The View from Elsewhere

bad books

As for The Librarians, it was simply appalling.  You were expecting me to say that, weren't you? It's true, I watched this show with a closed mind, but there was very little to open it.  I didn't laugh once (cruel, ain't I?)

What  was really irritating about this show was the main character, from the line about 'our country, our rules' in the promo, the opening scene with her blowing into a panic-bag, onwards.  There is nothing redeemable about Frances O'Brien -- a few things to identify with (like former friend running off with man), but she's in no way a likable or sympathetic character, which seems like a major flaw for a comedic lynchpin (something you could get only away with if she was a minor character).  She and the woman in the spray-on pink lycra dress also make some terrible vowel sounds -- e.g. that 'eeeiauw' sound that some Victorian women make sometimes (including Helen Garner); I don't know how they do it.  Honestly, the Frances O'Brien character has a voice that would grate cheese and more, which I guess is the point rather clumsily and unendearingly made.  The only remotely likable character seemed to be the Scottish dude (but I'm a sucker for a Celtic accent).

And then there was the endless hammering home of the fact that the head librarian is a racist bigot -- she's always putting down women in hijabs.  How tedious was that? In case you're worried about where I'm coming from: it's not that I'm a Klan member, it's just that I don't like one-dimensional caricatures being marshalled to make points most ABC viewers got long ago, like during the Whitlam era.  Audiences are more sophisticated these days.

I imagine the idea behind this show was a spin-off from British comedies like Teachers, Black Books, the Reading Group (or is that the Amanda Lohrey book I'm thinking of?)  I actually think the pretext of this show is a good one -- librarians are fertile grounds for comedic harvest.  The library also provides a contained site for satire, tho so far the one that's happening seems to be the most hamfisted, single-layered one possible.  I've been thinking about what I wrote in my post about Chris Lilley's work, and whether I simply like a good situation comedy rather than a clever conceit.  But The Librarians virtually proves my point: it's all situation, not a lot of conceit.

Verdict: Ep 1 of The Librarians: just god awful.  No stars. It's gunna be a dud.

irony & its contents

Recently there was a suggestion that some of us split from the local Book Club and form a TV Club.  The reasons for this were as follows: we don't have time to read the books, some of the people who come to Book Club don't read the book club but just come for a feed, and Book Club was starting to do weird things like discuss two books at once.  The biggest gripe about Book Club probably was that you might end up reading a book you'd rather not.

Book Club, in case you were wondering, looks like this:

<A book club in action, discussing We Need to Talk about Kevin: note enigmatic participation by Lulu>

No Swedish footballers' wives involved: it's all incredibly nerdy and dorky, but this is how you socialise in Alice, through joining clubs and groups.

Some of us were occasionally meeting to watch The Chaser and Summer Heights High.  So it seemed like a natural progression, to form a TV Club. (But why can't you just watch TV? -- Ed.) Being a member of a TV Club suggests a chance to be totally passive, to wing things, not to have to read anything you don't like. Or even to read, full stop. Non-reading being something I'm bitterly opposed to, but this is total nerdsville, for all those who miss the joy of a tutorial situation, so that has to count for something.

This week we'll have our first inaugural non-meeting, watching the last episode of Summer Heights High.  I'm rather intrigued by Summer Heights High as an example of one of the recent wave of comedies that use irony to satirise (the handling of) PC-ness and diversity.   The other thing about Summer Heights High is that its appeal seems to have been instantaneous: a cult following has developed overnight (at least amongst high school children in Alice).  While the show owes some of its momentum to We Can Be Heroes, it rides on the coat-tails of British comedies such as Little Britain, Ali G and the deadpan humour of the mockumentary, The Office, comedies in which you often don't know whether to laugh or cringe.  Lilley's work also follows in the Australian comic genealogy of suburban satire sired (or maybe just popularised) by Barry Humphrey: Ja'mie (not my most favourite of Lilley's characters) could be Dame Edna's long-lost grand-daughter, with her distinct superstar tendencies.

in the valley of the Ken dolls

In other news...I am in love with Matt Corby. Except when he wears that little hat. But it's making me feel like a p&dophile, being in love with a 16 yo boy.  Either that or like Germaine Greer, I'm not sure which is worse.

I'm in love with Matt so much so that when Mark Holden wants him to sing something ...gay as Jonah Takalua would say...from Phantom of the Opera, I forgive them both. I want to coo like Marcia 'he's so versatile' rather than bark 'that was an idiot's choice' like Dicko.

But I'm not alone in my love for Matt.  I'm there with Mark Holden, and possibly almost every teenage girl from here to coo-ee. In Mark's case, it's because he's looking for the lost Mark. Every year he looks for the Mark he never was and the Mark who never will be (wasn't Dean last year?)  Because I don't remember Mark ever being as talented as he wants the Idols to be.  Wasn't the reason why he got a record deal that he was (a) cute and (b) on the Young Doctors?  In fact, a bit of a Daniel Mifsud figure.  Goodlooking but hopeless. 

<the Mark that was...the Matt he never will be...note spooky resemblance>

Being loved by Mark is like the kiss of Idol death.  You know that once Mark has identified someone as the rightful heir apparent, the best they'll ever do is get into the Top Three.  But they'll never win outright, which could of course be another form of death.

Last week, Matt almost had a Ricky Lee moment at about Round 6, but instead it turned into a Bobby Flynn moment for the talented but insufferable Ben.  I don't think Matt will go just yet; I think this kind of aberration also happened to other strong performers like Emily at about this time in the past.

The thing is, you generally have to be something of an out-rider to win Idol.  This is my theory: it's all about the battler narrative.  At the end of the day, Australians love a battler.  The person who sets up the best battler narrative wins.  There are two dark horses who could make the most of the battler narrative here: lazyboy from the Central Coast (tho name too unmemorable) and Carl, the swingster.  Lazyboy could be an outside contender but probably won't be, because he is too lazy.  Carl is in the Army, which should appeal to a youth brought up under Howard, and most importantly of all, Learns Lessons from his Mistakes and is seen to be pulling himself up out of the poo, so to speak (swing-poo, I guess).  So I'd put money on Carl as the new Damien Leith.

Interesting that I don't mention any of the girls, isn't it, but I have a feeling that it really is all about het boys this time. I suspect that Tarisai is just too weird for the Australian public; she doesn't project a consistent enough story for people to latch onto (a bit like Emily but all over the place).  Natalie Gauche or whatever her name is should be the new Tina Arena but always seems to get the raw end of the deal, as far as positioning's conncerned...she's tucked away somewhere in the evening.  Also, she's short-waisted (this is different from having a big bum)...can't someone in wardrobe tell her not to wear things that make her look like a paddlepop with two sticks?  But she does have a beautiful face, which I suspect is still swinging her votes.

And then there's Daniel Mifsud...Oh please, someone put Daniel out of his misery.  He's cute, he's a nice boy, but his voice is just too weak.  Some of the dancing around he does is just plain embarrassing, too.  Either he or Lazyboy has to go this week.

Anyway, I really I can't compete with Petstarr when it comes to Idol commentary; it's almost worth watching Idol just to read her posts afterwards. But that's my two cents-worth for now...Carl to beat Ken Doll.

Poo's Age of Love

Last night I was invited by some young people of my acquaintance to view the Great Global Warming Swindle, preceded by the private screening of some right - er - left-thinking doco on the greenhouse effect, at their humble abode. Unfortunately, I had to spurn this kind offer, as I'd already been invited by a colleague to watch Mark Philippoussis's Age of Love at her place.  Though gay, she seems to have a raging long-time crush on the Poo (why do dykes have such terrible taste in men?)  Anyway, I told the youthful science farties that as far as I was concerned, the Age of Love was the televisual event of the evening, no doubt compounding my image as some strange, ageing, washed-up, intellectual, humanities woman (science farties don't get the thing about pretending to be interested in popular culture; they think middle-brow is where it's supposed to be at).

For those somehow not in the know, the basic premiss of Age of Love is the hoodwinking of the Poo into a dating show where two teams of women compete for his hand -- the 'kittens', a litter of twenty-somethings, and 'the cougars', a pride of women in their forties. (Note that the sensible mid-option -- 'cat's, women in their thirties, is missing). Thirty-one-year-old Philippoussis, who's apparently America's most eligible bachelor even though he's Australian, is blissfully unaware of all this till he's introduced to a succession of women who each announce they're in their forties.  No actor, his face visibly drops after each announcement, though it lifts when a cage of kittens is lowered onto the helipad at the end of the show.    (The whole thing is set on the rooftop of a hotel in LA -- hence no scattered rose petals as in the Bachelorette, I presume.)  If they hadn't made such a big deal about the women's ages, he have been less thrown by the situation -- but I guess that's all part of the fun. 

In the intro to the show, the cougars watched a clip of the Poo in which he says he 'can't wait to meet a whole lot of beautiful women in their twenties' --  after all what more can a nice Greek boy want than a fecund young thing to bear his kids (not wanting to get into generalisations or anything) -- and that 'he was so lonely, he'd bought a dog', which was surely the wrong answer.  The cougars gushed and said 'how sweet', but really they must have been hoping for 'so lonely, he decided to start dating'.  In contrast, the kittens did seem remarkably silly (and bitchy), but then the Poo himself is no Einstein.  He also lacks the smoothness and manners of the more usual American male contestants on these shows, and has more of the great Australian gaucheness -- 'er, she seemed nice' -- altho this can be refreshingly honest at times. He's also huge, like a giant-size Yogi bear.  He looks like he's amongst Lillputians every time he stands.

Anyway, it was all wonderfully appalling, as one might expect, with a teenage-boy-style date abseiling down the side of a building.  I can't say (embarrassingly) enough what pleasure I receive from shows with a Princess pretext, like the Bachelor/Bachelorette and Australian Princess...the prince was lonely and looked out across his lands, saying, who is beautiful, worthy, true enough, etc, to marry me where is the local animal shelter?  These shows like to pretend that, like the Cinderella myth, they're on about true love: that it isn't all about status and exteriors, but about finding and valuing the genuine inner self, though we know they're just joshing really.

If you're still not convinced that this is Thursday night's best offering, here's a preview of what to expect in coming weeks:

As Mark had dessert with Kelli, Consuelos gathered the other four Kittens -- Adelaide; Mary, a 24-year-old hemodialysis technician from Albuquerque, NM; Megan, a 21-year-old Loyola University student from Chicago, IL; and Tessa, a 23-year-old executive assistant from Peoria, AZ -- as well as the other four Cougars -- Lynn; Jayanna, a 38-year-old mortgage loan officer from Newport, CA who has been married once before; Jennifer, a 48-year-old executive assistant for the owner of the Los Angeles Lakers from Carson, CA who has been married twice before; and Maria, a 42-year-old photographer from Playa Del Rey, CA who has been married once before.

Consuelos explained that each group would have to create the "perfect date" for the other group to go on with Mark, with the opportunity to potentially make it a difficult, awkward experience for them. The Cougars decided to send the Kittens to an indoor playground, where they had a play-date with 20 little kids and Age of Love's bachelor. The Cougars chose wisely, as the Kittens commented that spending time with the kids took time away from Mark, who spurned a chance at conversation with Mary and instead opted to hang-out with Adelaide, whom he took for a ride home in the limousine. "I feel like she's sort of genuine," said Mark. "I want to see if there's something there."

The Kittens decided to send the Cougars to a water aerobics class with a group of women who appeared to be much, much older than in their 40s. But the plan backfired on the Kittens, as the Cougars donned skimpy bathing suits that flattered their figures. Besides their bodies, Mark was also impressed by the "vibe around" the Cougars, but he was mostly impressed by the bodies. "Some of them had bodies that would have made some of these younger women pissed off," said Mark. "I mean they're in their 40s and they look incredible... I don't really know if the 20-year-olds thought the date through too much because I had so much fun. I had so much fun to be honest."

The promo for next week showed Mark looking soulfully into the camera saying, 'But I miss the older women.'  Sure, like he misses chats round the table with his aunts and grandmothers.  I'm betting that the whole thing will be resolved with him choosing a twenty-something with whom he obstensibly feels an emotional connection, but we'll see.

watching da sopranos

Watching the Sopranos last night, I started dry retching at the murder and 'disappearing' of Ralphie Cifaretto, all the while appreciating the bizarre juxtapositions this series achieves: after Chris has dismembered Ralphie, he and Tony sit watching an old Hollywood weepie together; Tony gives Chris some fatherly advice about his drug problems while they dispose of the body parts.  Ralphie has been my least favourite character in the whole series so far.  And I can well understand Tony's anger over the needless destruction of his horse, which Ralphie precipitated.  But still.

The sense of disconcerting juxtapositions and ambivalence this series provokes permeates people's recommendations. Before I started watching The Sopranos, I was told it's a great series, as good as 6FU: I should really watch it, though the violence is terrible -- peek out between your fingers, etc.  Some cult studs-type heavyweight types even told me they couldn't bring themselves to watch The Sopranos 'because of the violence.'

Yet the violence begs to be watched: without the violence, The Sopranos would never be what it is.  Family would not be redefined to quite the same degree.  Like 6FU, The Sopranos is built on a series of clever, ironic conceits, which hang off the premise of the tag 'family redefined', here the Mafia mobster who visits a shrink, takes Prozac, occasionally has couples-counselling, discusses self-help issues with his henchmen, etc; the American-Italian family who struggle for successful integration of their children into mainstream society whilst retaining their own culture...even though they're mafioso; and of course, the violence. What does it mean to suspend 'normal' boundaries and act on your death drives, even kill some of your closest friends and relatives -- as Tony Soprano does?

I suspect part of the appeal of reconciling Tony Soprano's actions with his humanity is the commonplace joke that some people work for or are married to sociopaths.  Indeed, I used to work directly to someone whom I suspected to be a sociopath and who later become the defendant in a high-profile rape case.  I occasionally catch glimpses of my former work self in Jennifer Melfi -- calm, reasonable, occasionally scared, hammering away against hope with someone who ain't ever really going take you all that seriously at some level.  That former boss person of mine could also be quite charming, even caring, in their own way, and had cronies and a sex life not unlike Tony Soprano's.  But as far as I know, he wasn't 'clipping' anyone.

If Tony Soprano is a sociopath, he isn't one of the same order as a white-collar corporate type. Tony's actions are in part ritualised; he acts according to (at least the remnants of) a social code.  At times he discusses with his cronies how aspects of this code have been lost or softened since immigrating from Italy.  He tries to use military imagery with Jennifer Melfi to justify some of his activities: he's fighting in a war, etc. The bitter-sweet violence is an accepted trope in Mafia movies, as well as the juxtapositions: think of Al Pacino watching wildlife documentaries after participating in blood-baths in Donnie Brasco.  I would have told you before watching The Sopranos that I liked watching Martin Scorcese movies -- except for the violence.  But the issue remains: how, if at all, do you reconcile the violence with an otherwise likeable family man?

****************

A week or so ago as I was driving home, the first bulletin of the news ran something like this: 'A man from L community has been charged with causing grievous bodily harm after he poured boiling water over his wife twice one evening ...'  I winced and changed the channel, thinking, I don't know if I can hear any more of this.  As you probably know, Alice has a reputation for being murder capital of the nation, with the highest assault rate per capita, etc.  However, most of the current violence is black on black, and probably attributable to family violence. 

Talking to S during my trip to Y community, he gave a rationale, one that I've heard before, for the reasons why family violence has spiralled: the original social codes have been blurred, they aren't properly remembered by the current generation. What was once ritualised, law-enforcing violence has now taken on another dimension. Payback is often loosely interpreted and out-of-control. People take matters into their own hands: you avenge the killing of my family member, so I avenge your vengeance, and so forth.  Many of the original checks and balances that used to exist are lost. 

When S started talking about this, something slotted into place and I said, 'Oh, it's The Sopranos.'  This might seem like rather a long, and perhaps inappropriate bow to draw (esp given the Mafia's associations with organised crime), but it struck me that there is at least one common thread here with The Sopranos. Smaller ethnic minority has specific, clan-based code of justice which doesn't match with the dominant culture's legal system.  Under pressure, things fall apart, become open to personal interpretation, and sometimes spiral out of control.  The ambivalence that viewers feel trying to reconcile the violence of The Sopranos with the familiar quirky terrain of the dysfunctional family drama probably relates to the relative incomprehensibility of the remants of this unfamiliar social code.

**************** 

Recently an Aboriginal woman told me that one of her relatives had been killed in a family feud: 'But that was a while ago; we've put things behind us since then.'

How does anyone get over one relative murdering another in a feud?

I don't know what the answers are to this one, if there are any, but it's one of the questions The Sopranos begs: how credible is it that these people manage to stay together as a cohesive entity, despite the carnage amongst them?  (And for that matter, how credible is it that Tony Soprano keeps on swinging such gorgeous chicks, even tho he is so well inhabited by the luminous james Gandolfini?)

I don't know what a postcolonial, Italian, cult studs take on all this would be (it's not that clear to me what wave of immigration Soprano belongs to), tho I suspect much cult studs ink would have been spilt on this series.  As I near the end of the fourth season, and realise I'm just halfway through, I wonder what the television future can hold for the Soprano dynasty, how long Jennifer Melfi can keep her cool, what on earth the future can ultimately hold for Chris (will Tony bump him off or will he beat Tony to the punch)? Who if anyone will be left standing?

oh frabjous day

'Oh frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay', she chortled in her joy, because this finally arrived today.  Christmas present to self.

Found red card in letterbox at 4.53 pm, drove at brokeneck speed back towards town, thinking that the PO hatch closed at 5.00.  Got stuck behind motorbike doing 50 kmh along Gap Rd; unkindly did not let motorbike back he chose the wrong lane before traffic merged.

Dodged round tourists straggling out from parked cars, cursed idiot for hogging closest entry to PO carpark, nearly knocked off two peds crossing near roundabout...only to find that PO hatch is open till 6 pm up until Christmas Eve.

It's surprising that I'm blogging, really.  Feel like I'm about to catch up with old friends.

house

This week has been devoted to planning which, as regular readers of the blog will know, is not one of my favourite pastimes, along with training and rising early.  Planning also starts, for some godforsaken reason, at 8 am.  I am always late, by about 20-30 minutes.  I always leave early, by about 3-4 hours -- i.e. I skive off, so I can do some of the research and writing I'm meant to do to validate my being employed. As part of this superdiligent skiving off, I have been avoiding the blogosphere till the evening (hence lack of comments from moi lately).

Anyway, I digress somewhat boringly... I'm getting a little scared about being too publicly critical about Bumbledore, in case someone reads these posts and puts two and two together.  So you're being saved another anti-planning tirade here (tho if you really must know, there was an earnest conversation about coloured dots on Monday morning and, so far, no butcher's paper has been involved).

I thought instead that I would devote a blogpost to the television character (or show of same name) most likely to eschew planning and all such bureaucratic leisure pursuits: House. I recently watched pretty well all of series one of House on DVD.  (I say 'pretty well all', because disc 3 was scratched beyond repair.) I got into the House-DVD watching because (1) it's taking a bloody long time for season 5 of 6FU to wend its way across the Pacific towards me and (2) my appetite for House was whetted by watching a slab of season 2 on the plane to LA in which some of the stuff about House's relationship with his ex-wife and the bambi-girl's affection for him was explained. (Hmm, interesting how much the Pacific Ocean is involved in my rationale here.)

You see the thing is (sorry, this post is very stream-of-consciousness and boring so far; it will pick up soon) one can never rely on Imparja TV to show a complete television series (Idol is less of an ask).  A show will suddenly appear on Thursday night at 9.30 pm, shift without warning to Tuesday at 8.30 pm then disappear without trace.  Which makes watching some of the more intelligent HBO dramas problematic, so one really has to borrow whole series from the DVD shop.   Not that House is particularly intellectually stretching; it was just nice to be filled in on the stuff with the bambi-girl.

I wrote about the spate of medical dramas on TV about a year ago: you can read this post here (it's not bad). I didn't say a lot about the character of House himself, other than that it seemed almost inconceivable that Hugh Laurie had reincarnated himself in this way (tho I think Who Weekly listing him as one of the Sexiest People of 2005 was beyond the call of duty).

touching down

Wasn't it wonderful last night when Little Jess scored a touch-down?  Not just because of that incident last week with Kyle and the jelly belly, but because she's a Territorian -- in fact, maybe the first Territorian in the top ten.  Mind you, although she looked quite beautiful, her outfit did look like something you'd wear to a toga party (i.e. a sheet).  I preferred her in the jelly belly get-up.  Now all she has to do is spin a bit more narrative about herself, get the audience interested, keep on singing like that of course, and she'll be into the top three.  But like AFL, narrative is everything in this show.

Last night was actually my first Idol of the season, as I've been away and I haven't noticed it on Imparja until now (I think we missed the heats, which might not be such a bad thing).  As people have been saying, this year's finalists seem a lot better than last year, though I was surprised by how many of them still sang off key -- a couple of people even started flat and remained that way for a good while.  I guess it's nerves but you'd think they'd be able to find ten finalists who could sing in tune.

As for Bobby -- it's the first time I've seen him so I'm prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt but I was just a tad creeped out by that whole moon and New York City thing.  And the hair and the name -- it's a bit Brady Bunch.  But the worst moment was when he said in the rehearsal clip how he was going to hold the mike as tho it were 'a lady-friend'. That made me feel a bit queasy. That's what lonely 'gent's advertise in the personals for -- a lady-friend.

Anyway, I'll be SMS-ing for Jess for now.  She did win a gong at Tamworth a few years ago (I remember this from reading the Koori Mail.)  Go NT!

charmed utterly

The other night, when I was watching Enough Rope, I took pause to reflect how like Richard E. Grant is to my dear friend Johnno, in looks, charm and well-bred post-colonial accent.  In a good mood, that is. Which was really rather interesting, because his characterisation of Withnail in Withnail and I reminded myself and others of our dear friend Johnno in a bad mood.  (Alas, there is something of a good/bad Johnno dichotomy, but I don't think he reads my blog anymore, so...I'm being bad myself here.)

In fact, I thought it was an extremely good Enough Rope, especially since the interviewee had prepared so well with google searches, etc, and set out to turn the tables and interview Denton himself.  Which was really rather nice, because you ended up with two guys talking about Deep Personal Things, tho not in some saccharine-yet-with-a-knife-in-the-guts-Steve-Biddulph kind of way.

Also -- also, also, also -- Richard E. Grant is a rampant diarist.  Here's what he had to say:

ANDREW DENTON: ... You're still a regular diariser?
RICHARD E. GRANT: I am, yes. I think it's - you know, if you don't have religion or you need something that is meditative or a way of just saying this is what's happening, a diary is a very habitual and a good way of doing it. Also you earn money out of it, because after a while you can publish some of the stuff. But I seriously think it's a thing that has kept me sane. Also, keeping a diary is also a way of saying, "Today I went on Andrew Denton's show in Australia and I didn't think four people knew me from a bar of soap." It's a way of making something that is unreal, somehow real. That you're keeping a record of your own life somehow. I know it's egocentric to do that, but it has a real - it's a, sort of, pinch yourself kind of activity.

I really think he should try his hand at blogging.

they're back!

Only a few short days ago, there was a sign on the hustings near one of the major intersections in Alice, advertising the first ever auditions for Idol in these parts.  Then cruelly, the sign was whipped away, pretty well on the day of the auditions and replaced by another advertising the Centralian Eisteddfod.  This is what I like about Alice: life must go on, nothing ever stands in the way of a hokey, frumpy local event, not even a national competition.

So, what's the goss?  Well, first of all, a quick peek at the Idol website reveals the following:

We’re packing our Akubras and heading for the sizzling-hot city of Alice Springs! As the centre of a remote region of communities, we’re expecting The Alice to supply some unique characters and if last year’s series is anything to go by, we’re sure to find a few gifted songbirds in the most unlikely places. Could a desert flower from this central oasis actually win the nation’s premier talent quest? We know that Alice Springs is rich in talent and now we finally have a chance to expose the best of the region.

Of course we’re a little worried about unleashing James and Andrew on the quiet and unsuspecting community of The Alice, but it will be all worth it if the desert region provides the 2006 Australian Idol! We’re expecting to find talent bigger than Ayers Rock when the tour hits the heart of Australia. To all the aspiring singers of the region: catch a train, a single-engine Cessna or a camel...

Heh, heh, heh, she laughed wearily and lamely to herself.  'The quiet and unsuspecting community' ...only a couple of months ago, we were being called the 'murder capital of the nation' .

And now for some hard news from the Centralian Advocado (yes, Pavlov, there is such a word) or the Fabricate, as it's fondly known by the locals (you can guess what the real second word in the title is)...Firstly, this in Tuesday's edition, on p3 (always the place for serious news) under the title of 'Holden vows: I will tell it like it is':

Holden said: "We've definitely found one superstar already from Wadonga [sic] -- a 17-year-old female who absolutely blew us away.

"But we know we're going to hit gold in Alice..."

Holden said the show wanted to diversify.

He said: "We're not after a certain shape, size, colour or genre of music, if you sing country, folk, rock or pop -- then sing it."

He's got to be kidding.  They would surely never have gotten such a statement out of Kyle.

And today, this made front-page news:

A budding Alice musician was yesterday named among the top 100 performers who will appear in the next series of the television hit Australian Idol....

Van Der Schuit, 16, showed no fear as he sang in front of the Idol judges.

He said: "I sing in a band at school and have sung in front of 200 people before..."

The story is accompanied by a picture of a slightly dehydrated-looking waif in a tam-o-shanter, but then, the beanie is part of Alice's local costume, so this is entirely appropriate.

But, more menacingly, the following title appears on p3:  'Judges spray the kids with a gobful of abuse.'  Some of the highlights:

Judge Kyle Sandilands bashed his head with a paper weight, adding: "That's what gives country a bad name, nice people but terrible voice."

And:

"You're cute but [you] suck at singing."

And there's more:

Holden physically walked away from the judging panel and Kyle called out "there's crap coming from both ends."

Meanwhile another contestant was told "to keep on relying on her good looks."

And even more:

"I was crying and as soon as I got to the holding area, I had a camera following me with this woman who was determined to make me cry.

"They kept following me and others who had been told we didn't make it and saying things like 'So how do you feel now you know you're not good enough'."

So much to look forward to!  I'm already wondering if I can put names and faces to some of these quotes, if I've seen these songbirds perform around town. Well, I'll just have to watch Idol 4 now, won't I, or at least the auditions.

Postscript: Brokeback has finally made it to Alice, along with Matchpoint and History of Violence, all of a sudden.  I'd just thought I'd share the following from the open pars of the review of Brokeback:

Slow to start, the film of two cowboys in love has been depicted as in-your-face soft porn.

But all this reviewer has to say is "make up your own mind and see it yourself".

And this nugget towards the end:

While many reviews say the film is just a gay love story, BM does manage to portray how the love affair strongly affects family life and the individuals themselves.

A strong, passionate movie, BM is sure to become a classic as most good romance films do.

So really it's just Wuthering Heights all over again with a bit of a gay, soft porn twist.