(This is the first movie review of mine that'll be published in Inpress magazine. Three hundred words isn't exactly a lot to work with, but hopefuly I've conveyed the film's general vibe.)
THE CIVILIZATION OF MAXWELL BRIGHT
(Sneak Preview Entertainment)
"Mr. Bright, every man, all of us, wants a mother again; someone who'll give us everything and expect nothing in return no matter how badly we act. But a hundred thousand dollars, a hundred million dollars, no amount of money will ever take us back to that world. It's a huge gate that closes behind childhood and never reopens."
Maxwell Bright (Patrick Warburton - remember 'Putty' from Seinfeld?) has a big problem. Actually, he has several problems, but in order to avoid giving away some important drama from the film we'll stick to the central issue. Maxwell Bright is a rampant misogynist. Completely incapable of feeling empathy for women, Max lives in a state of perpetual angst, waiting for the next affront to come from "bull-dyke feminist pigs".
Not surprisingly Mr. Bright lives a life devoid of feminine relationships. Boozing and playing poker with his buddies, Max is descending into a state of sub-human squalor. It is on the back of his latest relationship implosion that Max decides to purchase a more compliant, Asian "mail order" bride.
Unfortunately - or rather, fortunately - for Max there is more to come from his purchase than he is bargaining on. Maxwell's story truly begins when Mai Lei (Marie Matiko), Max's bought bride, arrives at his door. Instead of serving Max's chauvinistic aspirations Mai Lei ends up becoming a metaphoric mirror, held up to reflect his ignorance and selfishness. And when Max's very mortality comes into question it is with the help of Mai Lei that we begin to see the civilization of Maxwell Bright.
Books, covers, judgment - I know I read a fable once that involved a saying along those lines. It is a saying I should have remembered when I picked up this movie for, ignoring the laborious cover art and quotations, The Civilization of Maxwell Bright has a tightly constructed narrative and compelling, believable, at times even confronting, performances by the lead actors. It's a bit B-Grade production meets art house narrative, but it is well worth the watch.
Extra features: Nada
-Bud Rose
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
A fact's a fact
The time has come
To say fair's fair
To pay the rent
To pay our share
The time has come
A fact's a fact
It belongs to them
Let's give it back
How can we dance when our earth is turning
How do we sleep while our beds are burning
How can we dance when our earth is turning
How do we sleep while our beds are burning
In light of the current revelations (revelations which, I suspect strongly, every sentient human in Australia has an awareness of, at least on the periphery of their consciousness) detailing the horrific plight of our first Australians, I think it is important to step back from all the policy wonkery and come to an understanding of one simple thing. You can talk of law and order, you can discuss money and programs, you can convene endless committees and think tanks, but unless you change what's in the hearts of a great many Australians you'll never achieve much of anything.
The magical stories of the dreamtime, our first Australians' wealth of bush lore, and their amazing works of art - all that stuff is fascinating and should be embraced with the same vigor that, say, the New Zealanders embrace the Maori culture. When Australians travel world wide they should feel proud that Aboriginal culture is their culture - it should be a point of honor. We should look history in the eye and admit, honestly, that we've very nearly decimated the first custodians of this country.
Until our first Australians occupy a special place in our national consciousness there will be no policy, financial expenditure, or ideology that can help them. Embracing aboriginal folk will not be an easy process. There will be a lot of painful reflection required on all sides. But with an economy that is booming, and with our recent budget offering generous tax cuts for a large chunk of people, surely we can't accept indigenous infant mortality at rates three times higher than that of the Anglo population, or adult mortality that regularly occurs twenty years earlier than the national mean.
John Howard says that he doesn't want to embrace a "black armband view of history." When John Howard refused to say sorry he became a black armband on our history. Our first Australians are at the root of our culture, and their ancestors sit at the dawn of our nation's bloody history whether we like it or not.
Update: Reader Anthony recommends an article from The Australian that puts the issue into perspective.
To say fair's fair
To pay the rent
To pay our share
The time has come
A fact's a fact
It belongs to them
Let's give it back
How can we dance when our earth is turning
How do we sleep while our beds are burning
How can we dance when our earth is turning
How do we sleep while our beds are burning
In light of the current revelations (revelations which, I suspect strongly, every sentient human in Australia has an awareness of, at least on the periphery of their consciousness) detailing the horrific plight of our first Australians, I think it is important to step back from all the policy wonkery and come to an understanding of one simple thing. You can talk of law and order, you can discuss money and programs, you can convene endless committees and think tanks, but unless you change what's in the hearts of a great many Australians you'll never achieve much of anything.
The magical stories of the dreamtime, our first Australians' wealth of bush lore, and their amazing works of art - all that stuff is fascinating and should be embraced with the same vigor that, say, the New Zealanders embrace the Maori culture. When Australians travel world wide they should feel proud that Aboriginal culture is their culture - it should be a point of honor. We should look history in the eye and admit, honestly, that we've very nearly decimated the first custodians of this country.
Until our first Australians occupy a special place in our national consciousness there will be no policy, financial expenditure, or ideology that can help them. Embracing aboriginal folk will not be an easy process. There will be a lot of painful reflection required on all sides. But with an economy that is booming, and with our recent budget offering generous tax cuts for a large chunk of people, surely we can't accept indigenous infant mortality at rates three times higher than that of the Anglo population, or adult mortality that regularly occurs twenty years earlier than the national mean.
John Howard says that he doesn't want to embrace a "black armband view of history." When John Howard refused to say sorry he became a black armband on our history. Our first Australians are at the root of our culture, and their ancestors sit at the dawn of our nation's bloody history whether we like it or not.
Update: Reader Anthony recommends an article from The Australian that puts the issue into perspective.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I'm humbled
Once upon a time there was a little girl. This little girl was like any other, only this little girl's father was a monster. This despicable waste of atoms engaged in all sorts of lovely activities - he knocked all the girl's teeth out, broke her ribs, and forced her to live in constant terror.
Today that little girl, grown into a woman, will head to that monster's dementia ward; she'll comfort him, clean him, tell him everything will be okay.
It's funny really, I don't believe in god or angels, but that said I'm forced to admit this - on a Sunday morning my mother seems rather like one of those angels sent from a heaven that I don't believe in.
Today that little girl, grown into a woman, will head to that monster's dementia ward; she'll comfort him, clean him, tell him everything will be okay.
It's funny really, I don't believe in god or angels, but that said I'm forced to admit this - on a Sunday morning my mother seems rather like one of those angels sent from a heaven that I don't believe in.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Congratulations and welcome...
...to the influx of readers (from such places as Shipley, England, and Tallinn, Estonia) that have arrived at my blog by searching the word "panties."
Let's hope it was Hillary's panties you were looking for...
Let's hope it was Hillary's panties you were looking for...
Friday, May 26, 2006
Hillary's Panties
It is extremely telling that the American MSM is more interested in sniffing Hillary's panties than they are in listening to her policy prescriptions. Now I'm not necessarily a fan of the idea of Hillary as president, and this is mainly because a lot of the things that she advocates don't match up with my leftist principles. This doesn't mean, however, that she should be judged on the strength of her sex life with Bill.
Think about it. Bill Clinton was under constant attack because he placed the presidential penis in an intern's mouth, and yet George Bush has received no scrutiny for his role in the butchering of pre-war Iraq intelligence handling. It seems to me that conservative Americans are more worried about what people are doing in the private confines of their bedrooms than they are about issues such as war and sustainability.
As a slightly related afterthought, just think about censorship in cinema - violent action films are almost always given a pass (say an 'M' rating), whilst sex in films is censored back to the reel. My fundamentalist sister is more than happy for her children to watch violent movies or play violent videogames, however the very mention of sex has her reaching for the off button. I'd suggest if people were
having more sex and engaging in less violence then the world would be a better place. But, hey, maybe I've got it all backwards.
Update: The Bush administration is continuing its efforts to ban birth control:
"The last two appointees to head the FDA were closely involved in decisions to overrule the agency's medical reviewers and block the "morning-after" birth control pill from being sold without a prescription, according to court transcripts to be released today."
Let's work through this simply - fundamentalists want to ban abortion and they also want to ban contraception. Their agenda, simply put, is to destroy consequence-free sex. I'm not sure why these people hate sex so much, 'cause I've always found it quite enjoyable.
Think about it. Bill Clinton was under constant attack because he placed the presidential penis in an intern's mouth, and yet George Bush has received no scrutiny for his role in the butchering of pre-war Iraq intelligence handling. It seems to me that conservative Americans are more worried about what people are doing in the private confines of their bedrooms than they are about issues such as war and sustainability.
As a slightly related afterthought, just think about censorship in cinema - violent action films are almost always given a pass (say an 'M' rating), whilst sex in films is censored back to the reel. My fundamentalist sister is more than happy for her children to watch violent movies or play violent videogames, however the very mention of sex has her reaching for the off button. I'd suggest if people were
having more sex and engaging in less violence then the world would be a better place. But, hey, maybe I've got it all backwards.
Update: The Bush administration is continuing its efforts to ban birth control:
"The last two appointees to head the FDA were closely involved in decisions to overrule the agency's medical reviewers and block the "morning-after" birth control pill from being sold without a prescription, according to court transcripts to be released today."
Let's work through this simply - fundamentalists want to ban abortion and they also want to ban contraception. Their agenda, simply put, is to destroy consequence-free sex. I'm not sure why these people hate sex so much, 'cause I've always found it quite enjoyable.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Patently Pathetic Points (or, Awkwardly Awful Alliteration)
Pathetic point form notes because, well, I've given up any hope of ever being a big-time, uber-serious political blogger of note. Nah, I never really had those aspirations, or at least they were fleeting; sort of like the way you dream of being that muscle-bound action hero when you're a young kid.
So, feel the sharp tip of my points:
So, feel the sharp tip of my points:
- I went away to Phillip Island with some friends over the weekend. While we were up there I came third in our quarterly minigolf championship. Third place is about where I fit into the world.
- I've been very sick lately. Whatever it is that is wrong with me I'm having trouble shaking it. I wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat, and I find I'm very tired during the day.
- I've shaved off the beard - all of my male friends liked it, and all of my female friends despised it. I guess it shows which way I'm hedging my bets, huh?
- I've been offered some work reviewing movies for a street magazine called Inpress. Pretty cool hey? The magazine will send me DVDs and I'll send them back three hundred words. It's a pity that, despite being a massive movie fan, I can't write for shit.
- Speaking of films, on Monday I saw L'Enfer (that's French for hell apparently). I'm on a French film bent at the moment. I'd describe French films as frustratingly beautiful - a wanky term that would probably describe one or two of my past relationships.
- I'd like to write a post about heteronormativity. I had a frustrating discussion with some of my friends while I was away, and it's got me to thinking about how people in my position that don't plan to get married or have children are subtly pressured by the clucky masses to toe the (human production) line.
- Jedmunds likes Oasis. I think they're okay but by no means do they ascend beyond mediocre. If you trawl through the comments on his post mine are under 'J'.
- I haven't had a cigarette in 14 weeks. Somebody want to share a joint with me?
- Do you suppose this may have been the most boring, and hideously insipid blog post in the history of the blogosphere?
I'm not sure why this isn't a point form note as well. I guess because it's a conclusion. There is a campy, b&w horror film on SBS at the moment, and I'm going to settle in for some spookiness.
Goodnight xox
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Cartoon Crosses in its Eyes
It's funny the reaction I get when someone asks me my starsign at a party. I tell them I'm a Scorpio, and they go, "Ooh, ooh okay" in a tone that you'd expect to hear if you told your best friend you have testicular cancer. I don't believe in starsigns. I'm certainly not the nasty, stinging creature depicted by the scorpion. In fact there are lots of things that people who judge me by my starsign will never know. They'll never know that I can't have a shower without removing the daddy longlegs from it so that they won't be drowned. They'll never know that I don't bait my hook when I go fishing with my old man.
However I did discover yesterday that maybe there is a bit of the scorpion in me. Standing at Flinders Street Station waiting for a train, I found myself wondering why the guy on the platform across from me was throwing all his chips onto the tracks in front of us. The answer soon came when an arriving train ran over the seagull that was eating the chips off the track. The guy grinned triumphantly to his friend; they both had a chuckle about it. I doubt they had any idea how close they came to receiving a sting they'd remember for a long time.
I looked at the broken little body on the tracks, observing the feathers shifting gently in the afternoon breeze. I wondered to myself if maybe that tiny bird was a metaphor for something much bigger. Sighing, I made my way home.
However I did discover yesterday that maybe there is a bit of the scorpion in me. Standing at Flinders Street Station waiting for a train, I found myself wondering why the guy on the platform across from me was throwing all his chips onto the tracks in front of us. The answer soon came when an arriving train ran over the seagull that was eating the chips off the track. The guy grinned triumphantly to his friend; they both had a chuckle about it. I doubt they had any idea how close they came to receiving a sting they'd remember for a long time.
I looked at the broken little body on the tracks, observing the feathers shifting gently in the afternoon breeze. I wondered to myself if maybe that tiny bird was a metaphor for something much bigger. Sighing, I made my way home.
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