It didn’t take long, did it? Those following this blog know I’ve had my rant on this and my prediction has been proved prescient. It is, though, a subject close to my heart and I fear the worse, even if those greedy honchos at the top insist they’re just testing the water. Though it is enshrined in legislation, even though their organisation still makes massive profits with its other services, those Canadians (and, as it turns out, Kiwis) have started our lot thinking. Auspost has surveyed us – well some of us. How would we feel about paying $30pa for our mail delivery services? How would we feel about the postie coming, as in NZ, only thrice a week? As it turns out, in theory this punter wouldn’t be overly concerned about either as long as there are iron-clad assurances that this is where it would end. I doubt though that such assurances would be given such is, it seems, the notion that profit comes before all else. I fear it would be the thin edge of the wedge. And why is it that a mighty organisation cannot tolerate loss making in one sector of its operations, when its overall profit is gargantuan, in the name of a service to the community? All right, I know, the number of letters going through the system is decreasing, but the volume is still massive in anyone’s terms. I love writing letters, I love my philately – it means something to me. Not everything should be about profit excess! Will the greed of giant corporations ever be sated?

And that’s one of the aspects that delighted me about Spike Jonze’s ‘Her’ – letters still exist in his version of the not so distant future. In fact Joaquin Phoenix’s character, Theodore Twombly (bottler of a name), is employed to write heartfelt letters for a community no longer able/far too busy to express emotion on paper. In Jonze’s world people walk around conversing with hand held thingamajigs. Computer programmes have reached the stage where their ‘voices’ are no longer merely robotic – they have a ‘mind’ of their own and they have ‘feelings’ – perhaps two facilities the human race are starting to lose! In fact, the voice of the one possessed by Theo is downright sexy with the result our hero falls in love with ‘her’. Of course it would be quite easy for anyone to fall in love with any part of Scarlett Johansson orally playing ‘Samantha’. I spent periods of the movie with my eyes closed, just focusing on the two stars conversing – after all the camera was fixated on Phoenix’s face with little else going on. This is essentially a two hander with Amy Adams, Rooney Mara and Olivia Wilde ably taking on the minor roles, with the latter intriguing as Samantha’s surrogate attempting to have the real sex with Theo that Samantha is unable to carry out. It is Samatha’s voice directing proceedings. We do get a great deal of Joaquin in our faces and this film’s ending is enigmatic, but as a treatise on where the world is heading it provides some fodder for pondering. Where are we heading as far as social interaction is concerned? This movie will linger.

I do wonder about the world my generation leaves behind for my granddaughter’s. She is now a ‘big’ girl of almost twenty months and is starting to work out where she fits into the scheme of things, reaching out to the world around her with joy, wonder and acceptance. Already I am writing letters to her and I hope that, as she journeys through life, she knows the joy of, not only receiving mail, but also of sending out her happenings and thoughts through the post. Maybe she will also receive pleasure, as I do, in each new issue of stamps from Auspost, reflecting the innumerable variables of our great land. I wish that she’ll get the same positive feelings each time she places her tongue on the back of one of these mini works of art and affixes it to the corner of an envelope. And it is my great desire that I will be around for long enough to receive many letters from her to me.

But hooray and hooray. In Jonze’s opus books still exist!!!!

The movie’s website = http://www.herthemovie.com/#/home

I suppose there are a number of possible excuses for what he did! With a milky diffused moon-glow beaming in through the bedroom window, Leopold could have mistaken it for that other thing – couldn’t he? Watching the first sequence of the movie ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’, it bought it all back to me in vibrant flashback.

Leopold is a fine, feisty feline who came to stay, along with endearing canine Oscar, when my son Richard moved in to share my Burnie abode in the long years I was parted from my DLP (Darling Loving Partner). Both pets came very quickly to find a place in this old fella’s heart and to this day I miss their constant presence in my life. I am expecting to be reunited with them when I go north to pet/house sit for Rich and partner Shan when they venture to the Northern Hemisphere for six weeks during our winter. The animals’ home now is a grand house in the picturesque coastal village of Bridport, up in the north-east of the island. The pair of pets lead a salubrious life there with new addition Memphis, an Alaskan malamute. Like them, I have now moved away, but for me it’s to the south to be with my beloved DLP.

As cats are prone to, Leopold soon worked out the most comfortable spots in his new Burnie residence to own as an area for lolling. Beds figured prominently. The rest of the time he was out and about the neighbourhood, tomming – even if he no longer possessed the necessary essentials. He’d often return home in disarray, with parts of his anatomy rearranged requiring expensive visits for veterinarian remedies. Sometimes, as part of his recovery, it was often necessary for Leopold to remain housebound – not to his liking. On such occasions it was important that the unhappy animal had a clear and unfettered pathway to his kitty-litter tray in the back laundry. It was during such a period of enforced confinement that the incident occurred.

One of the beds Leopold took a shine too was the queen-sized one that served as my home for the night. In these early days, pre-incident, Leopold would saunter in, lord of all he surveyed, to home in on a suitable cosy spot on the doona towards the bottom of my mattress. I had no objection to this – in fact I found it quite comforting to have the tabby animal quietly purring away somewhere around my feet. It became habit to have the retractable door to my room slightly ajar to allow for his nocturnal comings and goings. I was lulled into a false sense of acceptance of him as my night-time companion – what could possibly go wrong????

Nothing – would be the answer till that particular night with, as a result of incident, he never setting paw into my chamber again. In the week leading up to it Leopold was yet again in a period of convalescence, getting over one of his many confrontations with a similarly territorial local moggy. He was on medication, perhaps another reason for said incident.

On the night in question I awoke in the wee small hours to find my face, hair and surrounding pillow covered in moisture. Still half groggy, I looked heavenwards to see if a hole in the roof had mysteriously appeared as explanation. Even if it had, there was no rain about, so it soon became evident to me that that was not the answer – that and the piquant and tangy aroma that simultaneously was starting to afflict my nasal cavity. I had been peed on – I reeked of cat piss. I leapt into action to make my feelings clear to the offender. Leopold, an intelligent animal, no doubt only temporarily addled by medication and moonshine, soon realised that my head was not his usual ablutions tray and thought it would be in his best interests to find a quick hiding spot before his sleeping buddy awoke to find and act on his misfortune.

That morning, around four in the a.m., I had my earliest bath ever before a school day, fired up the washing machine and exchanged the linen on the transgressed bed. The cat still had not appeared, in fact I did not lay eyes on it until I returned home that evening from my teaching duties – by that stage I had calmed and no doubt ‘the incident’ had been erased from our puss’ mind.

On that night our mutually satisfying cohabitation ended, but as ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ began the slumbering folk singer front and centre of this offering was similarly cohabiting with a cat, this time a big orange mog. The animal stirred itself and began a slow progression up the bed towards the folkie’s cranium. My first reaction was, ‘Oh no! It’s not, is it???’

Thankfully no, our warbler had sensed something was afoot, shot awake and shot out of his bunk, carrying the maybe about to be offending animal away out of camera shot with him.

The movie is the latest from the Coen Brothers. I have never been a massive fan of their oeuvre with the exception of the wonderful ‘Fargo’ and to a lesser extent, ‘The Big Lebowski’. In truth I cannot say I’ve seen much else, but the subject matter of ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ attracted me. Although highly praised, I thought their previous attempt at a musical offering, ‘Oh Brother? Where Art Thou?’ was woeful. Most of their material is fairly dark. This one would have been fairly bleak too without the contribution of the big marmalade feline. The laughs that resonated around Cinema 3 at the State where I viewed this production were all as a result of the travails of the cat at the hands of the woebegone Davis. It seemed to be the litmus for the lousy luck that befell the guitar strumming singer of obscure ditties from the Appalachians and Ozarks.

Now the word ‘bleak’ doesn’t necessarily infer that the movie was a stinker. It was quite the reverse actually, with, once my flashback had passed, this viewer being able to sit back and happily enjoy the journey it took me on. It bought back my memories of a time, just as I was ‘switching on’ to music, when, for a brief moment, before it was blasted away by the advent of the Beatles and the Merseyside brigade, folk ruled the airwaves.

This was the early sixties we’re talking about. I found myself becoming lost in the periodness of that time in NYC that the movie produces – think a seedier version of what one gets in the first few series of ‘Mad Men’ or, if you prefer, the album covers of early Dylan. Filmed in browned-out tones in fuggy, smoke filled coffee houses or in streets with dirty snow lying about, it’s a blast from the past.

Our hero is hopeless, even if he has the voice of an angel. He’s a couch-surfing, perennially botting (fags and money) sad-sack lurching from one disaster to another – the death of his singing partner, getting his best mate’s missus pregnant, zilch record sales and only spasmodic bookings – you get the drift. It is difficult to feel any affinity for him. The narrative is bookended by the Greenwich Village set pieces and these are high points. A long period of travel to and from Chicago was less engaging with the movie losing its way – pun intended – somewhat. This is despite a gonzo John Goodman giving his all in more ways than one. In the Windy City he is offered a gig as part of a trio – presumably for either Peter or Paul supporting Mary Travers – and of course he rejects it as beneath his folkloric purity.

Justin Timberlake and Carey Mulligan make appearances as slightly more successful performers than Davis – and both can hold a tune. Of course we know that about Timberlake, but Mulligan was a revelation to me. Oscar Isaac was chosen for the main role because of his musical chops and he, despite his relative obscurity, in no way lets his directors down. His only other claim to fame is playing Jose Ramos-Horta in the Aussie flick ‘Balibo'(2009). As the hapless central figure, the actor inhabits the role loosely based on early Dylan contemporary, the largely unheralded Dave van Ronk. In the last scene at the coffee house there is a skinny, scrawny curly headed troubadour serenading an audience in a raspily distinctive voice – I wonder who that could have been??

Greenwich Village, Liverpool, Haight-Ashbury, Carnaby Street, Manchester, Seattle – these are place names that all invoke a special time in the progression of popular music in the latter half of the last century. The Coen film enhances our appreciation of the first listed and is worthy of its accolades – even if the cat has the best lines. The world is awash with ‘dog as star’ movies, with the Coens reportedly remarking on how numerous were both the cats and takes needed to get any desired result on the screen involving the feline. Perhaps, with their ‘we owe them a living’ ethos, it is little wonder that dogs, who take the opposite view, are far more prolific movie scene-stealers. But despite the obscenity Leopold perpetrated on my naked head that night, he will always be a star in my world.

‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ website = http://www.insidellewyndavis.com/home

Stevie Wonder was warbling away as I emerged from my slumber this morning. His tune, ‘Isn’t She Lovely’, caused me to reflect, as much does these days, on the ageless beauty of women – those in my life, as well as those portrayed on screens small and large. My mind drifted to two in particular as ‘Early AM’ rattled on about the extreme heat of and fire danger presented by the current weather conditions over south-eastern Australia. They pair concerned were from the big screen.

The first duo of movies I have viewed this mint new year both featured stars whose initial beauty of youth have long deserted them. One is a Dame in real life, the other was once married to a Sir. Both have shed the flawless skins of their twenties and now sport the lines of maturity – lines that still point to the beauty beneath the mere external; lines that, in this day and age, are no deterrent to their star power. They ever increasingly possess the skill to express any desired emotion in their respective roles with an ease younger starlets will need years to perfect.

As that same ‘Early AM’ carried news of yet another inquiry into the foulness perpetrated by the Catholic church, this time in the UK, ‘Philomena’ was bought to mind. Dame Judi Dench, in her part as the eponymous hub of this movie, had for all her life suffered from the heart-wrenching hollowness of a child ‘forcefully’ taken from her by this unfeeling, to put it mildly, ‘Christian’ organisation. The removal did not occur immediately after childbirth, but several years further down the track – well and truly after a bond had developed between mother and son. As we later discover the child is sold – that’s right, sold – to American adopters (they being the only ones back then able to afford the church’s stiff prices). ‘Philomena’ is not a story of the expected ‘happy everafters’ either.

The vibrancy of youth that led our central figure to commit the ‘mortal sin’ has disappeared by the time Steve Coogan meets her in the guise of Martin Sixsmith, a one time spin doctor for the high and mighty who has fallen from grace with a thud. He is trying to resurrect his journalistic career and Philomena’s story is the vehicle. In the Stephen Frears’ directed screen rendering, Coogan plays his role with sensitivity, stepping back and allowing the Dame to ply her craft, which she does impeccably. We watch in awe as she transforms from a meek, beaten-down woman to someone unwilling to be trodden on any more, even if ever-ready to forgive. From dowdy frump Philomena’s beauty and feistiness comes increasingly to the fore, under Sixsmith’s prodding, as the journey proceeds. The scene where she convinces the journalist to remain in America is priceless, but within minutes Dench has us reaching for our tissues as she takes yet another hit to her hopes.

There is steel in Judi Dench as she battles to keep a career going despite suffering from severe macular degeneration. She will not let it take over her life, just as Philomena, in this true tale, in the end refused to allow what the Catholic church did to her define her existence. As the award season is on us, understandably this performance has been lauded and listed. In a competitive field this year Dench will give strong opposition and even if she remains ungonged, her ‘Philomena’ is already on my list as candidate for film of the year. Hopefully there are many roles remaining for this elegant, beautiful woman.

Although both Dame Judi and the female actor at the fulcrum of ‘Saving Mr Banks’ missed a Golden Globe due to the searing performance of Cate Blanchet in ‘Blue Jasmine’, we nonetheless, with the second of my two viewings, saw a consummate headliner manipulate us into our tissues as well. She plays PL Travers, the author of ‘Mary Poppins’, as she does battle with Walt Disney to protect the integrity of her characters in his film version of her children’s classic. As with Coogan, Tom Hanks, as the Fantasyland king, gives us a muted performance to take second billing to Brit veteran Emma Thompson, bringing to life the Australian writer. These days Ms Thompson is no longer the darling of stage and screen as she was when in marital partnership with Sir Kenneth Branagh, but she still possesses actorly chops enough to carry a movie like this. It is probably a cakewalk for her, but such is her adeptness in the role the nominations keep coming. As with ‘Philomena’ this is a movie of transformation, as to be expected, but in this case a Disneyfied one as in real life the central harridan stayed true to her unappealing self. Paul Giamatti does a pleasant turn as the driver who was instrumental in the crusty one’s eventual softening, with this ‘West Wing’ fan pleased to see BradleyWhitford emerge from that show to delightfully play one of the co-writers of the 1964 film. Rachel Griffiths gets a look in as well. The Australian flashbacks, featuring Colin Farrell as Travers’ antipodean father, to me, lacked authenticity, but overall the two hours spent watching the journey of a reluctant author to the glitz of Hollywood was time not wasted. And here is a tip – do remain seated through the end credits.

As Tinsel City slowly wakes up to the paying power of the greying generation – we who want more from the muliplexes than the crash, bang wallop of noisy CSG generic fodder, then so more movies of rich reward as the aforementioned pair will be produced. In turn, this will enable us to see venerable thespians at the height of their powers. They still retain beauty more than enough to turn the heads of us too savvy to be mesmerised by the latest nubile darlings Hollywood throws up then throws out once they are ‘past their peak’. We want substance alongside screen beauty. Dench and Thompson, along with Mirren, Streep, Weaver, Hazlehurst and increasing numbers of others are providing it for us. ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ could just as well apply to these grand dames as to Wonder’s infant daughter Aisha.

‘Philomena’ website = http://philomenamovie.com/

‘Saving Mr Banks’ website = http://www.disney.com.au/movies/saving-mr-banks

The year’s trips to the State, with a very few to other movie houses thrown in, was bookended by two sensational films directed by David O Russell. In between there was so much presented to enjoy, so much presented to ponder on. In the last category there were some stand-out cinema offerings concerning the journey ahead for us baby boomers of a certain age. The best of these included the depressingly powerful ‘Amour’, a film that delved into your mind and lodged in there. There was the sublime tale of a relationship of extreme youth and extreme age in ‘The Artist and the Model’ and the uplifting ‘Song for Marianne’. The acting combinations in each – Emmanuelle Riva/Jean‑Louis Trintignant, Jean Rochefort/Aida Folch and Terence Stamp/Vanessa Redgrave were brave, with bravura performances from all. We can add the James Cromwell/Geneviève Bujold double-hander from Canada, ‘Still Mine’, as this year’s ‘Away From Her’. Here there is what happens when the deadly combination of the stubbornness of advancing age and the inhumanity of petty bureaucracy come into collision.’Quartet’ deserves a mention too. ‘Blue Jasmine’ saw Woody Allen back to his best with stellar acting from Cate Blanchett. Greta Gerwig, in ‘Frances Ha’, was gorgeous and may even find a place in my ‘Alluring Women’ come 2014. Spain’s ‘The Impossible’ was an accomplished movie about a terrible disaster and ‘Twenty Feet From Stardom’ was a most affecting documentary on the forgotten people in the pantheon of popular music. Highlighting, in a very human way, the tensions in the Middle East was ‘The Other Son’, with ‘Lovelace’ doing a better job of transporting us back to another time and place than it was given credit for. Ditto for the Paul Raymond biopic ‘The Look of Love’ with Steve Coogan. Also immensely enjoyable was Joss Whedon’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ and the James Gandolfini wonderfully dominated ‘Enough Said’. The staging of the latest version of ‘Anna Karenina’ was another highlight. Methinks this was a vintage year.

But the above, although individually terrific, didn’t make the cut. For better or for worse, in descending order are, in the view of the Blue Room’s film-addicted punter, the best for 2013.

10. ‘American Hustle’ – I had no bloody idea what was going on in the plot – it lost me about half-way through. But I was having so much fun with that 70’s vibe I didn’t give a hoot.

9. ‘Behind the Candelabra’ – could this be the movie Michael Douglas is remembered for? It was quite an amazing turn from Matt Damon as well. We’ll never see the likes of Liberace again.

8.’ The Hunt’ – Mads Mikkelsen brings home to this old chalkie a teacher’s worst nightmare as he spirals into the abyss and drags himself back up again.

7. ‘Stuck in Love/A Place for Me’ – why a change of title was needed to release it in Oz is beyond me, but this is 2013’s ‘The Door in the Floor’ with Greg Kinnear and gang superb.

6. ‘Lincoln’ – unlike many I seemed to be able to follow the Machiavellian machinations of this and loved its periodness – I know, there’s no such word – but there should be.

5. ‘Life of Pi’ – to DLP’s (Discerning Loving Partner) surprise I was enraptured. For once she jumped when I didn’t. I knew the tiger was coming.

4. ‘Rust and Bone’ – simply a mesmerising film from France with the screen presence of unlikely hero
Matthias Schoenaerts riveting.

3. ‘ The Great Gatsby’ – Luhrmann hits back doing what he does best – so much razzle dazzle and the two diverse, but magnificent, party scenes – simply incredible.

2. ‘Happiness Never Comes Alone’ – What is it about the French and rom-coms – pure froth, but Sophie Marceau shimmers and shines..

1. ‘Silver Linings Playbook’ – I fell in love with Jennifer Lawrence. I fell head over heels for this gloriously quirky, funky romp.

David and Margaret’s choices for 2013 = http://www.abc.net.au/atthemovies/txt/s3908586.htm

Not ever crossing paths with the seminal US television series ‘The Sopranos’, the death of its venerated star earlier this year hardly registered with me. Travelling through Italy on a sweltering June 19th, James Gandolfini suffered a fatal heart attack. With a reputation for violence, his applauded performance as Tony Soprano was no where near my radar as a must view, for back in the day I eschewed the American product for what I considered the far superior British. With the exceptions of ‘Chicago Hope’, ‘Hill Street Blues’ and ‘Ally McBeal’, it was ‘all the way with the UK ‘ for this punter. Beautiful Talented Daughter still laments the passing of ‘Friends’, and my Darling Loving Partner has never been a blinkered Anglophile in her wide ranging tastes. With their assistance I have come around. I am now of a different mind having discovered gems like ‘Mad Men’, ‘Californication’, ‘Boardwalk Empire’, ‘True Blood’, ‘Weeds’ and ‘House of Cards’ – yes, I know the latter is based on the superb Brit series of the same name, but for my money Kevin Spacey out nasties Ian Richardson. My world has opened up. I am making up for lost time by working my way through ‘The West Wing’, so maybe one day I’ll look into ‘The Sopranos’ as well.

In the words of Brad Pitt, Gandolfini was ‘…a ferocious actor, gentle soul and a genuinely funny man.’ The last two attributes were well to the fore in the movie I tootled off to see earlier this week. ‘Enough Said’ was a wonderful experience and I became instantly enamoured of the big bear of a man who starred. Sadly, as this was his penultimate movie, there will be no chance for a ‘bromance’ to develop.,

As stated, he is a large man, but as with Depardieu, that does not seem to be a limiting factor on screen. His weight may have been a factor in his demise, but seeing as he was of the same age as me minus a decade, he went far too early. He had been featured on the cinema screen before he ‘made it’ on the small one, but generally speaking the Hollywood system has been slow in transferring successful television celebrities into the multiplexes. We know there have been exceptions – Eastwood, Tim Allen, some of the ‘Friends’, Robin Williams – but generally the rule applies. Seeing Gandolfini do his stuff with Julia Louis-Dreyfus (‘Seinfield’ – which also passed me by), we sure have been missing something. His co-star was quite lovely in this, with her weird facial expressions at once perplexing and endearing. Now of course there is the reverse occurring with big Hollywood names, such as Spacey, Steve Buscemi and Claire Danes et al, being attracted into our living rooms courtesy of fine scripting.

There is an easy and engaging on screen chemistry between Gandolfini and Dreyfus, even if they did have issues in coordinating their ‘lovemaking’. The big man’s charm, humour and comfort in his own skin wins over the audience from the get go – the one I shared my excursion with, all of a certain age, were wrapped up in him from his initial scene, an appearance at a party. Here Albert (Gandolfini) first meets Eva (Dreyfus) and she, his ex-wife Marianne (Catherine Keener). Eva becomes his lover, but also fast friends with the latter. Marianne constantly disses out to her on Albert, unbeknown of her relationship with him. Albert also knows zip about their friendship – thus the scene is set up for the ups and downs of what follows. The humour was gentle but my crowd ate it up. I suspect many related it to goings on in their own back stories. Gandolfini’s expressive face lit up the screen – he could convey so much with just a crinkle of the eyes or a shrug of the shoulders. It is so sad the world will not be treated to more of the actor in roles like this.

Director Nicole Holofcener first came to my attention with ‘Friends With Money’, so she is obviously a dab hand with these ensemble pieces. Keener was a touch grating in her role as the ex-wife, but then that was probably deliberate. Our own Toni Collette shines as Eva’s bestie, even getting to keep her Aussie accent.

There are many scenes that stick, including Albert’s reaction when he finally discovers Eva’s duplicity. There are his defences of his obnoxious daughter’s ((Eve Hewson) unfeeling pronouncements, but the one that really got to me was a scene that strangely didn’t involve the lead male. This was the sending off of Eva’s daughter (Tracey Fairaway), a more sensitive example of the species, to college. The attempts by Eva and her ex-hubby to keep their emotions under control are beautiful to behold. There are also Albert’s problems with guacamole to savour, as well as Eva’s mentoring of Chloe (Tavi Gevinson), her daughter’s needy friend. Rich, rich stuff. One reviewer has stated that the film sits better had the viewer no knowledge of the two main characters’ television fame – thus they wouldn’t be constantly referring back to Tony/Elaine – so perhaps that was in my favour enjoyment-wise.

The hopes and pitfalls of ‘second time around’ vividly come to life in this movie with a subtlety that puts it way above most of the dross that comes out of tinsel town on a similar theme. In these mid-life relationships we are perhaps more wary, but just as needy and even more thankful when it does ‘work’. The ending to ‘Enough Said’ is a given, but the whole affair is none the worse for that. There is nothing more wonderful than finding the right person to share the latter part of one’s life with.

Gandolfini had a daughter only last year with his second wife Deborah Lin. The combined sadness of all his fans would no where equate to her loss. At least, though, there is this magic movie performance for her to remember him by.

The movie’s website = http://www.enoughsaidmovie.com/#section-trailer