After Grog Blog

THE BEAR OBSESSITIES

Stump Woods: "Big history, this club, mate, oh yeah... 32 flags."

~~ Valentine's Day

The Sunday Age review for Valentine's Day, which aired last night on ABC1:

Now this is how you do feel-good. Aunty's had a couple of stabs at it this year but with Valentine's Day we finally arrive: gorgeous family drama that's funny, whimsical, warm-hearted and feels absolutely real. Rhys Muldoon is fab as Ben Valentine, the drifter manoeuvred into coaching a small town's footy team, but he's ably supported by a great cast of familiar and not-so-familiar faces. The equally fabulous Peter Temple provided the script, which snaps and sparkles. Peter Duncan (Children of the Revolution, Unfinished Sky) directs. The result is a package that perfectly captures small-town Australian life and the strange magic of Aussie rules football. There are too many highlights to list them all, but the choreography of the first footy match is worth a special mention.

Gorgeous - a hideous word.

Valentine's Day was OK. Not great, but easy enough to watch. It was certainly a far sight better than the dreary East of Everywhere and the cliché-laden quirk-by-numbers that was Bed of Roses. If you happen to stumble across it on ABC2, Foxtel or via an ABC1 repeat, give it a lash.

But.

You knew there'd be a but.

Footy details. I'm a stickler for details, and only a little bit obsessed.

The review above, and a few others I've read, not to mention Rhys Muldoon on an ABC Conversation Hour last week, referred to the show as "a package that perfectly captures small-town Australian life and the strange magic of Aussie rules football."

In essence, maybe; in reality, maybe not.

The thrust of Valentine's Day is this:

While passing through the town, Ben Valentine (Muldoon) finds himself on the wrong end of the law, but when the judge hears he has a sports background, he is given community service: to coach the local footy team, the Growlers.

(Strictly speaking, Rushworth are the Bears, but that doesn't matter, lots of clubs have secondary nicknames. I used to play for the Tooronga Malvern Panthers, but most of us called them the 'Biners, as in the Combine. In this case, the Rushworth Bears are also called the Growlers, which leads to a tidy, if ribald, sight-gag.)

Ben has been arrested, but while he's in jail the magistrate hears his name, puts two and two together, gets twenty-two, and assumes the Ben Valentine in his lock-up is the same Ben Valentine who once played "20 odd" games for "the Tigers". (The real nickname of the real Rushworth is the Tigers. Really.) It's never stated precisely which Tigers, but since Ben is referred to as "having played with the best", it's pretty obvious the writer's inference was that Ben played in the AFL for Richmond. The magistrate, who doubles as the big nob at the local footy club, then fixes the sentence so that Ben, instead of going to jail, has to do 200 hours community service coaching the local Rushworth Bears.

Got that?

Valentine's Day is based on a plot of mistaken identity. A drifter, thought to be an ex-league footballer, ends up coaching a team in Victoria... and no-one realises. No-one in a Victorian town spots that the Ben Valentine who now coaches their footy team is not the same Ben Valentine who once played "20 odd for the Tigers". On the other hand, the townsfolk DO recognise Tony Cosgrove, captain of the Tigers who comes to watch one of the Bears' games and who the real Ben Valentine had a fight with at the Tigers; a fact which popped up as No.2 on Google when a local lawyer - a hottie, naturally - does a search for Ben.

Elsewhere.

The Bears get blanket coverage on the local radio station. Now, I've played a lot of country footy in a lot of country towns and while there is certainly a call of the game on the local radio station, there is not much else; certainly not ear-to-ear talk-back.

Smokers are fake. Bet that's news! Fake smoking applies to so many television shows and movies, it's ridiculous. Surely it's well past time the makers of TV shows stopped trying to convince us their characters enjoy a gasper when quite obviously they would rather lick trees. Virtually none do the drawback, and most look about as convincing as a ten year old "smoking" a musk stick.

When is the last time any of you rocked into a small country town, rolled into the pub, and the local band didn't give you a headache?  Mel, a woman who is one of the biggest fans of the club, plays in a local band - that is not bad. Not that I've already been on the internet hunting down the soundtrack - although they do a reasonable version of the Sunnyboys' Alone With You - but it would have been much more realistic had the band been rubbish.

Mel also makes a footy mistake. The Bears need to win three out of the last four games to stay alive as a club in their own right or else they will be forced to merge with Lucan. Mel: "We need six more competition points. We gotta win three from four." Ignoring, with great restraint, the "three from four", a creeping Americanism that makes me mad, correct me if I'm wrong: the Kyabram District Football League have four points for a win. That would mean Rushworth only need to win two games. Maybe the writer, Peter Temple, is from a rugby league state; or maybe he is even from the bizarro world we call South Australia, home of two-point wins, one-point draws, and strange percentages.

Pretty much every time sport is featured in a film or on a TV show the people playing are crap. Complete scrubbers. Valentine's Day is no exception. Rushworth are awful, and I don't know why the choreography needs a special mention; unless it's a special mention, if you know what I mean. But that doesn't stop them beating arch rival Lucan in the last match, despite the Lucan players actually being able to play. They kick properly, hit targets, mark on the lead; they are proper, grown-up footballers. Rushworth looked like a bad Under 14 side made up entirely of unco fat kids.

Nor have I ever seen a player and/or coach walk down a street of a country town as everyone, not just the odd passer-by, cheers him, pats him on the back, and treats him like a rock star.

After the Great Northern Football League won the 1987 Westfarmers Championships First Division, smashing the South West 28.8.176 to 7.4.46 and I had my picture in the Guardian - the Geraldton Guardian - no crowds parted as I strode up the street.

Ungrateful bastards!

The mum of one of the guys I played with said "good win" in Coles.

HIGH AFTERNOON

Ben Wade: "Byron acts pious. Few years ago, when he was under contract to central, I seen him and a bunch of other Pinks mow down 32 Apache women and children."

~~ 3:10 to Yuma

Dan Evans (Christian Bale) is a rancher with problems: drought, debt, a son who thinks Evans is a wuss, one leg. Evans wants to clear his debt and win the respect of his son. And who knows - maybe if he completes the task, his luck will change causing it to rain and his leg to re-atta... no.

Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) is an outlaw: hot women, charm, quick on the draw, quick on the drawing, everyone likes him... well, mostly everyone if you exclude the people who want to kill him, and he has been arrested pending transfer to Yuma prison for hanging.

There's Evans' debt sorted. For $200 he volunteers to escort Wade from Bisbee to Contention where Wade can be put on the eponymous 3:10 to Yuma.

As for the respect of his son. If Evans completes the task his son will finally look down to him. (That's a gag. You'll get it when you see it.) That's because Wade's gang will be trying to stop Evans getting their boss to Contention; and where Evans will be able to demonstrate singularly cartilage-popping athleticism for a one legged man.

This version is different to the 1957 film with Van Heflin (Evans) and Glenn Ford (Wade). The Yuma 2007 has much greater emphasis on the journey from Bisbee to Contention; more blood, bullets, stunts and pyrotechnics; more is made of Wade being transported to Yuma to be hanged; and a significantly different ending. In fact, the later version's day-new-mont is barely believable. The ending here doesn't seem to fit, or be even close to necessary. I'd like one of the people involved, or a savvy critic, to explain precisely why they decided to end the film like they did. (Second thought & possible spoiler: maybe Yuma 2007 is true to the book while the makers of Yuma 1957 did a Natural and squibbed it.)

The earlier film also showed why 1950s directors like Budd Boetticher and Anthony Mann are so highly esteemed. They didn't have the technological advantages - if they can be called advantages, and not short cuts - or the freedom of expression we call swearing and splattering with blood. But within around ninety minutes they told all that needed to be told.

Not that Yuma 57 is great and Yuma 07 bad. More like Yuma 57 is pretty good and Yuma 07 is better than average. Feel free to quibble about the relative scales. Maybe it's an expectation thing. I assume lots of Fifties films will be excellent, I assume lots of Naughties films will be rubbish.

Yuma 07 has been referred to as "the best western since Unforgiven". That's like saying the A Bigger Bang is the best Stones album since Steel Wheels. Unforgiven just goes. Come on, own up - you walked out at the end, blinking, slightly puzzled, "Was that boring?" and wondering what all the fuss was about. I know I did. And there have been barely any good westerns since 1992. (Check out an under-rated TV western called The Jack Bull.)

The cast is solid. Werner Herzog is right about Crowe: "his underplaying here is in many ways as hammy as if he were overplaying, and that's just fine." Bale is suitably grim as the one-legged rancher with something to prove. Ben Foster gives good psycho as Wade's offsider Charlie Prince. Peter Fonda is better than usual as a Pinkerton's man. In the extras he makes some crack about "Acting is what us actors do." Ironic coming from someone with as dreadful a track record as Fonda; he's been in some shockers. He should consider himself lucky to have been carried by the likes of Warren Oates, Harry Dean Stanton, Jack Nicholson, to name a few. My favourite role in Yuma 07 is Dallas Robert as Grayson Butterfield. I've never heard of him before, but he does a bang up job here as a stage coach owner who accompanies Evans to Contention. I dunno. Sometimes you just like a role and I like Butterfield.

Anyway, it's better than "if you've nothing better to do" but not as good as "you must see it."

LIFE, LIBERTY AND THE PURSUIT OF LOOT

National Treasure. Sean Bean and Nick Cage set off into Canada to find the Charlotte, a treasure ship lost in the Greet White Nrrrth, where they discover a meerschaum pipe hidden in a barrel of gunpowder. Pronouncing the pipe's ornate carvings to be a code, Cage slices into his thumb, smears the stem of the pipe in blood, rolls the stem onto a piece of paper, and prints off a bloody message. The message? That there is an invisible treasure map hidden on the back of the Declaration of Independence. Sean, not at all surprised, nods sagely and decrees he must therefore steal the DOI. Nick demurs - "We can't steal the DOI!" So Sean shoots at him, locks him in the ship, blows everything up, and sets off in a snow-buggy, leaving Cage and his pal Riley for dead. But they aren't dead, are they? Noo. They managed to hide under some rotten planks, and next thing you know, without transport, they've made it back from the icy wilds of Comedia to the public service wilds of Washington DC where they attempt to warn the Library of Congress that someone is planning to steal the DOI because there is an invisible map on the back. That seems a little dubious to the head of archives at the LOC, a shapely blonde fox. Having failed to convince anyone in DC that they aren't a couple of lunatics, they instead decide to nick the esteemed document for themselves. Why? Well, because if they do, Sean can't. Quick stix, the pair of them are kitted up - think Mission Impossible meets Ocean's 11 - and have the DOI. Simple, really - too simple. While they are inflagrante thefto Sean bursts in and pumps a few rounds at Nick who shields himself with the DOI (high-cheese symbolism, that) as he jumps into a lift. Before he can scarper, though, the blonde fox becomes suspicious and tracks Nick & Riley outside the LOC where she delays them just long enough for Sean to catch up and start a car chase. Phew! That's just the first half hour. I won't spoil it for you by revealing the map is drawn with lemon juice, or anything, but it's about now things get a little far-fetched. But not for me! Bruckheimer + Action + Dumb = I like it.

Cashier: "That'll be $35."

Nick: "But I only have 32."

~~ National Treasure

Have I stumbled onto something? At one point it's said that there are 55 signitures on the Declaration of Independence. That seemed like a lot, so I had a look and guess what? By my count there are 56 John Hancocks, 57 if you count John Hancock twice. (Were there two John Hancocks?)

DUDE, WHERE'S YOUR CAR?

Crash. Not the 1996 movie of the same name, but the 2005 movie of the same name. Yes, that confused me, too. Not a bad flick, as it happens - pretty good, as far as modern cop movies go. Not great, mind, there'll be no "Maan, you gotta see Crash!" here. Too many flaws. Not the least being Brendan Fraser and Sandra Bullock who didn't pull off their respective roles. Terrence Howard, the black guy who did his nana at the car-jackers was ok, I've always rather liked him, but he was plonked him into an over-the-top situation. Ryan Phillipe? Yeah, passable I suppose. Matt Dillon was good, though - I like him. The racist bidness was a neat fit, maybe a little too neat, too pat. As for the non-linear narrative, well, they cut & paste that together rather tidily. A bang-up construction job, if that's what you like in your films.

Anthony: "You see any white people in there waiting an hour and 32 minutes for a plate of spaghetti?"

~~ Crash

RUM REBELLION

During the 1840's, Britain sends Sir William Walker to the Caribbean island of Queimada to agitate the slaves into rebelling against their Portuguese overlords. The scheming bath-dodgers want to take over the island's sugar interests.

Essentially, that's the plot of Queimada, or Burn, as it's sometimes called, a superb film from Gillo Pontecorvo of The Battle of Algiers fame. It contains a Morricone score that's close to the maestro's best, and stars Marlon Brando as the sly yet foppish Walker. And that's not all:

Walker: "The sugar cane cutters enter the city, set it afire and sack the store. The army has to intervene, 32 dead."

~~ Queimada

REMEMBER THE NUMERO

Recently watched an updated version of The Alamo. As far as I can remember it was an improvement on the John Wayne version - it was certainly shorter. But it left me with a nagging question: can Dennis Quaid act? I say not. Billy Bob was ok, as was Leon Rippy, and Jason Patric coughed a lot. Should it's scheduling coincide with your having absolutely fuck all better to do, watch it. Otherwise, hop into that vacuuming you've been putting off.

Soldier: "Brung you 32 good men, Sir."

~~ The Alamo

Bit of a trick here - this is an example of how 32 doesn't work. You see, at the Alamo there was indeed a relief column of 32 men, it wasn't made up by the writers. Keep that in mind next time you spot the number.

GET OFF MY SCREEN

Caught Air Force One on telly the other day. This film can only have been made to suck money out of teenagers and cretins. What a load of old rubbish! Harrison Ford? Well, since Blade Runner he's made 25 movies, 3 of which don't suck. Had he given it all away back then, few sane viewers would have missed his bland phiz. Working Girl, anyone? I thought not. And Gary Oldman? All ham - what a cock!

Soldier: "Counting 32 survivors."

-- Air Force One

They save President Ford, don't you know. "Liberty Two Four is now Air Force One!" Yaaay! goes the war-room. I'm sorry - did I spoil it for you?

ELEMENTARY

Sorry, been neglecting my obsessions.

Madame Valladon: "I have finally decided to go to that address."
Holmes: "32 Ashdown Street?"

-- The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes

THE HOARSE WHISPERER

From 24, which after a soft second series, and a dire first half to the third, is hitting it's straps.

Kiefer Sutherland: "We've alerted agencies in 32 countries."

-- 24

CASINO BOOGIE

From a TV show that started out great, but has upped the shtick factor and gets stupider every week.

James Caan: "You comped them 32 hundred dollars?"

-- Las Vegas

TAKE NOTE

Trumpeter Jack George tells another trumpeter Jack Benny (an angel on earth) when it's his turn to solo:

Jack George: "That's you man."

Jack Benny: "There's nothing there for 32 bars."

-- A Horn Blows at Midnight

Naturally, Benny did his bemused hero shtick and the film was OK, pretty good in fact. And Franklin Pangborn rocks - in a mincey pooncey sort of way. Like the tuxed up, pencil moustache gayer in The Simpsons. "Yeeeee-oorrrce."

Other than that I've only seen To Be or Not to Be, which I loved and It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, which is a lot better than it's reputation as a massive howler flop, but are there any other good Jack Benny films? It would appear from his IMDb list he's a lot bigger than he deserves to be? Or not to be. Boom. Tish.

PRYOR WARNING

Seeing Richard Pryor's name -- not my favourite comedian, but his angry/bemused stand-up shtick was bloody funny -- reminded me of something from Tuesday night:

Probation officer: "Next!"

Enter Pryor holding up his waiting room ticket - No.32.

-- Another You

This dud was no doubt an attempt to recreate the successful -- I think -- pairing of Gene Wilder and Pryor. Maybe even a generous producer was cajoled into giving the hard-to-work-with Pryor a gig as his career disappeared down the toilet. Generous producer? Yeah, right.

Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed Silver Streak, which was the first time they appeared together in a film.

However, Stir Crazy milked the first and while it started out well enough, without the strong(ish) support cast of Silver Streak -- Patrick McGoohan, Jill Clayburgh, Ned Beatty, Ray Walston, Scatman Crothers -- relied too heavily on Wilder and Pryor, ultimately falling flat. It had the feel of a telly movie.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil was an obvious attempt to wring blood out of a turkey. You'd think they would have gotten the message.

They didn't. Ignoring the fact I'd never even heard of Another You, the 25 minutes I spent watching found me continually searching for sign of Pryor's crack-cident, and the rest of the time wondering why Gene Wilder looked about 80.

But maybe I made a mistake. Maybe the remaining hour and a half was pure comedy gold.

DUCK AND COVER

Saturday night I recorded the apocalypse pending film, On The Beach. Not the original, but the 2000 telly movie.

Now, I've never read Neville Shute's book so I can't vouch for it's impact, especially 50 years down the track, but I've always thought the original -- which often attracts the sobriquet classic -- extremely overrated, while this Aussie remake, watched on heavy fast forward, was just appalling. Especially Bryan Brown.

Never. The. Less.

Rod Mullinar: "Which gives Melbourne what?"

Armand Assante: "32 days minimum."

-- On The Beach

Q.1) Has Assante EVER been in a good film?

Q.2) Has Russell Mulcahy EVER made a good film?

YELLOW ALERT

Homer: "Vote YES on Two 32."

-- The Simpsons

Followed by numerous other mentions.

(Great headline for a baby crisis ... The Tot Offensive.)

DIVE TALKING

Jack Ryan: "The ship is called the Red October in reference to the Oktober revolution of 1917. A variant of the Typhoon Class, she's 650 feet long and 32,000 tons submerged displacement."

-- The Hunt For Red October

The movie-version Red October is supposedly smaller than the standard Russian Typhoon Class submarine, which is 33,800 tons displacement.

THIRTY TWO

I don't do drugs or booze. Any more. I don't ogle women. Much. I don't molest school kids. Worse, I teach them. I don't drool over bad porn. Good porn, though ... oops.

I don't wash my hands eighty-three times a day, brush my teeth for thirty-two minutes or floss with old fishingline if no string is available.

I stack my food in rows - tins there, packets there, jars there. That shelf's for spreads, that one's for spices, that one's for sauces, that one's for bickies.

I always buy the same brands. Never generic. Nothing with Dick Smith's face on it. La Gina tomatoes, Sirena Chilli Tuna, Atlantic Dark Rye - NOT Light, Nutella, Piazza D'Oro Premio, Lemon Spree, Palmolive Gold, Colgate original - NO stripes ... shudder ... they twist. I even take them on holiday. Including utensils and stove top espresso pot.

I eat my meals in a set order. Vegetables, smallest to largest, never mixed, then meats. Always.

The dishwasher is neatly stacked, as are the fridge, washing machine, car boot. Papers are neatly folded. Empty cans, bottles and jars are washed. Can't put out a messy bin.

Very occasionally I'll do the crossword if someone else has started it. On the other hand, I stop if I've made a mistake. And I never do it in pencil.

I hang my clothes on colour-coded hangers.

On the dark and violent side, I do have a serious problem with the glugging of pouring liquid. Tea out of a pot especially. I suppress an urge to ki ... get angry ... when stinking, inconsiderate, disgusting peasant oafs slurp their drinks. Same when ignorant slobs eat with their filthy, gap-toothed, mal-odorous mouths open. And as for whistling? STOP IT!

All up, pretty normal wouldn't you say? That's not to say I'm entirely sane. I do have one mild ... very mild ... obsession -- the number Thirty-Two.

I don't mean 32 as an everyday statistic. Not like the last time India played Australia at the MCG and Steve Waugh made 32 in both innings. The Russian T34 tank -- mysteriously not a T32 -- weighed 32,000 kilograms. The AFL next year will put 32 million Oxford Scholars into developing Aussie Rules nationwide. Bruce Lee died at 32. Adam Vinatieri kicked the winning goal in this year's Superbowl for a winning score of 32. Murali was called for chucking 32 years after Ian Meckiff. It took 32 years for the Queensland Nationals to lose power in 1989. Collingwood fans had to wait 32 years for an end to the Collywobbles in 1990, hopefully it'll double. Parliament's Jesus jumper, Sid James was 32. Shane Warne's figures first day back? 2 for 32. Australia won the America's Cup 132 years after the US won it in 1851. Scott Wickstein's 32.

No - that's not what I'm talking about, that's all circumstantial.

I'm talking about -- in fact exposing ... whistleblowing even -- Film 32. A number that continues to appear in the scripts of movies and TV shows:

Tommy Lee Jones: "How old was Newman?"

Kate Nelligan: "32."

-- US Marshalls

Actor Tom Wood was 35.

See where I'm coming from? There are obviously many references to 1, 10, 100, etc but they're all big-moment numbers. 32 is just any old number that somehow keeps reappearing. Why?