Monthly Archives: January 2010

Australia Day

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We didn’t manage to get ourselves any tiny Australian flags or T-shirts, bikini’s or fake tattoos that bear the Union Jack, the Southern Cross and the Commonwealth Star (Yes, eventually I learned that was what comprises the Australian flag).  We did’t go to the beach, because we didn’t want to be there with the entire population of Sydney.  We missed the ferry races by just a few minutes.  And we missed the fireworks even if we did get stuck on a train home with everyone who went to see them.

So how did we celebrate Australia day?

In short we ate lots of grilled meat, drank beer, played in the park and listened to the top 100 countdown on Triple J (which I was assured by several Aussies is tradition).  Does that remind you of any American summer holidays?  I don’t think that’s a coincidence.  Regardless of hemisphere, everyone loves a good BBQ.

Through the Silver Screen

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Now that I’m well settled into Oz and my Aussie lifestyle, I’ve finally been able to reconnect myself with one of my favorite pastimes; getting up insanely early on a weekend so I can do a lot of physical labor for no more pay than a few stale muffins and some bad sandwiches, and then stand around quietly for hours in less than comfortable and often quite hot circumstances, surrounded by other people who all wish they had put on more deodorant that morning.  I am referring of course to making independent films.  It’s a desire that not everyone understands, especially since the less than ideal circumstances under which most of them are filmed tend to make people see cubicles and steady eight hour days as a pot of gold, but I love (or at least have a masochistic addiction to) every second of it.

So, naturally I was happy to find some like minded souls to endure the process with, and to find out that the permit issues, schedule setbacks, budget constraints and general insanity of the filmmaking process seems to be international.  This is a language I speak fluently.   But in Oz I do run into something new; a general question that even if not asked out loud I can see in people’s eyes when I explain where my accent came from.  “What are you doing here?”  True, I was born and raised in LA, the world capitol of filmmaking and I just spent ten years in NY, its not-so-little sister in “the industry.”  So yes, all of my connections (if you can call them that) are back in NY and all of the kids I grew up with who didn’t become lawyers found positions in the business that is Hollywood.  Most of the filmmakers I meet here are trying to get over there, so they can’t really fathom why I went the other direction.

I could write an entire dissertation about the many reasons I came all the way to Oz, life experience being chief amongst them, but everyone already understands those.  What I can’t seem to get people out here to see, is what an amazing filmmaking resource they have right here on their native soil.  The big studios set up shop in Hollywood because California offered almost every environment imaginable within one state and surrounded by a nice temperate climate.  Australia has that!  So what else do films require?  Money, for one, and there isn’t much of that in California or even NY these days.  But Australia has that!  Out here I’ve seen more opportunities for grants from each state and from the entire country than there are people to snatch them up (at least for a worthy film).  And what about a solid source of acting talent?  Hmm, well since a surprising amount of Hollywood’s biggest starts are Australian, and received their training in Australia at one of the most acclaimed acting schools in the world, I think it’s safe to say that Australia has that too!

So why isn’t the country crawling with wanna be directors and people who just happen to have a copy of their latest screenplay in the trunk of their car?  Why are the few people who dream in 16:9 trying to slap their storyboards down onto the overcrowded conference tables on Wilshire Boulevard?  It probably doesn’t help that, generally speaking, Australians tend to hate their own films.  I have yet to figure out why this is, but I’ve read several articles about how badly the home grown films do out here as opposed to when they are overseas.  And the filmmakers I recently met all seemed to agree.  They don’t like those “same old gritty stories.”  Aussie’s also have a lukewarm relationship with their biggest stars.  There are always current favorites and tabloid darlings, but Russell Crow’s and Nicole Kidman’s heydays have long past.  Gee, I’d still give them leading roles.  I just hope nobody badmouths any of Baz Luhrmann’s films around me, I might just deck them.

But if any of my fellow Aussie filmmakers were to ask for advice from someone with a little experience begging for jobs in the other hemisphere, I would tell them to ignore those snooty know-it-all American’s for a while.  The world does not need another cop drama set in NYC, another show about the spoiled and vapid in LA (think about what you have done to yourselves Los Angelinos!) any more reality TV stars, another heart-felt drama about a middle class American family, or any more parts that would be just perfect for George Clooney (Do you ever take a break, man?).  Take a page out of my favorite Australian’s book, and make your own movie, your own way.  Grab some of that money your country is so desperate for you to use to make them look good, take your camera out into the middle of nowhere (it won’t take long for you to get there) and film some of that great undiscovered talent that is going to sweep the Oscars one day.  You have everything you need right here, so use it!  I know you can do much better than re-making Mad Max (remember, that was a snooty American’s idea).

Hmm, maybe I ought to take my own advice.

Come here often?

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I’ve been living in Sydney for just over seven months now and I think it’s safe to say I’ve adjusted.  All the things that are oddly similar and yet totally different about Australian culture have become pretty commonplace to me now, even if the consumption of Vegemite is still the mystery of the ages.  But I realized the other day that there was one thing that I hadn’t immediately notice change with my move across hemispheres; an aspect of my former day to day life that was removed with such subtlety that I might never have noticed it’s absence.  I haven’t been hit on, whistled at, hollered at, honked at, commented about, obviously gawked at or even had kissy noises thrown in my general direction since I set foot on Australian soil.

You may be thinking, “Sheesh!  Does she think she’s so hot that men all over the world should be wiping away the drool as she walks by?” but if you ask any female whose ever lived in any urban landscape, they will all agree that it’s a pretty regular occurrence, regardless of age, body type, fashion sense and any other “hotness” defining factors.  New Yorkers (particularly New York construction workers) maintain their well deserved stereotype for this behavior with daily diligence.  In fact, on certain days the opinion of my appearance seemed so consistent that I would become convinced I must have suffered from some sort of wardrobe malfunction.  Nope, nothing fell off or out.  It must just be springtime again.  And my years in Los Angeles were no exception.  The only difference there was that most comments had to be shared from passing cars, so they didn’t have time to compose some of the poetic phrases used by the men passing down the NY avenues.  In LA you get a honk or two and occasionally animal noises.  I won’t even bother talking about my experiences in Italy.  There are plenty of movies, TV shows and even a pretty famous photograph that sum up how Italian men vociferously express their feelings.

So, why are the Aussie blokes so silent?  I’ve walked by plenty of construction sites, commuted on every mode of transportation the city has to offer and even carried around baked goods from time to time (which was a guaranteed conversation starter on the NYC subways) but only occasionally do I get a G’day.  Are they actually so dedicated to their work, so absorbed in their newspapers and so busy driving on the wrong side of the road that they can’t be bothered to appreciate the scenery?  I can’t help but wonder if this seeming lack of attention is any reflection of the reason Australian men have officially been declared both the worst husbands and (so I heard) worst lovers in the world.  Not that animal noises indicate your potential to be a good husband (quite the opposite I think) but at least they let you know he’s straight, interested and appreciative.

Or maybe the sheilas are to blame.  One thing I would never have guessed about Aussie culture before moving here, was that all the women would dress like they were extras on a combination of Sex and the City and Gossip Girl.  Somehow the young ones dress far too old, the older ones dress far to young, spike heels supposedly go with everything and every skirt comes within an inch of being mistaken for a long top.  This trend is actually so prevalent that an American marine who went to Darwin on shore leave was quoted as saying that Aussie women ought to leave more to the imagination.  He was on shore leave!  What does that say, ladies?  Maybe all the fashion that caters to hot summer nights (thought they dress the same in the winter) blew out all the synapses in blokes brains long ago, leaving only the portion that could still express excitement about beer.

Of course, that could work both ways.  I did find myself wondering a while back if tattoos were more prevalent in Oz, or if I just noticed them more because I was seeing people in cossies (and occasionally less) on an almost daily basis.  I adjusted to the speedo style cossie a long time ago, something I grew up believing was a fashion faux-pa and indication that you clearly wanted to “be seen.”  And I have definitely come to expect a certain build before I’ll say a guy is in good shape.  Sorry lads, but the competitions is tough out here.  So if you ever notice me passing right by a guy who resembles a young David Duchovny without so much as a head turn, you’ll know it’s because he’s simply wearing too much clothing.  Once adjusted to a Sydney summer, only the red speedo will do.