It's hard to fathom Laura Marling as a mere 20-year-old. Before lending her your ears, you could be forgiven for presuming this unassuming, pretty, brunette girl to be more like Lisa Mitchell than Joni Mitchell. But when she performs, it's as if she has summoned the sorrow, regrets and desires of a woman living more towards the end of her time than so close to the beginning. While her first album Alas I Cannot Swim established this young folk songstress as a musician far beyond her years, her recent second album I Speak Because I Can is darker and more sophisticated, filled with poetic nostalgia such as 'Goodbye Old England (Covered in Snow)', 'Hope in the Air' and 'I Speak Because I Can'. Marling weaves lyrical narratives, expressing herself through fictional characters including Odysseus's Penelope and scribes of wartime love letters. Several tracks contain Mumford and Sons-style twangs and banjo riffs, which is not surprising considering she is signed to the same label as the band and girlfriend to lead-vocalist Marcus Mumford. But this is not an indie gossip column (Wait. It's not? -ed). If you managed to catch her at the Sydney Festival earlier this year, you will agree Marling's performance was rousing. Her husky voice never falters; she speaks directly to her audience through song, slicing the intensity every now and then with a dose of witty banter. Marling plays her Splendour sideshow at the Metro Theatre on August 2, joined by Melbourne quartet Boy and Bear, who joined Laura onstage during her last Aussie tour. A second show, with the Maple Trail as supports, has been added on Sunday, August 1, at the Factory Theatre. https://youtube.com/watch?v=lUi9teTRCgk
For 35 years, acclaimed Australian director Gillian Armstrong (My Brilliant Career, Charlotte Gray) has been following the lives of three Adelaide women. What started as a one-off short film documenting what it is to be a 14-year-old in 1975 has become a five-part series, with Armstrong checking in with the girls again at 18, 26, 33 and 47. For those unfamiliar with the project, the opening 25 minutes of the latest installment, Love, Lust & Lies, is devoted to bringing the audience up to date with the lives of best friends Kerry, Diana and Josie. Time brings marriages, children, financial woes and hopeful dreams for the trio in what is a captivating portrait of family, motherhood and aspiration. All three dropped out of school as soon as possible, and the inter-generational consequences resonate profoundly with the women's common wish for a better life for their children. Armstrong captures all with a compassionate and reflexive eye, as she unobtrusively includes herself in the film as a testament to what has become a life-long friendship. Indeed, rather than relegate these women to the proverbial quiet lives of desperation, Armstrong has created a compelling social document. And though there are obviously similarities to Michael Apted's famous Seven-Up series, Armstrong's achievement is unique to Australian cinema, providing both a fascinating social history and a deeply personal account of these three remarkable, ordinary women. https://youtube.com/watch?v=zg4LG5rZMZI
The discontent of Robert Winter, a semi-successful actor, occurs in the twilight of his career. While preparing backstage for a show, a momentous recent event forces him to examine the choices and sacrifices he has made for his craft. William Zappa, an actor who has himself experienced many of the trials and tribulations retold in Winter's story, is both the performer and writer of this piece. This is a dissection of the cult of acting, and for this purpose all an actor's tools are employed: familiar stretches, motivational speeches, warm ups in gibberish and the famous lines of dead white males. Zappa clearly enjoys revealing these absurdities to an audience who may or may not be already familiar with them. Zappa's approach to his character begins with great subtlety — so much so that we are initially tempted to admit that Winter has perhaps made some wrong choices. However, as the plot thickens, Zappa reveals the extraordinary depth of his skill (as well as Winter's), and we long for nothing more than the benefit of watching his performance. Winter's Discontent is an incredibly honest piece which gives rise to some unpredictable and transcendent moments. Zappa's skill is irrefutable, and you should snap up the chance to see him perform this work at the intimate Darlinghurst Theatre.
When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, peace will guide the planets and Australia can finally have their Juggernauts back. Fresh from a European tour with French dynamo Justice, Melbourne trio Midnight Juggernauts are back with a shiny new record, Australian dates and the meaning of life (though perhaps a little scant on the latter). With their debut LP Dystopia sending 2007 into a robotic warzone of dance, these electro guns are bringing their wondrous zest back with The Crystal Axis and more punch than an intergalactic Beastie Boys SLAM. With founding members Vincent Vendetta and Andy Szekeres nabbing Lost Valentinos drummer Daniel Stricker, the trio has certainly upped their Euro-feel since dwelling in the Parisian quarter of Le Marais for a large part of 2008. Ah, l'electro c'est super! Heralding an infectiously synth-based kind of kaleidoscopic electro-rock, this triangular ensemble has successfully overcome the cluster of Aussie dance punk circa 2006, leaving contemporaries Cut Copy, Van She and Grafton Primary to find their own feet. The 50-minute sophomore album of the threesome brings a more immediate sound to their generally sequenced electronic recording — moving past surface-value cosmic tomfoolery to bring a more vivid exploration of deep space. With new singles The New Technology and Vital Signs transporting the listener to some kind of musico-galactic tipi, the threesome have a revamped set, a revamped style (beards crucial), and a revamped DIY ethos that has garnered international acclaim. As these celestial musketeers look into one pastel wash of an interstellar sunset, Sydney can sleep sound in the knowledge their Juggernaut has returned. https://youtube.com/watch?v=dc8Osb5zYm4
There's something a wee bit schadenfreude about the image of a bunch of little kids running around banging into each other. I don't know if that's actually what the kids from Children Collide intended with the name of their band, but that's what immediately comes to my mind. But seriously folks, the real issue here is that Children Collide are awesome. The Melbourne based lads have put together their sophomore album with the combined inspiration of the science of the universe and the mystical powers behind tarot cards, and now wish to share it with you. Come September 17, head to the Metro Theatre to catch the boys in a rocking show. With spectacular guitar solos and banging beats, Children Collide will send you singing along into the stratosphere — a place where you're likely to find this Aussie band floating about, hands behind heads with a piece of straw in their mouths, tapping their toes and looking down on the earth with wisdom.
The first thing that strikes you about South Solitary is its visual splendor. Gorgeous cinematography and unshowy period production and costume design effortlessly draw the audience into Meredith's (Miranda Otto) rather extraordinary predicament. It's 1927 and she's a woman of a certain age, romantically marooned by the impact of the Great War and now literally cast aside onto a craggy rock in the middle of the ocean. With only her cantankerous lighthouse keeper uncle (Barry Otto) and a cuddly lamb for company, the pair receives a frosty welcome from both the weather and the lighthouse's overlooked caretakers, including shell-shocked veteran Flint (Marton Csokas). South Solitary marks ten years between films for the Camera d'Or winning writer-director Shirley Barrett (Love Serenade). One has to wonder how much a decade of solitude played upon the mind of a filmmaker once lauded at Cannes, however, much like her plucky protagonist, Barrett's writing betrays no bitterness; instead reveling in a knowing humour that is beautifully embodied by Otto. Also, for a film steeped in metaphor and symbolism (lighthouses, beacons, ships passing in the night, to name a few), Barrett's light touch is to her credit, if only she had also thought to trim the film from its lengthy 120mins. Audiences expecting a sweeping romantic drama between Meredith's bubbly spinster and Flint's tortured soul will be disappointed by Barrett's restraint. And yet what lurks behind the whirling winds and the stoic characters is a warm-hearted film that also happens to be as pretty as a picture. Visit the Official Site to view the film's trailer.
If we've learnt anything from theatre, it's that the corporate world and spirituality don't mix. Like A Fishbone proves once and for all that architecture and religion are like oil and water. An unexpected and unknown woman shelters from the rain inside an inner city office. She is strange, unsophisticated and seems completely out of place. As the office's permanent occupant — an architect — begins to question her, it is gradually revealed that this woman knows exactly why she's there. She has questions to ask about the design of a memorial for her community, and things to tell about the tragedy that prompted its design. In the attempted mix between elements, this play digs deep into a contradiction inherent in ideas about diversity. A person's most deeply held beliefs, their most fundamental reasoning and their purest emotions, are more than just abstract thought. These beliefs direct their lives and their being, and cannot be separated from the way in which they view the world. Tolerance then, is just thinly disguised rejection and the path to harmony — earthly or otherwise — is more convoluted than we once thought. While this play doesn't attempt to reinvent the wheel, its understated execution leads to more insights on its subject than you may initially expect. Prepare to be surprised.
In a sea of three-piece bands taking dingy stages right now, I'm glad that Fabulous Diamonds remain a suitably polished duo. Sure, their songs are a trial to back-announce on radio (they’re all untitled), but what's a small moment of on-air discomfort when the song is so sublime? Alongside building a following from live shows that swung between buzzing to bickering and back to mellow, Nisa Venerosa and Jarrod Zlatic have just released their second album together, Fabulous Diamonds II. In their hynoptic little world, they keep fine company. The new record is out in Australia through Chapter Music and available on vinyl through the likewise iconic American label Siltbreeze. They've toured the States with kindred upstarts, Times New Viking and Pyschedelic Horseshit and dragged their heavy keys and kit all across Europe and the UK to the delight of broody-mooders coast to coast. On record, they're spacey and sensuous with a slight air of upset. Live, it all makes a kind of intense sense; Venerosa and Zlatic playing off each other's vibes in a troubled, telepathic way. Can't recommend more highly.
Although she was rather fond of the visually stimulating and sensuously heightening colours of a dance floor, Eloise knew that a library — not a discotheque — was where she felt most at home on a Friday night. Tonight however she found herself distracted by that buffoon who was making a ruckus of the usually still and quite library. He'd approached her earlier in the evening to joke about some mechanic's exam he was preparing to flunk but she wasn’t impressed and the sparks of electricity that shot through her body when he touched her shoulder were still rippling through her, adding to her annoyance. There was something about his big, strong ... Wait, wait, wait — I'm no Romance writer! But Mills and Boon author Annie West, romance scholar Sandra Barletta and book blogger, Kat Mayo know a thing or two about the genre. They're discussing Sex, Passion and Love and just why it has inspired authors from Shakespeare to Austin to Roberts in the 21st century. They’ll even hand you evidence in the form of a free romance novel at the end of the night. *Free event but bookings essential
As the Laneway Festival approaches, it scatters in its wake a host of gorgeous sideshows. Some are well-known favourites while others are, if not completely unknown, a shade towards the obscure. Blonde Redhead is an example of the latter, a band most recently heard in Australia in the form of its epic pop romance 23, which hides an impressive discography stemming back sixteen years. Spawned from New York-based noise rock, Blonde Redhead are singer/guitarist Kazu Makino and twin brothers Amedeo (singer/guitarist) and Simone Pace (drummer/programmer). Their sound is delayed champagne, full of reverbs and romantic synth, but with just the right stir of post-grunge bitters to stop the taste from cloying. Coupled with this is an aesthetic that wears nostalgia so casually that they may as well be fairy travelers from a yesteryear time. Joining the trio for their only Sydney sideshow are New Zealand band, The Verlaines. Dropping away from the sweeping magic of Blonde Redhead, Graeme Downes and company create an earthier soundscape of witty melancholy marked with playful interludes of brass.
Closing night at the Beck's Festival Bar is going to be mad. The phenomenal Burden brothers are bringing their techno genius Octave One to Australia for the very first time. Hailing from Detroit, Octave One are techno innovators. Having toured the globe for over 20 years with DJ set and live shows and through their own 430 West label, the Burden brothers know their stuff — they've collaborated with Underground Resistance, remixed the likes of Massive Attack and had their most popular release Blackwater included on over 30 compilation albums. Octave One's 'deep vocal house and slammin' techno grooves' will have the Beck's Bar kicking on 'till the very last beat.
Eddie Perfect's sense of humour is disturbingly funny. Like a car crash you know you shouldn't look at but can't help yourself looking anyway, Perfect's jokes are ones you know you shouldn't laugh at because if your mum was sitting next to you she'd box your ears for it. Perfect shot to notoriety in 2009 with the spoof Shane Warne: The Musical, and after playing former Foreign Minister, Alexander Downer, in Keating! The Musical, is heralded to look fabulous in fishnet stockings and heels. With a three-piece band in tow, Misanthropology asks, 'What makes us human?' and 'Does a shopping trolley full of 'eco' and 'organic' make you a better person than one full of 'No Frills' and 'Made in China'?' Commissioned specifically for the Sydney Festival, Misanthropology sees Perfect teamed with director Craig Ilott, whose work on the SF2010 world premiere of Smoke and Mirrors (starring iOTA) resulted in an international tour and a slew of Helpmann Awards for the cast and creators. Perfect is so tastefully irreverent in Misanthropology that it is only performed at midnight to a legally aged crowd, but I still wonder if you'd be game enough to take your mum? https://youtube.com/watch?v=rM7Q6NiFRIU
You do not want Will Montgomery (Ben Foster) or Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson) knocking on your door. The two are arguably entrusted with one of the US Army's toughest assignments: casualty notification. It's a job that's driving teetotalling Stone to an alcoholic abyss, and one that promises to scratch at the viscerally raw nerves of recently returned Staff Sergeant Montgomery. Together the pair set out on their thankless task in screenwriter Oren Moverman's (Jesus' Son, I'm Not There) strikingly simple yet devastatingly powerful directorial debut. Co-written with producer Alessandro Camon (American Psycho, The Cooler), Moverman's film shows remarkable restraint for a first time director, particularly one saddling himself with the often unwelcome subtitle of 'an Iraq War film'. Visually and thematically, The Messenger sticks fearlessly close to its titular character; as the film traverses six notifications, Moverman's camera predominantly stays on Will as the news horrifically hits home off camera. Forbidden to reach out and comfort the N.O.K (next of kin), the audience experiences Will's fearful, then seething seclusion, and can thus almost empathise as he entangles himself with a widow (Samantha Morton). Mercifully, similar restraint is shown in this storyline, with an utterly electric, single-shot scene of Morton and Foster emotionally opening up to each other. Such punch in the gut performances are present across the board, with Steve Buscemi making a remarkable cameo and Harrelson even garnering an Oscar nomination. With such impressive acting and understated, poignant direction, Moverman can be forgiven for stretching a couple of the film's metaphors a tad too far. The Messenger is nevertheless a beautifully rendered and necessarily painful window onto an overlooked reality. But you can take cold comfort from the fact that you really needn't worry about shooting the messenger — he's already at the raggedy edge. https://youtube.com/watch?v=8MEApxjYncI
Have you ever found yourself sitting over a bowl of something delicious thinking, "I'm totally loving this now, but what will I be totally loving in The Future? Will it be tiny fish that clean between my teeth? Or maybe potato chips flavoured with dolphin tears. Do dolphins even have tears? Oh how I wish I knew what will be Big In The Future!" Fret no more, compadre! Read on and be enlightened. Woosh! Zoom! We all know that before The Future happens and becomes the past it is actually living in Tokyo. Tokyo is in Japan, so if it's Big In Japan it must be big in The Future. Success! And here's more good news — you don't even have to go to Japan, just scoot on over to the Royal Hall of Industries where the folks from Ksubi will be curating the Big In Japan *exhibition. The performance-focused show will be running over the course of a day showcasing the best of Japanese avant-garde. So here's a glimpse of what's in store in your near future and beyond: krautrock girl groups, floating human sculptures and colourful chaos. You need to be here. *Strictly invite only
Sounds like a bit of a contradiction doesn't it — Affordable Art? Well imagine walking through a bazaar of art — there's some you like, some you don't want to look twice at but there's also the freedom to openly discuss these things without feeling the pressure of a 'formal gallery' purchase. Like any good bazaar, the masters of knowledge man the stalls, i.e. gallery owners who are on location to discuss the art work and considering the varying sizes and prices, there's no doubt you're going to find something you like. Looking at all that art can get dizzyingly confusing though so there's the opportunity to take part in the 'art walk and talks' where you can learn about the do's and don'ts of art collecting and check out the print-making process — then walk away with your very own copy. The Affordable Art Fair is so popular that it's held in Amsterdam, London, Milan, Singapore and New York. Although travelling to one of those cities for the event may change its description of 'affordable', it's an excellent opportunity for you to start your collection (or expand it) while supporting the artists that contribute to the culture of this fine city. For your chance to win a double pass to the opening night (valued at $100) including live entertainment and complimentary booze, email hello@concreteplayground.com.au
In a superlative example of art-imitating-life, there was definite alchemy at work on the set of The Social Network. Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg may be none too pleased with his fictional portrayal, but perhaps even he can appreciate the sublime pairing of director David Fincher (Se7en, Fight Club) and screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing, Charlie Wilson's War) with their leading man Jesse Eisenberg (The Squid and the Whale, Zombieland). This truly thrilling triumvirate have created nothing short of a masterpiece and one that, appropriately, plays out through a triple-threat Rashomon-esque storyline. From the unconventional, but utterly Sorkin opening scene, the film is itself a sprawling network of plotlines, arguments and, most assuredly, egos. In 2003 a ferociously ambitious, but socially stunted Harvard undergrad Zuckerberg bumbles his way into a break-up with his girlfriend Erica (Rooney Mara), only to then drunkenly blog and code his way into Internet and now film history. This stuff of legend is elucidated and bickered over though two separate legal proceedings, wherein Zuckerberg is sued by his erstwhile bestfriend and Facebook co-founder/CFO Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), as well as an imposing twin-set of professional rowers, the Winklevoss' (Armie Hammer) along with their business partner (Max Minghella). Rather than seeming weighed down by Sorkin's dialogue heavy screenplay, Fincher is in his element. This calculating, convoluted, male-centric environment is perfect fodder for Fincher's oeuvre. His unshowy, but perfectly polished camera develops an impressive amount of suspense and seething emotion; though with Justin Timberlake's scene-stealing turn as Napster founder Sean Parker, Fincher allows himself more than a little devilish glee. The third act's slight lag in pace, as well as Rashida Jones' unnecessary but understandable role as one of Zuckerberg's lawyers — essentially a Greek chorus — are mere quibbles in a film entirely deserving of all the hyperbole being thrust upon it. It's almost as if Sorkin, Fincher and Eisenberg have rewritten Jean Luc Godard's filmmaking dictum for the Internet Age: all you need to make a movie now is a girl and a grudge. https://youtube.com/watch?v=lB95KLmpLR4
Since I started visiting The Abercrombie Hotel post refurb, the first thing I hear when I confess my love for it — even before unanimous approval of scotch egg sliders and deep fried mac ‘n’ cheese balls — is that it used to be the home of Purple Sneakers. I didn’t move to Sydney until Purple Sneakers and The Abercrombie had already parted ways so I don’t really know how good those nights were, where good tunes and sneaky goon sacks made sweet love in a dark and dusty pub, but they sound like they were pretty damn good. Something that also sounds pretty good, however, is Now or Never. The Abercrombie’s brand new music event takes place every Saturday night, kicking off with $6 vodka Red Bulls from 9pm – 1am and charging on until 5am. The previous two Now or Nevers have delved into the vast sonic underworlds of Anne Deep, Morgan Hyslop and Charlie Chux, and equally diverse DJ sets are expected to follow. What’s more, entry is free — so chug some goon, throw on any colour sneakers you like and spend that $10 you’ve saved on one of those killer Berocca Coladas they do on Sundays.
You've put in the hard yards: gone home early Friday night, or spent a night in, and now you wake bright and early on a Saturday morning. You're fresh and ready to make the most of your city. You're ready to do good. So, what next? Well, my suggestion would be that you head along to CarriageWorks. There'll be loads of people doing the same, attending workshops on things like gardening, bike safety tips and public art. This Saturday, you have three to choose from. 'Earthly Delights', which promises to help you train tricky soil, 'Getting Weedy', pointing out common weeds that can be used as food or medicine, and 'Reverse Robots', partnering with Reverse Garbage to enable you to create the ultimate robot mask. And if you do happen to weaken on your plan thanks to the temptations of Friday night, the good news is that this is a monthly do. Which means there's only so many excuses you can make before going along and digging in.
You’d have to be some kind of cold-hearted, imagination-starved automaton not to want to step onto the silver screen like Gumby walked into any wall, Bill and Ted telephone-boxed into the pages of history (and an A+!), and Marty McFly into the future (and almost incest). I would bet my entire DVD collection (mostly stolen) that every child has had at least one such fantasy. Vintage pop-up shop bams & ted know it, and in their new home in the Gaffa Gallery’s Arcade Project they have curated three collections rotating around a different movie each time. Currently in show is A Picnic at Hanging Rock — specifically, Miranda, the Botticelli-esque beauty. Girl-crush alert! Picture yourself draped on rocks, decked in wispy dresses the colour of marshmallows, your hair a Pantene dream, tiny daydreams forming in crystal-blue eyes. Your trinkets back at the boarding house include a lucky horseshoe, darling animal plates, a flowery cushion or two. And then, of course, you die — or, rather more poetically, disappear — and are memorialised forever, always young, always pretty. Luckily, the upside of fantasies are they are not real, so you don’t really die, but you do get to buy a few nice things and feel like a schoolgirl for a day. Next on the bill is the dashing femme fatale of Hitchcock’s 1955 To Catch a Thief — think French Riviera resort-wear, ginormous jewels, slinky black cat burglar suits and, if we’re lucky, a handsome man called Cary Grant who is available for rental by the hour. After March, bams & ted turn down the heat for a little Murder She Wrote, Angela Lansbury style. Aww man, who didn’t imagine themselves as this super-sleuth at one point? She can solve crimes and bake scones! We are told to prepare for typewriters, crisp sweaters perfect for the New England autumn, and presumably a whole lot of 80s bad taste. I don’t need to be a detective to know I won’t be bidding adieu to my DVD shelf anytime soon. The To Catch A Thief 'Francie' launch will be held on Thursday 11 March, 6-8pm. The Murder She Wrote 'Jessica' launch will be held on Thursday 8 April, 6-8pm. Additional late nights (in conjunction with the Gaffa openings) will be held on Thurs March 25 for Francie and Thurs April 22 for Jessica.
There are several wonderful things about this festival. The first is that it's entirely for charity. All proceeds go to the Sarah Hilt Foundation, which funds victims of meningococcal disease. The second is that you pay a flat rate of $105 and you get unlimited alcohol for the entire 24 hours. And we're not talking house wine and VB; the event is catered by Apple Tree Flat and Vodka O, so there will be enough sugar in your booze to keep you dancing all day and night. The third is always a winner: fancy dress. If you were at Playground Weekender you'll understand how much fun can be had boogying with an aubergine or having your photo taken with a tribe of sexy aliens from the planet Pandora. This quaint little festival boasts a delectable local lineup including Deep Sea Arcade, the Thundamentals, Matt Corby, and Fun Machine and 104 Collective ft. Seekae, with DJs DCup, Elane, Much Love, Bondi House DJs, Bad Wives and SMS. You can also post a postcard to your mum, drink tea with a 1950s tea lady and join a Japanese sing-along. So c'mon, this is your last chance to run barefoot through a field, release your inner hippy and set up a tent that you probably won't use before the summer fizzles out. Secret Garden's location will be revealed shortly before the event — but word on the street is it's just one hour south of Sydney. Image (Deep Sea Arcade) by Kylie Coutts. https://youtube.com/watch?v=4XrG20hALoQ
As kimono clad onlookers a few floors above traipse around the Hymn to Beauty: The Art of Utamaro exhibition ogling delicate ukiyo-e woodblock prints, rest your weary geta clogs in the downstairs theatrette. Hymn to Beauty focuses on the "floating world" captured in Utamaro's work, glimpsing into the luxurious new pleasure culture of early seventeenth–century Japan. All films are free(!), and screen on Wednesday afternoons, nights and Sunday afternoons. Tickets are released outside the theatrette an hour before each session starts. Sharaku Dir. Masahiro Shinoda (1995) Wednesday 3rd March 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 7th March 2pm Fictional biography of famous Japanese woodblock artist and Kabuki performer Shakaru. Zatôichi Dir. Takeshi Kitano (2003) Wednesday 10th March 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 14th March 2pm Meet a Japanese Edo-period superhero: blind gambler/masseuse (seventeenth century 'slashie'?) by day, master swordsman at night. The Life of Oharu Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi (1952) Wednesday 17th March 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 21st March 2pm The tragic tale of a lady-in-waiting forced by society into a life of concubinage. Empire of Passion Dir. Nagisa Oshima (1978) Wednesday 24th March 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 28th March 2pm Revenge, eroticism and supernatural visions in feudal Japan. Winner of Best Director at Cannes. Utamaro and His Five Women Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi (1946) Wednesday 31st March 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 4th April 2pm A study of printmaker Utamaro and his five muses; as much their story as his. Kwaidan Dir. Masaki Kobayashi (1964) Wednesday 7th April 2pm & 6pm, Sunday 11th April 2pm The Edo period Candyman, of sorts. Four stories based on a samurai class parlour game designed to summon spirits. Twilight Samurai Dir. Yôji Yamada (2002) Wednesday 14th April 2pm & 7:15pm, Sunday 18th April 2pm The first in Yamada's trilogy, this is about samurais and not vampires. A tale of wealth, honour and courage. I repeat, not vampires. https://youtube.com/watch?v=7sEdxb3I3dk
Living room slide shows have become an endangered species since the advent of social photo dumps like Facebook. For me, the act of sitting in a small room, eating some snacks and watching a friend fiddle with their post-travel carousel of anecdotes is so far removed from my current reality that I am almost certain I've never even seen a slide projector in the proverbial flesh. Thankfully there are folks like photographer William Yang out there, bringing a taste of nostalgia back into a jpeg-saturated reality. Impeccably suited and concisely spoken, Yang gives his audience a warm, humourous and very honest tour through his rich portfolio of social photography. There is something so wholesome about having a real human describe the story behind each image, rather than a couple of tags to anchor identities, and unlike the often rambling, soporific punishments of stereotypical amateur slide nights, Yang has curated his presentation so as to provide a fascinating, naturally-evolving piece of storytelling. Characters, from Brett Whitely through to Robin Nevin, drift in and out of Yang's narrative like lanterns on midnight waters, breathing life into this collection of stills from the artistic, literary, theatrical and queer circles of Sydney in the 80s and early 90s. Daniel Holdsworth of the Maple Trail punctuates Yang's tales with occasional bursts of music — including tunes from Bob Dylan, Tiny Tim, and the Village People. These moments are used sparingly and to great effect, especially at key points of the story where it would be better to let the images speak for themselves (or sing karaoke for themselves, given the presence of the music). As a historical document, My Generation is a wonderful, moving work and a must for anyone who dared to assume that our generation invented the notions of debauchery, love and angst. Image by William Yang.
Since calling a hiatus from the Dresden Dolls, Amanda Palmer has been touring the world off the back of her solo debut Who Killed Amanda Palmer (a sister to Laura, perhaps?) and flabbergasting people with her avant-cabaret tunes. She has recently bowled over crowds at the Edinburgh Festival and Coachella and will soon be touring kooky and controversy-courting new act Evelyn Evelyn, but is first stopping back into the Opera House to treat us once again. Piano-heavy and dramatic, her music takes bits of Laurie Anderson, Kate Bush and Tori Amos and adds in a hefty dose of Liza Minnelli and Frank-N-Furter. Her playful, low voice is put in the service of artful lyrics that oscillate between tongue-in-cheek, lewd rants and heartfelt tales of love and death. The show is always theatrical and highly visual, existing somewhere on the cusp of fringe and pop. She makes great film clips and her performances often make it to DVD, but even those are unlikely to match the thrill of her live show. See it all the more stately in Opera House surrounds. https://youtube.com/watch?v=3sex26GeZ6c
What are ideas anyway? They're those big, abstract tangles floating above our heads that we pull down and argue about now and then, right? Most of the time we're too busy grappling with them to remember that someone had to put them up there in the first place. Enter Charles Darwin (Paul Bettany), seen here as a brilliant but private middle-aged man, leading a seemingly charmed life surrounded by family and friends. It doesn't take long for us to see the reasons for his reticence. Darwin is plagued by illness and troubled by his suspicions regarding the nature of the universe. We see Darwin's philosophy as it emerged: a knot of scientific study, family relations and devastating tragedy. There's plenty here for those who favour art over science: a strong dramatic plot, complex characters and conveniently visual scenes featuring hydrotherapy treatments. That Darwin's wife, Emma, is played by Paul Bettany's real-life partner Jennifer Connelly adds tangible depth to the problematic marriage. Some moments do creep close to melodrama, but even this operates well within the context to draw otherwise abstract considerations back into the complexity of their human origins. CREATION official movie trailer
In almost any American movie worth its weight, there's a great scene set at a drive-in. Think Grease, Twister, Accidents Happen and many more. The lesson to be learnt is that drive-in cinemas are awesome and cool things happen there. This is why you should go along and visit the Racecourse Drive-in cinema. Hopefully a twister won't come through the screen while you're watching The Shining, but instead you'll have a fantastic winter's night snug in your car watching a collection of some of the most exciting films to have come out in recent months. Blockbusters Sex and the City 2, Iron Man 2, Robin Hood and Avatar are just a few of the titles. But of course a drive in wouldn't be a drive-in without some classic cinema, so also check out Breakfast at Tiffany's, Top Gun and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Pack a few sandwiches, a thermos of hot choccie and your favourite car-sized friends and head off to Randwick for an authentic American drive-in experience.
He ain’t heavy, he's Neil Diamond. People like his songs, his shirts and his album covers. Chris McAuliffe, director of the Ian Potter Museum of Art at Melbourne University, liked the cover of Shilo enough to curate an entire exhibition devoted to it. One hundred artists were sent copies of the record sleeve, which has a connect-the-dots of Diamond's face against a white background. The results are as varied as you would expect. Some have connected the dots with string, paper or paint, others have obscured them entirely or collaged around them. There is a lot of crosshatching, a lot of colour and a lot of string. The exhibition is light and fun, and the artists have obviously enjoyed creating their contributions, but the works would benefit from a bit of backstory. Perhaps it's against the artistic spirit, but I wanted to know why Adam Cullen sees Neil Diamond as the devil or why Mitch Cairns used brown paper words. Some of the artists are interviewed in videos, but these are too reminiscent of Behind the News to be informative. Some of the greatest works in the show are original covers, found in op-shops, which the previous owners have taken to with pencil or blue biro. Anonymous #8 shows Diamond with fangs, a nose ring and a goatee and features the words "Greg 'O' co-starring Real Rage Material", while Anonymous #4 leaves him with a feather earring and a love bite helpfully labelled "love bite" — artistic interpretation at its homemade best. Catch the curator's talk with Dr Chris McAuliffe, Director, The Ian Potter Museum of Art, on Sunday, July 11, at 3pm.
First up, let me start by saying that this film is not The Karate Kid. Yes, it's a remake of the beloved 1984 original complete with updated versions of Pat Morita's classic Mr. Miyagi and charismatic poster-boy Ralph Macchio's Danny Le Russo. Yes, it follows the same familiar Star Wars-like formula of helpless-lost-boy-meets-wise-mentor-who-him-to-greatness. But rather than combating bullies on the gritty urban streets of LA, our waif-like African-American hero is transported to the teeming streets of Beijing, China, where he's winded by culture shock and schooled in the art of kung fu not karate. So for the sake of preserving everyone's favourite childhood classic, I'll be referring to this remake as 'The Kung Fu Kid' henceforth. In 'The Kung Fu Kid', 12-year-old Dre (Jaden Smith, son of Will and Jada) has a hard time adjusting when he moves with his mother (Taraji P. Henson) to Beijing. Not only is the language and landscape completely foreign, he has to contend with a group of schoolyard bullies who terrorise him via some pretty brutal fight scenes (kiddies, avert your eyes). Enter Mr. Han (Jackie Chan), the solemn, reclusive maintenance man who lives in solitude next door and happens to be a clandestine kung fu master. He takes the young hopeful under his wing and trains him in the ancient Chinese art, enabling him to beat the bullies, win the girl and prove himself as a 'man'. As far as cinematography goes, this film hits it out of the park. It may be a kid’s movie, but the sweeping vistas of mountainous Chinese countryside and bustling streets of Beijing redeem it from the predictable storyline and make for compelling adult viewing. The other surprisingly notable features of this film are its leads, Smith and Chan. Smith, who's clearly right at home in front of the camera, is entirely his dad's son in terms of charisma and screen presence. At only 11 years of age at the time of filming, he manages to carry the weight of a hefty 140 minutes of cinema (a little too long? I thought so) with relative charm and ease, while Chan portrays the world-weary, multidimensional Mr. Han with honesty and heart.
So I have a yearly routine with World Press Photo: See the show. Gape in wonder. Feel suddenly nauseous two hours later. If you've seen this annual collection of the preceding year's best global photojournalism before, you'll know what I'm getting at. The images featured are always stunning, and it's no different this year. There's an amazing stillness and beauty to every shot, often — almost always — of scenes that should surrender neither: the aftermath of the Iranian elections, Israel's bombing of Palestine, the workings of an abattoir. But as those examples suggest, it's also wrenching viewing. News, arts, landscape and sports categories are all featured. But year-in, year-out there’s a predictable, and perhaps inevitable, skew towards impeccably shot horrors. Hence the nausea. It’s hard not to argue that anger or disgust are simplistic reactions. If you buy that the world-class photography should be celebrated, and that there’s no arbitrary point at which news photos should be disallowed, then World Press has to exist. But at the same time, they're reactions that are hard to shake when looking at a blown-up photo of the chair that a man (the President of Guinea-Bissau, as it happens) was shot then dismembered on and knowing that alongside everyone else in the room, you're there to be entertained. So perhaps the real masterstroke here is the inclusion of the Sydney Morning Herald's Photos 1440 exhibit alongside World Press. The newspaper's shots run a gentler gamut — through beaches, festivals, the Sydney dust storm and Australian politics. Many are beautiful, too. But while they're not at the same level as World Press, it's not so much a virtuosity gap that separates the two shows; it's the difficulty of remembering any one of Photos 1440's individual images. The horrors in World Press are so exquisitely presented and immediate as to force the formation of memories. And while it'd be nice to say that this ensures that the minority of simple, beautiful photos that don’t foreground death or cruelty — an autistic child under running water, their hand clutching a prized found object — also find lodging, that's bullshit. It just means there's something in the world's most beautiful atrocity exhibition that you won't be guaranteed anywhere else: your brain excited and alive.
Glitchy abstractions, ambiguous beats and Nintendo bleeps. Sounds like you? Sounds like Xiu Xiu. Where some people paint still-life, watercolour canvases to express a part of their identity, lead singer Jamie Stewart uses dark words and a stormy demeanour (mashed in with experimental rock) to express his. Stewart may be a little bit angry, but it’s not personal — instability seems to be his driving force (the band has had four lineup changes in eight years), and it's clearly reflected in the spontaneity of sounds on Xiu Xiu’s seven-spinner discography. Stewart is now joined by Angela Seo for Xiu Xiu’s latest release, Dear God, I Hate Myself (2010), which has been described by their label, Popfrenzy, as "more overtly poppy and electronic". The making of the album included Nintendo sounds, a vibraphone, tenor recorder, optigan, desk bells, a Game Boy, harmonium, chamberlain — even a celeste. Joining them on the September tour, also from NYC, are electronic fringe-dwellers High Places and Sydney's experimental-pop darlings, Kyu. All three groups will be playing new material. These will certainly be high-calibre performances, but what I want to know is (1) will Jamie Stewart be as angry as I'm afraid he is in concert; and (2) how will they play all those instruments? There’s only one way to find out. Image by Huy Ngo.
A film for those who love Arnold Schwarzenegger but not so much his take on politics, Farewell (or more precisely, L'Affaire Farewell) is a far shot from your typical American blockbuster, delivering both beauty and the brains to go with it. The matter takes place during the Cold War: a true story of an espionage operation that altered the course of history. Sergei Gregoriev (Emir Kusturica), a disillusioned KGB colonel, decides to sell his soul to the French in an effort to bring change to his beloved Russia. For this ominous task, he chooses not an experienced spy but the humble Pierre Froment (Guillaume Canet), a French engineer living in Moscow with his family. This film combines thrills and tension with well-informed political and subtle emotional dimensions. There's a multitude of takes on the democracy-versus-communism debate, and not always sober ones. Canet is a far cry from Arnold, but it is precisely this quality that makes us fans. Sweet, confused, bespectacled Pierre is the perfect 'everyman', and he pulls us all the way into the action. Amateur historians will bask in the rich world that director Christian Carion (Joyeux Noel) has laboriously created. The only fault in this film's intellect is the cheap shots at American politicians, but this alternative to the usual portraits is a guilty pleasure that feels right. https://youtube.com/watch?v=fW_smC73R6w
What is it about vampires? Sure, immorality might mean flawless skin for eternity, and hanging around the planet for a few thousand years would make anyone a pretty interesting dinner guest, but they can’t do half the things that superheroes can, and daylight allergy makes for a pretty dim outlook on life. Yet for some reason, right now the only thing sexier than a vampire is a hairless werewolf with vampire envy. Riding on the cape-tails of this strange craze and bringing new meaning to the term 'blood sports', Company B presents Vampire Theatresports — a season of improvised comedy inspired by our fanged friends. For four consecutive Sundays, upstairs Belvoir will provide the battleground for a hilarious, blood-curdling showdown between good and evil. Drawing on all the faves from Twilight to True Blood to the original Dracula, the two teams of seasoned improvisers and best new talents will ad lib their way to victory. Directed by Ewan Campbell, who has been involved in theatresports for over 20 years, Vampire Theatresports is here to lighten up these pallid creatures of the night and put the comedy back into the business of bloodlust. BYO crucifix for safety.
As if Object Gallery's Spring Series were not, with its bicycle dinners and inflatable couch parking lot takeovers and studio tours and pretty website, endearing enough, here is an exhibition with a pun in the title! A double one! Curated by Joan-Maree Hargreaves (Object's Producer - Digital & Publications) StereoTyped looks at sound design and typography and how they come together in contemporary practice, questioning received attitudes about design and designers in the process. And by received attitudes, we mean stereotypes. See what they did there? Featuring works by Stephen Banham, James Cecil, David Chesworth,Amanda Cole, Nils Crompton, Future Classic,Ellen Lupton, Gemma O’Brien, Tin&Ed, Brooke Trezise and Jared Underwood, StereoTyped is an immersive exhibition that brings viewers into close consideration of the works, pairing up visuals with big black headphones around the arc of Object Gallery's Project Space. Pieces employ print, film and sound recording to explore the potentialities of multimedia communications as forms diversifying beyond formally skilled practitioners into broader cultural applications accessible to non-professionals via new publishing technologies. Specialisation is being challenged here, as is a view of design as something that's applied to represent a concept rather than being a part of it. Get excited, inner dorks who like fonts!
Darren and Ralph of A Tiny Chorus have achieved the impossible — they have actually improved on the unimprovable brilliance of Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt's 'Don't Know Much'. In what can only be described as a moment of absurd genius, their jelly duet will change your life. For a second. But, unfortunately, this is, with the exception of the gherkin sequence, where the genius ends. Darren and Ralph (Emily Tomlins and Eryn Jean Norvill), two lovable simpletons (sweet, hapless fools whose simplicity makes them incapable of sentimentality) are on a journey towards love and joy, uncovering, by way of a series of improbable events, the true depths of their relationship. Blow-up microphones, scissors and straws, an inflatable earth and the Macquarie Dictionary accompany the two performers through a loose narrative of revelation. The problem with the show is that the performances, although thoroughly committed, slip, both physically and vocally, into parodies of intellectual disability — so much so that it is uncomfortable to watch. The clown is always a knife-edge character in some way or another, but Darren and Ralph sit just on the other side of perfect. A Tiny Chorus won the People’s Choice Award for Best Performance at the 2009 Melbourne Fringe Festival. And people were laughing at this performance. So maybe I'm just a stick-in-the-mud. A Tiny Chorus is part of the Sydney Fringe Festival.
Nicole Holofcener's peculiar brand of comedic, upper-middle class miserablism finds a pitch-perfect setting on the streets of New York. Once again proving her mastery of the ensemble cast, Holofcener has gathered the likes of Oliver Platt, Rebecca Hall and Amanda Peet, alongside her cinematic staple Catherine Keener, to play out a neighbourly charade. Kate and Alex (Keener and Platt) make a morally questionable living running a furniture store stocked with antiques they've bought on the cheap from grieving relatives. Their wealth has also allowed them to purchase the apartment next door, currently occupied by a wizened old crone, Andra (Ann Guilbert), for whom they must impatiently wait to pass away before they can begin their dream renovation. Andra's two granddaughters (Hall and Peet) meet Kate, Alex and their spotty teenage daughter, Abby (Sarah Steele), for a birthday celebration, after which their lives become more intimately connected. Please Give takes its place in Holofcener's filmography (Walking and Talking, Lovely & Amazing, Friends with Money) as another shrewd, strongly written, female-driven dramedy. Relationships, death, guilt, money: Holofcener takes pretty much everything you're not supposed to talk about at a dinner party and spins it into a ruefully awkward, bone-dry comedy. And don't go expecting a rosy Hollywood ending either, for what Holofcener serves up instead will surely set chins wagging as you leave the cinema. https://youtube.com/watch?v=dTtjjYQUzWQ
How does that saying go? 'The only functional family is one you haven't met yet.' This certainly holds for Lisa Cholodenko's (High Art, Laurel Canyon) latest filmic family, made up of lesbian couple Nic (Annette Bening), Jules (Julianne Moore) and their two teenagers Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson). After the kids track down their spunky sperm 'donor Dad' Paul (Mark Ruffalo), the family unit comically and poignantly destabilises as everyone makes room (some more willingly than others) for the new addition. Vino-swilling surgeon Nic is immediately threatened, while Jules finds a kindred spirit in the laid back, organic restaurant owner. The emotional stakes are raised even higher in the days prior to Joni leaving for college. Whichever way you slice it, this family is bound for change. Cholodenko's third film is a near masterpiece; part sex-comedy, part radiant and wry portrait of contemporary relationships. Sure these are upper-middle class white folk, caught in a So-Cal bubble of wealth and sunshine, but that doesn't make Cholodenko's observations any less valid, or thought provoking. Spurred on by joyous, fierce, transcendent performances across the board, Cholodenko refuses to tie this family's story off with a neat little bow, which makes for not only an achingly truthful closing act, but one that leaves you pondering (or even vehemently debating) whether everyone in this film will indeed end up all right. https://youtube.com/watch?v=50gfr57QjG0
This Tuesday DBC Pierre will be at the Oxford Art Factory promoting his new book Lights Out In Wonderland, supported by Gareth Liddard from The Drones (who is amazing, for lack of a better superlative). In 2003 Pierre won the Booker Prize for his debut novel, Vernon God Little, which is fairly incredible when you think about it. Previous winners have included heavyweights like J.M Coetzee for Disgrace and Australia's very own adorable garden gnome, Thomas Keneally, for Schindler's Ark. Vernon God Little was the story of an amoral 15-year-old boy who rides around Texas on a dinky bike eating Bar-B-Chew ribs and daydreaming of panty tangs, who gets caught up in the mass hysteria of a school shooting. It has the ease, humour and scope of great American novels like Catcher in the Rye and Confederacy of Dunces. Plus Pierre's personal life — a wasted youth of drugs, fraud and petty crime — lent him a very press friendly sense of rock and roll glamour. His follow-up made less of a splash, but his latest novel Lights Out In Wonderland was just described by the Guardian as "an artful shout of protest from a soul on fire". So I guess he's back on form. To win one of two double passes to see DBC Pierre tonight, head to our Facebook page.
Honestly, I'm kind of sceptical about this sort of thing. Putting on a show about environmental crises at the MCA is comparable to putting out a zine about being shy and liking cupcakes. It's not even preaching to the converted — the difference between audience and author opinion is so potentially slight as to make it akin to talking to oneself. To some extent, In The Balance conforms to that expectation, with a goodly amount of preaching about recycling and how long a plastic container takes to degrade (no, really?). As well as more than a few documentations of environmental protests — admittedly in relatively effective contexts like the Tasmanian old growth fracas — encompassing your typical banner waving and cops/pigs witticisms. But it's a credit to the show's curation that these elements don't so much grate as form a framework of expected reactions upon which a lot of arguably more interesting works create nuance. Much of In The Balance is quite spectacular, with a good deal of excellent photography covering both verdant and destroyed landscapes, alongside numerous plant installations which lend each room a beauty and liveliness. This serves to open the mind to the show's concerns via aesthetic appreciation rather than duh-duh sloganeering. Perhaps the most vibrant example being Lauren Berkowitz's plastic bag sculpture, which drapes from the ceiling white, quiet and enveloping. You (or maybe I) can't help but want to spend time with this, and an appreciation of it utilises a different part of the brain than that which is normally hostile to environmental engagement via it's association with cockweed environmentalists. Whether this results in any action is up for debate, but that it involves thought potentially outside a viewer's usual pathways with regards to "the environment" makes In The Balance a compelling experience.
A comedy about suicide bombers sounds like a tough sell by any stretch of the imagination. But when that imagination stems from British satirist Chris Morris, there is some sort of brilliantly bizarre alchemy at work. Morris made a name for himself with such high wire humour; his cult series Brass Eye was all about flaying cultural sacred cows, and his feature debut Four Lions is no different. Taking a motley crew of Sheffield Muslims, Morris sets Omar (Riz Ahmed), Waj (Kayvan Novak), Faisal (Adeel Akhtar) and Barry (Nigel Lindsay) on a sacred mission: to get audiences to chuckle over a jihad. And chuckle you will, for Morris' screenplay is an appealing mix of witticisms, pitch-black social commentary and dimwit farce. Not all the elements will work for everyone; Omar and Waj bumbling around and wreaking havoc on their terrorist training camp stretches the characters' potential for stupidity a little far, as do some of Waj's more gormless lines. But Morris' precision as co-writer and director finds echoes of Dr. Strangelove, as well as a form of transcendence in the ridiculous. Ahmed gives a pitch-perfect performance as the group's tenacious leader and the film hits its satirical stride when it ventures into Omar's loving domestic life. And as the wannabe terrorists' manifold idiocy careens towards the climatic, costumed charity race (can you tell the difference between a Wookie and a Honey Bear?) Morris and his cast certainly succeed is in their unerring commitment to seeing the joke through to its bitterly funny and deeply poignant end. https://youtube.com/watch?v=2gyxZv0wxTA
For a band so — well loved doesn't quite cut it — adored, it seems shocking that the Chills have only released a handful of records, but the standard of each one is so high that it seems to run into the hundreds. One of the very first bands signed to iconic New Zealand record label Flying Nun, the Chills sit at the tippiest top of the influential pop tree. Formed in 1980, with members dipping in and out of related bands such as the Clean and the Verlaines over the years, the band has seen some tough times, steady lineup changes and sad losses. And yet, Martin Phillips has always been there, leading the charge with his heavenly pop hits. After a brief hiatus, Phillips reformed the band in 2003 to the glee of Dunedin advocates the world over. This is a band that demands you do a little jig when you find out they're playing in your town, a band that you rush out and get your ticket for, a band that, despite the slightly scary press photo, you will cherish forever. https://youtube.com/watch?v=VKWkK1tJxdw
Every seven years, it is said, all of the cells of our body are replaced by brand new, potentially carcinogenic copies. This is growth, maturation, repetition. Someone of a philosophical bent could argue that this means we are constantly unbecoming ourselves, or that indeed there never was a solid self in the beginning. Maybe that all seems like an abstract argument, but turn your mind to the suburbs of Sydney and imagine that each of those houses is a cell and that, over the years, each will eventually be replaced. Does this mean our suburbs are constantly unbecoming? Or that there is no actual truth to our sense of community? Writer and performer, Rosie Dennis, along with June Hickey, explores Sydney's obsession with property development, designer communities and the silent class war of financially driven displacement in Driven to New Pastures. Sheltering in a house marked for demolition, theirs is a tale of six figures forced to move on when the developers' dream turns to reality. Sessions are at 4pm and 8pm. Bookings essential — call 4645 4100. Image by Marilyn Moreno.
I imagine The Shipment to be a little like watching Eddie Murphy's Raw: hilarious and uncomfortable in the extreme. The difference is that the writer in this case, Young Jean Lee, is no black stand-up comedian but a Korean-born, Brooklyn-based, experimental theatre-maker. A self-described avant-garde artist, Lee's method of working is to force herself to write plays about the things she least wants to write about, demanding a constant extension of herself and her practice. With an awareness of her own discomfort with black identity politics, Lee has created a work that bends, twists and subverts our tendency to see things in racial terms — in 'black and white'. But don't mistake serious intentions for a serious show: The Shipment won't disappoint Murphy fans either. Inappropriate laughs and language abound, not to mention a shuck and jive dance scene. Lee works as both playwright and director with her ensemble cast, resulting in a piece of theatre which is as energetic and determined as she is. The testament to this is that since opening in Brooklyn in April 2008 the cast have barely stopped touring.
This is a story stranger than fiction: of a concentration camp, Theresienstadt, that was held up to Jewish prisoners as a reward for good behaviour and to the world as a solution to the "Jewish problem". The centre of life and the means of survival in this camp was the ability to perform, to act your part — and in doing so, to show the world that you were alive and happy and perhaps also cope with the circumstances within which you found yourself. Presented to visiting Red Cross officials in 1944 as a model Jewish settlement, members of the camp were forced to reconstruct the town as a set, were dressed in their Sunday best and made to perform to a script. In reality, this 'performance' was so successful that it was followed by a film, cynically titled The Führer Gives a Village to the Jews. All tricky stuff. However, director Tanya Goldberg describes Way To Heaven, the play loosely based on the Red Cross visit, as "more than a holocaust play". Juan Mayorga's script takes issue with what it means to perform and the relationship between our 'character' and our 'performances', questioning the essence of self and the relation of this to action. Goldberg's production employs a number of Brechtian-style distancing techniques to remind us that this is a performance, and not a historical reenactment: one account is given through a microphone, house lights are switched on during scene changes and actors fall purposefully in and out of role — both in the play, and in the play within the play (the performance of the chosen Jews to 'the visitor'). Nevertheless, the emotional dimension of this history is impossible to contain. In a plot where the ability to communicate or conceal something is a matter of life or death, performative symbols become incredibly powerful for the audience. The Jewish lullaby sung by a young girl is devastating, while the first appearance of the giant Nathan Lovejoy in SS uniform is pure horror. The demands which are made of the audience — to look into the eyes of various characters in this production — are unexplainably difficult. Thankfully, the script, actors and audience are ultimately treated with great sensitivity. The collaborative, supportive community of Ride On Theatre, not to mention Griffin Theatre, is hugely significant in this. The long journey to staging this script, apparently five years in the making, has been a blessing in disguise for this production, resulting in a delicately nuanced and potent performance. Image by Heidrun Löhr. https://youtube.com/watch?v=eacIpUZfwoM
There must be something in the river water in Brisbane that dictates a synthesizer fascination, at least since the mid '90s when Regurgitator added a keytar player to their band after the release of Unit. At the same time, the young Seja Vogel was playing synth in electro-pop purveyors Sekiden, shredding the ebony and ivories, and later in the '00s became a member of the 'Gurge. 'I'll get To You' is the first taste of her debut solo album, and it doesn't surprise much in its sound — '80s synths over programmed beats a la Gary Numan — but the surprise comes in the lovely vocals, a sweet melancholic melody that is backed by layers of serene aaahhhhs. It comes complete with a clip full of soft-focus '80s psychedelia: lots of triangles, pyramids and overlapping frames. Making this an unmissable double-header are Otouto, a fresh, new band from Melbourne, made up of two singing sisters and the heavily mutton-chopped Kishore Ryan on drums (better known for his stick work with Kid Sam). Their music is a collaged, lo-fi, slightly messy clash of sounds, jumping around melodically while the sisters sing in unison. Otouto are, too, about to release their debut album. Ghoul round out this bill of new buzz bands. It's all happening in Newtown's favourite watering hole, the Sandringham, which apparently has a good new band room. https://youtube.com/watch?v=NXd0YdbPZvs
Like a much much more labour-intensive profile picture, a portrait is how a person has thought someone should be seen. This is a horrible analogy, but, frankly, so too are some of the paintings at The Real Refuses. TAP Gallery, fantastically, are for the 14th year running putting up what doesn't go into the Archibald Prize at the state gallery or the accompanying and also pretty institutional Salon Des Refuses at S.H. Ervin. Once you've culled 3000 or so entries for the Archie, Wynne and Sulman prizes down to however much can be packed into the Art Gallery of New South Wales, and had a panel select an exhibition of the very worthwhile not-quites, and you let artists submit directly to the gallery at an afternoon tea, it gets Really Interesting. There are a few landscapes on show, but the real point is picking out who you recognise and seeing what's been done to their face. What distinguishes the 'refuses' from the 'includeds' is more to do with subject than skill: there are lovely paintings here, where people really might be looking out of the canvas at you, but you don't see the who or why other than as an exercise of the artist's (in most cases, pretty evident) talent.
Actually, that title in full is The Chronic Ills of Robert Zimmerman AKA Bob Dylan (A Lie) — A Theatrical Talking Blues and Glissendorf. Complex, yes — and an appropriate clue as to the whole experience (the key being 'Bob Dylan'). Through a combination of monologues, duologues with the veteran ghosts of fame, and songs, the play explores the joint enigma of Dylan's life and his self. Don't expect a neat biography: that would be inappropriate. 'Glissendorf' is a reference to a word game played by Dylan which was intended to confuse its audience, so take it as a warning. Benito Di Fonzo's text travels in a deceptively laidback fashion, words slung together into abstract patterns like glass beads, while clear definition slides past and always just out of grasp. Words, including names, are not fixed labels but are employed as symbols when and where appropriate. The songs are not quite literal either. While the production team are the first to admit that this was for legal and not artistic reasons, the re-imagining of Dylan's music and words in new forms seems far more appropriate — Dylan being the last person to play his songs as recorded. This also allows actor/musical director Matt Ralph the ability to sidestep an entirely derivative portrayal and tread new creative ground. Other characters which appear or are merely gestured to are represented in much the same way. Expect to see T.S. Eliot led as a dog on a leash led by Ezra Pound amid lines such as "burning like a pubic hair on Charlton Heston's crossbow". The mood of mysticism serves to do more than obscure: it is revealing — and quite funny. Tapping into a beatnik version of magical realism, Chronic Ills avoids insincere imitation to navigate far richer waters.
In a world funded by the currency of youth, aging can be a pretty difficult concept for a lot of folks to accept. Ours is a time in which Botox clinics pop up like wild fungi, dating a boy in school uniform is considered a mark of feminine liberation and citing an ‘age range’ as opposed to an actual age is no longer isolated to Hollywood actors. In Philip Ridley's intimate, off-kilter play The Fastest Clock in the Universe, directed by Evin Donohoe, modern day age-phobia is explored through its egocentric lead character, aptly named ‘Cougar'. The action kicks off on Cougar's ‘19th’ birthday, an event that we later learn has taken place several times before. Doted on by his loyal companion, simply known as ‘the Captain’, we see Cougar basking in his vanity with the self-obsession of a full-blown narcissist. Complete with fake birthday cards and a cake adorned with 19 candles, we eventually discover that the whole fraudulent shindig is for the benefit of Foxtrot, a much younger boy Cougar is trying to bait. Cougar's ill-intentioned plan is quickly derailed however, with the arrival of Sherbet, Foxtrot's newly acquired fiancé. While this darkly comic play indulges in melodrama a little too often, at times coming off overplayed and unfeasible, it redeems itself through some genuinely humorous moments and solid performances, most notably from Brooke Ryan (Sherbet) whose impeccable comic timing adds a dynamic dimension to the second act. In the subtler moments, the broader themes of vanity, mortality, sexuality and power translate effectively; unfortunately they are lost when overlapped by cliché.
The Come Together festival is badly named; the two-day, Luna Park event splits the lineup stylistically into two separate days, so it's actually more about pushing things apart than coming together per se. Saturday June 12 features lots of bands that I really don't like, but maybe you do: Gyroscope, The Butterfly Effect (who names themselves after an Ashton Kutcher movie?), Frenzal Rhomb (okay, I don't mind them so much), Strung Out, House Vs Hurricane, MM9, The Loved Ones and more. If you love your metal and punk, that is your prerogative, and I wish you all the best in life; Saturday is your day. If you prefer your music on the lighter side, then you can get along to Sunday's lineup, which has bands that I do like, and you may like too: The Jezabels are a great band, Boy and Bear play really lovely melodic folk-rock, Ernest Ellis, fronted by Roland Ellis (not Ernest, though earnest), is a very good young band about to release their debut album, Horrorshow do quite good hip hop, and, although I don't really dig her music that much, Lord can Bertie Blackman sing, and she always puts on a good show. They're joined by Grinspoon, British India and Dead Letter Circus, among others. I apologise for my blatant disregard of journalistic objectivity and preference for righteous opinions. It's been my way of saying: there's something for everyone at this firmly established festival. Lots more bands are yet to be announced, but tickets go on sale before that, from Thursday, April 8, at 9am (pre-sales from Tuesday, April 6, at noon).
David Scott Mitchell’s bequest of his books, papers and pictures to the State Library in 1907 came with the condition that it be housed and displayed in its own wing. When it opened in 1910, it provided the first public collection of Australian and Oceanic history through original, primary sources, alongside an extraordinary selection of general maps, manuscripts and records. Its holdings have been continually expanded to encompass more local and historical treasures, and, as a venue, it’s become a part of the social history it houses. To celebrate its centenary, the Mitchell Library’s ONE hundred exhibition has 100 of its treasures on display for 100 days, almost jumbling together objects that are significant in their specificity to time and place and revealing in their vernacular documentation of technologies, geographies and attitudes. In one room, there’s a 14th-century prayer book, an ultra-candid portrait of an upper working–class settler matriarch, a photo of a filthy Sydney butcher’s shop in 1903, car ads and a proclamation on marriage and morals from Governor Lachlan Macquarie. The collection is held together by the way its various exhibits all represent and document life and the world, with an emphasis on individual views and moments in time.
Adaptations of ancient Greek plays are scarce in the landscape of contemporary Australian theatre. While Shakespeare productions continue to flourish, the earlier classics attract less excitement. That said, Love Me Tender is no straightforward re-staging. Playwright Tom Holloway, while inspired by Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis, has twisted contemporary images and ideology into a dreamlike chaos. Holloway's creation is unusual in its rich wealth of symbolism and abstraction and in the fluidity of its characters and representation. The two godlike characters operate to provide context, then confuse it, drive the action forward, then halt it. These two could be seen in realist terms as writers, translators or interpreters, or in historical terms as reminiscent of a Greek chorus. While espousing particular approaches in their discussions, they in fact emphasise the confused and oppositional beliefs at play in the situation at hand. This production draws heavily on the relationship between Holloway and director Matthew Lutton, who previously collaborated on Don't Say The Words. Lutton's work is striking, particularly in his direction of actors' movement. Belinda McClory, as the mother, exerts perfect control to steer between the admirable, violent and pitiful. The design aspects of the production are similarly significant. Water is used in different ways but primarily as a fine mist to create a fog-like effect while gradually soaking the actors. Without giving too much away, the introduction of a live animal to the stage similarly raises the stakes. While the overall tension does unfortunately tend to peter out before what should be the climax, this is an exceptionally brave and generous production. https://youtube.com/watch?v=5fgVdPusorU
Bringing together more than fifty artists in one exhibition might seem a little chaotic, especially when their backgrounds and practices are as diverse as the artists included here. Acrylics, oils, pastels, charcoal, sculpture, drawing, ceramics, metalsmithing - there are more disciplines here than in highschool art class. Yet Small is the New Big has an interesting cohesiveness to it, some kind of organic through line that makes it all work in flowing harmony. Size definitely matters and the smaller the better.Image: Helen Poyser, Shark 2
