What Wright did next

My love for Spaced is no secret. Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz are similarly adored. In my mind, director Edgar Wright can do little wrong.

My love for Michael Cera is similarly boundless. Such a perfectly symmetrical, awkward and bird like face. His comedy heart is smeared all over the golden Arrested Development, Juno and Superbad.

In the weeks leading up to the release of Scott Pilgrim vs The World, I have been engaging in some expectations management. I like to call it the My Girl effect. That bitter pill of disappointment you feel when something you have been looking forward to for so so long turns out to be not quite as awesome as you expected.

But even so, I was hitting extreme levels of excitement.

Dammit.

The plot follows Scott Pilgrim, Canadian slacker muso, with no job and a gay room mate. In his quest for self discovery and actualisation through the love of a good indie woman. The central premise is the difficulties of negotiating the past of your new partner. Through the metaphoric battles of wills, that in this film are physicalised, video game style.

I should be totally in love with this film. It is stylish and witty, with an eclectic mix of unpredictable characters with all the quirks that usually make me giggle. There are kickarse fight sequences, geeky allusions to all kinds of pop culture. Witty wordiness. A complete lack of judgement in issues of gender and sexuality. Frequent shifts in pace. It was a little bit Wes Anderson in feel, and a little bit like a manga cartoon. Basically it was all the stuff that I usually find smittening.

But I found it a little bit of a let down. Maybe because I was sitting next to the sleep-deprived-Wes-Anderson-hating-unartsy Sparky, who was frequently heard whispering "what the fuck is going on?" Maybe it is because my expectations were skyhigh, even though I thought I had them under control.

Maybe this film needs another chance. Or perhaps it is just better on paper?

When Flood Damage(s) is a good thing

Just a few weeks ago, The Boy Factory was flooded in. As in, both roads to the "civalisation" of West Bubblefuck were completely cut off. Drive through at own risk, of being swept off the road, of having car impaled with debris, of forfeiting any insurance you might have... of being booked by the watchful constabulary.

Fortunatley I was all stocked up in the fridge. And with my beloved espresso machine, my caffeine addiction was sated. No Supercoaching, no Saturday morning omelette at The Toothie. Last year the Mighty U13s didn't miss one game due to weather. We did play our semi-final in a dust storm... This year it seems like we have only played half the season. Droughts and flooding rains indeed!

But the vindictive wealther finally gave me a chance to devour the highly recommended Damages. So many people have told me how good this show is, that I had already purchased both available seasons. And once I started watching, there was just no stopping me. Season 1 was consumed on Saturday, and 80% of season 2 was gobbled up on Sunday.

Set in NY city, in the cut-throat world of corporate law. The show focuses on the relationship between the meglamaniacal Patty Hewes (Glenn Close) and the rookie lawyer Ellen Parsons (Rose Byrne). The performances from these two incredible actresses are phenomenal, these characters stay with you, and colour the way you see the world for days afterwards. If I had have been at the mercy of Channel 9, having to wait a week between episodes, I may have gone insane with these two women in my head the whole time.

The structure is non-linear - starting with a flashforward and skipping between timeframes. The viewer sometimes knows much more than the characters, but is always asking so many questions. Why is Ellen covered in blood? Did she get attacked? Was she the attacker? Was Patty behind it? Every little piece of information given is both satisfying with the questions that it answers, and frustrating in the further question marks that are created. The fact that there is not a mysterious smoke monster or strange loops in the time-space contiunuum makes this show infinitely superior to the drawn out and convaluted Lost. Instead, at the end of each season, most questions are answered. Most character arcs are complete, with just enough open-endedness to spark up interest for the next season.

The powerplay between the Mentor and the Novice is central premise of each season. Trust and Power and Intention and Motivation. Whether the end justifies the means. This is not just a fluff-piece - the martini-swilling teenagers of Gossip Girl's NY are not here. There are slight parallels to The Devil Wears Prada, and seeing as I always have to think twice about the distiction between Close and Streep, I think those parallels are quite fitting. In fact, doe-eyed Byrnes is a little bit matching with doe-eyed Anne Hathaway too... But this is not the overly feminised world of fashion we're talking about here, but the masculinised realm of corporate law.

Gender is not something that is explicitly discussed, but the Woman In Power = Bitch is an idea that is played with - supported, subverted, questioned and affirmed. Whether or not a Woman Can Have It All. Patty Hewes sees herself as a failure as a mother. Incapable. Not wired that way. She is pretty discouraging of Parsons' engagement, and of motherhood in general. And maybe the fact that the show has been created by three blokes is reasoning behind this.

There are some other social commentaries throughout both seasons. Corporations are inherently evil, money grabbing bastards. Energy companies are manipulative and corrupt, with little regard for consumers or the environment. I imagine Season 3 has an equally topical case to chase down.

I can't believe I left this show on the shelf for so many months. Entirely addictive TV!!

Winter Blockbusters: The Explodables

There are a heap of awesome films coming out soon. Summer season in the northern hemisphere means that the blockbusters are upon us. And I'm hoping to catch quit a few in the coming weeks.

But the first one was not a piece of cinematic brialliance. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time at The Expendables, but it is not chance going to set the world on fire. Even though that is what pretty much happens.

The line up looks like the who's who of 1980s action. Sylvester Stallone directing (that was the first giggle of the afternoon... and co-writing the screenplay! HA!) a bulge* of overly muscled and skin-stretched actors - and I use that term loosely... really I should say celebrities - in a shoot 'em up, blow 'em up, Almost A-Team style renegade bunch of ultra-violent mercinaries.

The storyline is thin indeed. South American dictator, financed by an ex-CIA slimy suit. Up against this band of merry men. The said Stallone script is less than thin - something closer to entirely implausible, ridiculous and farcical. Of course, the action-man one liner is there. And me, I love a great action one liner. The cheesier the better. But these were simultaneously the best and worst lines this film had to offer.

Joining Sly in this hyperbolic adventure is the rollcall of action stars. Jason Statham, Jet Li, Steve Austin... Mickey Rourke as the tritagonist tattooist... Obe Wan with silver streaks in his hair. Cameos of wrinkled close ups of Bruce Willis AND the Governator... The casting for this film was quite obviously a case of "well, such and such is on board"... "OK, I'll do it then". Watching the wierd skin folds of the overly plasticised Arnie, Sly and Mickey was a little off putting. The collagen in their lips, dressed in their all-too plucked facial hair made watching them speak a little bit like seeing fleshy, pink catepillars wriggle about on someone's face. They even look sillier than Meg "Fishlips" Ryan. And that is saying something!!!

Of course the highlight of the film was the set pieces. Car chases with improbable twists and turns. Bullet riddled fight scenes with baddies who can't seem to land a shot. Explosions aplenty from makeshift and improvised petrol bombs. The crunching of a broken neck in hand to hand combat. The crimson splatter of self-armed warheads ripping through flesh.

The low points... I don't really want to dwell on them to be honest. If I focus too long on what was shitty about the film, then I might lose that glow of fun and giggles. Shithouse acting. Rubbish script. And the fact the the females in the film (and there were ONLY two) were damsels in distress, requiring Statham and Stallone to swoop in and save them. I mean, as Sparky told me, I can't really expect anything less, considering the geneology of a film such as this. But considering this is the 21st century, I kidded myself into expecting just a tad more.

Plus the jokes at Jet Li's expense - his accent, his height, his Asian-ness - were pretty lame too.

I'm hoping that Salt and Tomorrow When The War Began live up to the Summer Blockbuster Dream a little better. But most of all, I'm looking forward to Scott Pilgrim vs The World!!!

*Here I go again, inventing fantastic collective nouns. I think that A bulge of action stars is a perfect collective noun!!

The universal truth about Fight Club

I have never reviewed a YouTube ckip before...

My fondness for Jane Austen has been reported here many a time. I am indeed a latecomer to her genius, and I do love the modern stuff that has been done with her few novels. She has been transformed into a real horror show. She has been mashed-up with time-travel.

And now there is this puppy:



One of my favourite films, meets one of my favourite genres of novels and dramas. This is the REASON YouTube works!!

Olivia, Viola, Malvolio. Oh my!

Lots of people have an opinion on Shakespeare. Mostly what they think is fairly non-complimentary (unlike bar nuts. They're complimentary), lots of "I never like all that Shakespeare mumbo-jumbo" or the irony of "it's all Greek to me." And then there are those who think that all we should teach the kiddies is Shakespeare because it is a 'classic' and therefore worthy of the classroom. (Thank you Miranda Divine. I kinda hate you too, just so you know.)

Teaching The Bard is challenging, and interesting, and difficult, and fun. Getting a bunch of Year 9 kids to read a scene from R&J and go "ah, I get it!" is joyous. Having the ratbags of Year 10 perform a scene from Macbeth in original language, but the context of surfer gangs a la Bra Boys is elating. Having Year 8 guys say "Miss, that sounds dirty" about Kat and Petruccio's Sting conversation, and assuring them that indeed they are interpreting it correctly - in the dirtiest way possible. (Funny thing is, the new Child Protection Policy, Keep Them Safe explicitly states we are not supposed to speak to students using double entendres or sexual innuendo. How is it POSSIBLE to teach Shakespeare without these, my favourite features of the English language?)

Every English Teacher and Shakespeare fan has a different favourite. Some like the tragedies, with the blood and guts and gore and raped women with no hands and no tongue. Some like the comedies that aren't funny at all, they're just called comedies because not everyone is dead at the end. One my colleagues likes Henry V  for the epic speeches. Another likes R&J for the epic love story.

And my favourite is Twelfth Night.

It has all the usual golden moments of mistaken identity and twisted genders, disguises and deceptions, suspension of disbelief as small crowds stand directly behind someone, unseen and unheard. Shafts of double entendres (can we make 'shafts' the official collective noun for double entendres? any other suggestions?). A slightly unrealistic storyline, based on shipwrecks and true love. And a subplot about punishing the puritanic do-gooder for being a party pooper.

One of the drawbacks about living in West Bubblefuck, as I have bemoaned before, is the general wasteland of culture that we have. Our cinema is almost strictly a diet of blockbusters and romcoms. Previous to this year, the theatre scene has really only consisted of the local musical and dramatic societies murdering the scripts of modern classics. But since the opening of our very own theatre, the wasteland is beginning to look a little more colourful.

And one of the blooming cactus flowers was the touring production this, my favourite Shakers play, done by none other than Bell, Australia's most fabulous Shakespeare company. I saw the show last night, and LOVED it.

Bell always does wonderous things with context and modernisation. Created as a play, within a play, it is set within the context of Black Saturday. They have incorporated modern songs, sung a Capella or accompanied by acoustic guitar. Performed around an enormous pyramid of donated clothing, in which they find all the required props and costumes to create the story, and distract them from the devastation and loss and grief that has burnt through their lives.

As usual, they have imaginative dramatic devices to get around doubling-up actors (little bit of mime, little bit of half-worn costume... and a bell) and quick escapes by helicopter (tiny little model on a fly, dressed in miniature costume). The greatest uses of boxes since my brother and I made our baby brother a bat cave for Christmas out of a fridge box, used as disguises, as armour, as a gaol...

With a star turn from the very delightful and hysterical Ben Wood (last scene camping it up as a butch Emcee in NUTS production of Cabaret... OK, he has done other stuff since, but that was the last time I saw him on stage), I was privileged to have seen this production. If it comes near you (and it is pretty much going EVERYWHERE), you should go see for sure!

NB/ How can this be the FIRST post I have made about theatre? When I have been such an addict to the stage for such a long time? Evidence of the cultural wasteland, I suppose...

Supercoach Strikes!

Previously on TMM, I have proclaimed my desire for coaching success. Living up to the self-given moniker of Supercoach has been somewhat eluding me this year. Despite a tea,mlist that on  paper looks tighter and more skilled than last year, the Mighty U14s were not really living up to their name either.

The West Bubblefuck Soccer Fraternity have also been conspiring against me, penalising me three points for fielding an unregistered player. Named Connor McKillop. Who the hell is Connor McKillop, you may ask...? As do I. I have never met nor heard of anyone of this name. Let alone written his name on my team card. And I said as much to the President of the West Bubblefuck Soccer Association, in an email. Funny thing when the Pres is running for election as a local member, seems very willing to be of prompt assistance in such matters. And three points were reinstated. Victory tasted pretty sweet.

And then today...

There is a fair amount of daylight between us and first place. And not a a whole lot of room behind us to third. So playing #1 today was going to be a pretty big deal.

The Supercoach pre-game speech was about confidence. About not worrying about what we DON'T have today. A striker away at City To Surf. A star midfielder not shown up at all - only to turn up three minutes before kick off with a raging case of tonsillitis. A sweeper wearing borrowed boots because he left them on the bench at home (honestly, who does that??!?). But rather, thinking about what we DO have. Good teamwork, high skill and pace. Rep quality players. Last time we played top of the table, we choked. Sure, we didn't lose (score 1-1) but the boys (and girls) in maroon had only 9 players on the park. I reminded the M.U14s that we play best when we think we can win.

The first 25 minutes, they played with mighty effort. They moved the ball around, they called, they passed, they peppered the goal. But in the last 5 minutes, they began to think that their efforts were wasted. They stood flat on their heels, waited too long to receive passes, too many touches before getting the ball away. It was infuriating to see.

Half time was a blessed relief, as the Nemesis Team began their counter attack. My Supercoach sidekick took the reins in the half-time speech. All about increasing the energy in the centres, and lifting the midfield. I spoke about intensity and energy and hunger. The boys had some more specific things to say about using some more physicality in the tackles and setting up through balls.

My boys in green and gold started the second half valiantly. Weight in their toes, lots of communication. Great passing, good trust.

And a very tidy little goal about midway through the second half.

They didn't suffer their usual over-confident counter-attack after their goal this week. They kept tight, kept together, kept the intensity. One striker rolled his ankle right in front of their goal. My sweeper got his calf kicked, right behind his enormous shin pads.

But my rookie defensive midfielder made his very first non-foul free throw. And my never-played-a-team-sport-before everywhere man put some beautiful passes through, with some accuracy and power. The superskilled trusted the kids with less experience. They talked and ran and dived and tackled and the keeper did some beautiful saves.

I came home a Supercoach. I have had this warm feeling in my belly, that only beating the top of the table can give.

And is if by some divine intervention by the deities of Disney, or some fantastical coincidence, D2: Mighty Ducks is on Channel 7 this afternoon. Coach Gordon Bombay, such an inspiration!

What Whedon did next

Joss Whedon can't seem to get a break. He is a master auteur of the television medium, especially in cult dramas with a comic twist. Buffy was a televisual masterpiece. A perfect example of a kick-arse female protagonist, who is successfully juggling identity, puberty, relationships and the responsibility of being a superhero. Fight scenes, monster make-up, morality tales of sex-before marriage, with some killer one liners and brilliant concept episodes. Like "Hush", which had hardly any dialogue in it at all. And "Once More With Feeling", the musical episode. Now while I don't really understand how US television networks operate, this show was dumped by one network and picked up by another. It ran 7 seasons in total, and pretty much finished up when star Sarah Michelle Gellar didn't sign up for an 8th season.

Angel is the darker, ever-so-slightly inferior spin off. I never thought it had the same depth as Buffy but it was pretty addictive television nevertheless. It was cancelled by the network at the end of the 5th season despite high ratings, allegedly because Joss pushed the execs for a renewal, and they canned the show instead.

Firefly was a hybrid sci-fi western with witty dialogue and characters to fall in love with. It was so popular in DVDs and less-than-legal downloads that the feature film Serenity was released in cinemas. Despite Whedon's plans for the show to run for 7 years, the network cancelled the show about mid-way through the first season.

And next? Dollhouse. Starring Eliza Dushku, the premise of this show sounds a little naff. It is based around a corporation that hires out humans to the uber-rich at highly inflated prices for whatever the client desires. The bodies are filled with the memories and skills from the library of minds. And while I am a hardcore Whedon fan, I found it a little tricky to emerse myself into this one early on, I was eventually won over. I think the reason I had difficulty is because the characters don't ever have the same personality from episode to episode, except in flashbacks. I mustn't have been the only one that thought that, because as Season 1 went on, the characteristics of the protagonists began to shine through.

Central to Dollhouse, as with the other 3 shows, are the ideas of mind control and the ultimate power of corporations, and of feminism and feminine strength. The presence of Big Brother (1984 George Orwell style, not reality television social experiment style) is constant and sinister.

Unfortunately, during its 2nd season in the States, this show has been canned too.