One day to go until the Melbourne Fringe!

3000 artists. Almost 300 shows. 19 days of arts goodness. What's not to love?

Yes, The Age Melbourne Fringe Festival kicks off in just one more day, and I can't wait! My copy of the programme is already thoroughly adorned with circled shows and hand-written exclamation marks and asterisks, and my diary is bulging with dates for the delights to come. It's my favourite festival in the world, and unlike other Fringe festivals around the planet, which predominantly feature interstate (hello Adelaide) or international guests (yes Edinburgh, I'm looking at you), the Melbourne Fringe consists almost entirely of shows and exhibitions and indefinable creative strangeness created by Melbourne artists.

It's an expression in art of Melbourne's creative and cultural soul.

As I said before, what's not to love?

There's wonderful comedy to be seen, such as Andrew McClelland's not to be missed special short return season of A Somewhat Accurate History of Pirates (1550 - 2017). There's the post-modern melange of psychosis and pop culture that is Tom Doig's Hitlerhoff; and the top secret soft assault that's set to unwravel across Melbourne on Wednesday, K2TOG.

Maybe you'd prefer a spoken word exploration of Madonna's Like a Virgin album at Babble's Liner Notes; or the visual documentation of Melbourne's punk scene that is Punk - A Photographic Journey? What about having the dreams of a house brought to full, rich, touching-all-your-senses life, in the must-see, must-experience Deceased Estate.

Then of course there are zombies. Lots of zombies!

And you can't go past the glorious Festival Hub and Club, where you can catch 64 events over 14 nights all in one compact North Melbourne precinct (a great introduction to Fringe for first-timers or the time poor - see a show, grab a drink in the bar, see another show or two all in the same night - even the same venue - thanks to the carefully scheduled programme); and more, more, more.

Circus! Visual art! Cabaret! Theatre. Artforms I can't begin to describe!

Yes I'm biased, I'm the Chair of the festival Board. But I loved the Fringe long before I was officially involved with the organisation. It offers audiences and artists alike the chance to take a risk, creatively; to expose yourself to artistic innovation and excellence and raw passion from professionals and first-timers alike.

So, seize the Fringe program in both hands and select, randomly or rationally - or perhaps best, a combination of the two - a range of shows across artforms and locations. What are you waiting for?

Go to www.melbournefringe.com.au to browse the programme and book tickets, or call the lovely crew in the ticketing office on (03) 9660 9666, or swing by the Ticketing and Info Centre at Federation Square.

And hell, if you find browsing through the festival guide and selecting a bunch of shows daunting, then post a comment below and I'll recommend something for you - hell, I might even invite you out with me for a night on the town!

Ah, Melbourne Fringe. What's not to love?

Ah McCain, you've done it again

Photographer Jill Greenberg, you're a bloody deadset legend! The above, photoshopped image is an outtake from a recent series of shots the US photographer took for Atlantic magazine. You can read the full story here...

Where the wild things are (gay)

Illustrator Maurice Sendak, author of the classic children's book Where the Wild Things Are, has publicly come out at the age of 80.
In a New York Times interview, Sendak responded to the question if there was anything he’d never been asked.
“Well, that I’m gay,” he answered. “I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business.”
Sendak lived with Dr Eugene Glynn, a psychoanalyst, for 50 years before Glynn’s death in May 2007.
Sendak said he never told his parents about his sexuality because he wanted to make them happy; and that he hadn’t come out when younger because the idea of a gay man writing children’s books would have hurt his career when he was in his 20s and 30s, the paper reported.

Meanwhile, in LOLcat world...

more animals

Oh, the things that I've seen (part two)

Two more brief impressions of some of the events I've attended in recent weeks (certainly more recent than the last post of this nature, which covered events that were staged up to two months ago). I think this should cover the majority of them, save for the latest, Vamp, which I'll cover in my next post.

Oh look, there have been a few events or occasions here and there that I won't be blogging about; the Victorian Premier's Literary Awards, for example (I was seated next to one of the Premier's police bodyguards; a big burly chap who didn't read much but who was an interesting conversationalist indeed - though I felt sorry for him that he had to sit through so many speeches at so many events just because he was babysitting Mr Brumby), and the wonderful launch of the 2008 Melbourne Fringe Festival programme (more of which shortly); as well as a disappointing film or two such as Hellboy II - The Golden Army, and a good film or two - such as the wonderful, animated memoir Persepolis, but you don't really need to know about them.

Do you?

BalletLab's AXEMAN LULLABY






















Last year's BalletLab production was the inspired Brindabella, which you can read about here. This latest work was more inimate, but while it may have lacked the grand scale of Brindabella it was no less ambitious, as I have come to expect from choreographer/creator Phillip Adams (who I interview about the production here).

Inspired by Fred Schepsi's film, The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith, this dance piece was a meditation on Australian colonial identity and the gothic tradition; and a physical exploration of the clash between Indigenous culture and European sensibilities.

Blood-red lights lit the hazy dance floor, which dancers then proceeded to tear up piece by piece (a literal depiction of the impact of European settlement on the environment?) as the ominous, metronomic sound of champion axeman Lawrence O'Toole (pictured) wielding his blades echoed across the set. A work replete with tension - generated by the presence of so many axes swung hynotically close to the dancers' bodies - and creating a palpable sense of drama, which the sound of woodchips spraying across the floor and the scent of freshly-hewn timber succinctly emphasised.

Women in ornate Victorian gowns drop casual racial slurs into their gossip. An Aboriginal dancer establishes a new tempo. Tension builds to a near hysterical pitch, and suddenly the film's explosive violence is screeened on the studio wall. For me this was the only off-pitch moment of the show, as if Adams was so attached to the film which inspired the work that he couldn't let it go, even though its presence felt almost irrelevent in this context. Finally, the dance reaches its end; the closing sequence promising a calmer future; evoking closure, completion, the end of the cycle.

An inspired work.



Tiny Dynamite Theatre's THE LONESOME WEST














The cavernous space of Theatreworks, in which this play is staged, works against the success of The Lonesome West right from the start, reducing what could be an enjoyably intimate, oppressive and claustrophic experience into something much less memorable. Director Gorkem Acaroglu's choice to emphasise the comedy at the sake of the darker emotions which run through this play also detracts from what could be a masterpiece of black humour spiced with the ever-present threat of violence.

The last in a trilogy of plays by Martin McDonagh set in the small town of Leenane, on the isolated west coast of Ireland, The Lonesome West centres on two brothers who hate each other yet who are forced by circumstances to live under the one roof. Valene Connor (Luke Elliot, pictured above, left) is a miser who has returned home only recently; Coleman Connor (Ben Grant, pictured above, right) has lived in the village his whole life, until recently with his father, from whose funeral he has just returned at the start of the play, accompanied by the local priest, Father Welsh (Mark Tregonning).

Welsh is something of a broken man; an alchoholic who is struggling with his ministrations in the violent village ("The murder capital of Europe") and who sees the feuding brothers as his last chance to succeed in his posting.

The fourth and final character in the production is Girleen (Gemma Falk), the teenager who keeps the brothers supplied with poteen (a highly potent triple-distilled liquor, often akin to moonshine), and whose motivations and desires only become clear as the play unfolds.

The tension and chemistry between Elliot and Grant is superb, though as previously mentioned, the production focusses more on the comedic aspects of their relationships rather than the violence; and Tregonning successfully presents the conflicted and tragic aspects of his character. But while these three do well, and also credibly maintain their thick west Irish accents, I was much less impressed with Falk, who brought little in the way of credible emotion to her role.

This lack of emotion was, for me, the production's greatest flaw. Not once did I get a frisson of fear or impending violence as the play unfolded; and while there is humour-aplenty in the work, it seemed emphasised at the expense of the play's blacker moments. Certainly The Lonesome West is far from being a bad production, but it struck me as a play that could and should be much, much better.

The Lonesome West is presented by Tiny Dynamite Theatre and is now showing at Theatreworks until September 21.

Fame at last!

Hoorah! I've been verbally spanked by Sydney's version of Andrew Bolt, the conservative sexual predator Mr Piers Ackerman, over my part in awarding the John Curtin Prize - the Victorian Premier's Literary Award for Journalism - to Richard Flanagan for his passionate polemic in
The Monthly last year. Finally, I can die happy!

Tackling homophobia

In its 150th year, is the AFL finally ready to deal with the poisonous presence of homophobia? Richard Watts reports.

Photo Credit: Wikipedia

According to Australian Football League (AFL) Media Manager Patrick Keane, the AFL’s existing rules and codes of conduct are more than adequate to police a case of harassment on the basis of sexual orientation, should such a situation ever arise.

“In terms of Rule 30, which is called ‘Racial and Religious Vilification’, under the terms of that, a person can lay a complaint on any form of abuse or harassment that’s directed towards them, which includes someone who abuses or harasses you for your sexual status,” Keane explains.

That may be the case, but it’s also true that the AFL rule in question makes no mention of sexual orientation; instead referring only to ‘conduct which threatens, disparages, vilifies or insults another person on the basis of that person’s race, religion, colour, descent or national or ethnic origin’.

Conversely, the AFL Player’s Association (AFLPA) specifically acknowledges sexual orientation in its Code of Conduct.

‘AFL Players must not vilify other AFL Players on the basis of their race, religion, colour, sex, sexual orientation or other related characteristics,’ item 3.4 of the Code states. The Code also prohibits AFL players ‘from making public comment that vilifies or tends to vilify persons on the basis of their race, religion, colour, sex, sexual orientation or other related characteristics’.

Dr Pippa Grange is the AFLPA’s General Manager for Psychology, People and Culture. She believes that acknowledging issues of sexuality such as discrimination and vilification are important to both the AFL and the AFLPA, but recognises that the AFLPA have “perhaps gone a little bit further in being explicit about it”.

That said she’s also aware that there’s much more that needs to be done on the issue.

“We can get more explicit in the way we air topics around gender diversity and sexual preferences ... I think that any topic that involves diversity comes from a core value of respect, and when we talk to players about any of these topics more broadly, we’re coming at it from that angle; but we don’t do anything specifically to educate or raise awareness of diversity around sexual preference or gender diversity, and that’s possibly something we can look at, moving forward,” she explains.

Grange’s enthusiasm for fostering acceptance of sexual diversity among the AFL’s playing body is tempered, however, by her awareness that a culture of homophobia exists to some degree within football circles.

“Individually, when I speak to players one on one or in small groups, they’re really very tolerant. I haven’t seen examples of overt, explicit or spoken homophobia,” she says.

“However, the cultural, traditional norms that the whole group espouse are something different. I do think that homophobia is alive and well in AFL football - as in any groups of Australian males, particularly in traditions where the whole part of you being involved in it is the gaining of masculine capital. It is there, but I don’t think it’s implicitly stated, and I don’t think it’s deeply held by the individuals.”

However, Grange is also quick to point out that generalising about AFL players as a whole – such as suggesting that they are all homophobic, based on the words or deeds of one or two individuals – will not help anyone.

“What happens then is that [the players] withdraw their voice from the conversation; I think it could be a really powerful voice, and I really hope that on the whole we’re able to use the players’ voice for any role-modelling, and any power that the brand of AFL football has, in a really positive way, rather than as a negative label being applied to the players,” she concludes.

Grange’s perspective on homophobia in football culture is not shared by AFL Media Manager Patrick Keane.

When asked if the AFL has even a slight problem with homophobia, he replies simply: “No, we don’t.”

Nor will Keane speculate, when invited to do so, as to why Britain’s Football Association sees homophobia as a problem, whereas the AFL does not.

“I can’t speak for the British Football Association, only the AFL,” Keane said.

When asked to conjecture, he replied shortly, “No”.

On its website, The Football Association (The FA) states that: ‘Male or female, an individual’s sexual orientation should never be a barrier to people taking part in – and enjoying – our national sport … As the guardian of the game in this country, The FA is uniquely placed to tackle issues such as homophobia … we can – and will continue to – amend the laws of the game to outlaw homophobic behaviour.’

The AFL, meanwhile, shows no such commitment, as illustrated by its response to the case of Ken Campagnolo (a Victorian football trainer who was sacked by the Bonnie Doon Football Club when his bisexuality was made public).

Keane agrees that the AFL is the peak body for football in this country, but says of the organisation’s response to Campagnolo’s sacking and ongoing discrimination claim: “That does not mean we are responsible for the actions taken by another person at another completely different level of football.”

As the peak body then, does he believe that the AFL has a moral obligation to lead other clubs?

“Yes, and we believe we do that,” Keane replies. But when asked if the AFL’s response to Ken Campagnolo demonstrates moral leadership, Keane can only repeat, “I said, we believe we do that”.

While the AFL is dragging its heels on this issue, other members of the football fraternity are adamant that the sport has a moral obligation to tackle sexuality-based discrimination. One such man is Eddie McGuire (pictured), the influential President of the Collingwood Football Club.

“The one thing that we are is the club for anyone who feels disassociated. We don’t care what your race, religion, sex or sexual orientation is - we believe absolutely in tolerance and respect and empathy,” McGuire tells MCV.

“We won’t tolerate – as long as I’m president of the club anyway – we won’t tolerate any form of discrimination.”

In terms of fighting homophobia, the Collingwood President compares the issue to the AFL’s successful battle to eliminate racism from the game.

“I refer it back to the same principles as tackling racial vilification – when we started to tackle racism, I had a lot of people come up to me and say ‘Thank god we’re doing this: I used to shout racial abuse because I thought it was what you were supposed to do, but I didn’t really believe it’. It’s the same classic pack mentality in regards to sexual orientation, and football should be leading the way in that regard,” McGuire concludes.

This article originally appeared in MCV #400, accompanying an article by Doug Pollard in which he compares the steps taken by Britain's Football Association to address homophobia to those taken by the AFL. You can read Doug's article here.

Oh the things that I've seen... (part one)

Because I've been a bad, bad blogger of late - blame my life: there was a hell of a lot happening in July-August, most of which I can't go into detail about - there have been quite a few performances I've attended recently that I haven't had time to blog about: until now. Apologies for the brevity of the following 'reviews' (perhaps 'impressions' would be a better word); I've got rather a lot to catch up on!

Bell Shakespeare's HAMLET













There was a point, a few years ago, where I was determined never to see another Bell Shakespeare production. The company's shows - especially those directed by John Bell himself - had become stale, predictable and tedious, I thought - so much so that the last Bell production I saw, Romeo and Juliet, I walked out of in disgust.

So it was with some foreboding that I went to see the Marion Potts-directed Bell Shakespeare production of Hamlet at the Arts Centre back in July. Happily, it wasn't that bad. Which is not to say it was great, either, but at least the trademarked, forced updating that has marred many Bell productions is absent; and those contemporary aspects that are present, such as a live score performed on-stage by Sarah Blasko, work suprisingly well; tender and sorrowful melodies that counterpoint the stark, industrial set design.

Sadly, the worst thing about this Hamlet is Hamlet himself. As played by Brendan Cowell, the melancholy Dane is a surly, spoilt toff, with little gravitas save for his self-concious renderings of the famous soliliquoys. The rest of the time he seemed slight, restricted in his vocal range and dramatically constipated; especially in contrast to the camp buffoonery of Barry Otto as Polonius, and the exaggerated clowing of the actors playing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

The stark, industrial set was pretty cool, though, as was the zombie-like evocation of The Ghost (what the is it with zombies and the zeitgeist this year for fucks? They're everywhere - see my upcoming Fringe post and you'll see what I mean.) Overall, passable, but nothing spectacular.


Matthew Bourne's EDWARD SCISSORHANDS






















I was surprisingly entertained by Matthew Bourne's big-budget dance interpretation - or 'dance-ical' - of Tim Burton's almost perfectly-realised (unlike most of his films) 1990 gothic fable, Edward Scissorhands.

The set was spectacular, the staging clever (the little houses! the fake snow which fell over the audience at the dramatic conclusion of the show!) and the narrative (which film purists may have felt Bourne took some liberties with, especially in the prologue) was abunduntly clear: so much so that my companion for the night, who'd never seen the movie, had no touble working out what was going on, even though he missed the first half of the show.

Yes, it was kitsch, over-the-top and occasionally cheesy. Yes, some of the big scenes, involving the entire cast, were drawn-out and sometimes contrived. But some of the sequences - such as a fantasy in which a scissor-less Edward is actually able to touch and safely hold the girl he's fallen in love with, as the topiary animals dance around them - were visually spectacular and emotionally engaging.

It wasn't as good as Bourne's Swan Lake; and in comparison to some of the best contemporary dance we're spoilt with in this city, courtesy of some amazing local companies and choreographers, it was a bit naff; but what the hell, I thought Edward Scissorhands was kinda fun.


Yana Alana and the Paranas in Bite Me Harder






















Director Anni Davey picked up a Green Room 'Best Director' gong for this show in its original incarnation at last year's Melbourne Fringe. It's not hard to see why. This newly-staged, jazzed-up version, featuring The Town Bikes and an amazing aerial drum solo by Bec Matthews, fucking rocked.

Yana Alana (the ribald creation of Sarah Ward, who is also one half of Sista She) took no prisoners and made no friends as she launched into venomous readings from her collection of poems, If You Were A Carrot I Would Have Cum By Now. Throughout the show she also burst into song, and abused her band and dancers in equal measure. It was a bawdy, sassy, sexy, provactive and hilariously entertaining comedy/variety show; and big props to the Arts Centre's Full TILT program for this re-staging. Hopefully we'll be seeing Yana again soon...


Companie Philippe Genty - LAND'S END















I got held up at work on the evening of this performance, so consequently missed the first 45 minutes of this show; nonetheless I was still bored by the time this dated, dull piece of 'poetic theatre' had run its course. What I saw consisted of a sequence of dreamlike vignettes centred around the idea of a man struggling to communicate with a woman (because women are so mysterious and hard to read, don't you know), evoked through puppetry, sudden shifts in perspective, sliding panels, suitcases, sillhouetted figures, extremely stiff and stilted dancers, and vast, billowing plastic bags. If I'd had to sit through the whole show, I probably would have gnawed an arm off in frustration.

There were some sublime moments - but they were few and far between, thinly scattered among some exceptionally tedious, overdrawn sequences. Tellingly, at the after party I didn't speak to one single person from the Melbourne arts world who had actually enjoyed the production - so at least I knew it wasn't just me who thinks that Genty's laurel-resting reputation as a 'master of illusion' is no longer deserved...

Know any gay footballers?

Stop laughing, I'm serious. The holy grail of gay newspaper editors such as myself is an interview with a gay AFL player. Right now a rumour is doing the rounds (spread by 3AW's morning segment, 'The Rumour File') that the Victorian version of The Footy Show has paid a gay player to come out on the show - presumably tomorrow night.

Now, I've been doing some digging, and I've come up with a few potential names - and no I'm not going to share them with you - but I haven't had any luck finding someone who will speak on the record.

So, I was wondering if perhaps you, dear reader, might just happen to know a gay or bisexual footballer? He doesn't have to play AFL - I'd also be happy to speak with a VFL player or even someone in a country league - or a soccer player for that matter - but I would very much like to interview someone for a feature article on gay men and team sports.

So, feel free to drop me a line: richard dot watts at eevolution dot com dot au - and yes, the two e's in eevolution are deliberate; not a spelling mistake...

Run away and subscribe to the circus!

Ok you lovely folks (by which I mean all of you who read this blog on even a semi-regular basis; and yes, that means you), you probably know the drill by now.

It's Radiothon time at 3RRR again, which means it's time for our annual shout-out to those of you who listen to and love the station I volunteer for, to please, please, please subscribe to something you don't actually have to pay for out of the goodness of your heart, to help keep such a remarkable independent media outlet alive and kicking and on-air for the next 365 and a wee bit days.

If you subscribe to my show especially, I wil dance the dance of pure, unmittigated joy* the next time I see you. And that's a promise.

This year Radiothon has a circus theme, too - how cool is that?

Please subscribe - you know you want to. You also know that it will make conservatives like Bronwyn Bishop hate you, which is an even better reason to subscribe if you ask me.

Go on. Please. Just for me?

If not for me, how about subscribing for this lovely fellow?



*The Richard Dance of Pure Unmittigated Joy probably looks something like Xander doing the Snoopy dance, if you must know.

The last of MIFF 2008

And so finally, after this long, drawn out process, we come to the final four of the 15 films I saw at this year's Melbourne International Film Festival. Thanks to Richard and his team for their expertise, to the Limelight publicity crew for their assistance, and to my fellow punters for helping make this a truly enjoyable film festival experience. Roll on 2009!

MAD MAX II

















Part of the festival's committment to showing classic Australian films from the past decade, this screening of George Miller's high-octane action flick Mad Max II was introduced by actor Eric Bana, who had hand-selected it (although apparently he actually wanted to screen the original Mad Max, but no print was available) as being one of his favourites. Bana also took part in a Q+A after the film, in which questions ranged from the insightful (such as one about the film's lack of dialogue and strong visual narrative) to the banal (one nervous fan asked: 'I was wondering, um, how you learn your lines?' To his credit, Bana answered most questions well, although I think he dodged mine a little.

I asked about a homophobic element of the film; whether he'd been aware of it as a youth, when he saw the film, and how he interpreted the scene now. If you've seen the film, you might remember the sequence I'm thinking of. It comes quite early in the film, and introduces the film's gay couple: the mohawked bad guy Wez (pictured, above) and his effeminate blonde boyfriend. The camera pans from the ground up, we see two sets of legs and we think it's a guy and a girl but - shock! horror! - it's then revealed to be two men.

It's a classic example of homosexuality being coded in a way that presents a gay couple as objects to be feared and hated - and ultimately derided, in that we're encouraged to celebrate, even laugh, when the femme blonde guy gets killed as punishment for his subversion of traditional masculine codes of behaviour...

So yeah, that irked me a bit on seeing the film again, and I don't think Bana's question was entirely honest; but he probably thought I was bringing the mood down, or having a go at him or something. I wasn't: I was genuinely interested in his reading of the scene now, as an adult, as compared to when he saw the film originally as a teenager.

And hey, it's still a great action film with some truly breathtaking vehicle stunts - and seeing such a clean print on the big screen was fucking awesome! And for more details on the film and its structure, visit this blog here...


MEN'S GROUP













Some audiences may be put off by the fact that this simple drama about men and their at-times painfully repressed emotions is A) very talky, and B) Australian. Please don't be - it's a superb film. The debut feature from director Michael Joy, Men's Group was shot using a simple idea - a group of strangers meet weekly in a suburban lounge room simply, painfully, to talk - and employing a semi-improvised structure that meant the bombshells dropped by each character in certain pivotal scenes were not known beforehand by the other actors, heightening the authenticity of performances. Learn more about it here.

Characters include Alex, a chronic gambler growing increasingly estranged from his wife and son (Grant Dodwell); an incredibly buttoned-down and straight-laced businessman, Lucas (Steve Le Marquand); the surly, silent Moses (Paul Tassone); urbane senior, Cecil (Don Reid); and wanna-be comedian Freddy (Steve Rodgers). As the film unfolds, the secrets of each man are revealed - in at least one instance under truly shocking circumstances - resulting in genuine depth and an emotional impact I certainly wasn't expecting. Initially slightly strained - befitting the situation its characters find themselves in - Men's Group quickly finds its feet, becoming a finely-tuned, powerful drama that I unreservedly recommend.

DEREK















This long-overdue documentary about the life and work of English filmmaker, artist and activist Derek Jarman doesn't try to be a cohesive biography. Instead, it seeks to capture something of Jarman's bohemian spirit. Rather than a dry, distant voice-over, actor Tilda Swinton (who worked closely with Jarman over the years) reads from a heartfelt and poetic letter she wrote to Derek after his death; coupled with extracts from a judiciously edited interview with Jarman himself, which provides biographical details and insight about his films straight from the horse's mouth. Stills and extracts from Jarman's films, both seen (Caravaggio, Edward II) and unseen (private Super 8 footage) show us his art, while additional footage from gay rights demonstrations and other events represent Jarman's indomitable spirit in the face of homophobia, a commercial and conservative film industry, and the ravages of AIDS. A triumphant, luminous exploration of Jarman's life and work that had me beaming amidst tears.


[*REC]













Aptly, for a festival in which genre played a major role, this year's MIFF closed with one hell of a horror film; the tense, creative and often truly startling [REC]. Think 28 Days Later crossed with Romero's The Crazies with a bit of The Blair Witch Project thrown in for good measure, and you'll have something of an idea of what this first-hand-subjective handycam-shot film is like. Screaming blood-thirsty zombies, faceless authority figures clad in biohazard suits, a claustrophic environment, and a cast of characters who are rapidly being whittled away: it's all here.

I won't go into details, because to say too much about this film would be to spoil some of its surprises: but let me just state that it made me jump in my seat like no other horror film I've seen in years, for me is certainly something to celebrate. The sound design is fantastic, making great use of ambient sound; the direction conjures up some truly remarkable tension (which resulted in people in the cinema I was in literally screaming in fright) and performances - and effects - are top notch. [*REC] is a horror film with one hell of a buzz, and I for one reckon it's well deserved.

MIFF part three

Yes, I know that MIFF has now been over for a week and that I should have got my final batch of reviews online a little sooner, but I've been busy, ok? Here are my thoughts on two more of the films I saw, with another four reviews to come...

BOY A













This strikingly if bleakly shot British film tells the story of 24-year-old Jack Burridge (a sensitive performance by Andrew Garfield), a shy Mancunian delivery van driver freshly released from prison after serving 14 years for a murder committed when he was only 10 years old. After rescuing a young girl from a car crash, the man-boy Jack becomes a local hero, but the attendant publicity threatens the anonymity of his new identity. Simultaneously, two important relationships - his first, fledgling love affair with a lusty co-worker, Michelle (Katie Lyons); and his friendship with Terry (Peter Mullan), his caseworker - highlight issues of trust, love and need in Jack's life - as do the flashbacks which gradually flesh out Jack's past, and the terrible crime another friendship led him to commit. Boy A is a subdued, sombre and evocative film about redemption and despair that I found hard to fault, and which had me wiping away tears at its conclusion.


LET THE RIGHT ONE IN















Based on a popular Swedish novel which I now want to read more than ever, Let The Right One In tells the story of Oscar, a bullied 12 year old boy who gradually develops a close friendship with Eli, a strange young girl who's just moved into the apartment next door. Just how strange she is we learn after her elderly guardian attacks a young man and drains his blood for her. Eli only looks 12 - she's actually much older; and she's a vampire. This poetic, subdued film is far from your average horror movie, and uses silence and stillness to great effect right from its opening scenes, counterbalanced with occasional moments of frenetic intensity - such as a standout scene in which we learn that cats hate vampires... While I had occasional problems with its pacing, overall I enjoyed this coming-of-age story given a magic realist/horror twist.

MIFF part two

So now I've managed to squeeze in a total of 12 sessions at the Melbourne International Film Festival, which to people who only see a couple of movies a year will seem like a lot of cinema-going in just 13 days, but by my usual festival-going standards is pretty pissweak. Damn work deadlines and tiredness-generating-workloads interfering with my film-viewing pleasure...

Enough grumbling: time for details.

BOB MARLEY: FREEDOM ROAD


















At only 54 minutes, this brief doco about reggae superstar Bob Marley's life, death and career was, unfortunately, the most unsatisfying film I've seen at the festival so far. Its reverential tone never dipped far beneath the surface of the man's life and music; an impression unfortunately bolstered by a series of personal testimonies from those close to Marley, none of whom seemed to have anything bad to say about the man. In short, Bob Marley: Freedom Road felt like a clumsily-produced piece of filler for a cable TV channel, and I regret wasting an hour on it.

Even more frustratingly, the accompanying doco, Upsetter: The Life and Music of Lee 'Scratch' Perry, was by far the better film: imformative, engaging, detailed and analytical, or so it seemed in the 10 minutes I had to appreciate it before racing out of the session to get to the opening of the Melbourne Art Fair 2008... dammit!


OTTO, OR UP WITH DEAD PEOPLE






















Buoyed-up by the sublime experience of a Sigur Rós gig at Festival Hall that had ended just half-an-hour before this session started at 11:30pm last Friday, I was in an excellent mood when the latest schlock opus from Bruce LaBruce (Hustler White, Raspberry Reich) started; and being perfect fodder for a late night slot at the festival, Otto; or, Up With Dead People didn't disappoint. This story of a recently reanimated gay zombie, who falls in with the cast and crew of a strident politco-porno underground zombie movie while trying to reassemble the fragments of his former life, is certainly not for everyone. However, if your tastes extend to deliciously observed irony juxtaposed with low-budget gore, some dead sexy boys (excuse the pun), and a dash of relatively serious commentary about a) the environment and b) the painfully unaware foibles of the self-consciously avante-guard, then Otto is for you.


ALONE IN FOUR WALLS












While not outstanding (I accidentally caught a short film, the name of which escapes me at the moment, at MIFF two years ago which explored a similar premise with considerably more finesse) this feature-length doco by Alexandra Westmeier is certainly not without merit. It's a quiet, contemplative film which dispassionately (at times almost too dispassionately: some more vigor might have made for a structurally more engaging film) and non-judgementally documents the day-to-day lives of a group of Russian teenagers in a boy's reform school over the course of a year.

Some of the boys - all of whom were aged 14 and under at the time their crimes were committed - have been sentenced for two years remand for petty theft; others are serving three years for murder. Over 89 minutes, Westmeier allows these boys to tell their own stories, complete with tears in some cases, and laughter in others. We see the daily routines which may help some of the boys - the majority of them from dysfunctional and impoverished families - develop something akin to normal lives. We also hear occasionally from their bewildered parents, and in one instance from the mother of a teenager who one of the film's softly-spoken subjects violently battered to death. While the uncomfortable seating of the Greater Union Theatre didn't help my appreciation of this film, overall I'd had to describe it as solid rather than especially

WORDS OF ADVICE: WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS ON THE ROAD





















Another documentary which suffered from an excess of adulation syndrome, ie a lack of critical engagement with its subject, was this Danish feature about the late Beat Generation writer and author of Junkie, Queer and Naked Lunch, William S Burroughs. That said, it mostly made up for the flaw, in part through its engaging collection of interviewees (including one particularly odd character who, without qualms or self-consciousness, proudly showed us one of Burrough's turds which he'd found floating in the man's sewerage-flooded basement and kept in a jar).

The focus of the film is primarily the author's later years from the 1970s onwards, including his development as a pop culture icon and spoken word performer (though frustratingly, the director failed to acknowledge that Burroughs was an accomplished performer and raconteur as early as 1944, while sharing a house with Joan Vollmer Adams (who he would later marry, then kill) and Jack Kerouac in New York City). The centrepiece around which the doco has been constructed is an array of previously unseen footage from Burroughs' 1983 European tour, specifically his appearances in Denmark.

Fans of Burroughs will enjoy this doco to a degree, but for a Beat Generation devotee such as myself, it was a little lacking in substance, and could perhaps have done with more editing to trim it down to a leaner, sharper running time. An hour would have been ideal; at 74 minutes, I felt this particular doco slightly outstayed its welcome.

More capsule reviews in my next blog entry, hopefully tomorrow...

(Untitled)

Courtesy of Evol Kween comes this rather fun meme, which struck me as an excellent way to waste 10 minutes at work on a Wednesday. Here's what you do.

A) Grab your iPod.
B) Set it to shuffle.
C) Use the names of the songs that come up in order to answer the following questions.

Easy huh? Here we go...

1. What does next year have in store for me? ‘The Wobbly Mammoth’

2. What’s my love life like? ‘So Many Ways’

3. What do I say when life gets hard? ‘Headcleaner’

4. What do I think of on waking up? ‘Cane and Rice’

5. What song will I dance to at my wedding? ‘Mary Jo’

6. What do I want as a career? ‘Whistle Down the Wind’

7. My favorite saying? ‘Everybody’s Song’

8. Favorite place? ‘Where the World Begins and Ends '

9. What do I think of my parents? ‘Redford (For Yia-Yia and Pappou)’

10. What’s my porn star name? ‘Moonlight’

11. Where would I go on a first date? ‘Over’

12. Drug of choice? ‘Mesmerism’

13. Describe myself: ‘Je ne veux pas quitter’

14. What is the thing I like doing most? ‘Halloween’

15. What is my state of mind like at the moment? ‘Everyone Kisses a Stranger’

16. How will I die? ‘Love Song’

And the artists are, from 1 - 16: - Beatrix, Mates of State, Einsteurzende Neubauten, Sodastream, Belle and Sebastian, Tom Waits, Low, The Dears, Sufjan Stevens, Mono, Portishead, Dead Can Dance, Francoiz Breut, Robin Guthrie and Harold Budd, Francoiz Breut (again!), and finally - and rather appropriately - The Cure.

So - that was cryptic but fun. And quite truthful at time: my career does feel like I've always been blown by the winds of fate; judging by recent Zombie activity Halloween could well be the thing I like doing most; and while I'm not quite sure what 'Je ne veux pas quitter' means (I think t means something along the lines of 'I am not a quitter' it seems rather appropriate to have as a personal description of myself. And finally, I rater like knowing that I'll die while in love...

MIFF part one

I'm rather time-poor at the moment, so my MIFF reviews will be of necessity rather brief. That said, here are some words on the handful of films I've managed to see so far...

NOT QUITE HOLLYWOOD





















Had this opening night doco about the Ozploitation era been 15 minutes shorter, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. As it was, I felt the film outstayed its welcome, with the last half hour or so definitely dragging a little.

Conversely, the pace in its opening half was fantastic: a dynamic, scattergun approach to documentary making. Great to be reminded of the many Ozploitation films I've already seen (either on video circa 1985, the year I moved out of home, such as Dead End Drive-In; or on television a few years earlier) and to have my appetite whetted for the many more I've not seen yet.

Thereafter a pretty cool opening night party, although not enough food, which meant as a consequence that I was hungover as all fuck the next day - though the fact that I didn't leave the after-party until about 4am may also have been a factor...


BE LIKE OTHERS














This documentary about GLBT life in Iran has a very specific, almost too narrow focus, in that it looks at a small number of gay men who 'voluntarily' undergo gender reassignment to live as women: the options otherwise are to flee Iran or face probable execution, given the Islamic state's well-demonstrated antipathy towards homsexuality.

Though we meet a lesbian woman who is also considering the procedure at the start of the film, we don't follow her story; nor does the film-maker speak to any actual transgendered people to get their perspective on the issue. These flaws aside, this is a powerful - and deeply depressing - documentary, and definitely one I'd recommend.


DIARY OF THE DEAD













The latest film from George A Romero continues his series of horror movies in which the living dead are used as metaphors to explore current social issues. In his first film, Night of the Living Dead, it was the political unrest of the 1960s; in the more recent Land of the Dead it was the 'fortress America' attitude of the USA post September 11.

Diary of the Dead is very much about the media as monster: specifically new media, such as blogs and YouTube. It's not always a successful film; indeed Romero's attitudes towards new media struck me as slightly conservative, even reactionary, while some of the dialogue spouted by the 20-something film student characters definitely doesn't sound contemporary. Nonetheless, I was more than prepared to forgive these faults and enjoy the film, which relies primarily on CGI effects rather than Romero's more traditional physical effects: and which as a consequence includes a bravura sequence involving acid and a zombie's slowly-dissolving head. Bravo!


BASTARDY















Rather than utilising a more traditional documentary structure (ie voiceovers, talking heads etc), this film about the 63-year old, gay Aboriginal elder, cat burglar, award-winning actor and former junkie Jack Charles is an appropriately impressionistic study of a truly original character. We see Charles sleeping rough and shooting up; hear him talking matter-of-factly about personal tragedies and heartbreak; and laugh with him as he stands outside a Kew house he's burgled 11 times. While some might criticise the film-maker for getting too close to his subject, I think it's resulted in a much more illuminating and engaging film; one that presents a life literally as it's being lived, rather than a more detached observational documentary.


JOHNNY MAD DOG














Although not for the faint-hearted, this searing, fictionalised account of child soldiers in an unnamed African civil war stands heads and shoulders above the other films I've seen at MIFF so far. By juxtaposing the most horrific acts with truly sublime and visionary cinematography, the film ensures than you cannot, will not forget the images it displays. Nor will you forget the tragedy of children being forced at gunpoint to kill their own parents, or seeing the natural exuberance of teenage boys channelled into acts of extreme, drug-fuelled violence. Director Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire has crafted a truly stunning work of cinema that I wholeheartedly recommend, even as I warn that you will find it difficult viewing.

Hanging out with George Romero

I promise to start blogging properly about MIFF soon, but for now, here's a small taste of what the last couple of days have been like: myself and George Romero sharing a laugh after recording an interview at Three Triple R earlier this morning (photo by Donna Morabito). God I love my life!

And here (pix by Jim Lee) are some shots from last Saturday night's premiere screening of the new Romero film, Diary of the Dead. After the recent Zombie Shuffle, the festival had asked Clem and I to arrange for some zombies to turn up to the premiere, for a photo opp with George. As you can see, we had quite a turn-out!

In the foyer of the Capitol before the screening - I'm the white-faced zombie to Romero's left (photo by Jim Lee)

At the Q+A after the screening (photo by Jim Lee).

Coming Out of the Bat Closet

At some stage in the next few days I'll hopefully find time to blog about the last three productions I've seen over the last week: Bell Shakespeare's Hamlet, Matthew Bourne's 'dance-ical' Edward Scissorhands, and Yana Alana and the Paranas in Bite Me Harder.

Today though, my brain in mush, so instead, I'm going to point you towards a fascinating essay on Batman's gay past.

A Batman who continued to live in 1945 was an economic liability in 1955. He was a threat to the family and to the bottom-line. Batman's "gayness," then, was a flash point for a larger set of social anxieties. Just as elites worked aggressively to purge society and government of homosexuality, so too did DC purge Batman of any social deficiency which could be interpreted or construed as "gay."

Was it enough? To satisfy the most vocal critics, yes. But, ironically, the move to surrealism and fantasy also pushed Batman into the territory of high camp, in which Batman's ostensibly heterosexual romances were suspiciously unbelievable.

Enjoy!

Being Human

At some point I should blog about recently turning 41 and the way my birthday slipped past me like a ship in the night; or the superb season four finale of Doctor Who; perhaps the MIAF program, launched last night, which Alison has already blogged about in generous detail; or this year's MIFF program, which I've now finished digesting which means I can map out my film viewing for the next few weeks.

But no.

Instead, I'm going to alert those of you who don't already know about it to a fantastic new-ish (it aired in February) TV program from the UK that's sure to whet the appetites of anyone who's A) ever lived in a share household, B) wants to know what out gay actor Russell Tovey (Rudge in the film of The History Boys, and Midshipman Frame in Doctor Who: Voyage of the Damned) is up to, career-wise, and C) like myself enjoys sinking their teeth into genre shows with a supernatural bent.

Readers, meet Being Human.

In February, the show's pilot screened on BBC Three, to much acclaim and fanboy slavering. Then in April, a six-part series was commissioned, to be screened next year.

But what's it all about, I hear you ask? Let me quote from the media release:

Starring Russell Tovey, Andrea Riseborough and Guy Flanagan, the pilot of Being Human followed the lives of three flatmates – a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost – in a witty, sexy and extraordinary look at the friendship between three 20-something outsiders trying to find their way in an enticing, yet complicated world.

I've just finished watching the pilot episode, which has utterly captivated me. It's not without its faults, but overall it's extremely engaging. The characters are well drawn and extremely sympathetic, and the premise for the show's drama is strong and consistent. If you'd like to see what I'm talking about, I've posted the first part of the pilot episode below; you can find the rest of it on YouTube, here. Enjoy!

Burn, heretic, burn

So, at the massive Catholic mass that officially opened World Youth Day in Sydney yesterday, Our Glorious Leader KRudd said:

"Some say there is no place for faith in the 21st century. I say they are wrong. Some say faith is the enemy of reason, I say also they are wrong. They are great partners, rich in history and scientific progress."

Yeah, right, Kevin. Tell that to Galileo.

REVIEW: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

1927 is an English cabaret company, whose acclaimed Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea is currently being performed at the Malthouse Theatre here in Melbourne. The show, an inspired blend of silent film homage and delightfully gothic spoken word, is a singular delight, and one I strongly recommend for film buffs and theatre afficianados alike.

The concept of the show is deceptively simple: two performers (writer/director Suzanne Andrade and Esme Appleton, both appropriately dressed in Louise Brooks mode) perform on stage against a backdrop of scratchy, flickering silent film-inspired projections by Paul Barritt, to a live piano score by Lillian Henley. I say deceptively simple, because the timing required to make the show work - for voices to speak in unison and for performers to match their movements to the images and sets projected on and behind them - clearly requires significant labour.

There's a wonderful, playful sense of the grotesque permeating the show, as well as a clear love of the tropes of silent cinema and the entertainments of the day. From a Perils of Pauline like moment with a character tied struggling to a train track (perfectly evoked with the simplest of animation) to the chilling yet hillarious image of a menacing army of gingerbread men, the visions presented by 1927 are twisted, grand and glorious. Nor are all their stories firmly rooted in the past; as references to Mr Squiggle, and another story in which the bored children of the upper middle class play act being homeless crack whores, delightfully illustrate.

From unexpected lunacy (a piano-playing proboscis monkey) to menacing and monstrous children whose macabre games shatter the fourth wall, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea is a thorough delight, whose any major fault is that it ends so soon after it begins. I highly recommend that you visit the Malthouse post-haste before its all-too-brief season ends on July 13.

Love, Life and Art: The films of Derek Jarman

Derek Jarman on the set of 'Caravaggio'

Derek Jarman was a true renaissance man.

Through his books, his paintings and especially his films, the English artist and activist was an eloquent and passionate spokesman for gay rights at a time when Britain’s conservative government, under Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, was doing its best to stamp out gay culture forever.

In 1988, even as an entire generation of gay men were being ravaged by the AIDS crisis, Thatcher’s government introduced a notorious piece of legislation, Section 28; which forbade ‘the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship’.

But instead of silencing gays and lesbians the introduction of Section 28 galvanised them; uniting a community that until then had largely been divided along gender lines, and prompting the largest queer rights demonstrations the UK had ever seen.

It was in these turbulent times that Jarman’s creativity was at its peak, as a new documentary about his life and work, to be shown at the Melbourne International Film Festival later this month, so aptly demonstrates.

Derek, directed by Issac Julien and narrated by the Academy Award-winning actress Tilda Swinton, is a fitting and long overdue testimony to Jarman’s life and prolific output. (By the time he died of an AIDS-related illness in 1994, just a few short years after being canonised by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, Jarman had made more than 50 short films and features.)

“You were the first person I met who could gossip about St Thomas Aquinas and hold a steady camera at the same time,” Swinton says in voiceover in the documentary, in an open letter to Jarman, with whom she worked on a number of films.

“I thought it would be good to hang out with you for six weeks: I guess we had things to say. Our outfit was an internationalist brigade. Decidedly pre-industrial. A little loud, a lot louche. Not always in the best possible taste. And not quite fit, though it saddened and maddened us to recognise it, for wholesome family entertainment.”

Jarman’s feature films may not have been considered ‘wholesome’ in their day, but the director’s unique blending of his artistic sensibility and overt gay sexuality has ensured that they will long be remembered and celebrated.

In works such as Edward II (about the openly gay English king of the same name, adapted from the play by Christopher Marlowe, a gay contemporary of William Shakespeare) and Caravaggio (a biopic of the bisexual 16th century rogue and artist Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio) Jarman’s unique aesthetic is lucidly and beautifully displayed.

Caravaggio was a poet of the low-life who employed pimps and prostitutes as the models for the saints and angels he painted so lovingly; an artist whose work captivated the Italian society of the day even as his unconventional life shocked and scandalised them. As Jarman told the English newspaper The Guardian in 1986, “[Caravaggio] burnt away decorum and the ideal...knocked the saints out of the sky and onto the streets...his St John pictures are a succession of male nudes - straight forward physique photographs.”

In making Caravaggio, which is released on DVD this week, Jarman strove to capture the Italian painter’s innovative style as much as he sought to explore his unorthodox life. The film is shot in the way Caravaggio would have painted it, with lovingly lit scenes in which the painter’s works come to life on the screen; and narrated by Caravaggio himself (played by Nigel Terry) as he lies on his death bed, reflecting on his art and recalling his ménage à trois with the bare-knuckle boxer Ranuccio (Sean Bean) and Ranuccio’s girlfriend, the prostitute Lena (Tilda Swinton).

The deliberate inclusion of anachronisms - courtiers in doublets pounding away at upright typewriters, the sound of a train passing through a medieval city – ensures the story’s twined themes of creativity and passion are eternal.

Even as he himself was dying, Jarman found time to reflect on these themes anew, and their relevance to his own rich life.

“I am tired tonight. My eyes are out of focus, my body droops under the weight of the day, but as I leave you Queer lads let me leave you singing,” Jarman wrote in his 1992 autobiography, At Your Own Risk. “I had to write of a sad time as a witness – not to cloud your smiles – please read the cares of the world that I have locked in these pages; and after, put this book aside and love. May you of a better future, love without a care, and remember we loved too. As the shadows closed in, the stars came out.

“I am in love.”

Derek Jarman’s films Caravaggio and Wittgenstein are out now on DVD through Umbrella Entertainment.

Isaac Julian’s documentary about Jarman, Derek, screens at the Melbourne International Film Festival later this month.

This article originally appeared in MCV #391 on Thursday July 3.