My brother, still on holiday, asked whether he could speak to me. "Yeah... alright. What is it?"
"Have you seen Avatar yet?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah... ages ago." I answered. He looked at me carefully and quietly said "Okay" as though it was something he'd crossed off his list.
"Why James?" My curiosity piqued.
"I was just worried is all."
"Worried? About what?" I said sensing that this was going to get interesting.
"If you hadn't seen it, that you might get all fucked up about it." he replied. I said nothing and rubbed my eyes wondering where it was going.
"Loads of people in America have killed themselves, I mean, committed suicide over it because they realised..." at this point he paused becoming wistful of eye and decisive of tone, "... they realised that there will never a world as perfect as Pandora."
I laughed for a just a minute too long and asked him whether he really thought that the idea of Pandora had driven people to suicide. He replied in the affirmative.
"Cos of the, errrrm, glowing trees and stuff."
Monday, March 8, 2010
Night Errors
Tell me what you know about dreams
Tell me what you know about them night terrors - nothing
I was driving down Melbourne Street yesterday. Its a cafe district with a few too-expensive boutique shops for food and clothing. It was quietly humming this day with a few people around enjoying the public holiday. The Women's and Children's Hospital is nearby and often I see (predominantly) young mothers and families walking in the area going to checkups or for other less routine things. Because its a specialist hospital of such a significant size, its always a bit of a dichotomy in terms of who goes there. Its either going to be for things like the child's 18 month vaccinations, or its going to be a visit to see whether the 7 year old's leukemia has come back - the mundane or the horrifying.
I find myself looking at these people walking up Melbourne Street and wondering just what they're thinking and how they're feeling. Its an area of life I can confidently say I know nothing about (having children and the associated experiences) and as usual with these things I'm intensely curious in ways that border on the intellectually voyeuristic. I can't help it - I'm a nerd for life.
This day however, I was not thinking of childhood cancer or the ridiculous opposition to the MMR vaccines. I was thinking about very little other than my desire for an imported Cherry Coke from the boutique food place - Cherry Coke not being freely available in this nation - and the potential for rain later in the afternoon. As I drove and pondered nothing I glanced out the window and saw a man and a woman walking on the pavement toward the hospital. They were both smartly dressed, him in what looked like dressed-down 90s shirt and slacks from Country Road, and her in a loose blouse and a maroon skirt. He carried a duffel bag by his side (possibly from Country Road now that I think about it) and she carried a large belly in front of her. He said something and smiled at her, and she laughed nervously smiling back at him, and then at the ground. They were both clearly excited and it shone out of them like spikey sunlight. In the second or so that I saw them for, I realised of course that she was going into the hospital to have the baby and that this was them walking towards the hospital. More than that though, they were walking towards the event and everything it meant to them. They were walking toward a new child whom they knew intrinsically they were going to love intensely.
I don't know whether this was their first child, but something in the way they moved and acted (for the 3 seconds I saw them - its a 50km zone afterall) said they were shit-scared and making it up as they went along and that suggested to me that this was the first.
I felt incredibly lucky to witness something like that. It was perhaps one of those intimate moments that you don't even really consciously realise is intimate until long after the event when you review the more process-oriented elements of your memories, and realise that cumulatively they ere always the times that were pure and mattered. Needless to say, I knew what it was and I thought it was beautiful.
Last night, following this day, I had a dream that an ex-girlfriend from years ago had invited me to a cheap motel and broke the news that she was pregnant with my child. I did not react well. That is to say - I destroyed the earth and everyone in it by pressing a button and found myself explaining to Dwight Schrute why I'd done it. Oops.
Guess its not time for fatherhood then...
Tell me what you know about them night terrors - nothing
I was driving down Melbourne Street yesterday. Its a cafe district with a few too-expensive boutique shops for food and clothing. It was quietly humming this day with a few people around enjoying the public holiday. The Women's and Children's Hospital is nearby and often I see (predominantly) young mothers and families walking in the area going to checkups or for other less routine things. Because its a specialist hospital of such a significant size, its always a bit of a dichotomy in terms of who goes there. Its either going to be for things like the child's 18 month vaccinations, or its going to be a visit to see whether the 7 year old's leukemia has come back - the mundane or the horrifying.
I find myself looking at these people walking up Melbourne Street and wondering just what they're thinking and how they're feeling. Its an area of life I can confidently say I know nothing about (having children and the associated experiences) and as usual with these things I'm intensely curious in ways that border on the intellectually voyeuristic. I can't help it - I'm a nerd for life.
This day however, I was not thinking of childhood cancer or the ridiculous opposition to the MMR vaccines. I was thinking about very little other than my desire for an imported Cherry Coke from the boutique food place - Cherry Coke not being freely available in this nation - and the potential for rain later in the afternoon. As I drove and pondered nothing I glanced out the window and saw a man and a woman walking on the pavement toward the hospital. They were both smartly dressed, him in what looked like dressed-down 90s shirt and slacks from Country Road, and her in a loose blouse and a maroon skirt. He carried a duffel bag by his side (possibly from Country Road now that I think about it) and she carried a large belly in front of her. He said something and smiled at her, and she laughed nervously smiling back at him, and then at the ground. They were both clearly excited and it shone out of them like spikey sunlight. In the second or so that I saw them for, I realised of course that she was going into the hospital to have the baby and that this was them walking towards the hospital. More than that though, they were walking towards the event and everything it meant to them. They were walking toward a new child whom they knew intrinsically they were going to love intensely.
I don't know whether this was their first child, but something in the way they moved and acted (for the 3 seconds I saw them - its a 50km zone afterall) said they were shit-scared and making it up as they went along and that suggested to me that this was the first.
I felt incredibly lucky to witness something like that. It was perhaps one of those intimate moments that you don't even really consciously realise is intimate until long after the event when you review the more process-oriented elements of your memories, and realise that cumulatively they ere always the times that were pure and mattered. Needless to say, I knew what it was and I thought it was beautiful.
Last night, following this day, I had a dream that an ex-girlfriend from years ago had invited me to a cheap motel and broke the news that she was pregnant with my child. I did not react well. That is to say - I destroyed the earth and everyone in it by pressing a button and found myself explaining to Dwight Schrute why I'd done it. Oops.
Guess its not time for fatherhood then...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
5 things
This is 5 mundane and not so mundane events in my day. Self indulgent - yes; meaningless - no.
1) Woken up at 3.30am by brother returning home. My brother is staying in our house and arrived home from the pub early this morning in top form. After paying for the cab and proceeding to consume his McDonalds on the front lawn (possibly laughing to himself), he came around the side of the house to my window and started whispering my name. The head of my bed is against this window and because its late in the summer and the nights are cool enough to have the window open, I tend to do so. When a drunk relative comes up the driveway and whispers your name almost directly into your ear at 3.30am whilst you're supposedly safe in bed... the results are dramatic and loud.
2) Planned all the assessments I have for uni next week in my new day-planner. There is such a feeling of satisfaction and productivity in this that I may not even end up doing the required school work in the mistaken belief that "surely I've done enough!".
3) Received a belated birthday card that said "Every man over forty is a scoundrel" attributed to George Bernard Shaw, and with a picture beneath showing 2 early 20th century types (top and bowler hats, lustrous beards, and coats) indulging in fisticuffs. I am neither older than 40, or bearded so it didn't really work, but cards that don't work are a specialty of mine. I once gave my father a card that said 'To a Wonderful Girlfriend - its Over." which retrospectively makes more sense than not. Sort of.
4) Cheeseburger eating competition at McDonalds with Pedro. Each burger has 25% of your RDI of sodium, and 14% of your energy. We're so stupidly competitive to the point that we would consume 150% of our recommended salt intake in one sitting.
5) Smiled at the Unibooks girl. I found myself purchasing a copy of Rolling Stone (which I rarely buy) in order to talk to her. She laughed at my joke and I wished her happy a weekend. She returned the sentiment and I looked at her for perhaps a second too long, and then walked out.
1) Woken up at 3.30am by brother returning home. My brother is staying in our house and arrived home from the pub early this morning in top form. After paying for the cab and proceeding to consume his McDonalds on the front lawn (possibly laughing to himself), he came around the side of the house to my window and started whispering my name. The head of my bed is against this window and because its late in the summer and the nights are cool enough to have the window open, I tend to do so. When a drunk relative comes up the driveway and whispers your name almost directly into your ear at 3.30am whilst you're supposedly safe in bed... the results are dramatic and loud.
2) Planned all the assessments I have for uni next week in my new day-planner. There is such a feeling of satisfaction and productivity in this that I may not even end up doing the required school work in the mistaken belief that "surely I've done enough!".
3) Received a belated birthday card that said "Every man over forty is a scoundrel" attributed to George Bernard Shaw, and with a picture beneath showing 2 early 20th century types (top and bowler hats, lustrous beards, and coats) indulging in fisticuffs. I am neither older than 40, or bearded so it didn't really work, but cards that don't work are a specialty of mine. I once gave my father a card that said 'To a Wonderful Girlfriend - its Over." which retrospectively makes more sense than not. Sort of.
4) Cheeseburger eating competition at McDonalds with Pedro. Each burger has 25% of your RDI of sodium, and 14% of your energy. We're so stupidly competitive to the point that we would consume 150% of our recommended salt intake in one sitting.
5) Smiled at the Unibooks girl. I found myself purchasing a copy of Rolling Stone (which I rarely buy) in order to talk to her. She laughed at my joke and I wished her happy a weekend. She returned the sentiment and I looked at her for perhaps a second too long, and then walked out.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Dicaprio Shutters his Island - no spoilers kids!
While I was in NYC last month I saw several advertisements around subways in midtown for the new Scorcese tour-de-darkness Shutter Island. Generally being a fan of Scorcese and Dicaprio (and lets face it - midtown too), I was very keen to get myself to the cinema once I arrived back in Australia to watch it.
Yesterday I had just such an opportunity.
A group of friends and I trekked to the cinema in Norwood, and student IDs in hand, purchased the cheapest 'cheap-Tuesday' tickets we could get. Tuesday afternoon in early March is a very good time to watch a film at the cinema. Its either going to be uni students overtly aware of the irony and freedom we enjoy in schedule and responsibility, or older (elderly? senior?) people who are just kicking the same vibe but perhaps in a more pure and unfettered way.
I had no idea what the film was about, other than a friend had told me it had "really messed with Leo's head" and that it was about an island. God I love knowing nothing before things happen. We sat in the cinema as a group of 5, swelling the meagre audience from 4 to 9. Quiet, dark, and with no crowd to reassure you, it was going to be isolating or intense, or more hopefully - both.
Shutter Island begins with a film noir classic setup, as a US Marshall on a boat wearing a great coat and an awful tie, meeting his new partner and sharing a cigarette. The image of the 2 men on the boat, shot from the front and then behind, in Dick Tracey hats and hands on hips is a beautiful one and effectively informs the viewer that as with most film noir and classic detective stories - all is not well in the world.
The scripting and performances were excellent reminding me of some of the more adversarial moments from The Departed and in some ways thats what the movie is - a constant battle of wills from start to finish. As the onion is unpeeled layer by layer, the audience find themselves unable to find sure footing in such rocky plot and character-driven terrain. A lot of the time, the critical viewer simply does not know what is going on despite every effort to understand.
One of the things I liked most about Shutter Island, were the highly crafted and stylised dream sequences. Few shots in my film watching history have held my attention so completely as the creepy but beautiful frames starring (creepy but beautiful) Michelle Williams. Scorcese could have left them out, or simply alluded to them (waking in fright etc) but these sequences are the perfect device for ratcheting up the tension and really (REALLY) manipulating the audience's emotions.
All in all, Shutter Island is brilliant, though not for everyone. So in this way its weakness to some people, will be its triumph to others. In a world where people are savvy enough to generally guess the story arc with all its ins and outs within about 15 minutes of the film beginning, Shutter Island is a deliciously dark treat for the more cynical movie-goer.
Oh, and the score is beautiful and haunting.
Scorcese you old dog, you've done it again but better than you have for a long time.
Yesterday I had just such an opportunity.
A group of friends and I trekked to the cinema in Norwood, and student IDs in hand, purchased the cheapest 'cheap-Tuesday' tickets we could get. Tuesday afternoon in early March is a very good time to watch a film at the cinema. Its either going to be uni students overtly aware of the irony and freedom we enjoy in schedule and responsibility, or older (elderly? senior?) people who are just kicking the same vibe but perhaps in a more pure and unfettered way.
I had no idea what the film was about, other than a friend had told me it had "really messed with Leo's head" and that it was about an island. God I love knowing nothing before things happen. We sat in the cinema as a group of 5, swelling the meagre audience from 4 to 9. Quiet, dark, and with no crowd to reassure you, it was going to be isolating or intense, or more hopefully - both.
Shutter Island begins with a film noir classic setup, as a US Marshall on a boat wearing a great coat and an awful tie, meeting his new partner and sharing a cigarette. The image of the 2 men on the boat, shot from the front and then behind, in Dick Tracey hats and hands on hips is a beautiful one and effectively informs the viewer that as with most film noir and classic detective stories - all is not well in the world.
The scripting and performances were excellent reminding me of some of the more adversarial moments from The Departed and in some ways thats what the movie is - a constant battle of wills from start to finish. As the onion is unpeeled layer by layer, the audience find themselves unable to find sure footing in such rocky plot and character-driven terrain. A lot of the time, the critical viewer simply does not know what is going on despite every effort to understand.
One of the things I liked most about Shutter Island, were the highly crafted and stylised dream sequences. Few shots in my film watching history have held my attention so completely as the creepy but beautiful frames starring (creepy but beautiful) Michelle Williams. Scorcese could have left them out, or simply alluded to them (waking in fright etc) but these sequences are the perfect device for ratcheting up the tension and really (REALLY) manipulating the audience's emotions.
All in all, Shutter Island is brilliant, though not for everyone. So in this way its weakness to some people, will be its triumph to others. In a world where people are savvy enough to generally guess the story arc with all its ins and outs within about 15 minutes of the film beginning, Shutter Island is a deliciously dark treat for the more cynical movie-goer.
Oh, and the score is beautiful and haunting.
Scorcese you old dog, you've done it again but better than you have for a long time.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Scientology Nonsense
As if it wasn't nonsense enough already and had a reputation for being a manipulative insane organisation... this little gem emerges.
"Don't you keep up with current events? We're all completely fucked."
This evening I found myself watching the James Cameron classic Aliens, starring Sigourney Weaver, and featuring such luminaries as Paul Reiser before he was mad about Helen Hunt, and Bill Paxton before he had more wives than he knew what to do with.
Its awesome. Obviously.
While I was watching the whipping tails and gnashing silver teeth (dripping with, according to Mark Kermode in his new book, loads and loads of sex lube and KY because it makes the monsters scarier) it struck me how exciting it was watching a group of people who by all rights were completely boned. Okay, so they were marines from the future with fire/bullet/grenade guns, and one of them was a woman who singlehandedly invented the character that Michelle Rodriguez plays in every single film she's ever featured in (who actually reminds me of Rufio from Pan), but seriously - weak wobbly pink human flesh with skeletons on the inside and a proclivity to yell instead of act when times get tough, against the insect/reptile/guy from AFI. They were completely hopeless against the aliens, and they knew it, though not at first. After the first and perhaps second encounters, every character knew that it wasn't about how many bugs you could nail, but survival. The odds were stacked against them and their eyes showed it.
So why was I loving every minute of it? Some might say it was because I'm a sadist and like make-believe people getting hurt (yawn). Others might point to my often dismal life-choices and say that I'm essentially a defeatist personality that just wants to be right all the time (ho hum). Though those aren't necessarily untrue, its a bit simplistic and I don't think really explains it at all. I think, that I like seeing humans getting an ego check. I like us to get our asses kicked and be told that "actually, you're still the bitch of so many things you don't even remember or know about yet". We've tamed the world to the point that we've essentially turned it into a fun park where we visit and its all a bit frightening, what with the flashing lights, upside down rollercoasters, and carnies looking to pick up, but we know secretly that its all going to be okay because we're strapped in and the company is regulated by official bodies and its all erected on flat land and... well we're safe so whatever happens its all fine.
So when something happens like an alien with a mouth inside its mouth inside its mouth literally penetrates your skull and brain like some brutal 'Caligula and Genghis Khan on Vacation in the Maldives' sex ritual, its like "WTF man? This isn't supposed to happen to me! I'm human!" This is evidenced by the Michelle Rodriguez character interrupting her briefing session about the aliens (what she needs to know) by saying "Just tell me where they are." and waving a pretend gun around (what she already knew). I sat in absolute and utter delight as Private Vasquez/Rodriguez was annhilated by an alien horde, all while she flexed her most surprised look. I cheered as she went down in flames and wished there were more of her to be arrogant and then receive a womping from the interstellar beasts.
I was loving all of it and revelling in the carnage. I was also scared because I tried to imagine being there and it was more than this jet-lagged soul could comprehend at that moment. Then something changed.
RIPLEY
What a badass mother! I wanted her to survive! You see, she knew from the start and she told them all but none of them listened and she was so nice and strangely attractive for a women of such statuesque proportions and maybe if I knew her I might ask her out and she might say yes and we'd go to a pub but nothing too upmarket because Ripley would not be down with that and maybe I would kiss Ripley and she would quote the movie in bed and... lets just say I wanted her to survive. I was on an irredeemable path of perversion and belief in the human spirit conquering all. I had reversed my opinion and decided that humans had good in them and shouldn't all die in some Malthusian event involving facehuggers and chests exploding.
But why? Because Ripley is amazing and all it takes is one good person to redeem everyone to me.
So there.
Its awesome. Obviously.
While I was watching the whipping tails and gnashing silver teeth (dripping with, according to Mark Kermode in his new book, loads and loads of sex lube and KY because it makes the monsters scarier) it struck me how exciting it was watching a group of people who by all rights were completely boned. Okay, so they were marines from the future with fire/bullet/grenade guns, and one of them was a woman who singlehandedly invented the character that Michelle Rodriguez plays in every single film she's ever featured in (who actually reminds me of Rufio from Pan), but seriously - weak wobbly pink human flesh with skeletons on the inside and a proclivity to yell instead of act when times get tough, against the insect/reptile/guy from AFI. They were completely hopeless against the aliens, and they knew it, though not at first. After the first and perhaps second encounters, every character knew that it wasn't about how many bugs you could nail, but survival. The odds were stacked against them and their eyes showed it.
So why was I loving every minute of it? Some might say it was because I'm a sadist and like make-believe people getting hurt (yawn). Others might point to my often dismal life-choices and say that I'm essentially a defeatist personality that just wants to be right all the time (ho hum). Though those aren't necessarily untrue, its a bit simplistic and I don't think really explains it at all. I think, that I like seeing humans getting an ego check. I like us to get our asses kicked and be told that "actually, you're still the bitch of so many things you don't even remember or know about yet". We've tamed the world to the point that we've essentially turned it into a fun park where we visit and its all a bit frightening, what with the flashing lights, upside down rollercoasters, and carnies looking to pick up, but we know secretly that its all going to be okay because we're strapped in and the company is regulated by official bodies and its all erected on flat land and... well we're safe so whatever happens its all fine.
So when something happens like an alien with a mouth inside its mouth inside its mouth literally penetrates your skull and brain like some brutal 'Caligula and Genghis Khan on Vacation in the Maldives' sex ritual, its like "WTF man? This isn't supposed to happen to me! I'm human!" This is evidenced by the Michelle Rodriguez character interrupting her briefing session about the aliens (what she needs to know) by saying "Just tell me where they are." and waving a pretend gun around (what she already knew). I sat in absolute and utter delight as Private Vasquez/Rodriguez was annhilated by an alien horde, all while she flexed her most surprised look. I cheered as she went down in flames and wished there were more of her to be arrogant and then receive a womping from the interstellar beasts.
I was loving all of it and revelling in the carnage. I was also scared because I tried to imagine being there and it was more than this jet-lagged soul could comprehend at that moment. Then something changed.
RIPLEY
What a badass mother! I wanted her to survive! You see, she knew from the start and she told them all but none of them listened and she was so nice and strangely attractive for a women of such statuesque proportions and maybe if I knew her I might ask her out and she might say yes and we'd go to a pub but nothing too upmarket because Ripley would not be down with that and maybe I would kiss Ripley and she would quote the movie in bed and... lets just say I wanted her to survive. I was on an irredeemable path of perversion and belief in the human spirit conquering all. I had reversed my opinion and decided that humans had good in them and shouldn't all die in some Malthusian event involving facehuggers and chests exploding.
But why? Because Ripley is amazing and all it takes is one good person to redeem everyone to me.
So there.
The Pursuit
Okay so this song is just not even nearly worked out of my system yet. Cudi's new album is smokin' hot.
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