Blue Balls

I could watch this for hours...

Wolf Creek

My obsession with the Australian film industry's portrayal of the Australian outback contiues... This film looks at South Australia - Wolf Creek:

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. There is not much else to say. Ever seen a film that makes you never want to leave your house again? This film was a true sucker punch. The accents, the people, the landscape all serving to draw the audience in... and then, yeah. This afternoon I went to see Wolf Creek and left impressed at the recent developments in the Australian film industry. This was a thriller that lived up to its name, a psychotic film that played on vastness of the Australian outback as its weapon of choice, simultaneously depicting it as endless freedom and an infinite prison. The theme of escapism, and the opportunities offered by the landscape, ran through the film but as two different concepts: the first, escaping on a holiday and the second... escaping from our friend on the right. The scenery that so captured the heart during The Proposition was cruelly flipped back on the audience allowing human cruelty and insanity to co-exist with kangaroos and silent ranges.


There were no laughs when this movie finished. One review I read suggested that all horror films be reviewed under the light of Wolf Creek. In my heart of hearts I agree. The plot was novel, relentless, never falling back on clichés and above all: avoided cultural stereotyping. The ability to depict Australia in all its uniqueness is my benchmark for Australian films, my litmus test for quality. The Proposition, The Tracker and Wolf Creek all managed to surpass expectations by playing up the landscape and creating engaging characters. The interesting thing about all these movies is that they could work just as well as stage plays, intense character studies. I think this is where the Australian landscape/thriller gains its strength: juxtaposing a small collective of characters against the vast Australian bushland-outback. The idea that nothing else will intervene in the story creates a sense of hopelessness and forces the audience to pay greater attention to minute details being delivered by the characters themselves. The landscape forces the writers to create strong personalities.

One of the more twisted things about this film is that John Jarratt used to be one of my childhood favourites as a presenter on 'Playschool'. Imagine your childhood hero, someone responsible for the education our nations preschoolers apprearing as a decidly sick serial killer a la Ivan Milat.

Bolivia and the Art of Podcast downloading

I am now the proud owner of an ipod. It has taken me a good two years to catch on but here I am. It is black, 30gig and plays stuff. I am very impressed. However this is not the reason I am posting. Part of the new ipod experience is the concept of podcasts... today I found that they do podcasts from the Lonely Planet websites, essentially recorded phone interviews with backpackers out in the field exploring our globe. One of these was a twenty-minute story on Bolivia.

I spent February and March of this year travelling through Argentina, Bolivia, Peru and Chile. At the end of the trip I was filled with doubt over whether or not I had enjoyed the trip or not. Strange in retrospect but at the time I was wondering whether I had chosen the easy path by returning to a land where I already had a certain degree of comfort and knowledge. Should I have ventured to Indonesia, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam... should I have attempted to sneak into Burma? I hadn't been robbed, barely missed a bus, met loads of interesting locals, and through a series of unexpected coincidences found myself boating up an Amazonian tributary on the back of a petrol cargo cruiser... so why was I so uncertain as to whether or not I had enjoyed the experience?

The only response I have is that I am still living off those experiences, something that listening to the Bolivian podcast did nothing but re-enforce, a good eight months after returning. I now understand when they say ‘I left my heart in…’ Part of me feels as though I have left my heart in Bolivia. It may have been a mixture of the right time to be there, meeting the right people or discovering my capacity with the language. It may also have been that I was simply in the right frame of mind to be blessed with such an experience. I had graduated from university, finished my commitments to AIESEC Sydney, secured a role with AIESEC Australia and finished up at a very tiring hospitality job… it was the time to travel and the time to reflect.

I am a lone traveller by nature, drifting from group to group, travelling under the guidance of circumstance and fate. Some say this is travelling snobbery but I still maintain it is the single best way of meeting new people and finding yourself in unusual places. You are forced to make the most of every situation; it is no one’s responsibility but your own. The combination of lone travelling and developing nations is a match made in heaven. My limited experience leads me to believe that I travel the developed world to see places and monuments all achievements of mankind, whereas I travel the developing world to meet mankind itself. I claim no expertise in this field, this is simply my opinion, but I have found travelling a refresher in what is important in life, and this shows most clearly amongst people that are making the most out of the least. There is something wholesome and enviable about the lives people lead. Something informative about the practical and philosophical manner in which they approach their situations. Something I wish I could easily translate back to my life here in Sydney.

There is always the idea that the attraction lies in the novelty rather than the practicality. That I am envious because I would not be able to give away all I have now. Would I honestly change places with the people I met? I don’t think I would have the courage. One the key benefits of my life is choice. It is a priceless commodity, something we are born into… choice. Often it is a lack of choice that creates the situations I appreciate so much. Perhaps the solution is to learn to understand and prioritise my choices, use them to my advantage instead of bemoan their existence. It would be selfish and foolish to long for a situation that so many, the vast majority, cannot escape from. For me Bolivia was such a place, a place where if I had let it, I could have missed out on so much, as there is a certain degree of self-awareness and internal stability that comes from living in such circumstances. It was such a consistent experience that the mention of any part of the country, from La Paz to Santa Cruz brings up the happiest memories. Maybe that is why it has been such a slow burning experience, revealing new facets even now… eight months on.

New Zealand got soul

Since when did New Zealand land the rights to being the funkiest nation in the area? Even if they don't have the rights, they certainly do have a monopoly on funk/soul/reggae/dub. Saturday night saw Kyle and myself rock on down to @ Newtown to see yet another piece from the NZ funk/reggae scene: The Black Seeds, supported by The Red Eyes. What a night, these guys really know how to live it up, both bands putting on a stellar show ranging from laid back funk through to up beat drum and bass. The crows were into it into a big way, most of them from ‘the motherland’ itself. Anyway a big huzzah to New Zealand and their reggae/soul. Some fantastic NZ reggae/dub/soul/d&b/funk bands are:

• Salmonella Dub
• Cornerstone Roots
• Trinity Roots
• The Black Seeds
• Shapeshifter
• Katchafire
• Fat Freddys Drop

From Australia we have:

• The Bird
• The Resin Dogs
• The Red Eyes
• Rastawookie
• Cat Empire
• Xavier Rudd
• Carus and the True Believers
• John Butler Trio
• Kid Confucious
  
• Ash Grunwald
• The Beautiful Girls

A lost memory of San Antonio de Areco, Argentina

I was sitting on a bus this evening, on my way home from an entertaining evening of whisky tasting, when I was struck with the vivid memory of one particular night in Argentina. I'm not sure how the mind works, or what it was that triggered this thought but it was so clear that I couldn’t help but write it up.

The night in focus would have to have been around April or May in 2001. By that stage I could speak rudimentary Spanish and was able to talk to people outside my immediate circle of friends. It was a strange time, people often thought I could understand everything that was going on and didn’t take the time out to explain the finer details of what we were doing. This led to many an interesting night where I was unsure if I was ‘going for a lap around the block’ or a ‘drinking tour of the local towns’, either way it didn’t really matter, I was always happy to join in.

The reason why I felt the need to write this up was because it is such a clear demonstration of the warmth and friendliness of the Argentinean people. I returned there earlier this year and found that this was a uniform characteristic of most of the places I visited in Latin America (Argentina, Bolivia, Chile and Peru). Such generosity of heart should not go unnoticed.

So back to the story, it was April/May 2001, I would have just started to play rugby for the town open side, this put me in an odd position, I was just 19 and playing against the 35 year olds, I was Australian, a representative of the number one football team in the world, yet I still found it hard to stop a 110kg prop barrelling down the field. Being in the rugby team was cool, it opened up a whole new group of people in the town, as a result I was invited to a lot more dinners and BBQs. Being the only foreigner in town really pays off.

One night I found myself invited to the house of La Chancha (affectionately: The Pig). I honestly thought we were dropping someone off home on the way back to my place; instead I was being invited to a famous asado (Argentinean BBQ, famous for the quality and quantity of meat). Now, by this stage we were eating asados about twice a week, yet it was still a great honour to be invited back to the house to eat with the family. The house was a humble home, but damn cool, it was in the fringes of the town, and had a certain dishevelled charm. The hosts were gauchos, the Argentinean equivalent of our bushmen, farmers, or cowboys. I really dislike using that term ‘cowboy’ because it misses out on all that it is to be a gaucho, defender of Patagonia, the solitary romantic capable of traversing scrubland for days on end, whose only friends are a horse, a dog and a knife… yep, even though I was living in the gaucho central of Argentina they still held a special place in the culture of the country, and mythical status in my mind.

The asado is a very particular ritual, if you get it wrong you lose a lot of face. Each person has their own techniques, often passed on through the generations, involving the preparation of the meat, the time of cooking, the heat of the coals, the cut of the meat and so on and so forth. This one’s charm came from several different fronts: a) it was completely unexpected and a privilege, b) I was dining with gauchos, my host La Chancha could not comprehend why I found this so interesting, c) they took the time to teach me what it was to cook in their country. Now a lot of people had taken a lot of time to explain the intricacies of the Argentinean culture, and I am grateful for that, but this one moment struck home because it was so unexpected, and demonstrated that friendship, warmth and patience were consistent traits of the people of the town. This is something that still amazes me.

Another new feature of the evening was the setting, a humble, character filled backyard, eating chunks of perfect meat off a rough wooden bench, no need for plates. A constant flow of meat from the grill, more wine than you could shake a breathalyser at and to top it off: an evening of folkloric guitar, another respected facet of Argentinean gaucho culture.

This was a forgotten memory that emerged almost four and a half year later on a bus trip home. I have no photos from the evening, we drank enough that by all respects I should not remember it, I quickly changed down a grade in rugby and after that did not spend too much time with my host La Chancha,. However the evening still lives on, now more vibrant than ever. I cannot for the life of me remember why it chose to surface tonight of all nights, but this does nothing more than add to the charm.

Nice one Mum

Good things come to those that wait, and have determination. The good news is that my Mum has both. Today she made the break from her current job at Western Sydney Area Health services, a job plagued by public service politics and machinations, to a new higher, faster, stronger job with the Regional Health services. It is still in the public health system but it is closer to home, more interesting and more prestigious. Congratulations Mum.

Global geography

This has become my favourite internet game. It is a geography game that tests your knowledge of… global geography. Hours of fun. Enjoy.

• The Middle East
• Europe
• Oceania
• South America
• World Geography

The Tracker

Last posting for today. Tonight, after coming back from the races, Dad and I sat down to watch ‘The Tracker’. Once again proving that SBS offers the most diverse programming Australia has to offer, the other options were: Comedy Relief and CSI. Tough choice aye. In 2002 a series of Australian movies were released, (The Tracker, Australian Rules and Rabbit Proof Fence), all taking a look at indigenous culture in Australia. However I missed them all and have been longing to see them since. The Tracker reminded me of The Proposition, in that it looked at white Australians entering into the outback on a mission of revenge/justice. Both movies are picturesque demonstrations of the harshness of Australia, in terms of the landscape as well as the people while at the same time finding the obvious beauty of all involved. The landscape is the thing that gets me the most. It is amazing. The enormity of the land is striking, so is the knowledge that the white folk see it as harsh, dangerous and uncaring while the indigenous folk find it welcoming, protecting and spiritual. Can there be no greater contrast?

Northern Territory, Australia

The movie felt like a stage play. There were barely more than four characters in the film. Just four people, the landscape and an amazing soundtrack (sung by Archie Roach). The stage play could have been acted out using shadows/silhouettes to imitate the ‘fleeting’ ‘hidden’ nature of locals, the days activities could have been recounted over the night time fire or in character monologues… one can only dream. I am willing to accept that screen writer is not my calling, however I think it would be an amazing presentation, something that is achievable with a tiny cast.

I also found this quote when looking for movie reviews: 'Mr. Gulpilil (The Tracker) has the mystical aura of a man so profoundly in touch with the earth that he is omniscient and safe from harm.'

A new movie is out now called Wolf Creek. Filmed in the same part of Queensland as the Proposition. Looking forward to seeing it.

Eastern Creek Raceway

I have to admit, I am not the biggest racing fan to grace God’s good earth. In fact: I am not a racing car fan by any stretch of the word. So it came as a surprise when I found myself invited out to Eastern Creek raceway for the 4th round of the inaugural A1 world series racing. The last time I was at the races was when I was about 10, the Thunderdome outside of Melbourne. It stuck in my mind because try as I might I could not understand what was going on. Cars, go round and round, much noise, hot, dirty… right. To cut to the chase, today was one of the more enjoyable days out I have had. Surrounded my new things, an entirely new sport, new people and new locations the day was one of embracing every aspect of racing in order to get the most from the day. It’s good to know that if you watch the cars long enough, they do become interesting. With a trio of experts (Dad, my godfather and their mate) to guide me it was only minutes before I was watching with keen interest as a Chrysler Viper did battle with a Ferrari over seven laps in a sprint off. There was an amazing moment when the Viper, already doing in excess of 300km/h took off and sprinted past the Ferrari. Where did it draw the energy from?

The main draw of the day was the 2 part A1 world series race. By this point in the day I was jiggy with ‘rolling starts’, ‘warming the tyres’, ‘pass buttons’, ‘the hazards of the safety car’ etc, so it was all set to be a good afternoon. Every car was identical so as to highlight the skills of the driver rather than the quality of the machinery. The first race dictated the drivers’ place in the second race. Now, I am not normally the first to praise the French. Not through any fault of their own, well actually yeah it is: any country capable of earning the ultra cool nickname of ‘surrender monkeys’ deserves a little bit of a tough time. Honestly: how cool is that nickname! So given my normal aversion to supporting the French this arvo came as quite a surprise. The French driver romped it home, displaying an obviously superior set of skills, overcoming the pitfalls of the safety car (lots of spin outs and prangs), and claiming the $300,000 prize at the close of the day. The guy had serious talent.

For someone who knew nothing about racing at the start of the day, I am happy to say I am now a convert and would happily go back. Long live Eastern Creek Raceway, so much better than the Dog Track.

Summer is neigh

It's about this time every year when I look back over the past winter and say: 'now that wasn't too bad now was it'. The of course the answer is: 'course not'. Indeed summer is heading our way. I have hit a record, surfing on three different coasts in a period of weeks, all before November rolled around. Got to love summer. Saturday night saw us sitting outside on a porch, (dare I call it a veranda?), drinking beer and smoking the shisha/nargile and having a yarn. Yep, that's right I just used the word 'yarn'. Now a couple of things could have been worked on to improve the situation, so if anyone is reading: this is my perfect afternoon.

First off: it has to be the afternoon, around 3pm is good. We would have just come back from the beach, we would have the stereo loaded up with a truck load of reggae/soul/dub (Mad Professor being a current favourite). At some point we would realise that night is falling: time to load up the BBQ and cook the meat that has been marinating since before midday. Onions, tomatos, steak, beer, back deck/front porch. There we have it. That is my ideal afternoon.

Now remember people: it is November. We have four and a half months. Ahhh yes: the good months are here.