Treeless Mountains, Shorts and Little Girls

I’m in the middle of the Sydney Film Festival, I don’t know how much of that I will share.

I saw this movie last night, its was delightful in its cutesiness and the young actors were superb, especially in their portrayal of emotion - loss, pain, bewilderment and determination. Disappointly though, it lost momentum slightly at around the 3/4 mark but picked it up again when the girls got to the farm - its 90 min film; its not slick and needs some editing and it just sort of stopped rather than ended, though its still a lovely film and those girls are amazing. There was no applause (or is that just a Melbourne Film Festival thingy, clapping at the end of film – I dont know, this is only my second Sydney one and as I missed most of it last year because of pilgrim flu).


TREELESS MOUNTAIN: Movie Trailer

The film was preceded by a short that I found most interesting – a young Chinese woman is selling cheap knock-off DVDs in London, she is sharing a room with 4 other Chinese men. She has one DVD she treasures but we dont know whats on it, you see a little of her life in London and it doesn’t look great but she is earning so she can send money home to her family, but she seems miserable, living in horrible conditions, doing a job that it looks like she could be arrested and deported over – I think she is an illegal (this isn’t gone into but implied).

She gets taken to the place where the DVDs are copied (wall of disk drives and pc in a backroom somewhere), she is left in this room whilst the copying of a movie is going on, she stops the copying and puts in her DVD, it’s a recording of her daughter who is back in China and she misses her terribly, she watches the footage with tears silently streaming down her face, she is interrupted viewing this and is taken away to sell more DVDs, but she doesn’t get to take her DVD out, so instead of making 10 copies of the movie, it makes 10 copies of her DVD and nobody knows this.

They are distributed to the street sellers and sold on, the film then switches to a family watching what they think is a cheap knockoff of a popular new release but it turns out to be the footage of the Chinese girls daughter – bugger that, heres the link, watch the thing yourself, it goes for 15 minutes.

Five Pound Hollywood from Westminster Arts on Vimeo.

THE END.

Quasi School Reunions

I had a quasi school reunion on Friday night, I caught up with three chaps I went to school with, one of them I hadn’t seen in 15 years, so I was looking forward to catching up with the three of them, and them with each other.

Two are married, one has kids, one works early shifts so is up at 3.30am, I wasn’t expecting more than a meal, a few drinks and be home by 10pm.

I stumbled home in the rain at 2.00am

It was really nice to see them, catch up with them, hear what they have been doing with their lives, no that’s not true, there wasn’t more than a quick summary of this is what I’ve done since I left school stuff. Instead we caught up on how each of us feels about things, live music, views on gays, marriages, annulments, raising children, working – corporate ladder via following dreams etc etc. With a little bits of reminiscing and where are they nows filling up the quieter moments.

An Artist/Teacher, a Corporate CEO, a Dog Walker/Driver and me – a mix of directions and situations and views, an entertaining evening, a challenging evening, a warm evening. It’s refreshing to be honest and open, having, at times, quite heated discussions with three people I once knew very well and cared about but hardly know now.

One of them said to me that night that he has never really had friends as close as he had at school, and that really, he doesn’t have friends at all, just lots and lots of acquaintances and casual friends – that made me sad. I did ask him what about his wife, but he said she’s my wife, I thought that was interesting, she is wife no 2.

I feel asleep that night in the arms of a dream I thought had left me a long time ago.

Music – I’ve moved onto Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
Reading – I’ve picked up Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man again. I like Joyce, he uses commas, alot.
Watching – Babel (it put me in a melancholy mood last night that hasn’t lifted)

Bookgroups and People I Just Dont Get

I went to bookgroup the other night. It was a bit lively, Peter Hoeg’s The Quiet Girl. Just a simple crime novel set in Copenhagen about a Clown looking for a girl who turns out to be his child from a love affair he had 10 years previously.

There was an older lady there that night, she said she was 70, which was on average 40 years older then the majority of the rest.

I felt I was a little rude to her, I laughed at her once, I feel into giggles about something that she said with the girl sitting next to me once, and I looked in confusion at her whilst she tried to explain to me/us what she thought of the book.

Her logic was this, she started with saying the book was written by a man in Copenhagen on the other side of the world, and here she was, a 70 year old woman in Sydney reading it, and she seemed quite in awe of this – she was disjointed and unorganised in how she said this, what I’ve said was a summary. I don’t know what her point was, or what she was trying to achieve by saying this, but there was a lot of emphatic gestering on her part, I really had to stop myself from screaming at her – why? its 2009 not 1979 – why are you amazed by this?

We all listened to her politely waiting for her to get to whatever point it was that she was trying to reach, as it’s a friendly group – we try to listen and give everybody a chance, but she seemed to get lost entirely on the journey and switched to this.

I’m Lutherthan, the majority of people in Copenhagen are Lutherhan, so this Peter Hoeg must be Lutherthan and therefore I should read it and like it and I am struggling to like it (she did not say struggling to like it, instead she slammed the book on the table, laid her hand on it in a sad way and shook her head, in the directors cut I’d imply this is struggling to like it).

The stunned silence this evoked seem slightly surreal, I could feel the others baiting me by silent chanting to respond, so I did. I said in my politest and hopefully best non-condescending voice, “Heres a recommendation, how about you go home tonight, try and forget about who wrote it and where he is from and just read a chapter of the book, if you like it on its own merit then continue reading it, if you don’t, stop.”

This lady was no shrinking violet, she had contributed loudly and quite forcefully, on occasion even interrupting people, to the conversation. If you have the balls to interrupt complete strangers talking about a book with some irrelevant thought, then you are not shy. But seriously I really though she needed a good shake.

Listening: Summerteeth (its my favourite of theirs, its been getting a good spin the last week - see last post)

Reading: The Sydney Film Festival Progamme

Viewing: I watched Lars and The Real Girl last night, what a charming little picture, I was impressed.

Vale Jay Bennett

I just heard about the overnight death of Jay Bennett, his management company have confirmed the death and advised that he passed away in his sleep.

Jay Bennetts life was more than just his time in Wilco, but its the Wilco time that introduced him to me.

My connection to the music of this ‘band’ is lyrical, it’s the music and it’s the kick-arse amazing shows I’ve seen over the years (though much fewer than I’d hope as it took along time to come here and they rarely come back). I know that Being There and Summerteeth were my turning points from yep I really like this band to wow this band is brilliant.

I spent a large part of last week listening to the new Wilco album and I’m not feeling much outside of the yep, I like this band. Theres no wow this band is brilliant here, same with Sky Blue Sky. The only time I got the wow this band is brilliant feeling on that one was listening to the guitar on Impossible Germany - yep Nels Cline is an amazing guitarist and the band work so well together live but its still not, well just not.

For me they peaked musically with YHF, I’m not overly in love with the easy listening direction of the last two albums, maybe I’m just not yet old enough to like easy listening yet? I don’t know, they seem to do it well though.

As I’m typing this, the radio I am streaming (PBS in Melbourne) is playing a live version of War on War – co-incidences are funny arent they.

I love Wilco, I have loved the music of Wilco for many years and can attribute the soundtrack that accompanied many important moments of life to date to the pen of Jeff Tweedy. Wilco is Jeff Tweedy, there would be no Wilco without Jeff Tweedy, its his band, his songs, his music, and though he has been a bit of a muddled up mess at times, and I’m sure no saint, its his music I keep on coming back too but he didnt do it alone.

A big part of the love for this music, I owe to the contributions of Jay Bennett, its sad that he left the band the way he did, its sad that he fell on hard times both financially and health wise and its sad that such a talented man is dead at 45.

Jay Bennett was ill and his last post on his myspace is heartbreaking in how sadly positive and up it is and how its now going to be the last post he will write. Makes me almost cry.

RIP Jay

My Year Without Sex

Another budget and another chance to be ignored, earning more than $40k, not having kids, nor a mortgage usually means that new budgets mean I dont get anything and I always have to pay more for something so I dont tend to take much notice of them.

So true to form on this one, I dont get anything as expected but I have to pay more for private health care, I think I'll actually loose my health fund rebate so it means I'll have to change it somehow, getting rid of it all together is probably a good idea as I only ever use it for dental and optical - it doesnt pay to be healthy ;-)

I really wouldnt fault much in what KRudd has done, except maybe the extension of the First Home Buyer Grant, I was hoping that would end 30 June and lower to mid price range units/houses may drop some of the over inflated pricing that this increased demand has created.

Maybe I'm naive, but how simple is it to not borrow more than you can pay back, at 5% and even at 15%. I've truly got no sympathy for the fools who are struggling now when the interest rates are so low - idiots.

Anyways, I went to the cinema last night, it was another freebie, this time by an Australian filmmaker Sarah Watt whose previous film - Look Both Ways - I rather enjoyed, so I didnt have high hopes for this one, but I still had hopes.

Unfortunately I cant say the same for the new one, My Year Without Sex. It was supposed to be a comedy...I think I chuckled once. The film was not well made, it seemed amateurish, the dialogue was lazy, the story was held together by screen shot headings thats went slowly through the months, it starts in August, once it reached October, I was using them to count down the months till when it was over. To put it simply, it was just plain boring, it was a terribly droll look at the year in the life of a married couple who go without sex whilst she recovers from an aneurism, ie orgasms may trigger another one you see - this was the premise. You dont end up getting to know anyone, you dont really get to understand anyone, there is no narration, no story - just a camera taking shots of small events in the lives of the family over the year.

The actors were ok - but lacking any real sort of story, ordinary dialogue and clumsy direction, they couldnt really do much.

It was a disappointment.

On my way home I picked up a Hot Basil & Tofu Stir Fry and ate it whilst watching Time Team - the one when they discovered the four temples - this was more interesting than the movie.

Listening: Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career
Reading: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

What you hear on the street.

I went to the cinema on Friday night, Paris 36, a pleasant enough film with a little darkness, a bit of Busby Berkley and a really sweet voice. I went for a bite and a little vino after with some of my film companions.

The conversations at tea were about the film and my trip and the future trips of some of the crowd. It was low-fi and pleasant and a nice night.

As I was ambling along home alone at the end, it was the conversations I was walking into that had me holding on.

I was crossing King St just past the station, waiting for the green man to come, when two young blokes, ordinary blokes in their early twenties. Nothing in their clothing that would make you notice them, ordinary builds, ordinary smells, ordinary sounds - though one was a little taller than the other. The conversation was a little animated, more from emphazing with passion, then beer lubrication which was a pleasant distraction and caught my attention.

As they past me, the smaller one was saying to the taller one, with a slightly regretful and whateverish tone, “… if I only knew she wanted me when she was here…..”

They were moving at pace so I couldn’t hear what he would of done, or if here meant she was travelling or just visiting, and though the sun had gone down, it was too light to give chase so I had to leave it.

The green man came so I trotted the roads. I rounded the corner and continued the journey home. About 300 metres on, a group of baby bogan scensters were approaching. There were four in the group, three boys and one bored and unattractive young girl. The boys were sweetly lubricated, yelling, laughing and bouncing off each other as sweetly lubricated 20 years olds have a way of doing at 10pm on a Friday night on their way out. The girl was loitering on the edges in a sullen way and I wondered if she was an old friend/sibling or housemate of one of the boys; she wasn’t a lover.

I moved to the edge happily to let this little mob past, as I was still grinning from the “..if I only knew…” conversation.

One of the louder baby bogan scensters stopped and earnestly said to his mates, in mock pissed seriousness, “..if Sally Cooper is there, you know I am going to have to leave straight away to take her home and fuck her hard….”

The other two grunted serious acknowledgments with “we understand” grins.

The girl continued to sulk.

I kept on walking, my face; you know at the end of The Omen, when Damien turns to the camera and gives this mean little glare straight down the barrel, he holds it for a bit, then his face muscles start to twitch slightly then slowly break into this beautiful big smile. That was my face.

Returning Home

Hiya folks.

Home again.

The saddest part of travelling is coming home.

I’ve spent large chunks of my life travelling, I’ve seen so much of this planet and have a burning need to see more. I continue to travel and will continue to travel till my body wont let me anymore.

The thing I value the most is the perspective it gives me.

I know I am rich, I know I am lucky, I know that I am safe, I’m healthy and happy.

When I’m home I don’t feel these things, but when I’m gone I know I am.

Since I’ve been back, I’ve been bombarded with “I am struggling to pay the mortgage, what am I going to do Ned?”.

“Get a smaller house or sell-up and rent” says Ned.

Oh dear. How do I teach people perspective?

Ned climbed inside this pyramid, Indiana Jones style.

Ned really doesn’t care if you can pay your mortgage or not, you know you have a job, you know you wont ever be homeless. Do you really need a 4 bedroom house when their are only 3 of you?

Ned peered into a little tiny hole at the base of the Step Pyramid at Saqqara and saw this looking back at her

Is the size of your house that important, really, truly, is it?