All posts by stevestevelovellidau

The Blue Room's Best Television 2016

Television/DVD review

There was much that stuck in the mind from the small screen in the past twelve months – and I hasten to add that what follows are the shows we, Leigh and I, either watched on free-to-air, placed on hard drive from that platform or, in a new development this year, accessed from our T-Box, which gave us ABC’s i-View or SBS’s On Demand. My goodness me, technology in this day and age!

There were individual one-offs that stuck in the mind. For instance, the hopelessness of the Syria debacle bought home to Simon Reeve, one of my favourites of tele-travellers, on a Greek island close to Turkey. He found himself confronting a column of refugees from that benighted country, knowing there was little he could do to ease their burden. When one man pointed to his cameraman and told Simon that that was his occupation before his nation became a hell hole, poor Simon was rendered speechless – as we all are over the atrocities from the senselessness that is still occurring as I type. It is bought home nightly to us on the news. It is an abomination.

There was the wonderful documentary ‘Richard Flanagan – Life After Death.’ In it, at one stage, the great Tasmanian author relates the cruel death of his father’s best mate on the Burma Railroad. He travelled to find the poor fellow’s grave in an Asian war cemetery shortly after the death of his dad; his father lucky to survive the obsentities he witnessed and endured as a POW under such a cruel regime. Flanagan’s reaction to the burial site was beyond description in words – it certainly made me shed tears over my own father who served, as well, in that terrible conflict.

There was Joanna Lumley’s finding herself also speechless in the tunnels of Okinawa where hundreds of young Japanese soldiers committed suicide rather than facing the shame of surrender to the Americans in the same war. Then there was the inspiring, empowering Australian Story on star Collingwood female marquee player Moana Hope. This was the tale of her rise to become an out-and-out superstar of the AFL Women’s League. The obstacles that she’s overcome to reach that point would inspire either gender.

But below, though, for my money, are the best shows that graced the small screen in 2016

1. The Missing (SBS) – you take your eyes off a child for a moment and it can change your life. This, James Nesmith’s character found out, in what turned out to be an edge of your seat journey after a little boy disappears whilst on a European holiday with his family. Frances O’Connor is exceptional as the mother, as was Tcheky Karyo, the French police inspector, who couldn’t let the case go. Returns for a second season with David Morrissey and Keely Hawes as the leads.

2. Dr Thorne (ABC) – adapted by Julian Fellows from the pen of Trollope, this, to my mind, was the best period drama since Downton. Helmed by a sublime Tom Hollander, it’s such a pity that it seems to be a one off.

3. Rake S4 (ABC) – perhaps the best season to date as Cleaver Greene creates mayhem in the courtrooms of Oz. In a role just made for Richard Roxburgh, the thought of Greene creating similar chaos in the Senate is delicious.

4. DCI Banks S5 (ABC) – Stephen Tomlinson, Andrea Lowe and Caroline Catz are the trio that head up this engrossing police procedural now into its fifth season. Is Alan Banks the saddest, most hang-dog looking copper ever?

5. The Bridge S3(SBS) – Although Kim Bodnia is sorely missed, we still have the socially inept Saga Noren (Sofia Helin) to keep us entranced as she commits faux pas after faux pas in her bulldog, single-minded approach to solving crime. Sadly the next series will be the last we’ll see of this unique creation.

6. Molly (7) – in this two-parter Samuel Johnson gets the Australian National Living Treasure down pat. Can’t wait for the promised bio-pic on the Easybeats.

7. Cold Feet (7) – this much loved series from the turn of the millennium is fast forwarded thirteen years, losing one cast member but none of its allure. James Nesbitt and the rest of the crew again shine as they navigate the pitfalls of the digital age.

8. National Treasure (ABC) – in this biting take on Operation Yewtree, Robbie Coltrane, supposedly exposed as a serial pedophile, is simply amazing. Can this man act or what?

9. Deep Water (SBS) – another police procedural, this one investigating the murder of gays in Sydney; quite brilliant in its moody depiction of the city on the harbour. And it’s based on the real events. Yael Stone and Noah Taylor return from American duty to play the leads – William McInnes is also at his mesmerising best.

10. Rosehaven (ABC) – some delightful Taswegian whimsy to round off the list, brought to us by Luke MacGregor and Celia Pacquola, the latter going from strength to strength in this acting caper. Come on Auntie – give us another series please.

HMs – The Secret, Tony Robinson’s Wild West, Italy 1992, Billy Connolly’s Tracks Around America, Undercover Bosses, Offspring, The Legacy, Janet King, Would I Lie to You, Graham Norton, The Third Leg, Hard Quiz, The Code, Modus.

GPs – House Husbands, 800 Words, Doctor Doctor.

Words in Deep Blue – Cath Crowley

Book Reviews

‘…thanks to the booksellers – old and new – and thanks to the writers, without who, the world would be a terrible place, bleak beyond imagining.’

With these words Cath Crowley completed her acknowledgments for ‘Words in Deep Blue’ – and for a time this world was ‘…bleak beyond imaging,…’ for Rachel Sweetie. She’d just about given up on life after the death of her brother Cal.

Once upon a time she was in love with Henry, but he was in the thrall of Amy. Amy’s sort of keen on Henry, but only as a back-up. When school jock Greg shows some interest, she drops him like a hot potato. George, Henry’s sister, is entranced by an unknown letter writer (yes, old style letters. Yay) Could the mystery lad of letters be stolid Martin who definitely has the hots for her? Also there’s a parental relationship under strain, that of Henry’s dad Michael’s with his wife. As well there are musicians to factor in – Lola and Hiroko, who are having a tough time in their dealings with each other. Phew!

But Crowley, whose father’s death was in part the inspiration for this lovely tome, weaves it all perfectly. And yes, there is a Hollywood ending, but the journey getting there was a most engaging one.

Michael runs Howling Books, largely second hand, but with a permanent collection of treasures in a room designed as a place where letters can be left between the covers, as well as a garden for quiet perusing. Sounds delightful, but its struggling financially and the developers are circling. Some of the aforementioned characters are employed in the family business and are imbued with an intimate knowledge of the literary giants, past and present. And for them poetry is not a forgotten art.

As well as grieving for her father, Cath C wrote this fine fare as she was falling in love with the man she was soon to marry, so the book is imbued not only with sadness, but sees the effect that the love of those around her can have on Rachel as she climbs up from her abyss. In this she is aided by a change in location, working in the shop with Henry and a love of books. Amy and Greg provide the counter-points to the more nuanced personalities of the two main protagonists as the latter get their bearings in life ready to move on. I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent with them and was sorry to leave as they readied to take the next step.

The Blue Room's Pick of the Movies of 2016

Movie Reviews

I often remark that, since retirement, the years seem to pass in a blink. But when I sat down to produce the year’s best from the big screen, it turns out that the top three were from way back at the beginning of 2016 – and seeing them seems so very long ago now here we are on the cusp of Christmas. The State Cinema has recently announced another expansion with more viewing rooms added. For me, it’s one of the city’s gems and it seems it is about to become even more so. Typing this up during my Devonport stay for the festive season, I am so looking forward to getting back to Hobs to see such Boxing Day fare such as ‘La La Land’ and ‘Rosalie Blum’. Will they make the cut for next year? Time will tell, but here’s my pick for the last 12 months :-

1. The Big Short– for the performances of Ryan Gosling, Christian Bale and especially Steve Carell – and, yes, Margot Robbie in the bath tub too – it was worthy of a top gong alone. But the story it told of the greed that almost bought the world to its knees financially – and the fact that those responsible remain unpunished and still feeding off the system with their snouts in the trough is salutary – even more so as we are about to enter the brave new world of the Trumpster.

2. Youth – this two-hander from director Paulo Sorrentino, starring Michael Caine and Harvey Keitel, is a visual treatise to the foibles of ageing. When the naked girl enters the swimming pool, the looks on the two old codgers faces just about says it all.

3. The Bélier Family – Louane Emera – I defy anyone not to fall in love with her on screen. She’s the daughter of profoundly deaf parents who are unable to hear her do what she does so well – sing. ‘Le Parisien’ stated it was ‘Outstanding. A film that makes you laugh, think and cry.’ It truly does.

4. I, Daniel Blake – the saddest feature I saw all year – and with the increasing divide between the ruling class/rich and average Joe, it’s probably happening here. Ken Loach has always been an agent for change and going into bat for life’s battlers, but he’s excelled himself with this heart-breaker.

5. The Nice Guys – here Russell Crowe plays straight man to a maniacal Ryan Gosling, with it being the movie of the year that got the most belly laughs from me. Angourie Rice as Ryan’s character’s sensible daughter steals a few scenes from her on-screen father.

6. Hell or High Water – this movie tells why Trump won middle America. A fast paced contemporary western or cops and robbers – take your pick, Jeff Bridges and Chris Pine are great as they lock horns across magnificent Texan vistas.

7. Goldstone – transfer the above to Outback Oz and you have the same vibe here, except it’s a greedy corporation that’s the villain of the piece. Alcohol sodden Aaron Pedersen is sensational. Best local product.

8. ‘Hunt for the Wilder People‘ – ranking with ‘What We Do in the Shadows’ as the funniest movie ever out of NZ, this ran for forever at the State. It has its faults, but it will charm your socks off.

9. ‘Sing Street’ – loved this Irish production about the power of music, with some terrific performances from a cast of young actors.

10. The Beatles Eight Days a Week – took me back to when I was going to be forever young. Another time – but the foursome really were marvels.

HMs – Trumbo, The Daughter, The Danish Girl, Florence Foster Jenkins, The Founder, God Willing, The Light Between Oceans, Testament of Youth, Brooklyn, Bridget Jones’ Baby, Sully, Me Before You.

Stinkers-The Arrival, Like Crazy

Reviewers give their Top Tens =
Leigh Paatsch – the Mercury : La La Land, Hell or High Water, Hunt for the Wilder People, Spotlight, Mustang, Brooklyn, Queen of Katwe, I Daniel Blake, Zootopia, Doctor Strange
Sandra Hall – the Age : I Daniel Blake, Hail Caesar, Mustang, Snowden, The Founder, Margueritte, Weiner, Room, Hunt for the Wilder People
Craig Mathieson – the Age : La La Land, Arrival, Carol, Hell or High Water, Son of Saul, The Handmaiden, Elle, A Bigger Splash, The Fits, Under the Shadow

The Blue Room's Year in Music 2016

Music Reviews

Despite the sadness associated with a major loss of musical talent, there was a veritable plethora of great albums produced this year, both from ageing stalwarts and a new breed of talent. It think too often pundits around my age are quick to lament that there’s nothing put out in the marketplace these days to match the quality of product that occurred when they were in their prime. I do beg to differ – and I would suggest that a listen to some of the CDs I’ve listed in my Top 10, as well as those among the honorable mentions, would cause a rethink =

1. Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats – this hipster-bearded wonder from Missouri first enchanted me on Graham Norton with a raucous single I could easily take as my motto – ‘I Need Never Get Old’, a raucous foot-stomper if there ever was one. Check it out on YouTube and you will see what I mean, with, as a bonus, a viewing of Nathaniel’s generous gut. I bought the CD as a result and found it to be a quality collection that I keep returning to.

2. Mary Chapin Carpenter – ‘The Things that We Are Made Of ‘– this darling of nineties country music comes back with a collection reminiscent of her pomp.

3. Sonya Kitchell – We Come Apart – Sadly not available here – I imported it from the States but it was well worth the effort – apart from one discordant track. A multi-talented lady, Sonya K has produced an album Rolling Stone describes as ‘Extraordinary… a remarkably sophisticated collection of songs that belies the age of its creator ‘.

4. Emma Russack – ‘In a New State‘ – Made whilst finishing off her law degree, this unsung (sorry) Melbourne songstress has produced a moody gem. Will music be her eventual calling, or the legal profession?

5. Jack and Amanda Palmer – ‘You Got Me Singing‘ – A father and famous daughter project, this took me back to Lee Heazlewood and Nancy Sinatra.

6. Felix Riebl – ‘Paper Doors’ – Not a huge fan of The Cat Empire, but I am of this band member. Even better than his excellent debut a few years back.

7. Paul Kelly and Charlie Owen – ‘Death’s Dateless Night‘ – Another co-production, with Kelly in sublime voice re-inventing some of his back catalogue, along with some quality covers.

8. Eric Clapton – ‘I Still Do‘ – So what if he’s not cutting edge in his dotage. Let’s just appreciate Old Slowhand while we can and long may he walk his way through albums like this.

9. Lucinda Williams – ‘The Ghosts of Highway 20‘ – this warhorse of alt country isn’t getting any younger, but she can still belt it out in her ballsy style better than most half her age.

10. Archie Roach – ‘Let Love Rule’ – Living national treasure. Nothing more to be said.

HMs – Foy Vance – ‘The Wild Swan’; Angel Olsen – ‘My Woman’; Andrew Bird – ‘Are You Serious?’; Willie Nelson – ‘For the Good Times’; M Ward – ‘More Rain’; Melody Pool – ‘Deep, Dark, Savage Heart’; Case, Lang, Veirs; Joan Baez – ’75th Anniversary’; Leonard Cohen’ – You Want it Darker’; Tony Joe White – ‘Rain Crow’.

Songs I Liked in ’16 – Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats – ‘I Need Never Get Old’, Joan Baez/Mary Chapin Carpenter – ‘Catch the Wind’, Steve Earle and Shaun Colvin – ‘Ruby Tuesday’, Case Lang Veirs – ‘Delirium’, Felix Riehl and Martha Wainwright – ‘In Your Arms’, Angel Olsen – ‘Sister’, Archie Roach – ‘Let Love Rule’, Sonya Kitchell – ‘We Come Apart’.

A Dose of Reality

Movie Reviews

When she asked, on my return, what I’d thought of the latest movie I’d viewed at the State, I replied that it was, ‘Very good, but it broke my heart in places.’ You see I could connect with an aspect of it. My lovely lady had spent a year recovering from a non-workplace injury that precluded her from from doing the job she loved as a nurse. Then there followed another ten months, once her medical people deemed she was fit enough to return, to jump through all the hoops before the system actually allowed that to happen in just the last few weeks. She is now back in her rightful place, with her colleagues, in the most caring of callings and I am so proud of her determination not to let the system beat her. She wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture – and nor was Daniel Blake.

Ken Loach movies come from a decidedly left wing bias. He often shoves it up the silver-tails and the powers to be with what he presents and ‘I, Daniel Blake’ caused a minor political storm when it was released in the UK. The film was pilloried over its portrayal of the systems in place that supposedly should act as a safety net; a net that professes to support people like Daniel. He is a no-nonsense Geordie with a gallows sense of humour and straight as a dye. He’s no shirker, but a heart attack has laid him low and his personal health carers are of the opinion a return to work is not in his best interest. Widower Daniel is also a bit at sea after his wife’s death, but he still manages to be chipper and positive – until he enters the domain of the British equivalent of Centrelink. He’s hoping he can attain some benefits to keep him afloat till he can return to his trade of forty years. But a desk drone deems his medical condition is not serious enough to keep him away from a workplace despite his doctors’ orders. So it is decided, in the unfailing wisdom of the petty bureaucracy, that he must apply for jobs he is in no position to accept if successful. When he arcs up at the ridiculousness of this, the bureaucracy turns nasty and he is further hampered in his own efforts to hold his financial ground. In his dealings with the system he encounters a newly arrived on the Tyne single mum who is also being given an unreasonably hard time by the unbending nature of said system’s toadies. Daniel comes to her aid, befriends Katie and does his best to help her and her two kiddies keep their head above water when he is struggling himself. Eventually it grinds them down till they both have to make choices that go against their convictions.

Comedian Dave Johns and Hayley Squires are exceptional as the leads. Daniel becomes very close to Katie, in a platonic fashion, as do her two offspring to him. Brianna Shann, as Katie’s daughter, would melt the hardest of hearts.

So who wins out? Do our two battling heroes or is it the strictures of the beige brigade whose sole role in life, it seems to be, is to sit behind a desk and heap misery upon misery on the undeserving? To be fair, there was one who did not behave entirely like a robotic android and actually had a bit of human kindness – and was hauled over the coals for deviating from strict procedure. It’s a realm in which it seems the hoops to be bounded through are like a labyrinth specifically designed to make people give the game away, drop off the radar and thus not become a negative statistic. I’ve heard enough horror tales here about interminable waits on the phone that drive people spare. And heaven help you if, like Daniel, you are not au fait with computers, especially the notion of completing forms on-line, only having to go through it all again on the phone or in person. This movie is not easy viewing at times for it so accurately reflects what seems to be happening all over the western world as the rich get richer and the governing classes further disconnect from those they are elected to serve.

Described as ‘A fierce and often funny polemic designed to leave a lump in your throat and fire in your belly.’ (SBS), for my money this is one of the year’s best, a rightful winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes earlier this year.

Admittedly at times the Geordie brogue was somewhat hard to decipher, almost warranting sub-titles, but Loach, together with writer Paul Laverty, have given a sharp shafting to the grey-hearts who inflict their pedantry on those they obviously consider their inferiors. Although the movie was declared as ‘unfair’ by the British Conservative government – it nonetheless seemed a pretty fair call to me.

Trailer for the Movie = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahWgxw9E_h4

Heading South

Book Reviews

James Kelman – ‘Dirt Road’ Paul Theroux – ‘Deep South’

In 1917 HL Mencken, writer, regarded the lands south of the Mason-Dixon Line ‘…as the bunghole(s) of America, a cesspool of Baptists, a miasma of Methodism, snake charmers, real estate operators and syphilitic evangelists. And an artless place to boot.’ He commented that, specifically, ‘Georgia is at once the home of the cotton-mill sweater, of the Methodist pastor turned Savonarola and the lynching bee.’ (Paul Theroux, ‘Deep South’ p222). So I checked in with Mr Theroux and James Kelman to see if much had changed. Theroux’s book and Kelman’s ‘Dirt Road’ are both worthy tomes but, gee, they took some getting through.

I was attracted to Kelman’s novel firstly because he is a Booker Prize winner. Secondly, I purchased as it dealt with, according to a laudatory review I read, the healing force of music for troubled souls. Entering into the book, I was immediately struck by the quality of the author’s prose, as well as his disdain for the apostrophe. But there has to be more to bound printed pages than the excellence of the wordsmithery, even if his casting of conversation in the Scottish lilt and southern drawl was commendable. There needs to be a story – but this one moved along at a more glacial pace than the Mississippi meanders through its delta. Admittedly it was the language that kept me going; that and the desire to find out if the lad finally wins the girl.

‘Dirt Road’ is half a coming-of-age saga, half a tale of the Southern byways – the latter being the case with the great American travel writer’s non-fiction take as well. Interestingly we tend to forget that Paul Theroux once excelled at fiction, being responsible for such product as ‘Saint Jack’, ‘The Mosquito Coast’, ‘Half Moon Street’ and ‘O-Zone’ – but more on him later.

Kelman’s tale centres on a grief stricken teenager, Murdo, who, together with his dad, the silent and traumatised Tom, have lost their mother/wife and sister/daughter in quick succession. Tom decides an American holiday is just the ticket to escape the blues, so they leave their island, off the western coast of Scotland, to escape to the US, planning to stay with rellies in Dixie. Getting there by a circuitous route, young Murdo, an accordion toting folkie-to-be of some local repute, discovers zydeco, as performed by the remarkable Queen Monzee-ay and her washboard playing granddaughter. Murdo is immediately attracted to both, for different reasons. He performs with them on a whim; the black musicians being so mightily impressed they invite him to take the stage with them in a few weeks time when they perform at a festival in a place called Lafayette. Dad and the lad continue on their journey to their welcoming relatives – unfortunately a fair distance from the happening-to-be in a field near Lafayette, Louisiana. Adding to his confusion is a town by the same name much closer to where he is staying. It’s at this stage that the novel becomes more boggy than Culloden. Murdo proceeds to spend an inordinate amount of time camped in his host family’s basement, trying to figure out how to reunite with his newly made musician friends – especially that girl. Towards the end, this offering from Kelman picks up the pace as Murdo does a runner with his father hot on his tail, but by this time I was thankful I’d reached the final pages. I was over it. It was an easy novel, despite its positives, to let go of.

And sadly, I felt the same way about ‘Deep South’. Was that because Theroux went over the same territory, just with seasonal variation, as he made the trip from his New England home towards the Gulf in Autumn (sorry Fall), Winter Spring and Summer? Was it because he self-drove those byways instead of using the conveyance we most associate with him – the railroad? With ‘The Great Railway Bazaar’, ‘Riding the Iron Rooster’, ‘The Old Patagonian Express’ and other such titles he made his name as a travel writer par excellence. As an aside, whilst I was reading this, I encountered a well-journeyed shop keeper in Richmond village who was inspired to go places she would never have countenanced before she came across this author’s writings, even taking the same trains. And perhaps there is one final question – is age catching up with the famed describer of exotic locales?

But the book did thoroughly explain to me, in no uncertain terms, as to why the Trumpster was able to capture the disaffection of the American heartland thus taking him to the Presidency. Over and over again Theroux railed about the destruction of American industry due to globalisation. It’s pulverised the economy of much of the South and ergo the lives of huge swathes of its populace; what with the transition of their jobs to south of the border down Mexico way, as well as to China and India. Most of the towns he visited were just shells of their former glory, their inhabitants existing well below the poverty line – black and white. There are still immense racial divisions and antagonisms, as well as a fissure between urban and rural of both races. He also points to the deep distrust held by many to anything associated with the Clinton family.

Theroux meets many of the poor and down-trodden. The stories they told were uniformly heart-breaking, but by the end there were just so many of them it seemed to defeat the purpose. He also heard the tales of those doing their best to assist these defeated souls – including some from outside the region who were often viewed with suspicion as do-gooding interlopers. In his travels he bumps into the former wife of the great BB King – and does she have an interesting word or two to say about her ex. He encounters numerous men by the name of Patel, all from the state of Gujarat in India. A Patel ran every single motel he stayed in – could these be the same industrious people who seem to be behind the counter of seemingly all United servos here?

But, overall, the wordsmith’s impression of the people of the South, with some notable exceptions, was that they abounded in ‘…kindness, generosity; a welcome I had found often in my travelling life in the wider world, but I found so much more of it here that I kept going…’ The fact that he did so, on and on and on, is perhaps not such a plus for the reader.

‘Deep South’ is illuminated by the images of the great Steve McCurry, but more illumination would have been gained by an inclusion of a map of his travels for those of us not so familiar with the geography of these former Confederate states. As Theroux points out, with the US pumping so much foreign aid into the third world, some would find it at odds with such poverty on the home front down south. Maybe Trump will pay more attention to those who, through no fault of their own, are doing it tough from the Georgia shore to the Ozarks.

Not since Kennedy has there been a President as charismatic as Obama, but the hope that came with him had well and truly dissipated in the south by the time these two books were written. Middle America has now gifted the planet the ultimate wild-card. Can he conjure much needed change for those who demonstrated how weary of the political elite the voters in these regions were? Time will tell.

Paul Theroux Website = https://www.paultheroux.com/

 

Oslo

art and photography

‘I took up drawing in my early twenties to escape the drudgery of teaching English to miserable high school kids in miserable towns on the west coast of Tasmania.’
That surprised me – but then I found this, trying to track down more of his personal history on-line
‘Oslo Davis was born in Brooklyn, Tasmania. He is now an illustrator and cartoonist living in Melbourne, Australia.’

At first I was going to write that, as we both taught in the same educational district of the island state and as I had forty years teaching in the same region as Oslo, I’d probably come across him. Then, to find out he was born in the suburb of Brooklyn in my home town of Burnie – one of my favourite cartoonists – I was gobsmacked to say the least. Oslo a Burnie boy – well I never. And like me, he headed south to complete his education at UTAS, possibly also well before it came to be generally known as UTAS – although, by the look of him, he is considerably younger than myself. And we both ended up teaching. No doubt we probably attended the same moderation meetings – they usually being a right royal waste of time really, trying to make sure our teaching of English was on the same page, so to speak. As if.

Now Burnie’s not the most attractive town on an island noted for its attractive locales, but, compared to places like Rosebery and Queenstown, down the west, it’s a veritable Paris or Florence – despite the latter mining town having the ‘Mountains of the Moon’ and the infamous gravel oval. In such a place most teenagers would be miserable – I’m sure it wasn’t entirely down to Mr Davis’ lack of pedagogical skill. But teaching obviously wasn’t for him. Thankfully, so it turns out. In between Oslo leaving the classroom and achieving the measure of fame he has today, he dipped into a number of professions, as well as some extensive travel, before he found his true calling. And that brings me to the point of this exercise – reporting on my perusal of his latest publication, ‘Drawing Funny’.

In this Oslo recalls that he’d always been a doodler, leading to now earning a living from producing funny drawings. He has developed, as any cartoonist worth his or her salt should, his own recognisable style – despite once receiving a letter of complaint, from a more senior artist, reckoning that, ‘I have never ever seen worse drawings anywhere by anyone.’

Oslo came to my attention through his work for the Age newspaper. He was a regular contributor until he, along with Horacek and Weldon, was sacked as full time employee in 2012 due to cost cutting measures that saw the broadsheet become more tabloid. He now only produces two weekly cartoons for that daily, one being his popular ‘Overheard’ series for the Sunday edition; as well as an occasional article. But he has various other gigs to fall back on – and then there are his books, ranging on such topics as the attractions of various Melbourne localities, Henry Lawson to even Donald Trump.

‘Drawing Funny’ is described in its blurb as a ‘how to’ guide, but it really just tells how Davis goes about it – I suspect such a thing cannot be taught in any case. And it is also a vehicle for the ‘best of’ his product. There were quite a few fresh ones for me to quietly have a chuckle over, the highlight being, for me, his take on the abomination that is the morning shower. I guess we may well have that in common too – our abhorrence of that form of ablution as opposed to languorously lingering in the tub. Showers apart, there’s much pleasure to be had in this small collection and for the uninitiated it would be a great introduction to Oslo’s product – and at around a mere $15, it’s a steal.

Oslo’s website = http://www.oslodavis.com/

Let Love Rule

music

‘And we hear the children crying and we don’t know what to do’

We might not, but he did. And I imagine it went something like this.

It was the news item one too many. It doesn’t matter if he’d heard it on the evening news or the radio. Maybe it was one he read in his daily newspaper. He’d had enough of the rise of Trump with his divisiveness; the bombing of the innocents in the hospitals and schools of Syria. Sure, they were bad, upsetting – but what really got to him was what was happening in his own country; a country he loved dearly despite all it had thrown at him, personally, in the past. Abbott, Dutton, Morrison – even Turnbull, whom he’d once had such hopes for – they all used their weasel words to give credence to their foul policies. They would one day be held to account for them; of that he had no doubt. He knew that yet another Prime Minister would have to stand up and say ‘Sorry’ for the misdeeds of his/her predecessors. It would be a fair bet, though, he wouldn’t live long enough to see that day – but he had the one apology that mattered to him the most. He found it difficult to credit that his land, once so generous to those fleeing war and persecution, could now close its welcoming doors in the name of border protection. Could incarcerate those men, women and children who made it through; incarcerate them indefinitely in tropical hell holes. Subjecting those poor souls to mental depression and self harm – our government seemed to him to be making life as intolerable as possible. Even worse, it gave them no hope of any form of a future worth living. The nation’s leaders were falling over themselves to be hairy-chested on the topic and the country had again elected the redneck redhead to spit her venom out; to again be the darling of the shock-jocks. He just shook his old head at it all, over and over.

archie-roach

Yes, it was too much. He grabbed his notepad and took to his seat out on the porch where a gentle zephyr and sun’s rays would clear his head. His abode, near Robe in South Australia, was his haven, but it would be remiss of him to become insular. Remiss not to at least try to change the minds who counted on where they were leading Australia. He’d done it before, he could do it again with the power of his words. He knew he’d be listened to.

As he sat and thought and considered what shape these words would take he also cast his mind to her, his beloved Ruby. She’d been gone now for five long years and even his words couldn’t start to tell how much she was missed. He wondered what she would have thought of these odious men, supposedly of Christian values, or so they claimed, who inflicted so much misery. She always saw the best in people – saw the best in him, too, when he was down and out in the gutter all those years before. He knew she’d be appalled as well. He owed it to her to do something about it. He knew his voice was not alone – his would be one of a number of humane compatriots doing their best to bring pressure to bear. Ruby was only 54 when she left him and, by rights, it should have been him, he reflected. He survived a stoke and losing part of his lung to cancer, but he carries on, doing what he has done so well for decades. He understood the verses he was about to scribe would need to be strong to cut through – just as another batch of lines had done so decades before when he started out on his musical journey. And his new project was centred on the nature of love. He would make what he now wrote to fit in with what had already been prepared.

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When he finished Archie was satisfied with the outcome. And he already had a melody to it swirling around in his head. His mate Craig, who’d produced his last CD collection, liked it when he plucked it out on guitar for him, softly crooning him the words. He gave the tune a title – and eventually, between them, Archie and the producer decided that it embraced something of what he wanted to make plain in an album devoted to love in all its forms. It was, they felt, even strong enough to be the lead in song, as well as giving it’s title to the whole; it having eleven new compositions in total.

Archie Roach knows the power that music has as a means of making people respond to a message. They will listen to ‘Let Love Rule’, just as they listened, all those years ago, when his recorded CD appeared. His 1990 debut, ‘Charcoal Lane’, had a song that made the nation sit up and take notice – ‘Took the Children Away’ – an introduction, for many for us, to what was a blot on our history. The protest song bought to the attention of the mainstream the Stolen Generation. If it’s one thing Archie knows it is that Australians, at their core, are, in the main, compassionate – even if that is not reflected by the flinty-heartedness of our government leaders.

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It was music, with Ruby’s help, that raised him up from that Gertrude Street gutter. It was music that helped him over her death and his health issues. His last release of new material, ‘Into the Bloodstream’, was a salve to his broken heart and broken body. It lifted him up and got him running again. He knew, physically, it would be a struggle to tour this new product of his – but he is, as I type, on the road doing just that. He wants us all to hear this particular message. For, as he has stated, he fears, that as a nation, ‘We are closing ourselves off and not letting people in. And not just in the sense of not letting them into the country, but not letting them into our hearts, into our minds. He feels ‘This country was built on people coming here from other countries. That’s what has made Australia what it is today.’

Archie Roach is a living national treasure. As Stan Grant comments, ‘How would anyone not open their hearts to… Archie? (He is)… a gentle soul singing with no bitterness. (He) wasn’t about politics,…(he) was about people.’

The artist Ai Weiwei, in his recent massive exhibition at the NGV, shared with Andy Warhol, fully recognised Archie’s contribution to national healing with his Lego based installation for the ‘Letgo Room’. His likeness of Archie has been donated to that gallery for posterity and is the image on the cover of ‘Let Love Go’.

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So take a trip to YouTube and have a listen – or, even better, buy the album. Archie is trying so hard to heal; to give an alternate view to that of our pathetic politicians who are anything but healers. And the final word goes to the musician. As part of his promotion for ‘Let Love Rule’, in an interview for the Weekend Australian Magazine, he was asked what keeps him going. His reply, ‘When you’re writing songs, when you sit back and think about what love is, you realise there’s no one answer to that; love is so many things. It’s how I relate to not just family and friends, but to the rest of the country and the world; that’s when I realise that, sure, I’m Aboriginal, but I’m Australian, and I realise that I actually feel and appreciate and love Australians. Basically, we’re a good people and a loving people. I grew up in a place where people had a basic respect for each other; you barracked for the underdog.’

One day, Archie, we’ll get back that core Aussie value

Let Love Rule
Oh when darkness overcomes us
And we cannot find our way
And though we keep on searching
For the light of day

And we hear the children crying
And we don’t know what to do
Gotta hold on to each other
And love will see us through

Let love rule; let it guide us through the night
That we may stay together and keep our spirits calm
Only fools will shun the morning light
Cos love’s the only thing that’ll keep us safe from harm

Oh I cover up my ears so I cannot hear
The voices of hate and the voices of fear
And I cover up my eyes so I cannot see
What’s happened to this country that used to be free

Let love rule; let it guide us through the night
That we may stay together and keep our spirits calm
Only fools will shun the morning light
Cos love’s the only thing that’ll keep us safe from harm

You know I love this country, every rock and every tree
The grasslands and the desert, the rivers and the sea
Oh you know I love the people, wherever they are from
Yes I love all the people, who call this land their home

Archie singing ‘Let Love Rule ‘ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4TH_zlvxNIQ

Archie’s website  = http://archieroach.com.au/

Not So Baschful Barbara

Photography

Imagine it! The names! Anita Ekberg, Jane Fonda, Grace Kelly, Anouk Aimee, Brigitte Bardot, Candice Bergen, Eva Marie Saint, Jody Foster, Kim Novak, Sharon Tate, Sophia Loren and Barbara Nichols. ‘Barbara Nichols?’ you might ask. ‘Who in the hell is she?’ Well, we’ll come to her later. But the known ones were only the tip of the iceberg for the German American glamour photographer who captured for posterity the prominent stars of his period, many of them when they were mere starlets, during the 50s and 60s. If this wasn’t dazzling enough, Mr Hefner’s organisation often commissioned him to grace his famous publication with unclad beauty. So, if you also go checking him out in the ether, beware there is some NSFW material, as well as his fine Hollywood imagery.

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(Anouk Aimee)

Peter Basch was a Berliner, born in 1921, to parents heavily involved in the theatre and film scene of the anything-goes Weimer Republic period. With the rise of the Nazis they saw the writing on the wall and took their son to America in 1933. They opened a restaurant in NYC, which provided Peter’s first job as a member of its wait staff. His interest in photography was aroused when, during the war, he served in the US Army Air Force’s motion picture unit. After peace came, he studied at UCLA, but took a side job photographing – providing young hopefuls with the type of cheesy images they hoped would get them started on the road to stardom. He soon built up a reputation in the glamour industry, his ‘moments in time’ appearing in mags such as ‘Look’ and ‘Life’, as well as ‘Playboy’. His popularity rested on his penchant for taking his models out of the studio situation, which helped to make them seem more normal; more human. This worked particularly well for those who were already names. But he too became a victim to changing tastes, so, as the seventies dawned, his photographic star waned. His books, on the art of taking pictures of beautiful girls, kept him going. I suppose it was inevitable that he would marry an actress, as he did in 1951, producing two offspring. He passed away in 2004.

As for Barbara Nichols – it was his image of her that I came across in cyberspace that first led me to her story, followed by his. See – I have time to spare in this unfettered retirement of mine. His image of Barbara, up to her chest in water, was so fresh looking and attractive. When I investigated further, in other pin-ups of her, she appears hard of face and singularly, to our modern tastes, somewhat unappealing. There is a comely softness to Basch’s depiction of her. But who was she?

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As it turned out, Barbara Nichols, at least in her public persona, was more a creature of those other camerasmiths who lacked the finesse of PB. She was your stereotypical New York blonde bimbo; one who was never going to make it truly big on the screen. But if a producer needed someone to heat said screen up in the bland days of the Hayes Code, she was your gal. Getting her start in beauty contests, she garnered such titles as Miss Mink of 1953, Miss Dill Pickle and Miss Welder. Soon her glamour snaps were finding a wider audience with the male of the species and she started to gain stage gigs – usually as a gum-chewing, wise cracking platinum blonde of the Mae West variety. Her roles were small, usually playing a floosie, barfly or stripper – and this remained the case when she graduated to the movies. She possessed a natural comedic timing on the few occasions she was given some dialogue, but she was mainly employed for her cleavage. Once censorship restrictions were loosened there were soon found to be plenty of young things who were eager to reveal all their assets on stage or screen, so the days of just giving a hint of what lay beneath were over. Barbara’s career in the industry hit the skids. Guesting on television became her mainstay, with appearances on such fare as ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’, ‘The Untouchables’ and ‘Twilight Zone’. For a short time she even had a regular role, on an outing titled ‘Love That Jill’, which ran for a couple of seasons in the late fifties.

By this time she had been involved in two quite severe car accidents that, as time wore on, gave her long term health challenges. She was forced to retire from acting completely and it eventually shortened her life. She died at age 47.

Sadly she was definitely a second leaguer, following in the tail wind of Jane Mansfield, Mamie Van Doren and Diana Dors. Way out in front, of course, was you know who. But for a moment in time, with the camerawizardry of Peter Basch, she was lifted momentarily above the pack of wannabes in an image that made her truly beautiful for all eternity.

A Gallery of Peter Basch Photography = http://www.faheykleingallery.com/photographers/basch/personal/basch_pp_frames.htm

Beauty, Bemusement and Blushes in Subtitled Fare

Movie Reviews

The State Cinema takes me all around the world. In recent months I visited Spain, Italy and South Korea. One film had me marvelling at the beauty of its small moments, another had me bemused as to why it became its homeland most popular in many a year and the other, decidedly, had me blushing.

Bemusement – Think a cross between Forest Gump and Karl Pilkington and then you have Checco Zalone – evidently a character who has reached a legendary status in Italy akin to a Norman Gunston or a Basil Fawlty. Checco (Luca Medici) is a slacker. He’s employed by the public service which, in his country, means a cruisy existence for life. All that’s expected of Checco is to stamp a few forms, but the job is choc full of generous entitlements such as ample vacations, leave loadings and a comfortable retirement. When the government comes down heavily – by Italian standards – on this cushy existence, Checco finds he’s the only one in his region who doesn’t meet the liberal criteria for staying on. Although he’s not the greatest workaholic going around, he’s no fool and he’s not going to make it easy for the powers to be to make him go. Eventually they decide to send him to the worst postings imaginable to force him to resign, but the man always comes up trumps. That is until he is sent to an Italian research station in the Arctic Circle and he falls in love. Then he gets a taste of the real world – life in no nonsense Norway. This soon sees him scurrying back to his land of sunshine and lassitude. In the end, the constant battle against authority becomes too much and he ends up, where else, but in deepest, darkest Africa about to become a meal for cannibals. As to how this happens? Well, you’ll just have to see this offering.

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As with New Zealand’s ‘The Hunt for the Wilderpeople’, this movie has been an unexpected hit in Oz, particularly in Melbourne with its large population of Italian heritage – but that’s nothing compared with its popularity in its country of origin. ‘Where Am I Going’ (‘Quo Vado’) this year, in terms of attendance, has booted its nearest rival, ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ out of the ball park there. As well, ‘Checcomania’ has been a boon for the art houses world wide.

As for me, yes, it was moderately amusing and there were some delightful aspects to its zaniness. I loved the bit where Checco attempts to teach his Nordic partner’s son to play soccer Italian style – that is, to fall to the ground and writhe in agony at the drop of a hat. We all know about that.

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Last November the Italian region of Umbria advertised ninety-six life time positions in its public administration – and received 32000 plus applications. Will Italy overcome the ‘fannullone’ (slacker) issue in its work force? At least ‘Where Am I Going’, by taking the mickey out of it all, seems to have set some wheels in progress. But I think you really need to be Italian to get the full hilarity of this from director Gennaro Nunziante.

Blushes – Oh dearie me. Now I know this movie was R-rated – so be warned. But for most of its length I did actually wonder as to why. In its final stanzas I was left to wonder no more – and how. Its final sex scene was like nothing I’d seen before in a cinema. It was, to my mind, beyond erotic and bordering on pornographic. Or maybe, as I have related in several pieces of late, I am just not as worldly as I imagined. This certainly tested me. I was most uncomfortable watching it – relieved when the two interlocked bodies broke apart and departed the screen. It warrants the rating – and then some.

haindmaiden

‘The Handmaiden’ is a take on Sarah Waters’ ‘The Fingersmith’, bought to the small screen in a mildly juicy bodice-ripper fashion back in 2005 by the BBC. Here it gets the Oriental treatment from Korean director Park Chan-wook, best known in Western cinema for ‘Stoker’. This is, like the original novel, a story told from three perspectives. The first is from the fingersmith (pick-pocket) herself, played by Kim Tae-ri, sent to fleece an heiress of her wealth by her Svengali, Count Fujiwara (Ha Jung-woo). The second installment is his take on proceedings, followed by that of the rich kept woman herself (Kim Min-hee). The Count is out to seduce her, dispose of the fingersmith and live richly ever after. As each stage progresses the director ups the erotic wattage until, well, it spills over.

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The movie ducks and dives time-wise so much that, for this watcher, it was difficult to get a handle on – especially as he also had trouble at times differentiating between the two leading actresses, once the story was underway, when they weren’t on screen together. Visually the film is a feast for the senses, gorgeously put together, set at the time when the Japanese controlled the peninsula just before the last great war. It is a thriller of sorts, but for many, as far away from the pace expected of the genre as it is possible to be. And, I repeat, it is very, very sexy.

Beauty in the Small Moments – Two actors, Emma Suárez and Adrianna Ugarte, play the same woman – at different stages of a life. This film displays the great Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar at his best, manipulating his story through various time periods. These days this auteur is regarded as one of the world’s most adept with the medium, responsible for such offerings as ‘Volver’, ‘Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown’, ‘High Heels’ and ‘The Skin I Live In’ – to cite a few. He adds another with the very fine ‘Julieta’. The central figure, initially a woman of a certain age (Suárez), is preparing to leave Madrid to start a new life with her lover in Portugal. Her plans are dissembled when she bumps into a friend of her long estranged daughter. News of her is so momentous that Julieta immediately cancels her plans. She wants to be in place if said daughter finally decides to make contact. It doesn’t occur, but what we do get is the back story as Ugarte takes over for some of the narrative. Here we are presented with the explanation for the no-speakies.

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This is milder Almodóvar than some of his other productions, though it still abounds in the symbolism of colour and object. An example is the annual birthday cake that Julieta makes for her daughter – and then disposes of when she is again a no show. And there’s a truly beautiful moment when said daughter Antía (another role played by two actresses) dries her young mother’s hair. What emerges from the towel is then the older Julieta. Some critics have expressed a preference for a change to the ending to make it tidier – as per Hollywood mainstream – but I felt it was just fine as is. We suspect it will all be all happy ever afters – and that is enough.

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And for me this Iberian outing was the pick of the bunch. It is a considered, intelligently structured movie with two actresses shining as the same persona, battling with the curve-balls life throws at her, but with the promise of light at the end of the journey. It is also garnished throughout with those delectable moments of beauty making this cinematic experience one to relish.

Trailer for ‘Where Am I Going’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEL03EMIVZk

Trailer for ‘The Handmaiden’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKpZLtt4Ctg

Trailer for ‘Julieta’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoi4dbpqZmg