Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #55: The Internet's Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz (2014).

Aaron Swartz was the co-founder of Reddit, a social networking and media-sharing website, and a left-wing online activist or "hacktivist." After prosecution from the US government and federal agencies, along with increasing mental health problems, Swartz committed suicide in 2013, aged just 26. The sympathetic, well-structured 2014 documentary The Internet's Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz, tries to explain why.

Writer-director Brian Knappenberger covers Swartz' life chronologically, using home movies of Aaron and his younger brothers Noah and Ben, and parents Susan and Robert, who are all interviewed, for a clear look at a rabble-rouser's formative environment. Later we hear from Reddit colleagues, author friend Cory Doctorow, World Wide Web creator Tim Berners-Lee and Swartz' girlfriend Taren Stinebrickner-Kauffman, whose angry testimony of his treatment is particularly moving. These lucid, sincere reflections ultimately let the film help Aaron to speak from beyond the grave.

Knappenberger clearly admires his subjects, but for objectivity he focuses on the facts and never resorts to manipulative touches. Plus, he handles each interview with composure and discretion, and the interviewees were all very brave to participate. The Internet's Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz is an authoritative and accurate portrait of a young man who helped to pioneer a new way of making a difference, for our digital age. RIP Aaron Swartz.

Don't just work. Work OUT!

Biology. What does that term bring to mind for you? Blood, skin, organs - or something deeper - more metaphorical or existential? Now what about fitness? Maybe a jogger on a beach with earphones in, or some new workout equipment being sold on an infomercial? Or good old Jane Fonda in her '80s exercise videos?

I work out daily. Two days a week I visit my local gym, and everyday I do calisthenics at home. The former has been occurring for nearly two years now, and for it I'm physically better than ever. Don't worry, I won't describe my full regimen; it's easier to explain visually anyway. Rather, let me tell you why I would recommend it to anybody.

Firstly, and most obviously, the physical health benefits it guarantees. Just start off lightly and work your way up the scales, and you'll gradually get there. But what's good for your muscles is equally so for your mind; if your brain works like mine, at least, you'll come away each time feeling mentally lighter, but not dumber. Plus, it's a nice source of socialisation, and we all need to keep connected.

 

Even if you're physically handicapped, or over a certain age, there are suitable workouts you can do; ones that just focus on specific limbs. I've always been skinny and clumsy, so with or without practice, it's a cliche but if I can do it, anybody can.

Get yourself out there. Get physically active; it'll help you physically, mentally and emotionally!

A Dis-Rhyme of Mine.

The diagnosis came when I was just twelve,
A lifelong condition that I couldn't shelve.
Growing up I never thought I was weird,
And it wasn't like I had a long goatee beard.

I was an inquisitive and bookish young boy,
But just like all others I relished new toys.
I had my bullies and trouble making friends,
But those I did make will be true to the end.

I wish I could say I've always treated people right,
But sometimes we ALL need help seeing the light.
My quirks and complexities can't be hidden, I now know,
But I've learned not to mind for whom they're on show.

It was years before I could disclose my condition,
But lo and behold, doing so is now a tradition.
And it isn't just now something in which I have pride,
But something I know how to take in my stride.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #54: Frostbite (2006).

In 1944 Ukraine, the survivors of 5th SS Panzer Division Wiking are fleeing the Soviet Red Army when a platoon partly consisting of Swedes escapes the slaughter. Seeking shelter in an abandoned cabin, when darkness falls they encounter a vampire attack from a hidden crypt underneath. Now, in present-day Sweden, doctor Annika (Petra Nielsen) and her daughter Saga (Grete Havneskold) have just moved to remote Lappland, so Annika can work with famous Swedish geneticist Gerhard Beckert (Carl-Ake Eriksson). Saga soons makes friends at school with mysterious goth girl Vega (Emma Aberg), who invites Saga to a house party at her DJ friend John's (Niklas Gronberg) place, on the night of a fateful dawn. After fellow partygoer Sebastian (Jonas Karlstrom) steals some pills from the hospital he and Annika work at, they do the rounds (no pun intended) there and soon turn every taker into quite a spin.

This is because unbeknownst to everybody, Beckert, who made the pills, is the last survivor of the 1944 massacre, along with a child vampire named Maria (Aurora Roald). After bringing Maria to Sweden intending to find a cure for vampirism, Beckert's greed and Nazism slowly got the better of him and he became committed to breeding a vampiric master race. His latest effort for this involves making and distributing pills containing Maria's blood. Now, as teenagers scoff them down (along with booze and other drugs) at a party while dawn breaks, Saga is caught terrified right in the centre, and must find some way to escape.

The first vampire movie ever made in Sweden, Frostbite (2006) is a deliciously ghoulish horror comedy. Director Anders Banke and producer Magnus Paulsson had been seeking to make a Swedish horror movie for years to no avail, until they received a script Daniel Ojanlatva had worked on since 1998 and finally something clicked. And they sure as hell made it ultimately count. Banke visualises it with breakneck energy and has fun with the deliberately hokey special effects while providing a few legitimately tense moments, Ojanlatva's screenplay provides many very funny one-liners and knowing intertextual references while using likeable teen characters (besides the unhinged John) to guide us through the plot, and the cast are all useful and charismatic. There is also a very natural, appropriate soundtrack, consisting of chart hits and a well-balanced score. Best of all for a horror flick, the blood and gore are fucking free-flowing. This is one kind of Frostbite I hope can't be treated.

DAW2017.

Disability Action Week is here in Australia for another year. Now, admittedly, I don't know what there is new for me to say on this topic, or if there could be a new way to reiterate what's been said on it, but I've established how it affects me personally and will as long as I live. Disabilities, whether congenital (like mine) or not, all can have that influence.

The long-awaited National Disability Insurance Scheme is soon to be rolled out Australia-wide; a new kind of pension which still endorses the disabled to find a job et cetera. It all (reportedly) will cover housing and medical costs and the like. With or without it the fight against ableism will continue, but I believe it will do something, however minor, to win that.

But the focal point here is what this week represents, and promotes in its name: action. We don't need a set occasion anywhere to do this, but it's an official chance for all Australians to show allegiance and to publicly reinforce what every person with a disability can offer to society. But before I sound like a cheesy motivational speaker, for all you ablebodied and/or neurotypical readers, I want to close with three nuggets of advice.

1. If you have a child with a disability, do not shut them off. Getting them out into society will help them greatly in the long-term, whatever it may mean for them in the short.
2. If somebody in a wheelchair doesn't let you touch it, don't take that personally. It's just about them being independent.
3. If you're dealing with somebody on the autism spectrum, and they react adversely to your trying to touch them, don't take that personally either. It's just because of a thing called sensory overload.

HAPPY DISABILITY ACTION WEEK 2017!

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #53: Greetings from Tim Buckley (2012).

Every climax marks a beginning. That's what we witness in Greetings from Tim Buckley, which opens in 1991 when unknown LA rocker Jeff Buckley (a strong Penn Badgley) is invited to play at a tribute concert for his late father Tim, the celebrated '60s folk-rock star whom Jeff barely knew. Jeff is riddled with self-doubt and being in his father's shadow, but soon falls for a mysterious young woman named Allie (Imogen Poots) volunteering at the gig, who helps to inspire him. Intertwined with this is the story of Tim's (Ben Rosenfeld) own rise to fame in 1966, exploring how he had to resist the lure of the counterculture and the cost of being an absentee parent, a status of which Jeff understandably grew up to resent.

Despite being a great fan of folk and indie rock, I'm not actually that familiar with either of the Buckleys' music, but I'm proof you don't need to be in order to enjoy Greetings from Tim Buckley. Director/co-writer Dan Algrant's love of both artists proves contagious, and his direction is beautifully balanced and restrained. He handles the more intimate moments with clear-sightedness and strong empathy, while the rehearsal and concert scenes are utterly authentic and well-framed. They really do give you the same sensations as a rock show: you can sense the venting, the aesthetic dirtiness, the aural inescapability, but above all, the genuine unity that develops between the performers and the audience.

Yet, even more significantly, it eventually emphasizes the strongest unity of all: the kind between a father and son. And, in this case, a father and son who both became spokesmen for a generation.

The Windsors: here they go again... (Reader discretion is advised.)

I've always been a republican. At least, I have ever since I became conscious of world events and whatnot. I even remember, at age 11, expressing support to one of my teachers at school for the Australian republican cause during the 1999 referendum campaign. (Nonetheless, its loss then brought one good thing: John Howard not becoming President. I hated him just as Prime Minister and still do.)

So you can imagine my frustration on Tuesday night (Aussie time) when the news came through of William and Kate expecting baby number three. While I'm sure many other, here and overseas, were cracking the champagne open (and to each their own), I was fucking fuming. I really have nothing against the royals personally (except maybe Philip), or the British overall for that matter, but the pure fact is: THEY ARE NOT AUSTRALIAN. Plus, Wills and Kate already had an heir AND a fucking spare! Am I the only one anywhere who finds this both redundant and fundamentally irritating? They have very little (if any) governmental or social influence even in the fucking UK!

I don't just want them gone from Australia. I want the Union Jack removed from our flag, the Queen removed from our money and for Australia (and ESPECIALLY my state, Queensland, as we're hosting them next year) to never have anything at all to do with the Commonwealth Games ever again. And I want all of that now. That's all I have to say about the monarchy, and I will never apologise for any of it.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #52: Todd and the Book of Pure Evil (2010-2011).

This week, something special: a TV series! This criminally underrated Canadian show follows metalhead slacker Todd Smith (Alex House), a student at Crowley High School, who fatefully learns of the presence of the mystical "Book of Pure Evil" on campus. When it soon starts unleashing mayhem on the school, Todd must ignore his intense horniness and longing for getting stoned to be a strong hero for all. Along for the ride are Todd's feisty crush Jenny (Maggie Castle), wingman Curtis (Bill Turnbull; obviously no relation to Malcolm), science geek Hannah (Melanie Leishman) and school janitor (Jason Mewes), with nefarious dean Atticus Murphy (Chris Leavins) out to thwart them.

Let me flag this immediately: Todd and the Book of Pure Evil is no show to watch with Grandma (unless she's Sharon Osborne or somebody); each episode is darker and more obscene than the last. But if fantasy, heavy metal and pitch-black comedy are your style, it's one book well worth opening up. Based on their 2003 short film (also worth seeing), creators Anthony Leo, Charles Picco and Craig David Wallace deliver a show crammed with energy, confidence and unapologetic subversiveness, plus many genuinely funny moments and teen characters who, despite their unusual adventures, really do feel realistic and relatable, and the cast all have great fun and chemisty as well as charisma individually.

Like all TV, Todd and the Book of Pure Evil has standout episodes, but over its two seasons there is never a dull moment anywhere. It's a shamefully little-known slice of fucking awesome television.

A literally heartfelt reminder.

This past Monday, Australian champion triathlete Dean Mercer died at just 47 of a heart attack while driving. Now, I don't follow sport (besides the NRL), but this tragedy hit home for me more than you may think, because I have a mild heart defect (don't worry; it's not currently serious). But Mercer's passing shows if such ailments can afflict even professional, successful athletes, none of us are immune to them. Do not be complacent. Research the warning signs, and if you feel even just a few of them, please seek medical consultation immediately. It could make significant difference. RIP Mr. Mercer.