Justice Brett and President Donny.

In the same week that saw former America's Dad Bill Cosby's fall from grace culminate in a prison term for sexual assault, Donald Trump has nominated Republican judge Brett Kavanaugh (above) for a position in the Supreme Court. That was obviously great news for Kavanaugh. Until...

  

...three women, Christine Blasey Ford, Deborah Ramirez and Julie Swetnick (clockwise from above left) stepped forward with allegations that he and some of his peers sexually assaulted them in high school and as students at Yale in the 1980s. Now some might say (whatever their political leanings) these ladies' timing in surfacing with these allegations is suspicious and opportunistic, but to me that reinforces a deep social misunderstanding of why such allegations often take so long to emerge. I won't muse on whether or not I think Kavanaugh is guilty because I'm trying to make this objective (and university hazing rituals et cetera existed long before his time anyway), but just as with the Cosby cases among others, it emphasises just how much of a victim (as much as I hate that word)-sharing culture we've become, especially for women. That's not just hateful but really plain cynical, and enough is enough.

Furthermore, Kavanaugh ironically also helped to draft the 1998 Starr Report which led to the Clinton impeachment, and now of course he's embroiled in an internationally-covered sex scandal of his own. And giving him his Supreme Court nomination was President Trump, who before his election in 2016 also faced numerous accusations of sexual misconduct. Need I say more?

In any case, young aspiring politicians and legal eagles from all sides should watch this scandal closely, and use it as a cautionary tale: be careful what you do on campus, because it may not permanently stay there.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #105: Bright Star (2009).

In 1818 London, the romantic poet John Keats (Ben Whishaw) inhabits one half of a cottage with his rakish friend and patron Charles Brown (Paul Schneider). In the other half lives Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish) with her widowed mother (Kerry Fox) and two younger siblings (Thomas Sangster and Edie Martin). Brown consider the flamboyant Fanny a distraction to Keats and his work, with her feisty willingness to speak her mind. But upon their first meeting it's love at first sight, which just keeps mounting until illness interferes tragically.

Bright Star couldn't possibly be further away from my usual cinematic taste (indeed when I went to see this I was expecting to be bored shitless but was pleasantly surprised), but just as with her Oscar-winning 1993 masterpiece The Piano, writer-director Jane Campion miraculously took me on a powerful journey with this most unashamed of period romantic dramas. Based on the actual love letters between Brawne and Keats and his celebrated poetry, Campion very sincerely and empathetically traces their romance from their introduction until its inevitably star-crossed conclusion which she handles delicately enough. At her command also is her The Piano collaborator Janet Patterson's period design which feels utterly authentic and evocative throughout, and Greig Fraser's nicely calm cinematography.

And as you'd expect from somebody who'd previously directed two Oscar-winning performances from the same movie, Campion helps her actors all outdo themselves here. Whishaw (who, ironically, in reality is now openly gay) shows strong balance and convincing passion as Keats, and Schneider is effective in his semi-comic relief part. But undoubtedly the prime reason to watch Bright Star is Abbie Cornish, who faced the hardest challenge here with her key emotional scenes but ultimately made it look like such a cinch. She will break your heart and leave you speechless.

This Bright Star is exactly that. No less.

Berry bad news for Australian fruit farmers.

For nearly a week now as you might know, Australia has been in the midst of a very peculiar scandal. No, a dingo hasn't taken a baby again. And no, a teenager hasn't emerged again from her boyfriend's cupboard after being missing for several years. Rather, nationwide we have seen some person or most likely group inserting sewing needles into numerous brands of our commercially-sold strawberries. I'm actually (carefully) eating some for lunch as I compose this post. I'm sorry to say it started in my state, Queensland, last weekend, and now as I said it's gone around the country. (Personally, my suspicion is on blueberry farmers being the culprits.)

But as I'm tryphanophobic (afraid of needles), that's where my jokes end here. Now, I'm not condoning the actions of those responsible at all, but they clearly made the smartest possible choice of fruit for their plan. Strawberries are small, soft and squishy and therefore absolutely anybody could poke something sharp through them for a bit of "fun." Apples for example, on the other hand, are big, solid and have an unmissable core; there's no way you'd get a needle through one of them, and they only grow in the coldest parts of Australia anyway.

When I bought my latest punnet this week at Woolworths, they'd actually had to erect a notice above the berries ensuring customers they were safe to buy and advising us nonetheless to cut them up before eating them (which I just did, by the way). Six brands are known to have been affected: Berry Licious, Berry Obsession, Donnybrook, Love Berry, Delightful Strawberries and Oasis. It's since even reportedly spread today to needles being found in mangoes (which I hate, but no, I had no responsibility there). I'm sure this crisis has already started to hurt Australia's fruit farmers, who were already coping with widespread drought.

So let's everybody do what we can to stick by them. Society has never survived without farmers, so it is the least we can do, and it reflects the great Australian tradition of mateship. If you can eat them, stock up on the strawberries you can find. Besides, they're incredibly yummy and (sans needles) as healthy as hell.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #104: Purple Rain (1984).

Before he made the Joker boogie in 1989, changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol in defiance against the music industry oppression in 1993 and long before he tragically died in 2016, Prince, with his first backing band the Revolution, cemented his superstar status with his 1984 film debut Purple Rain and its celebrated soundtrack which has sold over 13 million copies worldwide. The film actually grossed nearly $80 million worldwide but has gathered a devoted cult following, naturally consisting largely of strong Prince fans like myself.

In this semi-autobiographical tale, His Royal Badness plays the Kid, an upstart club musician in Minneapolis, Minnesota who's equally alienated and talented. Stuck living at home with his warring, abusive parents (Olga Karlatos and Clarence Williams III), the Kid also has to control his mounting frustration. His only solace is in his burgeoning affair with the smoky Apollonia Kotera (lead singer of Apollonia 6, the real-life girl group Prince assembled). After playing a few shows at the First Avenue nightclub (the real Minneapolis venue where Prince's career began), rival bandleader Morris Day (as himself) of the Time lobbies the club's owner Billy (Billy Sparks) to replace the Revolution with Apollonia 6, looking to win Kotera's heart. She soons joins Morris' plan and when the Kid learns of this, fireworks erupt. After then trashing his whole house, the Kid finds what could be his saviour: a collection of ripper lyrics his father wrote. Once he puts those to music, he takes the stage again at the club, wins Apollonia back and leaves everybody awestruck.

I mustn't lie to you: this flick's appeal will always be the strongest with Prince fans like me, just as all rock music films appeal the most to fans of the artists it stars. But what helps Purple Rain surpass that is the very human narrative at its core. As we see the Kid escape from his awful family life through his passion for music, it reinforces how all art and entertainment forms can offer such a refuge. And yes, Prince mightn't have been a great actor but hey, the part was fashioned after himself and when he gets on stage to rock, it's abundantly clear just how much he really loved giving an audience a visual and auditory extravaganza.

Purple Rain was directed and co-written by Albert Magnoli, who'd previously made a short about jazz musicians called Jazz. His direction is pretty conventional but he manages to work the concert sequences and the dramatic narrative pretty cohesively together, and his own passion for music is evident throughout. Also worth noting is that one of the producers was Rob Cavallo, an executive with Prince's record label Warner Bros. who later discovered and signed Green Day.

RIP Your Royal Badness, Prince. Wherever you are now, we only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.

Serena and that cartoon.

The whole fiasco has people divided as much as the net on the court where it began separates players annually. Serena Williams excoriated the umpire at the U. S. Open women's singles final for penalising her multiple times. And then Aussie cartoonist Mark Knight produced a parody of her which she and many others have condemned as racist and sexist. Now, I'm on the fence about her meltdown; I found her manner excessive and she clearly broke at least one game rule but several of the points she raised seemed accurate to me. Regarding the cartoon, all I have to say is that cartoonists, particularly newspaper ones like Knight, are meant to push buttons even if only to help their papers sell, and button-pushing is brave whatever content is involved. (I honestly can understand where both sides are coming from on this cartoon.)

But who I sympathise most with here is Naomi Osaka. 20 years old, multiracial, winning her first Grand Slam title and yet, everybody will remember that win of hers because of Williams' behaviour and Knight's ensuing cartoon. In fairness to Serena she did nothing wrong to Osaka and later congratulated her for winning, but Williams nonetheless stole the attention away from Osaka's achievement, although inadvertently.

Admittedly, I don't actually watch tennis regularly, much less play it, so I apologise if I therefore shouldn't be commenting here. But I'm a news junkie and this is one of those scandals where sport has bled into politics, which as you know by now I do follow keenly. That's why this entry has come about, and again I wanted to do what I can to shine the limelight back on Naomi Osaka and her breakthrough achievement.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #103: Carnage (2011).

Two schoolboys, Zachary and Ethan, are playing together at school when an argument starts, culminating in Zachary assaulting Ethan with a stick. After the boys get in trouble for fighting, Ethan's parents, Penelope and Michael Longstreet (Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly), invite Zachary's parents, Nancy and Alan Cowan (Kate Winslet and Christoph Waltz) over to their house to try and establish why it happened and hopefully resolve their differences. But pretty soon, just why their sons got stuck into each other is abundantly clear. On top of their contrasting tastes and social statuses, both couples just don't see eye to eye on anything, with especially bad fireworks developing between Nancy and Penelope. But as the afternoon unfolds, all four will show how parents can still act very childishly, and none will avoid the carnage.

Besides the opening fight, Carnage takes place fully in the Longstreet house, so it's as self-contained as stories come. I don't normally find that really compelling, but with Roman Polanski (love or hate him personally) in the director's chair it very much it is. Despite its Brooklyn setting, Carnage was filmed in Paris due to Polanski's fugitive status in the U.S. but again as only one scene is set outdoors, he gets away with that. He co-wrote the screenplay with Yasmina Reza based on her play, and the result is a merciless and very funny comedy which could be taken as an antidote to many of those very conventional and PC family dramas like Terms of Endearment and countless such TV shows (good though many of those are). As a director he wisely remains neutral in exploring the couples' feud and doesn't judge any of their atrocious behaviours (he raped a teenage girl, after all). His direction ultimately proves that alongside Chinatown, Rosemary's Baby and The Pianist, he can also achieve something memorable with material far lighter in tone, if not content.

But surely the top reason to watch this one is the dynamite cast. Foster, who I consider the finest actress of our time, and Winslet both clearly had an absolute ball bringing their on-screen warring to life and their performances are more entertaining as their characters' contempt for each other grows more sincere, and Reilly keeps everything decently balanced as the foursome's would-be peacemaker. The weak link is Waltz; there's nothing wrong with his performance here, but quite frankly he could've played Alan in a coma. Collectively, though, they achieve the intention of making their characters' actions very familiar.

If you've ever had tensions with a fellow parent, or prefer your comedies with claws, this is the sort of Carnage you'll enjoy witnessing.