Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #29: 10 Years (2011).

10 Years (2011) follows a bunch of friends who reconvene on the night of their ten-year high school reunion to find they still all have some growing up to do. There's Jake (Channing Tatum), the everyman who's ready to pop the question to his girlfriend Jess (Jenna Dewan-Tatum), until for this first time since school he encounters his ex, Mary (Rosario Dawson), whose father's death marred graduation for her. Jake's best mate Cully (Chris Pratt) has been anticipating the reunion so he can finally apologise to all the classmates he bullied, but just add alcohol and his old ways resurface. Perennial friendly rivals Marty (Justin Long) and A.J. (Max Minghella) again spend all night trying to woo the school sweetheart Anna (Lynn Collins), now a single mother of two and the most mature one there. Finally there's Reeves (Oscar Isaac), who's now a rock star but still can't talk to his teenage crush Elise (Kate Mara), along with numerous other old faces.

10 Years is rather like a contemporary sequel to any John Hughes film, but with a charm and honesty of its own. Debuting writer-director Jamie Linden, who's since co-scripted Jodie Foster's Money Monster, gets every nuance and aesthetic choice spot-on here. The characters may initially seem pretty clichéd, but ultimately they do feel very authentic and fully drawn, because odds are you went to school with some of them yourself. I know I did. All of them are very naturally and subtly played also, with Lynn Collins a standout.

There's not much to say about the technicals here, except that Kara Lindstrom's production design potently evokes all the nerves and nostalgia a high school reunion inspires, and Chad Fischer's score is restrained but effective. I last watched 10 Years deliberately on the morning before my own ten-year high school reunion in 2015, but it will charm, amuse and nourish you any time at all. It really is like coming home.



Oh, my, Mother Nature...

I live in the amazing state of Queensland. I consider myself a Queenslander first and an Australian second. But nowhere is immune to Mother Nature's power and here, tropical cyclones are her most common weapon of choice.


As I write we're staring down Cyclone Debbie, and she's quite a big one. Cyclones can be as severe as a category five; on Tuesday Debbie peaked at four. Where I am she's given us a heap of rain and some winds, but the eye is further north, so for me it could be far worse.

Cyclone Debbie's path.

But this time in 2015, it was. That was Cyclone Marcia, and what a bitch she was. She was a category five, and somehow I actually slept through part of her demolition derby. But the next morning, a Saturday, as I walked downtown to see if the shops had power I could use, for lack of a better cliché it just resembled a warzone. One fallen tree after another, streams in the gutters, litter galore. Even a huge palm tree nearly knocking a power pole over. I'll never forget any of that, and we were without power for eight days.

Cyclone Marcia's path.

But I believe such weather events are simply nature's way of fighting back, and to teach us all some crucial lessons: that we mustn't take life's essentials for granted, we CAN live without modern technology for a decent period of time, and above all else, that we must never underestimate nature or take it for granted. Yet, we shouldn't need a meteorological disaster to be reminded of any of those. After all, we belong to nature ourselves.

Nonetheless, my thoughts at this time are fully with all my fellow Queenslanders who've had to bear Debbie her strongest. Please stay safe and dry; you know the rest. I can say from how Central Queensland recovered from Marcia that we'll all come away stronger than ever. Debbie has fucked with the wrong state.



Ireland the Irresistible!

Ireland. The Emerald Isle. The home of St. Patrick, leprechauns, the Troubles, and the seminal drunks stereotype. As Megan Mullally's character says in The Kings of Summer: "The Irish are the blacks of Europe." Now me, I have never seen Ireland. I must stress that outright. But I am Irish Australian, and I am tremendously proud of my ancestry. Read on to discover why.


I'd planned to do this entry on St. Patrick's Day itself, but I got sidetracked from writing it prior. Anyway, I'm doing it now. There's no doubt the Irish have done some awful things to each other and their neighbours, throughout history. But what nationality hasn't? We have lingered through the potato famine, the Troubles from the 1970s onwards as I said, the horrors of leprechauns (if they exist) , and yes, let's face it, widespread alcoholism (though I know not all Irish love the sauce). Hell, even the IRA's actions. If we can endure any of those, we should never be counted out.

Ireland has also become a booming hub for cultural traditions and pop culture phenomena. Halloween might be synonymous with America today but it originated with the Celts. From the 1800s writers like Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw in the global spotlight, and contemporaries like Monica McInerney are very much keeping it there. Daniel Day-Lews (a duel British and Irish citizen) is the only man to win three Oscars as Best Actor in a Leading Role. Game of Thrones, the most honoured show in Emmys history, is exclusively filmed in Ireland. It's even become a big international music scene as it's produced acts like Sinead O'Connor, Van Morrison, Enya, Thin Lizzy, the Script, the Corrs, Westlife, Boyzone and, of course, U2, the most honoured band in Grammys history, and probably the best European band since the '70s. (However, sadly another Irish musician is One Direction's Niall Horan.)



I would fucking love a shirt with an Irish flag design. I guarantee I would wear it constantly and proudly. And while I don't hate them so much as the institution they have, I want the English flag removed from Australia's. You can't choose your ancestry but even if you could, I would still have chosen mine. Long live Ireland!

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #28: Tracks (2014).

In 1977, Robyn Davidson embarked on a solo, 2700-kilometre trek through the Australian Outback to the Indian Ocean. Her only help and companionship were in the form of four camels, her dog Diggity and occasionally Rick Smolan, a photographer with National Geographic, which sponsored and followed her every step of the way.

This movie could so easily have been boring but lo and behold, it is enthralling from start to finish. Director John Curran, actually an American-born filmmaker, approaches it with a visual and narrative language that suitably takes the middle ground, vibrant and earthy enough to maintain stimulation, but never so flashy as to feel like a tourism ad. Marion Nelson's screenplay shows a very firm grasp of Davidson's memoir of the same name, gifted cinematographer Mandy Walker (who also lensed Baz Luhrmann's Australia) captures every landscape and emotional beat with true assurance, and Garth Stevenson's score is pulsating.

But of course we wouldn't truly be able to complete a cinematic journey like this without a relatable protagonist played well, and Mia Wasikowska is just fearless as Robyn. She projects physical and mental stamina that becomes more remarkable as we learn of the ghosts that haunt Robyn, and Wasikowska balances that dichotomy flawlessly. Adam Driver's nonchalant charisma, also, is put to good use here as Rick.

Again, the story of Tracks may seem immensely boring initially. But I guarantee the end result will take your breath away, and maybe even move you.

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY!