In my opinion the proposed Buddhist Temple on Cactus Canyon Rd is a fine idea. Buddhism is a peaceful life concept that doesn’t hurt anyone. The temple would be a tranquil place where locals and tourists will be able to learn about a different culture and perhaps experience something new and pleasant. I mean, this whole local area has been built on multiple cultures really, hasn’t it?
But according to the Messenger newspaper on the 20th October, a grand total of 50 whole people (wow, count ‘em. 50. I’ve seen more people in the check out queue at Coles on a Sunday afternoon) packed the Sellicks community hall in a heated debate over this proposal.
A local councillor was quoted in the same article as saying the height of the 35m pagoda would be “... totally out of scale for the environment...” Well, that means we can’t build anything higher than a grapevine or one of the six remaining almond trees, then, if the environment in question is the flats of this shire. However, if I class the environment as the rolling hills of Willunga and Sellicks, then by that scale is the pagoda perhaps a little small?
Other Nay Sayers were concerned about the noise of a bell at prayer times. If a bell is too loud then we’d best put a stop to all aircraft taking off or landing at Aldinga airfield as well. Because planes are loud. Also there will need to be an enforced ban on all doof doof music that emanates from houses and passing cars, as that’s highly offensive to the ears of people over 35, including mine. Trucks must also use quieter mufflers and are to be blown up if they are caught using exhaust brakes anywhere. Oh, and I want the use of scare guns in vineyards abolished and tractors are to be outlawed and you can only use horses and carts at vintage time.
Another point that was raised is that the site would be distracting to motorists. Now, I don’t know about you, but if a stationary building in the near distance is cause for a driver to lose concentration from the task of controlling their vehicle, at great risk to themselves, passengers and other motorists, then I think these particular drivers should have their licences revoked. Does this mean that every time they drive through a city or past a bridge or a phone tower above three storeys high they suddenly become mesmerized by these structures and instantly veer off the road and crash? By this token, all advertising billboards larger than a shop front should be burned as they are designed for motorists to see them and read them whilst in the act of driving. In fact, why don’t we just use taxpayers money to build giant concrete walls like those that used to divide Germany to line South Rd so that no drivers with attention spans shorter than that of a cabbage can be distracted by those horridly intrusive and disruptive sunsets over the ocean and fields that plague us each day as well?
Is it because it’s of Asian background that this temple proposal has caused such concern? Would a Church of England building cause as much fuss? Because in case you had forgotten, anything or anyone that originated from England or a country other than this one is not actually indigenous to this area either, and therefore, no different to a Buddhist temple. The only group that would have actual right to complain should they need to would be the indigenous Australians, anyway.
Is it fear, perhaps? Read up on Buddhism as a religion or way of life, then. Not too many Buddhist extremists out there. No Buddhist monks launching a Jihad against anyone who uses cutlery and toilet paper instead of their hands. No pages of the history books about the Buddhist Crusades where armies of Monks and peasants marched across the lands raping and pillaging in the name of their God.
People travel miles to see such structures. And with them come tourist dollars for the surrounding area. Heaven forbid we have a tourist attraction that doesn’t involve excessive drinking and gluttony or a bunch of men in tights with shaved legs on push bikes. Interestingly enough, few people minded when an American place of worship was proposed and construction commenced. Actually, it received a warm welcome for the most part. Which makes me think no one would have cared about the pagoda if it had a McDonald’s sign on top of it.
Clearly, I despise racism in all its forms. And I’m not being all pious here, though. I judge people and have subconscious prejudices the same as anyone else, but I base mine on the merits of the individual, not their race or background. Were the proposal for a walled biker fortress with razor wire or a training camp for gun toting zealots, or a compound for those who force disciple s to wear blue tracksuits and new sneakers before drinking poison, then, yes folks, that would be out of line and highly negative for the area.
But it’s not. It’s for a place of peace and beauty.
And those are good things.
Monday, November 15, 2010
BLADE RUNNER - Director's Cut Review
What does it mean to be human? What is human? What is it that defines us sentient beings? These are the questions at the core of Ridley Scott’s sci-fi noir classic, Blade Runner.
On its initial release in 1982, the film failed. People didn’t understand it; they didn’t like the last minute voice over narration or the drive off into the country- side ending. So in 1991, the Director’s Cut version of the film was released with out the narration, and with several important improvements to the edit. This is the version we are looking at here, as it was this one that turned things around and renewed interest and excitement for the story, and in my opinion, is one of the best examples of the sci- fi genre.
The special effects all pre date the modern CGI and are far more effective as a result. Where today’s films rely on these overblown and overused extravagant scenes of wonder, Blade Runner’s 21st century future Los Angeles, with all it’s huge buildings and flying cars, is an illusion created by the skilled use of models and wires and matte paintings on glass. These effects shots evoke a far more engaging and hypnotic mood because of their subtleties than that of their modern counterparts.
The production is brilliant: the rain falling in the neon lit streets sends chills down your spine and combined with Vangelis’ truly haunting electronic score causes goose bumps on your arms. The mood is that tangible.
Although based on the Philip K. Dick novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, it is the vision of director Scott and the plethora of screen writers who were involved that have created an intelligent and possibly prophetic vision of the now near future. From hints at climate change, (it’s always raining) and globalisation, the environment on screen is never too implausible to relate to, now.
Harrison Ford is superb as the Blade Runner himself, Deckard, and Rutger Hauer plays the best role of his career in the lead Replicant, Roy Batty. It is between these two that the moral question lies: what is human? Deckard is cold, calculating and dispatches death upon his quarry without hesitation, like a machine. Batty, who is labelled the “baddie” of the piece, is animated, articulate and poetic. He is confronted with the fact that he is destined to die and so he questions his maker, in this case a robotics corporation, as humans would question their God from their deathbed. Batty’s actions may be wrong and deserve swift justice, he has killed, of course, but that is his crime to be punished, as it would be for a human. Not for having the desire to live.
The cast is rounded out by Sean Young as the beautiful Replicant Racheal, so advanced she isn’t aware she isn’t human; Darryl Hannah as rogue Replicant Pris and Edward James Olmos as the mysterious Gaff.
It’s poetry in motion, but not everyone likes poetry. There is much ambiguity and the audience needs to fill in some of the blanks, but this is intelligent film making. You don’t want to be spoon-fed a story like it was yoghurt to an infant, you want to use some of your imagination, to think and to engage with the characters and make your own assessment of them and the meanings and interpret what transpires before you.
After all, that’s only human.
On its initial release in 1982, the film failed. People didn’t understand it; they didn’t like the last minute voice over narration or the drive off into the country- side ending. So in 1991, the Director’s Cut version of the film was released with out the narration, and with several important improvements to the edit. This is the version we are looking at here, as it was this one that turned things around and renewed interest and excitement for the story, and in my opinion, is one of the best examples of the sci- fi genre.
The special effects all pre date the modern CGI and are far more effective as a result. Where today’s films rely on these overblown and overused extravagant scenes of wonder, Blade Runner’s 21st century future Los Angeles, with all it’s huge buildings and flying cars, is an illusion created by the skilled use of models and wires and matte paintings on glass. These effects shots evoke a far more engaging and hypnotic mood because of their subtleties than that of their modern counterparts.
The production is brilliant: the rain falling in the neon lit streets sends chills down your spine and combined with Vangelis’ truly haunting electronic score causes goose bumps on your arms. The mood is that tangible.
Although based on the Philip K. Dick novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, it is the vision of director Scott and the plethora of screen writers who were involved that have created an intelligent and possibly prophetic vision of the now near future. From hints at climate change, (it’s always raining) and globalisation, the environment on screen is never too implausible to relate to, now.
Harrison Ford is superb as the Blade Runner himself, Deckard, and Rutger Hauer plays the best role of his career in the lead Replicant, Roy Batty. It is between these two that the moral question lies: what is human? Deckard is cold, calculating and dispatches death upon his quarry without hesitation, like a machine. Batty, who is labelled the “baddie” of the piece, is animated, articulate and poetic. He is confronted with the fact that he is destined to die and so he questions his maker, in this case a robotics corporation, as humans would question their God from their deathbed. Batty’s actions may be wrong and deserve swift justice, he has killed, of course, but that is his crime to be punished, as it would be for a human. Not for having the desire to live.
The cast is rounded out by Sean Young as the beautiful Replicant Racheal, so advanced she isn’t aware she isn’t human; Darryl Hannah as rogue Replicant Pris and Edward James Olmos as the mysterious Gaff.
It’s poetry in motion, but not everyone likes poetry. There is much ambiguity and the audience needs to fill in some of the blanks, but this is intelligent film making. You don’t want to be spoon-fed a story like it was yoghurt to an infant, you want to use some of your imagination, to think and to engage with the characters and make your own assessment of them and the meanings and interpret what transpires before you.
After all, that’s only human.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Other Man Review
LIAM NEESON LAURA LINNEY
ANTONIO BANDERAS DIR. RICHARD EYRE
DRAMA 2008
Romance? Thriller? Taken meets The
Talented Mr Ripley? Well, yes actually.
In this latest ‘affair’ from director Richard Eyre, (of Notes on a Scandal fame) Peter (Neeson), a wealthy and successful software designer must come to terms with the fact that his wife Lisa (Linney) may have been unfaithful to him when overseas.
Loving husband that he is, Peter is
determined to identify the other man and follows the clues to
exquisite Milan to track him down and confront him.
The Other Man in question turns out to be the dashing Rafe, (Banderas) a man of the world who, as Peter discovers, may not be all that he seems.
Or is any of it as it seems?
Liam Neeson has come a long way from guest spots on Miami Vice and here gives another emotional and engaging performance as a stable, confident husband unravelling in his pursuit of the truth and reasons behind his wife’s infidelity and what it means to their marriage.
Laura Linney doesn’t give too much away as Lisa, but is
convincing in her portrayal of a woman in love with two men, but in different ways for different reasons. She maintains a level of grace, integrity and dignity throughout, not traits usually
attributed to the typical “cheating wife” character.
According to my wife, Antonio is perfect casting for Rafe,
because if a woman was going to stray, you could do worse than Antonio Banderas... Here he is still likeable, not quite Puss in Boots, but it is hard to dislike him, and even in some parts he even evokes sympathy. Rafe is a layered role which Banderas handles with aplomb.
Shot in shades of grey, perhaps to represent the lack of clear black and white side to this tale, The Other Man is a story about
knowing someone well, and loving someone so much that you cant bear to hurt them, even if that means hiding something from them.
This one will raise a number of questions and discussions within relationships, and many will not agree with some of the outcomes in the film, of course. However The Other Man is not a tawdry Indecent Proposal piece of drivel, but an emotive piece on acceptance and unconditional love.
ANTONIO BANDERAS DIR. RICHARD EYRE
DRAMA 2008
Romance? Thriller? Taken meets The
Talented Mr Ripley? Well, yes actually.
In this latest ‘affair’ from director Richard Eyre, (of Notes on a Scandal fame) Peter (Neeson), a wealthy and successful software designer must come to terms with the fact that his wife Lisa (Linney) may have been unfaithful to him when overseas.
Loving husband that he is, Peter is
determined to identify the other man and follows the clues to
exquisite Milan to track him down and confront him.
The Other Man in question turns out to be the dashing Rafe, (Banderas) a man of the world who, as Peter discovers, may not be all that he seems.
Or is any of it as it seems?
Liam Neeson has come a long way from guest spots on Miami Vice and here gives another emotional and engaging performance as a stable, confident husband unravelling in his pursuit of the truth and reasons behind his wife’s infidelity and what it means to their marriage.
Laura Linney doesn’t give too much away as Lisa, but is
convincing in her portrayal of a woman in love with two men, but in different ways for different reasons. She maintains a level of grace, integrity and dignity throughout, not traits usually
attributed to the typical “cheating wife” character.
According to my wife, Antonio is perfect casting for Rafe,
because if a woman was going to stray, you could do worse than Antonio Banderas... Here he is still likeable, not quite Puss in Boots, but it is hard to dislike him, and even in some parts he even evokes sympathy. Rafe is a layered role which Banderas handles with aplomb.
Shot in shades of grey, perhaps to represent the lack of clear black and white side to this tale, The Other Man is a story about
knowing someone well, and loving someone so much that you cant bear to hurt them, even if that means hiding something from them.
This one will raise a number of questions and discussions within relationships, and many will not agree with some of the outcomes in the film, of course. However The Other Man is not a tawdry Indecent Proposal piece of drivel, but an emotive piece on acceptance and unconditional love.
Young Drivers
A couple of weeks ago now, it was Fathers Day.
I was lucky enough to receive bacon, eggs and a steaming cup of coffee from my family. But there was another family whom
instead received news that their son had been killed in a horrific car “accident”.
I cannot begin to imagine the pain that boy’s family felt and is still feeling. My heart goes out to them. They have my sincerest condolences. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Ever.
Tragedy is something we can’t avoid. I knew a girl back many years ago, who for her twenty first birthday present, died from the cancer that had rapidly riddled her body.
Tragic accidents and events occur every day.
They are unavoidable. But tragedy as a result of pure selfish stupidity is not an accident.
It is negligence.
I would like to think that the boy was driving in a manner to suit the wet conditions and undulating road. That he had not had a drop of alcohol all night. That he wasn’t doing double the speed limit.
That he was taking all necessary precautions possible and doing his best to ensure the safety of his four friends as he controlled the vehicle.
But we all know what happened by now. The speeds that were reached. That caution wasn’t exercised.
And the price that has been paid.
Also spare a thought for the motorist who found the wreckage. No doubt he still sees it sometimes when he closes his eyes. And the police officers that have to attend these crashes time and time again. To try and remain calm and objective in the face of a scene that most people of this era don’t often, if ever, have to deal with. And then there is their unenviable task of informing the families.
Think also about the medical staff, from the ambulance officers to the surgeons and nurses, who have to try and work miracles and repair damage that should never have been done.
.
So how best to avoid this in the future? We can’t implant experience in to young drivers. It has to be gained themselves. And that’s dangerous. I don’t think the new and well overdue “high power” vehicle restrictions for learner and probationary drivers is enough. As far as I can tell, it just means that new drivers cant have a turbo or supercharger, nor an engine of eight cylinders or more. It is fact that a four cylinder standard Corolla can exceed 130kph, and that when it does it certainly isn't handling well. So it would still be dangerous and a crash waiting to happen in the hands of an over confident, fearless P plater. There needs to be definitive engine output restrictions also. Nothing over 90 odd kilowatts, perhaps?
Now, yes, this reduces the choice of vehicle for a young person just starting out in the world and spreading their wings. So then why not use some of our registration and stamp duty taxes to have speed limiters fitted to “P” plate cars as another option?
Automobile manufacturers have been fitting them for years where an engines performance is beyond the handling capabilities of the car itself.
And if Stevo’s older brother happens to be an auto electrician who could take it off for a carton of beer, then the penalty for illegal tampering with a limiter should involve jail time.
When the kid passes another test later and is handed their full license, then they take the car to the RAA or wherever and the limiter is professionally removed.
It’ll cost money, but don’t we value our kids more?
Perhaps I sound too harsh and out of touch. Maybe. But my son is on his “L” plates and I trust him completely, but I would have no hesitation were these restrictions applied to him. In fact, I have applied restrictions within our home in relation to his driving arrangements. We have raised him to be responsible and to respect the fact that a motor vehicle is not a plaything but a dangerous, deadly weapon if misused. the same as my old man drilled into me back in the day.
I trust our son but there is no way in Hell that I’d let him behind the wheel of a V8 Commodore until he has a lot more experience under his belt.
Our kids have to be responsible for their actions in the end, of course, but it’s my responsibility now to make sure he doesn’t even get the means to drive at 180kmh at his age.
It’s my responsibility to have at least some idea where he is at 4 ‘o clock in the morning.
It’s my role to love, to teach and to guide our son into adulthood.
And I feel truly awful for the parents who have just had that ripped away from them...
I was lucky enough to receive bacon, eggs and a steaming cup of coffee from my family. But there was another family whom
instead received news that their son had been killed in a horrific car “accident”.
I cannot begin to imagine the pain that boy’s family felt and is still feeling. My heart goes out to them. They have my sincerest condolences. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Ever.
Tragedy is something we can’t avoid. I knew a girl back many years ago, who for her twenty first birthday present, died from the cancer that had rapidly riddled her body.
Tragic accidents and events occur every day.
They are unavoidable. But tragedy as a result of pure selfish stupidity is not an accident.
It is negligence.
I would like to think that the boy was driving in a manner to suit the wet conditions and undulating road. That he had not had a drop of alcohol all night. That he wasn’t doing double the speed limit.
That he was taking all necessary precautions possible and doing his best to ensure the safety of his four friends as he controlled the vehicle.
But we all know what happened by now. The speeds that were reached. That caution wasn’t exercised.
And the price that has been paid.
Also spare a thought for the motorist who found the wreckage. No doubt he still sees it sometimes when he closes his eyes. And the police officers that have to attend these crashes time and time again. To try and remain calm and objective in the face of a scene that most people of this era don’t often, if ever, have to deal with. And then there is their unenviable task of informing the families.
Think also about the medical staff, from the ambulance officers to the surgeons and nurses, who have to try and work miracles and repair damage that should never have been done.
.
So how best to avoid this in the future? We can’t implant experience in to young drivers. It has to be gained themselves. And that’s dangerous. I don’t think the new and well overdue “high power” vehicle restrictions for learner and probationary drivers is enough. As far as I can tell, it just means that new drivers cant have a turbo or supercharger, nor an engine of eight cylinders or more. It is fact that a four cylinder standard Corolla can exceed 130kph, and that when it does it certainly isn't handling well. So it would still be dangerous and a crash waiting to happen in the hands of an over confident, fearless P plater. There needs to be definitive engine output restrictions also. Nothing over 90 odd kilowatts, perhaps?
Now, yes, this reduces the choice of vehicle for a young person just starting out in the world and spreading their wings. So then why not use some of our registration and stamp duty taxes to have speed limiters fitted to “P” plate cars as another option?
Automobile manufacturers have been fitting them for years where an engines performance is beyond the handling capabilities of the car itself.
And if Stevo’s older brother happens to be an auto electrician who could take it off for a carton of beer, then the penalty for illegal tampering with a limiter should involve jail time.
When the kid passes another test later and is handed their full license, then they take the car to the RAA or wherever and the limiter is professionally removed.
It’ll cost money, but don’t we value our kids more?
Perhaps I sound too harsh and out of touch. Maybe. But my son is on his “L” plates and I trust him completely, but I would have no hesitation were these restrictions applied to him. In fact, I have applied restrictions within our home in relation to his driving arrangements. We have raised him to be responsible and to respect the fact that a motor vehicle is not a plaything but a dangerous, deadly weapon if misused. the same as my old man drilled into me back in the day.
I trust our son but there is no way in Hell that I’d let him behind the wheel of a V8 Commodore until he has a lot more experience under his belt.
Our kids have to be responsible for their actions in the end, of course, but it’s my responsibility now to make sure he doesn’t even get the means to drive at 180kmh at his age.
It’s my responsibility to have at least some idea where he is at 4 ‘o clock in the morning.
It’s my role to love, to teach and to guide our son into adulthood.
And I feel truly awful for the parents who have just had that ripped away from them...
Schapelle Corby article - Coastal Views magazine Sept 2010
Original Writing date 9th August 2010
Recently it was reported that Schapelle Corby, convicted somehow of drug trafficking in Bali, has suffered a mental break after years in Kerobokan Prison. It could be that she receives clemency from the court and their may be a reduction in her sentence. Maybe. This prompted me to do a bit of reading on her situation. After trawling the internet and reading her book “My Story”, I found myself feeling drained and helplessly frustrated for her. Yes, a 4.2 kilo bag of marijuana was found in her boogie board bag after she voluntarily showed it to Balinese Customs officers. But other than that, there was not a shred of evidence to indicate it was hers and not planted. Fingerprints were not taken. Airport security footage from Sydney Airport, from which she departed Australia, was destroyed. Baggage was not weighed on arrival and compared against its departure weight. Testimonies from other parties indicating her innocence were ignored; including that said airport had workers with criminal histories and was being looked at by Australian Federal Police previously. None of this was factored in. She didn’t stand a chance from the start. She was to be used as an example, guilty or not.
There was a public outcry in Australia when Corby was sentenced to 20 years for trafficking by the Balinese kangaroo court. The Australian government, I believe, did have some kind of dialogue with the Indonesian government and at one stage it looked like Schapelle was going to be allowed to serve out her sentence in Australia in some type of prisoner exchange, but the Indonesians suddenly became uncooperative and the deal was off. Because they are making shed-loads of money out of having Schapelle locked up in their prison, with media parasites exploiting her by paying for photos of her that they can sell on to Woman’s Day and all the other gossip rags.
And so that was that, then. Forget it.
And this is the crux of this column; Australia asked a favour of its tiny neighbor. A neighbor that receives aid money from Australia and a substantial chunk of tourism as well. Yet, they were unwilling to accommodate an important request. Worse yet, Australia appeared to have not taken umbrage to that. Prime Minister at the time Howard didn’t seem to do anything further at all. Oh well, tried. Off for a jog now, in my patriotic tracksuit…
Don’t get me wrong, I am not falling for any “Schapelle Hype”, (Gossip mags and sensationalist news programs are best avoided when you want facts) I am fully aware that there are many Aussies imprisoned overseas who don’t receive nearly so much media attention as Corby. But if you take the Bali Nine, for example, they were actually caught with drugs on them. That can’t be planted and there was a heck of a lot more evidence. Even the bird who nicked the bar mat was in fact guilty of the act.
Alexander Downer wrote an article last year in the Advertiser indicating that Australians overseas should be responsible for their own actions and have to accept the foreign countries laws and customs and abide by them. If you don’t, then you are on your own. Hey, I agree with Al. One hundred per cent.
But Corby’s case was dodgy from the get go. And we all know that if it was Downer’s kid locked in a Bali jail when he was Foreign Minister, or even Steve now for that matter, then there would have been an SAS strike to free her, as if it were an act of war.
‘Cos I would have for my kid. Everything changes when it’s in your own backyard.
And in this Pacific region back yard, Australia is the top dog. I’m not being biased; just look at the others. Whenever anything goes wrong, like in Fiji or East Timor for example, it is Australia that is expected to go in and get it sorted. And that’s fine, it’s a privilege. So long as these islands and smaller nations respect this and reciprocate appropriately.
But it seems that Australia is not respected anymore. And the people we have elected to power are reluctant to use it, unless asked to by an American.
So it seems that not only can Bali take aid and tourism dollars but it can also incarcerate our citizens without proper trial on trumped up charges, without evidence and even make a profit from them. And no one does anything about it.
PM Julia Gillard apparently is supportive of a clemency decision for Schapelle. But by the time this has gone to print and you are actually reading it, we will have had an election…. And being supportive is along way from a decisive action. Who knows maybe a female Prime Minister would be man enough to stand up for our nation and demand results?
But I will leave you with these thoughts; imagine yourself (or your sister or your daughter or any loved one, for that matter) locked up for years for something you didn’t do, that someone else did, and is getting away with it…
Imagine mentally reliving everyday, that fateful moment when you opened up your bag in a foreign airport to find it full of drugs that you didn’t put in there. Imagine being in a tiny disgusting cell, during the prime of your life when you were supposed to be out living and having fun. Imagine knowing the world had violated what was your life and turned it into nothing more than a story for magazines. Your old life was gone but everyone else’s was going on without you. Imagine knowing your mind is beginning to crack and there was nothing you could do about it because you were wrongly trapped in a prison with no one to help you.
So, how does it feel?
Recently it was reported that Schapelle Corby, convicted somehow of drug trafficking in Bali, has suffered a mental break after years in Kerobokan Prison. It could be that she receives clemency from the court and their may be a reduction in her sentence. Maybe. This prompted me to do a bit of reading on her situation. After trawling the internet and reading her book “My Story”, I found myself feeling drained and helplessly frustrated for her. Yes, a 4.2 kilo bag of marijuana was found in her boogie board bag after she voluntarily showed it to Balinese Customs officers. But other than that, there was not a shred of evidence to indicate it was hers and not planted. Fingerprints were not taken. Airport security footage from Sydney Airport, from which she departed Australia, was destroyed. Baggage was not weighed on arrival and compared against its departure weight. Testimonies from other parties indicating her innocence were ignored; including that said airport had workers with criminal histories and was being looked at by Australian Federal Police previously. None of this was factored in. She didn’t stand a chance from the start. She was to be used as an example, guilty or not.
There was a public outcry in Australia when Corby was sentenced to 20 years for trafficking by the Balinese kangaroo court. The Australian government, I believe, did have some kind of dialogue with the Indonesian government and at one stage it looked like Schapelle was going to be allowed to serve out her sentence in Australia in some type of prisoner exchange, but the Indonesians suddenly became uncooperative and the deal was off. Because they are making shed-loads of money out of having Schapelle locked up in their prison, with media parasites exploiting her by paying for photos of her that they can sell on to Woman’s Day and all the other gossip rags.
And so that was that, then. Forget it.
And this is the crux of this column; Australia asked a favour of its tiny neighbor. A neighbor that receives aid money from Australia and a substantial chunk of tourism as well. Yet, they were unwilling to accommodate an important request. Worse yet, Australia appeared to have not taken umbrage to that. Prime Minister at the time Howard didn’t seem to do anything further at all. Oh well, tried. Off for a jog now, in my patriotic tracksuit…
Don’t get me wrong, I am not falling for any “Schapelle Hype”, (Gossip mags and sensationalist news programs are best avoided when you want facts) I am fully aware that there are many Aussies imprisoned overseas who don’t receive nearly so much media attention as Corby. But if you take the Bali Nine, for example, they were actually caught with drugs on them. That can’t be planted and there was a heck of a lot more evidence. Even the bird who nicked the bar mat was in fact guilty of the act.
Alexander Downer wrote an article last year in the Advertiser indicating that Australians overseas should be responsible for their own actions and have to accept the foreign countries laws and customs and abide by them. If you don’t, then you are on your own. Hey, I agree with Al. One hundred per cent.
But Corby’s case was dodgy from the get go. And we all know that if it was Downer’s kid locked in a Bali jail when he was Foreign Minister, or even Steve now for that matter, then there would have been an SAS strike to free her, as if it were an act of war.
‘Cos I would have for my kid. Everything changes when it’s in your own backyard.
And in this Pacific region back yard, Australia is the top dog. I’m not being biased; just look at the others. Whenever anything goes wrong, like in Fiji or East Timor for example, it is Australia that is expected to go in and get it sorted. And that’s fine, it’s a privilege. So long as these islands and smaller nations respect this and reciprocate appropriately.
But it seems that Australia is not respected anymore. And the people we have elected to power are reluctant to use it, unless asked to by an American.
So it seems that not only can Bali take aid and tourism dollars but it can also incarcerate our citizens without proper trial on trumped up charges, without evidence and even make a profit from them. And no one does anything about it.
PM Julia Gillard apparently is supportive of a clemency decision for Schapelle. But by the time this has gone to print and you are actually reading it, we will have had an election…. And being supportive is along way from a decisive action. Who knows maybe a female Prime Minister would be man enough to stand up for our nation and demand results?
But I will leave you with these thoughts; imagine yourself (or your sister or your daughter or any loved one, for that matter) locked up for years for something you didn’t do, that someone else did, and is getting away with it…
Imagine mentally reliving everyday, that fateful moment when you opened up your bag in a foreign airport to find it full of drugs that you didn’t put in there. Imagine being in a tiny disgusting cell, during the prime of your life when you were supposed to be out living and having fun. Imagine knowing the world had violated what was your life and turned it into nothing more than a story for magazines. Your old life was gone but everyone else’s was going on without you. Imagine knowing your mind is beginning to crack and there was nothing you could do about it because you were wrongly trapped in a prison with no one to help you.
So, how does it feel?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
BRAN NUE DAE - Review
Filmed in Western Australia and set there in 1969, Bran Nue Dae is a bright and colourful adaptation of the original stage musical.
Marketed as a heart warming and funny sing-along musical, Bran Nue Dae is in fact very much a cleverly layered political and historical commentary on life for Indigenous Australians during the indoctrination of Christian ways by the white occupiers.
It doesn’t preach at the viewer, but allows a knowing nod to what went on, with subtle nudges throughout, such as the musical number “Nothing I’d Rather Be Than An Aborigine”. Not only is it a catchy tune, but also a very insightful expression of Aboriginal feeling when you really listen to Jimmy Chi’s lyrics.
Casting for such a film is vitally important, and director Rachel Perkins has succeeded for the most part, with Ernie Dingo’s Uncle Tadpole being a favourite. His singing is impressive and his comedic timing and expression is excellent.
Missy Higgins has a great time as a Buddhist Hippy traveling Oz by Kombi and she gets to spout some of the best lines in the film.
Jessica Mauboy looks lovely as Rosie, and shows great acting potential, but it’s her amazingly smooth singing voice that she shines with here. She could sing the words off of a road sign and they would sound good.
Rocky McKenzie in the lead role of Willy, whose journey we are essentially following, is however, sadly overshadowed by his cast mates in every scene, even by the very overdone and cartoon like Geoffrey Rush as Father Benedictus. McKenzie is also not credited as having actually sung any of the musical pieces in his scenes either. Perhaps a stronger performer in this role would have been more effective, but perhaps it is because of this that we empathize with Willy as the underdog, thus wishing him on to success and a happy resolution by the film’s end. You be the judge.
This film should become an Oz classic; it’s vastly superior to tripe like Priscilla, and in a far more understated and humbler way.
So if you’re after something up-beat and feel -good, but without that layer of sugary sweet treacle that spoils such fare as Mama Mia!, then get hold of Bran Nue Dae. Nowhere else have I seen an Aboriginal football team riding on the back of an old flatbed truck dancing to Zorba the Greek or a young German -Aboriginal hippy called Wolfgang.
Marketed as a heart warming and funny sing-along musical, Bran Nue Dae is in fact very much a cleverly layered political and historical commentary on life for Indigenous Australians during the indoctrination of Christian ways by the white occupiers.
It doesn’t preach at the viewer, but allows a knowing nod to what went on, with subtle nudges throughout, such as the musical number “Nothing I’d Rather Be Than An Aborigine”. Not only is it a catchy tune, but also a very insightful expression of Aboriginal feeling when you really listen to Jimmy Chi’s lyrics.
Casting for such a film is vitally important, and director Rachel Perkins has succeeded for the most part, with Ernie Dingo’s Uncle Tadpole being a favourite. His singing is impressive and his comedic timing and expression is excellent.
Missy Higgins has a great time as a Buddhist Hippy traveling Oz by Kombi and she gets to spout some of the best lines in the film.
Jessica Mauboy looks lovely as Rosie, and shows great acting potential, but it’s her amazingly smooth singing voice that she shines with here. She could sing the words off of a road sign and they would sound good.
Rocky McKenzie in the lead role of Willy, whose journey we are essentially following, is however, sadly overshadowed by his cast mates in every scene, even by the very overdone and cartoon like Geoffrey Rush as Father Benedictus. McKenzie is also not credited as having actually sung any of the musical pieces in his scenes either. Perhaps a stronger performer in this role would have been more effective, but perhaps it is because of this that we empathize with Willy as the underdog, thus wishing him on to success and a happy resolution by the film’s end. You be the judge.
This film should become an Oz classic; it’s vastly superior to tripe like Priscilla, and in a far more understated and humbler way.
So if you’re after something up-beat and feel -good, but without that layer of sugary sweet treacle that spoils such fare as Mama Mia!, then get hold of Bran Nue Dae. Nowhere else have I seen an Aboriginal football team riding on the back of an old flatbed truck dancing to Zorba the Greek or a young German -Aboriginal hippy called Wolfgang.
MAO'S LAST DANCER - Review
Based on the 2004 autobiography of Li Cunxin, Mao’s Last Dancer is at first, a film sitting somewhere between Billy Elliot and Red Corner, but it doesn’t take too long to reveal itself as a sophisticated bio-pic.
After the early “fish out of water” scenes, we are soon asked to examine opposing political/social ideologies and how they ultimately affect both our individual freedoms and that of a society, or a people, as a whole. Don’t worry, there isn’t any lecturing or haranguing, just the viewpoint of a man in the middle of a very serious choice.
Played by Chi Cao as an adult, Li Cunxin is somewhat naive to the ways of the world, but is endearing to us because of this, and for the most part we remain sympathetic to his position as he grows and changes, faults and all. Also noteworthy is the performance by Huang Wen Bin as the child Li in China, and the transitions for Cunxin ageing and getting stronger are exceptional in their subtlety and smoothness. Most performances are solid, though some cast members are clearly dancers as opposed to actors, and all work together superbly. The sequence set in the Chinese Consulate is particularly engaging, except for the poor casting choice of Jack Thompson as a US judge. To an Australian audience, he is too jarring and breaks the connection with the story on screen.
Joan Chen is brilliant as Li’s mother: strong and loyal to her country, but there is nothing as strong as a true mothers love for her children.
Elizabeth, Li’s first wife and played here by Amanda Schull, is one of the most important people in his life and instrumental in Li’s success, but is ultimately given the short end of the stick. Nothing tragic, but you’ll see what I mean…
The dancing is highly impressive, by star Cao and also members of the Australian Ballet and the Sydney Dance Company. Even those whom are not in to ballet will agree to the incredible level of fitness and talent on display here. The music of Christopher Gordon too, is delicate and seeps through the film in an aural blend of east and west.
Part filmed in Sydney, however it’s the beautiful landscapes of China that catch the breath, with the exquisite mountain ranges providing a majestic backdrop to the humble village of Li’s childhood.
Aussie director Beresford’s style works; he even uses a mandatory training montage and there’s enough slow- mo to make even John Woo proud!
A strong story about following your heart and your dreams and that hard choices aren’t made without cost. We also learn that be they Communist or capitalist, kids find flatulence funny the world over.
Have some dumplings.
After the early “fish out of water” scenes, we are soon asked to examine opposing political/social ideologies and how they ultimately affect both our individual freedoms and that of a society, or a people, as a whole. Don’t worry, there isn’t any lecturing or haranguing, just the viewpoint of a man in the middle of a very serious choice.
Played by Chi Cao as an adult, Li Cunxin is somewhat naive to the ways of the world, but is endearing to us because of this, and for the most part we remain sympathetic to his position as he grows and changes, faults and all. Also noteworthy is the performance by Huang Wen Bin as the child Li in China, and the transitions for Cunxin ageing and getting stronger are exceptional in their subtlety and smoothness. Most performances are solid, though some cast members are clearly dancers as opposed to actors, and all work together superbly. The sequence set in the Chinese Consulate is particularly engaging, except for the poor casting choice of Jack Thompson as a US judge. To an Australian audience, he is too jarring and breaks the connection with the story on screen.
Joan Chen is brilliant as Li’s mother: strong and loyal to her country, but there is nothing as strong as a true mothers love for her children.
Elizabeth, Li’s first wife and played here by Amanda Schull, is one of the most important people in his life and instrumental in Li’s success, but is ultimately given the short end of the stick. Nothing tragic, but you’ll see what I mean…
The dancing is highly impressive, by star Cao and also members of the Australian Ballet and the Sydney Dance Company. Even those whom are not in to ballet will agree to the incredible level of fitness and talent on display here. The music of Christopher Gordon too, is delicate and seeps through the film in an aural blend of east and west.
Part filmed in Sydney, however it’s the beautiful landscapes of China that catch the breath, with the exquisite mountain ranges providing a majestic backdrop to the humble village of Li’s childhood.
Aussie director Beresford’s style works; he even uses a mandatory training montage and there’s enough slow- mo to make even John Woo proud!
A strong story about following your heart and your dreams and that hard choices aren’t made without cost. We also learn that be they Communist or capitalist, kids find flatulence funny the world over.
Have some dumplings.
PRECIOUS - Review
Precious was made in 2008 but was given international recognition once it came to the attention of Oprah Winfrey. Winfrey was so moved and passionate about the story and the character that she took on the task of promoting the film to a worldwide audience.
This is not light viewing again, as this is a story of teenage pregnancy, incest, rape and the many forms of child abuse.
Based on the confronting novel by Sapphire, Precious is the story of Claireese “Precious” Jones, a grossly overweight and illiterate teenage girl growing up the hardest way in New York’s Harlem in 1987.
Directed with sincerity and compassion by Lee Daniels, the actors give gripping and engaging performances throughout. Mariah Carey is almost unrecognizable without make up or hair styling, in her role as social services officer Mrs. Weiss, but she is all the more real and emotive for it.
Lenny Kravitz makes a small appearance as the nurse whom befriends Precious when in hospital following the birth of her second child. He too, is cast against type, instead becoming a support to the amazing performance of newcomer Gabourey Sidibe in the lead role.
Sidibe’s turn as the downtrodden Precious is nothing short of brilliant, particularly as it is in effect, a dual role. Whenever Precious finds herself in a painful and dark place, (which is more often than any of us would care to imagine) she escapes mentally into her dreams of a future. Here, she is confident and projects her inner beauty in sequences depicting her dancing with a boyfriend and walking the red carpet of celebrity.
The film’s tag line runs “We Are All Precious”, and it is here that we find the heart of the film. Although it is a truly gut wrenching depiction at times of a life representing hell on earth for Claireese, it is the ultimate suggestion that there is hope and there can be a way out that underlies the story. You will find yourself wanting to help this wretched character and most likely throw her mother (played horribly well by Mo’Nique) forcibly down the nearest flight of stairs. Precious tries to show that there is a system in place for the less fortunate and abused, albeit flawed at times in reality, to be accessed and supported. In the film, Paula Patton’s teacher Ms Rain is truly an amazingly unselfish and dedicated social worker protecting her “flock” of unfortunates, helping them to become much more than they think they are.
This is a film for all girls that have been or are being subjected to the horrors of domestic abuse, to girls that are left with low or no self esteem or self worth, who need to be shown that they are not alone and that they are as precious as anyone else.
This is not light viewing again, as this is a story of teenage pregnancy, incest, rape and the many forms of child abuse.
Based on the confronting novel by Sapphire, Precious is the story of Claireese “Precious” Jones, a grossly overweight and illiterate teenage girl growing up the hardest way in New York’s Harlem in 1987.
Directed with sincerity and compassion by Lee Daniels, the actors give gripping and engaging performances throughout. Mariah Carey is almost unrecognizable without make up or hair styling, in her role as social services officer Mrs. Weiss, but she is all the more real and emotive for it.
Lenny Kravitz makes a small appearance as the nurse whom befriends Precious when in hospital following the birth of her second child. He too, is cast against type, instead becoming a support to the amazing performance of newcomer Gabourey Sidibe in the lead role.
Sidibe’s turn as the downtrodden Precious is nothing short of brilliant, particularly as it is in effect, a dual role. Whenever Precious finds herself in a painful and dark place, (which is more often than any of us would care to imagine) she escapes mentally into her dreams of a future. Here, she is confident and projects her inner beauty in sequences depicting her dancing with a boyfriend and walking the red carpet of celebrity.
The film’s tag line runs “We Are All Precious”, and it is here that we find the heart of the film. Although it is a truly gut wrenching depiction at times of a life representing hell on earth for Claireese, it is the ultimate suggestion that there is hope and there can be a way out that underlies the story. You will find yourself wanting to help this wretched character and most likely throw her mother (played horribly well by Mo’Nique) forcibly down the nearest flight of stairs. Precious tries to show that there is a system in place for the less fortunate and abused, albeit flawed at times in reality, to be accessed and supported. In the film, Paula Patton’s teacher Ms Rain is truly an amazingly unselfish and dedicated social worker protecting her “flock” of unfortunates, helping them to become much more than they think they are.
This is a film for all girls that have been or are being subjected to the horrors of domestic abuse, to girls that are left with low or no self esteem or self worth, who need to be shown that they are not alone and that they are as precious as anyone else.
BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS - Review
Fancy a night in with the family to settle back and enjoy some home made chips and watch a wholesome, feel good movie? Well, if you answered “yes” to this, then be sure not to pick up Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, then.
Near constant profanity and graphic drug use are the orders of the day, so be warned and heed the MA classification, as it’s there for a reason.
With out any build up, we jump straight into what are two stories; the bad lieutenant of the New Orleans PD, Terence McDonagh’s drug addiction and it’s resultant unpleasantness intertwined with that of a major murder that McDonagh is investigating.
McDonagh is played with alarming believability by Nicolas Cage, and it must be said, he commands the screen with his manic performance and although we find it nigh on impossible to find anything to like about his character, we can’t take our eyes off him.
If you do manage to, you will see Eva Mendes as McDonagh's prostitute girlfriend, who has previously played love interest to Cage in Ghostrider, but her effort here is far less convincing and appears to be just a minor variation on anything she’s played before.
Val Kilmer makes an appearance as McDonagh's partner, Stevie, seemingly having eaten a number of pastries since he did The Saint remake, but he doesn’t get quite enough meat to really make an impression next to Cage.
Eccentric director Herzog uses plenty of close in camerawork to capture the seedy, post Hurricane Katrina New Orleans underworld and to good effect. Even the genre’s well worn image of shadow cast from venetian blinds in the detectives’ office doesn’t feel clichéd here. Just dirty. Terence’s lizard hallucinations are a surprise, and actually quite amusing as a brief respite from the grim subject of murder and his painful medication and drug addictions.
And for those of us who have been delayed waiting for a prescription to be filled, we may find amusement in Cage’s scene in the pharmacy where he runs out of patience, but please don’t try it at home…
The subject material of police corruption and substance abuse are not new, but this film raises the old question: Are these guys born bad, or is it the job and a failure ridden system that in fact breeds the corruption itself?
So with that in mind, sit back with this movie and wonder how well you think you really know that cop next door and then when it’s finished, go and get yourself a lemon liver detox.
Near constant profanity and graphic drug use are the orders of the day, so be warned and heed the MA classification, as it’s there for a reason.
With out any build up, we jump straight into what are two stories; the bad lieutenant of the New Orleans PD, Terence McDonagh’s drug addiction and it’s resultant unpleasantness intertwined with that of a major murder that McDonagh is investigating.
McDonagh is played with alarming believability by Nicolas Cage, and it must be said, he commands the screen with his manic performance and although we find it nigh on impossible to find anything to like about his character, we can’t take our eyes off him.
If you do manage to, you will see Eva Mendes as McDonagh's prostitute girlfriend, who has previously played love interest to Cage in Ghostrider, but her effort here is far less convincing and appears to be just a minor variation on anything she’s played before.
Val Kilmer makes an appearance as McDonagh's partner, Stevie, seemingly having eaten a number of pastries since he did The Saint remake, but he doesn’t get quite enough meat to really make an impression next to Cage.
Eccentric director Herzog uses plenty of close in camerawork to capture the seedy, post Hurricane Katrina New Orleans underworld and to good effect. Even the genre’s well worn image of shadow cast from venetian blinds in the detectives’ office doesn’t feel clichéd here. Just dirty. Terence’s lizard hallucinations are a surprise, and actually quite amusing as a brief respite from the grim subject of murder and his painful medication and drug addictions.
And for those of us who have been delayed waiting for a prescription to be filled, we may find amusement in Cage’s scene in the pharmacy where he runs out of patience, but please don’t try it at home…
The subject material of police corruption and substance abuse are not new, but this film raises the old question: Are these guys born bad, or is it the job and a failure ridden system that in fact breeds the corruption itself?
So with that in mind, sit back with this movie and wonder how well you think you really know that cop next door and then when it’s finished, go and get yourself a lemon liver detox.
GREENZONE - Review
Set in 2003 during the invasion of Baghdad, Green Zone is the story of the US search for Saddam’s Weapons of Mass Destruction and the political cover-ups that surfaced when the weapons didn’t.
Based on the book “Imperial Life in the Emerald City” by Rajiv Chandrasekaran and directed by Paul Greengrass of Bourne fame and the September 11 film Flight 97, GZ is as much political thriller as cracking actioner.
The Green Zone of the title refers to the area of Baghdad bordered and controlled by US forces, where VIPs, journos, high ranking military officers and civilian contractors can sip lemonade and shoot pool in between all the combat missions and air strikes, all in relative comfort and safety.
Unlike many films in the plethora that cover this conflict, GZ depicts with great effect the scale of the chaos and frustrations for the civilian Iraqi citizens. The citizens that were going about their every day lives before all hell broke loose and whom now can not even have access to drinking water.
The film discards the cut and dried patriotic heroism of America for a more real world rendition of a secret war of deception, double dealing and hidden agendas.
The action is superbly crafted and almost underplayed against the development of the central story itself, and it is all skillfully joined together by Matt Damon as Chief Warrant Officer Miller, the soldier who begins searching for weapons, but finds himself searching for a truth that those in power don’t want found.
In support are Jason Isaacs as the gung ho Briggs and Amy Ryan as Wall Street Journal reporter Lawrie Dayne. The computer generated and enhanced backgrounds’ are smooth and give depth to the settings making us feel we are right there in Baghdad, (the film is actually shot in Morocco, Spain and England) the production shoot matching perfectly to all the media film stock we have seen on the news for the last few years; the authenticity is truly engaging.
The finale in the alleys of Baghdad is fraught with tension and a fast pace, leaving the viewer feeling that they too, have just been running along side Damon for the last five blocks, and falls in somewhere between The Bourne Ultimatum and Black Hawk Down.
However, it is The character of Freddie, (played with real emotion and pathos by ) the Baghdad citizen whom tries to assist Chief Miller in his task, that is perhaps one of the best cinematic representations of the face of the Iraqi people and their plight, and it is he who gets one of the most significant lines in the film, directed at Miller in the aftermath of a pivotal gun battle; “It is not for you to decide what happens here...”
It is no longer so much a Green Zone, but a grey one.
Based on the book “Imperial Life in the Emerald City” by Rajiv Chandrasekaran and directed by Paul Greengrass of Bourne fame and the September 11 film Flight 97, GZ is as much political thriller as cracking actioner.
The Green Zone of the title refers to the area of Baghdad bordered and controlled by US forces, where VIPs, journos, high ranking military officers and civilian contractors can sip lemonade and shoot pool in between all the combat missions and air strikes, all in relative comfort and safety.
Unlike many films in the plethora that cover this conflict, GZ depicts with great effect the scale of the chaos and frustrations for the civilian Iraqi citizens. The citizens that were going about their every day lives before all hell broke loose and whom now can not even have access to drinking water.
The film discards the cut and dried patriotic heroism of America for a more real world rendition of a secret war of deception, double dealing and hidden agendas.
The action is superbly crafted and almost underplayed against the development of the central story itself, and it is all skillfully joined together by Matt Damon as Chief Warrant Officer Miller, the soldier who begins searching for weapons, but finds himself searching for a truth that those in power don’t want found.
In support are Jason Isaacs as the gung ho Briggs and Amy Ryan as Wall Street Journal reporter Lawrie Dayne. The computer generated and enhanced backgrounds’ are smooth and give depth to the settings making us feel we are right there in Baghdad, (the film is actually shot in Morocco, Spain and England) the production shoot matching perfectly to all the media film stock we have seen on the news for the last few years; the authenticity is truly engaging.
The finale in the alleys of Baghdad is fraught with tension and a fast pace, leaving the viewer feeling that they too, have just been running along side Damon for the last five blocks, and falls in somewhere between The Bourne Ultimatum and Black Hawk Down.
However, it is The character of Freddie, (played with real emotion and pathos by ) the Baghdad citizen whom tries to assist Chief Miller in his task, that is perhaps one of the best cinematic representations of the face of the Iraqi people and their plight, and it is he who gets one of the most significant lines in the film, directed at Miller in the aftermath of a pivotal gun battle; “It is not for you to decide what happens here...”
It is no longer so much a Green Zone, but a grey one.
Monday, September 27, 2010
COP OUT review
One day, Kevin Smith may have sat down on his large sofa and said out loud to himself: “You know, I really want to direct an 80’s buddy cop movie like I used to watch when I was a kid…”
Well, it may have been that some producers heard him and so thus we have the possible Genesis of Cop Out, the latest action comedy to grace the shelves at Network Video.
It is quite the homage to that era’s favourite genre, complete with a score by Harold Faltemeyer, resurrecting some of his Beverly Hills Cop type themes again for the occasion. Most of the genre clichés are present and accounted for right down to the Angry Captain and the Obligatory Plethora of Emergency Vehicles in the Street scene.
The undoubted star of the piece is old Mr Yippeekiay himself, Bruce Willis, again playing a weary cop with personal problems in his renowned style that has made him a household name. There’s even an amusing Die Hard reference during the interrogation scene as a nice garnish to the feast of quotes being spoon fed to us on screen.
Partnering Bruce here is not Danny Glover, but American comedian Tracy Morgan. Now, Bruce is Bruce, but Morgan does become highly irksome after a time. Approximately eleven minutes, I think. Yes, he is quite amusing in his delivery, and he does get some good lines, but he overplays his character to the point of being ridiculous and you find yourself wishing that Eddie Murphy had taken the role instead. Seann William Scott’s supporting character of David the thief is far funnier and provides respite from the incessant blathering of Morgan.
The script is thinner than Willis’s hair and the whole movie is rather predictable and unlikely to be mistaken for Heat. It can get quite crude in parts and won’t appeal to those looking for cerebral stimulation nor will it be found on your mum’s Christmas present wish list.
Cop Out should provide plenty of laughs and action for the Gen Y’s, even though they won’t get all the old movie references. Those of us who enjoyed the era that spawned Lethal Weapon and 48 Hours will nod at this tribute, but feel sadly that its title is certainly an apt one and that Kevin Smith should never get to do another…
1 Star
Well, it may have been that some producers heard him and so thus we have the possible Genesis of Cop Out, the latest action comedy to grace the shelves at Network Video.
It is quite the homage to that era’s favourite genre, complete with a score by Harold Faltemeyer, resurrecting some of his Beverly Hills Cop type themes again for the occasion. Most of the genre clichés are present and accounted for right down to the Angry Captain and the Obligatory Plethora of Emergency Vehicles in the Street scene.
The undoubted star of the piece is old Mr Yippeekiay himself, Bruce Willis, again playing a weary cop with personal problems in his renowned style that has made him a household name. There’s even an amusing Die Hard reference during the interrogation scene as a nice garnish to the feast of quotes being spoon fed to us on screen.
Partnering Bruce here is not Danny Glover, but American comedian Tracy Morgan. Now, Bruce is Bruce, but Morgan does become highly irksome after a time. Approximately eleven minutes, I think. Yes, he is quite amusing in his delivery, and he does get some good lines, but he overplays his character to the point of being ridiculous and you find yourself wishing that Eddie Murphy had taken the role instead. Seann William Scott’s supporting character of David the thief is far funnier and provides respite from the incessant blathering of Morgan.
The script is thinner than Willis’s hair and the whole movie is rather predictable and unlikely to be mistaken for Heat. It can get quite crude in parts and won’t appeal to those looking for cerebral stimulation nor will it be found on your mum’s Christmas present wish list.
Cop Out should provide plenty of laughs and action for the Gen Y’s, even though they won’t get all the old movie references. Those of us who enjoyed the era that spawned Lethal Weapon and 48 Hours will nod at this tribute, but feel sadly that its title is certainly an apt one and that Kevin Smith should never get to do another…
1 Star
Noumea: Worth It When you Get There
I have recently been extremely fortunate and lucky to have gone on holiday to Noumea. It was just for a week but that is still heaven to me.
The trip was supposed to be from Adelaide to Melbourne to Sydney, finally connecting to a flight to Noumea, New Caledonia. So I used a travel agent to take all the unnecessary stress and hassle.
Now, note that I say “connecting”. Very important, these connections. According to Webster’s Concise English Dictionary, the noun “connection” means “a thing that connects; a train, bus etc timed to connect with another…”
Simple enough for a professional. Not so, because my trusted travel rep, instead of making flight connections, had opted for the less effective and far less popular flight overlaps. Put simply, by the time our flight from Adelaide landed (albeit late) in Tullamarine airport at 1:30pm, boarding for the connecting; no, sorry; overlapped flight to Sydney had already closed and the plane itself was already gone.
Those of you still reading may well scoff and say that I should have noticed this issue on the booking papers. Indeed, I did. And even queried said travel agent, but was categorically reassured that all was well in connection town.
Luckily, after several hours in Melbourne Airport and a number of phone calls later, our travel agent made good on their error and found us another way to get to Noumea the next day, but by going via Auckland, NZ, not Sydney, as all the other flights were full.
We arrived in Auckland at around 2 am and were transferred by bus to an Airport Motel to wait out the few hours before our 8:30am flight out to Noumea. Initially I cringed at the thought of staying in one of those yellow brick boxes with the tiny brown bathroom tiles that have the blackened grout from years of tinea ridden feet walking over them since 1972.
But I was wrong. The Jet Park Motel in Auckland was clean, modern and tasteful, with enough glass bricks and palm trees to make Don Johnson smile with approval. A couple of hours sleep and we were back on board an Air New Zealand flight to Noumea. And they have even devised an original and clever way to make that dreary and boring but ultimately necessary safety film interesting. All the crew in it are actually only wearing body paint…
New Caledonia, in the south west Pacific, is truly beautiful country. Named for the Latin word for Scotland by James Cook in 1774, it was annexed by France in 1853 and was set up as a French territory in 1946. The landscape and scenery is exquisite; so lush, thick and green with countless plants, trees and bushes all competing for their piece of the fertile land. From the airport we travelled up jungle covered mountains, and even though it was raining when we arrived it was still pleasantly warm; a contrast to the wet and chilly Adelaide we had left behind. We saw no flies, no bugs. It wasn’t humid, just perfect, like the first day of spring.
It was easy to relax to the sound of palm trees rustling in the breeze, the chirps of contented birds and the occasional squeal of a happy child at play in the park. Even the low hum of traffic along the Rue De Promenade couldn’t invade the tranquility. The City centre had an almost Cuban flavour to it, but with modern cars on every street. The people, both French and Kanak were helpful and friendly when we asked anything in our halting and limited French.
Catching a public bus there gave us insight into what it must be like to be a minority. Around 43 percent of the population is Melanesians (Kanaks) and 37 percent being European. There are also Vietnamese, Polynesians and Japanese. This woke us up to what it would feel like to people of different races or colour when they come to Australia. It’s not a feeling everyone is comfortable with and we should all be aware of this and maybe empathize more. Even a majority is a minority somewhere.
Observing the locals driving was intense. Everyone appears to be racing around erratically, seeming to change directions every time they blinked. Strangely to us outsiders though, all the other motorists appear to be blinking in sequence so no one actually drives into one another and they all get to where they are going. As for parking; any where is fine. Wherever it lands.
All too soon, the week came to an end and it was time to return home. We were on an older plane this time, perhaps one of the Qantas’ first. No individual entertainment screens on this three and a half hour trip. However, we did get to enjoy the regular screaming of a child in the next aisle; the whining of the spoilt brat a few rows ahead because the duty free watch his father had just bought him was the wrong shade of gold. And then for a second, I thought I had some kind of special massaging seat, but I quickly discovered it was actually the incessant kicking of the delightful little girl in the row behind me.
My wife’s gluten free meal was actually a taste free meal and filled with wheat products thus defeating the purpose of a gluten free option, and the overall atmosphere of the flight was such that the obligatory crates of clucking chickens wouldn’t have been out of place nor would a goat roaming the aisles have surprised us either.
Eventually we arrived safely in Sydney, with a comfortable break between connecting flights. No more overlaps. Lovely. Except that the plane we were supposed to be travelling on to Adelaide turned out to be broken. So we had to wait in the airport a while longer. This was fine, hey, what’s five hours, better to be safe than sorry and the airline bought every one of us dinner while we waited.
Eventually we got on a new plane. And that one was broken, too. But they fixed it. After about 40mins.
By now it was after 7pm, and we were slightly delirious. We were laughing at everything. Particularly the steward, whom as he scanned our boarding passes was unable to tell us if we were even on the right plane. This same fellow later seemed to take umbrage at having to remove my takeaway meal boxes, which the airline had provided, and then took to only serving my wife drinks, as I had become invisible.
So 1 limo, 5 flights, 6 buses, and 1 taxi later we find our self home, sweet home. And I can say that if you’re looking for a break on a small budget, want to get lost in palm trees, want to experience a different culture but still be in European comfort, and your favourite food is fromage and baguettes; then Noumea is for you.
The trip was supposed to be from Adelaide to Melbourne to Sydney, finally connecting to a flight to Noumea, New Caledonia. So I used a travel agent to take all the unnecessary stress and hassle.
Now, note that I say “connecting”. Very important, these connections. According to Webster’s Concise English Dictionary, the noun “connection” means “a thing that connects; a train, bus etc timed to connect with another…”
Simple enough for a professional. Not so, because my trusted travel rep, instead of making flight connections, had opted for the less effective and far less popular flight overlaps. Put simply, by the time our flight from Adelaide landed (albeit late) in Tullamarine airport at 1:30pm, boarding for the connecting; no, sorry; overlapped flight to Sydney had already closed and the plane itself was already gone.
Those of you still reading may well scoff and say that I should have noticed this issue on the booking papers. Indeed, I did. And even queried said travel agent, but was categorically reassured that all was well in connection town.
Luckily, after several hours in Melbourne Airport and a number of phone calls later, our travel agent made good on their error and found us another way to get to Noumea the next day, but by going via Auckland, NZ, not Sydney, as all the other flights were full.
We arrived in Auckland at around 2 am and were transferred by bus to an Airport Motel to wait out the few hours before our 8:30am flight out to Noumea. Initially I cringed at the thought of staying in one of those yellow brick boxes with the tiny brown bathroom tiles that have the blackened grout from years of tinea ridden feet walking over them since 1972.
But I was wrong. The Jet Park Motel in Auckland was clean, modern and tasteful, with enough glass bricks and palm trees to make Don Johnson smile with approval. A couple of hours sleep and we were back on board an Air New Zealand flight to Noumea. And they have even devised an original and clever way to make that dreary and boring but ultimately necessary safety film interesting. All the crew in it are actually only wearing body paint…
New Caledonia, in the south west Pacific, is truly beautiful country. Named for the Latin word for Scotland by James Cook in 1774, it was annexed by France in 1853 and was set up as a French territory in 1946. The landscape and scenery is exquisite; so lush, thick and green with countless plants, trees and bushes all competing for their piece of the fertile land. From the airport we travelled up jungle covered mountains, and even though it was raining when we arrived it was still pleasantly warm; a contrast to the wet and chilly Adelaide we had left behind. We saw no flies, no bugs. It wasn’t humid, just perfect, like the first day of spring.
It was easy to relax to the sound of palm trees rustling in the breeze, the chirps of contented birds and the occasional squeal of a happy child at play in the park. Even the low hum of traffic along the Rue De Promenade couldn’t invade the tranquility. The City centre had an almost Cuban flavour to it, but with modern cars on every street. The people, both French and Kanak were helpful and friendly when we asked anything in our halting and limited French.
Catching a public bus there gave us insight into what it must be like to be a minority. Around 43 percent of the population is Melanesians (Kanaks) and 37 percent being European. There are also Vietnamese, Polynesians and Japanese. This woke us up to what it would feel like to people of different races or colour when they come to Australia. It’s not a feeling everyone is comfortable with and we should all be aware of this and maybe empathize more. Even a majority is a minority somewhere.
Observing the locals driving was intense. Everyone appears to be racing around erratically, seeming to change directions every time they blinked. Strangely to us outsiders though, all the other motorists appear to be blinking in sequence so no one actually drives into one another and they all get to where they are going. As for parking; any where is fine. Wherever it lands.
All too soon, the week came to an end and it was time to return home. We were on an older plane this time, perhaps one of the Qantas’ first. No individual entertainment screens on this three and a half hour trip. However, we did get to enjoy the regular screaming of a child in the next aisle; the whining of the spoilt brat a few rows ahead because the duty free watch his father had just bought him was the wrong shade of gold. And then for a second, I thought I had some kind of special massaging seat, but I quickly discovered it was actually the incessant kicking of the delightful little girl in the row behind me.
My wife’s gluten free meal was actually a taste free meal and filled with wheat products thus defeating the purpose of a gluten free option, and the overall atmosphere of the flight was such that the obligatory crates of clucking chickens wouldn’t have been out of place nor would a goat roaming the aisles have surprised us either.
Eventually we arrived safely in Sydney, with a comfortable break between connecting flights. No more overlaps. Lovely. Except that the plane we were supposed to be travelling on to Adelaide turned out to be broken. So we had to wait in the airport a while longer. This was fine, hey, what’s five hours, better to be safe than sorry and the airline bought every one of us dinner while we waited.
Eventually we got on a new plane. And that one was broken, too. But they fixed it. After about 40mins.
By now it was after 7pm, and we were slightly delirious. We were laughing at everything. Particularly the steward, whom as he scanned our boarding passes was unable to tell us if we were even on the right plane. This same fellow later seemed to take umbrage at having to remove my takeaway meal boxes, which the airline had provided, and then took to only serving my wife drinks, as I had become invisible.
So 1 limo, 5 flights, 6 buses, and 1 taxi later we find our self home, sweet home. And I can say that if you’re looking for a break on a small budget, want to get lost in palm trees, want to experience a different culture but still be in European comfort, and your favourite food is fromage and baguettes; then Noumea is for you.
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