Bigmouthery.

In the Dark With The Illuminati.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 22:19:00 +0000

The other day I was watching Kevins Pollak & Spacey doing Christopher Walken impressions on Youtube. There are many Walken imitators. Plenty of people say Spacey is the best.

Unusually, I left a comment on one of the videos I watched. The next day I received an emailed reply. On the rare occasion I get a response it sounds like it’s coming from some semi-literate shut-in teenager who’s missing parental discipline, vitamin D and possibly a pineal gland. The comment I received may well have been from one of these unfortunates…or an unfortunate of an altogether different kind:

deagla has replied to your comment on Kevin Pollak doing Christopher Walken doing The Aristocrats:

Illuminati=ET kin aka jinn, naga, angels/demons, dragons, gods, vampires, bluebloods, Al Gore, Rothschilds, Windsors, Rockefellars etc who rule secret societies like Freemasonry. Their agenda: cull people via vaccines/other poisons, cap & trade, Codex Alimentarius, internet 2, WW3 and stage an alien invasion to get a fascist world government with us chipped. Support Dr Deagle, Stewart Swerdlow, Oracle Broadcasting, gardeners and free-energy technology!
You can reply back by visiting the comments page.

Over the years, I’ve seen smatterings and splatterings of this kinda stuff online, usually on blindingly ugly websites with dozens of links, terrible fonts and often lots of red text. I've heard of a bunch of stuff in this list...Illuminati, Freemasonry, a plan to reduce the population by introducing viruses, y'know, the standard conspiracist boilerplate. But there was much in here I'd never heard of, so I thought I'd have a bit of a scratch around and share with you what I found.

Here then is 'The Illuminati for Dummies'...and by dummies I mean, normal people with acceptable levels of paranoia.

In short, a conspiracy theory is a claim of skepticism, with an alternative cause, as to the reason behind a particular event. For example, the official line around 9/11 is that a bunch of Middle Eastern Muslim extremists operating under the leadership of Osama bin Laden, flew three passenger jets into buildings on the eastern seaboard of the United States, killing thousands of people. A fourth plane was re-taken by the passengers and flown into a reclaimed strip mine just north of Shanksville, Pennsylvania, killing all 44 on board.

The umbrella conspiracy theory (there are many 'theories' within 'theories') holds that the events of September 11 2001 were part of a 'false flag' operation, i.e. a covert operation conducted by the United States government as a pretext to go to war in the Middle East.

As you can see, these two explanations of that horrible day are wildly at variance with each other. Other famous conspiracy theories include faked moon landings, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the murder of Princess Diana by the royal family and most recently, that anthropogenic global warming is a fraud and that President Barack Obama is an African-born Muslim extremist 'Manchurian Candidate' planted in the White House to destroy the American way of life.

The first word in the 'list' sent by the youtuber is Illuminati. This word was first used to describe a group or groups that were born out of the Age of Enlightenment, at its popular height in the 18th Century. There is no consensus among conspiracists as to the origin of this group. There doesn't seem to be any real consensus about anything to do with 'em.

The most well-known 'Illuminati' had its origins in Bavaria. The Enlightenment, was, in essence, a time in Western history where new spiritual, political, philosophical and scientific ideas were propounded with greater freedom and acceptance, breaking free of the dogma that had until the late 16th century. It questioned the structures and strictures that had existed to that point. The Bavarian Illuminati had few members as is supposed by those conspiracists who believe it to be the spawning of the 'global elite' was founded by a few Jesuits. History records it dying out not too long after its founding.

The best recognised and longest lasting group to come from this time was the Freemasons, a secret organisation supposedly founded to foster new thought and fraternal love and understanding. The Illuminati and Freemasonry are often considered by conspiracy 'theorists' to be the progenitors and controllers of an alternative human reality. We all know that Freemasonry still exists, but the Bavarian Illuminati survives in historical memory only. Unless you believe the conspiracists. They say that the Illuminati infiltrated the top positions of Freemasonry and set the course for what we now know to be their plan for total world domination.

Having said that, there is an equally passionate (and possibly larger) disparate group that believes the Illuminati and the Bavarians have nothing to do with each other. They hold that the Bavarians were just a small bunch of foppish anti-monarchy Krauts and the real Illuminati goes back thousands of years to practitioners of the occcult, the original Kabbalah...and perhaps right back to the Garden of Eden.

Today their descendants, the super rich and powerful, are secretly manipulating the course of every facet of life to create an overarching world government. They are aware of spiritual certainties beyond our ken and through this awareness they have the ability to manipulate our thoughts. They control everything: political structures, global finance, the media, even our health and education. In effect, conspiracists believe that the vast majority of us are unaware we are living in a 'matrix' of the Illuminati's design.

If you do, you'll know that the structures we have in place on this planet are a sham, a blind to distract us from the 'fact' that the world is not controlled by sovereign states, presidents, prime ministers, UN Security Councils and rules of law, but by a small cabal of wealthy industrialists, blue-bloods and other shadowy figures.

Why do they think this? I can't give you every reason. I probably can't even give you half, but I can give you one. Much of it seems to stem from a publication The Da Vinci Code apparently mentions (I say 'apparently' because I am in that tiny club of people who have never read The Da Vinci Code).

In 1903, a booklet called The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion was published in Russia. Its pages outlined the plan of Jews to take over the world. Despite subsequent investigation showing the writings to be a fiction (and a plagiarized fiction, coming mostly from Maurice Joly's 1864 work 'Dialogues in Hell Between Machiavelli and Montesquieu'), 'Protocols' remains a foundation document for many who believe we're all being hoodwinked.

So...who believes this stuff? Let's get back to that Youtube list.

In the Youtube comment the first man mentioned is a Dr. Deagle. He may even be the guy who spammed me with the comment. Dunno, didn't check. A quick-sticks googling reveals this gentleman to be a medical doctor, William (Bill) Deagle, the owner of a company called Nutrimedical and the head pastor of Clay and Iron Ministries, a church 'commissioned by the Most High God to bring the truth of (sic) the end of this secular age and prepare His People for (sic) spiritually and physically for the Times of Jacobs (sic) Trouble.'

So, a short search reveals Deagle as a proselytizing 'end times' preacher, a medico who claims to have an eidetic memory and an online retailer of 'antipathogenic' products, including NutriDefense pills. These little wonders block pathogenic bacteria and viruses infections (about USD360 for '6 + 1') and 'Defense Wipes'...which apparently do the same for the skin, in wipe form (28 US buckaroos for 75...that's 37 cents per glorified wet one).

Dr Bill is selling this stuff because he believes that the global elite, Illuminati, shadow government, NWO, whatever the hell you wanna call it...is engineering diseases to wipe the bulk of us out, and he's a god-fearing man who's doing his part to save the righteous. Of course, it may be suggested by some that Doc Bill is just a shameless huckster scaring the shit out of poor unfortunates in order to make a chunk of money. I'd never suggest that of course. Not in this litigious age.

Scratch a little deeper and you'll see that the good doctor had his medical license revoked in 2004 after being busted for over-prescribing meds for a number of patients, one of whom died.

Bill also believes that, ultimately, the world, specifically the US Government, is under the control of Luciferian Reptilians. That opens up another little door to the world of the conspiracists and very neatly introduces the grand poobah of the conspiracy theory: David Icke.

David Icke was a football goalkeeper and TV presenter in Britain. Arthritis curtailed his football career and he eventually sought help from a psychic who told him that he'd be famous, although controversial, as a healer and truth-teller. This revelation transformed Icke's life. He is now regarded as the foremost conspiracy 'theorist' around the traps.

He is the avatar of a third notion about the Illuminati and their many nefarious secret societies: that they are not just spiritually aware, they are aliens. He believes that that world is in the complete sway of a group of 'reptoid humans' he calls the 'Babylonian Brotherhood'. These alien shapeshifting reptiles, who hail from a constellation called Draco (which at least exists) are responsible for the direction of the world as we know it...and they control it through all the 'estates' mentioned earlier...and others.

Icke claims these are the beings responsible for creating not just the frameworks under which we live and documents like the Protocols, but that the Brotherhood created humanity itself. The reptilian bloodlines include the European Royal Families, the Rockefellers and the Rothschilds. There is a network of secret societies throughout the world bent on global domination and control of people through micro-chipping.

In 1991, Icke predicted that the world would end in 1997. He believes that Arthur's Round table existed and was part of the whole Illuminati deal. He believes the first human/reptilian offspring could have been Adam, and that Aryans were designed as slavemasters. He believes Hitler's dad was a Rothschild. He is said to be a Holocaust denier. He believes a lot of stuff many of us would find very difficult to accept.

You can probably tell I'm being careful not to give too much personal slant to all this just yet, although it's clear that I have issues with all this stuff. Before we move on to that, let's take a look at some more on deagla's list.

The first words listed are 'jinn, naga, angels/demons, dragons, gods, vampires'. Jinn is an Islamic name for a genie. This one I knew, but I didn't know what a naga is. It's a Vedic serpent deity, so you have your whole reptilian tie-in there. And without any research at all I'm going to guess that angels, dragons, demons etc. are all connected with the Illuminati/reptile thing somehow. Al Gore's also on the list because, according to adherents to this belief, he is one of many reptilian shapeshifters out there.

Next on the list is the Codex Alimentarius, the 'food code' established in the 1960s by the WHO and the FAO. It was set up to protect consumers and ensure equitable business practice with regard to food. Of course, that's the official line. The alternative reality put forth by the conspiracy theorists is that they are yet another tool of the Illuminati. They think the goal of the Codex is, among other things, to make all drugs, whether they be herbs, vitamins or minerals available by prescription only, reinforcing the might of 'Big Pharma', their masters.

They're also responsible for manufacturing diseases and their antidotes. One of the newer slivers to fall off the block is that H1N1 or swine flu is an Illuminati creation, as is its vaccine. Many of the 'tools' of the Illuminati, such as the Council on Foreign Relations, have been enlisted to make sure that people take the vaccine, which allegedly is more dangerous than the flu itself.

Hmm, what else is here? WW3...well I guess that's pretty self-explanatory. If these guys are keen to thin out the population to make us easier to control, a fake war would be a good way to do it. Micro-chipping, yep, makes sense...but how will they be able to microchip us all? Easy-peasy, bosom squeezy. A staged alien invasion, that's how. Let's have a look at this.

Many 'in the know' are claiming that in the next few years, the real 'powers that be' will fake a huge alien takeover in an attemot to scare the tar out of us, make us compliant little lambs and thereby much easier to 'chip', and in so doing making us easier to distinguish from the baddies, I suppose. How will they do this? Well, the specifics seem pretty sketchy, but here's a discussion about it, from the Icke website's boards. If you're not up for clicking the link, the basic idea is that they'll have either real or fake spaceships flying around with real or fake weapons and lasers causing enough death and destruction as is necessary to make us all completely shitscared and malleable.

The subject of alien invasions ties in with Stewart Swerdlow, another name on the list. Swerdlow is an alleged survivor of the alleged 'Montauk Project', a series of secret US Government experiments in the 1980s concerning time travel, psychological warfare, hyperspace, parallel dimensions and teleportation. Conspiracy theorists often call them an extension of the Philadelphia Experiment.

As a participant in these experiments, Swerdlow claims he was imbued with great 'psionic' powers, but 'but at the cost of emotional and psychological instability, post-traumatic stress disorder, and other issues, including being programmed with microchips, and also through the use of “psychotronic mind control”.'

Swerdlow, a felon convicted of embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars back in the 1980s, made a claim that the Illuminati staged invasion was going to happen in August 2008. He also stated that there was an event which might have thrown off that event, namely, a real alien invasion. These aliens have been massing in the Kuiper Belt in preparation for an attack. They could be good guys, though, set to thwart the plans of the reptilians, who, according to a few people, are not just controlling us, but planning on using the Solar System as a base to take over the galaxy.

Stewart has a website too. His site also sells stuff, including a Personalized Healing Archetype Template for just $125. What is it? It's a plate with symbols on it that does...stuff. But only $125...to $145. He and the missus also flog a DVD that explains why you choose certain colours over other colours. At $125 (again), it's a snip!

Oracle Broadcasting shows up next...as you may imagine, it's a vehicle for these ideas to be broadcast. Nuff said.

The next one kinda baffled me: gardeners. There is scant mention online, save for preview pages of a book called Cloak of the Illuminati in which Osiris and Jesus are called gardeners. Other than that, I found very little.

What to make of all this? How does one piece it all together?

Based on what I have found, the Illuminati:

- is either a few hundred years old or it predates humanity;

- has as its literary foundation a bunch of Sumerian tablets or a hundred year old plagiarized fraud...or both;

- have controlled the world secretly for a few hundred years or they have controlled it forever, or they don't have control of the world yet but they're very very very sloooowly moving in that direction;

- are made up of Jews, Aryans, politicians, royalty, really rich people and lizards (some of the lizards are human hybrids, some are just lizards);

- can exist in other dimensions and are are so powerful that they can manipulate every facet of our lives but depending on which strand of the theory you believe they haven't quite been able to control us yet;
- either created religion or are threatening to destroy it or both;

- are moving us toward One World Government/Bank-Currency/Military/Army despite the fact that there are more sovereign states in existence now than at any time in our history;

- are going to wipe out a good chunk of us with manufactured viruses or the cure to the viruses, or they're going to wipe us out with a new staged war, or they're going to stage an alien invasion so they can microchip us or there's going to be a real alien invasion because there are millions of ships perched just outside the Solar System from tons of different star systems...or any or all of these things;

- are operating in secret but they exposed the secret by writing about it on Sumerian tablets and in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and revealing themselves to a select few as reptilian shapeshifters,

- have been created by paranoiacs, criminals, proselytes, fringe-dwelling libertarians and New Age nutbags who claim that this secret cabal of alien skinks, among everything else, controls the Internet...but their own chosen medium for sharing their views on this evil cabal of inept alien string pullers is...? The same medium owned and operated by the puppetmasters.

And that medium is...? The Internet. Back where I started. I swallowed the blue pill on this one.

Most people seem to think that Kevin Spacey does the best Walken. I've even read that Walken thinks so. I disagree. Hey don't get me wrong, as this video shows, Spacey is a fantastic mimic...but Kevin Pollak has Walken down to a fine art.

No prizes for seeing that seeing that Mr. Spacey is a great impersonator...but check out Pollak's Walken and tell me I'm wrong. Hell, even a kook conspiracy nut can see that.

And that ain't no conspiracy.

Funny People (Part Two).

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 00:52:00 +0000

Dear reader,

How are you? I hope you are well. I am fine. Considering the entry on Hobart leg of the tour fell by the wayside (much like the Pixies entry back in 2007, I decided to keep the memories mine), I've been tossing up what to write about lately. The last month has seen me appear unexpectedly in a show, A Christmas Carol. I came into the production a month into rehearsal so with only two weeks' prep the whole process from 'reading' to closing night left me sleep-deprived, stressed, disillusioned but ultimately, in a way, rewarded.

That's all that needs to be said about it really. In lieu of a blow-by-blow I've decided to continue the series of 'funny people' started back in July. Some you'll know, some you won't, but all are well worth exploring. Some will get a blurb, but others...well, I'll just let the bits speak for themselves. This first fella's recent unbiquity gives me hope for the species. He'll crop up more than once in this entry, with good reason...

David Mitchell

An average-looking and unassuming chap, David Mitchell has great comedic pedigree, coming as he does from Footlights and years of childhood TV study. Since 2003, when Peep Show premiered, he's been everywhere on British airwaves, from TV panel shows such as Would I Lie To You and the wonderful Stephen Fry-helmed QI to his own sketch show with partner Robert Webb, That Mitchell & Webb Look to radio, as host of BBC Radio 4's 'The Unbelievable Truth'.

Mitchell's comedy is often a massive creamy cake filled with razors. His soft, boyish face and apparent meekness are but a blind for one of the sharpest minds and tongues in comedy for many a long year. He may come across as a bit of a tightly wound loser, but when he cuts loose, whether it's scripted or on the fly, David Mitchell is scalpel sharp, yet one senses no real bitterness in him. On panel shows he's perfectly capable of appearing as if he's going to explode, but within seconds of an expertly-timed, ad hoc rant, he's laughing and smiling, his cherubic face glowing with seeming innocence. This has, on occasion, shown up alleged 'masters' like Paul Merton, who, while being a very funny man at times (those times being the 1980s and 90s) comes across as completely joyless. It's as if his brain is unable to produce dopamine. Mitchell has no such shortcoming. If he so chooses, David will be one of the greats.

Richard Pryor

We move from a potential great to an acknowledged legend. Richard Pryor is considered by many to be the most brilliant stand up comedian ever. He's definitely the most influential. I can't recall the last time I was reading about a comic's influences and the man was not mentioned. My first contact with Richard came via the movie Silver Streak when I was about seven. My brother Liam took us to the Dawn Theatre at Chermside. Here he is in his element though, on stage and in total control.

Joan Rivers

What really needs to be said? She's just wonderful.

Patrick Warburton

An extremely funny man, with the uncanny ability to make even the most innocent and straightforward line hilarious (for those of you who've never done comedy or read a script aloud, it much harder than it sounds). His sleepy, squinty take on a script is always worth watching, even in otherwise pretty boring sitcoms like...er...that one with David Spade (although Megyn Price is pretty good too). Here he is in his most famous role, as David Puddy in Seinfeld.

Maria Bamford

Maria Bamford has been floating around for years and like many comics before her, seems always to be nipping at the edges of great success without...well, success. Unlike many comics before her, she deserves it. There are those who think they are funny...and telegraph it, thereby automatically making them less funny (like Orny Adams) and then there are the self-deprecating types, like Bamford, whose ability to make a joke out of her own sadness is at a stroke joy-making and rare.

Ricky Gervais

No secret that I'm a fan of Gervais. The guy is so golden he didn't get into the business until his late 30s and it was only after success rained on him that he ventured into stand-up, with immediate success. He's not only golden, he's Mr. Backwards.

Louis C.K.

The abovementioned Gervais has been a great supporter of Louis C.K., with good reason. This bit should have you looking for more:

Dara O'Briain

Dara O'Briain was born in Wicklow, not very far away from where my family comes from in Kildare. Mind you, when you live in Australia nothing in Ireland seems 'very far away'. Fast-talking, faster-thinking, big, tall and pissfunny. My favourite moment here is 1:02-1:09.

Frankie Boyle

If there is one comedian going around today who erases the lines, it's Frankie Boyle.

David Mitchell (Again)

Stuff that happened in 1969.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 01:51:00 +0000

With the fortieth anniversary of Sesame Street occurring this coming Tuesday, it recently struck me that a lot happened the year I was born. Here then is a selection of events from 1969 (in no particular order), in youtuberous glory.

Nixon becomes the 37th President of the United States (it didn't work out so well):

The Beatles played their last 'gig', on the roof at Abbey Road:

Robin Knox-Johnston becomes the first person to sail around the world solo, without stopping to go to the toilet or eat land flesh:

John & Yoko get married and do the 'bed-in' thing in Amsterdam & Montreal:

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The New York 'Stonewall Riots' mark the 'official' beginning of the 'gay rights movement':

The Football War breaks out between El Salvador and Honduras:

Neil & Buzz go for a walk, 200000 miles from home:

Battle of the Bogside (the week before I was born, not too far down the road):

Woodstock (just a few days before I was born, a chunk farther away):

Canned Heat Going up Country Woodstock
Uploaded by Galaxiestarwars. -

The Internet's Daddy was born:

Mario Puzo's 'The Godfather' was published (so many to choose from but I went with the hospital scene):

Monty Python's Flying Circus premieres:

A break in play.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 22:21:00 +0000

The last couple of weeks have seen some jagged turns in the road which have forestalled bloggery. The next few weeks will be extremely busy. This means that, for the tiny few who sometimes come here, there may be nothing new to see for the next little while save for a youtube vid or a short comment. For those of you wishing to hear more about the adventures in Tasmania, I may add another part in early December, but it's quite possible that, in the same manner as my Pixies experience in 2007, it's something I keep to myself. For a bigmouth, I can be awfully quiet, huh?

Two people whose lives and work have provided me with much enjoyment. Both left us on October 21, one in 1969, two months to the day after I was born, the other in 2003...the latter was born two weeks before me.

Amadeus Tour 2009 - 3 - Hobart (Part One)

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:56:00 +0000

Hobart.

It would be easy to say that time constraints have been responsible for the gap between Wollongong and Hobart entries. While I did have stuff to do this past couple of weeks there was still time to watch a few episodes of season six of The West Wing and eat m&ms like they were manna. It's not been laziness either, so shut up! Hobart was a very full week, and as it's taken so long to get this section of the tour up and running, I'm going to break it into a few parts.

Hobart was a revelation to those of us who'd never been and a kind of homecoming for those who had. Truth is, there have been very few places I've been where I've felt more at home...and I include home in that.

But first, as ever, we had to get there. There are some beautiful little jaunts to take on the eastern seaboard: the skip from Cairns to Port Douglas, the leisurely meander south of Coolangatta, an hour from Melbourne in just about any direction, but if you have been the coast road between Wollongong and Sydney you'll know why I include it. The views along the Lawrence Hargrave Drive are worth the detour. Unless you don't like the sea.

Before we left Shaun produced a perverse gem he'd picked up for a few bucks in Wollongong, a multi-CD collection of hits of the 90s. He gave us one of the discs to listen to. It was execrable. The first song was Meatloaf's ipecac substitute 'I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)'...not a good start. Sorry Meat, I can't do it either, that song is pure vomitus. I flicked quickly through five or six before realising that I'd had a very different musical 1990s to most people. No-one in the car minded when I turned it off and put the radio on. If the disc hadn't belonged to someone I liked, it might have ended up out the window.

The traffic built up as soon as we hit the Sydney fringes. I pity anyone in that town who fancies the idea of a meandering Sunday drive. It was pretty chunky all the way from Sutherland to the airport. Having put hearts back in mouths after nearly being sideswiped by a fuckknuckle in a 4WD, we dropped the cars off and went looking for the group check-in desk where I'd been told (via voice mail from Qantas) that they'd received my fax and we were all set. I'll spare you the details of finding a deserted group check-in area.

It was a hot clear day in Sydney and I enjoyed watching it disappear behind us at 300 mph. I took an illicit photo of the city as we flew over it but my bloody camera phone made it tiny:

Having had little sleep the night before I tried to catch a little disco kip but planes, sleep and I don't go, plus I really wanted to see us leave the mainland and cross the Tassie coast. This accomplished, I settled in for a nap, but turbulence jolted me awake after about 30 seconds.

Once on the ground, we grabbed our stuff and went outside to look for transport. Hobart's a small airport, reflected in the number of cabs that were waiting outside for passengers. A maxi-cab rocked up and a brusque sounding Greek man got out and said 'How many?' Without waiting for an actual response he bellowed something incomprehensible and then said 'I will take five!' Why did you ask, then? I thought. He had room for more, but as we were leaving he explained that the other cab drivers accused him of stealing all the fares. People waved at him as he drove out and once he slowed to swap loud pleasantries with a man on the kerb. By way of explanation for this, he turned to us and said, 'We brothers from different mothers.' He rabbited on most of the way into town but we couldn't hear him, and were all glued to the view outside. It was very Irish looking, but unmistakably Australian.

Like Canberra I'd expected Hobart to be much colder, but while the sky had a definite swirly, wintry quality it was mild. Mount Wellington, the great igneous rock in whose shadow Hobart rests, is normally flecked with snow, but our first view was of a bare-topped mountain.

Over the Tasman bridge, into the centre of town. We were given an explanation by the driver as to the roundabout way he'd got us to the hotel (The Old Woolstore) but the one-way streets kinda made it self-explanatory. As we hauled our luggage out, the cabbie thrust a couple of business cards at us and near bellowed 'You need ride back or things, you call Mister Yianni. Mister Yianni.' He was a very friendly and scary man.

Once settled, we all met up to discuss dinner plans. Most of the group were in twin rooms, but a few of us had two-bedroom apartments with kitchen and laundry facilities. A great relief. Cat suggested she cook a big spaghetti bolognaise. This was greeted with unanimous acceptance, for a couple of reasons. 1) Cat is Italian and knows how to cook up a storm and 2) everybody loves a home-cooked meal when they are on the road.. well, I do anyway. Off we tromped to find a grocery store. Our iPhone wielders told us there was a late-closing Woolies only ten minutes walk away, so in fading light we headed up Campbell Street to find it. Twenty minutes later we gave up. There was no sign of a supermarket, indeed after we turned back towards the city centre we found little sign of anything open in Hobart on a Sunday evening. It was a nice walk though, punctuated with little gasps as beautiful buildings including the theatre we were to play later that week.

We ate at a Hog's Breath across the street from the hotel. It's in a clutch of listed buildings including the old Hobart Gasworks. We were very happy to find a bottle shop right next door. We all loaded up on booze and I on cigarettes. The prices were very reasonable. I'd had it in my head that everything in Hobart was going to be quite a bit more expensive but it's really not.

It was during dinner that I first heard about the Pixies tour. I'd gone outside to have a quick ciggie and when I came back Emma and a waitress were talking about it. That lit me up. The only other notable thing about that meal was what was happening outside while we ate. We'd walked in from cool, calm early evening. We walked out into a gale and stinging sideways spits. This was more like it.

My memories of the first night are cloudy...drink might have been involved, but I can't be sure.

The next day was cold, clear and very much awake and open for business. The mountain showed small but definite signs of overnight snowfall. With Steven as our guide, we set out on what would be the first of many little love affairs with an enchanting part of the world.

Intermission.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 21:44:00 +0000

The Hobart portion of the Amadeus Tour Diary is still 'under construction' due to time constraints. In the meantime, please enjoy this little slideshow of a day trip to Port Arthur and surrounds:

Amadeus Tour 2009 - 2 - Wollongong.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 08:28:00 +0000

Wollongong.

And so, to the Gong. We left Canberra at around 9.00am. It was a beautiful day. Our redoubtable crew left on a truck before dawn. I hadn't bought too much in Canberra yet still found it hard to close my suitcase. We were split into two station wagons. Our car held Nick (the driver), Andrew, Steven, Bruce and me. To get to the Gong you head out on Federal Highway which merges with the Hume not too far past a town called Collector. Before that, though we were struck by the sight of the apparently dry Lake George (I didn't actually know it was Lake George until I got back to Brisbane) and the Capital Wind Farm.

An hour or so into the trip we stopped at a roadhouse for a pee and a refill for the pee. It's at this point I lost one of my gloves, dangit.

Cat had mentioned a more scenic route to Wollongong via the Illawarra Highway which would take us through the Southern Highlands. We were in no hurry so we decided to take it. I'd been around the Berrima/Belanglo area before but had never been through the Highlands. It was well worth it. Around this point I played a single round of 'HEY COW!' The rules are simple. As you're driving along, you keep and eye out for a straggle of cows potentially within earshot. As you pass them, one person screams out 'HEY COW!!!' You get a point for each bovine that responds to the call. I didn't count them, but Andrew reckons I must have got six or seven out of a possible eight or nine cows. Satisfied with this, I retired from HEY COW! the undefeated champion of the world.

The Highlands were sweetly pretty, just what a real girly should be. Ahem, sorry. I took a few photos on the drive but, as you can see from the Lake George photo, car window shots don't turn out too well, especially on my crappy phone camera. Still and all, I managed to capture the pride of the Highlands, The Big Potato in Robertson. Or as I like to call it (and I'm sure I'm not the first)...

..the Big Poo. What's sad about this photo is not the poo itself, it's that of all the beautiful things to see on the Illawarra Highway...Moss Vale, Sutton Forest, Macquarie Pass, this was the only spot I asked Nick to slow down so I could get a photo.

No photos down Mac Pass. The escarpment road has claimed its share of people over the years, especially motorcyclists. Nick needed to concentrate. Having a dick tailgate him most of the way to Albion Park Rail didn't help. This video will give you an idea of what Mac Pass is like.

We checked into the Rydges around lunchtime. As we'd arrived in separate groups we had to check ourselves in. This was not a problem, save for the fact that previous check-ins at Rydges tended to be a headache for the poor soul charged with undertaking the task. It was a relief therefore, to be greeted with a bright, smiling face and no hassle. Our rooms were ready & our hosts were chirpy.

(Let's pause here for an anti-commercial break. The Rydges Wollongong offers a $10 buffet breakfast. Sounds pretty good, huh? It is, if you like your scrambled eggs cubed and drinking the worst coffee I have ever tasted. No possibly or probably...the WORST coffee. It tasted like it had already been consumed a few times. And now back to the show.)

Nick and I were together again, in a twin. Nick had had a hard time sleeping in Canberra due to my inability to settle easily after a show. Unfortunately the poor blighter would get no decent rest until Hobart.

Wollongong is a very nice town and the people are lovely, but it has the sadness of a city in decline. It's a coal and steel town whose best days seem to be behind it, or at least that's the sense you get from its inhabitants. The industry shed about half its workforce in the 1980s. The signs are evident during the day in the number of indigent people in the streets asking for money and smokes. At night the malaise is displayed by the city's youth. More of that later.

I let Cat know we'd arrived in five handsome and stylish pieces of manhood and we scouted around looking for somewhere to eat. Thanks to a friendly local, we ended up at Diggers, the local RSL. RSLs can be a bit of a lottery, food-wise. Sure, the meals are usually inexpensive and the lure of a slap-up roast dinner can be great, but there have been times when roast pork, veges and gravy has looked and tasted more like boiled roadkill, rocks and ditchwater. Not so at Diggers. The meals were well-priced, generous and tasty. Steve, Andrew and I had the roast beef, Brucie and Nick the lamb shanks, which they reported to be excellent. That's high praise from Bruce, who is quite the gustatorial expert (he eats out a lot).

As we were finishing up, a clutch of mature-aged ladies gingerly approached our table trying to attract Andrew's eye. It took me a second to work out what they wanted, but Andrew's been in the Australian public's eye for so long he must half-expect it. He's one of the most gracious men I've ever met. He not only signs autographs for people on a regular basis, he's happy to chat and if their connection to him is through his many years on Play School, he'll spend extra time drawing a little picture of Big Ted or Jemima. I should've asked if he draws a picture of the Ambush if they're Patrol Boat fans or a plane for Flying Doctors.

One evening, the company met at 'Club N' i.e. Nick's and my room. We enjoyed a wee drinkie and Dash introduced us to game called Lunchbox, the rules of which I may share at a future time. Two things came from that evening: 1) a little extra for the cleaning staff the next day and 2) a salient lesson in actors' anality when it comes to game rules.

The Illawarra Performing Arts Centre (IPAC) is a smaller venue than the Canberra Playhouse and we played in the smaller of its two theatres, the 200-seat Gordon. This led to some major issues with staging. Changes were necessary. The fortepiano, which is normally placed smack bang in the centre of the stage from the start, had to be moved. The Gordon stage is so shallow that, if we'd left it in its original position, the piano's arse would have stuck out through the closed tab curtain. Added to this were some issues with limited wing space and a paucity of lights, which made the whole Gong tech experience a little fraught, to say the least. No-one wants to be in a position where adjustments have to be made, but they were done out of practical necessity. 'Needs must when the devil drives.' Thanks to our wonderful team of creatives/crew, Cat, Shaun, Emma & Matt we pushed through and delivered two solid shows to small but appreciative Wollongong audiences.

The second night in Wollongong was my worst show of the tour. My knee was quite sore and I was preoccupied with it, more concerned with safely moving around the stage and not falling over than hitting the right notes as the foppish Orsini-Rosenberg. A scalpel beckons, I fear.

That afternoon we went for a drive. Two cars loaded with beach and belly-hungry theatre types drove north to Towradgi, where we had been told there was a vast selection of beachside cafes and eaty-joints. It took us twenty minutes to find that we were terrible navigators or the whole Towradgi thing was a myth. On the way back to Wollongong we made up all sorts of rude names around Towradgi, not out of bitterness really, more out of hunger and boredom.

Redemption and full bellies came quickly in the shape of the Harbourfront Restaurant, a restaurant, as its name suggests...on the harbour front. If the staff wasn't prepared for an unreserved table for 12 in the middle of the Saturday lunch rush, it didn't show. Within a minute or two we were seated. Saucer-eyed, as we scanned the menu. With a harbour full of fishing boats and trawlers sitting just outside the gleaming windows, it was clear that saddle of mutton was not the catch of the day. It's a spoiled and happy meal indeed when you ask a waitress where the fish is from and she points to a boat 50 metres from where you're sat. Mirror Dory. Yum.

Sated, we all went our separate ways, some to wander the beaches, some to theatre for work and I to Woolies to buy shoe polish and hunt down an Internet cafe.

After the final Wollongong show I hightailed it back to the hotel as fast as my creaky legs could carry me. Earlier in the evening I'd written a group check-in fax to Qantas. The group booking procedure had been a bit of an oddity the whole tour. The day before we left Brisbane I went online to check some of us in. It makes such a big difference to the amount of time you may spend waiting in line. Unable to do it, I rang Qantas and asked why I wasn't being given the option. The guy said 'Y'just can't.' Riiight. 'But why?' 'Dunno, some bookings y'just can't.' Gee thanks.

When we got to the airport the next day the woman at the check-in desk was a lot more friendly and helpful (it probably didn't hurt that she recognised Andrew and he, as ever, obligingly signed an autograph - and drew a Big Ted, I think). She told me that Qantas only allows online group check-ins up to nine people. We were 13. Again, she didn't know why the max was nine, but I'd stopped caring. She was so efficient and friendly it didn't matter anymore. Plus she gave me the number of a group check-in line which offers the same early check-in facility, but via fax confirmation.

As I was writing the fax, the girl at reception, Kellie, asked what the company was doing after the show. I said we'd probably try for a drink at the hotel bar. We'd wanted to have a drink there the previous night but it was closed for a private function. I found out that we were lucky the had been off-limits: the private function was to celebrate a few jail releases. Police were called etc. But on this particular night there was nothing more threatening than a 21st, and they'd kindly left the bar open to the public. Kellie asked if she could join us. I said we'd be delighted. Nothing like speaking for the group without permission. Oh, and I'd bought a Vietnamese takeaway for dinner that I was planning to eat after the show and needed to smooth the path towards a microwave. Our room didn't have one.

I took the Crown Street route back to the hotel. The walk is a bit more surefooted, I needed cigarettes...and Burelli Street comes off as a bit dingy and off-putting at that time of night. On my way up the mall, I saw literally dozens of kids, some no older than 11 or 12, smashed out of their skulls on alcohol and accelerants. They weren't really causing any trouble. Too shambolic and wasted. About the only rebellion they appeared capable of was stomach-borne. The older ones were a little more scary.

It's not the first time I've walked angry amphetamine and alcohol-soaked streets. There were times I was full of piss and speed too, but I've never felt the same kind of unease as I did that night in Wollongong. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the city or maybe it was because I felt incapable of running if I had to, but there was a vague yet definite malevolence in the air, a feeling of something bad about to happen. I was so discomfited by it I slipped my open Leatherman into my coat pocket and hobbled back to the hotel as quickly as I could.

Safely inside, I briefly met a few people who'd seen the show then met with m'colleagues in the bar. The 21st was still in full swing. The partiers were pretty much oblivious to our presence, so a few of us signed the birthday card. We had a competuition to see who could write the funniest message. Bruce won, but for the life of me I can't remember what he wrote. Hopefully Nick will read this and add a comment reminding me.

When I went up to the street for a cigarette, Kellie came out and told me to watch out for eggs being thrown from the apartments across the street. Apparently they don't like smokers. I had drunken conversations with a few people including a middle-aged woman who, on exiting the bar, made a point of coming over and telling me how much she'd always liked me and one young guy who spoke of the ease of acquiring cheap drugs are in the Gong. When I asked him what the locals preferred he said 'E's & speed.' No surprises there. I saw him later outside the hotel lobby and we chatted for a few minutes about the number of people he knows who have either taken out AVO's or have AVO's out against them. Jokingly I said, 'You make it sound like there are so many AVO's that no-one in this town should be allowed to go near anyone else.' He replied, 'They fuckin' shouldn't, eh. Fuckin' sucks.'

I took care of my room charges that night before retiring, thinking that I'd been a bit over the top in my fear. Yes, there was an uneasy 'atmosphere' in Wollongong late at night but I saw no fights, heard no screams and witnessed no wilful destruction of property. The 'wildest' thing that occurred that night (outside of some drunken admissions by near strangers) was a guy peeing on the street outside my window. When I woke the next morning however, there was evidence of pent up anger unleashed. The areas outside the hotel bar and lobby had been egged and a few large panes of hotel walkway glass had had the shit kicked out of them. Thankfully this was not my last memory of Wollongong, a city I liked very much and would happily visit again.

Finally checked out and bundled into cars, we swept out of town. I'd hooked a 'Mighty Dragons' flag to the car window. It came with Saturday's copy of the Illawarra Mercury. I don't follow the league anymore but as a kid and young adult the Dragons were my favourite Sydney team (for anyone interested, my local league team was Redcliffe, of course). Back then they were the St. George Dragons but a merger with the Illawarra Steelers means they are now beloved by Wollongong and Gongers show it at every opportunity.

We were only a few blocks away from the hotel when the thrum from the whipping flag was driving us loopy, so I tried to take it down when we pulled up at the lights, coiuncidentally outside WIN Stadium, second home of the Dragons. It fell to the street and Steven reached out of the car to pick it up. Across from the stadium a crowd of people were having a late breakfast (or hopefully, an early lunch) at the brand new 'Chicko's' fast food place. They were looking at Steve curiously. As he scooped the flag from the road, the lights turned green and Steven waved the flag vigorously and called to the gawkers in passionate voice 'Up the Mighty Dragons!' The crowd responded with smiles and laughter, as did the occupants of our car. That was my last memory of Wollongong...and possibly my favourite.

Amadeus Tour 2009 - Canberra.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 23:33:00 +0000

Arrived home Sunday from Hobart via Sydney. Internet access was virtually impossible in Canberra and Wollongong, and Tasmania was too beautiful to ignore for any more than a few minutes at a time. I made a few notes along the way and hope they're coherent enough to incorporate here.

Canberra

It would be as easy to start the Amadeus diary with a straightforward summary of events from Brisbane to Canberra via Sydney, but that'd would be boring and I can sum it up quickly: Smooth flights, 50 metre bus ride (in two buses) from Sydney terminal to Canberra plane (a Dash 8) and a 38% sugar/55% carbs apple 'streusel'.

Expecting Canberra to be quite chilly, I'd taken my coat onto the plane but it was shirt sleeves weather. We were met by the show's publicist Coralie Wood, a perennial figure in the theatrical community in these parts. She is sometimes called 'The Queen of Canberra'. Our cab reeked of Saturday night vomit and the hotel had not finished preparing our rooms, so we couldn't check in. Luckily, Steven had an open invitation to visit with a friend (Charles) for a colourful Sunday lunch in a suburb called Downer, presumably named for the father of that sibilant popinjay Alexander. We dropped our suitcases in a wee side room of the hotel, picked up some wine and traipsed over to find much merriment and flamboyance. I had a couple of drinks and headed back to the hotel with Tash and Dash.

We stopped off in the barely beating heart of the city, the Canberra Centre. It's a huge mall covering many blocks. There were shops open, but no-one really seemed to be buying or selling. Most of the shops outside the centre were closed, even, to my astonishment, some of the fast food chains, like Subway. It felt as if Canberra was a model town and its inhabitants part of a massive re-enactment. It looked a bit like a city, but all the action taking place was rehearsed and for display only. Very Truman Show. The three of us wandered for a bit and then cut across park and car park to get back to our hotel, The Rydges. I've yet to see one person outside of our company take anything other than a loopy paved route. There are desire lines all over the place, but they must have been blazed by tourists.

It took only a day to feel as if Canberra was some kind of mildly bizarre world. The design was pretty but not conducive to human contact, the people didn't seem to like human contact and the locals' opinion of the town was often reflected in their attitude to others. Nick thinks I'm being a little harsh on the place and it's true that there were some lovely people, most notably our hosts on the Sunday afternoon, the woman who ran the public transport info centre, one of the waitresses at Tossolini's restaurant and the venue staff at the Playhouse, who were just great.

Maybe I am being a bit severe on Canberra. It's quite pretty, there are some lovely landmarks and even the 'ghetto' (as a cabbie described a block or two of flats just out of town) seemed quaint, with bikes neatly hung up on porches and lawns green and tended. It's just that hardly anyone in Canberra outside of politicians seems to want to be there. The staff of a grocery store near the theatre provided the best proof. The day of the first show, after struggling to find the entrance, I stopped in to buy cigarettes and noticed a nice array of rolls, baguettes and sandwiches at the deli counter. No-one was around, but there was a bell and a sign saying 'Please ring for service'. I did so. After a minute, a woman sheepishly appeared and I said something like 'Hiya'. She said 'Yep'. I countered with 'How's it going?' She replied, 'Yep...whaddya want?!' and gave me a look that suggested any further pleasantries would not be tolerated. At least the sandwich was nice.

Over the course of the time in Canberra this short shrift was given quite a few times, so I began to quiz the locals on what they thought of their city. At the same store the next day I asked a different staff member her opinions on Canberra. She said she hated it. When I asked why, she answered so quickly she sounded as if she'd been waiting for the follow-up: 'Because it's boring and there's no beach'.

One day I scouted around looking for somewhere to get my hair cut. The young hairdresser I found (let's call her Kacey, why not?) did a great job (I had this confirmed by some of my company mates at the time and most importantly, my loving partner - a hairdresser - when I arrived home). Kacey asked me if I was from out of town. I said yes and told her I was in a play called Amadeus. She didn't know it. I said, 'Have you heard of Mozart?' She said 'Huh?' 'Mozart...the composer?' Blank stare. A pause, then, 'Is that like some kind of band?' Now it was my turn to go blank. 'Um, no...Mozart was a guy who lived just over 200 years ago, the late 18th Century, he wrote some of the most famous music ever. We're doing a show that's sort of about him.' I thought this might trigger something. Nope. 'How about Beethoven?' By this point I was expecting a no, but what came forth stunned me. 'Beethoven...you mean like the dog?'

I had to take a moment to process this. 'The dog from the movie was named after the music guy. He's really famous too. Came along just after Mozart.' For the briefest second I considered blorting the opening of Beethoven's Fifth, but thought better of it. Kacey obviously thought I was mad enough already. In fact, I thought about letting the whole thing go. The last thing I wanted was for Kacey to feel so put upon that her only recourse was to shave an obscenity in the back of my head.

Gamely, or insanely, I pushed on. If two of the most famous musicians in history failed to register, maybe it was time to bring things forward a few years. 'Have you ever heard of Nirvana?' 'Nuh.' Now I knew it wasn't me. But the look on Kacey's face (and whatever odd expression on mine) suggested that I might be playing a cruel joke on her, because she stopped cutting and called out, 'Caitlin? Do you know who - what was his name...?' Quietly: 'Mozart.' '..who MOZART is?' Without a breath, an equally young voice replied, 'Yeah, course! Jeez, Kacey.' 'How about Nirvana?' Even quicker, 'Oh bloody hell, Kace.' Relief. The unseen presence of Caitlin the colleague helped me step sure-footed out of Bizarro World, back of my head unscathed. I should have let it rest there, but stupidly I asked Kacey what kind of music she listened to. She said 'Nickelback'. For those of you unfamiliar with my music snobbery, it's safe to say that when I am looking for the prime example of shit, Nickelback is invariably the first name to escape my lips. Without thinking, I borrowed a line from Mr Burns: 'You've just made yourself a powerful enemy, young lady.' Whatever ground I'd made thanks to Caitlin was now lost forever. I thanked Kacey, paid and left, spending the next few minutes feeling for cusswords in my newly cut hair.

As for the show, it went down a bomb in the capital. The houses were brilliant, due in large part to Coralie's fantastic publicity. It's very hard to plug a show that has a two-day run, but Coralie helped to give us 400+ audiences for both nights.

The Playhouse is a lovely venue and the staff, as I've already mentioned, were just great. The only real issue from the actors' point of view was the depth of the stage. Even though you normally rehearse in a smaller space than that which you end up playing, nothing had prepared us for the gaping maw of the Playhouse. It was huge. The smother (the black curtain that runs along the back of the stage) could have been moved forward, but our tour manager, the inestimable Cat, told us that to do so would have taken a four hour chunk out of an already snug bump-in time. Working in such a massive space often raises concerns about audibility and in our first rehearsal we were all belting to the back wall, but the acoustics at the Playhouse are brilliant so there were no worries that the audience would be subjected to two hours of Salieri, Mozart and the Hapsburg courtiers screaming at each other.

In short, the Canberra shows were great fun and the Canberra audiences were fantastic. In that sense, I have no right to be critical of them or their city.

I can't be harsh on their coffee-making skills either. Canberra was the only town on tour where a bunch of us ate breakfast at the same place each day and for me, it was mainly because the coffee was so damn good. The food was not too shabby either. Hail to the baristi at the ANI (As Nature Intended) Cafe on Marcus Clarke St. If I could I'd drink coffee there for the term of my natural life (F'nar F'nar!)

The main highlight away from the Playhouse stage was a visit to the Australian War Memorial. Nick and I spent a morning there as our time in Canberra came to a close. It's safe to say that, despite the fact we'd both been there before, we were profoundly affected by the experience. If you are visiting Canberra, ink it into your list of things to do.

Apart from one heavy burst of cold twilight rain, the weather in Canberra was lovely and brisk. Thge one time I had trouble with the cold was sitting outside the green room after a show with my knee iced after a little slip on some backstage carpet. The knee thing is going to have to be seen to sooner rather than later.

In all fairness, I did have a nice time in Canberra. It was just a bit bemusing sometimes. But then so is my hometown.

P.S. 'Kacey', this one's for you:

Pixies - The Beautiful Corpse Lives!

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 06:18:00 +0000

There is an Amadeus tour post on its way. Unfortunately most of the trip was Internet unfriendly. We stayed at Rydges hotels in Canberra & Wollongong and they charged 75 c/min for Internet. Wollongong's Internet cafes were closed when I visited and Canberra didn't appear to have any at all. I made some notes along the way but by the time we got to Hobart there was just too much to see. I've made a good start but it's a few days away yet. In the meantime, there is a certain amount of joy to be expressed at the return of my favourite band ever in the history of the universe and beyond, the Pixies.

I heard about the tour from a waitress at a Hog's Breath Cafe in Hobart on our first night there and was able to get pre-sale tickets the following Wednesday via my friend Robbie Motortown. Yay for Robbie!

I've been an unabashed Pixies fan since 1989. I remember hearing 'Gigantic' on TripleZed in 1988 and loving it, despite not knowing who the band was. Back in those days we had no Internet, kids (we had to entertain ourselves) so it wasn't until I heard 'Monkey Gone To Heaven' the following year that I fell in love with them. It would be nearly 20 years before I'd see them live, at the V Festival on April Fool's Day 2007. For my dearest friend Renae and myself, it would go down as a red letter day.

We'd kinda given up on them ever coming back, and satisified ourselves in the knowledge that at least we got to see 'em burn through 23 songs in front of 15000 people (I wonder how many people saw the Pet Shop Boys that day?). Vague hopes of a reprise were dashed last year when I saw an interview with Black Francis where he said that, despite the half-formed plans, notions and to-ing & fro-ing, the Pixies was, in effect, a 'beautiful corpse'.

Huzzah for resurrection! Even though I'd known for months that the band was going to do a little Euro Doolittle tour, I could only dream they'd be back...and I look forward to their arrival with the same fervour I've held since I was a callow, spotty 62kg numbskull.

We're havin' a heatwaaave...

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 00:09:00 +0000

..a tropical heatwaaaave.

Since the alleged winter in this town became a 35°C/96°F sweatbath, my alleged friend and colleague Nick has been singing that line at every opportunity. He even sent it in a text. Grotty little man. He's right though. It's been bloody hot.

The last couple of weeks have been pretty busy. Rehearsals for Amadeus continue apace, and during the week I went down to Warner Bros for a TV audition. I am not comfortable doing them. I feel boxed in. Despite the fact that the chap who read opposite me was really helpful and giving, as ever in front of a camera, I locked up. Everything's out of context, I'm conscious of the tiniest twitch or blemish or half-step forward...and all attempts to relax and just do 'what I do' go out the window. It's probably time to invest in a class for this kinda stuff, but the best one is down the Coast. Still, I'm lucky to have had these sorts of auditions, seeing as I have no agent. As a freelancer, it's gratifying to have various people call out of the blue and ask me to read for things. But I need a bloody agent.

They're shooting the latest Narnia picture down there and the place is packed with trucks and gear and a giant blue screen. I had vain hopes of bumping into my friend Steve who's working on the picture, but of course...it was a vain hope.

A wave of virulent nastiness has infected the Amadeus company over the past week or so. Worst affected have been our SM and the powerhouse that is Ms K. Atkinson. I've been spared so far. I just hope that, if it does hit, it hits before we go.

On my way to Warner's, I was offered a small gig playing the first mayor of Brisbane for the Q150 celebrations. My state turns 150 this year and there is a commemoration of the first ever council meeting. Sounds interesting.

So that's that for now. I hope to keep a tour diary of sorts, but will seek permission from my colleagues re: posting of photos etc. Unless of course it's Nick.

I had the choice between Ethel Merman & Marilyn. Who would you rather look at?

Life - Part 2.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 22:40:00 +0000

Just a short note to thank everyone for their love and best wishes yesterday on the advent of my middle age. The first half of this little life has been a mess of wonder, wonders and wonderings. As for the second half...more of the same, but longer and happier...I'm looking forward to finding out.

The Cult of Stupid and the Cult of Fucking Stupid.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 03:56:00 +0000

There are two blog entries below, both covering the same topic, but with marked differences in tone. I began writing an out-and-out rant, a deliberate slab of invective aimed at those who have been annoying me in the last little while. After reading it aloud to a friend, he suggested that, due to the rather vitriolic nature of the piece, I should offer a second, rewritten in a more...couth form.

I do understand that perpetuating what one despises is not a particularly enlightened way to behave, so while I defend my right and desire to splat in an angry mess here, I accept that some of you may find the expurgated version a more cogent read. My own personal choice is the one full attack and swears, but feel free to choose your own adventure.

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Click here to read the sweet one.
Click here to read the rant.

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For those of you who are friends and/or regular readers, you'll know well my interest in America, its people and its politics. I'm besotted with it. Since the election of Barack Obama, however, it's become increasingly difficult to justify some of the behaviour I've witnessed while indulging my distant passion in all things American.

I don't wish to discuss the policies of Obama here. It's far too early to make an accurate, wide-ranging assessment of what the man is doing. In short, a return to multi-lateralism is good, but spending money you don't have might not work out so well.

What I do want to share is the 'cult of stupid' that exists in the United States. It existed before, but in the last few months it has gone stone cold crazy. I witness it every day online, in the rantings of ultra-right wing commentators, the almost unprocessed regurgitation of their online acolytes, the resurgent white supremacist movement and the doomsday bloggers.

It kinda started with infamous radio commentator Rush Limbaugh. Rush has been an outspoken apologist for the ultra-conservative movement for years. He's one of the standard-bearers of hatred. He's also a hypocrite. After years of telling people that drug users were the scum of the earth and should be sent to prison, he got busted doctor-shopping for scripts in an attempt to feed his oxycodone habit. And he bought his way out of jail time. Funnily enough, Rush doesn't talk about drugs nearly as much anymore. But I digress...

So, in the days before Obama was sworn in as 44, Limbaugh went on air and told his listeners that 'I hope (Obama) fails.' This is tantamount to saying he hopes his own country crashes and burns. What a patriot! This outburst marked the plummet into the arrant stupidity that has followed. It is now the prevailing mindset of any person that has a raging hatred for Obama. John McCain's failed campaign ran on a slogan of 'Country First'. These people don't care about America. They are only interested in the failed ideology of a failed party.

When a political party loses an election, the usual course of action is to assess the damage. Find out how it happened, why it happened and who was responsible. You do this by skulking off to a room, poring over data, looking at the successful strategies of the victor, comparing them to yours, going out into the electorate to listen to the people's voice...and then going back into the room and quietly culling the people who were responsible for the failure. Once you do that, you can start to rebuild, in the hopes that, at the very best, the new incumbent will shoot itself in the foot before the end of the term.

The appearance of a new ideology has to be forged, new faces exposed to the public, new dressings for the wounds. Most importantly, new figureheads have to emerge. It's all very well to lay the groundwork for a political comeback, but in America, if you can't pick a few people that can present the new and dynamic face of a wiser party, you are, quite simply, rudderless.

The Republicans are rudderless. For the first few months of the Obama admin, a talk radio shock jock was their most vociferous spokesperson. The official powerbrokers of the party, House Minority Leader Michael Steele and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell were strangely silent. Whether they were trying to do the right thing and re-focus the party is unknown. Possibly they were. But part of that task is to keep the ranks in line, and Rush was not kept in line. He's been quieter since, but he's been joined by his fellow commentators over at Fox News. Sean Hannity went on air and said that waterboarding wasn't torture. He even said that he'd submit to waterboarding for charity. Opposite number, MSNBC's Keith Olbermann offered to kick in a wadge of cash. In the days after Hannity announced this, a Chicago-based talk radio host by the name of Erich Mancow Muller, who'd basically said the same thing as Hannity, actually had the balls to do it. He lasted less than ten seconds before proclaiming the 'procedure' to be torture. Suddenly Hannity was silent on the issue.

Taking up the cudgels was Fox's Glenn Beck. Among the outright lies this guy has told include:

* Obama was the first President sworn in without a Bible (Lie - John Quincy Adams used a law book. Franklin Pierce didn't even swear. He affirmed. Teddy Roosevelt used no Bible. Several Presidents kissed a Bible but did not swear on one.)

* $1.4 million of stimulus money was allocated to fix some doors at an air force base (Well, some of the money did go to fix doors...aircraft hangar doors, and it was $246000 out of $1.4 mill to cover the entire base)

* Claiming the director of White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, "has proposed forcing abortions and putting sterilants in the drinking water to control population." (Lie - Beck and others quoted a book written three decades ago totally out of context. The authors outlined various methods of population control but went on to say they did not favour the method that Beck used to smear.)

* Claiming that Obama is setting up internment camps to keep dissenters locked up (Lie - Truth here

* Saying Obama had a 'deep-seated hatred for white people', then within two minutes said 'I'm not saying (Obama) doesn't like white people.

Glenn Beck has a radio show as well. Recently he screamed at a woman about healthcare. He abhors the Obama healthcare plan (more on this to follow) but last year, when he had surgery, he whined on and on about how the current healthcare system failed him to the point where he felt 'suicidal'.

And the final in this series of lies for Beck, birthright citizenship or jus soli. He didn't say 'Jus Soli', that's a dirty foreigner language and would have made his fans cry. To paraphrase an old politician, if English was good enough for Jebus, it's good enough for you. Bemoaning the fact that America gives automatic citizenship to people born on American soil, beck said that he 'checked' and NO other country in the world has the law of Jus Soli. Untrue.

Ahhhh, citizenship. At long last we come to the jewel in the crown of the cult of stupid. The 'Birfers'. The greatest argument against Obama's presidency so far has been as follows: Barack Hussein Obama II was not born in the United States. He was born in Kenya. Therefore, under the rules laid out in the United States Constitution, he is ineligible to be the President.

What? But surely they check these things! That couldn't have slipped by could it? I mean, this is the most powerful and important job in the world, and they're going to give it to a racist, homosexual, crack-smoking, Manchurian candidate, Muslim, radical Christian, Zionist, atheist, Marxist fascist without checking his birth certificate???

I'm afraid, my dear and gentle readers, that there are currently thousands of Americans, including Congressional members and media heads, who believe that Barack Obama is not a natural born citizen. Why? Because he hasn't provided a 'long form' birth certificate. Does he have to? No. Has he provided any kind of birth certificate? Yes. Here. Is there any corroborating evidence of his birth in America? Yes. Here and here.

Well, in light of the overwhelming evidence that shows Obama was born in the U.S., one would think that the 'birfers' would just slink into the shadows, knowing that they have been thoroughly discredited, right? Nope. They are screaming louder than ever. He's a Kenyan on top of everything else and he's setting up a totalitarian state, based on his fascist, Marxist, Fabian Socialist principles (for any of you who aren't aware, the American right-wingers' definition of socialism is 'when the government uses a nickel of your taxes to provide a public service').

The Queen of the Birfers is Orly Taitz. Orly is a lawyer, dentist and realtor. She's the woman who, only days ago, claimed she had Obama's Kenyan birth certificate. Within hours of its release, it had been debunked as a fraud. To accept it's authenticity, you'd have to believe that Mombasa was part of Kenya in 1961 and not Zanzibar, that Obama's family would travel 1000 miles from home for his birth and that Kenya was a republic before the end of 1964. Oh, and top top it off, a man from Adelaide was been contacted by the ABC and he confirmed it was a doctoring of his Australian birth cert. Orly's all cred. Orly tried to file the cert with the judge in California, but it was immediately thrown out.

On a side-note, there is a definite similarity between Orly's voice and the shrill, frock-wearing scream of Glenn Beck.

So, it's pretty clear I am moving toward a place where my dislike of neocons and media personalities is becoming detestation. But I save the bulk of my opprobrium for those who believe or pretend to believe all of the lies they tell, and have become adept at spreading it.

The people calling Obama the enemy, despite not having any evidence to show that he's anything other than a guy who's working his butt off to fix the cesspool left by his illiterate predecessor...are more of an enemy to America. As a result, they are more of an enemy to all of us, for whatever affects America has an attendant effect on the world. It's not that I am a devoted follower of the man. I do not trust politicians at all, Obama included. I think it should be the default position of anyone who lives in society. But by the same token, the lies need to be exposed. If Obama's gonna fail, let him fail on his own terms. There's no need to poison the well. In fact, the smears and lies only serve to suggest the smearers have nothing else.

I struggled for a little while to wrap my head around how these people could be so atrophied and venal. It's a blind. They don't care about citizenship. If the stated reasons are so obviously idiotic, the truth must lie in what they are hiding: 1) they value partisanship and being on the winning side more than they value the success of their nation and 2) because he's black.

For those of you who think this is a typical liberal thing to say, I have to tell you that during the campaign I did not buy into any of allegations of racism online, except when it so overt that it could not be ignored.

One of the websites I spent a good deal of time at leading up to the election, the Politics section of Yahoo! Answers, was a feisty, but reasonably compos0D
So, in the days before Ob rules by asking loaded partisan questions and parroting the latest campaign slogans, but it was fairly tame. After the election I left for five months. On my return I found it to be one step away from stormfront.org. Here's a sample of the what goes on there:

Is it possible Michelle Obama likes to defecate in bed as some sort of aphrodisiac?
Is President Obama a fascist or a socialist?
Do you think a Muslim, madrassa-educated Obama would harm the country worse than Bush?
Would it be fair to say a terrorist attack is coming now that Obama won?
Is Obama touring concentration camps to get a blueprint for the FEMA camps he is going to open in the US?
Since Obama supports infanticide, does he also support euthanizing the elderly and redistributing their wealth?
Did Obama almost accidentally say the N word when he said his professor buddy JIGGERED the lock?
Obama should have said Jimmied or Jiggled the lock but since this was a race issue I think he almost said nigger the lock or nigger was on his mind when he said Jiggered the lock
Why do people Support Obama when his old Church was/is Racist and teach Nazi believes?
What happens when it is revealed that Obama used to be a muslim?
Will obama be assinated or is he a spy from a dif country?
If Barack Hussein 0bama is a natural born citizen, what is he hiding?
Would it be a federal hate crime to burn 0bama in effigy?
Will 0bama find a way to put most US soldiers who fought in Afghanistan in jail?

Getting a picture of what I mean? There are half a million Obama questions on Y!A, double the amount containing the word 'Bush'...and that includes George H. W. Bush and those questions pertaining to horticulture.

This is a cancer. The lies have gotten so bad that yesterday the White House called for people to write in if they heard any 'disinformation' about the proposed Healthcare reform currently being hashed out on Capitol Hill. Opponents of Obama used this as an excuse to say that Obama wants people to spy on their neighbours and report them if they say anything bad about the healthcare bill.

OBAMA wants us to report disenters to the white/mitch-mcconnell-09081.jpg"
Why is Obama trying to get people to report each other?

That's how low they've sunk and how obvious their desperation is. They have made up lies about a website dedicated to uncovering lies.

I receive quite a bit of hate mail from these guys, but that's okay, I just send them a standard 'We appreciate the time it must have taken you to write' response and call them things like 'sweetness'.

A good article or blog entry should have a nice, tidy closer. But a rant...well, as you can see, y'just keep going until you are exhausted, then you fall asleep and wake tomorrow to another day's lunacy.

G'night.

_______________________________________

People are stupid. We all are. I am. You are. But I love you, so I let a lot of it slide. I even try to let a lot of my own stupidity slide, but that's a little harder to do. Please bear this love in mind as you read on, because what follows is neither loving or lovely. It's a purging, a venting, borne of frustration and anger at the sheer intellectual retardation I've witnessed in the last little while. There is bad language. Quite possibly I'll even go back and add more when I'm done. Those disinclined to read what is effectively a crass rant, I'd recommend stopping here.

For those of you who are friends and/or regular readers, you'll know well my interest in America, its people and its politics. I'm besotted with it. Since the election of Barack Obama, however, it's become increasingly difficult to justify some of the behaviour I've witnessed while indulging my distant passion in all things American.

I don't wish to discuss the policies of Obama here. It's far too early to make an accurate, wide-ranging assessment of what the man is doing. In short, a return to multi-lateralism is good, but spending money you don't have might not work out so well.

What I do want to share is the 'cult of stupid' that exists in the United States. It existed before, but in the last few months it has gone stone cold fucking crazy. I witness it every day online, in the rantings of ultra-right wing commentators, the almost unprocessed regurgitation of their online acolytes (oh, let's not be nice, they're not acolytes, they're braindead shit-lickers), the resurgent white supremacist movement and the doomsday bloggers.

It kinda started with infamous self-confessed neo-con opioid addict and alleged pederast, the fat and fatuous Rush Limbaugh. Rush has been furiously and impotently masturbating to right wing bullshit for years. He's one of the standard-bearers of hatred. He's also a class-A hypocrite. After years of telling people that drug users were the scum of the earth and should be sent to prison, he got busted doctor-shopping for scripts in an attempt to feed his oxycodone habit. And he bought his way out of jail time. Funnily enough, Rush doesn't talk about drugs nearly as much anymore. But I digress...

So, in the days before Obama was sworn in as 44, Limbaugh went on air and told his listeners (oh, what a joyous bunch!) that 'I hope (Obama) fails.' This is tantamount to saying he hopes his own country crashes and burns. What a patriot! This outburst marked the plummet into the arrant stupidity that has followed. It is now the prevailing mindset of any drooling retard that has a raging hatred for Obama. John McCain's failed campaign ran on a slogan of 'Country First'. These people don't give a red fuck about America. They are only interested in the failed ideology of a failed party.

When a political party loses an election, the usual course of action is to assess the damage. Find out how it happened, why it happened and who was responsible. You do this by skulking off to a room, poring over data, looking at the successful strategies of the victor, comparing them to yours, going out into the electorate to listen to the people's voice...and then going back into the room and quietly culling the people who fucked you. Once you do that, you can start to rebuild, in the hopes that, at the very best, the new incumbent will shoot itself in the foot before the end of the term.

The appearance of a new ideology has to be forged, new faces exposed to the public, new dressings for the wounds. Most importantly, new figureheads have to emerge. It's all very well to lay the groundwork for a political comeback, but in America, if you can't pick a few people that can present the new and dynamic face of a wiser party, you are, quite simply, rudderless. Or, in keeping with the tone of this blog entry, you're fucked.

The Republicans are rudderless. For the first few months of the Obama admin, a smug, ugly-souled talk radio cockholster was their most vociferous spokesperson. The official powerbrokers of the party, House Minority Leader Michael Steele and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell were strangely silent. Whether they were trying to do the right thing and re-focus the party is unknown. Possibly they were. But part of that task is to keep the shit-lickers in line, and Rush was not kept in line. He's been quieter since, but he's been joined by his fellow arse lozenges and dollar sluts over at Fox News. Sean Hannity (the Manatee) went on air and said that waterboarding wasn't torture. He even said that he'd submit to waterboarding for charity. Loudmouth opposite number, MSNBC's Keith Olbermann offered to kick in a wadge of cash. In the days after Manatee announced this, a Chicago-based talk radio penis by the name of Erich Mancow Muller, who'd basically said the same thing as Manatee, actually had the balls to do it (well, what's a penis without balls?). He lasted less than ten seconds before proclaiming the 'procedure' to be torture. Suddenly the fat Fox fuck was silent on the issue.

Taking up the cudgels was Fox's answer to the 'Stay Puft Marshmallow Man', Glenn Beck. Among the outright lies this guy has told include:

* Obama was the first President sworn in without a Bible (Lie - John Quincy Adams used a law book. Franklin Pierce didn't even swear. He affirmed. Teddy Roosevelt used no Bible. Several Presidents kissed a Bible but did not swear on one.)

* $1.4 million of stimulus money was allocated to fix some doors at an air force base (Well, some of the money did go to fix doors...fucking aircraft hangar doors, you scrote, and it was $246000 out of $1.4 mill to cover the entire base)

* Claiming the director of White House Office of Science and Technology Policy, "has proposed forcing abortions and putting sterilants in the drinking water to control population." (Lie - Beck and other neocon chewers quoted a book written three decades ago totally out of context. The authors outlined various methods of population control but went on to say they did not favour the method that Beck used to smear.)

* Claiming that Obama is setting up internment camps to keep dissenters locked up (Lie - would that it were true, I wouldn't mind a bit of a neocon 'time out room' in the desert for these fuck knuckles to think about their intellectual spasticity.)

* Saying Obama had a 'deep-seated hatred for white people', then within two minutes said 'I'm not saying (Obama) doesn't like white people...' (what the fuck?)

Glenn Beck has a radio show as well. Recently he screamed like a bedwetting Mary at a woman about healthcare. He abhors the Obama healthcare plan (more on this to follow) but last year, when he had surgery (it was either surgery to remove arse grapes, or the arse grapes had surgery to remove Beck, I'm not sure), he whined on and on about how the current healthcare system failed him to the point where he felt 'suicidal'. Not fucking suicidal enough.

And the final in this series of lies for StayPuft and his disappearing arse grapes, birthright citizenship or jus soli. He didn't say 'Jus Soli', that's a dirty foreigner language and would have made his fans cry. To paraphrase an old politician, if English was good enough for Jebus, it's good enough for you. Bemoaning the fact that America gives automatic citizenship to people born on American soil, beck said that he 'checked' and NO other country in the world has the law of Jus Soli. Bullshit.

Ahhhh, citizenship. At long last we come to the jewel in the crown of the cult of stupid. The 'Birfers'. The greatest argument against Obama's presidency so far has been as follows: Barack Hussein Obama II was not born in the United States. He was born in Kenya. Therefore, under the rules laid out in the United States Constitution, he is ineligible to be the President.

What? But surely they check these things! That couldn't have slipped by could it? I mean, this is the most powerful and important job in the world, and they're going to give it to a racist, homosexual, crack-smoking, Manchurian candidate, Muslim, radical Christian, Zionist, atheist, Marxist fascist without checking his birth certificate???

I'm afraid, my dear and gentle readers, that there are currently thousands of Americans, including Congressional members and media heads, who believe that Barack Obama is not a natural born citizen. Why? Because he hasn't provided a 'long form' birth certificate. Does he have to? No. Has he provided any kind of birth certificate? Yes. Here. Is there any corroborating evidence of his birth in America? Yes. Here and here.

Well, in light of the overwhelming evidence that shows Obama was born in the U.S., one would think that the 'birfers' would just slink into the shadows, knowing that they have been thoroughly discredited, right? Nope. They are screaming louder than ever. He's a Kenyan on top of all the other sewage they've shat into their fetid mix and he's setting up a totalitarian state, based on his fascist, Marxist, Fabian Socialist principles (for any of you who aren't aware, the American right-wingers' definition of socialism is 'when the government uses a nickel of your taxes to provide a public service...guhhh').

The Queen of the Birfers is Orly Taitz, or as I like to call her, Oily Tartz. This metaphasis was accepted by urban dictionary, by the way. I'm very proud. Oily is a lawsuit whore, dentist and realtor. She's the woman who, only days ago, claimed she had Obama's Kenyan birth certificate. Within hours of its release, it had been debunked as a fraud. To accept it's authenticity, you'd have to believe that Mombasa was part of Kenya in 1961 and not Zanzibar, that Obama's family would travel 1000 miles from home for his birth and that Kenya was a republic before the end of 1964. Oh, and top top it off, a man from Adelaide was been contacted by the ABC and he confirmed it was a doctoring of his Australian birth cert. Oily's all cred. Oily tried to file the cert with the judge in California, but it was immediately thrown out.

On a side-note, there is a definite similarity between Oily's voice and the shrill, frock-wearing scream of Glenn Beck.

So, it's pretty clear I am moving toward a place where my dislike of neocons and media whores is becoming detestation. But I save the bulk of my opprobrium for those who believe or pretend to believe all of the filth they spew, and have become adept at lapping it up and spitting back in our faces.

The people calling Obama the enemy, despite not having any evidence to show that he's anything other than a guy who's working his butt off to fix the cesspool left by his illiterate predecessor...are more of an enemy to America. As a result, they are more of an enemy to all of us, for whatever affects America has an attendant effect on the world. It's not that I am a devoted follower of the man. I do not trust politicians at all, Obama included. I think it should be the default position of anyone who lives in society. But by the same token, the lies need to be exposed. If Obama's gonna fuck up, let him fuck up on his own terms. There's no need to poison the well. In fact, the smears and lies only serve to suggest the smearers have nothing else.

I struggled for a little while to wrap my head around how these people could be so atrophied, so venal and so fucking stupid. It's a blind. They don't give a crap about citizenship. If the stated reasons are so obviously idiotic, the truth must lie in what they are hiding: 1) they value partisanship and being on the winning side more than they value the success of their nation and 2) because he's black.

For those of you who think this is a typical liberal thing to say, I have to tell you that during the campaign I did not buy into any of allegations of racism online, except when it so overt that it could not be ignored.

One of the websites I spent a good deal of time at leading up to the election, the Politics section of Yahoo! Answers, was a feisty, but reasonably composed place. People often broke the rules by asking loaded partisan questions and parroting the latest campaign slogans, but it was fairly tame. After the election I left for five months. On my return I found it to be one step away from stormfront.org. Here's a sample of the bullshit that goes on there:

Is it possible Michelle Obama likes to defecate in bed as some sort of aphrodisiac?
Is President Obama a fascist or a socialist?
Do you think a Muslim, madrassa-educated Obama would harm the country worse than Bush?
Would it be fair to say a terrorist attack is coming now that Obama won?
Is Obama touring concentration camps to get a blueprint for the FEMA camps he is going to open in the US?
Since Obama supports infanticide, does he also support euthanizing the elderly and redistributing their wealth?
Did Obama almost accidentally say the N word when he said his professor buddy JIGGERED the lock?
Obama should have said Jimmied or Jiggled the lock but since this was a race issue I think he almost said nigger the lock or nigger was on his mind when he said Jiggered the lock
Why do people Support Obama when his old Church was/is Racist and teach Nazi believes?
What happens when it is revealed that Obama used to be a muslim?
Will obama be assinated or is he a spy from a dif country?
If Barack Hussein 0bama is a natural born citizen, what is he hiding?
Would it be a federal hate crime to burn 0bama in effigy?
Will 0bama find a way to put most US soldiers who fought in Afghanistan in jail?

Getting a picture of what I mean? There are half a million Obama questions on Y!A, double the amount containing the word 'Bush'...and that includes Daddy Bush and those questions pertaining to horticulture.

This is a cancer. The lies have gotten so bad that yesterday the White House called for people to write in if they heard any 'disinformation' about the proposed Healthcare reform currently being hashed out on Capitol Hill. Opponents of Obama used this as an excuse to say that Obama wants people to spy on their neighbours and report them if they say anything bad about the healthcare bill. Total arse.

OBAMA wants us to report disenters to the whitehouse at flag@whitehouse.gov?
Why is Obama trying to get people to report each other?

That's how low they've sunk and how obvious their desperation is. They have made up lies about a website dedicated to uncovering lies.

I receive quite a bit of hate mail from these guys, but that's okay, I just send them a standard 'We appreciate the time it must have taken you to write' response and call them things like 'sweetness'.

A good article or blog entry should have a nice, tidy closer. But a rant...well, as you can see, y'just keep going until you are exhausted, then you fall asleep and wake tomorrow to another day's lunacy.

G'night.

Sack Sandilands - Petition.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 03:36:00 +0000

Last Thursday on 2Day FM (and affiliated stations around Australia) Kyle Sandilands and Jackie O broadcast a segment involving a 14-year-old girl being asked questions about her sexual activity, while strapped to a polygraph. During the segment the girl revealed she'd been raped at 12. The mother of the girl was also involved in the segment.

As you'd expect, this broadcast has caused quite a furore, and has polarised opinion. The NSW Department of Community Services almost immediately launched an investigation into the matter and Sandilands was fired yesterday from his role as a judge on Australian Idol.

Many people believe that the mother is at fault for approaching the radio station in the first place. Others believe the fault lies solely with Austereo (owners of 2Day). And some blame Kyle Sandilands, because he was the one who showed the least professional behaviour in continuing the ask the girl about her sexual activity after she'd make the revelation about her rape.

I have started an online petition with a view to sending it, along with a letter of complaint, to Austereo. This is necessary in order to make an official complaint to the Australian Communications & Media Authority. In it I call for the immediate dismissal of Sandilands from the Austereo network.

I've also started a Facebook group, ostensibly to share the link to the petition, but also to hear people's opinions on the matter.

Some of the comments on the Facebook page mirror what I've read elsewhere since this incident took place, namely, that the mother should absorb the bulk of blame because she is responsible for the welfare of the child. While I agree with the suggestion that the mother has been negligent in her duty towards her daughter, there seems to be an implication that one person's culpability absolves any other party involved.

This is very much a cross between two fat fallacies, 'special pleading' and 'begging the question'.

In my opinion, everyone but the young girl in question is to blame. The mother was definitely wrong to do what she did, but how does that excuse the talent, producers and management of 2Day? Any claim that a call for Sandilands to be sacked is 'misdirected' is specious.

But why am I making him the target? Because DOCS can take care of the situation with the mother and daughter, and they appear to be doing that. ACMA will take care of Austereo if enough pressure is brought to bear. But Kyle & Jackie O? In the short term, that would be Austereo's call.

What's been their reaction to the mess? Dismissal? No. Suspension? No. The show has gone into http://www.theage.com.au/news/entertainment/tv-radio/articles/2009/08/02/1249152508643.html.

Why am I calling for Sandilands to be fired but less severe punishment for Jackie O? Simply, because, while Jackie O laughed and joked about the situation as it was going to air, her immediate response to the girl's revelation of rape was to shut down the interview, but not before Sandilands had totally disgraced himself and professionalism when he asked, "Right . . . is that the only experience you've had?"

THIS is the reason he should be fired. If you could get to the nub of the reason he was fired by Ten, that's what you'd find. It wasn't the segment itself, these two have been feeding trite, banal, unfunny, tasteless hackery to their listening audiences for years and up till now only Media Watch has had the stones to call 'em on it.

Sandilands was so reprehensibly unprofessional that he blundered on like a borderline sociopath, when he should have done what any two-bit presenter would do if a situation went pear-shaped. Get the hell out of it and go to a commercial.

So, some people blame the mother and stupidly think the blame ends there. I don't. The guy is a cancer on broadcasting, and he needs to be excised.

On a final, hopefully more gentle note, my best wishes to the girl. I hope she is able to find the love, support and guidance she needs.

__

Below is the text of the online petition to recommend the dismissal of Kyle Sandilands from his position at 2DAY FM. Sign the petition here. You need do no more. I have already drafted a letter to Austereo and prepared a complaint to ACMA pending the response from Austereo.

Recently media personality Kyle Sandilands co-hosted a segment on his Austereo nationally-syndicated radio programme 'The Kyle and Jackie O Show' in which a 14-year-old girl was attached to a polygraph (lie detector) machine and asked questions about her sexual activity, at the behest of her mother.

Questioning by the mother led to the girl revealing she had been raped as a 12-year-old. Instead of bringing the interrogation to an immediate end, Sandilands continued to question the girl about her sexual activity.

It is our view that this behaviour on Sandilands' part was not only reprehensible and unprofessional in the extreme, it is in contravention of the Commercial Radio Codes of Practice and Guidelines, Code 1.5 (a):

1.5 (a) All program content must meet contemporary standards of decency, having regard to the likely characteristics of the audience of the licensee's service.

Austereo's response to this was to place the programme in 'recess' ‘‘until we have completed an across-the-networks review of the principles and protocols of our interaction with our audience’’.

It is our view that Austereo's actions are insufficient. Further, we believe Mr Sandilands is unfit to broadcast in any capacity in the Australian media, as his actions have shown a complete and repeated disregard for the standards laid out in the Australian Communication and Media Authority (ACMA) codes.

We strongly recommend that Mr Sandilands' employment be terminated immediately, with a further recommendation that his co-host, Jackie O, also face stern disciplinary action.

A copy of this petition will be sent to ACMA, pending your response and further action in this matter.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/sacksandilands/

Poh Wins! Huh?

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 12:56:00 +0000

The finale of Masterchef Australia has just finished, with Julie Goodwin announced as the winner...unless you read the Daily Telegraph:

Nice job.

Funny People (Part One).

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 11:31:00 +0000

Yeah, it's been a few weeks. I only realised how long it'd been when I received Facebook message from a friend the other day saying, 'Update your blog you twat'.

So, here I be, to update my blog-you-twat.

A few million people died last week, some of whom were quite well-known. The Internet has the lives and deaths of the famous people pretty well covered, so I'll leave them to rest and move instead to a light diversion.

My favourite funny people.

In compiling this group I made a list of names with the intention of cutting it back to about ten. Within 15 minutes of starting I had about 50 people down, none of whom I could reasonably exclude. So, I've decided to share them with you a few bits at a time. Here's Part One...

Peter Cook

What a perfect place to start. 'The funniest man who ever drew breath', said Stephen Fry. I cannot disagree. Peter was so funny that he defied superlatives. Only problem with Pete is choosing the right snippet. This is a slice of a doco on him, including bits of his most famous sketch, 'One Leg Too Few'. In the pantheon.

Larry David

The weaver. His ability to interlace stories and tie them off is unsurpassed. He was the least enthusiastic stand-up in the biz, but found his niche. Larry has, in a sense, re-defined comedy.

Lewis Black

While I've known of LB for a number of years and watched bits here and there, I'd not really seen him in his element. He is razor sharp, goofy, loveable and has a wonderful theatrical anger. He has some great political & religious comedy, but this is a beautiful rant on what we consume.

Stephen Merchant

Love 'im. Brilliant. 'nuff said.

Christopher Guest

From Spinal Tap to For Your Consideration, Christopher Guest (or Lord Haden-Guest to you)is a totally original and amazing writer, performer, musician, composer, director...he's just great. I could have chosen any number of performances, but this few seconds always makes me laugh.

Dave Allen

For a man whose storytelling ability is unsurpassed, whose style and charm are pre-eminent in comedy, whose TV show format was the first to blend sketch and stand up, Dave Allen seems to have been largely passed by. In a list of 50 'Comedians' Comedians' in 2005, Allen did not figure, despite being a pivotal figure in comedy for many years.

Stephen Fry

Peter Cook may have been the funniest man ever to draw breath, but here Stephen Fry makes me think he could breathe underwater.

Graham Chapman

A very serious, silly man.

Bernie Mac

Great stand-up, wonderful actor, gone too soon.

Hiccup.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 21:49:00 +0000

I've been away a little while longer than I thought. Sometimes life overtakes you, for a variety of reasons. I'll be back in the next day or so with something...I dunno what yet. In the meantime, enjoy a tune:

(Some of) My Favourite TV Themes.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 20:59:00 +0000

What's a blog for if not shameless self-indulgence? It's sun-up on an orange juicy Sunday morning, I'm not in any plays, following any elections (well, except maybe the Indian one, a bit) or looking to rant about charlatans & frauds...just felt like a trip down memory lane.

Right so...apropos of nuffin', TV themes. Here are a few of my favourites, some classics, some more recent...one or two unrecognisable to younger audiences. Of course, the shows don't all hold a special place in the pop culture crevice of my heart, but that ain't the point. It's not a 'definitive list' and it's not a 'best of', it's merely a personal indulgence and a bit of fun...so hopefully those who remember these shows & tunes will get a bit of a sentimental twinge and those who've never heard of 'em can hear what a TV theme with a bassline sounds like.

The Rockford Files (Mike Post & Peter Carpenter)

It seems like Mike Post wrote just about everything on American TV in the 70s and early 80s, but this is my favourite of his. I liked the show too. James Garner was cool even when he was being beaten up, which was quite often. Another memorable factoid about watching Rockford Files was around seeing an answering machine for the first time.

Rockford Files Season 1 intro

Curb Your Enthusiasm ('Frolic' by Luciano Michelini)
I love Curb, I love Larry David and I love the theme, which Larry remembered from a bank ad he'd seen years earlier. The link music for Curb, like just about everything else on the show, is perfect. The thinking behind the theme is as simple as it is brilliant. No matter how dark or bleak a situation might be, when the audience hears 'Frolic', everything's gonna be ok.

The Champions (Tony Hatch)

Here's a slightly more obscure one. My brother and I loved this show, mainly because we liked poking fun at William Gaunt's 'on the verge of tears' facial expression. I can't remember much about the show other than the premise: three young and attractive people are in an accident and when they wake up they've been given super powers by some old beardy guy. They work for a covert group called Nemesis, fighting baddies who are uncommonly keen on germ warfare.

The Persuaders (John Barry)

I can't remember too much about the show, other than it starred Roger Moore & Tony Curtis as two playboy types who...did stuff. And Tony Curtis wore driving gloves. And there were lots of windy Euro-roads. Oh, and John Barry wrote possibly the most famous theme ever, James Bond. I like the Persuaders theme because it's curiously melancholic and reflective for this kind of show.

Dave Allen at Large (Robert Sharples)

One of my favourite shows ever, one of my favourite comedians ever and possibly my favourite theme ever. Dave Allen was a man of great style, charm, grace and infinite ability. The most urbane comedian ever, and a TV groundbreaker. He's the first I know of to seamlessly blend sketch comedy with live stand-up (or sit down, in his case). I can't help but smile when I see him, and can't stop a little nerdy boogie when I hear his theme.

Rush (George Dreyfus)

Ah, an Aussie one. I have fond memories of our first colour TV set being bought in anticipation of seeing Jon Waters' dark blue uniform and...well...lots of brown dirt. I also remember the TV crapping itself the day the before show was on. A stirring theme from an Australian classic. As with many Australian bits and pieces, I couldn't find the actual opening titles, but here's the tune:

Peanuts (Vince Guaraldi)

More a fan of the books & strips than the shows, I still love the theme. Years ago I saw Joe Satriani live and the bass player Stu Hamm played a wonderful cameo solo version of this beautiful theme, which has since been maimed by commercial overuse.

Doctor Who (Ron Grainer)

This one's widely regarded as the best TV theme ever, with good reason. If the themes are meant not only to identify the show but give some indication as to the content, then the Doctor them is an archetype. Of course, the theme was probably the most expensive bit of the old show. On a mildly interesting side note, the composer Ron Grainer was born in Atherton, Queensland, my home state.

Van der Valk (Jack Trombey)

I can hardly remember this show, other than the confusion of seeing an obviously English (Barry Foster) man in charge of Dutch police. And his tan coat. Plus, Barry seemed far too avuncular to be a high-ranking cop. Beautiful theme tho', and a lovely tan coat.

The Professionals (Laurie Johnson)

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGH!!! Dununt nunt! Aw yeah, I got excited every time that car smashed through the window. The Professionals was so cool. Bodie & Doyle were hipper, tougher versions of Starsky and Hutch, and they didn't need a Gran Torino, just Escorts & Capris. Plus it had the gravitas of grouchy Gordon Jackson as their whisky-supping boss. If you hadn't picked up on it, I really like themes with lots of crunchy wukka-wukka wah.

S.W.A.T. (Barry de Vorzon)

Not just wukka-wukka, but ballsy basslines too. Basically all I can remember from S.W.A.T. is lots of people jumping off stuff. And everyone, especially Steve Forrest, being cool.

S.W.A.T. - Intro | Movies & TV | SPIKE.com

Robin's Nest (Richard O'Sullivan)

This Man About the House spin-off was really only notable for a few things, one of which was David Kelly's brilliance. The other was Richard O'Sullivan's theme, a mini-Moog masterpiece. Oh, and Tessa Wyatt was lovely too.

Bewitched (Jack Keller)

Back to 'classics' territory with this one, a show still repeated ad nauseam. As themes go it's okay, it's really here only because of Elizabeth Montgomery, who was one of the most beautiful women ever.

Barnaby Jones (Jerry Goldsmith)

Hated the show, loved the theme...and the titles. Whenever it came on I cringed. There was something about old Buddy Ebsen that really irritated me. However, I did love the spoken titles and the episode announcement, not to mention 'a Quinn Martin production!' They also used to title caption the chapters and had an epilogue.

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The New Avengers (Laurie Johnson)

The only composer to make the list twice. Now, I know The Avengers was the classic and The New Avengers a pale facsimile, but 1) I was too young for the original and 2) the theme kicks ass. Plus, in good 1970s style, there are many more 'splosions.

The Banana Splits (Nelson B. Winkless Jr)

I was born in 1969, so have only the most vague memories of seeing the Banana Splits when it first ran, but I was once told by a relative that I used to say 'Uh oh! Chungo!' whenever I was given a mouthful of food. I can confirm this as being true, as I was 33 at the time. The theme gets a run here purely because it's one of those tunes (like 'Across the Universe') that I feel I've known since before I was born. Which may well be true.

Magic Roundabout

Circus music is freaky, but I loved the theme to MR. I also loved Dougal, probably because he moved while seemingly missing feet. He was a snake dog.

Sesame Street (Joe Raposo 'The original Cookie Monster')

Kids' show, three-in-a-row. Sesame Street brought us more than just a great theme tune, it was notable for a host of really cool, melodic & funky bits and pieces, most of which were written (and often sung) by Joe Raposo. In fact, I might dedicate a whole entry to Mr Raposo's work sometime.

Fat Albert & The Cosby Kids (Ricky Sheldon & Edward Fournier)

What the hell, let's make it four. Like a lot of kids my first exposure to Bill Cosby was through his stand-up records, so I knew that a lot of the people in Fat Albert were drawn from his childhood. There's something special about the way Mr Cosby spoke to kids through this show. You didn't feel like you were watching a kids' show and you didn't feel preached at. And once again, the theme is some coolass shit.

The Young Ones (Sid Tepper and Roy C. Bennett)

This show was everything my Dad hated, and I think it was meant to be. I couldn't see why though, it was just a bit of colourful and inspired silliness from a bunch of extremely talented, funny people. The Young Ones was probably my first experience of a 'cult' show, even though in Australia it didn't really kick off till 1986 when the ABC re-ran it at 9pm, after the D-Generation. It originally went out in '83 or '84 at 11-ish and I snuck a few episodes, but no-one at school knew what the hell I was on about. Channel 2 was so uncool.

The Goodies (Bill Oddie)

Yayyy! What more needs to be said?

There are others that were in a big list that didn't make, and I'm sure five minutes after I post this I'll remember some totally fuck off brilliant theme, but that's it. Enjoy...

Post-script - Yes, I wrote the bulk of this last Sunday morning but only posted it today. I've been unwell the last few days, thanks to the side-effects of a 'stop-smoking' drug I've been taking. More on that later...

Goodbye Pillowman.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:47:00 +0000

Show's over, folks. Back again.

Please bear with me if I drift into hyperbole here, my words do little justice to the experience of the last couple of months.

Last Saturday evening saw the lights finally fade on an amazing show: the 23rd/MetroArts co-production of 'The Pillowman' by Martin McDonagh. Let's briefly kick off with him. What a fucking brilliant play, Mr McD.

Despite my sporadic forays into theatre over the past 20 years, I've been in more shows than one might think. Some have been professional, some not. Some have been transformational, others not so much. With the benefit of a few days remove, I can now quite objectively say that The Pillowman is quite possibly the best show ('soup to nuts') I've ever had the honour of being involved with. Here's why:

1. The production company. This is my third full show with 23rd Productions, and they just keep getting better and better. Kathryn Fray and Christopher Sommers are determined, dedicated people. Kath has a passion for theatre the size of a whale and it's matched only by Chris's awareness, understanding and drive. They have clear and defined goals. They want to make art with a purpose, but they understand the primary objective: to entertain. They are rare insofar as they are both artists who can switch effortlessly into business mode when necessary. If a person wanted an example of a Renaissance in this city's theatre industry, they need only be pointed in the direction of 23rd.

Special mention must be made of Amanda Bell, the Company Manager. Chances are if something goes splendidly well and you don't hear very much about it, you have Amanda to thank. She is the embodiment of the Quiet Achiever, working herself silly to make the production a success, but staying very firmly in the shadows. Y'know, I think Amanda Bell might actually be The Pillowman.

2. The director. Prior to this year 23rd had mounted two full productions: Closer in 2007 (directed by Mark Conaghan) and Motortown last year (directed by Shane Jones). Each time they managed to find the right person to steer the ship. The choice of Michelle Miall to direct The Pillowman was inspired. Michelle has created this sweet little beast of a play almost by sleight of hand.

From the very first rehearsals she went about her work with the most defined of ideas and the lightest of hearts. She had a clear and uncluttered (read: non-wanky) understanding of McDonagh's work. She never pushed or even cajoled her actors, she merely teased ideas and suggested different approaches when necessary. She was able to bring the separate elements together seamlessly when we stopped working scenes in isolation. She made us aware of our own choices as actors'. She never lost a mote of confidence in our ability to deliver what the play required when the time came. She cast the thing superbly. And she's just a really lovely human, which of course counts for plenty.

3. The creatives. From the simple but hugely effective set design by Amanda Karo right through to the amazing Danny Elfman-esque score by Chris Perren, everything clicked on The Pillowman. Jason Glenwright's LX design was as shocking as it was textured and beautiful, Chrispey McDougall's wardrobe choices managed to stay faithful to the idea that we were not only in a nebulous world, we lived in an unknown time and Louise (my darling Loolee) Gavin's hair artistry meshed perfectly with the indefinable 'place & time' of the piece.

4. The crew. Whitney Eglington is a first year uni student. This might lead you to believe she's still finding her feet. Well, she knows where her feet are, but I had trouble finding 'em. They are a blur! I've never seen a Stage Manager so committed to going up on time, and better still, turn around an interval so fast. That's completely forgetting her tech knowledge and calling of the show, which was just staggeringly good.

Apparently there are universities that frown on students doing work outside the course. While I understand and acknowledge the reasons for this, I'm quite confident that, were they witness to such a professional display, they might have second thoughts about this directive. Darling Tim 'Auntie Mary' Wallace really needs no praise from me. An absolute hero, pro, champion and über-Mary. I love you. Gaby Zsolnai came to us in tech, and what a powerhouse performer. Piglet paint-mixing, blood-prep, prop-setting, everything done with an enthusiasm and minimum of fuss. In fact, Gaby's work speaks to the whole ethos of the production: enthusiasm...minimum of fuss. Thanks also to Dirk (The Prince of Dirkness) Hoult who jumped into the bump-out so we precious ones could prance about.

5. The critical response. Never in my life have I seen such an overwhelmingly positive reaction to a play. We all like to say that we don't care about the reviews, but we do. Who doesn't like to hear nice stuff being said about the work they are doing? I'm sure some people don't care, but we're talking about theatre people here...c'mon! Moreover, widely-read positive reviews can translate to much bigger houses than an indie production might normally expect, which in turn provides a company the chance to keep making good work. So to the reviewers, a big thank you.

6. The support from our industry. The Pillowman was 23rd's first co-production, so it would be remiss not to pay homage to the people at Metro Arts, The Pillowman's co-producer and a heavyweight supporter of independent theatre in Brisbane for many years. My first show at the Metro was in 1992, and I was far from the first person to walk that stage. Without the support of people like you, there'd be fewer productions in our town.

Equator-sized thanks to Jon Halpin for his input and support during the rehearsal process. I'm sure everyone felt slightly more emboldened (if a wee bit nervy, at first) knowing that Jon was in our corner. Thank you to the many industry leaders who made time in busy schedules to come and see The Pillowman. It's a huge confidence boost knowing you came.

7. The audience. 'No audience, no show'. You came in great number, you gripped your armrests, you pissed yourselves laughing, you cried, you showed up when it was raining, you shared your appreciation during and after the show. On a personal note, you reminded me in the best way what it's like to ride waves of laughter. You were fucking magnificent. Thank you.

8. The cast. Sigh. I guess I had to mention these fuckers eventually...hehe. What spectacular people these little pillows are. All with amazing pedigree and talent, all so driven to do the best work they can, all so much more 'credentialled' than I am. I don't really know where to start here...but off we go.

Chris Vernon. A darling of a human, talented beyond reasonable measure, captured a wondrous duality in Michal that was breathtaking. It's never easy playing 'the retard' (context, people). It's so easy to fall into the realm of parody or pastiche, but Chris made Michal human, inquisitive...and he allowed the audience to feel real compassion for a man who was ostensibly a murderer.

Emma Che Martin, Emma Pursey and Matty Filkins proved the rule that 'there's no such thing as a small role'. Each of them brought a great vivacity to their work which shone onstage. There were times, hiding in the hole in the wall watching 'The Little Jesus' story that I was so engrossed I nearly craned into view of the audience. They were note-perfect. Matty's slack jaw, Emma's bogan sneer & ciggie flick and Emma Che's..well, everything...often forced me to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

Rob Thwaites is Motortown. He is, too. But he's just as much Pillowman as he is Motortown, and I've no doubt he'll be the next show he's in. Rob was my 'bad cop' partner in Pillowman and I couldn't have wished for more. He prepares so meticulously and is always striving for more. I love Robbie Thwaites as a man and an actor, and am very proud to have worked alongside him again. The cunt.

Finally...young master Steven Rooke. This is where I almost run out of words. Steve...makes me realise what I can (and should) be as an actor. He's a tireless professional, he's generous as all fuckery onstage and off, he's bursting with enthusiasm, he's a total sweetheart of a man and he's an amazing actor. If you need a cue, a hint, a 'pointer' on your path as an actor...look no further than Steven. I'm blessed to have shared a stage with him.

I feel blessed, full stop. The last few days have been boneless fatigue, but remembering the short distance back to the show fills me with something rare and special. This play has re-ignited a love for something I've always felt compelled to do. It's totally natural and understandable to dislike doing a job you hate, but when you feel the same about your passion...that's just plain weird and sad. The Pillowman (and everyone involved in it) has stoked the furnace in me. The support & encouragement I'm receiving from peers and colleagues to keep striving is gold dust to me. I'm back.

Coming up after the break...

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 03:51:00 +0000

Last weekend I started a new blog entry 'cause y'know...it's a blog. It was folly from the start. The week a show opens is frenzied enough without the cut-throat pressure of the BLOGOSPHERE!!!

So I haven't finished it...and I probably won't. Rather than a preview of The Pillowman, you'll most likely get a post-mortem. If time permits this weekend, I might write a bit of something about something-ish to do with something around the production itself. It's a fucking great play, and I'm having a ball doing it.

If you're in Brisbane, you have to see it.

Bill Hicks - Tribute to a Personal Hero.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 02:38:00 +0000

Today marks 15 years since the passing of Bill Hicks.

It's tempting to say 'since the death of Bill Hicks'. And of course, it's literally true. On February 26th 1994, Bill (William Melvin) Hicks succumbed after a brutal battle with pancreatic cancer.

But in a way, it's misleading, as the man seems more alive now than ever. His body of work is as resonant, his anger as honest and unabashed, his love boundless and his words heard by a far greater number than any during his short life.

I first heard the name Bill Hicks in 1993 when he was doing the TV rounds to drum up an audience for his Melbourne Comedy Festival gigs. While he certainly made me (and my brother, also a devoted fan) laugh, I have to confess paying little attention to the man until a few years after his death.

It wasn't until 1997 that I was struck full force by Bill's brilliance, and it came in the form of a little quote in a magazine promoting his stand-up collection on CD. I've heard the bit in context many, many times since, but even out of context, it was funny, poignant, incisive and beautiful:

Today a young man on acid realised that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we are the imagination of ourselves...here's Tom with the weather!

I read it, loved it, then promptly forgot it until our older brother Sean died of cancer in early 1998. My brother Conor and I were talking on the phone not long after. We'd had a number of conversations of a spiritual nature and in his prolific reading at the time, Conor, I guess, was attempting to get a handle on the idea of a universal or cosmological 'totality'. We had touched on it a few times during the latter stages of Sean's illness. It's a hard thing to get a handle on. I suddenly remembered the thrust of the Bill 'bit' and raced to get the magazine.

It was really Conor who set the ball rolling for our interest (to put it mildly) in Bill. He uncovered bits of audio and stuck 'em on cassette for me, he found the infamous 'Bill Loses It' segment on video...and I lapped up every word. Even after years of listening to and watching an extremely finite body of work, Bill still makes me laugh, cry and think.

Even though Bill died only a couple of months after his 32nd birthday, he'd been working solidly as a comedian for over half his life. Bill started so young he was required to get a special work permit that would allow him to play in licensed venues. A Georgian by birth, Bill considered himself a Texas boy, his family having moved there when he was seven. They were mild-mannered Southern Baptists who lived in a nice part of Houston. His Dad worked for GM, his mother was a home-maker and active in the community. His older siblings, Steve and Lynn, had successfully tackled tertiary education. Like many teenagers, Bill often withdrew to the solace of his locked bedroom. Unlike many teenagers, he spent hour after hour writing jokes.

Bill's early bits were heavily influenced by Richard Pryor and Woody Allen, and much of his material came straight from his home life. He lampooned his father's obsession with 'the lawn' and his mother's incessant talk about friends with tumours. Bill loved his family very much and they him, but his father especially was a source of great frustration, and as a result, great material. A tiny example:

"I never got along with my dad. Kids used to come up to me and say, 'My dad can beat up your dad.' I'd say 'Yeah? When? He cuts the lawn on Saturdays. Nail him out there.'"

One look at the very limited amount of early Bill footage shows that, even in his teens and early 20s, he possessed perfect timing and a mastery of the room:

A confident, stage-wise Bill moved to Los Angeles in 1980. He worked out of Mitzi Shore's Comedy Store, ostensibly as an odd-job man (I once read somewhere that one of the odder jobs was picking up Mitzi's son, Pauly, from school). He eventually impressed enough to get some stage time, sharing the bill with nascent performers Jerry Seinfeld, Garry Shandling and that great lump of idiot Andrew Dice Clay. Mitzi was sufficiently impressed with Bill to recommend him for work elsewhere. Though some Hicks fans might find it hard to believe or accept, he was cast in a pilot called Bulba with Lyle Waggoner and Armin Shimerman. It didn't get picked up, and after a time, thoroughly dissatisfied with himself and LA, Bill moved back to Texas.

It was when he was back working in the South that Bill began, slowly, to develop what became an indelible mark on stand-up, comedy and performance in general. For a long time Bill had been interested in the search to expand his consciousness, embarking on meditation retreats and flotation tank exercises with his friends Dwight Slade, Kevin Booth and the softly spoken David Johndrow. Dwight, a talented stand-up in his own right, was there at the start, a high school friend and the other half of Bill first attempts at stand-up. Kevin, a little older, provided more than just clandestine transport to gigs. Bill and Kevin were simpatico in so many areas, especially in creative fields. Their bands (Stress and later, Marblehead Johnson)and their film project Ninja Bachelor Party are a testament to this.

From what I can gather, Bill's relentless quest to be the best, most impacting comedian he could be stalled when he came to the realisation that many of his idols, including Richard Pryor, George Carlin and, from Bill's own eyewitness accounts, Sam Kinison, had all taken their journey via intoxicants. Bill followed suit with zeal and the results were sacred and profane, sublime and ridiculous.

He'd become part of a group of comedians known as the Outlaw Comics and during this period his comedy grew razor sharp thorns. Often those thorns seemed to grew inwards. Many's the tale of beatings at the hands of drunk and disgruntled audience members. This immersion in drugs and drink made Bill virtually unbookable, but it served to distil his work into what became the finest, most acutely observed comedy and social criticism for many years.

Bill got clean and sober in New York in 1984. Through all of it, he continued to work tirelessly. According to Cynthia True's biog American Scream he was an avid attendee of AA meetings, scoping out locations ahead of time while he dotted the country playing club after club. Jay Leno, who'd seen and advised Bill when he was in Texas, got him a gig on Letterman. It was the first of many.

Despite this increased exposure, Bill struggled. His material was far too unabashed and 'deep' for audiences. His anger scared them. His drunk ranting might have been dismissed by the punters as just that, but a clean, sober, articulate and insightful Hicks was a 'threat', and could not easily be ignored. He shook people to their core.

Bill took aim at all our great taboos and misconceptions: sex, drugs, rock & roll, politics, religion, governmental control, spirituality, TV & the media, entertainment, violence, war and he crystallized every issue in a way that not only made them make perfect sense, but forced the deepest laughter from the core. He rattled people out of their lethargy. He woke people from a collective coma of easy, lazy and uncritical thinking. To the critics who said 'I don't go to comedy clubs to think', Bill replied, 'Where do you go to think? I'll meet you there. We don't have to do this here.'

There've been a few times writing this little tribute where I've considered saying 'Bill once famously said' but took it out. It wasn't true. There was no fame or decent recognition for Bill Hicks until he left America and appeared at the Montreal Comedy Festival. This led to great success in the UK & Ireland, which I'm sure must have been gratifying for a man who, after his transformation into 'The Dark Poet', stoutly refused to sell his soul to a sitcom on 'Lucifer's Dream Box' or the corporate machine.

A few people I know really like some of Bill's work but dismiss portions, especially his more overtly sexual content, like Goat Boy. This misses one of the essential facets of Bill's work. His attempts at shocking his audience were to keep them from the comfort of complacency. He even self-deprecatingly mocked straying into such territory.

Others treat Bill as a misanthrope and curmudgeon. Sure, he got angry at humans. He called us a 'virus with shoes'. But Bill's more voluble and exclamatory material was not borne of hatred. To label his anger as some kind of schtick is to fall way short, and suggests you need to 'proceed correctly' as Bill would say. Underneath all of his frustration lay an abiding optimism and unconditional love, and the hope that as a species, we could be better. How many people, let alone stand-up comedians, have that as their guiding principle?

Thankfully, the beginnings of Bill's success brought with it a much more complete record of his amazing gifts as a bringer of laughter and perspective. Bill and Kevin produced the video 'Sane Man' in 1989 and his first album 'Dangerous' was released in 1990, but it wasn't until he left home that people began to see the master at work. Here's a bit of intense Bill in Montreal in 1991, part of the Relentless tour. It's not just a fine example of his rage, but also his amazing 'bathetic' ability:

As I mentioned earlier, Bill's success overseas never translated to success at home. He brought this annoyance into the introductory salvo of many shows:

'Y'all are starin' at me like a dog that's just been shown a card trick...'

'I've had more people in bed before than this...'

'I’ve been doing comedy for fifteen years now, so bear with me while I plaster on a fake smile and plough through this shit one more time...'

and...the clincher:

'Thank you. How you doing folks? Me too. You gotta bear with me, I'm very tired, very tired of travelling, and very tired of doing comedy, and very tired of staring out at your vacant faces looking back at me, wanting me to fill your empty lives with humor you couldn't possibly think of yourselves. Good evening.'

Bill was in Australia when he became ill, and a short time after he returned home he was diagnosed with the cancer that would take him away. Typically, he kept working hard. On October 1st 1993 he appeared for the twelfth time on Letterman. Bill's segment was cut from the broadcast. Over time his non-appearance became a scandal to everyone who's ever doffed their hat to Bill Hicks and has been much talked about for over fifteen years. Bill was distraught. Then-producer Robert Morton blamed CBS Standards & Practices for the excising of the segment, though it was later revealed that this was untrue. Letterman and Morton were responsible.

Writer, critic and avowed Hicks fan John Lahr (author of the biography of another 'hero' of mine, Joe Orton) weighed in after Bill sent him an impassioned letter (edited highlights here). Lahr ran with it in a landmark New Yorker article.

In the Hicks documentary It's Just a Ride, made not long after Bill's death, one can tell David Letterman had serious regrets about cutting Bill from the show.

These regrets have obviously lingered. Just a few weeks ago, Letterman invited Bill's mother Mary onto the show, made an obviously heartfelt apology, and ran the excised segment, fifteen years and four months after it was first performed:

A magnanimous gesture. Thank you, Dave.

I have written and re-written for hours and know I can capture neither the essence of Bill Hicks man or my love for him. He may be gone in a physical sense, but his passing only serves to give a clearer definition of the term 'a celebration of life'. Not just his short and incandescent life, but the potential for all our lives. If we so choose.

If you've never heard of Bill, hopefully this has piqued your interest. If you have and hunger for more, keep looking. I found new bits and pieces in the preparation of this post.

Much more Bill can be found on youtube etc. as well as at Kevin Booth's site,Sacred Cow Productions. Kevin has written a biography of Bill called Agents of Evolution. Go looking.

I'll leave you with Bill where I started with him.

Spoon bending, faith healing, cold reading and other trickery.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 08:35:00 +0000

As my few devoted readers will attest, this blog is much like any other insofar as it's merely a place to indulge in sharing/venting thoughts, grievances, annoyances etc. It was not started with a mind to write exclusively or even regularly about one topic. It's an intellectual and emotional purgative covering whatever happens to be floating through my head on a particular day.

There is a subject, though, that does frequently cross my mind: the so-called 'psychic, supernatural and paranormal'. Over the coming weeks I'll devote a little more bigmouthery to these very interesting, captivating 'phenomena'.

Let me begin by saying that I have no wish to rule out completely the existence of such 'forces' in our lives. I've had a few experiences that defy explanation, so it would be churlish to state unequivocally that the 'supernatural' is pure myth. Why? Because they 'defy explanation', certainly by me and, from what I can gather, by everyone else. But it's as important to point out that, just because something appears to have no immediate, logical or easy answer, we're not justified in inventing an answer out of some desire to have our lives appear to make more sense.

Herein lies one of the problems. As humans, we have immense curiosity and an overarching need for every question to be answered. This is one of our great strengths. Alongside that, though, lies the potent desire for answers and within that, the potential for creating an answer with no reasonable basis in fact.

We cheat because the questions are often so perplexing, it hurts our heads to the point where inventing an answer, no matter how ludicrous, goes some way to providing a measure of faux-peace. Of course, it has to be done on a grand scale in order for it not to appear as cheating. If one person cheats, it's regarded as reprehensible. But if huge swathes of people are in on it, cheating is transformed into a truth. An ugly, perverted truth. This is one of our great flaws.

It's very sad, and it holds us back. But we're all prone to it at times...it's not a trait that's going away anytime soon. So, y'know...I'm not going to judge it too harshly.

This rather clumsily brings me to the people who DO piss me off (we had to get there eventually), namely, those who prey on this flaw in our make up.
I am referring to people who falsely claim some kind of mystical, supernatural power, not only for financial profit, but also to win the adulation (and I'm sure in some cases, adoration) of an easily gulled and answer-hungry public. It's bad enough that they're money-grubbing attention whores, but possibly worse, they jolt us away from looking for real answers to life's imponderables.

In our first wee delve into the lucrative world of the 'miraculous', let's have a look at one of the Western world's most famous 'mystic': Uri Geller.

Geller has been internationally known since the early 1970s, and is perhaps most famous for his ability to bend spoons, allegedly with 'mind power'. After a stint of national service with the Israeli army, Geller spent the last part of the 1960s as a male model and nightclub magician. He is also famous for his supposed gifts as a dowser & psychic. Geller has claimed that his 'abilities' were received at the age of four when he was hit by a bolt of light from the sky. Soon after this event, he was eating a meal and his spoon bent in his hand and broke.

Geller has made some large claims during his 40 year career. He's successfully dowsed for mining companies, he possesses alchemical powers, he can make compass needles move with only the power of his mind, he received his amazing gifts from a being called 'IS' ('Intelligence in the Sky') that hailed from a distant (and hitherto unknown) planet called 'Hoova', he has the ability to bring about world peace and...well, lots more. When you claim to possess such abilities as the latter, why bother outlining them all?

This man has been fêted by some almost to the level of demi-god. But is this all there is to know about Uri Geller?

Geller made his name and fortune traipsing all over the world destroying cutlery and claiming to fix watches and move compasses, all with mind power. He appeared on countless talk shows worldwide, peddling the line that everything he did was as a result of a special ability outside of the very clever skills possessed by avowed magicians.

He's even claimed to have been scientifically proven as having genuine psychic abilities. In the early 1970s he was 'tested' by the Stanford Research Institute (SRI). They came to the conclusion that Geller demonstrated genuine psychic abilities. More on that later.

Here's Geller bending a spoon on Swedish TV in 2003:

There were (and still are) many people completely mystified and enthralled by the 'powers' of Uri Geller, but he's had his detractors, going all the way back to the point where Geller started to make a name and career for himself internationally.

Enter Canadian-born American James Randi, magician, escapologist and most importantly, scientific skeptic. Randi is probably the most famous investigator of 'psychics', 'paranormalists' etc. and has for many years offered a cash prize (once US$10000, for the last few years US$1 million) to anyone who can provide proof of psychic abilities under controlled conditions. Many have taken the challenge, but Randi still has the million bucks (incidentally, the offer runs out next year, so if you're a miracle worker, get your skates on or you'll have to settle for lesser amounts offered by others).

A skilled practitioner of his art, Randi first challenged Geller's claim to special abilities in 1972.

How? He duplicated Geller's demonstrations with what is commonly known as 'trickery'. He bent spoons, keys and moved compasses and said it was all magic tricks. He's famously quoted as saying, "Uri Geller may have psychic powers by means of which he can bend spoons; if so, he appears to be doing it the hard way." (Source.)

Obviously Geller has considered Randi a bit of a fly in the ointment (if not the bane of his existence) and has sued him a number of times, and with one exception, it has proven costly for Geller, who has built as much of a reputation for litigious behaviour.

It also did not help that Geller's former manager, Yasha Katz, alleged on an Italian TV show that Geller cheated.

None of this seemed to have much impact on the public, though.

The first widespread evidence that Geller might not be imbued with such powerful 'gifts' came in 1973 when he appeared on the late, great Johnny Carson's 'Tonight Show'. Mr. Carson was well-known to have been a magician in his earlier days, and more well-known as having a low tolerance for fakery masquerading as the genuinely supernatural.

Here's what happened (the meaty bit starts at 5:39, with commentary by James Randi, ends at approx 8:00):

This, of course, is not proof of a lack of psychic ability. And as stated earlier, Geller was tested by the SRI, specifically Hal Puthoff and Russell Targ. Both men were convinced of Geller's abilities as a 'remote viewer'.

However, the veracity and accuracy of their observations were called into question by many colleagues in the scientific community. This alone does not prove their findings false and I can find no concrete evidence that the findings are false.

Having said that, there are pointers to a certain amount of possible flim-flammery on Geller's part and wishful thinking on the part of the SRI researchers.

Again, this does not prove Geller was faking or that the scientists were in on anything. Re-enter Randi, quietly. He set out to show that even scientists could be easily fooled...with Project Alpha.

Geller enjoyed many years of success in his chosen field, but genuine or not, if you can't offer much more than spoon-bending and remote viewing to an audience, your act will become pretty stale. Especially if you're spending a good deal of time fighting off the skeptics (and losing).

It's interesting to note that, even as early as his Israeli nightclub days, Geller was the subject of court action. A man was awarded costs and the refunding of his ticket price when he complained that Geller's abilities were magic tricks and not psychic, as apparently advertised. Through all of the investigation, claims of fraudulent behaviour, skepticism, lawsuits and inability to perform on cue, Geller breezed along, attracting more and more fans willing to believe in something that cannot rationally be explained.

Now, this has all appeared so far to be a nice little nostalgia trip back to the 70s and early 80s. Man claims supernatural abilities, makes a lot of money, certain people attempt to expose him as a fraud with good evidence but limited success, man fades from view.

But Geller appears, slowly, to be priming the pump for a major comeback. And it is this This time though, thanks to the wonders of the Internet, the road might be a little more rocky.

In 2006, Brian Sapient,a member of a group called the Rational Response Squad posted a video on Youtube featuring footage from --well, if you've read this far, you've already seen it. It's the 'James Randi Exposes Uri Geller and Peter Popoff' video above.

Geller issued Youtube with a takedown notice in early 2007, claiming eight seconds of the footage shown infringed copyright under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Sapient bringing an action against Geller, which was settled out of court. Rather than go into boring detail you can see a summary here. You don't really need to read anything to know who effectively won the case; the video, as you can see, is readily and legally available all over the Intynuts.

Geller obviously saw plenty more on Youtube that displeased him, such as:

Busted bending:

Busted bending:

Having the compass moving trick duplicated:

Busted with a magnet (my favourite, watch his hands and left thumb from 1:19):

It's possible the posting of these videos went some way to Geller saying in late 2007, "I’ll no longer say that I have supernatural powers. I am an entertainer. I want to do a good show. My entire character has changed." As this was in a German magic magazine (Magische Welt), it didn't receive much attention. I suppose the fact that Geller was only a saleable commodity in Germany and Israel in 2007 didn't help to get the word out either.

This 'reversal' suggested that Geller might have finally admitted he had no special abilities outside of being a good magician. A stark contrast to the many amazing claims he'd been making for 35-plus years that he never involved himself in trickery or magic.

Problem is, the guy, despite his admission, still seems to be flogging the line that not only has he special gifts, but that all of the people watching videos of him looking very 'un-special' on Youtube are really providing him with a career boost. This is akin to saying that everyone watches serial killers out of adoration. If you read his post, it's apparent that, like self-confessed fraud James Hydrick, adulation is very important to Geller.
Could it be, though, that many of the people who've watched the Geller 'debunking' videos over the past few years are doing so 1) they can have a good laugh at his expense and/or 2) to show others how easy it is to be taken in by spurious claims?

This is why I'm singling him out. Geller uses very different language on his new website, calling himself not 'psychic' but 'mystifier'. His biography still says he has 'unusual powers', though. He also says that he's lining up big TV deals for franchising his little Israeli and German TV shows.

It's fine for someone like a Blaine, Copperfield, Angel or Mumford to make a lot of money as a magician. People are still blown away by magic tricks and will be for a long time to come. But to use the same magic tricks and pass 'em off as being genuinely supernatural? Sickening. There should be no elbow room allowed for Geller to make any kind of comeback to a wider audience. It would be nice to say we've grown up a little bit since the 1970s, and roundly reject Geller's brand of 'entertainment'.

Marysville, Victoria.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 00:07:00 +0000

There's nothing that can be said or written that will lighten the tremendous burden being carried by those struggling with the loss of life and property in Victoria.

A massive debt of gratitude is owed to emergency service people involved in fighting the fires. A massive debt is owed by those who lit the fires. It's now suspected the fires in Churchill and possibly Marysville were the result of arson.

There's been a world of footage from the fires, all of it heartbreaking. I've seen little more affecting than this wordless piece, shot by the CFA in Marysville last weekend:

Tomorrow the Coles chain of supermarkets is donating all of its profits to the Victorian Bushfire Appeal. I know that those unable to help out directly feel pretty bloody useless right now. But if all you can do is have a big grocery shop tomorrow, it's better than nothing.

Normal 'service' on the bigmouthery blog will resume this weekend.

Pause.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 22:01:00 +0000

Last weekend I started writing a blog entry on the veracity of claims made by certain paranormalists etc.

In light of a few recent events (including the fires in Victoria), the blog entry will be delayed.

Bushfire Hotline - 1800 240 667
Victorian Bushfire Fund - 1800 811 700
Red Cross Bushfire Appeal

Five of the Stupidest Characters in TV History.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 08:31:00 +0000

This is not THE stupidest five, there IS no stupidest five. It's not even five (it's eleven...I got carried away). It's just a chance to have a giggle at a bit of silliness.

So in no particular order:

Homer Simpson (Dan Castellaneta - 'The Simpsons')

It's hard to get a hold of the funniest man on TV online, and unless you are a nut you've seen him in action so here's his pitch for POTUS, as featured on Letterman last year.

Gareth Keenan (Mackenzie Crook - 'The Office')

It's easily argued that Gareth's boss, David Brent (the peerless Ricky Gervais) is as stupid as Gareth. But Crook's Gareth has that wounded bird quality that makes his gormless idiocy endearing.

Alice Tinker (Emma Chambers - 'The Vicar of Dibley')

Same goes for Alice. Plus she remained the funniest thing on a show that outstayed its welcome by 10 years.

Barney Fife (Don Knotts - 'The Andy Griffith Show')

There's a theme developing here. Gareth, Alice, Homer and Barney are all supremely dense, but you can't help but love them. Don Knotts played the same helpless, feckless eejit in just about everything he did, but as a child I loved his goofy eyes and soggy twig movement.

Jeff Murdock (Richard Coyle - 'Coupling')

Jeff almost fits the above group but he's as likely to make you want to hit him as hug him.

Ursula Buffay (Lisa Kudrow - 'Mad About You' & 'Friends')

Sure, Phoebe's a ditz and Joey's a blockhead, but Ursula is a transparent crayon.

Hank Kingsley (Jeffrey Tambor - 'The Larry Sanders Show')

Hank was Ed to Larry's Johnny, and as fucked up a character that ever graced a TV screen. Hank rarely fits the 'huggable idiot' category. Even when he floods into tears, you know he's just in crocodile mode to get what he wants.

George Costanza (Jason Alexander - Seinfeld)

George is not a stupid man, unless you consider self-inveigling ludicrous situations as stupid...actually, on second thoughts...

Darren Lamb (Steve Merchant - 'Extras')

Back to hug mode. Merchant as Darren put in one of the most underrated performances in TV comedy for some years. It's a star turn, as this clip shows.

George W. Bush (Himself - featured on 'Letterman')

He was a character, he was on TV and he was completely fucking stupid...so he's in.

Father Dougal Maguire (Ardal O'Hanlon - 'Father Ted')

If a gold medal had to be given for ultimate stupidhead, Dougal would make final three, if not win. He's a beautiful and wondrous eejit.
Unfortunately embedding was disabled on the bits I wanted to share, but these are worth clicking on:

Dougal on the Church
Dougal's imagination

Leftovers.

noreply@blogger.com (N Francis Doyle) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 20:11:00 +0000

There's a silly and fun blog entry half completed, sitting in my little blogcubator. It'll be with you soon.

In the meantime, there remains a shitty, flyblown little dag hanging from my last entry. Let's snip it off. Someone called 'Christopher' posted this bit of nonsense on the OurBrisbane site. Because I don't want to hijack KLW's blog, I'm writing it here. I don't feel particularly comfortable using cusswords over there. But here, I can be as rude as I bloody well like.

'Christopher's' blog comment is in bold type.

As I'm sure you're all aware, The Brisbane Theatre Industry is struggling as it is, without people creating a blog because they're unhappy with reviews, actors that review or people that review under different names.

I wasn't aware that Brisbane theatre is struggling. Sure it's hard to fill rooms, but it's hard to fill rooms anywhere. The community itself is turning out a lot of great work.

I don't know if you're referring to my blog or Katherine's or both, but my blog was not created to kick back at honest reviews, negative or otherwise. Nor is it adversely critical of most of my peers. In fact, it wasn't created as specifically a 'performing arts' blog at all. If you'd spent any time here, you'd know that. But you haven't spent any time here. Thank you Sitemeter, by the way, for this information:

Time of Visit Jan 28 2009 7:33:59 pm
Last Page View Jan 28 2009 7:33:59 pm
Visit Length 0 seconds
Page Views 1
Referring URL http://www.ourbrisba...ymity-and-pseudonyms
Visit Entry Page http://bigmouthery.blogspot.com/
Visit Exit Page http://bigmouthery.blogspot.com/

I'm also quite sure Katherine's blog is not intended as a poison pulpit either. From what I've read of it, she merely wants to discuss theatre issues and promote healthy conversation around same. And by the looks of things lately, she's succeeded.

A review is an opinion piece; anyone can write one. Whether it's a piece of theatre you've seen, an art exhibition you've visited or an experience at a restaurant, you can write your opinions anywhere you choose. On blogs, web pages, the back of a seat on public transport, for example.

"A review is an opinion piece; anyone can write one". Is this similar to 'Opinions are like arseholes, everyone's got one'? It usually helps an industry if the person critiquing that industry has some knowledge of the work carried out in that industry. You've reduced me to sounding like Ralph Wiggum.

Writing on the back of a seat on public transport. Surely you do not condone the defacing of public property? Tch tch. Naughty.

I'm struggling to understand why The Theatre Industry in Brisbane is so caught up in petty competition and rivalry, when the reality is we should be supporting actors, producers and reviewers alike.

Aww...it's a struggle. We're not caught up in rivalry, petty or otherwise. For the vast majority of the time we are a united, synergistic entity. We tend to have a good relationship with reviewers too, but it's pretty hard to have any kind of relationship with someone who's hiding behind a fake name.

Is it possible that an artist may choose to write under a pseudonym because a) they can and b) they want to be known for their performance work rather than the fluency of their writing? Why are we assuming that actor/reviewers have bad intentions?

Yes, it's possible. Many things are possible. I'm sure in this crazy 21st Century wonder world it's 'possible' to catch farts and paint them purple.'Possible' is not the point. If you think that 'because they can' is in any way a reasonable justification for a behaviour or action (outside of the old joke about dogs licking their genitals), try using it as an excuse next time you fuck up and see how well it goes across.

As for b), what makes you think that it's acceptable for someone to hide behind a fake name purely because they wish to avoid the potential for criticism from their peers? If they want to be active in the industry AND a reviewer, fine.
But why do you deem it acceptable to open oneself to scrutiny in one role, yet try to justify avoiding it in another? If a person is afraid to have their work as a reviewer scrutinised in the same way it is in other roles, would it not make sense to avoid said roles? Yes, it would make sense. Your line of reasoning here is not only a big, fat, ugly double standard, it's facile nonsense.

Maybe it's because I neither perform nor review that I don't understand the level of offence this causes to some of you. I simply want to see more and more high-quality theatre in Brisbane, which seems increasingly unlikely by the rate of negative blogs, malicious personal attacks on actors and reviewers and unsupporting theatre-folk.

This sounds like a deliberately inserted 'blinder'. Maybe it is because you neither perform or review. Your opinion, though poorly formed and ill-expressed, seems too firmly held and defensive to be coming from the GP though.

Where are the 'malicious personal attacks'? Please provide examples.
Who are the 'unsupporting theatre folk'? Ditto.

These accusations have been levelled before, and they have come only from those who have been responsible for reproducing work from other sources and/or the use of pseudonyms. It's perfectly natural why those responsible have tried to defend the indefensible (and in doing so deflect blame elsewhere), but it's odd that someone not even remotely involved with our industry would try to defend them, especially with such an obviously weak argument.

Pseudonym or no pseudonym, a review is a review. Whether it has a high distribution or not. It's simply someone's opinion of a piece.

Thanks for the redundant closer.

By the way, the website that last year published reviews with non-original, non-credited material has re-posted one of them on their site. I'm not sure why this is so, but it's worth pointing out that the original, from la.com, is no longer there. So perhaps they think it's acceptable, given that the the original work would be difficult to get a hold of.

Difficult...but 'possible'.