Brain-drain!

The human brain carries one powerful truth: it's the organ we understand the least. Why does it remain so enigmatic? Do we really need to understand it? Nobody could function without it, and it can certainly be over-used. Nothing specific has influenced this entry for me, either; I'm just in a very pensive mood (and I acknowledge this entry may be pretentious). I also don't want this to be just a filler entry. I want it to stimulate and pleasantly provoke. Just how well do we all know our own brains?

I've battled mental illness and read every Lisa Genova novel, but that's about the extent of my neurological expertise. But those life experiences and artistic influences can spur us on and broaden our horizons nonetheless, right? They mightn't necessarily change the coding of our brains, but I feel they do give it more numbers. And our brains feed us even more than vice versa.

 

Which brings me to the concept of the idea. Stevie Wonder, a key influence of mine, writes in the liner notes of his album Songs in the Key of Life: "An idea to me is a formed thought in the subconscious, the unknown and sometimes sought-for impossibles, but when believed strong enough, can become a reality." The world of ideas may be quite overwhelming, but when we bank on our ideas they can give us an unmistakably loud voice.

What we express with that voice is, of course, another matter for our brains, along with our hearts. And overthinking can be hazardous, too (as Stevie Wonder also said, "Superstition ain't the way!") But our brains and the ideas they provides start a ripple effect like nothing else. That's what makes the brains humanity's greatest weapon.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #42: Into the Wild (2007).

In 1990, young college graduate Chris McCandless (Emile Hirsch) abandons his wealthy but very superficial and turbulent family life for one of "tramping": adventuring in the wilderness. Redubbing himself Alexander Supertramp, he now meets characters like Jan and Rainey Burres (Catherine Keener and Brian Dierker), Wayne Westerburg (Vince Vaughn) and finally and most significantly Ron Franz (Hal Holbrook), en route to Alaska where he will be challenged like never before.

Based on the true story as covered in Jon Krakauer's 1996 book, 2007's Into the Wild is a breathtaking achievement narratively, visually, and most of all emotionally. Writer-director Sean Penn nurtured this material for years and that shows in every scene. He evidently identified with McCandless (as I do) and his love and respect for nature, and thus while celebrating Chris and his actions, Penn still doesn't let his treatment of this story soften the ending or even condemn anything for it. Penn's screenplay is also well-constructed, and the work of cinematographer Eric Gautier, editor Jay Cassidy (who was Oscar-nominated) and composers Michael Brook, Kaki King and Eddie Vedder provide an exquisite visual and auditory backdrop of the wilderness.

A movie like this can't quite work, though, without a strong lead, and Emile Hirsch inhabits the role of Chris like a man possessed. The rest of the cast are also superb, most notably an Oscar-nominated Hal Holbrook as the elderly childless widower Ron Franz, who tries from concern to convince Chris to resume a "normal" life, and Marcia Gay Harden and William Hurt as his warring parents Billie and Walt. But nonetheless, Into the Wild for me is Penn's finest hour above all. It's a lush, tender and devastating but never sentimental masterpiece which shows how nature and adventures can map the human soul and show its strengths and limitations.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #41: The Rage in Placid Lake (2003).

Placid Lake (Ben Lee) is an anarchic misfit. Growing up the only child of new age parents Sylvia and Doug (Miranda Richardson and Garry McDonald), his best friend throughout all of school was crayon-eating science nerd Gemma (Rose Byrne), who grew up with her widowed father. After making a blistering fly-on-the-wall documentary about his family and high school life for his Year 12 graduation and subsequently ruffling many feathers, Placid marks this rite of passage by taking the plunge – literally, off a wall. After slowly recovering from this, he gets a white-collar internship and quickly sets about making this into a career, which means, for Sylvia and Doug, having to accept their son's rejection of their hippie lifestyle in favour of a corporate insurance career, and for Gemma, having to accept he has (in her words) “gone from fearless to gutless in a single bound.” Will they overcome these respective grudges, or will Placid have to regain their affections and approval while sticking to his chosen path?

Writer-director Tony McNamara's The Rage in Placid Lake (2003) has been called an Australian Rushmore, and indeed that's not an inaccurate comparison. It must be one of the best and most charming comedies in all Oz cinema and were it any more celebratory of its oddball characters... well, I just don't know you could call it. It also serves up a very cutting and realistic portrait of contemporary middle-class Aussie suburbia rather like Tim Burton (even though he's American) infused with some uncompromising and very inspired wit. McNamara's direction also smartly balances the two worlds Placid alternates between, with nice production design, ultimately showing how similar they actually are for good and ill.

Musician Ben Lee, in his screen debut, is basically his endearingly awkward self as Placid but he's nonetheless fully relatable and even shows decent comic timing. Richardson and McDonald have real chemistry as this out-there couple who only don't care about inadvertently embarrassing their son because they don't even know they embarrass him, and Francis McMahon is also entertaining as Placid's world-weary boss. But the MVP here for me is Rose Byrne, who makes the Marie Curie-aspiring Gemma the film's richest character, becoming a somewhat shrewish voice of reason to Placid while still raising a laugh (whether she's munching on a crayon or not). The Rage in Placid Lake is an unabashedly offbeat, mercilessly scathing and very, very funny satire of 21st-century Australia.

An Aspie vs. Pauline Hanson.

If you're not from Australia, this is Pauline Hanson. Since 1996 she has been a controversial poster-lady for the Australian far-right. In her maiden parliamentary speech, she claimed “I believe we are in danger of being swamped by Asians,” as the leader and co-founder of her party One Nation (now with as many original members as the ER cast circa 2009). Since then she has called homosexuality “unnatural,” frequently criticised Indigenous rights groups for invoking historical injustices against them and even gone to prison for fraud. What a sweetheart, huh?

Now, I already hated her for all those positions (though I must admit expressing such views today takes considerable guts), but this week my anger towards her has become very much personal. This week she has pushed for children with disabilities, particularly autism spectrum disorders, to be removed from mainstream education across Australia, citing the exhaustion of overworked teachers and other students apparently getting less attention than they otherwise would. Now, those two last groups do sincerely have my concern and sympathy. All teachers are just trying to do their jobs and all kids deserve the best possible education. But segregating schools nationally? How is that even clearsighted, let alone mutually compassionate? As somebody who knows full-well the hardship of growing up autistic (although I am trying hard to make this objective, I assure you), that won't make a fucking shred of difference. There's far more to schooling than academia anyway, and children, marginalised and non-marginalised alike, can learn from and grow with each other. This ableist bullshit proposal of Hanson's, which also perpetuates a false stereotype of autistics as unruly and cold, would veto that swiftly.

Honestly (although I may alienate a few people here), I believe we actually should abolish “special” education altogether. (In terms of culture or economics, don't we all really have “special needs”?) I'm not just saying that either because my otherwise terrific high school's SEU was fucking hopeless. And I know disabled kids (and adults, for that matter) often require greater facilities like wheelchair amenities et cetera. But I really think integrating childhood education, as much as possible, is the way to go. It may leave kids with disabilities more vulnerable to bullying, but they would surely have more social experience to help them after school. We can never consider just the present.

I'm ashamed to say I was born in Pauline Hanson's home town of Ipswich, Queensland. Pauline, I wish you would've stuck to selling fish and chips, but over the years you've been fried yourself many times and never with pity from me. Least of all now. It also speaks volumes how even Liberal Disability Minister Christian Porter, a fellow conservative, has repudiated your stance here. Finally, I attended primary school with a girl who was visually impaired. She later became the fucking dux of her high school, and not at all due to sentiment. Trust me, she was a genius.

My career treading the boards.

Last year I started participating in two local amateur theatre clubs, and now I'm totally hooked. Two friends of mine, long-time members of both groups, had been egging me on for years to try it out, but I always thought I'd get severe stagefright and yet, it's helped me grow more confident and outgoing, I believe, and I've made even more friends from it. Now, what happens backstage stays there, and I have yet to acquire any experience in large-scale, touring productions, but it's also shown me the truth in what's been often said: quality on stage or screen usually comes from harmony backstage or on set.

I'm currently starring in two productions, and I'm finding each just as enjoyable and education as the last, if not more so. It can definitely be challenging, but if you encounter challenge in a field or commitment you're naturally drawn to and you believe in, it's a terrific motivator. Sticking with something that ticks neither of those boxes, unless it's a job and you need the cash, is pointless anyway.

Theatre is, overall, just a social hobby of mine, and I'm again still learning, but art is my opiate. My theatrical work has never been about me anyway, at least not primarily. It's about the stories, the inspiration, the themes, the collaborative and creative process. And, of course, the audience. The people who give some of their own money and time to support art (and artists) themselves, in the hopes of having an entertaining and/or educational night out, or just to escape the daily grind temporarily. Anybody who's never even been on-stage, much less backstage, can surely value and identify with that. And we all need it. That's the main reason why all artforms have endured for centuries, and will do so for many more. And I'm committed and deeply proud to practice its magic.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #40: Unmade Beds (2009).

Nomadic young Spaniard Axl (Fernando Tielve) arrives in London, broke and without accommodation, to find his father, who abandoned him as a toddler. Upon meeting Hannah (Katia Winter) and Mike (Iddo Goldberg), he shacks up with them in their run-down but sprawling East End squat and acquires a taste for underground music, promiscuity and binge-drinking. Amongst this he meets even more new people, but naturally he's forgotten them the next morning. Vera (Deborah Francois) is a young French artist, also an emigrant to London, who was crushed when her ex abruptly ended their romance. Nonetheless she tried to reacquire that love with the help of Polaroid cameras and a new tryst with the mysterious “X-Ray man”( a pre-Game of Thrones Michiel Huisman). But as a protective shield, she's committed to full anonymity for this and listens only to her own superstitions – a plan which backfires when she finds herself falling back in love.

Romantic comedies are very hit-and-miss for me, but writer-director Alexis Dos Santos' Unmade Beds (2009) is such a delightfully refreshing, vibrant and honest addition to the genre that it rocks my socks. It navigates with gentle clarity and understanding the phenomenon of trying to find yourself, socially and personally, in a strange new environment rife with risky temptations even if you're past adolescence (these are young adults, not teenagers) and it doesn't flinch from covering quite so much of what contributes to two people forging a lasting connection. Dos Santos infuses all of this with a striking and unpretentious bohemian/hipster visual aesthetic, and his screenplay offers two very personable and fresh lead characters, and Tielve and Francois are nicely cast. It's also not afraid to affectionately mock them occasionally, especially in an hilarious scene in which a massively drunk Axl reenacts a dangerous stunt he pulled as a child.

Finally, it also becomes quite a wise metaphor for how we all leave a legacy in the places and people we experience in our lives, even though those people can enter and exit ours in turn. We can leave a mark even with just our lifestyle, if we're messy or whatever – hence the title. It comes down to memory. As far as rom-coms go, Unmade Beds is grungy, blunt and daring – but in a strangely cute, hip way.

Music: I choose it!

Firstly, by that title I don't mean to say I can choose what music others play or enjoy; only that I choose music overall over many other things. (Even if, God knows, I have no time whatsoever for some genres.) As a kid, while playing my Walkman during long car trips with my family, I was virtually nicknamed “JARRED, STOP SINGING!” But unfortunately for them, there was no discouraging me there.

I can't play music (except on a stereo; and I do still love singing), but listening to it, reading about it, watching music documentaries et cetera... I just can't get enough of those three. My taste is largely retro also, especially for my age (29 next month), but fine art is never time-stamped.

There's just no stronger rush than when you're at a concert, feeling either mad with excitement or intimately connected, emotionally and aesthetically, with the performers – or better yet, both. It's an old cliché, I know, but music truly is the universal language, and however you hear it, its power and beauty is perennial.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #39: Appleseed (2004).

In the distant future Earth's last city, Olympus, was born out of a global war on the backs of Bioroids, artificial clones who comprise half Olympus' population. Under a supercomputer's watchful eye, humanity's last survivors enjoy a blissful piece – on the surface, that is. Human militaristic “terrorists” are seeking to restore their power and butt heads with the government's ESWAT forces under the command of highly decorated soldier Deunan Knute and her mostly-machine boyfriend Briareos. Retrieving the elusive “Appleseed” will end the conflict, and only Deunan knows its secret.

Based on a manga by Masamune Shirow (best-known for Ghost in the Shell), Appleseed (2004) is a prime slice of smart and exciting science fiction anime. Director Shinji Aramaki, with writers Haruka Handa and Tsutomu Kamishiro, deftly guides us with clarity through an esoteric but fully sensical plot punctuated with some very adrenaline-pumping and cleverly staged and framed action sequences. It's also an adult-oriented animated film not afraid to get metaphorically political: a fully human/quarter-human couple, vindictive outcast robots and, most prominently, an independent but identity-tormented woman protagonist are among the very resonant allegories it puts front and centre. Its futuristic city setting is also realised in exquisitely minute detail.

My only gripe? I wish the score were slightly less derivative. But despite that, John Woo may well have been right in calling it “A stunning visual achievement – it's a new milestone for CG animation.” This is one very tasty Appleseed indeed.

For Reconciliation Week 2017: how I think Australia can reconcile.

In Year 4, I became best mates with an Aboriginal boy named Alex, who I'm still good friends with after 20 years. As he was Indigenous and I autistic, I think we were bound to immediately click. Obviously that never occurred to me then (I wasn't even diagnosed with Asperger's until Year 7 anyway), but it makes all the sense in the world to me now. Because we were both outsiders.

As a white man nonetheless, despite that I still don't and shouldn't claim to know how it feels to be up against racism, whether in Australia or anywhere else. And I do know our Indigenous peoples can very stand up for themselves, but we all must continue to stand with them.

For Reconciliation Week 2017, here I wish to express what I believe Australia can and must do, especially white Australians, to ensure future generations no longer need to have the same discussion. Last Saturday, 27 May, was the 50^th anniversary of the historic 1967 referendum which granted Indigenous Australians citizenship and voting rights. But for all that achieved, look how much still hasn't changed. What do you think all the activists, black and white, who fought for that recognition then would say if they could see us now?

We mustn't ignore the history. As you know, the national apology was given to the Stolen Generations in 2008. But I feel dwelling on that, even individually, will ultimately just hold us back. Taking a contemporary view, firstly we need to either (depending on our own ethnicity) ignore or combat the prevailing stereotypes of Indigenous Australians. They are not and have never all been obscene, substance-abusing welfare types, or only good at sport. Whites may also think they smell weird, but it's quite likely we smell equally strange to them. And plenty of us break the law ourselves.

Then there's the matter of the life-expectancy gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians, which has a slightly deeper historical connection as it stems largely from the European settlers' introduction of drugs, alcohol and foreign diseases. I'm no medical expert by any means, but I'm inclined to think we will only bridge that gap if we collectively retain an historical and contemporary consideration. Severing a sickly branch from a tree may help it temporarily, but sometimes to really fix a problem you have to dig for the roots.

And here, the roots are racism and its apparent “excuses.” Nothing excuses it. We are all equal.

Happy Reconciliation Week 2017!