Friday Five: Even Crosser Stitch

Here are another five of my latest cross-stitch creations. The first four patterns and explanations are taken from Really Cross Stitch; for when You Just Want to Stab Something a Lot by Rayna Fahey.

'Aside from tractors, colour photography and whiskey, Ireland's greatest contribution to the world has to be Father Ted. Set on a fictional remote island, the television series revolves around three priests banished for previous misdemeanours. One episode stood out from the rest, when the local cinema screens a 'blasphemous' film. Father Ted leads the defence of community values.

'Down With This Sort Of Thing' was Father Ted's placard, and has become an old faithful on the Irish protest circuit. It can be used for any occasion, to be sure, to be sure.'

'The thing about snowflakes is, get enough of them in one place, add a bit of fury, and you've got yourself a blizzard. Blizzards may begin with a flutter but once they get going they have the power to bring cities to a standstill.

When the best response the entitled can come up with is to compare you to a benign and natural phenomenon, it's a pretty good sign you're winning the argument. And that their binary macho principles are ridiculous.'

'Indigenous peoples worldwide are the first to pay the price for climate change, yet contribute the least to its causes. Luckily for the future of our lovely planet, indigenous peoples are also the first to stand up and defend this beautiful place we call Earth. 

The battle lines of the war against climate change are being defended daily as people take direct action to save forests, rivers and oceans. From Standing Rock to the Galilee Basin, from the tar sands to the trade summits; the fight to stop climate change is shaping up to be the most creative and effective movement in our history.'

"To the wrongs that need resistance,to the right that needs assistance, to the future in the distance, give yourselves." - Carrie Chapman Catt (Suffragette)

For over 150 years women have led movements for one basic idea: participation in democracy is a right that belongs to everyone. While the debate's nuances have evolved, the idea remains strong. Of course the opposition to the movement is also ongoing. The anti-suffragettes of the 19th century had an appalling sense of humour and their cartoons are always good for a laugh. But the laughter turns bitter when we think about the relentless attacks on women we still face.

These just happen to be a couple of creative efforts I made and gave to a friend. The book, Mornington Crescent (AUD25 + p&p) is my own labour of love. The cross-stitch is a reference to spoon theory, and how, when the emotional drawer is empty, one can just feel like stabbing something a lot. It's also a warning. All cross-stitch is, in its way; it's quietly subversive, rebellious way.

Picking up the Pieces: The Mao Case

The Mao Case by Qiu Xiaolong

Sceptre

Pp. 289

With this novel set in Shanghai and Beijing, Qui Xiaolong introduces us to cities of growth and contrasts where modern mores sit alongside past rituals. This is a world of art and culture; teahouses and calligraphy; corrupt officials and Triad gangs; opera and poetry; ‘Big Bucks’ and ‘little concubines’; street food and emperor’s places; ballroom dancing and Buddhist scripture. And above or below everything, there is the shadow of Mao and the Cultural Revolution.

There are five previous outings for Chief Inspector Chen, but this reads perfectly well as a stand-alone novel. Chen is relieved of his regular duties to focus on a special case which may or may not involve Chairman Mao. “A case concerning Mao could have unpredictable consequences, possibly serious ones for the cops involved.” Shang Yunguan was a 1950's movie queen who became one of Mao’s many dancing partners before falling from grace and, with her daughter Qian, being denounced in the Cultural Revolution. Now her daughter, Jiao, is causing suspicion through her affluent lifestyle of parties and painting and it is feared she may be in possession of material that could harm the Party. If Chen doesn’t solve the case soon, Internal Security will become involved, and then it really will be game over.

Jiao spends a lot of time in the company of older men, which is not in itself exceptional. The practice of ‘Big Bucks’ keeping young women as concubines is commonplace. They party at an old mansion frequented by ‘Old Dicks’ obsessed with the 1930's and English manners. The treatment of women is problematic – a plot point hinges on a young women being used as bait; she will be harmed but the police will gain information so this is acceptable.

Chen, as a “capable and honest cop” was “a rarity in an age of wide-spread corruption”. He also writes poetry and so is the right person to decipher whether there is anything in the verse Mao wrote which could be personally or politically compromising. The attitude to Mao is an interesting one. The book’s dedication is, ‘For the people that suffered under Mao’. These were indisputably horrific times, and China’s attempt to come to term with this period of its history is one of progress rather than reflection. Chen understands that for the younger generation, who are not personally affected by the horrors and the massacres, Mao is becoming a mythical figure. “The past is now seen as a sort of golden Mao period where there was no gap between the rich and poor, no rampant Party corruption, no organised crime and prostitution, but instead there were free medical insurance, stable pensions, and state-controlled housing.”

Many things are altering in this new world, from attitudes to buildings. There is apparent affluence, but as in the past, it is not equally distributed. “In the fast-changing city, the gap between the rich and the poor was once again expanding. The newspapers and magazines had started talking about a harmonious society, all of a sudden and all at once, like never-tiring cicadas in the trees.” Chen is disconcerted by the modifications to a city he once knew and doubts they are entirely for the better.

The novel picks up pace in the final quarter – there are murders to be solved after all – but for most of its length it meanders through poetry and the past, as Chen reflects on his ex-girlfriend and previous experiences. Although the plot feels a little perfunctory, the setting of the novel is clear and precise, and everything is overshadowed by the spectre of Mao and his legacy.

Friday Five: Date Nights

Cascara Cherry Bomb Sour! by Capital Brewing Co.

We're very busy. Other than working full-time jobs, he does brewing and I do theatre. We are on committees for these things. We also try to fit in exercise. It can be tough to find the time to spend together without just sitting on the sofa in a state of exhaustion. So we have instigated a night a week where we go out and do a thing together. It doesn't have to be a big thing - but it is our thing. We enjoy each other's company and need to make time for us, rather than letting all our other concerns take priority. We alternate between who gets to choose the activity/ venue; sometimes we are more creative than at others. You can probably guess who chooses which. We are having fun.

5 Recent 'Date Nights':

1. Capital Brewing launch of Cascara Cherry Bomb Sour! - Capital is a great summer after-work spot, with lots of space to sit outside and relax. It's very casual and welcoming to all - cyclists; families; dogs; drinkers... it's very inclusive. Handily located near not a lot of anything else, it is a true destination venue. We went for launch of their latest beer: the Cascara Cherry Bomb Sour! It's a kettle-soured collaboration with Ona coffee and, at less than 3% abv, it's a perfect drink for a summer afternoon, and you can still drive home. Or stay and have a session.
2. Vice at Palace Electric - We went to our favourite cinema to see this film written and directed by Adam McKay about the crucial years in the life of Dick Cheney. It that made me angry. The film is well-acted (Christian Bale is notable as the former U.S. vice president) and the direction excellent; the politics are despicable. It took all of my self restraint not to boo most of the characters. Now I just have to try and unclench my jaw. I disliked the very end (please stop insulting my intelligence; I can draw my own comparisons without them being spelled out to me) but the fly-fishing lures at the end credits were a nice touch.
3. The Brindabella half-price pizza - It's a golf-club watering-hole, with beautiful views over the greens (is that what they're called?). There are parrots in the trees, there is good beer on tap, the pizzas are half-price on Wednesdays, and it's within easy walking distance of our house (downhill on the way home). What more could you want?



Chilli Prawns Pizza at The Brindabella

4. Permanent O-course, Weston Park - So much more fun than I remember this being as a child. I may have finally overcome my pathological aversion to orange and white triangles. Him Outdoors and I took turns in navigating around a lovely park in the soft light of the evening with kangaroos for company, and finished it off with bubbles by the lake and fish and chips. 



Him Outdoors finds the prize!

5. Tim Minchin at The Canberra Theatre Centre - The gig was amazing. The man is phenomenal: talented; witty; angry; edgy; passionate; funny; charismatic; good-looking; intelligent; mischievous; sensitive... Shall I go on? (Him Outdoors says 'no'.)

In Homer's Shadow: Bridge of Clay

Bridge of Clay by Markus Zusak

Picador

Pp. 579

It has been highly publicised how long it took Markus Zusak to write this book, and the implication is always that it means a lot to him and is a labour of love. That is entirely understandable, but, at almost 600 pages, it reads as if he doesn’t know where to start, or finish, or even what to say.

The novel revolves around five boys growing up in a semi-rural suburb in New South Wales. Their mother, Penelope, died a long slow death from cancer and their father, Michael, abandoned them to deal with his grief alone. He returns asking for assistance to build a bridge so that he can get to and from his remote dwelling place on an island. Metaphor, much? Most of the boys refuse outright to help, but Clay offers to go with him, although he knows this will involve a severe beating at the hands or fists of his brothers when he comes home.

The oldest boy, Matthew, narrates the story, although he claims it belongs to Clay. The boys are hard to tell apart because they don’t do anything demonstrably different from each other – they all fight and drop out of school. Matthew tells us about them, rather than allowing their actions to individualise them. Thus we learn that he is the breadwinner of the family (although we are not exactly sure what he does; is he a labourer?), Rory is the biggest bruiser who likes a drink, Henry likes 80s films, and Tommy collects animals: a cat (Hector), a goldfish (Agamemnon), a pigeon (Telemachus), a cat (Hector) and a mule (Achilles).

Clay (he of the bridge building) is the quiet one. He is in training, although it is not specified for what. He runs a lot and fights. He also has a relationship with a young jockey, Carey (they live by a racetrack), which seems to involve them lying on an old mattress and him being tickled by her hair. They give each other cryptic gifts (a lighter; a broken peg; an old book) and speak in what are presumably meant to be deep aphorisms, but sound like the bits S.E. Hinton thought were too naff for one of her Young Adult novels. Incidentally, this is the first of Zusak’s novels to be promoted as general fiction rather than for young adults. The distinction appears to be length rather than content, as the general world of the teenage boys is no grittier than the setting of The Book Thief.

As the names might suggest, this is clearly meant to be an homage to Homer. The boys’ mother, Penelope Lesciuszko is a refugee from Europe, impelled by her father, Waldek, to escape the tyranny of totalitarianism. Her imagination has been formed by the 39 books Waldek owns, especially his copies of The Iliad and The Odyssey. Homeric epithets may work in epic poetry but the same descriptors (clear-eyed Cary Novak; warm-armed Claudia Kirkby), sonorous syntax and sentence length are tiresome in this novel.

Zusak plays with chronology, suggesting that nothing is straightforward, but the segments (each headed with font that looks as though it was typed on an old typewriter, as we are led to believe it was) are very short – often not more than a couple of paragraphs – and it is sometimes hard to tell where we are in the story. The Odyssey was spoken aloud and passed on to other narrators; Bridge of Clay simply has a number of unnecessary tricks which pall far too fast. Each statement is written as a new line, and the foreshadowing is overbearing.

“After all, Penelope would die.

Michael would leave.

And I, of course, would stay.

Before any of that could happen, though, he would teach me and train me for Hartnell.

This was going to be great.”

The narrative seems needlessly convoluted in structure merely to create suspense by with-holding information. One reviewer described it as ‘Bridge of Delay’, and the revelations are not worth the wait – Michael is described as The Murderer for several hundred pages before it becomes clear that his ‘crime’ was to leave the boys after his wife died. By this time I am past caring. When Matthew tells the story of Penelope and Michael (and Abbey, the woman Michael loved before he met Penelope), the novel is interesting. They met when Penelope’s piano was wrongly delivered to Michael’s house. He writes ‘Please Marry Me’ on the keys, and long after their presence has gone from the house, the faded writing on the notes reverberates as the piano remains as one of those resounding symbols Zusak so enjoys.

Clay is interested in his parents’ pre-occupations, including their obsession with Michelangelo and building. The brief chapters on the bridge-building could be interesting but they are crushed beneath the weight of their own metaphor. We learn more about how manly (stupid?) they are as they dig out earth and rocks with their bare hands and sleep under the stars in the riverbed. All too soon we are back to the rest of the family with their fighting and inarticulate relationships.

Matthew writes, “It’s a mystery, even to me sometimes, how boys and brothers love.” Despite the lengthy story presented here, it remains a mystery to me too. As annoying teenagers used to say, ‘build a bridge and get over it’. I loved The Book Thief. I shall remember Zusak as the author of that and put this down to an over-engineered folly.

Shepherd Island Discs

Umbagong Park

Today I went for a walk, as I often do in the later afternoons and evenings. The clocks go back tomorrow, so there will be fewer opportunities to get out in the coming months. My knees don't like to run anymore but I still love to get out in the fresh air, and I usually listen to podcasts as I walk around the parks and back roads.

Desert Island Discs is one of my favourite podcasts, and today, as the sun lowered towards the horizon and inflamed the branches of the autumn trees I listened to an episode from a couple of months ago featuring James Rebanks, Shepherd and Writer. He mainly talked about Herdwick sheep, The Lake District, and farming in general, as you would expect. I like these things, and he was erudite and interesting about them, his family, and the education he embarked upon later in life. 

He had sound musical choices (by which I mean I liked them all, apart from Johnny Cash). He chose tracks by Kirsty MacColl, Nina Simone, Pulp, and Billy Bragg & Wilco. I was a bit disappointed that he chose Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea as his book and said that he didn't really want The Bible or the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. He claims to be a writer, so surely even if he has no interest in religion or sixteenth-century drama, he can appreciate the stories and the storytelling within these literary canons. 

What really stood out for me in the program, however, was a throwaway comment that he made. He said he had read somewhere that the average British child today spends less time outdoors than the average prisoner. I looked into this when I got back indoors and found a survey from 2016 which seems to verify this. I was shocked. 

I love being outdoors and I did as a kid. Climbing trees, riding my bike, playing a peculiar version of badminton, walking by the river, even just sitting on the grass and making daisy chains are some of my favourite childhood memories, and the basis of some of my earliest friendships. Being outdoors and breathing fresh air restores my mental and physical health. I know that some places are too polluted to enjoy these environmental benefits and that I am lucky to live where I do. 

And yet, it's true that I rarely see young folk playing outside, despite the beautiful scenery, parks and open spaces that make up this Bush Capital of Canberra. My walk takes me past this rather odd sculpture of a group of kids playing football. They are regularly given different shirts to wear, dressed up warmly in winter, and treated to Santa hats at Christmas time. People obviously care about them and in some strange way want to incorporate outdoor play into their community. Sadly, these motionless mannequins are displaying way more activity than most young people today.

Cross-Cultural Chekov: Hotel Sorrento

Hotel Sorrento by Hannie Rayson

Eltham Little Theatre Inc

Eltham Little Theatre, 15 Feb - 2 March 2019

Australian amateur theatre groups love Hannie Rayson’s Hotel Sorrento, with good reason. It is by a local playwright with resolutely Aussie themes and it features strong roles for women (who make up most of the auditionees in community theatre).

The story centres on the Moynihan sisters who grew up together in the seaside town of Sorrento. Hilary (Alison Jones) still lives in the family home with her father, Wal (Roderick Chappel) and her teenage son, Troy (Mason Frost); Pippa (Michelle Cooper) is a businesswoman visiting from New York; and Meg (Sharenya S Kumar) is a successful writer who has returned from England with her husband, Edwin (James Chappel). When the three sisters are reunited after ten years apart, they feel the constraints of family life and sibling rivalry as ancient grudges and old grievances re-emerge.

Middle sister, Meg, has written a book which is shortlisted for the prestigious Booker Prize, and has set the local community alight. Neighbour, Marg (Chris Perkins) is fascinated by the details within; her friend, Dick (Peter Helft), is offended by what he sees as Meg’s dismissal of her background; and all concerned want to know how much is ‘true to life’ in the semi-autobiographical fiction. Hotel Sorrento is largely about family ties and the reliability of collective memory; the main focus is the relationship between three sisters and who has the right to tell their story, so it is a great positive that these relationships worked well.

Hannie Rayson creates plausible characters, and through their interactions, she layers the text with deeper social concerns. It’s a lot of responsibility, but the trio shoulder it admirably and present a solid grouping, despite some different acting choices. Alison Jones brings a calm patience and warmth to the role of Hilary; her gentle mannerisms a delight to watch as she embodies so much more than she says. Sharenya S. Kumar is a touch melodramatic as Meg; although the flamboyance may suit the character, it feels at times as though she is performing in a different play, or perhaps a musical or pantomime. Much needed naturalism is introduced by Michelle Cooper as Pippa, whose every facial and bodily gesture expresses a range of emotion from frustrated resentment to unbridled amusement.

Alison Jones as Hilary and Michelle Cooper as Pippa

The question of storytelling – who gets to do it and who owns the narrative – is approached from many angles ranging from personal and intimate to political and global, and everyone gets their say. In a 2014 interview, Hannie Rayson explained, “Who has power, how do they wield it and who suffers at the hand of it, are questions [that] always interest me. So I go to the family to explore them. I understand it in a family context. I can take the audience with me on that and make the links between what we understand in our known worlds with how the tensions might express themselves politically, in a bigger national canvas.”

In this production, directed by Kath Buckingham, the impulse to expand every metaphor proves a hindrance. The set (designed by Phil Holmes and Brad Buckingham) is too crowded with all the elements given equal weight and therefore jostling to find space. The conflicted characters in Hotel Sorrento spend a lot of time internalising their thoughts and emotions while gazing out to sea; the surrounding ocean is a strong image with its omnipresent ebbing and flowing and relentless energy, and the scenes on the edges of the stage are those that work best when actors and characters alike are unencumbered by furniture and free from physical and metaphorical restrictions. It would be satisfying to see them given greater release.

Troy (Mason Frost), Hilary (Alison Jones), Edwin (James Chappel), Dick (Peter Helft) and Meg (Sharenya S. Kumar)

Meg and Edwin’s interchanges before they leave England are conducted at the back of the stage with poor lighting and projection, which makes them difficult to see and hear. Similarly the pivotal scene where Hilary connects tenderly with Troy is handled sensitively by both actors but undone by awkward staging. The indoor/ outdoor effect of the porch of the house opening directly onto the dining room/ kitchen is confusing and hampers the speed of action as actors cannot move seamlessly from one location to the next. Lighting changes are slow, with some scenes held for far too long whereas a quick snap change would help with pacing.  Many lines are lengthened and several cues are late leading to dialogue, which should be fast-paced interchanges, instead becoming ponderous and dragging the narrative down.

Sharenya S. Kumar as Meg with James Chappel as Edwin

The theme of cultural cringe is a contentious one. It was a timely topic in 1990, but a quarter of a century later, these lengthy debates seem somewhat unnecessary. The scenes in which Marge and Dick argue over identity and (ex-)patriotism, and their introduction to the family dinner table to swap stereotypical slurs are the weakest moments of the play. This is no fault of the actors (Chris Perkins and Peter Helft handle their expositional roles with charm and commitment), but rather due to the fact that we have moved on to such an extent that these once-fresh discussions now seem tired and clichéd.

Indeed, Hannie Rayson herself said several years ago, “If I were producing the play now for performance, I would cut most of the references to the cultural cringe in relation to Britain. That time has passed… I think Australia has a pretty robust sense of self. The swagger born of insecurity about our cultural worth has all but disappeared”. She continued, “Hotel Sorrento was a play I wrote very early in my writing life. I think it is structurally flawed and expresses much of my inexperience as a dramatist… It was a journey of the soul, and even though I now think it's clunky in part, it's strange because actors, directors and audiences love it. It is my most produced play. It has had hundreds of productions.”

The reasons for that are still clear, and it is largely due to the humanity of the three sisters. Like Chekov’s multi-faceted counterpoints they are flawed and repressed, and often unable to express their feelings for each other and the situations they find themselves in. But they are also bright and funny and deep and complex and we know them; in fact we are them and we are ineffably drawn into their circle of light.

The cast of Hotel Sorrento

FFF: Cultural Inappropriation

Last night I went to see a film at the Alliance Française French Film Festival. The film, The Trouble with You/ En Liberté was fine – it was a typically Gallic comedy/ thriller/ romance involving a corrupt cop, wrongful imprisonment, comedic crime capers, and slightly ditzy women who enjoy being subjugated.

The problems I had were not with the film itself, but with the audience and the screening experience. As a member of the Church of Wittertainment, I am a dedicated follower of the Code of Conduct with its strict guidelines on cinema-going etiquette (turn off all mobile phones; turn up on time; don’t talk during the film; do not eat or drink anything audible – soft rolls alone are permitted as nourishment etc.). These are broken way more often than I would like, but at this particular screening, the rules were broken more than they were observed.

To begin with, the lights were not extinguished until about 20 minutes into the film. I suspect the person in charge (I realise the days of projectionists are long gone, and now the head mech merely presses a button on a desk) forgot to run the trailer reel, as the film also finished about twenty minutes before the running time on the ticket. I could have gone and asked someone to dim the lights in the auditorium, but I would have had to find someone and, as there was a function going on in the cinema foyer, this would probably have proved difficult, and I would have missed a good ten minutes of the film.

Secondly, there was a lot of implied sex and violence in the film. Now, I appreciate that it was cartoon violence (indeed the title credits appear as ‘zap! kapow! comic-book graphics’), but people get shot, stabbed and punched; ears are bitten off; deep gashes are stitched back together; robberies are committed with gigantic sex toys and scenes are set in S&M brothels. There is also a mild-manner serial killer who keeps bringing bags of dismembered body parts into the police station only to be ignored by the love-struck inspector. Unsurprisingly, this is billed as a certified M film.

The M certification in Australia is defined as ‘not recommended for children under 15 years’. Two young girls (about six years old I’d guess) were running about in front of the screen. Their parents fed them huge buckets of exceptionally noisy popcorn and left them to it. At the end of the film one child commented, ‘I closed my eyes and covered my ears for some bits of it.’ Their parent laughed.

Indeed, there was a lot of laughter throughout the film – huge, raucous, bellyaching guffaws. It was a mildly amusing film, which would have just about passed the six laughs test, but it certainly didn’t justify this level of merriment and ribaldry. I had to wonder whether this excessive laughter at things that weren’t especially funny was an example of people attempting to prove that they are cosmopolitan because they can be amused by a film in French.

There was a lot of movement throughout the film, with people constantly coming and going, waving to each other, bringing in huge platters of cheese and cold meats, talking and refilling glasses throughout the entire session. I wondered whether the audience would behave this way if the film were in English. Did they not expect people to want to hear the words because it was in a foreign language? Or was it because the lights remained up for so long that it gave them the feeling that they were at a drive-through?

To be fair, when I lived in France and saw V.O. English films, I experienced similar lack of respect and breaking of the code. I could not hear the words and so had to read the French subtitles to understand what was being said in an English film. This intrigues me as being the reverse of people behaving badly abroad; are they are behaving badly in their own country because they are being presenting with an alternative cultural experience at home? Does a foreign language relive repression and encourage people to open up to more libertine behaviour? Or was this particular audience just in a state of advanced refreshment?