Caption Contest

This photo of the late La Stupenda was just crying out for a caption. Winning entry from Boolomo "Ai, yi, yi yiiiii, Get off my taiyil". Runner up, Wol with "Adam, if I've told you once, glassware goes on the top rack"

Is TV's Top Gear secretly a witn(l)ess protection program ?

According to Wikipedia the first name of Stieg Larsson, author of 'The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo', 'The Girl Who Palyed With Fire' and 'The Girl Who Kicked a Hornets' Nest'...' crime thriller trilogy, was originally Stig, the standard spelling, but in his early twenties, he changed it to Stieg to avoid confusion with his friend Stig Larsson, who went on to become a well-known author before he did.

Now isn't this an all too convenient story? I contend that it has been fabricated and put about to disguise the writer's actual career move in the years 2003-04 immediately before his purported death from a heart attack.

Larsson's anti right wing activism is well known. He and his partner Eva Gabrielsson were subject to frequent death threats and required police protection. Surely a chance to adopt new identities would be irresistible? And who would be more likely to offer this duo of democracy champions an opportunity to assume those new identities, to 'hide in plain sight' so to speak, than the internationally renowned humanitarian and playful host of Top Gear, Jeremy Clarkson?

My exhaustive research suggests it may very well be so.

Study these images:

Stig Secrets
Is it possible the crusading Swedish couple have been
morphed into the cast of Top Gear?

In the press at least two famous racing drivers - Perry McCarthy and Ben Collins - have been rumoured to take the role of The Stig in Top Gear. The Stig is a character whose face is never seen and whom Clarkson and his producer allegedly created and named for the nickname given to new boys at their boarding school. There have been law suits threatened when either of these drivers has attempted to take credit for portraying The Stig. But now, how likely is it that Clarkson and his producer, Andy Wilman, would have indulged in teasing and name calling at an English public school? Or that they would think that a silly fictional character from their childhood would even vaguely capture the imaginations of their viewers? Ockham's razor - my explanation is both simpler and more feasible!

While I am asserting that Stig Larsson IS The Stig I am not suggesting that James May and Eva Gabrielsson are actually the same person, just that it has been arranged so that Ms Gabrielsson can slip seamlessly into his spot on the show (thus earning an income and remaining near Larsson). What else can account for May retaining that humiliating and completely outre hairstyle?

The ultimate proof: in a world where celebrities - whatever the source of their fame - constantly rub shoulders on all sorts of occasions (e.g. Naomi Campbell, Nelson Mandela, Liberian President Charles Taylor and Mia Farrow all at the same dinner in 1997), The Stig and Stig Larsson, Eva Gabrielsson and James May have never been photographed together nor are there any recorded witness accounts of their ever being in the same place at the same time!

All the speculations about which professional racing car driver is behind the full face helmet on Top Gear are just (Swedish) red herrings... No wonder the Brits wanted Clarkson for PM, he is a genius!

Roselands We (I) Love You!

The Fenwick Estate, 1800 (Lakemba, now Roselands)

When it was built in 1964 Roselands was probably the first, and was certainly the largest, shopping centre in the southern hemisphere. What has since come to be termed a 'mall' was a new phenomenon back then, an attempt to create a 'city in the suburbs', enabling south west Sydney residents, by a short drive or bus ride, to reach a retail precinct that offered more delights than they could have previously imagined. The original Roselands contained hundreds of variety shops and was dominated by a Grace Brothers department store. It had the country's first food court (Papa Guiseppe had his genesis there), a ladies rest room - the Rendezous Room - where one could relax and shower and even iron a frock before seeing a film at the Roselands Cinema Beautiful or dining & dancing at The Viking licensed restaurant. And of course, Roselands had the famed Raindrop Fountain (below left) a series of nylon wires down which a mixture of water and glycerin trickled into a faux rock pool at its base!

When the Premier of NSW, Robin Askin, opened Roselands in late 1965 (a view of opening day appears below), he declared that Roselands was a ‘million dollar spread of merchandise… bring(ing) the city to the suburbs in a glittering way that must rival even the fabled Persian Bazaars’. He also referred to it as the essence of 'the motor age' - a quaint description to use just 4 years before we landed on the moon! But however you looked at it, Roselands was the stuff of dreams! A quaint blending of nostalgic and futuristic vision*. It had contemporary art, CCTV coverage of the childminding centre, illuminated signage (mermaids & pirate ships that lit up on the seafood outlet), held massive trade promotions and civic functions and offered live entertainment as well as having its unique boutique cinema.

People flocked to its opening - cars were bumper to bumper along the approach roads. Their interest was maintained and many developed an abiding loyalty and affection for the centre.


There were dozens of variations on it's signature tune the 'Roselands we love you/need you' jingle. The one I particularly recall from 1970s 2SM is - 'Roselands we love you - we think you're Christmas'. At about the same time Edna Everage (yet to be made a dame) went one step further and said she imagined heaven as 'one big Roselands'. Even if heaven was/is more delightful than Roselands in its heyday, Roselands could not have been much more heavenly! Apart from all the attractions I've mentioned, I remember the amazing animal sculptures for kiddies to climb on up in the Leopard Spot play area on the roof. My archive trawling reveals that the ground level boasted a wishing well/water wheel as well as the so 60s chunky copper the Rose Fountain (pictured below).

Roseland's funky Rose Fountain - the height of hip in south west Sydney in the era of Graham Kennedy, Charmian Clift and Bandstand.

Roselands had the most extensive and convenient parking lot a shopping centre had ever had (no customer need walk further than 100 metres from their vehicle to retail bliss) - it pioneered the colour coding of levels. And although praised for its compact 3 tier car park, Roselands had more than enough land around it for the additional parking lots that have appeared since the 1980s.

Roselands was built over (and named after) a 9 hole golf course (that was a sub-divided 18 whole golf course) owned by local mayor and business man Stanley Parry. Before that the area was known as Fenwick's Paddock recalling the Fenwick Estate (see top picture) established in the 1880s by a tug business operator. It's homestead Belmore House became the golf clubhouse and stood on the site until the 1940s. Before all that the region was the traditional land of the Daruk (or Darug) people.

Roselands was first refurbished only 5 years into its life when it was damaged by a spectacular fire allegedly caused by fireworks Grace Brothers had in stock for the Queen's Birthday weekend. It has since been remodelled and 'made over' out of recognition with each passing decade. Most of the innovative features, including the fountains and the cinema, that made it remarkable when new have now vanished. I think the remnants of the Viking Restaurant remained until the 1990s as I vaguely recall eating schnitzel there when my kids were little.

Ironically Roselands has gone from being the biggest mall in the country to being one of the most human in scale. The extensive spread of land around it (which contains several houses, a bowling club, a memorial rose garden and an aquatic centre) contrasts pleasantly with complexes like Miranda Fair and Chatswood which loom too large, dominate their locations and where queues of cars can build up at the entry points. Entry to Roselands is via one of three leisurely stretches of road and I have never known it to run out of parking spaces (even at Christmas time).

Back in the 60s, as a newly arrived pommy immigrant, Roselands enticed me with its scale and modernity. Now it has won me over anew with its proximity, manageable size, variety of goods and services (I went to Weight Watchers there and now I go to aquarobics at the Roselands pool) and its rambling setting that, with a little imagination, can still evoke Fenwicks Paddock (below) .


* chronicled in Michaela Perske's meticulous 1998 broadcast on the ABC radio program Hindsight, an MP2 of which the staff at the ABC very generously created and provided to me.


POSTSCRIPT:

Right is a lovely sharp focus picture (particularly for a mobile phone image) my daughter took of the ugly rusted sculptural evocation of a rose (?) that dominates the memorial garden in the grounds of Roselands adjacent to the pool and opposite the auto service centre. Circa 1960s I'd say.

It is in the centre of what must have been a pool of reflection but which is now an empty litter collector. Does anyone know anything about its history/origin? Will do a little more research.

The Dorriteers show their vesatility

Being a charming, worthy Mr Nice Guy is so boring - do you mind if I play a control
freak wife abuser? (Fine, Matt, see 'Criminal Justice' 2008)

As far as Matthew Macfadyen goes I seem to be a late convert - I found 'Spooks' portentous and totally lacking in credibility. I somehow missed him playing D'Arcy to Keira Kneightly's Elizabeth Bennett in the 2005 film version of 'Pride & Prejudice' (but I, like everyone else, was in thrall to Colin Firth then any way). The trailer for the 2004 NZ film 'In My Father's Den' looked good, and he looked good in it, but I haven't seen it (one for the Quick Flicks list). I thought he was a competent, pudgy, but hardly charismatic, straight man in 'Death At A Funeral' (2007).

'Little Dorrit' (see last post) was the breakthrough for me - Macfadyen brought to Arthur Clenham (so boring on the page) wonderful humanity, warmth and humour. I'd put him up there with James Stewart in 'Harvey' for making niceness* acceptable and admirable on screen.

'Little Dorrit' was full of fine performances and I was tantalised to see three of its stars, Macfadyen, Eddie Marsan and Maxine Peake, reunited in 'Criminal Justice' which the ABC has just run as a 2 part drama over the last two Sunday nights (but which was actually filmed to be shown as a 5 part series in the UK the same year as 'Little Dorrit', 2008).

I have enjoyed Eddie Marsan's work since I first saw him in as the hyper tense driving instructor with stalking tendencies and anger management problems in 'Happy Go Lucky'. His Pancks in 'Little Dorrit' was a wonderful blend of grotesquery and zeal. He outdoes them all for wearing his east end Jewish heritage like a badge, making Bob Hoskins seem like Ralph Richardson by comparison. In 'Criminal Justice' he was clerk of chambers in the practice where MacFadyen's character worked as a barrister and god father to his daughter. We saw him seemingly callous, 'I've go a nice rape for you in Manchester', but also touching in his obvious regard and love for his colleague and when recounting how his character's father came to London in WWII as part of the Kindertransport.

When I saw Maxine Peake as the enigmatic and manipulative Miss Wade in 'Little Dorritt', I thought 'I know that face', then I read her screen credits but nothing rang a bell until I saw she was Twinkle in Victoria Woods' Dinnerladies. Hard to believe it, but her recent performance surpasses even that sublime creation! John Preston in Britain's Daily Telegraph called her work in Criminal Justice 'a marvel' and so it was. To quote him further, the production suceeded in:

ratcheting up the tension with 'Hitchcockian precision' and (using) the weight of the character's dilemmas to drive the narrative forward

Can't omit reference to the performances delivered by Sophie Okonedo and Alice Sykes either - all the cast were just outstanding. Superlative telly!

* Stewart as Elwood P. Dowd in 'Harvey': Years ago my mother used to say to me, she`d say, "In this world, Elwood, you must be" - she always called me Elwood - "In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant." Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me".

Don’t call me that!

'Little Dorritt is such a silly name, mind if I call you Fanny Chuzzzlewit?'

They call me 'Hell'

They call me 'Stacy'

They call me 'her'

They call me 'Jane'

That's not my name

That's not my name

That's not my name

That's not my name

They call me 'quiet girl'

But I’m a riot

Mary, Jo, Liza

Always the same

That's not my name

That's not my name

That's not my name

That's not my name

The Ting Tings 2009

I just loved it the Sunday night before last when Claire Foy (as Amy Dorrit) snapped at Matthew Macfadyen (as Arthur Clennam - above) “Don’t call me that” when he addressed her by the absurd sobriquet ‘Little Dorrit’ just once too often?

Dickens’s penchant for creating mawkish models of immature womanhood (whether dolts or angels) was never more cloyingly demonstrated than in fashioning ‘Little Dorrit’. I struggled with the novel, and with that epitome of selfless, sexless devotion, Amy, when reading it as an English Lit student in the 80s. Once again, I pay tribute to Andrew Davies for having breathed new life, and not inconsiderable mojo, into the characters of a ‘bonnet drama’ with this adaptation for television. And good on yer, Claire, for making 'Little Dorrit' a spirited and likeable heroine.

During the following week my 19 year old son also had occasion to insist ‘don’t call me that in public’ when I farewelled him thus: 'goodbye, honey bun’ on the steps of my office building after we'd shared a delicious Yum Cha lunch.

All families use pet names, don't they? The Mitford sisters were 'Decca', 'Nardy', 'Bobo' etc. My sisters and I are known to one another by similarly absurd terms. But when and where you use a pet or nick name is obviously a matter of judgement. When referring to sports stars the use of an epithet seems almost compulsory - 'Shark', 'Tiger', 'Brick with Ears'... for some other public figures too - I have no idea what 'Weary' Dunlop's or 'Chopper' Reid's given names actually are!

The above are all nicknames conferred on their bearers by others as distinct from an adopted name under which one chooses to perform or publish; Prince, Phiz, Madonna, Englebert Humperdink, Guillaume de Gnome de Plume come to mind. The difference being that it is presumably NOT embarassing to declare loudly and publically 'It is I, the Scarlet Pimpernell' while it is probably cringe-makingly awful to be greeted with 'Oi, I thought it was you, Silver Bodgie'. Unless of course you're Richard Roxburgh in which case you might be quite chuffed!

Coming soon: Guillaume Gnome de Plume's Reminiscences of Cooks River Vineyards

The chronicling of Marrickville-Sydenham's lost wine industry is long overdue...

In an interview soon to appear here, Guillaume Gnome de Plume reminisces about the acradian charms of the Cooks River vineyards.

The rich sullage content of the Cooks River combined with the run-off from the many wool stores lining the river along Canal Rd created incomparable soil for the cultivation of grapes.

Guillaume explains that there were two renowned vintages - the Vin Extremely Ordinaire and the Vin Barely Palatable.

The first had a nose of long-concealed frommage, notes of honeysuckle, melon and nuclear waste and left a calcium buildup and an almost indelible high-tide mark on the back palate. But with a plate of head cheese and a packet of Gauloise, it was without peer.

The latter was voted for three consecutive years by the readers of Joggers' World magazine as the best Australian wine to run away from.

MORE TO COME...

(With thanks to David Latta)

How do you write a blog about Maria?

...how do you catch a wave upon the sand?

After being bored and slightly irked by the 1965 film as a child, The Sound of Music barely entered my consciousness again for 45 years. Like everyone I was regularly exposed to those aerial shots of Julie Andrews whirling in Alpine meadows in Oscar presentations or programs about cinema history. At some point in my adult life I came to realise that there are people who are quite obsessed by the film. A friend knew all the lyrics by heart, a colleague showed me a video of her large family re-enacting the So long, farewell, auf wiedersehn, goodbye number, I saw a cabaret artist deconstruct the entire plot in his act. However, nothing prepared me for the impact the choice of The Sound of Music as the school musical would have on this family's life!

Some time in February it was rumoured that my 15 year old daughter was likely to be cast as Maria. Weeks of suspense and conflicting emotions followed. She did have the best voice in the school, didn't she? She'd demonstrated that and her acting ability in previous productions. Would they consider her mature enough to 'carry' the show? She was pretty iffy about that responsibility and about playing an ingenue nun with a bizarre belief that singing about deer, goats and copper kettles cured most of life's ills. Weeks passed and she greeted the music teacher's secret assurance to her that she would be cast as Maria with a mix of dread and derision, while we greeted it with skepticism* without something more concrete like a note home.

When the casting was confirmed and the arduous rehearsal schedule began our relief let us become foolishly complacent about our child's actual attendance every time she was required. Shrill phone calls from the director commenced. 'Must do better' we resolved. Huddled conferences with the director, music teacher and the school counsellor occurred. I was asked to become my daughter's 'personal assistant' and to remind her of each and every rehearsal. They offered to send cabs to collect her when she was exhausted or off colour. Could she really cope at all? They suggested she play a lesser nun. We convinced her to hang in there. Her School Certificate exams were rescheduled so that she could concentrate on learning all her lines and blocking every scene!

They were aghast that she had never seen the film. We hired it. She hated it. She became determined to create a Maria as unlike Julie Andrews as she could. We started making jokes about the script and lyrics. 'What is it Maria, you c*nt face?' How do you solve a problem like Maria? You marry her off to God or if that doesn't work to a randy old Austrian millionaire. The self consciousness kicked in. Various Von Trapp kiddies were taller than her, thinner than her, the Baroness had all the jokes, she had nauseating sweetness and unfounded optimism.

Above: Julie Andrews and the baggage my daughter wanted to shed.

We trawled the op shops for garments that were demure but not hideous. The smell of nylon that had encountered much sweat over many years remained in our nostrils. We got a pair of pearlescent cream high heels for the wedding scene for $2! Then we found a convincingly Laura Ashley/30s Austria like floral number on eBay... It would be an improvement on the checked rag of a dress I'd already had to darn twice. But would our bid win it? And would it arrive in time? At $14 we paid over op shop odds for it but it was just the ticket and arrived in time for the two public performances.

Then in the actual week of the performances, with a masterstroke of bureaucratic absurdity, the school suspended her for skiving off after an excursion the week before. Which days did they choose to have the suspension take effect? The days of the first two performances. Did they tell us? Yes, by snail mail that arrived after the suspension was meant to occur. (Our daughter had been handed a copy of the letter too but found it all too silly and distracting to contemplate and just buried her copy in the depths of her school bag). Blithely unaware that we were contravening a Department of Education direction and could be inviting police action, we ferried her to and from the performances, went through lines one last time, applied make-up, moved scenery and helped her struggle through costume changes. When we became aware of the suspension we were livid.

Any way, that idiocy aside, the public performances went ahead gloriously on 18th and 19th June. Our girl is a prodigious talent and acquitted herself brilliantly.

The Sound of Music remains a very silly story (and an atrocious departure from far more interesting real life see: http://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/2005/winter/von-trapps.html ) The values of the film are wildly artificial and anti-feminist but to give Rogers and Hammerstein a bit of credit, the stage version does contain two very droll numbers shared by the Baroness, Max and Captain Von Trapp and the anti Nazi theme is explored more fully (arguing over collaboration is actually what breaks up the Captain and the Baroness).

This production was far from silly in its quality and effect and we are proud and thrilled to see how our girl has grown, quoting Maria she can now declare:

Strength doesn't lie in numbers.
Strength doesn't lie in wealth,
Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers,
When you wake up, wake up!
It can be all I trust I leave my heart to,
All I trust becomes my own!
I have confidence in confidence alone.
I have confidence in confidence alone!
Besides, which you see,
I have confidence in me!

Well done little Diva, clever Belle Starr!

*Once bitten you see, my high school music teacher planned a production of HMS Pinafore and offered me Buttercup only to snatch away our chance at fame and acclaim by telling the class that God had told him in a vision not to proceed with the show (for 'God' read the Principal and the school's accountant, I suspect).