Bye Bye January

My brother has just left to pick up our parents from the airport. They are down for their annual ten day visit to Sydney. They've come down to Sydney every year for the last 7 years around Mum's birthday on the 7th. For some reason more than usual I seem to be looking more forward to it than other years. I have lots of handyman jobs for dad to do....the toilet needs repairing, two plates on the stove are broken and the skirting boards of our new cupboards need painting. I don't know how a man with so many practical skills like my father could have ended up with two sons who practically have none. S and I can't even hammer a nail. I'm good at giving directions though...I got that from my mother. I'm looking forward to ten days of home cooked meals, everything washed and cleaned and the place smelling like our home in Queensland. As much as I don't miss the stifling heat of Queensland this time of year, I do miss the daily storms that build in the south. You get them in Sydney but not as often. It happens nearly every day in Brisbane this time of year......I love listening to the rumble of the thunder in the evening, the sprinkle of rain on the iron roof and the air bursting with expectation.

Still there is something in the air tonight in Sydney. It is certainly lush and boisturous blowing the blinds around in the apartment; at least it is cool unlike in Melbourne which is having to shed power because it is so hot. I swear to god if I was down there, I'd be booking the first jetstar flight out! I've been in Melbourne and Adelaide heatwaves before and I just can't hack that stifling dry oven heat; it's like your organs are going to catch on fire.

Is January over already? I still haven't got to the beach yet!

C

Welcome To Norfuck

The Norfolk Islanders pronounce their island's name Norfuck and when I first arrived, I could understand why. There wasn't a fuck in sight. Well unless you're into A-frames and prostate cancer. Arriving at the airport was like walking into the foyer of Shadey Pines. As I walked through Customs (actually that should read Custom…as there was only one of them) I soon realised that my brother and I were the only human beings under 70; they all gathered around the luggage area in their seersucker couture their snow-white hair glowing in the fluorescence. Some people spend their Xmas's on the French Alps. I spend mine with the cast of Coocoon.

We arrived Xmas Eve and Angela, the owner of the resort where we were staying picked us up from the airport. She was Dutch, she was short and stout and she was unable to drive. She arrived in a mini-van and was having difficulty reconciling the relationship between a clutch and a gear stick. Greeting us in guttural Dutch overtones, she advised that our parents were waiting for us back at the resort. As we bunny hopped out of the airport clearing every parking barrier (there were only one and a half…thank god),Angela grabbed my arm covering me in guttural spital…

Angela: "I can see you are just like your mother."

Me: "Thanks"

Angela: "You are chubby like her….beautiful skin!"

This coming from a woman who resembled a small Shetland pony? To my horror she let go of the steering wheel and grabbed my cheeks like a three year old.

My brother: "The road!!!"

Angela: "Ah woops…..cars are not like horses are they?"

No Mrs Shetland they are not. I was so unimpressed. This was the last Xmas holiday I was going to let my mother organise.

After tiring of the stifling heat of Brisbane at Xmas, my mother decided four years ago that it would be good idea to the turn the Xmas break into a family getaway somewhere else…. preferably cooler. Since my brother and I both live in Sydney and our parents in Brisbane, we only spend time together as a family a few times a year. So in Xmas 2005, Mum organised a driving trip through Tasmania; Xmas 2006 a driving trip through the south island of New Zealand and last year's Xmas a driving trip through the north island of New Zealand. After three driving holidays in a row, I was starting to feel like we were turning into a much older version of the Griswalds in National Lampoons. So I suggested for this Xmas that we go to a place where we could stay put and not have to spend endless hours in a car with each other. I suggested New Caledonia or somewhere in French Polynesia; a place where we could just sit, relax….and drink cocktails. Mum came up with Norfolk Island, which really wasn't what I had in mind. It is kinder like ordering a Sweet Manhattan and getting a cup of tea instead.

Norfolk Island is situated in the lower end of the South Pacific approximately 1800 kms north east of Sydney and 700 km south of New Caledonia. Captain Cook discovered it in 1774 on his second voyage to the South Pacific four years after discovering and mapping the east coast of Australia. It became a penal colony not long after Australia did in 1788 and remained that way until it was abandoned in 1855. In 1856 due to over-crowding on the even more remote island of Pitcairn, the British Government agreed to transfer 199 residents to Norfolk. The Pitcairn Islanders of course were the descendants of the Mutineers of HMS Bounty; where Fletcher Christian in 1789 took control of HMS Bounty in Tahiti tossing Captain Bligh and 18 men overboard in a small raft. (Hollywood was to later turn its attention to the story in two films one starring Errol Flynn and the other, Mel Gibson) Christian and the remaining men took some Tahitian wives and set up a new life on Pitcairn Island…..an island so remote that it was only discovered by accident when an American whaling ship sailed by it in the 1830s.

Norfolk Island remains a special administration zone of Australia. It has its own legislative assembly and the locals don't pay income tax to the Australian government. Accordingly they don't have any representatives in the Australian parliament. Australian citizens must have their passports when they travel to Norfolk. They also need their patience. Everything in Norfolk is on Norfuck time from ordering a meal ("maybe it's an ornatmental café), doing a tour ("oh they're don't run on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays" to internet connection ("the satellite is down" down where?).

Mrs Shetland got lost on the way back to the resort. How anyone can get lost on an island the size of Redfern is beyond me.

Mrs Shetland: I'm not good at driving at night. ….can't see.

That was reassuring. My brother and I let out fake giggles exchanging glances of "is she for real?"

Mrs Sheltand: That is why my husband and I go away tomorrow for America. I am having laser surgery.

Brother: Oh so you won't be here for Xmas?

Damn

Mrs Shetland: No no…..we have managers who look after the resort. You will be in good hands.

As long as I wasn't having my cheeks pulled, I would be happy. I wound down my window and sucked in the dense south pacific air. It was sugary sweet and automatically relaxing. What on earth was I going to do in this place for ten days? I looked out across the hidden night listening to the rustle of the trees and the famous Norfolk Island Pines. I could just see their castle like outlines against the milky wayed sky. We are lucky in this part of the world……the night skies are breathtaking. So was Mrs Shetland's driving. She continued to find no harmony between 2nd and 4th or possibly overdrive. One poor unsuspecting cow almost lost her life to 1st gear as did my lower back. We finally pulled up at South Pacific. I hadn't even checked the name of the place we were staying until then. If I'd known we were staying with The Roger Hammersteins, I would have brought my grass skirt and dancing shoes.


Mrs Shetland : Velcome to Zouth Phacific!

I felt like one of those special guest stars who visited Fantasy Island. I braced myself for a midget to collect my bags. It didn't transpire; however Mrs Shetland's creepy husband who looked a lot like the dude who owned Fantasy Island did.

Mr Shetland: You had a good flight yah?

He was South African and appeared to have slow motion disease. He looked my brother up and down as if we had just been washed ashore.

Mr Shetland: You stay with your parents?

We both nodded.

Mr Shetland: You both have drivers' licences

We both said yes.

Mr Shetland: What do you intend to do whilst you are here?

What was this? Forty questions?

My brother: Well simply relax….a nice break.

Mr Shetland: Yes indeed you will

There was a lingering silence. He stared at the both of us. This guy made my skin crawl. Where were our parents? Were they packed in a cardboard box somewhere?

Mr Shetland: Please come this way

We followed him with our bags down a pebbled path covered in all things lush such as ferns, potted palms and the like. Mrs Shetland followed bumping into obstacles on the way due to her unlasered vision.

I had to ask.

Me: So are you going away as well?

Mr Shetland turned and stared at me as if I'd uttered the unutterable.

Mrs Shetland: Yes we both go tomorrow.

Mr Shetland: Angela I would prefer you not discuss our private lives in front of the guests.

Mmmmm…..that was awkward. We kept walking down the path and I was relieved when I could hear my mother berating my father for not putting the milk back in the fridge. We were almost safe.

Mr Shetland: And here we are.

The hut was kind of 1980s Miami meets North Queensland Caravan Park. Completely painted in Salmon, it was made out of corrugated iron with a tiled roof and paved patios to the front and the back. I was hoping for a view of something but unfortunately the only view we had was of the BBQ block. South Pacific was Norfolk's premier resort; if this was premier, budget was obviously the airport hanger.

Mr and Mrs Shetland giddyupped their way out of there to leave us to our parents who were still having an international incident over the whereabouts of the milk.

We both walked into the hut the interior of which only reinforced the 80s Miami impressions I had when I first saw the place.

Mum: Hello my darlings…..isn't the place beautiful? Isn't it a lovely colour?

I've inherited my mother's ability to exaggerate. But nobody can do it better than her.

"It's an absolutely gorgeous kitchen," she said speaking as if I was about to walk into a marble appointed Biele masterpiece. The kitchen was a masterpiece in laminex and antique whirlpool appliances.

'And the living area is so spacious…."….if we were oompaloompas.

I walked to what I thought was my room to find two single beds. I saw no third room. I didn't ask as I already knew the answer. I'm 34; my brother is 30 and my mother still thinks we're at school. 11 days in a single bed, in an over-sized caravan with a view of a BBQ. Thank god I bought up big on the duty free alcohol.

_____________________________________________________________________

When I woke the next day, I realised from the front porch of the "caravan" I could see up into the lush mountainside of Norfolk. It was quite picturesque. Unfortunately it did nothing to waylay my fears that I was on an island for the aged and infirmed. I'd begrudgingly attended midnight mass the night before where the mean age was so high I thought the service might end up a funeral for most of the parishners.

To my horror I'd also realised that international roaming still did not exist on Norfolk and I was affectively cut off from the entire world. The island had only installed the world's smallest mobile phone network a year ago and was still working out the complexities relating to introducing roaming networks. So not only was I trapped in a rather large aged care facility, I had no way of phoning or more importantly texting. Some people might love this……..particularly those in aged care….but not I.

I walked from the resort downtown….I use the term loosely. I needed to find a public phone. I wanted to wish Frenchi a merry xmas and generally just moan. Downtown consisted of about 10 prefabricated (in the 60s) buildings housing a variety of tacky duty free stores selling everything from dated linen to even more dated Royal Dolton china dolls. The town was completely deserted and looked like an abandoned film set. I found a public phone next to the even more abandoned video store.

Are you lost?

For a moment I thought perhaps it was the Lord Almighty speaking to me from afar or in my heard. I turned around to find Mr Shetland staring blankly in my direction.

Me: Hello!

Jeepers-creepers the man made my blood run cold.

Me: Ummmm…. I was just looking for a public phone.

Mr Shetland: This is the only one and it is broken.

Me: Oh damn

Mr Shetland: You can use the one in your room

Me: Yes I guess I can…it's just everyone is asleep and I didn't want to wake anyone.

Mr Shetland: You won't find any other phones down here.

He seemed to have an absence of blinking which was quite disturbing.

Me: Ah well. Merry Xmas. Safe travels….do u leave tomorrow?

Mr Shetland: No…….I've decided to stay…..

He kept glaring. I kept awkward. It was all becoming very film noir. All I needed was a pair of shoulder pads and a long face.

To be continued………

I LOVE JUDITH

J.Lucy on AUSTRALIA

"There were lots of close-ups of Miss Kidman and I'm sitting there going: 'I know you're a year older than me and your face looks like a whitegood that I could just wipe down.'

HOORAA!

Seeing her on the 15th. Can't Wait!

C

Name ya status

I love observing the sometimes bizarre juxtaposition of friends' status updates as they appear on my newsfeed on facebook.

Today's was a classic

Jb is in a good place
TE is over it
SG is very happy
MT is being ruthless
GS wishes we had squirrels in Australia
DC is removing dead wood

Judy's was the best though: Judy is wound up tighter than a wrist watch.

Hoorah!

C

Random Moments.....

Judy reminded me today of random moments Monday morning at Phoenix Rising (a dayclub in Sydney)

Judy: What were you doing with that guy on the balcony when I was talking to that woman with the racoon eyes?

Me: Which guy?

Judy: The one you were cuddling? He looked upset.

Me: Oh ya him. He'd forgotten to pick his boyfriend up at the airport and was upset. Although I think he was more upset that he'd forgotten he had a boyfriend .

Judy: Or that he had a boyfriend at all.What were you doing?

Me: Consoling him.

Judy: What did you say?

Me: Lets go dance.

Judy: That would have lifted his spirits.

C

Waiting For Frenchi

Unlike the last couple of years, Sydney this year is definitely getting a hot summer. Today it reached 42 degrees in the Hills of Dulwich. It was so hot I found myself at Bing Lee (electrical store) battling 5000 others to buy an air conditioner. Unfortunately the 4999 got there before me and took all the remaining 4999 air conditioners. I then almost found myself buying a new plasma screen simply just to spend more time in the air conditioning. The keen attendant discounted 100 bucks off the item within the first three minutes and I found myself reaching for my credit card. Thankfully I escaped just in time! I really didn’t want to be faced with installing a new television in 40 degree temperatures.

I then went back to my flat which seemed to be emitting its own radiation. Everything was hot…..the couch, the bed, the tiles…..the plants. I hate heat like this….there is no relief. I attempted to have an afternoon sleep of two hours. I felt like I was sleeping on hot-rocks.

Judy and I were supposed to be going out tonight but when the southerly breezes started coming and cooling the surrounds by about 20 degrees, I immediately became lethargic….so we have postponed….perhaps tomorrow night. I haven’t really been going out much at all this summer. I haven’t really had a “big one” out since I got back from London. I am however quite restless….

For the last three weeks I’ve been on a pretty strict diet and exercise routine. Am afraid I have ballooned over the last three months; with my UK trip, Norfolk trip and Xmas festivities there has been little time or enthusiasm for exercise and I’ve managed to put on ten kgs. I love my body…continually preparing for the next ice age. So it’s been low carbs, protein rich foods and salads……..and running every day. I abhor exercise but I just have to do it. I hate being this size….my face blows up and I start having to wear clothes that look like curtains. I just wish I could have my brother’s metabolism…..he eats everything, never exercises and always remains 77 kgs. Where was I that day those genes were being handed out?

Frenchi (the boy who I met in London) is arriving in just over 5 weeks. He’s coming for ten days and will be here for Mardi Gras and all the festivities. I guess I still really haven’t explained much of what happened between us while I was in London. Nothing a lot to tell really except that we had quite a lovely holiday romance (I’ve never had one before) and I really do quite like him. He’s very smart, witty and quite successful…not that ‘that’ matters. Most of all he’s quite a gentle, kind and romantic fellow. And that is something I haven’t had for a while. He really did make my holiday.

The logical side of me was quite happy to leave it as a holiday affair; I’ve always liked the idea of a holiday affair; there is a clear beginning, middle and by reasons of geography; end. No one gets hurt and we have the pleasant memories to look back on. But he kept calling me when I arrived back to Australia and we remained in continual email contact. And we decided he should come for a visit. It’s very exciting.

He’s very romantic and makes me comfortable at reciprocating that romance. Something in the past I’ve either not had the maturity or the confidence to do. I guess I’ve always been a closet romantic but thought it was a weakness to show that side. Frenchi has changed that. I’ve never sent a lover roses or poetry in my life until now!

So in a sense….the last couple of months have been wonderful. Even if he is on the other side of the world….it’s nice to receive phone-calls, text and emails from someone who is thinking of you.

But it’s also been hard. I’m just not very good at this; hence why I rarely do it. My last relationship was about two years ago and was to say the least very traumatic. The guy was completely wrong from the beginning but for reasons of pride, insecurity and wanting to make it work, I endeavoured ….much to my friends’ horror. I then rebounded into an affair with a friend which was also equally torturous. After that I decided I just didn’t want to see anyone for a while. I was tired of the heartbreak and drama. There have been two or three flings over the last couple of years but I’ve pretty much seen danger and jumped ship before any harm could be done. In a sense I had closed that door on finding a special one…for the time being anyway.

And then Frenchi came along. It’s been wonderful but for me it’s also like opening a Pandora’s box. Suddenly I feel needy again and it plays on all my deep-rooted insecurities. As much as people can’t believe it, I am not a very confident person. Yes I’m good at making an entrance, putting on a show and being the life of the party but deep down, I’m that terrified little fat boy arriving at his first day of school fully expecting no one to like him. And in matters of the heart I guess I’m always that little boy….always expecting that no matter how sweet someone is to me, they will eventually reject me. It’s fucked up I know and I kept hoping as I got older that these insecurities would disappear but they’re with me for life… I just have to learn to keep them at bay.

And up until this month I had. I had been Mr Cool Banana: witty texts, passionate romance and back and forth phone calls; in fact he called all the time. It was fantastic. I was fine. Then this month the phone-calls weren’t as frequent; perhaps something to do with the 300 pound ($AuD 650) phone bill he received ).I of course didn’t interpret it that way. Then he called me a couple of weeks ago saying that he mightn’t be able to come as long as he originally thought…three weeks….due to work commitments. This sent me into melt down. You swear to god he had just said to me it was over and he didn’t want to come. I tried to keep these paranoid thoughts at bay but of course I couldn’t. This resulted in a number of ‘needy’ phone-calls from me stating that if he really didn’t want to come, that was fine and not to worry about it (which of course was the exact opposite to the way I felt). He laughed the first couple of times and the final time just said “stop worrying! I’m coming!” The flights have been booked. But I HATE feeling this way….I hate being the needy one. And I guess I just worry that he will find this side of me a little scary and disappear. But as he said, I just have to stop worrying….in GENERAL!

The other part of the Pandora’s box is that when you do meet someone you quite like, you are reminded of how you would like someone in your life. Meeting Frenchi has done this. I’d forgotten that I actually would like to share my life with not just anyone but someone with whom I genuinely have affection. Before the UK I was quite content with my single life. I have great friends and I’m lucky that I live with my brother who is a great support to me. I’ve always thought that if I lived alone I would probably have found myself in some sort of disastrous live in relationship simply in an attempt not to feel lonely. Whereas having that close family support has helped me avoid such follies.

Sometimes with guys in the past, I’ve been more in love with the idea of them than with them. And in my last relationship this lead me down a particularly upsetting path. With Frenchi, I genuinely like him. We are as different as we are alike. And I like that.

A friend said to me the other day: Stop trying to control things; you can’t control this; what will happen WILL happen. Just enjoy it.

And she’s right. I just have to relax….and try to keep that little boy and all his fears at bay.

C

PS: I’m trying to work out from the noise next door whether my neighbours are shagging or being murdered.

Know Ya 'istory Kym

It's bloody 24 degrees, I can't turn CNN off and I can't uckin' sleep. That's right the cogs of history are about to turn. Hundreds of thousands if not millions of people are gathering in Washington to witness the inauguration of the United States' 44th president....and the Union's first African American president. It's 12.53am Wednesday morning in Sydney, the air is heavy and a storm is trying to break. It's almost mother nature itself knows that something "big" is about to happen. There is SO much expectation and hope placed on this man that he is almost bordering on supernatural. I hope such worship is not setting Mr Obama up to fail. We all want him to succeed. Only the future will tell. In the mean time....lets enjoy the show!

C

MOULD

I must have somehow insulted the God Cuisine this weekend. After my bollocks incident on Friday night, I was with my friend K at a cafe in Newtown hoing into what appeared to be quite a pleasant carrott cake.

K : It's a bit dry

Me: Yes it is....it tastes a bit old in fact

K: So do carrot cakes generally have green bits in them?

Me: Generally not...unless they've added some broccoli.

I analysed K's discovery of green particles in said carrot concoction and soon realised that the green was in fact not anything from a vegetable garden but the beginnings of penicillin. Yes the cake was mouldy. ....all the way through....like an old loaf of bread....and I of course being the guts that I am, had already eaten half of it.

Bon appetite!

C

A Year of Blogging

Well I actually thought I started my blog on the 18th of January last year and I've just realised that it was actually January 13th! Well I'm late for most things in my life so it doesn't come as a surprise that I would be late for my own blog.

Happy 1st Anniversery thOroughlymOderncOlin!

Almost 85 000 words, 11 and 1/2 thousand hits and 101 posts later, I still seem to be punching out some sort of hubbaballoo on tmc. My writing and enthusiasm for tmc has waned in the last few months mainly due to holidaying and not being able to sit down and write. Around the turn of the year, I was thinking perhaps of resting tmc to focus on other writing ideas I have but 09 is going to be a year of change for me and I think I may need tmc for my own sanity!

So much thanks to the few of you who read my little blurb to the world regularly; I've greatly appreciated your encouragement over the last 12 months.

C

BOLLOCKS

Just got back from dinner with girls I used to work with in my last job. We're a pretty close unit and the five of us have been through a few ups and downs in the time we've known each other. We catch up every coupla mths for a noice meal except this time it was different and just a little too unushual.We went to this new vietnamese restaurant near my place....usually it's just us ....no partners or potentials or anythings in between are invited; we usually sink a few cocktails, dance around our handbags and go home. This time it was a little different. For starters, none of us were drinking....we've all got Sat morning things planned so apart from a couple of beers at a nearby pub, we were on our diet cokes. Secondly one of the girls, T, brought this new bloke she's seeing who was to put it bluntly one shandy short of horrendous. Late 40s, face like a camel and thought it was fun to call the waiters "ching chong". And then there were the stories of him taking his kids out to his horse stud to see the stallions with the big "dongers". And that was before mains were served. Then there were stories of how he just shagged T before dinner and he hadn't wiped the cum off his hands......followed by jokes about "boongs" (Australian slang for Aboriginal people). If I had a bottle of gin or a hit of heroin nearby I could have handled him .....but unfortunately I didn't and am afraid Diet Coke just doesn't give a big enough hit of tolerance. I simply had 85 cigarette breaks instead......and looked forward to the food ...which lead to the next disaster.

I ordered pork. I love vietnamese pork. I love how it is caramelised with lemmongrass and butter and melts in your mouth. My dish arrived as did everyone else's. It was noice but not brilliant. There were also two other items in the bowl which I couldn't quite work out. They looked like brown boiled eggs. I shared my views with the table. Everyone agreed. I consumed half of one and realised pretty quickly that it was NOT an egg. It may have been yellow but it certainly did not come out of any chook. I start to munch on it and realised the texture was quite meaty but like mash. As I am doing this camel face starts poking at the remaining half.

" Mate that's definitely no egg"

"Mate you know what you're eating...." He starts to burst out laughing.

"Mate you're eating bloody pig's bollocks!"

" MATE YOU'RE EATING BOLLOCKS....THEY'VE GIVEN YOU BOLLOCKS!"

C

Life Matters....

Judy at the Beresford Sunday night on finding "the one".


Where is he? I'm tired.

C

OBAMARAMA

UK AND AWAY: PART 2

They say the friends you make in your youth are the ones that stay with you for life regardless of how long it has been since you've seen them. All my friends in London fall into this category and most of them I had not seen in at least five years….the last time I was in London. To be honest I was a little worried before I left whether I was going to be a little lonely; I had not heard from many people when I sent an email out in September saying that I was coming over for a month in November. Two days prior to leaving, suddenly everyone came out of the wood-work. I pretty much had a social commitment every night of the 11 nights I was in London. It was fantastic as it enabled me to go wandering during the day and kick up my heels with my mates at night.

Two of my friends S & A had originally planned to host an Obama party themselves the night of the US Election: 4 November 2008. Due to overwork commitments and general disorganisation, the party didn't happen. Instead S & A organised tickets to go to a US Election Party at a bar in Leicester Square. There were about twelve us who went along. It was supposed to be a general US Election Party but it was obvious which side everyone at the party was on.

A arrived a little later with her new boyfriend….well who I thought was her boyfriend. S & A are old friends of my brother's and consequently friends of mine. We all went to the same law school and we've known each other for about 12 years. As the night proceeded and we knocked back more and more Obarama's (some lethal sambuca concoction made in tribute for the Democrat nominee), I started to realise that A's 'new' boyfriend was flirting with me. I couldn't believe it. In all the time I've known A, she has had about five boyfriends who have all turned out to be gay; her track record is unfortunately dominated by rainbow flags. The flirting continued between the 'new' boyfriend and myself. It didn't help either that he and I were also the only smokers in the group requiring us to head out into the 2 degree weather every 15 minutes for a fag. He wasn't my type at all. Short, shaved head and completely hairless, but the more I talked to him, the more he laughed at my jokes and he at mine, the more sexy I found him. He was a lawyer (yes another one) and he was from Paris. I made the first of many Colin Blonde moments by stating that I didn't know there was a Paris in the UK; he said "no, the one in France." I ordered another Obamarama. He sounded so much like an extra off Brideshead Revisited that I didn't think for a minute that he could be a frog. But perhaps by that stage the sambuca had taken over all my listening devices.

By about 3 in the morning all our friends had left and we were the last mugs swaying around the bar. We talked and talked and talked about everything from art to politics to religion to children to life to how we'd both would have bedded John McCaine in his war time years but not Obama….too much earlobe. By 4 in the morning, we were well and truly sambucked; he had an 8am meeting, I had a city to devour....we exited the bar and walked out into Leicester Square. The mood had changed. The air was stunned with anticipation. People were gathering around mobiles and available plasmas. A bloke next to us was watching CNN on his iphone: "McCain's conceding. He's in! Obama's in!" That's right there was an election on. The news spread fast. People started yelling and hugging each other. Then the whole square erupted into a roar. People were dancing around. Carhorns were being blown and people were running out of buildings cheering. Was this history changing gears? We stopped to catch our breaths. I looked at Frenchi. This was definitely a "where were you?" moment. So I pulled him in close and made sure we remembered it.


C

ARSETRAYA

Well I finally went and saw it…..and it wasn't that bad. But it wasn't that great either. The most over-hyped film in recent times…..Baz Luhrmann's AUSTRALIA. Luhrmann has a very unique style of film-making which belongs more in vaudeville and cabaret than probably celluloid. It has worked to astounding success in his past three films Strictly Ballroom, Romeo & Juliet and Moulin Rouge. His version of Romeo and Juliet still remains one of my favourite films. Moulin Rouge was the weakest out of the three due to its poor script but because it was a musical, it got away with it. AUSTRALIA does not.

However all is not lost. I still enjoyed this film. It could have been a masterpiece; if only Baz had thought to hire a scriptwriter or at least completed Narrative 101.

The golden thread that keeps holding the film together is Brandon Walters as the narrator, the young "half-cast" aboriginal boy, Nullah. If it wasn't for this young boy, this film would be totally lost. He is a complete natural and has a beautiful presence on screen.

AUSTRALIA tells the story of Lady Sarah Ashley, played by Nicole Kidman, who comes to Darwin, Australia to confront her wayward husband who is running his large cattle station Faraway Downs. Drover played by Hugh Jackman is sent to meet Lady Ashley in Darwin. There is friction immediately between the two and they fight all the way to Faraway Downs where upon arrival Lady Ashley discovers her husband dead.

Neal Fletcher, played deliciously by David Wenham is the resident station manager who wants "to take care" of everything for Lady Ashley. He suggests that it is best to sell the property. There are ten thousand head of cattle that need to be taken to Darwin for export and it is best that Lady Ashley cleans her hands of it. Lady Ashley is suspicious. She is befriended by Nullah who tells her how her husband really died. She realises then that Mr Fletcher's motives are ulterior and is equally appalled by his maltreatment of Nullah and his family. So she sacks him and he walks out with all the men who were going to drove the cattle to Darwin. And this is where Drover comes in. He has to help her get the cattle to Darwin so as to save Faraway Downs and her fortune.

If the film had been purely about their journey to Darwin, it would have been perfect. It had all the hallmarks of a true epic western. The scenes are well developed. There is a narrative arch….the massive task of getting ten thousand head of cattle to Darwin through the most remote desolate exotic country in the world while being chased by nasty cattle barons has the audience gunning for the cast; not to mention the scenery of the Pilbara is breathtaking. I spent the entire first half of the film thinking "what has everyone been complaining about? I love this film!". Until the second half commences…..

It is obvious then that Baz Luhrmann had only written half the script before he started filming. The film goes from being an epic western to Home and Away Goes to War with a $150 million budget. The cattle are delivered to the stockyards in Darwin and then the story loses complete focus. At one moment it is a story about the stolen generations then it is happy families back on the farm on Faraway Downs and then it is back to Darwin for a war story. Lady Ashley seems to drive back and forth between Darwin and Faraway Downs as if she's popping out for a bottle of milk. At one moment she's staging a revolution to have Nullah to be returned from children's home at Mission Island then the next scene she's off to join the war effort manning the radios at the army headquarters chatting to other characters as if they've known each other for years. It becomes a farce. …entertaining but for all the wrong reasons.

Nicole Kidman has been hardly darn by critics reviewing this film. She's thoroughly enjoyable as Lady Ashley. It is her leading man and director who have let her down. Hugh Jackman comes from the Paul Hogan School of Acting and is simply woeful in the role as Drover. He seemed to have only three expressions: crikey, struth and crying seal. Whereas Baz Luhrmann simply needed a good script editor to keep his story focussed instead of making it up as he went along.

AUSTRALIA is a flawed epic. It's still worth the watch on the big screen purely for the amazing cinematography and Brandon Walters' performance. It does seem a great pity that such a huge amount of not only Hollywood funding but Australian taxpayer's money (to the tune of $40 million) have been waisted on special effects, set design and costumes when the basics such as story had been ignored. We see this time and time again in Hollywood, but it's rare that Australians get to tell their own stories on such a grand scale. AUSTRALIA was an opportunity to tell an Australian story and for all the funding provided (nearly $AUD200 million), to tell it well. This opportunity has been missed and it will be a very long time before Hollywood will be confident to throw such a huge amount of money behind an Australian story again. And that is a great shame.

C