I admit it, I'm a bogan. True blue. I have embraced the Mighty Magpies with all my heart. We just beat Sydney and are now fourth on the ladder. Hooray! Plus Didak (who wears jersey No.4) is a truly astounding player. Though Leon Davis is a true legend. And I'm coming around to Marty Clarke.
Anway, enough footy but after living next to two stadiums in London (Arsenal and Chelsea) and never feeling a part of the gang, as I appreciate soccer/football but never loved it like Aussie rules. It's funny what gets in your blood. I'm already excited for the next match against Fremantle.
It's been a fantastic weekend. Last night I dressed up as my Latino male alter ego and sang karaoke for hours and hours with a gorgeous gang of new friends. And Hame. Who looked great in a skirt. I had such fun trying to pick up girls, though they weren't fooled. I might have made myself rather too well endowed, but couldn't resist. I had one of the best nights I've had since I got back. I ended up sitting around an open fire in the middle of Federation Square (slap bang in the centre of Melbourne) at 6am. It was surrounded by red earth and had a security guard watching over it. T'was most romantic.
Today I'm gathering myself for the week ahead. Hame is yet to read the re-draft but soon I hope we'll put the script out there to people we trust I can't wait to start being able to actually talk about the story. I had absolute blind faith in this project, despite my decade in the film industry.
This week I find a new mission. I can feel it. It's coming.
I am missing London so much right now. One of my dearest friends, who set up my website for me, the divine Bronwyn van der Merwe is marrying her man next week. Clive Pegg and her have a baby Felix together and the three of them are heading to the Greek Islands for a few weeks before she has to return to work at the BBC. I know she's loathe to do so, but hopefully it will be a positive thing. It must be incredibly hard to go from being a full time Mum, to having to entrust your baby to a stranger's care. I know Anne has had a tough time doing it with Hunter, but it's the reality of modern life. Particularly in London where costs are high.
One of my best, dearest and most gorgeous friends here is Pip Sallabank, now Poddine. Her baby daughter Mila Nicolina is my goddaughter and she had her second birthday not long ago. We had a hilarious afternoon eating fairy bread and coconut ice (my faves!!!!) with her brother Julian and his wife Nicky, their two little boys (Vivian and Monty) and Dorina Sallabank. It was such a special family occasion and I was utterly over the moon to be there. I missed Pip's wedding and the birth of her daughter, but she is such a true friend, she made me godmother in absentia and I'm immensely proud to have such an honour bestowed on me.
Cristian, Pip's husband, is from near Lake Como and the three of them are in Italia at the moment introducing their little angel to his family. What a special time for them all. I miss Pip, I'm realising that with her not working, we've been spending quite a bit of time together and I miss not being able to call her and see little Mila. Pip is a natural mother. She absolutely adores the process and doesn't want to go back to work. Some people find this shocking, which is such an immense turnaround from days of old. She sometimes feels she has to apologise for wanting to be a stay at home Mum. Isn't that just crazy?
Babies are popping out all over the place. I think there have been at least 6 births that I know about of friends of mine back here since my return. It's only been 4 months. Isn't that mad? Plus a great friend in London is about to pop. Sanna is the tiniest little creature you've ever seen, I just can't imagine her pregnant. I'm sad not to be there for the birth. Her husband Lyall is a Sydney boy (she's Finnish) and was recently home to work on a film project. I was gutted to miss him, but he arrived the week after I'd made my visit. Such a bugger.
Anyway, I think this bloody mary is kicking in now. I must get myself together as I'm heading back to the NGV to get another look at the Dali exhibition. Mum is being taken around by the curator and I'm standing in for Hame (even though I hardly have a voice after last night) as it was such a scrum on opening night. I'm looking forward to taking another look.
Hot Pies!
Lxxx
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
ARTISTIC IMMERSION ALERT
I'm deep in second draft mode and need to unload. Sometimes I hit a point after writing for an extended period, when I feel like my brain is melting. I'm sure it's my fault for trying to squash this rewrite into a short space of time, but too much else is going on. I've gotta get moving. I need to be in motion.
It's been divine sunshine since I arrived at Flinders, where Mum and the dogs have made me most welcome. Dad is away at the US Open, having a divine time with his mates, so it's been blissful to have some time with Le Muzz. She's just had the most brilliant news about her new exhibition. It sounds like she's sought out just the right partners and all her hard research and preparation has paid off.
Her last exhibition, 'Exiles and Emigrants', was a huge success at the National Gallery of Victoria, it then travelled on to the NGAustralia. It launched when I was last back in Oz and I was so proud to be there for the opening. It explored the voluntary migration from the British Isles to Australia (as opposed to the scurrilous convicts who were unloaded here) in the mid nineteenth century. It's amazing that the script I'm writing is set in that period. It's inspiring delving into the bookshelves here at The gorgeous Moorings. What a home my parents have made here, it's got the warmest welcome. A reflection of them both.
Last week I fell back in love. With Dali. The opening at the NGV was astounding. I had never heard of the cartoon Destino that he worked on with Walt Disney. Sadly it was never completed, but I can't wait to go back and sit and watch more of it. The opening was a total scrum, so I only got a limited view of the incredible exhbition, but it left a huge impression. His works in the 30s and 40s were truly astounding.
On that note, I will never forget Robin Niven's performance in 'August: Osage County'. She portrayed the terrifying matriarch of a truly dysfunctional middle American family. And she was a powerhouse of ferocious frailty. My god, the play went for over 3 hours and it was an amazing experience. The only time it lagged was when Niven wasn't on the stage, which was sadly in the last act.
Then, to add a bit more kulcha to the mix, I went to the magnificent Malthouse Theatre to see my old schoolie Caroline Craig in yet another play, this one called 'Optimism'. I never dreamt that I'd see Barry Otto (remember him in STRICTLY BALLROOM as the downtrodden father? and so much more) dancing topless on the stage in a purple airline stewardess hat and matching skirt and heels. Everyone was brilliant in this play, which felt an awful lot like someone's acid flashback. It was insane. So different to 'August' but most enjoyable.
They're taking 'Optimism' to the Edinburgh Festival, which is great for the cast. The girls were so shattered, as it finished its Malthouse run the night after I took my lovely cuz Nicola. One of the actresses I met, had recently completed a three and a half year stint at the Sydney Theatre Company and spoke highly of everyone there. Gosh they looked exhaustepated. It must be so hard working night after night and giving out all that energy (plus matinees). Clearly it's a fantastically fun occupation and most people dream of being an actor, but the reality of it is so different to the dream. But isn't it always.
I'm three quarters of the way through my rewrite and cannot WAIT to show the script to some people I trust. It is the most amazing feeling to finally be proud of something I've written. I can't describe how much I'm enjoying this process. I'm praying that I won't be too precious about the words when it comes to criticism and deciding what's best for the project. I know it's far from perfect. I just pray I can put on my Producer's hat and separate myself. This film deserves all our efforts. It's something I know we're going to make. It's time for Hamish and I to finally do it. Though the road may be long and winding, well who's kidding who, it most certainly will be. I want to walk it, run it, skip it, whatever it takes.
I just hope I can find a mission to keep me here while the road unfolds. I need to keep the wolf from the door and stimulate other parts of my brain. I say a little prayer that I can find one. That someone will have the faith to take a chance on me. My experience is so varied, I've fought against labels all my life but at times like these I wish I could sum myself up in one word instead of being a slasher (as in writer slash producer slash presenter slash......) as I can imagine it would make finding work a whole lot easier.
Better get some sleep.
Lxxxxx
It's been divine sunshine since I arrived at Flinders, where Mum and the dogs have made me most welcome. Dad is away at the US Open, having a divine time with his mates, so it's been blissful to have some time with Le Muzz. She's just had the most brilliant news about her new exhibition. It sounds like she's sought out just the right partners and all her hard research and preparation has paid off.
Her last exhibition, 'Exiles and Emigrants', was a huge success at the National Gallery of Victoria, it then travelled on to the NGAustralia. It launched when I was last back in Oz and I was so proud to be there for the opening. It explored the voluntary migration from the British Isles to Australia (as opposed to the scurrilous convicts who were unloaded here) in the mid nineteenth century. It's amazing that the script I'm writing is set in that period. It's inspiring delving into the bookshelves here at The gorgeous Moorings. What a home my parents have made here, it's got the warmest welcome. A reflection of them both.
Last week I fell back in love. With Dali. The opening at the NGV was astounding. I had never heard of the cartoon Destino that he worked on with Walt Disney. Sadly it was never completed, but I can't wait to go back and sit and watch more of it. The opening was a total scrum, so I only got a limited view of the incredible exhbition, but it left a huge impression. His works in the 30s and 40s were truly astounding.
On that note, I will never forget Robin Niven's performance in 'August: Osage County'. She portrayed the terrifying matriarch of a truly dysfunctional middle American family. And she was a powerhouse of ferocious frailty. My god, the play went for over 3 hours and it was an amazing experience. The only time it lagged was when Niven wasn't on the stage, which was sadly in the last act.
Then, to add a bit more kulcha to the mix, I went to the magnificent Malthouse Theatre to see my old schoolie Caroline Craig in yet another play, this one called 'Optimism'. I never dreamt that I'd see Barry Otto (remember him in STRICTLY BALLROOM as the downtrodden father? and so much more) dancing topless on the stage in a purple airline stewardess hat and matching skirt and heels. Everyone was brilliant in this play, which felt an awful lot like someone's acid flashback. It was insane. So different to 'August' but most enjoyable.
They're taking 'Optimism' to the Edinburgh Festival, which is great for the cast. The girls were so shattered, as it finished its Malthouse run the night after I took my lovely cuz Nicola. One of the actresses I met, had recently completed a three and a half year stint at the Sydney Theatre Company and spoke highly of everyone there. Gosh they looked exhaustepated. It must be so hard working night after night and giving out all that energy (plus matinees). Clearly it's a fantastically fun occupation and most people dream of being an actor, but the reality of it is so different to the dream. But isn't it always.
I'm three quarters of the way through my rewrite and cannot WAIT to show the script to some people I trust. It is the most amazing feeling to finally be proud of something I've written. I can't describe how much I'm enjoying this process. I'm praying that I won't be too precious about the words when it comes to criticism and deciding what's best for the project. I know it's far from perfect. I just pray I can put on my Producer's hat and separate myself. This film deserves all our efforts. It's something I know we're going to make. It's time for Hamish and I to finally do it. Though the road may be long and winding, well who's kidding who, it most certainly will be. I want to walk it, run it, skip it, whatever it takes.
I just hope I can find a mission to keep me here while the road unfolds. I need to keep the wolf from the door and stimulate other parts of my brain. I say a little prayer that I can find one. That someone will have the faith to take a chance on me. My experience is so varied, I've fought against labels all my life but at times like these I wish I could sum myself up in one word instead of being a slasher (as in writer slash producer slash presenter slash......) as I can imagine it would make finding work a whole lot easier.
Better get some sleep.
Lxxxxx
Friday, 5 June 2009
TIME KEEPS ON TRIPPIN, INTO THE FUTURE
I feel as though I've spent most of my 'adult' life, racing around the world at a breathless pace trying to prove myself and make some sort of mark. It's so strange to reach a point where you must take a long, hard look at what that all amounts to. It's exciting to be at a crossroads and to know in your heart that you're a capable person with talent to share, but my how the head begs to differ.
Are we all our own worst enemies?
I am thrilled that the Aussie film industry is having a bumper year. I'm even more thrilled that SAMSON & DELILAH won the Camera d'Or in Cannes and is proving itself at the box office, the first really successful Aussie film since LANTANA in monetary terms. And critically it's been a smash. As I wrote a while back, I thought it an astounding achievement and a gobsmacking experience to watch. I really don't want to ruin it for anyone who's keen to see it, and to you I say go, support this film and give yourself over to its unique rhythm. It's an Australian story about two young Aboriginals who are struggling to find their path and love. It is funny, thought provoking, terrifying and immensely moving.
I love Melbourne. I love Australia. But what's been going on lately in the outer suburbs of my home town is deeply disturbing, I've been waking at night feeling sick. Young Indian men are being beaten up with alarming regularity and viciousness. As you've probably seen in the media, these attacks have been so brutal and clearly racially motivated that India is rightly appalled and has responded vocally. There was a protest last weekend in the centre of Melbourne and India is already boycotting Australia.
For those of you who came on my Indian journey with me, you'll know that I was welcomed with open arms by almost everyone I came across. It was humbling and life affirming. I've never felt anything quite like it. Even after seven years of living in England, despite being half British, I never felt that sort of warmth, generosity and genuine inquisitiveness. I'm not so naive as to imply that every Indian I met had perfect intentions, or that I didn't experience forms of racism being a light bulb blondie who stuck out a mile, but I was overwhelmingly accepted and respected. For that I will always love India and cannot wait to return.
Nor am I saying that England is utterly standoffish and unwelcoming. I had seven long, fascinating years living there and I met some incredible people. I made friendships with Brits and foreigners alike there that will last forever. I worked for some of the most incredible people I've ever known, but I often felt that the UK kept me at arms length. I had to work so hard to try and fit in, (and afford any sort of lifestyle), at times I felt that it bled me dry of positivity and warmth and strength - three things I like to think I had endless supplies of.
Every country has problems with racism. We live in an incredibly multicultural society and a lot of the time it is tolerant and accepting. Most of the people I know and love in Australia are horrified at what's been happening to these Indian students, young men who've come here to learn from this country and its people - to make a better life for themselves and their family. So why the hatred? Why would a group of young guys attack another group with screwdrivers and fists when they were simply spending the night at a party doing what all young people do - having a bit of fun, a release from their heavy work schedules and the heavy expectations of their families and themselves?
I know this question is complex and throughout history humans have persecuted other humans, sometimes simply in reaction to which god they worship. What I find so completely hideous, is that one young man can look in the eyes of another and just because of the colour of his skin, he can want to kill him. Without knowing his name, his ideals, his family, his history, he can just pick up a screwdriver and attack him and leave him for dead. My heart breaks. It is the ugliest side of this country, of humanity - ignorance that breeds violence is everywhere, but somehow it's worse when it comes from a country that claims to welcome every race, colour and creed. A country that prides itself on diversity and wouldn't be riding out the recession so well, without the hard graft and commitment of the myriad of people from every imaginable background, who keep this country moving forward. Who love this country like their own.
It makes me want to board a plane immediately back to India, to see what I can do to help people there. To seek out the families of those who've been attacked and maimed (some who've died) and apologise to them. To give them all that I have. To let them know that someone really does care about what happened. I am deeply ashamed. Forgive me if you feel I'm being overdramatic, but I have been so happy to be home again. But this feels like a repeat of when I last tried to live back here and the Cronulla riots broke out in Sydney between a bunch of Aussie surfers and some young Lebanese kids. Noone wins in these sort of battles. Bloodshed only breeds pain and suffering.
I keep flashing back to a lovely Indian woman who I met on a train from Jaipur to Lucknow. Her berth was below mine and when the train decided to terminate in Lucknow instead of going on to Varanasi, she heard me talking with a British traveller and her Polish friend about how we'd get there. She got on her phone and organised a car to pick us up (at an ungodly hour) and couldn't have been kinder. When she asked where I was from and I replied, Australia. She smiled. I asked if she'd ever been or wanted to go, she said, "Oh no, I'm afraid I've heard that it's very racist there." I must admit to being taken aback, though she said it without malice, I was a touch put out. It was not the response I was used to when discussing the country of my birth.
Her words keep resounding in my head now. I grew up in the most wonderful country and was mostly blind to the seething hatred that does exist here under the surface (as it did on the estate around the corner from where I lived in Highbury or the neighbourhoods I lived in New York). But if I'm really honest, I remember how some people were teased at school and I remember the shame I felt when friends of mine were mean (and probably I was too) to people who were different, when we should have known better. I clearly recall the effect that Russell Crowe's searing portrayal of a Neo Nazi in ROMPER STOMPER had on me. That was the first time I really saw the dark side of Australia. I had witnessed many news reports of terrible wars and atrocities overseas, but that film's opening sequence was shot in Richmond station. It was a short walk from where I spent my predominantly happy youth. I couldn't believe it.
My father was a newspaperman (and in his heart still is). I used to joke that by the time I awoke, Dad had read at least five newspapers and was ready to discuss the political system in Bulgaria, if you'd let him. Mum and I sometimes rolled our eyes as he spilled information about what had been happening while we slept. (I once gave Mum a keyring that summed us both up, 'I May Rise But I Refuse To Shine') He has always been and continues to be, a sponge for what's going on in the world. I think that made me lazy. He was such a fountain of up to date information, that I hardly needed to open a paper myself. When he hosted a current affairs radio show between 8.30-10 every week morning, he was up at 5am working and reading and researching (there has never been and never will be someone more dilligent than my father), so for 5 years he was gone by the time I made it to breakfast and his voice was the backdrop to many lives during those years.
I try and read the papers and surf a few sites most days, but I must admit that there are those where I get lost inside my own head and don't connect with the world. I take Minnie La Mooch for a walk and connect with Elwood, but I do crave the discipline to consistently look outside myself, to be always grateful for the astounding gifts I have been given in this life and to respect others. I try my best, but I know I could do better.
This week I've been battling with the industry and the internet, trying to extract a job to give my life back here structure. But what sort of meaning am I searching for? I am immensely privileged compared to many in this world, I have a responsibility to do something more with my life. I am proud that I've written a film and achieved some things, but when I compare them to what others have done and are trying to do, I come up short. My grandmother always told us to reach beyond our grasp. I am trying.
In the words of Aretha Franklin, I say a little prayer.
Are we all our own worst enemies?
I am thrilled that the Aussie film industry is having a bumper year. I'm even more thrilled that SAMSON & DELILAH won the Camera d'Or in Cannes and is proving itself at the box office, the first really successful Aussie film since LANTANA in monetary terms. And critically it's been a smash. As I wrote a while back, I thought it an astounding achievement and a gobsmacking experience to watch. I really don't want to ruin it for anyone who's keen to see it, and to you I say go, support this film and give yourself over to its unique rhythm. It's an Australian story about two young Aboriginals who are struggling to find their path and love. It is funny, thought provoking, terrifying and immensely moving.
I love Melbourne. I love Australia. But what's been going on lately in the outer suburbs of my home town is deeply disturbing, I've been waking at night feeling sick. Young Indian men are being beaten up with alarming regularity and viciousness. As you've probably seen in the media, these attacks have been so brutal and clearly racially motivated that India is rightly appalled and has responded vocally. There was a protest last weekend in the centre of Melbourne and India is already boycotting Australia.
For those of you who came on my Indian journey with me, you'll know that I was welcomed with open arms by almost everyone I came across. It was humbling and life affirming. I've never felt anything quite like it. Even after seven years of living in England, despite being half British, I never felt that sort of warmth, generosity and genuine inquisitiveness. I'm not so naive as to imply that every Indian I met had perfect intentions, or that I didn't experience forms of racism being a light bulb blondie who stuck out a mile, but I was overwhelmingly accepted and respected. For that I will always love India and cannot wait to return.
Nor am I saying that England is utterly standoffish and unwelcoming. I had seven long, fascinating years living there and I met some incredible people. I made friendships with Brits and foreigners alike there that will last forever. I worked for some of the most incredible people I've ever known, but I often felt that the UK kept me at arms length. I had to work so hard to try and fit in, (and afford any sort of lifestyle), at times I felt that it bled me dry of positivity and warmth and strength - three things I like to think I had endless supplies of.
Every country has problems with racism. We live in an incredibly multicultural society and a lot of the time it is tolerant and accepting. Most of the people I know and love in Australia are horrified at what's been happening to these Indian students, young men who've come here to learn from this country and its people - to make a better life for themselves and their family. So why the hatred? Why would a group of young guys attack another group with screwdrivers and fists when they were simply spending the night at a party doing what all young people do - having a bit of fun, a release from their heavy work schedules and the heavy expectations of their families and themselves?
I know this question is complex and throughout history humans have persecuted other humans, sometimes simply in reaction to which god they worship. What I find so completely hideous, is that one young man can look in the eyes of another and just because of the colour of his skin, he can want to kill him. Without knowing his name, his ideals, his family, his history, he can just pick up a screwdriver and attack him and leave him for dead. My heart breaks. It is the ugliest side of this country, of humanity - ignorance that breeds violence is everywhere, but somehow it's worse when it comes from a country that claims to welcome every race, colour and creed. A country that prides itself on diversity and wouldn't be riding out the recession so well, without the hard graft and commitment of the myriad of people from every imaginable background, who keep this country moving forward. Who love this country like their own.
It makes me want to board a plane immediately back to India, to see what I can do to help people there. To seek out the families of those who've been attacked and maimed (some who've died) and apologise to them. To give them all that I have. To let them know that someone really does care about what happened. I am deeply ashamed. Forgive me if you feel I'm being overdramatic, but I have been so happy to be home again. But this feels like a repeat of when I last tried to live back here and the Cronulla riots broke out in Sydney between a bunch of Aussie surfers and some young Lebanese kids. Noone wins in these sort of battles. Bloodshed only breeds pain and suffering.
I keep flashing back to a lovely Indian woman who I met on a train from Jaipur to Lucknow. Her berth was below mine and when the train decided to terminate in Lucknow instead of going on to Varanasi, she heard me talking with a British traveller and her Polish friend about how we'd get there. She got on her phone and organised a car to pick us up (at an ungodly hour) and couldn't have been kinder. When she asked where I was from and I replied, Australia. She smiled. I asked if she'd ever been or wanted to go, she said, "Oh no, I'm afraid I've heard that it's very racist there." I must admit to being taken aback, though she said it without malice, I was a touch put out. It was not the response I was used to when discussing the country of my birth.
Her words keep resounding in my head now. I grew up in the most wonderful country and was mostly blind to the seething hatred that does exist here under the surface (as it did on the estate around the corner from where I lived in Highbury or the neighbourhoods I lived in New York). But if I'm really honest, I remember how some people were teased at school and I remember the shame I felt when friends of mine were mean (and probably I was too) to people who were different, when we should have known better. I clearly recall the effect that Russell Crowe's searing portrayal of a Neo Nazi in ROMPER STOMPER had on me. That was the first time I really saw the dark side of Australia. I had witnessed many news reports of terrible wars and atrocities overseas, but that film's opening sequence was shot in Richmond station. It was a short walk from where I spent my predominantly happy youth. I couldn't believe it.
My father was a newspaperman (and in his heart still is). I used to joke that by the time I awoke, Dad had read at least five newspapers and was ready to discuss the political system in Bulgaria, if you'd let him. Mum and I sometimes rolled our eyes as he spilled information about what had been happening while we slept. (I once gave Mum a keyring that summed us both up, 'I May Rise But I Refuse To Shine') He has always been and continues to be, a sponge for what's going on in the world. I think that made me lazy. He was such a fountain of up to date information, that I hardly needed to open a paper myself. When he hosted a current affairs radio show between 8.30-10 every week morning, he was up at 5am working and reading and researching (there has never been and never will be someone more dilligent than my father), so for 5 years he was gone by the time I made it to breakfast and his voice was the backdrop to many lives during those years.
I try and read the papers and surf a few sites most days, but I must admit that there are those where I get lost inside my own head and don't connect with the world. I take Minnie La Mooch for a walk and connect with Elwood, but I do crave the discipline to consistently look outside myself, to be always grateful for the astounding gifts I have been given in this life and to respect others. I try my best, but I know I could do better.
This week I've been battling with the industry and the internet, trying to extract a job to give my life back here structure. But what sort of meaning am I searching for? I am immensely privileged compared to many in this world, I have a responsibility to do something more with my life. I am proud that I've written a film and achieved some things, but when I compare them to what others have done and are trying to do, I come up short. My grandmother always told us to reach beyond our grasp. I am trying.
In the words of Aretha Franklin, I say a little prayer.
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