In Like Flynn- The Movie

I was always going to be conflicted about the movie In Like Flynn. Adapted from Errol Flynn’s 1937 ( first) novel, “Beam Ends”, the movie takes us from the goldfields of New Guinea in 1930, to the streets of Sydney and the Razor Gang in 1932, north to Townsville, and then further north to a return to New Guinea.

Here’s my Good, Bad and the Ugly, and not necessarily in that order

Firstly, the really, truly Ugly:

I had a signed copy of this book in my possession and inadvertently tossed it into the bin some thirty years ago. The things you do when you are young and stupid ( or more stupid ).I’ve been chasing this wretched book ever since.

Then there is the Bad:

What’s with David Wenham’s penchant for weird facial hair and creepy voices? Way back when, was there a female with a pulse anywhere across the nation who did not weep tears of blood when Diver Dan dumped Laura Gibson in Pearl Bay to dive the Galápagos Islands?

Wenham’s penchant for woeful mos and odd vocal noises started in Australia, though his presence in In Like Flynn as the Mayor/ Boxing Promoter/ Reverend screams dirty-old-man-in-raincoat. That’s the price you pay when you let a good woman down, David. Thank God Laura finally found happiness with that bloke that’s built like a brick outhouse.

If we were expected to believe Guy Pearce as Flynn (in Flynn) at five foot ten and a half then this chappie is way out in front. Thomas Cocquerel is a good looking lad – we know this as there are numerous scenes not requiring a shirt – and at a couple of inches over six foot with a chiselled chin, does a reasonable job. Don’t waste time with comparisons though : one is vanilla to Errol’s double malted, dark chocolate with a dash of Tia Maria.

So to enjoy this film simply forget that this is supposed to be Errol Flynn before making it big in Hollywood. Instead, treat it as another of the Jewel of the Nile/ Indiana Jones Franchises. It will make the experience so much more palatable. Hang the brain at the door and just go with the adventure, or misadventure, and the crocodiles.

Good :
Don’t you feel we’ve watched Isobel Lucas grow up in front of the cameras, from a pretty and pouty little thing, to an even prettier and poutier little thing, though she does a great job of being both flirty and feisty in this flick. Kills it as a redhead. Hasn’t put on an ounce of weight – just how does that work?

And another :

The scenery is beautiful and there is a definite 1930 vaudevillian feel.

Unfortunately, the sound quality is poor in parts, or is it that the soundtrack is simply too loud? The incorrect answer is that my hearing is poor. Well, it is, but everyone in the cinema was pressing forward to hear better too – all four of us.

First film reviews in within Australia state “ car crash compelling” and “so bad its nearly good”.

And talking of that bloke built like a brick outhouse….. See you at lunch at The Grand View next week.

More To History Than What Is In Books…..

Still driving around the island of Tasmania, waking up each day with absolutely no plans. Some travellers allow only a few days to discover the essence of Tassie. This is my 7th trip and I always stumble upon new places and things on each and every journey.

This holiday I seem to have focused on war memorials in country towns as well as the infamous Tasmanian Scallop Pie. These monuments to the memory of previous generations provide such a rich history of townships, in many cases documenting the deaths of multiple members within families in both World War 1 and 2. 

 

Avoca, in the Midlands (meaning that it is between Launceston in the north and Hobart in the south, and in the very guts of the island) is rich grazing land. With a population of only 123 at the 2006 census this is the township’s memorial, with a tree planted for each of the fallen. More trees than residents nowadays……tells a story, doesn’t it?

A little south is the town of Ross, another farming community with sandstone buildings dating back to convict times. On the crossroads of Church and Bridge Streets there is a field gun from the Boer War and the war memorial is a central part of the intersection, as was popular in many country towns. This crossroads area is humorously referred to as the “Four Corners of Ross” with each corner having a label:

▪Temptation: the Man O’ Ross Hotel

▪Recreation: Town Hall

▪Salvation: Roman Catholic Church

▪Damnation: Jail (now a private residence)

Jericho, slightly off the main highway, where mud walls built by convicts in the early 1800’s still stand, is the resting place of John Hutton Bisdee, the first Australian born recipient of the Victoria Cross.

Travelling south to the East Coast it was fascinating to locate a memorial to all sailors in the services at Triabunna, including the name of one of Tasmania’s better known sons, Teddy Sheean.

More on Scallop Pies next time……

 

Boy Swallows Universe and Boggo Road Gaol

In June 2018, journalist Trent Dalton had his first novel released to cries of “next Australian classic!” Many of the initial reviews seemed to focus on the book cover. For this old cynic that immediately raised red flags……..

Boy Swallows Universe tells the story of Eli Bell, 8, and brother Augustus, 9, who has not spoken for several years following their mother’s escape from their father. Frankie, the boys mother, states that “the universe stole her boy’s words”.

The book also begins with a hook -“ Your end is a dead blue wren “ – which did nothing to alleviate my concerns. We then launch into the warm relationship between the boys and Arthur “Slim” Halliday, in real life a criminal known as “the Houdini of Boggo Road Gaol”. Eli is aware of Slim’s reputation and criminal history and questions how then this old gentleman can still be so kind and warm. Thus begins Eli’s search for what makes a “good man”…..

(For non Queenslanders Boggo Road Gaol sits on the fringe of Brisbane CBD. Most of the area has been redeveloped for yuppie high rise though the main block still stands and remained in use as a correctional facility till the late 80s and has an appalling history dating back to days of the penal colony. Last year I sat in the courtyard watching Shawshank Redemption surrounded by razor wire. It is a horrible place, an evil place, and the cells tell of unspeakable things. Even less than forty years ago the only bathroom facilities consisted of a bucket. That developers are chasing this property for bars, eateries and boutique accomodation is hilarious as the entire site has a truly God awful vibe.)

Back to the book.

Set in the outer suburbs of Brisbane in the early 1980’s the setting is familiar and nostalgic. Add Contrived to my list of disappointments.

Frankie is weaned off drugs by Lyle, her de facto, who is dealing drugs within the neighbourhood and mixing it with the Vietnamese drug Lords and includes the boys on these ventures. In an attempt to be a “good man” and to improve the lot of his partner and step sons he starts doing drug deals on the side which leads to his “disappearance” and Frankie’s incarceration.

Eli and Augustus are shipped off to their Dad, who they don’t know, who lives in a Housing Commission pocket in Bracken Ridge. Robert is an alcoholic who at one stage, in despair, drove his car into a lake with the boys in the back seat.

The boys grow up witnessing domestic violence, gang wars, racial conflict, drugs and murder, and Eli even breaks into Gaol on Christmas Day to see Frankie with the help of an ex-con and “good man”.

Are you depressed yet?

Surprisingly, the mood is quietly optimistic with the boys watching over each other and navigating their awful world, and as they age we learn of their dreams. Augustus wants to paint and give back to the world, and Eli wants to be a crime writer. He certainly has the personal experience down pat

Of course, there is a girl involved who sees the good in Eli, and both lads survive and grow from their crummy existence.

After being stabbed by an enforcer in the employ of a Mr Big, who is actually much respected in the local community ( and involved with the step fathers “disappearance” – think jar and formildahyde – as well as the kidnaping of a young boy) Eli fades into his past and dreams of his friend, Slim.

Slim nods.

“Get going” he says “ you’re running outta time”.

“Do your time, hey Slim?”

He nods. “Before it does you”, he says.

Eli gains work at the local newspaper and Augustus wins a citizenship award. They are both on the way to becoming good men.

***************

Since finishing this book I’ve been interested enough to read further about the author. This is Dalton’s story. This is Dalton’s truth, which made the novel so much more fascinating. Slim Halliday was a family friend, Dalton grew up in a decidedly dysfunctional family, and he worked for the local paper.

Dalton says of his novel – It is essentially a way I have honestly tried to approach life: Just take it in. Don’t just write about one thing, take it all in. Take every last aspect, take all the dark, take all the light, take the whole universe in. That’s what the kid in the book is doing, just going for it. That can be dangerous, but I love when anyone does that, just owns it. That’s what helps us survive.”

A good coming-of-age read despite its unsettling content, and (sadly) very Australian.

Sunday, Too Far Away with Jack Thompson

The first movie I saw at the Drive In, which I believe was later demolished to build a hotel, shopping complex and units (as all goods things are), was in Sydney’s Caringbah. It was January 1976 and it was hot, both in and out of the car, yet a wonderful way to finish a day having spent ten hours sunning oneself on the sand and skipping the waves at Eloura Beach. If you’ve ever read Kathy Lette’s Puberty Blues the imagery is not wasted……

A young Jack Thompson headlined in this movie which made it interesting as everyone over the age of 40 seemed to be mortified by this gentleman’s antics. He was the first nude male centrefold for Australia’s women’s magazine, Cleo, long since defunct, and the matrons tut tutted at his cohabitation with two sisters. Yep, you read that right: two sisters.

Jack Thompson played the knock-about, Foley, a heavy drinking gun shearer around whom the movie is based. It’s very much a bloke orientated film which quietly covers much of the male culture of rural Australia in the 1950s.- hard work and hard play, heavy drinking, mateship, and not having two bob to rub together from one stint in the sheds to the next. The film’s title “Sunday Too Far Away” is reportedly the lament of a shearer’s wife: “Friday night [he’s] too tired; Saturday night too drunk; Sunday, too far away”.

Filmed on the edge of the Flinders Rangers in South Australia the scenery is at once beautiful with its red dust and towering gums, and bleak in its heat and isolation. If you have visited this part of the world at all you would appreciate the authentic depiction. The movie should have perhaps been called “Flys, Never Too Far Away”.

Poor Jack copped more flack from the Matrons with a naked bum dance scene in the washroom, before movement of this kind became on trend with Big Brother. Forty years later I am just grateful that John Ewart kept his towel on.

Viewing this movie again recently after such a long time was very interesting on a more personal level. My father, who spoke Latin and French, came home from Bomber Command requiring peace and quiet. He went bush for twelve months shearing sheep. I now understand why at barbecues he would boil a tin Billy on the fire and twirl the pot around his head to mix the tea leaves. Really, who does that, right? He would have also enjoyed that the only women around were barmaids and Cocky’s wives.

Back in the days of tea trolley ladies I worked with a woman in her ‘70’s who was a magnificent cook- cakes, sausage rolls, and other crowd pleases. Her secret was that she had once been a shearer’s cook, and if the shearer’s didn’t like the tucker the cook was sent packing. I was forever encouraging her to write a book – she could always turn nothing into something delicious.

It’s these little moments in Sunday, Too Far Away, that make this movie memorable.The cook gets the boot, with the aid of Lemon Essence, because the shearers don’t like what he dishes up. Old Garth, a gun shearer back in the day who was given the boot by his wife because of his absences from home, is now an alcoholic and his dead body is loaded onto the tray of a Ute. The sheep station owner (or Cocky) is banned from the shearing sheds, and the testosterone levels rise to coincide with the number of sheep shorn in a day.

The last ten minutes deals with a Shearer’s strike back in the 50’s. To be honest this was wasted on me. Australian public school education: what, you thought we learnt Australian history? Hilarious. It does allow for a decent pub brawl, however.

A young Jack Thompson in a Jackie Howe never really worked for me, though on this occasion he was pleasing to the eye. A tad churlish perhaps, but I did cheer when he got squashed in a cow stampede in Australia thirty years later.

Lastly, if you’ve never been into a working shearing shed let me tell you that they stink. Putrid things. Watch the movie instead – shearing sheds are not the stuff of bucket lists.

Sunday Too Far Away won three 1975 Australian Film Institute awards: Best Film, Best Actor in a Leading Role and Best Actor in a Supporting Role.

The Bulldog Track by Peter Phelps plus some

Another book launch at the local though I’m not attending this one. That’s a definate – no if’s nor buts. On a work day and I’m reluctant to take any days off until my final curtain call in coming weeks, plus I overdid it at the charity Bookfest last weekend. Take a peek….

Peter Phelps is an Australian actor who made his name in some truely dreadful Australian soapies back in the late 70’s. You know, the kind that gets lapped up. He has recently written a book about his grandfather, Tom Phelps, who seventy five years ago survived the other Kokoda Track, the Bulldog Track, in PNG.

Never heard of The Bulldog Track? Neither had I! Back in the 1940’s work was scarce in Australia and many of those men who were too old to go to war, found work in the goldfields of New Guinea. Of course, no one was expecting the war to come to the Pacific, but it did, and the Japanese took the northern cities of New Guinea.

As word of the invasion and the atrocities being committed spread, Tom and his fellow workers, men of differing nationalities, trades and professions, were caught in the middle of it all. After the airfield was bombed, the Australian military told them to get out via the ‘other’ Kokoda Track. They set off through the jungle into the unknown.

The Bulldog Track is some one hundred kilometres due west of the famous Kokoda Track and crosses some of the most rugged and isolated terrain in the world, combining hot humid days with intensely cold nights, torrential rainfall and endemic tropical diseases such as malaria. Bulldog Track was longer, higher, steeper, wetter, colder and rougher than Kokoda Track.

Peter Phelps shares the story of Tom’s escape via foot, canoe, raft, schooner and rat cunning which were documented on Tom’s pith helmet in indelible ink that he wore during the duration.

Phelps Junior as a young man was in an Australian movie which made a huge impression – and yes, partly because of his poor acting. The Lighthorsemen is a 1987 film about the men of a World War I light horse unit involved in Sinai and Palestine Campaign’s 1917 Battle of Beersheeba. The film is based on a true story in which 800 young Aussie horsemen obey the order to gallop their horses across three miles ( that’s longer than the Melbourne Cup!) of open desert into shell fire and machine gun fire. Of course they succeed. There wouldn’t be a movie otherwise. They break through Turkish defences to win the wells of Beersheba.

In all this blood, guts and way too much mangled equine flesh to mention Phelps has a romance with an Aussie nurse, who was played by Our Sigrid, who was the belle of the ball before Our Nic. Talk about stuffing up a good yarn.

So, no, I won’t attend the lunch, though I’ll probably order a copy of the book.

My Next Book Collection – “Bony”.

After my fascination with the Tarzan series of books by Edgar Rice Burroughs, I gained an interest in books by Arthur Upfield.

Arthur William Upfield (1 September 1890 – 12 February 1964) was an English born Australian writer of detective fiction.

Following his war service in World War 1 Upfield travelled extensively throughout outback Australia, obtaining a knowledge of Australian Aboriginal culture that he would later use in his written works. He is best known for the series of twenty nine books featuring Detective Inspector Napoleon “Bony” Bonaparte of the Queensland Police Force. Bony is of mixed parentage, with an English father and an Aboriginal mother.

My interest was piqued by an Australian television series from the early 1970’s based on the Bony series of books and starring James Laurenson. Laurenson, a New Zealander in fact, was indeed my reason to finish all homework in record time on a Tuesday evening. Tall and dark, my tastes were nothing but consistent.

Interestingly,  the money guys had to change the spelling to make the title easier to pronounce for the mums and dads at home.  Which just goes to show that having money does not equate to having brains…..

Being a born and bred city lass I was fascinated by the outback scenery on the tv. Vast open spaces, red dirt, the scrub, big blue skies, the strength of the people who managed to survive and thrive in such remote and brutal landscapes: it was all new to me and I was captivated. Not so impressed by the flies nor snakes, this was the birth of my next book collection. I must have kept Angus and Robertson in business in the late 60s with all those Gift Certificates!

Bony maintained my interest for several years, not because of any interest in crime or mystery, but because Upfield included much Aboriginal lore into his novels. As a primary school student my introduction to our indigenous peoples was limited to what we learned from social history books, which was minimal and totally unflattering. Sadly, I don’t think as a nation that view has changed much, though I was schooled never to discuss politics, religion, or sex at the table.

I’ve just reread the sixth book in the series, The Bone Is Pointed, some forty years after my first effort. Bony, university educated, comes across as arrogant, and a tad pompous, and his language stilted and far more English that Australian. All these years later I still enjoyed his Aboriginal tracking skills and the way he reads the lay of the land, as well as the spirituality of our first people.

For example :
The ceremony of bone pointing is a common ritual for bringing sickness among the [Australian] Arunta. The pointing bone or pointing stick is usually about nine inches in length, pointed at one end, and tipped with a lump of resin at the other. The stick is endowed with magical power by being ‘sung over,’ that is, curses are muttered over it, such as ‘may your heart be rent asunder’ and ‘may your head and throat be split open.’ On the evening of the day on which the bone has been ‘sung’ the wizard creeps stealthily in the shadows until he can see the victim’s face clearly by the firelight. He then points the bone in the victim’s direction and utters in a low tone the curses with which the stick was endowed earlier in the day. The victim is supposed to sicken and die within a month at the most. Two men may cooperate in the pointing operation. Spears may also be endowed with magic by ‘singing’ over them. A person who knows that he has been injured, even slightly, with a spear thus prepared will be likely to waste away through fear unless counter magic can be brought to his aid.
–from “Primitive Theories of Disease” by Spencer L. Rogers in Ciba Symposia (April 1942)

Unfortunately, I think Upfield’s books are very much dated with political correctness  madness having taken over our world, but I remember them fondly as a snapshot of an earlier Australia, when rabbits out numbered people, and our forefathers lived off the land.

I guess the really big questions have to be asked : why the heck did I marry (and divorce) a blond?

And who wears a white shirt in the Australian outback?

Answer: someone who has never washed or ironed in their life!

 

Australian Author Challenge : The Crying Place by Lia Hills.

Lia Hills is a poet, novelist and translator. Her debut novel, The Beginner’s Guide to Living, was released to critical acclaim and was shortlisted for the Victorian, Queensland and Western Australian Premiers’ Literary Awards and the New Zealand Post Book Awards. It has been translated into several languages. Other works include her award-winning poetry collection the possibility of flight and her translation of Marie Darrieussecq’s acclaimed novel, Tom is Dead. She lives with her family in the hills outside Melbourne.

Let’s be totally upfront. I selected this book purely on the basis of the front cover. Gorgeous colours, aren’t they?

Saul is a thirty something young man working in Sydney after several years of adventuring in different parts of the world with his childhood friend, Jed. Saul receives a telephone call advising that Jed has committed suicide.

Instead of returning to their birthplace, Tasmania, for the funeral, Saul jumps in his car and drives to Melbourne. It is a long, boring drive, and the quotes from the writings of Australian novelist, Patrick White, tend to make me apprehensive of where this is all heading.

Melbourne has a shared history for Jed and Saul, and in the room in the boarding house where Jed had been staying, Saul finds a photo of a young Aboriginal woman tucked inside a poetry book. None the wiser on why Jed has resorted to such a final solution, Saul continues his road trip through to Adelaide, then shooting north through to Coober Pedy in search of the woman in the photograph.

This is one long drive interspersed with petrol stops, pit stops in country towns for a cold beer, and toilet breaks behind trees.

I was warned by all those literary quotes, wasn’t I?

Then it hit me: Australia is a huge country with long stretches of nothingness, and it is true that road trips in rural areas do become a series of petrol/food/ personal stops where along the way the traveller focuses on the constant change of scenery. By the time Saul arrives in the underground, opal mining town of Coober Pedy, we are thrilled when he meets up with a lass of German extraction. The human interaction picks up the pace of the storyline and all that descriptive prose, which is beautifully done but wordy, eases off.

Together they travel further north to Australia’s Centre, Alice Springs, stopping with an indigineous acquaintance along the way, where he is able to track down the whereabouts of Jed’s friend in the photo.

Saul gets permission from the traditional land owners to enter the Western Desert where he finally meets up with the woman, Nara. After some days living within the community, and living as they do, he finally learns a secret about Jed.

The long, solo drive to Adelaide was hard work, though the rhythm of the book changed for me once we had some human interaction. Life within an aboriginal community was fascinating and I enjoyed an insight into their spirituality. However, I’m a bit amazed after having read so many reviews that many readers said they benefited reading about the living conditions of aboriginals in rural settlements. Doesn’t anybody read a newspaper anymore?

The Crying Hills is more a painting of a series of beautiful yet harsh landscapes than a novel.

The content, with all its grief, does not make it a fun book to read.

And as for the big secret? Enough to kill yourself over? This did not sit well with me either, though I guess suicide is never a comfortable topic.

A Distant Journey by Di Morrissey.

Back to work and it’s been a total shock to the system. Must have completely unwound over the break as I felt I required some retraining. Plus the heat is relentless: bitumen roads are melting and Flying Foxes (bats) are falling out of trees broiled. I have fresh water out for the wildlife and the word is out that there is a new cafe in town – the variety of patrons is wonderful.

So starting the year with some light reading, and Book 1 for the Australian Author Challenge – A Distant Journey by Di Morrissey.

Di Morrissey (born 18 March 1943)is one of the most successful novelists of Australia with 25 best-selling novels and five children’s books published.In May 2017 Di was inducted into the Australian Book Industry Awards (ABIA) Hall of Fame and given the Lloyd O’Neil Award for service to the Australian book industry.

The novel opens in Palm Springs in the 1960’s with Babs, a young woman with a child whom has relocated because of domestic violence issues. The initial 100 pages are dedicated to Babs and her new life, which is really quite odd because she isn’t the protagonist. There are also lots of references to Old Hollywood with lots of name dropping such as Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jnr. I’m not sure of its relevance at all….

Pressing on, Babs’ niece, Cindy, runs away from home and seeks shelter with her Aunt. Cindy goes off to College with no real idea what she wants to do with her life except get married to her boyfriend. He, on the other hand, has career aspirations and the couple split. Within weeks heartbroken Cindy has met an an older man, an  Australian sheep farmer, and on a whim, as she “wants some adventure”, marries him in Vegas.

They return to Murray’s farm which has been in the family several generations and which is still ruled by the autocratic elder Parnell.

Cindy battles various challenges with the relocation to a rural and remote property as can be expected : loneliness, Mother Nature, a miscarriage, and a father-in-law who dislikes her immensely.

Murray’s mother left the property when he was a young boy so his ties to his father are very strong and he seems incapable of questioning his authority or supporting his own wife. Murray, you are pretty insipid, mate…..

The novel then seems to skip years very quickly. There are children, and then we have children thinking about children and their own lives and careers. These years quickly touch upon droughts, economic growth and the price of wool, Picnic races, friendships, and some news of Babs at last – dying of cancer back in the good old US of A.

Parnell Senior continues to be a blot on the landscape, and as an octagarian, is every bit as rude as ever. He seems to have poorly invested the family fortune, requiring the sale of assets including the old boys plane.

There is a plane crash during its relocation to the new owner. On the very same day a forty year old skeleton is found on the property, and there is also a suicide. So much happening within two pages, when the reader has had to wade through pages and pages of nothingness to get to the crux of the matter.

Murray at last “mans up”, but poor old Babs is dead.

I think I earned a Purple Heart by finishing this book.

 

 

 

Possum Magic By Mem Fox (& Hot Cross Buns)

Woke up feeling joyous. Why? First day since Christmas Eve that I have been inclined to turn the ceiling fans off. The fans do a reasonable job maintaining the house at a comfortable temperature but for a few days there I felt like I was living next door to a helicopter launching pad as the fans were going at full bore.

Whilst on holidays I’ve completed ten books and watched even more movies. My home has been rearranged and decluttered, I have spent time in the garden and have another twenty Rosemary plants potted to raise funds for my charity. Even more exciting, the Christmas ham is at last finished, gone, kaput. Thank goodness for that! Now to start cooking the Ham and Vegetable Soup, so thick a spoon will stand up in it, for freezing for the winter months.

So sharing the happiness : I just devoured my first Hot Cross Bun for 2018. My parents would be turning in their graves as they instilled in me that these were Easter treats only. It wasn’t that they were particularly tasty as they lacked any hint of spice or fruit. It was my first act of rebellion for the year and one that doesn’t  mean eternal damnation.

@

With all the tidying I came across this purchase I made some months ago.  Typical Gemini, it had been misplaced with numerous other items, such as Xmas gifts that I only located on Boxing Day.

Inspired by Australia’s top-selling children’s book of all time, the Royal Australian Mint’s 2017 Possum Magic 8-Coin Set, was released mid 2017.

Mem Fox’s charming Possum Magic has been capturing the hearts of the young (and the young at heart!) for over three decades. The book tells the story of Hush and Grandma Poss, with the tale brought to life by Julie Vivas’ iconic watercolour illustrations. Indeed, it is those incredible illustrations that have now been enshrined in Australian legal tender.

The two main characters are Grandma Poss and Hush. Hush has been made invisible by Grandma to protect her from Australian bush dangers. The story details the duo’s adventures as they tour Australia searching for the secret to Hush’s visibility. It is a rhythmical story of Australia’s varied landscapes and the animals in them.

This is a really lovely book for Little People and it has been well read in our home. I’ll be purchasing a couple more copies for some Imminent Emminents soon.