Footy fever reaches its highest pitch on the morrow - The Grand Final (Aussie Rules).
Today there was a parade for Geelong and St. Kilda in the rain - lots of fans turned out despite the inclement conditions. St. Kilda have had a towering season and Geelong kicked Collingwood out of the finals last weekend in scary style - we looked like little boys next to their hairy grit. That said, Gary Ablett doesn't have a hair on his head and quite rightly took the Brownlow medal home on Monday eve.
You might be asking, who the hell cares? A lot of Aussies feel the same, but if you've got the footy bug, Winter (particularly in Melbourne) is much more enjoyable. If your team is winning mind you. Don't even talk about the depression that hits if you lose, particularly if you get pulverised which Collingwood has quite a bit. Though we were always a wild card. All the Macdonalds left the MCG half way through the final quarter last Saturday evening, (and we NEVER leave a game early), as it was quite clear our whipping was causing us all excessive pain.
In the words of my new friend Roachie, who coaches with the Hawks, "You're born into a footy team. Win, lose or draw, you stick with 'em." St. Kilda fans have been loyal since their last flag in 1966. Something tells me they deserve it tomorrow, but it's lucky number 3 Grannies in a row for the Cats - having lost the last two. Both teams will be dogged tomorrow.
Anyway the Grand Final (the Grannie!) will see barbies firing up and eskies filled all over Australia. Beers will be opened from an early hour. Two mighty Victorian teams will awaken to a Clash of the Titans. They have both led the whole season and were undefeated half way through - until they played each other, and St. Kilda just scraped a victory. It will hopefully be a great battle, worthy of them both.
'Nuff said.
I've finally booked all my tickets to head off around the world again - the other way this time. I'm boarding a jet plane in a few short weeks and cannot wait to get back out amongst it. It's been a fabulous return to Oz the past 6 months, but it's time I reconnect having been almost a year since I left London for India. I cannot believe that time has flown by. It's been pretty damn incredible I must say. Bring on Summer though, I forgot that Melbourne winters could be pretty harsh. But thankfully somewhat shortlived.
I say that when it's been pissing down with hideous big, fat rain the past few days mercilessly. It's great for our reservoirs after the droughts, but everyone is antsy for Spring and the racing carnival is just around the corner. Sadly I'll miss all the pastels and hats. Champagne and chicken and avocado sandwiches abound us all I remember of past carnivals.
Gotta run to Hamish's work party - XYZ Studios have a new home in South Melb and we're christening it tonight.
Toodles.
Lxxx
Friday, 25 September 2009
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
DOWNLOAD FROM THE DARK SIDE
I am so angry that my stomach is in knots. Every single time I call any institution in the UK (my bank, HRMC, estate agents.....) I end up in such a rage I hang up the phone on some poor sod. Before I call, I tell myself to keep calm, to be nice and to tell them what they want. Every time a flipping, fucking coconut I end up incandescent with rage. Why is it SO hard to get anything done there? Why can I never give them enough numbers or details or jump through their hoops to get things done?
Australia is not perfect, but customer service and understanding still exists here. Some of the time. What shocked me after I first got back, is how friendly people are. Clearly not everyone, but most people say hello to you and take a minute to ask a question and actually listen to your response. I was freaked out by it at first.
Enough ranting. The film festival was really impressive. It finished on Sunday and my, what a marathon. In fact a lot of the films I saw really blew me away, taking me to places I never expected all over the world. Though why do so many films have to be dark in tone and content? I know life is no picnic, but I longed for a HAPPY GO LUCKY moment in the fest, but ended up with THE BASTARDS. I needed to chug red wine after that one. Sheesh.
My friend Nichole, who I met in India, is living in Melbs (she's moved into a fab house in West Brunswick with a friend from London called Jane) and I suggested she volunteer at the festival. We had such a blast meeting up and going over what we'd seen, often going to films together or showing up at the events that the other was working. It was such fun to share the fest with someone on a regular basis throughout. I'm used to attending festivals all over the world and meeting up with all sorts of colleagues but Melbourne has been very different.
Instead of being in a foreign city, where you're only there for meetings and the festival, I was trying to work and juggle my life here, so it was not my usual festival experience. At first I felt displaced and out of the loop, but quickly I met people and saw films that inspired me. In one day, I went from from Russia (Iranian director) to Korea and the Philippines (Korean director) to Algeria and the Western Sahara (Aussie & Bolivian Co-Directors) and ended up in London thanks to an Argentinean director.
All the films were worthwhile, but the documentary STOLEN which confronted slavery in the refugee camps of Algeria was explosive. In fact, I saw some incredible docs at the fest. The one on Rebiya Kadeer, the Uighar leader, (10 CONDITIONS OF LOVE) that has caused all the uproar was definitely a highlight. Not because it was the best doc I've ever seen, but due to the Chinese kicking up such a fuss, a small little doc became such a sensation - they had to move the screening to the town hall to fit everyone.
Mrs Kadeer has sacrificed so much for her people, (some of her children are in prison simply for being hers), and she spoke beautifully, with such passion before and after the screening. It's sad that 7 Chinese films were pulled from the fest because they refused to cancel this doc. And that the festival site was constantly attacked by hackers, simply for supporting freedom of speech. It makes you realise how incredibly lucky we are to take it for granted as a fact of life. As well as fundamental human rights, which STOLEN explores with its journey in Algeria and Western Sahara.
Irrelevant of how strong one might feel the actual films are, and there are some important failings though they give good viewing, they are both stories by passionate, committed filmmakers who did their utmost in very tricky circumstances to tell stories they felt should be told. It was fascinating to hear the audience at each session (I love a good Q&A) and to see how the filmmakers handled their questions. Being a filmmaker is tough, being a documentary filmmaker is even tougher. There is such little money and you have to fight so hard to get the film completed and then actually just get it out there to audiences.
I ask you how Jeff Daniels, the director of the doc about Rebiya Kadeer's life, managed to hold down a teaching job and spend 7 years of his life on this one piece of film? It's impossible for us mortals to imagine the pressure that's been put on him during this time and since the political explosion that erupted when MIFF programmed his film. The ramifications have been huge. But he's clearly drawn so much inspiration from his subject, that he's had the strength to go on. I salute them all.
I'd love to go into all the feature films that I adored, but two really stick out in my mind (apart from the fantastic Aussie film BALIBO) and those are the Icelandic film THE WHITE WEDDING and the British film UNMADE BEDS. They transported me completely and utterly to their destinations. And I ached for London after seeing the latter. It captured the freedom and eccentricities of that maddening city so well.
ANTICHRIST was an utterly nutty experience, but I have to say that I love Lars Von Trier for his truly unique vision. I can see why Charlotte Gainsbourg got Best Actress in Cannes. Bloody hell. It's all it's cracked up to be in the sadistic, artistic stakes. Gulp!
Now, I'm letting all those movies flow through me and I'm re-writing the feature that I've been working on a lot of this year. Hamish and I have got some industry people interested in reading it so the pressure is on. I've kidnapped Minnie (Hame's dog) and absconded to the coast, where I'm alone at our parent's place (except for Min!) and it's heaven. They're off in the Kimberleys (Western Oz) seeing the astounding Bradshaw rock paintings with their new best friends the Frasers. Gosh life is funny. I just have to laugh out loud sometimes at the absurdity of my existence.
I pray that over the next few days, I can reach deep down inside and find the strength to do this script justice. I am so grateful to all my heavenly mates who keep sending me such encouragement, as I can't tell you how much I need your prayers. I am terrified to finally put this script out there and can't believe that next week it will be in the ether. I saw the most incredible speech on TED's site today thanks to Miranda Barber, who sent me the link. It was by an author of a book I didn't much like, but the way she described the creative process and some fascinating issues surrounding it was really inspiring.
Mellie and Kiko, you made me laugh so much. Thank you.
And Pip your feedback has been invaulable. As always.
More soon. Lxxxxx
Australia is not perfect, but customer service and understanding still exists here. Some of the time. What shocked me after I first got back, is how friendly people are. Clearly not everyone, but most people say hello to you and take a minute to ask a question and actually listen to your response. I was freaked out by it at first.
Enough ranting. The film festival was really impressive. It finished on Sunday and my, what a marathon. In fact a lot of the films I saw really blew me away, taking me to places I never expected all over the world. Though why do so many films have to be dark in tone and content? I know life is no picnic, but I longed for a HAPPY GO LUCKY moment in the fest, but ended up with THE BASTARDS. I needed to chug red wine after that one. Sheesh.
My friend Nichole, who I met in India, is living in Melbs (she's moved into a fab house in West Brunswick with a friend from London called Jane) and I suggested she volunteer at the festival. We had such a blast meeting up and going over what we'd seen, often going to films together or showing up at the events that the other was working. It was such fun to share the fest with someone on a regular basis throughout. I'm used to attending festivals all over the world and meeting up with all sorts of colleagues but Melbourne has been very different.
Instead of being in a foreign city, where you're only there for meetings and the festival, I was trying to work and juggle my life here, so it was not my usual festival experience. At first I felt displaced and out of the loop, but quickly I met people and saw films that inspired me. In one day, I went from from Russia (Iranian director) to Korea and the Philippines (Korean director) to Algeria and the Western Sahara (Aussie & Bolivian Co-Directors) and ended up in London thanks to an Argentinean director.
All the films were worthwhile, but the documentary STOLEN which confronted slavery in the refugee camps of Algeria was explosive. In fact, I saw some incredible docs at the fest. The one on Rebiya Kadeer, the Uighar leader, (10 CONDITIONS OF LOVE) that has caused all the uproar was definitely a highlight. Not because it was the best doc I've ever seen, but due to the Chinese kicking up such a fuss, a small little doc became such a sensation - they had to move the screening to the town hall to fit everyone.
Mrs Kadeer has sacrificed so much for her people, (some of her children are in prison simply for being hers), and she spoke beautifully, with such passion before and after the screening. It's sad that 7 Chinese films were pulled from the fest because they refused to cancel this doc. And that the festival site was constantly attacked by hackers, simply for supporting freedom of speech. It makes you realise how incredibly lucky we are to take it for granted as a fact of life. As well as fundamental human rights, which STOLEN explores with its journey in Algeria and Western Sahara.
Irrelevant of how strong one might feel the actual films are, and there are some important failings though they give good viewing, they are both stories by passionate, committed filmmakers who did their utmost in very tricky circumstances to tell stories they felt should be told. It was fascinating to hear the audience at each session (I love a good Q&A) and to see how the filmmakers handled their questions. Being a filmmaker is tough, being a documentary filmmaker is even tougher. There is such little money and you have to fight so hard to get the film completed and then actually just get it out there to audiences.
I ask you how Jeff Daniels, the director of the doc about Rebiya Kadeer's life, managed to hold down a teaching job and spend 7 years of his life on this one piece of film? It's impossible for us mortals to imagine the pressure that's been put on him during this time and since the political explosion that erupted when MIFF programmed his film. The ramifications have been huge. But he's clearly drawn so much inspiration from his subject, that he's had the strength to go on. I salute them all.
I'd love to go into all the feature films that I adored, but two really stick out in my mind (apart from the fantastic Aussie film BALIBO) and those are the Icelandic film THE WHITE WEDDING and the British film UNMADE BEDS. They transported me completely and utterly to their destinations. And I ached for London after seeing the latter. It captured the freedom and eccentricities of that maddening city so well.
ANTICHRIST was an utterly nutty experience, but I have to say that I love Lars Von Trier for his truly unique vision. I can see why Charlotte Gainsbourg got Best Actress in Cannes. Bloody hell. It's all it's cracked up to be in the sadistic, artistic stakes. Gulp!
Now, I'm letting all those movies flow through me and I'm re-writing the feature that I've been working on a lot of this year. Hamish and I have got some industry people interested in reading it so the pressure is on. I've kidnapped Minnie (Hame's dog) and absconded to the coast, where I'm alone at our parent's place (except for Min!) and it's heaven. They're off in the Kimberleys (Western Oz) seeing the astounding Bradshaw rock paintings with their new best friends the Frasers. Gosh life is funny. I just have to laugh out loud sometimes at the absurdity of my existence.
I pray that over the next few days, I can reach deep down inside and find the strength to do this script justice. I am so grateful to all my heavenly mates who keep sending me such encouragement, as I can't tell you how much I need your prayers. I am terrified to finally put this script out there and can't believe that next week it will be in the ether. I saw the most incredible speech on TED's site today thanks to Miranda Barber, who sent me the link. It was by an author of a book I didn't much like, but the way she described the creative process and some fascinating issues surrounding it was really inspiring.
Mellie and Kiko, you made me laugh so much. Thank you.
And Pip your feedback has been invaulable. As always.
More soon. Lxxxxx
Thursday, 30 July 2009
THE FILM FEST & THE FURY
The Melbourne film fest kicked off at the weekend with an emotional rollercoaster ride like no other. I had heard so much about Robert Connelly's BALIBO, a film about what happened to a group of journalists who got stuck reporting on Indonesia's invasion of Timor Leste. I knew that Jose Ramos Horta - the current President of Timor Leste who was in exile for decades and helped guide the Aussie journalists before fleeing the invasion - would be present. I had read that the families of the Balibo Five would be there too.
With a square red carpet (!) outside the magnificent Hamer Hall (part of the Arts Centre) right by the Yarra River and the city centre, the guests gathered in their finest black tie outfits. The atmosphere was wonderfully buzzy, as with the opening of all film festivals I've attended, but by the end of the screening noone could breathe.
At the climatic scene near the end, when Anthony LaPaglia is battling for his life, the soundtrack goes completely quiet. I have never experienced human howls, not just sobs, like that in a screening in my life. And I've never seen so many people scurry away for a quiet cigarette before the party began.
For those of you who don't know, these events happened in the mid 70s and for so long, governments covered up exactly what happened to these young journos (aged between 21 and 28). With a popoulation of onky 700,000 people, the Indonesian occupation of Timor Leste saw 183,000 people murdered. These five Aussie journos are only a small part of a bloody history, but the fact that their deaths were covered up for so many years made this night a hugely significant one for their families.
Ramos Horta is portrayed in the film by an extraordinary young actor - watch out for Oscar Isaac. Forced into exile, it was a long time before he could return to his country and take the position of President. During those years, he fought tirelessly for justice for Timor Leste and received the Nobel Peace Prize in the mid 90s. Ramos Horta took the stage after the screening and he gave an immensely moving speech about humanity and war. Robert Connelly, the film's very talented and humble director introduced him with a few words and then LaPaglia took to the stage in a mohawk and leather jacket and spoke about his commitment to the film. Without him it wouldn't have happened.
Then all the families and other actors took to the stage. It was a night I'll never forget. And I have my old friend Andrew Barlow to thank. He invited a group of us to join him on this special night. He was an Executive Producer on BALIBO and I'm sure his passion for film and his razor sharp instincts will guide his hand as his film career develops. I was truly honourd to be a part of opening night and I've since swapped the red carpet for a red MIFF t-shirt, as I'm volunteering at the festival.
I'm working a bunch of wild special events that range from a beautiful 3D animated feature called Coraline to the craziest performance art I've ever seen. Last night, at a venue called Ding Dong, I saw acts that I hardly know how to describe. The first was a girl raging against the pop culture machine, she projected images from magazines and television and basically gave them a ticking off. She took the piss, she yelled and she sure had an opinion. The highlight was her mash-up of the judges from 'So You Think You Can Dance' and I also have a soft spot for 'Masterchef' so enjoyed her piss take of that too. She even had a song about cellulite that had the audience giggling.
With bleeding ears, (I've never heard anything like it and feel so old for saying so), I retreated to the bathroom after Pig & Machine had given us an onslaught of epileptic dancing, screeching and electro sounds coupled with the most insane guitar playing I've seen. I ran into the ultra hip Asian friend of the lead singer, I asked her what it was that we'd just seen - how would you classify that 'music'? She shrugged and said, "I don't know - electro maybe. She's my friend, so you should ask her. I don't even know. Maybe break-core!" Ok. Said friend is the lead singer, she arrived with a cutesy outfit on but came on stage dressed in zebra hot pants, a traditional Chinese silk jacket and a sequinned head dress that covered her face entirely. Her guitarist was all in black with a sinister black hood (also over his face, though hers came off with her nutty dancing) and white sunnies over the top and the techie on the computer had a white boiler suit and the necessary black Raybans.
Afterwards, old rockers Primitive Calculators (don't you love that name?) faced up to images of their old selves and sang along with their backs to the audience. Hmmm. They re-formed a few years ago when their old mucker Nick Cave asked them to play a gig with him. Thankfully they eventually did get up on stage and face their fans. Richard Moore (Festival Director) was rocking around as were other staff groovers (go Daria!) and everyone seemed to be having a blast. By this stage, I was sick of shouting and so my lovely mate Nichole (who I met at Jaipur literature fest and has moved to Melbs) and I ended up in this lush bar drinking red wine.
I've been working my butt off lately getting back into the black. I've been juggling a bunch of jobs (environmental short film comp called Future Shots, auction house and gallery called Moss Green, old mate Amanda McCarthy's fashion label Leonard St and door bitch at The Supper Club) but more on them later. For now, I want to immerse myself in film. There is so much to see. I saw an intense Norweigian film called TROUBLED WATER that was long and harrowing but so beautifully shot and moving and a fantastic documentary on Celia Cruz called CELIA THE QUEEN. Now I must get moving as I've got a load more to see today and many more to plan.
With a square red carpet (!) outside the magnificent Hamer Hall (part of the Arts Centre) right by the Yarra River and the city centre, the guests gathered in their finest black tie outfits. The atmosphere was wonderfully buzzy, as with the opening of all film festivals I've attended, but by the end of the screening noone could breathe.
At the climatic scene near the end, when Anthony LaPaglia is battling for his life, the soundtrack goes completely quiet. I have never experienced human howls, not just sobs, like that in a screening in my life. And I've never seen so many people scurry away for a quiet cigarette before the party began.
For those of you who don't know, these events happened in the mid 70s and for so long, governments covered up exactly what happened to these young journos (aged between 21 and 28). With a popoulation of onky 700,000 people, the Indonesian occupation of Timor Leste saw 183,000 people murdered. These five Aussie journos are only a small part of a bloody history, but the fact that their deaths were covered up for so many years made this night a hugely significant one for their families.
Ramos Horta is portrayed in the film by an extraordinary young actor - watch out for Oscar Isaac. Forced into exile, it was a long time before he could return to his country and take the position of President. During those years, he fought tirelessly for justice for Timor Leste and received the Nobel Peace Prize in the mid 90s. Ramos Horta took the stage after the screening and he gave an immensely moving speech about humanity and war. Robert Connelly, the film's very talented and humble director introduced him with a few words and then LaPaglia took to the stage in a mohawk and leather jacket and spoke about his commitment to the film. Without him it wouldn't have happened.
Then all the families and other actors took to the stage. It was a night I'll never forget. And I have my old friend Andrew Barlow to thank. He invited a group of us to join him on this special night. He was an Executive Producer on BALIBO and I'm sure his passion for film and his razor sharp instincts will guide his hand as his film career develops. I was truly honourd to be a part of opening night and I've since swapped the red carpet for a red MIFF t-shirt, as I'm volunteering at the festival.
I'm working a bunch of wild special events that range from a beautiful 3D animated feature called Coraline to the craziest performance art I've ever seen. Last night, at a venue called Ding Dong, I saw acts that I hardly know how to describe. The first was a girl raging against the pop culture machine, she projected images from magazines and television and basically gave them a ticking off. She took the piss, she yelled and she sure had an opinion. The highlight was her mash-up of the judges from 'So You Think You Can Dance' and I also have a soft spot for 'Masterchef' so enjoyed her piss take of that too. She even had a song about cellulite that had the audience giggling.
With bleeding ears, (I've never heard anything like it and feel so old for saying so), I retreated to the bathroom after Pig & Machine had given us an onslaught of epileptic dancing, screeching and electro sounds coupled with the most insane guitar playing I've seen. I ran into the ultra hip Asian friend of the lead singer, I asked her what it was that we'd just seen - how would you classify that 'music'? She shrugged and said, "I don't know - electro maybe. She's my friend, so you should ask her. I don't even know. Maybe break-core!" Ok. Said friend is the lead singer, she arrived with a cutesy outfit on but came on stage dressed in zebra hot pants, a traditional Chinese silk jacket and a sequinned head dress that covered her face entirely. Her guitarist was all in black with a sinister black hood (also over his face, though hers came off with her nutty dancing) and white sunnies over the top and the techie on the computer had a white boiler suit and the necessary black Raybans.
Afterwards, old rockers Primitive Calculators (don't you love that name?) faced up to images of their old selves and sang along with their backs to the audience. Hmmm. They re-formed a few years ago when their old mucker Nick Cave asked them to play a gig with him. Thankfully they eventually did get up on stage and face their fans. Richard Moore (Festival Director) was rocking around as were other staff groovers (go Daria!) and everyone seemed to be having a blast. By this stage, I was sick of shouting and so my lovely mate Nichole (who I met at Jaipur literature fest and has moved to Melbs) and I ended up in this lush bar drinking red wine.
I've been working my butt off lately getting back into the black. I've been juggling a bunch of jobs (environmental short film comp called Future Shots, auction house and gallery called Moss Green, old mate Amanda McCarthy's fashion label Leonard St and door bitch at The Supper Club) but more on them later. For now, I want to immerse myself in film. There is so much to see. I saw an intense Norweigian film called TROUBLED WATER that was long and harrowing but so beautifully shot and moving and a fantastic documentary on Celia Cruz called CELIA THE QUEEN. Now I must get moving as I've got a load more to see today and many more to plan.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
MIGHTY NUMBER FOUR
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
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
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.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
DONE, DUSTED, D'OH!
I finished it! I have written a feature film. So, so, so happy that I made it through last week. After quite a few struggles, I pushed on to 80 pages. On my second last day, I sat down and wrote 10 more and had an 'ah, I'm almost there, this isn't so bad' moment. Advice - don't ever allow yourself that moment before you've finished (bit like the ANZAC day match where one minute before the siren, I relaxed and thought the Maggies had it in the bag and the Bombers snatched it from us)......
My fricking computer froze on me and I lost 10 pages. That may not sound a lot to some, but when you've just gone from 80 to 90 pages and 100 is your aim, to then go back to 80 when it's mid-afternoon and you're leaving your writing haven the next day - HELL!! So, I huffed and puffed and tried everything to retrieve the missing pages, when I finally realised they were gone forever, I was so tempted to storm next door and complain to Kirst and Nick (her great mate was visiting - he's behind the Playboy with Minnie La Mooch below) but knew instinctively that I'd lose it all in my head.
I sat there and argued with myself. Over and over. Finally I just forced my hands to type. And I did it. I know in my heart that those 10 pages are better for it. Hallelujah. So, I hit page 101 and Kirst popped a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Owzat! It was the most delicious bottle of champagne ever. My own mini-Cannes.
The next day I packed up and headed back to reality. K dropped me in Mornington just in the nick of time (well the poor guy had to wait a few mins but hey ho) to catch my bus. The sun was shining and I got off in Elwood and walked home feeling light as a feather. I made plans with my oldest, most gorgeous friend Pip for dinner and she took me to an incredible Italian called Da Noi. It was the perfect choice, as it used to be a restaurant called Brummels where I worked when I was a teenager. It was a perfect night. We had about 10 small courses (3 desserts!) and numerous wines - each one was more delicious than the last. Squisito.
The next day I woke up and couldn't help myself, I had to read over the script (despite my promise of the weekend off). Not so bad, but still not happy with the ending. Then I had a fun day meeting my neighbours and getting ready for drinks. I caught up with some friends and had a mini celebration, which was so much fun. I think I played some of the cheesiest tunes in existence - just for a change. Dancing is food for the soul.
Then I took off to Flinders with Dad and did a final edit. Amazing how many mistakes you find when you actually see it on paper. Hame arrived back from the States, where he had a brilliant break and I presented him with the draft. He only finished reading it last night and I asked for positive feedback first, as I know that there are lots of things to improve but it seems he thinks it's a great start. Phew!
We're going to spend the weekend picking it apart and then we start on the long, long, long road of trying to get a feature off the ground. But, I've got a good feeling about this one. I really do.
Now, I have to face the cold, hard truth that I must get a 'real' job. No more spending all my time on docs and writing scripts for a bit. I need to make some cashish and check in properly with the film industry here. I've been under the radar a lot since I got back. Time to get out in the light. Here I am again, reinventing myself for the gazillionth time it seems. It's exciting but so daunting.
Wish me luck.
My fricking computer froze on me and I lost 10 pages. That may not sound a lot to some, but when you've just gone from 80 to 90 pages and 100 is your aim, to then go back to 80 when it's mid-afternoon and you're leaving your writing haven the next day - HELL!! So, I huffed and puffed and tried everything to retrieve the missing pages, when I finally realised they were gone forever, I was so tempted to storm next door and complain to Kirst and Nick (her great mate was visiting - he's behind the Playboy with Minnie La Mooch below) but knew instinctively that I'd lose it all in my head.
I sat there and argued with myself. Over and over. Finally I just forced my hands to type. And I did it. I know in my heart that those 10 pages are better for it. Hallelujah. So, I hit page 101 and Kirst popped a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Owzat! It was the most delicious bottle of champagne ever. My own mini-Cannes.
The next day I packed up and headed back to reality. K dropped me in Mornington just in the nick of time (well the poor guy had to wait a few mins but hey ho) to catch my bus. The sun was shining and I got off in Elwood and walked home feeling light as a feather. I made plans with my oldest, most gorgeous friend Pip for dinner and she took me to an incredible Italian called Da Noi. It was the perfect choice, as it used to be a restaurant called Brummels where I worked when I was a teenager. It was a perfect night. We had about 10 small courses (3 desserts!) and numerous wines - each one was more delicious than the last. Squisito.
The next day I woke up and couldn't help myself, I had to read over the script (despite my promise of the weekend off). Not so bad, but still not happy with the ending. Then I had a fun day meeting my neighbours and getting ready for drinks. I caught up with some friends and had a mini celebration, which was so much fun. I think I played some of the cheesiest tunes in existence - just for a change. Dancing is food for the soul.
Then I took off to Flinders with Dad and did a final edit. Amazing how many mistakes you find when you actually see it on paper. Hame arrived back from the States, where he had a brilliant break and I presented him with the draft. He only finished reading it last night and I asked for positive feedback first, as I know that there are lots of things to improve but it seems he thinks it's a great start. Phew!
We're going to spend the weekend picking it apart and then we start on the long, long, long road of trying to get a feature off the ground. But, I've got a good feeling about this one. I really do.Now, I have to face the cold, hard truth that I must get a 'real' job. No more spending all my time on docs and writing scripts for a bit. I need to make some cashish and check in properly with the film industry here. I've been under the radar a lot since I got back. Time to get out in the light. Here I am again, reinventing myself for the gazillionth time it seems. It's exciting but so daunting.
Wish me luck.
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