Comments Off on The Parisian Dream: A Review of Emily in Paris
Name a show that has received more backlash than Netflix’s new series, Emily in Paris. Some of the harsher criticisms have included: a ‘wikipedia version of French life’ and an insult to ‘anyone who has eaten a croissant’.
Despite these critiques, millions of viewers have fallen in love with this new comedy-drama. Created by Darren Star, the man responsible for Sex and the City and Beverly Hills 90210, the show follows Emily Cooper as she upends her life in Chicago for the city of lights, love and fashion…Paris. The age-old story of an American who moves to Paris, falls in love with a beautiful French man and eats baguettes and croissants all day.
It may be an understatement that the French did not enjoy this show. Parisians have railed against the America-in-Paris cliché that has been replayed in countless shows and movies from Midnight in Paris to Ratatouille. Emily strolls around in Barbie outfits, using a translator to speak French and treating Paris as her amusement park. She is utterly clueless about French customs. She smiles too much, cares too much about work and stands out in her loud clothing. But within these clichés lie grains of truth. Smiling is less of a pleasantry in France, work culture is different, and yes, less is usually more when it comes to French fashion. While clichés may be considered lazy writing, the show plays the clichés on itself, exaggerating them for effect and turning them into a humorous critique of the divide between Parisian and American culture.
Despite the endless bad reviews, Emily in Paris also provides a thoughtful insight into what it means to feel an outsider in a new culture. Emily’s struggle to fit in felt relatable. A comforting reminder that change is always going to be difficult.
The show also provided a much-needed respite from today’s world. With COVID-19, U.S. elections and countless other 2020 worries crowding our thoughts it felt comforting to watch a show where the main character lives in an ‘ordinary’ world. Emily’s biggest concern is being liked by her French boss Sylvie whilst navigating the French dating scene, notably, the steamy Parisian chef and next-door neighbour, Gabriel.
I’ll take the snobbery, cringe and fashion clichés any day for the pure escapism of this series. Forget the criticism, if you’re looking for a Parisian distraction, this show is for you.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
It’s finally Spring, and as Canberra cautiously relaxes after its stressful year, it’s time for a well-deserved pint.
I visited, and ranked, the inner-north’s ten biggest pubs. For your convenience and my pleasure.
King O’Malley’s (Civic)
Quality: 2.5 Atmosphere: 3 Price: 3 Overall: 2.83/5
Taking the tenth spot on this list is one of Civic’s two Irish pubs.
Earlier this year, on St Patrick’s Day, the vibe at this pub was great. Mostly, however, there is not a lot about King O’Malley’s which is particularly remarkable. While this pub delivers the Irish staples (Guinness and Kilkenny on tap) and classic pub meals, its beer range is limited and its food is on the dearer end. By way of example, a beef burger costs $25— more than Grease Monkey’s most expensive burger.
This is a place to consider if the occasion calls for it.
Civic Pub (Braddon)
Quality: 3.5 Atmosphere: 2.5 Price: 3.5 Overall: 3.16/5
The Civic Pub sports a pretty standard range of tap beers, though that range notably includes Balter XPA, a decent alcoholic ginger beer, and a tapped espresso martini.
Although its price bracket is pretty standard, sadly this pub does not offer a Happy Hour. What is most confusing about it, however, is the atmosphere. On a sunny day, the pub feels unusually dark and gloomy. Walls lined with books and a ‘yak’ (actually a buffalo) from Fat Yak apparently strive for a refined atmosphere. However, Civic Pub feels like it’s occupying an uncomfortable middle space between classy and conventional.
Brew Nation (Civic)
Quality: 5 Atmosphere: 3 Price: 2.5 Overall: 3.5/5
With an incredible range of canned beers (which can also be taken home) and a great range of beers on tap, beer snobs – and those wanting to learn a bit more about their drink – will love Brew Nation. As a reasonably minimalist, one-room pub, the atmosphere at this place is not particularly special. However, good background music, a volume at which to talk comfortably, and notably friendly staff all add to this space’s value.
One gets higher-end brews here, and it’s reflected in the prices.
Badger & Co. (Acton)
Quality: 3 Atmosphere: 3.5 Price: 4 Overall: 3.5/5
The ANU’s primary bar/pub does its job reasonably well. Its beer range is not enormous, but it pleases a wide crowd, including brewery-fresh Carlton and a couple of Canberra brews in its range. The atmosphere can be good, but – to flog a dead horse – it does not hold a torch to the late ANU Bar. Arguably the best thing about this establishment (after its location) is its daily deals, whether it’s $10 schnitzels or $5 Happy Hour.
Not a bad place for a pint.
Braddon Brews (Braddon)
Quality: 4 Atmosphere: 3.5 Price: 3.5 Overall: 3.6/5
Being a daytime café / coffee roaster and a night-time beer bar, Braddon Brews wins some points for uniqueness.
What’s more, for an establishment that is only sometimes a beer bar, this space offers ten pretty diverse and delicious range of tap beers. The atmosphere is good if you don’t mind drinking in an alleyway. The prices are in the middle-to-upper range.
The Duxton (O’Connor)
Quality: 3.5 Atmosphere: 3.5 Price: 4 Overall: 3.66/5
The Duxton is a good middle-upper pub, plain and simple. Happy Hour is here from 3-5pm on weekdays, during which they offer $5 selected tap beers and $5 house wine. Outside these hours, prices are reasonably standard. They also host trivia every Wednesday.
This pub is in O’Connor, so it’s a little bit of a trip from the ANU area.
PJ O’Reilly’s (Civic)
Quality: 3.5 Atmosphere: 4 Price: 3.5 Overall: 3.66
This is a good Irish pub, although it suffers from the opposite fate of its counterpart in King O’Malley’s: a good range of craft beers, but an absence of the staples (Guinness and Kilkenny) needed in any self-respecting Irish pub.
Significantly, the prices here are better than at King O’Malley’s. There’s also a decent spread of events at PJ’s, including trivia every Monday night and regular live music. This is also the stomping-ground of the Canberra Democrats Abroad. Having been here to watch the 2016 Presidential election, I’d recommend popping in for a pint over the upcoming 2020 election.
The RUC (Turner)
Quality: 3 Atmosphere: 3.5 Price: 5 Overall: 3.83/5
The Canberra North Bowling and ACT Rugby Union Club, or RUC, knows what it is.
Although the Club only offers big-name commercial beers on tap, the range of these is broader than usual, and probably sufficient for every beer-drinker. The RUC’s atmosphere is good, with live music every Friday and relaxed vibes always. Above all, the RUC’s prices stand out. In addition to cheap meal deals from Monday to Wednesday (including $12 rump steak on Mondays), the Club boasts $5 select wines, basic spirits and standard draughts during Happy Hour; $4 Coopers Pale Ale schooners on Fridays; and $3.90 basic spirits from 8-9pm every week.
This is the place to go if you like your beers cheap and simple.
Bentspoke (Braddon)
Quality: 5 Atmosphere: 4 Price: 3 Overall: 4/5
With a range of about 30 tapped beers and ciders, Bentspoke is – beyond all question – Canberra’s tap beer leader. If you’re willing to shell out a bit of money, you can even take some of its delicious brews home.
Adding to Bentspoke’s aesthetic is its Lonsdale Street location, as well as its back wall of large metal kegs. In fact, all that can be detracted from this venue is its higher-price range (especially granted its new $40 minimum spend due to COVID-19). Bentspoke also lacks live music / events.
Nevertheless, the fact remains: Bentspoke offers Canberra’s best home-made beers.
The Old Canberra Inn (Lyneham)
Quality: 4 Atmosphere: 5 Price: 3.5 Overall: 4.16/5
Claiming the top spot on this list is a pub which barely makes it into our ‘inner-north’ scope. However, if one is prepared to venture out to this Lyneham location, good times surely await.
The Old Canberra Inn sports an excellent range of rotating beers, as well as a huge range of packaged beers. Its prices are at the upper-middle end, though these are made better by a 4-6pm Happy Hour every weekday.
What makes this pub truly special, however, is its atmosphere. In addition to hosting regular events, the Inn is one of very few pubs in the ACT which can truthfully boast of providing an authentic, European-style pub vibe. In the winter, roaring fires in its main room keep patrons warm. In the spring and summer, its beer garden delights. The pub’s largest room imitates German beer halls.
If one is looking for an excellent inner-north pint, whatever the weather, then look no further.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on The Uniting Force of ‘Normal People’: A Review
In a speech given at the Oxford Union in 1995, film director Krzysztof Kieślowski made the following remarks. “It comes from a deep-rooted conviction that if there is anything worthwhile doing for the sake of culture, then it is touching on subject matters and situations which link people, and not those that divide people. There are too many things in the world which divide people, such as religion, politics, history, and nationalism. If culture is capable of anything, then it is finding that which unites us all.” This year’s BBC/Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s Normal People could not have better captured the essence of Kieślowski’s words.
Never has a programme been as popular on the BBC’s streaming service iPlayer. Having garnered over 16 million views on the platform in its debut week alone, it went on to enjoy similar success in the US. All around the world, people have united in sinking themselves into the heart-wrench that accompanies the on-screen duo of Marianne and Connell. Not uncommon among viewers is a yearning for the story to end hastily — the suffocating pain often edges towards the unbearable. Yet, unflinchingly, we are entirely consumed, resistant to rise above the surface.
Set in Ireland, Normal People follows the lives of two young students as they progress through the confusions of their tumultuous relationship from young adulthood, to high school, and to the halls of Trinity College Dublin. It tends beautifully to the matter of what it means to be loved, unloved, in love, out of love, beyond and between. Vividly painted is a picture of the ecstasy that first love produces. Haunting is the rendition of the agony that follows from it’s capitulation. These themes, ubiquitous in their appeal are helped along masterfully by careful direction from Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie Macdonald.
Each time we are confronted with the most private moments of our two main protagonists, nothing appears rushed. There is always a lingering feeling of pleasure or melancholy to be found, and conversation is paced lethargically so that Marianne and Connell sound and feel real. The authenticity of this pacing is deeply affecting. It may very well be us in that room. How could we not care for them so?
When it comes to the sex scenes between Marianne and Connell, there is no doubt that they are a resounding breakthrough. Every inch of every frame seems to have been cautiously crafted as not to trivialise their sex lives. Contrary to current TV trends of expedient intimacy, there are no lustful cuts to their sex and instead the buildup is always purposeful. The nudity finds itself more to be a matter of sincerity than to be cheaply erotic. These delicate, sensitive scenes are then deliberately contrasted with the cold cut-away passages of Marianne’s more abusive sexual relationships in what really does become exceedingly heart-breaking. Full kudos must be given to the intimacy coordinator Ita O’Brien who demonstrates quite compellingly that setting boundaries and allowing actors to feel comfortable while filming sex scenes makes for an enormous impact on the overall quality of their performance.
Perhaps the most touching element of the series is how courageously honest it endeavours to be. Marianne and Connnell are smart people who make stupid mistakes. Though it may be tempting to criticise them for their lack of communication, which admittedly could have prevented a great deal of otherwise unnecessary suffering, it eventually becomes clear to us that there is more often than not a difference between what should be true and what is true of any given situation. Where most of our lives are not perfect and escapism might be the natural antidote, Normal People offers us none whatsoever. It rejects the lifestyle porn that so often monopolises the small screen and instead seeks to challenge us by hitting where it hurts.
If the success of Normal People had to be attributed primarily to one particular factor, it would not be the lockdowns that have swept across the globe and forced us indoors, nor the popularity of the novel on which it was based. Normal People stands on its own right through the universality of its themes and the honesty of their depiction. As Kieślowski would go on to say. “And there are so many things which unite people. It doesn’t matter who you are or who I am, if your tooth aches or mine, it’s still the same pain. Feelings are what link people together, that’s why I tell about these things, because in all other things I immediately find division.”
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
I decided it was time to delete Instagram. I always knew the app was addictive, but I finally understood the grip it had on my life. Instagram had become my social pacifier. If I ever felt uncomfortable in a social situation, I would look to the app. I was dependent on the never-ending scrolling that felt so comforting. Each image tailored just for me. What exactly inspired me to take such decisive action?
The answer lies in the recent raved-about Netflix documentary — The Social Dilemma.
Created by Jeff Orlowski, the documentary ties together interviews of an impressive line-up of experts in the field of social media. They include ex-employees of tech companies who left for ethical reasons, authors, university professors and big-name investors. All have come together to voice their concerns and fears over unregulated social networking platforms.
One of the most interesting takeaways of the documentary is how these tech companies manipulate human psychology for profit. Have you ever wondered why you feel compelled to check your phone when it pings or look at an image you have been tagged in? Human nature. This isn’t a fluke in these apps; this is what they were designed to do. Once they have our attention, they tailor what we see based on the data they have collected to keep us constantly engaged and infinitely scrolling. And they collect everything. From what images we look at, how long we look at them. The data tells companies if we are happy or sad, depressed or anxious, introverted or extroverted. All this data is used not just to predict our behaviour but to influence it. They are turning us all into the pawns of advertisers. “If you’re not paying for the product, then you are the product,” says former Google employee Tristan Harris.
The documentary also explores the impact of social media on children. There are strict restrictions over what children can see on television. For example, junk food advertisements cannot be directed at children, and there are limits on the level of violence and sexual content that can be shown. But social media is not subject to this regulatory control. YouTube for Kids is not held to the same standards as Saturday morning cartoons. And this can have severe consequences on children’s mental health. The documentary also explores the real-world impact of social media on democracy, from the complicit role of Facebook in the Myanmar Rohingya genocide in 2016/17, as well as influencing the 2016 US election. Anyone with money can pay to post adverts that target specific users. The ads play on simple psychological traits to best influence our behaviour without us even knowing it. With 2.7 billion active Facebook users, it’s clear that such adverts can have a real impact on the outcome of elections.
What makes The Social Dilemma so poignant is the intertwining of a fictional story of a suburban family in America. There is a young daughter who suffers from self-esteem issues worsened by exposure to Instagram at a young age. There is a teenage boy who falls victim to a far-right group on YouTube. While the storyline aids in making the documentary more entertaining, it also demonstrates the impact of the Machiavellian tactics of social media companies. They are playing on our human nature to influence and manipulate our behaviour.
However, there is hope after all. All the interviewees are optimistic that if society comes together and demands regulation, positive change can be forced upon the tech industry. The Social Dilemma is ultimately a call to arms, encouraging users to fight back and put humanity back into social media. If you want to be thoroughly creeped out but also enlightened about the apps you use every day, I would give this documentary a watch.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on The Art of the Confusing: A Review of ‘Tenet’
What makes a great film, great?
It depends on the film – and who you might ask. To a Tarantino fan, the answer may lie in gripping action, memorable dialogue, and the cinematic technique of an evident cinephile. To a George Lucas fan, world-building and adventure are key.
And then there are fans of Christopher Nolan. Right now, cinemas are screening the British-American filmmaker’s eleventh feature film: the US $200 million-budget Tenet. Even by Nolan’s standards, the work is a wild ride – and frequently incomprehensible. Thus, the creator of such mind-benders as Memento and Inception has once again affirmed his own interpretation of cinematic greatness: complexity.
But does Tenet offer greatness?
Unlike Nolan’s amnesia-centred Memento and his consciousness-themed Inception, Tenet’s subject is time itself. The film’s content is not confined to time ‘travel’, either: from the viewer’s perspective, the action in Tenet quite literally flows forwards and backwards at various points. The stakes are high: characters are fighting to save not only the world, but everything that has ever happened.
That makes for some dazzling cinematography. There is something thrilling about seeing gunfire and hand-to-hand combat in reverse, not to mention reverse car chases and explosions. The enormous amount of money poured into this film is continuously evident.
Yet, if Tenet’s storyline seems daunting to follow, that is because it is. Nolan quite patently believes in the philosophy that, in film, ‘showing is better than telling’. Dialogue is seldom used to explain what is happening. When characters do talk, they do not waste a word. That frequently leaves a lot to be desired.
This 150-minute film, therefore, unashamedly demands every second of the viewer’s attention. Those wishing to use the bathroom at the cinema and understand the plot will find themselves unable to do both. If asked to summarise the film for others, viewers may struggle.
It is true that some of that confusion is wrapped up intermittently, particularly at the film’s conclusion. Yet, moviegoers may find themselves grappling with Nolan’s Art of the Confusing for large stretches of viewing. That will be more satisfying for some onlookers than others.
For those considering this film, it would be unjust to solely comment on its complex plot. Tenet has more than its storyline adding to, and detracting from, its favour.
I’ll start with its merits. Notably, Tenet features outstanding acting from its entire cast. What is more, Tenet is the rare type of story that encourages viewers to consider complex themes – like time, war, and loss – from different perspectives. Nolan grappled with Tenet’s central ideas for more than a decade. Depending on their mental preparedness, viewers may reap the rewards.
Keener eyes have accused the film of further shortcomings. Brian Loyd of Entertainment.ie stated that poor sound mixing “often” rendered dialogue inaudible, though I did not perceive that issue. With cause, many reviewers perceive the film’s Russian villain as a ‘Bond-esque’ trope. In a scathing review, Mike McCahill of IndieWire labelled the film “humourless”. Evidently, humour is not a goal for which Nolan set out in this World-War-Three flick. Yet granted the film’s mental and emotional strain, I must agree that occasional relief would have added to his product.
All in all, I find myself recalling the words offered by Rotten Tomatoes for the Netflix series Midnight Gospel I also recently reviewed. Like that series, this “strange brew won’t be for all tastes, but those willing to drink deep will find a wealth of vibrant visuals and illuminating insights.” (That is, if they’re lucky.)
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on ‘The Vanishing Half’ Dives Deep into Issues of Racial Passing and Colourism
‘White passing’, a term used to describe the ability of a light-skinned person of colour to pass as white, is not new to literature. Books such as Nella Larsen’s Passing published in 1929 explore the complicated history of racial passing. From the antebellum period to the end of Jim Crow, a lot of black Americans crossed the colour line to pass as white. The purpose was often to gain freedom from slavery, escape from racial violence, or to enjoy the freedom that whiteness provided.
But in her new novel, The Vanishing Half, Brit Bennett takes a more in-depth exploration into the performance of race and white-passing. Bennett exposes the fluidity of racial categories where nobody can honestly know anyone’s race. And if we can’t know people’s race, then we are just making assumptions. Such assumptions have real social, political and economic implications. And it is these implications that transform the trajectory of Bennett’s character’s lives, shaping who they marry, their education, ambitions and their identities. Bennett asks some provocative questions: How do social categories shape our identity? What does it mean to perform whiteness? And does white-passing reinforce race or destabilise it?
The story is set in the fictional town of Mallard established by the great-great-grandfather of twins Stella and Desiree Vignes. A small southern town established by light-skinned black Americans. Intermarriage in the residents of Mallard has ensured their children become whiter with each generation. Yet, Stella and Desiree still experience the reach of racism as they witness the brutal lynching of their father at the hands of white men. Their mother is an underpaid cleaner for a white family. Stella is quiet, studious and content with her life in Mallard. In contrast, Desiree is wild and dreams of leaving Mallard for a bigger city. Desiree convinces Stella to leave Mallard at the age of sixteen for New Orleans. But after only a few months in New Orleans the twins split. “Stella became white, and Desiree married the darkest man she could find.”
The story begins in 1968 with Desiree returning to Mallard, bruised and battered and with a daughter in hand after fleeing her abusive husband.The arrival of “blue-black” child Jude shocks the town that has prided itself for generations on its whiteness. Jude is relentlessly bullied and ostracized by the town.
Jude meets Stella years later while at university in California. Stella is now a white woman. She is married to a rich man and with a blonde, aspiring actress daughter named Kennedy. Jude forms a relationship with Kennedy, who is wholly unaware of her connection with Jude and her mother’s past.
Bennett’s book spans 20 years, delving into the characters of Desiree and Stella as well as their daughters Jude and Kennedy. The book is fast-paced. Bennett intertwines the stories of the protagonists, not spending too long on each character’s development. This feels important to the book. Bennett emphasises the contrast between Stella’s life as a white woman and Desiree’s back in Mallard as well as their children. Jude is alienated for the colour of her skin at school, while Kennedy grows up as functionally white, experiencing all the privileges that this entails. The book does a brilliant job of showing through contrast how social categories such as race, sexuality and gender influence people’s lives in concrete ways. Bennett places limits on Desiree’s and Jude’s lives whilst handing Stella and Kennedy great freedoms.
There are some drawbacks to the book’s pace. It covers a lot of ground, characters and time in a remarkably short period. The rapid storytelling means that feelings and identities are not fully explored in a depth that would do them justice. Kennedy and Jude often felt two dimensional. Kennedy as a blonde, ditsy actress and Jude as a victim of bullying with low self-esteem.
The Vanishing Half is still a beautiful and worthwhile book about the complexity of identity. But most importantly, about the history of black performance and identity in America. Bennett does a fantastic job at capturing the fluidity of race, identity and sexuality but also showcasing its tangible effects on people’s lives. The book didn’t leave me with answers, but more with questions about the complexity of identity and the danger of making assumptions. The Vanishing Half is an important book that has gained even more fame since the Black Lives Matter movement, a fascinating read into the history of colourism and racial passing in America.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Why Netflix’s ‘Midnight Gospel’ is the Anti-‘Rick and Morty’
“Nobody exists on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere. Everybody’s gonna die. Come watch TV?”
So suggests 14-year-old Morty to his sister, Summer, on an episode of Rick and Morty. In many ways, the line captures the series’ world-view. Through its bitter, genius protagonist, Rick Sanchez, Rick and Morty consistently pushes the message that nothing really matters.
True, there are deviations from that message. When Rick and Morty is not following its eponymous characters’ misadventures, the series turns occasionally to the strained marriage of Morty’s parents. Morty’s father, Jerry, is in many ways the opposite of Rick: slow-witted, insecure, and mired in mundanity. Yet, viewers might consider that Jerry’s appreciation for the little things is more desirable, or even more noble, than Rick’s nihilism. Forget the attitude that nothing really matters. Jerry’s existence suggests that small comforts – from whacking weeds to one’s coin collection – matter a great deal. Or, at least, we should pretend they do, if we want to be happy.
Yet, on the whole, Rick and Morty is heavily nihilistic. Its characters do not dwell often, or convincingly, on the significance of small comforts. The series certainly does not emphasise any inherent meaning of existence.
Therein lies a marked difference from one of Netflix’s more recent additions, The Midnight Gospel. As an adult cartoon, this eight-episode series takes the same form as Rick and Morty (also on the platform). Yet, the differences between the two are enormous.
Start with the usual plots. While Rick and Morty generally follows the near-fatal (and near-apocalyptic) journeys of its protagonists, the bulk of run-time in the Midnight Gospel is occupied by just one recurring character: Clancy Gilroy. While Rick and Morty repeatedly evade disaster and save the world, Clancy uses his ‘multiverse simulator’ to visit dying worlds and interview their inhabitants for his ‘spacecast’. Thus, in the words of another commentator who has compared the series, “the world ends over and over again for real in The Midnight Gospel”.
This lays the foundation for the attitudinal difference between the series. Capable of moving between dimensions at will, Rick Sanchez faces few (if any) consequences for his actions. Further, as the smartest person who ever lived, Rick’s adventures have no intellectual objective: he is chasing thrills for the sake of it, or bonding with his grandson. By contrast, the young Clancy’s journeys are all about learning. His conversations – which span topics such as drug use, mortality and spiritualism – are real conversations held by series co-creator, Duncan Trussell, with guests on his eponymous podcast.
Herein lies the reason that The Midnight Gospel is the ‘anti-Rick and Morty’. As Clancy seeks meaning in the universe and how to live a good life, his conversations would be enough to make Rick Sanchez scowl – or worse. Clancy’s conversations simply have no place in Rick and Morty.
And yet, it is worth commenting on Netflix’s newish series in its own terms – and not just by reference to its antithesis. To that end, it should be emphasised that Clancy’s aforementioned conversations are generally very meaningful. The season finale, ‘Mouse of Silver’, is particularly touching. That episode features real conversations between Duncan Trussell and his dying mother, as they extensively discuss meditation and death.
Of course, the series does not always land its mark. Clancy’s guest in the series pilot, for instance, makes some intriguing points about drug use – but then, perhaps, overstates his case by claiming “there’s no such thing as a ‘bad drug’”. In its frequent spiritualist flights, the series occasionally (doubtless, unintentionally) steps around questions of real-world justice. Advising the poor and downtrodden to “get present” through meditation, for instance, might be noble – but it may also leave the viewer wanting more. Even as The Midnight Gospel makes space for other cultures, it brings to mind debates about cultural fetishisation.
Yet, however one lands on those prior questions, The Midnight Gospel has much to offer – and not just in the way of dialogue. There is, for instance, much to be praised in the series’ vivid, psychedelic animation. Alongside Duncan Trussell, the series was crafted by Adventure Time creator Pendleton Ward, and it shows. The series is at its best when stunning visuals add to a conversation’s meaning. One example is a character discussing death while being carried into a meat-grinder.
As another commentator has put it, “The Midnight Gospel’s strange brew won’t be for all tastes, but those willing to drink deep will find a wealth of vibrant visuals and illuminating insights”. Rick Sanchez would undoubtedly be in the former group. I, however, find myself in the latter.
The Midnight Gospel is an eight-episode series on Netflix presently spanning one season. Rick and Morty, also on Netflix, presently spans four seasons.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on I Read ‘Normal People’ So You Don’t Have to
“[A] novel that demands to be read compulsively, in one sitting.” – The Washington Post.
‘Thrilling.’ – New York Times
‘The most enjoyable novel of the year.’ – Daily Telegraph
There is intense hype surrounding Normal People by Sally Rooney. Since its publication in 2018, the book has received rave reviews and has recently been made into a popular 12-part series on Stan. Over the mid-term break, I decided to read this much-talked about book. Yet something about it bothered me. Although I was enraptured by its storyline and finished the book in two days, I was uncomfortable with the message it portrayed on relationships.
Normal People introduces Irish high school classmates Marianne and Connell. Marianne is from a wealthy family, and Connell’s mother cleans Marianne’s family home. Marianne is a bookish, awkward, social outcast while Connell is an athletic, popular boy. The pair bond over their fierce intelligence and have an instant physical attraction. Sex and love intertwine into a secret relationship as Connell’s insecurity stops him from recognising their relationship at school. Marianne, whose self-worth is undermined by her cold, unfeeling family, craves his attention and becomes frustrated at keeping their affair a secret. Eventually, the pair break it off when Connell takes another girl to the Debs ball, and they both start their separate lives at Trinity College Dublin.
Rooney explores the class dynamics at play in universities. Marianne fits in easily and finds a group of sophisticated, bourgeoisie friends while Connell’s class disconnect is painfully evident. The pair reconnect at a party. Again, their attraction is too strong and they start up a steaming relationship. However, their insecurities again play a significant role in the breakdown of their relationship. Connell is indecisive and unwilling to commit to a relationship. He is also frustratingly uncommunicative about his true feelings for Marianne. Marianne’s low self-esteem means she constantly craves Connell’s love and attention and continually forgives his lack of commitment to her. These insecurities work against Marianne and continue to break her over and over again. Her vulnerability develops into an unspoken eating disorder as well as a desire to be demeaned during sex through rough BDSM.
By the end of the book, their relationship has left her a shell of her former self, physically and mentally shattered. The book could have been saved by a conclusive ending. Do Marianne and Connell learn from their mistakes and evolve into a healthy relationship? Or do they continue with their toxic behaviour? Instead, there is no thesis at all, and the book ends without the reader knowing if Connell will decide to pursue a Master of Fine Arts in New York or remain in Ireland with Marianne.
Watching their relationship disintegrate through so many pages with no payoff in the end felt soul shattering. Normal People has been heralded by Sally Rooney as well as numerous reviewers as an accurate depiction of ‘normal’ relationships outside of literature. But if this is true, then it is an unfortunate fact. Yes, relationships are imperfect; people are flawed. Yet the majority of people learn from their mistakes. They realise after months, years of mistreatment that somebody is not changing and it’s time to move on. But Marianne and Connell instead continue to spiral in a self-destructive relationship until the end with little hope of redemption.
The only ray of light in this book is the writing style. It felt modern, concise and insanely readable. Pages turned themselves. The storyline itself feels paramount, and the writing style highlights this. Also is its study of issues like male mental health and class divide. But these issues are only glossed over and not explored in the depth that would have made this book a meaningful social commentary. Instead, the story focuses on the deeply problematic and toxic relationship between Marianne and Connell.
This is an easy read with lots of intense emotion between the two main characters. I would read this book if you truly want to decipher whether the hype is worth it. In my opinion, it’s not. The book left me confused and shaken by witnessing the brokenness of Marianne as she continued to forgive and crave an emotionally draining and problematic relationship with Connell. But more than that, this book is an excellent example of how toxic relationships are often romanticised in books and on TV. Normal People is a troubling message for young people on ‘normal’ relationships.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Not Your Usual Revolutions: A Review of Behind the Lines 2019
“Australian history is boring and dull and largely irrelevant to the trajectory of the future of the world.”
So wrote Chris Rice on The Age’s website in 2012. His comment was in response to the revelation that Australian history would not be a stand-alone Year 11 or 12 subject in the national curriculum.
“The big questions, the genocides, the conquests, the revolutions, the things shaping the world aren’t happening in Australia,” Rice continued.
Rice’s view is shared by many. A thread on Reddit debates whether Australia’s history only consists of “bogans with beards” offers much excitement. One historian concedes: “our students often leave school feeling that Australia’s history is boring and dry as dust”.
Rice is correct that Australia has never experienced a political revolution. Yet, as a current exhibition at the Museum of Australian Democracy at Old Parliament House affirms, Australian history is hardly mundane.
The exhibition in question – Behind the Lines – catalogues some of 2019’s “best political cartoons”. Although its purview is restricted to one year, the exhibition is a reminder that Australia confronts many challenges. From the Murray Darling Basin Royal Commission report in January, to bushfire responses in December, the exhibition chronicles a turbulent year.
Behind the Lines is frequently playful. One sketch that looks like it could feature in a children’s book features ‘actifishts’ – sea creatures aligning to spell out ‘REEF NOT COAL’. ‘Stop Adani’ reads a sign in the corner, held by a clownfish.
The rest of the exhibition is both joyful and sombre. One cartoon mourns former Nationals Leader and Deputy Prime Minister Tim Fischer, who supported Prime Minister John Howard’s gun control measures against the opposition of much of his party’s rural base. Arriving at the gates of heaven, a dishevelled Fischer is greeted by Saint Peter. “Ah, Mister Fischer!! There’s heaps more room up here than we expected … thanks to your courage on gun law reform”.
For those bored with Australia’s lack of revolutions, Behind the Lines provides an answer. Australia is undergoing revolutions all the time. What is more, we have many left to go.
Let’s start with the first of my takeaways. Although rooted in 2019, many of the displays in Behind the Lines engage with Australia’s past. Some cartoons comment on the hard-won abolishment of Uluru’s tourist climbs. Others comment on constitutional recognition of First Nations Australians. Those sketches emphasise that history is anything but boring for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Indeed, if a revolution is “a forcible overthrow of a government or social order”, I argue it’s difficult not to characterise the dispossession of First Nations peoples this way.
What’s more, Behind the Lines reminds us that Australian revolutions are ongoing. A series of cartoons on the environment, political representation and refugees challenges Australians to do better. The exhibition’s lengthiest cartoon mourns the recent extinction of an Australian rodent due to climate change. Our ongoing destruction of species are surely “forcible overthrows,” and thus sinister revolutions, to nature.
Behind the Lines is not perfect. The exhibition’s framing as a rock tour through 2019 does not add much value and frequently feels forced. A friendly greeter dressed as a mid-century reporter, stationed at the exhibition’s opening, reminds visitors of the importance of satire. That is an important message, but there is surely a better way of conveying it.
Still, Behind the Lines is an entertaining, thought-provoking way to spend one’s afternoon. It also dovetails well into a second exhibition on Australian journalism, which delivers something absent from Behind the Lines: a look at those behind publications. A more mentally taxing exhibition, one might prefer to tour the latter first. Both activities are free.
Behind the Lines is also a needed reminder that the Australian story is full of pain and triumphs. This country is more interesting than a land of “bogans and beards”. What is more, our contributions to that story matter. Every day, all around us, the ‘Australian revolutions’ continue.
Details and bookings for ‘Behind the Lines 2019’ can be found on the Museum’s website.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Where I Stand: A Kambri Exhibition Review
The initial feeling I experienced walking down University Avenue witnessing Where I Stand was one of intrigue. Six gigantic cubes stand in a single row. Twenty-four frames of stunning photographs each one as striking as the one before it. Like many around me, I succumbed to curiosity and took a closer look. What followed was a profoundly emotional, enigmatic and exciting adventure as I engaged with each of the images.
Where I Stand is an exhibition presented by aMBUSH gallery together with Moshe Rosenzveig, director of Head On Photo Festival. Since the initial planning of Kambri, aMBUSH Gallery and Wiltshire + Dimas envisioned a walk of art for students, staff and the public to enjoy art outside the setting of a gallery. Exhibition Avenue is the fruition of this vision, an initiative to showcase year-round exhibitions in Kambri. The current show is photographically based, although future efforts could use more diverse art forms such as live street art.
For those who have not had the pleasure of viewing the exhibition, Where I Stand incorporates the work of six iconic Australian artists; Michael Cook, Dr. Judith Nangala Crispin, Sarah Ducker, Murray Fredericks, Barbara McGrady and Michael Jalaru Torres. Together, the artists present 24 deeply personal works that delve into themes of identity, history, nature, connection to the land, The Dreaming and the major theme of healing.
The first cube that I encountered was that of QLD artist Michael Cook. Cook began making art photography in 2009 in response to his desire to explore issues of identity and how his own life was affected by adoption. Cook was born in the late 1960s to a sixteen-year-old mother who had become pregnant to an Indigenous Australian man. Keeping the child would have been severely frowned upon, and so Cook was put up for adoption. In his series of four photographs, Cook delves into themes surrounding mother and child. ‘Mother’, the collection that the exhibit images are chosen from, showcases Australian Indigenous women alone in a landscape. There is a feeling that a child is missing through symbols such as an empty pram or tricycle. I was disquieted by seeing the loneliness and loss of these women. The grey colouring of their desolate backgrounds intensified my empathy. Cook speaks to the incredible pain caused by the Stolen Generations, the innate human bond between mother and child and the pain caused by the breaking of such a pure connection.
The next cube I met was donned with photographs by Canberra based artist Dr. Judith Nangala Crispin. Crispin is a talented poet, visual artist, academic, writer and photographer. Her work explores themes of displacement, loss of identity (including her Indigenous Australian ancestry) and connection with Country. Crispin has spent time in the Tanami desert living with the Warlpiri people who she says she owes the development of her unique photographic technique of lumachrome glass printing. The method involves the use of natural materials such as blood, wax, ochres, honey, mud, seeds and roadkill animals arranged on Perspex over light-sensitive paper. In this way, lumachrome glass prints arose from her attempt to delve into a deeper connection with the Australian landscape. Crispin drives out to find roadkill and waits with the animals for up to 50 hours while the artwork is developing. The attention to detail is evident when I saw her work, with even the smallest hairs of a joey delicately captured. Crispin’s artworks, at first glance, felt warm and comforting. Seeing the four lifeless animals wrapped in the embrace of the landscape reminded me of Indigenous Australia’s deeply nuanced connection to Country. However, there is also a sense upon viewing of aloneness — a disconnect with each animal surrounded by darkness. The photographs also highlight the pain that has been caused and continues to be caused by the Stolen Generations.
I then followed on to the third cube by Indigenous fine art photographer Michael Jalaru Torres, who is originally from Broome. Torres’ art draws on his personal history as well as exploring contemporary social and political issues facing Indigenous Australians. I was struck by how simple Torres’ images were. Each photograph seemed to focus on a subject with contrasting colours creating a sense of lightness and darkness. I felt a sense of joy as well as pain when viewing his images. Torres highlights the dark history of Australia as well as illuminating thriving Indigenous peoples all around the country. His artworks upon viewing are subtle, but poignant. Torres wants his photographs to inspire people to learn more about Indigenous Australian culture.
The next cube was by Sydney based artist Sarah Ducker. Ducker was inspired by her trip to Broken Hill in creating this exhibition. Ducker visited the landscape after the 2019-2020 NSW bushfires that were unprecedented in its destruction. However, Ducker was transfixed by the resilience of the bush standing bare yet magnificent in its ashes. This beauty found in the wreckage is evident when viewing these photographs. The naked trees stand tall and strong despite their blackened exterior. The carnage of the bush is a symbol of rejuvenation and transformation. Just as the bush regrows from its ashes, Ducker portrays humanity’s own need for rebirth. The artworks demonstrate our need to radically change our behaviour to fight climate change and its devastating consequences.
The next cube was by artist Aunty Barbara McGrady, a Gamilaroi/Gomeroi Murri yinah (woman). Her works portray her passion for telling stories about the lives of Indigenous Australians today. McGrady is a sociologist, athlete and sports lover who photographs many famous Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander sportspeople at the NRL, AFL and other matches. Her work aims to show empowering images of Indigenous Australians, particularly through their positive contributions to society such as through sports, activism and culture. I was struck by how powerful the subjects of her photographs stood out. Each Indigenous Australian was showcasing their strong cultural ties proudly against the colonial backdrop. Additionally, McGrady states that the art form of ‘black box’ is a work of decolonising the traditional colonial archive spaces such as museums and art galleries.
The final cube on my walk down University Avenue was by NSW artist Murray Fredericks. Fredericks is a well-known artist with his works showcased internationally and around Australia, sitting in significant institutions such as the National Gallery of Victoria, National Portrait Gallery and Commonwealth Bank as well as owned by Elton John and Valentino. In this exhibition, Fredericks chose four images from the Salt Project (2003-2019) produced at Kati Thanda (Lake Eyre), in South Australia. Upon viewing this cube, I was struck by feelings of the sublime. Faced with vignettes that trailed onto the horizon, I was afflicted with the thought of the omnipotence of nature. I felt small but in a profoundly comforting way, as though there was something greater in the universe. It was Fredericks’ own meditations of infinity in the landscape that inspired him to replicate the experience in images. Fredericks’ use of colours and light demonstrates this feeling perfectly. The fading sunsets and barren infinite desert reminded me of the immense beauty of our earth.
After I had finished walking down University Avenue, I was overcome by the poignant messages and stories of each artist. Personal histories, political and social issues all interwoven into a beautiful exhibition centered around themes of healing, identity, culture and loss. This exhibition succeeded in creating a challenging, yet rewarding experience that forces viewers to think deeply about each image. If you are walking down University Avenue, I highly recommend that you take the time to experience this provoking exhibition.
Where I Stand will run from 27 July until 31 October 2020. It is part of Kambri’s ‘Exhibition Avenue’ series, curated by aMBUSH Gallery, a free year-round program of art and performance. You can find more information about this exhibition here.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.