ANDREW BOLT’S FLYING MONKEYS ...

... give us the lowdown on some Very Important Issues ... First up, Deliverwoode of London ...

I got had probably managed pulled suggested Years later, called reaction crashing down -deliverwoode of London (Reply) Wed 16 Apr 08 (01:16pm)

? ...

!? ...

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!!!!!!?? ...

????????????? ...

??!! ... !!?? ... !!!!!!!!!! ... ???????? ...

%$%#!!?#@!!%&**!!!#&!!? ...

I have a headache.

Anyway, moving right along, Henry from Camberwell had this to get off his chest ...

Bring back the WHITE AUSTRALIA POLICY. Australia has gone down the wrong path. We need to protect our Anglo Saxon heritage. We do not need this filth in our country. It our constitution it mentions the Ayran race in which we should protect. Get rid of the Muslims they are as bad as the Jews. 14/88.- Henry Ford of Camberwell (Reply) Thu 17 Apr 08 (01:19pm)

It our constitution?

It sure is, Henry. There’s a good lad. (This post has been removed as of today, but it was certainly there in all its glory yesterday.)

Finally, Kerry of Sydney weighs in with some righteous views on the perennially troublesome topic of “The Gay Agenda” ...

... It is ignorant to believe a teenager has the physical and emotional maturity to declare sexual preference. Societies’ current permissive attitude is resulting in confusion and trauma. FACTS: There is right and wrong, normal and abnormal. Had our sons indicated, by either physical or enmotional signs, their sexuality was in question, we as parents would have sought treatment for them rather than condemn them to an abnormal existance. Homosexuals as a group have an above average incidence of depression ... - kerry of sydney Tue 15 Apr 08 (11:04am)

Let the evidence below be testament to the fact that Kerry’s boys have grown to be a couple of right thinkin’, law-abidin’, strapping young lads with nary a care in the world.

Mind you, the bloke on the right ... those stains on his shirt ...

I’m a tad ... er ... concerned.

From 1999, Tom Waits “What’s He Building In There?”

THIS T-SHIRT KILLS CHILDREN

Evil stalks our land ...

“ ... Eva Cox from the Women's Electoral Lobby said the T-shirts' content spoke for itself. She said: "They're tasteless, crappy, crass and stupid and if people want to be seen as tasteless, crappy, crass and stupid, they'll wear the shirts. "It's vulgar and nasty and encourages people to be rude and revolting. Who the hell wants to wear T-shirts like that?"

The Diana T-shirt, which has been superimposed on to the bodies of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip in advertising on the site, was also criticised by monarchist Professor David Flint.

"It's a pity we breach society's standards just to get a sale. It's not right to be cruel to people who obviously can't defend themselves," he said.”

Some T-Shirts I’d like to see ...

The Terri Irwin – “HE’S DEAD – I’M RICH. BLOW ME”

The Heath Ledger – “BEST SLEEPING PILLS EVER”

The Dick Cheney – “LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS!”

The Baby Bump – “HELP! NEED CASH FOR ABORTION”

The Sorry Shirt – “TO ALL THE ALBINO INDIGENOUS DOWN-SYNDROME QUADRUPLE AMPUTEE GAY MUSLIM DWARVES I’VE OPPRESSED, I’M SORRY”

The Westboro Baptist Church – “GOD HATES BUNDLES OF STICKS”

The Afflicted – “YOU’RE NOT “SPECIAL”, YOU’RE RETARDED”

The Anorexic – “I HAD TO VOMIT 500 TIMES BEFORE I COULD FIT INTO THIS T-SHIRT”

The Family Values – “DADDY SAYS WE HAVE A SPECIAL LOVE BUT I CAN’T TELL MUMMY”

The Papal Visit - "TRANSUBSTANTIATION SCHEDULED FOR TEATIME - BYO PLATE"

THE FOREST FROM THE TREES

Andrew Bolt, he don’t like movies ...

“Taxpayers have invested $104.36 million since 2000 on film and documentary projects through the Australian Film Commission, its financial statements show. Just $12.29 million has been returned. Millions of dollars in other grants are available through state agencies, including the NSW Film and Television Office, which last financial year spent $6.749m and got returns of $948,000.”

But this, apparently, is perfectly fine ...

“[Former] PRIME Minister John Howard has spent nearly $2 billion on government advertising and information campaigns since coming to power 11 years ago.

A Sunday Age investigation has found that just weeks from calling an election, the Government has 18 advertising campaigns on the air, with a $23 million climate change campaign to air after this week's APEC conference.

The Sunday Age investigation has also shown that since the last election in 2004, Mr Howard has spent a record $850 million of taxpayers' money on government advertising. The Government disputes this figure. "It's probably closer to $400 million," said Peter Phelps, chief of staff to Special Minister of State Gary Nairn.

Spending this year is expected to peak at $200 million before Mr Howard calls the election. After that, the Government will be prevented from airing any communication campaigns because they could influence the election.”

At least film investment generates some return. The government advertisements, on the other hand ...

Andrew Bolt. What a silly bunt.

SENSE AND SENSITIVITY

Barack Obama from Sunday April 13, 2008...

"Here’s how it is: in a lot of these communities in big industrial states like Ohio and Pennsylvania, people have been beaten down so long. They feel so betrayed by government that when they hear a pitch that is premised on not being cynical about government, then a part of them just doesn’t buy it ...

... But the truth is, is that, our challenge is to get people persuaded that we can make progress when there’s not evidence of that in their daily lives. You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations ..."

Why, imagine that.

By gum and Gomorrah, it does seem quite a far-fetchin’ stretch to assume that some people may “explain their frustrations” by clinging to “religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them”.

What a nerve.

On Slate, Melinda Henneberger and Mickey Kaus perform a syllable by syllable autopsy of the candidate’s remarks and reach some, er ... rather interesting, if not downright devious conclusions about what it all really means ...

Personally, I blame it all on the 60’s.



From 1981, David Byrne & Brian Eno “America Is Waiting”

WE’VE ALL HAD A GUTFUL

Jack Marx, on his News.com blog of April 11, 2008, spits the dummy and delivers a most righteous and admirable rant ...

“It was Demi Moore who started it back in 1991. Before then, getting pregnant was seen as something of a temporary disaster for an entertainer’s career, all photo shoots, publicity capers and public arsery put on hold while real life, quite literally, became too important for the nonsense of showbiz. Today, scoring oneself a “baby bump” is like releasing a new CD, with celebrities lining up to expose their bulging tummies to the masses, their spherical guts accompanied by leers that seem to say: “Look, everybody! I’ve been @#$%ed!”. It’s the big dick competition of the 21st century, and it’s time this childsplay were terminated.”

Continue reading “Pregnant celebrities get @#$%ed!”

THE WAR ON TOBACCO

"Hello. I'd like a packet of Winfield Red 25's, please."

"Ah. I'm sorry, we're not permitted to call them that any longer, sir."

"Oh. What are they now called, then?"

"Well, I'm not permitted to give you that information as that would constitute promotion of a dangerous and possibly deadly substance and to do so would contravene current Federal Government initiatives in the War on Tobacco."

"Do you sell cigarettes?"

"Why, yes, of course. We have over 40 varieties under the counter!"

"May I have a packet?"

"What would you like a packet of, sir?"

"Whatever Winfield Red 25's are called nowadays."

"I wouldn't know, sir. The manufacturers are no longer permitted to brand their product. We can only sell them by number."

"Number?"

"Number 1, Number 2, Number 3 ... and so on and such forth up to Number 40, or thereabouts."

"What are the strongest?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir. Federal laws, War on Smoking ... the economic disadvantages to the community caused by consumption of addictive and dangerous drugs. Quite staggering it is too, sir. Did you know, for example-"

"I don't give a f**k! Gimme a packet of cigarettes!"

"What type of cigarettes, sir?"

"The strongest."

"I wouldn't know which ones they would be, sir."

"It's still legal, isn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely, sir!"

"Gimme a pack of ... 16's then ... I'll wing it."

"Pleasure. Now, as part of the Federal Government's War on Tobacco, each sale of a packet of cigarettes must now be accompanied by ... A QUIT pack - here you go ... A wall poster of a diseased lung ... A gangrenous toe ... (I'll just pop that in a bag for you) ... A copy of Professor Collins' and Lapsley's "Estimating the Economic Costs of Drug Abuse in Australia" ... fascinating reading it is, too, if I may say so myself ... and ... hmmm ... I'm sure there's something else ... Oh, yes, a deformed foetus in a belljar."

"A deformed foetus in a belljar?"

"Smoking may harm your baby, sir."

"I don't have a f**king baby!"

"Only a matter of time, sir ... Perhaps you could use it as a hood ornament in the meantime."

SEND IN THE GOONS

The IMF estimates the sub-prime crisis will wind up costing the global economy about 1 trillion dollars in losses. When Mick Gatto's done in Singapore, perhaps he could pop off to the United States to "see a few blokes" about getting some of it back.



From 1990, Naked City “Gotham”

A WEEKEND WITH ANDREW BOLT

29 posts in 2 days (April 5 & 6, 2008), for Christ’s sake ... (Warning: Tediously repetitious themes):

Saturday April 5th: "Rudd more spun against"
• Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Forum"
• Fuckwit free-for-all. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Pasquarelli paints"
• Right-wing has-been takes up “painting”! Bolt like! Painty-painty!

Saturday April 5th: "China torched #2 - and who's in blue"
• Evil China! Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Panic more slowly about warming"
• Global warming. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Earth Hour good, Earth Week bad"
• Global warming. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "The idea is to make you poorer"
• Global warming. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Costello wooed"
• Come back Liberal has-been! Destroy Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Why the fibs about Earth Hour"
• Global warming. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Same story even in Ramallah"
• Lefty on Palestinian TV! Evil lefty! Lefty must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Beggaring black children"
• Niggers wuz better off when white folks lookee after 'em! Yowser!

Saturday April 5th: "Plonker vs bonker"
• Lefty in London have 5 kids! Evil Lefty! Lefty must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Now guilty until proven innocent"
• Niggers wuz better off when white folks lookee after 'em! Yowser!

Saturday April 5th: "I Made this Marieke Hardy"
• Lefty blogger bad! Bolt good! Nyah, nyah! Lefty must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Shh. Don't tell them about Obama"
• Lefty nigger for US President? Evil Lefty! Lefty must die!

Saturday April 5th: "Next: he'll brief Putin about his summit"
• Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Forum"
• Fuckwit free-for-all. Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Bahnisch alerts editor"
• Lefty write for newspaper! Evil Lefty! Lefty must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Low down from Downer"
• Come back Liberal has-been! Destroy Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "I am, therefore this stinks"
• Victorian police. Ummm, er, ... Someone must die! Lefties, probably.

Sunday April 6th: "Socialist logo recycled"
• Logo look like swastika? Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "China torched #3 - Rudd now not so keen"
• Evil China! Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Hitchener trusts public withhimself"
• Newsreader admit he gay man! Woo-hoo! Big news!

Sunday April 6th: "Adler hails Rudd, our Moses"
• Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Abbott denies Costello"
• Liberal has-been no come back? Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Half the promise, double the cost"
• Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die!

Sunday April 6th: "Insiders, all right"
• Evil ABC! Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die! ABC too!

Sunday April 6th: "Emperor Rudd's clothes admired"
• Evil ABC! Evil Kevin Rudd! Kevin Rudd bad! Kevin Rudd must die! ABC too!

Sunday April 6th: "Maybe she's not really "Hillary" either"
• Lefty woman for US President? Evil Lefty! Lefty must die!

I was going to do Monday the 7th as well, but I began to get a headache. This isn’t blogging, it’s a nervous tic. And as someone who styles and refers to himself as a “journalist”, the man’s about as balanced as a cerebral palsy victim with Parkinson’s.

This is “opinionism” pure and simple. It is to “journalism” what Dan Brown is to “literature”. There is nothing, nothing whatsoever in Bolt’s multiplicity of obsessive brain farts that comes even close to resembling “reportage” or “investigation”. Instead, an exhausting series of snippy little snipes at anything and everything that can even remotely be connected or seen to connect or reflect on a “leftist” ideology or point of view, whatever the fuck that is.

It is, in a word, childish and childishly stupid. The apotheosis of infantilism. The fevered, and very possibly infectious expectorations of a thoroughly rattled individual who appears to lack the courage to actually stand as a representative of his chosen ideological position in an electorate and represent the people he purports to be mouthpiece for, preferring instead to cower behind the fences of the fourth estate lobbing spitballs into any paddock nearby whose cowpats happen to be of a shape displeasing to him.

Any attempt to engage in anything even vaguely resembling intelligent debate with this ridiculous individual and his flock of flying monkeys would be as futile an exercise as trying to thrust one's erect penis into a brick wall in the hope that the stone may yield up a little moisture.

What Bolt needs to get through his thick head for once and for all is that, back in November of 2007, the Australian electorate decided that they had had quite enough of John Howard and his government after 11 years and decided to change it. For better, or possibly for worse, that is what we have now for the next 3 years. While banging his head against a wall in petty protestations at any and all manner of perceived or imagined “faults”, no matter how absurdly and patently inconsequential may pay Bolt’s wage, there is naught to be gained for the sad little bugger but a headache or, very possibly and most probably, brain trauma.

As for those of us who occasionally stumble into the lair of this so-called “controversial” creative tabloid typist in the vain hope that something, anything, anything at all of substance may lurk among the impenetrably thick murk that festers there, inevitably we simply find ourselves niggled by the media equivalent of a spastic blowfly valiantly attempting to shove itself up our nostrils for no reason other than the nostril is there to be niggled.

Andrew Bolt. Not evil. Stupid. Must die. Where put I the Mortein?

ANDREW DENTON ON MENTAL ILLNESS

One would think that after watching a one hour program on the subject of mental illness that the average viewer would not be left hankering for more. Yet that is precisely what Andrew Denton managed to achieve last night (April 7, 2008) with his "Enough Rope" special "Angels and Demons".

One of the most invigorating, eye-opening and brilliantly presented programs Denton has done to date, "Angels and Demons" avoided the mawkish sentimentality, cheap exploitative sensationalism, and the usual dreary parade of "expert" talking heads typical of so much of what is laughably called "current affairs" or "topical" television these days and, in doing so, came up with something truly special.

Whether speaking to those afflicted with mental illness or those entrusted with the care of sufferers, not once did Denton stoop to an attitude of patronising indulgence, treating all he spoke to and those who spoke to him as individuals in their own right; not "special", simply people whose day to day reality may be different from our own, but is still a reality nonetheless, and a perfectly valid one at that. This approach yielded an insight and understanding that provoked, in this viewer at least, not sympathy or sadness, but a sense of wonder and admiration for those men and women, both young and old, who daily and for much of their lives, grapple with difficulties that make most of the things the rest of us whine about on a regular basis seem the truly petty and trivial irritants that they really are.

Here was a program deserving of every accolade, every citation and superlative that may conceivably be laid before it. I'm damned if I know how Denton does it, but by Christ he does it well and has done it well for many a year now. However, with "Angels and Demons", I feel that Denton has truly earned the mantle of Australia's finest ever media presenter and interviewer, and, possibly, one of the finest in the western world.

I doubt that even Michael Parkinson would disagree with that, having once said to Denton "I mean ... to try and gauge a conversation and to listen so that you can actually get away from that which you planned, if it's interesting enough. And that's the biggest lesson to learn I think, as an interviewer, as you know, as you demonstrate."



From 1969, Karen Dalton “It Hurts Me Too”

PROTECTING THE SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE AND CHILDBIRTH IN A FAITHLESS AND SECULAR AGE

A MODEST PROPOSAL FOR LEGISLATION TO BE TAKEN UNDER CONSIDERATION AS A POSSIBLE FUTURE BLUEPRINT BY OUR STATE AND FEDERAL REPRESENTATIVES. MAY GOD BLESS AND PROTECT THEM.

1. As a condition of entering into marriage (marriage herein defined as a conjugative union between an adult male person and an adult female person, adult in this respect defined as any individual over 16 years of age), all couples should be required to produce a child or children within a nominal period of three to five years (maximum) of wedlock. Should no child or children be forthcoming from the union due to physical incapacity or disability; impotence; infertility; advanced age; or professionally diagnosed medical condition (approved documentation required), a child should be assigned to the couple in question from the relevant state or territory’s Federal Government Surplus Youth Repository.

2. If any couple refuse to comply with the proposed legislation in respect of either (a) bearing a child or children, or (b) undertaking care of any child assigned to them for care, then it should be determined through application of the legislation that the marriage be declared null and void, and any and all agreements undertaken by the relevant parties either during the union or made in preparation for the union (for example, financial or property matters; prenuptial agreements) no longer be binding on either party under any circumstances.

3. Contraceptive medications and/or devices should henceforth from the date of enactment of the proposed legislation only be made available via prescription to those married couples who have successfully bred a minimum of 3 children within the nominal period of three to five years (maximum) of continual wedlock. No contraceptive medication and/or device should be prescribed to any individual or individuals who are not engaged in a conjugative union of a type that has been approved by an appropriately authorised religious faith and practitioner thereof. Unauthorised supply and consumption of contraceptive medications and/or devices should be determined an offence under the proposed legislation and punishable by law and should attract a fine and/or term of imprisonment up to, but not exceeding AU$50,000 and 5 years incarceration.

4. Under the proposed legislation, termination of a pregnancy upon request should not be permitted under any circumstances. Should the pregnancy have resulted from an occasion of alleged or confirmed sexual abuse, the carrier of the developing foetus should be provided with appropriate and comprehensive counseling by State or Federally accredited health and welfare officials until such time as the pregnancy reaches full-term, and birth of a child or children has been achieved.

5. If diagnosis determines that the pregnancy may pose a hazard to the health of the carrier of the foetus, the right of the foetus to a full life should prevail over that of the carrier in any and all cases. In such an event, appropriate and comprehensive counseling should be provided to the carrier and/or their partner so that they may adequately prepare for any ensuing trauma that may present during the pregnancy, including the possibility of the carrier’s death. In case of the latter, generous financial assistance from the Australian Federal Government’s Bereavement Bonus Fund should be made available (upon application) to the surviving spouse for a period of up to, but not exceeding 6 (six) months subsequent to the carrier’s demise.

6. Should a pregnancy be terminated due to an alleged event of miscarriage, the carrier of the foetal matter and their primary health care provider should be required by law to report the event within 7 (seven) days of occurrence to the Australian Federal Police Foetal Abuse Investigative Division (F.A.I.D.). It should be the responsibility of F.A.I.D. to engage the cooperation of all relevant parties so as to ascertain whether or not the miscarriage event was either deliberately induced by the carrier and/or her partner, or was the result of any inappropriate behaviour (for example, consumption of alcohol, tobacco, illegal drugs, unsuitable foodstuffs) that could rightly be deemed as damaging to the health of the developing foetus. Should F.A.I.D., during the course of their investigation, find that the occurrence of the event falls outside the applicable definitions of “accidental” as set out in the proposed legislation, the individual concerned should be charged under that legislation and a fine and/or term of imprisonment up to, but not exceeding AU$100,000 and 5 (five) years incarceration be imposed upon them.

From 1979, Sister Sledge "We Are Family"

FUCKING SA LIBERAL FUCKING SENATOR CORY FUCKING BERNARDI

In November 2007, having clinched the Australian Federal election, Prime Minister elect Kevin Rudd in his victory speech proclaimed that he and his team may permit themselves some time to celebrate their win with a strong cup of tea and an Iced Vovo biscuit after which, celebrations would cease and they would all get down to business.

What a fun guy.

Thus was ushered into being the genesis of what may well become known as The Age of The Insufferably Prissy Little Tool (T.A.T.I.P.L.T).

Over the subsequent few months, all manner of Insufferably Prissy Little Tools have been rattling their daisy-chains at all manner of perceived ills and evils that are, apparently, holding society and civilisation at ransom, threatening the very fabric of community and communal standards at large, not to mention the minds and precious bodily fluids of "the children".

Yes, "the children". Them again.

The "children" are getting drunk and something should be done. Their parents are spending far too much time playing poker machines and "working families", that is to say, people with children are suffering terribly for it. Something should be done. And lurking behind every link on every website that anyone, especially "the children", could conceivably click lurks a million-billion-billion images of child pornography, therefore, about the internet "something should be done". And anyone who disagrees with this view is, obviously, a pervert, according to Labor Senator Stephen Conroy, the new Minister for Broadband, Communications and the Digital Economy.

Moral panic is the new black. Moral panic about anything. Anything at all.

For example, this appeared on News.com.au April 2nd, 2008 ...

HAPPY snaps of Stephanie Rice partying have been deemed too raunchy for Swimming Australia, with all of the swimmers ordered to block public access to their Facebook profile pages. Swimming Australia media director Ian Hanson confirmed the organisation had taken the step in consultation with the Beijing-bound Dolphins team management.

"It's something we had counselled them on in the past two years to be careful of," he said.

"Some of the photos were somewhat distasteful and we thought it was best that they took a bit more care."

"Shock! Horror! Young Athletes Dress Up and Have A Party!!", the byline may as well read. Distasteful? Raunchy ... ? What?

This ... ?



I've seen more raunch in a K-Mart ad for discount lingerie.

Yet, not to be outdone in the Moral Panic-Family Values-Won't Somebody Think of The Children Obsessive Compulsive Disorders that currently afflict the plague of moral guardians that so infect the commonweal these days, along comes Fucking South Australian Liberal Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi and his recent call for a GOVERNMENT INQUIRY no less, into Gordon Fucking Ramsey's Fucking "Kitchen Nightmares", a fucking television program wherein Gordon Fucking Ramsey spends a good deal of time cursing his fucking head off at a bunch of fucking blockheads who think they can run a fucking restaurant when, in fucking fact, it becomes perfectly obvious during the course of the fucking program that said fucking blockheads couldn't run a fucking tap or a fucking lap around a fucking wading pool without a fucking book of illustrated instructions. Even then, they'd fucking fail if it weren't for Gordon Fucking Ramsey screaming at them, that, if they want to get anywhere near success in their ill-advised fucking ventures, it would be best if they’d pull their fucking heads from out of their fucking arses and wake up to their fucking selves.

According to the ABC report, Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi believes there’s a “need for Federal Parliament ... to discuss how to go about establishing just what is acceptable to the community when it comes to swearing on television.”

(It’s well worth remembering at this point that Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi is a member of that same political party who, during its term in office, advocated, implemented and defended the institutionalisation of child abuse in this country as an effective means of protecting our fair shores from so-called “illegals”, that is to say, refugees, so protestations from fucking little corn pones like Fucking Senator Fucking Bernardi about declines in community standards is nothing more than breathtakingly shameless fucking hypocrisy writ very fucking large indeed. Fucking arsehole.)

Unsurprisingly, Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi insists that he’s no fucking wowser in much the same manner as a racist will insist that he’s no fucking racist, he’s just got a bit of a fucking problem with all these fucking niggers who’ve been moving into the fucking neighborhood of late.

Mercifully, Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi has promised the inquiry will be quite fucking brief. Yet the whole idea of launching an inquiry into a Scottish chef’s use of the word “fuck” and it’s variations on a television program that one may freely choose to watch or avoid has got to be up there with Liberal Senator Concetta Fierravanti-Wells’ scrutiny of Kevin Rudd’s pets toilet habits for an exercise in anal retentive time-wasting.

As Marieke Hardy wrote in her excellent Age column on the matter ...

“Kitchen Nightmares is dirty, it's pacey and it's engaging. And if Cory Bernardi doesn't like it, he can simply fuck off and watch something else.”

Very fine fucking advice.

TRUANCY AS A VIRTUE

My published contribution to the letters page of The Sydney Morning Herald of April 3, 2008 in response to this hysterical twaddle ...

“As a former student of Narwee Boys High School during the 1970s, the same school Mr Iemma attended, I had occasion to play truant many times. This was my choice, not that of my parents, nor a reflection upon them. Fortunately, it appears to have had little impact on my subsequent life, having spent the last 30 years in responsible and respectable employment. Mr Iemma, however, wound up becoming a state Labor politician.”

AND NOW, THE GOOD NEWS ...

Girl, 5, thrown to death out of sixth-floor window ... Serial granny killer gets 759 years in jail ... Father drowns three children in bath ... Dead baby found in plane toilet ... 'Virgin hunter' denies murder pact ... Gay shooting: student's slaying sparks outcry ... Two teenagers on stab charges, girl critical ... Woman raped while train unpatrolled ... Woman 'launched flaming poo attack' ...

I'll lay odds that the "flaming poo attack" story gets all the traffic ... It's a wonderful world. Yes, indeedy-do, it is.

WHEN YOU’VE NOTHING TO REPORT, REPORT IT ANYWAY ...

From today’s Sydney Morning Herald ...

“Senator Obama is believed to have raised with Mr Rudd comments made by John Howard last year, where the former prime minister said that al-Qaeda chief Osama bin Laden would be praying for an Obama victory because it would help the militants win in Iraq.”

“Senator Obama is understood to have told Mr Rudd about his fond memories of Sydney.”

“Senator Obama is believed to have expressed a desire to be a partner of Australia on climate change and China.”

For fuck’s sake.

FLESH EATING MONSTERS STALK THE EARTH!!

"Geysers of blood, insinuating camera angles and an extremely playful editing style add to the mayhem, keeping us gasping in horror and laughing at the gleeful excesses on screen."

A review of "Planet Terror" by Rich Cline from Shadows on the Wall

I'm going to go hide in my room till it all blows over ...

THE MOST IMPORTANT NEWS STORY YOU’LL READ ALL YEAR!

Lindsay Lohan’s 67 year old grandmother was admitted to hospital after having driven her car into a tree.

The human race is doomed.

PAYING THE GAMES

My published contribution to today’s (March 26, 2008) Sydney Morning Herald letters page ...

"Human rights organisations have renewed demands that Coca-Cola, Visa, General Electric and other international companies explain their dealings with the Communist government as it prepares to host the Games", says your report of March 25th (Corporate sponsors fear Olympics backlash).

Explain their dealings? Well, here goes: The dealings are done because of money. Bucketloads of money. Hope that helps.

And, while I’m on the topic of “dancing to the tune”, so to speak, today’s feature presentation is “Dancing With Walruses” ... not starring Kevin Costner ...



Methinks this trainer has waaaaaaaay too much time on her hands.

ANDREW BOLT STAYS ON MESSAGE. AND ON. AND ON. AND ON.

Andrew Bolt is a hard-core conservative opinionist for Melbourne’s Herald-Sun newspaper. He appears regularly on the ABC’s “Insiders” programme and Channel Nine’s “Today”. On the Herald-Sun website, he runs a blog. No doubt about it, Mr. Bolt is a busy little fellow, and, in the fashion of a chap named Nigel, seems happy in his world ... wheee-ooo ...

Yet our world, that is to say, the real one in which we live, breathe and work is, according to Bolt, completely and utterly fucked. And he would like to educate us, enlighten us, if you will, as to the manner of its fucking and the identities of those devious individuals among us who seem so relentlessly focused on poking our bones with ratty abandon.

And so, on his blog and on any given day, Nig ... er, Andrew, will post up to, and often over, a dozen or so items on a variety of topics that do appear to rattle his mind in the manner of a marble rolling endlessly around a tin can. These topics can be boiled down to the following ...

High school teachers and university lecturers are polluting the minds of impressionable young people and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Films, music and video games are polluting the minds of impressionable young people and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Impressionable young people are polluting the minds of other impressionable young people and something should be done. It’s an outrage ...

( ... These, of course, all fall within the bounds of the Won’t Somebody Think Of The Children Syndrome, an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder most indicated among various members of the media who have taken it upon themselves to become Guardians Of The Public Moral. Somebody’s always thinking of the bloody children somewhere. How I wish that they would change their minds for a day or three, and give us all a fucking break ... perhaps they could think about cleaning the kitchen cupboards or fixing a fence instead ... Now, moving right along ... )

... The current Labor Prime Minister Kevin Rudd is a lying little shit and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

The current Labor Federal Treasurer Wayne Swan is a lying little shit and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Oh, the hell with it ... The entire Labor Federal government, their wives, children, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles and family pets are lying little shits and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

The former Liberal Prime Minister John Howard never told a lie in his life. Nor did he chop down a cherry tree. Anybody who says anything to the contrary is a lying little shit and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Anybody who ever voted for the Labor Party in any election at any time for any reason since the Party’s inception are Marxist-socialist, chardonnay swilling, latte sipping lunatics hell bent on destroying the world and everyone in it and something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Anybody who ever voted for the Liberal Party, and only for the Liberal Party at every available opportunity, should have their buttocks dipped in liquid gold to be kissed, caressed, worshipped and adored with duly appropriate reverence. God love them all.

Small, yappy, fluffy white dogs are threatening to destroy the fabric of society throughout the civilised world, and something should be done. It’s an outrage ... Actually, no, I just made that one up ... Moving right along ...

Climate change is bullshit, and we’re all being conned. Something should be done. It’s an outrage. And Aborigines make stuff up all the time, and we’re all being conned. Something should be done. It’s an outrage.

Then, there’s the Islamic thing. It’s an outrage, too. Something should be done.

And so on and so forth. Yes indeedy-do, Andrew Bolt does appear to spend the bulk of his waking life convinced that the entire world is rapidly going to hell in a handbasket and it’s all the fault of anyone and everyone who either holds an opinion or expresses a taste for anything whatsoever that differs in any way from his own.

He’s like a cross between Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh minus the tits and the fat.

His fans, however, are worse. Much worse. In fact, judging from the type of comments his blog attracts, day in, day out, item after item, one could arguably, but reasonably conclude that these people are completely unhinged; an endless parade of devoted and ideologically driven foot soldiers from the legions of the stupid forever pounding their stubby little digits into keyboards the country over in an infinitely fevered frenzy of hysterically illiterate rants and sweaty rambles that often amount to little more than the (allegedly) adult equivalent of “Nyah, nyah, nyah, your mum sucks dog’s dicks ... and you smell, too.”

Here’s just a few excerpts randomly thrown together from less than one days worth ...

Junkies are scum ... Shot yourself through the foot again there dopey ... What an idiot ... lip licking control freak ... homosexuality has and always will be a psycho-pathological illness ... stop pandering to the homo indoctrination and disinformation ... Tony Jones is an AWB conspiricy theory fanatic, obsessed global warming freak and Rudd lover ... Rudd moves further into Socialism and away from our Christian heritage he so despises ... that’s a fact so nice dig with your sickly and pastie faced jib ... Bill, what a perverse and twisted view of society you harbour ... little lackies sitting in the bleachers nodding like dogs on the dash ... That post is idiotic Roger ... Oh to be a Lefty, where logic and belief are permanent strangers ... you are just trying to compete with Dicky boy as to who can win the most inane post of the year award (this being the DICK head award), just being a tricky troll tony aren’t ya ... You can’t have it both ways,whiner ... Other than that the crap you speak is not even worth commenting on ... GWB has a weird sense of humour that humourless lefties haven’t the intellect to comprehend.

Inevitably, these comments are accompanied by a plethora of multiple exclamation and question marks, CAPITAL LETTER comebacks and “emoticons”, the latter being little cartoon representations of emotions and attitudes that have always filled me with a deep and irrational loathing of anyone who uses them. For heaven’s sake, if a person cannot make his or her meaning apparent with words and words alone and learn how to convey their meaning in a well constructed sentence or two without cartoon assistance, then perhaps they would be best advised to take up a course in shadow puppetry instead.

Thus there is little, if anything, that resembles informed discourse and argument on Andrew Bolt’s blog. He himself rarely intervenes in the debates that rage at every snippet posted, preferring, it would seem, to sit back and let the chooks feed as they may with crazed zombie abandon.

Yet, perhaps this is exactly the point of it all. An experiment. Its purpose, to provide a gathering place for those many members of the living dead to feast in so as to make safe the necks of saner folks. To throw a million stupid cats among a million stupid pigeons simply in order to observe, with awe and wonderment, but also a sense of cool clinical detachment, the genesis of a massive inter-species clusterfuck whilst boggling at the ear-splitting volume created from all that massed squawking and squealing.

As cruel and mindless entertainments go, it works a treat, though teasing the intellectually disabled so relentlessly might not go down too well with those sweet folks at SANE.

Andrew should keep that in mind.

P.S. Boltwatch regularly casts an eye over the madness.



From 1979, XTC “Making Plans for Nigel”

I AM WRITING A BOOK ...

No. I am not.

I am most definitely not writing a book. Nor am I writing a screenplay. And neither, most probably, are you.

It is a "book", and can only be considered a "book" when a "manuscript" has been submitted to a publisher, accepted for publication and a contract outlining the various terms and conditions that apply to it's publication drawn up and signed off by all relevant parties. It may also be considered a "book" if you wish to go down Matthew Reilly’s path and publish the manuscript yourself, flogging it from the boot of your car at a market or some such place where people gather on a regular basis to spend their money on various bits of stuff.

And it is a "screenplay" when it has been accepted for production by a producer or studio executive and you have been paid for it, or you've managed to scrape together a whole bunch of money from a whole bunch of people you currently regard as "friends" and filmed your "screenplay" yourself. Keep in mind though, that given the usual standard of independently financed films that are made in this fashion, your "friends" may well realise upon completion of your project that you have no more talent than there is intelligent life in the wet spot on the hotel room bed of a Motley Crue roadie.

And then they will bash you up.

Until such time as the above criteria are met, you are not doing any such thing as writing a "book" or a "screenplay". However, you are perfectly within your rights to inform people that you are spending some of your spare time typing at yourself.

WHO? OR, THE LINDSAY LOHAN EFFECT

“Lindsay Lohan”.

With Machiavellian stealth, insidious cunning and enviously artful guile, the name “Lindsay Lohan” did insinuate itself into my consciousness through gradual, barely noticeable steps by almost military-precision tactical maneuvering under the deepest cover of black, inky darkness ...

Who is this person? ... Should I know of her? ... Should I familiarise myself with her good works? ...

Hmmmmm ...

I have not seen “The Parent Trap” ... “Freaky Friday”? ... Not that I can remember ... “Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen”? ... Nup ... “Mean Girls”? YES! ... “Herbie Fully Loaded”? ... Nup ... “A Prairie Home Companion”? YES! That’s 2! ... “Just My Luck”? ... never heard of it ... “Bobby”? Woo-hoo! That’s 3! ... “Chapter 27”, “Georgia Rule” and “I Know Who Killed Me”? ... Nup, nup, nup.

I see. And for this Ms. Lohan is famous? Well, not really. She is, instead, famous for the following ...

1. She’s young.
2. She’s not bad-looking.
3. She likes to go to parties.
4. She drinks.
5. She takes drugs sometimes. Or, perhaps, a lot.
6. She likes rooting boys.
7. Her father’s a fuckwit.

Well, bugger me if that don’t beat all.

In this new dawn of pseudo-puritanical posturing, poncing about and one-size-fits-all hysterics from every half-assed hack and creative typist in the media who think it fit to provide a running commentary on the “life and times” of any starlet with a half-decent pair of tits who’s been seen looking a little blurry-eyed in a nightclub more than once, the continuous fuss over Lohan is up there with the best of it.

Now, I could not give a particular flying wombat’s bottled fart about Lindsay Lohan and this is by no means a defense on her behalf, as such a thing would be ridiculous to embark upon. But, at 22 years of age, most young women (and young men) who aren’t half bad-looking are out at parties; drinking a lot; taking drugs at times; and rooting like rabbits.

This is what people do when they are young enough to do it, and good luck to those who are.

Grace Kelly bedded pretty much every leading man she starred with. Ava Gardner had a mouth like a toilet and was extremely fond of Frank Sinatra’s cock. Lauren Bacall held her own with the Rat Pack, swigging it back with the best of them.

But, we are now in the time of “Juno”, a feel-good film about unplanned teenage pregnancy, for Christ’s sake. And “Knocked Up”, a feel-good film about unplanned adult pregnancy resulting from a one-night grapple with a silly fat dickhead. Which means, as Joe Queenan wrote in The Guardian, that we are in a time “... leading to a future so dark that women will look back on the decade that brought them The Runaway Bride, Notting Hill, My Best Friend's Wedding and My Big Fat Greek Wedding as a golden age.”

Thus, Lohan’s behaviour is an offense to the noble minders of the media whose job it is now to cast a squinty eye, point the finger, and purse their mouths disapprovingly over the exuberances of impetuous youth, judge them lacking in the appropriate standards of “morality” and “values” that are forever being tediously clucked about by the broody hens and chickens that increasingly stalk the halls of political and religious office, opinionists and “entertainment” reporters, and, finding their subjects lacking in these lofty ideals of Walton’s Mountain fantasia, cast them out, if not to send them back to their rooms without supper, then at least to demand they take a quick trip to rehab, repent, recant, and then devote the rest of their lives to be the natural successors to Mother fucking Teresa ...

(Fuck me dead, that sentence has 133 words in it. I really need to watch that.)

... What a brave and curious joy it would be to see a film about a woman who drinks, smokes, roots boys, gets knocked up, terminates the pregnancy and then goes on to win a million bucks and a Nobel Prize for curing cancer and live happily ever after by the seaside.

Nobel Prize notwithstanding, I reckon Lohan would be a shoo-in for the lead.



From 1978, Japan "Adolescent Sex"

DAVID MAMET & THE MOVIES

In his most recent book of essays "Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose, and Practice of the Movie Business", David Mamet ponders the curious world of showbusiness as he has come to know and understand it after many years of practice, experience, and, no doubt, disillusionment. Why does a film need eighteen or so "producers", he asks? What on earth do all these people actually do? The answer comes as no great surprise. Basically, they do bugger all, and they have done bugger all so well for so long that these "producers" find themselves entrusted by the studios and other money men with whom they are in league to continue doing bugger all at their leisure ... unless, of course, something bad happens, in which case the producer wasn't responsible as he or she didn't actually do anything.

This may explain the 1998 film "Godzilla" (1 producer, 2 co-producers, 3 executive producers and 2 co-executive producers ... the distinction between an executive and a co-executive eludes me as much as it may do Mamet ... There is also an "executive in charge of production, a "unit production manager", a "production secretary", a "production assistant", a "production co-ordinator" and so on and so forth. There are actually several of those last few, but I’ll be fucked if I’ll write "production" or "producer" one more time ... Oh. Oops).

In prose, Mamet's style can often be infuriatingly arch and formal. From God-only-knows where, the most obscure of words are untimely ripped and thrust together in sentences that can makes one's eyes glaze over in brain-rattling frustration, thus perhaps provoking in the reader a Mametian style response along the lines of, "Fuck you if you think I am going to move from this fucking spot and fuck about with some fucking dictionary ... Why don't you just say the thing? The fucking thing that is being said here?"

And yet despite this, he remains, as he has now for maybe the last 20 or so years, one of my favourite and most valued of writers. As is the great Gore Vidal, who has this to say, "Bambi vs. Godzilla is far and away the best commentary on how movies are made thus far written by an American . . . Citing everyone from Aristotle to Preston Sturges’s The Lady Eve, Mamet demonstrates what works and what doesn’t in a movie narrative, while noting what does not work, as we have been witnessing for the last decade or so: statistically, in 1958, Hollywood turned out 2,000 films which listed in their credits 230 producers, while in 2003 Hollywood produced 240 films with 1,200 producers listed ... Happily, Mamet keeps on in theater and film pretty much on his own terms, and now, with Bambi vs. Godzilla, like his great predecessor George Bernard Shaw, he can illuminate as a critic-practitioner the not-always-friendly Darwinian world he has been obliged to flourish in."

I mean, how can one not admire a man who can write lines like this from “The Heist” ...

Gene Hackman: Why doesn't he shoot me?
Rebecca Pidgeon: That's the deal.
Gene Hackman: He ain't gonna shoot me?
Rebecca Pidgeon: No.
Gene Hackman: Then he hadn't ought to point a gun at me. It's insincere.

The secret of a good film, Mamet writes, is to provoke the audience into always asking the question, "what happens next?". He loathes the tedious business of characterisation, exposition, backstory and authorial narrative, describing these facets of a screenplay as the written equivalent of HIV infection. For Mamet, there are three basics of storytelling that all good screenplays, and therefore, the good films that are made of them, should address - "Who wants what from whom?", "What happens if they don't get it?" and "Why now?". This is not the first time Mamet has pounded this particular pulpit in print, but it remains as relevant as always, if not more so in this era of Michael Bay and an endless, and endlessly insipid parade of “C.S.I.” franchises. (Plus, he likes the film "Galaxy Quest" and has an enthusiastic rave about actor Tony Curtis ... It's about time someone gave Curtis his due as an oftentimes great actor, and Mamet does exactly that, drawing specific attention to his superb performance as Albert DeSalvo in "The Boston Strangler”.)

In the book's section on The Screenplay, Mamet likens aspirants to this "art" to those green young things who regularly haul themselves eastward or westward in search of greater glories, only to find themselves stranded in a Greyhound bus depot, open for exploitation by the pimps and bottom feeders who trawl such places for fresh flesh to feast upon. "I'm young and stupid", Mamet writes of such aspirants, "Please abuse me."

“I’m young and stupid. Please abuse me” could very well serve as motto for every poor sap that’s ever had an urging to devote their life to securing employment, however tenuous, in any form of the creative arts, whether it be film, theatre, television, writing, visual arts or music. The passion for doing so has a bad habit of obscuring one’s common sense to the point of madness leading to naught but a life of financial deprivation. I’m reminded of a conversation I had with the lead singer of a Sydney band back in the 1980’s. With a record contract signed, a single and an album doing reasonably well and having gigged around every available shithole up and down the NSW coast for an innumerable of years, one afternoon he told me, “You know Ross, just once in my life I wish we were able to make enough money from doing this that buying a new pair of socks didn’t rate as a major financial expenditure”.

“I’m young and stupid. Please abuse me” should be printed on a t-shirt and handed out to anyone and everyone who has ever auditioned for a role they didn’t want, but went anyway just to appease their agent; to anyone who has ever been handed a record company contract or to anyone who has ever agreed to hand over 50% of their earnings to a gallery for a show up some side alley hole in the wall. Or, if not that, at least this book, along with 1992’s “On Directing Film” should be compulsory reading for anyone young and stupid enough to embark upon a career in “entertainment”.

Though I doubt very much that it would actually stop anyone from so doing, at least they’ll know what they’re in for.

P.S. From “The New Yorker”, John Lahr reviews Mamet’s latest play, “November”.



From 1965, The Mamas and the Papas “California Dreamin’”

BOXES OF TICKY-TACKY

My contribution to the letters page of today's Sydney Morning Herald ...

"A "state significant project" runs the caption to your artist's impression of the $51 Burwood development.

Significant in money terms it may well be, but to my eyes it still looks like a block of flats with some shops underneath. Woop-de-do."



From 1981, Siouxsie & The Banshees "Happy House"

BLACK SNAKE MOAN

The Pitch – “Down South, a black man finds an abused and discarded petite, young white girl suffering under some type of perpetual sexual conniption fit. To save her from a life of hellfire and purgatory, he chains the girl (clad only in her underwear) to a radiator and proceeds to play the blues.”

The Response to The Pitch – “Are you fucking insane? You want me to be picketed and protested against by every goddamn interest group in the fucking country? From the NAACP to ... to ... to women’s groups and ... and ... A black guy chains a ... a ... a white girl ... ? ... The fuck outta here!”

Nevertheless, Craig Brewer made his film, calling it “Black Snake Moan”. And, predictably, ...

“I'm sorry, but in the age of Abu Ghraib and Alberto Gonzales torture memos, it seems important to say it again: Chaining people and holding them against their will is not the right thing to do.” Dana Stevens at Slate

“His inversion of long-discredited stereotypes smacks unintentionally of nostalgia for faithful servants.” Richard Brody at The New Yorker

“A lurid exploitation flick that features long, loving sequences of Christina Ricci writhing around in her knickers, Black Snake Moan is Southern Gothic at its trailer-dwelling trashiest ... It’s so profoundly, mind-blowingly offensive that you almost have to admire the writer/director Craig Brewer’s nerve.” Wendy Ide at Times Online

“Maybe it's all meant to be funny, but the sight of Ricci's bruised and near-naked body (she's barely clothed for much of the film) didn't make me want to laugh. She howls like a banshee and writhes like the Devil himself is within her; what she never does is create a character, because there isn't one there.” Moira MacDonald at Seattle Times

“A feverish Christina Ricci in full B-movie mode, as itchy Tennessee nymphomaniac Rae. While it's impossible to know what drew her to such a demeaning role, it may have a little something to do with the attention any actress would get from writhing through a movie half-naked and chained at the waist, begging for a man's - but I digress.” Elizabeth Weitzman at New York Daily News

One of the problems I have with a vast number of film critics these days is that, inevitably, they will attempt to place the “entertainment” they have viewed into an ideological context, whether it be political or social in nature.

Drawing a link (so to speak) between this film and events in Iraq as Dana Stevens from Slate attempts to do is simply stupid. One is a war in which people devote their time to punching bullets into the heads of other people for reasons almost impossible to fathom (religion has something to do with it, apparently). The other is indeed a “lurid exploitation flick” for which we pay a number of dollars to sit in the dark and eat popcorn as we watch, after which we are free to leave (or indeed leave at any time during it’s duration if we so choose) and go home. “Black Snake Moan” is a fantasy, a fairy tale, a fable of sorts featuring characters who are no more “real” than Bugs Bunny “is” a rabbit.

As for stereotypes, Tennessee Williams had them in spades. And it never did him no harm, no ma’am.

And Christina Ricci, a fine and excellent actor, would have been very well aware after an initial reading of the script and subsequent meetings with the director that she would be required, for much of the movie’s length, to “writhe around in her knickers ... half naked and chained at the waist”, which seems to be a prominent point of complaint from many of the aforementioned reviewers. Yet that is precisely what she chose to agree to by taking on the role. Should she have waited for one of those other typically juicy and demanding parts that Tinseltown so often provides its female stars ... another wife maybe, another girlfriend, perhaps somebody’s mother ... all of them no doubt suppliant to favors from heroic men folk who, as per usual, will save the maiden from whatever evils threaten to engulf her so that she may live to cook another day?

Ricci tends not to play it safe in her choices ... witness her turn in “Monster” or her upcoming role in “Penelope” where she plays a woman born with the nose of a pig, so it should really come as no great surprise to anyone that she would challenge herself, and ourselves, by taking on a part such as that of Rae in this film. Additionally, many critics took time to register their shock and alarm at Ricci’s slight and undernourished appearance as Rae, yet, as she has pointed out, this was deliberate in order to make the character look unhealthy. Of course, such devotion is perfectly fine and admirable when Christian Bale or Robert de Niro do it, but heavens to betsy’s murgatroids that a woman undertake the same process sans prostheses or CGI ...

“Black Snake Moan” is indeed a “B” picture; and most definitely is it a lurid melodrama of sin, sex, sweat and southern Gothic exaggerations underscored by a, no doubt “stereotypical” blues soundtrack.

It’s also very finely made, acted and filmed and perfectly suited to an afternoon’s viewing curled up on the couch with a six-pack and a pizza. Or a pigfoot.



From 2007, “Black Snake Moan” (Trailer).

THE GOOD SENATOR FIERRAVANTI-WELLS ... A DEVOTED FOOTSOLDIER IN SERVICE TO THE LEGIONS OF THE STUPID

SENATE SCRUTINISES PM’S PET BEHAVIOUR

“The toilet habits of Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's pets have featured in the year's first round of Senate Estimate Hearings in Canberra.

Liberal Senator Concetta Fierravanti-Wells and her colleagues last night questioned what impact Mr Rudd's cat, Jasper, and his golden retriever, Abby, would have on the state of the lawns at the Lodge.

Special Minister of State Senator John Faulkner says the pets are well supervised. "Dogs do go outside for the odd toilet stop, as has been described," he told the Senate. "I can inform you, Senator Fierravanti-Wells, that Abby is free to go outside, but she generally only goes outside when she is accompanied by a member of the family or staff ... apart from a brief toilet trip."

Senator Faulkner said he was unaware of any ruling that staff were required to escort the animals outside.

"All I can tell you is that these are indoor pets that sometimes go outside," he said.”

Yes, Concetta ... indoor pets sometimes go outside, unless, of course, your indoor pet happens to be a goldfish. And bears shit in the woods and the Pope is a Catholic. Extraordinary, I know, and extraordinarily disturbing to boot, but what's a person to do?

What I just simply can't wrap my head around is that people actually pay this silly cunt for farting about with this type of rubbish and she no doubt labors under the illusion that it actually constitutes "work".



From 2007, Yeah Yeah Yeahs “Down Boy”

NOW THAT WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION ...

Browsing San Francisco’s Village Voice the other day, I came across this headline and could not but help click on it ...

CAN I SUE SOMEBODY FOR FISTING-INDUCED FIBROMYALGIA?

Q. Do you know any lawyers willing to take on a personal-injury suit concerning fisting-induced fibromyalgia? When I call local personal-injury lawyers here in Eugene, Oregon, they get all flustered. —Fisting Fallout

A."It is a little controversial whether fibromyalgia is a real disease at all or just a mysterious constellation of symptoms," says Dr. Barak Gaster, Savage Love's resident medical expert. "Most mainstream doctors accept it as real, but it's still in the slightly dubious category." Fibromyalgia's constellation of symptoms include fatigue, generalized pain, irritable bowel syndrome, headaches, and roughly 400 other complaints. But you fibromyalgia sufferers have arrived: There's a new drug on the market with a goofy name (Lyrica), an annoying ad campaign (courtesy of Pfizer), and its own constellation of possible side effects (hives, difficulty breathing, swelling of the tongue, dizziness, sleepiness, blurred vision, etc.). But fisting-induced fibromyalgia? Maybe skidmarkalgia can be induced by fisting, FF, but not fibromyalgia. "That would NOT be considered credible in any real way whatsoever," says Dr. Gaster. You may have fibromyalgia, FF, and you may have been fisted before your diagnosis, but there's no relationship, and no personal-injury lawyer is going to take your case.

Righto, then. That clears that up.



From 1980 “Cruising” Trailer

THE NOTORIOUS BETTIE PAGE

In 1996, Mary Harron directed “I Shot Andy Warhol”. Four years later, she directed one of the finest book to film adaptations yet seen in “American Psycho”. Five years after that (and a full seven years until its Australian cinema release last year), Harron gives us her feature for HBO, “The Notorious Bettie Page”. There you have it; 3 films in 12 years.

On the other hand, Michael Bay, during the same time span, has delivered 6 films – “The Rock”, “Armageddon”, “Pearl Harbor”, “Bad Boys II”, “The Island”, and last year, “Transformers”.

What is wrong with this picture? For, it seems to me, something is seriously awry in Hollywoodland when Harron, a writer-director of obvious intelligence, imagination, wit and talent as evidenced by her output to date can only get 3 films up in 12 years whereas Bay, whose work at best runs no deeper than a puddle of camel piss in a desert, can continue to have squillions of dollars thrown at him so that, every two or three years, he may make shit.

Oh, well. So it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut was wont to say, and say often. So it goes.

Unlike so many biopics of late, “The Notorious Bettie Page” does not outstay it’s welcome in length. It seeks to be neither hagiography or hatchet job as regards its subject, nor does it attempt to psychoanalyse in that twee fashion so beloved of the genre, that is to say, it does not ask “What dark matters of the soul did haunt Page so that she would do such things as she does?”.

She did such things because she could, and no harm was caused in the doing of them. Yet, we watch “The Notorious Bettie Page” fully expecting that, as has been traditional, the “naughty” girl will eventually be punished for her transgressions against the public morality of the time and she will be shown suffering mightily for her sins until, finally, the good burghers of the township relent their disapproval and offer the now humbled (read, humiliated) lass redemption. Happily, however, Harron resists this type of witless twaddle leaving the film, and the character of Page, at, not a moment of moral redemption, but a moment of choice, that choice fully entered into as a matter of the character’s free will.

And, while it is true (at least as far as the film itself implies) that Page had, in her earlier pre-fame life, endured certain horrors of abuse, she is never portrayed as victim. Instead, as directed by Harron and played by Gretchen Mol, she is a person who simply picks up and moves on with things and does so with a refreshing lack of tortured angst and introspection.

Mol is excellent in the title role, unselfconscious, simple and joyous, avoiding silly actor tricks like the temptation to layer her interpretation with “moments” of moody business that may “assist” an audience in a deeper understanding of the subject when no such thing is, or should ever be, required. And, Chris Bauer and Lili Taylor, as Irving and Paula Klaw (the brother and sister most responsible for Page’s infamy) are an engaging duo. The only false note, for me, was Jared Harris’s portrayal of fetish photographer John Willie. Harris appears to have settled on an impersonation (a very good one) of Peter O’Toole for his character, and while this must have been great fun to play (it’s fun to watch, too), I couldn’t help wondering why they just didn’t ask O’Toole to do it.

The soundtrack is also a treat in its own right, featuring tracks by Clifford Brown, Art Pepper, Charles Mingus and Julie London among others. Irritatingly, however, the region 4 DVD omits the commentary by Harron and Mol available to US viewers.

Here’s what some others had to say ...

Urban Cinefile (Australia) (Andrew L. Urban)

"Gretchen Mol is sensational as Bettie, a most contradictory character, yet one that rings true precisely because she is so self contradictory - at least at first glance. But Mol's performance is the more stunning because she makes it seem like a superficial reading - until we begin to recognise the absence of depth to Bettie is part of her being. A simple Southern girl is the perfect, trusting (too trusting, as the opening scenes underline) innocent who stumbles into the world of sexual deviation and hardly notices. Naïve with a capital N."

The New Yorker (David Denby)

"... This movie ... is lively and sweet-tempered and often funny. “Bettie Page” was produced by the enterprising HBO, and the filmmakers’ workup of the period is modest in scale but affectionately detailed: the black-and-white, fifties-New York night scenes have the noirish excitement of the Times Square episodes in “Sweet Smell of Success.” The urban jungle gives way to Miami Beach (where Bettie retreated now and then) as a wondrous paradise, with dazzling beach scenes that look like Technicolor and interiors in soothing pastels. It’s the American fifties as depicted in the movies of the time, in a visual style shaped by a fascination with the corrupt pleasures of the city and a yearning for clean-washed nature. In one way, however, Harron and her crew are realists. They have created a kind of comic archeology of postwar smut, and the exuberant, casually lousy aura of that world feels right ... some scenes that might have been borderline exploitation, or just corny—Mol purring at the camera, or romping in the woods with a pair of cheetahs—turn out to be ineffably beautiful. When Mol pulls off her clothes and goes starkers in the great outdoors, we get a burst of visual glory that provokes something less than lust but more than awe."

Salon (Stephanie Zacharek)

""The Notorious Bettie Page" -- which was written by Harron and Guinevere Turner, the writer, producer and star of the 1992 film "Go Fish" -- maps a landscape of joy and pleasure in the face of prudery and repression ... a true feminist movie, but one that avoids cant and facile theories about victimization. Harron and Turner find a great deal of friendly good humor in the Bettie Page story, and Harron has framed that story beautifully ... Mol ... plays Bettie's lack of self-consciousness with the kind of boldness that you rarely see in young actresses these days. In a world where many actresses still won't do a sex scene without the protection of an artfully draped sheet, Mol holds nothing back, emotionally or physically."



From 2007, Trailer for "The Notorious Bettie Page"