My Year Without Sex (It’s a film, people)

I’ve decided to write about my favourite Australian film for this year after Louis Nowra went and hated on Australian Film (capitals most certainly required) in the society and culture magazine, The Monthly. (Honestly, I hear that title and I just shudder, imagining 1960s Maiden Aunts whispering to young nieces, “have you got your monthlies yet?”... I digress...)

The cast of "My Year Without Sex" (L-R) Portia Bradley as Ruby, Matt Day as Ross, Sacha Horler as Natalie and Jonathan Segat as Louis

So Nowra was none too impressed with the this, or really any years’ films (link to the online preview of the article here: http://www.themonthly.com.au/monthly-essays-louis-nowra-nowhere-near-hollywood-preview-australian-film-2178) In the full article, Nowra writes that after deciding to sit down to watch most of the Australian films released this year, he found they suffered a "monotonous bleakness", adding that they are "so dispiriting that they make Leonard Cohen seem positively cheery". Basically, if Australian films were personified, according to Nowra, they’d be beige-clad emo kids, who all just stand, dull and gloomy in the corner.

I haven’t, like Nowra, sat down to immerse in all that the Australian film industry has offered us in 2009. So basically, I’m pontificating and generalising without being truly educated (always a dangerous situation). However, I’ve watched enough Australian films from previous years, and I tend to agree with him, up until a point. Australian films can be terribly grim and unsatisfying, and for some reason, the more grim and unsatisfying they are, the more props they receive from critics and the public alike. Think “Jindabyne” (2006) where there’s a lot of cold, empty angst, and killer/rapists get to roam free amongst the sub-alpine scenery. Or “Noise” (2007) where there’s further random, unresolved death (albeit this time in grim cheerless suburban Melbourne). And, in Noise, just to really make sure you feel like someone swiped the final bite of your sandwich, it’s kept deliberately ambiguous as to whether Brendan Cowell’s protagonist character lives or dies (personally, I hope he died. He was a jackass).

I know that some argue that this speaks to a certain “sophistication” that these films possess. “All films don’t have to be neat Hollywood narratives!” the wanky-film crowds cry. But before you go all Margaret-and-David on me and start defending the depth and realism of Australia’s films, I want to make a few points: Firstly, even though your film is wrought, probably involving dead/dying/emotionally disconnected relatives, it doesn’t mean it’s good. Secondly, resolution doesn’t actually cheapen a story. Austen managed to resolve her narratives. So did Dickens. Hell, Shakespeare achieved ultimate resolution in almost every play, either marrying or killing everyone off. No one’s accused him of being some populist schmaltzy sell-out. Anyway, my point is that a narrative can still be interesting, thought-provoking and successful even as it is resolved. Finally, elements of “happy” and “funny” doesn’t automatically = Rob Schiender’s “The Animal”. Films can be make you laugh and still be intellectually rigorous. The Australian film industry needs to get on this concept.

I would like to use Sarah Watt’s film “My Year Without Sex” (2009) as an example of an Australian film that is sweet and quirky and fun but also incredibly believable, challenging and emotionally nuanced (simply setting the tone of your film at “grim” does not make it nuanced. It feels like you’re getting hit over the head with a hammer). “My Year Without Sex” offers the audience a myriad of emotional notes – there are some very dark, scary moments in this film but the key to its ultimate success is that they are tempered with “happy”, often ironically gorgeous other moments. A clear example of this occurs when Natalie and Ross’ children, Louis and Ruby, reveal a giant “Welcome Bunny!” sign moments after Ross, having forgotten to buy any chocolates for Easter, says that they (his kids) probably don’t still believe in/care about the Easter Bunny and all the chocolately goodness that the said bunny brings. The film then cuts to Ross, at the local servo, picking through the remaining four, broken chocolate rabbits.

Welcome, Bunny

So, Louis Nowra, there was at least one fantastic, non-grim film made in 2009. And it's important to note that the Australian film industry will only become more interesting and complex if more films like “My Year Without Sex” are made.

“My Year Without Sex” – available now at all good video shops (I grew up in the 90s. I’ll be renting DVDs from “video” shops forever).

Esther xx

Pursuits of a Bibliophile

When I was young, I was always the shy girl in the corner with her head tucked away in a book. Not much has changed! Being a lover of literature has obviously led me to read as many books as possible. Which makes for a lot of reading. Reading that comes with many benefits to a dreamer like myself. Anyone who knows me is aware of my love for all things old, which has led to a natural inclination to read the classics. I’m sure many of you can relate to the fantasies of Regency dress that entered your head whilst reading Pride and Prejudice or the longing for a lover who would profess grand statements of love in the flowing language of a Shakespearean character.

It isn't just the text I'm interested in, I love the whole package of a book. Surely the aged, faded form of an old book emphasizes this journey into the past. The art enthusiast in me can’t go past the nostalgic charm of an antique book. While some can’t wait to get the latest mp3 player, I drool over the embossed leather covers, if you’re lucky some quaint illustrations, and yellowed pages with the inscription of their first owner’s name.

Doesn’t this seem a bit more exciting that yet another cheap paperback? I am often amused by the re-packaging of classics. The same title given a flashy new cover to align itself with the contemporary books on the shelf. This doesn’t fit the romantic, adventure-filled and classic tales that these texts narrate. I recommend to all youthful readers out there to rummage through their relatives’ bookshelves. There is bound to be a lovely copy of Shakespeare or Austen hidden away, and unwanted and unappreciated. These beautiful books are just waiting to be opened and enjoyed by an enthusiastic reader like myself.

I went home the other night in pursuit of said family treasures. This year I studied works by Milton and Dickens at university, published in modern paperbacks. On the weekend I discovered a copy of Martin Chuzzlewit that dates from 1849. Flicking through the greasy, yellowed pages suddenly made the novel seem so old. This sounds silly I know, but it is easy to forget that books like this were written in an age before computers, often by hand, and were expensive to purchase. There were certainly no stands of classic Penguin books for under $10 when this was written.

All hunters of aged books quickly learn what to look for. Sometimes, if you’re very lucky, you can find the thoughts of previous readers tucked away the the margins of the mottled pages. No need to click onto Wikipedia to explain these complex passages – someone else has already done it for you. I like knowing that a wise family member also stumbled over complex passages. If only I knew about this quant red-leather bound 1910 edition of Book One of Milton's Paradise Lost, complete with detailed analysis of the complex poem by an unknown owner. I’m sure I would have had less difficulty following the poem! Well to be honest I’d need a magnifying glass to decipher the miniscule handwriting, but at least the flowing cursive is lovely to look at!

Speaking of relatives, my great-grandfather was a teacher, Virgil’s Aeneid from 1901, with an index of Latin vocabulary that may prove useful for any forthcoming trivia night. This said great grandfather also possessed a copy of an arithmetic book from 1832. The book’s pages of mathematical tables certainly make me grateful for the invention of calculators. The inner cover has the handwriting of my great-great-grandfather writing how the book was owned by his father. You can even see several places where my great-grandfather wrote his name – it is reassuring that I’m not the only one who has often practiced different handwriting styles. I love looking over my collection of old books that provide hours of enjoyment, all without having to buy a single book!

I do realise that not everyone has my fortune of inherit treasured old books. There are many places to find great old books, or even just look at them. Your best bet for a 19^th or early 20^th century gem is at second-hand bookshops, antique shops, or best of all, in your elderly relative's bookcases. Most national and state libraries have a rare books reading room where you can look at some fragile texts. Make sure to handle with care, or you will risk the fury of protective librarians. It is nice to know that ther are some people out there that are more obsessed with old books than myself!

Grace

xx