Think ’84 Charing Cross Road’, ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ or ‘You’ve Got Mail’ and you’ll have the basic premise behind this quiet Indian gem. Now take away the Hollywood happy-ever-afters to give it some reality, replace the above’s semi-affluent locales with an overcrowded, poverty riven city and a picture starts to emerge of how this sub-continental offering differs from the aforementioned.

In a beautifully nuanced performance Irrfan Khan plays lonely, ageing widower Saajan Fernandes. He ponders over figures all day in a dreary insurance assessment office, one step up from a sweat shop, with little in life to give pleasure. Then something goes badly awry. The normally ever-reliable Mumbai dubbawalahs (lunch delivery men) have uncharacteristically stuffed up, with his tiffin (hot lunch) being delivered in the wrong dubba (tin lunch box). From a normally mediocre repast he is taken to food heaven. Rather than coming from a street stall, it emerges the preparer is the young, lustrous but maritally ignored Ila (the gorgeous Nimrat Kaar). When this error is perpetuated a paper, correspondence commences and they are taken into each others’ lives quite intimately, albeit never face to face. Ila soon realises that any attempt to curry favour – oh dear, terrible pun – through her culinary skills and other obvious attractions, with hubby, is doomed to failure. Her focus turns more decidedly to Saajan and she attempts to set up a meeting. At this point it all goes pear shaped. Meanwhile, our reluctant hero has developed another significant relationship – this time with an underling (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) whom he is supposedly meant to be training up to replace himself once he takes impending retirement. Between Shaikh and Ila Saajan starts to get a life back – but where will these relationships lead?

This is a treat of a movie, but when the end credits suddenly appeared there was an intake of breath from the audience Leigh and I shared the movie with. This was not meant to happen – all was supposed to come together perfectly with no issues unresolved. Hollywood life is like that, but is that always the case in the real world? What it did do was to give the lovely Leigh and I fodder for a discussion on our homeward bound journey over the ‘what ifs’ abounding in the movie’s abrupt termination. And maybe that was just the point of the piece. It was delightful, just delightful – so for something just a tad away from the usual do try and see it soon at a home of quality cinema near you.

‘The Lunchbox’ official trailer = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwYN-XS92yY

Look at her in the 1779 Zoffany portrait – exotically turbaned and emerging cheekily from behind her cousin. The placement of the latter’s hand on hers indicates that the two, at least in Elizabeth Lindsay’s eyes, are equal. Quite astonishing when you think about it. She was no maidservant. If that was the case the white young lady’s hand wouldn’t have been within a bull’s roar of hers. In the past, had she appeared in a work of art of this nature, that is what she would have had to have been, or worse – a slave. For in Britain at this time slavery was at its zenith and fortunes were to made off the backs of the chained black man – and woman.

Slowly, though, society was becoming more liberal as the Age of Enlightenment took hold. Despite an upbringing surrounded by luxury, she was still up against it. She was illegitimate, a coffee coloured ‘mulatto’ and she was a woman – misogyny was rampant, stifling most attempts for the fairer sex to be their own person. Being, more or less, a chattel of a man was the go – an aspect the Amma Asante directed movie, ‘Belle’, well captures. But Dido’s real story is remarkable – and it has come to movie houses to such critical comments as ‘Elegant’ (Variety) and ‘Extraordinary’ (UK Guardian). Largely the praise is not overblown, just as long as you do not believe all the facts about her portrayed up there on the silver screen. Her tale actually needed no embellishment – but those associated with the movie have done plenty, playing very loosely with the ‘based on a true story’ facts.

Dido Elizabeth Belle certainly existed in the records, as well as in that astounding portrait. She was born the daughter of an admiral – one Sir John Lindsay to be exact. Her mother, quelle horreur, was a West Indian slave. The exact details of her conception are not known, only guessed at. Her upbringing was entrusted to a relative – but a very eminent one. He was no less than William Murray, First Earl of Mansfield and the Chief Justice of England. He treated her well and largely protected her from the trolls of the era – and there were plenty of those. Murray (skilfully played by Tom Wilkinson) was largely a man of his age, but had a stiff enough backbone to know what was right, even if it wasn’t socially acceptable. So, surrounded by wealth and all she could reasonably wish for as a child (then woman), Dido was still banished from the family table when guests were present. After her protector’s demise she was well-endowed financially and married a Frenchman – not the son (Sam Reid) of the local preacher, as presented in the movie.

It is historical fact that Murray’s high court decision over a case concerning a runaway slave – The Somersett Verdict – was the first step in the emancipation of the Negro from bondage in Britain. This journey’s culmination is also on the big screen in the fine ‘Amazing Grace’. Whether Dido played a role in his decision is unclear, although she certainly was employed by him as a clerk – also very forward for the time. In the movie she certainly has a defining role – although the nature of the case is entirely different – for dramatic effect I assume. On screen it involves the shocking mass drowning of slaves for insurance purposes.

In the lead role Gugu Mbatha-Raw’ is, well, ‘elegant’ when she has to be, but hardly ‘extraordinary’. Emily Watson as Mrs Murray can act in such roles, as given here, in her sleep. It is the troubled, protective Murray as poignantly portrayed by one of the Brit’s finest that is the stand-out. It is a story with a happy ending and is well worth a bo-peep. The flick did put me in mind of my island’s own troubled past. A similar situation to Dido’s tale occurred in our early years – the ending of which was sadly not happy at all. The story concerns the ‘adoption’ of Mathinna, a young Tasmanian Aboriginal girl, by John Franklin, an early governor, together with his redoubtable wife, Jane. I guess the major difference here was the lack of ‘blood’, and it showed. This story has been bought to life in Richard Flanagan’s awesome novel ‘Wanting’.

We have largely left the misogyny of the past behind us, although in less civilised places Pakistan, the Sudan and India, horrible stories of it have emerged just in the past week alone. No, here though, there is no place for the ill treatment of women in our Western society. We have risen above all that, haven’t we? Well, maybe not as Wendy Squires elucidates:- http://www.theage.com.au/comment/how-the-misogynists-found-a-new-model-target-20140530-zrted.html

Trailer for the Movie = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ3VUbfJWD0

There have been classics of the past using the titillating effect of having a central character being a purveyor of the world’s oldest profession. These movies, of course, to survive the test of time, had to possess more than disrobed bodies engaging in the act. They had to resonate for other reasons as well – for plenty of simply ‘doing it’ can be had on-line at home if that is your cup of tea and would eventually get to be a tad boring in a cinema house. It takes far more than that to drag me out, as did two offerings with the central premise of selling sex in recent weeks. Would they possess what made memorable entities of such fare as Catherine Deneuve in ‘Belle de Jour’, Jane Fonda in ‘Klute’, Richard Gere in ‘American Gigolo’, John Voight in ‘Midnight Cowboy’ or Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’? Then there was the moderately successful Aussie tele series ‘Satisfaction’ that lasted three seasons on our little screens.

Not that I was disappointed with the two that I viewed, but I doubt if they will have the staying power of those referred to above. John Turturro’s ‘Fading Gigolo’ and Francois Ozon’s ‘Young and Beautiful’, nonetheless, although very different beasts from each other, have had sound critical praise and were certainly worth the effort. They both possessed a degree of sexual activity and nudity, particularly the latter, but had much more going for them. I saw ‘Young and Beautiful’ at the cinema’s first showing for the day and was the only male present. The other attendees were a group of old darlings of my mother’s age who weren’t in the least fazed by the frank goings-on on the screen. I had no need to feel uncomfortable in their presence.

Now imagine, if you will, that you are an actor of some note but wouldn’t be the first choice on anyone’s list as a romantic lead, let alone a Gere-like figure who would naturally draw women to take off their clothes and pay for some horizontal delights. No you, John Turturro, would not immediately come to mind. So, perhaps feeling left out, with father-time a-ticking to be in any way credible in such a role, Turturro obviously saw the need to strike immediately rather than wait and hope. What should JT do, then, to realise his goal? Why, being a fellow of catholic skills, he would first write a plausible screenplay in which to cast himself as the lead, sign himself on to direct and then use a shared barber to convince Woody Allen to participate. The old hand would give his project the necessary gravitas and pulling power for the monied interests to invest. And he has pulled it off quite well. It’s more than a vanity project – it’s a darn good visual experience.

With the streets of Brooklyn casting a burnished, honeyed glow to match its brownstones, the film sees Allen doing as he has done for years. He has his usual patter down pat, but he is more discerning with it in this role as the pimp for Turturro’s character, Virgil Harris. Allen revels as the gloriously named Dan Bongo. His usual nervous carping wouldn’t cut the mustard here. No, this is Turturro’s project, the rewards of which is that he gets to bed some gorgeous women of a certain age. Still sexy, in a mature way, Sharon Stone at one stage seems set to repeat her ‘Basic Instinct’ moment with her glorious pins. Doesn’t. For a bit of eye candy there is Columbian bombshell Sofia Vengara, but the main focus is soon on that gap-tooth delight, Vanessa Paradis. She plays the repressed ultra-Jewish goddess Avril. Under Virgil’s guidance she soon throws off her sexual shackles, even if Liev Schreiber, playing a sort of orthodox Jew cop, is silently in love with her. He is determined to keep her on the extreme straight and narrow. Who will attain her favour in the end – the gigolo or the cop?

This is a bit of a caper, but in the main a quietly sensitive one. Despite his limitations in the looks department, Harris takes to his role as gigolo like a duck takes to water and it seems for him the money is soon secondary – despite Bongo’s best efforts to make it the central motivator. It is a deliciously appealing way to spend ninety minutes or so, as well as providing an entry into two worlds largely foreign to the average Joe. – Jewishness and providing sex for money.

The latter is precisely what Marine Vacth spends most of her time doing in ‘Young and Beautiful’. If nudity offends, then this is not the movie for you – although how anyone could be offended by this young actress’ blooming body would be beyond this scribe’s comprehension. More troubling was how it was salivated over by a procession of older men for the purposes of the narrative. The seventeen year old hooker does manage to develop some feelings for one of their number, played by Johan Leysen, with this forming one of the narrative drivers of the piece. The other thread is just why a girl still at school would be motivated to proceed on such a course when money is again seemingly secondary. Her earnings are simply stashed, but when the family finds out her vocational proclivities all hell breaks loose. Will they be able to cure her of her ‘addiction’?

This effort comes from a director, Ozon, who is one of the great purveyors of what makes French movie making so special. His oeuvre is always thought provoking, with this being in the same league. It is not the customary explanation that he provides for the actions of Vacth’s Isabelle – that of exploitation. She is strangely willing to be exploited – is addicted to it and it is an intriguing performance by the actress. For the most part she is disengaged from the sexual ‘treats’ she performs. Her little brother, conversely, takes an over-active interest in proceedings. All this is typically Ozon with this offering falling short of his best – especially ‘The Swimming Pool’ where he again glories in the body of a young actress, this time that belonging to Ludivine Sagnier, as well as that of veteran Charlotte Rampling. She has an affecting cameo in this too. Again, for those who appreciate quality art house product, this somewhat disconcerting peep into the lives of the French middle-class is still, nevertheless, worth the ticket price..

So there you have it. Sex for sale will continue to be a source of interest for film makers for many reasons, some of which could possibly be predominately voyeuristic. Still, with these two there are other layers that would prevent that finger being pointed in the direction of Turturro and Ozon.

Official site ‘Fading Gigolo’ = http://fadinggigolo-movie.com/

Trailer ‘Young and Beautiful’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzSJ5mijWyA

It was perched, a shining diamond in the round, on that narrowest of all flesh ’twixt iris and lash – note the Dickensian term! For a time I thought it was a blemish on the screen, or a flaw in an other wise flawless visage. Slowly, inexorably, the sparkling bauble became fuller and it was only when the laws of gravity caused it to teeter over the brim and lay a trail down porcelain skin I realised I had been transfixed by sunlight reflecting off a tear-drop. This formed from an overflow of fluid produced by the pain of memory. It was exquisite – and how actress Felicity Jones, garbed in jet black Victorian layers and bustle, could produce such emotion alone, apart from film crew, on a chesilesque strand, is beyond me. Presumably, with others gathered within her view observing, it would only add to the degree of difficulty to produce such inner anguish. It was only one of a number of scenes from the movie that will remain deep in my synapses. ‘The Invisible Woman’ possessed a number of sublime tableaux – set pieces if you will – that must truly have been a labour of love. Those responsible produced many lasting images of a bygone time and place – none better than that of the horse-racing at Doncaster. Initially it resembled one of Tracey Moffat’s posed human panoramas. This movie version focused on a collection of languidly chatting attendees, rigged out in immaculate period garb, before being charged into joyous choreographed action as the thundering hooves approach and pass. Wonderful. It is a credit to the director, none other than Ralph Fiennes.

His second outing in such a role is a revelation. How he constructed this evocation of the look and mores of another age made his product a feast both aural and visual. That he also had the duty of effectively playing the lead role as the great British novelist only adds to what a bravura effort it was on his part. There was a certain irony in this, not lost on him. As Fiennes states, in a recent interview, ‘So there I was directing and acting, and sort of the two things bled into each other.’ Those reading, knowing of Dickens’ predilections, will understand where he is coming from. If not, on seeing the movie comprehension will come as to just how difficult melding the two tasks must have been. He succeeds seamlessly. In all, to date, it has been one of the year’s viewing highlights.

Dickens has been described as eccentric by some reviewing this offering, but in truth I didn’t come away from this film having acquired that impression. He was perhaps somewhat exuberant on occasions, eagerly seeking diversions from a stultifying marriage in a time of societal stultification. He hung out with the racy Wilkie Collins, played with relish by ‘The Rev’s’ Tom Hollander. His mate led the way in pushing the envelope against the morality of the times, something the great man couldn’t quite bring himself to do to the same extent. But that wasn’t going to stop him following his heart – embracing, rather than suppressing, his infatuations – the latter being what was meant to occur. Dickens goes to great trouble to conceal this particular affair as he was a married man in the spotlight. He was the celebrity of the mid-Victorian period, performing in print and voice to a rapturous world. He felt he couldn’t afford to offend the punters in the manner of Collins, who openly lived in sin and bugger the consequences. When he was bowled over, skittled, by Ellen Ternan, a struggling actress, from a family of thespians, barely past the age of consent, he was well out of love with his lumpen wife, stolidly played by Joanna Scanlan, She was dour, exhausted from producing ten progeny and her husband’s oft unfeeling demands. There is, in reality, roughly the same age gap between Fiennes and Jones, enhancing its reality. Look at the image of Ternan – she was something, even by today’s standards and Jones captures her perfectly. The interesting role was that of Ellen’s mother, played by veteran Kristin Scott Thomas. She knew well her youngest daughter’s lack of acumen for the stage. She was savvy and forward thinking enough to see that a liaison with Dickens might allow Ellen to make her way in the world. There was no ulterior motive – just a concern for her daughter’s well-being.

In a recent Weekend Australian Review Deidre Marken writes an interesting column comparing this movie with the contemporary rom-com, ‘The Other Woman’ (gracing a multiplex near you). She writes, ‘And here’s the gist – infidelity is no longer a cause of shame and secrecy; it’s now an excuse for girl sessions and drinking cosmopolitans and braiding each other’s hair.’ Well Ms Ternan, if the film’s to be believed, engaged in girly sessions and hair braiding a-plenty with her sisters as her trysts were getting off the ground – but the point is taken. It’s not quiet the same thing. Once she was established as ‘mistress’, any notion of freedom she once possessed was taken away. For her the liberty of today’s woman was not possible in her situation, unless you were a battle hardened veteran, more able to cope with public censure, like Collins’ kept woman. It says something for Dickens (and his family’s destruction of his personal papers on his demise) that his relationship with Ellen Ternan, the inspiration for Pip’s Estella in ‘Great Expectations’, has largely been invisible to history’s view until recent times. This gorgeous, gorgeous film will bring it out in the open for people to see for what it was. Do try and view it yourself on a screen, large or small, sometime soon.

There’s to be another ‘Exotic Marigold Hotel’ with Richard Gere added to the returning cast to give the sequel even more pulling power. All of us of a certain age will flood to the multiplexes to see that, no doubt! Finally film-makers are realising they’re on a gold mine appealing to the baby-boomer generation. Why trouble wasting millions on the fickleness of GenY with newly retired, sixty-pluses, looking for stuff to spend their children’s futures on, even if it’s only heading off to Gold Class for a splurge. Yes, the eye candy of Hollywood’s ever youthful ‘next big things’ is okay for us not quite geriatrics, but we also yearn to continue our journeys with those actors of substance that we have matured alongside, see them strut their stuff while they still can. There’s only so many taut young hotties flexing their six-packs or breasts we can take – we do not want to be constantly reminded of what once was! We also need something that reflects where we are in life as well. We need reminders that the scrapheap is still a little way away just yet and that even, at our age, we are still capable of adventurings of the heart and mind – just as long as they aren’t too much of a physical nature. We need to know that there are still silver linings to be experienced. And, unlike all our sons and daughters with their digital dexterity, as a rule we will leave laptops, ipads and other assorted gizmos to them and troop off to the cinema to have a collective experience doing so. Yes, there is a profit to be had showing us actors of a certain age finding love anew, or perhaps rekindling it in exotic locales. Three times this last fortnight I have left the comforts of the abode by the river to view the latest, in an increasingly crowded field, of that nature at my favourite North Hobart cinematic haunt.

The first viewed was ‘Le Weekend’, featuring an English couple – competently played by Jim Broadbent and Lindsay Duncan – who are attempting to recapture the zing of more romantic times by revisiting, where else but Paris – the City of Love. Meg still seems to have a bit of zest about her but poor old rumpled Nick has seen better days – he is a sad sack worn down by life. He’s a burnt out teacher having just lost his job giving a female student a reality check – not the done thing in this era of the need for hyper-senstivitiy to the delicate feelings of oncoming generation. The young miss complained and of course poor Nick was given his marching orders – not that Meg is aware of that. As their former honeymoon hotel is a disappointment, Meg throws caution to the wind and books into one of the city’s finest, with views to the Eiffel Tower no less. Nick trails disconsolately in her wake. Soon, though, Nick rouses himself and professes to be up for a bit of nookie. Meg is off hand in her rejections and at this stage the viewer feels that this cannot possibly end well. Enter Jeff Goldblum, playing a quirky former colleague of Nick’s, whom the couple accidentally come across. The trajectory of the narrative now starts to change course. He is married to a younger woman, this not helping matters with the older duo. Then Meg finds herself being propositioned by a man, decades more youthful, at a diner the Goldblum character invites them to. Whilst Meg is tempted, Nick also finds a soul mate of sorts and we soon find we have to revisit our feelings on just how it will all pan out. The answer is with a bit of naughtiness, but elaborating any further will let the cat out of the bag. Go see it and have a giggle – the humour is gentle and there’s plenty to like about ‘Le Weekend’.

Be warned, though – there is a scene that I felt was decidedly ‘off’ – and interestingly the venerable David agreed with me. I felt it was unnecessary and demeaning of the actors to expect it from them. Something similar occurred in ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ and I had no problems with it – it could be expected in that excess of debauchery and the participants were much less than of a certain age – if that makes a difference. My daughter and my partner reckon I greatly resemble Mr Stratton in looks and gestures – perhaps I am beginning to think like him too!

The second, I thought, despite the critics demurring, was the most successful and entertaining of the three – yet it too had its faults. I think the reason I enjoyed it is that I just simply like Michael Caine. Of course, in my mind, he’s forever ‘Alfie’ and in this movie, ‘Mr Morgan’s Last Love’, we can conceivably see what may have become of that hedonistic young man in his dotage. Again the city was Paris – the scene where the old fella Matthew forces open a long closed window to reveal what a breathtaking view he has of the Eiffel Tower from his apartment is magic, as well as ridden with symbolism. You see, he’s just picked up a ‘bird’, to use Alfie speak, on a bus. Pauline – winsomely played by Clémence Poésy- was the problem for the critics though. What would a vibrant young thing like her see in a run down, aged crusty former American academic, still paralysed by grief from the death of his life partner? To me, this didn’t seem implausible at all – after all, on her part it was purely platonic, even if our hero was head over heels. What, to me, did not ring true at all was her falling, in turn, head over heels for his son Miles, a not overly pleasant character reeling from a busted marriage (great seeing ‘Weeds’ man Justin Kirk in another light). Matthew is not about to make a fool of himself with the young Parisian lass – although his son and daughter (the latter played in loathsome fashion by Gillian Anderson) don’t see it that way. Another of the critics, gripes was the cockneyism of Caine’s American accent – I agree, it was all over the shop. Surely it would have been simpler to have him play an Oxbridge ex!! Yes there were flaws, but it was satisfying viewing. We are never too old to have our heads turned by a pretty face, so long as it all is kept in perspective, as Matthew strove to do.

Gloria – what a force of nature she proved to be! Fervently and bravely played by 53 year old Chilean actress, Paulina Alfonso, this effort from the world’s most slimline country has gonged at festivals world-wide. She’s not over-attractive is Gloria, but is one of these character actors who possess a certain something, especially when she allows a radiant smile to light up her face. Not that, initially, she has too much to smile about. The singles’ scene is proving rather barren for her when she desires something more than dissolute one night stands. When one fellow, Rodolfo (Sergio Hernández), comes back for more, she feels she has finally lucked in and starts the head over heels stuff with him. He, unfortunately, is carrying a little too much baggage; still pandering to his former wife and his daughters, despite his obvious passion for Gloria. Eventually our heroine decides she has to drag herself out of the love-lorn abyss. This she does so spectacularly. She indulges herself in the mother of dummy spits, creating mayhem with a gun in one of the movie’s best scenes. The ending is most uplifting, almost having me dancing on my chair. Of course the eponymous song has to feature somewhere in all its pumping pomp. In ‘Gloria’ there’s unrestrained sex and nudity to be had as well, but as a paean to the pitfalls of love in the autumn years it provides a reality check – no saccharine Hollywood ending here.

No film exactly set the world alight, but each, in its own way, shook off the condescending tweeness that can afflict offerings of this ilk. In two of the three they weren’t afraid of depicting bedroom scenes and in all, even in the autumn of our years, they prove there are still glorious days to be had.
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As his star rose in the early years of the last decade he was only vaguely on the radar of this relatively fervent cinema goer. If I saw any of the fluff back then he was known for, I have no recollection of it. I doubt if I ever braved titles like ‘The Wedding Planner’, Failure to Launch’ or ‘Ghosts of Girlfriends Past’. The gossip magazines were in love with him and he was a babe magnet of the first order. He was awarded the dubious sobriquet of ‘People Magazine’s’ ‘Sexiest Man Alive 2005’ – enough said for where his career was at then. The titles of his ouevre were as inconsequential to me as probably their substance was inconsequential to him in the long run. Reportedly, towards the end of the decade, this caused him to sit down and have a long hard think about where his career was headed. He started rejecting the fluff and waited for substance to come – and waited. He was without work for a year but no worries – the fluff had ensured he wasn’t penniless and eventually his patience was rewarded. Some film makers were prepared to take a chance on him for more demanding, character driven roles – and he didn’t let them down. This man could act!

He garnered positive reviews in titles like ‘The Lincoln Lawyer’, ‘Magic Mike’ and ‘Mud’ – all unseen by me. But I leapt to attention when he presented as the sleazy scene stealer in the opening stanzas to ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’. On the basis of this and his ’14 Academy Award nomination, in best actor category, for the film, I made a beeline to see ‘Dallas Buyers’ Club’ when it arrived on a Hobart screen. It proved to me his turn in the Scorsese offering was no fluke.

Sexy Matthew McConaughey was not in this role. He starved himself to skeletal proportions for it and resembled a gangly cross between flamingo and giraffe. It was not a charmless performance as he could turn it on, particularly in some scenes with Jennifer Garner’s Dr Eve Saks. Otherwise, throughout this tale based on a real life anti-hero, he was venality personified. He used the early years of the AIDS epidemic to turn a buck after what initially was a project in self survival. He was, at his core, a rampant homophobe, indulging in an excess of drugs and alcohol. Equally he was an enthusiastic participant in sex with any willing strumpet. The consequences of the latter for his character, Ron Woodroff, were appalling. (It must be noted that the real Ron was very possibly gay, or at least bi.)

At the movie’s commencement the ‘fictional’ Ron was a rootin’, tootin’, shootin’ (up) amateur rodeo carny come electrician, who, due to an accident in the latter guise, finds he is HIV positive. The discoveries he makes in researching his affliction to prolong his prognosis time – one month – sees him become a gay saviour of sorts. As well, he raises the ire of the powerful vested interests in the health system of the good ol’ U S of A. The movie is not, though, a case of a Hollywood ‘David v Goliath’ with the little guy winning out. Back in those days, the combination of AIDS and the big drug companies took no prisoners – the end for Ron, as well as for his cause, was inevitable.

‘Dallas Buyers’ Club’ is an intelligent, warts and all portrayal of a scourge whose edges we have softened but are yet to defeat. The movie is immensely enhanced by Jared Leto’s superb turn as the transsexual who softens our Ron’s heart. It is not top drawer this film, but is none the less a quality product and I suspect this role is the pinnacle Matthew McConaughey will be remember for – but who knows what the future holds for an actor I well and truly know now.

Official Site ‘Dallas Buyers’ Club’ = http://www.focusfeatures.com/dallas_buyers_club

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!

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.

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