Monthly Archives: February 2014

Ten Days on the Island

Writing

There’s been a bit on in the realm of the Blue Room of late!

As January segued into its following month, two beautiful women came to stay by the river to gladden the heart of this old scribe. My sister flew in from the endless sun of Mangoland to experience our southern capital’s less predictable climes for a week. Frith, named after the feisty heroine of Paul Gallico’s wartime saga ‘The Snow Goose’, once was, for a brief time, a resident of Hobart herself way back in the dim mists of time. Visits have been few since. She left this island many moons ago to be a navy-man’s wife, returned for a time to Tassie’s North West, before escaping the winter chill she abhorred to the warm grasp of the Sunshine Coast. She and husband Glen have been wonderful hosts to me on my several occasions in Maroochydore, so now I was proud to return the compliment; to introduce her to the little abode under Kunanyi , Mt Wellington’s new/ancient name. She would see the changes wrought on Hobart over the years since her own time beside the Derwent.

Accompanying her was stunning daughter Peta, bringing with her the glamour of big city Melbourne life, her home of late. Peta has used her talent as a dancer to see our earthly orb from cruise ship sorties to the four corners; to play fairy tale belles at Japan’s Disney World and to entertain a hundred thousand at that ‘one day in September.’ With a radiant smile, a whiff of exotic scents and a zestful take on life, this gorgeous young lady charms all lucky enough to enter her orbit.

frith and peta02

The occasion for their visit was the eighty-seventh birthday of a remarkable woman – my mother. The event was held at the Asian Gourmet, an eatery gracing one of the piers protruding into Sullivan’s Cove on Hobart’s docks. Lovells, partners and offspring from all over the island gathered to experience tasty tucker, catch up on the doings of each other and to celebrate their good fortune in calling Alwyn mother, mother-in-law, gran and great-grandmother. Hobart turned on its glorious best that sunny Sunday arvo for the coming together. The harbour pulsated with sea craft and the tourists were snapping for all they were worth. The attendees were transfixed, though, by the little people. None older than half a decade – Mia, Evie, Tessa Tiger, Charlie and Thomas (as well as a new addition on the way) enlivened proceedings with their palpable pleasure at being part of another adventure, their inquisitiveness at he sights around them and their tentative steps towards forming relationships with each other.

As the week progressed tours were taken away from the wee riverside abode. Peta was entranced by another form of Disneyland – the adults playground that MONA, as the city’s leading attraction, has become. She pronounced it ‘way cool.’ Shopping expeditions were mounted to the Salamanca Market, the CBD, the emporiums of collectibles at New Norfolk and the stationary train at Margate. Nothing lasts forever and all too soon Nan was wending her way back to Burnie; Peta and Frith to Yarra City.

But for this aspiring chronicler of events, these happenings were not the only notable occurrence to be had. In a joyous coincidence and for me a matter of immense pride, that very weekend my adored daughter graced the local daily as the feature article of its weekend supplement. Her lovely face appeared on the cover, with, on the inside, more images to savour of her little family – hubby Leigh and the mini-wonder that is Tessa Tiger. Tim Martain did a great job of wordsmithery in tracing my daughter’s progress from her upbringing in provincial Wynyard to finally calling Hobs home; in recounting her previous literary publications and flagging her upcoming one – ‘Writing Clementine’. All of it was pure unadulterated bliss for a proud father to peruse.

mercury kate

And now I am away from the southern city I love, penning these words on the same coast that saw my daughter and son born and nurtured, as well as being home for the bulk of my own adult life. Another remarkable mother is my host, my Leigh’s mum in Pat. She treats me royally, plying me with the rhubarb I love and other culinary treats. Another occasion bought us north – the seventh consecutive twenty-fifth birthday bash of Leigh’s cherished daughter, Ilsa. Yesterday again there were family and friends meeting up at their ‘ranch’ under the flanks of Roland. The barbie was fired up by husband Keith and fine, expertly cooked meaty fare was partaken of. In the past twelve months this Sheffield couple have had much to celebrate as their industriousness is paying dividends in their chosen community. Keith is now sought after to lend a hand in garden and household maintenance around local traps with Ilsa’s managerial skills having an impact on local businesses. In the little time remaining to them they work together to restore a dwelling on the outskirts of town to make a fine home for their son, my mate Little Ford Man. He is a treasure, never ceasing to amaze his besotted grandmother and I with his ability to observe, figure it all out and then replicate. When Brynner raises his arms up to me, then lifts a leg to signify he has deemed it to be a time I should lift him up for a higher view of proceedings, I feel humbled that I have a place in his world too.

We travel back south later this day and routines around the Blue Room for the remainder of the week will return to their normal rhythms. No doubt I will cast my mind back over these ‘ten days on the island’ and contemplate their significance. Of course, in a worrisome world there is always the positive constant that is family. I will ponder on the talent that is possessed within the family group – my daughter’s writing, Peta’s dancing, Keith’s for landscaping, Ilsa’s for organisation, for instance – and where those capabilities will lead their possessors. I will ruminate on the little mites at the Asian Gourmet that sunshiny afternoon and think on how they will make their way along their, as yet unscripted, life’s journey. There are still so many unanswered questions and this old fellow is determined to be around for a while longer to see some of them answered.

Excess

Movie Reviews

With my two most recent cinematic viewings I’ve been taken to a contemporary cinematic world way beyond my experience – to the wildest parties on the planet! Me – even in my pomp I was never much of a party-goer. I don’t think I’ve been to one for decades. I’ve loved the after events of the weddings of my stunning niece and several handsome nephews. Here it’s mainly family – I can relax. One of the best post-nuptials I’ve been to is when a beautiful teaching colleague married her debonair policeman. That night I laughed till I cried. I still remember the round table discussion about Melbourne’s Sexpo. When coppers let the hair down, much fun is to be had. The same could be said for nurses. My Darling Loving Partner is a nurse and she’s taken me to some rip-snorters of work dos. But it’s dinner gatherings – at restaurants or in homes – that I look forward to the most. There was the one following my daughter marrying my favourite son-in-law on the edge of the wilderness that stands out. There are the glorious meals at Stefan and Denise’s that are really the bee’s knees, the wonderful Christmas bash that Phil and Julie put on a few weeks ago, any event with Craig and Laurel at their wonderful Aberdeen abode and then there are the barbecues. Whether they’re here at No1, or next door at No2 Riverside Drive; or whether they are under Roland to celebrate Ilsa’s endless 25th birthdays, they are always such a joy to me.

But events where the music is loud, the guests foreign to me and the alcohol flowing endlessly so all are legless after an hour or so – yuk! If they are where people delight in taking their clothes off – yuk, yuk!! If there are white powdered substances in abundance – yuk, yuk, yuk!!! But if I can be a voyeur at these – then that’s a different matter. Cinema makes this possible, with these two movies rejoicing in that.

Recently the duo of parties at the Gatsby mansion, superbly choreographed by Baz Lurhmann, were the benchmark, a treat in excess to watch – but now are ultimately lame compared to what Scorsese and Sorrentino have conjured up.

Boy, can those Italians party, ‘bunga bunga.’ As ‘The Great Beauty’ revved up from a start of striking vignettes to Jep’s party getting under way accompanied by the pounding beat of thumpa thumpa music, I was enthralled. These weren’t only young bucks and belles out for a high old time on the terraces of the host’s apartment within spitting distance of the Coliseum. His party-goers were all shapes and ages, as well as prominently featuring his dwarf editor, a miniature doppelganger of ‘Ab Fab’s’ Patsy. In their wild dancing all pushed their bodies and faces to the limit. It was toe-tappingly fantastic. With a rake’s grin and dangling fag, Jeb can party with the best of them and his sixty-fifth was going to be no exception. And what a face this guy (actor Toni Servillo) possesses; what an exquisite vehicle in his visage he has for expressing all the emotions known to humankind! Surely it’s one of the best in filmdom and to the best of my knowledge, it was the first time I’ve encountered it. In this role Servillo is simply magnificent. Many would argue, though, that the real star of the show is Rome itself. Never has the Eternal City looked so uniquely burnished with such a warm glow as when we tour known and secret places, following an array of characters as the film’s coterie slip giddily into Berlusconian decadence. The putrid ripeness of the Catholic Church casts a heavy stench over all the proceedings as the elite of Roman society let off steam before their collective number comes up as punishment for decades of unsustainable excess. They know the ‘dolce vita’ will soon be dead, along with many of their own number. The cinematography of this beast of a film is extraordinary – some of its images will long linger – the disappearing giraffe; the man who exhibits his self portraits (one for each day of his fifty odd years); the flamingoes coming to rest in their migration only to be blown away by the breath of a centenarian nun; the nude performer who entertains by stunning herself against stone wall; the swirling art work of a child prodigy artist; the set piece about the cosmetician and his scything injection – I could go on. It was a cornucopia for the senses, a Baroquian entree before the Inferno. Surely this must be the hot favourite for Best Foreign at the upcoming Oscars!

.-The great-beauty.

But even the full-on hoedowns portrayed in ‘The Great Beauty’ pall in comparison with the orgies orchestrated by ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ himself, Jordan Belfort, as gleefully played by Leonardo Di Caprio. He throws all the seven deadly sins at the wall, as well as dwarfs at targets, for the sleazy employees of his dodgy, greedy finance company/hedge fund, designed purely to rip off gullible punters in the run up to the GFC. Like most of its other porcine perpetrators, he got off virtually scot-free to re-invent himself into his present day reincarnation as a get rich quick spruiker – again for all those gullible punters out there. Compared to this portrayal of Belfort, Jeb is an angel. Jordan is the devil that leads all into Hades.

This movie must be one of the high-points of Scorsese’s career. There is little violence, a nauseating characteristic of some of his other lauded offerings – instead the auteur concentrates on drug taking, sex, nudity and wild abandon. Matthew McConaughey. is stellar as the mentor who prods Belfort into his evil and excessive ways – it is surely one of the best turns in a career that has now blossomed anew. Aussie soap starlet Margot Robbie leaves no part of anatomy covered in her turn as the finacier’s second missus, but displays actorly chops as well. In places this movie was guffaw-inducingly hilarious – the lasting example being when our ‘hero’ has to negotiate a few steps whilst out of his tiny cotton picking mind on some pills well past their use-by date – its up there with ‘The Hangover’s’ tiger in the bathroom for recent comedic insanity. The audience in attendance at my screening clapped and stomped their feet at the conclusion of this excessive kaleidoscope in joyous appreciation.

wolf

Both movies demand a staunch bladder with the length of their running time – but in the end I still wanted more, the bladder could wait. Of course Blind Freddie could see that Sorrentino was taking his cues from Fellini and with Scorsese? It is probably Luhrmann. I’d wager he’s not so subtly telling him, ‘Top this if you can, mate.’ Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the Aussie wunderkind took up the challenge and tackled some subject matter that involved really, really excessive partying too – now I’d pay to see that!!!

‘The Great Beauty’ official site = http://www.palacefilms.com.au/thegreatbeauty/

‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ official site = http://www.thewolfofwallstreet.com/index_splash.php