Danne The Champion of the World

National youth radio network, Triple J may well be hijacking the public holiday of Australia Day. And I am totally down with that. If the day becomes more about listening to 100 songs while trying to pick what will be in the top 10 and kicking back with friends/family/all on your lonesome, watching (or hearing, actually) musical democracy at work, then it tends to take away from the celebration of the death of a culture, an invasion of a country, and 222 years of pretty piss poor treatment of indigenous people. It tends to distract from the hate fueled cape wearers, with We Grew Here You Flew Here stenciled on their bellies, or F*ck Off We're Full singlets.

The day off from work, that lurks closely at the end of 5 and a half weeks of bliss for all teachers (and probably students too if I remember correctly) still functions as a day to bring people together, to use barbeques and stubby coolers and thongs and backyard pools (or indeed beaches if you are lucky enough. I am thinking of Mr Taylor's yearly soiree at Clovelly...) and generally eek out as much joy from a summer's day as is humanly possible.

I didn't vote this year. I was too busy doing nothing, nowhere near a computer. But in November last year I picked "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons. This bet was based on a number of things:
a) the song has swearing in it. Kids (and JJJ is the youth network after all) love a bit of profanity. This is reportedly unfair advantage Number 1 - I spend time with the people who would do the voting so I understand how they think
b) the song was Most Requested on JJJ's request show for WEEKS in a row. Unfair advantage #2, I can stand listening to Rosie Beaton. Other party guests plan on going into training in November next year to prepare for the big day
c) the poll (the biggest of its kind in the world, as we were repeatedly told yesterday) allows each voter 10 songs. Which means that the song won't be The Most Popular Song of the year, won't be The Most Favourite of The Most People, but rather a song that appears in The Most Top 10s. And looking at the history of #1s in the 17 years that this has been going, the pattern emerges - mostly with guitars (as opposed to being based on a beat), mostly nothing too heavy, and catchy as hell. Mumford & Sons fits that to a tee!

I did voice this pick very early on to all those that would listen, and even I'm sure to plenty of people that didn't want to listen, but I told them anyway.

And then the unthinkable happened.

A leak.

http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/articles/2010/01/22/1263663157228.html

I think it is pretty shameful that anyone would leak it Crikey. But really, who reads Crikey? I know there are people, but its readership is significantly pale in comparison to SMH. Shame, SMH, shame on you for publishing this information.

And shame on Luke, who posted it on FB. And indeed, shame on me for reading it. Really, I am kicking myself.

Enough with the Derryn Hinch part of proceedings

With the forms supplied from the JJJ site for a sweepstakes, I managed to wrangle myself a winning 28 points, probably due to the 2 unfair advantages and knowledge written above. The points for the sweeps were allocated on how close each song was positioned. Really I was pretty flukey, in that I just, as I have done for years with my little bro, wrote the songs as they occurred to me, rather than in the order I thought they would be placed. So my list was written in no particular order, but scored as though it was. And it looked a little something like this.

1. Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons (which is actually on the radio RIGHT NOW!!!) - came in at 1
2. Bullet Proof - La Roux - came in at 6
3. Coin Laundry - Lisa Mitchell - came in at 7
4. Ramona Was a Waitress - Paul Dempsey - came in somewhere in the 30s
5. Broken Legs - Bluejuice - came in at 5
6. Chase That Feeling - Hilltop Hoods - came in at 3
7. Uh Oh Oh No - Tegan & Sarah - didn't actually hear it yesterday. Don't even know if it is actually called that. Or if it is a 2009 song
8. We won't run - Sarah Blasko - came in somewhere in the 20s
9. Not Fair - Lily Allen - came in at 8
10. Liztamania - Phoenix - came in at 4

So as start the working year with a smug grin, a paper crown and the heart of a champion

Detective Story

I can't say that I've ever really been hugely into detective fiction. Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle have never really pushed my buttons. I did like The Great Mouse Detective, Disney's rodent version of Sherlock (maybe that is where my irrational phobia of rats comes from.... Damn Rattikin). And when I was in London town, I did do a little bit of sniffing around Baker Street tube station with its Sherlock silhouettes, complete with pipe and flappy hat.

Those silhouettes don't really look like Robert Downey Jr though.

An edition of Empire magazine when I was travelling last year hinted at 2 different feature versions of Sherlock Holmes feature films that were simultaneously in production. But the one that made me just a little excited was the Guy Ritchie one. He does clever action very well. Lock Stock was a phenemenal film - the multistreamed narrative, interwoven with coincidence and cockney rhyming slang. The unfortunately titled Snatch showed Brad Pitt to have a wicked sense of humour about himself, and the Pikeys and pigs held this film together.

Let us not mention his other films, 'cause Ritchie kinda dropped the ball on those ones... Including Rocknrolla, his supposed 'comeback' film. Oops, I wasn't going to mention it!

But he's done a fantastic job with this Sherlock Holmes. The action is fast and witty. Downey Jr is brilliant - and plays Sherlock as autistic, which makes vast amouts of sense really. The hyper-observant detective is multi-talented; science, boxing, weapons modification. Plus he is totally hot. His traditional sidekick, Dr Watson (Jude Law), is much less insipid that I usually imagine him to be. In fact, Sherlock tells the good doctor that the violence he brings is very useful.

The pair from Baker Street bust up a serial killer with dark, mystical, ritualistic overtones. The hints of modern politics and terrorism, the vague references to Masonic cults and the vaguaries of vigilante crime fighting make the Victorian tale a little more relevant than just a period/action flick might otherwise be.

Rachel McAdams is mostly kickarse as Irene Adler. She does some great technical stuff, and some wicked criminal stuff. But as the only female character in here, she does occasionally get demoted to the Damsel In Distress. To the film's detriment. But how else are they going to convey Sherlock's emotional connection to her than from saving her from some impeding destruction (again with the pigs, Mr Ritchie?) than swooping in to save her...? Surely there is NO other way to convey deep and irrational affection from an otherwise rational being like Sherlock than an act of daring heroism.

Do not see this film from the front row. Yes, Boxing Day is the biggest cinema going day in Australia. And yes, the first session we wanted to see was sold out, so we bought tickets early for another session - but we still ended up being late enough to have to sit in the eye-bleed section. And as per Guy-Ritchie-usual, there is a lot of speedy camera work. At the risk of sounding a little bit like David Stratton, I did feel a little sea sick.

Ritchie has done a great job. Downey Jr continues to impress. A great Boxing Day flick, for literally, all the family.

Zombies only want you for your brains

So, zombies, huh?

Seems like they are kind of everywhere. The omnipresent undead

Jane Austen has been busy again (almost as if she is a zombie herself, posthumously prolific, this chick), with the help of Seth Graeme-Smith, creating the deliciously disgusting and post-modern Pride & Prejudice & Zombies. Ever wondered why Darcy so suddenly turned from "she is tolerable I suppose" to "she is the most handsome worman I have ever met"? Its because at the ball where he DIDN'T dance with her, there was a zombie attack, and the kung-fu trained Bennett sisters went NUTS. And Eliza is apparently the best fighter of all.

Have you wondered why Darcy convinced Bingley that Jane wasn't interested? It's because he thought she had been bitten by one of the manky terribles!

And why did Charlotte settle for the really inpleasant and unhumourous Mr Collins? It was because she had been infected by the plague, and wanted to experience married life and have an honourable burial before she died.

The zombies are used to kind of explain all the bizarre conventions of Austenesque society, plus the incorporation of gratuitous violence into a bonnet-tale is a welcome refreshment.

And last night was Zombieland. In the vein of the fanfuckingtastic Shaun of the Dead, this is also a zom rom com. The nameless of characters of Columbus, Tallahassee (once accidentally referred to as Florida), Wichita and Little Rock join forces to cope in the post-apocalyptic ruined nation of the USA.

This film is gratuitously gory. More blood and guts and offal and sinew than any human needs to see. After about 15 minutes, you have to get used to it, or you may hurl (as my companion almost did. Still smiling), you pretty much have to make a decision to see it as tomato sauce and pieces of foam.

It is also high-camp ridiculous. Complete suspension of disbelief is required.

But it is great fun. Join the ride, and shoot the control box to let this film take you away. Killer one liners, really lovable protagonists and fantastic titles that are incorporated into the action the whole way through. Heaps of fun, but not for the weak of stomach.

PS The future of the zombies in pop culture is pretty safe, too. The P&P&Z film is in pre-production, and Zombieland II is set for release in 2011

School Camp and A Smile Plays On The Lips

It has been long since I have posted. Things have been crazy busy - Orienting next year's year 7 Boys at the Factory, taking the Year 11s away from the Factory to the Gold Caost for school camp.

Aside from the Factory, there has been little to report. Much like most of my life for most of the last 2 years. A constant state of Report Monster/The Marker/Prep Woman as my alter-
egos.

But there may be changes afoot. Flux may be occurring. There will not be chickens counted yet. Though the scent of possibility leaves a grin playing on my lips that I just can't seem to budge.

Those XX Chromosomes

Many many moons ago, in the era of the 9-5, the post-uni, pre-backpacking, Before-Teaching (BT) version of myself saw a film. A fantastic and beautiful and hilarious film called The Women. 1939, directed by George Cukor. Inspired by that viewing, I did one of the things I am most proud of in my life to date; I directed the stage version of it (it was originally a theatre script). In that 8 weeks of rehearsal and performance I learned a few important things about myself, gained an obsession with all things '50s. And made friends with some of the people I still love best today.


This weekend, I got to see the film again on the big screen, and it was such a fabulous! I am still totally and completely in love with this movie. It is gold.


West Bubblefuck cinema once a month has a Silver Screening - and I think it refers to the colour of the hair of the patrons. A Sunday matinee, with tea and bikkies at interval. Being West Bubblefuck, there is never much publicity that it is on. You have to hold your head the right way to hear a whisper on the breeze (or read the back of the toilet door at the cinema). But I got wind of this one months ago, and have been so so excited about getting to see it once more. (I have been trying to track it down on DVD for years, and it is possible to ship it from the States, but I haven't yet done that)


The film centres around a coven of Manhattan wives, and the scandals that are created by the idle hands of the wealthy females. The group of "friends" learn that Mary Haines husband is cheating on her with Crystal, a perfume sales girl, and there are bitter schemes to reveal it to Mary. It is basically a study of the relationships between females, and the lowdown, nasty things we can do to each other, without hardly even trying. Being based on a play means the whole thing is dialogue based, and if you blink your ears for just a minute you will miss the comic gold spun fine as thread, and weaved fast. Trite one liners and snippy insults fly thick and fast, and the bitchiness on screen between the rivals, played by real-life rivals Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford, is almost palpable in its electricity.

Rosalind Russell is just fabulous as Sylvia, the cat that lets the secret out of the bag. Her slapstick humour and rubbery face makes her a predecesor of the Lucy and Debra Messing brand of female comic. But with a little less ham. No wait, there is heaps of ham. And cheese. But no laugh track

The cattiness and bitchiness of these New York money-hags is the driving force of the narrative. The issue of competition between women, as though there are a finite number of men, jobs, dresses, apartments and resources that we need to battle for is not new, and nor is it one that is now resolved. The definition of female friendship will always be problematic while we compete against each other, a point made pretty solidly in by the ladies in the '70s. And this film was made (and the play was written) well before Germaine was touting about the sisterhood in bell bottoms.


The characters and storyline of The Women is still current today. In fact, aside from some acting techniques and camera work, this film has hardly dated at all. Oh, and the 15 minute fashion show/interval in the middle, with the "futuristic" outfits of the pirate and the see-through hat. Similar obsessions still run through modern pop-culture. These women are just the middle aged versions of the martini-swilling teenagers in Gossip Girl. They are the urban equivalents of the little ladies in Mad Men or their suburban counterparts in Desperate Housewives. This story, and the witty one-liners that Clare Boothe has written, are timeless.


There is not one male that appears in the movie. Aside from a picture on the back of a magazine. For 1939, that is something phenomenal. Hell, it is pretty phenomenal for the 21st century!


The only let down to the whole story, and it is a let down ideologically as well as filmically, is the last shot. The ending. If you can get your hands on the DVD, stop the film as Mary walks out of the powder-room at the casino. You will feel much better for it.
This film was tragically remade last year, with fish-face Meg Ryan as a very unsympathetic Mary. And Debra Messing also appeared, not in the hysterical role she is most suited to but as the rather fertile and befuddled redhead Edith. You must must MUST avoid this imitation, it is pale indeed. But the '39 version will make you laugh and cry and cringe and love women all the more.

High Trash

Not as in high brow trash. As in trash of the trashiest order.

I feel a little bit dirty when I think about how much I love Gossip Girl. It is hideously predictable. Heinously overacted. Hilariously unlikely. I mean the chances of such hot hot HOT humans actually being on 16 years old is laughable. And them being served cocktails in New York bars (legal age = 21 there, right?) until their spines turn to tequila is hysterical.

But, like all my other TVDVD addictions, I am well and truly hooked. It could be the traditional tale of fish out of water, the divinely-jawed Daniel Humphries from Brooklyn with a scholarship to the Upper East Side. It could be the inherent bitchiness of high school that is portrayed with accurate hyperbole. It could be the lavish party scenes or nonchanlant way these children talk about jumping a private jet to Europe, filling me with such envy that I need to vicariously live through them. It could be the incredibly and impossibly gorgeous Blake Lively with her stunning blonde tresses and her healthy and voluptuous butt that are both just hypnotising. It could possibly the the angles of Chuck, with his sculpted eyebrows and lineated eyes, and the muscle that he flexes in his jaw.

But it is probably just because I have a penchant for the melodramatic. Gossip Girl is almost a bonnet drama - unrealistically tight dresses, overly embellished curls of hair, inexplicable social mores. It is very Dangerous Liasons. Like a TV version of Cruel Intentions.

And now I have churned my way through season 2, what's a girl to do?
You know you love me. XOXO

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...