After all the restrictions and closures that turned last year on its head, it's safe to say you're probably itching for some live music right about now. And the folks behind the long-running Brunswick Music Festival are more than happy to provide. Yep — the much-loved northside event is back for a tune-filled 2021 edition, taking over a swag of Brunswick's music venues, bars, pubs and parks. The festival is has embraced a brand-new ten-day format with a stacked program of artists performing from, Friday, March 5–Sunday, March 14. And the best part for your post-lockdown wallet? None of the tickets on offer will cost you anything more than a tenner (plus booking fee), with plenty of them completely free. Much of the magic will be happening at Brunswick Music Festival's new openair venue at Gilpin Park, with local acts like DJ JNETT, East Brunswick All Girls Choir, Loose Tooth, Good Morning and Kee'ahn will take the stage. Thanks to collaborations with curators including Bad Apples, Flightless Records and Port Fairy Folk Festival, you'll also enjoy sounds from renowned artists like Cash Savage and The Last Drinks, Emma Donovan and The Putbacks, singer-songwriter Alice Skye and Mo'Ju at the new site. Meanwhile, emerging artists Pinch Points join indie-pop act Tender Buttons for a special show at Brunswick Library, and Howler fires up the speakers for a trio of album launches that promise to get you moving. And, as always, some of the suburb's favourite bars and pubs are transforming into live music venues for the duration of the festival. The Venues 3056 program features an expansive lineup of gigs at haunts like The Edinburgh Castle Hotel, The B. East, urban winery Noisy Ritual, Brunswick Ballroom, The Retreat Hotel and many more. [caption id="attachment_802253" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Brunswick Ballroom by Nicole Cleary[/caption] Top image: Brunswick Music Festival by Joshua Braybrook
It happened when home video arrived, when streaming became prevalent and, over the past year, when public life shut down during the pandemic. Yes, the death of cinema-going has been predicted again and again — but film lovers will always feel the yearning to see a movie on a big screen in a room filled with fellow cinephiles. For Melburnians who fancy doing just that and seeing the latest and greatest in LGBTQIA+, the city's annual queer film festival is back with its first in-cinema program in 12 months. You might remember that MQFF was actually underway in 2020 when lockdowns hit, and then held an online event later in the year. From Thursday, March 11–Sunday, March 21, the Melbourne Queer Film Festival will hit up Village Cinemas Jam Factory, Cinema Nova and the Village Cinemas Coburg Drive-In for MQFF Together, its 2021 fest. Head along, and you'll be able to catch a lineup of 64 movies that haven't sat in your streaming queue lately. That means you'll want to put the remote down, farewell your couch and get ready to smell that familiar popcorn scent. On the bill: Supernova, a touching queer drama starring Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci as a longterm couple navigating significant health woes; The World to Come, a frontier romance featuring Katherine Waterston (The Third Day) and Vanessa Kirby (Pieces of a Woman). The festival takes place in autumn, but you can pretend otherwise with moving French feature Summer of 85 and rural-set Aussie effort My First Summer. Plus, Rebel Dykes explores lesbian punk music, while PS Burn this Letter Please looks back at New York City's drag scene in the 50s. And, bookending MQFF Together are to notable titles, if you're keen to start and end your viewing in a big way. Irish rom-com Dating Amber takes pride of place on opening night, and takes viewers back to high school in the 90s. As for closing night, it too will combine romance and comedy thanks to Breaking Fast. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SEoi8r1Z4Y
All of the kitchen staples, none of the excessive packaging: that's what's on offer at Mount Zero Olives' returning Zero Waste Warehouse Market. MZO is teaming up with a stack of small businesses for another event dedicated to encouraging sustainable consumption, where you can shop a range of products without unnecessary plastic. Plus, for the extra organised shoppers among you, there'll be lots of products available to buy in bulk. It's all going down from 9am–2pm on Saturday, October 29, at MZO's Sunshine West HQ. As the name suggests, you'll need to bring your own reusable containers with you to carry your haul. Bags, bottles, jars, buckets with lids — if you can put food in it, seal it and take it all home with you, it counts. Here's what you'll be buying and stuffing into those containers: Mount Zero Olives' olives, of course, plus olive oils, pulses and grains. You can also nab some of Koji & Co's miso and shio koji pastes, Akimbo Bakery's slow fermented natural sourdough, loose-leaf teas from Common Garden Health, low-intervention wines courtesy of Noisy Ritual and ethical beans from Market Lane. The latter will be pouring complimentary filter coffee to caffeinate your morning's shopping adventures. Koji & Co will also be running a hands-on Introduction to Miso and Koji workshop, for those keen to learn more about fermented foods and nab some new recipes for home. Tickets to the class are $30, available online. [caption id="attachment_875156" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Akimbo Bakery[/caption]
Every couple has in-jokes, a valuable currency in all relationships, but only Jenny Slate and Dean Fleischer-Camp have turned a cute private gag into Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. The Parks and Recreation actor and the Fraud director are no longer together romantically, marrying and divorcing in the 13 years since they first gave the world the cutest talking shell anyone could've imagined; however, they've now reteamed professionally for an adorable film based on their 2010, 2011 and 2014 shorts. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On also gave rise to two best-selling children's picture books, unsurprisingly, following a familiar internet-stardom path from online sensation to print and now the big screen. Neither Slate and Fleischer-Camp's faded love nor their joint project's history are ignored by their footwear-sporting seashell's cinematic debut, either; in fact, acknowledging both, whether subtly or overtly, is one of the things that makes this sweet, endearing, happily silly, often hilarious and deeply insightful movie such an all-round gem. That inside jest? A voice put on by Slate, which became the one-inch-high anthropomorphic Marcel's charming vocals. In Marcel the Shell with Shoes On's initial mockumentary clips, the tiny critter chats to an unseen filmmaker chronicling his life, with earnestness dripping from every word. ("My name is Marcel and I'm partially a shell, as you can see on my body, but I also have shoes and a face. So I like that about myself, and I like myself and I have a lot of other great qualities as well," he advises in his self-introduction.) The same approach, tone and voice sits at the heart of Marcel the Shell with Shoes On's feature-length leap, of course, but so does a touching meditation upon loss, change and valuing what's truly important. Fleischer-Camp plays the movie's documentarian, mostly off-camera, who meets Marcel and his grandmother (voiced by Isabella Rossellini, Julia) after moving into an Airbnb following a relationship breakup — and, yes, their work together becomes a viral phenomenon. With Fleischer-Camp directing IRL, plus co-penning the warmhearted script with Slate and Nick Paley (who has helmed episodes of Broad City and Inside Amy Schumer), Marcel the Shell with Shoes On spends its opening third initiating viewers into its namesake's world. Clever sight gags abound — inventive uses of everyday objects, too, with honey helping Marcel walk on walls, sneakers (not Marcel's) forming part of ziplines and a tennis ball repurposed as a mollusk-appropriate car. As rendered with a combination of stop-motion animation and live-action, the film's central setting is a delight of details, and each item that's essential to Marcel and Nanna Connie's lives says plenty about them. Theirs is a modest but resourceful and curious existence, and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On's production design screams its love for that combination even when no one is speaking. Here, the movie's main figure plays tour guide, as he did in the shorts, outlining how everything operates. Dean records and asks questions, paying Marcel more attention than any of the abode's previous guests ever have. But melancholy underscores the shell's every response, with Marcel and the ageing Connie missing the rest of their family thanks to their home's owners' (Undone's Rosa Salazar and Halloween Kills' Thomas Mann) own split (aka the reason the house is an Airbnb to begin with, bringing Dean to their door). From there, Marcel the Shell with Shoes On sends its characters, human and talking, walking, kicks-adorned shells alike, on a quest to reunite Marcel and Connie with their lost relatives. That's the narrative arc, but Fleischer-Camp, Slate and Paley also keenly understand the need to accept the ebbs and flows that simply living brings everyone's way, even as their film scurries in eager search of a happy ending. The delights are in the details everywhere that Marcel the Shell with Shoes On looks, including in its slicker but still low-key visuals. A handcrafted appearance, from Marcel's single googly eye through to cinematographers Eric Adkins (SpongeBob SquarePants) and Bianca Cline's (Belly of the Beast) keen use of perspective, couldn't be more crucial to the movie's cosy allure — and those careful and caring images do feel lived-in. This is a movie about coping with seismic shifts to one's comfortable status quo, too, so the snug, homely sheen assists in communicating why Marcel isn't so fond of change. He wants to see his family again. He's interested in the world around him. He's set in his busy daily routine. And he's worried about the ailing Nanna Connie, who tends to her window garden, adores the US version of 60 Minutes and its veteran host Lesley Stahl, and has an accent explained by being from the distant location that is the garage. Marcel really just wants what we all yearn for, though: happiness we've known and lost. Ensuring that family-friendly animation is genuinely adult-friendly is a rarer skill than it might seem; just because all-ages-courting flicks reach screens with frequency, that doesn't mean they all keep both older and younger viewers equally engaged. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On has the kid-centric cuteness down pat inherently — just look at Marcel, as millions have since those first shorts — but its mature and layered storyline is just as much of a wonder for everyone else. While the picture's midsection savvily and amusingly skewers internet attention, aka the type that's followed this seashell for more than a decade (and Slate's career as well), getting the room to create something this thoughtful out of a viral hit is one of its spoils in this specific instance. Slate and Fleischer-Camp have channelled their inner Marcel, clearly, making the most of the situation and its ups and downs — and making a soul-refreshing marvel. Don't be suspicious: an online-famous critter that sprang from an in-joke about a funny voice has indeed sparked this sincere and soothing — and impressively, intelligently meta — film. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On's achievements are many, including offering a far cheerier alternative to Barbarian when it comes to folks unexpectedly sharing the same Airbnb, but its biggest might be its deceptive simplicity. Yes, it's a movie about a chattering shell dressed in footwear. Yes, it knows what worked in Marcel's early screen appearances and doesn't shy away from it. Fleshing all of that out to feature length proves just like putting your ear up to a seashell here: you can see and hear the world in this delicate, tender and disarmingly beautiful film. You can also listen to the iconic and inimitable Rossellini serve up a rich, smooth and enchanting vocal effort with an impeccable sense of comic timing, which is exactly the kind of treat that Marcel would want everyone to revel in.
In reality, cantankerous curmudgeons don't routinely possess hearts of gold. Genuine intentions don't always gleam behind petty folks with grudges spouting insults, either. Movies like A Man Called Otto keep claiming otherwise, though, because cinema is an empathy machine — and placing viewers in the shoes of characters different to them, whether in background, behaviour, situation or temperament, remains key among its functions. Tom Hanks, the silver screen's beloved everyman of more than four decades, knows this. Veteran filmmaker Marc Forster does as well. After getting villainous in Elvis and sweet with Christopher Robin, respectively, the actor and director join forces for a feature advocating for understanding, kindness and acceptance. Behind that cranky nitpicker, local annoyance or rude aggressor might just lurk a story worth appreciating and a person worth knowing, it sentimentally posits. This Americanisation of A Man Called Ove, Fredrik Backman's Swedish 2012 novel that first hit the screen in its native language in 2015, did indeed come about exactly as expected. Hanks and his wife Rita Wilson saw the Oscar-nominated OG movie, contacted its producer Fredrik Wikström Nicastro (Borg vs McEnroe), then went about making a US-set, Hanks-starring iteration. Wilson is now also one of A Man Called Otto's producers. Truman Hanks, Tom's youngest son with Wilson, co-stars as the young Otto (nabbing just his second on-screen credit after popping up in his dad's News of the World). This flick's smooth path to cinemas and the easy family ties behind it speak volumes about the film that results; despite focusing on a man repeatedly trying to take his own life, attempts at which are constantly interrupted by his rule-breaking neighbours, openly and breezily warming hearts and pleasing crowds is this remake's aim. Misanthropic and embittered beyond even the internet's most pointless keyboard warriors, Otto hasn't met a scenario he can't sour with his resentment and sometimes downright cruelty. Cue arguing with hardware store workers about being charged for too much rope, yelling about dogs urinating on his lawn, denigrating walkers for their exercise attire, snapping at his forced retirement party, gruffly spouting property bylaws in his gated townhouse community and getting short with a stray cat. Hence the struggle to make his exit, too, because there's always someone or something to scold. Soon, that spans the pregnant Marisol (Mariana Treviño, Narcos: Mexico) and her husband Tommy (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, The Lincoln Lawyer), who move in across the road with their kids Abbie (Alessandra Perez, To Leslie) and Luna (Christiana Montoya, The Guilty). Otto starts shouting at Marisol and her family about poor parking skills, but she isn't just willing to grin and bear his persnicketiness or bad temper. A film that rebukes nastiness instead of justifying it with a sob story, this isn't, however. It can't be. Since A Man Called Otto is a star vehicle for Hanks, its namesake is instantly destined to become likeable well before the end credits roll. That transition is true to the Swedish source material, but it feels unearned here. Specifically, it plays like casting doing too much heavy lifting, because an adored, usually affable, reluctant-to-be-disagreeable actor is going to turn out that way, as he frequently does, in this kind of uncomplicated affair. It's also a missed opportunity to make a statement about unpleasant people who are jerks for the sake of it, but that isn't the tale that Backman wrote, Swedish filmmaker Hannes Holm (Ted — Show Me Love) initially adapted and screenwriter David Magee (Lady Chatterley's Lover) reuses. Accordingly, Otto joins the ranks of surly and churlish on-screen men made that way by trauma (a dead wife in this case, played in flashbacks by Tokyo Vice's Rachel Keller, plus the isolation and loneliness he's been plagued with since her recent passing). Also, he's someone that everyone else can see goodness shining within even when he's at his worst. In other words, he's a scowling bag of cliches, which the movie endeavours to give depth via Hanks and Treviño. A Man Called Otto's best touch isn't pretending to get its high-profile lead playing against type, an approach that persuades no one. As a result, it isn't Hanks' committed but largely implausible efforts, either. Rather, it's ensuring that the charismatic Marisol is so convincing in her optimism, reluctance to let her crotchety neighbour bring her down and willingness to help anyone she can — selling why she, and anyone, would, could and should invest time and patience in Otto. When a feature needs a good-natured supporting character to make its audience care about its hostile protagonist, that isn't a great sign. With A Man Called Otto, this can't have been the desired outcome — just a matter of expecting Hanks to do what Hanks does, his charm kicking in regardless of what's around him. Worse movies have made that bet before, even if the actor's resume is filled with far more highs than lows. Forster's picture almost goes all in, Treviño's canny portrayal aside, given how by-the-numbers it proves in most of its choices (including workmanlike cinematography by Christopher Robin's Matthias Koenigswieser and an emotion-signposting score by Operation Mincemeat's Thomas Newman). There's being easygoing and then there's just ticking the straightforward, unchallenging and plainest-to-see boxes, with the director behind everything from Monster's Ball, Finding Neverland and Stranger Than Fiction to The Kite Runner, Quantum of Solace and World War Z clearly going for the former and achieving the latter. If the entirety of A Man Called Otto was as textured and luminous as Treviño's performance, viewers would've been gifted a better and less cloying film. That would've meant beefing up or ditching other plot points that happily skew broad and thin, and play like padding, such as rallying against exploitative corporations, turning Otto into a social-media star, using his fastidiousness to save the day, navigating multiple health conditions and serving up supposedly out-of-character nice deeds. And, it would've required giving gravity to Otto's recurrent suicide attempts, rather than being content with unamusing awkwardness. Also, it'd mean actually being funny, darkly, lightly, Curb Your Enthusiasm-style or otherwise. That said, the heartstring-pulling still works whenever Marisol is involved. A version of this tale from the scene-stealing Latin American character's perspective, unpacking issues of gender and race that this flick doesn't touch? That would've been refreshing, and might've also truly been loveable.
Films about humanity's affinity with animals are films about our ties to the natural world — and doesn't Blueback splash that truth around. Plunging from The Dry into the wet, writer/director Robert Connolly reteams with Eric Bana for another page-to-screen adaptation of a homegrown book; this is another movie inseparable from its landscape, too, again exploring the impact people have upon it. This time, however, Bana isn't the star. He's memorable as larrikin abalone diver and fisherman 'Mad' Macka, and this Tim Winton-based feature would've benefited from more of his presence, but the Dirty John actor is firmly in supporting mode. Set against the enticing Western Australian coast as the author's work tends to be, this is a picture about the sea's thrall, existential importance and inherent sense of connection — as filtered through the bond between a girl and a wild blue groper, plus the evolving relationship between that same child and her eco-warrior mother. Mia Wasikowska (Bergman Island) plays Blueback's fish-befriending protagonist as an adult, with the text's Abel becoming Abby here. Radha Mitchell (Girl at the Window) shares the screen as Dora, her widowed mother, early in the film's year-hopping timeline. Still, in their second of three movies in succession — arriving before upcoming The Dry sequel Force of Nature — Connolly and Bana dip back into familiar territory. Obvious swaps are evident, including a beachside rather than a farming community, and atrocities against the planet and its wildlife instead of crimes against people, but it's easy to see Blueback's appeal as a reunion project. Among the key differences as Abby and Dora fight to save their town and its aquatic treasures, still battling wrongs to strive for what's right: this is an overtly and eagerly family-friendly affair. When Blueback introduces Abby, she's a marine biologist trying to stop the earth's coral reefs from being destroyed. Then comes a call from home about her mum. In Longboat Bay, Dora (played in her elder years by Liz Alexander, Clickbait) has suffered a stroke — and, in a too-neat move, that medical situation is used to inspire Abby's memories of why she chose her line of work in the first place. While Winton's novella initially hit shelves in 1997, justifying someone caring for the environment is a very 2020s touch. Being concerned about the planet doesn't require an origin story for a second, but they're the tales that flicker across screens in droves of late. Not all heroes wear capes, yet movies about valiant deeds and worthy attitudes keep feeling obliged to couch them in such terms. Wasikowska is sincere and affecting as the older Abby, her performance bathed in equal parts melancholy and determination, but Blueback's best sequences don't always involve the Judy & Punch and Crimson Peak talent. Connolly has cast his three versions of Abby well; taking on the character as a pre-teen and then a high schooler, and conveying resolve buoyed by curiosity and youthful hope in the process, Wolf Like Me's Ariel Donoghue and screen debutant Ilsa Fogg are each commanding and compelling. The biggest scene-stealers? The intricate mechanised puppetry by Creature Technology Company, which brings the movie's namesake to life, plus Rick Rifici's (Facing Monsters) wondrous underwater cinematography. Indeed, Blueback's lack of subtlety about Dora's health is so unnecessary because the film's strikingly shot and staged moments between a kid and a mesmerising fish communicate everything that needs saying anyway, and genuinely make the audience feel as Abby feels. Having read Winton's book over the past quarter-century isn't a prerequisite for knowing how Abby and Blueback's connection flows. Although this is just the latest movie sparked by the writer's prose — see also: Dirt Music, Breath and anthology The Turning in the past decade alone, the latter of which Connolly produced and Wasikowska directed a segment of — spying Winton's usual love of water, the WA coast, the environment and coming-of-age tales isn't, either. The author's regular hallmarks float through Blueback, but a child forging a sense of fellowship with another critter, loving their domain and discovering themselves along the way is its trusty anchor. Cinema in general, and Australian cinema specifically, is so fond of this storyline that the resulting flicks are practically their own genre. Where the two versions of Storm Boy, the Red Dog pictures and Oddball have all paddled before, this feature now swims (with ripples of overseas efforts Free Willy and Pete's Dragon as well). On a varied resume that spans The Bank, Balibo, and TV shows The Slap and Barracuda, too, Connolly also helmed Paper Planes. Consequently, as that film illustrated with its underdog chronicle about mastering a new skill in the pursuit of childhood glory, he knows a thing or two about working with well-worn all-ages formulas that've been sweeping over screens for generations. As glaringly as the sun bouncing off a glistening expanse of blue as far as the eye can see, oh-so-much about Blueback fits an easy template. Chief among them: the conflict between the younger Dora and shady developer Costello (Erik Thomson, How to Please a Woman), who wants to snap up the land that Abby's family's shack stands on, reshape the shoreline to the detriment of its marine life and make a bundle, all with help from nefarious spearfishers. Thankfully, there's also an ocean's worth of heart beating within Connolly's current release, especially whenever the titular creature makes an enchanting appearance. An unflinchingly earnest movie about valuing the natural world and stopping its decimation, as told with visual splendour that helps make its point through spectacular below-the-sea imagery, yet struggling with nuance: yes, add Avatar: The Way of Water to the lengthy list of films that Blueback recalls. This Aussie feature premiered on the festival circuit before James Cameron's 13-years-in-the-making blockbuster, though. It's also a quieter and more tender experience. Nonetheless, while scenic lensing by Nude Tuesday's Andrew Commis catches the eye on dry land as well, Blueback similarly gets caught adrift above the tide. Blunt eco-focused flicks aren't going anywhere, however, and nor should they. As Dora and Abby do for their patch of sand, friendly groper and the blue rock we all call home, this movie is campaigning — broadly, simplistically yet still engagingly, and as a fable for viewers young and old alike.
The Polish Festival is making its return this weekend at Federation Square spotlighting Polish entertainment, hospitality and cuisine. Among the many vendors involved this year is Pierogi Pierogi, which you'll find nestled behind Transport Bar on Princes Walk. "Our whole year revolves around getting to Polish Festival, seeing all our friends and showing Melbourne how good our pierogi tastes. One year we had two security guards keeping the line in check because it was so crazy!" Pierogi Pierogi co-owner Dominika Sikorska says. Guests can choose from an array of delectable Polish dumplings at the food fest, including flavours like Ruskie (creamy potato and white cheese), Kapusta (mushroom and sauerkraut), Mieso (organic beef and vegetable), and the special-edition Kielbasa (smoked sausage, melted cheese and mustard). All variations are served with sour cream, crispy fried onion, bacon and onion jam, or dill. Vegan sour cream is available for the green-eaters among us. The Polish Festival will run from 11am—5pm on Saturday, November 12. Check out the official page for more information. [caption id="attachment_877175" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Pierogi Pierogi - Supplied[/caption] Top image: Pierogi Pierogi — supplied
Taking your pet to get a family portrait with Santa is such a thing now. Dress the little one up as a reindeer or give them their own cute festive jumper for the day. Then use the photos for your next Christmas card, stick them on the fridge and post a few on Instagram, to share the cuteness of your four-legged friend with as many people as you can. And to help festive dog parents get their seasonal snaps, View Melbourne is hosting a Santa Paws event where you can get free pictures of your dog with Santa Claus. Head down on Wednesday, December 14 to get your 2022 Christmas family portrait sorted. Rather than the usual shopping mall vibe where these sorts of pics are usually taken, this photoshoot is happening at the hotels' beer garden Hop Garden, so you can hang out with people who are just as obsessed with their pooch as you are with yours – enjoying a craft beer or local wine with a plate of spicy wings as your pup makes some new friends. This is a free event, but booking is essential. You'll also need to provide an email address so you can receive a digital version of your paw-fect image. Santa Paws will take place on Wednesday, December 14 at View Melbourne's Hop Garden. Find out more and book your free pet portrait here.
When it comes to originality, place Violent Night on cinema's naughty list: Die Hard meets Home Alone meets Bad Santa meets The Christmas Chronicles in this grab-bag action-comedy, meets Stranger Things favourite David Harbour donning the red suit (leather here, still fur-trimmed) and doing a John Wick impression. The film's beer-swigging, sledgehammer-swinging version of Saint Nick has a magic sack that contains the right presents for the right person each time he reaches into it, and screenwriters Pat Casey and Josh Miller must've felt that way themselves while piecing together their script. Pilfering from the festive canon, and from celluloid history in general, happens heartily and often in this Yuletide effort. Co-scribes on Sonic the Hedgehog and its sequel, the pair are clearly experienced in the movie version of regifting. And while they haven't solely wrapped up lumps of coal in their latest effort, Violent Night's true presents are few and far between. The main gift, in the gruff-but-charming mode that's worked such a treat on Stranger Things and in Black Widow, is Harbour. It's easy to see how Violent Night's formula — not to mention its raiding of the Christmas and action genres for parts — got the tick of approval with his casting. He's visibly having a blast, too, from the moment his version of Santa is introduced downing drinks in a British bar, bellyaching about the lack of festive spirit in kids today, thinking about packing it all in and then spewing actual vomit to go with his apathy (and urine) from the side of his midair sleigh. Whenever Harbour isn't in the frame, which occurs more often than it should, Violent Night is a far worse picture. When you're shopping for the season, you have to commit to your present purchases, but this film can't always decide if it wants to be salty or sweet. Harbour's Kris Kringle: saltier than a tub of beer nuts. Still, after his sloshed pub stint, he keeps grumpily doing his job, because Christmas Eve isn't really the time to quit. Then, at the Lightstone abode, aka "the most secure private residence in the country" as viewers are told, more booze and a massage chair calls him — and that butt-vibrating rest sees him unwittingly caught up in an attack on the property. As wealthy matriarch Gertrude (Beverly D'Angelo, Shooter) lords over her adult children and their families, mercenaries storm in with their sights set on the mansion's vault. What the self-described Scrooge (John Leguizamo, The Menu) and his interchangeable colleagues aren't counting on, of course, is a formidable Father Christmas skulking around. He's trying to get away more than initially save the day, but he'll happily dispense season's beatings to do both. Just as the John Wick films, then Atomic Blonde, then Nobody all knew — Bullet Train director David Leitch has either helmed or produced them all, doing the latter with Violent Night — there's visual poetry and visceral thrills to be found when someone super-competent at holding their own dispenses with nefarious foes. That's the case even when they're battling scenery-chewing, "bah humbug"!-spouting, Hans Gruber-wannabe antagonists like Scrooge, plus his flimsier henchmen. As that's happening, and frequently, Violent Night ticks off many a movie's wishlist, but that's only part of the premise here. Those Lightstone offspring include Jason (Alex Hassell, Cowboy Bebop), who has his ex Linda (Alexis Louder, The Terminal List) and seven-year-old daughter Trudy (Leah Brady, The Umbrella Academy) in tow, and wants this Christmas jaunt to be a permanent reunion. That's a layer of drama Violent Night doesn't need, adding nothing but filler, just like Jason's sister Alva's (Edi Patterson, The Righteous Gemstones) Succession-esque clamouring for the family company. There's usually never a bad time to eat the rich, but Violent Night's efforts are a half-chomp at best — the gun-toting crew of intruders trying to rip off millions of dollars are always the real bad guys, after all. Casey and Miller haven't penned a movie with much in the way of depth, and attempting to pretend otherwise proves as clunky as it sounds. The saccharine side that Trudy's presence brings is similarly just a way to take up time; Bad Santa's bad Santa has a pint-sized offsider, which means this flick's does as well, apparently. Trudy has also just watched Home Alone and screams about it (yes, the nods are that blatant). The sizeable scene that puts her fandom to good use, nails, bowling balls, sabotaged ladder rungs and all, is among Violent Night's most entertaining, though. The film knows how to make its familiar parts gleam when it wants to, but that isn't often enough. Director Tommy Wirkola must've been a simple hire for the job, however, thanks to Dead Snow and its sequel, plus Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters. The filmmaker has stuffed his stocking with high-concept this-meets-that flicks, the exact type of movie that Violent Night is from go to whoa to ho-ho-ho. Unsurprisingly, he fares best when his picture is letting loose and living up to its enticing idea, complete with kinetic fight choreography, blood and gory deaths, and everything from icicles to lit-up star tree-toppers used as weapons. In pure action terms, there's an around-the-world sleigh ride's worth of mileage in a literally killer Santa Claus turning slasher not in a horror-flick fashion (despite its many borrowings from elsewhere, this isn't a Silent Night Deadly Night do-over), but to play hero. Comedy isn't Wirkola's strength, or the feature's — see: the laboured attempts at laughs around Alva's actor spouse Morgan (Cam Gigandet, Without Remorse) and aspiring-influencer son Bert (Alexander Elliot, The Hardy Boys) — which is why all those nods to Gremlins, The Ref, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and more land with the hollow thud of an empty box. Holiday schmaltz and reminders that there's more to the festive season than material aren't highlights either, and Casey and Miller haven't stretched themselves in trying to come up with either amusing or heartfelt dialogue. Even with a The Northman-style backstory part of Violent Night's take on the jolly man, that leaves Harbour with a heap of heavy lifting in the film's first two thirds. He's up to the task — again, it's an ace premise with ace lead casting — but he's never walking audiences through an ultra-violent Christmas movie wonderland.
When Léo (debutant Eden Dambrine) and Rémi (fellow first-timer Gustav De Waele) dash the carefree dash of youth in Close's early moments, rushing from a dark bunker out into the sunshine — from rocks and forest to a bloom-filled field ablaze with colour, too — this immediately evocative Belgian drama runs joyously with them. Girl writer/director Lukas Dhont starts his sophomore feature with a tremendous moment, one that's arresting to look at and to experience. The petals pop; the camera tracks, rushes and flies; the two 13-year-olds are as exuberant and at ease as they're ever likely to be in their lives. They're sprinting because they're happy and playing, and because summer in their village — and on Léo's parents' flower farm — is theirs for the revelling in. They don't and can't realise it because no kid does, but they're also bolting from the bliss that is their visibly contented childhood to the tussles and emotions of being a teenager. Close's title does indeed apply to its two main figures; when it comes to adolescent friendships, they couldn't be tighter. As expressed in revelatory performances by Dambrine and De Waele, each of whom are genuine acting discoveries — Dhont spotted the former on a train from Antwerp to Ghent — these boys have an innocent intimate affinity closer than blood. They're euphoric with and in each other's company, and the feature plays like that's how it has always been between the two. They've also never queried or overthought what their connection means. Before high school commences, Close shows the slumber parties, and the shared hopes and dreams. It sits in on family dinners, demonstrating the ease with which each is a part of the other's broader lives amid both sets of mums and dads; Léo's are Nathalie (Léa Drucker, Custody) and Yves (Marc Weiss, Esprits de famille), Rémi's are Sophie (Émilie Dequenne, An Ordinary Man) and Peter (Kevin Janssens, Two Summers). The film adores their rapport like a summer day adores the breeze, and conveys it meticulously and movingly. To watch this 2023 Best International Feature Film Oscar-nominee, 2022 Cannes Film Festival Grand Jury Prize-winner and recipient of Sydney Film Festival's top 2022 gong is to feel, to an extent that cinema only rarely manages. In fact, Léo and Rémi's camaraderie is that vibrantly depicted, and performed with portrayals that naturalistic and unaffected, that it's three things simultaneously here: a once-in-a-lifetime marvel, as innate as the act of growing up, and instantly relatable and recognisable to anyone who has ever had their own inseparable BFF as a child. That bond is such a given for the pair themselves, and that status quo is so entrancingly communicated by the movie, that questioning it is a shock for everyone. These friends have forged their identities as a duo, but they're also at that awkward coming-of-age stage where the wider world starts intruding upon their wants, likes and senses of self, and enforcing its traditional ideas of masculinity. Bluntly, the girls in Léo and Rémi's grade ask if the two are a couple. More than that, they contend that the boys are one without even realising it. Enter the overwhelming weight of the society's norms, as Léo struggles with the schoolyard query and slowly pulls away. Words have consequences in Close. Actions do along with them. What kicks off as a portrait of a perfect friendship then segues into the agony of an idyll bursting. As homophobic jeers echo, Léo withdraws, boisterously palling around with other classmates instead and opting to take up ice hockey. Rémi keeps trying to reach out, and keeps showing his pain and confusion as Léo ditches him at breaks, after lessons, and on their usual rides to and from class. In a sensitive script penned with his Girl co-scribe Angelo Tijssens, Dhont understands the heartache and heartbreak of a boyhood bond dissolving. His feature ripples with grief on a variety of levels. But the filmmaker and the film alike also deeply appreciate the heady jubilation of its opening third. They relish it. Close's second half is shattering; however, this is a movie that knows that to have forged such a connection is a thing to treasure even when it's lost. Close's second half wouldn't devastate as it does if its first wasn't so keenly felt. This isn't an overplayed picture — understatement is one of its key and crucial elements — but it's expertly attuned to what it's like to have a kindred spirit in your youth, and to the immense void left when that's gone. Perhaps the best way to describe Close is with its homonym's antonym: open. Even when Léo begins closing himself off to Rémi, the film he's in remains unguarded in its gaze and emotions — and Dambrine and De Waele's performances retain the same trait as well. To watch Close is also to peer into the faces that fill its frames, as lensed vividly in claustrophobic closeups and telling wide shots by cinematographer Frank van den Eeden (Nobody Has to Know, and also Dhont's Girl), and to embrace the swirl of sentiments lingering inside. Looking at the movie's two young stars never simply involves seeing them overtly shift in tone. Spending more time with Dambrine isn't just a case of watching conflict, sorrow, realisation and guilt flicker in his eyes, either. Similarly, when Close intently observes the always-excellent Drucker in a pivotal mid-movie moment, then gives Dequenne more attention in its later scenes, it's open to — and tender about — how complicated its scenario and feelings have become. The details in Close are everything, as they are in all relationships. Here's a mere four examples: the alternating closeness and space that van den Eeden spies when Léo and Rémi share a mattress, as kids at sleepovers do; the pride that wells in Léo's eyes as he watches skilled musician Rémi play the oboe; the seconds that stretch like lifetimes as Léo, Drucker and Dequenne process trauma right in front of the audience; and the seasons passing, as marked by the flower farm's rainbow of colours revolving through its annual cycle. As set to a subtly rousing string-and-oboe score by Valentin Hadjadj (another Girl returnee), every aspect of this delicately crafted gem is personal yet universal, as it should be considering its origins. Dhont harked back to his own close friendships as a teen, while also taking inspiration from psychologist Niobe Way's Deep Secrets: Boys' Friendships and the Crisis of Connection, a study of 100 boys aged 13–18. It's no wonder, then, that Close couldn't feel more raw, rich and authentic.
As the Marvel Cinematic Universe continues to grow, so does the smallest of its superheroes: Ant-Man, the former thief born Scott Lang, who can shrink down to an insect's size when wearing the right technologically enhanced suit. Charmingly goofy and also plain-old charming because he's played by Paul Rudd (The Shrink Next Door), this petty criminal-turned-caped crusader scampers through his third self-titled film in Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania — and the franchise-within-a-franchise ramps up its ambition as more flicks arrive. Ant-Man can expand as well as contract, of course, but that isn't new. What's different, and about as welcome as a sting on bare legs at a picnic, is that the Ant-Man movies are no longer happy being largely standalone jaunts. This threequel has a key series-building task first, foremost and at a giant cost: kicking off the MCU's phase five. The perhaps unofficial job, too: bringing more than a zap of Star Wars into this other Disney-owned behemoth. It's lucky that the Mouse House does have both Marvel and Lucasfilm in its stable, otherwise the latter might be all abuzz about the former's latest release. Anyone who fears that too many blockbusters are becoming too similar won't feel fortunate while watching the new Honey, I Shrunk the Superhero, however, which doesn't ever saddle a character with saying "help me Ant-Man, you're my only hope", but still includes a scene that basically does the exact same thing. That moment is surrounded by shots of zap-heavy fighting in the corridors of an existence-threatening villain's stronghold that could easily be a Death Star, as even the most casual of visitors to a galaxy far, far away will spot. That said, Ant-Man's current escapades aren't happening in the space above, but in the minuscule realm that exists between atoms. At least it isn't called Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantum Battles. Imagining a world — this very world — where Disney eventually decides to mashup two of its biggest screen properties, and the box office's heftiest hits, is easier than an ant spiriting away strewn food crumbs. It's also a cinch to see Quantumania's similarities to all things Star Wars as the first step in that direction, in fact. Filmmaker Peyton Reed, who directed 2015's Ant-Man and 2018's Ant-Man and the Wasp as well, did add two episodes of The Mandalorian to his resume in-between that last flick and Quantumania. But such a blockbuster team-up isn't where this MCU chapter itself heads in its dragging 125-minute running time. Instead, it has the rest of Marvel's phase five to set up, plus a nemesis that'll linger into phase six — so much so that it feels much less interested in Ant-Man than a movie called Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania really should be. That's it's hardly fussed at all about The Wasp, aka Scott's significant other and world-saving partner Hope van Dyne (Evangeline Lilly, Crisis), should come as no surprise, then. In the 31st MCU film's opening beats, Ant-Man is indeed the star of the show. He's a celebrity basking in the fame of being among the Avengers and dealing with Thanos, and he's written a memoir about it — a book, Look Out for the Little Guy, that'll genuinely exist IRL come September. But the bliss of Scott's success gets cut down when he learns that his now 18-year-old daughter Cassie (Kathryn Newton, Freaky) has been secretly tinkering with Hope and her ant-obsessed physicist father Hank Pym (Michael Douglas, The Kominsky Method). The trio's project: sending signals down to the quantum realm. Hank's wife and Hope's mother Janet (Michelle Pfeiffer, French Exit) is also unimpressed, given that rescuing her from that microscopic place, where she spent 30 years, was no minor part of the plot of the last Ant-Man entry. Viewers should savour the precious time outside the quantum realm in Quantumania; there isn't much of it. No sooner are the Lang/van Dyne/Pym swarm talking about Cassie, Hope and Hank's experiments than they're all transported to said subatomic space, with working out how to get home far from their only worry. Janet had led the others to believe that all she found when she was gone was nothing upon nothing, but entire civilisations and species, akin to Star Wars' different planets, people and critters with a dash of Dune's and Mad Max: Fury Road's landscapes and themes, lurk below. So does the banished, trapped and genocidal Kang the Conqueror (Jonathan Majors, The Harder They Fall), the time-hopping, world-destroying new adversary who likes annihilating things just because he can — and he desperately and nefariously wants out as well. Various past MCU stars have decried the green-screen acting that's burrowed into CGI-heavy pictures, including Oscar-winners — not for Marvel movies — Christian Bale and Anthony Hopkins. Their complaints haunt Quantumania, a film where almost everything around its cast is special effects, and little that cinematographer Bill Pope (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings) could do could salvage the feature's murkiness. Marvel's reliance upon pixels can look stunning, as seen in the first Black Panther, but the quantum realm's got nothing on Wakanda's blandest detail. Any sense of visual marvel has been not only shrunk but dulled. Any sense of anything but dutiful interest shares the same fate. So does the personality that was so crucial to the first Ant-Man, with any signs that Reed once helmed Down with Love and Bring It On absent, and screenwriter Jeff Loveness (Rick and Morty) unsuccessfully attempting to balance comedy with a drudging innerspace-opera epic. Marvel has an offbeat problem: maintaining its sillier, more playful side, which is its better side, has proven a struggle in the Thor franchise and the Guardians of the Galaxy flicks (the third of which immediately follows Quantumania, and looks to be nodding to The Fast and The Furious), too. Although Bill Murray cameos, The Good Place's William Jackson Harper reads minds and Rudd tries his hardest whenever the film dares focus on him, the third Ant-Man is as by-the-numbers and tonally flat as the MCU has ever been. Alongside ditching the upbeat vibes, plus all that open and derivative riffing on another screen saga, the scale-tinkering fight scenes that have been prior highlights make scant impression against surreal backdrops where getting larger and smaller barely seems to matter. Leaning heavily upon the likeable main quintet and a colony of smart ants is Reed and company's solution, but they're all squandered. The formidable Majors lives up to his name, though — one that perfectly fits the pint-sized titular character's big bad, and the figure who'll loom over seven more pictures in two years before 2025's Avengers: The Kang Dynasty arrives. The MCU is going massive on Kang, patently; if only it'd kept the Ant-Man pictures small.
For a Saturday session with plenty of sparkle, you'll now find a winning destination in CBD Italian haunt Marameo. The Russell Place bar and eatery has kicked off a fresh series of weekend parties — and these ones feature bottomless bubbles. Running every Saturday throughout February and March, these Secco Sessions promise to have you sipping through the weekend in style. Book a table for between 12–2.30pm and, for $49, you'll get to wet your whistle with two hours of free-flowing prosecco. Make a lunch date of it by adding on a few plates from Marameo's lively Italian menu — think, wagyu tartare cannoli, the signature crispy fried quail, spanner crab and saffron linguine, and spaghetti cacio e pepe with shavings of black truffle. Meanwhile, the tunes will be flowing just as easily as the wine, with a DJ spinning disco beats right through the afternoon. Images: Kristoffer Paulsen.
UPDATE, May 1, 2021: I Am Greta is available to stream via Stan, Docplay, Google Play, YouTube Movies, iTunes and Prime Video. If a single image can sum up the current crucial battle against climate change, it's a picture — any picture — of Greta Thunberg. Since deciding to skip school to protest outside Sweden's parliament back in August 2018, the braid-wearing teen has become the face of a movement. She isn't the first person to sound an alarm about the dire state of the planet, to vehemently speak truth to power or to gain widespread attention, but her determined, no-nonsense approach really isn't easily forgotten. Sometimes, it's directed at ordinary Stockholm residents going about their days while she strikes. As she has garnered increasing attention, Thunberg has trained her stare on crowded United Nations' conferences, too, and at attendees with the capacity but not necessarily the inclination to make a difference. She has also met face to face with world leaders, but she knows that politicians usually only share her gaze for a photo opportunity. Demonstrating patiently, speaking passionately, shaking hands for the cameras: all of these moments are captured by documentary I Am Greta, which surveys Thunberg's ascension from everyday Swedish 15-year-old to one of the best-known figures fighting to save the earth. The film acts as a chronicle, starting with her activism on her home soil, following her efforts as she's thrust to fame, and culminating in her trip across the Atlantic Ocean via yacht to present at 2019's UN Climate Action Summit, where she gave her iconic "how dare you" speech. But as the title indicates, this doco is just as concerned with Thunberg's home life as her public impact. Accordingly, while filmmaker Nathan Grossman has an array of recognisable footage at his disposal in this slickly packaged affair — packed protests, widely seen speeches, British parliament addresses, meeting with French President Emmanuel Macron — he interweaves it with quieter, intimate and unguarded moments. Including material preceding her present status as a household name, I Am Greta watches Thunberg prepare for big events, spend time with her beloved dogs and horses, eat meals with her family, and get escorted around the world by bus, train and boat by her father Svante. These snippets help paint a picture of the teenager behind the activism, and much of it is highly relatable. She adores her pets, finding their presence soothing. She obsesses over every detail of every speech, even when her dad is reminding her to rest and eat. She happily calls herself a nerd, explains the helpful side of her Asperger syndrome diagnosis ("it might be good if everyone had a tiny bit of Asperger's, at least about the climate," she shares), talks through details of past episodes of selective mutism and notes that being bullied isn't a new part of her life. Viewers looking for something more revealing in Thunberg's daily existence will be disappointed, as will anyone eager to discover details that haven't been covered in many a profile, or keen for in-depth facts and figures. But by purposefully and repeatedly stressing that its subject is simply a young woman who feels passionate about doing everything she can to raise awareness about climate change, and to motivate the world's powers-that-be to act before it's too late, I Am Greta makes an immensely potent statement. It's one that Thunberg has vocalised on many occasions with words as direct as her glare, and it resonates just as strongly here. It shouldn't take a teen skipping school and inspiring millions more around the world to follow in her footsteps to get people talking, thinking and enacting solutions to counteract the earth's warming. Thunberg shouldn't need to be a leader in this space. At the beginning of the film, during her time spent sitting outside Swedish parliament, she acknowledges that she likely knows far more about climate change than the overwhelming bulk of Sweden's politicians — and that firmly shouldn't be the case. Also cutting through astutely is Thunberg's continued recognition of how, as her fame increases, the global response by naysayers encapsulates so much about the status quo and the lack of government action. She calls out politicians who chat and get snapped in pictures but do nothing to follow through, with Grossman letting viewers see the pageantry alongside Thunberg's perceptive observations. She reads trolling comments, too — and I Am Greta says plenty when it shows figures such as Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro and Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison either attacking Thunberg, childishly insulting her, discounting her message or saying that the planet's younger generations should stick to studying instead of fighting for their futures. It isn't ever explicitly said, but I Am Greta also makes another pivotal point, and it applies not only to its central figure but to the rousing film itself. In addition to emphasising that the steadfast eco-warrior is a teen tackling a topic that so many of her elders have happily ignored for decades, this documentary understands that its audience already knows how they feel about Thunberg. It also recognises that its viewers are just as aware of which side they fall on when it comes to combating climate change. As a result, this movie isn't going to convert skeptics and Thunberg's critics, or alter her fans' thinking, and it isn't trying to. It'd rather show the work to effect change in action, and let that speak volumes. Indeed, what echoes here is that simply doing the right thing — doing something, in fact — is essential regardless of any obstacles and opposition, whether urged by Al Gore, David Attenborough, Aussie doco 2040, your best mate, your neighbour, a stranger or Thunberg. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mwk10YGPFiM
When life as we knew it changed earlier this year, Mount Zero Olives joined the ranks of local businesses learning to adapt. In May, it transformed its usual quarterly warehouse market into a drive-thru disco market — and yes, all the essential details are right there in the event title. Now, even though Melburnians are on the path back to normality, the market is returning again in its drive-thru disco format. Head along to Mount Zero's Sunshine West warehouse from 9am–2pm on Saturday, November 28 — with click-and-collect pre-orders open until Wednesday, November 18, so you can simply rock up and nab your order. Here's what you'll be buying: Mount Zero Olives' olives, of course, plus olive oils, pulses and and gift hampers, all at various prices; and two kilos of Meredith Dairy's marinated goats cheese for $50. Chris Gill from Triple R and Northside Records will be spinning disco tunes, other local producers will have items up for grabs — as will Meredith Dairy — and the folks from Skate Odyssey will be rollerskating around and bringing your orders to your car.
It's safe to say that 2020 has been a strange and surreal year. In fact, as we all know, that's quite the understatement. Prefer to get your weird and wonderful fix watching the big screen, rather than reading the news? That's perfectly acceptable — and that's what Monster Fest is all about. Returning to Cinema Nova from Thursday, December 3–Thursday, December 10, this fest is all about out-there cinema. In 2020, it's even taking on an apocalyptic theme. That means that film fans can expect flicks about dystopian scenarios; however, it'll also be serving up a selection of the latest and greatest genre and horror movies in general. If you're only going to add one film to your must-see list, make it Synchronic. It's the stellar new movie from The Endless duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead, and features Anthony Mackie (Avengers: Endgame) and Jamie Dornan (Fifty Shades of Grey) as paramedics who keep being called out to cases involving a trippy, reality-shifting new drug. Also on the bill: Occupation: Rainfall, the sequel to Australian sci-fi film Occupation; Meander, a French thriller that sees a woman wake up trapped in a maze; and a couple of festive-themed horror movies, because it's the season for them. The list goes on, and this year's fest comes with a difference: nothing in its program screens against each other, so you can head along to absolutely everything if you're super keen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fl_kzTQvPVw
On a couple of occasions this year, McDonald's has spread some lockdown cheer by offering burger-loving customers free delivery. Now, with stores open for in-person dining around the country, it's doing something different — serving up daily specials for the entire month of November. This isn't the first time that the chain has run its 30 Days 30 Deals promotion — but it's kicking it off for 2020 with quite the offer. On Sunday, November 1, burger lovers can pick up 50-cent cheeseburgers. All you need to do is order through the MyMaccas app, select the deal, then mosey on down to your closest McDonald's to pick it up. Throughout the rest of the month, a new special will pop up each day. Think $2 Big Macs, $1 McFlurrys and $1.50 thickshakes, as well as $8 share packs, $5 small McChicken meals with a cheeseburger and $8 for two small Quarter Pounder meals.
UPDATE, October 29, 2020: Melbourne's outdoor cinemas are now reopening — including the Coburg Drive-In, and the Lido, Classic and Cameo outdoor cinemas. Long before its new sequel declared so in its title, The Craft already had a legacy. A horror-thriller about teen witches using and abusing magic to cope with high school's troubles, the 1996 Neve Campbell-starring cult favourite is the quintessential movie of that exact description. It's supremely 90s. It has the cast, look, soundtrack and mood to match. In using the occult to explore adolescent angst, it splashes everything from stormy skies and candle-lit rooms to hordes of rats and snakes across the screen, filling its frames with trusty genre imagery. And, it leans into the torment and toil of being a young woman finding one's way in the world, and of dealing with sleazy schoolboys, racist prom queens, society's obsession with appearance and the tyranny of class differences, too. The overall film has its struggles, but it has always stood out — and retained its place in pop culture. Written and directed by actor-turned-filmmaker Zoe Lister-Jones (Band Aid), The Craft: Legacy is clearly the product of someone who already knows all of the above. It's also the work of someone keen to pay tribute to the original, embrace what she sees as its strengths, redress its wrongs, and update it for a new time and a new generation. But it's possible for a 24-years-later follow-up to show affection, make some smart changes, move with the times and still feel like the remnants left in a cauldron. Or, for it to recall one of its predecessor's famed moments — one it recreates, briefly — in an unintended fashion. When this feature's coven play with levitation, the words "light as a feather, stiff as a board" aren't heard; however, by the end of the movie, they best describe everything that's just happened. Starting as its inspiration did, The Craft: Legacy begins with the arrival of a teen in a new town. Lily (Cailee Spaeny, Devs) and her mother Helen (Michelle Monaghan, Saint Judy) move in with the latter's boyfriend and his three sons — and if the in-car sing-along to Alanis Morrisette's 'Hand in My Pocket' doesn't nod firmly enough in the 90s' direction, the casting of The X-Files' David Duchovny as Adam, the author of a self-help book called 'The Hallowed Masculine' and the object of the head-over-heels Helen's affection, does. Navigating a new school, Lily soon finds herself taunted by resident jock and bully Timmy (Nicholas Galitzine, Share) in an unpleasant classroom incident. But she's also found by Lourdes (Zoey Luna, Pose), Frankie (Gideon Adlon, Blockers) and Tabby (Lovie Simone, Selah and the Spades), who are looking for the west to their north, south and east. They become fast friends, trifling with spells and testing their abilities. They also sneak into Timmy's room and enchant him into becoming the best version of himself. While Timmy provides an early source of nastiness, it's hardly a spoiler to note that he isn't The Craft: Legacy's antagonist. Instead, he's transformed from a jerk that makes fun of menstruation to a sensitive soul who waxes lyrical about Princess Nokia's politics. Any movie that does that was never going to let its darkness spring from its central quartet, either. Lily and her new friends must learn to use magic responsibly, but their mistakes are lessons rather than cautionary tales. The Craft: Legacy also gets its witches to turn a homophobic classmate's coat into a rainbow-hued statement piece, and burn slut-shaming slurs off of lockers. It has Lourdes stand up for trans women like herself, correcting Frankie when she says that giving birth is one of the fairer sex's strengths. It verbally and visibly champions inclusivity at every turn, so it finds its enemy in a glaring source — that'd be toxic masculinity — and the creepy character who personifies it. Often, when a sequel, remake or reboot gestures forcefully at the movie it's based on, it can prove convenient, blatant and overt all at once. Alas, that's how the bulk of The Craft: Legacy plays. In fact, in mimicking setups, scenes or specific lines, Lister-Jones is generally canny and even economical about references to her film's predecessor — so they're frequently the only parts that don't feel bland and routine. If only the same amount of effort had gone into fleshing out the main characters, who are nearly interchangeable, even with their racial and gender diversity. If only the same care had be expended in giving them personalities (loudness is one of the gang's defining traits), backstories and any weirdness, actually. If only the same thoughtfulness had been afforded its villain and all that he stands for, too. Rather than seeing young women become consumed by their blossoming power, and also punishing those who refuse to conform, it's a welcome shift that The Craft: Legacy calls out the patriarchal norms and attitudes that put teenage girls in that situation. And yet the film just seems happy enough to have made that switch, instead of giving it any true weight or substantial depth. The Craft: Legacy is light thematically, and also in plethora of other ways. Visually and tonally, it views witchcraft as fun and colourful. Emotionally, there are few stakes and horrors, so almost everything feels unimportant and anticlimactic. As a result, there's also a stiffness to the film — as though it's trying so hard to be loose, open, breezy and upbeat that it actually proves strained and wooden instead. A likeable cast of women can't change that. Neither can a late plot inclusion that's predictable, but possesses more intrigue than the rest of the movie. It's fitting that The Craft: Legacy's witches treat their abilities like superpowers, because the film recalls oh-so-many caped crusader flicks in one inescapable regard: by focusing its energies on laying the groundwork for a sequel that isn't guaranteed, and failing to conjure up much more than the bare minimum in the process. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxZ774gziwU
Following months (and months) of lockdown, the Immigration Museum is finally able to exhibit the work of South Sudanese-born, Melbourne-based artist Atong Atem. Running through January 31, 2021, Atong Atem: To be real showcases the photographer's work as part of the Photo 2021 International Festival of Photography. Revealing a new series of large-scale photographic works, Atem captures moments that verge on the surreal and hyper-real. The artist uses bright tones and textural outfits to explore themes of mythology and fantasy — as well as examine her own identity and sense of belonging in contemporary Australian life. While entry is free, booking ahead is a must. Head here to grab your ticket. Top image: Bigoa with Fan (2020) by Atong Atem
UPDATE, March 8, 2021: Brazen Hussies is available to stream via ABC iView. Chatting to activists involved in Australia's women's liberation movement during the 60s and 70s, Brazen Hussies doesn't lack in witty and wise ladies making pivotal points. But it's filmmaker Margot Nash (The Silences) who offers one of this documentary's most telling observations, and the one that crystallises exactly why this movie had to be made. "History has to be told over and over again," she advises. She's a talking head in the film, rather than the writer or director behind it — those roles fall to first-timer Catherine Dwyer — but she couldn't encapsulate Brazen Hussies' purpose any better if she was the doco's driving force. As the feature explains, it's easy for people to overlook this chapter of history, and the fact that it all happened so recently. It's easy to forget that women's lives were drastically different, as was the way they were regarded by the world around them. It'd also be easy to keep using Nash's words, and those of her fellow activists, to demonstrate why Brazen Hussies is vital, too — as a record and a reminder, and as viewing in general. Dwyer has amassed a formidable array of ladies, all of which could fuel their own documentaries. In fact, many of her subjects could make them. Cinematographer and filmmaker Martha Ansara (Changing the Needle) explains how she realised as a teen that her future was supposed to involve finding the right man. Author and journalist Anne Summers recalls how, when she became the first woman in her family to go to university, it dawned on her that she'd still be paid less than her male counterparts when she graduated. And filmmaker and writer Jeni Thornley (For Love or Money) describes her experiences as a pregnant woman after the death of the man she would've likely married, and how she was treated as if the situation was her fault. The list goes on. Academic and critic Barbara Creed notes that the word 'lesbian' just wasn't something that was uttered in Australia at the time, for instance. The first Aboriginal Australian to earn a law degree, Pat O'Shane talks about the impact of race, and the gulf between the white women's movement and the plight of Indigenous women. Elizabeth Reid shares memories from her stint as the first Advisor on Women's Affairs to a head of government anywhere in the world — to Prime Minister Gough Whitlam in the 70s — and steps through the way that the media responded to her position. Dwyer counts more than 25 women among her eponymous group, and their tales cover everything from tackling domestic violence and the victim-blaming that can go along with it, to the simple struggle to survive that single mothers faced. Indeed, Brazen Hussies packs not only a wealth of women into its frames, but a plethora of topics. There's a noticeable focus on Sydney and Melbourne over the rest of the country, and not every interviewee or issue is covered in-depth, but the film isn't short on breadth. Brazen Hussies' survey of all of the aforementioned matters — plus legal abortion, funding for childcare and society's abhorrence of female sexuality as well — happens in tandem with a historical recounting of Australia's actual fight for women's liberation. Inspired after working on 2014 documentary She's Beautiful When She's Angry, which did the same from a US perspective, Dwyer examines what drove these women to act and what they achieved, of course. At every moment, however, she's just as interested in how they battled for that change. Having access to a treasure trove of materials helps considerably. If the doco's talking-head lineup is impressive, it's bested only by the immense range of archival images and footage that Dwyer and editor Rosie Jones (director of The Family) splice together. With the rest of the filmmaking team, the pair sifted through more than 4000 photographs, journals, artworks and posters, and 800-plus news clips, documentaries and dramatic movies — and, unsurprisingly, Brazen Hussies is all the more detailed for it. All those pictures and and all that footage allows the film to show, not just tell. It also lets audiences witness key moments as they happened. Brisbanites should already know that the Regatta Hotel was once the site of an infamous 1965 protest by Merle Thornton and Rosalie Bogner, who chained themselves to the public bar to draw attention to the fact that women weren't legally allowed in. Still, seeing it occur is something else entirely. That also applies in Melbourne, with Zelda D'Aprano chaining herself to the city's Commonwealth building in 1971 to rally for equal pay. And the same feeling emanates from clips of author Kate Jennings addressing the crowd on the front lawn of Sydney University in 1970, too, which marked the first time that the male left had allowed a woman to speak at a public event. The impact of these specific actions, and of efforts big, small, headline-grabbing and routine by all the ladies seen in Brazen Hussies, is still being felt today. Paying tribute to these pioneering women is clearly another of the film's aims but, again, recognising and remembering what they did and how it echoes now couldn't be more crucial. Dwyer also serves up clips that contrast the present situation with the scenario a half-century ago, to put the bulk of the film in context for viewers. As everyone watching should already be well aware, much has changed for women since the documentary's subjects first started marching, protesting and pinching men's bums in the streets to show them how it feels; however, striving for progress remains an ongoing job. Not that any further motivation is needed, but Brazen Hussies is it: an engaging, informative and impassioned snapshot of a reality that's still so recent, and of the hard work that was required to even reach the current imperfect status quo. https://vimeo.com/451401547
Prepare to dance like nobody's watching, Melburnians. That's good (albeit very well-worn) advice at the best of times, but it's also a big part of one of this year's Melbourne Fringe Festival events. At Multiply, 400 of the city's residents are being asked to descend upon Prahran Square and take part in a mass dance event — and it doesn't matter if you cut a rug with the best of them or you're definitely an amateur when it comes to making shapes. Here's how it works. First, you need to register before 11.59pm on Monday, November 16 — or before spots fill up, whichever comes sooner. Then, you'll head on down to Prahran at 2pm on Saturday, November 21, get taught the choreography and get filmed by a drone for a short film that'll release in 2021. You'll all be masked, of course, and you'll be maintaining social distancing. In fact, all participants will be given a colour scheme dictating what they need to wear, and a designated entrance. You'll also be allocated a static spot two metres away from the closest person to stand and dance once you're there. Mass dancing in the streets during a pandemic? Yep, it's not the kind of thing you probably expected after this tough year. Multiply is the brainchild of Stephanie Lake (Colossus) and Robin Fox, featuring the former's choreography and the latter's audio-visual compositions. And if you're thinking about just heading along to have a sticky beak, we already noted above that everyone will be dancing like no one's watching — because there won't be an audience.
While inclusivity and diversity are always at the heart of International Day of People With Disability celebrations, this year's event is set to be more accessible than ever before. From Thursday, December 3, the week-long Creative Control Online Program is going digital, serving up a broad range of visual art, theatre, film and writing from creative people with disability. The theme of the year is 'creative control', putting people with disability at the centre of their own narrative, as well as giving them control over it. Social justice organisation Brotherhood of St Laurence has teamed up with Arts Access Victoria, Writers Victoria, Polyglot Theatre and Back to Back Theatre for the free digital event. The program will see workshops, panel discussions, commissioned writing pieces, film and a huge online art exhibition. The latter is set to showcase works by 46 artists with disability, pulling together a diverse collection of illustration, painting, collage and photography. The online gallery will be free to browse till 5pm on Thursday, December 10 with select pieces featuring audio descriptions for added accessibility. Creative Control runs from 10am on Thursday, December 3 through till 5pm on Thursday, December 10. Check out the full program and register for an event here. Image: Naomi Mathieson (cropped)
Break out the martinis and prepare for a shaken but not stirred few months — because Bond, James Bond, is coming to the Lido, Cameo and Classic Cinemas. At 7pm every Wednesday and Sunday evening between January 10–March 21, the three Melbourne venues will screen all 24 official films in the espionage franchise, all as part of an event that's called Bondathon. The late, great Sean Connery smouldering his way through everything from Dr. No to Diamonds Are Forever, Roger Moore stepping into 007's shoes between Live and Let Die and A View to A Kill, Timothy Dalton's two-film run in The Living Daylights and Licence To Kill — they're all included. So is Pierce Brosnan's stint as the secret agent between GoldenEye and Die Another Day, and Daniel Craig's four contributions to-date since Casino Royale. Aussie actor George Lazenby's one-movie appearance as Bond in On Her Majesty's Secret Service is also on the bill. The action franchise's 25th movie, No Time to Die, is currently slated to hit the big screen in April — after being delayed several times due to COVID-19. So, as tends to be the case when it comes to James Bond, Bondathon's timing is perfect. If you're particularly keen to not only rove your eyes over every single detail — and every villain, Bond girl, gadget and opening credits sequence too — but to do so while sipping a martini, they'll be on offer from each of the venue's bars. As for donning a tuxedo, well, that's up to you. Need some more motivation? Let the trailer for Spectre get you in a 007 mood: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4UDNzXD3qA
Usually, Wednesdays are the best day to wear pink — if you wish that 00s-era Lindsay Lohan was your best friend, write in a burn book, and worship a certain high school-set classic flick that's based on a self-help text and boasts Tina Fey as a screenwriter, that is. But on Monday, October 3, Cinema Nova wants you to bust out your best pale red, rose and salmon hues. If you're a fan of Mean Girls, you should already know the reason why. Yes, Mean Girls Day is upon us for another year, and the Carlton cinema is celebrating in the appropriate fashion: with a screening of the film, obviously. And, if you're decked out in your favourite not-quite-red shades at the 7pm session, you can nab a 'You Can't Sip With Us' cocktails for just $10. Not donning pink? You'll pay $15 instead. Not being there would be social suicide, clearly. Revisiting the correct usages of 'fetch', 'grool' and 'ESPN' is just part of the fun too, as is channelling your inner queen bee. Naturally, pretending it's the Spring Fling is also encouraged. Mathlete or plastic, tickets to the movie itself cost $10 as well. Plus, as a souvenir, limited-edition collector's badges will be given away. What day is it indeed.
Perhaps the greatest trick the devil ever pulled — the devil that is time, the fact that we all have to get out of bed each and every morning, and the sleep-killing noise signalling that a new day is here — was to create alarm clocks in a variety of sounds. Some are quiet, soft, calming and even welcoming, rather than emitting a juddering screech, but the effect always remains the same. Whatever echoes from which device, if your daily routine is a treadmill of relentless havoc, that din isn't going to herald smiles or spark a spring in anyone's step. The alarm that kickstarts each morning in Full Time isn't unusual or soothing. It isn't overly obnoxious or horrifying either. But the look on Laure Calamy's face each time that it goes off, in the split second when her character is remembering everything that her day will bring, is one of pure exhaustion and exasperation — and it'd love to murder that unwanted wake-up siren. That expression couldn't be more relatable, as much in Full Time is, even if you've never been a single mother living on the outskirts of Paris, navigating a train strike, endeavouring to trade up one job for another for a better future, and juggling kids, bills, and just getting to and from work. At the 2021 Venice International Film Festival, Antoinette in the Cévennes and Call My Agent! star Calamy won the Best Actress award in the event's Horizons strand for her efforts here — and while the accolade didn't come her way for a single gaze, albeit repeated throughout the movie, it easily could've. Mere minutes into Full Time, it's plain to see why she earned herself such a prize beyond that withering gape, however. Calamy is that phenomenal in this portrait of a weary market researcher-turned-hotel chambermaid's hectic life, playing the part like she's living it. In our own ways, most of us are. The first time the alarm sounds, Julie Roy (Calamy) is already lethargic and frustrated; indeed, writer/director Eric Gravel (Crash Test Aglaé), who won the Venice Horizons Best Director gong himself, charts the ups and downs of his protagonist's professional and personal situation like he's making an unflagging thriller. In fact, he is. Julie is stretched to breaking point from the get-go, and every moment of every day seems to bring a new source of stress. For starters, her job overseeing the cleaning at a five-star hotel in the city is both chaotic and constantly throwing up challenges, and the hints dropped by her boss (Anne Suarez, Black Spot) about the punishment for not living up to her demands — aka being fired — don't help. Julie has put all her hopes on returning to market research anyway, but getting time off for the interview is easier said than done, especially when the French capital is in the middle of a transport strike that makes commuting in and out from the countryside close to impossible. Also adding to Julie's troubles is well, everything. The childcare arrangement she has in place with a neighbour (Geneviève Mnich, Change of Heart) is also precarious, thanks to threats of quitting and calling social services. Having any energy to spend meaningful time with her children at the end of her busy days is nothing but a fantasy, too. Trying to get financial support out of her absent ex is a constant battle, especially given he won't answer the phone — and the bank won't stop calling about her overdue mortgage payments. It's also her son Nolan's (J'ai tué mon mari) birthday, so there are gifts to buy, plus a party to organise and throw. Julie is so frazzled that having a drink with her best friend is a luxury she doesn't have time for, because some other task always beckons. And when a father from her village, the kindly Vincent (Cyril Gueï, The Perfect Mother), helps her out not once but twice, she's so starved of affection that she instantly misreads his intentions. All of this might sound mundane, and like the kind of thing that plenty of people deal with — and that's partly the point. Full Time hones in on the rush, hustle and bustle to impress how fraught this vision of normality is, and how draining. It isn't by accident that the film is nerve-wracking and sweat-inducing to watch. Gravel shows why that tired stare when the alarm goes off is the only thing that someone in Julie's situation can possibly sport. With the marvellous Calamy proving indefatigable at playing fatigued, the filmmaker truly sees his central character, her stresses and that she's at her wits' end, and he makes his audience feel every aspect of her struggle. One such tactic, as straightforward as it is, couldn't be more effective: for Calamy and for the frames that capture her alike, there's simply no rest. Every sharp, cold, tourism-flouting shot by cinematographer Victor Seguin (Gagarine) ripples with tension and drips with anxiety, including extreme closeups of Julie slumbering and hurtling almost-chase sequences as she flits around; her plight, and the nonstop slog, is inescapable. That keeps ringing true as she scrambles everywhere — her rustic cottage, which she'd clearly like to spend more time in; the route to her local railway station, even though the trains are barely running; and her workplace, where she's at her most composed in her pristine maid's uniform, although it can't mask her inner turmoil. On the Parisian streets, she's frequently sprinting; calling the movie Run Julie Run instead would've fit. Visually, every image that graces Full Time adds to the bubbling, broiling pressure cooker, so much so that feeling like only a tragic end can come — and desperately hoping and praying otherwise — ramps up the intensity for viewers. Calling the end result frenetic and kinetic still doesn't completely capture what a blood pressure-raising experience Full Time is, while remaining devastatingly empathetic and insightful; if The Worst Person in the World met Uncut Gems, it might look like this. The rhythm amplified by editor Mathilde Van de Moortel (Mustang) doesn't give up, and the score by first-time composer Irène Drésel earns the same description. A wealth of feelings and ideas linger along the way — the ever-swirling array of roles that Julie has to play, which makes Calamy's performance all the more remarkable; the intimate and sensory dive that Gravel takes, ensuring that the full brunt of Julie's experiences is unavoidable; and how the character's tussles and vulnerabilities, and the strike for better working conditions, run in parallel. One of the great feats that Full Time achieves: making all of this linger, and this exceptional feature in general, the next time that your own alarm goes off.
Patience is somewhat of a virtue with The Forgiven. It would be in it, too, if any of its wealthy white characters hedonistically holidaying in Morocco were willing to display the trait for even a second. Another addition to the getaways-gone-wrong genre, this thorny satirical drama gleefully savages the well-to-do, proving as eager to eat the rich as can be, and also lays bare the despicable coveting of exoticism that the moneyed think is an acceptable way to splash plentiful wads of cash. There's patently plenty going on in this latest release from writer/director John Michael McDonagh, as there typically is in features by the filmmaker behind The Guard, Calvary and War on Everyone. Here, he adapts Lawrence Osborne's 2012 novel, but the movie that results takes time to build and cohere, and even then seems only partially interested in both. Still, that patience is rewarded by The Forgiven's stellar lead performance by Ralph Fiennes, playing one of his most entitled and repugnant characters yet. Sympathies aren't meant to flow David Henninger's (Fiennes, The King's Man) way, or towards his wife Jo (Jessica Chastain, The Eyes of Tammy Faye). Together, the spiky Londoners abroad bicker like it's a sport — and the only thing fuelling their marriage. Cruelty taints their words: "why am I thinking harpy?", "why am I thinking shrill?" are among his, while she counters "why am I thinking high-functioning alcoholic?". He's a drunken surgeon, she's a bored children's author, and they're venturing past the Atlas Mountains to frolic in debauchery at the village their decadent pal Richard (Matt Smith, Morbius) and his own barbed American spouse Dally (Caleb Landry Jones, Nitram) have turned into a holiday home. Sympathy isn't designed to head that pair's way, either; "we couldn't have done it without our little Moroccan friends," Richard announces to kick off their weekend-long housewarming party. But when the Hennigers arrive late after tragically hitting a local boy, Driss (Omar Ghazaoui, American Odyssey), en route, the mood shifts — but also doesn't. The wicked turns of phrase that David slings at Jo have nothing on his disdain for the place and people around him, and he doesn't care who hears it. His assessment of the desert vista: "it's very picturesque, I suppose, in a banal sort of way". He drips with the prejudice of privilege, whether offensively spouting Islamophobic remarks or making homophobic comments about his hosts — and he doesn't, nay won't, rein himself in when Richard calls the police, reports the boy's death, pays the appropriate bribes and proclaims that their bacchanal won't otherwise be disturbed. The arrival of Driss' father Abdellah (Ismael Kanater, Queen of the Desert), and his request that David accompanies him home to bury his son, complicates matters, however. While David begrudgingly agrees, insultingly contending that it's a shakedown, Jo helps keep the party going, enjoying time alone to flirt with hedge fund manager Tom (Christopher Abbott, Possessor). John Michael McDonagh hasn't ever co-helmed a feature with his filmmaker brother Martin, but actors have jumped between the duo's respective works, with Fiennes — who starred in Martin's memorable In Bruges — among the latest. The siblings share something else, too, and not just a knack for assembling impressive casts; they're equally ace at fleshing out the characters inhabited by their dazzling on-screen cohorts via witty and telling dialogue. The Forgiven plays like it's in autopilot, though, but having Fiennes, Chastain, Smith and Jones (who appeared in Martin's Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri) utter its lines is a gift. Indeed, here it's the attitudes captured while they're speaking, and the behaviours and mannerisms made plain in how they're speaking, that add layer upon layer to this murky affair. That'd ring true even if Driss, Abdellah and the tense journey with the latter to inter the former weren't even in the narrative. That's one of the issues with The Forgiven: although David and Jo's lives inescapably change due to the accident, it and everything that it sparks almost plays as an aside. The aftermath is given ample attention, more so than the party, but the film frequently feels as David unshakeably does, like it too would rather be immersed in the revelry. Of course, that's much of the point, especially in Jo's parts of the story from there — and Richard, Dally and Tom's, plus everyone else still living it up (including Jack Ryan's Marie-Josée Croze as a French photographer, Operation Mincemeat's Alex Jennings as a British Lord and Old's Abbey Lee as an Australian party girl, complete with a Coles shopping bag holding her belongings). The Forgiven keeps skewering this fact, with McDonagh attempting to do just that every which way he can, but some of his efforts to mirror what's occurring on-screen through the feature's tone just don't land. When The Forgiven does hit its marks, it's weighty and knotty, and given depth and heft by Fiennes — and, during David's trip with Abdellah, by the powerful Kanater, plus the charismatic Saïd Taghmaoui (John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum) as the grieving patriarch's offsider and intermediary. It's savvy as a satire, too, albeit obvious, but when the balance tips the better, more compelling, more meaningful way, it's a far more potent picture. Empathising with David still isn't the tale's point, thankfully, and neither is a simplistic life lesson-filled pilgrimage that sees an affluent man learn the error of his oppressive tendencies against the less fortunate. Unsurprisingly, The Forgiven is at its best when it's as complex as its desert-swept cinematography (by The Guard and Calvary's Larry Smith) is gleaming. It's not quite right to say that McDonagh brings all of the movie's pieces together in the end — again, it's not exactly accurate to say that he always seems to want to — but Fiennes brings the film home. This is one of his finest performances, which is no small feat given the array of excellent portrayals that dot his resume, including his Oscar-nominated work in Schindler's List and The English Patient, as well as his awards-worthy turn in The Grand Budapest Hotel. It's no minor achievement given the loathsome, boozy, reckless and curmudgeonly figure he's playing, either. The rest of the feature's big names leave an imprint, from the well-cast Chastain playing it sharp but loose, to the appropriately shadowy Smith and catty scene-stealer Jones, but never with the same film-defining impact.
Sometimes, a bar asks the questions you didn't know you had. When it comes to wild and wonderful margarita flavours, that bar is usually El Camino Cantina. The Tex-Mex chain loves swirling around different kinds ritas, so much so that limited-edition varieties frequently grace its menus — and for three weeks from Monday, July 18–Sunday, August 7, it's giving its signature drinks a Long Island iced tea makeover. What's better than choosing between sipping a margarita or a Long Island iced tea? Drinking a fusion of the two cocktails. That's what's on offer thanks to the brand's Long Island iced tea rita series, and in seven flavours. Yes, as well as splashing together to different kinds of boozy beverages, El Camino Cantina is pouring them in different varieties as well. So, you can choose between cherry, strawberry, passionfruit, mango, lychee, sour melon and lagoon Long Island iced tea ritas. In Melbourne, you'll find them tempting your tastebuds as part of the chain's National Tequila Day celebrations in Fitzroy. In an added bonus, there's a limited-edition tacos range to go with them, costing $7–8 each and $2 on Tuesday. Fancy marinated chilli prawns, crispy bacon and cheddar on a taco? Smoked barbecue brisket with coleslaw? Beef mince with pickles, onions, cheese and secret burger sauce? Nacho-crumbed chicken tenderloins with pico de gallo? They're just some of the special options.
UPDATE Monday, July 18: This In Good Company event has been postponed until later in the year. We'll let you know the new date once confirmed. See the website for further details. Congress really lives up to its name with its collaboration dining series, teaming up with some well-known hospitality mates for a meeting of minds — a forum of flavour and congress of culinary delights, if you like. And for the next instalment of In Good Company, the Collingwood wine bar is heading over to Carlton's Lagoon Dining for a border-tripping lunch feast to remember. On Sunday, July 24, these two acclaimed kitchens will combine their talents to deliver a share-friendly lineup of snacks, mains and sides, cleverly incorporating flavours from across China and Europe, with a sprinkling of Japanese influence for good measure. Diners are in for an adventurous, yet considered ride — a Sichuan riff on kangaroo pastrami featuring smoked cultured cream and yuba (dried beancurd skin); whipped prawn teamed with witlof, finger lime and chilli jam; and a Cantonese-style revival of Congress' legendary pig's head sanga. Oh, and some yuzu and sourdough miso bon bons to finish. Tickets are $120, which includes a spritz on arrival.
Buy the ticket, take the ride, strap in for an onslaught of frenetic locomotive-bound fights: that's high-octane action-comedy Bullet Train on- and off-screen. Set on a shinkansen hurtling from Tokyo to Kyoto, in as stylised a vision of Japan that anyone not named Quentin Tarantino has ever thought of, this neon-lit adaptation of Kōtarō Isaka's 2010 page-turner Maria Beetle couldn't be more onboard with its central concept. That premise isn't snakes on a plane, but rather assassins on a train — plus one snake, one of nature's hitmen, actually. Cramming all those killers onto a single engine sparks mayhem, banter and bodies, not to mention chaotic frays in the quiet car and almost every other space. And when it works, with John Wick and Atomic Blonde's David Leitch steering the show, Tarantino and Guy Ritchie alum Brad Pitt as his main passenger, and a lifetime's worth of references to Thomas the Tank Engine slotted in, Bullet Train is as OTT and entertaining as it overtly wants to be. It doesn't always completely work, however; every journey, zipping along on a high-speed train or not, has its dips. Still, there are plenty of moving parts trying to keep the movie in motion — and plenty of plot, for better and for worse in both instances. In his second 2022 action-comedy after The Lost City, Pitt plays Ladybug, who is back riding the hired-gun rails after a zen break packed with new-age self-help platitudes. That's what he spouts to his handler (Sandra Bullock, The Unforgivable) by phone, in-between rueing his bad luck, as he tries to carry out what's supposed to be an easy job. All that Ladybug needs to do is take a briefcase, then disembark at the next station. But that piece of luggage is being transported by British assassin double-act Tangerine (Aaron Taylor-Johnson, The King's Man) and Lemon (Brian Tyree Henry, Atlanta), as they escort a Russian mobster's son (Logan Lerman, Hunters) home. To up the hitman ante, the shinkansen is also carrying The Prince (Joey King, The Princess) and Kimura (Andrew Koji, Snake Eyes: GI Joe Origins), who have their own beef, as well as the revenge-seeking Wolf (Benito A Martínez Ocasio aka Bad Bunny, Fast and Furious 9). As is always the case whenever anyone asks "are we there yet?" IRL, there's more: more twists and turns to the narrative, more bickering, more familiar names facing each other down, and a mass of flashbacks to events minutes, hours, days and months earlier, most of which make the leap from the page via Zak Olkewicz's (Fear Street: Part Two — 1978) screenplay. Wondering if the scribe and Leitch have seen Kill Bill, or the Pitt-starring Snatch, or the 90s attention-grabbers that were Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels as they bring Isaka's novel to the screen is thoroughly pointless. But, after The Gray Man, Bullet Train is the second big, star-studded, midyear action flick that's pieced together from familiar components, only to boast the cast and visual spectacle to carry it off more often than not. What a treat Pitt is, and has been for more than three decades — because that's how long it's been since Thelma & Louise thrust him to fame. Bullet Train draws upon his Ocean's Eleven brand of chattering, casual, happy-go-lucky charisma, even with Ladybug grappling with an existential crisis over his chosen profession. Pitt is comic, but never reaches Burn After Reading's goofiness. Amid the navel-gazing and bromides, he's still calm, collected and supremely capable at holding his own, but never to a Once Upon a Time in Hollywood extent. Although Leitch doesn't give Pitt his own John Wick or Atomic Blonde, it's as crucial a piece of casting. Neither of those two flicks would be the gems they are without their specific stars, and Bullet Train similarly wouldn't have hit the marks it does without its bucket hat-wearing biggest name and his detailed performance. While they fill their scenes trading words and blows, the best of Pitt's co-stars inspire the same reaction — including Hiroyuki Sanada (Mortal Kombat) as a veteran yakuza, Michael Shannon (Nine Perfect Strangers) as a pivotal powerbroker, and Taylor-Johnson and Henry particularly. A visually mismatched pair who quip and sling crosstalk with every breath, the latter duo have cookie-cutter comedic-relief supporting roles on paper, yet bring flair, scene-stealing commitment, and a genuine rapport and weight to their characters. It's thanks to Henry as the blonde-topped Lemon that popular culture's most famous train among pre-schoolers not only plays such a sizeable part, but becomes a life-guiding creed. That's a bit taken directly from the source material and, yes, it could've proven both clunky and cringey on-screen. Bullet Train isn't concise at 126 minutes, and giving its Thomas gags a bit too much steam is just one of its repetitive touches, but that whole gambit would've derailed fast in other hands. Leitch knows banter, and how to direct it; see also: Deadpool 2. While he also knows how to overdo a winking, nodding, smirking vibe that overflows with references to entertainment elsewhere — see also: Deadpool 2 — Bullet Train never feels like it's merely and smugly laughing at its own jokes. And, although not every gag lands, or even the tone from station to station, it's gleeful about how silly it can skew, as its impressively choreographed and inescapably ridiculous action scenes show. Leitch also knows stunts, given that's where he famously started out. In Fight Club, Spy Game, Ocean's Eleven, Troy and Mr and Mrs Smith, he was Pitt's double. It's little wonder that the dynamic confrontations — which involve everything from that key briefcase, laptops and water bottles through to knives, guns, swords and the snake — bounce across their train-bound setting, and the screen, as vividly lensed by Leitch's regular cinematographer Jonathan Sela (Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw). Bullet Train's highlights gleam and flow, just like the film's sleek look and feel, but even when you're happily strapped in, bumps can bubble through. There's never a moment where it isn't a lot, which it's well aware, although luckily — the audience's, and Ladybug's — it's never having less than a hyperactive, cartoonish blast with everything it throws at the screen. Henry's Atlanta co-star Zazie Beetz, playing another of the feature's killers, deserves a better, more fleshed-out character, and more screentime. The ideas of family, trauma and fate at the story's core are often just scaffolding around the repartee and setpieces. Spotting the picture's influences is as plain to see as Tokyo's twinkling lights, and as blatant as the Japanese covers of 'Stayin' Alive' and 'Holding Out for a Hero' on the soundtrack. Buy the ticket, take the ride, settle into the movie's rhythm, let Pitt be your guide: that's still Bullet Train, though, too.
Just because you haven't got a big Greek family of your own, that doesn't mean you have to miss out on the fun (and fine food) of a classic Greek Easter celebration. On Sunday, May 2, St Kilda's Stokehouse restaurant is marking the Orthodox Easter season with a festive dinner to remember, spiked with plenty of traditional flavours and a few modern twists. Joining Executive Chef Jason Staudt in the kitchen will be seafood king Matt Germanchis from Anglesea's Fish by Moonlite, so you can expect plenty of ocean-fresh elements starring throughout the evening's menu. It's set to be a truly share-friendly spread, with bookings available for tables of over eight people only, and cost $130 per person. Gather the family or a few mates and get your tastebuds ready for dishes like charred Murray cod with rice and avgolemono (Greek lemon soup), raw Abrolhos island scallops served with bottarga and orange, and Andean potatoes finished with an oregano brulee. There'll be lamb forequarter racks slow-cooked over embers — and, for dessert, Pastry Chef Ash Smith will unveil his own riff on the traditional Greek Easter red eggs (or kokkina avga). [caption id="attachment_807187" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Chefs Jason Staudt (Stokehouse) and Matt Germanchis (Fish by Moonlite)[/caption]
Gone are the days when every image that flickered across the screen did so within an almost square-shaped frame. That time has long passed, in fact, with widescreen formats replacing the 1.375:1 Academy aspect ratio that once was standard in cinemas, and its 4:3 television counterpart. So, when a director today fits their visuals into a much tighter space than the now-expansive norm, it's an intentional choice. They're not just nodding to the past, even if their film takes place in times gone by. With First Cow, for instance, Kelly Reichardt unfurls a story set in 19th-century America, but she's also honing her audience's focus. The Meek's Cutoff, Night Moves and Certain Women filmmaker wants those guiding their eyeballs towards this exquisite movie to truly survey everything that it peers at. She wants them to see its central characters — chef Otis 'Cookie' Figowitz (John Magaro, Overlord) and Chinese entrepreneur King-Lu (Orion Lee, Zack Snyder's Justice League) — and to realise that neither are ever afforded such attention by the others in their fictional midst. Thoughtfully exploring the existence of figures on the margins has long been Reichardt's remit, as River of Grass, Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy have shown as well, but she forces First Cow's viewers to be more than just passive observers in this process. There's much to take in throughout this magnificently told tale, which heads to Oregon as most of Reichardt's movies have. There's plenty to glean from its patient static shots of the river and scrubby landscape circa 1820, and from the way that the director's three-time cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt shoots its leafy setting as a place of light and shadow. Most telling, though, is how First Cow constantly views Cookie and King-Lu within their surroundings. Sometimes, the outcast pair actively tries to blend in, but the film makes it clear that they're already consistently overlooked in the local fur-trapper community. Equally pivotal is the frequent use of frames within the feature's already-restricted imagery — sometimes via windows and doorways, as Certain Women did as well, or by peeking through the gaps in slats in the makeshift shack the pair decide to call home. Again and again, First Cow stresses that genuinely seeing these men, their lives, and their hopes, desires and attempts to chase the American dream, is an act of bearing witness to the smallest of details, delights, exchanges, glances and moments. Initially, after watching an industrial barge power down a river, First Cow follows a woman (Alia Shawkat, Search Party) and her dog as they discover a couple of skeletons nearby. Then, jumping back two centuries and seeing another boat on the same waterway, it meets Cookie as he's searching for food. Whatever he finds, or doesn't, the fur-trapper team he works with never has a kind word to spare. But then Cookie stumbles across King-Lu one night, helps him evade the Russians on his tail, and the seeds of friendship are sown. When the duo next crosses paths, they spend an alcohol-addled night sharing their respective ideas for the future. Those ambitious visions get a helping hand after the Chief Factor (Toby Jones, Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom) ships in the region's highly coveted first cow, with Cookie and King-Lu secretly milking the animal in the dark of night, then using the stolen liquid to make highly sought-after — and highly profitable — oily cakes. In its own quiet, closely observed, deeply affectionate and warm-hearted fashion, First Cow is a heist film. Reichardt's gentle and insightful spin on the usually slick and twist-filled genre bucks every convention there is, however. Tension is a regular part of Cookie and King-Lu's lives; they're introduced being denigrated and chased, after all. So, while the pair tests their luck during their surreptitious moonlight rendezvous with the titular bovine, the film's sense of strain only increases slightly. Here, the act of pilfering isn't the main attraction. Those midnight scenes are gorgeous — Cookie chats tenderly to the cow as he squeezes her udders, offering his condolences about the mate and calf that didn't survive the journey — but they're also brief. Reichardt is far more interested in the change that Cookie and King-Lu bring out in each other, their connection as kindred spirits in an inhospitable locale and their small-scale quest to subvert the status quo. With sensitivity and compassion, but also with an unflinching awareness of how the world regards those on its fringes, First Cow examines the home and hope that one person can find in another, too, and interrogates the ways in which America's embrace of capitalism can inspire, lift and crush as well. Bold plans, delicate subterfuge, big successes, fraught chases and sublime snatches of tranquility — all five play out in Reichardt's richly detailed and hauntingly soulful movie. Indeed, only she could've made this film sing as stirringly and bittersweetly as it does, and feel as transporting and resonant as it proves at every turn. Reichardt adapts Jonathan Raymond's novel The Half Life, co-scripting with the writer himself in their fifth collaboration. She's gifted with mesmerisingly soulful performances from Magaro and Lee, who play their parts so vividly and intricately that ten pictures about Cookie and King-Lu wouldn't be enough. But the empathy that seeps into each second is firmly one of the filmmakers's enduring and welcome hallmarks, as is the unwavering commitment to trading in the everyday and the intimate while excavating the perennial myth about the US being the land of opportunity. Reichardt's approach isn't unparalleled, though. Fellow directors Chloé Zhao and Debra Granik have splashed many of the same traits throughout their work, and have also helmed masterpieces as a result; see: Nomadland and The Rider in the former's case, and Leave No Trace and Winter's Bone in the latter's. The three share not just a willingness but an eagerness to chronicle narratives that would otherwise be overlooked, traverse more than the usual patches of land, champion oft-ignored perspectives, and challenge America's values and self-image — and they each make their films feel like their own. With First Cow, Reichardt is leisurely and loving, and also candid and devastating. She ensures that everyone watching her boxed-in frames rides those ebbs and flows, and that they're moved by every moment. Whenever she steps behind the camera, something astonishing always happens, as her filmography just keeps demonstrating — but First Cow is pure cinematic perfection. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jWZ6P1rWy4
The 90s were great. That shouldn't be a controversial opinion. Whether you lived through them or have spent the last couple of decades wishing you did — aka binging on 90s pop culture — this late-night shindig at Brunswick's Stay Gold will indulge your retro urges. Drinks, tunes, fashion — expect all of the above at the No Scrubs: 90s and Early 00s party from 11pm on Saturday, May 8. Of course, it's up to you to make sure the clothing side of thing is covered, and to get into the spirit of the party. If you want to use Mariah Carey as a style icon, it'd be fitting. Expect to unleash your inner Spice Girl and Backstreet Boy too. TLC, Destiny's Child, Savage Garden, Usher, Blink-182, No Doubt — we'd keep listing artists, but you all know what you're getting yourselves into. Tickets are $15.15 online, with the fun running through until 3am. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WEtxJ4-sh4
Christian McCabe and Dave Verheul's Russell Street wine bar Embla scored a sibling and neighbour when the team opened Lesa right upstairs in 2018. Now, the family has welcomed another new addition, this one making its home in the sunny openair space atop the Melbourne Theosophical Society next door. Embla Rooftop Bar & Cinema is the city's new destination for wining, dining and big screen movie magic, aiming to level up your usual dinner-and-a-show scenario. Up here, yellow-striped deck chairs, picnic tables and a vibrant aquamarine paint job set something of a breezy Mediterranean tone to match the food offering of seasonal share plates and snacks. While the enormous five-metre screen fires up as the sun goes down, both the kitchen and bar are open from 3pm (5pm on weekends) right through, for anyone wanting to sate their appetite and kick back with a tipple or two. Get ready to tuck into bites like raw kingfish with cucumber, cumquat and a pumpkin seed miso; snapper rillettes with fennel toast; or perhaps the veal rump tartare finished. Meanwhile, the bar's got that summer thirst quenched with a 50-strong lineup of wines, a range of cocktails — such as negronis and margaritas — and tinnies from Bodriggy. [caption id="attachment_800522" align="alignnone" width="1920"] Kelly Thompson[/caption] While the bar operates on a walk-in basis, you can snap up cinema tickets in advance over on the website. Once each evening's flick starts rolling after sunset, guests can settle in and enjoy candy bar treats like cultured butter and sea salt popcorn, house-made pineapple lumps and Piccolina Gelateria gelato pops delivered straight to their chair. The folks from events company District Agency (Gourmet Cinema) are taking care of the film programming, with weekly themes running from high school-themed flicks to classic Euro titles and classics such as Pulp Fiction and The Big Lebowski. Coming up, you've got favourites like Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Pretty in Pink, Whiplash and more. Unfortunately, Embla Rooftop Bar & Cinema is here for a good time, but not a long time. The pop-up will run temporarily until the site is shut and developed into a boutique hotel. Embla Rooftop Bar & Cinema is open for drinks and snacks from 5pm-7pm Mon-Thu & Sun and 3pm-7pm Fri-Sat Images: Kelly Thompson
Moonee Ponds newcomer Holmes Hall is already pretty lush, with its impressive collection of indoor foliage and all those forest-hued walls. But, this weekend, the venue is doubling down on the green theme, as it throws open the doors to host a huge plant sale with the expert green thumbs at online store, The Plant Runner. Taking over the sprawling bar from 12–5pm on Saturday, March 20, and Sunday, March 21, this Crazy Plant People party is destined to be grand — not just because it marks The Plant Runner's first pop-up plant sale for 2021, but because the crew's also celebrating its third birthday. The team will be bringing along a hefty assortment of leafy green delights for you to browse and buy each day, with every purchase over $60 also coming with a free bottle of the brand's signature Plant Food. In between shopping up a storm, you can hit the bar to try a few of the weekend's exclusive floral-inspired cocktail creations, or settle in to eat some leafy specials from the kitchen. Crazy Plant People sale runs from 12–5pm.
With 2012's Wadjda, Haifaa al-Mansour became the first female filmmaker from Saudi Arabia to make a full-length movie. Fittingly, she achieved the feat via a powerful tale about a girl breaking boundaries — by fighting to ride a bicycle in the street, an activity that's by no means routine in the Middle Eastern country. A hopeful yet truthful film that depicts the present-day reality for Saudi women, while also remaining committed to dreaming of a different future, al-Mansour's directorial debut marked the first-ever feature shot entirely in her homeland, too. Accordingly, she smashed barriers in multiple ways, including both on- and off-screen. Nine years later, she demonstrates the same spirit again with The Perfect Candidate. After exploring another female trailblazer in 2017 biopic Mary Shelley, then pondering the beauty standards imposed upon women in 2018 rom-com Nappily Ever After, al-Mansour delivers the ideal companion piece to her applauded first picture — this time focusing on a young Saudi doctor who tackles her town's misogynistic and patronising attitudes by running for local council. No matter the day or situation, the ambitious Maryam (debutant Mila al-Zahrani) is repeatedly reminded that women aren't considered equal in her community. In one of The Perfect Candidate's early scenes, an elderly male patient writhes in agony, but is more upset about the fact that she'll be treating him — until Maryam's condescending boss proclaims that male nurses can easily step in and do the job for her. When her recently widowed musician father Abdulaziz (Khalid Abdulraheem) goes away on tour, she attempts to fly to Dubai for a medical conference and subsequent job interview that would see her move to Riyadh. Alas, she's stopped from departing because her dad hasn't updated her travel permit, and she can't leave unless he rectifies the paperwork. A male cousin (Ahmad Alsulaimy) in a role of authority within the government might be able to assist, but even the bonds of blood aren't enough to get her through the door to his office. He's interviewing and approving candidates for the municipal election, so Maryam puts her name forward just to progress past his secretary. That still doesn't help her make her flight, but it does send her in a different direction. While already struggling to convince her employers to pave the road to the town's emergency medical clinic, she decides to run to fix that specific problem — and the more backlash she receives for putting herself in contention, the more determined she is to campaign for change. The Perfect Candidate is filled with moments that convey Saudi Arabia's strong and strict gender divide. The film might start with Maryam driving — a right that was only granted to Saudi women in 2018 — but engrained patriarchal attitudes nonetheless shape every aspect of the character's life. "Keep her away from me! Don't look into my eyes!" the aforementioned patient screams, and horrifyingly so. The reactions from airport staff and bureaucrats when she tries to travel without her legal guardian's approval aren't as blunt, but they still infuriatingly endeavour to put Maryam in her societally deemed place. When she releases a video announcing her candidacy, even her younger sister Sara (Nora al-Awad) is mortified, not to mention embarrassed by the scathing comments sent Maryam's way by women and men alike. During a TV interview with a male journalist, she's asked if she cares about female issues, such as gardening. Naturally, she isn't impressed. And at an event to sway male voters — one where tradition dictates that she can't address them directly, forcing her to rely on new friend Omar (Tareq Ahmed al-Khaldi) to play host — she's instantly dismissed because she's a woman and mocked because her late mother was a wedding singer. When Maryam is glaring daggers at dismissive colleagues from beneath her niqāb, swapping fierce words with her public detractors or doing her best to care for patients that abhor her presence simply because she's a woman, first-timer al-Zahrani is a furious force to be reckoned with. But again and again, she also relays the weariness that lingers beneath every concerted effort to overcome the boundaries applied to Maryam due to her gender. Indeed, two of the film's very best scenes — and two of al-Zahrani's firm highlights — swing from one extreme to the other. The ferociousness that echoes from the screen during Maryam's television appearance sits in stark contrast to the baked-in exhaustion and exasperation that's evident when she's sitting alone in her family's courtyard on election night. Al-Mansour guides nuanced and multi-layered performances out of the bulk of her cast of newcomers, and constantly has Patrick Orth's (Toni Erdmann) naturalistic cinematography peer at them closely, but she has unearthed a powerhouse portrayal from her magnetic lead performer It would've been easy for al-Mansour and al-Zahrani to lean exclusively on anger, dismay and indignation — Maryam's, as well as the audience's — to fuel The Perfect Candidate, but that's not the only approach they take. The sights seen, attitudes expressed and scenes witnessed also help dive into the daily minutiae for Saudi women, including glimpses of the rare occasions when they're permitted a reprieve from male oversight. Both heated and warm exchanges between Maryam, Sara and their elder sister Selma (Dae al-Hilali) are intimately observed. So too are the wedding receptions and parties that the latter sibling stages in her job as an events planner. And the film provides broader context as well, by also spending time with Maryam's worrying father during his travels. He isn't simply concerned about his daughters' choices, but also about the need for him to even play the culturally demanded role as their guardian. Abdulaziz doesn't ever steal the movie's focus, but his subplot does make it plain that the oppressive status quo is also unwieldy for those who just want the best for their children. As penned by al-Mansour and producer/co-writer Brad Niemann, The Perfect Candidate's script may hit plenty of foreseeable narrative beats; however, this rousing, spirited and gripping feature equally unpacks life in Saudi Arabia today, avoids painting it as straightforward or clear-cut, and agitates passionately for change. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GC--RZ3jOo
Sparked by the pandemic, lockdown films aren't just an exercise in adapting to stay-at-home conditions — or a way to keep actors, directors and other industry professionals busy and working at a challenging time. The genre also provides a window into how the creatives behind its flicks view everyday life and ordinary people. Arising from a global event that's placed many of the planet's inhabitants in similar circumstances, these features tell us which stories filmmakers deem worth telling, which visions of normality they choose to focus on and who they think is living an average life. With Malcolm & Marie, a hotshot young director and an ex-addict were the only options offered. In Language Lessons, which premiered at this year's virtual Berlin Film Festival, a wealthy widower and a Spanish teacher were the movie's two choices. Now Locked Down directs its attention towards a CEO and a courier, the latter of which stresses that he's only in the gig because his criminal record has robbed him of other opportunities. Yes, these movies and their characters speak volumes about how Hollywood perceives its paying customers. That's not the only thing that Locked Down says. Verbose to a farcical degree — awkwardly rather than purposefully — this romantic comedy-meets-heist flick is primarily comprised of monologues, Zoom calls and bickering between its central couple. Well-off Londoners Linda (Anne Hathaway, The Witches) and Paxton (Chiwetel Ejiofor, The Old Guard) are weeks into 2020's first lockdown, and their ten-year relationship has become a casualty. Whether chatting to each other or virtually with others, both commit a torrent of words to the subject. Linda has decided they're done, which Paxton has trouble accepting. She's also unhappy with her high-flying job, especially after she's forced to fire an entire team online, but gets scolded by her boss (Ben Stiller, Brad's Status) for not telling her now-sacked colleagues they're still like family. Tired of driving a van, Paxton is willing to do whatever his employer (Ben Kingsley, Life) needs to climb his way up the ladder. That said, he's still tied to the road, with the ex-rebel's decision to sell his beloved motorbike — a symbol of his wilder youth, and its fun, freedom and risks — hitting hard. As Linda and Paxton argue about their past together and future potentially apart, vent frustrations about their locked-down present, and chat with co-workers (including Late Night's Mindy Kaling, The Father's Mark Gatiss, Jojo Rabbit's Stephen Merchant and The Last Vermeer's Claes Bang) and family members (Ballers co-stars and real-life couple Dulé Hill and Jazmyn Simon), at no point do they resemble real people. Rarely does anything that comes out of their mouths sound like something that someone might actually say, either. And, while the stresses of working remotely, being unable to leave the house and having normality put on hold should be relatable — we've all been through it — every aspect of Locked Down's script feels forced. That includes its relationship insights, which are hardly romantic, comedic or wise, even when showing that the most devoted of couples can find their patience tested when the days never seem to end. When Linda and Paxton's professional worlds collide, tasking her with removing a £3 million diamond from Harrods, him with ferrying it to safety and the pair with possibly stealing it for themselves, the plot development smacks of screenwriting laziness and convenience. Steven Knight does the scripting — and although Locked Down arose in a hurry, this isn't the first time that the screenwriter has penned something dull, grating, contrived and often ridiculous. When he's at his best, TV series Peaky Blinders, the Ejiofor-starring Dirty Pretty Things, David Cronenberg's Eastern Promises and Tom Hardy one-man-show Locke are the end results. At his worst, he pumps out the abysmal Hathaway-starring Serenity — a movie so awful that it almost defies belief — and now this. Locked Down's missteps are many, and plenty stem from the script. It repeatedly mistakes more dialogue for more drama, for instance. When it isn't insulting everyone who isn't a CEO, it's whining about pandemic restrictions, with its complaints outdated a year ago and ancient now. But director Doug Liman can't escape responsibility for Locked Down's many struggles. Fresh off of the long-delayed, also-terrible Chaos Walking, the filmmaker who shot banter so engagingly in Swingers, Go and even Mr and Mrs Smith just seems happy to let the camera keep rolling here. The man who made Edge of Tomorrow also treats his big Harrods heist as if he was Richard Linklater filming a walk-and-talk for a Before Midnight sequel called During Lockdown. Perhaps Liman expected his two leads to shine so brightly that they'd carry the two-hour film. They're asked to, but no one could sparkle with this material. Hathaway yells into pillows, swans around in colourful pyjama pants and dances to Adam and the Ants' 'Stand and Deliver' like she's on a stage trying to emote to people in the street outside the theatre. While Ejiofor fares slightly better — when he's not waxing lyrical about a hedgehog he's named Sonic (of course), licking opium from the couple's townhouse garden or airing stale stay-at-home grievances — the existential angst that's baked into his performance gets swallowed by the movie's overall listlessness. You could generously read Locked Down's tedium and monotony as intentionally reflecting the malaise of the last 15 months, but every choice that Liman and Knight makes refutes that idea. There's smugness and pompousness to this never-funny film instead, and it screams of its key creatives thinking they know what COVID-19-era life is like, and that they can turn the situation into something witty and thrilling. They don't and they can't, at least in this feature. Visually, the movie brightens at Harrods, but its third-act wander through the famed department store really just shows what could've been. A far shorter picture with less repetitive griping and more of absolutely anything else mightn't have made viewers feel as if they too are stuck home with someone they hate, for example. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TG-Mxzl88Q&feature=youtu.be
The 90s were great. That shouldn't be a controversial opinion. Whether you lived through them or have spent the last couple of decades wishing you did — aka binging on 90s pop culture — this late-night shindig at Brunswick's Stay Gold will indulge your retro urges. Drinks, tunes, fashion — expect all of the above at the No Scrubs: 90s and Early 00s party from 11pm on Saturday, April 17. Of course, it's up to you to make sure the clothing side of thing is covered, and to get into the spirit of the party. If you want to use Mariah Carey as a style icon, it'd be fitting. Expect to unleash your inner Spice Girl and Backstreet Boy too. TLC, Destiny's Child, Savage Garden, Usher, Blink-182, No Doubt — we'd keep listing artists, but you all know what you're getting yourselves into. Tickets are $15.15 online, with the fun running through until 3am. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WEtxJ4-sh4
If you know even the slightest thing about the circumstances surrounding Jamal Khashoggi's death, it's impossible to watch The Dissident without feeling angry. That's most viewers' starting mood, given that the Saudi journalist and Washington Post columnist's assassination has garnered ample media attention — and Oscar-winning director Brian Fogel (Icarus) is well aware of how much coverage the subject has received, and of how the world feels about the situation. Indeed, his thorough and exacting documentary both feeds upon and fuels that shock and ire. The mood is tense, the commentary is pointed and the prevailing sentiment is savage. Both rage and outrage permeate each frame, unsurprisingly so, as the film lays bare the brutal facts surrounding Khashoggi's murder, its lead-up and its aftermath. No other tone would be acceptable. Nothing other than dismay, abhorrence and anger would be either. When you're making a movie about a man who entered his nation's embassy to obtain paperwork so that he could get married, then left it in dismembered pieces while his bride-to-be waited outside, how could anything other than fury, horror and alarm eventuate? Although the details have already been well-documented since October 2, 2018, they're still reassembled in The Dissident. Accordingly, the doco tells of Khashoggi's visit to the Saudi consulate in Istanbul just over a year after fleeing his country, after which he was never seen alive again. He wanted to marry academic Hatice Cengiz, his Turkish fiancée. To do so, he needed a document certifying that he was no longer wed to his prior wife. He'd first sought that necessary certification from the embassy just a few days earlier, so they knew that he'd be returning — and once he stepped inside once more, he was ambushed, attacked and killed by a newly arrived team of Saudi agents. Cengiz contacted the authorities when the man she thought she'd be spending the rest of her life with didn't surface, but the Saudi government claimed that the exiled reporter had left via a back entrance. It didn't take long to ascertain the truth, as was suspected from the moment he failed to reemerge. The official story changed several times, and Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman denied any knowledge of a premeditated plot, but the fact remains that Khashoggi was slaughtered by operatives from his homeland. Nothing about Khashoggi's plight has been easy to face over the past three years; however, confronting this true tale is essential. Even if the soundtrack to his film needlessly overstresses the emotive highs and lows, Fogel is clearly aware of just how important his task is here, and does his part to help ensure that these specific events aren't allowed to fade in anyone's memories. He charts the tough-to-stomach minutiae, knowing that ignoring and forgetting the grim intricacies isn't that much different from excusing or accepting them. Crucially, he also provides a wealth of context, including by chronicling Khashoggi's career from the 80s onwards. Initially, the journalist had a congenial relationship with Saudi's monarchy and government, but that shifted as he called them out in article after article — and as he continued to speak the same truths to the same powers, and to the world, after leaving for Washington DC in 2017. Also earning the attention of Fogel and his co-writer Mark Monroe (The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart): Omar Abdulaziz. Another Saudi exile, the now-Canada based vlogger was friends with Khashoggi, and recounts their connection throughout the film. Early on, Abdulaziz says that the fate of his pal weighs heavily upon him, but it takes The Dissident time to fully explain why — beyond the normal bounds of grief and past the anger that everyone aware of Khashoggi's assassination feels, that is. While Fogel could be accused to trying to add extra intrigue, urgency and mystery to a movie that largely deals in known facts, his documentary is already gripping anyway; rather, he's further fleshing out the background to a heinous crime. The intimate details explored and exposed throughout the film, including a wealth of surveillance footage, phone calls and WhatsApp messages, and even audio transcripts of the murder taking place, all evoke a strong reaction, of course. But so does seeing the bigger picture, including gleaning the feature's insights into how some countries can work ruthlessly and in a highly orchestrated manner to silence dissenting voices, and understanding the role that both technology and money play in such targeted activities. Whether recounting the grisly reality of Khashoggi's final minutes, conveying the callous disregard directed his way by his assassins and their government, hearing from Turkish police and prosecutors, listening to Abdulaziz or spending time with Cengiz, The Dissident never loses sight of its core focus. This is a movie about one of the utmost political atrocities of the past five years — and about the fact that few repercussions have come Saudi Arabia's way since, with the last US President even claiming that the situation was too ambiguous — but it's also a film about Khashoggi above all else. Here, he isn't just a martyr. He's not simply a name splashed across news headlines, and repeated again and again in broadcasts. And, he's definitely never the type of figure that's discussed and detailed yet always remains a remote presence. Some of The Dissident's most stirring moments feature the journalist being himself and trying to find happiness again, in fact, all after being forced to start his life anew. That's part of this equally chilling and moving doco's power. Truly coming to terms with how Khashoggi's life came to an end involves seeing not just a man given the titular label, or someone killed for speaking out, but a person who sought a better future for himself and for his homeland, only to have his existence cruelly extinguished instead. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wnmC7uLTNQ
Alongside its huge Japan Supernatural: 1700s to now exhibition, the Art Gallery of NSW is hosting another exceptional show this summer — and this one's free. From Saturday, November 9 until February next year, the gallery is dedicating an entire exhibition to celebrated contemporary Australian artist Ben Quilty and his work over the past 15 years. Simply entitled Quilty, more than 70 pieces will showcase his work from the early 2000s onwards — including his intimate looks at his own reflection, his time spent as an official war artist in Afghanistan, poetic visions of the Australian landscape and his response to other topical events, including the last American election. Quilty's expressive portraits, both of himself and of others — such as executed Bali Nine drug smuggler Myuran Sukumaran — are quite a striking sight. His Rorschach paintings are too, unsurprisingly. And, they're designed not just to catch the eye, but to explore the dark undercurrent of violence and themes of displacement. Including paintings inspired by his visits to Lebanon, Syria and Greece, the exhibition marks the first major survey of Quilty's artistic output in a decade. On Wednesday, November 13, Quilty will be in conversation with ABC Radio presenter Robbie Buck in a special edition of Art After Hours. After the talk, you can catch some live tunes, too. Image 1: Photograph: Daniel Boud. Image 2: Ben Quilty. Rorschach after von Guérard. 2009. Oil and synthetic polymer paint on linen (12 panels) / 230.0 x 804.0 cm (overall). Acquired 2009, TarraWarra Museum of Art. Courtesy the artist. Photograph: Jeremy Dillon.
Imagine a towering, 16-metre-high spherical structure with a breathtaking 41-performer acrobat show playing out in, on and around it, and you'll see why dramatic live performance Globe has proved such an international hit. Acclaimed Dutch performance company Close-Act is bringing its extraordinary show to Australia for the first time, debuting at Birrarung Marr across three nightly shows for White Night Reimagined. You'll step into an OTT fantasy, as Globe creates the world as seen through a child's eyes. Expect a cast of over-sized otherworldly characters starring in a riot of circus, music, dance and projection. After this one, the idea of humans flying is sure to feel that little bit closer to reality. Globe runs for 40 minutes and will kick off on Thursday and Friday at 7.15pm, 9pm and 11pm; and Saturday at 7.15pm, 9.30pm and midnight. Image: Gerard Dubois
Spring is always a period of renewal — the days get longer, the nights get warmer, and venturing out and about is a welcome prospect once again. And, while there's never a dull moment in Melbourne, this city of ours always ups the ante in its events offering at this time of year. Like Saturday, September 7 and Sunday, September 8, for example. The Craft & Co. — Collingwood's restaurant, cafe, brewery, distillery and workshop — is holding a two-day market dedicated to gin. Across three sessions each day (11am–1pm, 1.30–3.30pm and 4–6pm), some top-notch bottles of gin will be cracked open in the venue's event space. Great Ocean Road Gin, Bathtub Gin Co, Poor Toms, Alchemy and Imbue Distillery will be a few of the gins you can try and, if you're impressed, take home a bottle of. Your $10 ticket includes tastings, as well as a $5 voucher to use at the market. And if you want to sit down and enjoy your gin of choice, you'll be able to do that too. The eatery and bar downstairs will be operational, and you'll be able to buy some of The Craft & Co.'s gin cheese on the day as well.
If you've moseyed past the corner of Elizabeth and La Trobe streets over the past few months, then you've probably noticed Ella. A sizeable new entertainment and food precinct, it's home to a range of eateries, a live music venue and even an art gallery. The site has been opening in stages since May, adding everything from ramen to sweets to wine — and, now that it's almost in full swing, it's throwing a week-long celebration. Or cellabration, because clearly no one can pass up the opportunity to make that pun. Running between Monday, August 19 to Sunday, August 25, Ella's Cellabration Week will give Melburnians what they want: free food and vino, obviously. Different Ella tenants will be unleashing their wares on different nights, meaning that you'll be able to nab a bottle of malbec or chardonnay from Blackhearts one day, a hefty serving of pad thai from Son in Law the next, and Chilli Everest's spicy chicken and goat pieces later in the week. On weeknights, head along from 6–10pm, when Lomah will be giving away falafel trays, Sam Sam will doing boneless Korean fried chicken and Pick a Stick will be slinging grilled meats on skewers on various evenings. If you're dropping by between 3–7pm on Saturday, make a beeline for Reverie's delicious desserts — and, on Sunday, you can slurp up the good stuff from Ajisen Ramen or get a bento box from Sushi Club. Numbers for each giveaway are limited, ranging between 100 to 600, so arriving early is recommended. ELLA CELLABRATION WEEK LINEUP Monday — Lomah: 300 lamb or falafel trays; Blackhearts: 200 bottles of wine Tuesday — Son In Law: 200 pad thai Wednesday — Sam Sam: 300 boneless chicken Thursday — Pick A Stick: 600 skewers and 100 sweet potato snack boxes Friday — Chilli Everest: 200 sekuwa Saturday — Reverie: 300 cakes Sunday — Ajisan: 200 ramen; Sushi Club: 200 bento box The giveaways run from Monday–Friday 6–10pm and Saturday–Sunday 3–7pm or until sold out.
This Halloween, the sound of chainsaws will echo through the Palais Theatre — plus plenty of screaming, demonic spirits and unhinged mayhem, too. To celebrate every horror fan's favourite occasion, the St Kilda venue is playing host to a ghoulish movie-and-music combination like no other. Not only will Sam Raimi's 1981 splatter classic The Evil Dead hit the big screen, but an ensemble of musicians from the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra will play a reimagined version of the scary flick's score. The latest in the MSO's growing series of film-focused live performances, this show is extra special, with the score's original composer Joe LoDuca also making an appearance. Nearly four decades since he first whipped up the perfect soundtrack for a chilling vacation in the woods, he'll hit the keyboards to revisit the movie that first brought him to fame — and helped make stars out of Raimi, actor Bruce Campbell and then-assistant editor Joel Coen (yes, one of the Coen brothers) as well. The Evil Dead has spawned two Raimi-directed sequels, a 2013 remake and Campbell-starring TV series Ash vs Evil Dead, because it really is impossible to destroy the Necronomicon — even when you're toting a trusty boomstick. But the original film remains an absolute horror delight in its own right, as does its tale of five holidaying college kids who head up to a secluded cabin, only to find themselves unexpectedly facing off against evil. Relive the carnage from 8pm on Thursday, October 31, with tickets on sale now.
On the first Tuesday in November back in 2015, history was made. When Michelle Payne rode Prince of Penzance to victory at the Melbourne Cup, she became the first female jockey to win the race that stops the nation since it was first held back in 1861. That she beat 100-to-one odds made the story even sweeter. Payne's post-race statement, telling the world to "get stuffed if they think women aren't strong enough", rightfully became an empowering soundbite as well. Among not only track-goers and punters, but also folks who couldn't care less for the sport, hers instantly became a household name. Payne's win was a universal feel-good moment — a rare feat at an event and in an industry that are both saddled with multiple controversies. She didn't just fulfil her own wildest dreams, of course, with her victory having an aspirational effect. In addition to sending an uplifting message to girls, reminding them that they can do anything, the trailblazing achievement captured the broader public imagination. And, as usually happens whenever that's the case, cameras started rolling in response. While a schmaltzy Hollywood flick wouldn't have felt out of place, it was the wheels of the Australian cinema that started moving — helped by funding from several racing-affiliated bodies, plus a gambling agency. Whether made for television or playing in cinemas, a movie about Payne's success was always going to happen. Alas, while Ride Like a Girl is now racing across the big screen, it'd also suit a smaller canvas. The directorial debut of actor-turned-filmmaker Rachel Griffiths, it spins a well-known true tale in an overly familiar and straightforward fashion, including visually. Its aim: to simply warm hearts and spark cheers as it champions its real-life inspiration. If you've seen one rousing underdog movie, however — the kind where characters overcome rocky beginnings, suffer and toil, then follow their passions in a difficult field — then you've basically already seen this. Screenwriters Andrew Knight (Ali's Wedding) and Elise McCredie (Jack Irish) couldn't have come up with a more film-friendly story, not only spanning Payne's big moment but her background. Her family name was synonymous with horse racing long before she won the Melbourne Cup, with her father Paddy a veteran trainer, and eight of her nine older siblings all also working in the industry. But, despite her burning desire to race and her formidable work ethic, she was continually told that she'd never claim the sport's most glittering prize — or get the opportunity to try. Convincing her dad to support her dream was hard enough, let alone earning a decent run on the track or being treated fairly by her male colleagues. The fact she lost her mother as baby, the death of her sister during a race and her own bout of serious injuries all complicated matters, too. As nice as it might be to live a life that resembles a fantasy — or, not to downplay Payne's struggles, to navigate the kind of upward path that's usually the domain of crowd-pleasing fiction — where biopics are involved, it can make for flat viewing. Detail, texture and chaos all help a story resonate, as do intimate moments that feel inescapably specific to the real events at hand. Unsurprisingly, a broad overview doesn't have the same impact, especially one that seems as if it could apply to any number of similar tales. That's among Ride Like a Girl's chief troubles. Even when it serves up tidbits that could've only come from Payne's life, it takes such a light and breezy touch that it all still comes across as simplistic and routine. Indeed, if this was a book, it wouldn't be the mass of pages filled with meaty minutiae — it'd be the generic synopsis, designed to sweep readers in, on the back cover. Payne's feat will always echo throughout history, and so will the fortitude it took to get there, but Ride Like a Girl doesn't quite do her justice. That's not a criticism of Teresa Palmer, though, who puts in a performance not quite on par with her excellent work in Berlin Syndrome, but one filled with depths that the script doesn't match. As Payne's dad, a suitably stoic Sam Neill falls in step with with movie rather than his co-star; however the jockey's real-life brother Stevie, who plays himself, is an engaging delight. His casting feels real, a sensation that's missing from Ride Like a Girl elsewhere — for an inspiring true tale, it generally just feels manufactured. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLn7UOw-tF8
In news as certain as Han Solo's swagger, C-3P0's disapproval and Leia Organa's leadership prowess, another orchestra-scored Star Wars screening is making its way to Melbourne — this time Star Wars: Episode VI — Return of the Jedi will be unleashing its full force onto a fanatic audience with the power of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra. What was originally the final flick in George Lucas' space saga is headed to Melbourne's Plenary, MCEC on Thursday, November 7, Friday, November 8 and Saturday, November 9, 2019. If you've been hiding out on Tatooine and aren't quite sure what's in store, this climactic instalment features a second Death Star, a tribe of Ewoks on Endor, Han Solo imprisoned by Jabba the Hutt, plenty of family baggage, and one heck of a father-and-son battle — so, classic Star Wars thrills all round. And, it's all set to John Williams' memorable score, which the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra will recreate for your eager eyes and ears. Last year saw the MSO perform Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and, back in 2017, Star Wars: A New Hope also had a run, so we've got a good feeling about this combo of movies and live music. Star Wars: Episode VI — Return of the Jedi will screen at Melbourne's Hamer Hall on Thursday, November 7, Friday, November 8 and Saturday, November 9, 2019. To buy tickets, head here.
UPDATE: July 13, 2020: Animals is available to stream via Binge, Foxtel Now, Google Play, YouTube and iTunes. In the space between ignored dreams and shirked responsibilities, that's where Animals' Laura (Holliday Grainger) and Tyler (Alia Shawkat) largely live. Devoted friends to the point of codependency, and just as dedicated to their Dublin routine of drinking, debauchery and doing the bare minimum at their barista gigs, they've seen no reason to change their ways for the past decade. But, as Laura suddenly realises, they're not getting any younger. The pair's thirties are here. The book that Laura has supposedly been penning since the two first met remains little more than an idea. And, her younger sister (Amy Molloy) has traded partying for pregnancy on purpose. Tyler is near-aggressively happy with the status quo, however Laura's epiphany hits like the wine and MDMA the duo are so fond of — and leaves an unshakeable hangover. Directed by Australian filmmaker Sophie Hyde (52 Tuesdays), and scripted by British writer Emma Jane Unsworth based on her own book, Animals finds its joined-at-the-hip protagonists at a crossroads. Glued together by choice for so long, they're now coming unstuck. Forget romantic turmoil; this is a tale of platonic heartbreak and existential malaise spiralling into an inescapable whirlpool. Animals isn't the first film to understand that drifting away from a friend is just as painful as ending a love affair, but it joins a relatively sparse dramatic subgenre. Indeed, there's a refreshing forthrightness to the story, taking Laura and Tyler's pseudo-couple status as a given. While jokes are made about wives, marriages and separations, particularly once Laura starts seeing more of her new musician boyfriend Jim (Fra Fee) and spending less time with her increasingly petulant bestie, they're hardly necessary — just how crucial the pair have been to each other for a third of their lives is constantly written across their faces. Girl meets girl, sparks fly, they live wildly and become each other's ride-or-dies — that's not a scenario that often gets such thoughtful big-screen attention. The importance of depth and detail in this situation, especially in leapfrogging any and all female friendship cliches, really can't be underestimated. Whether or not Hyde and Unsworth have overtly drawn upon their own respective experiences, the end result resonates with a lived-in air. Authenticity isn't just something their characters are searching for; it seeps from the movie. Frolicking or fighting, embracing firmly or steadfastly ignoring each other, the dynamic between Laura and Tyler feels like it could've moseyed out of any shared flat filled with retro furniture, piles of clothes and too many empty bottles (and, thanks to stellar production design and costuming work, it looks that way too). That said, Animals does come with a caveat, or a strength that could initially be seen as a flaw. Played to perfection by the two leads, the movie's main characters seem as genuine as the circumstances they're navigating, as well as the relatable emotions they're displaying. Unsurprisingly, that means they're not always wholly pleasant to spend time with. They needn't be, of course. They shouldn't be, in fact. No mere mortal is bearable every second of every day. Again, this warts-and-all approach is refreshing, not to mention teeming with meaning. Shawkat's Tyler can come across as abrasive and performative, and Grainger's Laura as uncertain and unfocused, with the picture calling out, sifting through and challenging common millennial stereotypes through these traits. There's no judgement here, but rather a commitment to seeing things like they are — even if the film styles its frames in a somewhat dreamlike way at the same time. As steeped in truth as Animals proves, bleak, stark reality isn't the name of its game — visually, at least. When you're caught in the hustle and bustle of life, it can be surreal. When you're reflecting on past choices, agonising over future paths and wondering if your most important relationship to date will survive the present, the right answer rarely stares you plainly in the face. With all of that in mind, Hyde gives her movie a flavour of hectic exuberance, with ample assistance from editor and cinematographer Bryan Mason. That mood couldn't be more influential, including when Animals leans into its more obvious developments and sentiments. In the easy, hard, routine and thorny moments alike, questioning everything you know and navigating a quarter-life crisis should feel energetic, jittery and a little uncanny, after all. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FN_zr4rQzY
Mexican food and margaritas share a specific quality. No matter how many tacos you eat and salt-rimmed drinks you sip, you always want more. Given that El Camino Cantina specialises in both, it's easy to indulge your hankering at the lively bar — and even easier at its new Tex-Mex Fiesta. For $50, you'll tuck into a share-style feast of food. You'll start with buffalo wings with blue cheese mayo and mango chilli sauce, then move onto loaded nachos — with the latter coming topped with melted cheese, black beans, chilli con carne, smoked barbecue brisket, pico de gallo, sour cream and guacamole. Then, it's time for chargrilled chicken fajitas (which feature house-made tortillas, pico de gallo, sour cream, cheese, seasonal veggies, melted butter and sauteed onions), before wrapping things up with hot churros drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce. That's the food side of the deal. If you're feeling thirsty, you can get drinking for an extra $29. That'll nab you two hours of bottomless margaritas, with the cocktails served in four flavours, and either frozen or on the rocks. You'll also get free-flowing house beer and wine as well. El Camino Cantina's Tex-Mex Fiesta is available all-day Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays weekly at the chain's store in Fitzroy.
Everything is looking bright at The Strand Melbourne, at least for the next month. Until Friday, March 6, the Elizabeth Street shopping centre is home to a dazzling new pop-up installation called DayDream — and multi-coloured flashing lights are a very big part of the 90-second experience. In total, the installation boasts more than 20,000 individual lights across its walls and ceiling, including a chandelier with 6000 miniature lightbulbs. To take in DayDream's vivid sights — and the ambient soundscape that goes with them — visitors walk through a dark archway, get cosy on a bean bag and wait for the door to close. Then, you simply sit and watch as the artwork does its thing for a minute and a half. The work of creative director Philip Bucknell and visual artist Jobe Williams, DayDream is designed to give shoppers a mindfulness break, all by digitally interpreting the known and unknown parts of the universe. Each week, it'll present a different theme — starting with 'End of the Rainbow', then heading 'Into the Wild', journeying into 'Deep Space' next and finally celebrating 'Summer Solstice'. Free to enter, DayDream is open from Tuesday–Saurday from 11am–3pm. Images: Tiny Disco.
Back in 2018 for its 13th instalment, Opera Australia's popular Mazda Opera in the Bowl returns to the Sidney Myer Music Bowl for a wonderful night of opera under the stars on the last night of spring — and it's absolutely free. Featuring some of Australia's top vocal talent in sopranos Stacey Alleaume and Artist Anna-Louise Cole, mezzo-soprano Anna Dowsley, tenor Walter Fraccaro and baritone José Carb, Opera in the Bowl will have you whistling along to famous tunes you didn't even know you knew. Gather the crew (and your trusty picnic basket) and settle in for a night of some of opera's most famous and most beautiful moments. But don't worry if you don't actually own a picnic basket — a whole heap of the city's best food trucks will be there cooking up a storm and the garden bar will be slinging all sorts of cusp-of-summer drinks. As for the soundtrack, songs from William Tell and Carmen will entertain you, whether you're an opera aficionado or you don't know Bellini from a bellini. If nothing else, it's a perfect cheap date idea.
UPDATE: July 13, 2020: The Goldfinch is available to stream via Netflix, Foxtel Now, Google Play, YouTube and iTunes. A best-selling, Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. A filmmaker fresh from directing another literary adaptation to three Oscar nominations. A cast of high-profile faces spanning Nicole Kidman, Jeffrey Wright (Westworld), Finn Wolfhard (Stranger Things) and Ansel Elgort (Baby Driver). Regardless of whether screenwriter Peter Straughan counts as a strength or a weakness — he scripted the excellent recent version of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, but was also responsible for the horrendous The Snowman — The Goldfinch definitely doesn't lack in pedigree. Alas, as based on Donna Tartt's 2013 book and directed by John Crowley (Brooklyn), the result is a curious film. It's easy to see how this neo-Dickensian coming-of-age tale about a traumatised teen, an explosion, a stolen painting and the chaos that follows could enthral on the page; however it's just as easy to remain distanced from it on the big screen. When viewers first meet Theo Decker (Elgort), he's a suave, drug-addicted twentysomething in Amsterdam. How he got there, why he's so stressed and strung out, and why he's muttering about an artwork called The Goldfinch are all soon relayed via flashbacks. At the age of 13, Theo (Oakes Fegley, Pete's Dragon) visits the Metropolitan Museum of Art with his mother, survives a bombing that claims her life, and leaves with a ring he's asked to return to an antiques dealer (Wright) — as well as the famed 1654 piece by Carel Fabritius that gives the movie its name. When he's happily bunking down with the wealthy family of one of his private school classmates, and hoping that their matriarch (Nicole Kidman) will adopt him, Theo hides the stolen painting. As he's struggling through a strained Las Vegas reunion with his compulsive gambler dad (Luke Wilson) and bartender girlfriend (Sarah Paulson), the portrait haunts him. And, after he's all grown up, back in New York and trading in antiques himself, the picture remains out of sight but never out of Theo's mind. While The Goldfinch takes its moniker from the beloved masterpiece and tasks its protagonist with fixating on it, the priceless artwork means more here as a symbol than as an object. A knowledge of art history will help audience members, but the film does eventually explain the painting's fascinating background, its parallels with Theo's journey, and why it represents the enduring nature of beauty in shaping both individual and collective memories. That said, on a narrative level, the piece is hardly crucial — especially given the hectic wave of unlikely events that keep befalling Theo both as an adolescent and as an adult. Indeed, as their lead character befriends a rebellious Ukrainian (Wolfhard), obsesses over a flame-haired fellow survivor (Ashley Cummings), reignites old acquaintances and gets immersed in shady dealings on opposite sides of the world, Crowley and Straughan can't be accused of skimping on plot. Story-wise, there's rarely an empty moment. What the feature lacks, however, is the space to truly value anything of importance — and space to appreciate why its namesake is so emotionally and thematically pivotal. Much of The Goldfinch's troubles stem from its on-screen structure, which, ditching the novel's linear timeline, flits back and forth between the younger and older Theo. While it's an expressive choice, designed to convey the adrift and uncertain inner state plaguing its central figure, it largely plays as needlessly convoluted. As a result, the movie feels simultaneously laborious, rushed and distracted across its 2.5-hour running time — like it's packing as much as possible onto its large canvas in a purposeful, painstaking way, then devoting its time to watching paint dry rather than soaking in the details. In the film's visuals and performances, there's still something to relish. It helps immensely that The Goldfinch has enlisted one of the best cinematographers in the business, with Roger Deakins as talented at making his peach and gold-tinted frames resemble great art as he was at navigating a neon-hued futuristic world (and winning an Academy Award, too) in Blade Runner 2049. Fine-tuned portrayals by Kidman, Wright and Fegley also assist, although Elgort comes across as opaque rather than conflicted, Wolfhard is blighted by his cartoonish accent, and Wilson and Paulson seem like they've stepped in from another movie entirely. What ultimately lingers, though, is an unfortunate comparison. It's an obvious one, as happens whenever a movie calls attention to a far superior work, and it doesn't serve Crowley's film well. It never escapes attention that Fabritius' painting depicts a creature capable of flying high, but firmly stuck in place — a feat that, despite seemingly boasting all the right elements, The Goldfinch mirrors in all the wrong ways. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_nRqgk1HgM
Sometimes, a trip to the movies is all about escapism. Sometimes, it's a thought-provoking and eye-opening experience. You won't forget the world's troubles at the Environmental Film Festival Australia, but you will find out more about them — especially as they relate to the state of this planet we all call home. As its name makes plain, EFFA shines a spotlight on cinema that puts the environment in firmly focus. Across a lineup of 44 feature-length, short, experimental and kid-friendly films screening between Thursday, October 24 and Friday, November 1, eco-conscious cinephiles can explore the struggles and splendours of the natural world — by watching a mother and daughter's efforts to save a bee colony in Swarm Season, spending time with a polar bear and her cubs thanks to Queen Without Land, and seeing the fight against deforestation in France in The Time of Forests. Other highlights include Grit, which delves into a catastrophic mud tsunami; This Mountain Life, about the first female duo to trek through the Coast Mountains in Canada and Alaska; and Into the Jungle, which follows the efforts to save an endangered tree kangaroo in Papua New Guinea. Fans of German filmmaker Werner Herzog are in for a double treat, with his latest documentary, the partially Australian-shot Nomad: In the Footsteps of Bruce Chatwin, playing alongside his Oscar-nominated, Antarctica-set classic Encounters at the End of the World. Screening at Cinema Nova, Palace Westgarth, IMAX Melbourne and Kaleide Theatre — with in-conversation sessions taking place at the State Library for those who want to hear more about EFFA's topics of interest — 2019 marks the fest's biggest year to date. That's rather timely, given the ongoing climate protests that have been taking place across the country this year. If you're keen to see more on the subject, doco The Hottest August explores different views on global warming as shared by everyday New Yorkers.
