This is the second time I've seen this play, and I loved it just as much as I did last time. A play about footy and racism. Who knew it could be so good?
This is what I wrote about it last year when I saw it in March:
I loved this play. It brought back elements of my childhood, hanging out at the footy club and the wonder of our national game. Overlaying this is some of the not so good elements football can bring - in particular racism.
What's it really about, you ask. Well, the local footy team in a coastal town haven't won a premiership ever. They're coming up the ladder and have enlisted two Marngrook men, Jayma (Ngali Shaw) and his cousin Sonny (Tibian Wyles), the best aboriginal players from the next town to play with them for the year. In joining the team, The guys experience very different things, from being part of a team, to systemic racism, to working out where their boundaries lie. The men have very different experiences, Jayma being the young buck, while Sonny is older, with family responsibilities, is looking for some stability to provide for his family.
In the background, there's the General (Sid Brisbane) who's just trying to get a premiership, Joe (Ben O'Toole), the team captain, who takes the boys under his wing, Woodsy (Eddie Orton) the very conservative player whose parents are financially supporting the team, and Dazza (Anthony Standish) the player who should be superannuated, but is still playing, as well as being on the board.
Set in 2015, this play brings in the treatment of Adam Goodes and his stand against racism which was all over the papers at the time. I still remember being horrified at public's treatment of him at the time. the title of the play relates back to Adam Goodes. I won't say any more.
What brings this play together is the choreographed football scene, which Isaac Drandic and Waagenga Blanco have set up brilliantly. The cast act as a team in all ways - and the choreography is an integral part of this. Nathan Maynard's script is fantastic and Isaac Drandic's direction in brilliant.
I can't recommend this play enough. It has about a week to run. Unexpectedly good, I was tempted to get to my feet. It's what good theatre is about - thought provoking, funny, fast-paced and very entertaining. "
I think there may have been a few tweaks since last year, but the hour and a half play went quickly. It was as enthralling as it was last year.
37 is playing until 22 February. Going by the full house tonight, tickets may be scarce.
I'm back watching MAFS (Married at First Sight), for better or worse.
It's a bit of a national obsession this should. You either love it or hate it. Me, I enjoy watching how they cut it all, weaving together the narrative, personalities and a lot of dreadful people. It's one of my guilty pleasures.
I've got a posse who I watch it with. My two friends and I provide commentary.
"No!"
"Get in the bin!"
"What are those shoes about?"
"Awww, he looks nice."
Those sort of comments.
We've made lots of grumbles about Incel-iot (this daft pretty boy with unmanageble standards).
But the biggest See You Next Tuesday on the show is this fellow named Tim.
Why is it always the Tim? (Sorry, I do know a couple of nice Tims who haven't lead their partners down the garden path.
In my Ultimate Book of Names by Patrick Cook (Angus and Robertson, 1983) according to this book the name Timothy means the following:
Greek, meaning "adorable little feet', Timothys endure mothers nibbling their toes more often than any other name. The sheer embarrassment of this experience makes it difficult for them to get on with any other humans ever after. Their principal contribution to any conversation is a light laugh like a broken string of pearls dropping down a sink, and awkward attempts to prevent their underwear riding up, which everybody notices. They usually become assistants. Timothy the Great or The Mighty Tim was a Sardinian warrior prince of whom much was expected before the measles got him. St Timothy is the figure responsible for dropped contact lenses.
Patrick Cook is excoriating.
At the moment, many MAFS viewers want to go after this guy with a pitchfork.
He's truly heinous. A nearly 40 something PE Teacher with a nose stud and an obvious dad bod that's never really looked in a mirror, even though he's a self-proclaimed nice guy who's done a lot of work on himself.
What he's done to his lovely bride, a gloriously quirky, age-appropriate, gentle, caring woman is just hateful.
And yes, I am fully aware that this has all been edited and produced within an inch of it's tabloid life, but still.
Get in the bin, Tim.
I also feel for Katie, because I know exactly what she's feeling. The inadequacy. The wondering just when it will be your turn. The body image stuff. For me, it's a bit like looking in a mirror. And it's hard to look away.
Tim's biggest complaint is that Katie isn't his type. Tim, it appears goes for petite blondes or brunettes. he didn't get what he ordered.
Tim can go jump off a cliff.
Why is it always the Tim's that cause trouble.
Anyway, it got me thinking. Do I have a type?
Ah, thinking back, yes, I do, though I hate to admit it.
Of course, on my laundry list of characteristics, kind, intelligent and funny top the list. Enquiring, arty, left-leaning and calm also helps.
But you can get these traits in all sorts of shapes and sizes.
What do I go for physically?
If you're going to catch my eye, what gets me?
Here's my list:
Clean cut grey or dark hair.
Long and wiry
Over 175 cms (5'9") is a bonus.
Can I put an order in for a hairy chest? (I like men to feel like men - none of this manscaping malarkey)
Soft, gentle hands
Their own style.
Must smell good. This does not mean over-perfumed, but they smell good when clean.
And I'm looking at this list and thinking I might have set my standards too high.
I've booked my ticket to London. I know a bargain when I see it, as $250 for a one-way flight to London, albeit by a different route than the normal with a longer layover, can't be a bad thing.
And yes, I used my airmiles. But this strange route cost my half the airmiles of other flights. It works for me.
In mid-September I'll be heading over, first to Sydney, then on to Los Angeles.
Yes, I know I promised that I'd never set foot in Trump's America, but I'm not leaving the airport, so it won't count.
A seven-hour layover means I can book myself into a lounge, get a shower and wait for my flight in peace. Then I get into London mid-Sunday afternoon, probably jetlagged. I'm due to go on retreat in Paris on the 19th of September, so I'll catch the Eurostar over on the Thursday.
After the retreat, I don't know what.
There's been friends across Britain who've said they'd like to catch up. I've got friends in the North. Part of me wants to go down to Cornwall, Poldark Country, to see where my family come from again. Part of me says go to Rome, as I haven't been to Italy in 25 years and I love the place.
There's lots to think about in the next six months. Lots of plans to make, things to organise, lists to write.
And I know that in going back to London, I will feel like I'm going home and not want to come back, but a return flight will have to be bought eventually.
There's still a big part of me that wishes this wasn't so.
Bob Dylan has always been an enigma. The voice of a decade. The voice of the times. An incredible songwriter and folk singer, at 83, he's still creating music. A Complete Unknown looks at the time in the 60s when he was just starting out.
And it is awesome.
Timothee Chalamet plays Bob Dylan, a man who nobody knew, who came from practically nowhere and became a star of the folk music scene in the 1960s. An important voice at a time of change. A writer of songs that we still hear today. This is Chalamet's movie. He's incredible in this, doing all of his own singing in a music heavy movie.
The film looks at Dylan's life from the time he first came to New York in the early 60s, his relationship with Pete Seeger (An impressive performance by Edward Norton), the influence Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), his work with Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro) and his relationship with Susie, renamed Sylvie Russo (Elle Fanning, possibly the only one not to put in an Oscar nomination worth performance).
Chalamet emobodies Dylan, as well as singing all of the songs in the film. He's quite deservedly been nominated for the Best Actor Oscar. He's in with a decent change of receiving the award. Saying this, he doesn't let Dylan be a hero. If anything, Bob Dylan would not be the easiest person to have in your life. Mercurial. Silent. Brooding, Chalamet portrays him with grace.
James Mangold has written and directed a cracker of a film. It is deep, thought-provoking and the narrative drive is perfect. It's amazing what he's achieved in two hours and twenty minutes. The film is perfectly paced.
The other phenomenal thing about this film is the music. I was raised on a steady diet of Bob Dylan and could sing along in my head with ease. The music takes the film to another level. Monica Barbaro brings a young Joan Baez to life.
Timothee Chalamet has a good chance of receiving his first Oscar for Best Actor - although the competition is fierce this year. The film is also up for Best Film, Best Supporting Actor, Best Supporting Actress, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Costume Design and Best Sound.
The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens - Preview session
Stars: 3.5
In her role in Babygirl, this is being touted as one of Nicole Kidman's bravest performances. I don't know about that. You see a naked Nicole Kidman on screen, masturbating and generally behaving in an unhinged manner to shaky camera work. Call it what you like. I liked her recent performances better in Bombshell and The Undoing. Although a little more traditional in role and substance, they rang true a lot more.
According to IMDB.com the plot of this reads, "A high-powered CEO puts her career and family on the line when she begins a torrid affair with her much younger intern."
And that is about it.
Kidman plays Romy, an executive in a company that looks a lot like Amazon. Harris Dickinson plays Samuel the intern, who appears to have the power to keep Romy under this thumb. The two meet, Romy is upended by this forthright youth and the two embark on an affair which you cannot quite who holds the power. It's far more complex than something like 50 Shades of Grey, but it lacks the charm of other films that look at these strange dichotomies, such as the ever-marvelous Secretary. Antonio Banderas is a bit lost playing Romy's theatre director husband.
Written and directed by Halina Reijn, it's a fairly run of the mill story. Woman meets boy. Woman has power over boy. Boy gets power over woman. Things look like they're going to blow up. Simples.
And yes, Kidman does a great job of playing an emotionally fragile woman, with too much power, just as Harris Dickinson is very good a Samuel, the possibly unhinged young man who appears to hold the power.
Yet this movie, which is also touted as erotic, risqué and fast-paced let me unsatisfied. I came out asking more questions than answers. There were too many power games in this. Sophi Wilde's Esme, Romy's assistant, was a part of this conundrum. At the end, she came off as cliche.
I did, however, like the music in the film. It has a great soundtrack.
My other big criticism of this was the way the film with shot, which had a hand-held feel which half the time made you feel seasick.
This didn't bowl me over. Although it's had quite a few nominations from the European movie festival circuit, I'm not sure that when an aging actress getting her kit off equates to a brave performance. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with Nicole Kidman's body, or acting. I just think the material could have been better.
Is it just me or are dissenting and moderate views leaving our social media.
Case in point. January 26 in Australia.
I have a very defined view about January 26. It's two days before my sister's birthday. It commemorates the day in 1788 when the English came and established a penal colony on unceded lands.
Am I making a song and dance about it?
No.
These are my firm held beliefs; I'm not going to change them. Do I think the date should change to celebrate our national day? Absolutely. I think it's particularly sucky that we celebrate the founding of a prison, and trauma inflicting hell hole of a prison at that. That's just perpetuating trauma - why the hell would we want to do that?
Am I going to go out and challenge people who hold opposing views to me? Not directly? What's the point?
As a nation we are not mature enough to form a republic, as much as I would love to see it. In some ways the "It ain't broke, why fix it?" rationale and it possibly keeps us at arm's length to the shitfuckery that's going on in America. Never before have I been happier to live in a country with proportional representational voting and the requirement to turn up at a polling booth on Election Day. You might not like the outcome and dislike the fuckers on the right with the force of a cyclone, but it's fairer. If you don't vote, you lose the right to whinge about politics.
Okay, I'll get off my soap box.
My point is, in years past, my feeds would be littered with a lot of pro-change the date posts. I'm good with that. This year very, very little among the ads for cooling blankets, menopause supplements and book group posts.
Hmm.
Anyway...
Today, on this most contentious of days, I decided to do something positive. I took the train into town, avoiding the large rally that was blocking the trams on Collins Street. On arriving in the city, I took myself to the blood bank and donated plasma. It felt good to do something positive. You can have sausage rolls at the end of it. And with only 3% of the population donating regularly where one in three people will need blood or blood products over their lives, I'd like to tip karma in my favour if I ever need this resource, so that somebody is kind and community-minded enough to donate at that time.
On this day, which frankly irritates the hell out of me, some good came out of it.
Writing a memoir is proving difficult but rewarding. With 80,000 words down, I'm nearly there with the first draft. Also, as it's my weekend to blog lightly, I've chosen a Memoir Card, which reads:
Ten alternative titles for your memoir.
I will say that I've fictionalised my memoir, but about 90 percent if it is true, mainly because I can't get in contact with a lot of people and I'm not really wanting to be sued for libel, not that anybody's getting short shrift in it. I'm just better with fiction. It's a safe space. It was also 30 years ago and the memoir looks at my time in England.
And there is one alternative title:
Short Shrift
It's currently being worked on under the title of The Work Husband. I've inserted another character and giving their perspective on things. At the moment, I need them there for narrative drive.
Hiding in Plain Sight has always been an option for a title as the memoir looks at my time living illegally in London for a number of years.
I'm Not What I Seem could be another title. Living a lie in a convincing fashion is hard at the best of times you're always having to tell a story.
Finding Home rings true. I still think of England as my spiritual home and every time I return, it feels like I am returning to the place I truly belong.
Don't Try This at Home could be a title for the memoir. I am not advocating living in a country for a number of years without a visa. It was a different time with more lenient paperwork requirements. You'd never get away with it now, well not unless you wanted to get stuck in immigration detention.
The View from Over the Shoulder rings a few bells. Because along with being illegal, you do have to keep one eye on who's behind you. And not get into trouble.
Keeping the Story Straight could work. Living a lie for a number of years, you have to keep a track of your lies. Keep it simple was my way of doing things. Thankfully, it worked. You can read about it if I ever get this thing finished.
Truths about an Active Liar is a variation on the theme above.
And lastly, and only because I've renamed myself as a character, I'll go with Et in Arcadia Ego. Yes, I know it's a bit highbrow, and quoting Virgil is a bit twee, but it sort of suits, as I too, once lived in Arcadia.
I'm just back from a lovely night out with a friend at the NGV, followed by a spot of dinner.
It was absolutely wonderful, especially as we hadn't seen each other for about three years (though we have periodically talked about catching up over this time but we couldn't make it happen).
We went to the art gallery to catch the Yayoi Kusama exhibition - which was just as good the second time around, then dinner at a favourite Italian place. Ubered home as I couldn't be bothered waiting the 20 minutes for the tram.
I got a like on the apps today. It doesn't happen very often. Actually, I got two likes. One from a queer woman, who, on first impression, could be fun to have around as a friend.
The other like came from a fellow who we'll call Marco.
Marco is allegedly just up the road. 55. Has all his hair. Allegedly doesn't drink, smoke or do the wakky bakky. Has kids but doesn't want any more. In sales. Politically liberal. The politics question on the apps can be misleading - do they mean Liberal as in progressive (like they do in America, where I'm classed as one of those pansy-assed liberals) or do they mean Liberal being one of the troglodyte Dutton fanciers? Needless to say, if we actually meet, that can be discussed.
(And for the record, I have nothing against small-L Liberal voters, but they are few and far between now).
Anyway, I did like this question Marco put up on his profile.
Pineapple on pizza. Discuss.
This could go two ways. I have a very definite opinion on this.
And here is my reasoning.
Do I think pineapple should go on pizza?
There are two answers to this, and it very much depends on the pizza.
If it's the 'gourmet' pizza, like the ones you get in a decent Italian joint, with the wood-fired oven and the semolina dust and the thin crust, then no, pineapple does not belong on these pizzas. If you're going to put any fruit on pizza, then maybe a fig, with some blue or goat's cheese and rocket. But not pineapple. Absolutely not.
However, if you have kids, or a large gathering and you're getting in chain store pizza such as Pizza Hut or Dominos, then pineapple, on a Hawaiian pizza, with the thicker crust, tomato sauce base and lots of cheese on top - and the pineapple comes out of a can, then yes, you can have your Ham and Pineapple pizza.
Never, ever, don't even think about ordering a ham and pineapple pizza at a restaurant. In your own home, what you do and what you eat is your own business.
(And not that I've had it in years, but I remember as a child when we periodically had pizza, Dad always bought a half Brighton Special, half Hawaiian and that cultivated my love of mushrooms and anchovies, as well as the daggy ham and pineapple pizza, for which I still have a fondness. So, shoot me. I have bogan roots.)
Today's lunch was taken with an old work husband. We haven't seen each other for a few years but do converse over the socials from time to time. It was wonderful to see him again.
I have a trove of work husbands.
Work husbands, you ask?
Well, it's the working title of a novel I'm about 80% through the first draft.
Yeah. It's a cool concept. A work husband (or wife) is your best mate at work of the opposite sex. The relationship is always purely platonic, but during working hours you apparently joined at the hip. It's good having these close relationships, often forged in shitty work atmospheres and help to keep things on an even keel at work. They're the person you're most comfortable about at work. They make the days go more quickly.
I've had many work husbands, most of whom I'm still in contact with. Reindert was not a work husband. We bonded on a road trip.
EJ is an old work husband
Pat, of Pat and Kat fame, the couple who look after Lucifer when I go away, was a work husband. I remember Kat once thanking me for being his work wife as she said she liked that he was looked after at work. That's the other thing about work husbands - they tend to be married, but their partners sanction the platonic relationship.
I'd never want to shag any of my work husbands. Lovely men, but eww, no.
Anyway, I had a lovely lunch with my old work husband, listening to three years of news and gossip and shenanigans. The normal questions? How were the girls? How are the dogs? What's his sister up to? Have you seen so and so? What are you doing in Darwin? Where have you been on holidays.
I've missed him, like I miss the rest of this odd collection of me.
And then I had to go back to work. He's between gigs, so we swapped notes on pimp experiences and work places.
And then he was off. A quick hug and he was off.
There's something very comforting about these ongoing platonic relationships which give me a lot of joy.
You don't look away. It's pointless. It feels like September 11 all over again, except this time, it was expected. In some ways it was more horrific. Another spectacle of a different kind.
I tried to change the channel, but they were all the same. The beefed-up pomp and circumstance. The goose stepping. The one-armed salute. The air kiss. The big hat. The family that look like they come from the stock character bullies from a John Hughes movie. The signature that looks like part of an ECG tape. The knowledge that the amount of hairspray used would have put an even bigger dent in the ozone layer, not that environmental considerations have anything to go by the chant of "Frack, frack, frack" that went around the building.
And you can't turn it off. You can't look away. Like all good horror movies, the surreal nature of it all is astounding. You want to know what happens next. You can't look away.
This toddler on a power trip has the nuclear codes.
And America is no longer a democracy. It's a full-blown oligarchy. Fun.
It's awful.
But the one thing that gives me some hope is that when things like this happen, people get creative.
Really. Think of Bugger Up. The White Rose resistance group. Martin Luther King. Eddie Mabo and Vincent Lingari. The Simpsons.
Noisy and creative is the way to go.
So, Meta has removed access to the hashtags for words like Democrats, Gay and Trans, just to name a few. I'm sure they're going to come for #transrightsmatter and the like soon, making it more difficult to find dissenting content.
Until a few days ago I would tell you that I wasn't overly fond of the author Sally Rooney. Words that came to mind were things like overrated, boring, twee, stifling... not great words to use for somebody who's one of Irelands most popular and read contemporary authors.
I'm mean, like, I did enjoy Normal People. I really liked the series of Normal People more - it was done so well. It captures first love better than almost any other book out there.
But Beautiful World, Where Are You? was a complete snooze fest. Dreadful characters, grim situations. It wasn't good. I wasn't taken with Conversations with Friends either.
So, Sally Rooney was put on the authors to avoid list, or at least on the list to think about twice before reading again.
Elif Shafak is temporarily on that list, but only because I've read a bit too much of her in the last five years. I do like her, but she needs to be rested.
Zadie Smith is edging onto the list. We read The Fraud last year for book group and I'd need a bit of prodding to read something else of hers for a while. Then again, I really liked her Swing Time and White Teeth.
I've never gelled with Kate Grenville. I say that and a lot of people will never read me again. She's just not my cup of tea, and and I can't put my finger on why.
And after The White Tiger, I never want to read Aravind Adiga again, although he's a darling of the literary world - and yes, I know he gives an interesting look at the Indian diaspora.
So, here's my dilemma. Sally Rooney's lastest book, Intermezzo, is all over the shops. The blurb on Goodreads.com is as such:
"Aside from the fact that they are brothers, Peter and Ivan Koubek seem to have little in common.
Peter is a Dublin lawyer in his thirties—successful, competent, and apparently unassailable. But in the wake of their father’s death, he’s medicating himself to sleep and struggling to manage his relationships with two very different women—his enduring first love, Sylvia, and Naomi, a college student for whom life is one long joke.
Ivan is a twenty-two-year-old competitive chess player. He has always seen himself as socially awkward, a loner, the antithesis of his glib elder brother. Now, in the early weeks of his bereavement, Ivan meets Margaret, an older woman emerging from her own turbulent past, and their lives become rapidly and intensely intertwined.
For two grieving brothers and the people they love, this is a new interlude—a period of desire, despair, and possibility; a chance to find out how much one life might hold inside itself without breaking."
And rather than read it on paper, I used one of my credits to get the audiobook. On paper I'm still making my way through Paul Miller's The Bee Sting and I picked up a Maggie Alderson, which is light and fun. I've just finished Pip Williams' The Bookbinder of Jericho for the second time - re-reading it for book group - and it was very enjoyable. It was a good break from The Bee Sting.
Anyway, I started Intermezzo the other day. I'm about 25% into the book. And I'm really liking it. Maybe it's the format. The actor doing the narration has an awesome, mellifluous voice. But I'm liking the story.
Do I get to bag Sally Rooney anymore? It's a big question.
Thursday morning, I could swear I saw a mouse in the cupboard under the sink, and though, after many subsequent visits into the cupboard there were no further mouse sightings. Also, being on the second floor, you'd hope that anything like this would be rare.
Regardless, I knew that I'd have to do something I hate doing. Cleaning out cupboards.
It goes against the grain.
See, I'm very untidy. I'm very clean. But I missed out on the tidiness gene.
This has been the bane of my mother's life from about the time that I was born.
Other members of my family are neat freaks, verging on OCD. I'm not. My mother (and sister's) cutlery drawers have everything in straight lines, everything all line up in military fashion. Mine is not. Their linen presses are ordered by type and colour. Mine is not (saying that, everything is clean and folded and ironed - I did get the ironing gene),
Generally, cleaning out cupboards is something I do under duress.
But the alleged mouse issue forced my hand.
Everything was taken out of the cupboard.
A lot of stuff was thrown out.
The cupboard and bin were washed out. Thankfully no droppings or any other evidence of the mouse was found.
I made a trip to Kmart and found a stick-on shelf in which to put things like spare sponges and the like.
And once everything was washed out and dried, everything was loaded back into the cupboard, items that are rarely used, like methylated spirits, sandpaper and oven cleaner up the back. Booze in the middle. Cleaning products in regular use near the front.
Shakespeare said something along the lines of course of true love never did run smooth, and the love affair between Almut (Florence Pugh) and Tobias (Andrew Garfield) is an attestation to this in We Live in Time. Their bittersweet life, portrayed in this hour and fifty-minute film, is engaging and compelling and definitely worth a look.
Set in Britain, Almut is a talented and driven chef. She meets Tobias, a corporate lackey in the most unusual of ways, and things go on from there.
The thing with this film is that it is not told in a linear way, jumping around the ten-year relationship from their first meeting to Tobias' divorce, Almut's health issues and all sorts of hassles which turn up in the lives of many couples. I won't say too much about the story. Taking tissues is a good thing to do.
But it's not all gloom and doom. John Crowley directs this charming film, infusing it with humour and pathos in equal measure. Crowley showed a similar hand in his direction of Brooklyn. It helps that Pugh and Garfield are all over there characters and their ensuing relationship, making it both believable and charming,
What won't be to everybody's taste is the non-linear storytelling, which jumps back and forth. It's not confusing, but some may not like it.
The other thing I loved about this is that it shows London in a lovely light. It made me rather homesick.
Some may find this film a bit too sentimental, and a little unreasonable, especially as Almut struggles with her health. Yet it does address many of the issues most couples with go through, from parenthood, to careers, to differing wants, even down to getting a dog. It really rang true, for the most part.
This was a good movie to relax into and enjoy on a Saturday night.
It happened on a teams chat. A colleague is heading off the Bathurst in a couple of weeks. If this floats their boat, then all well and good. It's not to my liking, but I have friends who are into motorsport, just as I have friends who love the tennis. I spent most of the last two weeks of January sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "lalalalala". Tennis holds no interest to me, but it doesn't stop other people from enjoying it.
Anyway, the conversation got going.
Said Bathurst attendee said they were going to be with the ferals on the hill.
I took this a time for some gentle ribbing, typing 'Bogans of Bathurst' into google to see what comes up. It bore gold.
I then mentioned that I has a friend who went every year to Bathurst and she's lovely. When asked what that entailed, I mentioned that there was a lot of Holden merch worn.
The rebuttal was they don't make Holdens anymore, and maybe we should change allegiances.
"NO!"
"NEVER!"
"I'd rather send a Fiat round the track."
"And hope it rains so the electrics bugger up."
Another colleague hinted that they were on the side of the Ford.
We Holden fans are considering if we can still be friends. It's like finding out one of your friends is a Collingwood or Port Adelaide supporter.
But it's this allegiance to a motor car, that hasn't been around for a very long time surprised me. It's somewhat cellular in nature and not going anywhere in a hurry, even after fifty years.
I just like Holdens because I used to have one and I liked the red of their jacket.
Opening the cupboard under the sink this morning, I'm almost certain I saw a mouse.
It didn't compute at first. I live on the second floor.
I'm also fastidious about not leaving food, or rubbish about in the cupboards, and this cupboard is the one where I keep my booze and the cleaning products. And yes, there is probably some risk keeping the gin next to the Drano, but I'm an adult and it's how I roll.
Now, I'm not scared of mice, far from it. Just as I'm not scared of roaches, which can be dealt with by being doused in Mortein, my practical brain takes over and the critter gets dealt with swiftly. I'm even learning do sort out huntsman spiders. I still hate the fuckers, but I'm not afraid to get out the bug spray and kill the ozone layer as the last skerrick's of life leave the spider's carcass.
Mice are another matter.
They're bigger than bugs.
And how do you get rid of them?
And yes, I have a cat, but would he know what to do with a mouse? It could go both ways. He could be 1) like our old cat Mystery, who would play with the mouse for hours - it was her most favourite toy when she found a mouse. 2) He could be like Meggsy who we sent in after Mystery got bored to sort the bugger out. One look at the mouse and it was dead in seconds. Or 3) it could be like my neighbour's old cat, who used to bring in rats to the stairwell and surgically eviscerate the buggers, leaving the body flayed and the stairs looking like his own dissection room.
I'd prefer it if the cat would just kill the bugger and be done.
Knowing my cat, he'd just look at it and let it round about the place, not lifting a claw.
I took him into the kitchen to look at the cupboard, but as I'd woken him from a nap, we wasn't bemused.
Since this sighting, I've been looking into the cupboard - I've not seen it since. And before opening it, I make a bit of noise - you know, run the taps and clatter around in the sink.
And yes, I'm clearing out the cupboard, having a good look at what is going on and bleaching it out over the weekend.
And maybe looking into ethical mousetraps, as I don't want to use Ratsack and traditional traps are cruel.
I remember a friend of mine in London who was forever asking me, "Where do you meet these people?"
He was jealous.
I look at my friends over the years. Some I met at university. Some at school. A lot of my friends I met at work. Some at drama class. Some online. Some are friends of friends. Some people have become friends with through friends. Of course, there's the amazing people I've met on the writer's retreats I go to twice a year. Others I've met on holiday... dream group... fat club.... The list is endless.
There are moments when I can remember the exact moment I met somebody. Others have just drifted into my life. One friend I met at a job interview. I was interrogated as to whom was my favourite poet. I got the job. We remained friends.
And I can't remember when I first met Barney. He and Blarney had been going out for months before I met him. Can I remember where we actually met? No.
As for Blarney, we met at work. But as with many introverts, I appear to have been taken on my her and stuck around, for that's how introverts make friends (get adopted by an extrovert - it happens all the time - the natural order of things
I think I'm starting to think about origin stories. Just where did we meet? What were your first impressions? What happened next?
There are some fabulous prompts in here, great for when you have no idea what to write - which, with a head mussy with the full moon and a few other things going on, having these prompts are a godsend.
Anyway, the card I picked for today said talk about the animals in my life.
Which, for me, is a good one as I've had a lot of animals in my life so far. Animals have entry and exits. Animals help to make you who you are.
If I start from when I was a young child:
There was Soxy, a big fluffy long-haired domestic cat. He was friendly. He used to belong to my grandparents, but they gave him to Mum. (This will be recurring theme for the cats in our lives). He was very gentle. The first cat I could pick up. He died at Myponga when I was about ten. Lovely boy.
Then there was Fred. Fred was pure white. He was also a bastard. He was Dad's cat. Dad could do anything with him, but nobody else could. He used to sit on the balcony and swipe the heads of visitors as they walked past. Being all white, he got cancer and ended up with one eye and half and ear. He did mellow as time went on, but he never lost that renegade streak. In the words of a family friend, my mother has always had antisocial cats.
We had Wimpy for a while. She was grey and white and was missing half of her tail. We got her from the neighbours. She lost her tail when the neighbour's dog tried to drag the kittens out from under the sideboard, biting their tails off instead. She was a lovely cat. She and Mum bonded. When Mum got home from work, she and Wimpy went for a nap for an hour. We're pretty sure a snake got her, dying in the woodshed behind the back door.
Janette Tiger Mugford was a ginger stray that turned up pregnant on the doorstep. She too, got taken by a snake, but we kept one of her kittens, Meggsy, who was born in the woodpile.
Meggsy was a shy cat - find with the family. A big ginger tom, he was great at catching mice. Although he didn't like people that much, when my grandmother broke her hip, he sat next to her on the bed for six weeks while she recuperated. Underneath there was a heart of gold.
Meggsy and Wimpy
Ugly didn't last that long. She was a donation from the neighbours, a little torty with really distinctive markings, hence calling her Ugly. She had a gorgeous nature on her - very friendly. Unfortunately, she had no road sense and got run over at a young age. But she really was a glorious cat.
Oh, then there was Mystery. Mystery came to us from my cousin, who was divorcing her husband and moving to Tasmania. She was glorious. Other than having the worst breath on the planet and a propensity for drinking out of pretty much any body of water, from toilets, shower stalls, fish bowls... you name it, she'd drink it. She also had a great nature on her, and she was vocal. She was hilarious. It was a mystery whether she was part Siamese or not. She didn't get on with Meggsy, nor Mum's next neurotic cat, Freda the Bitch.
Mystery and me
And as for cats, I now have Lucifer. I've had him for five years in March. He's now seven. He seems to be slowing down a little - and becoming a little more tolerant of people, although pissing on his cat sitter's car parts has won him no friends.
And growing up, there was dogs.
Sheba was a Border Collie Kelpie cross. She was the best dog in the world. She turned up when I was eight years old and hung around until I left for England. I still miss her. She had puppies on my bed. She had a beautiful nature on her. Being part working dog, she was very good at rounding up the chooks. And she loved me. She also liked to look after little things. Wonderful dog.
Sheba and Ugly
Our other dog, Pud, was a Border Colllie cross who came from the next-door neighbour. Poor thing was charged by a goat by as a youngster and was frightened of most things. He particularly hated thunderstorms - as an outside dog, we let him in the kitchen when there were storms about. Although he was a sweet dog, he was pretty useless. Sheba was far more mellow.
And added to all of this we had a pony named Pebbles, as well as many poddy calves who we fed until they were ready to go out to the paddock.
Oh, and I should mention Maow Maow.
Maow Maow used to be Blarney and Barney's cat. We imprinted on each other. It was love at first sight. Although he lived over the Westgate, we made a pact with each other that we were each other's being. Love, love, loved that cat. Just a grey and white ball of love. I still miss him. He's buried under a rose bush at Blarney and Barney's place. Gone too soon.
My colleague introduced me to a new group of Facebook.
I know there's a lot of argy bargy going on about Facebook at the moment, what with Meta sacking their fact checkers and moving the very liberal state of Texas. Yet even with the enshitification of the Meta products, there is still some gold in there - especially if you don't use it as a primary news source.
Today my colleague let me strike gold.
We were talking about our microwave toastie makers.
These things are the absolute bomb. At $15 at Kmart, you can have a perfect toastie in around three minutes.
They are brilliant.
But even better. There is this Facebook group, Microwave Toastie Maker Australia, which gives you all sorts of ideas away from your normal ham, cheese and tomato toastie. Or my favourite, the baked beans and cheese toastie (which I've been told to add a bit of onion to - hmmm).
I mean, who'd a thunk it?
Spinach pumpkin and feta cheese
Left over bolognese sauce with cheese
Cold roast chicken with barbeque sauce
You can fold up wraps in a square and toast your wraps
Cut down your Turkish bread
Because there's a
You know what else you can do in these magic panels - because they are magic. Two metallic plates encased in silicon.
You can also cook:
Fish fingers
Crumpets
Hot cross buns
Pancakes
Salmon fillets
You name it, you can run it through this magic machine.
Then there's the discussion about how much butter to use on the outside, or should you use mayonnaise, or how long should your toastie go in the microwave and what to do with things go awry.
Needless to say, I'm obsessed, even if I am trying to keep gluten down a minimum.
I didn't know what I was going to wear. It was a party. I would be among friends. But I still, it was a day to be out of my normal Melbourne blacks. It was a party. Why would I want to wear black? I wear black all the time.
The red dress has been sitting in my wardrobe for years, but I've never worn it out. It's a red lace affair, with a skin-coloured lining. It's snug, low cut, lacy and goes to about the knees.
And I wore it today.
I didn't feel too booby.
I was comfortable.
And I've been told that I should take this dress to France with me, though I have no idea to what I would wear it.
But it was nice to get dressed up and put on some make up and get out there for a bit.
I've sat in the same seat at meditation for near on twenty years. When anybody tries to take my seat, I actively growl at them. It's okay, we've all got our places, it only happens every few years.
Today, as I went under into the depths of my psyche, I knew what I was in for.
We meditate on the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Yes, it sounds strange, but as somebody who's dabbled in Kabbalah studies, it all makes sense to the group I meditate with.
Lamed (or Lamedh). The twelfth letter of the Hebrew alphabet. It makes the 'el' sound, as in lake or laugh or love.
It means ox-goad. The cosmic cattle-prod. The call to arms. The "if you sit on your arse for too long the universe will come and move you on in a most drastic way," letter.
Just what you need at the start of the year.
For me, this means it's time to get manifesting. A time to get my resolve and get on with things.
So here are the things I wish to manifest in 2025.
I will do everything in my power to remain healthy, for you are nothing without your health.
My greatest resolution is to keep up with my fitness, and to get fitter, especially on the cardio side of things. Nothing feels as good as fit.
I resolve to work towards getting a book published. Which book that will be, I don't know, but I've been working towards this for years and it's time.
I will remain actively and gainfully employed in roles which challenge me, working with good people on valued projects in companies which have a modicum of integrity.
I will allow myself to shine.
I am open to new friendships and relationships.
And I will be spending at least three weeks in Europe in September. I can see this being a few days in England, before heading to France for a writer's retreat. I want to spend a few days after the retreat going somewhere new? Belgium? Back to Rome, where I haven't been for 25 years. Or somewhere else. Regardless, I use the passport this year.
And that will do for the moment. This will be my year. I just need to take responsibility for it.
As a part of this day trip to Adelaide, I needed to hire a car to get out to the winery where the party was being held. It was going to be a lot cheaper and reliable than taking an Uber.
To economise further, when booking, I went the route of going for a mystery car. VroomVroomVroom.com, the car hire comparison site, this seemed like a good deal. It was only for the day. I wasn't like I was buying the vehicle. Whatever they gave me would be fine, I told myself.
Wrong.
When I rocked up the car hire office at Adelaide Airport, we went through the normal pleasantries. I handed over my driver's license, my credit card, signed a few forms. All the usual things.
Then, the big question. What were they going to give me?
I didn't have to wait for long to find out.
A CAMRY.
A bloody CAMRY.
Okay, yes, it was a hybrid Camry, and a black Camry, but you can't sexy up a Camry. Camrys are about as sexy as roadkill at the best of times.
"But I don't wear a hat, I'm not a Karen and I know how to use an indicator!" I wailed, "Do you have anything else?"
"No."
"Oh, okay. A Camry it is. "
So, I was driving around Adelaide in a black Camry today. I will say that it was very comfortable and it was lovely to drive and the 60 km round trip didn't make then petrol needle move, so I didn't have to fill it up before I dropped it back at the airport before my flight.
There goes the last of my street cred.
Regardless, I had a lovely time in Adelaide and I'm glad I went over, even if was made to drive that abomination of suburban opulence.
The little-black-furry-house-demon is leading me on the biggest guilt trip.
Bastard.
I'm heading off to Adelaide for the day tomorrow morning. It's my niece's 21st birthday and there's a family lunch at a winery in the hills. This means leaving around 8.30 in the morning, hopping on a plane, picking up a hire car, going out and having lunch, then backing up, going back to the airport and hopping on the 6 pm plane back to Melbourne. I should be home around 9 pm all going well.
It's a long day to go to another state for lunch, but this is what we do for families.
Regardless, the little-black-furry-house-demon appears to have gotten wind of this, And it's not like I'm packing a suitcase or getting out the cat cage. This is a day trip. All I have to do is get up, shower, dress, put on some make up, grab a handbag in which there is a book, my headphones, a powerbank, a lipstick, wallet and phone and go.
I also have to remember to grab my copy of the Qantas magazine for a colleague. They like to hand them on to their partner.
Anyway, the little-furry-black-house-demon has been on my tail all day, demanding treats, asking for cuddles. Generally being a pain, albeit a cute pain in the backside.
And we know it must be very dull being at home alone all day - and if things go awry and I'm going to be a lot later, I can call Jay or my downstairs neighbour and ask if they can feel the said little-black-furry-house-demon.
But he's giving me the guilt trip, which is his job, and I will acquiesce and keep dealing out the treats, even if I am in a meeting and he's sitting baying at me knee while inserting a claw into my calf.
Is there a better feeling than when you cut into an avocado, the one that you bought a few days ago and have left of the counter. The one that you had your doubts about when you bought it. The avocado that you really want a half of smashed up with some goat's cheese on an English muffin.
You toast the muffins. You don't want them too dark, nor to you want them too light. And yes, they're gluten free. Of course, it would be great to have some really fresh sourdough bread, but that's not how we roll at the moment.
And you crack open the avocado and it is perfect.
Not too hard.
Not too soft.
No brown stuff in the flesh.
Just a perfect avocado, like the ones you get at the Mejico restaurant in Sydney (and now Melbourne) where they make the guacamole at the table. Love that place.
Anyway, this morning, I cut into this avocado, and it was perfect.
Dating apps are like a bit like visits to the dentist. A necessary evil that nobody really wants to tackle, but it seems to be a good idea to experience, because you never know the outcome if it all. Thankfully, you know when your dentist says “open wide” they’re probably going to be using a large amount of numb, and after a bit of jiggery pokery, they charge you like a wounded bull and tell you to come back in six months.
Dating apps are like taking a giant leap of faith into the great unknown. I think of them like The Fool card in the tarot pack. The is a person at the edge of a cliff, they have their life on their backs, a rose in their hand ready to give to the right person and their mates nipping at their heels wondering what the hell they are up to. The Fool can do all sorts of things. They can take a dive off the cliff. They can sit down and let their feet dangle over the edge and contemplate the world. They can chuck their bundle into the abyss and run away very fast in the other direction.
I will confess to doing a little internet dating last year, but that was for research purposes. The last time I went on a "date", from memory, was in around 2007. A six-week relationship ensued. It was over before it began. I still feel funny going down Smith Street in Collingwood.
Online dating is very scary, although others might disagree. It’s a minefield. I mean, which platform do you use? Bumble? Hinge? Tinder? Plenty of Fish? eHarmony? There are so many out there, how do you work out which platform is for you?
Then there’s the setting up of your profile. How are you going to represent yourself? What photos do you put out there? And what if you're like me and hate having your photo taken? What do you do? Are you like me and find one or two photos of fun things you've done, or a photo of your cat? What if there are no really good photos of you.
Once you get past the photo checks, then you have to get down to the business of what you're after in a relationship. You've got to state if you after one of the following:
A life partner
A long-term relationship
A short-term relationship
A fling
Or are you trying to define what sort of relationship you're after.
Then there's the straight, gay, queer thing. This isn't an issue so much. I know I'm straight, but I'm open to friendship with people who identify as queer or gay.
Then they ask you to answer a heap of questions.
It's selling yourself.
It's hard.
You need a thick skin and your self-worth intact.
As a fan of the Instagram page, Bad Dates of Melbourne, I'm fully aware of the crap that's out there. And there's the sleazes, the players, the cretins and the bores.
And there's no place there where you can say, "Hey, I'm after meeting somebody who's a good, kind and nice person, intelligent and funny, who's not going to mess me about, likes movies and art galleries and keeping fit and laughing." I'm not going to be picky and say I'm after somebody over 175 cms, preferably with no beard, a furry chest and maybe a little bit of hair. I can't dictate about body types. I'm no oil painting, nor do I have an ordinary physique.
The Cinema: Village Cinemas, The Rivoli, Camberwell
Stars: 4.5
Yes, it's a movie weekend. It's hot. It's good to use somebody else's air conditioning. And this film is coming to the end of its run in the cinemas, and I'm very glad I got to see it before it left the screens.
Written, directed and starring Jesse Eisenberg, what could go wrong? Nothing. This is an hour and a half of a very well-acted, very well-written, very well-directed dramedy. It's wonderful in both its simplicity and depth.
It's a simple story. David (Eisenberg) and Benji (Keiran Culkin) are mismatched Jewish cousins who go on a week-long trip to Poland to pay homage to their Holocaust Survivor grandmother. Both of them have their quirks. David is a big ball of anxiety. Benji is more than likely bi-polar. David is more likely to sit back and let things happen. Benji charges at things with little consideration for others.
If I was travelling with Benji, I would have pulled the pin on the trip at the airport.
What follows is a very human journey to places neither cousin would have expected. The pair embark on a tour with a small group, look at the Jewish culture in Poland, ultimately visiting a concentration camp, before the cousins go off to find their grandmother's residence.
The tour group are a wonderful mix as well. An almost unrecognisable Jennifer Grey is Marsha, the divorced MILF. Will Sharpe is James, the long-suffering, incredibly patient tour guide, James. Kurt Egyiawan is Eloge, a Nigerian convert who is wanting to find more about the Jewish experience. And there's Mark and Diane (Daniel Oreskes and Liza Sadovy) a retired couple who fill out the tour.
This movie is not only Jesse Eisenberg's masterpiece, but Keiren Culkin also steals the show as the erratic Benji. We've all been on tours where there is 'that' person. Culkin plays this exquisitely. You feel for David as he has to navigate Benji's over the top antics. James the tour guide also deserves a medal for putting up with him.
Yet in the end, this is a movie about family, and how we love in the family group. It's far more emotional than I initially thought this would be. Watching the pair navigate their thoughts and emotions as they travel around Poland is as funny as it is touching.
As this will be out of the cinemas shortly, look out for it on the streaming services. I reckon it will be on SBS Online in no time. It's a little gem of a film and I'd like to see more of Jesse Eisenberg's works in the future. He'll be a force on the indie scene.
After watching the disappointing Parthenope in the afternoon and wanting to do something to celebrate the end of the holidays, I found a preview screening of Conclave, a movie which has been getting rave reviews and Oscar banter. It got me out of the flat and into a full movie theatre, which was great to see. Also, how can you go wrong with a cast including Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, Isabella Rossellini and John Lithgow, among others.
This is a solid film based on Robert Harris' book of the same name.
For those out of the loop, a conclave is what is held when the old Pope dies, and a new one has to be elected from the remaining cardinals. The men meet in Rome, in the Sistine Chapel and vote a new one in. This is a convoluted affair, filled with politics, factions and intrigue, as the politics of any large organisation would entail
Ralph Fiennes plays Cardinal Dean Lawrence, the man in charge of running the conclave. A good man who has to remain above all of the factions and make things happen. On one hand, there's Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) a Canadian Cardinal who appears to be moderate, popular and ambitious. There's Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), Lawrence's friend, an American and very liberal in his views. This puts him in contention with Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucien Msamati) a popular Nigerian cardinal with a very conservative stand on things. And there's the Italian Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a traditionalist and far right thinker.
Another interloper turns up at the eleventh hour. A Mexican working in Afghanistan, Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Deihz) who has only recently been made a cardinal by the last Pope. A quiet man, you know he's going to have something to do with all this.
And yes, with all this, they have Isabella Rossellini and her group of nuns to do the catering in the conclave.
This is a very approachable thriller, with Ralph Fiennes at his best, a man trying to keep his head in a sea of piranhas, keeping all of the factions in line while trying to get to the bottom of the truth. Stanley Tucci and John Lithgow play themselves to great effect. Isabella Rossellini casts a sinister glow as the nun, in charge of the catering of the conclave with a number of ulterior motives.
Even if you have no idea about the Catholic Church and it's working, this film is a fictionalised version of what goes on at one of these conclaves, right down to the black and white smoke and the voting.
My only criticism of the movie is that it feels a bit procedural, which is a strange thing to say seeing this is a thriller and it's bound to be a little formulaic. You meet all the main players early - you know that each of them are going to have their part to play. And the twist at the end is good.
The cinematography and score are wonderfully atmospheric, bringing an extra layer to what's already a good film. I also like that Edward Berger's direction is very assured. The movie keeps a great pace without letting the audience get lost. At two hours on the nose, it's not too long either.
There is all sorts of talk on the internet about this receiving a lot of Oscar Nominations. I can see why. This is a very well-made movie, with all the right ingredients to keep the audience on their toes.
It's definitely worth a look. I have to say I was doing a bit of a fist pump with the twist at the end.
It's hot in Melbourne this weekend, therefore the cinema is the place to be. It also means that I'd see almost anything to get away from the heat.
Parthenope (pronounced Par-ten-oh-pey, not Par-then-ope) was one of the films in the "Yeah, this looks interesting," and "Yeah, it was at the Italian Film Festival," so we gave it a go. I didn't read anything about this before going, and Jay said she thought it was something about a mermaid.
So, we went along.
It's not about a mermaid.
Things to know about Parthenope, which would have been good before I went in.
1) Parthenope was a sprite. According to Wikipedia, "According to Greek legend, Parthenope cast herself into the sea and drowned when her songs failed to entice Odysseus. Her body washed ashore at Naples, on the island of Megaride, where the Castel dell'Ovo is now located. Her tomb on the island was called "constraction of sirens". When people from the city of Cumae settled there, they named their city Parthenope in her honour."
2) The film is a bit of a love song to Naples. Paulo Sorrentino has done a good job with this.
3) There is very little plot or story to this. At two hours and sixteen minutes, this feels a bit long.
Making life even more interesting, there were two older women sitting in front of us talking loudly. Before the film they were nattering on for the rest of the cinema to hear, and after about five minutes, one of them proclaimed, "This is going to be in Italian..." (No shit, Sherlock...) Thankfully, after this, their interjections were rare. I thought they would have been chattier.
On the good side of this film, it is stunning to watch. Daria D'Antonio's cinematography is astounding. Also, Celeste Della Porta, who plays the younger Parthenope drinks up the camera. She is rudely gorgeous. In the film, Parthenope has also been blessed with a brain, which she takes measures to cultivate. It's the film's saving grace.
But there is very little plot. There was a line later in the film where one of the characters states that Parthenope doesn't use her beauty for her own gains. And she doesn't. Parthenope is a very neutral character as others around her have their troubles, in which she chooses to observe, rather than participate There is a good section with Gary Oldman, who plays and old, gay writer. The rest of the film meanders onwards.
Looking at the reviews, it's split the critics, some loving it, others not so much.
If there is a message from this film, it's that beauty is only skin deep. It also demonstrates a male gaze, which was tolerable until it became intolerable during the scenes at the church.
In all, this was a great way to escape the heat. Do I recommend it - no, not unless you want to look at something very pretty which is a bit all over the place. It does show Naples at its best.
And yes, I've been pretty cagey about what this film is about - mainly because the plot and narrative was so unfocussed.
I'd keep this one for the Film Festival junkies. There are a lot more interesting and accessible films to see coming out in the next weeks.
I'd never hear anything about Yayoi Kazuma until a few years ago. Since then, she's become one of my most favourite modern artists. Iconoclastic, bonkers, fun, very dotty, Kazuma is the high priestess of polka dots and pumpkins, who can happily take you into other worlds with her works. And Melbourne has gone a bit nuts for Kazuma, wrapping the trees in polka dot material.
Kazuma is great fun. And accessible. And suitable for all ages. With a couple of small exceptions in the first bit of the gallery, almost all of the exhibition is suitable for children of all ages.
I gathered my old colleague EJ and his wife, and we met at the NGV early. This was a good move. Although busy, the exhibition didn't feel rushed or too busy. By the time I left the gallery around one, people were queuing to get into both areas of the exhibition. Regardless, we got to bear witness to this fantastic exhibition without having to wait for too long to get to see some of the exhibits.
Yayoi Kazuma is 95-years-old and she has been producing art for most of this time. She's Japanese, but lived in New York in the 60's, being a part of the hippy movement, amongst other things. This exhibition provides a great retrospective of her work.
What I love about her is her infinity spaces. I've been lucky enough to see some of her works in Adelaide and London, and these works are not in Melbourne. EJ and Kit went into this blind, and were blown away by the works. We talked a lot about how art doesn't just have to be a painting on the wall.
For those who say they don't like Modern Art, I'd say that Yayoi Kazuma is a great gateway into this strange and wonderful world. Like the Ai Wei Wei and Warhol exhibition from a few years ago, I will still be thinking about this one, with its riot of polka dots, pumpkins, silver spheres and chandeliers.
She's even taken over the Great Hall.
The optical illusions, found mainly in the second half of the exhibition are mind blowing. And great fun. I was wonderful to watch children interact this these pieces. Also watching EJ and Kit move about taking in all that was going on was great too. They came to this on my recommendation and loved it.
I can't recommend this highly enough. Yayoi Kazuma is bonkers, brave, great fun and accessible. It's on at the NGV until 21 April. If you can, go early on a weekday so you can get the space to yourself.
The Cinema: The Rivoli, Village Cinemas, Camberwell
Stars: 4.5
After seeing Sean Baker's incredible The Florida ProjectI was keen to see Anora, yet another foray into his films which often go into the intricacies of the lives of sex workers. It was a good decision. Anora as a brilliant way to start 2025. Sharp, sassy, very funny in places and a very thought provoking, Anora is well worth a viewing. Saying this, if you're averse to nudity, sex and drugs, you might want to stay away. However, I loved this cracker of a film.
Anora is a film of three parts. In the first section we meet Ani (Mikey Madison) an exotic dancer from Brooklyn working in a New York gentleman's club where she dances for a living. Ani, legal name Anora, is selected by one of the bosses to service a young Russian V.I.P. Ivan (Mark Eydelshteynter) Ani was selected because she knew a bit of Russian. After taking some time to get to know each over a few days, the couple decide to take a trip to Las Vegas where the couple get married. This is a very sanitised version of events.
The second part consists of when the Ivan's handler gets wind of the situation. Garnik (Vache Tovmasyan) and his goon, Igor (Yura Borisov) under the direction of the family's business manager, Toros (Karren Karagulian) come to try and sort the matter out, only to have the family mansion trashed and Ivan running away from the hapless trio. From there the three of them and Ani go in search of Ivan, with some very funny results.
The third act of the film occurs when they find Vanya, the family turn up and the marriage is annulled.
I've only given a pocket synopsis of the film. To give any more would not do it justice. Let's just say this film is an unexpected treat with a group of unknown actors. You never know what is going to happen next. It is also hilarious in places, the comedy verging on slapstick as Toros, Ani, Garnik and Igor go on the hunt for Ivan. It's also very moving in other sections. One good thing is you know that Ani is a survivor, even if this mess has dented her a bit.
This is Mikey Madison's film. She's fantastic - I'd say Oscar nomination worthy in the role of the touchy, plucky, but ultimately sweet Ani.
The other unlikely standout is the hired goon, Igor, who is magnificent in this role. Igor says next to nothing, but his presence is felt more and more, and the film progresses. Yura Borisov is brilliant. He's worth the ticket price alone.
I really hope Sean Baker keeps making his movies. They are unlike anything else out there. Films of humour, wisdom and compassion, shining a light on an industry many would rather wish did not exist.
Sunday Stealing is taking a break for a few weeks, and I've missed their end of year questions, but thanks to the Plastic Mancunian, he's resurrected the trend of having a look at the past year and give it a good going over. As it's New Year's Day, I'll give 2024 another, thorough looking over before putting it to bed. For me, it was not the worst of years, which is good.
1. What did you do in 2024 that you’d never done before?
Two things stand out. I went on a road trip to Mataranka and Nitmiluk Gorge with a colleague for a weekend. That was wonderful. I've loved seeing this other strange and beautiful part of the nation. I also finally got to the Corner Hotel to see a gig. A small thing, but a great thing.
2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I've just had a look back at last year's post and I don't seem to have made any New Year's resolutions, however, I'm going to make a few here now as I'm going into Saturn Return later this year. It's time to get some shit in order.
I resolve to do the following:
Stop buying crap on the internet
Get something published
Write that bloody book
Continue on this health journey I've been on for the last four months. I'm feeling to good to stop.
Use more hand cream and moisturiser.
And put myself out there and get dating. (This I write with a lot of trepidation)
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes. My colleague Andy passed away unexpectedly in late July. He's left a big dent in the universe.
5. What countries did you visit?
Only Australia. Hopefully I will use the passport again in 2025.
6. What would you like to have in 2025 that you lacked in 2024?
More overseas travel. Move love.
7. What dates from 2024 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
29 July. It was the day we got the call that Andy had passed. I felt a seismic shift that day. Andy, a good friend, but not a close friend, has left a big hole.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Taking back control of my diet and exercise. It's been a great journey, and I feel so much better for it. I also took hold of my finances and did some good things there.
9. What was your biggest failure?
Other than not writing more of the stuff I love to write I'm not beating myself up for being a failure.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I had a mild bout of COVID mid-year and a spot of cellulitis on my leg which needed antibiotics to clear up. Other than that, I've been in positively rude health.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
I found something that revolutionised my life a few weeks back - a microwave sandwich press. It is the absolute bomb. Love it to bits. Even if I'm using gluten free bread and vegan cheese.
12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Genevieve Pelicot. What a courageous woman. If you don't know her story, look it up. She is incredible.
13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
American politics continues to baffle me. And Peter Dutton.... horrible, horrible, horrible man.
14. Where did most of your money go?
After rent, feed and bills, most of my money goes on travel, books, theatre and film. No change there, though I'm saving a lot at the moment - very proud of that.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
A few things. Seeing The Pixies again at the Pearl Jam concert - that was really good. I loved seeing Dracula at the Sydney Theatre Company. And it was great to get my energy back after changing my diet. It's been life changing.
16. What song will always remind you of 2024?
Something by Chappell Roan - who I only discovered a few months ago, but really like.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: (a) happier or sadder? (b) thinner or fatter? (c) richer or poorer?
I'm pleased to say that I'm happier, thinner and richer in many ways.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Relaxed, exercised and wrote fiction.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Procrastinate and doom scroll.
20. How will you spend New Year's Eve?
Last night I did some writing, watched some telly and went to bed. New Year's Eve is not a big thing for me.
21. Did you fall in love in 2024?
No.
22. What was your favourite TV program?
One of the following: Bad Sisters (Apple +), Bridgerton (Netflix), One Day (Netflix) and Nobody Wants This (Netflix) just to name a few.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No - I don't hate on people, unless it's Peter Dutton, but I've intensely disliked him for years.
24. What was the best book you read?
One of the following, When Good was a Rabbit, Still Life and The Year of Marvellous Ways by Sarah Winman. I love Sarah Winman. She's exceptional.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
This year - Chappell Roan and Ruby Fields. I like both of them for different reasons.
26. What did you want and get?
A bit of sanity and my health back.
27. What did you want and not get?
A functioning love life.
28. What was your favourite film of this year?
I saw a lot of good films over the year, but the one I keep returning to is Perfect Days, a Japanese film directed by Wim Wenders. It's simple, but magnificent.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 56 on my birthday, and I was in Darwin. That evening, a couple of colleagues and I went to see Being John Malkovich at the Deckchair Cinema. It was a nice evening.
30. What one thing made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Friends and my cat.
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2024?
Clean, comfortable and with a load of Melbourne black. I am trying to wear a bit more colour, but black is still a staple.
32. What kept you sane?
Friends, movies, books and exercise. That rarely changes.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I've still got a thing for Clive Owen and Matthew Goode.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
As always, women's rights and abortion rights, particularly in America, where it seems The Handmaid's Tale is used for a how-to manual.
35. Who did you miss?
Other than my mate Andy, I can't think of anybody in particular. I tend to miss people at funny times, then I don't think about them, only for them to come back soon.
36. Who was the best new person you met?
Again, there are no standouts, but I met some great people at work and at the writer's retreats I go on every year.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2024.
Take control of your life. It's easy once you commit to yourself.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
And I was thinking, that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we'll give it to everybody that had some faith
