Recently, and quite coincidentally, I've watched three analyses of the 2008 financial crisis.  The Inside Job, a sensational documentary narrated by Matt Damon; and two dramatizations of the collapse of Lehmans: : The Last Days of Lehman Brothers (BBC) and Too Big to Fail (HBO).

The highlight of all three has to be this now famous "give it your best shot" moment with corrupt academic Glenn Hubbard:

We all know the story.  Outrageous risk. No regulation. Disproportionate compensation for irresponsible risk. Arrogance, conceit and deceit, and most importantly greed.

Shocking, horrible and involving tens of millions of job losses around the world and doubling the national debt of the USA, not to mention now threatening the financial validity of several European countries.  I remember sitting in a diner in Holywood when the first bailout bill fell over and the global stock market fell off a cliff within seconds.  After I had got over my own shock I realised that everyone else in the diner had also stopped what they were doing, had their jaw on their chin (like me) and must have been thinking the same as I: "We're fucked!"  Won't ever forget that.

I'm not aware of that many repercussions for many of the people that allowed this to happen, or engaged in it.  I'm not aware that many of those involved, with the exception of those working at Lehman Brothers, even lost their jobs, let alone went to jail or had their vast ill-gotten wealth removed. At best, some were literally rewarded with massive severence payments - paid for by the bailout money provided by the tax payers.  Often those same punters defrauded in the first place.

Then I read this article at The Guardian, and this arresting quote: 

"When governments seek to protect the rich from the poor, they act swiftly and decisively. When they undertake to protect the poor from the rich, they fanny about for years until the moment has passed."

That kind of summed up this whole mess for me.  You read the article, and - certainly in London it seems - regardless of a lack of punishment there's not even any real regulation efforts to stop it happening again!  But those trying to protest for change to stop it happening again are now being included among terrorist groups as a major danger from which society should be protected.

This is like the police allowing thieves to steal from citizens, buying the loot from the thieves with the citizens' money and then preventing the citizens from even complaining about it.

Then French Finance minister, Christine Lagarde, sums it up rather well at the end of Inside Job.  "The Financial Services Industry needs to remember it is a services industry...it needs to serve others before it serves itself."  Furthermore, Government needs to remember to serve us and not the financial services industry because we put them in power and we pay for what they do!

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I've always been fascinated with photoraphy, particularly photo-journalism, but I've never understood it. While I've been told I have an eye for composition, I certainly have never understood the relationship between a camera and colour. I've never grasped light and shaddow and how to take a photograph that exploits those two properties. I fact I often mailnly manage to take photos that are quite spoilt by one or other or sometimes both.  I admire and envy those who have grasped these things and in an age of digital photography, those people seem to me in a particularly good place.

The Exhibition contains a selection of the best news photography based not on the topic celebre of today, but rather the technical brilliance, articulation and artistic integrity of the photograph.  As a result there is an array of images from events and situations that are quite forgotten to the world's mainstream media.  The drugs wars of Mexico, the abortion industry in Kenya, the Somalian prison system, the East Java Earthquake, the streets of Haiti all have sections of brutal, harrowing, and thought provoking images that require what seems like an age to digest.  Three photographs from the Somali prison struck me right between the eyes, particularly the shot of a 25 square metre room housing 60 prisoners with only one bucket serving as a toilet and not a matress between them. Equally as powerful was the picture of three men sleeping out in the open Yemeni desert after crossing the Gulf of Aden from Somalia in a series about desperate migration.  Sometimes images like those can take longer to consume than a 1,000 word article. 

I think the unique personal perspective on events and situations that photography provides brings a completely impactful insight to current affairs that neither the written word nor the moving image ever can.  For a start, the photographer says everything which thechoices he or she makes.  Choice of the moment, choice of light, choice of subject and choice of mood.  Also it seems such a more personal view than the written view or a piece of footage.  An article is edited, massaged and cut based on all manner of nuances brought by the aggrogated agendae of editor, publisher, owner and advertiser.  Footage is sliced and diced by so many producers and editors it can barely recognise itself from the raw material.  They are both products of a machine while a photograph is one person's product, entirely contrived of one point of view.  And yet, what they are able to provide is a voice for the subject too.  

Searing photograhy also means that - depending on the power of the photograph - it can have an impact on the psyche quite inependent of the news agenda of the general media.  Regardless of whatever political heartbeat is taking precedent at that moment, a powerful photograph can always punch through that noise with unequivical clarity and reset the perspective.

One shot, the shot of Bibi Aisha, quite deservedly took centre stage.  Bibi Aisha ran away from her violent husband but was captured by Taliban-assisted relatives who took her into the mountains one night and, after slicing off her ears, literally cut her nose off to spite her face and left her to die.  Miraculaously, a consortium of charitable organisations conspired to return her to a full recovery, both psychological and physical.  Now she stands as a symbol of triumph over adversity as well of the brutality of a Taliban-ruled Afghanistan.  The photograph is so powerful and for me, has all the profound, evocative and graphic expression of The Mona lisa.   It is all about her expression, her eyes, what she is saying to you through the camera and not about her horrendous injury and ordeal.  She is remembering, accusing, injured and challenging all at once.  What does she say to you?

P.S. For anyone remotely interested in photograhy, I strongly recommend The Guardian Eyewitness iPad app, which selects the most striking photograph of the day and downloads it in beautiful clarity.

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This week i had cause to ponder the relative realities of human existence.  Yes, pretty profound and heavy eh? Well, let me explain.

I volunteered, as part of a company scheme, for a day's work at an event called Sydney Homeless Connect.  The event was simply a day for homeless people in Sydney.  One homeless person actually described it as like "Christmas Day" for homeless people.  Everything from clothes to massages to haircuts on the one hand; to medical aid, housing and welfare advice were collected together in Sydney Town Hall to come to the aid of about 1800 men, women and children down on their luck.  It was an incredible feat of organization, here are some facts and figures:

- 1800 homeless and at risk homeless people

 - 1500 hot lunches cooked and eaten

- 60 back, shoulder and hand massages

- 300 haircuts

- 800 pairs of shoes, 200 blankets and several hundred pairs of jeans distributed

- 100 service and support organisations took part

It was a day of conflicting emotions.  It is great to be able to help people in that situation.   I had a job as a "chaperone" - greeting the "patrons" as they arrived and pointing them in the right direction for what they needed.  The conversation is unusual in it's nature.  To be able to ask a destitute person what they need and most likely be able to help is rare. "I want clothes", they might say,  "great well clothes are downstairs, come this way." "I need a birth certificate," says another, "no problem, come with me."  "Can I have lunch?" another would ask, "yes, take a seat over there and you'll be waited on". It's not often you get to do that.  It's a terrific moment, albeit mitigated by the fact that the satisfaction of being able to provide a solution was brought about by the misery of the original need.

But despite all the various needs that were met there was something surprising missing.  There was massage.  There was food.  People received good coffee, for free.  They received free shoes, dental help, pedicures even.  But amongst all this, a conversation with one gentleman stuck with me.  "Can I help out?" he asked.  Sadly we already had more volunteers than we could possibly need.  Oftentimes there were more people helping than being helped!  But his question went to a wider problem: "I'm just bored, I'd like to do something with my time."

Right then and there I had an epiphany.  This material society will tell me that the most important parts of my privileged position in life is that I have more than enough money to get through the week, that I own all the electronic gadgets I want and that the only holes in my clothes are the ones put there by designers.  But in this moment I realised that beyond the money that my gainful employment brings me, the unseen importance of it is a sense of purpose when I get up in the morning.  I mean it's not like I'm fighting crime, disease or even poor nutrition day in day out; but I do have...something to do.  There was very little this day could do about this need.  Only he could solve this problem. 

The next morning I went to work with a different perspective.

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“What I did on Thursday was to say publicly what has long been acknowledged privately, I’ve done so because we can’t afford to wait another decade, or another two decades, or another three decades to achieve peace.”

I must admit I was incredibly surprised by Obama's speech on Middle East Policy last week.  Obviously not the part about the Arab Spring being a good thing, or Osama bin Laden being a bad man.  But the part about the 1967 borders of Israel-Palestine.

But I'm surprised for a number of reasons.  For a start, it was about time he did something impactful about the Palestine question with another election coming up.  With his envoy, George Mitchell exiting stage left recently having achieved nothing, he was going to have a tough time at the polls on this issue.  However, he has chosen an interesting week for it.  Just as the Republican candidacy collapses, he decides to throw away millions of dollars of Jewish lobby funding.  For it's about as politically risky as it gets, canvassing a policy that Israel should revert to the 1967 borders (not to mention asking Hamas to recognise Israel!).  It's about as radical as anything anyone has said on the middle east for more than a decade.  It certainly has put the cat amongst the pigeons. 

I'll never forget my visit to the Golan heights in 1996.  It's a beautiful place, high up above the sea of Gallilee on the Syrian border.  It was Syria before The Six-day war in 1967.  Now it's full of very serious and mostly militant Jewish migrants.  We stopped to help a couple whose car had broken down, and they invited us back to their's for tea to say thanks.  They talked almost exclusively about how they will never leave, how they will fight and die before they let the Syrians have it back.  I don't believe, if they were a good indication, that many of the Jewish settlers in The Golan are going anywhere.

I visited East Jerusalem in 1999.  I visited the highly tense Temple Mount, where the third most important Islamic shrine sits atop the most important Jewish shrine, both only a stone's throw from the most important Christian Shrine.  Security of The Wailing Wall is the raisin d'être of the Jewish State.  They're not going to give up Temple Mount without a fight as intense as the one that won it in 1967.  I don't believe they're going anywhere either.

I walked around the Jewish Quarter.  It's a wonderfully calm place compared to the mayhem and frenetic excitement of the Arab Quarter bazaar.  It's been beautifully renovated since its near destruction in the wars of 1947-8 and 1967.  It's a bastion of Jewish strength.  It's streets are peppered with Orthodox Torah study groups and synagogues.  Its streets are armed ot the teeth with Jewish check points.  I don't see Israel giving that up in a hurry either. 

I did visit the West Bank too.  It's fortified by the seemingly endless compounds of Jewish settlements, many of them built quite illegally.  Then of course there's The Wall.  I don't see those people going anywhere either.  They are as nailed to the spot as those in The Golan.

I think something needed to change to give new life to the peace process.  It took a bold leader to say something controversial and risqué to kick start a negotiation everyone had grown tired of and that had entirely run out of steam.  But I wonder how wise it was to suggest that Israel should revert to the 1967 borders so publicly and so bluntly.  To give up The Golan Heights, which they secured to stop missile attacks on The Galilee and secure its northern border; The West Bank to the Jordan River, which Israel used to secure it's western border and East Jerusalem, which Israel secured in order to claim ownership of it's perceived Biblical inheritance.  I don't see any of these things happening.  I think Israel has given up everything it is prepared to, The Sinai, Gazza, South Lebanon.  There is no more to negotiate.

On that visit in 1999 I had the privilege of meeting with Jewish writer Amos Oz at his home in Arad (Read the interview here on page 92).  It was during the Presidential Election that saw Ehud Barak take power on a wave of peace and optimism, shortly before the withdrawl from South Lebanon.  Arad is a thriving community in the middle of the Negev desert.  His feeling was that unless ways were found for more people to be able to live in the desert, and better ways of distributing water equally among Israelis and Palestinians, the State of Israel would not be sustainable.  Perhaps he is right and until the Jewish occupants of The West Bank and The Golan can be found new homes in the Negev Desert, there is no hope.  (How the problem of Jerusalem is solved though is quite another matter!)

I wish Mr Obama luck, I really do, but the only surrender I can see from this is his surrender of millions of dollars of Jewish lobby funding for his re-election campaign.

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“We do not have time for this kind of silliness, we’ve got better stuff to do.  I’ve got better stuff to do. We’ve got big problems to solve, and I’m confident we can solve them, but we’re going to have to focus on them, not on this...[sideshows and carnival barkers].” Barack Obama

It's a kooky coincidence that the same week as the most powerful man in the world spat the dummy about media trivialisation of politics, the former Australian Finance Minister, Lindsay Tanner, launched his book about media trivialisation of politics, called "Sideshow".  Now you can assume this was not co-ordinated.  They may agree, but they don't really operate in the same circles.

And I agree also.  Although he doesn't seem to have refererred  to it in what I've heard, the "silliness" around Obama's birth certificate couldn't have been more timely for Mr Tanner in supporting his point that policy has been subjugated in favour of theatrics.

The infuriating thing about the situation we have reached that both men point out is that, particularly in Donald Trump's case, the media is not doing it's job in putting the microscope on policy proposal and are instead eating up Trump's "sideshow" with a spoon.  I mean, let's face it, Trump is mad!  He wants to tax Chinese imports by 25%!  Has he any idea how dangerous that is?  And yet the media lapped up his hair-brained conspiracy theory instead of taking him down on the issues. Meanwhile Obama is quizzed ad nauseum on his already well-researched origins instead of engaged directly on policy debate.  It's a farce.

Tanner's book makes many useful points it seems from the couple of interviews I've seen him do this week.  His point was usefully underlined by a sad return of the hair scrutiny Gillard is being subjected to, recently beaten up for her hair while she toured the sites of the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear-meltdown.  How much more trivial can you get?

While lamenting the media for their shallow nature is nothing new, it seems there's always been a fairly strict convention in the States that no one mention it.  It seems quite unprecedented that the President himself should take them to task on it, complaining as he does that he could never get media "cut-through"on policy but when he makes a statement about the birth certificate issue, they are on him like a shot:

Of course naturally, it's not really the media that is to blame, directly.  Just as parties complain that the media don't talk about the policies and help people understand the issues at stake, so companies complain that the media has no interest in products but only in sensationalising and gossip.  The media respond that people, the people, aren't really interested in that stuff.  Frankly, they are right.  Sadly we can all complain as much as we like, but until we start demonstrating that we want more depth in our media reporting of political issues, they are only going to keep serving up what we ask for. 

A further caveat I think though is this, how is Lindsay Tanner hoping to promote his book?  How is President Obama hoping to get re-elected?  Media campaigns.  It's catch-22. Furthermore, it is worth noting that in every Tanner interview I saw, when asked about his time as a Government Minister, he declined to comment quite steadfastly. While the issues his book raises are very interesting, I wanted him to talk about his role in the overthrow of the last Prime Minister and in the scraping of the emissions-trading scheme - which right now are two of the biggest issues we face.  So he was taking from the media, but not giving back.

So it seems important to remember that if media is truly a mirror to society, 'perhaps then if you're looking into it you can't really complain about what it reflects back to you.

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<Nasel twang> "Now I like a punt as much as the next bloke, but..." 

In reality I'm pretty indifferent to gambling.  I do like a punt on the Melbourne Cup once a year, just as I used to on the Grand National in the UK, but I'm not much good at it.  While I've picked the winner more times than not, I've often bet on so many other horses through indecision that I rarely come out on top.  But its not really about the money, I like to join in with "the race that stops the nation" and I like the sport.  I've also got a lot of time for a game of Two-up on ANZAC day for precisely the same reasons.  I'm not very good at it and so I've never been adicted to it. 

So when it comes to Pokies - those foul, noisy and ugly machines that spoil most pubs in Australia - I really don't understand the attraction.  It's a bad look and a very private experience - so there's no aspect of joining in, but more importantly, there's no sport.  They are mathematically programmed to win 8 or 9 times out of ten.  Where's the sport there?

I found this comment quite stark from a detailed examination of the mathematics of pokies:

"On of the most important points to note is that there are no pokies with a pay back set to over 100%. This means that the longer you play the more you are likely to lose. There is no way to consistently win on the pokies."

So, I don't understand it, and to be honest I don't understand the mathematical equation on which they operate either, being almost completely inumerate!  So perhaps I shouldn't get on my soapbox about something I understand so little about?  But what I do get is that a lot of organisations - pubs and clubs - make a huge amount of money out of sending some people bankrupt and destroying their families.  That so much of Australian society is organised around this principle - exploitation of the stupid, the desperate and the weak-willed - is something I find quite abhorent and distasteful about life down-under. 

Here's some stark facts: In 2008 Australians lost $12 billion dollars on the pokies - 40% of which lost by those with a gambling problem, i.e. they couldn't afford to lose that money.  Furthermore, it is horrifying to note that Australia - a population of 20 million, has more than five times the number of machines as in the United States, a nation with a population of over 300 million!  One quarter of ALL the world's poker machines are in New South Wales.

So even though I've only a limited amount of time for Andrew Wilkie, whom I find to be more than just a little self-righteous and sanctimonious, I do applaud his bill to impose a license-system on those using the pokies.  Having to set your own limit is really rule one for the sensible gambler and if people can't figure out on the fly when it is time to stop than I'm all for helping them to do it.  Problem gambling is a horribly sad state of affairs and that a family member might make the rest of their family homeless by a simple inability to get across the maths and know when to say "that's enough", then perhaps society should step in to assist - ESPECIALLY when the rest of society is benefiting so very well from their addiction! 

Society is taking a role in helping to reduce the amount people smoke and drink and through another license system, ensures that when driving, people are responsible and sober.  I see no difference.  (I just wish I think that this crusade - if successful - be attributed to Nick Xenophon, the independent Senator, who's been waging this campaign far longer and far more sensibly and without narcicism.)

In all honesty I'd like to see Pokies banned.

I do like Malcolm Farr's comments on Insiders this week, "When someone says something is 'Un-Australian', that's a clear sign they've run out of coherent argument." How can a country so obsessed with mateship, think it is Australian to fund whole aspects of society from the misery and degradation of a vulnerable few?

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So after an initial good news start - unusually rapid decision making by the international community and an immediate reversal in Colonel Gaddafi's fortunes - what has become known in the US, somewhat euphemistically, as "the Libyan Adventure" has gone fairly pear shaped. 

Responding to the so-called lessons of history, the Libyan Adventure surprised so many with its initial successes.  Unlike the spectacular failure in the international community's reponse to the Rwandan genocide, the UN and then NATO moved with lightning speed to agree, plan and execute a plan to save Benghazi.  But also learning from the lessons of Iraq, misjudging a people's response to an apparently 'liberating' army, a plan was executed to avoid any kind of  "Boots on the Ground" scenario.  The outcome, while intially successful, has seen the rebels' early advances reversed as the Colonel's troops learned how to hide their columns among civilians, leading to the inevitable targeting errors that come when a campaign is being fought only from the safety of 30,000 feet in the air.

It seems history has hovered over this latest chapter like a ghost.  At first the community was galvanised into action by memories of Rwanda, when a million people were butchered in three months before anyone in New York could decide what should be done; and memories of Srebrenica, when the Dutch UN peace keeping troops literally stood by as thousands of menand boys were massacred by Serbian troops.  But the still-raw memories of Iraq - of western troops marching into a Middle-eastern and Islamic culture with the ever-present skeptre of oil interest - ensures that foreign boots will not form part of the solution.

But does history determine too much of the international community's response to disasters, which are not enoughy judged on their own merits?  Iraq II was to some extent a response to Iraq I where problems were seen to have escalsated from an unwillingness in 1991 to finish the job, to invade the country and change the regime.  The sense that leaving the job undone led to a need to revisit the problem so much more expensively years later.  That mistake, in turn, could be construed as a repsonse to Vietnam and a fear that becoming embroiled in a quagmire, in a insurgency of asynchonous warfare, was not worth the risk.  Ironic huh?

In some ways it is like a never-healing trauma.  Iraq I itself was a repsonse to WWII.  How often did George H. W. Bush and Margaret Thatcher talk about wanting to learning the lessons of 1939 by not allowing aggression to stand, as the international community had when Hitler invaded Czechoslavakia in 1938/9.  How much was that appeasement driven by the need to avoid another European cataclysm?

Is history ever helpful in informing the day's decisions?  Hitler himself was so keen to learn the lessons of history.  He studied in obsessive detail the failed invasions of Russia before him, of Napoleon's disastrous adventure in 1812.  He learned from the lessons of WW1 and was ever careful to void the Kaiser's mistake of attempting to fight a war on two fronts.  He would have been more than haunted by the enormous irony that it was a two-front war that finally did for him.

It seems to me that learning from history is a tricky business.  It is of course important to study histroy and understand where mistakes were made and what could have been done better.  But at the same time, if you allow an obsession with the past to define all your decisions then it can blind you to detail of the present and cloud your judgement.  I'm not sure if this means that the international community should not be involved in Libya today, or more involved than they are.  But I certainly feel that everything that is being done is defined by events in the past rather than the present.  

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It happens only a few times in your life when the really HUGE stars die.  I remember James Stewart going, Robert Mitchum, Audrey Hepburn, Rod Steiger.  I was standing opposite the CNN office on Sunset Boulevard the moment  the news broke on their ticker that Paul Newman had died.  I think Liz Taylor’s death was as important, but in a way less sad perhaps.  The difference is obvious, Paul Newman died in dignity.  Taylor did not.

But does it matter?  I will in coming weeks indulge in my own Liz Taylor wake I imagine.  I can’t do "top ten type" lists of films but Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf and A Place In the Sun are all films I own, rate and treasure – mainly because of her performances. (Respectively, Paul Newman, Richard Burton and Montgomery Cliff do quite well too!)

But the other night I was watching Platoon. I got to thinking about Charlie Sheen’s legacy.  (Let’s not forget the importance of Wall Street).  In recent weeks obviously only the most hermitic would have missed the meltdown in Sheen’s dignity.  I was in the US as it transpired and saw it in the most stark detail, including that bizarre Piers Morgan interview and those macabre U-Stream broadcasts.  Quite startling, but – I thought – the 21st century equivalent of what Taylor went through in the 80s and 90s?

A colleague and I joked about the irony of the inevitable return of Charlie sheen. I said King Leah, he said Macbeth. He said 'funny how we both went to Shakespeare’- but isn’t *that* it – the more they *live* the more they can act?  As long as Charlie Sheen survives, and that’s no certainty, what he has been through could make him a great actor.

Watching Platoon, I thought of his father.  The opening of Apocalypse Now – the 1970s equivalent of Platoon – is the actual meltdown and subsequent heart attack of Charlie’s father, Martin Sheen.  The man recovers and shoots one of the great performances of all time and between them the two Sheen men document the Vietnam War for posterity quite comprehensively.  As I watched his son’s meltdown on prime time TV the other week, coincidentally I was watching his father’s complete performance in The West Wing. 

Liz Taylor for many years was a joke.  Be it the exhausting and alcoholic multiple-marriages with Richard Burton or the kooky friendship with Michael Jackson, her latter years were far from noble.  But as I write now, I care not.  Those three films I mentioned above are among the finest ever made, and her performances in them are genuinely legendary.  The entrails of her existence are irrelevant in comparison, except that they are symptoms of a personality and character that could create that wonder and art I enjoy so much.

Rest in Peace Liz Taylor, you deserve to.  Do great things again Charlie Sheen, you probably deserve to.

[CAVEAT: Note I am not suggesting the talents of these two people are even in the same league. I am merely drawing comparisons.]

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"You even dream about beating me, you better wake up and apologise!"

The story of Ali's entire boxing career is told through the sometimes cloudy recollections of those that fought him, "Facing Ali" is no "when we were Kings".  The latter is a film that is commensurate with Ali's stature. It is to sports documentaries what Ali was to boxing.  It won an Oscar to prove it.  It is the rightful testament to Ali's legacy.  But "Facing Ali" deserves to be an uber-extra to that film, sitting alongside it as a worthy supporting feature in a truly memorable double-bill.  Whether you care about boxing or not, the things these two films say about their times and about humanity in general are relevant to everyone.

The film begins with Sir Henry Cooper, and moves through the various opponents Ali faced - either as Muhammed Ali or as Cassius Clay, his "slave name".  Joe Frazier, George Foreman, Leon Spinks, Larry Holmes and many others you probably don't remember whether you were alive at the time or not.  It not only charts the background of each of their encounters with him, but the times in which they were set and the circumstances that brought each fighter to these moments; moments which for all of them together clearly form among the most profound experiences of their lives.  Naturally, each boxer's chapter features footage of their historic bout, with all the drama and violence that entailed.

As Cooper says right at the outset, there never were any middle class boxers; no one would take a beating like that unless they had to.  For almost all of them, a heavyweight boxing career either proved an alternative to a life of crime, or a distraction from one.  Many did time, many knew those who had done time.  Many learnt to fight either on the streets or in prison; many used boxing as a way to drag themselves out of the gutter.  A gutter society seemingly forced them into.  Many had terrible lives cursed by either drugs, murder, suicide or broken homes - to say nothing of the brutal social inequities suffered by the African American, a community to which almost all of these men belong. 

Each of their stories are moving in their own right, none are without the colour of at times the most miserable misfortune.  But they are set against the backdrop of the awesome story that is Muhammed Ali, a story that still continues today.  Despite the things he might have said of each of them in the poetic sledging that preceded each fight (for instance he said of one opponent, "he too ugly to be the champion of the world. The champ should be pretty like me!".) they all speak of him at the end with tears in their eyes, with deeply sincere words of profound respect and gratitude; so much so that it will in turn bring tears to your eyes. 

What is so great about the man?  It would be impossible to sum up in a few short words, especially by someone who hasn't even met him.  His campaigning for the rights of the African American at a time when those others brave enough to do so were shot down in their prime?  The stand he took against the Vietnam War at a time that meant most of America cursed his name as a traitor?  His very public conversion to Islam at a time when it was almost even more unacceptable to middle America than it is today?  His bravery and courage to many times fight boxers much younger and/or more formidable than himself, and win?  Or is it his struggle against Parkinson's Disease which he continues to wage to this day? 

It's difficult to say what it is that is so enduring about Muhammed Ali, but that he is a living legend seems so universally agreed.  Perhaps it is that very altitude of stardom that he has reached by way of the many great feats he achieved - including three world championships - he serves to restore some hope and faith in what humanity can be.  Moreover, his demise was so sad, and his latter years are so tragic, it reminds us that even the greatest are still mortal.  No one - no matter how majestic - can transcend that mortality.

If you love boxing or completely loathe it,  you won't find a more awe inspiring story than that of Muhammed Ali, and these two films together I feel do that story complete and utter justice.

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On a business trip to New York this week, I was able to steal a couple of hours for myself. I could have gone to a Gallery, or taken a walk in Central Park or something similarly uplifting. But I didn't.

The "Bell of Hope", St Paul's Chapel, corner Church and Vesey Streets.

Instead a I took a cab from my hotel on 56th street, and sped downtown along 5th avenue, past St Patrick's Cathedral, past the Rockerfeller plaza, the Public Library and the Empire State building before turning left on 34th and heading across Madison and Lexington avenues and onto the FDR, along the banks of the east river towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

(As an aside! My learned Chinese taxi driver told me that the city ran out of money building the bridge and couldn't pay the Chinese workers who built it, like so much of American infrastructure. So instead they were given land nearby - hey presto: China Town.)

It was 11yrs almost to the day since my first and only other visit to the big apple. I can't remember being more excited to arrive anywhere else. I all but exhausted myself tearing about Manhattan seeing as much as I could. I toured the UN on the east side and by contrast visited the US Intrepid on the west side. I went to Tiffany's listening to Frank Sinatra on my walkman and drank cocktails in a revolving bar above Time Square. I went to the roof of the Empire State Building and I took a ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. I had a ball. Who wouldn't? There was one thing I didn't get time to do though.

So as we came off the FDR around the end of Broadway and headed towards Wall Street I thought of that visit, suddenly vivid in my mind. Of all the landmarks I saw on the journey, there was something missing now. To say it was significant in its absence is an understatement.

I was dropped on liberty street and walked to the Stage Door deli on Vesey street. The deli was full of construction workers. I bought a bacon cheese burger - one of the best I've ever had, and on which I chipped my tooth - which will remind me of this day as long as I have that tooth.

I crossed the road and visited St Paul's Chapel, apparently the oldest public building in continuous use on Manhattan. It was where George Washington went to pray after he was innaugurated as the first president of the United States. Outside the door is a bell (above) forged by the same place in England as the Liberty Bell and Big Ben. It has only been rung 11 times. once on March 11, 2004 and once on 7th July 2005, and nine other times on the anniversaries of the events that took place the other side of Church Street on 11th September 2001.

The bell is called "the Bell of Hope".

I did visit the World Trade Centre on that visit 11 years ago. It so completely dominated the skyline you could see it almost whenever you looked up and by the of the week I felt I had to go in, and up, it. I wanted to go to the "window on the world" restaurant but ran out of time in the queue and had to leave it for another trip. I was bound to visit new York again I thought, I could do it then. It was such a vast complex, and the gaping wound left by it's demise is shocking. The dignity with which New Yorkers carry this wound is quite humbling.

Nothing could have prepared me for how what I did next would affect me. Not even watching on TV the events that took place that day. I, like everyone, can remember vividly that experience, quite late at night in Australia. I was about to go bed early, I was launching a range of new laptops the next morning. Just as I was about to turn in, the TV announced they were about to screen "When We Were Kings", one of my favorite movies, and unable to resist, I sat back down. Within minutes though a ticker came across the screen: "a plane has crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York.". Before long, after the second plane had hit, the ABC scrapped the movie and went live to cover what was taking place. I sat up for the next four hours, jaw on chest in the shock and bewilderment. I've not yet got over that shock and bewilderment. Has anyone?

I crossed Church Street and turned right onto Liberty Street and went to the WTC Tribute centre.  Just as I'm not going to go over the entrails of those attacks, I'm not going to attempt to describe the museum or the way it made me feel or the many poignant items on display there - among them an airplane window, a twisted iron girder and a pair of lady's shoes. I think it says enough just to repeat the words i wrote in the visitor's book before I went outside and fought back tears.

"Coming here is the saddest thing I've ever done. To those grieving loved ones lost that day, I am so, so sorry for your loss."

Footnote: Next door to the Stage Door Deli is a place called the 9/11 Memorial Preview Site (20 Vesey Street).  I didn't have time to go in but just knowing about it was comforting.  The memorial opens 11th September 2011.  And with the Deli full of construction workers and Ground Zero itself busy with the sound of new buildings taking shape, the healing has certainly begun.  

And one day, if not already, Osama Bin Laden will be dead.

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Some friends asked me to combine my passion for movies and San Francisco to help them prepare properly for a forthcoming once-in-a-lifetime holiday there.  I got carried away and decided to make it a blog post.  So here it is...

Have you noticed how whenever San Francisco is in a movie it almost becomes a character in it.  Like only a few other cities, LA, Paris and New York, the streets of San Francisco always features in movies that are shot there like the director fell for the place and is seeking to do more than just film a story there.  I once heard that Hitchcock specifically wanted to do this with Vertigo – but it seems the case across the board.  It is not surprising.  It is the city that most feels like a friend to me.

The absolute best movie to watch about San Francisco, the totally quintessential viewing of this simply super city is of course Bullitt.  This movie does more for the undulating contours of the place than a map in terms of giving you a feel for the landscape of the town.  That car chase is perhaps some of the most excillerating 20 minutes in car chase history.  Every other car chase seeks to build on it or reference it in some way.  Moreover, those 70s sounds can play in your mind as you cruise the streets here. 

(In fact, I knew some people who payed their own tribute to that scene, drunk late at night offering taxi drivers to get up some speed and do the big hills around Russian Hill just as Steve McQueen did; offering double the fare if the driver "got air" and triple to lose a hub cap!)

One movie that seeks to echo that chase more than any other is of course "The Rock" which brings me to the very first MUST DO adventure: Alcatraz.  You can get to know this outstanding landmark and history magical mystery tour in movie alone: The Rock with Sean Connery and Nic Cage, Escape from Alcatraz with Clint Eastwood, or Birdman of Alcatraz with Burt Lancaster.  but the visit itself will stay with you forever, long after the scenes of the movies have faded.  Allow the best part of the day for it, book in advance and give it your best mood or you will regret not making the most of this thrilling yarn. 

Affer your trip to Alcatraz, one great place to have a drink is the bar at the Hyatt Regency.  OK, so there are better places to go for a drink, but when I popped in here recently I suddenly realized it is the setting for several scenes in the Mel Brooks comedy High Anxiety which is shot all over San Fran.  It's classic Brooks slapstick mostly at the expense of Hitchcok thrillers, most of all Vertigo with James Stewart.  Now this film is definitely one to watch before visiting, and inspired a great trip that I made on my first visit: The Californian Legion of Honor art gallery.  It's a very brief scene where Stewart stalks his obsession to a gallery for the afternoon.  But the setting for it is a beautiful building, nestled in a park right on the coast and allowing a short walk to see the Golden Gate bridge, is a must do I think...and also contains a most memorable collection of Rodin sculptures.

There's lots of movies about San Francisco that touch different parts of the town, including Zodiac with Robert Downey Jnr, which spends a lot of time around City Hall.  Towering Inferno - with Steve Mcqueen, Paul Newman and a hat full of others - offers several amazing sky scapes of the financial district and the Bay, especially from the helicopter flight right at the start.  Not only do a host of Hollywood stars feature in this film but numerous buildings including the Hyatt (again), the Bank of America Building and The St Francis Hotel.  

 Also, Guess who's coming to Dinner - with Sidney Poitier, Spencer Tracy and Catherine Hepburn - is set against the backdrop of the Bay at sunset.  One excursion made by the Ms Hepburn and Spencer Tracey in GWCTD takes them to Mel's Drive-in on Lombard.  Coincidentally, the Mission Street restaurant of the same name is the place where American Graffitti is shot.  (Now the latter does not belong in this post because it's not actually meant to be in San Francisco - is just Sometown, USA.  But is of tremendous Movie significance because it saw not only the early directorial development of George Lucas but also a first major acting role for that other great Director - Ron Howard.)

If all of that isn't enough, an imminent trip to San Francisco is a great excuse to watch Dirty Harry with Clint Eastwood again; while Trekkies will know that Star Trek IV is all about San Francisco, with the Golden Gate Bridge starring regularly.  A film called Tales from the City is also all over San Fran, but I've never seen it so can't comment.

I figure that should be plenty to get anyone so well acquainted with this city that arriving for the first time is like meeting an old friend!

UPDATE: I did learn from a recent trip that Bodega Bay where The Birds was shot is only about 90 mins'drive north from San Francisco.  I always thought it was further north than that.

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In a funny sort of way, I'm learning more about Libya now than when I visited the country more than 10 years ago.  It is like I am only now getting the punchline of a joke I heard over a decade before.  Amid the revolt currently still in play, I'm reinterpreting the memories of a holiday I thought I understood at the time but realise now I saw only a strange veneer of a more mysterious reality. 

On several occasions, Libyans we met would say that what was so marvelous about their country was that unlike their neighbors - Egypt and Tunisia - they did not pimp themselves for the tourist dollar.  They were as they were, no charade for appearances and no performance for the extra tip.  You got what you saw, and what you saw was the truth.  They would say they did not "show the other face".  You got the actual face of Libya. 

Well, in fact this is the joke.  The joke that is on me, that is.  For I bought this story hook, line and sinker.  There was I delighting in all this sincerity and honesty, when in fact the biggest lie of all was being told all the time. Knowing everything I know now about the viscious oppression of this regime; its secret police, its torture and imprisonments it is now clear this was a society in denial.  This was a community in fear.  This was a country repressed.

Accustomed as I am to a culture of irreverent political debate and continuous municipal critique, I assumed that because no one was complaining, and every street was adorned by adoring images of The Colonel, that this was a nation at peace with it's leader and his regime.  This is what I am now de-constructing, examining all my memories of that amazing fortnight and posing the question: was that real?

For instance, I just the other day received an email from my traveling companion at the time, recollecting the middle aged gentleman - Mohammed - who showed such limitless hospitality to us, insisted on paying for our accommodation and took us out to dinner every night.  We assumed that he had a crush on my companion and was simply demonstrating the traditional Bedouin hospitality crossed with macho bravado.  Now we wonder: was he working us, was he on duty, was he secret police?

In 1999, it was still very hard to get into Libya.  We had to get an official invitation to the country to qualify for a visa.  We could not fly direct, we ended up getting a taxi from Tunisia!  At that time it was very unusual to travel independently, rather than in organized groups.  We prided ourselves that with the post-Lockerbie thaw only just begging, we were probably some of the first backpackers to visit the country in 15 years or more.  In view of what is now coming out about the regime, it is perhaps not utterly out of the question that our apparently dutiful host was taking more than just a friendly interest in our movements. 

In fact, we had strange and unique welcomes in almost every town we visited.  It was only on our trip south to the desert and the wild atmosphere of the Saharan dunes and oasiseseses that we felt like we were having a more typical tourist experience, free to do as we wished.  Elsewhere we were almost hounded, or haunted, by the unabashed hospitality of one person or another; usually men, but sometimes their entire families were involved.  Were we their guests or their charges?

It is hard to overstate how much colonel Gaddafi's image dominates the Libyan landscape, or at least did.  You felt his presence everywhere, like the all seeing eye.  He attended my uncle's engagement party in 1968 in Tripoli shortly before he seized power.  He apparently swept in, like a royal prince, surrounded by entourage, and left just as quickly and just as mysteriously.  I read his Little Green Book, some of which I even agreed with, like his thoughts on the hypocrisy of party politics, where the party claims to act in the interests of the nation, when in reality they only act in their own best interests.  However, I also read the section about international revolution that ultimately led to the dreadful terrorism and the punitive bombing raids.  He lost his daughter in those raids, only a fraction of the misery he inflicted on the people of Lockerbee and the passengers of Pan Am flight 103.

All of that was only recent history when we crossed the border into Libya in November 1999.  We had zero idea of what to expect.  There was no Lonely Planet guide to Libya.  There were no anecdotes from friends. When we entered Tripoli, we found people shouting out of their car windows as they drove passed, "hello, how are you, welcome to our country."  Everyone told us again and again, “your second home”, and it felt it. 

The overwhelming welcome we received looked briefly in danger when walking around the Old Town in Tripoli - the scene of US and British bombing raids still very much in living memory.  An old man in the street saw us and began castigating us: "heathen, infidel, murderers!" for a moment my life flashed before my eyes as unimagined myself hanging from the nearest lamppost.    I relaxed quickly as I sawbthe faces of all the other people on the street, laughing.  Laughing with us and at him, "crazy old man!"

The visit quickly became exactly the kind of magical mystery tour we had hoped for, with all the off-the-beaten-track purity you do not get with a well-trodden destination.  The internal flights were still dogged by the fact that 15 years of sanctions meant the decaying fleet of planes had escaped maintenance or replacement for nearly a generation.  As we boarded a plane from Benghazi to Tripoli, the gentleman next to me jokingly made explosion noises as we started to take off.  We changed all our money on the black market for three times the value.  We shared overnight bus rides across the desert with illegal immigrants from Chad...and the associated secret police. 

As the regime enters what looks like its final hours, it seems ironic now that all the talk is of US jets instituting a no-fly zone to stop Gaddafi bombing his own people, when 25 years ago they were the ones bombing him and his people. I can only hope he sees sense soon and concedes defeat to prevent any more violent deaths.  Perhaps then Libya can become in reality what it appeared to me eleven years ago - one of the best tourist destinations in the middle east.  (Not least because of Leptis Magna - THE most impressive and best preserved Roman Ruins outside of Italy. )  

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While the first has been dione and dusted for very nearly two months now, this somewhat smaller and less well known contest came to its denouement today in the tense final minutes as the English tail wagged and the series came down right to the wire after looking all but there for the taking for the Australians.

Now I should add, this is not a professional series.  In fact this effort is so amateur there wasn’t one nets session the whole summer.  The crowd was considerably less than the hundreds of thousands who attended the other Ashes, and no one watched it on television.  While there was some sponsorship, it amounted to a few hundred dollars invested in shirts a couple of years ago – and we are still wearing them.

But make no mistake, there was just as much at stake.

With Australia taking the first match back in November – at the same venue, Tunks Park on Sydney's North Shore; and England taking the second (which I was not able to play in) in December in Balmain, the series was level.

The rules are very slightly different too: 35 overs, forced retirement after scoring 25 runs (able to come back in later when all the other batsmen are out), five overs only per bowler and a free hit for the one’s first ball.  The atmosphere of “everyone should have a go” drives the game to ensure to full participation.  God knows with the quality of my batting and bowling, I’m a big fan of these rules!

Some early and impressive wickets from the dangerous bowling of England Captain, Mr Garvey, and England looked confidently in control before the bowlers and fielders tired in the 30 degree heat and the Australians ran up an intimidating 213 by the 35th over.  For the Australians, Mssrs Finn and Clarke in particular, the bat became an extension of their arms and the runs just kept coming and the chances were missed (not least when I perplexingly dropped a sitter of a catch!)  But with a wicket in the last over, we at least went into tea upbeat.

The English batting got off to a fairly strong start after one early wicket and a successful chase was built – mainly by the Man of the Match, Mr Cutler, carrying an unhealed broken thumb.  But then calamity struck.  A mid-order batting collapse any English side would have been proud of.  Suddenly the required run rate got away from us and the wickets piled up.  Penetrative bowling by the Australians  did for the English – myself included, caught behind for 7 – and by tea, even their English team mates had given up and began making plans for the evening.

But quietly, while the crowd – numbering about twenty people, half of them under 10 – became embroiled in preparing food, drinking beer and generally chewing the fat, the English tag wagged.  And wagged. And wagged.  Eleventh Man Mr Riley built successive partnerships with returning 25-ers Mssrs Cutler and Garvey and before long the target was in sight.  Suddenly it was 23 runs needed from 18 balls.  The total was finally put away with a loudly-cheered six in the last over and the poms stole the series 2-1.

After eight years – five of which I have been lucky enough to be involved - the whole rivalry is now locked at four-four.  Season 2011-12 will no doubt take the tension to a new level!

(Pictures here.)

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I usually run a mile from the kind of George Clooney-staring Romantic adventure that this looked suspiciously like but luckily I gave it a few minutes and found that it is in fact a pretty refreshing story. "Up in the Air" is a bit kooky, but in a good way. But there's a fascinating sub-plot I wish I'd understood when I watched it.

The plot is a simple one.  Clooney plays a man deliberately bereft of belongings or relationships who flies about the US - obsessed with loyalty points – firing people for a living.  As you can imagine, in the current environment this keeps him pretty busy.  (Trailer.)

But for once the extras – in both senses of the word – are as important as the main attraction (I guess also in both senses of the word for ladies).  They feature the kind of  short interviews with the director - Jason Reitman, of "Juno" and "Thank you for smoking" - and some of the actors which are usually  meaningless and completely unrevealing.  But in this instance, it focuses on two aspects of the film.  The first and less important is that all the airport scenes were shot not in the studio, but in...the airports!  I didn’t immediately register what the chief challenge of this would be until they explained – there are constant announcements!  So the number of takes they had to do were usually many-multiples.  I should watch it again to see how this improves the scenes or demeans them as the protagonists must have been really quite jaded with the dialogue by the umpteenth time!

However, the yet more interesting thing is that, in order to convey the true pain, humiliation and shock of being fired, instead of attempting to imagine lines himself, the Reitman invited recently fired people from real life to deliver their own recollections on screen.  So what you see – and again I didn’t realise as I watched but did suspect – is real people talking about really getting fired in language they either did or would have liked to have used at the time.  They were taken mainly from the Detroit area which as you probably appreciate with the complete implosion of the US car industry provided a great deal of material.

They describeit as a movie of its time, examining present day dislocation in two ways.  First, the dislocation brought by sudden termination at a time of 10 per cent unemployment and in some case too late in life to easily re-train.  But also the kind of dislocation brought to many people so dedicated to their work that they are constantly up in the air, with no time for real relationships and dependent only on the internet and phone network for any friednly human interaction. 

So... worth a watch, very thought provoking.

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I have for a long time maintained the view that great songs and movies should be "listed" like famous or important buildings are.  If you plan to remake or cover them in any way, you should have to submit your plans and ideas to a committee of the establishment for review.  If they don't make the cut, project off.  This process would have stopped cultural attrocities like the remake of The Italian Job, or William Shatner's cover of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds". <Calm down and focus>.

But when I heard The Cohen Brothers were re-making True Grit with Jeff Bridges playing Rooster Cogburn - the role made so famous by John Wayne - I was at once nervous and excited.  While I felt sure they would do a fabulous job (almost without exception everything they touch turns to gold - with the possible exception of "Oh Brother, where are thou?") I was worried, it is a pretty bold project to take on.  Afterall, the 1969 True Grit is one of the all time masterpieces of the Western genre.  Furthermore, had it not been such a success in the first place, the story of a 14 year old girl and two strange men many times her age wondering about in the wilderness is a kind of kooky plotline perhaps unsuitable for today's atmosphere of child-vulnerabilty.  

So I almost counted the days until this project arrived at my door; but simaltaneously worried that the greatest movie-making partnership in recent history had over-stretched itself.

Well, it hasn't, they haven't.  In short - and at pains not to ruin it for anyone - they have, I believe, stayed very close to Charles Portis' book.  Mr Bridges is at least as good as John Wayne - which is some achievement, as Wayne made that role very much his.  Matt Damon gives far more deoth to the Texas Ranger character than Glen Campbell ever did and Hailee Steinfeld brings a reality and credulity to the Mattie Ross role that her predecessor just never got close to.

It's beautifully made as you would expect from those that brought you "Fargo" - with extra oversight by Steven Speilberg as Executive Producer.  The soundtrack reminds me of the Ken Burns documentaries on The Civil War and The West, which brings a very evocative mood to the piece.  The atmosphere they create in the opening phase - far more carefully conveyed than the original as well - sets you far deeper into the times of the post-Civil War American West than its 1960s counterpart.  

There are very few plot departures from the first iteration.  Notably, the Texas Ranger, LeBoueff, is absent at two of the key moments in the story where he is ever Wayne-side in the original.  But overal, this film feels like a loving tribute.  It hasn't really improved on, it has reprised with new production techniques; new actors have re-evaluated and re-interpreted the characters some; and the storyline has been revisited - but it's surprising how similar the two films remain.  Amusingly Lucky Ned Pepper is played by namesake Barry Pepper who also brings new style to the role but also echoes the outstanding work of Robert Duvall in '69.

So, this is a great example of how a re-make can add value, not threaten to replace and even regenerate the original.  Well done Mr and Mr Cohen - tremendous grit!

UPDATE (14/2): A good friend of mine tried to leave this as a comment but the technology failed him.  But I felt it was worth including as it goes to a point I meant to make myself, and would have done - far less effectively though - had I not forgotten!

"But what stood out most for me was the language. This might be expected from a coen bros film, but, apparently, was mostly taken from the book.  From Screen Junkies:

"The dialogue, the formality of it and the floweriness of it is just from the book,” Ethan Coen said at a press conference for the film.  Supporting cast member Barry Pepper (as Lucky Ned Pepper), weighed in on the unique language.  “It was more like doing American Shakespeare,” Pepper said. “There’s almost like an iambic pentameter. There’s a musicality and a rhythm to the dialogue. It’s about trying to hit certain notes, maybe an irreverent falloff at the end of a line. It’s such a gift to be able to give some sort of lateral idea to an actor like, ‘Oh, I didn’t hear the musicality of the line like that.’ Just the scene blossoms, completely changes and becomes darkly humorous or odd or quirky or wonderful, bizarre.

The language in the book is based on Portis’s research of the period, so it’s probably more accurate than the westerns we usually see at the movies. Pepper had another theory: “It’s so authentic in my mind because most people were probably pretty illiterate back then”. “They were maybe schooled on the King James bible and that really infused the way they spoke. I think a lot of westerns missed that.” Ethan Coen agreed. “I’m sure Barry’s right,” he said. “You feel even more strongly reading the novel, the frame of reference for her character (as the narrator) is the King James bible."

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It's not unusual to be disapointed with political debate in Australia, but this week past - the first week of real combat in 2011 - has been especially poor in terms of political discourse.  Just as a levy breaking triggers the influx of flood waters; so this levy tax debate has triggered a flood of political idiocy.

First, I really dont see why people are so upset with a levy at all.  Ás is often the case, Australians turned charity in the wake of the floods disaster into an Olympic sport at which they could claim dominance.  The generosity was immediate, unqualified and copious.  The total as of the time of writing is $201 million, which is pretty impressive by any standards for a country of only 20 million = $10 for every man, woman and child.

So, you would imagine it wouldn't create that much of a fuss, would be in fact a slam-dunk, if the government wanted to make a levy to raise funds to assist in the reconstruction.  $200 Million will certainly help with the compensation of individuals as they rebuild their own lives, but the roads (see picture), the ports and the electricity infrastructure completely wrecked in South East Queensland - not to mention now the Yasi disaster zone - will cost a lot more than that to repair.  The total bill is expected to be a staggering $5.6 billion!

The Levy was pitched at a modest level (merely a fifth of the total bill) and is means-tested - for most the equivalent of two coffees a week for a year.  To me this addresses a couple of realities: that the huge generosity of Australians will naturally wane after the TV pictures recede with the water levels; and that while some give generously, some simply don't.  So the Levy institutionalises that generosity for a year to make sure that the state of Queensland is fully rebuilt, but also equalises and makes the national donation fair.  All pay according to their means, the miserly as well as the generous; and the rich pay their fair share proportionate to those less well off.

Not only have many whinged and complained; the political "elite" have seized on the opportunity to make political capital - and have done it very, very badly.  First, there is Premier Kristina Keneally, attempting to appeal to New South Wales voters (weeks before her impending electoral doom) by trying to make out that New South Wales voters are worse off than the rest of the country and should be excluded from the full weight of the levy.  If it wasn't such a blatant attempt to endear herself to her electorate as the ballet axe begins to fall, I would give the substance of what she said some thought - but it is, so I won't.

Then cue the master of political insensitivity, Tony Abbott, who sees in the levy another opportunity to opportunistically replay his dual broken records of "great big tax" and "school buildings rort" by opposing the levy vehemently; and rather than uniting in some kind of bi-partisanship-in-the-face-of-national-disaster...has gone for the jugular.  In fact, in doing so he lost sight of the great suffering at the heart of the debate by sending out a letter asking - instead of donations to flood victims - for donations to the Liberal party in order to fight the levy!

Personally speaking, I gave to the fund but recognise that there's going to be a lot more needed when all the television camera crews have long since flown out of Far North Queensland and people are left to rebuild their lives.  So I am happy to pay a dollar a day for a year to rebuild Queensland.  Not only mining, but agriculture and tourism all bringing in a mint for the Australian economy.  This is important stuff.

One piece of sensible commentary I do want to applaud is that of Tony Windsor, the Independent consistently the making the most sense in Canberra.  Lets have a permanent disaster relief fund next time.  Every one of the ten years I've been in Australia there has been some terrible disaster.  Some worse than others but be it bushfire, flood or storm - this is a continent ever beset by a cataclysm of one sort and we should always be prepared. 

So lets go through this debate again please; its very, very, very unseamly.

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"The balance needed for a happy life is illusory "

So occasionally you see a film blind, with absolutely no information, opinion or judgement.  It is rare, because almost always someone has led you to believe it is good or bad.  Or you've read a review, or seen it on television, or heard it on the radion.  You've usually formed a perception of a film.  Well, I managed to watch this having never heard of it and having only the blurb on the jacket to go by. I loved it.  You rarely get such a surprise in life as this when it comes to movies.

"Leaves of Grass" stars someone I think is quickly become the new John hurt.  John Hurt is such a good choice of script, you know that if he decided to do it, it's going to be good.  Ed Norton is the same.  Everything he is in is remarkable -  Kingdom of Heaven,  The Illusionist, American History X, Fight Club and 25th Hour - and this is no exception. I knew I was going to enjoy it from the opening scene (kookily with Danny De Vito's daughter!). 

Well leaves of grass is another one of those for me.  A quite marvelous movie that could have been written and directed by my favorite movie makers - the Cohen Brothers.  But wasn't.  Was actually written and directed by Tim Blake Nelson, one of the co-stars. It's about philosophy, crime, drugs, happiness, romance and it's all set amusingly in Oklahoma. 

I fell for Kerri Russell's character almost as fast as Mr Norton's did, and the cameos from Susan Sarandon and Richard Dreyfuss - two of my favourite actors - are fabulous. 

To get a movie to hit all the buttons is rare, but this one does it.  It's funny, but has danger.  It is romantic, but is dark in places.  It is thought provoking, and makes you consider - as the jacket says: "what does it truly mean to be happy?". But most of ll it has really enjoyable characters that you wish you could meet and visit.  Watch this film, and watch it soon! 

"when death is, we are not; when we are, death is not. It is therefore irrational to fear death."

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"I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. "

Invictus, by William Ernest Henley 

I was always a bit confused by "Invictus".  If anyone would make a movie about South African sport, you'd feel sure it would be about their far more impressive World Cup win in France in 2007, with a much more racially mixed side, and away from home.  Or of course the football world cup last year,  much more inclusive sport and a far bigger stage. 

I was confused because the springbok side of 1995 was almost entirely all white, except for Chester Williams, which seemed to me to represent everything about the past rather than the future.

In fact there's a scene of something I actually remember watching back in 1995, before the Springboks play France in the pouring rain; a group of black women with brooms are sent out to sweep the pitch of water, seemed to demonstrate how little had changed.  Which struck me as ironic when I perceived the whole competition to be a showcase for the "new" South Africa.

(I must say I was also very surprised to see Clint Eastwood - or any Amercian for that matter - make a movie about Rugby Union!)  So it took me a long time to get around to seeing this movie, but I'm very glad I did.

I hadn't realised the film is about the moment Mandela went out the day of the Final in the "Bokke" shirt, the very shirt that would have been proudly worn by his oppressors.  This is what united the nation.  It demonstrated and symbolised how he was able to show forgiveness, and that at once brought black South Africa behind the team they had always cheered against; and brought white South Africa behind their new - until only recently unthinkable - black President.

There are a couple of scenes that really make the movie.  When the Sprinboks are asked by Mandela to train in a series of black townships, and because of Chester - the one black player - bring the children behind them who otherwise would be playing Soccer and failing to relate to the game that was always seen as "white".  Its very moving to see the players teaching them how to play.

There is also the mechanism where the white secret police are assigned to the President's black security detail, and the developing warmth - from frosty mutual-hostility - that develops between them through the support of the national rugby team.  But the small black boy who attempts to eavesdrop on the world cup final over the white policemen's radio - at first  shunned but gradually accepted and by the end embraced enthusiastically. 

It is actually a cracking yarn.

Irony is, the victory is at the expense of New Zealand, which I understand to be the country where, in 1981, a Springbok tour ran into severe anti- aparteid grief, driving home hard the message that the racist state had become a pariah state.   

What the film doesn't discuss however is the fact that most of the world believes that the South Africans either poisoned the Kiwis, or kept them up all night by driving hooting cars around their hotel all night...or both!  

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Great movie, great cast (Harrison Ford and Liam Neesen) and a great yarn; as anything that *actually* happened often is.  Not because the plot is so much thicker or more tense, but because your suspension of disbelief is absolute and your imagination runs riot - "what was it *actually* like?" as opposed to “oh that wouldn’t happen!”

About the first soviet nuclear sub sent to perform a missile test to let president Kennedy know that mutually assured destruction was a reality.  Just a year before Cuba. 

(Kookily, I am guessing but, the film would have been made, or at least scoped, during the sinking of the K-141 Kursk in August 2000.)

It opens with these chilling facts that even for me today seem staggering.  Yet I grew up in this stark political and military scenario.  'The soviets had enough missiles to destroy the world two times over,' said the opening copy, 'the Americans ten times over. Yet they kept making them.  War was inevitable.  It was just a question of when and who first.'  That was 1961.

By 1983 - by which time Reagan was in the White House talking about the evil empire - I was only just beginning to gain political consciousness and understanding the reality of impending death any minute now, I imagine both nations could destroy the world hundreds of times over.  My father - then in the RAF - was involved in exercises in Scandanavia where opposing sides would fly million dollar jets up and down the border teasing each other, provoking each other, tempting each other.

So many people wanted war.  It is so lucky it was avoided.  (Gives us hope !)  But how much money was wasted?  And were either really wrong?  Both were flawed; both views had virtues.  There's a scene where the party Commisar lectured the crew of the sub with images of American life in the early 1960s, the cars, the appliances etc. Then the civil rights riots and the poverty.  America is still like that.  Free for the middle class, the successful, the affluent.  Not so free for the disadvantaged, the African Americans, the poor, etc. 

Meanwhile at least communism was in theory aligned to protect the poor, to ensure wealth was distributed more equally, to cater for the society instead of the individual.  I am sure were it not forced to invest so much money in protecting itself from an aggressive capitalist alliance, it might have achieved more - for humanty's benefit.  However, I am not that naive of course:  'more equal for some than for others' as in Animal Farm?

And in those 45 years, how much money was wasted in the arms race.  Where would the world be today if both sides had just focussed on their own social inequities instead of trying to reduce the other side to its knees.  Perhaps the problems of each side would have been solved if only the two sides could have pursued a live-and-let-live policy.

I know. Silly.

Interestingly - and without going into detail - faced with the choice, the crew of the K-19 chose saving the world over saving their country.  If only we were all more inclusive.

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This blog passed a few landmarks in the last couple of days, so I thought it was worth marking them - with a blog post!  It was twelve months ago this week that I honoured a new year's resolution and opened my Posterous account and began blogging. 

I had had a few attempts before but this one seems to have taken, with more than 70 posts in that time, which is more than one a week.

Just yesterday it passed 12,000 unique views.  Actual hits (the same person visiting many posts) has become impossible now to measure just how many hits that is after 60 posts (I have to do that manually by adding up the hits on each post) but all are now in triple figures and some are as many as one or two  thousand.  In the last few days, two posts even passed the 3,000 mark (this one and this one - both of which about the recent Australian Federal Election).

I'm trying to illustrate the power of blogging.  I don't have an advertising budget, i haven't taken out bill boards or pages in the newspaper.  This traffic is only the combination of social networking (Twitter and Facebook) and the wonders of SEO or search engine optimization (otherwise known as Google juice). As a communications professional, I've become very interested in this.  Dont get me wrong, I'm mainly doing this because I *love* writing.  But it's been very interesting watching the machinery evolve.  Early on, if I didn't promote a post on a social network, it would accrue almost no hits at all.  However, just the other day, one post accrued only slightly less than quite normal traffic but without any network promotion at all.  I just posted it.    While my analytics are very basic, I cannot tell where much of the traffic is coming from.  I must assume the real magic here is the tags.  I have noticed for instance, anything with the tag "Obama" can go nuts!  Also, generous mentions by bloggers commanding far larger audiences - such as Kate Carruthers - goes a long way (thanks Kate!).

As well as the sheer love of writing, and a curiosity about the medium, a key driver for setting this up was an understanding that it is a very good form of mental self-investment - akin to painting (the recommendation of the Seventh Habit of Highly effective people - sharpening the saw).  I have derived tremendous satisfaction and enjoyment from the process and would recommend it to anyyone.  However, I would say that very few of the posts have been as cathartic and rewarding as one of the very first I wrote, a year ago tomorrow, so I thought it deserved another plug as its traffic levels are sadly meagre by comparison to it's subsequent fellows.

In the year ahead I'd like to do more kooky posts like this one; and write more movie reviews like this one

If you have been reading, thanks very much for stopping by - I *really* appreciate every visit - and I hope you continue to do so:-)

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