I've got the reputation of seeing every movie I can get my hands on.
I'll even take one for the team every now and then. I went and saw Cats for heaven's sake! I would have liked cats more if I had been under the influence of a bit of the wacky backy or a couple of Southern Comfort and cokes. It's a film best seen under the influence.
But I have found my bridge too far.
I will not be seeing Melania - the "documentary".
Even though I have a slightly morbid curiosity about the whole thing, I can't do it. If somebody bought me a ticket, I wouldn't do it. I mean, why would I want to go and see this film about Slovenia's most famous expat? I'm told Trump is making his cabinet sit through private screenings. Aren't they lucky?
(I have to admit, she reminds me of a Fembot found in Austin Powers.)
I've got better things to do.
Like watch Bridgerton.
Sorry, that Melania film, despite being a fan of very bad films, just cannot be done.
Oh, fun fact - how many famous Slovenians can you name? Interestingly, if you ask ChatGPT her name does not come up.
A lump of shit hanging by a long hair from his arse. That's a dingleberry.
He'd been wandering around the house with it since I got back from the gym.
Will he let me get it off him?
No. Absolutely not.
And unlike other cats who normally zoom around in abject horror when they have one, this cat appears to wear his shit like a medal, swinging from a long hair like a smelly handbag. (Maow Maow was hilarious when he got them, running around like his bum was on fire.) Not this one. He's strutting around the house with a magnanimous look on his face. And okay, it's attached by one of my hairs, so technically, I'm sure he thinks this indignity is all my fault.
I spent an hour periodically chasing him around with a tissue so I could remove the revolting turd. The little cretin was having none of it. I'd come near him, he'd run away. I tried to catch him - he struggled - and tackling my cat is like going into a scrum with a recalcitrant rugby player. He might be little, but he's fierce and he's a fighter.
I opened the spare room. He sat on his throne with his dingleberry. Eww.
He got onto the bed and sat on my pillow with his dingleberry. Double eww.
I'd get near him - he'd run to another room, his shit in tow.
Finally, as he was lazing on the bed in front of the fan, I went in, hiding the tissue I'd use to remove the offending lump. He looked at me with suspicion but took the caresses. When I'd lulled him into a false sense of security, I swooped into with the tissue and plucked the lump of poo off of him. The look he gave me when I'd finally plucked that horrid dingleberry was priceless.
I'll give him one thing - he's very expressive - and very funny.
Thankfully, half an hour later, we're friends again.
Also, I'm thankful that this is a rare event.
Now to go strip the bed. His stinky poo has been on it. I'll have none of it.
I've pulled a Dev Card tonight because I don't want to write about the following:
The stupid hot weather
Crazy American politics
The fact that both Men at Work and The Hoodoo Gurus have told right-wing political parties to not use their songs. To paraphrase the words of Greg Hay, Men at Work's lead singer, "Go write your own bloody song, our song is about inclusivity and dignity and joy - you and your mob show none of this." Yay.
Or going swimming after work tonight. Did a kilometre of breaststroke in Jay's pool. Loved it. Brilliant way to get in some exercise on a horribly hot day. m
Anyway, my prompt card reads the following:
If you don't mind me asking...
I don't mean to intrude...
To be honest...
Don't take this the wrong way...
With all due respect...
With prompts like this, I'll probably end up talking about American Politics, swimming, stupid hot weather or 80's music,
So here we go.
If you don't mind me asking, what the hell happened to you?
I'm naturally curious about people and I genuinely want to know what happened to your foot, how did you get that scar, what's that scowl about... and I will ask. I do have a filter, but if I use it, I'm jumping around inside to hear your story. I do get that not everybody wants to tell it though.
I don't mean to intrude... but are you okay?
I remember the last time I used this phrase, which was a few years ago. My downstairs neighbours were having a huge, verbal fight which sounded like it could be getting physical. I'm not one to start thumping on the door, but I did keep my ear out on the staircase, just in case.
Once the shouting had stopped, and giving it half an hour or so, I sent a text to my neighbour, gently asking if she was okay. I didn't want to intrude, but I was concerned for her safety. She was embarrassed but said that the fight was over and she was safe and apologised for disturbing the peace. I told her I was just concerned for her and if she needed anything, to get in contact.
I hadn't thought about that until I got in touch with her the other week. There was some mail I wanted to send on. She said that they'd now separated. She couldn't take the violence. She got custody of the cats.
I'm just glad she's out of that situation. Never really liked her husband, if I'm honest.
To be honest.... How the fuck does anybody actually want to vote for Pauline Hanson? Seriously. Why can't she crawl back under the rock from which she came?
Don't take this the wrong way... but I really don't want to hear about your time at the tennis. I know it makes you happy, and I'm glad about this, but tennis bores the tits off me. Utterly pointless game. I'll go make a cup of tea while you talk about it.
With all due respect... if you don't get why I believe that we should change the date of Australia Day, whilst shoving your opinion down my throat, we should think about why we are friends.
The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens. Preview session.
Runtime: One hour 31 minutes
Opens 29 January
Stars: 4
An Australian movie on the long weekend we celebrate the formation of a Penal Colony. It feels good to put some money into the Australian Film industry. Even better when on the day before this most contentious of Australian public holidays you feel like you're celebrating Australia, but not on that day. (Yes, you don't need to ask, I'm a "Change-the-Date" person and just prefer to call the day "that January public holiday". I'm also did some work today too - just to keep it like an ordinary day so to display my views without yelling it from the top of a tree.)
Anyway, the ads for this film had me intrigued and the preview session called to me. How can you go wrong with a gentle rom-com about mental illness, set in Melbourne?
I was really pleased I went along. This is a good little film.
Grace (Teresa Palmer) has a doctorate in Maths, but is teaching at a high school. She also has rather noticeable OCD which appears to be giving her some trouble. You see, Grace is a counter - she has to ensure that everything fits in with her very strict numerical rules. It's only when she meets Seamus (Joe Dempsey), a tradie with a heart and a brain, that she starts to feel things that her counting has kept suppressed. Grace has to navigate her own tenuous mental health, her family and her quirks, searching to find an equilibrium.
Another character that needs to be mentioned is Nikola Tesla (Eamon Farron), Grace's imaginary friend. This inclusion was a very welcome one as his coming and going on the screen gave further insights into where Grace was at. Like Grace, Tesla also had OCD and was a counter.
Based on Toni Jordan's book 2008 book of the same name, this film rings true, showing the struggles and idiosyncrasies of embarking on a relationship while seeking treatment for a mental illness. I particularly liked Zahra Newman's sensible, straight-talking psychiatrist, who guides Grace rather than frog-marching her into treatment. The family issues, with her Mum (Sarah Peirse), sister Jill (Adrienne Pickering) and niece, Hilly (Lou Baxter), who are supportive, get combative when required. You get a good insight into some of the reasons Grace is the way she is.
The setting was another aspect of the film I found enjoyable. Set in the inner West of Melbourne around the Flemington and Maribyrnong areas, you see Melbourne in a different way - it's a grittier, less manicured Melbourne, which suits the film.
I like supporting local films, and this one was well worth spending the money on. Teresa Palmer is great in everything she does. The film, being only an hour and a half long, gets to where it needs to quickly and entertains. This is a really solid Australian film - definitely worth checking out.
I find that it's hard to be really happy when you look around and see what is going on in the world. To my American friends, know that the world is watching and we are equally horrified by the news.
What you also might not know is that Melbourne had a 40 degree (like 105 F) day yesterday, and bushfires are blanketing the city with smoke. It's very uncomfortable.
As I said, it's a bit hard to be happy, but at least thinking about can take away some of the angst.
Questions, as always, have been provided by Sunday Stealing.
Here are 10 things that make me happy:
1. Kittens. I spent some of yesterday playing with my friends' two new kittens. Kittens are awesome. We are now well acquainted and have been exposed to cute aggression. One fell asleep on me after I showed them exactly who was boss and how many kisses they would receive if they were... ah... just cute. I think I'm in.
2. My morning coffee. I don't care if it's decaf, it's the ritual of the drink, the making it, the sitting down with it and the savouring of the taste.
3. David Byrne - and his concerts. I saw him in Melbourne on Thursday night. I love this man and his music. He's joyful, political, funny, king, out there, strange, confrontational, reflective.... so many things. it was awesome. I love all live music, but David Byrne and his fellow musicians are a wonder that makes life better. (Okay, music, in general, makes me happy, but I'm still on a David Byrne high.)
4. French Butter. If you have never experienced the French demi-sel (half salt) butter you are missing out. The French salt their butter. It is orgasmic. Worth travelling for.
5.Outside performances. The caveat on this is that the weather stays nice but seeing a band or a play in the open air, normally on a warm summer evening, with a bottle of wine, some cheese and people having fun is one of the best things to ever do. David Byrne played at the Myer Music Bowl here in Melbourne. It was a warm night. We sat on the grass and watched on the big screens. The bats were flying to their beds in nearby gardens. A lazy crescent moon hung in the sky. Perfection.
6. Travelling. I don't care where, how long I'm going for, how I get there - I love to travel. I love how it opens your mind, the people you meet, the food you taste, the experience you witness. Doesn't matter if it's a trip to somewhere near, or a months' long jaunt around the world. Travelling is good for the soul.
7. Having the housework complete. Other than the sense of satisfaction I get from knowing the housework is done, I love the feeling of a clean house. It just doesn't happen very often.
8. Reading time. I love reading. I love having the time to read. Nothing is better than the turn of a well- set sentence, the big ideas, the feeling of getting into a story.
9. My friends. Nuff said. They're great.
10. Being on or in water. Whether it's taking a shower, going for a swim, taking the Manly ferry in Sydney, punting down a river in Cambridge, lying in a bath with a book and a gin and tonic.... I love being in water. Water is very healing.
I've spent the last day trying to work out if I liked this Marty Supreme film. Is that acting good? Yes, very. Is the direction and script good? Yes. What about the filming? Well, I've got some issues there, but what pissed me off also made it effective. Can I see why this is one of the darlings of the awards circuit. Absolutely.
But I haven't reacted well to this film. It's a conundrum.
The story is loosely based on the life of Marty Reisman (1930–2012), a flamboyant American table tennis champion and famous "hustler" known for his showmanship, skill, and traditional hardbat style in the 1940s and 50s according to Wikipedia.
In Marty Supreme, we meet Marty Mauser (Timothee Chalamet) at the start of the film working in his uncle's shoe shop in what looks suspiciously like the Hell's Kitchen area of New York in the early 1950s. A smart arse, able to think on his feet, Marty is a hustler. He's having an affair with his neighbour, Rachel (Odessa A'zion) and he's trying to get himself over to London for the World Table Tennis Association's championship. Table tennis, at the time was not a huge sport and he had to self-fund - which is where Marty's hustling skills come into view - and stay there for the next two and a half hours.
And here's part of the reason I've not given this film four stars. Even though this comes across as a big shaggy dog story, a dark almost tragi-comedy, I spent a lot of the film wanting to punch Marty in the nose. The words 'narcissist' and 'arsehole' come to mind, which is probably testament to Chalamet's skill as an actor and writer/director Josh Safdie's work in bringing this obnoxious bloke to life.
There are some great cameos in the film as well. Gwyneth Paltrow as a bored, unfulfilled actress married to a millionaire (Kevin O'Leary). Geza Rohrig (If you know, you know) is great as Marty's early ping pong partner. Fran Drescher is great as Marty's long-suffering mother
The other main character is the seedy side of 1950's New York. It's bleak, dirty, run down and violent, filled with people scrambling to get ahead.
My biggest issue with the film is the cinematography. I found Darius Khondji's camerawork left me with motion sickness. There's a lot of walk and talk camera action with this film, the frenetic movement parallels with Marty's antics. I get why it has been filmed like this, but over two and a half hours, it was a bit much.
Marty Supreme has been nominated for nine Oscars, including Best Actor, Best Director, Best Film, Best Cinematography and Best Original Screenplay.
It is a good film - for me, I couldn't quite get over the unlikeable main character - even if I was cheering him on at the very end.
I have been a Talking Heads tragic since the early eighties. Yes. I have loved this band, who disbanded in the late eighties for the better part of 45 years. I've also kept an eye on what David Byrne, their lead singer, has been doing ever since. I'm very, very biased.
Also, David Byrne is a superb person. Fun, creative, a little angsty, arty, collaborative, curious... I could go on with the adjectives. He went to art school. Not only is he a musician, he's a performance artist, a poet, an agitator, a humanist, a philosopher, a writer, a cyclist, a dreamer... he's many things to many people. I just love the bugger - now 74-years-young, bouncing around the stage with his band spreading joy. How can you not have a good time?
I've seen David Byrne twice before. Once in the 90s in London. Still the very best concert I've ever been to. Then, in 2018, I went to the American Utopia concert at Rod Laver Arena. It was sublime.
Lastly, before reviewing last night's concert, I will add that I had an event with the people I went to France with, and there I collected by concert mate, Shell. We ubered down into the city from the event. Shell is also a Talking Heads tragic. It was going to be her first time seeing our idol. She also broke her leg in two places a couple of months ago and is technically still healing. Thankfully, she's finally allowed to weight bear on the leg, and she's in a moon boot, but we had to take this into consideration. Nothing was going to stop her.
We were also given goodie bags on leaving the party. Within said bag, there was half a baguette, some French butter, cheese and a couple of macarons. Heaven.
We had general admission passes, so we didn't have seats. If you know about the Music Bowl, general admission means you're sitting up on the grass with next to no view of the stage. This was not a problem. Accepting of Shell's limitations and my dislike of being jostled, we found a spot up the back, on the grass, with a good view of the large screens. As much as it would have been great to see the stage uninhibited, we accepted this. Besides, we were there for the music. There to fall at the altar of a master. There to drink in being in the presence of greatness.
For those out of the loop, Talking Heads has always been about a strange mix of rock, pop, punk, funk and techno - with a bit of world music mixed in for good measure. David Byrne's own music continues along a similar way with a bit more World Music thrown in for good measure. This performance, along the same lines as American Utopia, was a good mix of the two.
The night was perfect for it. Around 20 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, a light breeze. Bats making their way to their tree homes. Seagulls glinting under the lights of the tennis centre where the Australian Open is underway.
Starting out with Heaven from the Fear of Music album, the evening wended through everything from his solo music, including being provided with an anecdote about the song Everybody's Coming to My House - written as a complaint, but taken on by a school group and made joyful without changing a word. He still sings his version but again paid respect to this group in his anecdotes.
Hearing some of our favourite songs played was good for the soul. Slippery People, Life During Wartime (during which, scenes from Trump's America played on the big screens behind the band), This Must Be The Place, Nothing But Flowers, Once in a Lifetime - and ending up with Burning Down the House - just magic.
I keep seeing snippets on social media from people lucky enough to have seated tickets who could take in the visual effects, the dancing, the choreography and the like. Not having a couple of hundred dollars to fork out for the spectacle, we were happy with our lot. Shell and I, with our limited view of the screens were entranced with this humble, funny, intelligent man and his quirky songs, sounding just as fresh as he did when he was on stage with Chris Frantz, Tina Weymouth and Jerry Harrison at CBGBs.
Having somebody to scream with, sing with, hold hands with and share reminiscences of songs, like driving down the Stuart Highway in Darwin in my mate Andy's car with This Must Be The Place on the car radio - it was utter magic. And the baguette in the goody bag was nibbled on over the night
As with many old rockers, you don't know when their last performance is going to be. At 74, David Byrne is going strong. He's incredible. His music is as timely and relevant as it was when I was a teenager. His musicians are amazing, not only for their musical skills, but their stamina.
We left after the encore utterly replete, buoyed from being in the presence of greatness.
David Byrne, you rock. Thank you for the joy you bring. My voice will recover. 24 hours on and I still sound like I've sucked down two packets of Marboros and half a quart of gin - it's just from the singing and screaming.
(See, gushing review - did you expect anything else? Seriously?)
