On James Bond Theme Songs

“Another ringer with the slick trigger finger

For Her Majesty

Another one with the golden tongue

Poisoning your fantasy

Another bill from a killer turned a thriller

To a tragedy”

~ ‘Another Way to Die’, by Jack White

performed by Jack White & Alicia Keys,

from the soundtrack to the movie “Quantum of Solace”, 2008

October 2012 marked the release of Adele's new single Skyfall, about a month ahead of the most recent outing of the silver screens's suave super-spy, James Bond, in the movie by the same name. I just adore theme songs from James Bond films, far more than I ought to, far more than is sensible.

Seriously. Adore them. 

Adele's offering is a worthy addition to that magnificent pantheon of songs and as such was purchased as soon as it was available. It seems fitting then, at this time, to relive the older tunes. I invite you to come along with me.

Dr No (1962): James Bond theme song by Monty Norman

Contains no particular song save the iconic Bond theme penned by Monty Norman. This tune, erroneously used to intro the idiotic and catastrophically unsuave Sam Newman on The Footy Show, sets the tone for the film series. The familiar strains are used in each movie's soundtrack over fifty years, and the four-note "suspense motif" features in many of the theme songs that follow.

From Russia With Love (1963): Theme song by Matt Munro

The new Adele-crooned tune is consistent with the tradition of big voices, big orchestration, and more than a little self importance as first demonstrated so ably by Mr Munro, with this first lyricised Bond theme.

Goldfinger (1964): Theme song by Shirley Bassey

The first of Bassey's four theme songs (five if you count the almost-Thunderball theme - see below). As Wayne "Wayne's World" Campbell would have it, "the babe can really wail".

 Thunderball (1965): Theme song by Tom Jones

Another big Welsh voice, continuing the tradition of Goldfinger in highlighting the villain of the piece. Is there a better musical match for the suave Bond than Jones at his women's-panty-attracting best? Very few I imagine.

The song was actually a late edition to the movie following an edict from the producers that the theme song contain the title of the movie, thus eliminating the original theme from contention. That song? The deliciously titled "Mr Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", recorded by both Shirley Bassey and Dione Warwick. More's the pity.

You Only Live Twice (1967): Theme song by Nancy Sinatra

This theme by the daughter of Ol' Blue Eyes himself. While Nancy cut a reasonable career out for herself (best known for her hit song "These Boots Are Made For Walking" in '66), I'm not certain why they didn't just get daddy dearest to sing the song instead. Nancy had a similar idea, although her query ran in a slightly different direction: the liner notes of the CD version of the 1966 release state that she asked the producers "Are you sure you don't want Shirley Bassey?" No, dear Nancy. You did just fine.

On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969): no theme song; "We Have All The Time In The World" by Louis Armstrong

Perhaps it was the first absence of Sean Connery in the lead role that prompted a change in tack with OHMSS - the main titles sequence features a synth-heavy, lyric-less piece (the first theme without words since Dr No), which, while more than a tad funky, was not quite what the punters were hoping for. The instrumental, like Aussie George Lazenby in the main role, would not make another appearance in the world of Bond. 

The alternate theme song, by Louis Armstrong, is iconic and brilliant. Just like everything else Armstrong ever did.

Diamonds Are Forever (1971): Theme song by Shirley Bassey

Oh my giddy aunt, but the lyrics to this are wonderfully cringe-worthy. In amongst songs abounding in triteness, this song, with its funky disco asides and hackneyed lyrics, is cheesier than a double-cheese-flavoured hunk of cheese with a side order of cheese. I can envisage Ms. Bassey having a ball recording this one. 

Live And Let Die (1973): Theme song by Paul McCartney and Wings

When legendary Beatles producer George Martin was given scoring duties on the very, very '70’s Live and Let Die, it must have seemed natural to bring in Paul McCartney for the theme song. It is clear that McCartney was unsure what kind of song he wanted to write, so he wrote several entirely different themes.Then threw the whole lot up into the air confetti style and recorded what came down exactly as it landed. One imagines the Wings troupe smoked much the same elicit substances during the production of the song as Guns 'N' Roses did when they covered the song in 1991. The result? One of the best in the series by a mile. 

The Man With The Golden Gun (1975): Theme song by Shirley Bassey

Shirley Bassey is more brassy than classy in this double entendre laden track, each allusion more ludicrous than the last, inspired by Christopher Lee's eponymous villain of the film. Bassey kept getting asked back to record more Bond themes and one can see why. This song is like a car accident, horrible yet entirely attractive to one's attention.

The Spy Who Loved Me (1977): Theme song "Nobody Does It Better" by Carly Simon

The producers had abandoned the old edict of the theme song being named for the movie. The title is somewhat of a misnomer, as an insipid Bond in Roger Moore inspires an insipid piece of soggy pop pap from Carly Simon. Seriously, Daniel Craig's Bond could take out Moore's with one perfectly defined pectoral tied behind his back.

Moonraker (1979): Theme song by Shirley Bassey.

For Your Eyes Only (1981): Theme song by Sheena Easton

Octopussy (1983): Theme song "All Time High" by Rita Coolidge

The grand ol' dame of Bond themes, the incomparable Shirley Bassey, could not, try as she might, lift the first of a trio of flaccid tracks. A sad way for her Bond career to go out. Easton and Coolidge don't fare much better in the latter two. The themes for these movies seem to match a general lull in the quality of the Roger Moore-lead films they represent. Soft, soft, soft. Meh.

A View To A Kill (1985) : Theme song by Duran Duran

Do yourself a favour, check out the extended version of the film clip of this song on YouTube. The clip is a near-perfect piece of pop-culture pastiche that defies logic and credulity in the most delightful ways. Images of Simon Le Bon being chased around the Eiffel Tower by Grace Jones and several magical floating video cameras quite simply never gets old and very much reminds one of a fever dream following too much late-night Merlot and Gorgonzola.

The Living Daylights (1987): Theme song by A-Ha

The preoccupation with Eurotrash pop continues with Sweden's a-ha. Big song, big hair and mascara by the bucket load. When the producers commissioned this track, they clearly had forgotten that a ridiculous (and geriatric) Roger Moore had been ably replaced by a far more vigorous Timothy Dalton. So glad they did.

Licence to Kill (1989): Theme song by Gladys Knight

Huzzah! The producers swap wanky pop nonsense of the previous decade for a touch of class and possibly the realisation that they had a legacy to protect and cheap pop acts were probably not the way to go. Gladys Knight, sans her Pips, elevates the material far higher than it has any right to be. "I've got a licence to kill, and you know I'm going straight for your heart" almost sounds credible when Knight warbles it. Not quite, but almost.

Goldeneye (1995): Theme song by Tina Turner

Penned by U2's Bono and the Edge (while band mates Adam Clayton and Larry Mullens reimagined the theme for Tom Cruise's Mission: Impossible film), Turner sings the living suitcase out of this one. Definitely another song that protects the legacy of Bond themes admirably with grand orchestral strings and incomprehensible lyrics.

Tomorrow Never Dies (1997): Theme song by Sheryl Crow

Ahh, Sheryl Crow, how do I love thee? Thou knowest how to put together a ripping track, and thou dost so thusly. The partnership with the ace producer Mitchell Froom contributes, no doubt. All killer, no filler!

The World Is Not Enough (1999): Theme song by Garbage

Alt-rock band Garbage provides the theme here, which is anything but. Following up Sheryl Crows jangly guitars with some jangles of their own, delicately balancing retro and modern sensibilities. Lead singer Shirley Manson coos seductively, as all the best Bond songstresses have before her. 

On the flip side of the movie is an alternate theme by k.d. lang. One imagines both themes being commissioned, with only one finally chosen as the main theme while the other is kept, running over the end credits. The right choice was made.

Die Another Day (2002): Theme song by Madonna

By Pierce Brosnan's fourth (and thankfully last) outing as Bond, the film series had completely disappeared up its own fundament. Likewise went the song, a soulless, vacuous and limp song by an artist who is known even less by the substance of her art than is usual in pop music. Put simply, the song, like most by this artist, is not about the music or the lyrics or the art or even Bond, but all about Madonna. A sad travesty that is best forgotten. Scratch that, even better still would be to never have experienced the movie's pathetic theme song in the first instance.

Worst. Theme. Ever.

Casino Royale (2006): You Know My Name by Chris Cornell

A new era, a new Bond, a fresh song. Cornell, of Soundgarden and the Audioslave, is one of modern music's best rock and roll voices. He absolutely kills it. The song hits with the force of a dozen vodka martinis. Its brutal silliness leaves you shaken and stirred.

Quantum of Solace (2010): Another Way To Die by Jack White and Alicia Keys

Jack White is a somewhat self important artist, perfectly fitting as a co-writer of this overlong, overblown piece of magnificence. While not altogether warmly received, it gets my tick as the greatest Bond theme song ever. Raw yet stylish, lyrically and musically interesting. If there is such a thing as an atypical classic, this would be it.

Skyfall (2012): Theme song by Adele

In the Bond movie franchise's fifty year history, this was the first Bond theme to ever win an Oscar for Best Original Song. A worthy entry into the annals, Adele has the overabundance of talent to be a worthy successor to those who came before her. The song makes no sense, so fits the trope quite nicely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so we look to the future of James Bond theme songs. Adele was clearly chosen for the most recent movie due to her ubiquity in the zeitgeist at the time of Skyfall's making, but I'm thinking a return to the qualities that made Jack White a perfect choice as theme writer - somewhat overwrought, a greater sense of self importance than is absolutely necessary and an over abundance of talent. Am I dreaming, or would this task be perfectly suited to Matthew Bellamy and Muse?

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On Who Not To Vote For

By the time next week graces us with its presence, the election campaign will be over. It seems to have lasted for years, a perception perhaps a result of three years of minority government, bitter partisanship and a persistently negative and obstructionist opposition. The Rudd/Gillard/Rudd governments have got plenty right, and more than a few things wrong. Regardless of their shortcomings, voting for Tony Abbott's Liberal Party because you don't like Labor is like eating faeces because you don't like spinach. While running the risk of exhausting an already apathetic and largely disinterested electorate with more political clap trap (although certainly without exhausting the laundry list of important issues facing our fair land), I'm confident I can give you a few reasons why sending your vote to anything or anyone would be better than a vote for Mr Abbott.

The economy seems like it is on most people's list of what's most important. Who will be handling the economy in an Abbott government? Joe Hockey. Nicknamed "Sloppy Joe" in some segments of the Canberra press gallery for his reputed lack of comprehensive knowledge of his portfolio, he frequently appears to struggle through much of the complex discussion regarding economic policy, much like a newly caught fish on a dry pier. When asked recently about the proportion of a new tax on business would go towards the Coalition's flawed parental leave scheme, Mr Hockey initially replied that it would be "100 per cent", and when challenged, stated:

 "Well, it’d have to be at least 50, 60 per cent, 60 or 70 per cent, but I’m not going to speculate...". (more details can be found here)

Wonderful. A clear grasp of the figures required by a responsible treasurer. This is but one example of many.

The fact that Australia made it through the GFC in the incredibly strong state it is in is extraordinary, and thanks must certainly go to the last two Labor governments, not that Mr Hockey or Mr Abbott would ever have the nous, humility, or decency to admit it. The Australian economy is the envy of countries the world over, with higher levels of growth, lower levels of unemployment, lower levels of debt-to-GDP, lower interest rates, you-name-the-economic-indicator, than the vast majority of developed nations.

In part, I blame John Howard. As the 24-hour news cycle emerged, the more politicians required an opportunity to score political points at the expense of their opponents, and quickly. The politics of fear and blame was emphasised more than they ever had before. Mr Howard's lengthy reign as Prime Minister can be attributed to one factor more than almost any other: the creation of a theoretical segment of the populace that became known as "Howard's Battlers", a political notion that became useful in convincing the middle class that they were somehow struggling, that they were poor and deserving of more governmental assistance than they would otherwise have received. This caused an unrealistic sense of entitlement that the frankly wealthy use as an excuse to demand more from a Labor government that is more focused on providing for the less wealthy than those who have plenty. Even now, decent people complain about the levels of capital gains tax they have to pay, a conceit that grates on my inner socialist.

Case in point would be the Coalition's criticism of Labor's "wasteful" government spending in the face of their extraordinarily expensive parental leave scheme which seeks to pay huge sums of money to wealthy women to have babies. That's the Liberal's way though, isn't it? Giving to those who need it least? Other victims of the Liberal’s slash-and-burn philosophy is the recipients of the $4.5 billion of foreign aid over the term of the next government. Mr Abbott argues that this money is better spent looking after the poor at home, as if a) he even cares about the disenfranchised, and b) those two things aren’t mutually exclusive anyway.

Shall we also consider the way the Coalition have flatly refused to release adequate costing for their policies until less than two days before the election? Costings that are very light-on in details at that, not even bothering to include some of the Coalition’s big ticket policies. Mr Abbott and his team speak almost exclusively in slogans and sound bytes rather than in the thorough examination of issues of national importance that we ought to demand. I'm staggered that people in the wider community seem to like being treated like idiots by politicians. Instead of treating those politicians with the disdain they so richly deserve, we vote them in if their slogans do enough to appeal to our baser, more selfish natures.

And then there's the misogyny argument. It's perfectly valid to question the attitude of a man like Mr Abbott who seeks the highest office in the land. David Marr investigated and reported many of Mr Abbott's significant character issues in The Monthly's Quarterly Essay Political Animal: The Making of Tony Abbott (from which an excerpt can be found here). As if the issues of the past were not damning enough, take two recent examples during the campaign: first, while campaigning with a female Liberal candidate Fiona Scott, he chose not to describe her by her abilities, her intellect or her achievements, oh no. He described her first and foremost as having "sex appeal". Add to this the way Mr Abbott describes his OWN DAUGHTERS to the participants of TV's Big Brother program - when he appeared on the show he enthused "If you want to know who to vote for, I'm the guy with the not bad looking daughters . . .'' The implication is not only that the physical characteristics of his family make him more highly valuable as a political leader, but that his family are more attractive than that of his opponent. How absolutely sickening.

As if more evidence of the Liberal Party's underlying attitude regarding women was needed, let's examine for a moment the role of the most senior Liberal woman, deputy leader Julie Bishop. Since she was elected to the deputy position following John Howard's ousting by the electorate, the Liberal leadership has changed twice more and both times she was leap-frogged by her male colleagues and not considered for the role of leadership. That, coupled with her parading in front of the media (with Mr Abbott prodding her from behind) every time Mr Abbott makes a goose of himself with regards to women's issues, suggests her role in the party is little more than symbolic, as a figurehead to make the Liberal Party more palatable to women. It is far from it.

In the event that Mr Abbott is elected Prime Minister and is needing a deputy leader to be acting Prime Minister, the role goes to the leader of the Liberal's coalition partner, the Nationals. Currently, that is Warren Truss, but the man who has made no secret of his desire to lead the Nationals is none other than Australia's own crazy uncle, the wacky Barnaby Joyce. Like Tony Abbott, I am incredulous that these characters represent the best that Australian conservative politics have to offer. Don't even get me started on Mal Brough, Sophie Mirabella, or the truly vile Christopher Pine (remember Mr Pine and Mr Abbott’s mad dash from parliament in order to not fulfill the duties of their office in an attempt to score a cheap political point? It can be found here). At least Malcolm Turnbull has the decency to look mildly embarrassed when promoting Coalition policies.

The level of discourse in regards to the asylum seeker issue is appalling. In an effort to outflank the Coalition on the right, Labor has decided to adopt their distasteful approach to the treatment of the disenfranchised and voiceless, punishing those who would seek asylum instead of those criminal traffickers who take advantage of them. In this regard, Labor's slogan may as well be "vote for us, we're not quite as mean spirited as the other guys".

What of the NBN? It’s expensive, certainly, but it’s bold and big and more forward-thinking than so many political visions we are normally used to. It’s called leadership. In an extraordinarily retrograde move, Mr Abbott and Mr Turnbull espouse the view that the copper wire many of us are using should suit us just fine. After all, we didn’t need that new-fangled internet thingymagig in the 1950’s and we did just fine, right?

I could go on with a considered defence of policies such as the mining tax and the carbon tax, but if the polls are to be believed, these things will be a thing of the past very soon, and more's the pity. It is said that Australians demand services like Norway while being taxed like Greeks. It's a pipe dream. We've lost a spirit of sacrifice and community. We are more concerned with what the federal budget might offer us, what we can get for ourselves, regardless of whose expense it is at. 'What's in it for me?' should be our new national slogan.

Certainly amongst the most selfish players in this election campaign must be Rupert Murdoch, the man who has rejected his Australian citizenship in pursuit of unimaginable riches overseas, all the while doing his level best to influence Australian politics by the way of his tabloid press in favour of his lapdog, Mr Abbott. His reasons are patently transparent: Labor’s NBN threatens the profits of his Foxtel TV network. One thing is guaranteed in the next few years if Mr Abbott becomes Prime Minister is that Mr Murdoch’s obscene grip on the media in Australia will go ahead unthreatened. As if there were not enough reasons not to vote Liberal, I think it is prudent not to, simply because it’s exactly what Uncle Rupert wants. 

Don't vote Liberal this election. Please don’t. That's not an endorsement of the Labor Party either. Funnily enough, I won't be voting for them either (one of my dear friends refuses to vote Labor because they are too socialist; I don't vote for them because they are not socialist enough). Labor has been quite the shambles for the last six years, but never has it been as backward or nasty as the Coalition promises to be. I will direct my own preferences Labor’s way after the parties I feel deserve my primary vote more, as I want my vote to count as much as it can, even in the face of what is likely to be a horrible defeat for the current government. I will do my best to cope with the gloating of those who accept the Coalition's pathetic attempts to elicit the nation’s vote, as if somehow those efforts are enough. And like Australia, a small piece of me will die, just a little.

On Jill Meagher

"When you don't need an answer there'll be days like this

When you don't meet a chancer there'll be days like this

When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit

Then I must remember there'll be days like this"

~ ‘Days Like This' by Van Morrison, from his 1995 album of the same name.

Friday, the twenty-eighth day of this September. It has been some kind of a day.

On a personal note, due to a shift in my own working situation, today found me bidding fond farewells to several long-term patients whose care had been entrusted to me. Bittersweet because I feel a sense of achievement in what I've done, tempered by a relinquishing of much of their care into the hands of others. The day outside mirrored my mood: dark and wet with a sense of misery. The greyness of my Friday was an echo of the day of many across Melbourne. It was the day they found Jill Meagher's body.

Following an evening out drinking with friends and work colleagues, Jill disappeared whilst walking the short distance home, literally a few minutes by foot. The media was breathless in reporting her disappearance and social media swiftly erupted in earnest appeals for any witnesses or sightings. It appears that the hard work and skills of Victoria Police as well as several leads provided by the public during the maelstrom of publicity the case received, lead to the discovery of Jill's body, inhumanely violated and obscenely dumped by a country roadside.

A man was arrested for the crime, his name quickly made public, along with his past misdeeds. The same machinery of social media that so aptly brought the publicity the case needed to produce at least some leads turned fiercely to the accused. Wishes for punishment and violent retribution were suggested most strenuously. Demands for the life of this man (whom I won't name; but not for the reasons you probably think) flowed freely. He's an animal, it has been claimed, a monster who must pay for his crimes. He abducted, raped and murdered an innocent woman and hopefully, many have said, he will be killed by convicted criminals in prison before he faces a court of law. Many who are horrified by his alleged crimes are baying for his blood.

While it may be extremely gratifying to see punishment meted out to those deserving, our thoughts simply must go towards due process. They just have to.

One of the bedrock tenets of our legal system is the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven in a court of law. This man must be afforded this right, regardless of the evidence revealed to the public thus far, regardless also of the force of our rage and our desire to see justice. To do otherwise would betray so much of who we are and what we value as a society. Even in the face of overwhelming evidence, the accused ought to have his day in court.

Why?

The presumption of innocence ensures that anyone accused of a crime is afforded the kind of defence that will make a conviction as strong as it can be. Furthermore, it protects those innocent parties accused wrongly. To my mind, that protection is one that covers you and me more than any criminal. If it weren't for the presumption of innocence, any person could accuse another of anything and expect them to be punished, without the burden of proof, regardless of whether the accused is guilty or not.  An accusation of a crime is simply not enough. The proof is overwhelming? No matter. The process is king. The mob mentality demanding justice may be gratifying on a visceral level, but lynchings are seldom about what's just.

This extends to the electronic lynching on sites like Twitter and Facebook and in the court of public opinion, easy enough in the largely anonymous environs of the World Wide Web and especially when there's no shortage of people willing to agree with the sentiments of those wanting rough justice. Even Jill Meagher’s husband has recognised how potentially damaging this kind of online ranting can be to a potential conviction and has publicly called for it to stop. That kind of request could not have been an easy one to make, and I salute his dignity in the face of the horror of losing his wife in these circumstances.

It seems incongruous to bring up Batman in a discussion of such gravitas. Would you indulge me? In Christopher Nolan's film Batman Begins, an embittered Bruce Wayne links revenge and justice as the same. He is chastised by a childhood friend:  "No, they're never the same. Justice is about harmony. Revenge is about you making yourself feel better..."

What's more important? Justice for Jill Meagher or making ourselves feel better? If it’s the former, then for goodness' sake, let us allow the law to take its course.

Not too long ago, a cheap and amateurish film that many Muslims found deeply offensive was released on the Internet. The reaction was fierce, with riots characterised by clashes with authorities in many countries including Australia. Some protesters in Australia held placards calling for the punishment and even beheadings of those 'opposed' to Islam. A good many Australians reacted to these protests with scorn, some making the (mostly) valid point that those who come to Australia to get away from oppressive and totalitarian regimes should not attempt to enforce here the same conditions of lawlessness and incivility they sought to escape in the countries of their origin. Shall we now suggest that crimes offensive to us be met with the same heavy-handedness? Or is the rule of law we claim others ought to respect important enough for us to maintain and protect in the face of gross violation of our own sensibilities? How can we possibly lay claim to any moral high ground if we don't protect the rule of law?

For those demanding corporal or even capital punishment for the accused would do well to remember that executing criminals costs far more in money and legal resources than imprisoning them for life. Let's also remember the words of American inventor and writer Benjamin Franklin who said "They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety."

Jill Meagher did not deserve such base treatment. When faced with the choice between what is right and what is easy, we dishonour her memory by choosing the latter. To let true justice play out in the courts may be the longer, slower, less immediately satisfying journey, but it is the right one. Punishment of those who prey on women (or children for that matter) ought to be severe, no question. But not at any cost.

On my way home today, the dark grey skies parted for a brief moment. As brilliant sun rays streamed from behind me, a perfect and complete rainbow shone in front of me. I remembered a promise. Even when tears come as a flood, there remains hope for a better tomorrow. A future dulled by the loss of someone like Jill Meagher may not be entirely quelled by the conviction of a killer, but it’s a start. If we compromise our values in the pursuit of that justice, we forfeit our own chance for a better world.

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On Debate

“Are we mere specks of dust floating through the Milky Way?

Are we here to learn to love? I think that's true either way

Come winter, come spring, come summer, come fall...

You're floating with me after all”

~ ‘After All’, by Derri Daugherty & Steve Hindalong

from The Choir album “The Loudest Sound Ever Heard”, 2012

Some arguments I've had recently have found me thinking about playwright Arthur Miller.

Perhaps a bit of history is in order.  Let's go back sixty years or so.

In the wake of World War Two, Communism found new prominence in the geopolitical scene, not least due to the commencement of Mao Zedong's reign in China and the Soviet Union's testing of an atomic bomb, both in 1949.  Any anti-communist sentiments in the West were somewhat muted during WW2 as the Soviets were Western allies against the Axis powers.  With the war over, the Cold War found itself in full swing, suspicions became especially rife amongst the peoples of Untied States against anything even remotely associated with the so-called Red Menace.

Along came a Republican Senator from the Midwestern US state of Wisconsin, Joseph Raymond McCarthy.  He became the public face of this suspicion, and thus the phenomenon known as McCarthyism was born.  A paranoid Senator McCarthy argued that there was a high level of Communist sympathy (if not outright treachery), bubbling just under the surface of all levels American society, but especially in the fields of politics and the arts.  The Senator's chairmanship of the Senate Committee on Government Operations and its sub-branch, the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, gave him the scope to pursue his foes, both real and imagined, with white-hot zeal.

There was another noteworthy event that occurred in 1949, on February 10th to be precise.  It was on this day that the play Death of a Salesman, written by young playwright Arthur Asher Miller debuted on Broadway. The director of this performance was one Elia Kazan, a collaborator and good friend of Miller.  In 1952 Kazan testified before the House Committee on Un-American Activities (not directly connected with McCarthy's investigations but certainly a close relation in terms of intent).  Kazan stunningly named several colleagues as being potential or former Communists and Soviet sympathisers.  This action was to fracture Kazan and Miller's friendship and stir controversy as recently as 1999, when Kazan received an honourary Academy Award.

The experience of McCarthyism lead Miller to pen one of the most powerful pieces of writing for 20th Century theatre and in 1953, in the midst of the rampant paranoia of the time, The Crucible was first performed.  A fictitious retelling of the Salem witch trials of Massachusetts in 1862, The Crucible eerily mirrored the experiences that many had of McCarthyism in the ‘Fifties. The Crucible tells the story of a young woman and her friends, who are caught behaving in an unseemly manner.  The girls find that by making wild accusations against others without basis or proof, they are not only able to justify their own actions but also bring harm to those who would oppose their selfish desires. Gullible citizens and even the authorities of the day are sucked into a vortex of lies, paranoia, greed, and self-serving viciousness, while the lives and relationships of often innocent parties are torn asunder. Several characters are executed under suspicion of being witches, without a shred of evidence being offered to condemn them.

It's a piece of writing at once beautiful in its execution and ugly in the themes it explores.  As a piercing cautionary tale it is the kind of story that needs to be retold time and again, lest we fail to learn from the mistakes of the past.  The lessons in The Crucible have extraordinary resonance today.  The emergence of the internet has made it possible for more voices and opinions to be heard than at any time in human history.  More than ever people have an unfettered opportunity to spread whatever message they choose to a wide audience without the authority of their voices being earned through graft, accountability, or the wisdom that comes with knowledge, training and experience.  I write a blog, and while I make every attempt to ensure that what I write is factually correct, there are plenty of people out there in the big bad world who have far fewer scruples.  This can become dangerous when mixed with an agenda.

We've all seen it.  The chain emails, the Facebook posts, the stories on A Current Affair and Today Tonight, the articles in tabloid newspapers like The Herald-Sun.  Topics ranging from anti-government rants to discussions about how the world is not as nice as it used to be.  And then the really nasty ones, the ones that really push my buttons, like those that debase asylum seekers.  They make all sorts of false and specious claims.  Asylum seekers are invading our fine land.  They're stealing our resources, taking our jobs, changing our culture, taking exorbitant welfare payments, breaking our laws, making our lives a misery.  These claims are often founded in half-truths or out-and-out falsehoods, designed to appeal to the basest part of our nature.

It's the Red Menace of the ‘Fifties and ‘Sixties, or even the more Antipodean Yellow Peril, all over again.

The thing is, it's not particularly difficult to see straight through the bulk of these claims.  All one needs is a modicum of intelligence (less than you might imagine), a dash of common sense, a willingness to enquire and question and examine, and a touch of unselfishness.  It's far easier to blindly accept the nasty paranoia of spineless, self-serving malcontents, especially when they have loud voices, or are in the majority.  To add insult to injury, to point out the inconsistencies, the untruths, the utter lack of concern for another human being, the selfishness of it all, is to invite scorn.  I've been plastered with unearned labels for having the audacity to stick up for the vulnerable, those largely without advocates of their own.  "You're too liberal," they say, "You have no faith, you're un-Australian, you’re anti-pensioners, you're soft on crime, you shouldn't speak up".  You are condemned.

It's McCarthyism.  All over again.

Many will be familiar with the recent KONY 2012 campaign by a US organisation called Invisible Children.    As a movement, it's not without its controversies and detractors, which are well documented.  I was fortunate enough to engage in a debate on the Internet with someone I'd not met or spoken to before, each of us with an opposing view on KONY 2012 situation.  It was starkly refreshing.  He was not at all concerned that I had a different idea than he did, just as I was unconcerned about his alternate views.  He made some valid points, and I'd like to think I threw a few out there myself.  We both listened and considered and argued our views passionately.  We did not come to an absolute concurrence in the end, and really, that wasn't the point.  My feeling was that KONY 2012 needed to be debated, the ideas tested.  My opponent and I parted with respect.

I thoroughly enjoy the contest of ideas.  I've heard it said that dumb people should surround themselves with smart people while smart people ought to surround themselves with smart people who disagree with them.  I'm not claiming to be one of those smarties by any stretch, but I do endeavour to challenge my thinking and ideas whenever I can.  I hope that this habit would sharpen me in an increasingly dull world.  So many seem terrified at the though of having their ideas challenged and many more are ready with a thoughtless insult or a derisive tirade, especially in the largely anonymous environs of the internet.  One of the World Wide Web's biggest foibles is the way it makes it so very easy for us to relive and repeat the most horrid of mistakes of the McCarthy era.

Perhaps the biggest indictment on our current crop of political leaders is that they have stifled any robust debate about genuine policy in an effort to earn superficial political points in the immediate news cycle rather than considering and articulating a vision for the future.  Indeed the current level of debate in this country has a level of sophistication that is, to my eyes, largely unsatisfactory.  Perhaps it's as much our fault as theirs, with our appetites for the frequently facile popular media appearing to be endless.

There are as many ideas and opinions out there as there are people on the planet.  As a frequent holder of minority views (amongst my peers at least), I know this to be so.  It's OK.  Don't be afraid.  Accept new ideas.  Consider the views of others. Remember well the famous quote by novelist and philosopher George Santayana: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”.  Resist the impulse to be reactionary.  Don't blindly follow the safe footfalls of the masses.  Allow yourself to be challenged and please, oh please, resist the urge to condemn those who challenge you. We'll all be better off for it.

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On Sports That Aren't, part 2

“Everybody was Kung Fu fighting

Those cats were fast as lightning

In fact it was a little bit fright'ning

But they fought with expert timing”

~ ‘Kung Fu Fighting’, by Carl Douglas

from his album “Kung Fu Fighting and Other Great Love Songs”, 1974

A while back, I pondered a bit about the difference, in my mind, between a sport and a game (you can read that post here).  It seems to me that many games seek to see themselves as elite sport when really, they are not.  Elite sport is the very apex of physical and mental competition.  I argued, at the time, that activities such as horse racing, golf, fishing and hunting cannot be seriously considered part of the pantheon we know as sport.

It was on the topic of hunting that I admit that I was challenged.  As a pacifist, I don't like guns.  I understand the need to have them and use them in remarkable circumstances, but I am not a fan.  A gun is a weapon; weapons have no place in elite sport.  Mixing guns and with any other activity (such as skiing, as in the biathlon) does not make it a sport either.  If it did, then anything added to legitimate sport could be considered likewise.  What's preventing some enterprising soul from adding knitting to running and calling it a track and field event?

What then of Olympic pursuits such as the hammer throw, shot put and javelin?  The instruments of such competitions find their origins as weapons too.  Quite true.  It is perhaps amusing to note that the hammer throw was not always a heavy ball on a wire but an actual sledge hammer.  The javelin is essentially a spear.  The shot put was once either a heavy rock or a cannonball.  These facts, and that all the official measurements in the competition rules are expressed in imperial measures, lends these contests a faintly comical air.   

Yes, it's also true that the marathon has similar ancient origins to these 'throwing' sports, celebrating Pheidippides's fabled run from the site of the Battle of Marathon to Athens (whereupon he keeled over dead), but I doubt there's a fair argument against the marathon as indeed an elite activity, even if the exact distance (26 miles, 385 yards) is a rather odd one.

So, to sum up, any contest involving a weapon, ancient or modern, gets the big ol' thumbs down from the On Writing Blog.

Same goes for boxing, and other hand-to-hand combat contests.  I have very similar issues with boxing as I have with hunting; it's barbaric.  Boxing and its ilk have a unique 'quality' that other sports fortunately lack - the object of the exercise is to hurt your opponent as badly and as quickly as possible.  I'll have to cop to the inevitable accusations that I lack the stomach for such things.  As stated, I am something of a pacifist, and there is plenty enough violence in this world without adding to it in the name of sport.  Besides, I suspect that boxing is not dissimilar to horse racing in that it may very well find itself without much following at all if it wasn't for the gambling element, or indeed the pay-per-view receipts.

Another selection of sports that I feel lacks the merits of genuine sport are those activities that are synchronised, such as synchronised swimming or synchronised diving.  Has anyone else ever watched these things in the Olympics and wondered if they'd just stepped into the Twilight Zone?  They are supremely strange.  I'll concede that they take skill, fitness and training, but there is an inherent silliness about it all.  If indeed sports can be improved by merely doubling an element of it, then why not do this with other competitions?  Surely a second football added to an AFL or soccer match is no more a foolish idea than synchronised-anything, or reducing cricket to a mindless twenty tip-it-and-run overs for that matter?

I also take issue with the kinds of competitions where the contest is decided by subjective voting, usually by a panel of judges.  While there is plenty of subjectivity in the process of sport (ever yelled at an umpire who has a seemingly casual familiarity with the rules?), it doesn't take much of a stretch before the Ukrainian judge is making deals with the one from Turkey, and the next thing you know, the Olympics starts becoming the Eurovision Song Contest.  Sure, it may be entertaining, but the winner usually ends up being a cross-eyed hunchback drag queen from Kazakhstan.

I suppose that in the end, I prefer my sport to be a little more meat-and-potatoes.  A physical and mental test.  Sublime skills, gracefully executed.  An exciting spectacle.  True athletes, testing their mettle against each other, and sometimes even against themselves, exploits rising above the achievements of the common man.  And above all, let's call sports sports, and let's call games something other than sports.

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On The Biggest Loser

“Your butt is wide, well mine is too

Just watch your mouth or I'll sit on you

The word is out, better treat me right

'Cause I'm the king of cellulite”

~ ‘Fat’, lyrics by Weird Al Yankovic

from his album “Even Worse”, 1988

Reality TV is an odd beast.  Reality television shows are so named due to their lack of a script and outside of the hosts, the players are supposedly people just like you and I. That's the theory at least.  Since reality TV in most of its current guises doesn't resemble any kind of reality that I'm familiar with, I suspect that those two defining pillars are shaky at best.  Another factor would have to be judicious editing, which creates the strong suggestion of storylines, embellishes characters (both heroic and villainous), and designs dramatic tensions where little likely exist in isolation.

I've been suckered into watching more of these shows than I'm proud to admit.  My family too.  A particular favourite amongst my household, much to my chagrin, is The Biggest Loser (Channel 10).

I remember when this show was first announced, I assumed it was a show designed to humiliate the less fortunate among us.  I was never so naive as to think that reality TV would not slump to such lows, as shows of the calibre of The Bachelor, Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire, Big Brother and Jersey Shore will attest.  It seems reality TV never ceases to find new and unusual ways to take advantage of the physically weak, the intellectually dull, the emotionally frail, and the morally bankrupt in the zealous pursuit of viewers’ loyalties and advertisers’ dollars.

 The Biggest Loser, for the uninitiated, has us follow a number of overweight and obese contestants as they attempt to lose as much weight as possible over a number of weeks.  They do this by altering their diet and exercising under the direction of team leaders, essentially personal trainers.  The trainers are suitable for the task, lean and muscular, both buff and holding an often informal relationship with the English language.  Shannon Ponton, in keeping with the show's custom of never allowing an opportunity for cross-promotion go begging, has released a self-help book entitled (I wish I was kidding) Hard'n Up.  Über-serious pseudo-drill sergeant Steve "The Commando" Willis wears camouflage pants and black boots, and is so tough he wears dark glasses indoors.  Tiffany Hall trains her "ninjas" in a groan-worthy "do-Jane" (as opposed to a dojo).  Never does an episode go by without these cartoon characters delivering some pompous pseudo-intellectual pop-psychology.

Worse still are this season's contestants.  While there have been some remarkable success stories in previous seasons in terms of weight loss and lifestyle changes (mainly consisting of getting jobs hawking weight loss products in the ad breaks during latter seasons of the show - how's that for pop culture eating itself?), it seems that this year's contestants have assumed that they will have similar success by virtue of merely appearing on the show.  Hardly any of them have been willing to allow the trainers to seriously push them to their limits in order to achieve significant weight losses.  The trainers are constantly claiming that they can "sense that something is wrong", that so-and-so is not "doing the work", that they will confront them with some "hard truths", and then breathlessly advise the viewing audience afterwards that the contestant has "really turned a corner".  The contestant is usually just as half-arsed the next day.

Of course this just adds to the incessant, maddening drama of the whole thing.  Given that the contestants are largely secluded from the outside world at "Camp Biggest Loser", supplied plenty of healthy food, educated in regards to their lifestyles and given access to state-of-the-art gym facilities, there is no earthly reason why they shouldn't lose weight hand over chubby fist.  The truth is that these people often have significant psychological baggage associated with their immense size, none of which is helped by appearing on what is essentially a glorified game show.  I've come to a rather stunning conclusion that lends some sense to what is an increasingly bizarre exercise.

The Biggest Loser is not about weight loss.  Not at all.

Consider first the main theme of this year's series, Biggest Loser - Singles.  All the contestants are without partners, ranging from the "never-been-kissed" to the lonely to the divorced, which the show has promoted heavily.  The show’s host mercilessly interrogates the contestants as to their longings and heartbreaks and presents their breakdowns in vivid high-definition technicolour.  The message writ large is that if you are overweight, you can abandon all hope that anyone will ever love you for who you are.  The contestants’ stories are the entertainment, and when two of the younger contestants this season began to show affection towards one another, the production was all over them like white on rice.  The young man involved, a twenty-year-old named Hamish, became a favourite of my kin, due to his propensity to tantrum and bawl at the merest of provocations.  The show pushed his relationship with twenty-four-year-old Michelle hard as the discovery of love between two mature young people, when in reality it seemed more like puppy love between children.  When an exercise-averse Hamish was inevitably given the boot, the producers found several excuses to bring him back into the show.  They did something very similar in the first season when public favourite Adro was dumped near the show's conclusion.  The show's producers created a ludicrous contrivance for Adro to re-enter the show and he went on to eventually win the grand prize.  

Furthermore, consider one of the show's staples: the element of the contest known as Temptation.  Temptation is where the contestants are offered treats in the form of calorie rich foods, the acceptance and consumption of which allows them to compete against each other for immunity from eviction from the show.  Contestants will often gorge themselves stupid during Temptation only to lose to another contestant who was willing to go just that little bit further.  Young Hamish was a frequent player of the Temptation game, his eyes lighting up gleefully every time another tasty morsel was offered to him.  It can't possibly be argued that a show that is dedicated to weight loss would assemble such a group of people, with all their frailties and proclivities and offer them rewards of that which got them to the state they're in to start with.  At best, Temptation is morally suspect.

It's really all about the drama, the wailing and the gnashing of teeth.  This season's been positively obese with it.

The current season of the show is ending very soon, and I doubt this year's denouement will see the examples of extraordinary weight loss that previous seasons have. There just hasn't been much spark with this bunch, no fire in their oversized bellies.  There is often a discernible shift in the mental attitude of the contestants during the season when the lifestyle changes they embark on 'click'.  Not so much this year.  The nature of the current series appears to have delivered participants with more baggage than previous seasons.   Perhaps this is also a conceit aimed at delivering more visceral drama than ever as escalation is needed to maintain the audience's attention and avoid the apathy that comes with familiarity.  This baggage has been more than the beefcake trainers have been able to overcome and, using the show's parlance, the contestants have repeatedly failed to "pull big numbers".  The show is unconcerned; as I said, it's not at all about weight loss.

I'll not be sad to see this season end.  It's also likely I'll rue the day when another season is announced and the overwhelming barrage of cheesy advertisements begins to assault us next year.  I'll be looking for ways to distract the family from engaging with the show.  I'll try, and maybe even succeed.

In the meantime, doesn't this next season of Masterchef look promising?

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On Why I Love Movies

“I don’t need no superstar 

‘Cause I accept you as you are

You won’t be denied

‘Cause I’m satisfied

With the love that you can inspire

You don’t have to be a star, baby

To be in my show”

~”You Don’t Have To Be a Star (To Be in My Show)” by James Dean & John Glover

From the Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis, Jnr album I Hope We Get to Love in Time, 1976

It all started with a scathing Internet article written by a blogger named Zack Carlson.  It was Mr Carlson's premise that the use of computer generated effects is the bane of modern cinema.  There's a degree of merit in his arguments.  In a follow-up article, he instigated fans of cinema to "foam" and "gnash" at why they hate movies, even though in his discussion he manages to find virtue in those things he claims to despise.  This was countered by another writer on the same website using the handle Hulk.  Hulk, who bizarrely insists on maintain his chosen avatar's voice by referring to himself in the third person and yelling in all caps, discussed what he loved about the movies (click here to read it).  Eric 'Quint' Vespe from aintitcoolnews.com took Hulk's baton and ran with it, openly aping his style, and challenging movie lovers everywhere to continue what he describes as a "geek chain letter" (Quint's article can be found here).  Hulk's article and Quint's continuation of the same thought has inspired me, as a lover of cinema, to follow their lead.  So with a tip of the hat to Hulk and Quint, I will add my link to the chain.  Why do I love the movies?

I love the movies...

Because when Legolas kills an oliphaunt, it only counts as one.

Because those aren't two pillows!

Because to this day, in every student protest you'll find someone carrying a 'Save Ferris' placard.

Because the Stonehenge monument at the back of the stage really could have been crushed by a dwarf.

Because of the awesome nobility and dignity Gregory Peck brings to Atticus Finch.

Because when this baby reaches eighty-eight miles per hour... you're going to see some serious shit.

Because no matter how many times I see the montage of Carl and Ellie's life together it brings me to tears.  Every last time.

Because what we do in life echoes in eternity.

Because of when Arcee and Springer take the time to teach Daniel how to use his father's old exo-suit.

Because they're going to need a bigger boat.

Because of the way Jack Sparrow runs.

Because of the sheer heart-in-your-mouth shock of Kane's death during breakfast.

Because of how Holmes sums up his opponent's weaknesses and discerns every step of his downfall in mere moments before executing everything exactly as he foresaw it.

Because of Sharlto Copley.

Because of Michelle Pfeifer's meow.

Because Jessica's not bad, she's just drawn that way.  And because she loves her husband because he makes her laugh.

Because of Gollum and Sméagol's conversation.

Because fish are friends, not food.

Because of 23-19! 23-19!

Because when Leia tells Han she loves him, he replies "I know".

Because of the perfect use of an unlikely remix of In the Hall of the Mountain King during, of all things, a rowing race.

Because I can't decide if Inception is unfolding in eight layers of reality at the same time, or only seven.  And because I wish so desperately that the film went for just another three seconds just so I can see if the spinning top falls over.

Because sometimes you need to run before you can walk.

Because of how Gene Wilder sings Pure Imagination.

Because of how Indy shoots the guy with the sword.

Because Vincent never saved anything for the swim back.

Because you can't stop the signal.

Because Rusty thinks they're going to need eleven.

Because of every James Bond theme song.  Except the Madonna one.

Because the kids used to call him Mr Glass.

Because they're on a mission from God.

Because of Sam's unswerving devotion to Frodo.

Because of Roy Batty's beautiful and tragic monologue:  "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in rain. Time to die".  And then he very quietly does.

Because you wouldn't like him when he's... hungry?

Because Dr Venkman got slimed.

Because Henry Snr slaps his son for blasphemy.

Because of the way Phil wakes up to Sonny and Cher singing I Got You Babe... again and again and again and again and again and...

Because of the way Sam Gerard wants is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in a six-mile radius.

Because Number Five laughs at the joke about the Priest, the Minister and the Rabbi.

Because of Sam Rockwell.

Because of the brilliant moment when Neo realises his potential and sees the code in the Matrix for the first time.

Because if Superman's got Lois, who's got Superman?

Because of John Rambo's devastating monologue at the end of First Blood, delivered by Sylvester Stallone with sensitivity and pathos.

Because of the slow-motion shoot-out on the railway station stairs.

Because of the Joker's disappearing pencil magic trick.

Because of Woody's "YOU! ARE! A! TOY!!" rant at Buzz.

Because of the way all the toys join hands on the way into the furnace.

Because of the moment Dave Kujan deduces who Keyser Söze really is.

Because of Tyler Durden's distorted vision of the future, hauntingly explained as the picture fades in and out of black.

Because of the moment of complete anguish when Bond's heart irretrievably breaks as Vesper drowns.

Because of the way the men in the queue at the employment offIce slowly start dancing to Donna Summer's Hot Stuff.

Because of the moment when Optimus declares "Today, in the name of freedom, we take the battle to them".  And almost everything after that moment.

Because of Gandalf's slow smile when Aragorn asks him "What does your heart tell you?".

Because of Helen Parr's parenting.  And because of how the Parr family reminded us to celebrate what is truly special, and not just the mediocre.

Because The Shoveller and his teammates have a date with destiny... and it looks like she ordered the lobster.

Because Andy Dufresne crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.

Because of every single solitary line in The Princess Bride, every last one of them eminently quotable.

Because of Heath Ledger's extraordinarily nuanced performance in his penultimate movie appearance.

Because Josh Pence's performance in The Social Network is one of the best you'll never see.

Because you should never, ever feed your Mogwai after midnight.

That's only some of the many, many reasons why I love cinema. I'm aware that some of my reasons have been similarly expressed by Hulk and Quint before me, but isn't that one of the great things about movies?  Even though what you like and what I like may differ in places, there's great beauty in shared passions, a joy you feel when something that jazzes you also jazzes others.  You've read my reasons.  You may share some with me.  No doubt you have many more of your very own.  If you love movies, why not consider making a contribution to the geek chain letter yourself?

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