You Don't Have to be Old to be Grumpy #3

Let’s be honest, life was better forty years ago...oh and if you weren’t around forty years ago, trust me. If you don’t trust me then maybe that supports my case!

People used to have conversations with each other, that is to say (pun) they exchanged words verbally. The primary source of intercourse wasn’t sexual but social and it certainly wasn’t vi a keyboard or a pocket phone and the idea of having ‘friendships’ via an artificial concept such as Fakebook would have seemed illogical at best and undesirable at worst. We cared about each other because we made an effort to find out, maybe a really long phone call but usually a visit or a catch up for a meal or a cuppa. We were far more interested in our mates and family than we were in whether a ‘celebrity’ was happily married three hours after the lavish ceremony or not. Magazines actually told us things and, amazingly, they were often based on fact. Editorial meetings determined priority of stories and interviews rather than brainstorming ideas for a story that is almost totally made up. The Women’s Weekly even came out...weekly!

We were constantly told to hold our heads high when we walked, not because we had our snouts in a tiny screen on a phone or music player but because we needed to be mindful of our posture and those around us. Nowadays everyone seems to be in their ‘zone’ and care little or are unaware for anyone else, the clash of the devices distances us from each other while being sold on the concept that they ‘bring the world closer’.

There were fewer cars, fewer people, fewer buildings, the trams ran better and the trips were shorter, the trains were very rarely packed and there was always someone on the station. There were no ATM’s, Eftpos machines, debit cards and crippling interest rates or account keeping fees – we actually earned interest on our ordinary everyday savings accounts and it was standard across the banks – what dictated which bank you chose was the service and the products, imagine that. If you had to ring the bank you got through to the manager or assistant and they’d ring you back if needed but NEVER did you have to do half the work and manipulate an IVR before you spoke to someone. Sure they closed at 3.30 (and often for half an hour at lunch) and 5.00 on Fridays but it never seemed to matter. Post offices were open on Saturdays and we even had a mail delivery on Saturdays.Their used to be a cornerstone in every corner store and retailer called Customer Service; that concept now appears to be as foreign as most of the products on our shelves. Lord just trying to capture the attention (and hearing) of a shop assistant is challenge enough, let alone service.

You went to a petrol station and only had to choose between Standard and Super and someone served you, washed your window and checked your oil and water. Today you even have to pour your own Slurpee and yet we’re paying 600% more for petrol than we did in 1970.

Toys, tools and technology used to last as did washing machines, fridges, televisions and CLOTHES!

People knew their neighbours and their names, they looked out for each other and we watched the kids grow. Today we are so distrustful of each other and a middle aged man daren’t smile at a kid, no matter how cute, hilarious or sweet that kid might be. A child will be swept out of the way and subliminally the seeds of mistrust are planted for all future generations when the incidence of ghastly crimes against children is actually less than it was 40 years ago. Not to mention that we are living in a time when we need each other even more.

Politics, terrorism, pollution, global warming, natural disasters, lying and corrupt media make up our news and fascinate us so much now. We are so much more intelligent and worldly today and yet we find it difficult to make decisions, try something different, think deeply or connect in a significant way. Maybe it’s because we have technology to do our thinking and much of our work. Maybe it’s because email and social networking has removed ‘nuance’ from our relationships, we’re all surface and words, rather than feelings and engagement. Kids lose hope when their first relationship falters and it’s heartbreaking enough for them to want to kill themselves. Bullies thrive in cyberspace because there is no filter to say ‘these cowards are also troubled, it is about them not you. Take their power away and ignore them’. Words used not to harm us, now because we have little else; they drive us and influence our sense of self -way beyond what they ought.

Life was better forty years ago, it just was. Now we just have to be better, we have to rediscover each other again, discover the joy of talk, dance to the music of our common humanity and learn to be decent enough, respectful enough to simply care. For if we don't, in forty years time some grump will look back and lament about the things which made today .better than the way the world is in 2051

Musings of a Movie Buff

The first movie I ever saw in a cinema was 'Poor Little Rich Girl' with Shirley Temple at the long gone Orana Theatre in Wangaratta. NO, it was not when it was originally released but in the mid 60's. You know, even today I still have dreams in which the Orana appears! The foyer featured a real ticket box and a wonderful large tiled mirror over a faux fireplace and mantle. Oh I tell you the first time I walked in there and smelt that musty but enticing movie palace smell I was enchanted. My life of weatherboard and tiles hadn't prepared me for this! And somehow that must be where my love for 'the pictures' started.

I go to the cinema at least once a week which reminds me how much going to the movies has changed over the years.

In Melbourne, the number of cinemas has closed although there might be more cinema screens – the multiplexes have replaced the single screen theatres and some of the theatres have grown remarkable. The Rivoli in Camberwell was a one screener then went to two or three and now has at least six. The Nova in Carlton burst onto the scene in the 80’s and is now bursting at the seams with 17 screens! In the Melbourne CBD in 1976 there were about twenty theatres, now there’s half that, there were some beautiful places such as the Regal and the Mayfair, the Capitol (and the fantastic light display)the Palace and the Forum, out at Malvern there were some lovely ones and there was even the decrepit Valhalla in Richmond and the Fitzroy Teletheatre. You always knew the session times because they were all pretty much the same 11.00, 2.00, 5.00 and 8.00. If you weren’t seeing a double bill generally you got some god awful documentary from the well intentioned Canadian Broadcasting Corporation about the effects of snow on the elder flower or something as riveting, then one or two trailers for ‘upcoming attractions’ and some quick ads from the Val Morgan company. The curtains would close (eerily similar to the way curtains operate at a crematorium I note) hold for a second as the lights came up briefly, the lights would go down and then the main feature commenced. You would NEVER consume your pasty popcorn or your cooling cordial, let alone the chosen choc top before the main feature started.


Today you feel like you’re at a marketing expo. Twenty minutes of ads and trailers then the film. Mostly the movies are 100 minutes of product marketing with a bit of a story thrown in, some CGI to impress and minimal dialogue so that you (and the actors) don’t have to concentrate too much. That casually placed can of soft drink on the kitchen bench top has probably the subject of months of negotiation and manipulation, the pen George Clooney casually pulls out of his jacket to make a note has probably been written into the scene to grab a few extra dollars for the film and a few seconds of exposure for the Swiss manufacturer of said pen. Nothing in films these days is accidental or by the way. And as for the choc top and popcorn, well it’s well and truly gone before the film starts – what’s the point in that?????

I like a good blockbuster but I like a good story better. Take me to another world through the skillful manipulation of words and character development and I’m in dreamland. Give me something better than my imagination or what my subconscious can create in my dreams and I am happy to fork out a few dollars. When Australian filmmakers show that we are among the best and produce yet another gem them I’m in the front row cheering it on. And if every so often I see a moment or two of extraordinary acting and the goosebumps rise then man oh man, that’s what movies are all about.

Cinemas these days are generally more comfortable than the old flea pits, you can melt into the seats, and there are even helpful holders for your overpriced candy bar post mix beverage, occasionally a bench to pop your purchases upon.

So there in the dark every weekend I go to a happy place, even when watching a tragedy or groping for my tissues. I see something like ‘Burning Man’ and weep, play with the grownups with ‘Barney’s Version’, am transported with laughter in ‘Midnight in Paris’ or sit on the edge of my seat watching ‘Salt’ and thank God for giving the talent and the inspiration to the original movie makers. Whether they were playing in Paris or becoming moguls in Hollywood, breaking new ground in Ealing or putting together Salvation Army propaganda in Melbourne they have given all of us something simply magical.

Sometimes those on the screen have stepped down to meet me (and no I’m not having a ‘Purple Rose of Cairo’ moment). I ran through the Southern Cross Hotel carpark to kiss the cheeks of Marlene Dietrich, wondered if Rex Harrison was going to negotiate the step from the footpath to the road, helped dress Frank Thring, watched Trevor Howard NOT negotiate a footpath and felt a little weak in the knees talking to Claudette Colbert.

From the Orana theatre to cinemas in London, Munich, Mariestad, Sydney, Brisbane, Hobart and Melbourne it has lifted my life and just reminded me every time how blessed I am.

Friendship - Tricky One

Over recent weeks I’ve had reason to reflect on friendship. I have very deep feelings about friends and I guess expectations around that. Sometimes I end up in a difficult position and am weighed down emotionally by the way I feel or react to what others do or how they behave towards me. Anyway maybe that’s all for another time/post.

Coincidentally, I was reading a book about friendship set amidst very challenging circumstances for the people involved. The book is called “Talking About Jane Austen in Baghdad”, published by Penguin.

Bee Rowlatt works for the BBC in London and wants to interview a woman in Iraq to get a firsthand account of life in Baghdad post the US Invasion. She makes contact with May Witwit an English Literature lecturer at Baghdad University and through a series of emails over a couple of years we see how a random contact grows into a deep friendship where the two women share very private thoughts and feelings, survive challenges and the ebb and flow of their daily lives. Eventually Bee works to bring May and her partner out of the strife torn and war ravaged mire that is Iraq and into the refined atmosphere of London. This part of the journey is no less worrying than much of May’s life in Iraq.

While Bee struggles with the anxiety of her husband being off working as a correspondent for the BBC, or the decision to have another child, raising two other children, the vagaries of the weather in London or the cost of living, May has to work out how to make the weekly dash to the one shop that is open in her neighbourhood before stock runs out whilst dodging snipers or stepping around a corpse or six. Her family (apart from her mum) has disowned her because her husband is a Sunni and they are Shiites (or the other way around) and she finds she is on a ‘hit list’ of academics which sees many of her work colleagues being killed with terrifying regularity. There is a special kind of hell that has manifested since the ‘liberation’ of Iraq and the passing of the ‘old man’ (Saddam). One interesting story in the book is of her face to face meeting with Saddam (apparently you could call and speak to him directly if you had an issue to be addressed).

This is a beautiful book that takes the reader to a world we cannot imagine and one that shouldn’t be tolerated. It reminds us of the benefits of strong friendships based on caring and consideration whilst a homeland is being torn to pieces by people who think they know what is best for the people and yet everyday clearly demonstrate their ignorance.

I have to confess that at times May’s commentary about not coping or wanting to end it all made me flinch and insensitively want her whinging to stop. Shame on me, I would not be able to survive a week in what she was living through let alone day after day after day. Hers is just one story which is well told and when I think ‘we did this’ I am more ashamed.

Reading this book will reward you in many ways, I unreservedly commend it to you.