Movie Number 27 of 2026
The Movie: The Invite
The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens
Runtime: One hour 47 minutes
Stars: 4
I will come back to this one.
Imdb.com blurb: Joe and Angela's marriage is on thin ice. When they invite their enigmatic upstairs neighbors for a dinner party, the night spirals into unexpected places.
Derryn Hinch I could understand and process easily. He'd lived a good life, an interesting life, he'd had a liver transplant and had various health complaints over the last decade. So mote it be and all that. Rest well, Derryn.
But Sam Neill?!
No.
I'm sorry, Sam Neill is an Australasian treasure, despite the fact that he was born in Northern Ireland and emigrated to the South Island of New Zealand as a child - like all things good from New Zealand - read pavlova, Split Enz, Russell Crowe (but you can have him back, please), Sam Neill was ours.
The news came through about his passing mid-afternoon. It's sad news. He was a legend.
Sam Neill has been on our screens since God was a boy. I remember him as Harry in My Brilliant Career. He was the awful husband in The Piano (must watch that again). He was in the Australian classic, The Dish. He played Norman Lindsay in Sirens. I'm not counting his work in the Jurassic Park movies or his better-known television appearances.
Most particular, I loved him as Hector in The Hunt for the Wilderpeople - one of my most favourite films.
Sam Neill (originally named Nigel John Dermott Neill... nah, he's not a Nigel) has been around since the year dot on our screens, and he was reliably good in most things.
Adding to this, word on the street was he was a thoroughly decent bloke. My friend Geetangeli used to run into him at the farmer's market in Christchurch. During COVID, he made videos of him roaming around his acreage with this animals. He had a dry wit and a lot of charm. He had been battling a blood cancer in recent years, but appears to have beaten it in the last year. He spoke openly and honestly about his possible demise with a huge amount of grace.
And he will be sadly missed and remembered very fondly - and can you want much more than this.
However, it seems the rule of threes is taking out people of New Zealand origin. I mean, Derryn Hinch - Sam Neill... if I was an octogenarian Kiwi I'd be looking over my shoulder - if I were Dame Kiri Te Kanawa I'd be a little worried.
Regardless, Sam Neill - thank you for all the joy you've brought us over the years. May you rest in power, and may heaven be exactly how you wanted it to be. Know you are very well loved. Thoughts are stretched to your large whanau.
The Production: Losing Face by Marieke Hardy
The Company: Melbourne Theatre Company
The Theatre: The Southbank Theatre
Runtime: One hour, 40 minutes (no interval)
Until: 25 July
Stars: 4
This was fun. Good fun. And relatable. And lovely to look at. And very funny. A little bit of light relief after the serious matter that was Retrograde and the classical drama we're seeing in a few weeks when Uncle Vanya opens.
Losing Face is a girl's own adventure.
According to the MTC website, "Travel writer Jo is turning 50 and has invited her two ride-or-dies along for an unforgettable celebration: an all-expenses-paid visit to flashy new wellness resort, The Royal You. Expecting a long-overdue catch-up in steam rooms and infrared saunas, they instead arrive at a high-end medispa, where supercharged cosmetic procedures are upsold to unsuspecting guests. When a medical mishap turns disastrous, the women are left with some wildly unexpected and gravity-defying side effects."
Although this bordered on pastiche in places, the first thing I loved about this was the friendship portrayed between Jo (Michaela Banas), Lauren (Kristy Whelan Browne) and Simone (Madelaine Sami). The three women were all hilarious in their own way, with a lot of pathos mixed in for good measure. Looking after them at the medispa is the Nurse (Genevieve Morris) and the medical director, Tomas (Wil King).
The play is souped up for laughs. Marieke Hardy's script, which draws out the nuances of the women's friendship while providing insights of what it's like to be a perimenopausal woman in these times. The twist in the play's end put another layer on this tale of women's friendship and the search for what is perceived as eternal youth.
This was a very enjoyable night out, funny and thought provoking. You can't ask for more than that.
I look at this and I see a lot of red flags - I mean, here are people's passwords there and ready for the taking. But as I've moved on to double authentication and I'm going to do some lying here, I'll play. I have to get ready to go to the theatre in a bit anyway, so it's good to get the questions out of the way. I need to have a shower, because I smell like dog - was cuddling a toy poodle at the hairdressers today. He was adorable and fell asleep on my shelf, but still, I smell like dog and the cat doesn't like it.
Questions come from Sunday Stealing - but know, they're not going to be quite correct. So a big ner ner raspberry to the scammers out there.
What Is Your ...
1. ROCK STAR NAME (current pet and first car)? Example: If you have a dog named Max and your first car was a Chevy Malibu, your rock star name would be Max Malibu.
Okay, this one is public knowledge. My rock star name would be Lucifer Holden. That's pretty cool. We'd be on the harder edge of rock, but not death metal.
2. RACECAR DRIVER NAME (the first names of your grandfathers)?
I'll use my grandfather's middle names for this. Elliot Llewellyn. That sounds pretty good. Mind you, I think that's more suited to racing of old-time race cars. Can see myself in an old MG or Caterham jaunting around the back roads of England.
3. SOAP OPERA NAME (your middle name, town you were born in)?
I'm going to use my preferred name and place of birth here. I'd be Arcadia London. I could see myself being able to sing with a name like that.
4. WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM NAME (your parents' middle names)?
Neither of my parents have a middle name so I'm going to have to make this one up too. Mum has always said that if she had a middle name it would be Elizabeth. As for Dad, we'll I'll give him a generic one. His middle name can be John. So that would make me some derivative of Elizabeth John. Maybe Lizzie Johnstone.
5. ROMANCE AUTHOR NAME (favorite flower, favorite season/holiday)?
Ah, see this one is far enough removed not to be used for a password. And again, I'm going to lie.
Jonquil Rose Winters would be my romance writers name - though I still think that my other writerly name, Trelawny Thom would be good too.
I'm busy binge watching the Legally Blonde prequel, Elle, on Netflix. This is happily entertaining, so I don't feel like writing.
I'll tell you about the land seal tomorrow.
Her name is Zoe. She's a Staffie.
Not Neil. She does look a bit like him.
Neil, however, doesn't play fetch with gumnuts. And Neil's Dad doesn't yell out, "Zoe, your mate's here,' when I walk past.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
I'm trying to sort out a heap of documentation, helping another project get their resources in order. Get to use my rather critical eye to do the finessing. Oh, what fun. Don't millennials have an eye for detail? I ask myself.
Boom boom
Boom boom
Boom boom.
I ask the guy next to me if he can hear drums.
He can.
- They're getting ready for Modi's visit. He's talking to the masses at Marvel at six.
- Oh, joy. So, the Indian diaspora is converging at marvel this afternoon.
- Yep.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
- Those drums are starting to give me the shits.
I should mention that the person next to me is a dapper, middle-aged bloke of Indian extraction. Lovely guy.
- Me too. I don't want to celebrate Modi.
- Really?
- He's evil, he tells me.
- Okay. I can't comment on Indian politics. I'm staying out of it. I don't know anything to have an opinion.
He smiles at me and nods.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
- Those bloody drums.
A colleague excused themself from the office a little earlier. They didn't feel safe. And fair enough.
But I've worked down in the Docklands for long enough not to rise to the bait of a little political insurrection. I was in the building when riot police were called in to babysit Christopher Pyne (yes, really - it was the only book launch I've been to where riot police were involved.) I was in London when the IRA were regularly bombing the place. I wandered the streets of Hong Kong during the protests. A little bit of political unrest doesn't phase me.
Boom boom.
Boom boom.
Yet the drums were unsettling.
- Those drums are annoying, I said to my colleague.
- I don't find them a celebration, not for this man. But what are we to do?
- Maan nahi janti! I responded in the only bit of Hindi that I know.
- You do that well.
I know nothing other than the drums were driving me spare. A harbinger of who knows what.
Leaving work a few hours later, the front doors were locked on the building. There was a police presence - nothing over the top. No horses. No riot squad. We could easily leave by a convenient side door.
Everything was calm. The locked doors were a precaution, nothing more. They do that for Friday night football matches.
We were safe. People made their way to Marvel Stadium. It was quieter than a football match. People were orderly.
Nothing to see here.
Boom boom.
I'm not holiday planning. I'm thinking about holidays, but I'm not actually holiday planning.
There's a couple of things that are coming up when I thinking about holidays.
