Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #5: Blade Runner (1982).

Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, for me, is the be all and end all of science-fiction pictures. Adapted from Phillip K. Dick's 1968 novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Blade Runner's history is one of a legendarily troubled shoot, and egregious financial disappointment. However, like some other films that experienced such stressful and humble beginnings and ultimately grew in importance and popularity with each passing decade (like Citizen Kane, The Shawshank Redemption, The Wizard of Oz and It's a Wonderful Life), Blade Runner's esteem now with film critics and audiences alike shows that in 1982 it was simply a movie that was decades ahead of its time.

Blade Runner is as visually awe-inspiring a movie as you will ever see. Justifiably celebrated for its mesmerizing production design, Scott and his crew, also putting to work visual effects that don't show 34 years (with or without remastering for the Director's Cut and Final Cut - my recommendation - in 1991 and 2007 respectively), paint a wrenching but no less aesthetically pleasing portrait of what maybe 2019 Los Angeles will look like: dystopic, polluted and brimming with corruption and corporate greed. You could only hope to see such amazing eye-candy from a director who is arguably one of the last true visionary directors (that now being a term which, it seems, is thrown around nearly as much these days in Hollywood circles as "You'll never work in this town again!").

But therein does not lie that magic ingredient that makes Blade Runner the seminal masterpiece of science-fiction film-making – that is in two other aspects of the story. The first of those is its ocean-deep and universal themes. Blade Runner is a movie that challenges the viewer to ponder not only what it means to be human, but why we are human. Through the central characters of Deckard (the central male whom we know more about than he knows of himself), played by Harrison Ford, Rachael (the female replicant and love interest of Deckard's who is the most advanced of her kind but still knows only mortality), played by Sean Young, and Roy Batty (the revengeful replicant who wages war on both Deckard and his own maker), played by Rutger Hauer (who even wrote Roy's famous climactic monologue himself), Blade Runner is a timeless, universal and marvelous analysis and deconstruction of the human condition in all its dimensions. And the characterizations by Ford, Young and most notably Hauer all leave indelible impressions.

Also broadening the narrative scope of the film is the mind-boggling fusion of postmodern cyberpunk and future neo-noir. This adds yet another layer of beauty and intrigue, especially in Vangelis' instantly recognizable score and with the cynical and introverted Deckard feeling much like a role Humphrey Bogart might have accepted.

The second definitive sign of Blade Runner's colossal greatness lies in its cautionary tale view of the future – and in 2016, unlike 1982, we all know how alarming the possibility of it successfully predicting the future is. After all, 2019 is just three years away. Pollution, slavery, prostitution, global warming, corruption. Technological enslavement? Think about that the next time you buy a piece of audiovisual equipment or even the next time you fire up your computer. Good sci-fi always tries to predict the future. Only the very best get it right.

In summary, you can throw 2001: A Space Odyssey or Metropolis or even The Matrix at me, but in my book, with its ageless eye-candy, its questions about life and human nature, and its gritty yet all-too-possible prediction of the future, Blade Runner is the definitive science-fiction movie of all time.

A dementia discussion.

Diseases in general are cruel. Hell, even the word word "disease" itself is unpleasant, though maybe that's the point. Whether the affliction is physical or neurological, it is never a laughing matter. But diseases just don't get any more devastating than dementia, in any form, be it frontotemporal lobe dementia, Lewy body dementia or, of course, Alzheimer's disease.

This September is Dementia Awareness Month in Australia. Dementia is now the second leading cause of death in Australia after suicide, and in their final years two of my grandparents had it. For several reasons I can't discuss here what I saw of their cases but mark my words, you really can't un-see things like that, especially as a relative. And I don't want to imagine how much worse it would've been in their shoes then. I'm also somewhat glad my other grandparents didn't live to see them reach that state.

But I realise what a delicate and heavy issue this would be, even without my own feelings. Nearly all medical conditions still carry a stigma, socially and sometimes even clinically, and it is up to us, especially medical experts and celebrities, to work to erase that. In the case of dementia, that means not attributing senile or erratic behaviour always to age, and compassionately encouraging those with it to remain socially active for as long as possible (though that should ultimately be a personal choice). We also must give far more attention to early-onset dementia (affecting people under 65) and to the damaging neurological effects of drugs and alcohol.

More support is also needed for carers and relatives of people with dementia who, as I said before, experience (different) pain of their own from their experiences. They need, and richly deserve, support themselves, and any way of finding national funding and resources for this also is worth it.

Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Hazel Hawke, Robin Williams (who was diagnosed just before his suicide with Lewy body dementia) and most recently Gene Wilder and Charmian Carr are among the notable names who have developed and/or succumbed to dementia in our time. And their struggles all went some way in increasing awareness. There have also been several successful contemporary artistic depictions of it,, most notably for me Lisa Genova's remarkable 2009 novel Still Alice, and its brilliant 2014 film adaptation, for which Julianne Moore won an Oscar.

But there's a reason it is not stopping there: because it must not. Health may be a government portfolio, but it was first, and remains, something that far transcends both left- and right-wing politics. It is in the centre: something that has and will always affect us all. But for dementia in, like diseases in general, we must find a cure. And I know we can.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #4: Harold and Maude (1971).

Hal Ashby's magical 1971 existential romantic comedy Harold and Maude is one of the most unabashedly oddball films you will ever seen. Based on Colin Higgins' fabulously mischievous screenplay, it follows 21-year-old Harold Chasen (Bud Cort), a morbid, cynical boy sick of his wealthy life with his cold, domineering mother (Vivian Pickles) to the point where he is seen at the film's opening pretending to hang itself (the first of several amusing hoax suicide attempts). But then one day while basically gatecrashing a funeral he meets Ruth Gordon as optimistic, rambunctious 79-year-old Dame Marjorie Chardin, but as she says, "You must call me Maude" and they click instantly. But what develops is more than a surrogate grandmother/grandson relationship: they fall in love. And as their romance grows ever deeper, they learn very profound things from each other: from Harold, Maude learns (or rather, remembers) what it's like to be (literally) young and finding yourself, and she teaches him that aging and death are just natural.

Harold and Maude could have been either exploitative of its dynamic or sappy and pretentious thematically, but Ashby and Higgins treat this whole story so delicately and with no judgment it becomes such a beautiful ride, and it also helps that Cort and Gordon are both perfectly cast. I should emphasize, however, that it's even harder than usual for me to be objective here because I identify somewhat with Harold, and (all in a platonic sense) I've known a few Maudes. (And while Gordon deservedly won an Oscar for playing everybody's favourite nosy elderly neighbour in 1968's Rosemary's Baby, she will always be Maude to me.)

Now, admittedly its macabre humour probably won't tickle everybody's fancy, and several aspects of it are inevitably dated: Harold plays a vinyl record while staging his fake hanging, in one scene with his Army general uncle a picture of Richard Nixon is clearly visible and a number tattooed on her arm reveals Maude is a Holocaust survivor. But its heart beats so hard and sincerely that you can't deny the love everybody involved had for these two proud misfits and their romance, or how insightfully Ashby and Higgins explore the movie's themes. Overall, it really is timeless.

And how could I possibly forget Cat Stevens' marvellous soundtrack?

The Paralympics: equal abilities, less attention.

Virtually all of us could name a few Olympic champions immediately, were it asked of us. And most of them deserve that (I say "most" there because of all the ones who've doped). But how about Paralympic champions? I have Asperger's and admittedly I can name just two: Aussie track great Louise Sauvage and, for better or worse, Oscar Pistorius. I think that speaks volumes about how little attention we and the media give to nearly everything regarding disability and sport.

Now, I know the Olympic Games far predate the Paralympics (which debuted in Rome, 1960) and I watched quite a lot myself of the action in Rio. But that's sort of my point: I could see far more of them on television than the Paralympics. And I appreciate free-to-air Australian TV networks and the rest of our media covering them as much as they are. But they could all still do far more. Especially since in London our Paralympians won more medals than out Olympians.

Or should the two Games be combined as much as possible? That could work, despite the equipment for some events having to be altered, let's face it. Because both Games have never just been about sport. They are a chance for the whole world, as I've said before, to show, however briefly, unity and goodwill, and for every able-bodied kid who idolizes an Olympian, there is surely a kid with a disability whose hero is a Paralympian.

Now, growing up I was never the sporty type, but during those years I was largely ostracized due to my condition, like it was an insurmountable brick wall. I now know it wasn't and isn't, but I'm sure there are kids (and maybe even adults) with disabilities now who can't shake that thought. We are not perfect. Nobody is. But we ARE equal, and it is well past time that was accepted and acknowledged everywhere. Not least of all in sport.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #3: Ghost in the Shell (1995).

Mamoru Oshii's 1995 film of Masamune Shirow's seminal manga (Japanese comic) Ghost in the Shell is everything both science fiction and anime should be: fast, thought-provoking, violent, resonant and brilliantly designed. That said it's certainly not for everybody (anime itself being an acquired taste after all), but even if you're a casual anime fan, you can't go past this one.

It's set in 2029 Tokyo and follows Major Motoko Kusanagi and her colleagues in Section 9's Internal Bureau of Investigations, an elite police task force. After they learn of several cases of identity theft and mind manipulations, with suspicious similarities, they discover the culprit to be a computer virus capable of infiltrating human hosts, known only as the Puppet Master. They then meet a rather naïve delivery driver who thinks he is married with a young daughter, only for the IBI to show him how that was all an illusion the Puppet Master had created for him. The race is now on to capture and contain the omnipresent entity.

If any of that sounds reminiscent of The Matrix, that's because Ghost in the Shell was the Wachowskis' main influence for The Matrix. They even showed it to their producer Joel Silver and said (direct quote), "We wanna do that for real." But even after that classic and its own slew of imitators, Ghost in the Shell still stands on its own as an elaborate and flawlessly plotted sci-fi action ride.

Mamoru Oshii directs the whole piece with such clarity and attention to thematic and visual detail it is just striking, and Kazunori Ito's screenplay and the vocal performances all flesh the story's themes of globalisation and human-technological relations out with no shred of pretension or preachiness. And Kusanagi herself is a most fascinating protagonist: an android, she is assertive but sympathetic and confident in battle, though she doesn't always get away unscathed.

But what always amazes me most about Ghost in the Shell is how specific and detailed its visual design. Oshii and his team have realised this future Tokyo right down to every nook and cranny: the construction lines on the buildings, the sky and street lights, the pollution and rubbish, even assorted brand names and logos on signs et cetera (which naturally also count somewhat as intertextual references). It makes the whole atmosphere feel convincingly inhabited and used, and Kenji Kawai's score, an intoxicating hybrid of traditional Japanese music and electronica, increases this substantially.






 

Ghost in the Shell's two sequels are for me unfocused and inconsistently paced (and the upcoming live-action - and whitewashed - Hollywood remake has me rather torn), but they still couldn't take any of the shine off the original. One filmmaker called it "The first truly adult animation film to reach a level of literary and visual excellence."

His name? James Cameron.

Why ask "R U OK?"

Today is R U OK? Day across Australia. If any of you don't know, it's a suicide prevention initiative started in 2009, encouraging all of us to ask our families and friends exactly that. I have known people, two girls who were in my year at school, who took their own lives. Their deaths were tragic and shocking, but I'm pleased to say that's the closest suicide has affected me, although for years I've certainly had my own demons.

 

That may seem like a very dumb or patronising question, and sometimes it is. But surely, asking it is better than ignoring the other person. And nor should we need one specific day to look out for each other, but set national days like this are there not just for us to show or continue showing compassion, but to bolster awareness for the issues themselves which need and deserve that compassion and awareness.

Now, I've also been thinking recently about our common personality flaws and feelings, and maybe there's a reason why nobody is perfect. If we all were, we wouldn't make mistakes which we could learn from later, or help others avoid. But we all fall into the same traps very often. Sometimes our problems or negative emotions are temporary, and sometimes they linger. That's why it's better to check. That's why we all should ask, not just today but every day, "R U OK?"

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #2: Life Is Beautiful (1997).

I wanted to post something for Father's Day, and what better movie to review for that occasion than this?

Roberto Benigni's Oscar-winning 1997 tragicomic masterpiece Life Is Beautiful, in which a loving father turns life in a Nazi concentration camp into an adventurous game to protect his four-year-old son's life and innocence. It is utterly beguiling.

Guido Orefice (Benigni) is a young Jewish Italian waiter who comes to Rome in 1930 to work in his uncle's restaurant, where he meets and immediately falls desperately in love with wealthy girl Dora (Benigni's real-life wife Nicoletta Braschi). But of course she is already engaged to an older and very pompous man who considers Guido a laughable kultz. But Guido is determined to win Dora over, and pulls every stop out, including serenading her with the red-carpet treatment during a stormy night, after saving her from injury several times. And then, jump forward to 1939. Guido and Dora are now married with their son Joshua (Giorgio Cantarini), who helps his father run a bookstore, when the Nazis invade Italy and take the Orefices to separate camps.

Now, hear me out: this is largely a very misunderstood movie. Upon its release it somewhat understandably offended many left-wing critics with its combination of romantic comedy and Holocaust drama, but Benigni actually based it loosely on his own father's experiences as a prisoner in Bergen-Belsen for two years, and he and co-screenwriter Vincenzo Cerami consulted several Jewish groups for feedback before production. And whatever its origins, this film was never meant to trivialise or sanitise the Holocaust at all but rather to highlight the transcendental power of love and imagination in even the darkest, most desperate circumstances. It's a movie with serious balls, and even more heart.

And, it was obviously a labour of love for everybody involved. Benigni as director so cleverly stages the comic set pieces, particularly prominent in the first half, before very tenderly filming the scenes with father and son confronting their new lives and then finally nailing the suspense and emotion of the final act, all the while getting delightful performances from all his cast, including himself. His and Cerami's screenplay delivers one genuinely witty gag after another while perfectly evoking the mood and mores of the era with no plot holes or (unintentional) anachronisms in sight, and Nicola Piovani's score I'm sure won the Oscar by a landslide.

Nonetheless, I can still see how Life Is Beautiful can be a polarizing experience, and Benigni probably didn't quite deserve that Best Actor Oscar over Ian McKellen (Gods and Monsters) or Edward Norton (American History X). But for live action, this would have to be my favourite of all foreign-language movies. It is pure magic. And who can possibly forget Sophia Loren at the 1999 Oscars, opening the envelope and gleefully shouting "ROBERTOOOO!"?

Happy Father's Day!

Eldest, middle and youngest.

I've long been interested in the subject of birth order theory, a fairly prominent one in "pop" psychology (I somewhat resent that term). It's the theory that your place in the family dynamic ultimately influences your personality and career. Austrian psychologist Alfred Adler, a contemporary of Freud and Jung, was the first proponent of it, but it was largely disregarded in his lifetime. However, in recent decades it has, maybe thankfully, undergone a reevaluation.

Now, obviously genetics is also a big factor in a person's makeup, but these are the traits most commonly ascribed to each birth order position:

ELDEST:

- Perfectionist.
- Bossy.
- Surrogate parent.
- Hates surprises.
- Natural leader.
- Know-it-all.

Famous firstborns include: over 50% of US presidents, and...

   


                


MIDDLE:

- Can feel ignored due to being neither the privileged eldest or vulnerable youngest.
- Can lean more on friends subsequently than family.
- Learns to be a good negotiator.
- Used to having to compromise.

Famous middle kids:

         

YOUNGEST:

- Free-spirited.
- Risk-taker.
- Class clown.
- Can be rebellious.
- Charming.
- Persistent.
- Loves surprises and being pampered.

Famous lastborns include:

             

And don't forget ONLY CHILDREN (often called "super-firstborns):

- Often unusually mature as children, due to living only with adults.
- Private.
- Unforgiving.
- Demanding but generous.

Famous onlys include:

           

(Although Elvis had a stillborn twin brother.)

Regarding my own family now, I'm the youngest of three, and all of us have a few of those respective traits. Now, I really do love my siblings despite everything, but my sister is a classic bossy boots and know-it-all, and the black sheep my brother has always resented having to virtually carve his own niche out.

Which leaves me at the end of the line, and here's where I may lose a few people. I don't care what anybody says: being the youngest is very overrated (at least in my experience). Where they got new toys and clothes, you get hand-me-downs (and I can now understand parents doing that for financial reasons but still...), after they move out the house feels much emptier for you, you have to bear the brunt of all the irresponsible things they did at your age, and even as an adult you have to fight often to be taken seriously or prove your independence. Plus, for me, while I like socialising, every so often when doing so the overwhelmed, last-born little boy in me resurfaces, and I just have to escape for a bit. But make no mistake: I do love my family, I have most of those youngest child traits, and despite all the drawbacks I am proud to be one.

Those are the facts, and that's the role I play in my family. How about you?