Sugacoobs

Sugacoobs has moved (again)!

2009-06-13T23:14:00.004+10:00

Sugacoobs has a new home! Visit me at 1164 Morning Glory Circle. Oh wait, no, that's the address of Samantha Stephens.

Death of the suburban dream

2009-06-09T14:00:00.013+10:00

When American Beauty swept the awards upon its release back in 1999, it seemed to be universally loved. But in retrospect that seems to be an illusion of its time, as there are a lot of people who either get American Beauty, and love it, or don’t really see the point, and so find it ho-hum.

As with all great films, there is an underlying theme to American Beauty. More than many other movies, the wonder of this film is very much in the eye of the beholder. As Bill Collins recently said during his introduction to Mildred Pierce; “You can choose to simply follow the plot and admire the ladies’ clothes, or you can take note of what’s happening beneath the surface” (I don’t remember the exact quote, but it was something like that).

When American Beauty begins, one of the very first things we learn is that Lester (Kevin Spacey) will die. We also discover that despite his perfect house, pretty wife and lovely garden, Lester is a bumbling fool and his daughter, Janie (Thora Birch) not only hates him but has expanded that hatred to encompass her entire existence.

After establishing Lester as that idiot with the mechanical voice you hate talking to on the phone, we cut to Carolyn (Annette Benning). She’s a real state agent, but a decent living is nowhere near enough for her. She wants to be a celebrity in her neighbourhood. She wants to be one of those people she looks at and admires, wonders about. And then in the form of an oversized real estate sign outside another perfect American house, we see what she really wants: Buddy Kane, the Real Estate King (Peter Gallagher).

An interesting aspect to American Beauty is we don’t really see the crumbling of the characters’ lives. Instead, they have all but been destroyed before the opening titles even play. What we come across, as we pan over the suburb to Lester’s narration, is the thin façade threatening to topple at any moment. And topple it does, in spectacular style.

Carolyn Burnham (Annette Benning) during her ultimate breakdown in the climax to American Beauty (2001).

In action movies, guns and bombs destroy things. In gritty street dramas, drugs and thugs are depicted as society’s disease. In suburban dramas, it’s the things that, in the bigger picture, don’t seem to matter that are responsible for the death of the pretty picture. One such example; sex.

The year of 1929 is famous for its catastrophic recession. The bruises were felt well into the 1930s, yet before anyone had time to take a breath, World War II came along. In a world that had known struggle too well for too long, the suburban dream was more sought after than we today could ever imagine. Pitfall (1948) expressed that point in the form of film noir. John Forbes (Dick Powell) is a model 9 to 5 worker; he has a perfect house, a perfect wife, and perfect children. In-fact, his life is like a 1940s version of American Beauty.

Then sex creeps up and ruins everything. Sex is Mona Stevens (Lizabeth Scott), a young model who’s got herself intertwined in a web of criminals and stolen money. Mona is used to being controlled by men, which ignites her immediate fascination with Forbes. He is her projection of the perfect gentleman. Forbes, meanwhile, can’t really understand what he’s doing. He’s already got the life everyone works so very hard to achieve, what is it he’s chasing?

That Forbes becomes infatuated with Mona is inevitable. With everything so “in its place” in his life, the only thing left is for him to tear it all down, which is exactly what happens when an angry shadow breaks into a Forbes’ house in the middle of night. But the only true victims in this film are Forbes’ wife, and ultimately Mona.

Pifall is an example of how taboo topics are often portrayed as the devil to suburban life. In American Beauty, it’s homosexuality in Ricky Fitz’s (Wes Bentley) household (Lester’s neighbour) that leads to the downfall of the man of the house. In Pitfall, Forbes is unable to control himself when presented with all the forbidden excitement that Mona represents. In Far From Heaven (2002), Cathy Whitaker (Julianne Moore) is shunned in her 1950s era social circle after her husband (Dennis Quaid) reveals that he is gay, and her involvement with her black gardener (Dennis Haysbert) extends beyond the socially acceptable. Director Todd Haynes based his film upon the work of Douglas Sirk, director of such masterpieces as Written on the Wind, All The Heaven Allows, Imitation of Life, There's Always Tomorrow, and Magnificent Obsession. All these films, in one way or another, dissect the surreal nature of 1950s suburbia (with a purity that only actual work of the 1950s can offer).

Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman in another stunning shot from All That Heaven Allows (1955).

In Mildred Pierce (1945), Joan Crawford’s Mildred lifts herself from suburban housewife to successful businesswoman. Unlike her many counterparts, Mildred knows exactly what will fulfil her, and does not delay in making it happen. But again, love and sex collide to cause more damage than any weapon ever could. But Mildred’s only crime is loving her daughter Veda (Ann Blyth) too much, to the point where she grows into a disgustingly self-absorbed horror. It is then the burgeoning sexuality of the maturing Veda that ultimately brings down Mildred’s trembling dream.

Mildred (Joan Crawford) in one of many tense moments with her daughter Veda (Ann Blyth) in Mildred Pierce (1945).

But interestingly, it is rare for the leading women in these circumstances to be portrayed as anything but victims. American Beauty’s Carolyn Burnham is an exception, but a more extreme reversal is Connie Sumner (Diane Lane) in 2002’s Unfaithful. In similar fashion to Forbes arriving on Mona’s doorstep in Pitfall, Connie fatefully finds herself welcomed by handsome stranger Paul Martel (Olivier Martinez). Connie’s husband Ed (Richard Gere) is not exactly the smooth, mysterious romance-novel fantasy that Paul embodies, but he’s certainly no swine of a husband either.

Another route of destruction for suburban bliss is the enemy no one sees. In The Hours (2002), we again witness Julianne Moore living the dream life as housewife Laura Brown in the 1950s. Her husband Dan (John C. Reilly) makes a decent wage; she has a house others would admire, a nice, normal son, and is free to act out her suburban bliss all day while Dan works. But something inside Laura is dying to get out, if only she knew what it was.

Laura Brown (Julianne Moore) in The Hours (2002).

In Laura’s case, no one around her commits any act of damage. In-fact, her husband is more adoring than Forbes is in Pitfall, and in that film his wife Sue sees no problem in their marriage. The bubbling tension below the surface is entirely in Laura’s head, and even in the aftermath we are left to our own devices to analyse just what it was that Laura found so intolerable. Like American Beauty, or the 2001 film starring Glenn Close, The Safety of Objects; the items in the recipe for happiness were there – what went wrong?

That is perhaps the most interesting thing about films that expose the shoddy foundations of the suburban dream; the horrible realisation that sends everything to implosion when one discovers that everything they thought they wanted, all that which they had always been told they should want, and that they had come to believe they actually did want, isn’t actually what will make them happy after all.

And where does Laura Brown turn to after that? Whatever did become of Cathy Whitaker, or Carolyn Burnham? The fates of Mona Stevens and Connie’s husband Ed are painfully presented to us before the credits roll. But just where Mildred Pierce turned to after she left the dark, monochrome police station; it’s all in the eye of the beholder.

Recipe for suburban destruction:
American Beauty (1999)
Mildred Pierce (1945)
Pitfall (1948)
The Hours (2001)
Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Unfaithful (2002)

Far From Heaven (2002)

The Safety of Objects (2001)

The Stepford Wives (1975)
Magnificent Obsession (1954)
All That Heaven Allows (1955)
There's Always Tomorrow (1956)
Written on the Wind (1956)
Imitation of Life (1959)

Mad Men (TV Series - 2007 to present)

Happy Mothers' Day!

2009-05-10T12:56:00.002+10:00

A boy's best friend is his mother.

The Return of Anne Heche

2009-05-08T14:31:00.003+10:00

Behold! An image from Anne Heche’s new movie Spread, opposite a shirtless Ashton Kutcher. The film is set for release in 2009… sigh of relief at the return of Anne! It’s been too long lady!

Top 6 Bachelor Girl Songs

2009-05-07T12:47:00.010+10:00

Perhaps it’s a sign of me getting older (I’m still only 23!), but I just love a flashback to 90s pop music. Especially fun is the stuff from the late 90s, going into the “new millennium” and what everyone calls “the year 2000” (why does only 2000 gets the “year” prefix? No one says “year 2001”).

One of my favourite musical acts of this period is Bachelor Girl, a duo formed in my home town of Melbourne back in the early 90s. Apparently James Roche had a song he intended girl-group Girlfriend to perform, and was putting together a demo tape. His original singer cancelled (poor her!), and instead Tania Doko walked through the door.

One of my favourite actresses of the 1940s and 50s, Lizabeth Scott, was once described as having a voice “equal parts cigarettes and silk” – that is a perfect way to sum up Tania’s singing voice. Unfortunately, Bachelor Girl is no more. But thankfully, Tania is still treating us with regular live performances alongside her electro band She Said Yes (and what a treat they are!).

As today just happens to be the birthday of the splendid Tania Doko, what better time to count down the best Bachelor Girl songs? Foxtel’s music channel Max recently did a Top 600 ANZACs (artists from Australia and New Zealand), which Bachelor Girl made it into at 291. I’m not going to count down 600 songs, so we’ll settle for the TOP 6 Best Ever Bachelor Girl Songs!

6. Permission to Shine
Everyone likes to be reassured, and this is one of those songs that'll do it for you. We've all had those times when you want to fade into a background somewhere, out of sight and away from pressure. Permission to Shine is a simple, uplifting song. And the acoustic version on Tania's EP adds a touch of innocence and elegance.

5. Drowning, Not Waving
I'm of the opinion that this second single from BG's second album was perhaps ahead of its time. Listening with today's ear, it hasn't aged so much. But more to the point, it immediately signalled a new direction for the duo. The guitar-rock sound of Waiting for the Day became a product of its time, with Dysfunctional instantly sounding fresh.

4. Lucky Me

This song, most definitely one of the best remembered of Bachelor Girl’s singles, is pop at its sarcastic best. With lyrics like “I’ve got a great car, it’s a red convertible, made by Mattel”, and “some guy calls in the middle of the night, just so I can hear him breathe”, it’s actually a very amusing quip on our increasingly materialistic lives. The line “but I’ve got my Tamagotchi, and I’ve got my wrist-watch phone” instantly gives it a late 90s setting (and we’re still waiting on that Dick Tracey style wrist watch phone, by the way). But I never get bored of that Kath & Kim-like video clip.

3. I'm Just a Girl
What a lyrically impressive first single from the group’s second album this was! An anthem on the complicated nature of women, it’s simultaneously a love song and a plea for understanding, with a fun “new millennium” pop sound of-course. The video for I’m Just a Girl was especially interesting; released during the catastrophic demise of Ansett Australia, one of our major airlines, the clip featured many staff members of the airline. Unfortunately, like the company’s final celebrity-filled advertising campaign, it did nothing to prevent Ansett’s collapse. But it was a nice touch, and no doubt gave the devastated employees something to smile about.

2. Buses & Trains
Everyone remembers this song. Even people who claim not to have heard of Bachelor Girl remember this song. Run a search on You Tube and amateur cover versions pop up from all over the world. And Shannon Nicole, a singer from Nashville in the US, released a cover last year through Universal Republic. Needless to say, Buses & Trains is one of the best pop songs to come out of the 90s. Foxtel’s music channel Max recently put it at number 291 on their Top 600 ANZACs (artists from Australia and New Zealand). It’s an easily relatable song about the cloudiness many of us face when we start resenting our parents for not warning us about boys and the perils of love. But despite the pain, love is addictive. As the song goes; “and it felt so good, I wanna’ do it again”.

Drum roll please...

1. Blown Away
Unless you bought Waiting for the Day, you likely haven’t heard of this song. It was released as a single in 1998, reaching number 79 in Australia (though as far as I can tell, no video was made). It’s a shame, because Blown Away is a truly excellent piece of pop. The opening lyrics “turn out the lights, see what I’ve been seeing, this is the love I have not been feeling, a chill in the bone as it begins to change” lure you into its angst-ridden rock sound, and Tania Doko’s vocals give it more justice than anyone else could have offered. But the highlight is the second bridge; “you know I am, I am, and I will be, closer to you, than you to anyone, you’re so full of conceit, you beg to be undone, you torment just for fun”. That this song was largely ignored by radio is a crime, and a shame. If you’ve never heard it; consult your iTunes now!

Snotface finally about to wake-up?

2009-04-29T13:42:00.000+10:00

"Snotface wake-up!" Does this line mean anything to you? Yes? Well...

Drop everything. Now. Perhaps the strangest, most unexpected piece of movie remake news is currently filtering through the blogosphere (with credit to Stale Popcorn for this odd discovery).

Anyone who is anyone will at least have heard of Drop Dead Fred, the film about a mentally disturbed Phoebe Cates who begins seeing her childhood imaginary friend after her life begins to crumble around her. Well – hold your breath – a remake is apparently in the works.

Yes, it’s true. Try to disbelieve it if you wish, but according to various sources, Universal has approached another British comedian for the part of Fred, a Mr Russell Brand. I know nothing of his comedic style, so my only comment about him can be “I don’t like his hair”.

While you try and process this news without feeling like your head has just been flattened by a fridge door, let us consider the material which Universal is assuming they can recreate;

In the beginning of Drop Dead Fred, we witness Elizabeth, played by the effortlessly wonderfully perfect Phoebe Cates, struggle for air as her life falls apart. She loses her husband, her car, her handbag, and then her job – all in one lunch break. Elizabeth’s husband, Charles (Tim Matheson), is a dog. Her best friend, Janie (Carrie Fisher) is nice, but unable to understand Elizabeth’s burgeoning craziness. Then we meet the mother.

Polly, played by wolf-disguised-as-an-attractive-actress Marsha Mason, is the nastiest mother one could imagine without going to a Norman Bates level. Leaving the kitchen knives in the drawer, Polly draws blood with such emotional violence you can’t help but be drawn in to the nutty, rather stupid world of Drop Dead Fred.

At home in her childhood bed, Elizabeth is forced to confront the fact that her adult life is gone. At least, the illusion is. As the film progresses, we soon realise Elizabeth never really grew up; instead, she learnt to disguise her childhood insecurities with a husband, and a job – normality.

With her daughter now back in her cell, it doesn’t take long for Polly to get right back into her controlling ways. Alas, the arrival of Drop Dead Fred (exploding out of a children’s music box) ensures every awkward comedic moment is met with humour. Critics groan that the film is only funny if you think nose-picking amounts to a punch-line. They miss the point.

It's Phoebe Cates in 2004! What has she been up to? Well apart from being married to actor Kevin Kline, she runs a fashion boutique on Madison Avenue in New York City. She and Kline have two children, Owen and Greta. Owen Kline appeared in the 2005 film The Squid and the Whale.

Drop Dead Fred isn’t real, he is merely a figment of Elizabeth’s subconscious, forcing her to confront the fact that she is not a whole person. Hence, the nose-picking and immature jokes from Drop Dead Fred have to be childish – he is a child after all. Besides, while Fred gives plenty of chuckles, the really funny moments come from the superb Phoebe Cates.

As a child, I watched this film many times. But it was only in recent years that I discovered, upon closer inspection, another layer to the film. Those at first hilarious moments of Elizabeth embarrassing herself at the hands of Fred are actually very tragic examples of her falling further towards her breakdown. When Polly inflicts a “make-over” on her (actually turning her into a clone of herself), “Fred” hacks away at her new bob-cut, then sinks Janie’s house-boat. In the film’s best moment, “Fred” forces Elizabeth to act strangely in a restaurant whilst on a date, followed by her violently attacking Fred in a shopping mall. Alas, the attack is actually on an innocent violin player, and thus we are at a new level of Elizabeth’s breakdown.

In-fact, every instance of Fred forcing Elizabeth to do something strange can be obviously interpreted as Elizabeth losing her mind. It’s actually made rather clear when we are shown when and why Fred disappeared from Elizabeth’s life for so long. It wasn’t just Fred that got locked away in that box by mean old Mother, it was Elizabeth.

After Mean Old Mother has finished reading a fairy tale:

Young Elizabeth
"Did they live happily ever after?"

Polly
"Of Course Elizabeth."

Young Elizabeth
"How do you know?"

Polly
"Because, she was a good little girl, if she would have been naughty, the Prince would have run away."

Young Elizabeth
"What a pile of shit."

I’m sure the sentimental layer of Drop Dead Fred is a key reason for the film’s appeal.

Could a remake work? Fans will always say no. But it really depends on whether the material can be interpreted properly. Drop Dead Fred isn’t just a childish comedy, it’s really about Elizabeth. And so without the precise characterisation in the script and by the talent of the leading lady, it will surely be an even bigger dud at the box office than the original was. Only this time, we won’t care for the DVD either.

Thank-you for being a friend...

2009-04-28T10:34:00.000+10:00

Farewell, Bea. It was fun! We'll miss you.

Cinemas closed for winter on Nat’s new film

2009-04-23T13:20:00.000+10:00

Last night, David and Margaret presented their review of the new film Closed for Winter, starring the strikingly beautiful Natalie Imbruglia. It’s quite an event for followers of her career. Nat actually arrived in London back in the 1990’s, fresh from her stint on Neighbours. She had her eyes set on an acting career, but after being plagued by difficulties associated with attaining a Green Card, she soon found herself being chased by people wanting her to sing instead.

Contrary to the popular Neighbours leads to singing trend, Natalie was actually offered a contract years before Neighbours was even a possibility for her. At the age of 14, she attended an audition for an all-girl group. But the managers wanted her alone instead. Natalie refused and went home instead.

Years later, the refusal of a UK work permit and the threat of bankruptcy soon pushed Natalie to reconsider her potential for a singing career. How strange it is to think that someone with the voice, beauty and writing talent of Natalie Imbruglia would need convincing. Thankfully, it worked, and Torn put her in the worldwide spotlight, and certainly made all those financial woes a thing of the past.

After 3 terrific albums, her acting career has been slow to start. Johnny English wasn’t really taken seriously by anyone. Playing a Bond-girl-like thing opposite Rowan Atkinson didn’t really fit in the minds of Natalie’s admirers.

Thankfully, Natalie has been very careful with her next acting step. Apparently she was dismissing many scripts, until something called Elise landed on her coffee table. The story of a 28 year old woman whose sister disappeared 20 years earlier, Natalie cried as she read the story. No one needed to convince her to do this film.

The movie is finished, the name has changed to a more inspiring Closed for Winter, and Natalie is all over the media in an effort to drum up buzz for the little Aussie film. The strangest part of it all has to be the distribution.

Distribution of Australian movies has been one of the most confusing amusements for its observers. Some films, which would surely have a certain type of fairly limited audience (though certainly not unworthy) seem to show on a rather large number of screens (The Combination, Two Fists One Heart), while others that one would surely think are open to a much wider audience, are shafted for no obvious reason (Irresistible). Unfortunately, Closed for Winter is to be thrown into the latter of those categories. Despite being the long-awaited starring vehicle for Natalie Imbruglia, the film is not showing anywhere in Melbourne’s CBD, is not listed on the Hoyts website at all, and a search of the Village website returns just four cinemas. The Nova cinema in Carlton is also screening the film (Kino appears to have declined).

Natalie Imbruglia is an international star for which one needs no proof. Further, she is an Australian star. Unlike other well-known Aussies (Kylie Minogue, Nicole Kidman, Cate Blanchett) she has not accustomed her audience to seeing her in an overseas light. In other words; when we see Natalie, it’s mostly her performing or talking to Australia.

So I have to wonder why Closed for Winter has been relegated to the pure arty list. My feeling was that this film has the potential to be one of those rare wonders that appeals to almost every demographic, or at least that sought-after audience of young to middle-aged women who frequent the weekday cinema sessions with Mum or the girls from the bowling club. It still could happen that way, the film isn’t quite at the inaccessible level that Irresistible was left at. But still, a little more confidence would have restored some faith in our industry. Alas, it’s merely a further indication that our distributors don’t really care that much about anything.

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T14:03:00.000+10:00

The lost masterpieces no one ever saw

2009-04-09T13:31:00.000+10:00

I have written on this blog many times of my love for the actress Lizabeth Scott and in particular her wonderful groundbreaking performance in Too Late for Tears. Anyone who has seen the film will know that the versions available on DVD are rather poor; scratchy frames, inconsistent audio and the odd additional music which suggests it has been taped off television (the additional music perhaps originally lead to a commercial break).

I have been researching the possibility of locating an original print of Too Late for Tears from a number a studios. The film was originally independently produced by Hunt Stromberg Productions (Stromberg was a powerful presence at MGM before walking away from a lucrative contract in 1941 after a dispute with the all-powerful Louis B. Mayer), though some outlets list it a product of Republic Pictures Corp. If Republic did own the rights at some point for whatever reason, it would have been likely that they transferred to Lions Gate. I contacted Lions Gate but they unfortunately do not hold a print or any records of the film.

My next stop was MGM, who absorbed United Artists, the original distributor of the film. Again, MGM confirmed they do not hold a print of the film. MGM advised that as many films of the era were independently produced, it can be very difficult to locate exactly who the rights fell to. Of-course locating the rights holder isn’t my primary concern; Too Late for Tears is in the public domain. But it could at least provide a clue towards where an original print may lie.

MGM’s tip is to contact AMPAS and the UCLA film archive departments, which I shall be doing.

More than being an annoying obstacle to finding a decent print of the film, this whole episode has brought to light a very unfortunate truth about the history of film. For about as long as movies have existed, fans have been looking back at old obscurities and discovering neglected classics that no one before them took any notice of. The most famous case is probably The Wizard of Oz, which languished as a nothing film for years before people started realising just how amazing it is.

But there are plenty more examples beyond Too Late for Tears; Detour is now an ultimately famous film noir. Its star Ann Savage was working in obscurity as a secretary by the time people started realising how delicious the film is. The film library of Louise Brooks is more proof; she reached the peak of her career, disappeared into middle America, became a spritzer girl at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York, a high-class escort, and then in later life had her career discovered and praised by French film critics. Only then did she become the icon of her era’s cinema that she is today.

But imagine if Louise Brooks’ work had been completely lost (much of it indeed is lost). Imagine if The Wizard of Oz had been lost! It’s not that hard to imagine. Before Judy wore the slippers, L. Frank Baum formed his own film production company in 1914, The Oz Film Manufacturing Company, and produced three Oz film adaptations of his books. All three just barely survived, alas with missing footage. Sadly, three earlier adaptations are considered now to be lost.

Just one minute of this 1928 film survives today.

Obviously the folk in 1910 had no idea that their work would continue to be an influence forever, thrilling audiences even today in the form of a world-touring Broadway musical. But now it’s 2009; we know very well the power of film. We have the proof that what was once considered rubbish may not always be so. Allowing films to rot away in vaults, denied access by the select fans who would go to great lengths to restore and preserve the titles, should not be an option by rights holders.

Lizabeth Scott’s career peak spanned from 1945 to 1957. It’s not really that long ago. Yet many of her films remain unavailable, most notably Pitfall, which by many accounts (me included) is an undeniable classic of the noir genre.

We’ve already lost the early Oz films, parts of the silent classic Metropolis, the original version of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes from 1928, and an Academy Award winner; The Way of All Flesh (1927). There’s no way of knowing how many others have been forgotten. Unless studios start allowing their archives to be more easily accessed by those interested in preserving films, the list will continue to grow and… who knows… we may just miss out on the next Metropolis.

Wikipedia's list of lost films

Rare Lizabeth Scott film!

2009-04-03T13:02:00.000+11:00

One the most difficult to find films of Lizabeth Scott’s career is screening in Los Angeles in approximately 25 minutes from now as I write this. Alas, I am on the other side of the world and without a Tardis so my chances of seeing this rare print are slim at best. The film, The Company She Keeps, features the divine Ms. Scott as a parole officer to Jane Greer. Having not seen the film I can’t comment on its quality, but I’m yet to see a film of Scott’s career that isn’t at least enjoyable (some are positively captivating). In any case, Lizabeth Scott could stare at a wall for 80 minutes and I’d still pay to see it.

Jane Greer Double Feature

“Out of the Past” and “The Company She Keeps”

7.30pm Thursday, April 2 (hope you live nearby)

The Egyptian Theatre

6712 Hollywood Boulevard, Hollywood, CA 90028

He can breed my love any day*

2009-03-24T14:47:00.000+11:00

When it comes to political scandals with juice, it doesn’t get much juicier than blending politics with a dose of inappropriate nudity. Australia recently saw this when those photos supposedly of high profile politician Pauline Hanson baring her boobies emerged, although that turned out to be a case of a News Limited editor paying some nutbag $15,000 for photos of a lookalike.

Over in the US, however, an even juicier story has been playing out. Portland Mayor Sam Adams has been forced to defend himself against allegations that he had a relationship with a 17 year old male. Beau Breedlove (yep, that’s his name!) was an intern back in 2005, and worked alongside Adams when he was a city commissioner. Debate has been frothing over whether two kisses constitute inappropriate contact between an adult and a 17 year old. Breedlove, now 21, has been very clear about his feelings for Adams, "I was not pulled into this situation by Sam. I was not unfairly influenced by Sam. I think Sam is a wonderful man". Needless to say, the outcry has been fanatical. But one must wonder how much of this is about “protecting the children”, compared to the other issue; “the mayor is gay?”.

As if having your name splashed across the headlines isn’t enough, Beau Breedlove also happens to be one devilishly sex-god of a male specimen. Lucky for us, Mayor Adams isn’t the only one who gets to enjoy the sight of this boy naked; he’s just become Unzipped magazine’s latest cover boy! My first reaction to this was “only in America could a political scandal result in a nude spread”. But I must admit, my own country recently had a far more tasteless incident in which the semi-famous sister of Schappelle Corby (who was famously locked away in a Bali prison for drug smuggling) used her celebrity to pose for a men’s magazine.

Suffice to say that when it comes to scandal giving birth to gratuitous nudity, Beau Breedlove is most certainly a welcome addition. Now I’m off to order this magazine.

*Sugacoobs wishes to apologise for that tacky post title.

Fifi's dirty donut deal

2009-03-24T13:51:00.000+11:00

People that read news.com are bizarre. Yes, I was reading news.com myself, however it was merely a fleeting moment of madness after I had become far too bored with what my usual media outlets were blah-blah-ing on about. Anywho, there's a story out today about Sunrise weathergirl Fifi Box and a very odd Krispy Kreme scam. Apparently a mystery woman has been turning up "for months" at a Sydney store, claiming to be Box's manager. Being the manager of a major world-renowned star like the Sunrise weathergirl obviously gets you free Krispy Kreme; alas Fifi Box does not have a manager, nor has she seen any of the donuts.

But rasing my eyebrws more than this hilariously bizarre scheme are the comments left on the news.com story. Readers apparently hate Fifi, who according to them has no personality, is unprofessional, thinks she's prettier than she is, and does not deserve free donuts merely for being famous.

I'll go with the free donuts remark (though I gotta' say, if I were part of the Sunrise crew, I certainly wouldn't be turning down the offer). But how exactly did we get from the donut scam to "Fifi is an unprofessional ugly donut pig"?

This must be why News Ltd papers print nonsensical stories; they're read by nonsensical nuts.

We'll miss Natasha Richardson

2009-03-19T11:22:00.000+11:00

As I’m sure you’ve heard, Natasha Richardson has passed away. The skiing accident she was involved in was reported to be very minor, making her death all the more tragic and certainly unexpected.

Members of famous families sometimes suffer the curse of being compared to their relatives, often berated for never living up to their standards. Natasha, and indeed her sister Joely and mother Vanessa Redgrave somehow avoided such fodder. In a stroke of genetic luck, all members of the Redgrave-Richardson family seem to have been blessed with oodles of talent, achieving great success in their chosen fields.

Natasha Richardson was a bright and bouncy presence wherever she starred. Cinema screens and theatre stages will be slightly darker without her.

Gloria Jean's Coffees - where integrity goes to die

2009-03-17T13:01:00.000+11:00

Last night, as I was watching Brothers & Sisters, a commercial played for what is now Australia's largest coffee chain, Gloria Jean's Coffees. My partner and I were quite surprised. It was only a number of months ago that the company was fighting off accusations of anti-gay sentiments after it was discovered they directly supported a "charity" known as Mercy Ministries. If you're unfamiliar with this organisation, type it into Google (or click here) - the controversy speaks for itself. I find it exceptionally odd that Gloria Jean's would buy advertising during a program that significantly involves gay issues. After all, as this ABC News article states, Mercy Ministries receives a large portion of its funding from Gloria Jean's Coffees, and is owned (everywhere but the USA and Puerto Rico) by two senior members of the Hillsong Church organisation.

Or maybe GJ's are just another corporation; morals are the backbone of communities, but they never get in the way of profit. Morals, presumably, are what Mercy Ministries think they're upholding when they convince those confused about their sexuality that being gay is akin to practising witchcraft (true story!).

I decided it might be a good idea to re-post an editorial I wrote for bnews a little while back in response to some corporate cog from GJ's head office who tried to gloss over the story with typical "make it go away" speak.

***

Rest assured everyone, Gloria Jeans is not serving up holy water in those little brown cups after all. According to Dianne Baise from GJ's Guest Relations, this "sensationalist journalism" is not a reflection of Gloria Jean's true nature. Instead, the coffee chain does not "discriminate or judge anyone on any criteria" and is a "privately owned company with no affiliation to any religious institutions".

Perhaps Ms. Baise needs to consult a dictionary. By the very definition of "affiliation", Baise has directly contradicted Gloria Jean's official support and connection to Mercy Ministries, as openly detailed on their website. Furthermore, Mercy Ministries is a partner of Hillsong, a church claiming to have over 20,000 attendees per week.

If we are to believe Baise's spin on Mercy Ministries, their stance differs greatly from that which has been reported. Perhaps she should sit down for a cup of that holy water with Naomi Johnson. She spent nine months with the ministry, and later spoke openly about the groups teachings on "the evils of gay and lesbian lifestyles" to the Sydney Morning Herald, especially by "ex-gay" Sy Rogers.

Or perhaps Baise's ignorance is because she's never been lucky enough to attend the Ministry. Otherwise, she might have noticed this question on the application form: "Have you ever been involved in any form of same-sex relationship?". According to another former attendee, telephone interviews include a similar question, expanded to "drug-abuse, witchcraft or lesbianism".

When AWB's Oil for Food scandal surfaced, Australian's everywhere were outraged that such a large and powerful company would contribute to a terrorist government. Gloria Jean's are not terrorists, neither are AWB. But both are guilty of contributing to organisations that promote segregation, and actively inhibit people's right to exist freely.

When a business chooses a charity to support, it simultaneously aligns itself with its cause. This is the basis for Starbucks' support of CARE and Mercy Corps (unrelated to Mercy Ministries). By choosing Mercy Ministries, instead of a less strictly-religious oriented charity, Gloria Jean's has made a clear announcement to the public. But it seems no other charity ever stood a chance for the support of the coffee giant; both Australian GJ's founders are active member's of Hillsong, while co-founder Peter Irvine is currently Executive Director of Mercy Ministries.

Yet Baise claims no affiliation? Dianne, I'm sending you a dictionary as you read this.

Queen Cyndi is back

2009-03-09T12:33:00.000+11:00

Cyndi Lauper's latest album "Bring Ya To The Brink" is a marvel. The song below is absolutely beautiful, and the single "Into The Nightlife" is a thumping highlight. Her majesty Lauper co-wrote and co-produced every song, showing that she truly is still a genius of music.

Please... don't leave me

2009-03-03T21:50:00.000+11:00

I meant to post this a while back, but kept forgetting and now it's not so new anymore. But anyway, if you've somehow missed Pink's latest video Please Don't Leave Me, you're missing out. This clip deserves every "best video" award there is to be won. With obvious inspiration from the films Misery and The Shining, it brings it all out in a darkly humorous light. With so many videos content with looking pretty despite having no originality or even point of existing, this one takes every cake.

Unfortunately some fool has disabled embedding, so follow this link.

Open letter to the Academy

2009-03-02T09:37:00.000+11:00

Dear Academy,

I was very disappointed to find that the Academy omitted actress Ann Savage from the “in memoriam” sequence at this years Oscars.

Ann Savage, who passed away on Christmas Day 2008, has become recognised as one of the most significant stars if the film noir genre, with her role in Detour attracting much acclaim and discussion even today. Furthermore, she turned heads again with her final appearance in My Winnipeg. Simply typing her name into Goggle will give you an indication of what this lady’s career means to her many fans.

I’m sure you know all this, being the Academy, which is why I am so disappointed that Savage was not featured. With the film noir genre only becoming more popular, it would be nice if the Academy could dust of some old records and recognise the wonderful talents and achievements of some largely forgotten stars. Sadly, few of them remain alive (one exception being 86 year old Lizabeth Scott), a fact that only makes the issue more pressing.

I sincerely hope the Academy considers this topic for future awards shows.

Sincerely,

Ben Rylan

Submit your complaint to the Academy too!

The End of the World

2009-03-01T16:17:00.000+11:00

Not literally, thank goodness. It's the name of a song on Matt Alber's wonderful album Hide Nothing. If you're unfamiliar with Mr Alber's work, I strongly suggest you open iTunes right now and give yourself a little sample of the tracks on his debut. Monarch is undoubtedly brilliant, it gives me that feeling of waking up on a Saturday morning and realising you have an entire weekend of whatever you like ahead of you.

Especially impressive is the video for The End of the World, which you simply must view below.

The unwelcome lessons of Film School

2009-02-24T14:21:00.000+11:00

I have been doing a little bit of reading about independent movie distribution, or more specifically, the art of filmmakers distributing their own film. Having spent a couple of years in film school myself, I know that the universal dream of just about all young hopefuls is to have your very own personal project receiving nationwide distribution, complete with oversized cardboard displays at the multiplexes, rave reviews in the street press and a glowing endorsement from Margaret and David.

Ahem, unrealistic you say? Well, you can’t blame a film student for dreaming. After all, dreams are the food of creative people. And if you just scoffed at that sentimental comment, you may wish to flick back to news.com before you read any further. As a young filmmaking hopeful (i.e. pre-film school), the mere possibility of being in charge of the vision of a film was like the absolute ultimate goal in life. For me, at least, it wasn’t about commercial success or even acclaim. All I ever wanted was to simply make something real. Not a short film designed to appeal to as many festival watchers and “decision makers” as possible, but an actual film. Subtle cynicism may be detectable in this post, as well as a slight case of “champagne filmmaker’s syndrome” (that is, a condition which my former film teacher described as when someone “sits on Brunswick Street sipping lattes all day and talking about all the wonderful films they’re going to make and never does anything about it”). I’m sorry if that’s the case, really. It’s not my intention. It really is just how I feel, and if I didn’t write it, I’d still think it!

My point here is this; why is it that the introduction to the “real world” via film school seems to knock the seemingly iron-clad aspirations from so many? My dream of making films survived through childhood. I made it through high school, an experience which almost dissolved my ability to be human, but somehow left my ambitions unscathed. I still had it after adolescence, and even after the know-it-all looks I got from so many when they heard via my mother that I’d be bypassing university in favour of film studies. Though only a few actually voiced their assurance that I would go nowhere, I knew far more were thinking the same thing.

So there I was; post-high school and finally surrounded by others who took the idea of filmmaking more seriously than DIY Jackass. In the beginning, it was like a terrifying but wonderful movie was starting. There was anticipation, and I’m sure everyone else felt the same kind of promise that the future, whatever it held exactly, was something to look forward to. But then something happened. A few people dropped out. Those who had found it difficult to fit in had disappeared at some point, though no one was sure when. Hierarchies formed early, and most people became accustomed to whose ideas would be taken seriously, and which people should be relied upon as the help.

The world was suddenly so small. Hollywood was like a far off wonderland, and any subtle hint that you actually dreamt of ever going there was met with the kind of reaction one might expect if you were to proclaim “there’s no place like home” to the Wicked Witch of the West. One morning, I woke up and realised I had become so used to my world that I hadn’t even realised how close graduation had become. And then – right at that moment – that’s when the real anxiety begins…. the anxiety of “why” and “how”.

Youth feels eternal while you’re in the midst of it. And then, as the cliché goes, you suddenly look back over your should and realise it’s mere speck on the horizon. Those dreams you had, the optimism! Gone. In its place, an ugly thing people often refer to as common sense, AKA; caution. Film school is exactly that; school. It teaches things. But one thing it doesn’t teach (at least mine didn’t) was how to incubate your dreams. How to keep them alive and keep them fed while you travel through the world of obligations and responsibility. Dreams are easy for young people, often it’s all they have. But with adulthood often comes the destruction of that feeling of possibility, and then, as though sneaking in during the night and attacking you in your sleep, you realise that even taking the smallest step towards what you had always thought was you life’s purpose suddenly involves horrible, horrible anxiety.

Is the anxiety real? Is being doubted and/or looked down upon by others really the worst possible fate anyone can face? Please, no. Surely a worse place to end up would be arriving at middle age and realising you’ve spent your entire life to date hoping, but never accomplishing.

For me, all that happened just over six years ago. I still feel the anxiety at least daily. And, shamefully, after the disaster that was my graduation film, I haven’t been able to bring myself to make another film since. I don’t begrudge anyone but myself for that. Real filmmakers survive beyond the often defeating world of film school. They know better than to get trapped in the short film mentality, the small democracy of the classroom and its hierarchies. How else would they survive in the real world of filmmaking as a business? There, everything revolves around judgement and cynicism. I thought I was one of those filmmakers. Film school taught me early on that I probably wasn’t, that doubts and approval are most likely too critical to my survival for me to ever make it into a director’s chair.

Fortunately, the insular world of my film school turned out to be artificial. The little “classroom celebrities” and so on were no more important post-graduation than those prophecies you hear about amongst cults. After realising that pleasing a room full of film students was not the first step on the path to career success in the outside world, it gradually began to sink in that despite all that I had failed to accomplish throughout my education, I could still, at any moment, prove all the doubters wrong. I had that choice, and really, nothing could ever take that away. I would always have it.

I can’t help but be disappointed that six years after film school I have still not made another film. Not out of laziness or lack of inspiration, but pure fear. I admit it; I’m still often paralysed by the thought of being doubted. It eats away like gangrene. But I’m sure there are plenty of others out there who feel this exact same way after leaving film school. I can’t be the only one who graduated and suddenly felt as though they were the most unremarkable person to ever have such grand illusions. But it would be far too predictable if only the “classroom celebrities” ever made it in the real world. And if I have learnt anything about filmmaking at all, it’s that predictable stories do not make to world turn.

Madonna as British Royalty?

2009-02-17T14:26:00.000+11:00

Many have speculated that it wouldn’t happen, which may be exactly why she’s making it happen. Madonna, the Queen of Pop who has struggled to achieve cinematic respectability, has apparently written to the Queen of England (and, to be specific, a whole lot of other countries including my homeland Australia) to ask permission to film the story of King Edward VIII.

For those out of the loop, old King Edward caused a never ending wave of controversy back in 1936 when he chose to bypass his right to the throne in favour of his lover, an American “commoner” named Wallis Simpson (Charles and Camilla, anyone?).

Allow me to indulge for a moment; the monarchy’s definition of “commoner” is perhaps a far cry from how most people may define the term. Though to be fair, it was probably a mere uppity commentator who granted Wallis the tag.

Wallis Simpson was actually born Bessie Wallis Warfield in Pennsylvania in 1895. She became the mistress of Edward, Prince of Wales in 1934 (during her second marriage), while he was romancing Lady Furness (born Thelma Morgan).

Wallis Simpson was not England’s favourite lady throughout the 1930s (indeed, today’s press probably wouldn’t call her a “lady” at all). Many viewed her as an opportunist, jumping from one rich man to another, feeding on status like a termite.

Nevertheless, Prince Edward was obviously infatuated by her. After it became clear that he could never claim the throne with Simpson as his Queen, he threw in the crown and fled to Austria. Though the honeymoon would not come until the year after, as the couple had to stay apart until Simpson’s divorce had been finalised.

Will the Queen mind having such dirty laundry aired in public again? The fact that the marriage took place may not be such an issue today (again, Charles and Camilla!), but there’s more to the story than syrupy “love against all odds”. There was strong suspicion that Prince Edward and his wife were Nazi sympathisers. Furthermore, Simpson was undoubtedly a snobbish elitist old wench, referring to the people of Nassau as “lazy, thriving niggers”. Prime Minister Winston Chruchill twice objected to the behaviour of the rather happy couple throughout England’s wartime, once for a tour they had planned of the Caribbean aboard a yacht that belonged to an apparently “pro-German” magnate.

Wallis Simpson and Prince Edward meeting, you guessed it! Adolf Hitler.

Of-course none of this is secret. It would merely be a reminder for a public that has surely forgotten the scandalous actions of the Queen’s silly old uncle.

Madonna is such an easy target when it comes to her film career. It’s true, there have been duds. And she is by no means a versatile actress. But curiously, it is very rare to ever find an article about Madge’s acting career that mentions her Golden Globe winning performance as Eva Peron in Evita. The lady can act when she’s put in the right role. The question really is whether she can convince as an American socialite harshly judged by the British people who may, or may not, be fuelled more by money and status than anything else.

Correct answer: probably yes.

Starbucks Coffee running dry?

2009-02-11T13:00:00.000+11:00

Starbucks Coffee, the chain hated by a large number of Melburnians (and more broadly, Australians) has announced plans to introduce affordable breakfast items to be made available as a package with a cup of coffee. CNN reports that the combos will include a breakfast sandwich/roll and coffee, or coffee/oatmeal cake and a coffee beverage, selling for US$3.95. If true, the new offer would be an astonishing step away from the high prices Starbucks has charged in the past for its premium products. Whether the quality matches the prices is the subject of much debate (largely among prissy University students), but there’s no denying the variety is a step above most competitors.

Most disappointing, however, is Starbucks’ continued neglect of its Australian stores. After closing over half the outlets last year, no attempts have been made by the company to boost sales or raise awareness of its still more than valid presence as a market competitor. Loyalty card programs and special offers coinciding with the US presidential elections have put Starbucks in the American business news rather often lately. Here’s hoping that Starbucks Australia wakes up soon as there are quite a few people floating around who still believe the media’s prediction that our stores have gone under completely. Call it wishful thinking, Australians are a fickle bunch.

Cross Me Off

2009-02-10T08:56:00.000+11:00

After reading this post over at Stale Popcorn, I felt compelled to re-post this article I wrote for bnews early last year. With the bush-fire disaster death-toll now at 173 in my home state of Victoria, you can imagine how many of the injured are surely in need of blood. Alas...

My good friend Fred is a rather wound up guy. He’s constantly in a state of irritability, spontaneously snappish and downright rude. One day, when I was seconds away from dropping a house on him, I finally discovered the cause of his sharp nature. Fred doesn’t have sex. Sexual activity has eluded the gentleman for at least 12 months now.

Beneath his cruel words, Fred remains a most generous fellow. Hence, he was more than happy to donate a sack of blood when asked by a cute young thing on the street the other day. And unlike nearly every other gay man in this wonderfully modern and forward-thinking nation, they actually accepted his donation!

This stupid policy hit the headlines back in 2005 when Michael Cain (from Launceston, not London) in conjunction with the Tasmanian Gay & Lesbian Rights Group launched a tirade against our Red Cross when they refused to respond to his complaint. Like many other Australians, Michael’s blood had been unwanted by our apparently needy Red Cross.

Could some good old-fashioned gay hate really be responsible for this odd rule? According to the Red Cross, any person who has engaged in male to male sex within the last 12 months is unable to donate blood. Some would see this as fair, considering that gay men are often at a higher risk of STI’s than the rest of the population. But consider this; a gay man who has been in a monogamous relationship for a number of years is banned from giving blood, simply because his partner is also a man. Meanwhile, everyone’s favourite ladies man, sleeping with some new bird each night of the week, engaging in oodles of unprotected orgies, is more than welcome to hand over bags of blood. Despite his greatly enhanced chances of having any sort of STI, the fact that all his sexual partners have been women gives him a free ticket to the donation chair.

Furthermore, no rules exist in regards to indigenous Australians or those from African communities. Statistically, people from these backgrounds encounter higher cases of STI’s. Needless to say, any racial exclusion from the Red Cross would be as welcome as John Howard at a GLAAD convention.

As with all kinds of discrimination aimed at the LGBT community, facts are left behind in favour of comfortable ignorance and basic stupidity. Both Italy and Spain allow queers to donate, with the old ban replaced by a new mandatory screening process for all. According to the Tasmanian Gay & Lesbian Rights Group, this has actually resulted in a drop in HIV infections through blood transfusion.

Has the land of the Catholic really steamed ahead of Australia on this issue? The Red Cross has been deafeningly silent since Cain’s campaign was launched. But until such dangerous and plain idiotic restrictions are lifted, those bouncy young collectors all over Melbourne’s CBD had better prepare themselves for more rude awakenings.

For more information:

www.donateblood.com.au

www.tglrg.org

RIP Brian Naylor

2009-02-08T22:09:00.000+11:00

Australia's worst ever natural disaster has taken the life of Brian Naylor.

Naylor was the anchor of Channel Nine's 6pm news in Melbourne for 20 years, and is known by everyone in the industry as one of the best in his profession. Current anchor Peter Hitchener and sports presenter Tony Jones, who both worked closely with Naylor for much their careers, were close to tears tonight as they reported live that the bodies of Naylor and his wife had been found near their home in Kinglake, a town which has all but been destroyed by the fires.

With the death toll at 86 just after 10pm tonight, the loss of life is obviously affecting so many. Losing someone as universally known in Melbourne as Brian Naylor certainly makes the tragedy hit home that much harder.

Hillary Duff and Faye Dunaway; a comparison

2009-02-04T13:36:00.000+11:00

Rumours are flying lately about a remake of the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, which starred Faye Dunaway in her breakout role opposite Warren Beatty. Apparently Hillary Duff is to be Bonnie, which has naturally raised some eyebrows – what, with Hillary not actually being a real actress yet. Faye Dunaway was apparently heard saying in a private conversation that Hillary isn’t a “real” actress.

However, it seems Hillary disagrees with this. At the ripe old age of 21, after a string of quality films such as The Lizzie McGuire Movie (2003), Cheaper by the Dozen (2003), Material Girls (2006), and Cheaper by the Dozen 2 (2005), Hillary apparently considers herself accomplished enough to publicly put down Faye Dunaway;

“I think that my fans that are going to go see the movie don't even know who she is, so you know…. I think it was a little unnecessary but I might be mad if I looked like that now too”

Her fans don’t know who Faye Dunaway is? What a clever bunch.

No one can knock Hillary for stepping away from the kiddie-crap she’s been making in an attempt for a real career, but surely she must realise that playing the same innocent young every-girl some 10 times does not qualify her as a Hollywood leading lady. Can she really be this deluded about herself? Seems so, and by the sound of that quote, Duffster is also under the illusion that she holds the gift of eternal youth.

Without sounding too much like a Dunaway-worshipper, it must be noted that not only is Faye a Best Actress Oscar winner, she’s also got more actual classic movies on her resume than Hillary has hit US singles (that number being zero). On top of Bonnie & Clyde, there’s The Thomas Crown Affair (1968), Chinatown (1973), The Towering Inferno (1974), the shockingly brilliant Network (1976), and my personal favourite Eyes of Laura Mars (1978).

It’s always amusing when hot young things of the moment demonstrate such a tragic feeling of superiority over someone who has passed their career peak. Faye Dunaway’s time as a Hollywood golden-girl may be over, but Elizabeth Taylor and Lauren Bacall don’t carry movies like they once did either. There will come a time when Hillary Duff is as in-demand as Molly Ringwald. Whether she chooses to believe it or not, Duff hasn’t made any real films of note yet. Instead of biting back at Dunaway for being old, perhaps she could simply prove her wrong by forging ahead with a serious acting career. Or does Duff have her own secret doubts?

Name change

2009-02-02T09:09:00.000+11:00

Just to avoid any confusion; I have recently changed my surname. Same me, different name!

Leading ladies, new and old

2009-01-30T08:42:00.000+11:00

As I sat down to watch Diane Lane's underappreciated Untraceable the other day, for some unkown reason I began thinking about who one might compare some leading ladies of today with those of cinema's past. Eventually I got so carried away with the idea that I simply had to write it all down and post. Now before anyone gets catty, allow me to clarify; when I compare, I do not necessarily indicate they are of equal talent or are somehow visually similar. The point is to try and find someone of today who may fill the void left by a star of yesterday – sort of like when they replaced Darin on Bewitched.

And so, behold!

Meryl Streep

Katherine Hepburn

What can be said about the great Katherine Hepburn? What can be said about the great Meryl Streep? Too much for this blog! Hepburn’s career began with a tremendous boom when she starred opposite John Barrymore and Billie Burke in A Bill of Divorcement in 1932. She had been asked to screen test for RKO after a scout saw perform a rather interesting feat of acrobatics while entering a stage. In true legend style, Hepburn had managed to bypass the usual climb to the Hollywood A-list by starring opposite Barrymore and being directed by George Cukor.

Somehow, Hepburn started at the top, and never looked down. Years later, a little lady called Mary Louise Streep made her debut in Julie (1977). In a small role, she impressed enough to gain herself a more substantial part in The Deer Hunter the following year. In a style reminiscent of Hepburn’s, Streep made the leap from hopeful to star in one acrobatic leap – 1978 saw her nominated for her first Oscar. While Streep holds the record for the most Oscar nominations at 15, Hepburn prevails with the highest number of wins for Best Actress with 4. Both ladies are enduring legends of cinema, and their chameleon talents will ensure (and indeed have) their spots as truly brilliant actresses of their time.

Diane Lane

Barbara Stanwyck

There haven’t been many actresses throughout Hollywood’s history with enough talent to drive both comedy and drama. Diane Lane started her career as a child opposite Laurence Olivier in the film A Little Romance (1979). But it wasn’t until 1997 that Lane’s identity as a leading lady really started developing, with her stint opposite Wesley Snipes in Murder at 1600. From there, she went on to the enjoyable A Walk on the Moon, followed by the ho-hum The Perfect Storm, leading to a nosedive in the Leelee Sobieski vehicle The Glass House.

Many an actress’ career has faltered after such poor results, but Lane persevered with the sensational Unfaithful in 2002 – scoring her 3 best actress awards and 10 nominations (though she missed the Oscar in favour of Nicole Kidman in The Hours).In the years since, Lane has made some excellent films; Under the Tuscan Sun (say what you wish, but this film is underrated), a terrific performance opposite Ben Affleck as George Reeves in the tragically little-seen Hollywoodland, and yet another overlooked role in the crime-thriller Untraceable.

Cinematic examples of strong women were often rare in old Hollywood. Indeed, the few examples that exist are often forever heralded, which partly explains the enduring appeal of Barbara Stanwyck.

Often regarded as “the best actress never to win an Oscar”, Stanwyck certainly came close with her 4 nominations for Best Actress. Thankfully, in a gesture that surely admits the Academy’s error, she was awarded an Honorary Award in 1982 for “superlative creativity and unique contribution to the art of screen acting”.

Stanwyck’s career actually began way back in 1927 in the silent film Broadway Nights. It was her only outing in the silent format (the film is now lost), and her screen appeal was immediately recognised as her very next picture became her first starring role; The Locked Door (1929). She soon moved on to Ladies of Leisure in 1930, her first film with Frank Capra, who would become one her favourite directors (the pair worked together many times). Like Diane Lane, Barbara Stanwyck possessed a remarkable ability to jump from serious dramatic roles to romantic comedy leads.

Her role in the 1940 Preston Sturges film The Lady Eve is often referred to as one of her very best; but there are so many! Another of her romantic comedies, Christmas in Connecticut (1945) shines wonderfully due to her delightful appeal. But change gears, and Stanwyck still thrives in all her most successful dramatic outings; The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946), The File on Thelma Jordon (1949), Sorry, Wrong Number (1948), and the movie that sums of the Film Noir genre and indeed the femme fatale, Double Indemnity (1944).With such versatility in their fields, can anyone help being drawn into the work of both Diane Lane and Barbara Stanwyck?

Sandra Bullock

Lizabeth Scott

You disagree? OK, I probably should include a disclaimer that I adore Lizabeth Scott. But indulge me, please. Besides, I believe I'm right about this anyway.

The name Lizabeth Scott is unknown to many people today, and comparing her to the universally recognised Sandra Bullock may seem a stretch. But Hollywood must have a short memory, because while brief, Scott’s career was in-fact filled with roles opposite some very distinguished leading men. And unlike many actresses of the time, Scott even carried pictures on her own.

Beginning with the war-time romance You Came Along (1945), Scott’s stunning voice and interesting style immediately forced attention, no matter what her role. Her next step saw her supporting Barbara Stanwyck in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946). Though Stanwyck was undoubtedly the star of the film, Scott’s wonderful performance ensured her share of the spotlight, leading to her next role and certainly biggest break; Dead Reckoning (1947), as the female lead opposite Humphrey Bogart.

Now an established leading lady, Lizabeth Scott’s mysterious appeal and husky voice secured her spot as one the very best femmes fatales of the classic period. But Scott obviously wanted a varied career, and in 1949 she branched out with the effective drama Easy Living. Though most of her most memorable roles came in her film noir work (Too Late For Tears (1949) is an undisputed classic, as is 1948's Pitfall), Scott also made a couple of westerns, and even played the lead in Elvis Presley’s second film, Loving You (1957).

Unfortunately, it was Scott’s last major role. She retired from acting, making occasional television appearances and one last stint opposite Mickey Rooney and Michael Caine in Pulp (1972). Now 86, Scott makes only the rarest of public appearances, with her life post-1957 proving quite a mystery.

Everyone remembers Sandra Bullock storming into leading-lady status in Speed (1994). From there, Bullock had an easy ride for a while, choosing to contrast her big break in an action- thriller with some romantic comedies (mirroring Lizabeth Scott’s formula of a romantic debut, followed by thrillers).

Bullock starred in While You Were Sleeping in 1995, followed by the rather campy in retrospect The Net, a nasty drama with A Time to Kill (1996), then back to fluffy-fun with Hope Floats (1997) and Practical Magic (1998) – we’ve skipped Speed 2 for obvious reasons. Her appeal as the golden girl of RomComs to rival Meg Ryan came with Forces of Nature in 1999, opposite Ben Affleck; what an underrated film this is!

Bullock has since proven her talents in quite a variety of roles. And while never being a favourite as an awards contender, like Scott, it’s perhaps that fact that gives/gave both leading ladies the freedom to choose their projects without the pressure of awards expectation (as has plagued many an Oscar winner, post win). It will be interesting to see how age treats Sandra Bullock. Stars such as Meryl Streep and Glenn Close enjoy a mature career with their many dramatic punches, Bullock on the hand seems to excel in lighter flare. Will the future of film have room for this type of actress as she begins to age? Perhaps Sandra has a couple of career surprises up her sleeve to obliterate such doubts...

Nicole Kidman

Louise Brooks

Finding a comparison for Nicole presents quite a difficulty. Despite her taking Hepburn’s old crown as “box office poison” of late, the truth is there are really not too many actresses out there right now making the interesting career moves that Nicole is famous for. By her own admission, Nicole chooses her films for herself, rather than the box office returns. And while many a bitchy film critic would presumably love to see her give in and do a please ‘em all blockbuster, I really don’t think that’ll happen (unless it’s by accident). Curiously, while Australians appear to have turned entirely on the former golden girl of Aussie exports to Hollywood, she continues to star in every gossip mag going around. For someone so universally disliked, Australians sure love to read about her.

Beyond the tabloid bashing, proof of Australia’s discomfort at Nicole’s success can be seen in the continued referral to the film Australia as a “disappointment” – despite the fact that it has made more domestically than the box office smash Moulin Rouge!

Like her or loathe her, Nicole’s her own actress. And as long as she’s got that Oscar and a legion of fans who continue seeing her films (even if they are a select bunch), she’ll continue that way; which brings me to Louise Brooks.

Her name may not bring immediate recognition to some, but her image surely will. Here is the lady who all but created the bob cut, that iconic hairstyle that has continued to live through every fashion decade, whether in or out.

Brooks came from Kansas in the US, and soon after leaving home (escaping sexual abuse at the hands of a neighbour) found herself as one of the Ziegfeld Follies on Broadway. It didn’t take long for filmmakers of the silent era to be captivated by Brooks’ look, and she was soon appearing in light flapper films. However, like Nicole, Louise Brooks grew tired of the Hollywood machine very early in her career, and quickly started choosing films outside the system.

When Paramount failed to grant her a promised raise, she refused to return for the completion of The Canary Murder Case (1929) – virtually ending her American career. But Brooks feared not; European filmmakers had already been hypnotized by her screen presence. Arriving in Germany, Brooks went to work on what is now her most well-known and accessible film, Pandora’s Box (1929). Playing the appropriately named role of Lulu, the film was a sensation, and is regarded as the first cinematic portrayal of a lesbian. But much of Brooks’ work received heavy censorship, due to its rather frank approach to sex.

Returning to Hollywood in the 1930s, Brooks was offered a role in The Public Enemy, a now iconic James Cagney gangster movie. It surely would have launched her right back into the American A-list; alas, Brooks wasn’t interested. Choosing instead to spend time with her lover George Marshall, the decision marked the official end of Louise Brooks’ film career.

After a select few minor bit parts in B-movies, Brooks returned to her hometown of Wichita. But it didn’t take long for her to be irritated and suffocated by the small-town attitudes; after some time as a radio actor and gossip columnist, she soon found herself working as a salesgirl at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York City, before turning to prostitution (though only to a select few wealthy men).

Though seemingly throwing herself from job to job in her later years, Brooks managed a comfortable lifestyle. French film historians began to resurrect her career during the 1950s, proclaiming “There is no Garbo, there is no Dietrich, there is only Louise Brooks!”, which eventually led to a revived interest in the lady. Despite rarely giving interviews, Brooks enjoyed this resurgence, which of-course never really waned.

Anne Heche

Clara Bow

Anne, Anne, Anne, how we all miss your work. It boils me to the core that Hollywood cannot find more vehicles for this wonderful lady of screen big and small.

Born and raised in Ohio, Heche came from the religious family to end all religious families. Her father was an organist, church founder and Baptist minister; however after coming out to his family as gay, he passed away due to AIDS. Later that year, Anne’s brother Nate died in a car accident a few months shy of graduating High School.

Tragedies like this can either bring a family closer together, or tear them apart. In Anne’s case, it appears to be the latter. Mother Heche, Nancy, a Christian psychotherapist, has travelled throughout the USA giving talks of the impact of her husband's death on her family. Apparently due to the sudden “death bed” confession of his homosexuality, Mother Heche’s view of gay people is obviously not one any gay person (or straight, really) would surely wish for. Worse, however, is her idea that her “spiritual awakening” coincided with Anne magically turning straight.

Meanwhile, Anne Heche has stated more than once that despite her relationship with Ellen DeGeneres ending in 2000, she has never given a label to her sexual orientation.

Such a phenomenally troubled upbringing giving way to extraordinary talent brings me to Clara Bow. A silent movie actress of the 1920s, Bow is widely regarded as one of the very first really big stars, later referred to as “the It girl”, after a film of the same name of which she was the star.

Unfortunately, Bow suffered from mental illness her entire life. And looking at the home from which she came, it’s not too surprising. Clara’s sisters died within days of their birth; her mother, apparently expecting Clara also to die due to a severe heatwave never bothered to obtain a birth certificate. When Clara did not cry, her grandmother thought she must have been dead, so shook her to be sure. Fortunately, she awoke.

Persevering though a life of poverty and neglect, Clara Bow spent quite a bit of time with street boys. One of her only true childhood friends was a boy of the streets named Johnny. In an episode that would affect Clara for the rest of her life, Johnny was severely burned in an accident and died in her arms. Later, whenever she was required to cry for a scene, she would request the lullaby “Rock-a-bye Baby” be played; it was the song Johnny’s mother would sing to him.

Both Clara’s parents were mentally ill. Her mother, who often worked as a prostitute, once chased Clara around their apartment with a knife, attempting to kill her. After another incident in which Clara awoke to find her mother holding a knife at her throat, the young girl escaped the apartment and wandered around Coney Island for days. Her father eventually found her and brought her home.

After achieving phenomenal career highs during the height of silent movies, Clara’s haunted past never escaped her. During the 1940s, after being diagnosed with schizophrenia, she was given shock treatments. Subsequent psychotherapy uncovered some suppressed memories unbeknownst to her, including an apparent rape at the hands of her father when she was 16.

Clara Bow, despite her troubles, achieved enough in her lifetime to give her eternal recognition. She was one of the earliest stars to endorse a beauty product, becoming the first official face of Max Factor. It’s so unfortunate that talent like Anne Heche and Clara Bow are/were hampered by incapable and/or pathetic parenting. Nevertheless, they shine anyway.

You should all know...

2009-01-19T09:15:00.000+11:00

...Doubt, Meryl streep's new film with Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams, is 500 kinds of fantastic. Meryl attacks her role as a tough-as-bleach nasty Nun and School Principal with such gravity, all trauma of Mamma Mia is immediately forgotten (or at least forgiven). But aside from Meryl and the wonderful performances all round; it is the production design and photography that begs a standing ovation. The film appears to take place during a particularly nasty weather period; wind howls, rain pelts, snow falls, and people shiver beneath bare trees. The whole feel is very reminiscent of a gothic horror film, you almost expect Vincent Price to be watching from the shadows. And just to complete the nostalgic feel, one of my very favourite camera techniques, the Dutch Tilt, is utilised perfectly. Doubt is a wonderful film, but be warned; it will entrall you, but it will not be your friend...

Farewell to a film noir legend

2009-01-16T14:15:00.000+11:00

I discovered some sad and very belated news today. The unbelievably perfect femme fatale actress Ann Savage passed away on Christmas Day (the same day as Eartha Kitt!). I read a number of news websites and watch CNN International every day, so I’m rather surprised I haven’t heard about it until now.

Ann Savage spent much of her career as a B-movie regular in old Hollywood. If you know her name, you will surely know of the film Detour; a truly excellent cheapie film noir classic if ever there was one. Looking back on her career in later life, Savage commented that she rather despised a lot of the roles she played; "The actresses were just scenery. The stories all revolved around the male actors; they really had the choice roles. All the actresses had to do was to look lovely, since the dialogue was ridiculous." But Detour, she said, was different. Her part as the vicious lass whose bite pushes the film’s lead ever so slightly over the edge was quite a revelation. And if the B-movie’s small size wasn’t enough to garner the attention it deserved in 1945, it has certainly survived and even flourishes today as the very best film noir of its type.

As with many small players of old Hollywood, progress throughout the 1960s and so forth let her fall into anonymity. After some roles in TV and then commercials, Savage soon disappeared from the screen. She became a licensed pilot in 1979, bought into a small tool company, and paid the bills via a job as secretary at a law firm. I find it very strange to picture Ann Savage, one of the very finest femmes fatales ever to live and an official “icon and legend” according to A MPAS, working throughout the 1970s and 1980s as a secretary. Can you imagine swapping stories while you wait together at the photocopier? I would love to have worked at that law firm.

Thankfully, people woke up to her status after Detour entered the public domain. The film began playing regularly at festivals and on television. Following a screening saluting director Edgar Ulmer, a Q&A session was apparently held, in which Ulmer’s widow commented that she did not know what had happened to Savage since her acting career simmered down. Savage, sitting in the audience, promptly stood up and cried “I’m right here”.

Ann Savage in My Winnipeg (2007)

Another film nowadays synonymous with Savage is her 2007 role in director Guy Maddin’s curious biopic of sorts My Winnipeg. Maddin is said to have chosen her for the role because she “would have scared the pants off Bette Davis”. I thoroughly agree. The year of the film’s release also saw Savage’s role as Vera in Detour named as one of Time magazine’s “Top 25 Movie Villains”, with Detour ranking as one of the hundred best movies.

It’s so wonderful that Ann Savage was brought out of her virtual retirement of the 70s and 80s and given the celebration she deserved; though I still can’t quite fathom how she found herself working as a secretary. I guess Veronica Lake was a much bigger star than Savage; and she later worked at a diner in New York City. What a strange place Hollywood is.

War in Israel; brought to you by McCain & Palin's plumber

2009-01-12T12:32:00.000+11:00

While Sarah Palin dusts off her combat gear and resumes her office job up in Alaska, everyone’s (least) favourite plumber, “Joe”, appears to have found his way to surely one of the lesser republican areas of the world – Israel. It’s strange but true, that annoying “everyman” the media somehow tagged “Joe the Plumber”, despite his real name being Samuel J. Wurzelbacher, is reporting for conservative website Pajamas TV on the Israeli and Hamas conflict that is currently tearing up the Gaza Strip.

From a quick glance, Pajamas TV looks to be a rather clunky central station for conservative bloggers, sort of like Fox News without the pretend “news” stuff (PJTV is up-front about its conservative position). What exactly propelled PJTV to fly Wurzelbacher (they’ll be no “Joe the Plumber” references on this blog, thank-you very much) to Israel during such a dangerous period is anyone’s guess. Journalists spend much of their career building up experience before entering war-torn areas, but apparently Wurzelbacher’s pro-Israel view scored him a waiver; he was escorted on his very first assignment by head of the Government Press Office, Danny Seaman, and a press office photographer. Imagine being a real journalist trying get yourself a good story, only to find a conservative plumber from Ohio is given priority.

Wurzelbacher’s credentials as a reporter aside (granted, he’s not stupid), the idea of sending a plumber to cover a middle eastern war is just ludicrous! It’s not that surprising to find a website like Pajamas TV pulling a stunt like this (it got them some attention, didn’t it!), but if Israel want their public face during this conflict to become a macabre joke, they’re heading down the right road. Beyond any argument over whether they were right to enter this war, the fact that journalists are continuing to be barred from Gaza raises too many questions and concerns.

The director of the Siderot Media Centre (Siderot is a town in Israel) was quoted in South Africa’s The Times; “Everyone is talking about the blood and the deaths in Gaza, but people have forgotten about the psychological wounds that have been inflicted on the people living along the Gaza border”, while Glenys Sugarman, executive secretary of the Foreign Press Association, went further: “We took the matter to the supreme court and it ruled that the Israeli military must allow a pool of journalists into Gaza whenever the border is opened to let humanitarian aid in. It’s been opened three times, but we haven’t been allowed in.”

Lorenzo Cremonesi wrote in a column for Haaretz.com, an Israeli news website, of the logic behind much of the reporting of the conflict based upon bare-boned facts: “If you hide something from me, that means first and foremost that you want to hide it, and secondly, that you have done something wrong”. This, of-course, isn’t true in all circumstances, but it hits the core of why open and honest reporting is vital for all of us.

Anyone who has seen the film Rendition, starring Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal, will remember how a culture of “classified information” whenever facts become “inconvenient” can result in a downright dangerous climate for everyone. While that film dealt with the USA’s approach to preventing terrorism by flying suspects out of the country for “interrogation”, the point, as Cremonesi puts it, is there.

If Israel really does have such a shortage of plumbers that they need to import them from Ohio, then that’s OK. Otherwise, turf Wurzelbacher and open the gates to real, professional reporting from people who know how to cut to the core of a war. And that doesn’t include anyone from Fox News.

Tron 2 already looking good...

2009-01-10T22:27:00.000+11:00

Anyone remember that 1980s film Tron? Of-course you do! It was a big fat flop back then, but like many wonderfully odd creations, has since become a huuuuge cult favourite. Well it's all come full circle, with the announcement that relatively unknown actor Garrett Hedlund will play the lead in Tron 2. Apparently he'll play a new character, who gets sucked into a computer and must retrace the steps of Tron's original hero. The best part about all this has to be how pleasing to the eye Mr Hedlund is...

I have nostalgic fever

2009-01-07T13:41:00.000+11:00

I'm not sure why, but for a very long time I have had an obsession with all things vintage. I can browse for hours at stacks of old signs and other junky items in fuddy-duddy old antique shops in small towns, and I've been known to spend money on seemingly ridiculous items such as rusted old buscuit tins. My mother once ripped up the carpet in her very old house and preserved beneath the 1950s flooring were an array of Australian Women's Weekly magazines, one with Princess Grace and her new baby Caroline on the cover! Needless to say, I had to have a lie down.

I have just today happened upon a couple of very interesting movie studio logos from the 1930s. Monogram and Invincible were two "poverty row" powerhouses (a paradoxical term?), both of which were eventually absorbed into Republic (another B-movie powerhouse, true to the term, responsible for many A-class serials, such as Captain Marvel).

Click here to see Monogram's beautifully art deco intro.

Click here for Invincible's simple intro.

It's unfortunate that most of the titles these studios produced have been either lost or remain locked up in vaults somewhere at the mercy of disinterested copyright successors. Presumably many are available, but after changing hands have had their original intros replaced with whoever may now own the rights (as happend with much of RKO's old catalogue - fools!).

Eartha as the Witch

2009-01-06T14:07:00.000+11:00

"I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!"

New Year's Blues

2009-01-06T09:13:00.000+11:00

I am back at work today. You may have noticed that I have been rather slack at updating this blog over the Christmas period (sorry to any eagre readers). It just so happens that having all that time off reminded me of the will to live in a way that having nothing to worry about can only do. Sitting here at my desk again has just made reality hit me like a freight train. I really must get around to fixing that.

And so, I finish this rather short post with a fantastic little clip from that fantastic little movie Office Space... “It’s not that I’m lazy, I just don’t care”.

Farewell to a very purrfect lady

2008-12-27T20:04:00.000+11:00

The world lost one of its most outrageously spectacular entertainers during the Christmas period. Eartha Kitt succumbed to colon cancer on Thursday, Christmas Day, at age 81. Losing much loved people is always sad, no matter what age; but even more so when they are still as active as Kitt was before her death. She had not long released a DVD, and was planning a tour that included Australia. A friend of mine saw her on stage in the USA as the Wicked With of the West in Broadway's The Wizard of Oz. If there's a role other than Catwoman that this lady was born to play, the witch was surely it!

On top of her work as the iconic Catwoman in the 1960s, Kitt also made a very versatile and enchanting singer. Her rendition of rendition of Moon River is truly stunning, certainly one of the best ever. Autumn Leaves is another standout, with the haunting sounds of strings making for an immensely dark tale of love lost. It's all very over the top, dramatic and beautiful. From a glance at some of her concerts, over the top is something Kitt did well. Her stage looked fit for the likes of Madonna, Cher or Kylie Minogue; scantily-clad men with torsos like the Manhattan skyline prancing around in sequins. No wonder she was purring all the time.

Among Kitt's tributes were some from Australian political party the Greens. Senator Bob Brown expressed gratitude for her role in the Franklin River protests of the 1980s, "It was a brave thing for her to do and her contribution was important to saving Tasmania's great wild river" he told The Australian newspaper.

In a life that took her from her childhood as a half black, half Cherokee, in a poverty-ridden South Carolina home, to socialising with the likes of Orson Welles and James Dean, Kitt made the most of her every attribute; not least her kind soul. Of all the ups and downs that show-business offers, Eartha Kitt certainly seemed to be one of the few who never forgot that very important skill of knowing how to have fun.

"I don't carry myself as a black person, but as a woman that belongs to everybody."

Eartha Kitt

January 17, 1927 – December 25, 2008

I don't like Germaine Greer

2008-12-18T13:25:00.000+11:00

“It takes courage to let rip like this.” Presumably Germaine Greer (remember her? She’s that filthy old bag that coughs up an opinion whenever she’s feeling her ego’s a little deflated) thinks she’s rather courageous for daring to expose the truth behind Baz Luhrmann’s film Australia. In an article in yesterday’s The Age and the UK’s The Guardian titled “Strictly Fanciful”, Greer has constructed her own epic of fact after fact that’s apparently meant to shame Australia for being, well, fanciful.

Falling prey to Greer’s forked tongue is, among other things; Hugh Jackman’s character for being too nice (you see, in reality, he would have been brutal in his ways, demanding, and most certainly uncaring), the assertion that racism ended when the Drover demanded an Aboriginal be given a glass to drink from in a bar, not showing where the Aboriginal staff of Faraway Downs lived, and Lady Sarah being far too unlikely to do housework.

If I were to write my true feelings for Greer in this post, not only would it take the better part of a month to complete, it would probably end up being censored by our rather conservative government. Suffice to say, I do not like her. An episode regarding a former colleague of Greer’s back in 1989 clearly shows her lack of warm blood – she opposed the appointment of a transsexual at a women’s university on the grounds that she was what Greer calls a “sex-change male” – and her subsequent opinion-vomit has continued to hint at a vampire-like personality.

But my personal opinion of Greer aside, her rant over Australia’s lack of accurate historical detail is at its core, humorous. For almost 3000 words, she climbs further and further up a very high horse, exposing myth after myth in such a high and mighty fashion that it could almost be an audition for anchor of Today Tonight. After leaving basically no aspect of the film untouched by her venom, she then finishes with what I think is an assertion that Luhrmann is an ignorant money-grabber for allegedly failing the grasp the complexities of Aboriginal actors. Oh dear.

It would be hard to debate that when it comes to cold hard facts, Greer hits the mark. She has obviously undertaken much research, and while her comments linking the unfortunate fates of other Aboriginal actors with that of Australia’s Brandon Walters are quite bizarre, the points regarding the real Australia of 1939 are interesting.

But in an opinion piece, one often expects a degree of personality. In this light, she shows her true colours – albeit a very dull shade of black and white. Germaine Greer has completely and utterly missed the point of Australia. Missing a movie’s point is usually no big deal, it happens all the time when a non-politically minded person sees a very political film. I witnessed it first-hand on one occasion when I saw the 2001 film Gosford Park with a friend who felt compelled to recount the story of last night’s episode of Becker when the film’s story started droop. It is a testament to Greer’s intelligence that she failed to note this blaringly obvious point – Australia is a fictional, epic, Hollywood-style movie! The keywords there being FICTIONAL and MOVIE.

I do wish Greer were reading this as I would love for her to enlighten me as to where she got her idea that Australia’s intention was to become our own The Colour Purple. Was it because the topic of the Stolen Generations was raised? Did Greer see this, equate it with another factual ingredient (the bombing of Darwin) and conclude that Luhrmann’s intention was to make a very pretty and long report for 60 Minutes?

There are many stale people out there who stubbornly hold the opinion that any film or story that is not entirely based on fact is unworthy of serious attention. But in holding such views, they not only expose themselves as having the personality of an ashtray, but fail miserably to grasp at how metaphors in fiction can move and affect us in so many often unseen ways. Did Princess Aurora really prick her finger on a spindle and fall into a coma, only be awoken by handsome Prince Phillip after he had defeated Maleficent in dragon-form? Maybe, but I’m leaning towards probably not. But isn’t the point of this story that parental figures must eventually set their children free (i.e. Sleeping Beauty being awoken from her childhood by “true love’s kiss”)?

Fairy Tales are full of metaphors and life-lessons told in the most ridiculous yet wonderful ways, I do wonder if Greer has ever been lucky enough be enlightened by any of them.

So what if Australia’s Lady Sarah is unlikely to do much of her housework? Does the film ever assert that she is an all-loving woman of the utmost integrity? Certainly not, in-fact her journey from uppity snob Englishwoman to a more grounded and naturally confident person is one of the film’s main focuses. That Greer omitted any mention of this exposes yet another horse with her blinders on.

The attacks on Jackman’s character are just as fanciful; one of the major challenges of a filmmaker is to make you feel for a character. If the Drover were as crude as reality may dictate, who would care if he succeeded or not? And further, wouldn’t we all then be crying for Lady Sarah to disparage him in the most harsh and personal way, and then sail away back to England? Oh wait, that does seem rather familiar, doesn’t it Germaine?

Or maybe the point here is that Greer isn’t capable of enjoying anything (apart from admiring her fangs as they glisten in the sun). It’s not as if we haven’t had a factual film inspired by the very worthy subject of the Stolen Generations; Rabbit-Proof Fence received much praise in 2002 with its heartfelt treatment of the subject. But even that wasn’t without criticism, with the Herald Sun’s Andrew Bolt questioning some of its points.

The difference with Australia is that it has not portrayed itself as a strict historical piece. The film features a brief written explanation at its beginning regarding the Stolen Generations, presumably because many overseas markets would be unaware of the issue. Perhaps this is why so many have spat their popcorn out after realising it in-fact isn’t a true story, but actually an epic fantasy set the fictionally beautiful Australian outback (OK, so it is pretty in real life too, but not that pretty).

It’s such a shame that Greer, along with so many other toffee-nosed would-be critics have disparaged Australia for such strange reasons. It seems very unreasonable that the film’s number one reason for not succeeding is its failure to present the story with 100 percent accuracy - especially when it didn’t stop anyone from seeing 2002’s A Beautiful Mind. The omissions of fact in that film are far more astounding than Australia, and it was actually based on a true story! Six years and four Oscars later…

9 ladies dancing

2008-12-17T16:08:00.000+11:00

Today is the 17th, which means there are just 9 days until Christmas. What better way to celebrate than a cinematic homage to that awfully annoying song “The 12 Days of Christmas”. You may remember that on the 9th day, so-and-so’s true love gave 9 ladies dancing, hence…

The missing link in forms of hatred

2008-12-12T14:57:00.000+11:00

Yesterday’s edition of The Age featured a very heartfelt opinion piece by Dr Dvir Abramovich, director of Jewish studies at the University of Melbourne. Much controversy has been spread lately over the discovery of a group on Facebook titled “Jew Parking Appreciation Group” – suffice to say it’s an expression of Anti-Semitism by a collection of Australian private school students that was apparently “a big in-joke”. Needless to say, Dr Abramovich’s article was immensely worthy and I believe it really shot to the core of such misguided perceptions obviously held by many uneducated Australians (education goes further than your parents’ choice of private school, kids).

However, there is one enormous “missing link” in this often-raised argument over enduring forms of hatred and the subsequent absence of mutual respect. Nazism in Germany began in the 1930s and continued into the 1940s; anyone clever enough to ignore their high school history and research the subject themselves will know this. What many people do not know, or choose to ignore, is that along with the Jewish population (and other such minorities, read here), homosexuals were also rounded up and thrown into concentration camps. Hitler even gave them their own symbol for easy identification; the Pink Triangle.

It must be noted that the number of Jews killed was approximately 6 million, while homosexuals murdered was closer to 15,000. By comparison, the perception may be that it was a lesser cost. But consider this; 3000 people were killed in the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York City, 202 people died in 2002 Bali bombing, just under 200 people were killed in the recent shootings in Mumbai. A number like 15,000 is massive. But for whatever reason, the subject of gay executions went ignored domestically and internationally for many years, only beginning to be acknowledged as fact in the 1980s – but an official apology only occurred in 2002.

Gay Holocaust survivor Pierre Seel’s story is an example of some of the incredibly horrifying acts gay people were subjected to during this time; after being summoned to a police station, he was arrested and beaten along with some other gay men. Worse followed, as he was thrown into a concentration camp and tagged for a public execution. But for a gay man in Nazi Germany, that wasn’t quite bad enough; another man identified as Seel’s lover was brought to his attention. Guards then stripped the man of his clothes, placed a bucket over his head, and released savagely-trained German Shepherd dogs on him. All watched as he was mauled to death. In a stroke of hope, Seel managed to live to share this awful story.

One’s own personal spin on what happened to gay men at the hands of the Nazis is not important; the facts are undeniable, and the German government are to be commended for their public apology in 2002. What I, as a young gay person with no personal connection to any of this, do not understand is why the issue of discrimination against all minorities is not a more obvious parallel. In the USA, the issue of Gay Rights being referred to as “Civil Rights” has outraged far too many, even finding its way to talk-show The View.

Once upon a time, black people were raped, beaten and murdered in a way that presumed their life had lesser (or no) worth. Slavery was a terrible, unconscionable thing; no decent person denies this. Indeed, the shame of slavery is a very dark episode of US history that scarcely escapes the wrath that awaits any public figure stupid enough to hold any racist views. There are accounts of gay men arrested in Nazi Germany being raped with broken rulers, puncturing their bowls and causing potentially fatal bleeding. Those who resisted had their fingernails pulled out. Has this visual ever crossed the minds of the many, many people who continue to spew anti-gay views upon the world (no matter how big or small)?

Somehow, after such a tortuous episode in the world’s history, the role of gay people appears to have been forgotten or ignored. The persecution of Jews has become an intensely dark subject, necessary education if we are to ensure such crimes never happen again. But in a world where many minorities continue to refuse to see each other in reflections of continuing discrimination and violence, how can we ever be united in such a view? Is it just religious minorities that we want to ensure are never again executed?

Sexuality, like religion and race, does not determine anyone’s right to respect and ultimately, life. If anything should be declared an international law of education to prevent future acts of genocide, surely this is it.

The importance of being manipulative

2008-12-09T14:33:00.000+11:00

In the 1940s and early 1950s, an enormous number of roles for women in movies were as scheming, cold and nasty characters; namely, the femme fatale. They’re endlessly entertaining on film, especially when played by someone with a true talent for it (i.e. Lizabeth Scott). But what happens when we encounter a femme fatale in real life? Suddenly, taken out of her monochrome 40s setting, without any striking shadows from the venetians creating a stunning contrast over her bone-perfection face, she suddenly looks more like a frumpy suburban Mum with baby spew dribbled down her Target-top.

It’s such an unfortunate fact that real life “femmes fatales” don’t look or behave anything like the bygone fictional version. Instead of fashion, there’s synthetic tracksuits (or worse, Crocs). And when you’d expect to find her meeting her dodgy boyfriend in the lane out back to hand over some cash and a small handgun, she’s too busy acting her ass off in-front of the boss, slipping in mentions of how hard her life’s been and how well she’s done in all her jobs (“I excelled at filing”).

The office of a large company is a most extraordinary place to inhabit. For most people, there are certain ways we behave in public. We all prefer to put our best expression on when we know people are looking to judge on sight (we all do it). Yet, in an office, the fact that we spend 5 days a week around these relative strangers somehow gives many people a free ticket to act in ways you’d perceive to be at the very least fu*king weird.

Exhibit A; the lost little girl. She had a hard upbringing, but has subsequently made up for it all by becoming best friends with the boss/team leader/anyone else with a degree of power larger than her own. When he’s in the room, she’s bright and bubbly and funny and everyone’s BFF. You start to think “Hey, maybe I am a little to quick to judge sometimes, she’s actually rather nice”.

But then the boss walks back to his office; at that moment every degree of warmth is sucked out of the room as though a hole has just been blown in a passenger plane. It’s a free-fall right back down to the spiky depths of the mega-bitch. Any social talk is out of the question, the only interaction here is the loud slamming of any work that must change hands. But it gets worse; every now and then, small things don’t go quite according to plan in the world of large corporations. Devilish things often conspire to bring down the foundations of the world’s economy, thinks like variations between American and English spelling techniques, the presence of “Rd” instead of “Road” in an address, or – gasp! – addressing a letter “Dear Mr Smith” when company policy dictates that all clients be on a first name basis (i.e. “Dear Bob”).

Indeed, the violent demands and throwing of paperwork would not be tolerated in many a civilised person’s home. But large corporations are not inhabited by civilised people. Sure, we all spend our working days there out of necessity, but after dark, when the stark fluorescent glow of the artificial blemish-enhancing light is all that separates these office vampires from their flying mammal cousins hanging upside-down from the trees outside, the rugged terrain of the stained carpet is home to only the few that dare to bury themselves in the illusion that they actually have a life.

TV viewers everywhere are thrilled to hilarious heights at the antics of Gossip Girl’s resident evil Blair Waldorf. But anyone at risk of entering (or currently residing in) the false security of a corporation, take note; there are Blair’s lurking all around you. When things are travelling along nicely, you’ll sometimes feel as though you’re lying in a field of wildflowers (exaggeration much?), but the moment things turn even slightly sour; that’s when the staplers mysteriously hit the back of your head, when checking Facebook on your lunch-break ensures a prison sentence, and raising staff-related concerns with your team leader somehow leads to your face appearing on Interpol’s Most Wanted.

Fortunately, a time will come in most office psychopath’s lives when they finally come face-to-face with their lack of personality. The natural instinct is to attack, often resulting in a sudden holiday to somewhere in Asia or sometimes Africa. This destination then becomes the centre of all conversation; somehow, despite no past mention of a passion for Asian culture, it’s now the source of all beauty. But the best thing about this new façade is that it gives the warm-blooded among us time to take a breath and bask in the sudden recollection that work does not always have to equal morbid terror. And of-course, just as that first day back begins to rapidly approach, a one-way ticket to the capital of Anywherebuthere starts to look like life’s ultimate goal.

Or maybe this is all just in my head.

I still love Bachelor Girl

2008-12-07T00:41:00.000+11:00

Australia trapped by The Square

2008-12-05T14:14:00.000+11:00

I would hate to use this blog as yet another way to rant about the sorry state of Australian film. Alas, The Age (Melbourne’s only newspaper for people who don’t read tabloids) has yet again brought the subject to the forefront of our minds, as the year winds down and we reflect upon 2008’s local cinematic offerings.

It should be noted up-front that I am not one of those people who give Aussie films special treatment. For me to pay to see any film, it needs to meet the same interest-criteria no matter how big or small, important or fun, pretty or ugly. Much has been said about the marketing of our films, something often viewed as being an “afterthought”. Could it be that I am reaching back to a Kevin Costner movie for a bit of wisdom on this one?

“If you build it, he will come”

Granted, marketing is immensely important for any film. How else does one explain the success of 1997’s Batman and Robin? But there are some films that, no matter what spin you put on them, are simply not marketable to the masses. One such example; The Square.
The Square is a small film, not in size (obviously) but in its storytelling. Our lead, Raymond Yale, is not a high profile businessman or important historical figure, he’s a dronish everyman trapped in (or resigned to?) an unhappy marriage, and secretly carrying on an affair with a shifty girl named Carla. Ray’s small life inflates itself slightly when he is presented with some cash, apparently the result of Carla’s own bad-boy hubby’s latest crime. Needless to say, changing their lives for the better is not as simple as running off into the sunset with their dollar-bags. But these two must learn that the hard way.

There is absolutely nothing to criticise in the perceived aspirations of this film (I happen to be a film noir fanatic). Surely no one involved thought it would set the world alight, instead fill a few arthouse cinemas with curious cinephiles seeking something outside the latest Bourne or Bond instalment. Though I doubt anyone had hopes as small as the film’s eventual box office takings of less than $300,000.

If The Square were made by Fox or Warners, heads would probably be rolling in all directions. But this is Australia, we do things differently here. Indeed, no one in the industry seems to have even raised the subject of why only 0.9 percent of cinema ticket revenue was attributed to Aussie films in 2008 (as reported by The Age’s Jim Schembri). Blame the marketing if you like, but I suspect we need to look closer at what it is we’re marketing before we tackle that one.

The Australian public have become very, very fickle with their tastes in recent years. After too many “important” films to count (from peach canning, oyster farming and befriending Afghan women, to Shakespeare in Melbourne’s underworld and druggies in Sydney’s west), we’ve been trained to look at our films as their own genre – “arthouse” and “Aussie” are synonymous. But it gets worse.

For a while, in the hype and lead-up to the release of Baz Lurhmann’s Australia, a few of us (me included) had the stargazing idea that this ambitious cinematic event might be the thing to crush our perception of our own product. Without any drug dealers or domestic violence to speak of, Australia might be the film to put some far-fetched ideas back into the minds of our filmmakers. Though of-course the bombing of Darwin is a minor part of the film, surely its presence would open up some possibilities… “A film about an Australian historical event? In Australia? Made by Australians? Starring Australians?” they’d all ask, with mixture of horror and opportunity on their faces. “Yes please”, we’d answer, as we gazed up at the screen, in all its attractively artificial glory – a new, beautifully unrealistic world to be absorbed in for 2 hours. Our themes, our history, our talent.

Devil! That “cultural-cringe” strikes again. Despite some good box office takings, reviews for Australia were constantly smeared with things like “clichéd”, “Nicole Kidman has a botox face”, “Hugh Jackman is too beefcake, I laugh”. Through all the whining and superiority complexes, one thing is apparent – Australia (the country, that is) simply has no clue who the hell it is.

We’re not happy with The Square. Good reviews aside, its dull and dirty visuals pushed no one’s buttons, but stories like this are always going to be an acquired taste, no matter who is starring or how pretty it looks. We’re not happy with Australia, either. Aside from Nicole-bashing being the rather morbid past-time of too many Australians, Hugh’s body was apparently too ripped (would we have preferred a bathing scene with Jack Thompson’s character?), the Aboriginal themes were clichéd (though what we are comparing them to, I don’t know) and the tone changed too much which presumably confused some people who prefer films to only be funny, or only sad, or only action-packed. Oh dear.

Somewhere, we all got the idea that Australia was going to change the world! Predictably, when we were then presented with a film that while very entertaining, was really “just a film”, everyone’s criticisms came flying in like hyenas to a bloodied carcass. Did Moulin Rouge! change the history of mankind? No. But it had Ewan McGregor in it and was set in Paris, so it’s easy to forget that it was Australian. It is an ultimately painful fact that Australia’s biggest problem, above all the ways that it differed to “important” films, is the simple fact that it is undeniably and unmistakably Australian.

Blame Lurhmann, blame the critics, blame the public, blame Nash Edgerton, blame Scooby-Doo. It really doesn’t matter. Public perception won’t be changed through blaming. You could say our industry did this to us (they’re certainly a large part of the reason – and they’re still doing it!), but it’s evident every time Australia is on the world stage for any reason. The horribly predictable wisecracks when Kevin Rudd stands next to the US president (no people; it’s not funny when you’ve said the joke 87 times before – and besides, many people actually do know where Australia is and that we have a Prime Minister) are obvious proof, but just look at some of things written about Australia’s sweeping shots of our outback beauty. It looked nice, yes? But it’s not enough, somehow that made it “clichéd”. Oh well.

I’m just another writer bemoaning the state of our industry (oh gosh, please don’t call me a cliché too!). I just can’t help but wonder how much longer we can afford to deny the fact that a very large part of our film industry’s problem lies directly in the eye of the beholder.

A great gay movie… yes, believe it!

2008-11-24T13:58:00.000+11:00

I would love to say that there are heaps of gay movies out there to be enjoyed, but I would be lying if I did. Unfortunately, I suspect largely due to a lack of funding opportunities, gay movies all too often suffer the curse of low budget and underdeveloped absurdity.

Thank-fully, I was lucky enough to come across one such film that both avoids all the clichés and manages to look like a slick enough production. East Side Story is at its core a coming out story, BUT do not turn away. I myself groaned at the mention of this in the blurb, but I was proved wrong, as will you be. It should be noted however that like Mambo Italiano, another gay film with a similar story, ESS again takes us to a place where racial conflicts are playing against people’s ability to be themselves in a deeper way than most are aware of. Both films are entirely valid, and indeed very good – but two is probably enough.

Diego lives in East Los Angeles with his sweet but old fashioned grandmother, and his closer-to-his-age aunt (that is, when she’s not waltzing all over Europe). Though he studied at a renowned chef school, his life has not consisted of much outside of working at his family’s rather tacky and run-down restaurant. Secretly, he dreams of opening his own eatery, but change isn’t something that comes easily to this community.

With all the closeness of his family, Diego’s sexuality is bound to “pop up” at some point, and indeed it does. After the ensuing horrific scenes that unfold, Diego finally realises that the world he lives in just isn’t his world, and makes plans to leave for sunnier times in Phoenix. But a spanner flies into his wheel after a brief encounter with his new neighbours, an openly gay couple. Apparently the area is becoming more fashionable, a fact that naturally attracts the gays (well yes, that’s true). With his feelings for one half of the couple growing rapidly (and his feelings for the other half growing too, though in a far different way) Diego soon realises that rocketing out of East Los Angeles won’t make an ounce of difference to the fact that he still hasn’t accepted himself.

I must proclaim my new love for Rene Alvaredo, who plays the lead role. He is utterly believable (and beautiful) in every way, avoiding temptations of being overly sentimental, and never succumbing to any “gay mannerisms”. Indeed, Diego’s upbringing in his quite secular community would surely have shielded him from any knowledge of the stereotypical gay person, replacing the “gay” tag with “way not to be”.

Rene Alvarado

I’ve been wounded in the past by many gay movies with DVD covers more impressive than the product. I can’t express enough how relieved I was to find that as the end credits rolled, I truly felt satisfied with what I had just digested.

A good Romantic Comedy... oh but where?

2008-11-18T14:53:00.000+11:00

I love a good romantic comedy. Actually, I really, really love a good romantic comedy. The problem is, there aren’t too many of them. For me, there are two very important factors to a good RomCom; style and chemistry. Style… and chemistry.

This genre’s style was pretty much cemented back in 1961 with Breakfast at Tiffany’s. And despite director Blake Edward’s minor regret in his casting of George Peppard, I have never viewed anyone in this film as anything other than perfect. But away from the often dark matter of this masterpiece, the 1960’s also played host to an array of wonderful, more soufflé like films; most often the result of the darling Doris Day.

Pairing herself with Rock Hudson, they became the romantic comedy pairing that Hollywood would try and emulate forever afterwards. Pillow Talk came first (actually in 1959), followed by Lover Come Back and Send Me No Flowers. With bright bubblegum colours and an unbeatable lead in Doris Day, these were really Romantic Comedies in a style all their own. Renee Zellweger and Ewan McGregor attempted to recreate the magic in 2003 with Down With Love, and while it looked truly magical, the chemistry just wasn’t there.

Zooming forwards now… When Harry Met Sally is often mentioned as a genre favourite. Alas, it is not one of mine. Nor really is Sleepless in Seattle, call me crazy, but there just wasn’t enough fun to be had (still good, just not great). The pairing of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan really hit the jackpot when Nora Ephron threw them into the mix of her reworking of the truly magnificent The Shop Around The Corner, 1998’s You’ve Got Mail.

The film oozes style; with its numerous scenes shot on location at New York City landmarks, the gorgeous small nature of Kathleen Kelly’s (Meg Ryan) indie bookstore, and my favourite ingredient: the humorous take on why people go to Starbucks, by Tom Hanks’ Starbucks-regular character, Joe Fox. The old fashioned premise of “enemies in life, lovers online” gives ample space for heated exchanges, while simultaneously allowing for chemistry to build. Meg Ryan really was born to be queen of the Romantic Comedy.

Sadly, there doesn’t appear to be any good RomComs on the near horizon. Personally, 27 Dresses doesn’t count as I honestly didn’t feel or see any sparks throughout the entire running time. And don’t even MENTION Made of Honor (or for that matter, the disastrously death-inducing Maid in Manhattan – hey look! Another play on that word!). It’s all very blah, isn’t it?

Please, Meg Ryan, if you’re reading (what? You never know…), give us another reason to watch a film that we know the ending of. Do your hair up pretty and cutsie, slap on an unpretentious, non-threatening yet vintage-inspired outfit and move back in to that New York City apartment, conveniently furnished by Pottery Barn in that lovely Laura Ashley-like style. Ditto to Ashley Judd and/or Diane Lane. We love all of you!

RomComs we like:

You’ve Got Mail
One Fine Day
Pretty Woman
Sleepless in Seattle
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Pillow Talk
Lover Come Back
Send Me No Flowers
Six Days, Seven Nights
French Kiss
Someone Like You
Moonstruck

RomComs we don’t like:

27 Dresses
Maid in Manhattan
Made of Honor
I Love Trouble
Failure to Launch
Sweet Home Alabama
Laws of Attraction

Starbucks: drowning, not waving

2008-11-12T15:45:00.000+11:00

My very first job after moving to the city of Melbourne was as a Barista at Starbucks. Having never worked before, I naturally learned quite a bit within a short period of time. I also encountered countless personality types; from those wonderful warm people who see a clueless young person and feel compelled to care; to overgrown spoilt brats who spend their every moment exploiting every situation they find themselves in. But, while many others have hellish stories of first jobs, mine largely remains a pretty good one; which is why I can’t help but feel rather disappointed at the sight of Starbucks continuing to falter in the current economy.

The very American coffee empire Starbucks is a rather thorny issue down here in Australia. It’s strange really, how heated some Aussies get when discussing the subject of coffee. The mere mention of the green label can ignite blazes of fury upon any poor paper-cup carrier who dares enter one of the once common outlets. At least it’s true in Melbourne, one of Australia’s vainer cities.

The reasons for Melbourne’s Starbucks-snobbery can be traced right back to the company’s birth in 1971. When Howard Schultz happened upon a little coffee and spice store in Seattle’s Pike Place Market, he began dreaming of turning it into an Americanised version of what he had seen Italians enjoying on a recent trip to Europe. As a beverage, coffee in the USA was rarely seen outside of its murky black liquid form (the kind you find in those old fashioned diners, in the big jugs). Quite simply, Schultz brought coffee culture to the USA en masse, taking it from a mere beverage to the product of “the third place”.

Fast forward to 2000, Starbucks opened its first Australian store in Sydney’s CBD, soon followed by other state openings including Melbourne, Victoria. The company famous for its ultra-tight control over its brand (stores are not franchised, all outlets world-wide are owned by Starbucks Corp.) was no different to its approach in Australia. Market saturation ensued, and soon enough Melbourne was dotted with green aprons from Swanston Street to Lygon Street.

Here lies the problem: Australia is not the USA. Cast your gaze back to 1945; Ben Chifley is Prime Minister of Australia. In the aftermath of World War II, his government begins a campaign to boost the nation’s population, with the dramatic catch-phrase “populate or perish”. In the years since 1945, 6.5 million people have made Australia their home.

A very large portion of these new Australians came from various European countries, especially Italy. Thus, generations of coffee knowledge arrived with them, creating a hybrid form of coffee culture (apparently we each consume 2.7 kgs of the beautiful bean on average annually).

Then Starbucks swooped in. After liberating the USA of their “diner cups from the black lagoon”, the assumption was that Australians would love the brand just as much. Alas, it was not so. Australia, and Melbourne in particular, had been shaped by years of European influence. What exactly was Starbucks bringing to Australia?

The answer is simple; innovation. Sure the Italians had quality coffee covered, but outside of your regular tried and tested beverages, there wasn’t a lot of room for experimentation. At Starbucks, wonderful curiosities were on offer, such as Caramel Macchiatos, Chai Lattes, and the unheard of range of Frappuccinos. And better still, a range of sizes were available, from the itty bitty Short to the bucket-sized Grande (and more recently, the small-car sized Venti). On top of this, Starbucks marketed itself as a truly personal coffee experience, promising to customize any drink exactly the way you want it (Grande No-Whip Extra Shot Mocha Java Chip Frappuccino – not an uncommon request).

Despite the reported unfair business practices (mostly the domain of Starbucks USA) and various other management faults, Starbucks has brought an extra something to the way many of us enjoy coffee and other beverages. Unfortunately, visions of owning the international coffee market were always plainly ridiculous. What is part of the American vocabulary (the Starbucks language, that is) is virtually unknown outside Australia’s major cities (and largely within, too). And from the much publicized way in which Starbucks Australia handled its amazingly sudden store closures all over the country (61 out of 84 stores are now gone), it looks set to continue this uncertain path. The brand that once prided itself on innovation and offering something the familiar independent outlets don’t has now become the coffee equivalent of fast food.

Of-course, that’s not say they’re any worse than the competition. Gloria Jean’s is still far below in regards to the quality of the product (they also support ultra conservative religious organizations that promote discrimination and unfair, anti-equality social attitudes), while Hudson’s seems only concerned with the Monday to Friday office crowd.

Indeed, Starbucks in Australia does seem to be in a tight spot. The Starbucks Gossip blog is constantly alight with talk of the ways Howard Schultz is jazzing up his gasping baby during this economic crisis, but none of this ever seems to relate to our stores over here. It could be argued that the most precious and seemingly bulletproof asset Starbucks had was not its product, but rather its brand awareness. It is that very awareness that is slowly sinking in the USA – yet in Australia, it’s still learning to float. Schultz’s promises of a “back to basics” approach haven’t won any American sippers yet. With so much trouble at home, can Starbucks be bothered catering to the notoriously snobbish Australian market?

Chin up, California...

2008-11-06T16:35:00.000+11:00

Spiderman 4? Spiderman 5? Spiderman 7049?

2008-11-05T14:15:00.000+11:00

I enjoyed the first Spiderman movie. It looked just like one of the comic books brought to life, and the action and pace were distinctively loyal to the source material, if a little too safe. Then Spiderman 2 inevitably rolled up, and true enough, it too was safe and, it must be said, lots of fun. And (deep breath), then Spiderman 3 appeared. Everything was faster – the film seemed to begin mid-way through – the cast was larger, and despite being fun in a perhaps too familiar way, it all just seemed fairly pointless. Again, it’s that word; safe. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t hate these films. They’ve certainly kept their spark in a way that totally eluded both the Batman and Superman series of films (pre-Nolan, that is), I just can’t help but feel too obligated to see the next Spiderman film, I feel as though I should be, like, I dunno… excited??

So now we have a Spiderman 4 and 5 in the works. Ya, ‘tis true. The handsome Mr Tobey Maguire is to shoot them back-to-back (much like Superman 1 and 2). Am I the only one who finds the Spiderman stories just so ho-hum? Sure, the films look great. But where’s the twists and turns? The first Superman film had that helicopter moment (“You’ve got me? Who’s got you?”), its sequel had the return of Superman after sacrificing his powers then regaining them (“General, would you care to step outside?”). Even X-Men had Storm billowing up the elevator shaft to dispose of that Toad once and for all (“Do you know what happens to a toad when it gets struck by lightning?”). Where exactly is Spiderman’s “moment” – have I missed something?

But, despite all this, one more gaping error in the world just can’t shake my attention. Bigger than all the US elections put together. This:

Where, oh where, is the Wonder Woman movie? I find it thoroughly reprehensible that Iron Man, The Punisher, Ghost Rider, Daredevil, Elektra, Hellboy, Fantastic Four, X-Men and Hulk all get their own movie(s) before Her Royal Highness of the Female Superhero, Wonder Woman.

According to an article in The Wall Street Journal back in August, Warner Bros. is adamant that WW is officially in “active development”. And that horrifying Justice League movie idea has been put to sleep (sorry Megan Gale. You’re wonderful, but WW needs her own space, you understand). So, as I have been doing since the day I opened up an issue of Woman’s Day back in 2001 to find a picture of Jennifer Aniston’s head on Lynda Carter’s body under the heading “Jen wins the role of Wonder Woman”, I shall again hold my breath and await further developments in this, the world’s longest and most unjustified wait for a comic-to-film adaptation.

I am the clown with the tear-away face!

2008-10-31T16:22:00.000+11:00

Remembering Ramon Novarro

2008-10-30T14:06:00.000+11:00

Forty years ago today, actor Ramon Novarro was tragically murdered in his Los Angeles home.

A short profile of Ramon Novarro, made by me.

Novarro started his career in silent films, achieving much success with the early epic Ben-Hur. His closest rival was Rudolph Valentino, another famed “latin lover”. The two were rumoured to have been lovers, but this may have simply been speculation due to the fact that they were both gay.

When silent films became a relic of the past, Novarro overcame the dreaded perception that many silent film stars faced and recreated himself as an A-list star of the talkies age. His most memorable role came opposite Greta Garbo in the lovely Mata Hari, and his hypnotic accent and handsome looks would secure many more roles.

Throughout the 1940’s his star power faded, he was no longer the cinematic draw-card he had been. He did however remain a respected Hollywood presence, appearing sporadically in such films as the film noir The Big Steal (1949), and George Cukor’s colourful western Heller in Pink Tights (1960). Despite this, he lived a comfortable life in Los Angeles, largely due to clever real estate investments.

The circumstances of his death, at the hands of two common criminals posing as gay hustlers, were horrifying and disgusting (you may read about it here). It was a very sad end to a life lived with such conflicted beliefs. Novarro, originally from Mexico, had been raised in a Roman Catholic household. According to various sources, he never truly accepted himself as a gay man, though by all accounts lived the life of one (albeit fairly closeted). Being gay in the 1920’s and 1930’s would be hard (and often unheard of) enough, without the added influence of Catholicism at home. His relationship with Hollywood journalist Herbert Howe was explored in the play Through a Naked Lens, by George Barthel. The relationship was also documented in two biographies of Novarro; Allan R. Ellenberger’s Ramon Novarro, and Andre Soares’ Beyond Paradise: The Life of Ramon Novarro.

The pair of useless excuses for men that murdered Ramon Novarro were initially sentenced to life in prison. For whatever reason, both were released early, allowing one of them to live the remainder of his life apparently out of trouble. The other one, however, would go on to rape two women on two separate occasions, in terribly horrific circumstances, before being sent back to prison; where he remains today. It really begs the question of why torturing an innocent man, over a number of hours, to his eventual death wasn’t enough to send both of these losers to jail in the first instance. Alas, they are forgettable.

Today we remember Ramon Novarro.

The ladies of Mr John Steed

2008-10-27T14:10:00.000+11:00

When you think of British secret agents, the name James Bond probably jumps straight to mind. But there is another gentlemanly spy who actually predated Mr Bond by about 21 months. And if you ask this feathered blogger, he toppled that Martini-loving cliché of a man in both style and sophistication (and he did it as easily as a swing of his lethal umbrella). His name is John Steed, and the show was The Avengers.

But oh what or indeed where would Steed (Patric Macnee) be without his devastatingly striking ensemble of Avenger-ettes? Not only were these ladies easily able to distract their prey with their endless intelligence and unbeatable confidence, they carried a wardrobe that was almost certainly hypnotic. Indeed, there were always three cast members of The Avengers; Steed, his companion, and their outfits. So slap on your catsuit, dear readers, as we delve into the dangerous world of 1960’s espionage.

Cathy Gale
played by Honor Blackman

Interestingly, Honor Blackman, Diana Rigg, and Patrick Macnee all starred in a James Bond film. It's unfortunate about Macnee really, as I've always viewed him as being above Bond's silliness. But anyway, here we have Blackman in what appears to be an early effort on what would become the more famous catsuit in later episodes. Blackman has a harshness that the other two Avenger-ettes don't have, making her seem slightly more lethal. And Macnee, well, you can't go wrong with a full suit, complete with waistcoat. Yes indeed.

Has Miss Blackman literally stepped off the cover of Harper's Bazaar? This slinky and sensible look really couldn't be better, even today.

Emma Peel
played by Diana Rigg

When Blackman parted ways with The Avengers, the producers knew they had a hard part to fill. Who else could excite the sexual desires of viewers, while making women (and plenty of gay men) want to simply be the character? She had to have Man Appeal, or M Appeal..... Emma Peel! Here she is in her famous catsuit - the pose, the facial expression, the confidence - Diana Rigg says it all.

Of-course, she wasn't always harsh and lethal. Mrs Peel had a smile that looked expensive; sweet and fashionable. Here she poses, looking very Breakfast at Tiffany's, with umbrella and bowler hat. The very embodiment of female sophistication.

Apparently this was a creation of Rigg's. Hmm, not exactly something you'd wear to your mother's birthday party. But, if you're after that evil mistress appeal, in a Poison Ivy kind of way, Peel's your lady.

Tara King
played by Linda Thorson

Mrs Peel eventually parted ways with Steed too, the aroma of one Mr Bond proved too powerful (ho-hum). Stepping in her expensive hand-made shoes was the delightful Tara King. You could say King was a little more sarcastic with her mannerisms, her expressions almost threaten you - obey her demands as she really doesn't care if you live or, whatever...

My dear me, does this remind anyone else of a certain Australian pop princess?

The 70's were fast approaching, can you tell? This pose seems rather more sexual than the show ever was (apart from that endless innuendo, of-course). Many will only plead allegiance with one Avenger-ette; Diana Rigg. But let it be known that Linda Thorson did a wonderful job as Tara, camping it up with her energy and effortless awareness of style. All 3 women really were outstanding!

X O X O, Chuck Bass

2008-10-24T13:29:00.000+11:00

Dan Humphrey may think he is the star of Gossip Girl, Serena Van Der Woodson may think herself the central princess, while Blair Waldorf is too busy being the star of the universe to worry about it. But no, the real star of The CW’s (or Fox8’s, in Australia) phenomenal teen series Gossip Girl is most certainly the fashion.

Like Sex & The City before it, GG has sculpted itself a very precise look. However, unlike S&TC, GG takes the fantasy of life in New York City to a new level. There’s no need to pay any attention to how Carrie affords her brownstone walk-up, never eats at home, or often enjoys a cocktail at home despite claiming to not have any alcoholic supplies. No, in GG’s NYC, money is merely a tool of exclusivity. Dan, played by the delicious Penn Badgley, is the poor guy amongst the sea of riches. Indeed, he may think himself poor, but the son of an apparently washed up 90’s muso would seem poor in comparison to his classmates; despite his New York loft home and Dad who owns a gallery frequented by mega-rich Lilly Van Der Woodson. Did I mention this was a fantasy world?

Back to the subject of GG’s fashion; S&TC excelled greatly when Carrie began to ease into her iconic role as the ever-changing doll. She never had “the look”, instead, she flaunted hundreds of them. However, the show held back when it came to men’s fashion. Perhaps aligning itself with the view that real men don’t care enough about what they wear, and men’s fashion should always be the realm of the homos, Stanford was really the only man who always looked as though he owned a full-length mirror (even if his look often mirrored a pattern you might find on your Gran’s lounge suite). After that movie, we all now know how seriously the writers view HIS character (where’s Marcus? Did Stanford leave him behind somewhere? Was he murdered by that Anthony?). But that’s another story.

In Gossip Girl, we have Chuck Bass (played by the swell Ed Westwick). Stand back: he’s dark, sadistic, reptilian, and utterly irresistible. You know he’s a spider; he’ll have his way with you and proceed to rip your head off straight after. He’s dangerous, and it’s all part of the appeal. Of all the GG lads, Chuck is the one who knows how to dress. His complete disregard for any other living being is the perfect fit, ensuring he never allows his look to be shaped by what someone else deems “acceptable” for a man to wear. Peruse at you pleasure, ladies and gentlemen. And if your fashion sense is prudish, well then, you really don’t belong in GG’s NYC. The public transportation is that way….

Chuck Bass - x 7

Mr Bass looks very ye olde English here I think, fittingly so as Ed Westwick is in reality British.

The quintessential New England college student is the look here. It's an image that never really changes, or tires. Lovely.

John Steed, from 60's TV series The Avengers springs to mind here. You can almost smell the richness of this outfit.

A far more casual look for Mr Bass now, albeit spiced up a bit with a delicious blazer.

My home city of Melbourne likes to call itself Australia's fashion capital, though I'm sure I'd cause a few smirks were I to trot down Collins Street in this get-up. Perhaps it's only Chuck that can get away with such an indulgent look... or maybe the secret is just not caring either way? Hmm. Very dapper indeed.

Poor Chuck, Daddy doesn't much like his son. Fool; he could teach the old man a thing or two about dressing. Here we have one of those cases wear the items don't seem to match at all, yet magically, they do. It's a paradoxical delight!

Ahh yes, the Hamptons. If NYC is the main course, the Hamptons make for a scrumtious dessert. With this attire, the name Ralph Lauren bounces around my head. Notice how his sunglasses are strategically strung from his shirt? The perfect tool for revealing his lightly hairy chest. Yes, Mr Bass, you have our full attention.

Tom Ford is perfect

2008-10-22T14:00:00.000+11:00

Could it really happen? The beautiful fashion genius that is Tom Ford has been slipping a few mentions here and there about a film he plans to direct in the near future. The man whose life I want to steal now owns the rights to the novel, and apparently Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, and the cutest boy in all of the UK, Jamie Bell, are set to star.

A Single Man, first published in 1964, tells the story of a middle-aged English college professor, living in 1962 Los Angeles, whose long-time partner has recently died. Edmund White called it “one of the best novels of the modern gay liberation movement”, a rather excellent indication considering White could almost be describing any one of his own novels.

But, as if the idea of Tom Ford directing Moore and Bell wasn’t already conniption-inducing enough, the team behind AMC’s (or Showcase’s, if you live in Australia) 1960’s-set TV series Mad Men will reportedly collaborate.

Tom Ford: World's best mens' designer

I’ll admit I was most shocked when I heard Ford would direct the film. He is undoubtedly one of the best fashion designers ever, but does he have the makings of a good film director in him? I am biased, as you’ve probably gathered, as I am utterly in love with the man. He did, after all, take over Gucci with little more than a degree in architecture, and some fashion experience, to his name (just goes to show how wrong that sense of entitlement universities breed can be!). It could just be that Ford is a man limitless talent! Either way, I’ll still love him.

Jamie Bell: the picture says it all

Teen movie, anyone?

2008-10-14T14:13:00.000+11:00

Something interesting occurred to me as I was reading this article in The New York Times recently; what’s happened to the teen movie?

Before you regurgitate your last meal, allow me to assure you that I am not about harp on about Gen Y/X/Z/P/Q or G (or however many others there are). I too am totally over that rubbish (the fact that I was born in the 1980’s and am completely surrounded by people born in the 1960’s probably has something to do with that).

We are surely all unanimous that the current batch of youth have grown up in an age of more radical change than many others before. When I was in school, the idea of Australia at war, or terrorism for that matter, was a far away perception relegated to the ABC news. I actually remember one of my teachers reassuring us that Australia would not ever be at war again. It’s an understandable reassurance for a class of Grade 2’s in the mid 1990’s.

In 2001, as I underwent the biggest change of my life so far (i.e. transitioning from high school student to young adult in further education), the rest of the world also suddenly became painfully aware of just how vulnerable we all are.

We all know this though, don’t we? But combine this with the enormous impact the internet and mobile technology has had on everyone. Young people of today (yes, that’s me) no longer look at their lives as “private, unless otherwise specified”; more like “public, unless otherwise specified”. Expectations are now much higher when it comes to entertainment. We’ve had our say when it comes to how music is distributed; give it to us electronically or we’ll do it ourselves! And many cult films once relegated to bootleg VHS are now available on DVD, largely thanks to distributors realizing that they can release titles and make money, or face making nothing when eBay-ers do it themselves.

My point here is; why do we not have more teen movies to chronicle this quite new phenomenon? No, High School Musical does not count. I want the 00’s version of The Breakfast Club/St Elmo’s Fire/Pretty in Pink… or Clueless (yeah, there weren’t so many of them in the 90’s).

I was rather amused to see the new 90210 try and do this. The original series was quite the classic in its time. Alas, in the new series, the writers seemed to have barred anyone actually from this generation from the writing desk. What on Earth were these rich Beverly Hillians doing running around the schoolyard with their laptop PC’s? Newsflash; you can search the net on mobile phones. Furthermore, this show was a rip-off of the only teen series worth watching today:

Gossip Girl. Allow me to say it again; Gossip Girl.

Though slow to start, it has matured into what is surely the best teen-ish series in a very, very, very long time. Do we not agree? And to think GG was originally intended as another teen movie vehicle for Lindsay Lohan. It would have totally worked, albeit I’d never want the current series done any differently. They’re rich, they’re tech-savvy, and the whole thing is completely unrealistic. It’s such a self-indulgent piece of television, all the right ingredients for the perfect opportunity for escapism into a slightly familiar, though far more exciting world.

And, more importantly, Gossip Girl stars a young man who may just be the best looking lad in America.

Chace Crawford

And again...

Can some movie producers please take note of this show (and Chace's perfection) and give us another golden-age of teen classics (starring Chace Crawford)? No more dance-movie clichés!

Sister Kenny, an elusive but important film

2008-10-10T15:21:00.000+11:00

My home country of Australia has a rather odd relationship with its history. It’s not really taught in schools that much (at least not compared to the way Americans are taught their history), and you’d probably find it quite the challenger to locate someone who thinks Aussie history is of any enormous importance.

But (as you surely could predict), I digress. Every nation of any worth has a history that is absolutely essential to anyone who treasures the home the live in. This is partly the reason I was shocked to find that a little film called Sister Kenny exists, and up until recently, I had never heard of it! And, no less, it stars Rosalind Russell, i.e. one of the most famous film stars to ever walk!

Sister Kenny was a real life nurse who pioneered a treatment for the dreaded disease poliomyelitis, or as we all know it, polio. Her method of a mixture of exercising seemingly paralyzed limbs and applying warm cloths seemed, by all accounts given, to at least make a difference to the much suffering world, pre-immunisation. Unfortunately, the stuffy Australian doctors of the early 1900’s did not see anything outside of an untrained nurse playing with Daddy’s medical bag. It’s true, Kenny was not a formally trained nurse.

She began treating people in her home town of Nobby, Queensland, in 1911. As an unofficial “Bush Nurse”, she opened a cottage hospital in Clifton, just outside Nobby, which is where she encountered her first case of polio. When World War I began, she volunteered to be a nurse, and despite her lack of training, was admitted anyway due to the severe shortage of medics. She worked on the “Dark Ships”, travelling between Australia and England with all the lights off, carrying wounded soldiers. It was an extremely dangerous practice. It was in the army that she earned the title “Sister”, and despite the British Commonwealth normally reserving the title for qualified nurses, kept it for the rest of her life.

Indeed, despite her perceived lack of credibility, Sister Kenny did a whole lot more for victims of polio than a lot of the doctors who faulted her methods.

It’s certainly no secret that the 1946 film portrays Kenny in the wholesome light all her supporters would surely view her in. The bad guys are obviously mean old fogies with no time for an unqualified lass from the back of the bush, while Kenny is the all-healing saint who cares too much about the suffering of others to allow herself any small moment of self-indulgence. It perhaps would have been slightly better to see the debate from both sides, her enemies certainly had a point.
But one-sided complaints aside, Rosalind Russell delivers her usual cinematic perfection as Kenny. Gripes have persisted for years over Russell’s attempts at serious drama (she was better loved for romantic comedies), but as her Oscar nomination for Best Actress and Golden Globe win as Sister Kenny proved, Russell was a real actress (so there, Hal Erickson!).

Sister Kenny can be very hard to get hold of. I happened upon it by accident one Saturday afternoon on ABC. I subsequently emailed the network pleading for a repeat screening (it worked! They recently replayed it at 1.30 am on a Thursday). I believe some odd copies are still floating around on VHS. This is so unfortunate as it really is a great film. If you can manage to find a copy, I thoroughly recommend a viewing!

See the New York Times review here

A letter from Lizabeth Scott!

2008-10-06T09:19:00.000+11:00

Yes, that's right. The most amazing thing in the history of the world has happened. Sugacoobs regulars may recall a couple of posts back that I sent a birthday card to the beautiful actress Lizabeth Scott, who turned 86 on September 29. Included with the card was a letter expressing my love for many of her films (the ones I have managed to see, some can be rather elusive), and my wish to keep her body of film alive and hopefully ensure her work becomes more easily available for everyone to fall in love with!

I cannot express clearly enough how unbelievably thrilled I was when I found an envelope in my letterbox from Los Angeles, CA. After slicing the top open with very extreme care, I slid the small note out to reveal a personal message from Miss Lizabeth Scott herself, to me:

I happen to be a very wordy person, but even I had never come across that long word beginning with an F. It is, I believe, "felicitation", a noun meaning an expression of good wishes. After already giving me hours of wonderful performances on film, who would have thought Lizabeth Scott would teach me a new word!?!

While Lizabeth Scott did star opposite some of the world's most memorable legends (Humphrey Bogart, Elvis Presley, Barbara Stanwyck, Mary Astor and Kirk Douglas... just to name a few), that's not why I'm utterly obsessed with her. The first time I came across her work was in the wonderful Barbara Stanwyck film, The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946). This was the film debut of Kirk Douglas, and the second film for Lizabeth Scott, after You Came Along (1945). Barbara Stanwyck had the title role, with Lizabeth Scott supporting as Toni Marachek, fresh out of prison and going anywhere but home. It was a wonderful noirish-melodrama of second chances, forgiveness, and the consequences of bitter revenge.

After she was discovered by big-time producer Hal B. Wallis (The Maltese Falcon, nearly all the Elvis movies), Paramount began publicising her as The Threat (a sort of reflection of Lauren Bacall's tag, The Look). Many of her later films (though not all) would portray her in that light; self-centered, bitchy, nasty. Her role in Martha Ivers was certainly one of her best; such naivety, fragility, and purity. Barbara Stanwyck was undoubtedly brilliant, but in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, it is Lizabeth Scott's performance that leaves a stamp on your mind.

Another of Lizabeth Scott's films that is sure to leave an impression in every one of its viewers is Too Late For Tears. Written by Roy Huggins, writer and creator of The Fugitive (TV series' and movies), her portrayal of a particularly cold woman with a runaway obsession for material success is rather strangely chilling. It would be too easy to write it off as another pulpy film noir, Huggins was far too talented to create something as one dimensional. Too Late For Tears, unlike most films noirs, is solely about the downfall of a troubled woman who is too deluded to recognise her own bitter reflection. I'm positive that nearly all other actresses of the time may have been all too tempted to show her character with a too-big dose of weakness. Lizabeth Scott does not do this. As Jane, she knows exactly what she is doing, and as unpleasant as some her twisting plan is, she follows through no less. Consequences? What consequences? For her, it's all about mink coats and five star hotels in Mexico.

I'm so grateful that Lizabeth Scott, legend of such a wonderful period in film history, took the time to write to me, all the way down here in Melbourne, Australia. Needless to say, I'm certainly a life-long fan.

Addressing the silence...

2008-10-03T15:43:00.000+10:00

My apologies for the current droubt of content here at Sugaccobs. My week has been particularly uninspiring, which combined with the utter bitterness I'm feeling towards all things human right now, has made me feel rather like Martian Girl:

Regular programming should be returned to soon, right after I dig myself out of this hole.

Happy Birthday Lizabeth Scott!

2008-09-29T14:10:00.000+10:00

Today is the 86th birthday of one of my favourite screen presences ever (and certainly the world’s best ever femme fatale), the lovely Miss Lizabeth Scott.

She’s quite the mystery, Miss Scott. As you may remember from one of my earlier posts, I had promised to try and make contact with the rather reclusive actress, via a letter to her home on Hollywood Boulevard (or so a certain website noted). Unfortunately, despite my best efforts (I even bought a very pretty Happy Birthday card), she has not written back.

I must admit, I am rather disappointed. I don’t begrudge her, of-course. After the savage world of gossiping Hollywood back in the 1950’s, who could blame the lady for retreating into a quiet existence?

For those just tuning in:
Lizabeth Scott rose to fame rapidly in the mid 1940’s, quickly making the leap from New York stage to Hollywood screen, opposite such legends as Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck. But when the 1950’s gave birth to one of the first really trashy gossip mags, Confidential, all of those once respectable Hollywood big names were now fair game.

Maureen O’Hara was accused of having sex on a balcony of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, while Liberace was outed and reported as having “relations” with a press agent in Dallas. Hilariously, Liberace did not object to the accusation of homosexuality, but was successful in his lawsuit anyway after proving he was not in Dallas at the time. Frank Sinatra’s threat of legal action never materialized however, after a story alleging that Wheaties helped his sex life. Oh dear.

It’s often viewed that when the gossip mags start writing about you, you’ve really made it in Hollywood. Lizabeth Scott won that acclaim when in 1955, she became the target of an article that, though not really very specific, insinuated that she was a lesbian. Whether true or not, it seemed to be enough to put Lizabeth off show business; her final starring role was opposite Elvis Presley in his first real movie, Loving You.

Personally, I find it hard to believe that one magazine article could scare Lizabeth Scott away from her successful movie career. Starring alongside Bogart, Presley, Stanwyck, and others such as Mary Astor and Kirk Douglas is simply not something many people get to do. How could one small accusation cause Lizabeth Scott to vanish so suddenly from her successful career? Is there more to the story that has not been recorded? Did something else occur, something far worse than a magazine article, that caused Lizabeth to retreat to the safety of anonymity?

Maybe it is partly this mystery that keeps me so intrigued by her. Of all my searching, I have found just 2 clues to her life nowadays; some footage on YouTube of her speaking at a Hal B. Wallis tribute in 1987 (above), and some pictures of her attending a Barbara Stanwyck tribute last year (see sidebar). Apart from the odd guest appearance on television (and a brief film spot with Michael Caine in 1972’s Pulp), she hasn’t acted since the 1950’s. What has she been doing for long? Why has she been so quiet? Lizabeth, please, solve this mystery for me! Grant one of your adoring fans an interview and give us an insight into your wonderfully mysterious career (or at least respond to my letter and card). After all these years, we still love you!

Foxtel gets fashion, Seven can't

2008-09-25T14:33:00.000+10:00

Before the Olympics rudely swallowed the Seven network here in Australia for what seemed like 40 years, I happened to be feeling brave enough to tune in to our home-made version of the British fashion show Make Me a Supermodel. Brave indeed; after the mess Channel Nine made of the Aussie version of What Not To Wear (when will you people learn? Chadstone is NOT the fashion capital of ANYWHERE!), I had braced myself for an overwhelmingly diluted format.

The choice of host seems a no-brainer; Jennifer Hawkins has defied critics and become a far better television presence than her debut as travel reporter for The Great Outdoors first hinted. Her bogan twang has been slipping away ever so gradually, revealing a burgeoning refinement more akin to her San Pellegrino sipping colleagues.

Unfortunately, the product is a let-down. But really, could an edgy fashion show ever find a home on Australia’s family-roast-of-a-broadcaster, Channel Seven? Amongst their Dancing with the Stars, It Takes Two, Sunrise, The Morning Show, Packed to the Rafters… how could Make Me a Supermodel not suffer some artificial sweetening?

The highlight of the British version (for me, at least), was a particularly delicious episode in which two boys, Luke and Josh, were told to act as though they were totally hot for each other for a photo shoot. In their underwear, they proceeded to search frantically for “safe” places to plant their hands, while avoiding eye contact as they allowed their heads to get as close as possible without danger of their skin falling off to reveal a big pink gay man. Luke, while slightly awkward, was totally prepared to give it his all, in the name of professionalism. But Josh, well, he just couldn’t do it, despite the genuine support from his peers. It must be said that this guy, while unbelievably good looking, would look empty-headed in a balloon shop. But it says enough about the British public when, the very next week, Josh got voted off.

Luke from the UK version of Make Me a Supermodel

Compare MMAS to something like Arena’s Aussie version of Project Runway. There didn’t appear to be any attempt to chop the fashion world into a G rated family feast. Instead, PR was an easy fit alongside Arena’s other programs like Jaclyn Smith’s hairdressing competition Shear Genius, and more interestingly, Janice Dickinson’s Modeling Agency. Arena doesn’t need to replace your martini with a Bacardi Breezer, they’ve got room for the real deal.

Fashion is nasty. It’s edgy, cutthroat, all about self-indulgence, and very, very gay. Seven can’t show any of those things, they’ve got the suburban double-pram pushers to cater for. Never a fit on The Great Outdoors (which will surely die any day now), maybe Jennifer Hawkins should try her luck somewhere on Foxtel’s fashion schedule, unless of-course she fancies gushing to the retirement home audience over on Daniel Macpherson’s Dancing With The Stars. Sonia Krueger’s no doubt feeling a bit bored with it all by now.

Kidman Vs. Chenoweth as Dusty

2008-09-24T14:33:00.000+10:00

Much has been said about the coming biopic of that singing legend Dusty Springfield, with Nicole Kidman set to fill the huge hair. So much that somehow, news of another Dusty-film has been rather drowned out. Gasp! Two Dusty films at once? Do we have room for this? Well, it happened when Phillip Seymour Hoffman played Truman Capote in Capote, won an Oscar, and then gave a few of us second thoughts after Toby Jones’ unfathomable depiction in the lighter-in-tone Infamous (yes, Hoffman was very good, and if Jones hadn’t been so wonderful I would have thought nothing more of it. But, Jones was wonderful…).

This time, Kristin Chenoweth has taken Toby Jones’ shoes as the underdog. While we all know Nicole can act (quiet you hissing cats! The lady can act!), she’s vocally nowhere near the capabilities of Her Majesty, Miss Springfield. Presumably she’ll follow Angela Bassett’s path from the Tina Turner biopic and mime; playing someone like Dusty, this would surely be welcome. Chenoweth, on the other hand, has terrific vocal abilities. Sure, some Dusty purists may snarl at the obvious differences (but they’ll snarl at everything, won’t they?), but it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Australia gave birth to a truly excellent stage musical about the lady, Dusty: The Original Pop Diva. Tamsin Carroll donned the wig, and allow me to say she belted out those tunes with such passion, it was as though she’d been possessed. If this is the way Chenoweth’s Dusty is headed, she’ll have no problems.

Personally, I have extremely strong doubts that both will go ahead. At the moment, my money’s on Nicole, but only because writer Michael Cunningham (The Hours) has been blabbing to the media about him writing the screenplay. Then again, Kristin has appeared in some publicity pictures as Dusty. So who knows?

Kristin Chenoweth as Dusty

In a role that is made so much by music, wouldn’t it be better to have someone who can both sing and act the role? And wouldn’t having a smaller name like Chenoweth mean Dusty herself remains the ultimate star of the show? Oh, but I do like Nicole… such indecision! I haven’t a clue where my allegiance lies. Who can I turn to when nobody needs me? My heart wants to know and so I must go where destiny leads me… with no star to guide me and no one beside me… I'll go on my way and, after the day, the darkness will hide me…

I’m going to have a lie down now.

All hail Jude's natural beauty

2008-09-22T11:55:00.000+10:00

I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Jude Law. He’s not your typical pretty boy really, he’s certainly not buff and his ever receding hairline seems to grow with each day. But, despite that atrocious Alfie remake, Jude has made some rather interesting films. I loved The Talented Mr Ripley, I loved Closer even more, and apart from the snoozey script, I also loved Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. You see, Mr Law has shown that, despite a few speed humps, he knows how to choose a good film. And while not commonly pretty, Jude Law has a look. He’s like a walking magazine ad for Calvin Klein or Versace, stepping right off the page of GQ. He looks like his natural body odor would be Gucci Pour Homme II. I love it.

But Jude has found an even more interesting film project in The Day After Peace. You’ve got to hand it to Jude Law; it would be easy to write him off as another try-hard do-gooder celebrity. But take note, Jude Law actually flew to Afghanistan with filmmaker Jeremy Gilley to make this documentary. There’s no doubt whatsoever about the risk this entailed, an ultra high profile westerner walking the streets of Kabul.

It’s a wonderful thing, this new love for documentaries. Michael Moore brought it all into fashion, but I think it’s great as it really has made it OK for the masses to be interested in the theatrical factual film. Watch the trailer for The Day After Peace above, and sigh longingly as we all hail the male beauty that is Jude Law below.

Sugacoobs hearts Brad Pitt

2008-09-18T13:46:00.000+10:00

No, this isn’t another blah blah blah about how hot Brad Pitt is (he’s hot, but not that hot). I’m loving Brad Pitt for another reason. The Los Angeles Times reported today that he’s donated $100,000 to fight the proposed gay marriage ban in California. Brad says;

"Because no one has the right to deny another their life, even though they disagree with it, because everyone has the right to live the life they so desire if it doesn't harm another and because discrimination has no place in America, my vote will be for equality and against Proposition 8,"

It’s hard to imagine how, in a state like California, home to the very gay world of show business, gay marriage could even be a heated issue. But it is, and it seems to be an issue just about everywhere (bar a few gloriously liberal European countries). I’m not going to go over the argument again, anyone who doesn’t get it is just a stubborn Elisabeth Hasselbeck-esque idiot with no care whatsoever for the basic truth.

So, bouquets to Brad Pitt.

Oh George W., where to next?

2008-09-17T14:27:00.000+10:00

The rumours are true, W. is Oliver Stone’s new film on the life and presidency of George W. Bush. If you haven’t seen the trailer yet, then watch it below on The View right now!

Predictably, tiresome blind-Republicans have already branded it a parody (yes you, Elisabeth Hasselbeck on The View), but to do so is to terribly misjudge director Oliver Stone. He’s a very politically minded fellow, having already done JFK in 1991, and Nixon in 1995. But I honestly believe Stone would never bother making a film such as W. were he not going to humanise George. Hasselbeck’s dismissal of the film just screams of insecurity over her own beliefs. Does she really think someone like Oliver Stone is going to take such heavy material like the presidency of Bush and warp into a Disney-esque good Vs evil? Would anyone pay to see such mindless drivel?

I think Hasselbeck has unwittingly fallen into that awfully dangerous realm of blind belief. She has somehow allowed herself to believe so strongly in the Republican system and all it represents, that there is simply no room for her to ever look at anything political from a purely objective perspective. Most of us have at least one very strong belief, I personally have many, but never would I want to let myself become so blinded by any cause that I would lose my ability to question. And that is exactly what Elizabeth has done, if her opinions on The View are anything to go by. I have been watching this show for years (Foxtel play 5 episodes every Sunday), and I don’t ever recall her having an objective opinion on anything Republican. Even after a blatantly misleading advertisement by the McCain campaign was brought up; nothing!

But enough with Hasselbeck, the big question floating around right now is; what will George himself think of W.? We all wondered the same thing with Helen Mirren’s The Queen, but that was a golden film. The real Queen would undoubtedly be pleased with the result, it only made us love the lady and see her as a real person (perhaps a first for British Royalty, yes?). W. will surely be different. We all know George is just a person, but he’s also a guy who honestly believes he’s talked to God (and presumably, God talked back). For someone who made it all the way to President, he’s remarkably bad when it comes to talking about political issues (compare him to the quick speech of McCain, Hillary Clinton…), and he’s married to a woman who seems to be rather more liberal than everything the name Bush has come to represent. The list of oddness is endless.

Will the ripples of W. be felt on election day? Nah. It will only be seen by Democrats and some moderate Republicans (and I stress some), the rest have already dismissed it. The whole election has moved beyond the faults of the Bush Administration, and the endless presence of Sarah Palin in the news is surely giving a false sense of hype. No one takes her seriously anymore. At the core, Americans and all those affected by its politics are tired of this heavy, tough-guy approach to government, something that Palin’s mention of a war with Russia only highlighted. We’re all sick of being surrounded by war, death, economic woes, and a future of global warming, more hurricanes and failure to tackle the smaller issues (like growing disillusionment by young people, gay equality, the effects of higher living costs to those on minimum wage, and anything outside of the middle east). I think W. will add a welcome dose of humility to the Republican image, but whether that alters the confidence people have in the party… well, that’s already all but gone, isn’t it? Aren’t we all just a little bit over the doom?

Australia; our big-screen moment at last

2008-09-15T14:15:00.000+10:00

With all the blog-talk of late regarding the diminishing state of Australian film (see CineTopia and Stale Popcorn), I can’t help but look to Baz Luhrmann’s exciting new epic like the shining star of our artistic landscape.

In typical fashion, a few Aussies have scoffed at the simplistically named Australia. But wisely, Luhrmann has not made his film solely for domestic eyes. Australia looks to me like a stylish postcard, something made to export that will show our nation in the beautiful light it ought to be seen in. The fact that its two stars, Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman, are already A-listers abroad means this film will not be seen as some sort of arthouse piece from the difficult Australian film factory.

There’s only one thing I fear about Australia; will the Australians take it seriously? This country is notorious for rejecting any connotation that we may just be capable of a successful mainstream film in a similar tradition to that American style. And despite our currently healthy Aussie TV climate, Packed to the Rafters remains an immensely rare departure from the medical/police scenario. I can’t help but feel faint at the thought of Australians laughing at the very “Australian” feel of Luhrmann’s film, like an Aussie browsing in a tourist souvenir shop.

It will surely be their loss if they do. Australia’s trailer (below) gives a truly brilliant glimpse into what we can expect; sepia tones, wartime drama, old fashioned romance, dusty landscapes, and a lovely touch of adventure. The inclusion of Darwin’s bombing is particularly welcome; Australian history is undoubtedly an all but endless source of dramatic material, yet bizarrely only covered by the odd miniseries/telemovie, usually on ABC.

Will Australia reinvigorate the Australian film culture? I hope so. But while I’m sure it will be enormously successful, the Australian film system is unlikely to notice. It may, however, ignite some interest from private investors in the future of Australian films about Australia. Just imagine it; a wonderful new age of cinema, our own “movie stars” starring in films that tell the stories of us: our political changes, historical moments, social histories… and all without one mention of drug addicts or “Aussie battlers”. Gosh.

Australia is set for release here and in the USA on November 26, 2008.

Did Sarah Palin fall from a black hole?

2008-09-12T13:29:00.000+10:00

The other morning as I chatted to my friend Frank in the mirror, I made a sudden and shattering discovery; that beast they're calling Sarah Palin isn't who she says she is. In-fact, she is better known to many as Kitty Farmer, a super-religiously conservative thing from the year 1988, portrayed in the film Donnie Darko by actress Beth Grant.

Could Farmer have fallen through a crack in time and ended up here, in 2008, as the horrifying Republican nominee for Vice President of the USA? Sugacoobs isn't sure.

Seven years ago

2008-09-11T12:51:00.000+10:00

Australia was first told of the horrifying events in New York City by Sandra Sully, who just happened to be reading Ten's Late News as it all unfolded on a screen in-front of her, live on air. Ever the professional, Sully handled the moment with perfect precision. But one subtle break in her breath speaks volumes of what must have been going through her mind, and indeed what we all felt as the world changed literally in-front of our eyes.

May we never become desensitized to the horror. And may it never happen again.

An Australian Classic... huh? Where?

2008-09-10T13:55:00.000+10:00

A little subject over at Jim Schembri's CineTopia blog at The Age has been causing a cyclonic thrust through my mind recently. For those unaware, Australia apparently once had a thriving industry of crazy genre films that were actually quite popular (and didn't include drug addicts or depressed suburban people). In Not Quite Hollywood, director Mark Hartley created an apparent masterpiece of a homage to this period of Aussie film, with even Quentin Tarantino chiming in.

Despite its roaring popularity at film festivals, NQH's mainstream release on 47 screens flopped rather dismally. My argument, as you may read via my multiple comments at CineTopia, is that after so many dud Aussie films after even dudderer Aussie films, we Australian film goer's (and more importantly, those Australians unfamiliar with how great we can be) are just uninterested in a documentary about a genre of old movies they've probably never heard of (and up until now, could not even see on DVD if they tried). No, it's probably not a bad film at all. But that's entirely beside the point.

Naturally, there are many valid points as to why NQH failed, and furthermore why the Australian film industry continues to remain in self-induced isolation. What I would like to know is, if you were to name as many Australian films in 10 seconds, from the top of your head with NO research, right now, how many could you come up with? (see voting gadget to the right)

I've asked around and most tend to come up with 3 or 4, though given more time will remember far more. Could it be that Australia, home to the world's very first feature film, has only 3 or 4 truly memorable classic films? No, by classic I don't mean good (we have plenty of good films), I mean those that live forever in your memory.

There are so many problems with the Australian film industry, but it seems our perception of what it is seems to remain its flesh-eating virus.

Republican? Democrat? Nah, it's OK.

2008-09-08T13:56:00.000+10:00

Sex & The City's Samantha Jones once said "I don't believe in the Republican Party or the Democratic Party, I just believe in parties". Unfortunately it was to an ageing Asian lady who clearly did not appreciate her humour. But, being an Australian who, like seemingly most people of this land, has grown so used to feeling distanced from the rest of the world (both geographically and philosophically), it did pose an interesting question; can one choose whether they are a Democrat or Republican?

While the American elections are all but 24 hour news on US news networks, they take up very little time on our 6 o'clock bulletins. I'm lucky enough to have pay TV, giving me access to a very American view of the whole thing via CNN International and Fox News. Alas, to those not in touch with these networks (i.e. everyone I know, other than my partner) the US elections are a cloud of confusion and/or boring disinterest. Yes, while we berate that far off nation for being so inwards-looking, we so very often are ourselves.

Until John Kerry became an international name in 2004, I had no idea what a Republican or a Democrat was. Come 2008, and these words are being thrown around as though they identify who you are more specifically than actually getting to know someone.

So, do you choose to be Democrat or Republican? I think not. The large majority of Australians, I think, would not dare allow someone to pin such a tag on them. It's all very American you see, which we must reject in the same way we do Halloween. But furthermore, Australia's political system is very different. Sure, we have our parties, but the contrasts are nowhere near as stark (in my opinion, anyway). Former Prime Minister John Howard was most certainly a 100% Bush-pin-wearing Republican, but current PM Kevin Rudd is by no means a Barack or Hillary. More like another Howard, but with the volumes of extreme old-fashion-ness turned right down (perhaps thanks to his political flotation device, the preferred Julia Gillard).

OK, so here it is; I'm a Democrat. At least I'm sure I would be if I took some sort of test. But I digress, does this mean I believe and support all their policies? No! I think Barack Obama's view on gay marriage is a cheap way of securing the undecided right-leaning folk, while pleasing a small portion of gays with low expectations. I also think that when things get nasty and rather dirty (as they rarely do in American politics, right?), he tends to be a bit of pussycat. That said, if a fight between him an John McCain took place in a public arena, Obama would certainly come away with the blue ribbon. McCain's simply far too concerned with his public perception, he's diluted himself. There's something very sour-smelling about a person who refuses to air their true colours until they've secured what they're after. Trust, anyone?

The only reason I can call myself a Democrat is because I'm not a Republican. It seems that you must be one, or the other. Black or white, there is no grey. Hot or cold, there is no warm. Boy or girl, you cannot be transgender. On this, we Australians do have it a little better. Being Labor or Liberal is not a badge of identification, more like your choice for the year. Alas, it is rather safe to say that most older people (40+) will vote Liberal, while the younger ones vote Labor. But unlike in the US, changing your mind is something that may be done rather simply, quickly, over tea and biscuits, and with little concern (at least in my experience). Perhaps because we still view politics as a fairly taboo subject, and in true Australian style, when something is simply too hard to tackle, just pretend it's not there.

I've never been an American, but I get the feeling that changing from Republican to Democrat could have the potential to set off a major conflict. A feeling that, given this article in today's Age newspaper, makes me wonder about how those middle-American Republicans (you know, the ones with a flag out front and gun out back) will cope should they lose on November 4. And, for pregnant teens everywhere, I sincerely hope they do.

Whatever happened to Ugly Betty?

2008-09-05T14:15:00.000+10:00

It got ugly, that's what. When we first heard about Ugly Betty over here in Australia, the Seven Network were very canny with their publicity. There was no saturation campaign or cities plastered with posters. Instead, the show came across a bit like a mysterious creature. For a while, no one knew exactly what to expect, so naturally we were all salivating with anticipation.

Then it finally premiered; that Sunday was huge! And it pulled 2.03 million viewers (note to non-Australians: 2.03 million viewers in Australia is a very good figure). The press were all over the show like the hungry flesh-eaters they are, expectations had been inflated so high; Ugly Betty was to change the face of television comedy-drama forever! So much originality, so much A-class writing!

By the end of the season, over a million people were bored enough to switch off. Then the Olympics interrupted its scheduling, but when it returned, it was to a later 9.30pm slot on Wednesdays.

For a show with so much hype, what went wrong? Personally, I think it's quite simple; bad writing. There are absolutely no plot hooks in Ugly Betty to get caught on. For some ungodly reason, the writers seem to think nothing of relying on tacky family-friendly jokes to keep people glued. But I think even more disappointment stems from the fact that the show is nothing more than a fluffy people-pleaser. In a world where (RIP, Don LaFontaine) manufactured beauty and body image rule like a major corporation, expectations for a show about an unconventional character in a very bitchy and hostile world were obviously high. In Ugly Betty, we expected groundbreaking themes that would slice right to heart of the real ugliness that permeates the fashion industry.

But Ugly Betty is nothing more than a comedy-drama, and worse, it isn't much of a drama or a comedy. The story of whether Betty and Henry should bother being together (after his former girlfriend became pregnant with his baby) was milked and repeated to over-nauseating levels. The exact same problem exists regarding Daniel and Alexis' brother-sister rivalry; we're forever one step ahead of these storylines, making them an absolute chore to watch.

Like Desperate Housewives' approach to its first season, Ugly Betty featured a slow-burning mystery that kept viewers engrossed until the big reveal. Unfortunately, the big reveal didn't really result in any huge gasps. And, another boo-boo for the writers, no one behind the scenes seems to have caught on to why Ugly Betty could be an interesting show. Her name, FYI, is Wilhemina Slater.

Many successful shows have one major character that, while not necessarily having the most screen time, features a certain amount of strength and substance for the others to orbit. The Golden Girls had Dorothy (Bea Arthur) (and when they later did a spin-off without her, it failed immediately), Desperate Housewives has Bree (Marcia Cross), while others may feature a limited main cast, all of whom carry their own stories in rotation (Sex & The City, Friends), yet usually all feature equal character depth. Wilhemina is obviously Ugly Betty's Bea Arthur, yet her human side remains tragically under-developed.

It's surely no coincidence that Ugly Betty hit American and world screens thanks to the film The Devil Wears Prada. After that success, Fox seemed certain to begin a TV series version (how perfect would Julie Newmar be as Miranda Priestly!! OMG!). Yet before anyone could throw their coat at a dowdy Anne Hathaway, Salma Hayek swooped in with her Ugly Betty (which she produces). For those out of the know, the show is a remake of the Colombian telenovela Yo soy Betty, la fea.

It's a shame really. The Devil Wears Prada knew very well that its character strength lay within the ultimately flawed Miranda. A dash of human honesty, and less Disney Channel fluff would undoubtedly bring Ugly Betty up to where it promised to be.

Unfortunately it's too late for Australian audiences; after a truly disastrous post-Olympics return of just 597,000 viewers nationally, it was pulled after one episode and replaced with a double Ghost Whisperer. With a figure that low, we're unlikely to see its return. And even worse, the show appears to have had a similar fate in most of the other countries it screens in. How sad. It was actually rather fun for the first few episodes.

5 reasons to wave winter good-bye

2008-09-02T14:21:00.000+10:00

Wishing winter away is not something I do often. In-fact, I've never done it. But the other day, as I was watching one of those crappy weekend travel shows and picturing the slow death of the host as she selfishly paraded herself along a paradise-ish beach, it all boiled over. Here I am, in Melbourne, with a blocked nose and two ear infections (yes, two!). Enough said.

So, to celebrate the tail-end of one horrifically cold, yet disappointingly storm-less winter, below is a list of 5 wonderful films that take place at a coastal paradise. Read, enjoy, and if you happen to be on the other side of the world at your own coastal paradise, well.... lucky you.

Six Days, Seven Nights

Remember when Anne Heche was inches away from being an A-list movie star? She had the look, the screen presence, the talent. Presumably she still does, only now without the up and coming career.

In Six Days, Seven Nights she played opposite Harrison Ford in an old fashioned RomCom that really had all the right ingredients to make one of those rare treats that just works. In theory it shouldn't, there's really nothing new about a seemingly mismatched couple discovering they're actually made for each other after getting stuck together on an island. But it's a premise that has been and will continue to be recycled forever; Ford and Heche prove that it's all about the talent and chemistry (take note, Made of Honor).

As for Heche; after that snooze-ville TV series Men in Trees was axed, she was next seen in court seeking exemption from child support payments. Apparently she's $364,000 in debt, with her only recent income, a one-off payment of $65,000, presumably being for voicing Lois Lane in the animated DVD movie Superman: Doomsday. Surely Anne Heche is worth more than this...?

Key Largo

I love this movie. I really love this movie. Humphrey Bogart was a great actor, one of the best and most deserving movie stars ever. In this film, opposite wife Lauren Bacall, he shows exactly why he remains one of the most respected actors.

Frank McCloud (Bogart) turns up at an old hotel in Key Largo to visit the family of a friend who recently died in World War II. The elderly James Temple (Lionel Barrymore) and his daughter Nora (Bacall) take an immediate liking to McCloud; it becomes clear how much they miss their son and brother. Things take a very dark turn however, when Johnny Rocco (the excellent Edward G. Robinson) and his gang take over the hotel. Rocco, a formerly powerful New York City gangster, has plans of escaping to Cuba.

Initially, McCloud seems indifferent to Rocco's plans. Scarred by the war and his friend's death, his attitude has mutated into one of "every man for himself". But Temple and his daughter Nora still believe in doing something for the greater good. The most touching, chilling and beautiful moment comes when an infuriated Nora stares McCloud in the eye, refusing to believe that he could possibly be speaking truth when he claims to not care whether McCloud escapes or not. It's her belief in the face of virtual hopelessness that McCloud needs, and he soon proves that being a good person is often not something you choose - it's what you are.

Some Like it Hot

Despite director Billy Wilder's complaints about working with the immensely difficult Marilyn Monroe, Some Like It Hot turned out to be a terrific film. Apparently Monroe was so spaced out during some takes that her lines had to be hidden strategically throughout the set (the 1996 telemovie Norma Jean & Marilyn portrays a scene involving her opening a drawer and reading her lines written inside before delivering them). But that didn't matter in the end, she wound up winning a Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy. Jack Lemmon shows that he always had perfect comedy timing, while Tony Curtis unexpectedly makes a very convincing woman (you could almost believe it's Bea Arthur up on screen).

Something's Gotta Give

Speaking of Marilyn, I would like to know why writer/producer/director Nancy Meyers decided on this title for her film. It has no relation to the famously incomplete Monroe movie Something's Got To Give. And it's not even a profoundly fitting title.

That said, it does happen to be a fantastic comedy-drama, certainly a career high for both Dianne Keaton and Jack Nicholson. Both are magnificent in their roles as aging romantic interests, with Nicholson as Harry, the sad old sleazy womanizer and Keaton as Erica, a given-up-on-men playwright. The pair accidently meet when Erica's daughter (Amanda Peet) invites Harry to her mother's STUNNING Hamptons beach house, under the belief that no one is home. Naturally, Harry and Erica at first seem so incompatible you wonder where the film's heading. But in true RomCom fashion, they both eventually see something in the other that they really are missing.

The absence of any cheap jokes is very welcome here. All the scenes have such a dosage of honesty, it soon becomes clear that with Nancy Meyers, we are in good hands. The scene of a heartbroken, crying Dianne Keaton is reason enough to give this film 5 stars.

I Still Know What You Did Last Summer

It's tacky. It's repetitive. It's all been done. But, yes, we all watched anyway! Despite that ho-hum Ghost Whisperer show, Jennifer Love Hewitt still remains a rather capable actress in my book. A lot of women I know hate her the way chefs hate Jamie Oliver; why is that?

There's no need to retrace the plot - think the first movie, but set at an Island Resort during a storm, with Brandy (as in the singer). I'm not exactly sure why, but I enjoyed this movie more than the first one. It's still one of those good examples of horror movies when they were fun, rather than those torture-porn things we get now (oh yes, they're all sooo clever with their twists and endless ways to kill... how profound).

13 Aussie TV Clichés

2008-08-29T16:26:00.000+10:00

Seven's new TV effort, Packed To The Rafters, started the other night. I found it rather strange. Not in a profound sort of way, more in a "who is this made for?" kind of way. Rebecca Gibney and Erik Thomson are both capable actors, but their characters have nothing immediately interesting about them. Michael Caton is a great actor, but again, nothing remarkable in his Grandpa role.

Of-course this was only the pilot, and at 1.95 million viewers, Australia was certainly interested. But let's not forget how well Above The Law rated when it premiered, only to wind up one of the most disastrous Australian TV moments ever. Not to mention Nine's Young Lions, which debuted with a bang, rave reviews and much fanfare, only to burn and die upon episode 2. Then there's Crash/Burn, Canal Road, The Alice...

I doubt Packed To The Rafters will be a long-term hit. There's just nothing very nice about it. The house they live in is dull and average, and next door to a large Greek horror-house. The main workplace appears to be a very ugly suburban electrician business (eww! the fish n' chip shop style walls! make it stop!), and while a rather interesting plot was subtly introduced in the pilot regarding daughter Rachel's abusive partner, far more time was given to a boring storyline about two predictably stupid boys trying to work a washing machine. Oh dear (though they did spend much of the show in their underwear, which probably explains the 1.95 million viewers). But things only got worse when American sitcom jokes from the 90's were pulled out of retirement for a very unfunny sequence concerning Thomson's Dave and too much Viagra. Ick.

Most shows improve dramatically after the pilot, so Packed To The Rafters may not be this bad long-term. But it really is so very strange that while Australia's film industry is utterly obsessed with being arty and different, our TV insists on force-feeding us boring every-man characters that could've stepped right out of a Coco Pops commercial. Snore.

In light of Packed To The Rafters affirmation of some of Aussie TV's most common cliches, here is my list of some truly awful things our TV execs continue to ram down our throats. Read, and may they never shape us into the dullsville Nurofen-advert zombies they want us to be.

1. Australia has 5 real cities, 2 of which TV shows may be set in (Melbourne or Sydney). Characters in family dramas NEVER speak of nor venture into the CBD of these cities.

2. TV Dads are often kept in the dark regarding important family issues for fear that they will "knock his block awf".

3. Teenage boys are always good looking, sporty, and seemingly directionless. They also like to walk around the house in their underwear (this is a good cliche). Their bedroom usually features at least one poster of a car.

4. If one member of the family is rather plain looking, it is the TV Dad. Every time. TV Dads are never hot.

5. On important family occasions, celebrations rarely venture outside of a) a family barbecue, or b) a suburban Chinese Restaurant.

6. On important adult occasions (i.e. someone has a hard day at work), all involved will meet at a pub. If the suburban TV Mum and TV Dad dare contemplate entering a trendy Bar, they risk venturing into the much-feared terrain of Gen Y - an audience which a 1 hour drama is far too long to hold the attention of. This is a concept better suited to those over at Channel 10.

7. People inside Family Drama World drive everywhere. There is no such thing as public transport.

8. Men get angry and use lawnmowers. Women think laterally and clean things.

9. TV Mum and TV Dad feel a constant need to prove that their sex lives still have spark, causing much suffering to their grossed out kids (and in Erik Thomson's case, the grossed out viewer).

10. Asians often play minor roles. Africans do not exist.

11. TV families always live in average houses. Only trouble-making characters live in nice houses.

12. TV Dads often come across as silly fools, while TV Mums hold the answers to the universe. This is repeatedly affirmed by the odd roll of the eye by TV Mum when TV Dad does something silly (eg. forgets how to use the dishwasher). See any number of current TV commercials for examples.

13. Jobs a TV Dad is likely to have:
- Policeman
- Doctor/Surgeon/Paramedic
- Something to do with disadvantaged people (even better if there's kids involved)
- Anything involving a building site

Jobs a TV Dad is unlikely to have:
- Bank Worker (or any kind of city Office job)
- Chef
- Journalist
- TV Host
- Anything that may result in TV Dad venturing into the City
- Anything not masculine

Gods & Monsters

2008-08-28T13:35:00.000+10:00

Saturday, August 30 - 8.30pm, ABC2 (Australia)

Bless digital TV. For centuries, Australia has suffered at the mercy of 3 commercial networks and two only sometimes decent non-commercial stations (though SBS does have commercials.... oh whatever you want to call them then). Now, through the magic of technology, a rather new novelty is starting to weave it's way into the Australian box; variety.

The delightful ABC2 has been making a welcome habit of playing superb movies on Saturday nights. A little while back saw the most beautiful-in-every-way film ever, Breakfast At Tiffany's. See, if it weren't for ABC2, films like this would only ever be seen by the odd person like myself, leaving only greeting cards to remind people of it's perfection.

Before Brendan Fraser became the peculiar star of modern B-grade adventure flicks, he was the star of a few interesting films. School Ties back in 1992 was one of them, with it's adolescent homo-eroticism (ah, that wonderful fight in the communal shower), and Ben Affleck... and Matt Damon... Chris O'Donnell...

McKellen as James Whale and Fraser as gardener Clay Boone in Gods & Monsters

Ahem, another of Fraser's stand-out efforts is certainly Gods & Monsters. James Whale, the film director best known for works such as 1931's Frankenstein, 1933's The Invisible Man, and Bride of Frankenstein in 1935, is at the center, with Fraser starring as his gardener, Clay Boone. Sir Ian McKellen is utterly perfect as Whale, not only acting-wise, but he even looks rather like Whale himself.

Clay Boone (Fraser) begins working as a gardener for James Whale (McKellen). When Whale catches a glimpse of the most handsome Clay, he subtly asks if he might pose for one of his paintings. The two recount tales of their lives, and Clay becomes more interested in the achievements of the now retired film director. But with each telling of times gone, a little something of Whale's state of mind is revealed. He is not a man at peace with his past; war, regret, and frustration nag him constantly. Eventually, Clay begins to see the path Whale walks.

The real James Whale

Gods & Monsters is certainly not a true story. Fraser's Clay Boone is actually entirely fictional, and while speculation has been twirling since the day James Whale was found dead in the pool, there are no noteworthy suspicions that it was anything other than suicide. Indeed, Whale had been finding it difficult to cope after a stroke that left him with a rusted memory. Despite this, memories of World War I, in which he was a POW, continued to plague him.

Though a troubled man towards the end, James Whale is quite the anomaly in that he was openly gay during his film directing career. In an age where open secrets were the norm (lets not forget Judy Garland marrying make-up wearing director Vincent Minnelli), Whale was one of the very few brave enough to live his life openly.

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

While Gods & Monsters is not to be confused with a historical biopic, it stands most proudly as a study of the man that was James Whale; talented, frustrated, vulnerable, sad. Amongst the plethora of biopics "loosely" based on actual events, I found it quite refreshing to find a film not even trying to masquerade as anything but a fictionalized portrait of an interesting person. Though unlike Nicole Kidman's Fur, Gods & Monsters is a great film.

A hero worthy of the title

2008-08-26T12:40:00.000+10:00

In Australia, it seems the words "sport" and "hero" are synonomous. It usually doesn't matter if the tag doesn't fit the definition of word. For Matthew Mictham, Australia's first and only out 'n proud athlete, it fits perfectly.

The vast majority of gays out there will likely still shudder at those memories of high school PE class, or as I recall, "the class where it's OK to charge and pummel someone repeatedly; it's all a game!". I know I still do. I also know that through one stroke of honesty, Matthew Mitcham has and will continue to make a very profound difference for young gay people everywhere; especially in our nation of neaderthals and their followers (sure, we have a good points, but my glass is half empty today).

Sparked by Mitcham's glory and the wide reportage of his gayness, debates have begun popping up like weeds all over the place. The Age featured a wonderful opinion piece by Gay Games medalist Ryan Heath, but Florida gay rag Express Gay News set a few spot-fires with it's article by former Olympian Lauren Meece:

"The GLBT community should let gay athletes deal with gay issues off of the podium. In the name of the Olympic spirit and humanity… shut up and let gay athletes focus on the endeavors that they have worked so hard to reach."

Alas, Meece is an ignorant fool with no comprehension of the world she herself would be enduring were it not for the Mitcham's of days gone who have paved the world we now enjoy. Just what is it about these sports people that makes them think nothing in this world is bigger than their "Olympic Journey"? Sure, we're all quick to get behind Mitcham after his win. But personally, it's the fact that he had to courage to come out before the Olympics, and then hit the headlines winning gold, that makes him a hero in my eyes.

Unlike Lauren Meece, who chose to step out of the closet after the Sydney 2000 Olympics, Matthew Mitcham's act of heroism happened before his win. The gold medal simply made it that much better.

I wrote about the gay public's need for validity in this bnews article a while back; it really boils down to generations of discrimination. What we all really want is for being gay not to matter. But it does matter. And by wanting gay celebrities to be out so desperately, we fuel the very fire we want extinguished. But there is no other way. Out celebrities validate the out every-man/woman, they demonstrate undeniably that gay people are everywhere, they always will be, there's nothing anyone can do about it and there's absolutely nothing wrong with it. We need them.

That is something former American NBA star John Amaechi understood very well when he decided to come out both to his teammates and the public. Despite a reportedly very homophobic atmosphere, Amaechi saw beyond his sporting career, realsing the enomous change he could make simply by being honest.

"Homosexuality is an obsession among ballplayers, trailing only wealth and women. The guys I played with just didn't like "fags" -- or so they insisted over and over again. But they didn't understand fags enough to truly loathe them. Most were convinced, even as they sat next to me on the plane or threw me the ball in the post, that they had never met one."

Read the full extract from John's book, Man in the Middle, on ESPN.

Featuring on a recent episode of Oprah, dedicated to gay rights situations around the world, the comments by former NBA star Tim Hardaway were also raised; "I hate gay people so, you know, I let it be known. I don't like gay people. I don't like to be around gay people. Yeah, I'm homophobic."

John Amaechi wrote about coming out in his book.

Hardaway later apologised (yeah, yeah, whatever...). But ignorance is no excuse. John spoke of the messages he received from young people all over the world; "I think people with these big booming voices, that when they speak, it rattles around the world... If you have a voice that has that impact, that power … then you've got to be really careful." Be sure to read more about this excellent episode of Oprah.

So, Lauren, instead of telling the gay activists to "shut-up", perhaps you should consider the impact they have had on the world you currently enjoy. If it weren't for them, people like Matthew Mitcham may never have had the opportunity to be themselves in the first place.

East of Borneo

2008-08-24T12:39:00.000+10:00

A little while back, I happened upon a very tacky Adventure movie DVD box set. Including such awful creations as Horrors of Spider Island (just the facade for a women's exploitation film, oh dear...), The Incredible Petrified World (while neither incredible nor petrified, it does have an interesting story behind it, which I shall cover in the near future... stay tuned) - the box set also features a rather peculiar film titled East of Borneo.

A sad, lonely woman has just arrived in the Malaysian jungle. She's come to search for her missing husband, who she has heard may be somewhere in Borneo. Her chances are slim, she knows this. But try she must. In time, she finds herself en route to a mysterious place called Maradu. But the Malaysian jungle is no paradise. Crocodiles, snakes, and fierce tigers await at every corner. But they are nothing compared to the dark ruler of Maradu, who has imprisoned her scorned husband, and now has his eyes on her.

A stage actress from New York, Rose Hobart made her first impression on film with 1930's Liliom. She then went on to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, playing Mr. Hyde's finacee. But it would be a little B-movie called East of Borneo that would scratch Hobart's signature on art history.

A typical 1930's beauty; smooth voice, pretty, angular face, and plenty of grace. Rose Hobart would never achieve Hollywood gold. But when Surrealist Artist Joseph Cornell saw her in the brief but impressive adventure East of Borneo, he was instantly attached. Something about Hobart caught his artful eye, and from then she became a part of his life, if only as an unattainable figure of inspiration.

Cornell bought a print of East of Borneo to screen at home. He soon set about cutting parts from the film that did not interest him, notably all the parts that did not include Hobart. To complete his piece, he slowed the resulting footage and projected it through blue glass; and so the 19 minute experimental art film Rose Hobart was born.

After giving birth at age 43, Hobart found herself on the Hollywood Blacklist, a Salem Witch Hunt of sorts, that saw many names all but banned from working due to perceived ties with communism. Speaking to the Los Angeles Times in 1991, she spoke of how it felt to be ostracised by her peers, "I remember when a casting director simply told me that I had been blacklisted. I was livid. I also knew that I had done it to myself. I had spoken out against what I considered unfair treatment of people in Hollywood.''

After 1949's Bride of Vengeance, her final film appearance, she paid the bills working as an Acting Coach. She would not act again until the 1960's TV soap Peyton Place. A few more TV guest roles followed, including a 1998 horror movie documentary Universal Horror, and her final known appearance in another retrospective documentary I Used To Be in Pictures.

She died at age 94, at her home in Woodland Hills, LA. Her brief and rather small film career was all but forgotten. But Cornell's experimental piece continues to spark interest. After being seen by fellow Surrealist Artist Salvadore Dali in one of it's first screenings (Dali is said to have flown into an enourmous rage, claiming Cornell had "stolen it from my subconscious"), the short film took on a life of it's own, with the US Library of Congress declaring it culturally significant in 2001, selecting it for preservation within the National Film Registry.

While Hobart is long gone, East of Borneo gasps every now and then as a strange and obscure gem. And yet Rose Hobart, the bizarre love-letter from an obsessive young artist, will continue to live as an artistic showpiece for generations to come. There aren't many Hollywood small-players that have a claim like that.

Watch Joseph Cornell's Rose Hobart on YouTube

Ricky Martin a father of twin boys

2008-08-21T12:40:00.000+10:00

At first I went "Huh? This is even stranger than that man that got pregnant", and then I read the article and went "oh...". Ergo, congrats to Ricky and co.

Gawd! Save us all, please...

2008-08-20T14:20:00.000+10:00

Poor Katy Perry. Despite her massive hit, it appears no one's too pleased about her kissing that girl. Obviously anything with even a subtle gay tone is going send the conservatives into a blind fit, but even the gay rights groups are in a whirling tiz this time, claiming Perry's girl-kissing is exploitive.

Stale Popcorn got it right when it called the song "vile and reprehensible", and Australia's own The Veronicas are certainly ladders above with their Take Me On The Floor. But expensive gifts ought to be delivered to Katy Perry immediately merely for sticking it up her Preacher parents and releasing the polyester-lesbionic song anyway.

While her father has apparently "had words" with her, it was her mother who splashed the shame all over the press; "It (the song) promotes homosexuality and it's message is shameful and disgusting. When it comes on the radio I bow my head and pray". Let's all hope she doesn't drive!

Roseanne's sandy buttcrack... ewwww

2008-08-20T12:41:00.000+10:00

Various media outlets were drowning kittens with joy at the prospect of sinking fangs into Roseanne after her rant against Brangelina. There's something macabre yet so entertaining about this woman; she always knows her opinion, yet seems to go to great lengths to express it in the most crass and offensive way. I love it. But it's not like there's a shortage of material against a couple that complain eternally about media hounding, then sell pictures of their children (I don't care if it was for charity - they've got plenty of money of their own to give without feeding them their own offspring).

In typical media fashion, most reports regarding Roseanne's blog were actually longer than the post itself. But things got really twisted when MSNBC reported that she had apologised ("sort of") to Jolie & Pitt. A quick read of the actual blog reveals that to be a load of stinking offle, especially considering the post included comments such as "...those who inhabit the media world of glamour and entertainment and fashion and gossip are horrid people who have no talent of any kind, and yet think of themselves as tastemakers. taste my sandy buttcrack tmz and perez!". See, you've gotta' love her (despite her inability to use upper case letters).

Never too late for Lizabeth

2008-08-18T20:40:00.000+10:00

Around this time 59 years ago, one of my most favourite films ever first hit screens. Too Late For Tears was an obscure, cheap film noir, adapted from a Saturday Evening Post pulpy newspaper serial. The writer, Roy Huggins, would later create a TV series titled The Fugitive, and through a smarty-pants clause in his contract, become rather rich (he was also involved in the Harrison Ford film, it's sequel US Marshalls, and the short-lived 2000 remake series).

There's something chilling about this film. Lizabeth Scott's character, Jane, is at first your average femme fatale; difficult, tough, conniving. But slowly, she's revealed to be far more than that, with a much deeper back-story.

Lizabeth hasn't survived as the most admired film noir actress, often thought to be below stars like Gene Tierney or Veronica Lake. Personally, I think Lizabeth was serving an entirely different purpose.

In nearly every role she played, Lizabeth was never simply the female supporting character. Weakness was not her speciality; Lizabeth was better than that. Even when she was meant to be the naive young daughter to Mary Astor in Desert Fury (notable for it's strange gay subtext), you could never quite see her in that light.

I'm not going to delve into the story of Too Late For Tears, it's just too delicious to risk spoiling. And besides, the tag-line says enough:

"She got what she wanted, with lies, with kisses, with murder!"

The good news is that it's in the public domain, meaning there are oodles of DVD versions out there - or you can download it free!

Unfortunately, Lizabeth got tired of the Hollywood game years ago. The old grease-pot magazine Confidential published a story back in 1955 that insinuated she was a lesbian. She sued them for $2.5 million, but the case was thrown out due to a "technicality". Confidential had published far worse stories about higher-profile people, but perhaps that wasn't the issue for Lizabeth. For whatever reason, she threw the career away after Loving You, Elvis Presley's first real movie. In true femme fatale style, her mysterious career ended as mysteriously as she had appeared...

In September, Lizabeth Scott will turn 86. To celebrate, I shall be attempting contact Lizabeth to wish her a Happy Birthday! Be sure to check in on Lizabeth's birthday; Monday, September 29!

Jolie's no match for Laura Mars

2008-08-17T14:10:00.000+10:00

For an actor, there's surely no greater privilege than winning an Academy Award. But why, oh why, do so many stars follow their award winning performance with utter trash?

After winning for Monsters Ball, Halle Berry fell into dullsville Bond-girl territory in Die Another Day, before suiting up as Storm for X2: X-Men United (OK, so this wasn't trash), followed by Gothika and then the film that still boggles my mind 4 years later - Catwoman (ignoring 64 years of the character's history, for this? Why? I must know!).

Now while I love Nicole Kidman (The Others, The Hours, and Birth are 3 wonderful films), I must wonder about her choices when after two Best Actress nominations and one win, she makes The Stepford Wives (irredeemably bad - her and Matthew Broderick certainly one of the worst pairings ever!) and Bewitched (I sometimes cry when I think about how awful this film is; complaints should be submitted in writing to Nora Ephron).

Before I'm accused of hypocrisy, let me be clear; Faye Dunaway is no exception. However, before she stepped into the role of bad-yet-campy-and-deliciously-wonderful Selena in the loved-for-all-the-wrong-reasons Supergirl, followed by a plethora of not so great films and a spot as judge on a Project Runway-style acting reality show, The Starlet; Faye Dunaway was a true legend. Yes, that's right, legend.

I believe she may be the last of that kind of star. The Elizabeth Taylor kind, Joan Crawford, Greta Garbo, Barbara Stanwyck kind of elegant star, full of grace, with a career full to the top of A-class performances. It's all very different today. In 2008, you don't need to be making films to be famous.

There is no greater example of this than Angelina Jolie. Her goodwill charity work aside, Ange's biggest tool of fame is her continuing manipulation of the press; simultaneously pushing it away while she subtly fuels their flame. It doesn't matter that her only truly great performance was a supporting role in her breakout hit Girl, Interrupted (a film which actually belongs to Winona Ryder). She's got Brad Pitt on her arm, screw the career!

Today, that's the secret to fame. Manipulation. Watch Brad and Ange closely. Watch as they parade around on their mission to save the world, all the while complaining about paparazzi treatment (though somehow, there's always enough material to get them into every gossip mag, every week). Oh, and the children are off limits. Unless Brangelina are selling the pictures. But that's OK, because the money is going to charity. Meryl Streep had some wise words on that issue on The View a little while back, explaining that she has always shied her children away from the media because she felt that once you step out there and soak in the spotlight, that's when it becomes "OK". It gives the press permission.

But no. Remember, Brad and Angelina set the rules here. Curse us all for not falling over and obeying their every wish.

Anywho, back to Faye; the last true Hollywood legend. After winning her Oscar for Best Actress in the brilliant Network, she made the equally acclaimed Voyage of the Damned, before stepping back into leading lady light in Eyes of Laura Mars.

Written by slightly schlocky horror master John Carpenter, Eyes is certainly nothing of a horror. It was actually Carpenter's first big studio film, barely a hint of his scent can be found.

Faye plays Laura Mars, a fashion photographer famous for her depictions of murder, perhaps to offset the perceived falseness of her subject matter (fashion). When her sleep is interrupted by a vivid nightmare of a murder, Laura is unsure what to do. Surely it was just a nightmare...

The next morning, a murder has indeed taken place. And before long, connections are drawn between Laura's photographs, and the mystery killings, which Laura continues to "see". But in a stroke cinematic glory, suspects are strewn all over the plot, fingers pointed in every direction.

Aside from the whodunit aspect, Eyes of Laura Mars benefits from the dramatic portrayal by Faye Dunaway. It's not all about the murder, Laura has a bad-news ex-husband to deal with, not to mention the inevitable misunderstanding of her work, and a burgeoning attraction between herself and the man investigating the murders, played by a mono-browed (ugh! hideous mono-brow!) Tommy Lee Jones.

But for me, above the smooth acting and terrific script, the direction and cinematography stood out most. Strangely, Director of Photography Victor J. Kemper's only other high-profile credit seems to be Xanadu (hmm...). Director Irvin Kershner (The Empire Strikes Back) does a wonderful job of keeping every scene tense, bare and edgy. Meanwhile, the Chucky, Brad Dourif plays very well as poor misjudged Tommy. If this script were made today, we may end up with something like the Sandra Bullock thing Premonition. It just shows what excellent direction can do for a film.

For your viewing pleasure, Sugacoobs presents a walking tour of Eyes of Laura Mars:

Warhol's Flesh

2008-08-16T16:18:00.000+10:00

No doubt there are oodles of Andy Warhol devotees out there who continue to worship everything the man touched. Admittedly, I am not one of them. His art is undeniably fantastical, and fresh even in 2008. Maybe I will become more of a fan later in life...

So I stumbled across a 3-disc set of Warhol's trilogy of films last night, written and directed by Paul Morrissey, which he produced. After seeing the tragically underrated Factory Girl, with Guy Pierce and Sienna Miller, I knew I had to see first-hand what Warhol was all about.

Flesh was the first collaboration between Warhol and Morrissey, and was apparently a step into bolder territory for the latter. The story is rather irrelevant; that is to say there really isn't one. As I loaded the disc and watched the fearful expression on my partner's face, I knew Flesh would most likely be unlike anything I'd seen before. I was right.

The opening titles are the most basic scrolling text, presumably displayed on some sort of LED board (and almost impossible to read, even on my 40 inch LCD). Then we have an approximately 4 minute shot of Joe Dallesandro's sleeping face. Thankfully, things get more interesting when the next wider shot reveals Dallesandro's naked body.

Indeed, Joe (yeah, Joe plays Joe) probably spends about half of Flesh in the nude (see below), with no strategically placed objects to rudely conceal his perfect penis. His beauty certainly helped launch the film into the mainstream of 1968, with even the New York Times commenting that "his physique is so magnificently shaped that men as well as women become disconnected at the sight of him".

But the sight of this wonderful naked body is not merely for eye candy, in-fact it's the basis for the film's message. Yes, despite the perceived incomprehensible construction, Flesh does not conclude with puzzlement.

Apparently summing up the ideology of Warhol's 1960's, the film seems to point at those types who live their lives under restrictions of how enjoyment should be achieved. Joe's circle of friends are the kind that don't see anything strange about him receiving a blowjob while they read gossip magazines aloud. One later rub Joe's girlfriend's boobs, swapping opinions on whether she should try that "new" silicone treatment. Threesomes are not portrayed as racy or even slutty; they're normal.

But Flesh isn't smut. Making the film today would most likely entail some sort of restraint, which voids the whole point. This kind of body-freedom could not be portrayed any other way. That said, Flesh isn't for everyone.

By mainstream standards, the scenes are incredibly clunky. There was apparently no script, rather a "guide" to each scene, with the actors told to improvise the rest. It makes for a possibly more realistic feel, but many moments are way overdone, such as Joe's girlfriend tying a pretty ribbon around his semi-erect penis; her amusement is almost eternal.

Joe Dallesandro with his real life 1 year old (who also stars in one scene of Flesh).

It's interesting to look at this approach to sexual freedom, made in an age before AIDS complicated everything. Joe refuses to allow himself to be labelled, insisting he is above the whole gay/straight thing. Sex is sex. But how that relates to love isn't part of the picture, though it appears to linger, especially in a slightly uncomfortable scene in which Joe peels himself away from a man who seems to be completely in love with him.

Flesh will be very pretentious in many peoples eyes. The way it almost goes out of it's way to use no flash editing or production values (no music at all after the titles) is a little eye-rolling. But this is true indie filmmaking, not just independent from any major studio, but really from any other influence. I find it quite amusing that this sort of film is considered a classic today, yet were it submitted as a graduation project at many a film school (such as mine), it would likely receive a FAILED. If that doesn't say something about social conformity, perhaps you need to see Flesh.

Where did Aleesha Rome away to?

2008-08-15T13:11:00.000+10:00

Sitting on the train this morning, a rather obscure pop starlet from the '90's suddenly popped into my head. I haven't the foggiest why.

Aleesha Rome was all over the radio in 1999/2000 with "One Of Us Has Changed" and the very fluffy "Search My Heaven". Both songs could have easily been performed by Tiffany or Debbie Gibson back in the '80's, so of-course I immediately decided they were wonderful. But one album was all there was for Aleesha. Where did she go? Why did she vanish so quickly? Well I suppose she vanished because her highest chart position was #20. But still, I miss that inoffensive style of fairy-floss pop (Pussycat Dolls, you're not welcome on my iPod).

Pull up a chair children, for Aleesha Rome lives! Sort of. The 17 year old girl that was Rome relocated to the UK in 2001. Apparently the record execs were pulling the strings too much, for her 90's pop-squeak skin has shed itself to reveal an indie musician by the name of Ivy York.

If you can imagine Eartha Kitt running really fast into Lesley Gore to create one person, such is a good indication of York's musical style.

Lovely London is a long way from Adelaide, a city which I believe to be Australia's 3rd best (after Melbourne and Sydney). Good on her for strutting away from a career she didn't believe in, despite it's obvious attractions. I'm rather tempted to follow her myself...

Ivy York's MySpace Page

Aleesha Rome on Wikipedia

I Wouldn't Hate the Olympics If...

2008-08-14T14:35:00.000+10:00

Why is it that once every four years, everyone decides that they suddenly love sport? Just like when the Pope came to visit, all of a sudden we're all religious? What a load of old poo.

Honestly, with two whole networks swallowed by Olympic tediousness lately, this is the only way I could bring myself to watch.