The Big Issue Australia #658 – Louis Theroux by The Big Issue Australia

Ed.

658 01 APR 2022

xx.

PANDEMIC PUPS UKRAINIAN REFUGEES

and HATCHIE

LOUIS

THEROUX

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Contents

EDITION

658 16 Pawfect Match As life returns to normal, pandemic puppies are being surrendered. Luckily The Lost Dogs’ Home has hit on an ingenious way to find them new homes.

22 THE BIG PICTURE

Life at the Border Determined, sad and angry – these are the faces of Ukrainian people who have fled their homes for the Polish border.

12.

“I was a Very Square Kid” by Jane Graham

Documentary maker and journalist Louis Theroux isn’t afraid to dive into the extreme, tackling everything from porn stars and neo-Nazis to Scientology and the alt-right. But in his Letter to My Younger Self, he remembers an insecure teenager trying to find his place in the world. cover photo by David Titlow News Licensing/Headpress contents photo by Neil Spence Alamy

THE REGULARS

04 Ed’s Letter & Your Say 05 Meet Your Vendor 06 Streetsheet 08 Hearsay & 20 Questions 11 My Word 28 Ricky

29 Fiona 44 Puzzles 36 Film Reviews 45 Crossword 37 Small Screens Reviews 46 Click 38 Music Reviews 39 Book Reviews 41 Public Service Announcement

42 TASTES LIKE HOME

Chicken and Sweet Corn Soup Paul West makes this hearty and healthy soup each week – it’s the one dish his children are guaranteed to eat.

Ed’s Letter

by Melissa Fulton Deputy Editor @melissajfulton

Paws and Reflect

don’t know if I would have made it through pandemic isolation without the reliable company of my partner’s two chocolate labradors. Princely Samson, with his stately air and wonderful propensity for adjusting his under-chin pillows just so, would wear blazers with elbow patches on them if he were human. While Ripley – a ratbag with a heart of gold and likely more of a novelty-apron-at-the-barbie-kind-of-gal – is almost entirely snack driven: watching her sneak unripe apples straight from the tree became a kind of pandemic spectator sport. Always up for a hug, endlessly forgiving of a human tanty, they make life – though occasionally ruff – endurable. Someone else who can vouch for the love and companionship of a faithful pet is Caitlin Coxhell, whose dog adoption story you will find in this edition. The Lady and the Tramp-esque tail between her Cavalier King Charles spaniel Bailey and new rescue, American bulldog cross

Your Say LETTER OF THE FORTNIGHT

Ham Sandwich, will warm your heart. While Claire J Harris’ ode to her faithful greyhound Boots will leave you teary. Caitlin and Claire are just a couple of the thousands of Australians who adopted a doggo during the pandemic. In this edition, we take a look at the challenges facing animal shelters in the aftermath of the lockdown adoption boom – including an influx in surrendered animals – and the resourceful methods one shelter in particular is using to get pets into their forever homes. As for our cover star Louis Theroux, well, he strikes me as more of a cat person – though a quick google yields links to at least three Louis dog-pelgangers, each named Louis Furroux. How fetching. For his Letter to My Younger Self, we talk to the documentary maker and excavator of kooky cultural phenomena about growing up nerdy, blooming late and finding out just what it means to be Louis Theroux: “…there was a fear of doing a karaoke act through life,” he says. “Singing a tune with words by someone else.”

Due to undertaking a new venture I am now able to regularly say hello to Brian, The Big Issue vendor in Glenelg. I am not good with routine but do appreciate getting my Big Issue fix. In Ed#656 there was Sally Wise’s nectarine crumble recipe, in which she reminisced about her grandma’s kitchen. Unfortunately, I have no wonderful reminiscences about my grandmother’s kitchen, as it was unknown to me. What a blessing to have a treasure trove of food memories and recipes. My mouth was watering. Fortunately, I am married to a good cook. (Will keep you posted on the result.) JENNY ESOTS WILLUNGA I SA

Fortunately for my family, Will and his family shared their apple pie recipe with The Big Issue readers (Ed#657). I made the pie today and it is delicious, absolutely divine. Thanks, Will. It was so moreish, but I’ve set aside a slice for my daughter Amy (The Big Issue editor). JACKI WILLOX GEELONG I VIC

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The Big Issue Story The Big Issue is an independent, not-for-profit magazine sold on the streets around Australia. It was created as a social enterprise 25 years ago to provide both a voice and a work opportunity for people experiencing homelessness and disadvantage. Your purchase of this magazine has directly benefited the person who sold it to you. Big Issue vendors buy each copy for $4.50 and sell it to you for $9, keeping the profits. But The Big Issue is more than a magazine.

• Our Women’s Subscription Enterprise provides employment and training for women through the sale of magazine subscriptions as well as social procurement work. • The Community Street Soccer Program promotes social inclusion and good health at weekly soccer games at 23 locations around the country. • The Vendor Support Fund will offset the cost price of products for vendors, allowing them to earn a larger margin on their own street sales. • The Big Issue Education workshops provide school, tertiary and corporate groups with insights into homelessness and disadvantage, and provide work opportunities for people experiencing marginalisation. CHECK OUT ALL THE DETAILS AT THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Jenny wins a copy of Paul West’s cookbook Homegrown. You can check out his recipe for Chicken and Sweet Corn Soup on page 42. We’d also love to hear your thoughts, feedback and suggestions: SUBMISSIONS@BIGISSUE.ORG.AU

YOUR SAY SUBMISSIONS MAY BE EDITED FOR CLARITY AND SPACE.

Meet Your Vendor I was born and grew up in South Australia. So my family are in Mount Gambier and Port MacDonnell. My mum and dad, they separated when I was about five. Dad remarried when I was eight, and my step-mum gave birth to two children. I still see them a bit, but I haven’t for a long time. I didn’t really like school. I had a lot of friends but I wagged most of the time. I was a couple of years behind everyone else, so I just didn’t like it. When I was 15 I left school and went into work at Softwood Holdings Limited, who got bought out by another company, CSR. I worked for them for 15 years. I started out as a cleaner, and worked my way up into operating machinery – I was putting edging on the laminate board. I became a safety rep at the factory. I really enjoyed it, and I had a lot of work mates. And then when I was 30, I retired. It was only because of mental health reasons. I went on the Disability Support Pension. I was on that for a long time, didn’t work for a long time. I had a brother, Darren. There was 18 months difference between us, so we were really close. In our time of need, we clung to one another. He died in 2002. It was really tough. I always wanted to live in Canberra, so a couple of years after my brother passed on, I moved over here. When I came to Canberra I found it hard, money-wise. So I was coal biting, begging. And a lot of people would come up and feed me. It’s cold on the streets in Canberra. I was homeless for a lot of years, probably four or five years. I live in a flat through the ACT Housing Trust now though. I’ve been selling the mag since May last year. I saw a guy selling The Big Issue and he said, “This is what you should be doing.” And I said, “Yeah, why not?” When I first joined The Big Issue, I’d only been a vendor for like six or seven weeks when I ended up in the Canberra Times for our 25th birthday celebration. They took my photo and everything; it was good to be able to celebrate the anniversary. When I’m not working, I love watching telly and movies and that. I love The Vampire Diaries. I’m a vampire buff. I love reading books – I get right into horror, vampire books. When I was younger, I was into Stephen King. I’ve read Bram Stoker’s Dracula; Interview With the Vampire, the book and the movie. I love selling the mag because it gets me out of the house. I get to meet different people. I’ve known a lot of the vendors for a long while – since when I first moved to Canberra – so it’s good. The lockdown really sucked; I really suffered during lockdown. Once it shifted, I loved going back to work and making money. I’ve got regular customers. When I go to the doctors to get my medication, the doctors and nurses even buy magazines off me. I’ve got a lot of good support.

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01 APR 2022

interview by Melissa Fulton photo by Rohan Thomson

Randy

Streetsheet

DENIS VISITS UKRAINE IN 2011

Stories, poems and pictures by Big Issue vendors and friends

AUNT LUDA GETS A LIFT FROM SERJ

XXX

THE FAMILY HOME IN LVIV

DENIS’ UKRAINIAN FAMILY

My Heart, Ukraine

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arrived in Australia from Ukraine in 1993. I’d just turned nine years old. I had been in a car accident when I was three; I had brain damage. And my dad’s brother brought us here. A lot of our family is still in Ukraine, in a town called Lviv. I have heard from my Aunt Luda. Her daughter Julia and son Serj left for Moldova to stay there for a while. But Luda is afraid to leave; she has a sick husband who stays at home. There’s not much food around to eat. Hospitals have been blown up. Everybody’s packing up and leaving, but the men have to stay behind – a lot of my schoolmates, the same age as me, 37, 38, 39… And kids of 18 and 19 are staying to do their service. It’s heartbreaking. I feel really sad, and angry at Putin at what he’s doing to innocent people. I feel I am supposed to go there and help, but you can’t if you don’t have money. So what I’d like to do is make this story for people to understand how it looks in a world of people who don’t have shelters, who don’t have homes, who don’t have food. They struggle every day. Civilians are killed every day. It’s just so ridiculous. I went back to Ukraine to visit in 2011. I was happy to see friends, cousins, uncles, aunts, my grandma. Lviv is a beautiful city with beautiful people. There are trams, outdoor pools for swimming, you can go walking, or skiing in winter. It’s sometimes poor, but you live how you live. I miss home. I miss friends. I would ask people to support the Ukrainian people and try to help. Talk. Give a bit of charity. Aunt Luda is asking to stop the war, to give it up, go home Russia. DENIS BERWICK, PACKENHAM, CAMBERWELL , MENTONE, WHEELERS HILL CENTRE, BENTLEIGH & STAR PARK SHOPPING CENTRE, ROWVILLE I MELBOURNE

Summer Fun I’ve been working in Windsor this summer and have met loads of people who have been really happy to see me back working. I had a great holiday in Shepparton, seeing friends and going for walks and having some nice meals. The pizza was my favourite. Thank you Big Issue staff for your support. JEFFREY WINDSOR I VIC

ABBA Love! I just love ABBA. Every night I like to sing along with my favourite ABBA songs. I also really like the tribute band Björn Again. Last year when I was told ABBA were going to be on The Big Issue cover Ed#648, I started to cry because I just love Benny and Björn. They are great

songwriters. My favourite songs are ‘SOS’, ‘Money, Money, Money’ and ‘Mamma Mia’. STEVE J ARKABA WOOLWORTHS, CASTLE PLAZA & ZUMA’S I ADELAIDE

One Fish, Two Cat…? How can we choose the right pet simply by how it looks? I had four choices: a fish, cat, dog or rabbit. Well, people can be indecisive when choosing a pet. Kids tell their parents that they can look after all four (mind you, they don’t know how expensive it is having the one, let alone all four), but at the end of the day, kids go through phases and quickly lose interest. Let’s break it down. Which pet gives you the most satisfaction or joy? Firstly, fish: You put it in a bowl,

feed it, change the water every so often and stare at it. (How exciting!) Secondly, cat: You feed it, you feed it some more, and then they go out to hunt for their prey. Make sure your cat is locked indoors all day. Thirdly, dog: Dogs are highly skilled, just like humans. A dog also loves its exercise, and as a bonus can protect you and your home – no other pet can do this. Dogs can also be very playful, the list can go on and on about this pet. Fourthly, rabbit: It eats and hops, is fluffy and cuddly, and can be adorable. Sorry, that’s it. In my opinion, the best family pet is a dog. It can give the kids a break from playing video games, and a bit of the outdoors is great too. DAVID L MYER BRIDGE I PERTH

ALL VENDOR CONTRIBUTORS TO STREETSHEET ARE PAID FOR THEIR WORK.

Life’s Beachy I took a week off work and went to stay at West Beach Caravan Park. It’s not far away, just on the other side of Adelaide. I went there because they have a brand-new wheelchair-friendly cabin. It’s great – everything is very well organised, especially the kitchen and the bathroom. It also has a deck with a barbecue area, which my carer and I enjoyed a lot. The cabin is great! It’s right next to the beach – 10 metres away! I would definitely go again, and I recommend it to others who are looking for an access-friendly beach stay. During my time off work, we also took a drive to Tailem Bend, on the Murray River. We got to see the new racetrack that was built recently. There weren’t races on; we just wanted to see the track.

SPONSORED BY LORD MAYOR’S CHARITABLE FOUNDATION. COMMUNITY PHILANTHROPY MAKING A DIFFERENCE IN GREATER MELBOURNE AND BEYOND.

01 APR 2022

MICHAEL IN HOLIDAY MODE

MICHAEL L JAMES PLACE, THE BODY SHOP & ADELAIDE ARCADE I ADELAIDE

Hearsay

Andrew Weldon Cartoonist

We can’t just look at two animals and say, ‘Oh, those are super cute, they’ll make cute babies.’

“The Territory is the safest place in the world, except the moon.” The Northern Territory’s Chief Health Officer Dr Hugh Heggie on plans to extend its public health emergency for an additional 90 days – and some 1.25 light seconds. NT NEWS I AU

“You can’t beat a game at the ’G, to me it feels like freedom.” Die-hard Western Bulldogs supporter Valerie Kacarik on the joys of being back at the MCG for a game of footy for the first time since COVID. She goes leaps and bounds. ABC I AU

Kat Castle, from Save the Bilby Fund, on the breeding program that has brought the marsupial back from the brink of extinction. With a goal of breeding 10,000 bilbies by 2030, they use a stud book and microchipping to ensure the population maintains strong genetics.

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ABC I AU

“Dear Colin, sadly the specimen is not a potato and is in fact the tuber of a type of gourd. For this reason, we do unfortunately have to disqualify the application.” The Guinness World Records in an email to New Zealand couple Colin and Donna Craig-Brown, mashing their dreams of holding the record for discovering the world’s largest potato, at 7.8kg, which the couple affectionately named Dug. It’s just no gourd.

“The TV industry and the movie industry are hurting us in some ways because they often show pictures of robots that are weaponised, and then people think that’s how all robots are.” Captain Michael Leo, from the New York Fire Department, reassures the public that their new robot dogs are being rolled out to save lives – not take over the city.

THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD I AU

“The billionaires are pushing the millionaires out of Byron.” Áine Tyrrell, a Byron Bay local who lives out of a bus as the NSW town’s real estate prices skyrocket out of reach: the average house price in Byron is north of $3 million; the average rent for a house is about $950 per week.

“You’ve got to understand that we come from a completely different generation – a different century. In our childhood, we grew up with phones plugged into the wall. We grew up before personal computers. We have a different perspective.” Placebo frontman Brian Molko on his reluctance to spruik the 90s alt-rock band’s comeback album on TikTok, preferring a “less is more approach”.

VICE I AU

NME I UK

THE NEW YORK TIMES I US

“We believe that a city has the right to frame such a tax, and then even a big company has to accept that. I can’t believe why an international company can’t switch to reusables if every small business can do that.” Boris Palmer, the mayor of Tübingen, on the German town’s new tax of 50 cents on any disposable packaging, and 20 cents on disposable cutlery, a move that hasn’t gone down well with McDonald’s – which is suing the city. BBC I UK

“It kept coming in crazier, in all directions. That’s when we really started getting comments.” Katelyn Samples, mother of toddler Lochlan, who is among just 100 people on the planet to be diagnosed with “uncombable hair syndrome”, which has no long-term health concerns. He’s since experienced a brush with fame, gaining almost 50,000 Instagram followers. BUSINESS INSIDER I IN

“Changing the clock twice a year is outdated and unnecessary. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Americans want more sunshine and less depression.” Republican Senator Rick Scott on a bipartisan bill dubbed the Sunshine

20 Questions by Rachael Wallace

01 Rue Cambon in Paris is associated

with which famous French fashion house? 02 Which English queen tried to end

the English Reformation and restore Catholicism to England? 03 Which US state is the only one to

feature the flag of a foreign nation on it? Bonus point to name the foreign flag. 04 Who had a number-one hit in

Australia last year with the song ‘Bad Habits’? 05 Bến Thành Market is the largest

market in which Asian city?

06 What relation was Napoleon III to

Napoleon I? 07 Who became the first player to reach

50 career goals in the AFLW this year?

Student: “I know what that is – it’s what you put on pancakes!”

THE GUARDIAN I UK

“Johnson mentioned that he had particularly Overheard by Sam at her primary school in Lara, Vic. enjoyed the cheese and the unusual dark biscuits. Paul said, ‘No, the dark biscuits were for the corgis!’ At that point – to Alan Johnson’s eternal amusement – it dawned on him that he had been munching away on dog snacks.” Former UK MP Alan Johnson inadvertently snacked on dog biscuits reserved for the Queen’s beloved corgis following a lunch at Windsor Castle, according to new book by Robert Hardman Queen of Our Times. THE AGE I AU

“Mario Puzo wrote some beautiful novels, but he wrote The Godfather to make money. Mario loved his

family and he wanted to take care of them, so he wrote a book he thought would be a bestseller, but it was a bit of a potboiler.” Francis Ford Coppola on why he wasn’t initially keen to direct The Godfather, based on Puzo’s 1969 novel – but they musta made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. VARIETY I US

08 What was the profession of the

fictional character Sweeney Todd? 09 Which Australian currency ceased

to be issued in May 1984? 10 Which bird only feeds with its head

upside-down? 11 How many players are there in a

netball team? 12 Which New Zealand city is furthest

south: a) Wellington, b) Dunedin, c) Invercargill or d) Queenstown? 13 At what temperature are Celsius and

“I understand it’s very hard...to find alternative information, but you need to try to look for it.” The sign held up by Russian journalist Marina Ovsyannikova who interrupted a live TV news program to protest against the war in Ukraine. BBC I UK

“The war may be far away but it can still affect what is on our plates.” Food activist Dicky Sender on the shortage of the popular Indomie instant noodles in Indonesian shops as the Ukraine conflict raises fear of global wheat shortages. AL JAZEERA I QA

FREQUENTLY OVERHEAR TANTALISING TIDBITS? DON’T WASTE THEM ON YOUR FRIENDS SHARE THEM WITH THE WORLD AT SUBMISSIONS@BIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Fahrenheit equal? 14 What game did architect Alfred

Mosher Butts of Poughkeepsie, New York, invent during the Great Depression? 15 True or false? Coca-Cola was

originally green. 16 An ear of corn typically has how

many rows of kernels? 17 Apparently Harry Styles has four of

them, and Mark Wahlberg has three. What are “they”? 18 In what year was the inaugural Day

of Mourning held in Australia? 19 What vegetable is the principal

ingredient in the Dutch food erwtensoep? 20 Noel Fielding and Matt Lucas are

the hosts of which popular TV show? ANSWERS ON PAGE 44

01 APR 2022

Teacher: “What does the word synonym mean?

Protection Act, which would make daylight savings permanent across the US next year.

EAR2GROUND

My Word

by Rijn Collins @rjincollins.com

t was taking longer than I anticipated. Packing up to move house always does. I’d vowed to be brutal, with my mother’s mantra in mind: if in doubt, chuck it out! It only partially worked. I’d kept the Duran Duran records but reluctantly jettisoned the linguistics assignments stored on a dozen floppy discs. I didn’t quite remember the small wooden box. Cross-legged on the hallway floor, I opened it. A jumble of jewellery fell into my palm. The other hand found my chest, fingers pressing softly against my collarbone as the memories formed, and a smile with them. I spread the jewellery out on the carpet. A silver ring inlaid with a black pentagram was joined to a bangle by a tarnished chain. In the middle of the bangle was another, larger pentagram. There was a long chain with a huge cross, a sea-green jewel in its centre, and a leather wristband brandishing several silver spikes. It had been 20 years since I’d worn them. Remnants of my former incarnations, I knew immediately they were coming to the new house. The cross came from Melbourne’s Camberwell Market in the mid-80s. I wore it nestled on top of vintage lace dresses, accessorised by ripped fishnet stockings and 14-eye Doc Martens boots. I paraded my outfits at Zuzu’s, a nightclub on Exhibition Street, an appropriate address. I recall watching old black-and-white vampire movies projected four metres high onto the walls. Rushing the dancefloor for The Cult or The Cure, we planted our feet firmly on the ground and waved our branches around dramatically in the classic “Tree Dance” that, 30 years later, would cause mirth in my husband when I recreated it in our living room. The dance was not the most preposterous sight at a goth nightclub. Multiple Brides of Dracula floated around in their wedding dresses and veils, holding aloft hand mirrors to admire their ghostly visages caked in cheap white make-up. Later, you would see them on a bar stool between dances, sipping Midori through a straw to protect their black lipstick. I picked up the pentagram ring-and-bracelet combination. It took me to a different city, thousands of kilometres away. At 17 I moved to Brussels on exchange. Wading through high school in French and Flemish, I searched the city for my goth brethren to help anchor

me in my new home. On Rue des Harengs, I found it. Le Cercueil translated to The Coffin, a tiny cafe with Sisters of Mercy blaring from the speakers and beers served in skull mugs set upon coffin tables. In a city full of medieval history, it was this cafe I found most impressive. I returned to it time and time again. For my 18th birthday I hitchhiked to the Rhine Valley in Düsseldorf with a friend. On the train we concocted fake names and accompanying backstories. I was always pushing the constraints of my identity, seeing how far I could make it stretch. We met three German boys with high mohawks and black eyeliner and spent the day with them, culminating in a heaving, hectic punk club. Outside they knelt on the cobblestones and sang me ‘Happy Birthday’ in German. The pentagram combination was bought the week before I returned to Melbourne. On Rue des Éperonniers, Street of the Spur Makers, was a shopping arcade full of army boots and punk T-shirts. I was looking for a talisman to guide me on the long trip home, to help ease me back into Australian life. The ring fit well. When I snapped on the attached bangle, I felt I knew who I was, no matter how temporary it would prove to be. Two years ago, I found myself back on that street on my honeymoon. I was showing my husband around Brussels, the city I adore so much I’ve lived there several times now. We walked through the arcade, past where the jewellery shop used to be. On my hands were no garish goth rings, no crows or cobwebs. There was only a simple wedding ring set with two rubies. In a city where I’d tried on many skins in the past, it was the role of wife I was now embracing. I did check whether the Coffin Cafe was still there though. It was, as reassuring as any old friend. I gathered up the jewellery back into its container. Still sitting on the floor, I reached for a box. For a moment I stared at the other contents, already packed; a bell jar of snake skins, a pearlescent bird skull, and a bedraggled mouse I’d taxidermied myself. For the first time in years I questioned whether I actually had grown out of my goth tendencies, or whether they were still in me, a small flame I occasionally fed with nostalgia and Nosferatu. And then I placed the jewellery gently inside the box, deep down in a corner where it would be safe.

Rijn Collins is an award-winning Melbourne writer who explores her love of foreign languages and lands (and her goth past) in her memoir, Voice.

Rijn Collins dusts off the cobwebs and crows and exhumes her past through an old jewellery box.

01 APR 2022

Oh My Goth

PHOTO BY DAVID VINTINER/CAMERA PRESS/AUSTRALSCOPE. FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE BIG ISSUE UK , ED#1501, BIGISSUE.COM, @BIGISSUE

Letter to My Younger Self

I WAS A VERY SQUARE KID

Documentary maker Louis Theroux looks back at his younger self and sees a boy struggling with notions of what it is to be a man, struggling with his place in the world – struggling with everything really. Except his homework. by Jane Graham The Big Issue UK

ever get any proper tackle. But at the same time, I was like, well, now what? What does it mean to be me? I had a somewhat ambivalent relationship with my academic life. I worked hard and was good at exams. But part of me realised I was in danger of letting an important part of life slip through my fingers. All that stuff I saw in John Hughes movies – going to parties and kissing girls. I wasn’t absolutely incapable of hooking up, though I’m defining that very loosely. Not as in actual sex. But there was always this tension in me. I was conscious that I wanted to be young and be free and have fun and take risks, plough my own furrow. I was also conscious of this self-imposed need to be a model student, to follow the path expected for me. Being 16 did get better. It was the year I struck up friendships with many of the boys who would become lifelong friends. Most famously, Adam [Buxton] and Joe [Cornish], who went on to form a comedy partnership, did lots of TV and radio and amazing things. We were in a little gang with Mark and Chris and Zach, who are not on the TV but mean something to us. It wasn’t exactly an act of rescue on their part, but I did feel rescued in the sense of having finally found a group of friends with whom I shared a set of interests like music and comedy and having fun and being silly and joking around, getting high some of the time and drinking quite a lot of the time, all of that. I’d always dreamed of having a little posse, a gang of compadres.

ixteen was a watershed year for me because it was the year I got admitted to Oxford. I was a weekly boarder at a London public school. I’d skipped a year due to being excessively studious, so when I got to sixth form I was a year younger than most of my peer group. And I hadn’t hit puberty. I had a high voice, what I call a piccolo voice. I had no pubic hair. I was sort of sexually ambiguous. Over-capable in the realm of books and academics and under-capable in every other area of life, particularly in relating to other humans and especially girls. I tried to be a hipster and buy my clothes from the King’s Road or Camden Market, but in a deep sense, I was a very square kid. I was very uptight, very worried about what people might think of me. Among my earliest memories are feelings of profound fear about whether I’d ever be able to do the things you’re supposed to do when you get older. In my early teens I was trying to figure out who I was and also trying to get a girlfriend and not having a lot of luck. Then, that summer when I was 16, my voice broke, and the first green shoots of pubic hair began to appear. The long awaited “manhood”, of which I’d heard and read so much about, finally seemed to flower, which was a huge relief. Part of me had wondered if that would ever happen, if I would

01 APR 2022

@janeannie

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If I could have one last conversation with anyone… I’ve got a few different things in my head. Because I’m trying very hard not to say Jimmy Savile [Theroux made a documentary on the disgraced veteran BBC broadcaster in 2000, before allegations of his serial child sex abuse had been proved]. If I did meet him again, instead of just speaking to him I’d bring along Kat Ward, an abuse survivor I interviewed – if she was up for it obviously. And basically I’d let her drive the conversation rather than me. Because there’s nothing I could have said then that would have made him be honest about anything. He was obviously a pathological liar as well as a sexual predator. He was so wrapped up in his pathology, so wrapped up in his predatory characteristics, it would be almost impossible to communicate with him meaningfully about any of it… I’d prefer to focus on the dignity of the survivors. So if I could facilitate some kind of act of holding him to account that involved some of the victims, that would mean something to me. I want to mention something I’ve never mentioned in an interview before. On some level I realised my parents had academic aspirations for me, and I was attempting to fulfil them. But there was a fear of doing a karaoke act through life. Singing a tune with words by someone else. When I left school, I took a year off. And I thought about doing a foundation course at a London art college. And I sometimes wonder what would have happened – imagine how much fun I might have had. I might have met people I’d never have met otherwise. I’ve always enjoyed being in an arty crowd of people, a little bit bohemian and fun and from different walks of life. They might have shaken me out of my academic ways. Adam went to art college, Zach did a foundation at St Martins, Joe went to film school. They learned to question the framework of how you look at the world, how you understand what creativity looks like, of your sense of the world. I went to do history at Oxford. It’s a silly thing to dwell on, but it’s one of my few regrets. LOUIS THEROUX’S FORBIDDEN AMERICA IS ON ABC IVIEW.

TOP: IN A TURTLENECK, 1997 MIDDLE: IN MY SCIENTOLOGY MOVIE, 2015 BOTTOM: IN FORBIDDEN AMERICA, 2022

01 APR 2022

I was conscious that I wanted to be young and be free and have fun and take risks, plough my own furrow.

PHOTOS BY BBC, FLAT CREEK FILMS, DAN DEWSBURY/MINDHOUSE PRODUCTION/ABC

The Oxford offer also meant I could relax a bit, cut loose a bit. That didn’t take much in my world – maybe handing my homework in slightly late once or twice. My parents were going through some difficulties around the same time. I think that fed into a feeling of maybe my world isn’t as stable as I imagined it to be. And maybe I shouldn’t worry quite so much about bowing to convention. My dad [Paul Theroux] was, and still is at the age of 80, a powerful personality. He’s a successful novelist and travel writer who’s still enormously productive. That probably made me think I was supposed to be a literary writer or a director or some sort of respected artistic figure. But when I wrote poems or short stories they didn’t feel authentic. I’d write a page and then be like, “this is probably garbage”. I think if I told my younger self you’ll be a documentary maker, making programs about offbeat cultural subjects in America and mental health issues, you’ll go on journeys to a skinhead music conference to talk to neo-Nazis and into a prison to speak to sex offenders, and there will be moments of surprise and unselfconscious actuality that tell stories…the younger me would have been delighted, thrilled. I think I’d have thought, Holy shit! Are you serious? God, that sounds perfect. If I had to pin down a moment of realising that there was a possible way forward that would be exciting and fulfilling and different to the one I’d expected, it was when I lived in San Jose for a year. I got accepted to a newspaper there and thought, Well, California seems like it would be quite sunny and fun. San Jose couldn’t really be more different to London. It’s a big, bland, sprawling mess of a city, not known for its temples of culture. But I loved being there. I loved the sense of liberation, and being somewhere my parents hadn’t been, my own terrain. It’s not uncommon for people raised in the UK to go to America and feel lightened. You feel the burden of judgement lifted from your shoulders, the sense that people aren’t trying to figure out where you’re from, what class you are, what school you went to. That slightly tutting, curtain-twitching side of life that we have in the UK, they don’t have so much. They roll around in church aisles and speak in tongues, or go to the gun range and shoot cut-outs, and they jump up and down. When you go to America it’s like there’s less gravity and you can jump a little bit higher.

Pawfect Match Melissa Fulton spends a day at The Lost Dogs’ Home, and witnesses the beginnings of a furry romance. by Melissa Fulton Deputy Editor @ melissajfulton

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ike many modern dates, it began without commitment: a casual late‑night scroll while watching TV, something prospective fur mum Caitlin Coxhell admits to doing reasonably often. What she never does, however, is click through to an individual profile. But when she clapped eyes on Ham Sandwich, an American bulldog cross, something stirred in her, and she made an exception. Was it her cocked ears and soulful expression? Her snow-white coat? Her snacky little name, perhaps? “Her deep black eyes just got me,” says Caitlin. “I just thought, Yes. Please. I need to come and get her. And I decided last night that I was going to come down and meet her [this morning].” I first spy Caitlin and her sister Brooke outside the North Melbourne Lost Dogs’ Home just before it opens at 10am. It’s a Monday morning, and there’s an air of nervous excitement, from both the humans on the street and, by the sounds of things, the animals on the other side of the roller door: a chorus of yap‑yap‑yapping and welcoming puppy-dog woofs. Caitlin and her sister have been here for two hours already. Now, five minutes before opening, their noses almost touch the roller door in anticipation. As soon as it opens they gun it for the adoption department. They don’t want to miss out on their doggo. My introduction to the LDH is more traditional, beginning with a tour from staff members Suzana Talevski and Kristen Vear. The premises, which is both expansive and rabbit-warreny, has the same bustling atmosphere as a primary

We’re seated in the middle of a large, designated meet‑and‑greet enclosure – me, Caitlin and her sister, Bailey, and Laura Stubbs from the shelter’s customer experience department. The enclosure is covered in astroturf, smattered with toys and gated. The plan is for one of Ham’s carers to bring her past for a little through-the-gate rendezvous, to see how the two dogs get along. This is standard practice for anyone looking to adopt another pooch – the Lost Dogs’ Home won’t allow an adoption to go ahead otherwise. “I feel nervous,” says Caitlin. “Because it’s not up to us anymore – it’s up to them!” I step off to the side and watch, as Ham Sandwich ambles towards the enclosure for a sniff hello. It’s a thoughtful little date, and there’s room for both dogs to take their time. Things go well for the odd couple through the fence, and there are the beginnings of play, so Laura and Caitlin take the two dogs on an on-lead stroll down the street together, and Laura asks some more questions about Caitlin’s home and lifestyle. The matchmaking process takes as long as it takes, often a couple of hours when another dog is involved. “We need to have really big chats and make sure everyone’s happy and comfortable,” explains Suzana. “The process has to be hard, because it’s a vulnerable life you’re potentially messing with – we don’t want these dogs back and confused again and not knowing what’s going on. We say to everyone, if it doesn’t work out at the meet-and-greet, that’s fine… We’d rather you wait for the perfect one, and you will find the perfect match.”

01 APR 2022

The thing about The Lost Dogs’ Home’s online pet profiles is that, unlike some of its human Tinder A FETCHING FIRST DATE counterparts, the LDH prides itself on accuracy. Photos are current and descriptions are as thorough and detailed as possible, so when Ham Sandwich’s profile says “I’m very friendly and have the waggiest tail, and I can sit on command like the goodest girl!”, you can take Ham for her word. Caitlin knows that at nine years and two months old, Ham is a senior dog, and at 45 kilos she’s more than a little chonky.

But these qualities are bonuses for Caitlin, who has brought along her nine-year-old purebred Cavalier King Charles spaniel Bailey, who Caitlin has raised from a puppy and who is looking for a playmate. Also a plus is that Ham gets along well with kids, as Caitlin has a four-year-old son, who is currently at kinder telling all his mates that he might have a new pup when he gets home, if all goes to plan.

PHOTOS BY CHRISTINA SIMONS

school. They run a range of services from the North Melbourne site: in addition to adoption and foster services for cats and dogs, the LDH has a vet clinic, shelter services and a pet training school. They also take in pocket pets like rabbits and guinea pigs. And since COVID it’s never been busier. Animal Medicines Australia data shows that one-fifth of all dogs – over a million in total – have joined Australian households since 2019. Thirteen percent of these dogs were rescues, acquired from shelters around the country. Indeed, at the height of the pandemic adoption boom, demand for dogs outweighed supply, and The Lost Dogs’ Home was receiving up to 300 applications per dog. Last HAM: HAPPY AS A CLAM year, 14,000 animals came through its doors. This year is shaping up to be even bigger, though for slightly different reasons. As we move into the next stage of the pandemic, and many people are returning to work, more animals are being surrendered to the Lost Dogs’ Home than ever before – particularly large dogs that require extra care. In March, to address the problem, the LDH set up a Tinder-style dating drive for PUPPY LOVE: BAILEY PLANTS A KISS ON HAM SANDWICH dogs over 20 kilos (“swipe right for paw-fection!”), offering half-price discounts and walk-in adoptions over three huge days. It was a resounding success, with 37 dogs now housed in their forever homes. We’re hoping that this morning, Ham Sandwich joins their ranks and finds her forever home with Caitlin too, but they’ll need to go on a date first…

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PHOTOS BY CHRISTINA SIMONS

COLLARS APLENTY

FOREVER HOME HERE I COME! HAM SAYS GOODBYE TO THE LOST DOGS’ HOME

Purr-fect Match?

More of a cat person? There are plenty of felines looking to be adopted too. More than ever, in fact, due to undercompliance with desexing regulations leading to whole litters being turned into shelters around the country. “It’s a big issue,” says Suzana Talevski of The Lost Dogs’ Home. In March, they had a record 1000 cats awaiting adoption.

The doggo adoption office is a cheery little space, plastered with photographs and mementos and progress reports of pups been and gone. Suzana shows me the adoption staff’s social media thread, which is basically just pickie after pickie of dogs doing cute stuff in their forever homes. Every adoption is a big one, and the staff gather around for photos and well wishes with Ham and her new family. “Oooh are you taking Hammy? She’s absolutely my favourite goofball!” says a sweet-faced staff member. It feels like a school graduation, or, ah, moving out of home. All pups are required to leave with a harness, and Caitlin picks out a teal one for Ham, which complements her perfect pink tongue. There’s a real sense of ceremony, of hopefulness, as Caitlin receives her adoption pack. We walk to the carpark and load the two dogs into the back of the 4WD, and wave and wave until long after they’ve rounded the corner towards home. The next day I get a text from Caitlin – pics of Ham on the couch, on a walk, watching TV. “She is absolutely perfect,” Caitlin gushes. “My intuition was definitely right in getting her!”

FOR MORE INFORMATION, VISIT DOGSHOME.COM.

01 APR 2022

After the vet check, the paperwork and Ham’s latest round of vaccinations, we make our way over to the office to sign the paperwork and make things official.

G IA IS A YO U R W A IT IN G CA L L !

Back from the walk, and things are moving along pleasingly. The leashes are off in the enclosure and Bailey and Ham are playing together, while Caitlin and Laura are discussing the finer points of Ham’s needs, arranging for Caitlin to have a phone call with the vet. Ham underwent surgery after being surrendered to the LDH, to remove some benign tumours on her tummy. She will need lots of gentle exercise and a regular balanced diet. Caitlin has a big yard and is a stay-athome mum, two big pluses for Ham, who can get anxious when left alone for long periods (“I just miss you so much!” says her profile). While the humans discuss the best way to care for Ham’s white fur (oat shampoo and keep her out of the sun), hijinks ensue as tiny, fanciful Bailey attempts to mount (and hump) Ham. This could potentially be awkward, even hostile, but Ham is friendly and relaxed as advertised – “all my shelter buddies think I am the most beautiful potato” – proving that this is a resounding match.

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oots wasn’t supposed to be a pandemic pup. In March 2020, my partner and I signed up to foster a rescue greyhound, blissfully unaware the world was about to turn upside down. On the first day of this new thing called a “lockdown”, his trainer delivered him to our front door. We called him Boots for the little shoes he had to wear to protect his paws, still soft from three years of life in a kennel. Boots had stopped racing once he figured out that if he just waited patiently, the prey would go all the way around the circular track and come back to him. The novelty of a pandemic was as fresh as the sourdough my friends were baking. Meanwhile, we were learning to co-habit with a dog for the first time. Unused to living in a house, everything was new for Boots, and it took us until the end of the first lockdown to convince him that walks were actually fun. By the time Melbourne’s Lockdown 2 rolled around, we knew we couldn’t part with Boots, and so the adoption became official. My partner’s iso project was to teach him tricks, the repertoire expanding as the weeks turned into months, until he could jump, spin and bark on command. Allowed out of the house for just one hour a day, I spent mine with Boots exploring our 5km radius. In the blur of days, I looked forward to our sunset walk, which inched back later in the evening as we crossed into a new season. Then Melbourne opened up and so did the border that had divided me and my NSW family for half a year. I plotted my escape back to my hometown of Sydney for Christmas and packed Boots into the car. He loved visiting new places, but I was the one who screamed with excitement when we crossed from Wodonga to Albury. Having spent his new life in an apartment with two people, Boots was dazzled by the cacophony of siblings and niblings. For 24 tense yet joyful hours, I kept one eye on Boots casually sideswiping his long snoot across the splendid buffet, and the other refreshing the news feed on my phone as case numbers rose. When my five‑year‑old nephew cried out, I looked up to see him fleeing across the backyard, a sandwich raised above his head, with my greyhound in hot pursuit. The next day brought a new border closure, and Boots and I were up at 6am making the long drive home. I watched the family Christmas via Zoom from self‑quarantine. Boots camped at the foot of my bed for 14 days and didn’t leave my side. We rang in the New Year together in that bedroom, the windows closed to shut out the noise of fireworks that made Boots tremble and me cry.

Claire J Harris is a film and television writer based in Melbourne. She blogs at clairejharris.com.

01 APR 2022

Claire J Harris pays tribute to her greyhound Boots, a gentle soul and her pandemic companion.

My long-term relationship didn’t survive that first year of the pandemic. Boots and I moved into a new place, with a new 5km radius and a garden. I said it seemed like a good place to spend the next lockdown. People told me I was being pessimistic. The city roared back to life; Melburnians desperate to make up for the year lost. An air of optimism filled the streets, but Boots wasn’t happy with our re-emergence into the world. He developed separation anxiety and howled when I had to leave him at home alone. For months, we were trapped in the house again while I trained him to be comfortable on his own; first for a minute, then five, all the way up to an hour. Friends agreed to meet us in cafes and beer gardens, and we were stuck inside Boots’ walking radius: 5 km. He came everywhere with me, lying patiently on the floor of my therapist’s office while I admitted that just maybe the separation anxiety was mine as much as his. Boots’ confidence grew. He started going to doggy day care, where the staff called him a gentle soul. Every morning, he gently poked his nose through the crack in my bedroom door to check if I was awake. Suddenly, we were back in lockdown. At the daily press conferences, they said it would last a week, then two. Then they announced the numbers would never return to zero and we stopped watching. Then Boots began to fall. The vet told me it could be anything from a pulled muscle to a brain tumour. We went to an animal hospital, a neurologist. The MRI found a growth on Boots’ brain that was already creeping down his neck. A month later, Boots made it to his fifth birthday. The radius lifted and we went for a drive. He used to love exploring new places. Now he cowered in a seat corner and had to be lifted out. Then he refused to get in the car at all. As Boots’ balance worsened, we crossed off the things that he could do. The walks got shorter and then turned into sits in the park over the road. The beer gardens and cafes opened but Boots couldn’t get to them anymore. He was falling more often, finding it harder to get up. On bad days, he walked sideways like a crab. I carried the weight of the decision like a stone around my neck. One night, Boots looked at me, whimpering softly, and I knew it was time. My former partner and I cradled Boots in our arms as he died peacefully at home. In his final hours, we fed him treats. He still barked on cue, but his voice had been reduced to a squeak. He wagged his tail when the vet arrived. He always loved visitors. Boots’ life with me marked the duration of one of the world’s longest lockdowns. And for the first time since the pandemic started, I can leave the house. Freely. Go anywhere I choose. But for the first time, I don’t want to. All the memories of Boots are in here.

Boots and All

Montenero/Parallelozero

series by Alessandro De Bellis & Matteo

The Big Picture

Life at the Border Millions of Ukranians have fled their homes and country, seeking safety and shelter across the Polish border. Photographers Matteo Montenero and Alessandro De Bellis take their portraits, and put faces to the crisis. by Alan Attwood

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Alan Attwood is a former editor of The Big Issue.

FOR MORE, VISIT PARALLELOZERO.COM/WHEN-ELEPHANTS-FIGHT.

Siblings Jena , 8, Vera , 14, and Dasha , 12, belong to a dance company that performs all over Ukraine. Their mother, who fled with them, smiles as she describes how her children are helping each other through this terrible experience.

01 APR 2022

residents and prime ministers start wars. Generals direct them. Soldiers fight them. But it is civilians – ordinary people, old people, young people, babies, children and their pets, so many pets – who suffer the most. Their lives are upended. They are left homeless; forced to flee and face a question without an answer: what next? Late in March the UNHCR, the United Nation’s refugee agency, estimated that since 24 February well over 3.6 million people had fled Ukraine. That number rises every day, as refugees escape a country under siege. The movement of people has primarily been towards the West – to Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, Moldova and Poland, where the vast majority (well over two million) have sought help. It was in Medyka, Poland, on 7 March that Matteo Montenero and Alessandro De Bellis, a pair of Italian photographers, took unflinching portraits of some of the desperate people arriving by train, in cars or on foot. Some carried a few possessions; others had no choice but to rummage through piles of clothing and necessities brought by volunteers from disparate parts of Europe. Statistics and numbers from war zones are numbing. They can soon become incomprehensible. These portraits put faces to the figures. And by framing each of their subjects inside a plain white backdrop, the photographers emphasise their individuality. Each of these people – wearing beanies, jackets, scarves or thermal blankets like superhero capes – have their own stories of loss and hardship. Some insisted to the photographers that they would soon return home; others seemed resigned to the fact that their new lives might well have already begun in a foreign country far from home. There is something else significant about the blank space behind each individual in these portraits: it emphasises their displacement. These are people who, through no fault of their own, lack the landmarks or familiar things – homes, streets, shops, schools, buildings – that give us all a sense of place in our everyday lives. They live now with emptiness all around. But look at the faces. Despite all they have experienced there is dignity and pride. They have been displaced, but not defeated. “They’re all scared and devastated by this war and suffering that they weren’t expecting,” reflects Montenero. “They’ve lost everything and their lives have been changed radically in a short amount of time. This has caused a very strong feeling of anger, but also an extraordinary determination and the conviction that they will resist the oppressor. It’s culturally rooted in them.” Photographers and correspondents in war zones face a dilemma. Are they bearing witness, informing the world beyond the immediate borders, or being passive onlookers as other people suffer? The answer lies in these pictures. Over a century ago, the English World War I poet Wilfred Owen wrote: “My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.” Now, war is again the subject for Montenero and De Bellis. War, and the pity of war. War, and the people swept away by a tidal wave of conflict.

Maria, 19, is travelling with her friend Tatiana. She doesn’t really like being photographed, but firmly believes that the world must know the circumstances the refugees face.

Diana, 11, fled with her mother. She will go to school in Poland, once she reaches the family that will house them temporarily. She hopes to return to Ukraine soon and see her friends again.

Sasha, 11, was scared throughout the

Dasha, 20, has arrived in Poland with her

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journey. When she first heard planes over Kyiv she understood that something was wrong. She still doesn’t know where she will go, but she is relieved that this part of the journey is over.

cousins. She is carrying the computer that she says holds her entire life, as well as a phone and a few hryvnia, the Ukrainian currency that is now worth little.

Nadia, 57, says that at her age, after

experiencing the end of the USSR, she never thought she would find herself fleeing her home because of a war.

Lukas, 35, is shivering, cold and angry. He wants directions to the town centre. He believes the refugees need backpacks, not just clothes, so they can take donated necessities with them.

Sergiej, 45, is a dual national. Because of

Katja, 27, prefers not to take off her mask,

01 APR 2022

partly as a precaution against COVID and partly out of shyness. She has just arrived and is still holding her passport in her hand, having not had time to put it away since the border controls.

this he managed to cross the border without a problem, in contrast to many Ukrainian men who are unable to leave the country. He is travelling alone with his dog Nancy, who is very agitated to be surrounded by so many people.

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Into the Light In a Florence bathtub, Zoë Coyle considers her unborn child, remembers her long-past mother, and contemplates what NSW lawmakers will decide about the terminally ill.

had to be alone, and the classification of her death was suicide. The fall-out of all of this, of not being able to be with her, was almost insurmountable for me. But this growing baby in my womb is helping me to finally shuffle out of the dark tunnel of grief. A new life in some magical way making sense of an ended life. This month the New South Wales Parliament is due to decide if it will join all other states in enabling voluntary assisted dying. I deeply hope the legislation is passed, so other patients and families don’t have to go through what we went through. When my mother was seriously unwell, I kneeled down by her bath. She wore a beautiful scarf to cover her hair, so it didn’t go frizzy with the condensation. I took a flannel and she leaned forward, folding over her bent up knees. Turning her face to the side, she shut her eyes in pleasure as I washed her. She almost looked like a child to me, as if we’d swapped roles. She said she was sorry to miss out on future things. On my wedding, on my being pregnant, on the children of mine that she would never meet. I carried on gently washing her back as we both cried. And now, six years after her death, she is not here to see me pregnant. Not a day passes when I don’t want to ask her something, or tell her something. These green tiles, for example – she would love them. And to share with her this new realisation of mine, that we each have a responsibility to try to sort ourselves out, so we are not working our stuff out on our children, friends or colleagues. I want to do that for my unborn child, yes, and also for my mother. I want them both to be proud of me. It’s time for me to get out of this bath as my hands have gone all wrinkly, but before I move another thought occurs to me: even though my mother is dead, my love for her brings her close. Death is no match for our connection. I can hear her voice clearly saying, “This, darling, is a really lovely bathroom. The tiles are the most perfect shade of green.”

illustration by Janelle Barone

am heavily pregnant, seven-and-a‑half months, with my first child, and I am sitting in a bathtub. The tub is in a tiny rented cottage in the hills above Florence in Italy. I’m living there with my husband and our two long-haired dachshunds. The bathroom hasn’t been updated since the 1960s and is covered in square handmade green tiles that I love. The toilet and sink are also green, giving the room the feel of being carved from an emerald. The shower is so small I have trouble fitting in it, and there is only one window; it’s tiny, and as I lie in the tub, all I can see through it are the tops of a few ancient poplar trees and a slice of sky. My large belly is like an island in the water. I cup it in my hands and am struck by a straightforward thought: I need to get my shit together. In a month and a half, I will be a mother. I will need to be responsible. My mistakes, failings and faults will surely be more meaningful then, because they won’t affect just me. And this realisation does two things. Firstly, it teaches me that loving another person, even one I haven’t met yet, inspires me to be better. So maybe all those syrupy love songs are right. And secondly, it makes me miss my own mother terribly. She had a terminal disease. It was obscure and took ages to be diagnosed, and when they finally worked it out their prognosis was terrible. A degenerative disease that attacks the brain cells and impairs mental and motor functions. Generally, people who have it die of breathing issues or infections. It was going to kill her painfully and in slow motion. My mother, a nurse, was calm when she found out. Immediately, she said she had no intention of dying that way. That she would euthanise herself when things became unmanageable. Her autonomy and dignity were important to her. She wasn’t depressed. She didn’t want to die, but my mother correctly predicted there would come a time when she would want her suffering to end. As she was living in Australia before the voluntary assisted dying laws were enacted, she had no option but to take matters into her own hands. Legally, she

01 APR 2022

Zoë Coyle is an author, leadership facilitator and communications training leader, with experience that spans 20 years. She is based in Sydney. Where the Light Gets In is her first novel.

Ricky

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

To be honest, I would have probably liked Elvis more if he’d been into grunge.

by Ricky French @frenchricky

Shake, Rattle & Droll

here are more things I don’t remember about the school project I did on Elvis Presley than things I do remember. I don’t remember how the project came to be, but I have a vague recollection we had to write a biography of a famous person. I knew nothing about Elvis but found a weighty biography on him on our bookshelf at home, so figured my work was pretty much half done. The book was called Elvis and the Colonel, by Dirk Vellenga and Mick Farren. I assumed it must be about Elvis’ intimate relationship with Colonel Sanders (one of the few things I did know about Elvis was that he was fond of fried chicken). I remember enjoying the book. It had a good mix of music, rock stars, army action, parties and sex – they should hand it out to all teenagers to encourage them to read. I don’t remember the mark I got for my project (there’s a surprise) and I pretty much instantly forgot everything I read in the book. But I’ve always had a soft spot for Elvis because of that book. Elvis sounded like quite a dude. I think that’s partly why I’m excited about an exhibition currently showing at the Bendigo Art Gallery, called Elvis: Direct from Graceland. While I acknowledge conspiracy theorists are currently having a moment, I’m sceptical Elvis himself will be making an appearance, but by the sounds of it, the exhibition will have the appearance of a Graceland garage sale. His Vegas jumpsuits will be something to behold, but we’re also promised a glimpse at his childhood crayon box (drawings too, please!), his military uniforms and the bongos Priscilla gave him during their first Christmas together (what was she thinking?). His red 1960 MG convertible will also be there, and I’ll be disappointed if the public aren’t offered a chance to do a “mainy” of Pall Mall in the car. Come on, organisers, it’s what Elvis would want! Elvis mania does spread beyond the gallery walls, though, with the Bendigo region putting on more than 30 Elvis-inspired experiences,

including the “Shake Rattle & Roll Tram,” where Bendigo’s tram becomes an Elvis-themed cocktail party (if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to dance on a moving tram while holding a beverage, here’s your chance). There will also be an Elvis trivia night, and just between you and me I’m feeling quite confident about my chances. In preparation for the event, I asked my partner to quiz me at home. The first question she asked was easy: What year did Elvis die? “1970!” I blurted out. She gave me that look of pity I’ve seen so many times. I tried again. “1975?” “Higher,” she said. “1980?” “That was John Lennon. Lower.” I got bored and gave up. “The correct answer,” she revealed with a sigh, “is he didn’t die. He lives. But I would have also accepted 1977.” Oh well, maybe Elvis trivia isn’t my strong suit. Having fun in regional cities is something I can manage, though. The past two years (and still counting) have been rubbish for both the arts and the tourism industries, so it’s nice to find an event that supports both, and gets me out of the house. I wish I could find my old school project. What did 16-year-old me make of the most famous person in rock’n’roll? To be honest, I would have probably liked Elvis more if he’d been into grunge. But maybe this little trip to Bendigo will deepen my appreciation for a man who had talent and charisma on a scale you don’t find anymore. A man who pushed an idea as far as it could go; who lived like there was no tomorrow, until there was no tomorrow. “How old was Elvis when he died?” Answer: the same age I am now.

Ricky is a writer and musician who can’t help falling in love with regional Australia.

by Fiona Scott-Norman @fscottnorman

PHOTOS BY JAMES BRAUND

few months back, in the grip of Lockdown 4: The Existential Horror Returns, I decided to Shake Things Up and apply to do a Masters. You could argue that studying at university isn’t precisely a radical departure from teaching at university, but with international travel being what it is I had to press hold on my Plan A of “move to New Orleans, hang in jazz bars and contribute to the hollowing out of one of the most culturally and creatively vibrant cities on the planet by being yet another white person to turn a shotgun house in Tremé into an Airbnb”. Maybe next year. To my surprise, I got my application in despite a book deadline and a smidge of depression, and was accepted. Bloody hell. I am now three weeks into studying a Masters in Directing (Theatre), full-time. That’s right. THEATRE, darling. Given that I last studied full-time in the 1980s, in Perth, around when Dave Dobbyn spent four weeks at No. 1 on the charts with ‘Slice of Heaven’, it’s a shock to the system. Hello tsunami of assignments. Looking forward to punching out that 2500‑word essay on *checks notes*, blinks, *checks notes again*, “In which ways are Queer Theory, Normativity and Phenomenology coterminous in relation to Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis?” Things have changed. I wrote all my assignments by hand in the 80s, usually on all‑nighters fuelled by No-Doz (colloquially known back in the day as the “truckies’ friend”). The active ingredient is, oooh, so edgy, caffeine, which gives a jittery high when, like I did, you ignore instructions to the contrary and pop them like candy. Many a time I’d drop my handscrawled‑in‑blue‑biro‑on‑lined-paper essay off on the deadline knocker of 8am, vibrating like an electric fence. Good times. I now get a migraine if I push working past a sliver after midnight. The toilets are a revelation. At Curtin Uni in WA, where I did my BA, I have no

recollection of the dunnies, so I presume they were bog standard (brief pause to allow you to marinate in awe at that wordplay). At my current campus they’re a centrepiece. A lifestyle magazine centrefold. Clean and nicely scented, pink‑walled, gender-neutral and VERY well stocked with condoms. So many condoms. Like, half a wall. Yay for contraception/disease and virus barriers (also lube), but who has time for contemplating a wall of options when you’re a) urgent with desire and b) halfway through an essay on the modalities of noesis and noema? Given my advanced years and clear comfort in rocking a lanyard, I’m often presumed to be staff rather than a student. It’s an interesting space to grapple, being mature age. Several of the teaching staff are my peers, a couple are close friends, and the cohort is young and serious enough that I’m still seeking common ground. The women are quiet, and I want to shake them and yell “Speak!” The dudes, quelle surprise, are confident in contributing to every discussion. They are…not alone. I definitely talk too much. I can’t stop. I talk because others aren’t, and I feel for the teachers. I ask questions because WTF is noesis? I talk because I’m learning, because I’m excited, because my brain is fizzing like sherbet, and I have to put it somewhere. I talk because I’m an older woman and I refuse to be quiet, screw the patriarchy. I talk because beneath the veneer of prestige, this university is still systematically underpaying their staff. You bet I talk about that. On reflection, the only thing I’m not talking about is Existential Horrors, so…I made the right move. But if you run a university? It’s nice to have showroom dunnies, but I’d prefer it if you TREASURED YOUR TEACHERS AND PAID THEM WELL.

Fiona is an author, comedian and Masters of the Uni Verse.

01 APR 2022

All Class

I talk because I’m learning, because I’m excited, because my brain is fizzing like sherbet, and I have to put it somewhere.

Fiona

The World Is Yours

by Jared Richards @jrdjms

Jared Richards is an arts and music critic who has written for The Guardian, Junkee, Swampland and more.

PHOTO BY LISSYELLE

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Music

Hatchie

Harriet Pilbeam – better known as Hatchie – is learning to live with herself, and making gorgeous dream‑pop while she’s at it.

“It’s funny, because I remember saying in interviews, ‘I really don’t wanna be pigeonholed as only shoegaze or pop. I wanna straddle the line,’” she says. “[I thought] I was being really smart and not backing myself into a corner, but I still totally did.” Giving the World Away plays with new sounds, albeit still inspired by the 90s: Pilbeam flirts with UK garage, trip-hop and acid house, adding darker shades into dream-pop. The singles ‘Lights On’ and ‘This Enchanted’ came first, vibrant and playful songs about bubbling love intended to kickstart a new, dancier album. Written in early 2020 in Los Angeles with producer Jorge Elbrecht (Sky Ferreira, Japanese Breakfast), they offered a way forward after she struggled to find direction. But then COVID hit, and Pilbeam and her husband/writing partner Joe Agius were stuck in Brisbane. A flurry of cancelled gigs and writing trips gave Pilbeam pause for the first time since Hatchie’s first release. This downtime led to revelations, with the artist realising “deep-seated issues of self-esteem and confidence” from childhood hadn’t disappeared, despite her success. “It all happened so quickly that I was able to ignore a lot of my feelings until everything came to a grinding halt,” she says. “I just really had to address

GIVING THE WORLD AWAY IS OUT 22 APRIL.

01 APR 2022

I wish I could say that I don’t think about that stuff, but I do.

my perception of myself and my perception of other people’s perception of me as well. “I had a lot of time to think about how I was dealing with things that I had been dealing with for over 10 years, and how not a lot had changed with my mindset. I’ve been putting in a lot of work over the last two years to make changes and accept the things that I can’t change about myself. It’s a work in progress.” Tracks like ‘Quicksand’ detail Pilbeam’s ambivalence about what Hatchie was: “I used to think this was something I could die for” she sings over a shimmering, unstable synth. It wasn’t necessarily her output that frustrated her, but that it hadn’t “fixed” her. Giving the World Away became something of a mantra, one that took time. “It’s about being vulnerable with yourself,” she says. “The lyrics to the [title track] are, ‘Stop giving the world away and stop giving the only heart you’ve got’. In that context, it means stop giving a hundred percent of yourself away to other people, because your heart is really fragile. I thought that applied nicely to the album, because so much of it is about being vulnerable but also finding strength in your flaws, and just learning to live with them.” Pilbeam doesn’t pretend that learning to live with all of yourself is a linear journey, saying it’s more of a “one step forward, two steps back” process. But one song did provide a sense of closure. ‘Take My Hand’ is a tender track sung to Pilbeam’s younger self, struggling with accepting her body (“you don’t have to change,” she sings over airy synths). “I like to think that I’ve moved a bit beyond that – not into body positivity and self-love, but selfacceptance and body neutrality,” she says. “I haven’t necessarily made leaps and bounds forward, but just writing that to my former self helped me forgive my younger self for hating myself so much.” Pilbeam is as earnest in interviews as she is across Giving the World Away, stepping through the nostalgic haze of Hatchie’s first releases to find a more distinct sound and self. At the same time, it’s still decidedly dream-pop, with gorgeous guitar lines and soft vocals. Pilbeam says this is her truest-to-self work yet, but freely admits that she didn’t want to alienate any of her old fans. “I wish I could say that I don’t think about that stuff, but I do,” she says. “And I don’t think it’s necessarily bad to care about what your audience wants – there’s this idea that if you’re creating for other people and not just for yourself then it’s fake. But I wanna do both. I wanna cater to my fans, and I also wanna cater to my own journey.”

hrough a swirl of dream-pop and shoegaze synths, new elements of Harriet Pilbeam poke through Giving the World Away, her second album as Hatchie. And as old layers are being washed away, the Brisbane artist says she cringes while listening to some of her old lyrics. “I really didn’t dig very deep on them,” she laughs. “And I didn’t want to make that mistake again – they were just very surface level, quite juvenile. Which is fine, because I was a lot younger when I was writing them.” While it’s only been five years since Pilbeam released her first track as Hatchie, those five years have been long. Beginning with ‘Try’, a twinkling piece of pop that renders every listener the protagonist of their own 90s rom-com, Hatchie was soon being labelled the “dream-pop idol of tomorrow” by Pitchfork, and playing festivals across the globe off the back of her 2018 debut EP Sugar & Spice. Pilbeam followed it a year later with Keepsake, an assured debut that cemented her place as a leading artist of the new wave of cinematic shoegaze, a position she fought against.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Film

Audrey Diwan

Beat Happening Director Audrey Diwan adapts a celebrated Annie Ernaux memoir for the screen, tackling women’s desire, determination and desperation. by Philippa Hawker @philippics

Philippa Hawker is a writer on arts and film.

HAPPENING IS IN CINEMAS FROM 14 APRIL.

01 APR 2022

TOP: LOUISE ORRY-DIQUÉRO, ANAMARIA VARTOLOMEI AND LUÀNA BAJRAMI IN HAPPENING BOTTOM: SANDRINE BONNAIRE AND ANAMARIA VARTOLOMEI EMBRACE IN THE FILM

freedom in general, she suggests, are bound up in this one. Before writing the screenplay, Diwan spent time with the author, known for her innovative use of memoir, her clear-eyed examination of individual experience and how it is shaped by the external world. They revisited the time, clarifying personal and political elements of her story. After those conversations, Diwan says, Ernaux agreed to read up to three versions of the screenplay. “She said from the very beginning that she understands the general idea of adaptation, and would not try to make the screenplay look like the book. But she would always tell me what was right and what was not regarding the 1960s. She showed me a path, and I could follow it.” When it came to finding an actor to play Anne, Diwan says Vartolomei made an immediate impact at the first audition. “She was asking me questions like, ‘In that scene, I understand I will have to be naked, but I want to hear from your mouth what is the reason I should accept that.’ And I thought, ‘Okay, somehow she is already the character.’ She had all the qualities I wanted for the part.” Happening is a carefully observed work, full of sensory detail. There are moments of nervous energy and grace, but there’s also a gruelling, visceral aspect. It is filmed in a way that amplifies a sense of intimacy, often shot as if we are at Anne’s shoulder, a step behind, sometimes unsettlingly close. Diwan needed an actor with technical skills, she says, and also someone who was prepared to experiment, to be part of a creative partnership. Showing Ernaux the finished film was an alarming experience, Diwan recalls. She left the author alone in the cinema, and came in afterwards to hear the verdict. “She was silent for a while, and I was shaking. Then she said, ‘It’s right.’ Maybe a week later, she wrote me a long letter to tell me what she liked and how much she liked the movie.” There was, however, one reference Ernaux felt compelled to take issue with, Diwan adds. “She said, ‘Audrey, there was no Tupperware in 1963, 64.’ And I told her, ‘Annie, if that’s the only problem of the movie, I will tell that story to every journalist I meet.’”

PHOTOS BY GETTY AND WILD BUNCH

udrey Diwan’s Happening is an unsparing, often delicately drawn account of a young woman’s life at a time of crisis. Anne (Anamaria Vartolomei), a student in her early twenties, is pregnant. She knows what she wants to do about it. But in France in 1963, an abortion is illegal, difficult to obtain and dangerous. This is an ordeal she will have to endure alone. Diwan – a journalist turned screenwriter, directing her second feature – adapted a celebrated 2000 memoir by one of her favourite authors, Annie Ernaux. She wanted to capture particular aspects of the book and its implications. She aimed for a strong sense of time and place, but was keen to avoid making a film that looked like a period piece. “Period piece says to the audience that it’s a past topic, it’s done. And we all know it’s not, in so many countries in the world,” she says. She imagined that her film could feel like the past in the present tense. “It was a game we played with all the crew: how to say, ‘It’s the 60s’, but not to say it out loud.” In 1963, Anne faces obstacles at every point. Secrecy and silence surround the subject of abortion. Doctors, even sympathetic ones, refuse to become involved; some actively intervene to prevent it. Women had to resort to clandestine, risky backyard procedures. Those who carried out or in any way facilitated abortions faced jail, as did the women who underwent them. Aware of all this, Anne still has no doubts. “I’d like a child one day, but not instead of a life,” she tells a doctor. She lives in student accommodation, studies literature and expects to become a teacher. Her working-class parents are proud of her academic achievements. She has friends, but when it comes to this particular situation, they are frightened, hostile or unwilling to get involved. She explores what avenues she can, as the film counts down time, week by week, showing us the details of her daily life alongside her increasing desperation. For Diwan, Anne’s story is not simply about a particular prohibition. There are other constraints imposed on what Anne can hope for or want or expect; other ways in which she is defined or judged. “I didn’t just want to do a piece on illegal abortion,” Diwan says. “To me, illegal abortion is related to other things in our society.” For example, “Do we allow girls to desire?” Many issues about

Lo Carmen

by Jenny Valentish

Singer and actor Lo Carmen has lived the bohemian life – and now turns her hand to chronicling other wild and willing women who likewise lit up their own paths.

@jennyvalentish_public

Jenny Valentish is a journalist who followed up her addiction memoir, Woman of Substances, with Everything Harder Than Everyone Else, a new take on endurance and extremes.

PHOTO BY KATERINA STRATOS

Books 34

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Women Who Rock

LOVERS DREAMERS FIGHTERS IS OUT NOW.

01 APR 2022

“I relished the opportunity to get words printed in a book about how astonishing these women were,” Carmen says, “because it’s only what’s printed that becomes history, and if our stories aren’t told and shared, they disappear. When I realised that the gatekeepers of what made it into papers and music magazines etc were predominantly male, it wasn’t really surprising... especially with the particular challenges and expectations faced by women in entertainment. Often it was the kind actions of women that helped introduce many now hugely famous men to their first audiences. Charles Aznavour, Leonard Cohen and Kris Kristofferson all have women to thank for their first breaks.” It’s not only women in entertainment that Carmen writes about. As an actor (who made her name playing the lead opposite Noah Taylor in 1987’s The Year My Voice Broke), she portrayed Sallie-Anne Huckstepp in the 1995 docudrama Blue Murder, and so began a lifelong connection between Carmen and the woman she never got to meet. Huckstepp was a writer, sex worker and whistleblower who had spoken out about police corruption on TV, and who was murdered in 1986. “Addressing the bias and judgment she’d faced in the media and beyond was very important to me,” says Carmen, “and most of all to highlight her as a trailblazer, both as a feminist woman who lived life the way she wanted to and was honest and open about sex and drugs in an era that maintained serious double standards, and also of course for her heroic activism. Without Sallie-Anne’s actions, it’s possible Roger Rogerson would be a highly decorated police commissioner and that the vice squad would still be running organised crime in NSW.” Writing Lovers Dreamers Fighters, Carmen relied on her suitcases of trinkets to prompt memories, alongside trawling through old newspaper articles, but she didn’t want to get too bogged down with timelines and details, and decided against interviewing people. “As a rock’n’roll musician it’s part of my job description to have forgotten everything,” she jokes. “I decided to use my lack of total recall to my advantage, to let time and perspective distil memories into their essence and write from that place. I researched hard to back up everything I could after I wrote.” Paul Kelly has heralded the book as “a hard‑won account of the glory, mess and risk of making art”. It is indeed, but it’s also a sparkling mirror ball, reflecting the accomplishments of the women inside, far and wide.

hen Lo Carmen was 13 years old, she took a Greyhound bus from Adelaide to Kings Cross to join her father, Peter Head, who was a piano player in the cocktail lounges and dive bars there. Instantly, she was enamoured by this exotic new lifestyle, soaking up the atmosphere at gigs and sharpening her own desire to be a performer. Ever since she was a small child she’d had a showgirl’s wardrobe and flair that suggested a future studded with rhinestones. “It wasn’t really a ‘look at me’ type thing,” she says. “It was more about my own satisfaction. I couldn’t understand why you would wear ordinary things like Roman sandals and track pants when you could wear sequins and high‑heeled boots. Dressing the part sometimes helps you on your path towards what you want to be.” Prior to moving to her new spiritual home, Carmen had grooved on gutsy female leads such as Tina Turner and Suzi Quatro. Now she had entered a world of even wilder women, who lit up the local venues, burlesque clubs and alleys, but who were not always given their due. And so, some four decades after taking that bus, Carmen has written her first book, Lovers Dreamers Fighters, which she calls a love story about songs, secret histories and self-invention. It was her intention to properly pay homage to women who became mirrors in which she could see her own possibilities reflected back at her. Among them are The Divinyls’ Chrissy Amphlett (whose schoolgirl tunics were made by Carmen’s seamstress mother), Robyn Archer, Wendy Saddington and Renee Geyer. Carmen’s own story is woven throughout. She’s a singer-songwriter with seven albums under her leopard-print belt, ranging from wistful alt-country to Dolly Parton-style kitsch. During the pandemic, she and her husband, actor Aden Young, moved back from LA to Sydney with their two sons. Her daughter is Holiday Sidewinder, a pop musician who similarly lives out of a suitcase (and similarly, that suitcase is crammed with many glorious costumes), and who is named after Suzi Sidewinder, one of the women in Carmen’s book. Sidewinder was a New York-based actress, dancer, singer and wrestler, who collaborated and cavorted with Nina Hagen, Vivienne Westwood, Andy Kaufman and Jean-Michel Basquiat, before marrying Vince Lovegrove, manager of The Divinyls and Jimmy Barnes, and moving to Sydney, where Carmen met her. When Sidewinder contracted AIDS she gave permission for a documentary, Suzi’s Story, to be made about the impact of the virus that eventually killed her, but it was Sidewinder’s legacy as an unsung cultural hellraiser that Carmen wanted to celebrate.

Film Reviews

Aimee Knight Film Editor @siraimeknight

ooking back over the notes I scribbled in the dim light of a Memoria preview screening, I see that the past me left a half-baked play on words, “Steely Danish”, to amuse myself in the future. I must have been riffing on the appearance of an unnamed jazz ensemble, captured during an extended jam session that occupied somewhere between two and 20 minutes of this hypnotic picture. That I can’t quite remember is befitting. As the title implies, Memoria is a transcendental meditation on time and place, especially its fluidity, and the plasticity of memory. Written and directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul (Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives), the film stars Tilda Swinton as Jessica, a Scottish woman working in Colombia, who hears a big bang and starts to feel off-kilter. Is she hallucinating? Travelling through time? Am I better off setting Western narrative expectations aside and feeling this film, rather than thinking it? Like Weerasethakul, I’ll leave those questions floating, open-ended. Memoria is the filmmaker’s first work made outside of Thailand, and eerie Swinton is pitch perfect as a human antenna crossing streams with a procession of confounding folks. The film premiered at Cannes in 2021, taking home the Jury Prize, and will hit cinemas here on 7 April. It’s also the subject of a gorgeous art book from Fireflies Press, co-founded by The Big Issue’s former film editor, Annabel Brady-Brown, if you’re keen for further reading. AK

TILDA SWINTON: HUMAN ANTENNA

CARBON: THE UNAUTHORISED BIOGRAPHY 

This science documentary seeks to rewrite the story that gave carbon its dirty name. Featuring an esteemed roundup of experts and the personification of Carbon “herself” – voiced by Succession’s Sarah Snook – this accessible account details the many ways in which we rely on carbon to live, as much as we dread its role in the climate crisis. Unfortunately, the valuable core points are somewhat cheapened by the anthropomorphised carbon gimmick, whose contradictory persona swings from relatable sister to scorned deity as the film’s tone demands. While a rigorous educational tool, Carbon winds up chasing shallow emotional investment, muddying any political intent, despite its mobilising final sequence. Though one brief standout scene highlights the intergenerational caretaking relationships of Indigenous peoples to the land, one can’t help wishing the film spent more time considering cultural, attitudinal or natural solutions – anything beyond the technological. TIIA KELLY NOWHERE SPECIAL

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

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With little time and money left to get his affairs in order, John (James Norton, Grantchester) desperately seeks a foster home for his three-year-old son, Michael (Daniel Lamont), while keeping the child in the dark about his terminal illness. John’s been given mere months to live but has to plan ahead an entire lifetime: each tender moment between John and Michael could be a scarring memory later in his son’s life. Deliberately quiet and meditative, like writer-director Uberto Pasolini’s previous film Still Life (2013), Nowhere Special is an exhibit of melancholy composed of small interactions between father and son. Norton plays each moment with the frankness of a blue-collar worker, counterbalanced by his son’s adorable innocence. Few things are as precious to John as that innocence, which fades away as his own condition worsens. What makes Nowhere Special special is its disarming honesty, never forcefully tugging at heartstrings but instead telling it how it is, coming to terms with the fact that no feeling is final. BRUCE KOUSSABA

THE BAD GUYS 

There’s a hollow, manufactured charm to The Bad Guys, a children’s film so misguided in its attempts to be cool that it begins with an extended homage to Pulp Fiction. Based on the popular book series by Australian Aaron Blabey, the film follows a team of animal crooks who, after a failed heist, pretend to rehabilitate themselves into upstanding citizens. Slick conman Mr Wolf (Sam Rockwell) leads the cast of anthropomorphised antiheroes – including a snake, piranha and tarantula – who are more misunderstood than malicious: would you believe that, under his villainous exterior, there’s a heart of gold? The film never escapes from the influence of Shrek and Zootopia, nor does it manage to be much fun. Unforgivably, it fails to deliver the simple pleasures of a good heist, breezing through a slew of capers each more convoluted and unconvincing than the last. At the heart of The Bad Guys is a message that trash can be turned into treasure. If only the film itself could be redeemed. JAMIE TRAM

Small Screen Reviews

Claire Cao Small Screens Editor @clairexinwen

BRIDGERTON: SEASON 2  | NETFLIX

THE GIRL FROM PLAINVILLE

 | PRIME VIDEO

 | STAN

Debut director Mariama Diallo’s supernatural campus thriller follows the lives of two Black women at a prestigious New England university, as they are haunted by the ghosts of America’s racist past. Gail Bishop (Regina Hall) is appointed as the first Black house master in her faculty, while freshman Jasmine (Zoe Renee) – one of the few Black students at the college – is assigned the room supposedly haunted by Margaret Millet, a woman hanged on suspicion of witchcraft. Racism – casual and explicit, institutional and individual, historical and contemporary – is central, explored deftly in a series of vignettes made impactful by slick sound design and clever writing. Diallo’s treatment of racism intertwined with horror tropes is well executed, despite owing some credit to Jordan Peele. Unfortunately, the film loses steam in its final act, where the resolution and atmosphere feel incongruous with the rest of the film – but outstanding performances outshine any shortcomings. Master is an entirely respectable contribution to the genre of Black horror. MARTYN REYES

In 2017, Michelle Carter stood trial for her part in the suicide of her boyfriend, Conrad Roy. Their extensive text history revealed Carter’s active role in encouraging Roy to go through with his devastating final act. In a landmark ruling, she was convicted of involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to two-and-ahalf years in prison. Already the subject of a 2019 documentary (I Love You, Now Die: The Commonwealth v Michelle Carter), this teen tragedy receives large-scale dramatic treatment in The Girl from Plainville, starring Elle Fanning as Carter. Detailing the evolution of the pair’s relationship, their mental health challenges and the eventual court proceedings, the series attempts to probe the complicated question: why would someone convince the person they love to end their life? Despite its talented cast (Fanning, Chloë Sevigny) and directors such as Lisa Cholodenko (Unbelievable), the drama fails to satisfactorily plumb the depths of its complex subject matter. Wooden dialogue, convoluted timelines and dull plotting render it a drab disappointment. JESSICA ELLICOTT

uch of my childhood memories involve crafty attempts to gain access to Asian dramas and anime – which were largely unavailable on Australian TV. Communal hard-drives, DVD boxsets and streaming links prospered, allowing us to geek out over episodes of Fruits Basket. One of our most frequented sites was the upload service Crunchyroll, known for its broad range of fansubtitled shows. Over the years, Crunchyroll has had an interesting evolution: it purged its site of copyright-infringing content to become one of the world’s leading specialised streamers. Recently purchased by Sony, the entire library of Sony’s anime-focused Funimation platform will shift to Crunchyroll – allowing Australian audiences access to 40,000+ titles. All new anime from the April season – both subtitled and dubbed versions – will now stream exclusively on Crunchyroll. Some of the series now available include last year’s skateboarding hit SK8 the Infinity and 90s classic YuYu Hakusho. A notable expansion involves the acquisition of multilanguage rights. Even as someone who prefers to watch titles in their original tongue, it was lovely revisiting the English version of Cowboy Bebop (which, along with its infamous liveaction remake, is also streaming on Netflix). The show’s melancholy, jazz-infused vision of a globalised future still strikes a chord 25 years later, offering sensitive insights into gig-economy work and feelings of alienation. An excellent voice cast gives life to the sprawl of quirky characters as they attempt to find meaning in a decaying world. CC

01 APR 2022

MASTER

CRUNCHYROLL BEARS FRUITS

Few backdrops are as suited to yearning as the opulent ballrooms of respectable 19th-century London. Introducing a steamy new courtship, Bridgerton’s much-anticipated second season pits desire against family duty. Eldest Bridgerton brother Anthony (Jonathan Bailey) seeks a wife suitable for the duties of Viscountess, while newcomer Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley) intends to marry her kind younger sister Edwina (Charithra Chandran) into nobility — plans threatened by the Kate and Anthony’s inevitable, tumultuous attraction. The previous season’s rudimentary girl-power ethos is nicely tempered here by a more complex rendering of the characters’ internal worlds. And though some of the sparser subplots lack urgency, it wields tension where it counts, particularly in Penelope’s (Nicola Coughlan) evolving friendship with Eloise (Claudia Jessie) as she continues her anonymous enterprise as town gossip Lady Whistledown. But the season belongs to Ashley’s fiercely vulnerable performance as Kate: the stolen glances and fervid exchanges shared with Bailey provide more than enough stomach flutters to satisfy any romantic. TIIA KELLY

Music Reviews

Isabella Trimboli Music Editor

YEEZUS, KANYE

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

owadays, it’s a given that we’ll be able to chart the trajectory of any pop star. Stewards of their own image, they’ve been crafting an identity and brand online (as we all have), even before they had musical ambitions. But 20 years ago, before the total dominance of social media, this wasn’t the case. For the artists of a previous era, moments of genius, hardship, struggle and perseverance are forever lost. For hip-hop savant Kayne West, thankfully his friend Clarence “Coodie” Simmons was there in those early years, charting his struggle for recognition to his meteoric rise. This is the basis for jeen-yuhs: A Kanye Trilogy – an exhaustive, three-part Netflix documentary that collates more than two decades of footage. Working in public access TV, Coodie met Kanye in Chicago’s burgeoning hip-hop scene. A talented producer, Kanye first cut his teeth making beats for other rappers. But he had bigger ambitions. Coodie, wanting to create something in the vein of the doco Hoop Dreams, began following him around, documenting his difficulty to be taken seriously as a rapper, and the ingenuity that went into creating his debut The College Dropout. It’s an incredible watch, with so many incredible moments: Kanye playing ‘All Falls Down’ to an unenthused A&R manager; rapping freestyle with Mos Def, who is left completely gobsmacked. The film doesn’t end on a high note, but it’s a thrilling document of what happens when your stardom completely transcends your original dreams. IT

@itrimboli

CRASH CHARLI XCX 

With dancefloors reopening around the world, it’s prime time for a new Charli XCX record. Crash sees the English musician depart from the glitchy, hyperpop of her last album, How I’m Feeling Now (2020), to embrace an 80s-inspired synth-pop sound. Charli has long been a master of hooks, whether creating something new or creatively reworking a sample, as she does on the Rina Sawayama collaboration ‘Beg for You’ with Petra Marklund’s 2005 hit ‘Cry for You’, and on the excellent ‘Used to Know Me’ with Robin S’s 90s house classic ‘Show Me Love’. Thematically, Crash explores the well-trod ground of lost love, betrayal and heartbreak from different perspectives – ‘Constant Repeat’ and ‘Every Rule’ are, on the surface, at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, but Charli finds the commonalities of the human experience to tie them together. While it leans into more of a mainstream pop sound than her previous releases, Crash rarely has a dull moment. It’s a cohesive, addictive record that grows with every listen. GISELLE AU-NHIEN NGUYEN

PLANTS SINGING PUNKO

TILT CONFIDENCE MAN

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Punko’s debut album Plants Singing contains an unstable New Age sheen, submerging listeners in a subterranean stasis of woozy synths, oblique drum machines and hypnotic chants. The Newcastle-via-Melbourne singer and producer – aka Liv Jansz – crafts a singular sound, like an old, warped tape of ritualistic bedroom pop. It’s oddly familiar but almost impossible to place – though Punko has long been a member of Sui Zhen’s band, whose calm grooves and plonky synths can also be heard very clearly on this album. Amid the blurry music, Punko’s elegant voice is startlingly clear over the distant rhythms, taking time to float into frame over the looping melodies. With multiple listens, her vocals become clearer, revealing repeated mantras that touch on a range of raw themes, like the grimness of patriarchy or the guiding warmth of spiritual relationships. Plants Singing has a mesmerising sound that’s deceptively simple, slowly unravelling an intimate and wobbly world, drifting outside of time. ANGUS MCGRATH

On their second album, Brisbane band Confidence Man (featuring Janet Planet, Sugar Bones, Clarence McGuffie and Reggie Goodchild) have hedonism on the brain. This is an album of euphoric, oddball party anthems about fun frivolity: boy toys, kisses and overwhelming romance that makes all previous relationships feel meaningless. The touchstones here are easy to locate: Deee-Lite, electro-clash, retro house, euro‑pop and 90s ballroom hits. Grounding these songs is Janet Planet’s wonderfully elastic voice, which can be staunch, unenthused, cheeky and gleefully animated. Tilt’s best song is the maximalist ‘Angry Girl’, an energised ode to female rage. With yelps and screams and a dizzying pace, it sounds like something you might come across on a Le Tigre record. With a reverence for the stranger fringes of 90s/00s dance-pop, what lets the record down is too many tracks of forgettable floor filler that are best left in the decade they were emulating. ISABELLA TRIMBOLI

Book Reviews

Melissa Fulton Deputy Editor @melissajfulton

BANJAWARN JOSH KEMP

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Award-winning author Julia Otsuka’s strange and spellbinding novel begins as a memorandum on the unwritten rules of a public swimming pool, and documents the habits of its regulars. The narrator is a collective you, we and our fellow swimmers, but shifts to a specific second person in a well pulled-off tricky move. The language is all-knowing and non-judgemental, sticking to the facts yet reverent of the act of swimming – of breathing and counting and being submerged in the cold and the quiet. One day, a crack appears in the bottom of the pool, unnerving the swimmers; and cracks, too, appear in our fellow swimmer Alice’s memories. Her entire life is splayed before us; memories haphazardly rise to the surface as we piece them together. Through Alice, Otsuka forces us to confront thoughts we’d rather leave undisturbed, and a future we’re perhaps not ready to face. This bizarre and heartbreaking tale will pull you into the murky depths of mortality, memories and the passing of time. It’s worth every lingering tear. DANIELLE BAGNATO

Hooked on PCP, Garreth Hoyle loves nothing more than venturing out to the deserts of WA on hallucinatory benders. He’s burnt plenty of bridges along the way, by penning a popular true-crime memoir that betrayed his former friends. Hoyle only questions his self-destructive trajectory when a 10-year-old girl enters his life. If that sounds like a warm and fuzzy redemption, that’s not what first-time novelist Josh Kemp is going for. Instead, he mines WA’s raw landscape and brutal colonial history to create a grotesque vision of Australian gothic that’s packed with gory violence and gallows humour. Between the jagged energy of his prose and recurring elements of magic realism, there’s a continuous uncertainty about what’s actually happening and what’s only being imagined. Banjawarn edges into full-blown horror by the end, but its savage vision is dulled somewhat by frequent digressions and a repetition that slows the pace. DOUG WALLEN

LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY BONNIE GARMUS 

In the uncompromising Elizabeth Zott, Bonnie Garmus has rendered a portrait of an iconic and unforgettable protagonist. Zott, a research scientist in early60s California, is pitted against the unrelenting patriarchal conventions of her era and her field. Her brilliance and intelligence wasted at the Hastings Research Institute, Zott’s life makes an unlikely pivot: to the television limelight as a celebrity chef. On Supper at Six, Elizabeth Zott becomes a subversive revolutionary for housewives, a whip-smart culinary engineer who swaps out the salt for the sodium chloride. “Cooking is chemistry,” she affirms. She eschews the expectations of a woman’s role, and the noxious sexism accompanying those mores. Garmus, a copywriter and creative director, wields language with playfulness and wit, bringing even minor characters to vivid life. Her prose sparkles on the page with intellect and warmth. Lessons in Chemistry is a highly anticipated debut that lives up to the hype: in turns comedic, tragic, uplifting and heartbreaking. DASHA MAIOROVA

THE SWIMMERS JULIE OTSUKA

01 APR 2022

hen I think about people, I think about space, how much space a person takes up and how much use that person provides,” reads the first sentence of Weike Wang’s delightful, affirming novel, Joan Is Okay. “I am just under five feet tall and just under a hundred pounds. Briefly I thought I would exceed five feet, and while that would have been fine, I also didn’t need the extra height. To stay under something gives me a sense of comfort, as when it rains and I can open an umbrella over my head.” Joan is a highly successful ICU doctor, a thirty-something workaholic who enjoys her solitary life in New York City. Her parents, who moved the family Stateside to get a bit of the American dream for their kids, have since returned to Shanghai, and her older brother is a wealthy hedge fund guy who lives with his family in the kind of house they call a compound – with a staff – in Connecticut. Joan has never had a partner, and she doesn’t like parties. She doesn’t even watch TV. When Joan’s father dies suddenly at the novel’s beginning, it triggers a series of events, leading to a kind of reckoning for Joan. An outsider in so many ways, Joan is flung full tilt – and possibly against her will – into her life. Awkward, spare and full of dark, socially bamboozled wit, this one is for fans of Sayaka Murata’s Convenience Store Woman. Joan is not just okay – she’s awesome. MF

Public Service Announcement

by Lorin Clarke @lorinimus

The idea of the second chance tends to imply something went wrong the first time. Something going wrong the first time isn’t something you can fix. You can, though, probably aim for it not to happen a second time. They call the ability to deal with this kind of thing “emotional resilience” these days. Emotional resilience can be hard. Failing sucks. There’s only one way to get better at something though. Fail more. Fail harder. Take up a new thing and be utterly terrible at it. Knit the worst rows of knitting you’ve ever seen. Pretty soon you’ll be knitting. Start with “oui” and pretty soon you’ll be speaking French. Or completing cryptic crosswords. Whatever you failed at for ages: that’s now a thing you can teach other people. How’s that for a second chance? Memories, too, are like a second chance. A second chance at a moment. I love those weird memories that pop up unbidden, just moments from a time or place you didn’t think was on the hard drive anymore. Just popping up out of nowhere – standing in a Sunday market on an autumn day somewhere you’ve only been once. For no reason. It’s not a necessary memory. It’s not connected to anything specific. It just floats to the top and you go: huh. Deliberate remembering is best though. I love remembering the feeling of running down the incredibly steep driveway to the house I grew up in. I went back there recently, incidentally, and they’ve

obviously had driveway-un-steepeners in there since I was a kid, just to level it out a bit and make it seem like a normal run-of-the-mill suburban driveway, but the feeling of running down the original one was something else. Cheating death, air in your lungs, heart in your throat, experiencing a few suspended moments where your feet were moving, not because of a decision by you, but because the momentum was in control of everything. Having a second chance at that through remembering it? Well, how entirely lovely. Sometimes memories come at you through the space you’re in, too. The smell of grass might take you back to your childhood. The sight of a tree stretching across the sky above you with the clouds moving past behind you might remind you of lying on your back in the park. You’re getting a second chance at a lovely moment and enjoying the current one even more because of it. Bonus moments! Two for the price of one! One of the most generous things you can do is give someone a second chance. Forgiving someone for something that feels like it hangs over you both. Helping someone who hasn’t had your advantages. One of the most generous things I’ve seen in a workplace was the time the new kid messed up a huge mountain of photocopying and collating, and his boss noticed him standing rigid and horrified, trying to make sense of it all. She took one look at the situation, spread everything out on the floor and helped him. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, you know. This is the kind of thing that teaches us how it all works. That’s what you’re here to learn. Now you take the pink pile and I’ll take the blue.” The tension in him melted. He had a second chance after that. And a third. He outlasted the boss in that job. It’s not often you get a real second chance, according to the crime novel I can’t remember the name of, but you do get real second chances all the time. Every day. You just need to look out for them.

Lorin Clarke is a Melbourne-based writer. The new series of her radio and podcast series, The Fitzroy Diaries, is on ABC Radio National and the ABC Listen app now.

was in the library looking at of one of those crime novels where the title is smaller than the gold-embossed and capitalised writer’s name, and something is usually on fire in the background. Underneath the title (which I have completely forgotten) was the dramatic hook: “It’s not that often you get a real second chance…” I have no idea what it referred to in this novel; time travel is possibly involved, but I was distracted by the idea of a real second chance. It pops up a bit in fiction, usually to underscore a theme like redemption, fate, longing or self-improvement. It’s interesting for another reason too. Having a second chance means you get to do things again. Public Service Announcement: sometimes we all need a real second chance.

01 APR 2022

Take Your Chances

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Tastes Like Home edited by Anastasia Safioleas

FOOD PHOTO BY CHRIS MIDDLETON, PORTRAIT BY DAVID ROGERS PHOTOGRAPHY

Tastes Like Home Paul West

Chicken and Sweet Corn Soup Ingredients

Method

PLAN TO RECREATE THIS DISH AT HOME?

Give the chicken a quick rinse under cold running water, including inside the cavity. Transfer to a large saucepan, along with the garlic, ginger, peppercorns and thyme, then fill the saucepan with enough water to completely cover the chicken, plus a little more (ideally around 4 litres). Bring the water to a gentle boil over medium heat, then reduce the heat to low and simmer gently for 45-60 minutes, until the drumsticks pull away easily. Use a large, slotted spoon to remove the chicken from the pan and place it in a deep-sided baking tray to cool a little. Strain the stock into a large bowl and add the softened garlic cloves (discard the ginger and thyme), then return the stock to the saucepan, along with the rice, onion, carrot, celery and corn. Season with salt and pepper to taste, then bring to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes or until the rice is cooked through. Remove the pan from the heat. While the soup is cooking, shred the meat from the chicken and place it to one side. You can use the bones and bits to make stock, if you like, or you can discard. Stir the shredded chicken into the soup, then ladle into serving bowls. To garnish, scatter over a few coriander leaves and chilli flakes (if using), and season with salt and pepper. Any leftovers can be frozen for up to three months.

TAG US WITH YOUR CREATION! @BIGISSUEAUSTRALIA #TASTESLIKEHOME

PAUL WITH HIS SON BOWIE

Paul says…

f there was a meal that reminded me of my childhood, it would either be the classic rural Australian fare of meat and three veg pretty much seven nights a week, or the barbecues that my dad would cook on Sundays on a sheet of steel over a wood fire under the big gum tree. Now that I have a family of my own and have been out in the wide world for a couple of decades, those things are still part of what my family eats, though they aren’t really what I would consider the embodiment of my home kitchen. If I had to choose one thing now, it would be the chicken soup that I cook most weeks. It’s basically a whole chicken, covered in water and cooked slowly with whatever vegetables and spices I have to hand that won’t make the kids’ toes curl. Usually I pop it all in a slow cooker along with herbs from the garden and some black peppercorns. I try to get it on in the morning and let it tick away ever so slowly throughout the day, filling the house with its comforting aroma and tantalising me with the prospect of a hearty dinner that’s already sorted well before the manic endgame of dinner, bath and bed with the kids. It’s pretty much the one meal that I know my kids will eat without protest. It fills me with endless joy to see them slurping and stuffing their faces with such a nutritious meal. The other bonus is that one batch is always too much to eat in a single sitting so a container or two goes into the “couldn’t be bothered” food bank in the freezer, which is a godsend when you live in regional Australia and your takeaway options are extremely limited. It’s also the first thing I look for when I get home after I’ve been travelling for work. If there’s one thing that I hope my kids can cook by the time they leave home, it is this.

HOMEGROWN BY PAUL WEST IS OUT NOW.

01 APR 2022

1 onion, finely diced 2 carrots, finely diced 2 celery stalks, thinly sliced 4 sweetcorn cobs, kernels stripped and separated Coriander leaves Chilli flakes (optional) Salt and pepper

1.3kg whole chicken 1 garlic bulb, cut in half horizontally 10cm piece of ginger, sliced 2 teaspoons black peppercorns Small bunch of thyme 1 cup white rice, rinsed and drained

Puzzles By Lingo! by Lee Murray leemurray.id.au SILLY

CLUES 5 letters Black card Duck away Mental sparks Mountain nymph Sat for a picture

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

6 letters Climbed Epoch On the brink, ready Recommend Showed to be true 7 letters ___ tissue, cells storing fat Be without hope Had ambition Make available Spoke highly of 8 letters Satirises

P D E S O R

Sudoku

by websudoku.com

Each column, row and 3 x 3 box must contain all numbers 1 to 9.

3 2 7 6

7 8 9 9 1 8 4 3 5

1 3 2 1 5 2 6 7 8

7 6 4 9

Puzzle by websudoku.com

Solutions CROSSWORD ACROSS 9 Punctuation mark 10 Stencil 12 Support 13 Gladiator 14 Poach 15 Capital 18 Lioness 21 Moose 23 Nissen hut 25 Abridge 26 Leather 29 Domestic animals

Using all nine letters provided, can you answer these clues? Every answer must include the central letter. Plus, which word uses all 9 letters?

by puzzler.com

DOWN 1 Apes 2 Anne 3 Stockist 4 Hamlet 5 Minstrel 6 Snap up 7 Sabotage 8 Sketches 11 Tulsa 15 Commando 16 Programs 17 Lingerie 19 Operatic 20 Sauce 22 Em dash 24 Sultan 27 Heal 28 Rash

Word Builder

Silly started its life as the Old English gesælig “happy, prosperous”. By the 1300s, seely also meant “blessed”. Over the next few centuries, seely evolved to mean “innocent/harmless”, then took a turn to “pitiable” and “foolish”. German and English share a linguistic ancestor, so German has a similar word selig. Usually, when two languages share a close enough ancestor, many of their words will be similar in how they look and sound and also what they mean (think of English mouse versus German Maus). However, the German selig didn’t go through a change in meaning like the English silly did, so selig still means “happy” or “blessed”. On the upside, if you call someone “silly” and they take offence, tell them it’s a compliment in German.

20 QUESTIONS PAGE 9 1 Chanel 2 Queen Mary I 3 Hawaii, Union Jack 4 Ed Sheeran 5 Ho Chi Minh City 6 Napoleon I was his uncle 7 Darcy Vescio 8 A barber 9 $1 note 10 Flamingo 11 Seven 12 c) Invercargill 13 -40° 14 Scrabble 15 False 16 16 17 Nipples 18 1938 19 Split peas 20 The Great British Bake Off

Crossword

by Chris Black

Quick Clues 5

DOWN

Cryptic Clues

Solutions

9 Turned up in front of Rocky Mountain track,

1 Copies timeless recordings (4) 2 Article points to queen (4) 3 Most sturdily built discount e-retailer (8) 4 Small-town actor’s big role? (6) 5 Medieval performer Merlin’s playing with time (8) 6 Quickly secure photo to higher level (4,2) 7 Undermine state program over time (8) 8 Draws small sailboats (8) 11 24-down briefly travelled to American city (5) 15 9-across leader of National Party is solider (8) 16 Schemes in favour of small measures (8) 17 Reeling, I repaired underwear (8) 19 Extravagantly theatrical actor messed with pie (8) 20 Relish USA getting mixed up with Central European

say (11,4)

Animal Farm ? (8,7)

leaders (5)

22 Madly mashed 9-across (2,4) 24 Consultancy hosts middle eastern VIP (6) 27 That man promoted the French cure (4) 28 Reckless accident after opening (4)

SUDOKU

WORD BUILDER

01 APR 2022

DOWN

ACROSS

10 Clients spoiled design (7) 12 Drink wine for comfort (7) 13 Ancient entertainer trained a trail dog (9) 14 Hunt and cook (5) 15 Money in Canberra, perhaps (7) 18 Large noise startled small animal (7) 21 Animal’s hair product, reportedly (5) 23 Doctor uses Ninth Infantry’s quarters? (6,3) 25 Cut short a card game (7) 26 Exchange top of animal product for another (7) 29 Representation of mad socialist men found in

1 Big primates (4) 2 English queen (4) 3 Retailer (8) 4 Tiny village (6) 5 Medieval performer (8) 6 Buy in a hurry (4,2) 7 Destroy (8) 8 Draws (8) 11 City in Oklahoma (5) 15 Elite soldier (8) 16 Schemes (8) 17 Underwear (8) 19 Like The Magic Flute (8) 20 Condiment (5) 22 9-across (2,4) 24 Sovereign (6) 27 Get better (4) 28 Foolhardy (4)

5 Spade Avoid Ideas Oread Posed 6 Soared Period Poised Advise Proved 7 Adipose Despair Aspired Provide Praised 8 Parodies 9 Vaporised

2 5 7 3 6 8 1 4 9

8 9 6 4 1 5 3 2 7

4 3 1 2 9 7 5 6 8

9 1 2 5 4 6 7 8 3

Puzzle by websudoku.com

5 4 3 7 8 2 9 1 6

ACROSS

9 Element of writing (11,4) 10 Design pattern (7) 12 Provide assistance (7) 13 Russell Crowe film (9) 14 Illegally hunt (5) 15 Wealth (7) 18 Big cat (7) 21 Big deer (5) 23 Military building (6,3) 25 Condense (7) 26 Animal product (7) 29 Tame creatures (8,7)

6 7 8 9 3 1 4 5 2

7 6 4 1 2 9 8 3 5

1 8 9 6 5 3 2 7 4

3 2 5 8 7 4 6 9 1

Click

1934

words by Michael Epis photo by Colonel Robert Kenneth Wilson

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Loch Ness Monster (aka Nessie)

ho knew that the Loch Ness Monster once killed a man, which helped establish Christianity among Britain’s Picts, which led to the unification of tribes who birthed Scotland? It all started in 565 AD when a monk crossed the Irish Channel to spread Christianity. Saint Columba (as he would later be) headed straight to the king. Upon arriving, he found the fortress doors barred – but simply made the sign of the cross and lo, the doors fell open. Duly impressed, the king converted on the spot. Well played dude, no needless biffo. In his travels Columba soon came to Loch Ness. Let’s listen to his biographer, Saint Adomnán, for what happened next: “When he reached the bank of the river, he saw some of the inhabitants burying an unfortunate man, who was a short time before seized, as he was swimming, and bitten most severely by a monster that lived in the water… “The blessed man [Columba], on hearing this, directed one of his companions to swim over… Lugne Mocumin, hearing the command, obeyed without the least delay, taking off all his clothes, except his tunic, and leaping into the water. But the monster, which, so far from being satiated, was only roused for more

prey, was lying at the bottom of the stream, and when it felt the water disturbed above by the man swimming, suddenly rushed out, and, giving an awful roar, darted after him, with its mouth wide open, as the man swam in the middle of the stream. “Then the blessed man observing this, raised his holy hand, and, invoking the name of God, formed the saving sign of the cross in the air, and commanded the ferocious monster, saying, ‘Thou shalt go no further, nor touch the man; go back with all speed’. Then at the voice of the saint, the monster was terrified, and fled… And even the barbarous heathens were forced by the greatness of this miracle, which they themselves had seen, to magnify the God of the Christians.” True story. When the Picts converted, they united with other Christian tribes, whose union birthed Scotland. And so it is that almost 1500 years later, people are still searching for this killer of the deep, who, by the way is nowhere to be seen in this photo – which was exposed as a hoax, nothing but a model monster head on a toy submarine. Meanwhile, you can buy a monster T-shirt (“Nessie Lives”); an egg of the fearsome beastie, made of soap; or Loch Ness Monster drinking stones, for whisky drinkers who don’t want to spend their money on ice.

18 JUNE 2020

The Big Issue Australia #658 – Louis Theroux

Articles inside

My Word

Meet Your Vendor

Streetsheet

Hearsay & 20 Questions

Ricky

Film Reviews

Ed’s Letter & Your Say

Fiona