Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #65: My Own Private Idaho (1991).

In Portland, Oregon live Mike (River Phoenix) and Scott (Keanu Reeves). They're homeless, enjoy drugs and sell their bodies to get by. Mike is a taciturn gay narcoleptic obsessed with finding his mother after having been abandoned during childhood. Scott's from an affluent family but has chosen to slum it until he can receive his inheritance; neither gets along with his father.

After meeting and instantly clicking, they embark on a road trip from Oregon to Idaho in search of Mike's mum, encountering and falling under the spell of numerous fellow misfits on their way across a barren American landscape.

Although it wasn't his debut, before writer-director Gus Van Sant recreated Harvey Milk's story, turned Nicole Kidman into a scheming, adulterous TV weather-girl in To Die For and gave Matt Damon his breakthrough in Good Will Hunting, he had his own with this lauded 1991 beauty. Openly gay himself, Van Sant delicately turns the standard coming-of-age road movie into a sympathetic juxtaposition of sexualities as well as empathetically exploring the pain of disaffected youth, and by including overt references to Shakespeare's Henry IV and V he adds a bohemian feel without it becoming pretentious.

And the acting is just exquisite. The late River Phoenix (RIP) here had his bravest role ever and he fills Mike with such expert nuances and layers that it became his finest hour (particularly in the campfire scene, where he expresses his unrequited love for the straight Scott), and Reeves, for all his usual woodenness on screen, actually holds his own.

Gus Van Sant is one of modern cinema's finest artists, and he's made so many films about troubled young males. But very few have been this successful.

Equal love has finally triumphed.

Well, Australia, we're there at last. After years of debate and struggle, same-sex marriage has just been legalised Down Under. Now, I actually consider marriage in general pointless, but regardless, being marginalised myself, I try to be an LGBT ally. As a square peg, you leave gaps in the round hole for others to slip through, so why not do that consciously?

SSM will not cause the Apocalypse. Nor any more disease outbreaks et cetera. It may cause more ABBA and Lady Gaga to be played at weddings, but that's all. (And hey, nobody's perfect.) And while I, despite my atheism, sincerely agree we must safeguard religious freedom, if you worry about that, just consider how marriage really began in secular European medieval civilisations. That is fact.

The Turnbull Government, for which I didn't vote, sought to achieve this by Christmas, and now they have. But to them may I say: well done, but don't get lost in the euphoria. Too many Australians, LGBT or not, remain unrecognised as equals. They need and deserve their equivalent of this occasion, and without an arguably redundant, indiscreet plebiscite.

But all in all, nothing can or should ever diminish this result. History will smile on Australia for it.

Burke's Backyard of Horrors.

I'm sure by now all my Aussie readers (if I have any in general) now know about the sexual assault allegations facing Don Burke (for the rest of you, he's an Aussie gardening guru and former TV host of Burke's Backyard). From 1987 to 2004 he was the face of family-friendly viewing of Australian screens, but now his true nature seems finally to have been revealed. Along with calling one female colleague "a dumb slut," demoting another for defending her, driving a woman to a self-funded hotel suite and forcing her to sleep with him and general bullying and intimidation of male and female staff, it's also been reported he loved discussing and feeling plants' sex organs off-camera. It seems he doesn't just like fertilising things in the garden, huh?

That's reprehensible, but this story became personal to me when he quickly claimed to have such problems by invoking a self-diagnosis of Asperger's syndrome. I have myself and this is not for my image or that of any other autistic person (except him, if he is), but even I know that doesn't excuse his conduct (there have already been too many accusations for him to be innocent). Hell, considering autistic people in general, it doesn't even explain that. And rather than trying to blame it on an already stigmatised condition, he could've at least had a fucking professional diagnosis first. And most recently it's been reported that Kerry Packer, the late owner of Burke's former network Channel Nine, once told him to grow up. I rest my case. He can piss off back to his home among the gum trees and stay there.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #64: DOUBLE FEATURE: Elstree 1976 (2015) / I Am Your Father (2016).

Star Wars is today a culture and a phenomenon unto itself. The movies are modern Hollywood touchstones, the Expanded Universe now includes literally hundreds of novels, SW memes and references infuse pop culture and the Net, and its merchandise covers everything from bed linen to car products. And many documentaries have now explored its origins and legacy.

One, from 2015, is Jon Spira's Elstree 1976. Focusing on numerous supporting stars of Episode IV and their experiences filming at London's Elstree Studios in '76 (where George Lucas and Steven Spielberg would later film the first three Indiana Jones films), Spira offers an empathetic treatment of these people whose acting careers sadly didn't quite take off even as the movie smashed box office records everywhere. It also proves to be a very clearsighted exploration of the creative and filmmaking process, and the result is unexpectedly emotional.

Then there's Toni Bestard and Marcos Cabota's 2016 effort I Am Your Father, which looks at the man inside Darth Vader's suit, David Prowse, and his troubled relationship with Lucasfilm. After several accusations of spoiling its predecessors in interviews, for Vader's climactic unmasking scene in Episode VI, Lucasfilm cast Sebastian Shaw over him. Bestard and Cabota's film sees them aiming to track him down to help them right that wrong Along the way we effectively learn how poorly Lucasfilm has treated him over the years, but we're not spared some of Prowse's contributions to the feud either.

Obviously, both these docos will appeal most to the most hardcore Star Wars fans like me (I have full Darth Vader and Chewbacca costumes at home, just for starters), but I promise: even if you're just a casual fan (or maybe even a Star Wars virgin), they'll strike a chord with you. May the Force be with them both. 

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #63: Shine (1996)

It was the flick from Down Under that arguably paved the way for Australia's Hollywood's invasion: the true story of celebrated but tormented concert pianist David Helfgott. Shine follows David from his first lessons as a child (Alex Rafalowicz) to his adolescent study and mental breakdown on the brink of fame (Noah Taylor) to his triumphant comeback in middle age (Geoffrey Rush) after living in an institution.

All this sounds like classic biopic stuff, but director Scott Hicks and writer Jan Sardi smartly take an observant and rather nonlinear approach to avoid sentiment, which works beautifully. Hicks also makes strong use of sound and visuals in the performance scenes, particularly teenage David's performance of Rachmaninov's notoriously difficult Piano Concerto No. 3 which is brilliantly edited and filmed (and during my Australian film university class it was shown countless times). Hicks had wanted to tell Helfgott's story for a decade, and he does it full justice.

But Shine just wouldn't have been the same without the incredible Geoffrey Rush. This performance made him the first Australian-born actor to win an Oscar (one of seven the movie was nominated for), and it remains his finest hour. He will leave you speechless. Armin Mueller-Stahl, as David's abusive father Peter, and Taylor offer solid support.

As the Brits might say: Shine does exactly what it says on the tin.

Spring in Zimbabwe.

As you must already know, this week has seen Robert Mugabe finally removed from power in Zimbabwe after 37 years. Like with the Arab Spring and the 1989 Eastern Bloc revolutions et al, people power has eventually triumphed. Since taking office in 1980, Mugabe's regime ran the gamut from economic inequality and sky-high inflation to internally corrupt governance and widespread, systemic human and civil rights violations. I'm sure thousands, maybe millions of Zimbabweans never thought they'd live to see Mugabe's downfall, but now they have.

However, now, of course, their nation needs rebuilding, like its reputation. And their incoming government must lead that charge, but regardless I've no doubt all those who openly fought to depose Mugabe will roll their sleeves up for that task, given the determination with which they pursued Mugabe's overthrowing. Nonetheless, it is up to Zimbabwe's incoming government to truly restore democracy and thus ensure their fight was not in vain.

Finally, I acknowledge the republic government system isn't perfect, despite my longstanding push for it here in Australia. Mugabe's such government is one of many which proves that. But it still means a people's head of state is one of their own, and Westminster-style governments have had blood galore on their own hands. Case in point: that of Hendrik Verwoerd, the mastermind of apartheid in South Africa.