also brilliant showmen. Or show people, really. Dobe Newton, lead singer and random percussionist, is a pretty out there dude. His penchant for the flamboyant suits is always riveting, and this Sunday was no exception. The first outfit was a silver lame shirt with a black and white fresian coat, and his second was a white tuxedo jacket, splattered with enormous and luminous sequened flowers. He had a whinge toward the end of the show that there wasn't another break in the set, because he had another outfit to show off. And his tween-songs banter included a shout out to all the Spotlight members, offering a free solo CD to anyone who presented their membership card at the merch stand - There was a steady stream of middle aged ladies for the next fifteen minutes, collecting the booty to play while they sewed curtains or bedazzled their I Survived West Bubblefuck 2011 tshirts. Dobe is a sweaty man, with a bald pate, but a curtain of hair around his face. He swings his lagerphone with so much gusto, you feel sure it will break with each blasting beat, and the stage and shrapnel of washers and bottletops will rain over all the band and crowd.

The other band members compete for laughs, for limelight, but all hold up in talent. Roger Corbett is the primary songwriter of the band (though arguably their most famous song, "We Are Australian" was penned by Newton), and can swing his guitar too. His son Ben was on the electric guitar, and tucked in the corner on the double bass was Michael Vidale. The long-haired Mark Oats (also playing with The Pigs as I have mentioned before) is a brilliant fiddle player, but his banter leaves a fair bit to be desired.

But the one I love best is the token chick. Clare O'Meara plays the squeeze box, the most complex of all the instruments on the stage. There are keys and buttons and pulling the thing in and out. I really do love a good piano accordian player. When I first saw them a few years ago, she was all corkscrew curls under an enormous top hat, and she didn't stop bouncing along with the music for the whole show - which is about 3 and a half hours long! These days she is a little more sedate - and considering she has been playing for over twenty years, I am thinking that it is forgivable. She took the mic for just one song, the iconic Men at Work tune, "I Come From A Land Downunder" and she was mesmorising. Plus, as Newton said, she is easily the most photogenic in the band. Yes, I have a girl crush!

They actually did play an American cover - in honour of the plastic faced Kenny Rodgers, who was playing in the big shearing shed across the road. And Dobe promised us, his loyal crowd, that it would be the first and last time they would play an American song. And they do "The Gambler a great deal of justice too! There was a steady stream of superstars of the Both Kinds of Music World, including Kasey "Cat in a Bandsaw" Chambers, the very charming Sara Storer and the very boozed Beccy Cole. They did their own stuff, or covers of Bushwackers, or other Australian classics, like John Williams' "Old Man Emu", and brought a different energy to the stage, and to the crowd.

This year to raise money for the QLD Flood appeal, they auctioned OFF THEIR LAGERPHONE!!!! At only $2.50 a ticket, there were a lot of hungry audience members, including most of the members of my tribe. I was delighted, but they were a little disappointed, when my mum's cousin was announced as the winner. Just a warning, Margey, they are plotting to get an invite to your house and pilfer the prize for their own ends. The raffle raised about $2000, incidentally.

Margey, Dobe Newton and her brand new prize!

The Chardonnay Show is a brilliant part of the Festival. It is reportedly named after the very first Sunday performance the band did in 1994. Don Spencer (of Play School and "Don the Kelpie" fame) brought his family to the show on the way back to Sydney, thinking they would stay for one show, and one class of Chardy. But one song was not enough, and one glass was not enough. And nor was one bottle. They shared the wine, and drank the pub dry. It seems a fitting name for the show; a little bit fancy, and a little bit bogan. And a whole lot of fun.

Both Kinds of Music: The Wilson Pickers

Just before Bob's show, at the West Bubblefuck Hotel, there was another band. Bands are pretty easy to come by during the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. Outside each shopfront is a busker, in the corner of each room in each pub and club and cafe. But bands with talent, without the American Whine & Twang in their voice, with a little more imagination than trucks and heartbreak in their lyrics... they are a little more tricky to come by.

But we found one. The Wilson Pickers' show sounded great, with harmonised voices, manolin, fiddle, tamborine and that all important swoon-worthy harmonica sound. It was an unticketed event, which means FREE! And they weren't too bad on they eye either. So really, an all round winner.

These guys were great low key listening. Perfect for the first beer of the evening, for a sunset show on a lazy, warm day. They were a little bit like The Eagles, with their 70s throwback fashion and their beardy slash mo looks.  Plus, the first song on their album is the beautifully titled "Return to the Land of the Powerful Owl"! How cool is that!?!

Both Kinds of Music: Bob Evans

Bob Evans, the original Jerk of Attention, came to the West Bubblefuck Festival last year. His real name is Kevin Mitchell, and he was really the lead singer of Jebidiah, the band who wrote the song "Leaving Home" only weeks before me and my classmates actually did just that.

Bob is his Folky moniker, his less whiney voiced, more accoustic strumming, harmonica humming kind of persona. Last year he plomped into town, to the West Bubblefuck Hotel beer garden, sans band. Not much publicity - I don't even remember seeing his name in the program. Just a man with an accoustic guitar on his shoulders and a harmonica perched on a wire around his neck, sipping red wine from a glass, in the baking West Bubblefuck January heat. His easy rhythms and lilting lyrics were an easy Thursday afternoon show. A bit of tapping fingers on the knee, a little bit of singing along with the words to the singles.

This year, Bob was back. With my modest posse of 14 (because my tribe in West Bubblefuck has been growing and expanding, and we're basically taking over the world. Plus Little Red came to visit too!!) we spread out around the table smack bang in the middle of the garden, in front of the stage. Thanks to the B Team!

Apologies for shithouse photo quality. IPhones & booze & twilight & stage lighting aren't friends

Bob looked much the same. The Ramona Flowers hair cut. The checked cowboy shirt, the accoustic and harmonica. But this year he was swigging the red wine from the bottle. He brought a band with him, The Evens, that he reportedly only hooked up with a week ago. They seemed to be still feeling their way a little, but the idiocyncracies made it even sweeter. The Evens joined Evans for about half of the songs in the set. He called up a few special guests, and did some covers as well as a huge chunk of his own stuff. His Like A Version cover of Lily Allen's "Not Fair" was as always priceless, as was his lead in threat to tongue-kiss any homophobes, as this is obviously the worse possible punishment they could imagine.

His relaxed Australian voice is sometimes tainted with a bit of the dreaded American twang, but there is an honesty to his songwriting that manages to cut through that twangy slick. Most of his work seems to be centred on Suburbia. Being stuck in it, leaving it, looking back on it. Suburbia isn't usually the substance of Country Music, but then that is kind of a loose genre nowadays. My fave of his is "Hand Me Downs", a beautiful examination of what it means to be serious, to be responsible, to be making the big decisions, or to be just kicking around in what you always have done, despite the fact that it probably isn't working.

At the end of his set, the wine bottle was drained. It was truly astounding with 750ml of merlot in him, Bob could still manage to sing and play not one but TWO instruments with brilliance. And then he managed to polish off another half a bottle in the encore. Towards the end of the night, the banter became a little sloppy, the set list and back catalogue somewhat exhasteded. At this moment of weakness, the crowd pounced, and demanded a Jebidiah song. And he relented. "Harpoon" is a brilliant moment in Australian songwriting, and I got some goosebumps seeing it played live.

Bob Evans - pronounced best,very quickly, as one word, Bobevans - is really fantastic beer garden summer music. Friends old and new fit well around a table with his music.