ASR – June
A nice
old building in Adelaide
SA
reflections
26.6.06 – Somebody told me recently there are no weatherboard
houses in Adelaide, which I found hard to believe, so last time
we were over I looked. I did see some outside the metropolitan
area, but none in Adelaide itself, so I might have to concede
that it’s true. In any case, it’s always a pleasure to walk
around the city and enjoy the ambience created by so many of
the old sandstone buildings that have been preserved and /or
refurbished. Of course there are many of Australia’s finest
and longest-established vineyards in the city’s surrounding
settlements where the European theme is even more pronounced
– it didn’t take too much effort to imagine we were back in
West Germany when we were having breakfast in Angaston for instance
– the coffee, the toast and jam took me back to Winsen Aller
in 1983. Or 1984 – I forget. Now I’m staying up too late to
watch the World Cup (again). It’s in Germany, (he said, trying
to justify this unconnected drivel). C’mon Aussie!
Happy
birthday to me – with Liz, Dick and Mares
Mike’s
birthday bash passeth all understanding
21.6.06 – It’s well over and done with
now, but I turned sixty-one on Thursday last, and celebrated
with a luncheon at the trusty Nostril with the other Rudds (pic).
You can see that I’m already glowing with an Italian rosso
coursing through my veins, and there was more to come,
and so it’s not surprising I triggered an erratic heart episode
later on in the day, which undoubtedly contributed to my not
sleeping at all that night, which was not a good idea with Bill
and I having to rise at 6.00 am the next morning to travel to
SA.
So, nearly a year after gaining my Seniors’ card, what have
I got to show for it? A couple of trips to the movies and an
all day pass on the Metro. It’s not good enough – I’m obviously
going to have to work harder at this old thing..
Peter
Houghton transmogrifies
The
Pitch
13.6.06 – I was rueing the fact that I’d
managed to deafen myself (again) when I caught a glimpse of
the time. Natasha had invited me to the dress rehearsal of Peter
Houghton’s one-man show, The Pitch, which opens tonight
(Wed.), so I quickly shut down the studio and headed for the
historic La Mama theatre in Carlton. It appeared that I was
one of only three guests – you can’t get much more exclusive
than that – and you can’t actually get a much more intimate
space than La Mama either. Houghton plays would-be film script-writer
Walter Weinermann pitching a screenplay according to a typical
Hollywood agent’s formula, in the course of which he does more
than passable impressions of Clint Eastwood, (or Russell Crowe),
Catherine Zeta Jones, Anthony Hopkins, Chris Rock, Bob De Niro
and Sean Connery et al, playing the lead roles in his
constantly evolving ‘hit’ movie, as well as incorporating a
subtext of his imagined budding personal relationship – and
somehow the tiny La Mama space seems awfully crowded.
Having trouble remembering the
most simple of lyrics, I’m in awe of somebody who can remember
a whole seventy minutes of script, and then bring it to life
with an energetic and, importantly for a bloke suffering from
tinnitus maximus, intelligible performance. It was
only after the show that the actor himself and the director
Anne Browning revealed that he’d left a whole section out,
which, disconcerting as it was for him, wasn’t evident to
this audient. There again, I’m accustomed to trying to make
sense of foreign movies I come in half-way through on Foxtel.
La Mama, you will have gathered by now, is a tiny space –
it’s just a room, and a pretty crappy room at that. Stage
lights hanging from the ceiling are the only real clue that
it’s a performance space, and if the actor so desired he could
lean over and dribble on you, you’re so close to the action.
The props for this show are minimal – although you’ll be surprised
at the potential for weaponry that a simple table and piece
of electric cable provide – but slick props aren’t what this
show is about. It’s about the power of imagination, and Houghton’s
The Pitch took me on a cinematic journey with exotic
locations and scrambled plots, with action, romance, pathos
and weird oriental music, with a cast of thousands and an
astronomical Hollywood budget. When it was over, it was hard
to believe that it all came from just the one man. How come
he’s not famous?
The
Pitch opens tonight and plays till the 25th of June at La
Mama 205 Faraday St Carlton bookings 9347 6142
1)I hadn’t picked the ‘who’ thing, but I’ll pass it 2) Luke the
Scarecrow on a natural high
Life
is but a dream..
7.6.06 – Some of my more obsessive readers
might remember my quibbling about this sign (pic. 1) a
little while back. Well, the last time I lunched with bro’ Richard
I noticed some sensitive person had taken matters into their
own hands and offered the signwriters some guidance. There’s
hope yet.
Last night Chris and I
popped down to Aquinas College in
Ringwood and took in years seven and eight’s production of The
Wizard Of Oz, in which my sort-of nephew Luke (pic.2)
was taking part as the Scarecrow. While Luke is showing some
musical aptitude on guitar and harmonica, he apparently has
no ambitions to take the stage, so it was an even more commendable
performance – he literally threw himself into the role, and
bounced back for more. He had to contend with his voice breaking
during rehearsals and so was modelling his startling new
basso voice whilst convincingly searching for that elusive
brain. I also liked the fact that he was unselfconsciously enjoying
himself. Chris enjoyed the show, despite feeling obliged to
audibly scold the players for not being funny on a couple of
occasions.
The dream bit? Answer me this: why would I think of the Bedser
twins for no apparent or useful reason, only to see an article
about them in The Age a couple of days later? Who thinks of
the Bedser twins at any time these days? And, how many times
do I think of somebody out of the blue only to be called by
them on the phone within minutes, hours or days? Quite a few
times, I tells ya! Life may be a trifle boring at the moment,
but it’s also a little spooky.
Jon meditates
before his talk
Jon
Cattapan retrospective
1.6.06 – My artist friend Annita invited
me to go with her to an exclusive discussion night – the
artist in camera – at the Jon Cattapan retrospective exhibition
at the Ian Potter Museum of Art attached to Melbourne University.
I’d met Jon previously at Annita’s show at the Meat Market,
and was hugely impressed when he stood in for the designated
speaker at the last moment and talked spontaneously about Annita
and her work for five or so minutes with a deal of affection
and unhesitating accuracy. At this exhibition, called The
drowned world – works and collaborations, he was talking
in depth about a collection of his own work, as distilled by
Dr Chris McAuliffe from thirty or so years worth of paintings
and drawings, and it was a highly entertaining and revealing
couple of hours. I was given pause to reflect on the often parallel
courses artists and musicians travel, and Jon mentioned the
impetus music and musicians had given him at various critical
times in his career. (The painting in the photo (left)
was
inspired by a night at the notorious St Kilda
nightspot, Bananas). I was privileged to join Jon with
Annita at Jimmy Watsons after the presentation and spend another
entertaining hour or so chatting over a fine glass of pinot.
For a man who’s chosen such a solitary occupation he makes a
charming and lively table companion, with many fascinating tales
and observations about his travels, having lived variously in
New York, India, the UK and Italy. If you’re familiar with Jon’s
work, or if you’d like to check it out for the first time, this
show gives you a unique overview of the Cattapan oeuvre.
The exhibition runs till August 6th.