Cracker by Damian Christie

While Wellington often feels a bit small – suffocatingly, claustrophobia-inducing, Deep Vein Thrombosis-causingly small – that smallness does have its benefits. And I’m not talking about the fact you can walk everywhere, or that all the blue jeans and white striped-shirt wankers on a Friday night are neatly confined to an avoidable 200 square metres on Courtenay Place.

No, the benefits of it being so small, and yet housing almost all of New Zealand’s Oscar winners, is that everyone knows someone who knows someone who’s won an Oscar.

Whoop-de-fuck, you might quite rightly exclaim. But you see, once a year, these people (the one’s that know someone who’s won an Oscar), become very valuable. Because once a year, these people have access to all the Oscar-nominated movie screeners. On DVD. For free.

Which is how I come to share my opinions with you on some of those films. Likewise, for free.

Dreamgirls

8 Nominations: Supporting Actor (Eddie Murphy); Supporting Actress (Jennifer Hudson); Art Direction; Costume Design; Original Song x3!; Sound Mixing.

Avoid. Avoid like the plague. Avoid as though it were rabid dog with an Ebola-carrying monkey riding on its back, nursing a plague-infested rat.

In case, like me, you were unaware, Dreamgirls is a musical. I don’t mean a movie with a large amount of music in it, such as The Commitments, or I don’t know, Rock Star. No, I mean one of those things where two characters are arguing, and suddenly one of them starts voicing their concerns in the form of a melody. Appalling.

(Apparently Dreamgirls was a successful Broadway musical between 1981 and 1985. I make no apologies for not knowing this before watching the film.)

And don’t get me wrong. I’m not gay or anything (NTTIAWWT), but I’ve enjoyed - and memorised all the lyrics to - a few musicals in my time. Grease. The Sound of Music. Labyrinth. All good films. But while the music the Dreamgirls perform on stage is an acceptable Supremish Motown-lite, as soon as they burst into a proper musical number it’s like the treacle-covered bastard child of Walt Disney and Celine Dion. So. Wrong.

It happens by stealth too. No musical numbers for the first half hour or so, but by the end there's barely a spoken word to be found.

Also, and you may note some inconsistency here with my criticisms of The Queen (coming soon), but Dreamgirls is supposed to be fiction. Yet clearly it’s based around the Supremes. But when other bands turn up, such as the Band of Five Black Guys with Afros who are Presumably All Brothers and the lead singer is about eight years old etc… why not just call them the Jackson Five? To call them the Campbell Connection is just kinda insulting to the audience, no? Either call them what they are, or don’t use an “I can’t believe it’s not the Jackson 5” group in the first place.

Beyonce might have a fine voice and booty to match, and Eddie Murphy sings surprisingly well, but that American Idol woman, she puts the screech back into screechy. I can’t believe this shitty movie got 8 Oscar nominations. Did I say ‘avoid’ already?

Children of Men

3 nominations: Cinematography, film editing, adapted screenplay.

You couldn’t get further from Dreamgirls than Children of Men. Children of Men is set in a futuristic but still very-familiar Britain. And Future-Britain is bleak. So bleak that if you lived there, you’d welcome a rabid dog with an Ebola-carrying monkey riding on its back nursing a plague-infested rat, simply for the light relief such a sight would bring.

(WARNING: I guess we have at least one spoiler ahead, but it’s not really a spoiler in that it’s revealed in the first few minutes of the movie. I won’t reveal the main ‘surprise’.)

In Future Britain, on Future Earth in fact, everyone is infertile. The youngest person in the world, an 18 year old with celebrity status, has just been killed. The world has gone to shit. Did I mention it’s bleak? The lack of children has understandably dampened the world’s party somewhat. (Although I dare say it makes flying and going out for dinner a lot more pleasant.)

While the Government is rounding up the ‘fugees and acting fairly abysmally, the various terrorist organisations are causing just as much harm by zealously doing what they think is right for mankind, and damn anyone who gets in the way.

The plot isn’t super-original and will be familiar – possibly even predictable – to anyone who’s seen/read the Handmaid’s Tale and 1984. But what really works for me about Children of Men is the fact that it paints such a convincing picture of what the future is like – it doesn’t assume too much in the way of technological advancement. It’s 2027, but people still eat food. The guns shoot bullets, not laser beams. The cars have a few flash features but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing not available in a late model BMW.

The cinematography is great, at times beautifully composed, at times frantic and gritty. I don’t know where they found the sets, acres of partially demolished slums and run-down housing estates… oh that’s right, England.

So yes, it’s bleak, but not unrelentingly so. Clive Owen (grrrrrrowl say the girls) is a man on a mission, and in doing so he restores hope back to humankind. It might not be the movie to watch on a Sunday evening after a big weekend depleting your serotonin levels (when Adam Sandler’s more your man), but it’s definitely worth a watch any other time.

COMING SOON: Why I hated THE QUEEN and found redemption in LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE.

Dare to disagree? Discuss…

Those who have been following the competition over at Public Address System might have your own opinons, but you're not the ones holding the prizes, are you now? No, no you're not.

The runners-up first, then for those of you who haven't read it already, the winner in all its illustrated glory:

Honourable mentions (but no prizes sorry):

Robyn - for having a great last line.

Ben - for putting a romantic spin on my favourite automatic rifle.

THIRD PLACE - MURIEL LOCKHEED - A Love Song to Mavis

Muriel really picked up on the romance angle I was getting at and wrote a lovely story.

SECOND PLACE - DIANA ROGERS - Survivor: Mexico

A good idea, well written - bonus points for keeping it well linked to the pictures.

Both Muriel and Diana get a Rough Guide of their choice.

THE WINNER (who will take home the lovely Traveller's Atlas AND a Rough Guide of their choice):

ANDREW via the email. For imaginatiion, weirdness and incorporating the story into the pictures. Well done. For those who haven't read Andrew's entry....

Feel Free to Suggest a Title Here, Andrew

When Hank came to, he found himself sprawled upon a spongy mattress. Beads of sweat trickled down his shoulders as he hauled himself up onto his elbows. The surface of the mattress clung to his skin. His first thought was that he had, somehow, been swept up from his comfortable deckchair beside the rose garden and deposited in the sauna at the Paltry Street Baths, with its blue tiles and matching towels. But as he squinted into the light, he caught a whiff of salt spray and heard the sound of crashing waves, and realised that this was not the sauna.

It was only then that he noticed the woman lying behind him. She was awake, and he stood up as she spoke. "Oh" she said, seemingly to herself, with a hint of concern in her voice "sand....the beach? Yes, a beach. I'm at a beach. Goodness." She squinted up at Hank, a puzzled expression on her face. "Are we in Blackpool?"

Hank considered. "Well, no, I don't believe we are in Blackpool," he replied. "I think this is a...well, a tropical beach." He gazed at the azure ocean, perplexed. The woman scrambled to her feet. "A tropical beach...Goodness. It is very warm." She stepped towards the water. Unsure of what to do,and not seeing anyone nearby, Hank followed.

The woman continued: "How on Earth did I get here? I was just walking to the shops to buy some jam, and....oh, yes, I was passing the umbrella store when a black cat ran across my path, and next thing I know I'm on a tropical beach. Goodness, how very strange!"

They waded into the water. It was warm, soothing. "How very odd," Hank replied.
"I was just sitting in the garden, doing the crossword. I think I must have gone to sleep, and suddenly.....here I am. Very peculiar indeed. I say....you weren't dressed like that going to the shops, were you?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" the woman exclaimed. "I was wearing my cardy and hat!"

"Indeed. I don't know where my trousers have gone, and my shirt - well, it was an uncomfortable shirt anyway." Hank felt relieved that his underpants hadn't vanished into thin air with the rest of his attire, although he then noticed that they had been rolled up to expose the tops of his thighs, as if he was about to sunbathe.

"At least you've still got your boots", the woman said.

Hank agreed, although quite how he came to be wearing a pair of neoprene dive booties was beyond him.

The warm sun and sea made Hank feel tired. He announced that he was going to return to mattress. The woman puffed slightly as she followed him over the soft sand.

"Might I ask what your name is?" Hank enquired.

"Mavis Winklepicker," she told him, "I'm a retired seamstress. And you?"

"Hank. Hank Haddockgrubber. I used to be in the Navy, but nothing like this ever happened before, not even when we sailed around that Bermuda Triangle." Hank heard a splash and turned to see a man squatting in the shallows just along the beach.

"Well, he seems unconcerned," remarked Mavis.

Back at the mattress, Hank reclined on the warm rubber, which trembled as Mavis perched on the edge. He peered into a black bag which sat between them. Inside it he found a towel, a rubber duck and a yellow lunchbox containing pieces of fruit. Lying back in the sun, he offered Mavis a piece of pineapple. A young couple strolled past.

"At least the weather's nice here," said Mavis.

"So it is, so it is," Hank replied. "I wonder how long we'll be here. If it gets much warmer, I might have to take a swim. Now, I wonder where a man might get a drink around here..."

As anticipated, some great prizes have come my way for those of you who take the time to enter the Mexican photo contest below.

Thanks to Penguin for providing some very relevant treats.

First Prize: The Traveller’s Atlas

Not just an Atlas (and who doesn’t like Atlases, right folks?!) this lovely hardback edition includes information on where to go, when to go, what to see and so forth. Kinda like a flash giant Rough Guide that you can leave on your coffee table. I suggest putting little post-it notes inside every few pages to impress visitors with the journeys you have planned.

PLUS

A Rough Guide of Your Choice!

You know what Rough Guides are all about. They’re the things you carry around with you when you’re traveling so local vendors know you’re a tourist and they should immediately triple the price of everything in store. But without a Rough Guide you won’t have the knowledge to say “Oi! Amigo! Too much-io” and be able to bargain them down to only double what they charge the locals.

Thanks to the Rough Guide I traveled with, I now know how to say “Do you have a private bathroom” in Spanish. Of course unless the answer is “si” or “no”, I’m a little stumped.

Second and Third Prize: A Rough Guide of Your Choice!

Right. Incentive On. Entries by Monday please. I'm allowing Discussion on the original post now, so if you would rather submit your entries into Public Address System, feel free.

Since I've got back from New York and Mexico I've had a number of emails asking for photos and so forth. If anything, I've been hamstrung by a combination of the digital age and my own prodigious photographic efforts.

Having a camera that can take three photos a second or something doesn't mean you always should take three photos of everything. A 1GB memory card is not a challenge. And sifting through some 600 photos from a three week holiday will probably require a holiday in itself.

But while lying on a beach in Tulum, perfecting the phrase "dos Coronas por favor", I spotted an older couple soaking up the sun. Initially I was attracted to the way Hank (as I've dubbed him) had tucked his shorts up into themselves to resemble speedos.

But the more I watched them the more I hoped I'd be lucky enough to be like Hank in a few more decades. In Mexico, mucking about on a beautiful beach with the person I've spent my life loving.

I wanted to write a little story, illustrating each of these five photos of "Hank" and "Mavis". And I might, when I have more time. But first, why don't you have a crack? There's bound to be some prizes and stuff... even if I can't match what the tabloids have allegedly been paying for those other beach photos (NSFW)

Flick me an email with your entries. You can use the five photos in any order, just use the letters I've given them so I know which caption goes with which photo. Marks will be given for literary style (like I'm any judge), the ability to bring the characters to life, and the overall cohesiveness of the story. You can write as much or as little for each photo.

Send entries to me via the feedback button below or simply click on the Discuss button below and I'll post the winners together with the photos on Monday. Have fun.

Hank & Mavis Visit the Beach

A. Sunbathing

This is where I first spotted Hank. And it’s hard not to with him all stretched out like an Iguana in the sun.

B. Standing

Again, here I first noticed Hank’s DIY design feature – the shorts tucked into themselves, matched with a pair of what appear to be diving booties.

C. Swimming

This is now my wallpaper on my Mac. I love this shot.

D. Returning

Back from the swim, Hank always seems to lead the way.

E. Eating

Sharing a container of fresh fruit bought from a beach vendor.

1. Find an Emo kid.

2. Approach stealthily.

3. Tickle until cries.

4. Rinse, repeat.

Observant readers will notice that while tickling this Emo kid (from the front he was wearing a black tie and had piercings and stuff), I'm also adopting the pose of Abu Ghraib's finest, Lynndie England, thus contributing to one meme while hopefully beginning another. Sometimes I surprise even myself.

Also, I don't actually smoke - the cigarette was only for Lynndie-like accuracy. Mum.

PS. Don't really tickle them too hard. It's only for fun. And photos.