She likes Zach Braff, does my DLP (Darling Loving Partner). She was an aficionado of ‘Scrubs’, a tele show that passed me by – possibly unfortunately given DLP’s descriptions of it. She waxed lyrical on the hilarity of the situations its medical practitioners found themselves in, but also commented that there was much pathos to be had with it as well. My love reckoned the writing in it was first rate, but the star attraction for her was Mr Braff.

So when a trailer for ‘Wish I Was Here’ appeared as a prelude to another movie we were seeing, DLP expressed the desire to make it our next foray to our local art house. For me Braff was an unknown, but as the offering also contained two favourites in Kate Hudson and Many Patinkin, Besides, I adore accompanying DLP to the cinema. With those two actors on board, surely the movie wouldn’t be too bad in any case – and it wasn’t.

So I was intrigued when the Sunday Tasmanian’s film reviewer, Leigh Paatsch, came out and called it ‘…faintly disappointing’, awarding it a paltry two stars – thus, I would imagine, putting plenty of punters off a viewing. Now if one is looking for something with a bit more ‘heart’ – something Leigh P does grant ‘Wish I Was Here’ begrudging kudos for – than the usual generic tinsel town product of comic book heroics and inane rom-coms. you may look to Mr Paatsch for guidance. This being the case, then you would surely opt for ‘The Skeleton Twins’, reviewed on the same page as WIWH. Our esteemed critic accoladed this with four twinklers. So, having immensely enjoyed the underdog, I thought that the higher-rater must truly be superb, it being something that promised a ‘…tale that will resonate (hate that term!) with the perceptive viewer.’ – is he having a go at the average cinema goer? This then was obviously worth a squiz. Neither I, nor LP, were let down by it. ‘The Skeleton Twins’ amply deserved his praise, but I still do not concur with his reticence over the Braff vehicle. To me it wins by the shortest of half-heads.

One ‘Twin’, Milo (Bill Hader) and WIWH’s Aiden (Braff) are both portrayed, initially, as two of life’s losers. As it happens the duo are also failed actors, but Aiden has his old man (Patinkin) providing him with enough of the readies to help support his family whilst he chases his dream. I don’t think Braff, as an actor, is any great shakes, but it was a delight seeing Hudson in a less overt role than her usual ditzy blonde or femme fatale shtick. Mandy P is as reliable as ever, but the role that gave the film extra lustre was that of Joey King as Grace Bloom, the feisty daughter who has to cope with her world being turned upside down when her grandfather’s money runs out. This is due to his battle with cancer/the American health system. Paatsch accuses this movie as being contrived, as it surely was in places and yes, the Hollywood ending can be seen a mile off. But, unlike the product he praises to the hilt, it doesn’t goes beyond the bounds of credulity.

That word – contrived – in my view, would have been better being attached to LP’s more endorsed film. Just how did Milo know where she was and be able to find her in time?. You’ll know what I mean when you see it – and I do encourage you to do so. It was the only jarring note in a great piece that started bleakly, with both Milo and his sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), in suicidal frames of mind. Each major protagonists, for various reasons, are overloaded with self-loathing and their means of coping with it are at the centre of TST. Sis is a serial adulteress and gay Milo was involved in something rather tawdry back in his home town, back in the day. It’s to this up-state New York locale he returns to get his shit together under Maggie’s supervision – the blind leading the blind, so to speak. Gradually we, as an audience, warm to these two battered souls. Their duetting and dancing turns are scene-stealing gems. I enjoyed Wiig in this immensely, with there also being an attractive performance from Luke Wilson as hubby Lance – a nuanced turn.

Nah, for my money it’d be hard to separate these two watchable visual creations. Both are loaded to the gills with positive messages about the ‘silver linings’ being there if one is willing to do the hard yards. And so, I am in discord with Leigh P – for each it’s three and a half stars from me.

Trailer for ‘Wish I Was Here’  = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCponfeWNOI

Trailer for ‘The Skeleton Twins’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhULZJDXLaE

There is no better place to be, on the whole planet, than my city of Hobs at this time of year. On a fine spring day, with a whiff of summer on the ether, it’s the epitome of blissfulness.

From up high Kunanyi looked down on our little capital; peering over its organ-piped ramparts on this special morning, the morning of ‘that one day in September’. And it noted that Salamanca was pumping. The Market was teeming, the cafes in the Square were crowded and over around the docks, people were up, out and about. The lads and lasses of the city had dispensed with winter layers and were flaunting summery attire; the tourists were firmly caught up in the laid-back vibe and then Kunanyi spotted a tiny girl. She was gyrating to the guitar twang of a ruddy busker, enticing smiles of pleasure from all who passed her by as she greeted the joys of life in fairy wings and her blue denim ‘queen’ dress. The venerable mountain approved of this tiny apparition, as it did all that was happening in the small city, ever-expanding around its flanks. Kunanyi was most satisfied.

That little mite attracting attention was, of course, the Tiges – granddaughter extraordinaire. Darling Leigh and your scribe had travelled into the CBD to meet up with the ‘little family’ for coffee, chats and wanders. On this same morning, across the water in Yarra City, many, many more extended families were rendezvousing for the same reason, along with groupings of friends; lovers even. Later on they would all wend their ways to a great arena to view a contest that would be frenetic and close. Sadly though, the outcome of this battle was supposedly a given. The team from the Harbour City to the north was sure to prevail – that was the consensus around innumerable tables in the coffee houses of the great metropolis that very same September morn.

Similarly, grouped at a table in Doctor Coffee, a tiny establishment in a small arcade running off busy Salamanca, the most likely outcome of the encounter was also being discussed by the two whose hearts are seared deepest with brown and gold – but how to cope with it was the issue. My daughter and I were the sole footy tragics of the fivesome; Leighsx2 caring only in passing for the game – although high hopes are held for granddaughter/daughter. How would we make it through an afternoon that only promised disappointment at the end, with undoubtedly immense personal stress in the journey to that point? We two; well, we each had our own methods of coping.

Later our group parted ways to examine the nearby art galleries and laden market stalls. Your reporter then trekked solo into the main part of the city to lose himself in its bookshops as Tom Jones and Ed Sheeran stretched their vocal chords over the loudspeakers of the mighty ‘G. There a tad under a hundred thousand souls were awaiting the first bounce of the Sherrin. Last year I had conspired to be up in the air for the event – this year needed another approach. By the stage ‘Advance Australia Fair’ ended to an almighty roar, I was enclosed by darkness. This feeble supporter was sealed off in a movie house. I possessed the expectation that what eventuated on the screen would take my mind off what was sure to unfold, or so I thought, across the Strait.

The offering chosen to take me away from a large part of that gladiatorial encounter was ‘The Little Death’ which, according to pre-release blurb, was – ‘Like a deviant antipodean version of ‘Love Actually’. It wasn’t. It never came within a bull’s roar of that classic – even if it did have its moments. Through this ensemble piece I did discover some sexual deviancies I never knew existed. There was the sad, henpecked man (Alan Dukes), whose wife (Lisa McCune) could only arouse him whilst she was asleep. I found this, to be honest, somewhat creepy. The was an over-done running gag featuring a new neighbour (Kim Gyngell) who just happened to be on the register of sex offenders. I quite liked, though, the final vignette featuring a horny deaf fellow (T J Power) trying to communicate with a distracted phone-sex worker via a translator – the latter a luminous Erin James. The most attractive character, to this viewer, was the lovely Kate Box, whose portrayal of the wife afflicted with dacryphilia – she can only achieve pleasure with a sobbing partner – was delightful. Now dear reader, just before you jump to conclusions, there was nary enough titillation on screen involved with all these various couples’ sexual entwinings to attract even the most desperate of the raincoat brigade – visually it was all reasonably chaste, if that not being the case with the kinky premises. I found little comedic attraction to the film’s examination of rape as a fantasy. Despite the partners concerned being consenting – in which case, can it be deemed rape? – it was handled with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I thought its play-out to be just plain distasteful.

Josh Lawson, who wrote, directed and played a character in ‘The Little Deaf’, should be given some kudos for having a go – but gee, with the material and cast he had to work with, it could and should have been so much better. Still, I hope he is not put off by the hammering his product is receiving critically. I trust he keeps on trying to get stuff of this ilk up. One can clearly see the possibilities of better are evident. How he brings the diverse strands all together at the end is clever, but it’s not something that hasn’t been done before. Still, it did its role in getting me trough the bulk, time wise, of an event I was intent on avoiding.

The game was well into the third quarter by the time I reached my car and turned on the radio. To my delight and shock the Hawks were considerably in front. Driving home to the shrill reportage of the commentators, I felt, may only have had the effect of getting me over-excited and distracted, so I opted for the dulcet tones of Sara Blasko to accompany me instead. Once home, in the abode by the river, the television informed me it was three-quarter time and the brown and gold remained in the ascendency. I was still reluctant to view, given what had transpired the previous week, when Port Power came home like a steam train. Watching then I suffered close to a coronary. Fifteen minutes into the final stanza I knew the game was in the bag; that there were to be no last minutes heroics from the bloodless Bloods on this day. I could watch the denouement with Zen calm. I was so happy.

It seemed only one team came to play and the Swans, despite their much vaunted supposed superiority coupled with the Buddy factor, were not up to withstanding the challenge presented by my team. The Hawks, in the lead-up, had had anything but an easy season, but they dominated when it counted, generating a number of well reported feel good stories en route. For me, a joke doing the rounds will suffice as elaboration:-
How on earth could the Hawks possibly cope with Buddy at centre half forward for the opposition? Why, the answer is simple – by placing Jesus Christ at centre half back.
Get it? Jesus Christ – that is, his doppelganger, newly minted cult hero Matty Spangher. What, not funny you say? Well, I liked it.

My Hawks are threatening to go for a three-peat next year. Personally, I now want a GF where I can sit back and watch without any stress attached – you know, something like Freo agin the Tigers, or Port up against the Bombers. Two in a row’s enough for me. But now, next weekend, there’s another game I am particularly interested in and have my fingers crossed about. Some very special, dear-to-me people have their hopes riding on it. Go Rabbitohs!

Article – Josh Lawson on ‘The Little Death = http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/movies/filmmaker-josh-lawson-breaks-the-final-taboo-in-sex-comedy-the-little-death-20140923-10kel0.html