Representin' for the Old Boy network
Mood:  chillin'

 If you were as amused by Doug's Rap in "Cosi" as I was, you might also enjoy this blindingly white rap video:

Tea Par-Tay

I especially like the whale pants.  Nice touch.

Superstitious
Mood:  lucky
Now Playing: The Super Grand Final World Cup Series Bowl Championship

"You run the gamut of emotions at football games - depression, despair, elation," Wenham told PS . "I love it. It's just the greatest drama. My great dream: if physically I was different I would have loved to have been an AFL player."

In any case Wenham has his own way of helping the Swans to win.

"My personal ritual is buying the footy record, the official program," he said. "I have to search out a female seller of the football record as I have an 80 per cent win rate purchasing off a female seller."

Professional athletes just don't appreciate how much effort fans have to put in towards keeping their teams' playoff hopes alive.   T-shirts go unwashed, beards go unshaven, hats get turned inside out, mascot dolls get moved to weird spots in the room.  I still have a candy bar wrapper that I can't bring myself to throw out.  It single-handedly won the 2004 World Series for the Boston Red Sox.

In game 4 against the New York Yankees, I was eating a candy bar during the ninth inning.  The Sox were down 4 - 3 and on the verge of elimination.  I was just crumpling up the wrapper and preparing to hurl it at the wastebasket in disgust at the prospect of yet another humiliating October drubbing by the Evil Empire, when Dave Roberts stole second base.  In mid-hurl, I froze.  Bill Mueller singled Roberts home, and the game was tied.  Suddenly I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the wrapper itself must be wielding unearthly powers against the Curse of the Bambino.

For the next three weeks it sat on the coffee table, except during games, when it was clutched nervously in my left hand during tense moments.  Nobody else was allowed to touch it.

My request to have the candy bar wrapper ride in the lead limo at the victory parade was turned down.

Film Appreciation
Mood:  cool
Now Playing: Frente!

August 10 is national "Sneak Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night"

The other day while going through a box of old papers, I found some notes from a Film Appreciation class that I took back in college.  It was taught by William F. Buckley and Simon Cowell's love child.  Picture acres of tweed, a killer Locust Valley Lockjaw accent, and overuse of the word adumbrate.

As a public service, I'm inflicting sharing these notes with you.  These are actual, verbatim quotes from the professor:

1.  "It would probably be awkward to zoom in on the twitch."

2. "There are quite a few wing chairs in this film.  Did anyone notice them?"

3.  "One measure of documentary film is how much confusion it leaves the viewer with."

4.  "What about the interlarding of black and white film?"

5.  "Usually, epiphany occurs at a hierophany".   (This note was followed by my snarky addendum:  "Unless there is cacophony at Tiffany's.")

6. (to the projectionist, as class time ran out) "Continue screening this, and most of us will leave."

STUDY QUESTIONS

1.  In which David films do wing chairs appear?

2.  How about twitches?

3.  Discuss the use of hierophany in Sea Change.

4.  Is interlarding bad for your cholesterol?

Beard Taxonomy
Mood:  rushed
Now Playing: Guster

Today, we pause to admire - and classify -  the wide variety of beards worn by David.

1.  The Dilios

Each hair in the Dilios is carefully inspected as soon as it emerges from the follicle.  All off-color, deformed, or weak hairs are mercilessly culled with tweezers.  The remaining stubble is trained to march in perfect Spartan formation over a determined, square jaw.  This beard is strong.  This beard is manly.  This beard is disciplined.  Not like those sparse wisps of girl-fuzz worn by the Athenians.

2.  The Diver

 

The Diver has a mangy, carefree look.  Its tousled prickliness is the result of years of salt breezes and accidental lower-lip coffee dribbles and rolling out of bed at noon.   Wearing a Diver allows you to get away with all sorts of charmingly roguish mischief: cheating at Scrabble, running naked down Main Street, launching imperialist land wars in the Middle East.  The Diver looks best over open-necked bowling shirts and cruisewear.

3.  The Sprague

The Sprague is one of those ambiguous goatees that say either “funky artsy guy who listens to Dar Williams and reads Daily Kos” or “remorseless rapist/serial killer with hideous razor scars criss-crossing his abdomen”.  Stare at the picture for awhile.  See it flip back and forth, like those pictures of vases that suddenly resolve themselves into human profiles?  No?  Better keep staring.

4.  The Damien

An authentic 19^th-century beard, the Damien is traditionally the result of community beard-raising bees.  Villages would pool their facial hair, in the hopes of scraping together enough for one beard.  This beard won’t get you many dates, but it does project stern moral authority and unconditional love.

5.  The Faramir

Sometimes referred to as “eight o’clock shadow”, the Faramir is the result of an unusual force-field surrounding Middle Earth that permanently arrests facial hair growth at three days.  The effect is of a light fuzzy mist that has settled on the chin and upper lip, like spray-on insulation.  Frustrated beard energy is redirected to the top of the head, where it manifests itself as a lush, shoulder-length waterfall of golden alpha hair.

When scratched, the Faramir emits a sound that has been variously described as “rusty bedsprings”, “a cute big-eyed manga gerbil”, and “fingernails dipped in Chanel No. 5 and raked across the chalkboard of Sweet Damnation”:  SKRIK SKRIK SKRIK SKRI-I-I-I-K

6.  The Larrikin

With the Larrikin, it is usually not necessary to groom the head hair.  The Larrikin emits sex beams that make the head hair automatically stand up at a suave angle.

The Dave-inci Code
For centuries, the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci have been harboring a remarkable secret. There's more to "The Last Supper" than meets the eye.

At the left of Jesus is the mysterious disciple known to historians as "Spit of Tarsus". Where did he come from? Who paid for his bus fare?

On Jesus' right sits Audrey Magdalene. Some scholars believe she is the "Holy Shot Glass" celebrated in song and legend.

And what's that on the table in front of Jesus? Lamingtons? Has the Eucharist been getting it wrong all these years?

Need further proof? Notice how the composition of the central group of figures forms the letter "W". As in Wenham.

Faramir Facts
Mood:  spacey

Did you know?

All of Faramir's genes are dominant.

Faramir refers to himself in the fourth person.

Faramir can collect $200 without passing GO.

The chief export of Faramir is handsomeness.

Faramir is allowed to talk about Fight Club.

GEICO saved 15% by switching to Faramir.

LOTR Garden
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: with matches
Several days ago, some friends and I were discussing the idea of designing a "Lord of the Rings" garden, like those Shakespeare gardens that contain one of every plant mentioned in his plays. Tolkien was quite specific in his descriptions of trees, flowers, herbs, and other flora of Middle Earth. It would be possible to create a lengthy plant list from the pages of Lord of the Rings.

So, what might a Lord of the Rings garden contain?

There are, of course, all the "real" plants (willows, mushrooms, pipeweed a.k.a. nicotiana), but I think an interesting challenge would be to come up with real-life counterparts to fictional plants like athelas, simbelmyne, elanor, lebethron, and mallorn trees. And what about the Ents - can they be simulated? Let's go down the list one by one.

Athelas: Lavender or thyme. The leaves give off a soothing fragrance when crushed, and it's typically steeped in hot water, suggesting volatile oils.

Simbelmyne: Wood anemone.

Mallorn trees: Beech. It has silver bark, a silvery gray nut, and golden leaves in the autumn. I don't know whether the branches can support flets, but the trunks are handy for carving "Me + Haldir 4EVR".

Lebethron: This is a dark, dense hardwood used to make the staves Faramir gave Sam and Frodo when they left Henneth Annun (in the book). The closest match would be hornbeam, lignum vitae, or oak.

Ents: "Quickbeam" is a synonym for the Rowan tree, which has a long, sacred, magical history in Europe. It's the preferred wood for making wands and runes. In fact, rowan is related to the Old Norse word rune. Ancient legends claim it offers protection against evil spirits, and that witches have no power inside a Rowan forest.

Thus, our landscape plan calls for a nice grove of rowans over in the shady corner of the garden. Next to the swingset and barbecue grill.

For a genuine Fangorn experience, I suggest wiring the Rowans up with speakers and piping Barry White through the sound system. "Hooom!!... Bradaboooom!!!.... Take off that brassiere, my dear!"

The White Tree: This is a bit of a puzzler. The only tree I know of that naturally has white bark is birch, which is far too thin, multistemmed, and peely to have the physical presence required of a Potent Symbol Of Monarchy. Another alternative is to install a dead sycamore tree and douse it with bleach. (That would be great for the soil.)

The Party Tree: Another potential focal point for the garden. I'd put in one of those enormous, gnarly, 200-year-old baobabs or live oaks. And a wet bar underneath.

Miscellaneous: The LOTR garden plan also includes a verge (running beneath the window, for trimming and eavesdropping), a couple of those shiny palantir globes, some giant pumpkins, a corn field, and a Dead Marsh.

In conclusion, this would be one strange-looking garden.

King Pong
Mood:  smelly
Now Playing: Jerry Douglas - Slide Rule
Some time ago, during one of those Q&A interviews, David mentioned how, during the stage run of "The Boys", a lot of sweat was shed, and Brett drank real beer onstage every night. The interviewer joked that the play was in Smell-O-Vision, causing much laughter.

Laugh no more. A Japanese film distributor, Shochiku, has developed a computerized fragrance system that will allow audiences to experience cinematic smells.

Fragrant films are a heaven-scent opportunity for Japanese citizens

The first film to get the "fragrant treatment" will be The New World, the upcoming Colin Farrell flick about the colonization of New England.

I don't know about you, but I'm not sure I want to inhale Eau de Pilgrim.

Still, this could lead to some interesting possibilities if the technology is ever applied to David Wenham movies:

1. A whiff of Edam to accompany the cheese argument in Three Dollars

2. Pop in Stiff. Instantly, your living room is filled with the soothing aroma of fish sticks, insulation, and lice shampoo.

3. "Why does it smell like wet dog in here?" asks Carl. Well, there's a good reason.

My Theory, by Ann Elk
Mood:  suave
Why is David Wenham such a brilliant actor?

Because Australia is one day ahead of us.

David knows more than we do. He's from the future.

Review of "The Proposition"
Mood:  hug me
Now Playing: wax paper-and-comb harmonica
Well, I can't say The Proposition is an easy movie to watch. Eden Fletcher is far and away the nastiest character David has ever played. Brett Sprague may have been an amoral street punk with a jail record, but at least he wasn't a slimy maggot feeding on the decaying flesh of colonialism. David approaches the role with a certain, shall we say, relish.

Without much preamble, the action plunks the viewer down smack in the middle of a gunfight. An Irish outlaw gang, led by three brothers named Burns, have been terrorizing an outback township, and are thought to be responsible for the savage murder of a local family. As the movie begins, two of the brothers are holed up in a tin hut that is gradually being turned to Swiss cheese by an onslaught of bullets (you can hear each individual bullet rip sickeningly through the flimsy walls). The brothers, Charlie and Mikey, are captured and taken to the local lawman, Captain Stanley, who has been brought over from England by David Wenham to “civilize” the place (a la Tom Sawyer's Aunt Sally). Captain Stanley makes Charlie an offer: if he hunts down and kills the eldest brother, Arthur Burns, then Mikey will be spared. If he refuses, Mikey will be hung in nine days. Charlie is turned loose with a gun and a horse, while Mikey, bewildered and delirious, is left to languish in a jail cell.

This moral dilemma forms the core of the film, and it’s only one of many moral complexities that each character wrestles with. This isn’t a traditional Western, with black-hatted bad guys and white-hatted good guys. In fact, there really are no clear good guys. In the Hobbesian struggle for survival in the 19th century outback, traditional laws and refined customs are a luxury nobody can afford. Nick Cave revisits territory familiar from Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse Now: the ease with which the veneer of white European civilization crumbles in the face of a wild, untameable landscape. Captain Stanley’s lace curtains, English rose garden, and roast turkey Christmas dinner (in 112-degree heat) seem like futile and misplaced gestures amidst the unforgiving, sun-baked terrain of Queensland. Intoxicated by his own power as a local landowner and string-puller, David Wenham’s character, Eden Fletcher, has mutated into something of a Colonel Kurtz (except that there’s no Martin Sheen coming to terminate him). Beneath the prim derby hat, snooty accent, and fine wool suit beats a dark, bestial heart. Under pressure from the townspeople to avenge the murders, Fletcher sees no reason to honor Stanley’s deal with Charlie Burns, and orders Mikey to be flogged with 100 lashes. It is, essentially, a death sentence, and Fletcher knows it.

The whipping scene is the most difficult, stomach-churning part of the movie, and I almost couldn’t sit through it. Mikey is dragged out of his cell, begging and crying, to a wooden crossbar in the town square. All of the townspeople turn out to watch while Eden Fletcher supervises, wearing a supercilious smirk on his face. The flogging is filmed in agonizing slow motion, intercut with delicate angelic singing by one of Arthur’s right-hand henchmen, in a technique very reminiscent of Pippin’s a cappella song during the Gondor suicide charge in Return of the King. After what seems like four hours, the bailiff stops to squeeze about half a gallon of blood out of the whip, but the joke is that the punishment is only a third of the way through. The most horrifying aspect of the scene is the sixteen billion flies that settle on the backs of the onlookers and Eden Fletcher, like vultures anticipating a kill.

In fact, the flies really should have gotten their own credit as a major presence in the film, along with the mud, the heat, and the parched landscape. The outback cinematography is stunning: stark rock ranges, ghost gums, patient and forgiving sunsets that spread across the desert sky. Out of this harsh environment, violence and casual savagery arise organically and relentlessly: Charlie gets a spear through the lung, an aborigine warrior gets his head blown apart, etc. Most of the townies sport gnarled physiognomies that attest to years of brutal labor, Saturday night knife fights, and a total lack of sunscreen.

Such is the backdrop against which various empire-building struggles are played out in miniature during the film: English vs. Irish, European vs. aborigine, man vs. nature. In the Victorian world view, aborigines are regarded as little better than animals, barely distinguishable from the ancestral Darwinian monkeys alluded to by Jellon Lamb, the bounty hunter that Charlie encounters on his way to Arthur’s lair. The centuries-old English/Irish conflict has also spilled over to the new frontier. I’m no expert on Australian colonial history, but it seems as though there are certain psychic wounds and racial memories that have not fully healed. Certainly there are obvious parallels with the “taming” of the American west, and the mythologies invented by American filmmakers to justify westward expansion. I’d be interested to know whether The Proposition struck a chord with Australian audiences, given the tendency of Howard’s Liberal government to play the race card during elections.

In summary: Lots of gore, lots of flies, lots of thought-provoking meditations on the limitations of family bonds and the underpinnings of civilization. Not a whole lot of David.