Nov 29, 2009

Raindancing

You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I have some Indian heritage. My great-grandfather, Rattonshaw Khambatta, was a Zorastrian diamond trader from Gujarat. My grandmother has the fantastic middle name of "Zhindhu" - not that she uses it. I only discovered it when looking at her WRNS enrolment form for my Year 11 biography project.

"I like your middle name, Gran!"

"What middle name? I don't have a middle name."

"Err... Zhindhu? It's here - on your World War II service record."

"Oh, THAT middle name."

Rattonshaw married Eve Pritchard, a receptionist in a London hotel he stayed at during a business trip. My Gran spent many of her early years living large in the Raj - she remembers mountain holidays outside Mumbai, and tigers lying shot dead on train tracks, their black tongues lolling out of their mouths.

My Gran has the most awesome stories.

Anyway, this leads me in a roundabout way to the Bollywood dancing classes I've been taking every Wednesday night with Bollyfunk for two months now. I've been really enjoying it; it's a good gentle workout, plus it's fun to learn dance routines again - well over a decade since my ballet and tap days ended.

Last week I finished learning my second dance, "Barso Re" (Raindance). Due to machinations of Rachel Leigh - a regular Bollywooder who runs the Star Rae revues up at the Brisbane Arts Theatre - I wound up performing it with her this evening. She kindly lent me a beautiful sari, and didn't even mind that I made a few mistakes.

I'm the one on the right:




Nov 27, 2009

Friday, and I'm Rudd

Australia's Liberal Party is currently experiencing more violent, tumultous heavings than a bulimic in an earthquake. As a reasonably poor journalist, I'm going to chip in my two cents the only way I know how - through parody song lyrics. Enjoy.

(From the perspective of Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister.
To the tune of
Friday, I'm in Love by The Cure)

I don't care if Malcolm's blue
Minchin's mad and Andrews too
My ETS is almost through
It's Friday, and I'm Rudd

Monday I brought in my bill
Tuesday, Wednesday Liberals spill
Thursday: Malcolm's bitter pill
It's Friday, and I'm Rudd

Saturday wait
Sunday's Insiders is too late
But Friday I am feeling great

I don't care if Abbott's back
The Mad Monk always was a hack
But Hockey could take up the slack
It's Friday, and I'm Rudd

(interlude)

Journos vie to call you dead
Grattan, Crabb get in your head
No win - that's what Uhlmann said
It's Friday, and I'm Rudd

Liberals await
More meetings to seal their fate
But horse has bolted from the gate

I watch your demise
It's a joyful surprise
To see your party so compromised
Throwing out your boss
Not giving a toss
That your conservative side will prompt election loss
You're all so afraid
Of my carbon trade
But I'll be in Copenhagen while you're here getting spayed
When you're doing this stuff
I can't get enough
'Cause it's Friday, and I'm Rudd

Nov 25, 2009

Felafel Returns

It just wouldn't be right to restage He Died With A Felafel in His Hand at the Brisbane Arts Theatre without a brand new promo vid:



Feel free to email, Facebook, tweet, yell from a rooftop, dramatically re-enact at the bus-stop - let's get this thing viral!

We have eight shows only, they're already open to online bookings, and it's my goal to sell them ALL out. And I can be very pig-headed when it comes to this sort of stuff....

Nov 23, 2009

The Ultimate Showdown - Part 2

Colleague and good buddy DiscoStu and I recently began an argument about the relative merits of musical episodes of late 90s cult action/drama series. I posed a challenge to DiscoStu - that we watch both "The Bitter Suite" (from Xena: Warrior Princess), and "Once More With Feeling" (from Buffy the Vampire Slayer), and finally, once and for all, come up with a definitive answer as to the question "Which Is Better".

So last week DiscoStu left the secret, babe-infested Olilolo lair and ventured across town to Chez Clumsy, and we settled in for a night in front of the plasma with a six-pack of champagne and a packet of Green's "Just Like Mother Used to Burn" cupcakes I baked especially for the occasion.

We watched Xena first, so you may want to head over to Disco Stu's site to read up on "The Bitter Suite". Then you can proceed with "Once More With Feeling" commentary. It's up to you to plough through this lengthy post, and work out who's right - a geeky yet sexy journalist.... or me?

Nov 17, 2009

Surprise Find

The rehearsal rooms at the Brisbane Arts Theatre are full of broken couches. I'm reasonably proud of the fact that at least two of them were destroyed during the first run of He Died With a Felafel in His Hand earlier this year. The poor things couldn't stand up to the amount of jumping, climbing, romping and dancing that occured on them nightly for six weeks.

Still, they retain some structural integrity - enough for us to rehearse on them as we prepare for the January revival of the show. By the way, did you know you can book your tickets online right now?

Nov 15, 2009

BAT 2010 Season

I mentioned a while back I've been busy, busy, busy working on a few projects.

The biggest has been the brochure for the Brisbane Arts Theatre's 2010 Season.

Here it is in video form:




As you can see, He Died With a Felafel in His Hand is back for a limited revival in January - and then, in April/May, the BAT has the great pleasure to stage the world premiere of John Birmingham's The Tasmanian Babes Fiasco. The righteous Simon Bedak is writing the play specifically for the BAT. I'm so excited that he liked our version of Felafel enough to get uber-keen and pen the "sequel". I hope to have both John and Simon at the theatre for both Felafel and Tassie Babes - but they're busy men with battles at the hell-gates of Thermopylae to win ("Sparta!"), so we'll see how we go.

The Wah is also directing Joseph Heller's masterpiece Catch-22 in March, so I'm sure there be plenty of literary types out there who'll be keen to check that out. The Wah is a fantastic director, with a keen eye for the absurd and profound, so I can guarantee a great show.

Nov 13, 2009

Judgement to the Max

You know what I love? Pepsi Max.

I just love it. I enjoy it. I relish it.

And you know what? I'm a bit tired of being judged for that.

Nov 12, 2009

Synch Me

I honestly don't know that I've seen anything more ridiculous than this furphy over Britney Spears lip-synching at her concerts.

Nov 8, 2009

Emblondening

One can do a lot in four-and-a-half hours. Read a book, watch a couple of movies or a whole TV series. Cook something, do some admin work, volunteer at a centre for illiterate puppies.

I spent four-and-a-half hours on Friday getting my hair done.

Nov 7, 2009

Glorious

The Wah and I took a drive through the wild windy roads of Brisbane's north-west this afternoon, ending up at Mt Glorious. It's a lovely spot I remember fondly from childhood, as it was a popular picnic and walking spot not too far from my then-home at Albany Creek.

I also remember it less fondly when, way back in my first year of university, I stupidly took a wrong turn around Settlement Road at The Gap and wound up taking a 60 kilometre route home. Oh, there were tears on that occasion, I can tell you.

Fortunately, on this occasion there were no tears - only the usual pressure headache I get when driving around lots of bendy roads at increasing altitudes (my family are water people, not mountain people. Mind you I'm not all that good with the water, but that's by the by). It's a beautiful spot, Mt Glorious, and where we stopped, Maiala, was just the same as I remembered it as a girl - a sloping, grassy hillside dominated by a massive pine tree of some description, which falls away to rainforest and a number of good walking tracks.

I took my big Nikon D80 with me in a pathetic attempt to prove that I'm still trying to develop a knowledge of DSLR photography. The dozens of blurry shots I found myself deleting this evening would indicate even the attempt at the attempt needs more work. Still, there's a few I'm happy with:


I'm desperately trying to get better at this blurry background business.



Mushies! Gloriously golden rainforest mushies! If you eat one,
it'll make you see hydrogen! I mean, really SEE it!




Who is this "Kat"? And what's she all about, carving her name into trees?
THE TREES FEEL PAIN, KAT. (The mushies! The mushies!)

Nov 5, 2009

Emperor Funghi

The Wah has a habit of buying me incredibly clever birthday presents - ones that I would never think to buy myself, but really love when I open them.

This year, it was a Mushroom Growing Kit.

It's a simple, one-box system - you empty a bag of soil and spores onto a layer of mulch/compost, keep it moist and in a dark place, and voila - your own home-grown mushies.

Just over three weeks ago, we set up the kit, and placed it under the sink. For two weeks, nothing much happened, except for the appearance of tiny white spots, the size of a pinhead.

Then about a week ago, we got some mushie action:



 You can see that a decent sized baby mushroom popped out of the soil, with an even tinier brother next to it.

We kept up our watering, and the mushie seemed to get a little bigger every day. But in the last day or so, it's experienced a massive growth spurt, resulting in this today:



That's right - I am growing the Emperor Funghi under my sink.

The baby brother mushie has also increased in size, but we don't have any others poking their heads up yet. Hopefully they'll make an appearance in the next week or so.

I'm not quite sure when to harvest the Emperor Funghi. Part of me wants to get that bad boy out right now, cover him in some herbs and pan fry with some haloumi. But the other part of me is much more interested in seeing exactly how big he'll grow...

Nov 4, 2009

The Heart & Stomach

In his brilliant series A History of Britain, my favourite historian, Simon Schama, describes my favourite Queen, Elizabeth I:

"It doesn't do to be too starry-eyed about the Virgin Queen. Elizabeth the First was only too obviously made of flesh and blood. She was vain, spiteful, arrogant - she was frequently unjust and she was often maddenly indecisive. But she was also brave, shockingly clever, an eyeful to look at - and on occasions she was genuinely wise."




As far as epitaphs go, that's a belter. I think I would be well-pleased to be described as vain, spiteful and indecisive (qualities I have oft-encountered in myself), if I might also be considered brave and clever.

Most of all I'd love to achieve that genuine wisdom - or as Elizabeth herself might say: the heart and stomach of a king.

You see, I have lived almost three decades on this planet, and sometimes I like to think that I am reasonably worldly and more enlightened about my own nature and the greater human condition.

But then I have moments - too many moments - when a childish selfishness overruns all other thoughts in my brain, and influences my moods and words. It's then I realise my three decades don't mean much - certainly not by Elizabeth I's lofty standards.


 Now, THIS Queenie I can do

So how does one go about gaining wisdom? Can an over-emotional, over-sentimental fool like ever me hope to achieve a Zen-like state of calm all-knowingness?

And what are your favourite words of wisdom?

Nov 2, 2009

Review: The Crucible

I read with some interest the Brisbane Times' review of the Queensland Theatre Company's production of The Crucible. Katherine Feeney didn't like the production at all; and of course, that's her prerogative as a reviewer.

I was intrigued because I popped down to the Playhouse at QPAC on Friday night to see The Crucible - and I really enjoyed the production. Which I guess is my prerogative as a reviewer.

The Crucible is second only to Death of a Salesman as Arthur Miller's most well-known and most often performed play. The story of the 1692 Salem witch hunts is generally seen as an allegory to the persecution of Communists in 1950s America; but really that's too simple a construct. Miller's work is a dissection of oppression and fanatacism in general, and how in real life, Goliath often beats David. It is reintepreted for each generation; lines such as Judge Danforth's "you are either with us or against us" resonate of George W. Bush as much as they do Joseph McCarthy.

QTC director Michael Gow wisely avoids recreating the Puritan Pilgrim look of 1692. Here, the 19 actors wear lumber jackets, cardigans, and 1950s-style three-piece suits. They perform on a raw wooden stage with a few pieces of furniture, in front of a looming dark forest of tall tree trunks. These are frontier people, but it does not follow that their minds are simple.

The performances were in general outstanding; particularly Andrew Buchanan as John Proctor, the farmer tortured by his indiscretion with Abigail Williams, who tries to save his wife Elizabeth only to find himself accused of dealing with the Devil. His accent is quite Australian, almost ocker at times, which initially sounds jarring compared to some of the smoother speaking voices (though no one attempts Massachusetts English, wisely). But Buchanan's expression is all Proctor, and he is clearly a sensible man frustrated by the superstition and hysteria around him, but unable to act as he should wish to because of his own failings.

I must admit to not enjoying Francesca Savige as Abigail, the gamine sprite at the centre of the hysteria. But I put much of that down to not really liking Abigail the character. There is little tenderness to her, as she berates her friends, then embraces bewitchment to avoid the consequences of her lies. Savige plays the "whore's vengeance" aspect well enough; I would have liked to have seen a little more teenage realism. After all, Abigail is a teenager in a repressed society that does not acknowledge her burgeoning sexuality. Kathryn Marquet, however is outstanding as the Proctor's maid Mary Warren; James Stewart is an empathetic Reverend Hale; Paul Bishop stammers and stutters as the cowardly Revered Parris; and Robert Coleby simply dominates as Danforth - who remains cool-headed even as he metes out ridiculous justice.

And it's this ridiculousness that provides the production will moments of absurd humour. Some would think it a sin to laugh during a serious play; indeed, the Brisbane Times review cites this as a major failing by director Michael Gow. But for me, the moments of humour were priceless. They were brief snatches of time where for a split-second you could see the characters' think "Am I really doing this? Am I really crying witch? Am I really sentencing good people to death because of the cries of children?" - before being caught up again in the sweeping tide of hysteria. The whole nature of mass persecution is absurd: the idea people will dob in others just to escape punishment themselves - it is the schoolyard writ large, and we show our understanding of it by laughing at it. Hopefully we learn a lesson from it.

The Crucible is three hours long, including interval, but I did not notice the time passing. The production, like any, is not perfect, but remains thoroughly enjoyable. I notice with interest today Brisbane entertainment writer Brett Debritz has also posted about varying reviews of this production. I would highlight his point that nothing beats seeing a show for yourself to find out.