shadowboxing

if you've never thought of angus sampson as a serious contender in the acting stakes, believe. this guy has serious gravitas. i was just lucky enough to see his incredible production of "shadowboxing", all proceeds of which go to the richmond boxing club. the short run of eight nights is already sold out and finishes on sunday. two words: bloody hell.*

apart from being a physically demanding performance [sampson shadowboxes, skips, does push-ups, bag work, and generally trains hard throughout, pouring sweat and remaining vocally flawless], it was a work of exquisite tenderness and gentle comedy. sampson turns the whole room on a knife's edge of pathos and humour, as easily as he convinces us of his boxing prowess and the different kinds of pain he endures in order to live with himself.

it was also genuinely suspenseful, with sampson able to singlehandedly build momentum, mystery and a real sense of physical foreboding. here, he was complemented by some excellent stagecraft, particularly the clever use of lighting and sound to great effect. but rarely is a one man show so utterly thrilling, so affecting, and he never once had to work for the audience - they were firmly within his grasp for the entirety.

it was, quite simply, breathtaking, and i'll be firmly fixed on his career to see what he does next. let's hope that after 'where the wild things are', the australian film fraternity will wake up to this rare talent and give him the chance to stun us all.



p.s. after shadowboxing myself for a few months, i start work on monday in a new job with a union. i'm not sure i'll be able to keep up my commitment of a post per day but i'll try. i'm sure there'll be things to tell you. so i'll be relaxing this weekend, until sunday night when i'll fret and angst and drive myself crazy. then i'll draw breath, and take a step forward. thank you to everyone who held me up.



*no mel, not "hot body".

representing television

first witness for the defence, stephen fry:

"i remember an episode of star trek that ends with jim turning to mccoy and saying, 'out there, bones, someone is saying the three most beautiful words in the galaxy.' i fully expected the nauseous obviousness of 'i love you'. but kirk turned to the screen, gazed at the stars and whispered:

'please, help me.'

strange, the potency of cheap television."

i don't know about you but i find that pretty moving and not a little profound. you could even say that learning this lesson might save your life.


next up, "if you read a lot of books, you're considered well-read. but if you watch a lot of tv, you're not considered well-viewed." is lily tomlin's take, and she's a fine woman.


but perhaps most compellingly, if it wasn't for both television and the internet, we wouldn't have any of my favourite things this week. this one is not safe for work. actually, depending on your employer, you may exercise caution with all three [heavy on the swears].





or





or, especially





careful with that first one, won't you? i've had it stuck in my head for days and it's quite embarrassing when someone catches you murmuring a few bars...

idiot boxing

i won't go into the full description of my feelings about catherine deveny's writing/critical faculty or we may be here all day. BUT i must object to some of the comments in today's column. as ever, i have no problem with the broad thrust of her argument, but shouldn't the editor's job be to weed out the more ludicrous and egregious claims? especially when they can't be defended by facts [as if any were sought in the first place].

in an article musing about what happens when kids are taken off the television teat for a month [they're fine], why we put kids in front of tellies anyway [to give parents a break], and whether kids are capable of unassisted play anymore [they're not, really], deveny makes some astonishing and unsubstantiated claims.

like this one:

"i can't believe that anyone thinks telly or computer games are actually good for kids. but are they all bad? sure they develop skills, but there's no skill that could be learned from a screen that couldn't be learnt without one."

really?

i reckon a great many people would think 'telly or computer games' are actually good for kids. i think they are. as with every other thing known to man, under the fucking sun [now that i think of it, including the fucking sun], it's about what and how and how much. i find this kind of knee-jerk response shallow, narrow-minded, and not a bit unlike the cheap journalism we've come to expect from everybody's favourite, EPISODE NO PARENT SHOULD MISS, tabloid current affairs.

the kinds of information that kids access from tv and computer games, and the skills for processing and calibrating it, can't actually be learnt 'without a screen'. is it just that people are afraid of a new generation growing up with totally different skills, views, priorities? sure books are lovely [and require a whole other set of skills that shouldn't be neglected], and playing outside is definitely good for you, and blah blah OF COURSE NO CHILD SHOULD BE GLUED TO A TV OR COMPUTER SHOOTING PEOPLE OR WATCHING BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL. but why demonise them as "recreational junk food for kids"?

o cranky day.

the budget oscars

considering the set was recycled from an old logies telecast, and he had ten days to prepare [ie learn what the previously striking writers had come up with], jon stewart did pretty well. he was as lovely as ever, but far less outrageous, playing it safe for most of the night and only dropping my jaw a couple of times. now that our spiritual leader has been given props, everything else can be reduced to mere bullet points.

best jon stewart moment: bringing marketa irglova back onstage after the orchestra cut her off before she began speaking.

worst jon stewart moment: punning that harrison ford sounded like a car dealership.

best dressed: marion cotillard, for my money.

worst dressed: a tie for ellen page and diablo cody. ladies, please.

best presenter: helen mirren, who gave the whole world an acting masterclass while presenting best actor, simultaneously sending a wave of sexual arousal around the universe.

worst presenter: katherine heigl, poor pet, was choking with nerves.

saddest presenter: owen wilson, bless.

stokedest presenter: colin farrell, who appeared genuinely beside himself to be introducing the great glen hansard.

best reaction: cate blanchett jumping out of her seat and going bonkers when marion cotillard was announced the winner IN HER CATEGORY. is there any end to her awesomeness?

worst reaction: the comatose coens, alighting the stage three times and not managing to look like they give a fuck even once. luckily, frances mcdormand emoted on their behalf from the crowd, actually wolf-whistling at one point. she's rad.

most giddy-making win: 'falling slowly' took best song for the film 'once'. bravo.

most yawn-making win: all the others really. except javier bardem, tilda swinton [who used her oscar speech to razz clooney for his batman suit], daniel day lewis, and marion cotillard. stinkin' foreigners all. coolest gang ever.


that about does it. there were some more cringeworthy moments, lots of montage, both actual and ironic, and obviously some jack nicholson jokes. i had the most fun with my hosts imagining what kind of speeches we'd like to hear ie. daniel day lewis, who makes a movie every ten years and wins an oscar for it, should have gotten up and said 'you got served.' before sitting back down again. but nobody ever really makes oscar dreams come true.

except adrien brody.

my hiro

it is my dearest hope that all of you have at least one friend who can scoop you up in a time of need and make all your troubles seem tiny and inconsequential.

i do.

just a few days away [not far away mind, just far enough] and i'm restored. wonderful, simple food, good wine, love and care and affection, and many, many parlour games. when ever has a weekend felt like a long, languid holiday? and when ever has a dear heart, a warm kitchen, and a permit for the hound, been so sorely needed and so gratefully received? so at the risk of resembling, in any way, one of those horrific hallmark-esque chain emails about friendship day, i want to say thank you. you're a gift.

and everyone else, please look after your friends. it's not every day you remember how much they matter.

no ordinary sun

i went looking for some hone tuwhare just now, to find some comfort in his powerful, soothing words. i found instead that he died recently. on january 16, aged 86, he died peacefully, very shortly after edmund hillary. what a blow for their country to lose these giants in such quick succession, but what rich lives, and how many others were richer? i've written about him here before, but if you've never read his work, or [perhaps especially] if you don't consider yourself a 'poetry person', better late than never. i can't imagine how you'd regret wrapping yourself in his thoughts for a spell. he is truly masterful in his ability to cut through, make sense, make sacred, evoke. i love his words. here are some now...


Tree let your arms fall:
raise them not sharply in supplication
to the bright enhaloed cloud.
Let your arms lack toughness and
resilience for this is no mere axe
to blunt nor fire to smother.

Your sap shall not rise again
to the moon’s pull.
No more incline a deferential head
to the wind’s talk, or stir
to the tickle of coursing rain.

Your former shagginess shall not be
wreathed with the delightful flight
of birds nor shield
nor cool the ardour of unheeding
lovers from the monstrous sun.

Tree let your naked arms fall
nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoon’s flash,
no dashing trade wind’s blast.
The fading green of your magic
emanations shall not make pure again
these polluted skies . . . for this
is no ordinary sun.

O tree
in the shadowless mountains
the white plains and
the drab sea floor
your end at last is written.


hāere ra...

read all about it

i've just discovered this little corner of the guardian website. called "inside", it's a blog that discusses the way the paper has chosen to report items, and how that material is delivered. i think it such an excellent idea. putting readers directly in touch with journalists to discuss things like why news was reported, and how editorial decisions are made, regarding anything from positioning and length to deeper ethical questions.

a great example at hand is the coverage of the so-called bridgend suicides. the blogger/journalist explains the conference that took place and why the paper decided to report the suicides in the way they did, indeed at all. the post explains some of the moral and ethical considerations and gives us an insight into the editorial process. they let us in on the discussion surrounding such questions as: why publish it at all? and if so, what we were careful to avoid/emphasise as a matter of social responsibility?

i love the instaneity* and accountability at work here. perhaps l'âge could be persuaded to follow suit?


*instantaneousness? intimacy?

falling slowly

i don't know you
but I want you
all the more for that
words fall through me
and always fool me
and I can't react
and games that never amount
to more than they're meant
will play themselves out

take this sinking boat
and point it home
we've still got time
raise your hopeful voice
you have a choice
you've made it now

falling slowly, eyes that know me
and I can't go back
moods that take me and erase me
and I'm painted black
you have suffered enough
and warred with yourself
it's time that you won

take this sinking boat
and point it home
we've still got time
raise your hopeful voice
you had a choice
you've made it now

take this sinking boat
and point it home
we've still got time
raise your hopeful voice
you had a choice
you've made it now
falling slowly
sing your melody
i'll sing along



file under songs that have kept me alive, courtesy of glen hansard and marketa irglova.

yesterday's men

in case you missed it, four corners returned to our screens last night with "howard's end", an expose of sorts, in which a bunch of has-beens and also-rans vent their spleens about john howard. behind his back, of course. and after he'd committed political suicide and taken the party with him. a bit of dancing on his political grave, if you will. but make no mistake, this was THEIR CHANCE TO SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT.

'we mentioned to each other that he should leave'.

'we felt privately that kyoto should have been ratified'.

'we didn't realise that work choices would be so hard on australian workers'.

repeat and fade.

it's disconcerting to find that, more and more often, you are in agreement with jeff kennett. but his scathing criticism of howard's henchmen and their group therapy/act of contrition was fair and warranted. it was particularly impressive given his widely documented misgivings about the man himself. don't get me wrong, i'm as amused as the next bleeding-heart pinko snivel-libertarian by the current fortunes of howard et al. but i take no pleasure in watching the liberal party further debilitated by this legacy. we have two major parties, which have always been neighbours on the political spectrum. yes, that can be frustrating at times, but it's also an indicator of our great stability, pragmatism, and lack of, you know, fascist uprising and civil war. the liberal party was seriously wounded by the stewardship of howard, but i'd like to see it recover.

besides, this ghastly parade of howard's bitches* smacked of nothing so much as waiting for the big boy to leave the room before piping up to dob on him. gutless wonders. they waited for howard to be slayed by their political enemies before they had enough courage to sink the boot in. i found it sickening.

over eleven and a half years, they cheered and snickered and congratulated themselves as howard went after the weakest members of our society. more than that, they were his henchmen, attack dogs and lackeys. they watched as he gutted our most valuable institutions and laid waste to BOTH the conservative AND the liberal traditions within the liberal party, leaving it incoherent, authoritarian, and reactionary in way it had never been nor should ever be.

so, messrs costello, abbott, downer, minchin and hockey, shame on you for not rescuing your own party. shame on you for not standing up to a bully. and shame on you for allowing such a malignant personality to leave its indelible mark on australian society.

but you know what? now that the hard work of reconstruction and reparation has begun [on both sides of the house, and throughout the country], nobody cares what you think or what your excuses are. you are truly yesterday's men.




*with gratitude and apologies to eddie perfect.

195 bottles of beer on the wall...

welcome to nationhood, kosovo.

i wonder if it's too late to see you in belgrade this year.

awkward.

revelation

reading the paper this morning, i had a stunning epiphany. i think that after so long in opposition, having our institutions attacked, our best intentions and potential trampled on, and our hearts broken over and over again - we're finding it hard to believe/remember that the nightmare is over. i know i am.

so when you feel the bile rising in disgust at nelson's humiliating performance, just think 'it doesn't matter. they lost. he's irrelevant to me and very soon to the liberal party'. when you see fuckos on facebook or myspace saying they're not sorry, feel sorry for them. when you hear of imbeciles calling in to talkback radio to vent their spleen, just think 'oh, it must be so difficult for you now that john howard has been vanquished'. as the great stephen fry once said of such people:

"it's mean to attack so hopeless a brand of feeble stupidity or mock so terrible a lack of imagination, in the end it is its own tragic handicap, and those who go to the grave unilluminated by the light of ideas are the sufferers..."

not only are opponents of the apology suffering from a crippling failure of intellect and imagination, they also have to watch while the rest of the country says 'too bad. you lost. this is our australia now'.

we won.

happy st. kev's day

will you be my prime minister?

[i choo-choo-choose you]

took the children away

this story's right, this story's true
i would not tell lies to you
like the promises they did not keep
and how they fenced us in like sheep
said to us come take our hand
set us up on mission land
they taught us to read, to write and pray
then they took the children away
took the children away
the children away
snatched from their mother's breast
said this is for the best
took them away

the welfare man, the policeman
said you've got to understand
cos' we'll give to them what you can't give
and teach them how to really live
teach them how to live they said
humiliated them instead
and they taught them that and taught them this
and others taught them prejudice
oh took the children away
oh the children away
breaking their mothers heart
tearing us all apart
took them away

one dark day on framlingham
came and did not give a damn
my mother cried go get their dad
he came running, fighting mad
mother's tears were falling down
and my dad shaped up and stood his ground
he said you touch my kids and you gotta fight me boys
then they took us from our family
took us away
yeah took us away
grabbed from our mother's breast
said this is for the best
took us away

told us what to do and say
taught us all these are white man's ways
but then they split us up again
gave us gifts to ease the pain
sent us off to foster homes
and as we grew up oh we felt alone
cause we were acting white
and feeling black
one sweet day all the children came back

yeah the children came back
yeah the children came back
back where their hearts grow strong
back where they all belong
the children came back
said the children came back
oh the children came back
back where they understand
back to their mother's land
the children came back

back to their mother
back to their father
back to their sister
back to their brother
back to their people
back to their land
all the children came back
all the children came back
yeah the children came back
yes I came back.



archie roach

sorry

obviously.

oh, go fly a kite

three things to love about juno:

1. allison janney's perfect performance
2. michael cera's breathless charm
3. a few laugh-out-loud moments of glorious abandon [of convention]

three things to hate about juno:

1. a hybrid of; daria/darlene conner/every character janeane garofalo has ever played, smart-mouthing her way through the longest episode of dawson's creek-meets-napoleon dynamite EVER
2. 48 twinkly indie guitar anthems, each riffing on the theme of...'i like you, you like me, be the macaroni to my cheese'
3. oscar nominations


apparently, there is a debate raging along these rather more political lines too, but i'm not really phased by the issue of abortion in this film. especially given that it's essentially a story as firmly within the realms of fantasy as any wes anderson movie.* and as i argue about that kind of magical realism, you can't expect astute political commentary from beautiful flights of fancy. likewise, i'm not sure that teen comedies [however sweet] should be shouldered with the task of sex education. but even if a movie is sometimes just a movie, it has to be better than this to get my vote.

i'm afraid i have to out myself as a paid-up member of the juno backlash.

try googling that term, by the way.


*i mean, if every kid was like juno [perfect, wonderful, supportive family, head screwed on so tight she never wonders who she is, no complications or serious consequences], then carrying a baby to term in order to adopt it out might be a viable alternative to abortion for a teenage girl who made a mistake.

nowt so near as folk

after a weekend gambolling around town that included:

a] a magical candlelit dinner prepared for me by a beautiful woman,
b] shakin' it at a homotastic, transgender, rock 'n' roll show meets sexy-as-hell, off-the-wall burlesque spectacular, and
c] taking in the st kilda festival with a couple of hot fags,

i think i'm at least as queer as my dog.



in other news...don't give up.

the meaning of life?

i was pondering the question of religion some more, when i stumbled across this quote in an interview with john cleese:

"Here's what I think in a single sentence: I think that the real religion is about the understanding that if we can only still our egos for a few seconds, we might have a chance of experiencing something that is divine in nature. But in order to do that, we have to slice away at our egos and try to get them down to a manageable size, and then still work some practiced light meditation. So real religion is about reducing our egos, whereas all the churches are interested in is egotistical activities, like getting as many members and raising as much money and becoming as important and high-profile and influential as possible. All of which are egotistical attitudes. So how can you have an egotistical organization trying to teach a non-egotistical ideal? It makes no sense, unless you regard religion as crowd control. What I think of most organized religion — simply crowd control."

well, this crowd control bizzo sounds familiar. also, when he said "something that is divine in nature", i initially took it to mean something 'divine' in the natural, real world, rather than a mystical or spiritual one. something more compatible with rational, secular humanism. but on reflection, i think he just means a particular type of divinity.

still. interesting, no?

a bit of the old ultra-vilification

i can't tell if this is cool or not.

my first reaction was satisfaction, that a group of people infamous for using millions of dollars, threats and harrassment to suppress any criticism or exposure of their activities, are finally getting their comeuppance. there's a rich history of activists using technology to bring otherwise omnipotent bastards to their knees. on the other hand, if you have any kind of religious affiliation, you might feel empathy for a group of people who believe in a higher power [however absurd] being attacked and vilified by 'non-believers'. at the very least, you might defend their right to practice their religion without interference, in the spirit of freedom of expression. it's voltaire, it's the vibe etc.

but what if, like me, you pretty much deplore all organised religion? i asked myself if i'd be as comfortable with this kind of campaign being waged against any of the big world religions. i'd have to say yes. why not? aren't they all siphoning money away from vulnerable people to perpetuate a mythical world-view and further institutionalised discrimination? why is scientology so much worse?

and can we answer that question without citing tom cruise?

who should banksy be?

a new parlour game has just been minted and it's hot off the press. introducing a guest blogger for the evening: hiro. the conversation went something like this [don't you wish you were privy to all the great conversations of the world? "oh i say, let's build a wall! yes, a wall in berlin!" or "yes, john. you should absolutely dismiss the prime minister...i'd be ever so grateful."]:

hiro: i feel like we should be engaging in guerilla art of some sort. go nuts on the city's arse, banksy style.

mskp: i'd be up for that. like, billboards that are fucked and offensive to women could stand to have the banksy treatment. we could write "boring" across them like he did. cos you don't need any artistic skills to do that.

hiro: but i can't get caught doing that shit, or i'd lose my job.

mskp: you hate your job.

hiro: but i need it.



...




hiro: did you know banksy's black?

mskp: no. how do you know? nobody's seen him.

hiro: yeah, there's one picture of him. ever. it's from the side.

mskp: i've seen it! it's pixillated!

hiro: yeah, but the pixels are brown.



...




mskp: imagine if banksy was someone awesome that you'd never think.

hiro: LIKE PRINCE CHARLES.

mskp: or zsa zsa gabor's husband.

hiro: peaches geldof.

mskp: helen mirren.



[hilarity ensues]



so who do you wish banksy was?

ma belle

i spent a goodly portion of last night on the phone to glasgow, talking to ma belle soeur. her and sebastian have done the cleverest thing* and very soon they will meet a crazily small person who looks an awful lot like them. apparently, you are actually pregnant for ten months, not nine, well i never etc. so they wait. and the rest of us, on the other side of the world, fashion advent calendars out of egg cartons and hope against hope that the delivery date OF FEBRUARY 29 [YES, FOR REALS] is honoured by the stork. i miss you both madly, and i know i speak for many others when i say [casually, and without expectation] "see youse soon".

belle and i found time to talk of things other than pre-natal craziness - heath ledger, bay dredging/channel deepening [as her and sebastian still read the age online every day, bless their cotton socks], brumbyitis, the apology, the american military presence during world war two, soeharto's legacy, and super tuesday. don't worry, we've pretty much got all that under control now, so you can relax.

apparently, the super tuesday coverage is nothing short of hysterical in the uk, which sounds like my idea of heaven, but apparently it becomes tedious knowing what hillary and barack are wearing, eating for breakfast, slinging at each other, from minute to minute. belle worries that after they've finished monstering each other, the nominee will struggle to restore their reputation with the electorate. exposing those weaknesses could be just what mccain needs to unite republicans and split the democratic vote.

we'll know more tomorrow...



*it's a joke, joyce.

not so blue monday

i'm feeling very strange today, because from memory this is what it's like to have a "spring" in one's "step". last week was a minefield of nasty surprises, job-front rejection, and some good old fashioned despair. but after spending the weekend reconnecting, and soaking up the love and support of my friends, and reading things like sally morgan's suggested wording for the apology - i feel restored.

and here on the path, it looks like we have a clear favourite for US08. barack obama, come on down. he is very much my favourite too. i feel like this new frontier requires someone we can believe in, be inspired by, and feel hopeful about. i don't feel that way about hillary clinton, though i'd still be rapt if she won.

swings and roundabouts.

billary or barack?

just a quick friday vox pop to get the ball rolling on what i hope will be the first of many discussions about the UTTERLY THRILLING presidential primaries. i can't believe that in all probability, the united states of america will soon have either a female or a black president. and the worst case scenario would give us a moderate republican who's a pretty good stick. but between now and november, we've got ringside seats for one hell of a show.

four more sleeps til super tuesday...

would you wear this t-shirt?

"MOTHER TERESA WAS A DUD ROOT"