My take on politics
While jogging this morning (I’ve started jogging again – I say jogging because English doesn’t have any other single verb which means wheezing while staggering in sneakers) I had an insight, a clarification of my position on the major political parties in Australia (btw I think this extends to the Republicans & Democrats in the USA – see what you think).
In Australia, the Labour party, the left, want to be in power because they think they can fix what’s wrong with society.
The right wing (in Australia known as the Liberal party – I know it’s confusing) want to be in power because they believe that their not being in power is what’s wrong with society. They want power because they believe themselves the only ones worthy to have it.
Anyway, that’s just how it looks to me. YMMV
You don’t come around so much anymore
Well it’s been weeks since my last post. I don’t know why I’m letting my blog slip so much – maybe because the in crowd seems to have moved on to Facebook (which I really do not like) and so I wonder if people even read this anymore. Plus bot-hell is a pain; and, of course, my actual life has been all over the place.
One thing I’m pleased to report is I’m still writing. I have a comedy script underway and while writing it is proving to be like pulling teeth (not in humour terms, but in output). It’s the one that I’ve got a producer interested in from earlier this year. At the moment the script is forty pages long. I wanted to have a draft finished by the end of October (no joy); then I hoped for the end of November (not a happening thing either). So at this rate, if I can get a draft by the end of the year I’ll be happy.
I think the delay comes from experiences in my youth. I love comedy – I mean genuinely love it. I collect comedy television series and can recite numerous whole stand up routines that I haven’t seen or heard since the 1980′s. I think that comedy was important to me because it was something I could share with my dad. Looking back on my childhood I realise that one of the few instances where he and I shared relaxed moments in front of the television (a contentious experience usually) was watching comedy. Dad hated science fiction, which I loved, and he really only enjoyed complex dramas of the sort that were on late at night or were too boring for a kid. The only thing we both enjoyed was comedy.
I was raised on Dave Allen, the Goodies and the Two Ronnies. Moving into the 1980′s I got to share Alas Smith & Jones and similar English sketch comedy. And Australia put up some great offerings – like Australia You’re Standing In It, the Gillies Report and the like. When the television version of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy was released, it was a godsend (ironic considering Douglas Adams’ avowed religious position), because here was science fiction my dad laughed at and enjoyed with me. In the years that have followed, dad has often said this was the show that made him think that maybe not all this science fiction stuff was rubbish.
So why is writing comedy so hard? I guess because I’m terrified of failure. Anytime I tried to be funny as a young person I bombed – I could be funny and often got a laugh, but not when I tried; I had to do it off the cuff, so to speak. A script is not off the cuff, it’s the exact opposite. So I’m writing and working through childhood issues at the same time; and as many submissions editors will tell you, you don’t want your therapy on the page. So I have to work to keep the script and my ‘personal growth’ separate. Gee, when I put it like that, it doesn’t sound too bad. For a moment there I thought I was just a procrastinating slacker. Yay blog, you made me feel good about myself and my work!
(re)Writing the classics
Since the only computer in the house is my iMac, it should come as no surprise that the iTunes accounts in our house are dominated by my music choices. Obviously my daughter downloads her own modern songs (which I have come to reflexively ignore); but mostly it’s me and my tastes that run the show. I have stuff mostly from the sixties, seventies and eighties, with an eclectic mish mash of other stuff thrown in eg. Carmina Burana.
One piece of music which, for reasons I cannot fathom, has especial resonance for my nine year old son is ‘Axel F’, the electronic music masterpiece from the original Beverly Hills Cop movie, the film that launched Eddie Murphy as an international star. This morning, as I was blearily trying to poach eggs for my breakfast, my boy announced he was ready for his own morning repast by entering the kitchen singing “Food, food! Foodie-food, food food!” to the tune of Axel-F. Teenage me, who loved Beverly Hills Cop, groaned unpleasantly.
Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose
My favourite French expression, ever since I read it as a teenager in Uncanny X-Men #200 (of all places). For those who don’t know it means, “the more things change, the more they stay the same”.
So I figured out today that I didn’t make the long list for the fellowship to which I applied. Frustrating? Of course. Each time I apply to anything, try to get my work noticed, I feel hope and that hope seems to lead only to disappointment. I was helping my daughter with a poetry assignment this week and so my mind is thinking in a more poetical turn of phrase. When I realised I hadn’t even made the long list, let alone the short list, my internal response was “How many doors do I knock on until my knuckles start to bleed?” Melodramatic? Probably! Adolescent? Maybe, but heartfelt for all that. I think the worst part is how lonely disappointment feels.
However, all is not bitterness, loss, misery and other stuff that teenagers think they have a copyright on…
On the up side of plus ca change, my son has discovered Asterix. I still remember when I was pointed to the Asterix books in my first primary school’s library in grade 3 (which made me about eight or nine). I fell in love with the silly stories immediately. The mighty and crazy Gauls having their ongoing conflict with Julius Caesar and his roman legions. Now, at the age of nine, my son is reading them. For weeks now he’s gone to the library with his mum and returned with armloads of stories, just as I had so long ago. It’s wonderful, because not only is my son developing a love of reading (which I think is a foundation to learning) but he’s doing it through a series of books that lead me into the same process. I know the characters and the stories, I can talk about them with him and share the stories. It’s one of those wonderful fatherhood moments.
So, while the disappointments come around again, so do the joys. I am blessed and my striving is not without results and worth.
Not dead yet
I’ve been starting to wonder if I would ever come back to this blog, perhaps you have too. Basically, I’ve been too busy trying to make other things work for me to invest too much in this as well. Which is dumb really, since this should support everything else I’m doing, building my momentum.
So, to catch up those of you who might still be checking in, I’ve been working through a scriptwriting book called Million Dollar Screenwriting, by a screenwriter named Chris Soth. This guy did a screenwriting course at UCLA and had to submit a completed screenplay for his final assignment. The day after he submitted it for his course he sold it to a studio for $750K. The made a film of it, called Firestorm, which I’ve seen and actually enjoy. So, this guy’s opinions seem worthy of listening to. I’m using his guide to write my own script for Dead Peasants. So scriptwriting apace.
I’ve also been persistently ill – like for months. Regular followers of this blog will know that I’ve been sick with infections of various sorts for the last two to four years and frankly it’s becoming wearying. I pray for a solution, since the frustration I’m feeling is a real creativity killer. Since I’m looking to succeed in a creative industry, that’s a kiss of death I’m talking about right there.
On the up side, I realise a little more every day what a blessing my family is – they fill me with joy. Just tonight my son helped me to prepare the leg of lamb that we roasted for dinner. It turned out great and I had one of those moments of father son bonding that make life special. I was able to show my son the proper technique for trimming and preparing meat, a technique I learned from my Dad. A real heritage moment.
Getting old
Recently I bought a cheap dvd of an old classic Australian film, Breaker Morant. For those who don’t know it’s a story about three Australians in the Boer War (circa 1902) who are put on trial for warcrimes. While they are guilty, it’s clear from the outset that the three men were all following orders and were far from the only ones responsible for such actions. The film portrays them as being set up for appearances so that it would become easier for Great Britain to negotiate a peace treaty – ostensibly by showing some kind of even handedness in dealing with their own men and prisoners of war.
The film was made in the late 1970′s and I remember it being a huge success in its day. It starred a swathe of great Australian actors just entering their prime, including Jack Thompson & Brian Brown. What was scary was to look back and realise how young they were. Here are these actors at a moment of great achievement, a moment imprinted in my memory and now I’m older than them. It was weird and disturbing. Where am I going and how much longer will it be until I get there? Have to wait and see.
In other news, I put myself in for the Kit Denton (Dis)Fellowship, which would mean I would be getting paid to develop my next script, so, once again, watch this space. Maybe this time I’ll pull it off.
PAC – not so much
Well I showed my little film last night and it was pretty soundly hammered by the critics. Part of the workshop structure is to show the short you’ve made and Annie Murtaugh-Monks and two industry pros watch and evaluate and (most joyfully of all) provide feedback. I really thought this was the best film work I’d done to date and it was made to feel like something I’d thrown together for a high school film club – a JUNIOR high school film club.
The feedback was so harsh that someone in the audience behind me who arrived late – so that he missed the film but heard the critique – said “Gee, it must have been really bad, huh?”
Now, I was first up for the night and after my film’s mauling I felt pretty wounded myself, so maybe I wasn’t in the best frame of mind, but I swear every film that followed was given at least fifty percent positive feedback and often much of it was undeserved.
So, needless to say, I’m reviewing my plans for the second half of the year based on last night’s outcomes. Even if I tell myself that those three opinions last night were just that (three opinions) and maybe funding application boards may see my little short differently, I just don’t have the confidence at the moment to use this piece to sell myself. What I think I’ll do is aim a little lower, make a couple more small shorts and see what happens then.
Back to work
Family has been nightmarishly sick the last two weeks, ever since the PAC filmshoot Saturday May 28. Finally though I’ve got some time free and have cut together a rough cut. It’s got full dialogue and now only needs colour grading and some sfx, such as swords clashing, some magic and bodies being cut up (yep, it’s my kind of film).
I have to have it ready to show the workshop this Thursday night, so it looks like I’m on schedule. Once that’s done I roll over into writing my Hyperlink grant application. So busy, busy, busy.
Once I’ve got a fine cut I might post it to You Tube and everyone can see it.
My daughter loses the Killers and finds herself in Dire Straits
This weekend began with my daughter telling me off. I was in trouble because I had ruined something for her.
My daughter uses my iTunes account to sync up her ipod and intermittently I find my iTunes has new songs uploaded to it. I’ve discovered Panic at the Disco, The Fray and a few others this way. A little while ago I discovered she had “Romeo and Juliet” by a group called The Killers. I played the song and sure enough I knew the lyrics – it was a remake of the Dire Straits song. Now with all due respect to The Killers, who are obviously a professional rock outfit with a large following, their version sucked. I grabbed my daughter next chance that presented itself and made her sit down while I uploaded the original and made her listen to Mark Knopfler’s soulful croon.
In that polite way that children humour their brain damaged older relatives, she sat and listened to the opening minute of the song. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s ok, but I still like the Killers version. I’ll probably add it to my playlist.”
This she did. And so, some months later we come to last week where I was in trouble. She began to dig out my Sultans of Swing: Best of Dire Straits cd. Why?
“Because you’ve ruined the Killers version for me, dad!”
Now she’s uploaded the entire best of, to check it all out. I think it’s still a bit of a shock to her to discover that even as she develops her musical tastes, her dad has something to offer her. I don’t want her to stop listening to The Killers (or any contemporary music especially); I love that I can still point her to some of the wonders of rock of previous decades. As my own dad used to say, “I may be old, but I’ve still got it!”
What to say and how to say it
My grandmother, Mary Veleta Ray, died the week before Easter. I was close to her and her passing was a heavy blow to my entire extended family. Grandma was ninety three and living in her own home; she slipped while shopping earlier this year and broke her hip. Within a few months she died. It was a very quick descent.
On the weekend I had lunch with some of my extended family, the first time we’d been together since the funeral and at one point my aunt challenged me as to why I hadn’t blogged about Grandma’s passing and I really didn’t know what to say. I made an excuse that I hadn’t wanted to rush to say something and have my writing overpowered by the raw emotions, but the truth is I haven’t really known what to say. Anything I can think to write either has only meaning for me, or else the words seem insipid, pointless because they don’t capture the meaning of the loss I feel. Thus, what follows are a few thoughts in no particular order.
My earliest memory of my grandmother is visiting her in the morning in her flat in Sydney. I was very young, no more than three or four years old. She would keep her bread in the freezer, which my family didn’t, so when she offered me a piece of bread and butter it was the special experience of eating a piece of frozen bread, which I thought was very special.
My uncle, Grandma’s only son, died in his thirties, when I was only twelve or thirteen. I remember that my family stayed with her in Sydney for the time of the funeral (by this stage my parents had moved our family to Perth). After the funeral my cousin and I were sitting on her couch and throwing a stuffed toy Mickey Mouse back and forth. The toy Mickey was from Disneyland and my grandmother had bought it when she visited the US with my recently deceased uncle. My cousin was much younger and started to get more enthusiastic with his throws of Mickey. After I caught it one time I realized that the adults had entered the room and maybe we should stop. I said to him “We shouldn’t throw Mickey around.”
My grandmother heard us and snatched the toy from my grasp. She told us both off in a way that made me feel very small, tiny really. Of course, what I didn’t realise at the time was the meaning that toy would have for her – all I knew was that I had gotten in trouble for playing with someone else’s toy. I thought Grandma mustn’t have liked me very much. Ironically, although this impression stood for a long time in my life, it was the only time I can remember of my grandmother really losing her temper with me.
Soon after I got married my wife and I started going out to a local park to cook a barbecue on Sunday evenings. It wasn’t my thing exactly but mostly we had a good time. After she gave birth to our son, it was still a joy. I was working full-time and Rachel, my wife, was at home with our new-born. To overcome the boredom and loneliness motherhood can bring, she started visiting my grandmother once a week for morning tea. Rachel began to suggest that Grandma come to our barbecues, but Grandma wasn’t up for sitting in the park. So we shifted to our house and began with barbecues and quickly evolved into Sunday roast. We had a tradition. For the last eight or so years of her life I would go pick my Grandma up from her house most Sunday afternoons,bring her to our place for a game of cards and a roast, usually a chicken, but I liked to experiment. Even when my wife injured her back and shoulder and we couldn’t play cards anymore, we still tried for Sunday dinner. It was everything people talk about from their childhood and I am blessed beyond measure to have been able to give it to my children. My son is nine now and his sister is sixteen. Both of them will have memories of the loving woman called their Grandma (even though she was their great-grandma; from the day I was born she has been Grandma to me and mine). She was the woman who played cards and asked about their school and brought them chocolates every Sunday.
From the beginning of my life to the end of hers, she was a blessing to children and my kids and I are among the blessed. I am thankful for my Grandma, more now than ever.