On the Misconception of Oedipus (Malthouse)

Interesting and worthwhile, though it's needed a bit of time to sink in. At once a 'prequel' and a retelling (a re-conception, in one of the two punning senses of the title), and presented as a thoroughly modern (contemporary) piece of theatre, it nonetheless stays close to - or at least engages overtly and knowingly with - the core themes of destiny and freedom that underlie Sophocles' play.

The formal structure of the piece ('play' is slightly misleading) is important, as is its location in theatre - it couldn't have been done as a short story, for example, or a tv hour - not least because both enable the use (and, indeed, dramatisation) of a setting that is clearly and deliberately flagged as contemporary while still drawing directly on elements of the classical Greek origins of the myth, more or less overtly bringing those two sources/locations into dialogue with each other without being forced or artificial about it. For mine, it's not wholly successful - it felt just a small bit underdeveloped, a function maybe of the short (just over an hour) length - but my overall response was certainly positive...I felt myself being forced to grapple with the performance/production on its own terms, and I liked where that took me, so yes, definitely worthwhile.

(w/ Alice, Steph N, Julian, Meribah, Cass, Sim, Steph C, Jarrod and Farrah)

The Grey

Hard to go wrong, really: Liam Neeson vs wolves, in a severely cold climate. As done here, it's more about sheer survival than lupine smackdown, and a better film for it, stark and much preoccupied with masculinity and death.

John Carter

Rented this to help see me through yesterday, my second consecutive day stuck at home with this cold or flu or whatever it is. Anyway, it's not terrible by any means, but, you know, a bit on the bland side as far as action-adventures on Mars go.

A short list of songs that you remember fondly but vaguely from the 90s, that when you download them from the itunes store, turn out to (still) be pretty great

(In no particular order)

1. "As I Lay Me Down" - Sophie B Hawkins. I don't think I'd heard this for years - quite possibly literally not since the 90s, though perhaps she never really went away[*] so far as I was concerned - but, airy, dreamy, memorably melodic, it's somehow still quite lovely today.
2. "If It Makes You Happy" - Sheryl Crow. I've always been fond of Crow, particularly those songs of hers with a strong melancholy undercurrent ("Strong Enough" was the big one for me), so really "If It Makes You Happy" probably should've registered properly with me years ago...what a great song. No other decade has done nice-sounding yearning like the 90s.
3. "Never Ever" - All Saints. So smooth it should be boring, and so overplayed back in the day that it should be completely worn out in any event, but in fact neither of those things, and instead beguiling and curiously addictive, probably for much the same mysterious pop music alchemy reasons that it was so massively popular way back when.
4. "Beautiful Stranger" - Madonna. This must have come out at the very end of the 90s, and so right in the middle of a period when mainstream pop had basically no appeal for me, but I liked it even then (it made me see colours); and voila - in 2012 it turns out to still be fabulous.
5. "Turn" - Travis. This song is so simple that I'm almost ashamed to like it, which is saying something for me; it's like some platonic ideal of the mainstream-alternative post-The Bends 'rock' anthem. But whatever to all that - it may make all the obvious moves, but "Turn" nails it.

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[*] Wikipedia now informs me that the mystery was not in fact solved by that linked answer; rather, it seems. "ooh la kah koh" was, after all, just a nonsense phrase dreamed up by Hawkins to fill in some aural space.

The Crimson Petal and the White

I read The Crimson Petal and the White, it must've been some eight or nine years ago, and liked it a lot - I remember saying (writing?) to someone that it was postmodernist literature in the best possible way, meaning that its pronounced metafictional elements, overt and covert intertextuality, and deliberate anachronisms were well employed in service of a compulsive story and a truly memorable central character in its beguiling, independently-minded prostitute cum governess Sugar...a contemporary Victorian novel, liberally laced with bodily fluids and profanity of all kind, it was nonetheless somehow subtle, multi-layered and a bit moving.

Anyhow, Wei gave me this dvd set (part of a birthday gift) of the bbc's take on the novel, a four-part (one hour each) miniseries starring the excellent Romola Garai, and it's good, not flinching from the filth and seediness of the milieu and nicely highlighting the (separate) themes of writing and families; also, giving an aptly gothic flavour to the fragile Agnes, William Rackham's troubled bride. It's lavishly mounted, with a completely but effectively (and, given Faber's postmodernist-Victoriana style, perhaps aptly) non-period mood-setting score, and if the story feels somewhat compressed (we lose much of the inner lives of even the main characters, never mind the secondary figures) and lacking in the abundance of the source material, it's still very enjoyable, and still a great story.

The Suicide Shop (MIFF)

Two things that I didn't know this animated film would be: (1) 3d; (2) a musical. The premise is cute - in a future, mildly dystopic alternate-Paris, the suicide rate is sky-high and one family has made a business out of selling its implements, only for their third child to turn out to be inappropriately happy and determined to force a change. Only so-so, but pleasant enough.


(w/ David)

Haruki Murakami - 1Q84

I came across Murakami at probably exactly the right time for me, and plunged headlong into his world; extemporanea supplies the (approximate) dates but in any case I vividly, blurrily remember that period of reading one after another, as soon as I could get my hands on them, back in that final year of university. Murakami's writing really resonated for me, and still does, but it's been a while since I read anything of his, despite being very much a re-reader of my favourite books - no particular reason, I guess, just the endless fullness of the days and nights nowadays.

Anyway, so, I got a Kindle (a gift from Jade) and 1Q84 seemed the right book to christen it with, and on top of that, since getting back from overseas, I've had the sensation - unfamiliar really for at least a year, and probably a fair bit longer - that there's actually a bit of space in my life, quite literally, in that not every single moment or hour seems spoken-for by some kind of activity or obligation (it won't last - I can already feel the pace of things picking up again), so it's a good time to be reading, and not only that, but to be reading Murakami again.

It has been a while, but not so long that many of his characteristic preoccupations aren't apparent - disappearing women, descents into other worlds, a focus on ears, metaphysically (and existentially) significant sex, characters who spend a lot of time in their own heads, cooking and listening to music, etc. One big change is that, unlike all of his other novels except the unsatisfying After Dark, it's written in the third person, alternating from the points of view of Aomame and Tengo and, in the third book, Ushikawa - it doesn't change the tone as much as might've been expected given that, with a couple of jarring exceptions late in the piece, it still stays very true to the internal, flow of consciousness (phenomenological) style that characterises Murakami's first person writing, and (this is neither a positive nor a negative per se) it somewhat breaks the sense of detachment that tends to suffuse his first-person narrators, allowing greater access into the inner lives and pasts of those central characters (which might initially seem counterintuitive, given that you might expect third-person to be more removed - but much less so once you take into account the special difficulties that come with a rigorous commitment to the perceptual 'immediacy' of the first person voice).

So, I certainly enjoyed 1Q84 - it's the first book I've read in a while that has made me want to hurry home from work for, so that I can continue reading it. And it has a flow to it, both of mood and of story, that carried me through - even though, in some ways, not all that much happens, and a lot is left unresolved (making me wonder if a book 4 could be in the offing at some point).

But the thing is, it's impossible to read 1Q84 without reference to everything else that Murakami has done in the past, and by that measure, it's something of a disappointment; it's not that he's just going through the motions, but it lacks the something else that really animated his best earlier books, whether because the book's moves are already familiar or (more likely, I think) this one just isn't quite as good as those others. It's hard to describe - I raced through 1Q84, and felt it touch me at times, but in the end, it didn't really take me anywhere new in the way I had hoped and almost expected. But having said all that, who knows? Murakami is a huge part of my literary landscape, both indirectly (in my own reading) and indirectly (by the influence he's had on so many others), and things may look different again when I come back to him, and to this one, again.

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A Wild Sheep Chase (~ Feb '05, Feb '06)
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (~ Feb-Mar '05, Dec '07)
Dance Dance Dance (~ Mar '05)
Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World (~ Mar '05)
Kafka on the Shore (~ Mar '05)
Norwegian Wood (~ Mar '05)
After the Quake (~ Jun '05, Oct '07)
Sputnik Sweetheart (~ Jun-Jul '05)
South of the Border, West of the Sun (~ Jul '05)

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (~ Aug '06)
After Dark (~ Jul '07)

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (~ Oct '08)
Underground (~ Jan '09)

Blood Wedding (Malthouse)

This was a disappointing experience, not because the play wasn't good, but rather because, from what I could tell, it was very good. It was just unfortunate - for some reason this afternoon I couldn't hear out of my left ear, and on top of that I've been feeling a bit off these last couple of days, so immersing myself was just impossible. Possibly the physical discomfort had something to do with the dream-like feel that the play had for me; then again, so to may have its lyricism, intensity and even the way that it was bilingual (Spanish/English). It really did feel like it might have been great, had I only been in a position to appreciate it properly - a pity.

(w/ Meribah, and her friend Charlotte and sister Rebecca)

Hot Spring & Hot Spring: Landmannálaugar

A pair of compilations from Iceland, both good and pretty diverse, meaning that they encompass, as well as the expected (and pleasing) range of indie-pop - there are quite a lot of introverted, prettily ethereal anthems, and also a fair bit of folk-touched stuff, but the more upbeat end of the spectrum is well represented too - there is also Icelandic reggae ("Taktu Þessa Trommu" and "Hafið" by Hjalmar), Icelandic blues ("Kletturinn" by Mugison), Icelandic soul ("Lately" by Jón Jónsson), Icelandic country ("Gamli grafreiturinn" by Klassart), and more again.

Favourites: "Out of Place" by Ourlives (one of those delicate soarers); "Góða Tungl" by Samaris (a trip-hop-y kind of thing); "What Are We Waiting For?" by Amiina (they remind me of Sigur Ros, though with a female singer and a bit lighter, with an almost folky feel); "Cold Summer" by Seabear (quietly grand, somewhat in the Sufjan Stevens vein).

The Legend of Kaspar Hauser (MIFF)

In a phrase: black and white existential absurdist techno-soundtracked slightly new wave-y neo-symbolist Italian post-western about everything and nothing (and Kaspar Hauser). Enjoyable.

(w/ Julian)

"Light Works" (NGV)

I find myself in the NGV a lot (usually the international), and particularly when, like at the moment, I'm feeling a bit weightless - it's one of my favourite places, a space where I can go to feel away from everything, surrounded by familiarity and newness, often in the same piece of art. "Light Works" is a small exhibition in the small level 3 gallery space, focusing on the importance of light to photography; highlights are two large, moody twilight/evening cloud Bill Henson landscapes, a pair of "Star Drawing" photos by David Stephenson (which I've seen before, in a 'weather' ex a few years back, but hadn't been as struck by that previous time) that also invoke a sense of the sublime, and "Trace" by Park Hong-Chun, dock, flat, still water, sky - pink, salmon, apricot hues.

Safety Not Guaranteed / Killer Joe

Mainly Safety Not Guaranteed stuck out from the MIFF program because it starred the appealing Aubrey Plaza (Parks and Recreation - though the jury's out re: in real life or whatever 'in character' version of it the internet passes for), but it turned out to be a really sweet and often funny film about regrets, finding yourself, young(ish) love and time travel.

There's a scene in the film's second half where the eccentric, troubled time travel machine inventor plays Aubrey Plaza's character a song (written for his dead girlfriend) on the zither as they sit outside by a fire, which sounds and at first seemed unbearably precious, but which changed my how I felt about it, winning me over, as the song and scene went on; it felt like a turning point in my response to the film.

Anyhow, the algebra of Indie movies: a bit of Donnie Darko (significantly lightened up) with a touch of Garden State etc, a dash of Margot at the Wedding 'realism' and a slight Wes Anderson (time travel machine = jaguar shark in The Life Aquatic?) vibe...perfect for a Friday night.

We'd decided to do two back to back, and next up (supposedly 11.30 but started more like midnight) was Killer Joe. The MIFF volunteer/usher got us nervous beforehand by taking it on himself to warn the queue that the film had some very disturbing scenes, and telling people to vomit into bags (rather than into our laps, presumably); it is a nasty film, Matthew McConaughey doing well with one of those roles that allows him to make overt what has always been latent in his filmic personality (nb: I've always disliked him anyway) as the sadistic, murderous titular character who comes into the orbit of a redneck Texas trailer park family to their cost. Not the kind of film I'd usually watch, but it was hard to look away from.

(w/ Meribah)

Chris Cleave - Gold

It was coincidence that I readGold, a novel whose main characters are Olympic-level cyclists, while the London Games have been on (I hadn't known what the book was about when I borrowed it from the Ath, which in any case was several weeks ago) - and, in fact, it's almost coincidental that it's about cycling, even though it really brings the stresses and rigours of the discipline to life (I never thought I'd be interested in a sport that just involves people going round and round a velodrome), because Cleave takes that premise and pushes hard on it to draw out the costs and trade-offs demanded by Life and the search for success in all its forms, zeroing in on the spaces and tensions that exist in so many close relationships; I'm not sure how psychologically acute it is in its rendition of the driven Zoe in particular, but there's a feel of truthfulness in how it renders her friendship/rivalry with Kate and the involvement of Kate's husband Jack - not to mention Kate and Jack's leukemia-struck daughter Sophie.

Laura Cantrell - "Trains and Boats and Planes" ep

There's something about Laura Cantrell, I've never been able to put my finger on it - her music is so seemingly unassuming, and yet so invariably wonderful. Anyhow, this is a typically lovely one from her, released a few years back (2008). All of its songs are good, including the New Order cover ("Love Vigilantes" - great song title).

From her website:

So what is an urban, country singing mom to do? Turn to the solace of her band of course! On lucky days I took refuge in the company of music friends in NY, wringing every bit of feeling I could out of songs we’d been playing live in places like Mo Pitkins House of Satisfaction (now dearly departed) and 11th Street Bar. “Trains and planes are passing by, they mean a trip to Paris or Rome, for someone else but not for me.” Like an adolescent with a newly broken heart, all these traveling songs began to sound like they were written just for me, “Train, Train don’t leave me, train of Life.” I’m not sure who suggested it, but I decided to record a few of those traveling tunes using “Trains And Boats And Planes” as a theme for a set of music.