Vintage Books

"I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on."

- Rupert Brooke

I've just spent the last few minutes patiently waiting in line for a computer at the State Library. Its something I'm used to, and I usually have my MP3 player to pass the time whilst people respond to that urgent e-mail or ignore that annoying friend request, or whatever completely random things people seem to do on these machines. One thing that people normally don't do whilst waiting in these lines for the Library's moderately-capable computers, is talk about porn. Hard to believe, I know, but its not a phenomenon I've been familiar with. Its only when you eavesdrop on others conversations, you leave yourself open to hear just about anything. In this case, it was a Geelong man audibly - and keep in mind we're in a library; you don't have to try too hard to be heard - boasting to his mate about his porn collection, some of his files with durations of 'ninteen and a half hours'. Apparently this man also lives next to a brothel and gets discounts. What a rich life. Anyway, the other half of the conversation was pure envy, his friend approving wholeheartedly.

And so MIFF continues. I saw Awaydays the other night, a film based on the novel of the same name. Its set in North West of England, late 1970s, and revolves around Paul Carty, a teenager desperate to associate himself with The Pack: an abrasive gang of football hooligans, their lives soley spent in the pursuit of aggression, alcoholism, music, sex and, of course, football. Carty befriends one of the Pack's members, Elvis, and soon finds himself initiated into the fold. In terms of what happens after that, well, there's nothing groundbreaking. There's a pretty clear homoerotic subtext between Carty and Elvis. In fact, I felt the lengths the film went to in order to illustrate this point, was, overall, a bit patrionising. They might as well have just put subtitles in specific scenes reading 'I know what you're thinking, and it does seem a bit that way doesn't it? I wonder if either of them are, well, y'know?'. The Pack goes up against rival football gangs numerous times, there's a lot of violence and random sex. Carty gets quite popular with the group, and this understandably pissed Elvis off. Its amazing how little football is actually shown in a film where the sport is apparently so important to the protagonists. Its like their number one motivation, and the game itself gets maybe fifteen seconds screen time. Anyway, above all, I didn't understand the overall point of the film with reference to the sum of its parts. Carty meets Elvis, their mob fights another mob, they bring home a couple of girls, Carty tries it on with both of them, there's more fighting, someone dies - and it just goes on and on, ultimately meaning nothing to the audience. It wasn't horrible, but surely there was a way to instill some sort of reason or purpose or meaningful conclusion to everything? I could imagine how it could work as a book, but it needed a serious rewrite in its translation to film. Unfortunately the author also did the screenplay. ***

The library's about to close. In the time that I've typed this, I've had some guy play Summer Of 69' much too loudly - given that, again, we're in a library - and now a man next to me is playing one of those games where if your mouse hits a wall or object, you lose. To be fair though, out of the corner of my eye, he seems quite good at it. Anyway, that'll do. See you next post.

Chomp, Chomp, Chomp

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."

- Plato

For those unacquainted with Plato, its fair to say he was a pretty bright guy. He's generally considered to be amongst the greatest thinkers ever, which I think you'll agree is a big deal. But why Plato, and why now? The documentary I saw last night opened with the following wise words from the great Greek philosopher himself: 'The unexamined life is not worth living'. That was just the tip of the iceberg. What followed was around one and a half hours of intricate discussion: dissections of morals, ethics, human nature, revolution, disability, ecology, culture - the list went on really. As you can imagine, its quite a lot to take in. Some films you can probably afford to experience a lapse in concentration every now and again. I, for one, in other sessions, began to wonder when my next film was, and whereabouts it was going to be screening. Examined Life, however, doesn't fuck around. If you're not paying attention, you get left behind.

"Ugh, films. Another hour of my life gone trying to explain
to him what the Matrix is."

Its philosophy, thick and fast, and as I soon found out, there's no real segue way from section to section. That said, I find giving a review of this documentary particularly challenging. I definitely knew I was totally engaged and interested throughout the entirety of the film - a plus in anyone's book. But the sheer volume of content was so overwhelming, its hard to know what exactly I took from the experience. I remember who spoke - Australian philosopher Peter Singer among those featured - and I have a basic overview of the core concepts and ideas, but I can't recall specific details and the insights spouted from each individual speaker. Which ultimately makes Examined Life hard to, well, examine. You, the reader, have read this far, and you still don't really know what the film was 'about', per se. It makes me wonder if Examined Life really achieved anything at all. It might have been more effective to focus on one particular subject matter than address a range of topics. But then, it might have risked becoming monotonous. So I just don't know. Maybe I'm in danger of thinking about it too much. It is true, like I said, that I enjoyed it, an, and maybe that's all that matters. It was nice that people clapped at the end of the film. Post-feature applause is a key festival experience. *** 1/2

After the film, I decided to meet my brother. He was set to emerge from seeing Doves at The Palace in a matter of minutes. I noticed there were still a lot of bouncers and security guards on the door. I reckon when it gets to around fifteen minutes out from the advertised 'end' of any gig, it should be fair game. Just let people in. I guess the biggest problem with that, is that there would be issues with capacity and crowd control and all that jazz. But you'd be surprised on any given night, at any given gig, just how many people make that decision to leave only slightly earlier than the official end. I also watched as some poor punters appeared in the foyer of the Palace, and decided to head upstairs to the second / third levels of the complex. A couple of minutes, they were back downstairs. A couple more, they were running back upstairs again. The lesson here, of course, is if you want to see anything at the Palace, get there early and get up close. And if you do get there early, don't replenish your thirst halfway through the headliner's set, because when it comes to the Palace, doing that basically marks the end of your night. Unless you're a twat and you push your way right to the front of stage again. But do note: nobody likes that guy. By the way, I was going to post a picture of a burly, statuesque, stereotypical bouncer, and, as such, Google-Image-searched 'bouncer' for a picture. I found it amusing to yield the following result on the first page.

A different kind of crowd control.

Before I met with my brother, I opted to be a little generous and ducked over to the 7-11 across the road. I already knew what I was after: Chomp. Three of them in fact. Let's face it, Chomp is one of the most criminally underrated confectioneries today. And its budget confectionery too, at most times coming in at just under a dollar. Put simply, they're the shit. I was most disappointed recently to come across a Coles that did not stock them. Shame on you, Coles Elizabeth St. No, I don't want a Curly Wurly. Fuck you. Anyway, tirades concerning yummy delicacies aside, the highlight of last night can be found in the following photo.

Is it still litter if its on but not in the bin?

Yes, its a shoe, on a bin. My issue is with the person who appeared to be so lazy that they put it on the bin, rather than simply dropping it into the bin as trash. The only possible explanation I've formulated is that the person who placed it there thought the owner of the shoe might come back for it. But honestly, I don't think a person who's obviously wandered back home minus a shoe is too fussed about footwear. They're not coming back. And even if they did decide to track it down, why would the surface of a bin be the logical place to look?

MUSIC: The Bedroom Philosopher - I'm So Postmodern
MUSIC: Paul McCartney - Let 'Em In
MUSIC: Baha Men - Jump

Anyway, hope you enjoy the above smorgasboard of music, and may it tide you over until my next installment. By the way, feel free to substitute the word 'Jump' for 'Chomp' in that Baha Men track. It works quite well, and its topical in the context of this post. Two from two. So, yes, I'm going to keep the reviews of the films I see coming - to see out the week: Awaydays, A Woman Is A Woman and Unmade Beds. Stay tuned. Or logged in. Or whatever.

Festival Scrounge

"My problem is how to reconcile my net income with my gross habits."

- Errol Flynn

So, as it stands, I've only seen a quarter of the films I have planned this festival season, and I'm already starting to understand just how ridiculously expensive the whole experience can get if you're not careful. Now, as a poor unemployed simpleton, its true that I can only indulge in so much. For instance, I'm not so reckless as to approach Greater Union's candy bar, with half a mind to stoop to purchasing the mega-ultra-jumbo sized combo, in which - never mind the price - the outrageously skewed cola-to-popcorn ratio is a joke in itself. And I'm certainly not about to pay another $3.50 for a packet of Pods on top of everything, even if the simultaneous possession of all three - Pods, popcorn and coke - may very well constitute as the closest thing to heaven on earth. No, I generally keep a level head when it comes to money. But as I've found, even treading lightly ends up costing a fair bit. A drink, just one drink, at the Festival Lounge costs upwards of $4. This is for a 390ml bottle of a non-alcoholic beverage, mind, so I wasn't particularly happy. I was daft to think the Forum would have altered their prices for the Festival. Anyway, I'm going to stop whining and moaning about money now, and instead give you a brief rundown on what I've seen so far.

In The Loop was the first and best film I have seen so far at MIFF. It goes like this: during an radio interview, Secretary of State for International Development Simon Foster makes a terrible blunder, stating that a proposed war in the Middle East is 'unforeseeable'. Although his conduct is chastised by the Prime Minister's enforcer Malcolm Tucker for not following 'the line', the statement coincides with a visit by U.S. officials who run with the misstep, and begin to use Simon, and his hapless new aide Toby, as pawns in their own international agendas. Clearly, its all about political satire. Hell, I just found this promotional poster for the film.


The film is an adaptation of the BBC series The Thick Of It, a series I will most definitely be checking out now, as In The Loop was just hilarious. Peter Capaldi (seen above, also starring as Sid's father in the hit series Skins) plays the rapid-fire, foul-mouthed, hot-headed Scotsman Malcolm Tucker, and steals the show with some of the most memorable on-screen tirades I've ever seen. It also features a particularly amusing cameo from Steve Coogan, representing the hapless everyman, a constant thorn in Simon's side. Its fast-paced, witty, and notable for its one-liners. Even if you're not politically-inclined (I'm certainly not) , then I'd still suggest you see In The Loop. To say more would be to spoil its magic. A must for fans of British comedy, anything from Monty Python to The Office. ****

I must admit I approached All Tomorrow's Parties well aware that I might not enjoy it. I had a feeling the general musical direction of each ATP in years gone by drastically differed from my own individual tastes, which didn't bode well. But the idea of the festival was developed by Stuart Murdoch of Belle And Sebastian - one of my most-loved bands of recent years - so I decided to give it a chance, if only out of curiosity. As it was, I ended up being mostly right: a lot of the music featured wasn't really for me, aside from the odd band (Gossip took me by surprise) . That didn't really bother me though. What did bother me was, around forty-five minutes in, the film became ever-so-suddenly about a message, almost like it had an agenda to set. Whenever possible, the idea that 'music is freedom', and the notion that artists and fans should 'fuck the record companies' were both pushed incessently. I got this sense that these festival goers captured on film would be less inclined to like music if it were somewhat commercial. That kind of attitude just frustrates me. If you can't enjoy art for that or any associated reason, you're a halfwit and you need to get down off your highhorse immediately. And a message for these wannabe hippies: guys, gals, music is commercial. I don't care how much you don't want to believe it, that's how the world works. Now get the fuck on with it. That said, ATP was a pretty good insight into a festival like none I've seen. Its all very communal and, yes, there is an emphasis on 'freedom', and the footage illustrates a definite departure from that which we are used to here in Australia (the Big Day Out arguably our premier music event). Its all one big fascinating insight, which successfully captures the magic and individual nature of ATP. Overall, it was alright, before it became a bit wanky for me, and alright, even if musically I wasn't quite on the same page. ** 1/2

Alphaville. Where do I begin? Well, in the Q & A session that followed the feature, I learnt that the feature didn't exactly have a script, it wasn't exactly 'directed', and according to festival-guest and star Anna Karina, it didn't employ any additional lighting. In that context, what I saw made a lot more sense. I suppose my ultimate criticism of the film is that its duration is just under 100 mins. It probably could have been over in half that, and as a result, I felt it dragged on horribly. Lemmy Caution arrives in Alphaville a not-so-futuristic city, apparently on another planet. He is instantly seen to be at odds with the ways and customs of Alphaville, and seems to oppose the city's ruler, an evil scientist named Von Braun, who has outlawed love and self-expression. So basically its a film about a dystopian society. As it turns out, Lemmy is actually a secret agent looking to gather intel on Alphaville with the ultimate intent of bringing the society undone - and he gets the girl in the process, of course. It sounds like it could be quite action-packed, right? It isn't. It felt like I was waiting forever for the next development, and each development never really felt satisfying. When I think about the film, it feels like so little happened to justify the 100 minute duration. Which is a shame, because it had great potential (which is why I saw it at all, I liked what I read in the synopsis) . ** 1/2

That's all I have for now. Though one last thing: my favorite MIFF moment thus far. At the start of the Q & A for Alphaville, I noticed there was a woman positioned next to the microphone - a deaf interpreter - conveying the speaker's words to the hearing-impaired by way of sign language. I found it amusing that the interpreter signed, as the speaker tested the microphone, 'Can everyone hear me?'. Nice one. Thought I'd leave you with a little Belle And Sebastian, a track from one of my favorite albums: The Life Pursuit.

MUSIC: Belle And Sebastian - Funny Little Frog

By the way, I noticed the links to the MP3s weren't working, but I'm confident I've fixed that now. So good news everyone: you can all download to your hearts content. Ciao.

American Bad-vertising

"Comics have become the dark horse in the entertainment community, rising from the depths of vagueness, once only embraced by a minority, now engaged by the world."

- Jacob Schantz

I think its pretty obvious to everyone I'm an on-again, off-again comic book nerd. It started when I was young - when X-Men had that awesome animated series, and all was right with the world. The Royal Melbourne Show was partially responsible for my comic book interest. For those deprived of the experience, the 'Show is pretty much every kids dream. Rides, candy, rides, candy, horses, more candy, stupid novelty shit and - that's right - candy. In retrospect it was (and still is) a complete rip-off. I feel sorry for the parents who make the fiscally-fatal decision to take their children, completely unaware that their bank balance is doomed to suffer enormously. That said, when I look back upon each time I was at the 'Show, each occasion seems like a fundamental event of my childhood. So cheers to my folks, I'm most grateful. Anyway, I'm getting off topic: there's candy - lots of candy - and it comes in show bags. Most of the show bags I ever received included comics: random issues of Batman, Green Lantern and even ones that I'd never even heard of before.

Eternal Warrior! Badass! This is the
issue I own, by the way. Never read it.

Hell, I've even got a few Rocko's Modern Life comics. Whatever the publication, though, chances are, it was American. It had all the hallmarks of being American, for a start. The between-pages advertising alone was just intense, like nothing I had ever seen. The boardgame DragonStrike was especially memorable, its promotion plastering just about every comic I had, sometimes taking up two to four pages, even on occasion a double-spread. Which, given the size of any one comic book, is a hell of a lot. Sometimes the experience of reading about what will happen next to Wolverine is more a highlight reel of other crazy awesome shit you can buy: video games, fruit roll-ups, Pizza Hut promotions, and - unbelievably - cereal. As an impressionable Australian kid, I thought Cap'n Crunch was the shit. Screw Toucan Sam and Coco the Monkey. Its only now I'm beginning to learn of Count Chocula and the Trix Rabbit, and its clear the US-of-A really had it over us in terms of cereal promotion. If you're wondering (and I know you are) , I do have a favorite ad. But I only stumbled across it this morning, reading one of my old issues of X-Force. I couldn't get a decently focused picture of the ad, so its my pleasure, readers, to transcribe this A4 page of wonder, just for you.

"New! Kids' Choice ® !
"Oatmeal in all the hot new flavors you asked for!"
"Maple & Brown Sugar? Oat-rageous!"
"Strawberries N' Stuff? Berry intense!"
"Cinnamon Graham Cookie? Cinn-sational!"
"Radical Raspberry? Radical!"

Cringe-worthy as it all is, I'll admit that they really were doing quite well with the puns - that is, right up until Radical Raspberry. "Radical Raspberry? Radical!" - well, yes. Yes, it is radical. I would've thought 'Radical Raspberry' sufficiently suggested that. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be so critical. After all, its not like I have any pun-believable ideas for it myself. And they already went with the berry pun elsewhere on the page, so what more could I ask of them? Anyway, ads like these reflect American culture in the 90s, and I personally find these little insights quite fascinating. Similarly interesting is the question of just who the hell is asking for 'hot new flavours" of oatmeal. But all these are musings for another day, I'm afraid. All this talk of comic books reminds me of a certain song by a certain bunch of Danes.

MUSIC: Aqua - Cartoon Heroes

You know they have a new single? YouTube that shit. ASAP.

MIFFed

"He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

So its true that, as I type, I'm not exactly in the best mood. After a stunning game of football at the MCG, my beloved Hawks unfortunately went down by a mere point (kicked after the siren, no less). My disappointment is far from solidified in a kind of certainty that Hawthorn were to be victorious - years of mediocrity have shaped me into a scrupulous supporter of my team, and against a side of Geelong's calibre, the game is never quite over until the final siren. It is, however, the expense of great passion and support throughout four quarters of intense football for such a so-close-yet-so-far result which is most upsetting. To be a supporter - a real supporter - ultimately requires one to wear their heart on their sleeve, to invest as much emotion in each and every game as each player may physiologically. Of course, then, to be a fan is to make the concession of vulnerability. This sacrifice inevitably exaggerates the result to any one person who so chooses to immerse themselves in such a pasttime and align themselves with sets of colors. This is all a roundabout way of accepting today's nail-biting loss: simply the realisation that to bank on that which promises great joy is to risk, simlutaneously, great sadness.

Its a balance present in many institutions. Airports see friends and family reunited, but more often than not sets the scene for the imminent separation felt between friends and family. Churches are home to weddings: a commemoration of unity - and yet, they are used to host funerals, too: a commemoration of loss. And then, of course, we have hospitals, that profess in absolutes: life (birth), and death. Outrageous as it may initially seem to say, but the MCG is a bit the same. It is an institution of victory and defeat. But it is always worth being a supporter. After all, to be afraid to feel the undesirable at the expense of the chance to feel great happiness is the greatest defeat of all.

Wanky rhetoric aside, yes, alright: we still lost. But I still have one thing.

He looks just like Buddy Franklin.

You all want him. And on that note, its time to see the first of booked films at this years Melbourne International Film Festival: In The Loop. Apparently its a comedy, but I'll be the judge of that. And then its time for All Tomorrow's Parties. What a big day its turning out to be. 'Til next time - ciao.

Finnatic

“I don't really know how to do anything else very well, but I'm just starting to learn a few things about music.”

- Neil Finn

I received a tip from a friend of mine last Saturday that I ought to head out Northcote way to a place called Scroungers, just one of the many places along High St ripe for bargains of all sorts. Scroungers, as a kind of op-shop, were selling a number of CDs including some miscellaneous rare stuff by Neil Finn. Which was a good tip, considering my renowned adoration of all things Finn. The next day I wandered on over there and found Neil's solo work, recordings with brother Tim, and of course, Crowded House releases.

Neil Finn. Standing somewhere.

Needless to say, I scored myself an impressive haul, including a Finn Brothers album (which I had not owned, as Dad's copy had previously sufficed as mine), a couple of singles, and Box Set - a full-length release now long out of press - by Tripod. And when all was said and done, I was only out of pocket $10. The brief shopping experience went along way towards making me appreciate the purchase of records again. For a while there I had avoided buying music altogether. It becomes easy after a while, when a) you don't have money, and b) you have torrents and MP3 blogs at your fingertips every second of the day. We're well into the digital age, and owning music has never been simpler nor more convenient. But there was something undeniably special about making the trip out North for physical copies of the music I love. At the end of the day, to purchase something tangible works grant one more than a mere file on the computer could ever hope to achieve. The cases, the booklets, and the discs themselves are all testaments to my passion and interest in my favorite artists, and as a whole, are ultimately demonstrative of my identity. Though that might be looking into it a little deeply, I have a simpler alternative as far as a conclusion goes: music makes me happy.

Speaking of records and the like, out of the twelve or so that I'm seeing, there's one film in particular that I'm looking forward to at this year's Melbourne International Film Festival (aka MIFF) , and I highly recommend it to anyone who shares anything remotely similar to the above sentiments. Its called I Need That Record: The Death (Or Possible Survival) Or The Independent Record Store. Some title, huh? Basically filmmaker Brendan Toller sets out to investigate why thousands upon thousands of independent record stores have closed across the USA in the past decade. He goes on to cite multinational media conglomerates, the digital revolution, commercialised radio, mega stores and all the sorta junk. Reading the synopsis, its essentially an exploration into 'the (probable) demise of an institution that supports musical innovation'. Well, sounds good to me. I try to imagine Dixons shutting down, or even Polyester, and I think I'd be pretty upset if either happened. Even stores like Missing Link, and Basement Records - stores, admittedly, I hardly visit - I would hate to see go under. So, yeah, anyway, I think it'll be an interesting watch. I'm actually seeing two other music films at the festival. One of them is a documentary concerning the recently reformed pop/ska group Madness, which takes on the title of their latest LP, The Liberty Of Norton Folgate. I had the privilege of seeing them play at The Palace some months ago, a gig that's easily solidified itself amongst my favourite of 2009. The other is also a documentary, featuring a look at music festival All Tomorrow's Parties. MIFF itself gets underway this Saturday, and I highly suggest you take the opportunity to see something. Anything. You're spoilt for choice, really.

And still on the topic of music, I am delighted to share (and shamelessly plug) the news that The Good China have an EP due out August 24th. Its called Old Maps/New Roads, and promises to be all kind of awesome. Stay tuned for more news and upcoming gigs as I continue to relentlessly promote what you're no doubt fated to enjoy as much as myself. Anyway, I leave you now with a track from Crowded House. The decision as to which track, exactly, was far from easy, but I went with one of my personal favorites from the classic Woodface. Neil and Tim combine lyrically and vocally for pure pop brilliance.

MUSIC: Crowded House - Its Only Natural

Enjoy. 'Til next post.

Fat Bottomed Girls

"And fuck you, the makers of this show as well. You can't wash your hands of this. You can't keep going, "Oh, it's exploitation but it's what the public want." No. The Victorian freak show never went away, now it's called Big Brother or American Idol where, in the preliminary rounds, we weed out the bewildered to be snickered at by multi-millionaires. And fuck you for watching this at home. Shame on you."

- Andy Millman, Extras

An excerpt from, without doubt, one of my favorite scenes of all television, in which Andy Millman - the protagonist of Ricky Gervais' and Stephen Merchant's hit comedy, Extras - makes an emotional stand against the business of fame, notoriety and the media. I think part of the reason I enjoy it is because I've always felt, for whatever reason, that Gervais and Merchant put so much of themselves into the character of Millman in particular - that in this particular monologue, it is actually their own expression of disgust, and it transcends the realm of mere fiction. Either way, I tend to agree with the sentiments above. I'm tired of reality television. It all seems fairly relevant at this time, especially with Channel Nine airing a brand new show tonight.

The intial working title, 'Eat A Fucking Salad' , was eventually opposed.

As if there were any doubt that Channel Nine were 'Still The One', now this absolutely settles it. First off though, I'd like to say that its not an entirely bad thing. These contestants are genuinely trying to make a change in themselves for the better. Its great to see that they're taking such a huge step to force what will ultimately benefit their health in the long run. At the same time, this is exactly the kind of tacky shit that I hate. Yes, its exploitation. Nobody actually wants to watch fat people dance or strut their talents. Viewers get a kick out of it, it allows them to feel better about themselves at the expense of others. But I especially hate it, because chances are it will be a hit when it premieres here, and its popularity will demand that Australia creates its very own version. We've seen it happen time and time again: Dancing With The Stars, Idol, and Survivor as examples just off the top of my head. Anyway, Channel Nine won't pass up capitalizing on the show's proven success, and soon Australia will have its own competition. It will probably air for around twelve weeks, taking a prime-time slot, and if all goes well, a second series will be commissioned. And you might be thinking, well, what's wrong with that? Well, plenty.

Man's last hope.

Shaun Micallef's Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation has solidified itself as one of the surprise hits of 2009, dominating Tuesday nights for a number of weeks now. Reportedly, the only ratings loss it suffered was at the hands of a Michael Jackson tribute programmed aired on Channel Nine some weeks ago now. I could gush relentlessly of my love for Micallef, but that's not really tied to the point I'm trying to make. The fact is that TAYG is an original, Australian concept, and now a proven ratings-winner. Working Dog's Thank God You're Here - my vote for one of the best Australian shows this past decade - was also an unbelievable success for Channel Ten, and when Channel Seven stole it for themselves, its audiences followed as the show evolved. Even a show such as Rush, which I don't particularly like, is a popular enough Australian drama to prove that it is worth time investing in original Australian television.

I guess what I'm trying to suggest is that we would be far better off escaping the monotony of reality television, and its formidable juggernaut of constant trash. Surely I'm not the only one tired of seeing the same thing over and over? And I can't be the only one my age who mostly ignores most television - which, lets face it, is a sad reflection on the state of things given this is the industry I actually wish to enter. There's nothing wrong with a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, money talks, and its a shame that execs throw their wads of cash at proven ratings hits rather than taking a chance on homegrown stuff with endless amounts of potential.

Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation and Dance Your Ass Off are pitted against each other tonight. I shouldn't have to convince you which to watch, but put it this way... your choices are: Shaun Micallef, or rolls of fat jiggling to Ricky Martin. And if I haven't managed to win you over, I have just the song for you.

MUSIC: Morrissey - You're The One For Me Fatty

That's all. For now. Later.

Visits From Visitors

"My friend, you have seen this incident, based on sworn testimony. Can you prove that it didn't happen?"

- Plan 9 From Outer Space

I took a sip from a glass of bourbon and cola, made myself comfortable in front of the television, and sat patiently as Jag busily readied the PS2. But we were far from battling it out in any sort of multiplayer deathmatch. Instead, I had been granted the 'privilege', for want of a better word, of sitting down to watch that which has been commonly cited as the worst film ever. And when the back of the DVD case itself promotes this very notion, you know there must be some legitimacy to the claim - so much in fact, someone along the line thought it might be a more prudent marketing strategy to simply admit its substandard nature straight out. Have I kept you in suspense long enough? This is the work of art I'm talking about.

The dead people in this film are immaculate dressers.

It sure doesn't seem too promising, does it? Basically, its about aliens who set about resurrecting the dead as zombies and vampires to stop humankind from creating some uber-dangerous weapon called the Solarbonite. Mind you, nobody but the aliens themselves seem to know what the fuck the Solarbonite is, so I can't imagine it poses much of a threat to anyone. But for the record, it has the potential harnesses and explodes sun particles or some shit like that, theoretically possessing the ability to obliterate the sun. Which would be bad. At least, that's what the aliens reckon. Anyway, I have to admit, after I got through all eighty-odd minutes of the film, it didn't strike me as the worst film ever. I've certainly had much stronger reactions to much shittier films.

Don't get me started.

But it is quite bad, if we're talking cinematic convention. Amazingly, I find that I can forgive this film of a lot of its atrocities. The sets are lacklustre, the special effects are mostly poor (with half-baked UFOs dangling, visibly, from strings) , the dialogue is badly written (and delivered just as poorly) , and there's no way this film needs to run for over an hour with a plot so God-awful and shamefully balsa-wood-thin. There are even cast changes mid-film, due to untimely cast-deaths that occured during production. I was continually astounded and in fits of laughter with everything I was seeing, to be sure, but there was one particular aspect of this film that I simply can't get over: the continuity. Throughout the movie, the bulk of the action is set at night. But on occasion, the shots juxtaposed with one another will change from eerie darkness to broad daylight, the action continuing as normal. It has to be seen to be believed just how utterly incompetent you would have to be to make errors of this calibre.

An exterior shot, but where the fuck are they meant to be
standing? If that's not a studio and they're not looking at girders
and lighting rigs, I'll eat my hat. I'll do it. There'll be pictures.

But perhaps my favourite thing about this entire experience was, again, reading the back of the DVD case. I couldn't help but notice the disc did, in fact, contain some special features. Trailer, commentary, full length feature...


"Full length feature"?

That's not a special feature, that's the fucking film!

Anyway, I had to laugh, as I did with most of Plan 9. And I think that's about all its good for nowadays. It might be just that little too patronizing to show to first-year film/media students as a tentative guide of 'what to avoid' in film making. But considering how ludicrously bad it is, you certainly can't take it seriously. So if you're feeling game, take my approach: get nice and comfy, maybe find yourself a bag of Doritos and strap yourself in for some rare unprecedented hilarity. To bring my ramblings to a timely close, one of my favorites from Radiohead.

MUSIC: Radiohead - Subterranean Homesick Alien

Party on, Wayne.