Following on from last week's Friday Five, I've been thinking about the mesmeric influence of dancing in a club; of the wonderful vibe experienced at a rave. A lot has been written about the brutality of the mob; about how being part of a crowd can make a person lose their individuality and behave in an ugly and anti-social manner. At this point some sort of reference is made to riots, hooliganism and/or the French Revolution. But I think that sometimes crowds can have a beatific influence, and their collective nature can be a force for good. And please stop waving your phone/tablet about and ruining it for everyone else. Aren't you capable of remembering stuff? 5 Times it's good to be part of a crowd:
Music/ dancing - as discussed. Of course one can dance with oneself, but the experience is a lot different if there are 'twenty thousand people standing in a field'
Theatre/film/sport - A live audience is a wonderful thing. The shared emotion makes a film even more memorable - watching Silence of the Lambs in a cinema where the code of conduct was impeccably observed and everybody jumped at the same instant was unforgettable
Battle - That speech of Henry V wouldn't have been so inspiring if no band of brothers were there to listen
Church/vigil - Whatever your belief or religion, if you share it publicly with others through song, prayer, or silence, the feeling of togetherness is indescribable
Rally/ threat - There is power in a union: The people united will never be defeated
I think it's fair to say that I don't like reality TV. I have mentioned this before. One of my least favourite sub-genres is the competition variety. You know the type of thing, where people are pitted against each other to paint a room or build a wall and then someone wins and everyone at home thinks they could have done the same and the real decorators and stonemasons go out of business while general standards plummet.
Although I like the celebrity dancing ones (especially the ice-dancing one), I know I am no expert. This is not true of the people who routinely watch the singing shows and then feel free to critique performances about which they know nothing. It also means that we are left with chanteurs who think that to belt and warble is the epitome of 'singing' and we are left without subtlety, nuance or character. Bob Dylan or Florence Welch wouldn't make it through the first round.
With performance and artistic pursuits, a lot is left to personal preference - A might like sci-fi or farce; B might prefer romance or Jacobean drama; C might swoon at ballet and metaphysical poetry and so on. It doesn't mean any one is 'better' than the other - it just means they shouldn't be judged against each other. In 'pure' sport if you run fastest, jump highest or throw something furthest, you win. You are the best at that particular thing. Don't get me wrong, some things lend themselves to competition and this is a good thing (not keeping the score during football games because 'it's all about participation' is ridiculous!) but when subjectivity creeps in, nothing is so clear.
Acting, comedy and writing awards are often suspect. Yes, they are worth something when awarded by your peers, but often they are voted for by a partisan panel - the more friends you have in the audience; the more likely you are to win. These tributes might provide a feel-good factor, but they are relatively worthless. Entertainment is not a science; nor should it be a competition.
5 Things that should never be a competition:
Cooking - as far as I am concerned you either cook because it is your job and you are paid, or because it is a way of expressing love and friendship to those around you. Eat with me and know you are welcome. Do not judge the temperature of the soup or the slicing of the vegetables. I have prepared this gift for you in my own way.
Surgery - there will come a day when cameras go into operating theatres and viewers vote on who best wields the scalpel. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. Health is personal, although you wouldn't know it from those shows which 'expose' physical deformities and laugh at fat people. Some things should be conducted behind the curtained cubicle - pull yourself together.
Sex - it's personal and not up for discussion apart from between the relevant parties. According to late-night phone-ins (you hear a lot driving home from rehearsals) many people seem to be concerned about whether or not their sex-life is 'normal'. As long as you and your partner are happy with it, whatever you're doing, or not doing, is fine.
Raising children - I hate the use of nouns as verbs, so have resisted the urge to call it parenting. I'm sure it's pretty difficult to raise a child to be a reasonable and responsible human being. Just do your job and stop comparing yourself and your child to others. In some respects they're all the same; in others they're all different - don't bother worrying or boasting, and if you must do either, do it to yourself as no one else cares. Really.
Friendship/love - when I was little I used to refer to 'best friends'. Now I know that best is a superlative meaning 'of the most excellent or outstanding or desirable kind' there can only be one, by definition. I would now say I have many good or close friends - all of them special to me in individual ways and I love and admire them for their specific qualities. I would never try to rank one above the other. That's not how this love thing works.
On the subject of dreams (which we were) and holidays (which we have been), here are some of my dream destinations. They're all places I'd really like to go on holiday but cost a fair bit; maybe if I won a medium-sized lottery I'd blow the cash on one of these. Mind you, I suppose I would have to start buying the tickets first.
5 Dream Destinations:
Safari in Africa: It's all about the wildlife - lions; leopards; cheetahs; zebras; elephants; antelope; wildebeest and giraffes (crouching or otherwise). Whether in Botswana, Kenya, Zambia, or any other realtively stable African country, I would love to experience the stunning scenery and the play of light and colour. Those lodges look like my idea of heaven, and are way out of my price range.
Antarctica: The same but different, i.e. It's all about the wildlife, scenery and light and colour. And it would have to be seen from a (warm) cruise ship, which is way beyond my budget. My camera would get such a hammering!
South America: yup, the entire continent. I mean, it's got everything: ancient history (Incas and Machu Pichu), colonial cities, vibrant modern cities, deserts, mountains, glaciers, beaches, rainforests, waterfalls, wildlife (imagine visiting the Galapagos Islands!) and wine - and my life will not be complete until I have learned to tango in Buenos Aires. I know, it will take at least a year (and that's just learning to dance...)
Vienna: Speaking of dancing, I would love to sweep down a staircase in Vienna and glide across the ballroom in a fabulous dress dancing a waltz. The opera; the music; the architecture; the palaces; the Lippizan stallions; the cake... And I would probably take a side-trip to Budapest to see my bridge (the same design as the one in Marlow)
Uluru: specifically as a highlight of a trip on the Ghan, the train that travels from Adelaide through Alice Springs to Darwin. And I don't care how naff it is; I want to dine by candle and starlight at those tables with white linen tablecloths and know I don't have to do the washing up or the laundry!
I’ve never been a fan of opening ceremonies – I find them shallow spectacles, lacking in substance and too politically correct to actually be entertaining. I am anxious about the complete cock-up London will make of the Olympics (the sheer weight of necessary cultural touchstones will doubtless sink the enterprise), however, so I watched the opening ceremony of the Rugby World Cup with interest, and a couple of girlfriends and a bottle of two of bubbles.
It began with a karanga (the Māori call at the start of the pōwhiri – the official welcome) which was spine-tinglingly beautiful, and her frock was pretty cool too, although not ‘o for awesome’ as the commentator opined (that’s actually a Kiwi in-joke based on an intellectually challenged comment by a boxer with a left hook and a bad haircut). As she emerged from the swirling mists projected onto the central oval stage (which incorporated Scenic landscapes with Air New Zealand design motifs), she resembled the lady of the lake.
Which was apt, as it happened, as next-up appeared boats on wheels that appeared to glide across the stage representing the city of sails. The Mysterious Minx pointed out that they had holes in them and probably wouldn’t catch the breeze all that well (she’s a Sagittarius and disturbingly pragmatic). This would not have been felicitous considering the hammerhead shark graphic that proceeded to circle across the projected screen. Following the recent death of a bodyboarder due to a shark attack at a popular Western Australia surf spot, perhaps this was specifically intended to intimidate the trans-Tasman competition?
We were then treated to a thundering haka with columns of fire and red and gold flashing lights that recalled the violently geological formation of this land. The Fudge Princess mentioned that there was ‘a bit too much bum’ for her liking and that the ‘star jumps’ were ‘a bit out of time’. She claims Māori descent so is officially entitled to her opinion.
Next a small lad clad in the red and black strip of Canterbury protected a very large rugby ball from about 100 burly blokes as he negotiated scrums and tackles with the assistance of flying harnesses, bendy try-lines and some dodgy manoeuvres. I was taking notes as I fully expect the All Blacks to make use of these methods to win ‘the prize’ – represented here by a sort of gilded cage type affair. He approached the ‘mystery guest’ at the head of a ladder of top-try scorers. Jonah Lomu materialised as the embodiment of the world’s worst kept secret and encouraged the young Jeff-Wilson-look-a-like to ‘do it for Christchurch, my friend’. It was actually quite emotional and well-executed.
Not so the World in Union, which was beautifully sung but marred by drums, ukuleles and ‘freestyle’ dancers who looked like your drunken aunts and aunties at a wedding. The problem with mass participation performances is that they either look like the Nuremberg Rally or a complete shemozzle. This was the latter.
Old ‘smile and wave’ (or John Key as some people like to call the Prime Minister of New Zealand) smiled and waved and hoped that having a rugby world cup on his watch would make up for his political absence, and then the IRB dude came on and spoke both Māori and English with ridiculously improbable accents to declare the games officially open.
People called to each other on conch shells (I liked the one on the lighthouse even if the ever-practical Mischievous Minx pointed out, ‘You wouldn’t really be able to hear that’) to signify the start of the fireworks. I had heard great things about these – they were going to represent pohutukawa, kowhai and kiwis. Perhaps it was the coverage, but they looked like a damp squib.
The out-of-tune accompaniment on the recorder (or ‘squeaky tube’ as my dad used to call it, with justification based on this evidence) didn’t help, and the remote-control dancing container lifters were like something out of one of Peter Jackson’s early B-Movie attempts.
Outside the stadium, there were folk attempting Spiderman antics on the side of tall buildings, and a pipe bandon the Domain illuminated by the lights of the Auckland Museum, who could at least play in time. I’m not being fair – that bit was remarkably affecting for someone who moved 12,000 miles to get away from bagpipes!
