The Big Issue Australia #632 – Olivia Newton John by The Big Issue Australia

Ed.

g n li a e ‘ h r fo e m ti a is is h T ‘

632 12 MAR 2021

24.

LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA

20.

SEAL SECTION

and

30.

SARAH KRASNOSTEIN

NO CASH? NO WORRIES!

Some Big Issue vendors now offer contactless payments.

NATIONAL OFFICE

Chief Executive Officer Steven Persson Chief Financial Officer Jon Whitehead Chief Operating Officer (Interim) Chris Enright National Communications and Partnerships Manager Steph Say National Operations Manager Jeremy Urquhart EDITORIAL

Editor Amy Hetherington Deputy Editor Melissa Fulton Contributing Editor Michael Epis Contributing Editor Anastasia Safioleas Editorial Coordinator Lorraine Pink Art Direction & Design GOZER (gozer.com.au)

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Books Editor Thuy On Cartoonist Andrew Weldon

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Contents

EDITION

632

20 THE BIG PICTURE

Seal Section Photographer Louise Cooper visits Kangaroo Island’s Seal Bay and deep dives into the world of sea lions – playful, intelligent creatures that are under threat.

24 LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF

Nothing to Lose Hamilton’s Lin-Manuel Miranda remembers his Meat Loaf musical, his love of early 90s hip-hop and the time he performed for the Obamas.

12.

Hanging Out With Olivia by Jenny Brown

For the first time in her life, Olivia Newton-John is learning what “hanging out” really means: baking bread at home in California, concentrating on her health and making music with daughter Chloe. cover photo by Michelle Day contents photo by Getty

THE REGULARS

04 Ed’s Letter & Your Say 05 Meet Your Vendor 06 Streetsheet 08 Hearsay & 20 Questions 11 My Word 26 Ricky

27 Fiona 34 Film Reviews 35 Small Screen Reviews 36 Music Reviews 37 Book Reviews 39 Public Service Announcement

40 Tastes Like Home 43 Puzzles 45 Crossword 46 Click

30 BOOKS

Now I’m a Believer Ghost hunters, death doulas, UFO abductions – author Sarah Krasnostein follows six ordinary groups of people with extraordinary beliefs.

Ed’s Letter

by Amy Hetherington Editor @amyhetherington

E FO RT NI GH T LE TT ER OF TH

It’s Been a Year

Your Say

year ago, on a Tuesday evening, I swaddled my work computer in bubble wrap and humphed it home down quiet streets, past a half-empty tram bearing an ad for a Comedy Festival that had just been cancelled. The nation felt uncertain, uneasy. KeepCups and cash were outlawed at coffee shops. People sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to time their hand washing. Teddy bears appeared in windows, while pasta and toilet paper disappeared from supermarket shelves. Naively, I thought – I hoped – we’d be back in a couple of weeks, maybe months. Litres of hand sanitiser and boxes of face masks were secured for vendors. We all spoke about social distancing and how to keep safe. Then the Women’s Subscription Enterprise was put on temporary hold. And, for the first time in our 24 years, Big Issue vendors were unable to work on the streets. Now, a year later, in a world changed for all of us, we’re still here. The reality is, we couldn’t have done this without

you. You subscribed, you donated, you bought digital mags and hardcopies from Woolworths. And, just this month, you flooded our office with the postcards torn from our Vendor Week edition. Hundreds of messages of support and friendship, words of encouragement, drawings and jokes that are being delivered to vendors and WSE women around the country. “Seeing David back last weekend for the first time in months put the biggest grin on my face,” writes one unnamed Melburnian, while subscriber Janet in Perth writes: “Dear Kellie, your contribution means so much. I love getting my magazine at home; the stories make me laugh, cry, feel connected. Keep on doing an amazing job, though you may not even realise how much light your help brings to my life and all who receive The Big Issue.” And Jan in Brisbane says: “Dear Lenny, it’s always a pleasure to stop and have a little chat with you when I get my Big Issue. It brightens my day and helps me feel more socially connected, especially in these isolating times.”

The Big Issue Story

The two readers’ letters and Pat’s vendor story in Ed#630 together make a very important general point: Big Issue vendors are not only a very special group of people with the strength to have survived adversity to make a success of their work, but they also play a vital role in our communities. Each vendor is the warm heart of their location, radiating out to be inclusive, while showing us a generosity of spirit that is inspiring, and draws us together in a world that they know can be so divisive. ANNE RING COOGEE I NSW

I would like to say a few words regarding Dave S who was on the front cover of The Big Issue’s Christmas edition [Ed#626]. I rarely do this: this guy needs a good wrap. I always see Dave at Rhodes shopping centre in Sydney, out the front of the gym most mornings when he comes down. He is one of the most positive, happy blokes, and he is always brightening up everyone’s morning. Even when it’s raining and cold, Dave is there with his smile. I’d just like to acknowledge that he has a positive impact on the community, thank you.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

MICHAEL GREEN WEST RYDE I NSW

The Big Issue is an independent, not-for-profit magazine sold on the streets around Australia. It was created as a social enterprise 24 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 20 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

Anne wins a copy of Silvia Colloca’s new cookbook Simple Italian. Check out her recipe for Hand-cut Sagne a Pezze with Lamb Ragu on p40. 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 in Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam. We had a big family: my mother had eight kids. But we were a really poor family. When I was young I had a mental illness, and had a difficult life. I finished school really early, when I was 14 years old. I liked school, I was doing alright, and I learned many things. My parents couldn’t afford it, so I just did primary school. When I left school, I helped my mother do the housework – and my brother had a small business at home selling bicycles so I worked with him. I was 22 when I left Vietnam for Australia. This was in 1992. I wanted to change my life. I was hoping for a better future. I came with my younger sister, just the two of us. Then my mother and two brothers came after. We escaped by boat. We got on this small boat in Vietnam and we went on the ocean and then a big ship saw our boat on the ocean and rescued everybody. They took us to a refugee camp and then people from Australia interviewed me and they brought me to Australia. It was a very dangerous journey. We were on the boat for three days and three nights. One time we got lost and another time people from another boat came onto ours and they stole everything – like everyone’s gold jewellery. It was really scary. When we saw the big ship we screamed out “Help! Help!” and that’s when they rescued us. I’m lucky to be here in Australia. I went to Brisbane. I was there for seven years before I moved to Sydney. But things were difficult because of my mental illness. I couldn’t find a job and I got worse. Then I became homeless. I have a son now. He’s 31. I see him but he is away right now; he’s studying to be a farmer in Byron Bay. He’ll come back one day. Sometimes he stays with me. He really likes travelling so he’s away a lot of the time. I wish I was a grandmother by now! I would love some grandkids. I’ve been selling The Big Issue for almost four years. I’ve been selling in Randwick, which is good. I can make some money and I have lots of regular customers. I have lots of chats with them when they come and buy the magazine. And I like the flexibility – to be able to choose my hours and the days I sell the magazine. And people are really nice. I have good customers. I want to thank The Big Issue for letting me sell the magazine. And I want to thank my customers, who support me.

SELLS THE BIG ISSUE IN RANDWICK, SYDNEY

PROUD UNIFORM PARTNER OF THE BIG ISSUE VENDORS.

12 MAR 2021

interview by Anastasia Safioleas photo by Peter Holcroft

Mela

Streetsheet

Stories, poems and pictures by Big Issue vendors and friends

RETURN TO VENDOR

ST EV AN IN SP IRE, AT IO N

S BY BR AN DO DR OP TO SAY HE LL O

Steve is an avid Eagles fan, a passion he shares with his regular customer Brando when they catch up on Steve’s pitch at Elizabeth Quay, Perth. I’ve been selling The Big Issue for 13 years this year. You meet people and I work for the community. For about two years now, Brando buys from me every fortnight. But he’s been away on holidays for a few weeks, so he just bought three or four copies from me – I saved a few magazines for him. He’s a good customer. He’s a very good person and his wife is very nice, too. I see her every fortnight on a Friday, too. We just say hello and have a bit of a chat and talk a bit about the Eagles because he and his wife are both Eagles supporters. I’m a member, you see. Last year he helped me get the tickets for the Eagles games because I couldn’t do it online, but he did it for me. He’s very kind. He regularly buys me a nice cup of tea. He knows what cups of tea I have: white English tea, no sugar. Though he bought me a cool drink today and a crumbed beef sausage.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

STEVE SAYS

BRANDO SAYS Steve actually inspires me. Where I get off the train at Elizabeth Quay in Perth, a large volume of people get off the train and all walk in the same direction. The first week I started this new job here, I could hear a man in the distance saying, “Good morning! Everybody have a great day!” And no matter

what happened, he was still sprightly, still happy, even though a lot of people were walking past. Of course, people would also stop and buy the magazine. I stopped and talked to him and just developed this friendship. I’ve met so many people through Steve. He’s a very social person: people wave to him; people talk to him. He is spreading good spirit, really. Over the years we’ve talked about football – he loves getting out and going to the football. We talk about his family and my family and a lot about sport. Unfortunately to buy tickets these days, especially during COVID, you can’t go to a Ticketmaster window – you need to buy them online and use your credit card. I helped him out through that, so it still enabled him to do his hobby. Because if you don’t have a credit card and you can’t use the computer these days, life’s difficult isn’t it? He bought me a hat and a T-shirt for the Eagles, in appreciation, you know. Twice a week I bring him a cup of tea. It’s a very small step of paying it forward because I’m sure those thousand people who walk past him every day, without knowing it, are getting cheered up on their way to work with his good morning banter.

I Love You, Mum Today I received the most beautiful flowers from the staff at the Perth office of The Big Issue. My mum passed away peacefully on 12/1/21. I just wanted to say thank you for everyone’s wishes; it’s been most appreciated. Rest in peace, Mum. I love you. CAROLINE J LONDON COURT I PERTH

You Can’t Kill Rock’n’Roll Even if I couldn’t hear music in my room I’m sure I’d hear it in my mate’s garage or in Angus’ riffs Know what I mean? Bon Scott, as he said, “It’s a long way

10 in the world for a while. I was keen to come back to work at the end of it. It just felt great. After the cabin fever of lockdown, getting out selling the magazine sustains that liveability. NIGEL YARRAVILLE & MORDIALLOC I MELBOURNE

Guy Smiley Good morning Brisbane! Hope you’re COVID-19 free and that you’re sanitising every day. For those who have been buying their magazine online throughout this period, thank you for your ongoing support. Much love to all. Please keep that smile smiling.

Top 10 I’ve been selling the mag for a long time, since 2002, almost 20 years now. And when coronavirus struck, it was like a reset – almost like long-service leave for me. I stayed at home, played games on my phone: Homescapes, Gardenscapes and M Tag Pets. I was in the top

NATHAN 7-ELEVEN CNR ADELAIDE & CREEK STS I BRISBANE

to the top if you wanna rock’n’roll” But even if there were no concerts I’d hear Jon Farriss on the drums

C S: GRA US ENCER IN F L U IN S TA-FA M O D R AN HEPHNE

Michael Hutchence on vocals And Garry Gary Beers on bass guitar

You can’t kill rock’n’roll You can’t kill Aussie rock’n’roll DANIEL K HUTT ST, WAYMOUTH ST & NORWOOD I ADELAIDE

Alpaca My Cap On the first Sunday in February we went to Fletchers Ark Farmyard in Goulburn as part of our monthly fun day, run by The Disability Trust. At the farm we got to meet a lot of different types of animals including goats, guinea pigs and a deer. We had the opportunity to feed some of the animals and we also got to meet Hephner the Alpaca. Hephner is pretty famous and he has been on Sunrise. He has his own Instagram account. I got to take a photo of him and he even stole my cap! His Instagram account is @hephner_the_alpaca. GRACE KAMBAH SHOPS I CANBERRA

ALL VENDOR CONTRIBUTORS TO STREETSHEET ARE PAID FOR THEIR WORK.

12 MAR 2021

You could still hear rock’n’roll

Even if it wasn’t at Adelaide Oval

Hearsay

Andrew Weldon Cartoonist

“

My friend Michael Gudinski was first, last, and always a music man. I’ve toured the world for the last 50 years and never met a better promoter.

Rock legend Bruce Springsteen, on music impresario Michael Gudinski, who has died, aged 68. TWITTER

Moderna COVID-19 vaccination, which she partly funded. ROLLING STONE I US

“Hold that Tot – your main spud Mr Potato Head isn’t going anywhere!” The half-baked folks at Hasbro back‑flipping on an earlier announcement they were dropping the honorifics on the toy’s name “to promote gender equality and inclusion”. Instead, Mr and Mrs Potato Head will remain. TWITTER

“We are getting more and more visitors from around the world now. It has been quite an exciting journey.” Ian Beer, a parishioner at St Michael and All Angels Church in Ledbury, UK, on the discovery of a huge painting of the Last Supper by Renaissance artist Titian that’s been hanging in the church for more than a century. CNN I US

“I sing in the shower, I sing outside of the shower. I am unembarrassed about singing. My daughters and my wife sometimes roll their eyes. I have been known to have been scolded by my staff for doing some air guitar stuff on Air Force One.” Former US president Barack Obama chatting with Bruce Springsteen (he’s everywhere!) on their podcast Renegades: Born in the USA.

“This scale of change hasn’t happened before. It will need to be the most amazing thing humankind has ever done.” Microsoft founder and billionaire Bill Gates on exactly what is required to get to zero carbon emissions by 2050, which is what he says is necessary to avert catastrophic change on Earth. HARVARD BUSINESS REVIEW I US

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

PEOPLE I US

“[Doomscrolling] really just describes the compulsive need to try and get answers when we’re afraid. We are biologically driven to attend to that.” Pamela Rutledge, director of Media Psychology Research Centre in California, on the biological urge to read bad news in the perhaps misguided belief it will enable us to protect ourselves and our loved ones. BBC I UK

“If you stay too long at the party, your make-up begins to fade.” Judge Judy Sheindlin on hanging up her gavel – after 25 years dispensing tough‑love justice on TV. THE GUARDIAN I UK

“I just want to say to all you cowards out there, don’t be such a chicken squat – get out there and get your shot.” Superstar Dolly Parton on getting a “dose of her own medicine”, the

“That sausage will then make them sick and they will probably vomit and have a tummy ache.” Wildlife officer Diana Fogarty on a sizzlingly wackadoo conservation plan to cull cane toads and protect quoll populations in the Kimberley. The deadly toads are turned into sausages laced with a nausea‑inducing chemical and dropped from helicopters for the quolls to find. One bite and they’re put off forever. Straya, mate. ABC I AUS

“We made the mistake of having the words ‘New Zealand’ on our flyer.” Jemaine Clement, from Flight of the Conchords, on why back in 1998 his comedy show with then-unknown Taika Waititi failed to attract much of an audience in Melbourne. He has since gone on to have a wildly successful TV career. Waititi, meanwhile, has conquered Hollywood

20 Questions by Rachael Wallace

01 How many presidents of the United

States have been assassinated? 02 In what year did Perth host the

Commonwealth Games? 03 Which celebrity is the odd one out,

and why? A) Scarlett Johansson B) Ashton Kutcher C) Drew Barrymore D) Rami Malek 04 Who was the first openly

transgender person to be nominated for an Emmy Award? 05 As of the end of February 2021, how

many great-grandchildren does the Queen have? 06 What colour is the Senate chamber

in the Australian parliament? 07 Who invented the first black-box

flight recorder? 08 Where was the movie Crazy Rich

Asians set?

Overheard by Simon in Lennox Head, NSW.

a hunger strike to win citizenship for Guinean refugee Mamadou Yaya Bah, the only person to apply for an apprenticeship at her bakery. AFRICA NEWS

THE AGE I AUS

“I’m just glad someone out there likes it. I pretty much taught myself in here. I had to do something with this time… It’s either that, or crash and burn.” Alphonso Howard, who was sentenced to death in 1992 and remains on Death Row in San Quentin prison, on his paintings, which, like those of other inmates, are for sale. Well, until COVID stopped deliveries of paint. But at least California has halted executions. VICE I US

“Yaya was the only person who asked us to come here for an apprenticeship, because we are in the country.” Patricia Hyvernat, a baker in a remote French village, who went on

“I don’t know how they could expect that after all of this time we would still just be silent, if there is an active role that The Firm is playing in perpetuating falsehoods about us.” Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex, speaking to Oprah Winfrey about Britain’s royal family. At the same time, Buckingham Palace expressed concern that Markle may have bullied staff when she was in the UK. It’s a battle royale. THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD I AUS

“She is one tough koala.” Vet Claire Phillips on dog-attack survivor Fluffy, who endured an internal tear in her chest, a collapsed lung, broken ribs and extensive bruising – all with her joey on her back.

09 What is a lauwine? 10 Can you name the six children in

The Brady Bunch? 11 To which country is the giant

burrowing cockroach native? 12 At which Olympic Games did

Florence Griffith Joyner win three gold medals? 13 What award did Dr Miriam‑Rose

Ungunmerr Baumann AM recently win? 14 What is the name of the world’s

largest cave and where is it located? 15 Who won the 2020 ARIA Music

Award for Best Male Artist? 16 What is the most common last name

in the world? 17 Which foundation runs the annual

World’s Greatest Shave event? 18 Camille Claudel is known for her

association with which other famous sculptor? 19 What is the Latin phrase modus

vivendi commonly accepted to mean? 20 In what year did Ash Barty win

the French Open? 12 MAR 2021

“You’re a gluten for punishment”

with movies like blockbuster Thor: Ragnarok, picking up an Oscar along the way.

THE AGE I AUS

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

ANSWERS ON PAGE 43

EAR2GROUND

My Word

by Simon Castles

he school choir I was in was broken up by Toto, and specifically the song ‘Africa’. It began when our choir came under the control of a new teacher, a Miss Norman. Miss Norman was an elfin dynamo in heels, a wearer of deep red lipstick that would spot and smear across her front teeth when she became excited. She had a new teacher’s enthusiasm combined with a wavering voice and manner that suggested she’d ridden the express to breakdown station before, and was ready to hop on again. Before Miss Norman’s arrival, the choir – all boys, like the school – had primarily sung about God and school spirit. But Miss Norman wanted to shake things up, to make the choir more relevant to the times (the times being the 80s). She introduced to the repertoire a doo-wop version of ‘Blue Moon’ and a Billy Joel song, ‘The Longest Time’. It went well, too. Excited to not be singing about Jesus, we belted out Billy Joel at presentation night as if he were the baddest thing to ever happen to popular music. The success made Miss Norman giddy – but giddy in a way you knew was a mistake. You hated to see enthusiasm like that at my school – crushing enthusiasm was kind of what the school did best. Miss Norman decided our next song would be her “absolute favourite song in the world”. That song was ‘Africa’ by Toto. She pulled the cassette out of her bag and slipped it into the music room’s boom box. You could see she had played the tape a lot – it was worn and crusty, and stained, as if with wine and tears. She played the song several times through. She kept her eyes closed throughout and swayed gently, a smile at her lips. At the line “It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you” it was as if she were no longer in the room, but somewhere else – a place where drums echoed in the night and men were men. When she opened her eyes, and saw only us, a bunch of oily, stinky 15-year-olds, it must have been crushing. But she handed out the sheet music anyway, stepped to the piano and counted us in. It was the second verse that caused the trouble, and in particular the lines “I know that I must do what’s right/As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti”.

My mate Frawls pointed out the problem (and it wasn’t that Kilimanjaro doesn’t rise above the Serengeti, which is 300km away). Frawls, unlike the rest of us, understood music and timing. The rest of us did not. We were accepted into the choir for one reason, and that was a willingness, in a school full of thick-necked rugby players, to stand up and sing Billy Joel a cappella. “The line about the mountain has too many syllables in it,” Frawls said after we had stumbled through the song once. “It doesn’t fit the music. There aren’t enough beats for the words.” Miss Norman told Frawls he couldn’t be more wrong, and immediately raised her hand and counted us in again. One, two, three, four… But we believed Frawls – and the more so as the afternoon wore on and we repeatedly failed to sing the line successfully. We would always start the line confidently, but then find there wasn’t space or time for the Serengeti at the end – and how the hell could there be when the line already included the words Olympus and Kilimanjaro? Sometimes we would rush the line’s early words in the hope that this somehow put time in the bank for the later ones. Other times we would reach the final word with great assurance, punch out the first syllable, and then realise we were out of time and sort of dribble the rest. Mostly we just shot out the line – fast, blank and unemotional. But not once – in a good 30 attempts – did we sing the line well. Not once did the song sound remotely like what Miss Norman must have imagined in her head when she decided the choir would sing Toto, and bring her inner and outer life into some kind of beautiful harmony. To this day when I hear ‘Africa’ on the radio I marvel at the way singer David Paich manages this line, even as I continue to believe Frawls was right in saying the line has too many syllables in it for the music. But mostly when I hear the song, I think of Miss Norman. I think of her pained expression as we massacred her favourite song in the world over and over again. I think of how her hands shook as she pressed them to her temples. I think of how the choir broke up not long after this, and how Miss Norman left the school. And I think how it would be good if Miss Norman later found a choir to sing her song. A choir that knew it must do what was right, sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti, even if it doesn’t. Simon Castles is a sub-editor at The Age.

Simon Castles recalls how his school choir missed a beat.

12 MAR 2021

Toto Disaster

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

PHOTO BY

PHOTO BY TALKBOY TV

Jenny Brown has contributed to many magazines and newspapers around the world. She also plays the ukulele and sings in Sydney.

livia Newton-John didn’t intend to make more music. Hidden throughout the pandemic at her rural hideaway, she was concentrating on wellness, while living with stage-four cancer. Being busy doing nothing was a new experience for the evergreen singer,

songwriter, actor, entrepreneur and health activist, whose high-flying career, like that of so many other artists, had been grounded by COVID-19. Suddenly, Olivia discovered it was fun to stop, watch the blue jays in her California backyard, bake bread and simply smell the roses. Hanging out with daughter Chloe Lattanzi – on an extended visit from her legal marijuana farm in Oregon – was an added delight. “It’s a new thing for me,” laughs Olivia, who last year became a Dame of the British Empire for unflagging services to entertainment and charity. It’s a commitment that has never wavered, despite – or perhaps because of – her ongoing journey with cancer, first diagnosed in 1992.

by Jenny Brown

12 MAR 2021

Olivia Newton-John opens a window into her world on her farm in California, where she’s making music, baking bread and concentrating on her health.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

CHLOE LATTANZI ON HER MUM

but we actually have very similar tones, and music is the way we both express ourselves. “So it’s wonderful, not only because we did this together, but also because I feel the lyrics and message might help people see things from a different perspective. We are all part of the same human race and if we listen to each other, respect each other and love each other – for both our likenesses and our differences – we might just understand each other a lot more.” Has this world forgotten how to love? Are we blinded by the hate we let inside? No-one is giving in or giving up The lines are drawn and there’s no compromise This isn’t who we are. It’s easy to see why the resolute words struck such a chord with Olivia, who has stubbornly rejected any surrender to her illness. First diagnosed with breast cancer in 1992, when Chloe was six, she underwent a partial mastectomy and nine months of chemotherapy to become cancer-free. The horizon looked bright, although her first marriage to actor and dancer Matt Lattanzi ended three years later. But the sky crashed down in 2013. Olivia not only lost her much-loved sister Rona to an aggressive brain tumour – she also privately battled a recurrence of cancer, discovered by chance in her shoulder following a car accident. Worse was to follow when, in May 2017, Olivia was told the cancer had metastasised and spread to the bones in her lower back. Indomitable as ever, she learned to walk again after breaking her sacrum and being treated at the Olivia Newton-John Cancer Wellness and Research Centre at the Austin Hospital in Melbourne. Through it all – forced to deny rumours that she was on her “deathbed” – Olivia has stayed strong and spread a message of hope to others living with cancer. Losing friends and loved ones, including her five-year-old goddaughter Colette Chuda and actor Kelly Preston, only made her more determined. “It strengthens my resolve to do this research and find a cure for cancer,” she says. “That’s my dream, to find a cure for cancer. I’m helping myself but also wanting to help others feel good about living with cancer. That’s what I do: I live with it. I feel great and healthy and strong and I am very grateful.” Is she in pain? None, Olivia stresses – courtesy of devoted care from “Amazon John”, her “lovely husband” of 12 years.

PHOTO BY MICHELLE DAY

She’s like a force to be reckoned with, but a loving one.

“I never knew what ‘hanging out’ was. I was always working or travelling,” she says. “Now it’s like, ‘Oh, this is what it means!’ And it’s great, just staying home and making dinner with my daughter; I love it.” Learning to make the perfect sourdough was another bonus. “It’s a cliché now, but when I was baking, I didn’t realise everyone else was doing it too,” she continues, speaking long distance from the US, her Aussie accent still strong despite so many decades overseas. “The smell of sourdough is such a homely, lovely thing. I made it for six months and then I saw what it was doing to me! I had to cut back and go gluten-free again.” Time passed happily, pottering around with her husband – herbalist John Easterling – tending their menagerie of animals, catching up on books she had always meant to read, launching the Olivia Newton‑John Foundation in the US to support ground‑breaking plant medicine research. Even singing took a backseat. Until an acquaintance sent Olivia an inspiring anthem she had co-written – ‘Window in the Wall’ – and cheekily told her she needed to record it. “That wasn’t in my idea of the future at all,” says the four-time Grammy Award‑winner, who has sold more than 100 million records worldwide. “But I played the song and it made me really emotional. It reached out to me. The lyrics and melody resonated deeply and I immediately thought I’d love to sing it with Chloe. I just hoped she’d feel the same way! “Even though ‘Window in the Wall’ wasn’t written as a duet, I’ve always enjoyed singing duets more than singing on my own. I knew immediately that I wanted to record it with my daughter. So I called Chloe in Oregon, played it to her, luckily she loved it and here we are.” It’s not the first time this mother‑daughter duo has hit the studio in tandem. Their debut single together, ‘You Have to Believe’, reached No.1 on the Billboard Dance Club Songs Chart. “Last time she joined me in my dance world, this time I joined Mom in her country world,” explains Chloe, who has faced and overcome numerous personal struggles – with depression, anorexia, body dysmorphia, drug addiction and alcohol dependency – growing up in the spotlight. “I was really moved when Mom spoke to me about the song, because she could have asked any of her friends, well-known artists, to record it with her. We have different voices,

‘WINDOW IN THE WALL’ IS OUT NOW. FOR MORE ABOUT THE OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN FOUNDATION, VISIT ONJFOUNDATION.ORG.

12 MAR 2021

OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN, HER DAUGHTER CHLOE LATTANZI AND SOME OF THEIR FRIENDS

He’s a long-time advocate of plant-based healing, especially medical cannabis. At first the squeaky-clean star was reluctant to try cannabis, fearful of its mind-altering qualities, but today she is an enthusiastic advocate, lobbying the Australian government to legalise its use in holistic cancer treatments. Low dose cannabis oil, which clinical research has shown helps reduce pain, anxiety and insomnia, can now be legally purchased in Australia. Today, she is equally upbeat. “Cannabis helps me so much with pain, inflammation, sleeplessness, anxiety, moods…and it’s all thanks to John, who spent 30 years in the Amazon, collecting herbs.” Friends for around 20 years, they “found each other romantically” following the mystery disappearance of her on-and-off boyfriend of nine years, Patrick McDermott, on a fishing trip in 2005. “Actually, John invited me to the rainforest after watching me sing at a concert for the first time,” she says. “He’d never even heard Grease before then! But he thought my music was healing and I was a healer, so he

took me to meet the healers down there [in South America] and that’s where we fell in love. It was an incredible journey.” Both dedicated environmentalists, they share a passion for the natural world that spills over into everyday life on their ranch two hours outside Los Angeles. “One of my favourite things is to sit outside and watch the wild birds here. It’s very healing, like a meditation,” Olivia says. “There are 30 quail that come into the property every day, blue jays, sparrows, hawks, condors, finches… Gosh, I wish I knew all their names. I’m going to get a book so I can try to figure it out.” Refusing to give in or give up – just like the lyrics of ‘Window in the Wall’ – Olivia remains vibrant, fun, engaged, willing to learn and eager to share her experience for other people’s benefit. It can’t ever have been easy to confront cancer so publicly, especially for a woman so private, but Olivia has never lacked courage. Neither does her daughter. “I think we’ve learned strength from each other, you know,” reflects Olivia, still smarting that school bullies broke the news of her 1992 cancer diagnosis to Chloe, cruelly saying her mother was going to die. “She has a big, huge, compassionate, kind heart, apart from her talent and obvious outer beauty. That really touches me. “Chloe has been through a lot in her life and she has come through with strength, and I admire that. She explores things probably even more than I do. She sees both sides, which is what this song is about. Loving people even if you don’t agree with them. This is a time for healing.” Achieving a world beyond cancer – for herself and for others – is Olivia’s biggest dream, one that she hopes will become her legacy. Through plant medicine research and the use of integrated treatments – surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and more natural remedies – she believes a cure can and will be found. She hopes to be around to see and share it. “Mom has the most beautiful heart,” Chloe says proudly. “I look at her and she’s like a force to be reckoned with, but a loving one. She changes the world with everything she does. She’s a person I really look up to. I think she’s incredible.”

Michael McGirr explores a pandemic‑stricken Melbourne, and finds it brimming with humanity. by Michael McGirr Michael McGirr is a Melbourne writer whose most recent title is Books That Saved My Life.

illustration by Col McElwaine

Unmasked

n a Monday, I am on the train heading to a new job. A young man is leaning on the door, absorbed in a book. He is the very image of 2021: he has a mask, a phone, tatts, a backpack and his hat is turned backwards. The book is a paperback of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, a work that is 1800 years old. The man’s copy has Post-it notes in it. We get chatting and he tells me he prefers the work of Seneca, as do I. I wish I was staying on for a few more stops to hear more about his interest in philosophy. As long as young people read philosophy on the train, there is hope for us all. On a Tuesday, a blind man struggles to get on the tram with a white stick and three bags. He is large and people make way as he tries to sit down. But first he needs to put on his mask, which is wrapped around a sausage roll. A woman in a business suit offers to help, getting tomato sauce on her sleeve. He is grateful and offers to share his sausage roll. She declines but, when his stop comes, helps him to get off.

not wearing the blue T-shirt of the business. He knows too much about fish to worry about T-shirts. “Get them working,” I say as a joke. “I never went to school,” he replies. Then slows down. “Not. One. Day.” He seems uncomfortable with numbers and the machines that look after them. “Schools are for fish,” he says. On a Friday, there is a man at the local shops with a mental illness. He is yelling at traffic and passersby. A man appears from the smallgoods store and tells him he should be wearing a mask as he is endangering everybody around him. The man starts slapping the postbox. A police officer arrives in a van, pulling his trousers up over his belly and fixing his mask as he approaches the situation. He sits down with the man and begins a conversation in a most gentle manner. After a while, the two are sharing a joke. It seems a promising beginning to whatever might follow. The officer is prepared to take time to help the situation and treat the man with dignity. I know this is not

12 MAR

always the case. I feel grateful for both these men. On a Saturday, I am at the park with the dog. There is a man there with whom I have often chatted, but I haven’t seen him around for a long time. He looks different; for some reason he seems shorter. He tells me that his wife of 27 years has passed away. He pauses before taking a plunge. “She took her own life,” he breathes. He came home and found her. She had been a schoolteacher and found online teaching extremely stressful. She was worried about her students and increasingly anxious. But he could never have expected this in a million years. Perhaps there were other issues as well. He asks me to watch her funeral, which is still online, as it was beautiful. His sons have been kind but now it is only the dog that gets him out of bed and moving. He is thankful for the dog. I can’t see his face because of the mask, but his eyes tell the story. On a Monday during lockdown, a school day, I am looking out the window and see my 15-year-old son escaping on his bike. I am not sure where he is going or whom he is seeing. He is wearing a mask but no helmet.

On a Wednesday, I visit the IGA and the man in front of me is wearing cotton gloves. Over the top of these he has surgical ones. He has a disposable mask over his washable one. He has a tight-fitting beanie and, even on a warm day, holds his jacket closed, like a shield. When his turn comes, he asks for a carton of cigarettes. On a Thursday, Christmas Eve, I am at the fish shop well before 8am. It’s already busy. We often have snapper for Christmas because it is an event worthy of such a noble creature. When my turn comes, I am glad that the old man is serving me. I watch him gut and scale the fish and know that this is a craftsman at work. He is talking to me but his hands are at one with the fish, deeply respectful. His mask is hanging out of his top pocket. “Christos anesti,” I say and he laughs because that is the Easter greeting. “Kyrie, eleison,” I say, Lord have mercy. I don’t know much other Greek and he always thinks it is hysterical to hear church words over the counter. They belong someplace else. The fish are a little small so I ask for a third one. When the time comes to pay, he gets one of the young people to add up the two sums. There are a dozen staff and he is the only one

2021

I visit the IGA and the man in front of me is wearing cotton gloves. Over the top of these he has surgical ones. He has a disposable mask over his washable one.

Pack to the Future Rachel Watts teaches her young pup new tricks, and discovers a community along the way. Rachel Watts writes about mental health, community and the environment. She lives on Whadjuk Noongar country. You can find her at wattswrites.com. @watts_writes

omehow, I forgot that you need to train a dog. We barely used the lead in the last year of our old dog’s life. Kraken was a little terrier cross, weighing all of five kilograms. We adopted him as an adult, and by the time he was 11 we were doing a quick circuit around the same park each day. He’d sniff and meander and present himself at the edge of the car park when he was done. He was never very social. He would greet a dog politely but almost immediately move on. He wasn’t keen on people either and hated busy, noisy places. Our world with Kraken was small and quiet and we got used to it that way. He knew dinnertime and bedtime and when he got old and sick, we took him out to pee on a schedule like he was a puppy. So I just, sort of, forgot that it was I who trained him to walk on a leash. To sit. To respond to his name. Then he was gone, and soon a new dog came along, an eight-month-old puppy who had been returned to the rescue because he didn’t like dogs. We named him Davy Jones (after the pirate legend, not The Monkees singer, but he’ll respond regardless) and were instantly charmed by his bouncing friendliness. He’s a daydream believer. We were told to socialise him, which was great for us because we love dogs. “Find some calm, small dogs to walk with,” the shelter trainer said. “Half an hour each day.” So we put the word out to friends, family, neighbours. I even left a post on the dog park Facebook group, because of course the dog park has a Facebook group. “Seeking small, calm dogs to walk with our new pup Davy.” And people responded.

Gradually, we came to meet Harry from a few doors down; Maple from up the hill; Zizni, Zeb and Winston from the dog park. We introduced Davy to Pepper, who lives in the house right behind us, and my mum’s dog Ginger. He learned to be calm with older dogs Bones and Mia over Christmas lunch. And on each walk, with Davy chaotically darting from side to side and the calm dog we were walking with looking on bemused, I got to know my neighbours. I discovered what they do, and who their children are. I learned about their hobbies and their volunteering. They suggested training techniques and schools, and shared resources that helped them when their dogs were at the chaotic stage. I forgot that I had, years ago, trained my last dog. But I also hadn’t reckoned with the power of the pack. The supporters, the fellow dog owners, the community that understands how important it is to give a dog the opportunity to be his best. We all benefit from well‑trained, well-socialised dogs. By extension, I realise how those neighbours and supporters have also given me an opportunity to be my best. They gave me reassurance that dogs do grow out of the puppy stage. They reminded me that Davy isn’t the only social creature here, that I too need gentle socialisation. If the times we live in have taught us anything, let it be the importance of community: we all benefit from healthy, well-developed local networks, and that we each can contribute to creating them. It turned out that Davy loved dogs. He adored dogs, and wanted to play with them: big dogs, small dogs, he was 100 per cent for dogs. It was the lead he hated. A lead is a human imposition, and I don’t blame him for hating it. A puppy’s instinct is to sprint, everywhere their nose takes them. Everything is fascinating to a puppy. We introduce them to a thousand things and then we teach them to ignore them, to walk neatly by our side, no matter what. I marvel at the instinct inside Davy, every time he sees a dog run, to run with it. The yearning for the pack. And that yearning is in me too, I realise. I recognise how hard his training is, when he is filled with the desire to be with his kind, to belong. At the park one day, Davy takes off after a dog and I call his name, and watch him perform a sharp U-turn to come back to me. “Great recall,” a stranger says. And I preen, because this is my pack. You can’t teach anything without being taught in return. As I teach Davy to be calm, I learn to be excited by the scents and sounds around me. I teach him we belong to each other and we learn to value that togetherness, the teamwork that makes this journey what it is. Most of all, I’m learning the power of the pack, the strength and support of the community around me, and to appreciate something as simple as sharing a walk with someone new.

Grow Your Own Way Among the jasmine, a white banksia rose and a blue-flowering plant, Gabrielle Gardner sows a new life. Gabrielle Gardner is a Melbourne writer. She lives in Eltham and blogs at gabriellegardner1.blogspot.com. @gabygard1218

hen the first lockdown hit at the beginning of 2020 I had been a widow for just one year. The shock of my husband’s early death was still all-consuming, his ongoing absence paralysing. I imagined him everywhere and thought constantly of things I must tell him. Our two dogs raced to the couch and leapt up to stare hopefully out the window whenever a car came near our driveway, breaking my heart all over again. I knew I could cope, knew I’d survive, but what for?

next day I found myself out in the new space, idly pulling out jasmine, which I soon discovered is not something you can do idly at all. I found the mattock and set about waging war on the jasmine roots that had commandeered the whole area. I came inside at about midday, red-faced and sweating but having discovered that the soil in that unused part of the garden was black and friable and home to a healthy colony of earthworms. Surely something else would grow there. Now, despite the bad press it gets a lot of the time, I have an enviable network of people on Twitter, a lot of them writers, many of them nature photographers and nearly all of them avid gardeners. I started to pay closer attention to their posts about plants and gardens. In lockdown my Twitter pals became my best resource, commenting positively on the progress I had made, posting inspirational photos of their own plants and gardens and sharing ideas for sourcing plants online while we could no longer make raids on the local nurseries. A highlight came when, unable to identify a deciduous blue-flowering plant I had resurrected, I asked for help on Twitter. Within minutes I received a reply from an unknown person in California. It’s Caryopteris, she said, and it is. Seems gardeners know no borders. In the year that followed I created a whole new garden out the back where the shed had been. The fence now sports climbing roses and a variety of perennials that are growing like Topsy. I started on the front yard. It was only a “yard” – a struggling lawn labouring under the greed of some huge gum trees that sucked the life out of anything beneath. Soon I became aware that the more active I was outside in the garden, the more my head was filled with plans instead of grief. If anything kept me awake at night it was a visual journey of what things might look like if I spread mulch to kill what poor grass remained,

dug in compost, created pathways through the trees and chose plants that were as tough as old boots. The costs were minimal. Cuttings from my own and friends’ gardens, and dividing and transplanting things from one place to a new location soon saw my front yard begin to transform, as did I. I came inside at the end of each day sore from digging and pulling weeds, from shovelling and spreading barrows full of mulch and disposing of dead soil. But I felt good. As I respond to my garden my garden responds to me. After a year I beam over it like a proud parent. I walk the new paths I created and I tend the plants with love. I have reconnected to life.

I’d had a few awards and enough things published to have started calling myself a writer, but with his death every creative thought dropped out of my head and has so far never returned. Every night for four months I sat at the table alone, in silence, doing nothing. But one evening, sitting on the old sleeper steps out in the backyard, I looked at the space where I’d had an old shed removed. Straggling trails of jasmine remained and one unstoppable white banksia rose. I wondered what the soil would be like and if I could plant something else there along the fence. Eventually darkness fell, the birds all went wherever birds go at twilight and I reluctantly came inside. Early the

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Soon I became aware that the more active I was outside in the garden, the more my head was filled with plans instead of grief.

series by Louise Cooper

Kangaroo Island’s sea lions are an adventurous, playful lot, who have survived unrestricted hunting, but now face new challenges. by Anastasia Safioleas Contributing Editor @anast

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

The Big Picture

Seal Section

A sea lion at the aptly named Seal Bay on Kangaroo Island, SA

12 MAR 2021

ith their goofy smiles and big brown eyes, Australia’s sea lions are adorable. Photographer Louise Cooper should know: in late 2019 she visited Kangaroo Island with a team of vet scientists from the University of Sydney to photograph the sea lion colony at picturesque Seal Bay. Cooper spent hours sitting with her camera amid sand dunes watching sea lions go about their day – mothers tending to their pups, huge males lazily sunning themselves on the sand, others playing bitey-face in the surf. “They are just like puppy dogs,” she says. But there is another side to these playful creatures. As it turns out, the sea lion colony is also a hotbed of drama. “The males are quite bullish and make a lot of noise – they often fight each other,” says Cooper. “And females get a bit of a hard time because as soon as they’ve given birth, males are waiting around to mate – they don’t get much of a rest.” The mothers are especially protective of their pups. “You can ward them off by waving your arms and making yourself look big, but there were a couple of times where I just had to pick up my things and run,” she says, describing the time she was photographing a pup, only to look up and discover its mother barrelling down the sand dune towards her. Sadly, these intelligent creatures are in trouble. Hunted almost to extinction in the 1800s, their slow recovery has been hampered by their very long gestation period – Australian sea lions breed every 18 months, compared to 12 months for fur seals. Over the last four decades, sea lion numbers have fallen by more than half. Cooper was on the South Australian island to document the important work being done by vet scientist Dr Rachael Gray and her team, who are trying to find out why. “Hookworm disease is quite common in Australian sea lions,” Cooper explains. “So scientists like Dr Gray are treating them with a topical antibiotic to see if they can stamp it out.” High levels of mercury and E coli have also been discovered in their system. Together, these human pollutants form a battering ram on the sea lions’ immune systems. It’s a worrying development, considering their California counterparts have been dying of a mysterious cancer for decades. Scientists agree toxic chemicals are the likely cause, so there are hopes stamping out hookworm in Australian sea lions will give them a better chance of survival. The team’s visit to Kangaroo Island was on the eve of the devastating bushfires that swept through much of the island, destroying wildlife and precious animal habitat. Dr Gray raced from Sydney to check on the seals and, apart from ash that had washed to shore, the sea lions were mostly oblivious to what had happened. Thankfully, the sea lion colony at Seal Bay survived unscathed. “The fires were absolutely heartbreaking,” says Cooper, who hopes to return to the colony with Dr Gray and her team, who for now are keeping a firm eye on this at-risk group of sea mammals.

FOR MORE, GO TO LOUISEMCOOPER.COM.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

“Just like puppy dogs”...with flippers

Dr Rachael Gray looks out for sea lions at Seal Bay Conservation Park, Kangaroo Island

Shannon Taylor shows the antibiotic to be administered to a sea lion pup

Up close and personal

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Mariel Fulham and Shannon Taylor capture a sea lion for testing

Letter to My Younger Self

Nothing to Lose Hamilton star Lin-Manuel Miranda on his teen Meat Loaf musical, performing for the Obamas and his love of hip-hop. by Jane Graham The Big Issue UK @janeannie

AS ALEXANDER HAMILTON

am 16 years old and obsessed with two things – movies and musicals. I am desperately trying to get myself into a position where I can make these things when I grow up. I am just starting to write my first musical, a 20-minute musical we put on at school, called Nightmare in D Major. I’ve already filmed a couple of two-hour-long movies with my friends with my camcorders. When I was 16 I took it all so much more seriously than I do now. I remember having a temper tantrum one day when I really wanted to film a scene for my Meat Loaf musical and my friends didn’t show up. I was like an angry bigwig Hollywood director, trashing my own room. Then I was like, Well, who have I hurt here except myself? I’m going to have to clear all this up now. My parents both loved musicals – we listened to a lot of musical cast albums. Camelot; The Sound of Music; my dad’s favourite, The Unsinkable Molly Brown, with Debbie Reynolds. He was in love with Debbie Reynolds all his life. And I was always interested in hip-hop. I grew up just one neighbourhood away from where it all started in the South Bronx. Hip-hop really was in a great place in the early 1990s, with so many different genres. A Tribe Called Quest, Dr Dre, Biggie… I’m grateful I grew up in that time, when hip-hop could be anything and tell so many different stories. Some of the best storytellers I know are people like Biggie. So it was a no-brainer for me to bring hip-hop into theatre because of course it could tell stories as well as musicals could. I was definitely an anxious kid. I don’t think it’s an accident that all the protagonists in my shows are grappling with legacy and how much time they have. I think that’s hardwired into you as a New Yorker, but it’s also something I was painfully aware of at a very young age [his best friend in

HAMILTON MAKES ITS AUSTRALIAN PREMIERE AT THE SYDNEY LYRIC THEATRE 17 MARCH.

12 MAR 2021

TOP: WITH WIFE VANESSA NADAL BOTTOM: AT THE WHITE HOUSE IN 2016

giant fallacies that I was holding in my head. Things I thought that only I thought. That’s the greatest thing about therapy: you finally confess this huge secret that only resides in your heart, and they go “Yeah, that’s perfectly normal. What else you got?” And that thing that felt so huge in your head looks so tiny once you’ve laid it on the table. The most nervous I’ve ever been in my life was in 2009 when I sang the opening number of Hamilton to Barack and Michelle Obama in the White House. I’d only ever sung that song before to my wife and the guy at the piano. They’d [the Obamas] asked for a song from In the Heights [his first and, at that point, only production] but they also said, “unless you have something about the American experience”. And I had 16 bars on Alexander Hamilton. The first vote of confidence I got on it was from Stan Lathan, a legend in Hollywood, who was producing that evening. I sent him the lyrics – I hadn’t even finished the music – and he wrote back: “Okay, you’re closing.” I asked him beforehand, “Is it cool to sing about a son of a whore?” And he was like, “Yeah, that’s cool.” But that arrogance of youth! I’m appalled at the swagger of the 28-year-old me, to try something untested in an arena like that. I’d only written 16 bars! Me at 39, I’d never do something that risky at the White House. But 28-year-old me, with just one show under my belt, nothing to lose – off I go! I was nervous at the White House until the moment I started singing the song. If you watch the footage [on YouTube] you can see it. My voice breaks. Yeah, the intro was shaky. But as soon as it started, I knew my 16 bars cold, and you can see my confidence grow. Yeah, it turned out pretty good. If I could go back to any time in my life it would be the week we performed the Sixth‑Grade musical. My ambitious music teacher, who directed the Sixth Graders, did a four-hour extravaganza of 20-minute versions of six musicals. That’s a lethal dose of musical theatre. I had to play a farmer in Oklahoma!, Conrad Birdie in Bye Bye Birdie, Captain Hook, back-up to Addaperle in The Wiz, a son in Fiddler on the Roof and Bernardo in West Side Story. It was hard work but ah, the joy of all of school being about putting on a musical. And then all our parents and the entire school watching. The Sixth-Grade show is a big deal. When you’re in Fourth and Fifth Grade, you’re all going, “What’s the Sixth-Grade play going to be when we’re Sixth Graders?” Your whole life builds up to it. And the fact that we got to do six of them! It was a wild dream for me. It was the most thrilling week of my life.

PHOTOS BY JOAN MARCUS, GETTY

kindergarten drowned in a lake behind her home]. I thought, We might only get one go around; what am I going to get done in that time? Cut to me trashing my bedroom because my friends haven’t shown up for my video. I was a very sensitive child, very empathetic. I could watch something bad on the news and that would be me in the foetal position all day. I think that stressed my parents out a lot, that I would extend my empathy so far that it would cripple me. I mean, it would ruin me for a day. But I also think my mum worked hard to protect that in me. She saw it early and the tools she gave me for dealing with that were, “You want to be a writer, right? It’s all grist to the mill. Remember what this feels like. One day one of your characters will feel like this and you can pull this memory out.” If you met the teenage Lin now, I think you’d find him pretty funny. He’s not without his charms. But he’s very self‑serious. If you wanted to talk to him about film or theatre he’d talk your ear off about his theories. And probably he’d be a little insufferable with his intensity. Picture your most insufferable record‑store guy – that would be me at 16. “What you really have to underSTAND is…” But when you go through making something yourself, you realise how hard it is and become a lot kinder. Even if you don’t respond to something, you just go: well, they tried. Then you see Sweeney Todd or West Side Story and you surrender to it, and then you’re transported back on Earth at the end of the show and you think, What the fuck just happened here? If only I could one day write something as gorgeous or as deep or as complex as that. The younger me would be very pleasantly and happily surprised that I found someone I love and want to spend my life with, and we’d have kids. Because you’re terrified at that age. Well, I’m the most hideous, unlovable thing in the world. Will anyone ever kiss me? And Will I ever get to first base? So the fear that I might never find someone – younger me would be shocked to hear he found someone who is actually just two corridors away in the same high school. But I’d tell him to relax. When I had my first serious girlfriend, around sophomore year, we stayed in the relationship too long because we thought This is it. Nobody else will ever love me, I’ve found the one person, so I’m going to hang on for dear life, all through college. We were terrified to let go. I’d tell the young me it’s okay to feel lost and alone for a bit. There are going to be a lot of people in your life in the future. I’d tell my younger self to go to therapy a lot sooner. I eventually went when I broke up with my first serious girlfriend. And there were so many

Ricky

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Even I was able to work out the one salient problem with our carport: it provides no useable port for a car.

by Ricky French @frenchricky

A Carport in Any Form

f there’s one topic Australians of a certain age never tire of talking about, it’s home renovations. I’ve spoken about it at least twice before on these very pages and gotten tired very fast, but this is not about me, it’s about my service to the community. I am willing to bore myself senseless if it makes for polite conversation, although my personal aversion to reno-chat evidently isn’t shared by fans of The Block. I would actually like to put myself forward as a potential contestant on The Block. A camera crew could follow me around day after day, year after year, as I lament the sorry state of my carport but never actually do anything about it. Now, you may have gathered that I’m not the most practical Aussie bloke ever invented, but even I was able to work out the one salient problem with our carport: it provides no useable port for a car. Whoever built it must have owned either a Morris Minor or a convertible, because once parked it’s physically impossible to open the doors of any normal car. I suspect the original builders realised this slight miscalculation after they built it, because they hung a clothesline from the ceiling of the carport, as if to suggest that they always intended to build a lavish outdoor laundry. As a clothesline, our carport does indeed do a fabulous job, but that doesn’t get around the fact that there’s still no room to park a car – hanging undergarments or no. So of course there was nothing left to do but spend years whinging about this predicament while not doing anything about it. I’ve always overachieved in this department so that was easy, and I assumed I’d do it permanently. Except that now the carport is rotting and threatening to collapse through our neighbour’s bathroom window, which has prompted our lovely

neighbour to offer to help me rip down the current heap of junk and build a new one. He is a very practical Macedonian man who lives on a diet of VB cans and Winnie Blues and can build and fix anything. Unfortunately, we don’t speak the same language and I need his wife to translate, but from his gestures I gather his plan is for us to rip down the carport with our bare hands and stuff it in the rubbish bin. That’s Stage One of the project. Stage Two: he builds a new carport while I nip down to the bottle-o and keep him in a steady supply of beer and smokes. Only problem now is that the carport may be riddled with asbestos. I’m no builder, nor doctor, but I suspect this is not good. I’ve had a similar experience before, about 12 years ago. My work was moving from one condemned building into another, and they got us to start ripping down walls and carting furniture around. It was quite fun – if a little dusty – and I was looking forward to continuing the next day, but when I turned up to work in the morning, the area was cordoned off with emergency tape and men in full-body hazmat suits and breathing apparatus were walking around. I guess someone must have seen a rat or something. I have no doubt that my neighbour will have no qualms with ripping down the carport, suspicious building material or no. But the sensible thing to do is to pay someone a lot of money to identify the substance and then dispose of it. That sounds like work and it sounds like expense and it sounds like effort. I’d love to get stuck in, but I suddenly have a lot of washing to do…and I know just where to hang it.

Ricky is a writer, musician and airer of clean laundry.

by Fiona Scott-Norman @fscottnorman

PHOTOS BY JAMES BRAUND

t’s been a year, lying dormant, biding its time like Eocene bacteria trapped in the Antarctic ice sheet, but theatre and comedy are thawing out and returning to Melbourne. Events are shyly pushing through the cold hard soil like spring bulbs finding the light. Over here: a peculiar late-arvo outdoor stand-up gig, comics with diminished match‑fitness squinting at the sun, the audience thrilled just to be out. Unfamiliar rhythms. Was that a joke? Is this where we laugh? God, we’re so ready to laugh. Over there: a socially-distanced play at an independent theatre, audience masked up, preparation for the show interrupted so many times by lockdowns that the actors, performing behind a COVID-19 safety line on the stage, aren’t entirely in their bodies. They’ve been on Zoom for a year, so they’re…out of practice. The play is not as urgent as when it was programmed, 12 months and a pandemic ago. Its importance, now, lies in that it’s on. That, in itself, is the miracle we’ve turned up for. Everything is raw and weird. Everyone is giddy. The musical Come from Away is back, huzzah, the last show I saw before we locked down, the night before it was peremptorily closed, the same day the Comedy Festival was cancelled. Live performance was the first thing to go, and it’s the last to return. Arts wise, March 2020 was pretty much the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, that glorious behemoth, just reopened. At 85 per cent capacity, of course, the closest to a full house allowed, that shaving of 15 per cent of bums on seats no doubt playing merry havoc with their bottom line. On return, the cast were handed a 117-page manual of COVID-19 protocols. It’s not “magic” backstage, but science and precision, an army of cleaners and hand-sanitiser stations. We’re all relearning how to do this. How to be together again. Which, praise the Lord and pass the tambourine, is the core function

of live performance. It has been terrible without it. Terrible. I know, I know. Blah blah COVID, blah blah Melbourne. I don’t mean to bang on. And I get that, from a distance, it may appear that all Melburnians care about is AFL, assigning people their preferred pronouns and single‑origin coffee. But truth to tell and fine cuisine aside, our city is nothing without the arts. The arts are, to reference the important cultural touchstone of Star Trek under the captainship of James Tiberius Kirk, the matter-antimatter warp drive of our Starship Enterprise. Our engine. When the theatres went dark, we were becalmed in the middle of the galaxy. Nothing to power us, mojo in absentia. There’s a reason that in certain circles (yes, indeed, the arts), the cities of the east coast are sometimes known, respectively and affectionately, as BrisVegas, SydFrancisco and MelBerlin. MelBerlin is brooding, has its collar up, and is keen on “happenings”. We are all about our laneways: sitting in them, next to rubbish bins, on milk crates, drinking very expensive wine. We’re an international City of Literature, we wear black and we read Interesting Books, and then Discuss Them. We bloody love an art gallery. We attend shows of all kinds. MelBerliners, I’m afraid to report, use terms like mise-en-scène. I know you know about Melbourne and lockdown. And that we won’t shut up. But maybe we can now. Because performance! Performance is back! There was a lockdown meme called “nature is healing”. It started with photographs of wildlife walking abandoned city streets, and morphed into pictures of dumped bicycles languishing in a Minneapolis canal. Well, in Melbourne, nature is healing – one street performer juggling to three people at a time.

A writer and comedian, Fiona is all ’art.

12 MAR 2021

Arts About

We’re all relearning how to do this. How to be together again. Which, praise the lord and pass the tambourine, is the core function of live performance.

Fiona

Genesis Owusu is one of the most exciting new artists on the local scene, and his debut album is a kaleidoscopic take on two black dogs. by Declan Fry @_declanfry

Declan Fry is an essayist, poet, critic and proud descendant of the Yorta Yorta. His work has appeared in Griffith Review, Kill Your Darlings, Liminal and elsewhere.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

he first thing Genesis Owusu wants to assure me is this: he and The Weeknd are just fine. “I mean, there’s a very big chance that it was just a coincidence… But if we performed together I would bring it up immediately,” he says of the suspicions that arose on Twitter last month following The Weeknd’s Super Bowl performance. His face covered in bandages (think HG Wells’ The Invisible Man), The Weeknd’s new get-up was unusually close to that of Genesis Owusu (real name Kofi Owusu-Ansah), who had obscured his own face with hospital garb months earlier in the teaser shots of his debut album cover. “We’re really in PR mode now: putting the album cover everywhere, sponsored ads,” says Owusu. “But people seeing me for the first time, with no idea who I am, their immediate thought is just Who is this guy copying The Weeknd?” Still, it’s no surprise to learn that The Weeknd may have been inspired by Owusu. Like Talking Heads, one of his own influences, Owusu is sui generis. A born musical chameleon and one of the most exciting new artists to arrive on the Australian scene in years, he proves himself unusually kaleidoscopic on Smiling With No Teeth. Marked by multilayered production and mood shifts, opening track ‘On the Move’ recalls the golden era of techno and 80s-90s house and hip-hop (think Public Enemy and The

PHOTO BY BAILEY HOWARD

Music

Genesis Owusu

Tooth of the Matter

Prodigy), while ‘Drown’ is a new‑wave vamp pitched somewhere between Joe Jackson and Todd Rundgren, with a dash of David Bowie. The eclecticism is thanks, Owusu says, to the interplay between the musicians involved. “We put together a band of ragtag musicians from completely different genres. My manager [Andrew Klippell], a jazz pianist, was on keys, along with Kirin J Callinan on guitar, Touch Sensitive on bass and Julian Sudek on drums.” Recorded in “sweltering heat” in a studio no bigger than a bedroom, the band gathered and played over six days, spending up to 10 hours each day jamming. “The recording process was extremely uncomfortable and extremely unorthodox,” Owusu says. “I think the uncomfortable nature of the room kind of stripped everyone down to bare essentials. We did nothing but play music. It was all we could do! We couldn’t really function. But you home in on what really matters. All the facades go away. It was too hot to try and act cool.” A lack of facade animates much of Owusu’s music and personality. Born in Koforidua, Ghana in 1998 to a gospel singer and a probation officer, his family migrated to Australia three years after Owusu’s birth to give their children greater opportunity. “It’s always a culture that I’ve simultaneously been close to and also felt not close enough to. I can understand the native tongue but I can’t speak it fluently. I feel like being part of the diaspora is a culture in itself,” he says. Although Owusu acknowledges identity issues in Australia, he calls both here and Ghana home, although “people [in Ghana] can tell that I’m not from there”. A recurring theme of Smiling With No Teeth is the “black dog”, who represents both depression and the Black struggle against dogma and misunderstanding, the abject violence of white supremacy. On the title track, Owusu sings: “The two black dogs/Society’s stray and the stray’s hound/Caressing and stabbing each other with a technician’s touch...everybody wants the summer without holding the rain/Everybody wants feeling without touching the pain.” “The album is essentially entirely about depression and racism,” he says. “They’re the two concepts that everything goes back to. I’ve literally been called the ‘black dog’ with a racial connotation. So I felt like that was just a really interesting phrase that encompassed both of the things that I wanted to talk about. And when I was creating the album I didn’t really want to talk about those things just as concepts or statistics. The two black dogs – one being the internal black dog, which represents depression, and the other, society’s outcasts – I wanted to give them uniforms and personalities. So I made them into characters. The black dogs’ personalities are very controlling. Like a toxic relationship, essentially.” Owusu’s live show sees him take to the stage with his “goons”, whom he describes as versions of the “misconceived outcast” – manifestations of how he

SMILING WITH NO TEETH IS OUT NOW.

12 MAR 2021

felt growing up in Canberra as a Black man. “A lot of the time I was either seen as a novelty or a threat. The same can be said of all my friends, who became the goons,” he says. On stage, the goons and Owusu enter in balaclavas and military dress, “very, very staunch, very aggressive, playing the boogeyman that they want to see, the people that they love to hate”. As the show goes on, Owusu and his entourage remove their ski masks and military apparel and begin throwing rose petals into the crowd, singing love songs. By the end of the show the performers are wearing traditional African dashikis. It is, Owusu explains, intended to contrast how people are perceived versus “the rich diverse people that we actually are”. For a moment, they are threedimensional, multifaceted: people who can laugh and sing and cry and dance. “And also,” he says, smiling, “fuck you up.”

Sarah Krasnostein

Books

Award-winning writer Sarah Krasnostein’s new book brims with tales of empathy, humanity and belief that chime with what she calls “a certain sound”.

PHOTO BY GINA MILICIA

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Now I’m a Believer

by Mandy Beaumont @mandybeaumont

Mandy Beaumont is an award-winning writer and academic. Her short story collection Wild, Fearless Chests is out now with Hachette, and her debut novel, The Furies, is due for release in 2022.

ou come for the difference and stay for the similarities,” Sarah Krasnostein says with a chuckle when asked what’s at the heart of her new book, The Believer: Encounters with Love, Death & Faith. In real life, it’s not surprising she’s as whip-smart, engaging and empathetic as she is on the page. Krasnostein, author of the multi‑award‑winning biography The Trauma Cleaner – the story of Sandra Pankhurst who cleans up murder scenes and the like – has spent the four years since its release researching and writing The Believer. In her new offering, she weaves together the stories of six groups of people with extraordinary beliefs, all searching for meaning and a sense of belonging. We are introduced to a team in search of ghosts, enthusiastic about the idea that there

What Krasnostein is giving the reader is a space to feel and to connect with each other, reminding us throughout the book “that you don’t need to make it better, you can just sit with each other and that is a form of making it better”. Like The Trauma Cleaner before it, the book is a powerful lesson in empathy, inviting us to go deep with her subjects and their perspectives, to understand the world through their eyes, and to reserve judgement. Seeking meaning is what drives Krasnostein’s writing. The way she weaves the stories of those who believe with philosophy, research, social and political contexts and her own personal story is not only testament to her skill as a writer, it’s also evidence of her curiosity when it comes to exploring new ideas. She describes her writing style as essayish, where the scope for exploration is so broad that nothing has to be excluded: “The thing that unites everything in an essay for me is the marshalling and grasping all these ideas and filtering it through yourself. If I can make that clear for the reader who I am, then they can understand a little about me, and they can take or leave what I’m saying.” She says that she includes her own personal story in

the book – “lots of stuff I would not have thought I would have written”– because she’s “asking some pretty personal questions, so ethically, it’s good energy to do that. It’s like a contract: if they’re opening up, I’m opening up too.” In doing this, Krasnostein effectively links the personal to the universal, connecting our common humanity with what she calls “a certain sound”: “When I find a story and it has legs, it has a certain sound, a feeling. All of these stories had that for me, had this longing to make it work. Also, each person had a group that they were a part of, and I found something really lovely about that – the believing for them was a sense of belonging.” The Believer is ultimately about “the stories we tell ourselves to deal with the distance between the world as it is and the world as we’d like it to be” – a space that allows the exploration of ideas, the telling of our stories, and, at the heart of it all, the idea that the world is a place in which compassion, empathy and acceptance can be found for all. THE BELIEVER IS OUT NOW.

is more to this world than meets the eye; a group who believe that the universe was created in six days; and another, in their search for closure, who believe that a missing pilot was abducted by a UFO. There is Lynne, who still believes in a fair god after being sent to jail for protecting her son against his violent father, and Annie, a death doula (like a midwife, but the opposite) supporting Katrina, who is dying of cancer. When Annie reports that Katrina has died at home with her family, with dignity and “a view of the garden” just like she had planned, Krasnostein, with brutal honesty, asks the reader, “Who has words for this?” Of course there are none; there never are. Krasnostein says that The Believer is “about the ways in which all of us come up with ways of mentally coping with difficult parts of what it means to be alive. “There are examples in the book of people who believe in things that most of us don’t, but what I’d like readers to get from it is that we are more similar than we are different in the human tendency to seek out certainty and meaning with this discomfort that all of us experience.”

12 MAR 2021

Each person had a group that they were a part of, and I found something really lovely about that – the believing for them was a sense of belonging.

French Exit

Film Novelist and party-ghoster Patrick DeWitt talks adapting his book French Exit for the silver screen. by Eliza Janssen @eliza_ janssen

Eliza Janssen lives in Melbourne, and writes about film for Flicks.com and Rough Cut.

MAIN PHOTO BY GETTY

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Way to Go

FRENCH EXIT IS IN CINEMAS 18 MARCH.

LUCAS HEDG ES, SMAL L FRANK AND MICHE LLE PFEIF FER STAR IN FRENC H EXIT

12 MAR 2021

to “be more like her and a bit less like Malcolm”, the character’s gormless son. Like Frances, DeWitt also admits to a “fondness for cliché”, or at least for the subversive opportunities it provides. As an example, he brings up his lauded second novel, The Sisters Brothers, which was adapted into an unconventional 2018 western film starring Joaquin Phoenix and John C Reilly. “That’s about two hitmen and they’ve got ‘one more job’. As a jumping-off point, it doesn’t get any more familiar than that.” Rather than rejecting those familiar tropes of the western or the comedy of manners, DeWitt feels “there’s something to be said about tradition. That’s one of my aims with fiction; to dust something off and try it on, and hope it feels fresh.” Besides visiting French Exit’s set in Montreal, where DeWitt was able to see his dysfunctional characters come to life, the life of a screenwriter can otherwise be pretty solitary, and perhaps under-appreciated. DeWitt acknowledges the joys of writing versus directing: “I like to sit alone in a room and chase little moments. The director has to realise big moments… Directing is not a natural fit for me, but I might try it someday.” Sometimes, that writerly introversion can even lead to inspiration. The name of the novel was decided when DeWitt was caught out leaving a party without saying goodbye. “My friend sort of busted me the next day and said, ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice that you pulled a French exit last night.’ I was already looking for a title. As soon as he said it, I knew it fit.” Frances and Malcolm pull off this social faux-pas in French Exit – and DeWitt stands by the move, too. “It’s a practice I adhere to, and I encourage. Because you say hello to everyone when you arrive, right? So when you leave… I mean, we’re all grown up, how much attention do we really need?” What about in the age of self-isolation: can you “French exit” a boring Zoom party? “No, it doesn’t really work,” he says. “It seems more hostile that way. It’s funny because in France they call it filer à l’anglaise (to leave English‑style) and in England they call it an Irish goodbye – so everyone’s doing it but blaming it on their neighbours.”

rances Price (Michelle Pfeiffer) can’t seem to get her snooty waiter’s attention. So she does what any self-respecting, disrespected socialite must: she spritzes the table’s floral centrepiece with perfume before setting it ablaze with her cigarette lighter. A little theatrical, perhaps, but the waiter does hurry right over. It’s one of the best scenes in both Canadian author Patrick DeWitt’s popular 2018 novel French Exit and its new film adaptation; screen icon Pfeiffer and millennial star Lucas Hedges (Lady Bird) play Frances and Malcolm Price, a high‑society mother and son who escape to Paris when the last of their Manhattan fortune dries up. “My reaction to [watching] that scene, beyond being delighted,” says DeWitt, “was that in my mind I’d imagined a much bigger bouquet of flowers and a much bigger flame.” The Portland-based, Booker Prize-nominee transformed his novel into the film’s archly comic screenplay, his third time working with the American indie director Azazel Jacobs. Even with his past success, DeWitt finds that translating his imaginative words from page to screen is always a “finicky balancing act”. “The art department would’ve come out with this bouquet, and I’d have said, ‘No, a much bigger bouquet!’ I would’ve set this enormous bouquet on fire, it would have caused problems, and I’d have to go back to the art department and apologise: ‘You were right to bring out the small ones. Can I have those back, please?’” The process of turning DeWitt’s “somewhat fantastical” novel into a film was always going to be fun. After all, Frances’ other travelling companion is a black cat named Small Frank, who seems to be a reincarnation of her dead husband (voiced by Tracy Letts). The makeshift Parisian family that Frances and Malcolm assemble are equally populated by sweet weirdos: a lonely American chatterbox (Valerie Mahaffey), Malcolm’s spurned fiancée (Imogen Poots) with her new partner in tow, and a cruise-ship psychic (Australian actor Danielle MacDonald, Dumplin’). Luckily, it all comes together on screen. With its stellar cast and the novel’s most witty moments preserved, French Exit is a delightfully dry watch. Especially Pfeiffer – who recalls the height of her powers in roles like Catwoman in Batman Returns (1992) – inflecting each aristocratic one-liner and put-down with perfect iciness. Try reading the novel after seeing the film and you’ll hear her voice in your head, such as when her character defines a cliché as “a story so fine and thrilling that it’s grown old in its hopeful retelling”. DeWitt calls his widowed heroine both “abominable” and “admirable”, noting he’d prefer

Film Reviews

Annabel Brady-Brown Film Editor @annnabelbb

hey say that music can change the world. Rubika Shah’s new documentary, White Riot, takes us back to a moment when music and social activism powerfully united. The 1970s in Britain saw rising unemployment, racial violence and support at the ballot box for the Neo-Nazi National Front. Rock Against Racism (RAR) was far more than a slogan; the grassroots organisation became a fully fledged global movement that pushed back against fascism, manifesting in hundreds of gigs, the radical zine Temporary Hoarding and the legendary Carnival in 1978 – all seen in Shah’s archive-rich film – in which 100,000 punters filled London’s Victoria Park to watch bands like The Clash, Steel Pulse and X-Ray Spex push a crappy PA system to the limit. By staging concerts with Black and white performers, RAR helped desegregate the music industry and bring fans together (unfortunately the film doesn’t really touch on two-tone, the British genre born out of the fusion of punk and ska). It’s inspiring to see the vital role played by the DIY group, but White Riot feels overly deferential to the RAR organisers at times. As The Selecter frontwoman Pauline Black remarks: “RAR was white people finally waking up to the fact that, oh my God, there’s racism here. Huh, please! Black people were living it!” Shah’s documentary is an interesting watch, graced by some sizzling footage, but one that ultimately begs for a deeper cut. ABB

LONDON CALLING

JUDAS AND THE BLACK MESSIAH 

The revolution lives in Shaka King’s Judas and the Black Messiah, a commanding depiction of the rise and fall of the Black Panther Party’s dedicated humanist, deputy chairman Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya, Get Out). Through the eyes of William “Bill” O’Neal (LaKeith Stanfield, Atlanta) – a member of the Panthers’ inner circle, manipulated by an FBI agent (Jesse Plemons) – we witness the oppression of 21-year-old Hampton and those closest to him. King does well to demystify the activities of the party for those unfamiliar, helped by a dedicated ensemble. Stanfield captures a morally tortured O’Neal, tormented by his role as an informant, but the film is at its best when Kaluuya is on screen. His charismatic performance is inspiring and enthralling; as we await his next monologue, each moment without him feels tepid by comparison. At its core, Judas and the Black Messiah is a tragic examination of individualism against collectivism, of self‑preservation in the face of the people’s power. BRUCE KOUSSABA MAX RICHTER’S SLEEP

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In 2015 Max Richter released Sleep, an eight-and-a-halfhour neoclassical-meets-ambient meditation composed to complement the human sleep cycle. It broke records for the longest live performance aired on BBC radio when played in its entirety. Richter has gone on to stage open-air performances where the audience bring blankets and pillows and, if they like, sleep on site in provided cots. All the while the orchestra hums softly overhead. The Sydney Opera House was taken over in 2016, and Natalie John’s film tracks a similar event in Los Angeles in 2018. Each shot is beautiful and oh-so-somnolent, but the film lacks the quiet, patient ambition of the work it documents. The everyday struggles of the project, the insights into composition and the smattering of audience reactions don’t form a compelling or coherent whole. Much like someone explaining the details of their recent dream to you, sometimes you just had to be there. LACHLAN MCKENZIE

THE GRIZZLIES 

In 2004, the Arctic region of Nunavut had the highest suicide rate in North America. Its Inuit population has borne the weight of colonialism for years, their pain highlighted by sterile wide shots of overcast skies and blinding tundras. This is clearly an unlikely setting for a stirring sports drama. Enter Russ Sheppard (Ben Schnetzer), a Canadian teacher with an infectious passion for lacrosse. The hallmarks of the sports film abound: disenfranchised underdogs, an arrogant coach, a high-stakes match. There’s even a zany animal chase that nods to Rocky II. But director Miranda de Pencier handles the real-life story with care, never forgetting Sheppard’s status as a settler, as his blundering enthusiasm sometimes does more harm than good. The film unfurls into an ensemble tapestry, where daily realities of inter-generational trauma exist alongside moments of joy, as teenagers goof around. The formulaic elements are hypnotising in their comfort – making the matter-offact tragedies unforgettable. CLAIRE CAO

Small Screen Reviews

Aimee Knight Small Screens Editor @siraimeeknight

LAURA’S CHOICE  | 17 MARCH ON ABC TV PLUS + IVIEW

ASSASSINS

 | NETFLIX

 | 18 MARCH ON DOCPLAY

Ghosts and reveries abound in the bright clutter of Bombay Rose, a vivid animation that mixes high drama, city homage and thrilling surrealism. Fleeing a childhood marriage, Kamala (Cyli Khare), a nightclub dancer who sells street-side flower garlands by day, locks eyes with bereft Muslim boy Salim (Amit Deondi), and so begins a star‑crossed romance, built on longing glances and wordless fantasies. Elsewhere, Kamala’s little sister Tara (Gargi Shitole) tangles herself up in an old love story. Gitanjali Rao’s debut feature is full of old love, new love and love born from kindness or sacrifice. Music sweeps the city of Bombay like wind; fantasies and flashbacks entwine effortlessly with reality, erupting from small details – with the rush of silence, or song – in dream-like fashion. But the various narratives are painted with too broad a brush, eschewing realism for melodrama. And so, the stories do not hit as hard, and the characters often fall flat. But what a sight, rendered by the doting, vivid brushes of 60 artists, is this city of dreams. VALERIE NG

Foul play on an international level is the catalyst for Assassins. The US documentary revolves around the murder of North Korea’s exiled heir apparent, Kim Jong-nam, but follows the story of the women left in the aftermath, Siti Aisyah and Đoàn Thi Huong. Their lives hang in the balance of the Malaysian court system as the scapegoats of a perfect crime. At first glance, Kim Jong-nam’s assassination seems too well orchestrated for Siti and Doan not to be conspiracists. But director Ryan White (The Keepers) reveals the circumstances that led the women straight into the palm of Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un’s plot against his own kin. Siti and Doan’s lives are reconstructed through their social media posts, as well as interviews with their families and lawyers, and in their own direct recounts of being deceived by North Korean agents. While homing in on the outliers, White leaves big-picture questions unanswered, but Assassins is still a thoughtful and sufficient investigation that cuts through the red tape. BRUCE KOUSSABA

atching the first episode of Fisk – a snappy new sitcom about a solicitor who hates people – it’s hard to imagine that this workplace burlesque was initially conceived as a drama. Co-created by Kitty Flanagan and Vincent Sheehan (The Kettering Incident), the six-part series set in a small, suburban law firm comes out of the gate with fast-paced dialogue, neat sight gags and sharp timing across the cast, led by Flanagan herself as the titular Helen Tudor-Fisk. Following personal and professional calamities at her former workplace in Sydney, Helen returns home to Melbourne with a bruised ego and burnt bridges. She scores a job dealing with wills and probate at the family-owned Gruber & Gruber, where the management style of co-director Ray (Marty Sheargold) is more “phone it in” than “show me the money”, while Helen’s desk-side manner could do with a little cushioning. In the vein of Veep, Parks and Recreation and The Office[s], Fisk is a light cringe‑comedy that works best when the ensemble cast is sparring in the moment, or spitting punchlines written by Kitty and her sister Penny Flanagan (Drop Dead Weird). Comedian Aaron Chen is delightfully dry as token Gen Y clerk George, whose throwaway one-liners aren’t played for laughs and are all the funnier for it. But the show’s true hero is Julia Zemiro. She embodies office busybody Roz Gruber with excruciating Type A precision, proving the perfect foil to Flanagan’s world-weary cynic. Fisk premieres 17 March on ABC TV and iview. AK

12 MAR 2021

BOMBAY ROSE

HELLO KITTY

Ninety-year-old Laura has chosen to die on her own terms and wants her granddaughter Sam and daughter Cathy – both filmmakers – to document the process. The decision brings up guilt and incomprehension for those closest to strong-willed Laura. Meanwhile, she’s frustrated that the process is too slow, taking many months to successfully apply to the Swiss clinic (since voluntary euthanasia without a terminal illness is illegal in Australia). Though Laura is at the heart of everything, Sam and Cathy guide us through every thought and moment; Laura’s Choice is as much their journey of transformation as it is the titular matriarch’s. But familiar documentary conventions – voice-over, crisply lit interviews, video diaries – leave little room for something more creative and daring. Despite the tonal shifts and, at times, whimsical music, the moment itself – the most peaceful and controlled end of human life, of suffering, joy and everything in between – would move anyone to tears. A tribute to a beloved person as she wanted to be remembered, as well as a conversation starter on voluntary assisted dying in Australia. ALLISON CHHORN

Music Reviews

Isabella Trimboli Music Editor

hen Melbourne was plunged into a snap lockdown in February, the local music community was dealt another blow. The conditions weren’t great already: live music is operating at less than four per cent compared to this time last year, and the end of JobKeeper is looming at the end of March (with thousands of musicians, such as Archie Roach and Gordi, calling to extend this vital support). Meanwhile, streaming services remain more a leech than a leg-up, with dismal pay for musicians, and a damaging algorithm that elevates already successful stars. But what if the wreckage COVID has brought could be an opportunity to create a fairer industry? Across the globe, musicians and associated workers are fighting for better labour conditions. In the US, COVID has spurred the creation of the Union of Musicians and Allied Workers, who have successfully campaigned for government relief during the pandemic and are now demanding higher pay rates from Spotify. Their work is testament to the power of collective mobilisation, and proof that a more just industry is possible. We could also reimagine the entire apparatus for how we consume music and compensate artists. In a recent article for Real Life, American writer Liz Pelly makes the case for “socialised streaming”. Essentially she proposes a model wherein streaming would be reconfigured as a taxpayer-funded and accessible resource, serving the same function and retaining the same values (preservation, privacy) as public libraries. Not only would this lead to more equitable payment for musicians, but it could also shift, as Pelly writes, “how we value creative labour”. IT

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A CT O F GORDI

@itrimboli

PASTEL FRITZ 

Rife with sugary hooks, FRITZ’s Pastel feels familiar from the first listen. The solo project of 21-year-old Novocastrian Tilly Murphy, FRITZ has been making music under this moniker since her teen years, releasing a self-titled DIY album at 17. Pastel is her first album with a full band recorded outside the bedroom, and blasts her earlier noise-pop into hi-fi treacle. From its opening bars, listeners are immediately thrown into saccharine indie pop – punchy drums, shoegaze jangle, washed-out synths and ethereal vocals. Murphy says her music is indebted to nostalgia, but although the album conjures a rose-tinted past, its contemporary flair (like occasional flourishes of Auto‑tune) always keeps it feeling current. The scuzzy guitar and breezy lyrics about adolescence and crushing are reminiscent of Best Coast’s Crazy for You, yet fused with warbling synth-strings that evoke The Cure at their most wistful. Murphy cites those two bands as influences, and her dreamy music does what both do at their best – hit right at the heart of teenage yearning. ANGUS MCGRATH

FUTURE FORECAST CIVIC

DETROIT STORIES ALICE COOPER

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CIVIC’s Future Forecast is time-defyingly billed as being between Dead Boys and The Stooges, while simultaneously scrubbing up well enough to recall the sparkling production of the 2000’s New York City rock revival. Their first album with Flightless Records, Future Forecast adds a bit of spit-shine to the band. ‘As Seen on TV’ mashes world-weary vocal melodies with guitar hooks of equal urgency, whereas lead single ‘Radiant Eye’ might burn dead-eyed punks with its uber-clean (at least for this scene) vocals. But this is still music to throw chairs at your friends to: ‘Never Fear’ and ‘Shake Like Death’ deliver the snarling cacophony we expect. Future Forecast is an album of contrasts – it channels the sweaty walls and ceilings under which CIVIC cut their teeth, while at the same time exploring a more polished sound, with tight, dynamic production, chant-along choruses and wailing guitar leads – qualities best captured in album closer ‘Come to Know’.

The most striking aspect of Alice Cooper’s feature-length love letter to Motor City is that even as a septuagenarian, the shockrock icon’s vocals sound good. And while opening the record with a cover of a song by a definitively New York band (The Velvet Underground’s ‘Rock’n’Roll’) is geographically incongruous, it is delivered with a hint of Detroit Iggy Pop snarl. That’s not to say it works though. Detroit Stories does click occasionally – such as in the blue-eyed, or in this case, black-eyelinered soul of ‘$1000 High Heel Shoes’, and the swamp blues of ‘Drunk and in Love’. A sporadic cityscape motif misfires on the namechecking ‘Detroit City 2021’, whereas ‘I Hate You’ is an endearingly goofy sparring session between old rockers. The tail-end of the track list mostly hits the mark, including a faithful cover of MC5’s ‘Sister Anne’. But it requires a special kind of obliviousness to pay homage to a radical Marxist group then follow up with an apolitical rally cry in ‘Shut Up and Rock’.

NICHOLAS KENNEDY

LACHLAN KANONIUK

Book Reviews

Thuy On Books Editor @thuy_on

MAXWELL’S DEMON STEVEN HALL

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An impressive debut novel from former freestyle snowboarder and current Queensland resident Allie Reynolds, Shiver will leave you chilled by more than just its ski-slope locations and the secrets buried in its ice. When five one-time friends meet up after 10 years, the absence of an enigmatic sixth is all anyone can think about. What happened to Saskia all those years ago, and who is most at risk of seeing their past misdeeds emerge from the fresh, French snowscape? In frozen isolation, the cold truth seems almost doomed to come out, in a psychological thriller that blends aspects of a traditional locked-room mystery with all the thrills and terror of a downhill slalom. Reynolds combines her considerable skills as a writer with years of experience on the slopes of France, Switzerland and Austria to bring alpine dangers into startlingly sharp focus in what may well be one of the best debuts of the year.

Maxwell’s Demon, Steven Hall’s second novel, opens with a message from a dead man. Thomas Quinn, a frustrated writer, overhears his late father leaving a cryptic message with biblical overtones on his answering machine. Shortly thereafter, an equally mysterious letter arrives from Andrew Black, a reclusive author Thomas’ father took under his wing, and it sounds like he’s in trouble. Thomas sets off in an effort to find Black and uncover the meaning of his message – a journey of discovery that will lead him to question everything that he’s taken for granted in his life. The novel’s chapter-to-chapter plotting would be compelling if not for Hall’s penchant for irritatingly typeset digressions on subjects as varied as thermodynamics and Joseph Campbell, which bring the narrative to a screeching halt. Throughout the book Thomas sees ads for Angels and Demons, which almost makes the reader wish they were instead reading Dan Brown, whose knack for pacing and relative silliness make his work at least more fun than Hall’s, if less ambitious. JACK

CRAIG BUCHANAN YOU’RE HISTORY: THE TWELVE STRANGEST WOMEN IN MUSIC LESLEY CHOW 

Australian cultural critic Lesley Chow looks askance at official versions of pop music history in this bold debut. She re-evaluates the output of 12 pioneering women artists – her pantheon houses the likes of Neneh Cherry, Janet Jackson, Kate Bush, Taylor Swift, TLC and Chaka Khan – as she kicks back against received notions of what gives a song its splendour, and how we evaluate the “genius” of a star. Instead of trotting out performers’ biographies, Chow rubs right up against the music itself. With surgical precision, she locates the sources of pleasure: a singer’s offhand delivery of a lyric, the icy whoosh of a Fairlight synthesiser, or the overlooked “oohs” and “ahhs” that can express more emotion, more ecstasy, than any rational verse. It’s a welcome, hierarchy-smashing analysis that celebrates mystery, oddity and rapture. With infectious enthusiasm and cool-headed prose – emulating the unique swagger and style of the women Chow extols – You’re History will transform how you hear your favourite pop songs. ANNABEL BRADY-BROWN

ROWLAND

SHIVER ALLIE REYNOLDS

12 MAR 2021

re you one of those people who read a book to the very end before picking up another, or do you juggle multiples? I admit I do both. Sometimes I stay with a book until the last page, and other times I have several on the go. At the moment I’m dipping in and out of two books, both new releases. Evelyn Araluen’s debut Dropbear, a collection of poetry and prose, and Craig Munro’s Literary Lion Tamers, a non-fiction book about editors who made publishing history. Araluen explores topical themes: bushfires, pandemic, Black Lives Matter and national identity, but the book’s distinguishing factor is the playful and acerbic manner in which the Indigenous writer points out how Australian kitsch, flora and fauna, and beloved bush ballads are a far more dominant trope in our culture than the lasting realities of settler politics and violence. I’ve only just started on Munro’s book but I’m looking forward to delving into some of Australia’s famous editors in this “blend of memoir, biography and literary detective work”. All too often editors are invisible forces, toiling away behind the scenes to finesse, so Literary Lion Tamers will at least place some of them in the limelight. TO

Public Service Announcement

by Lorin Clarke @lorinimus

Competitive environments are everywhere. That’s the argument people use when they’re berating softies like me. “Oh I get it – everybody gets a medal,” they say, eyes rolling. “Psht. That’s not how the real world works.” But here’s the deal: I’ve lived in the real world. It can be lots of fun and it can be thoroughly hideous. There’s nothing wrong with having a healthy outlet for competition. I was the worst player on a really good hockey team once. It was brilliant fun. The girls who got up at 4am to train so they could be world-best at the game? Those girls were not me. If you’re not into winning the race, if you’re maybe not best-equipped to win the race, or if trying to win the race makes you miserable, why not try enjoying something else, gently? I don’t tend to win prizes. I’m good at reading stories to kids, though. If you want to be good at something rewarding, I suggest you try it. When I was in primary school, I had to walk up a hill from my classroom to get to the car park where all the parents would be waiting. I got to the top once and looked over the book I was reading to scan the car park for my parents. I met the eyes of a grandmother. The grandmother was smiling at me. “I watched you coming up that hill,” she said to me. “You didn’t trip over once and you read your book the entire time.” It felt, then

(and a little bit now if I’m honest) like I was being noticed by a scout sent from head office to find the best book-reading-hill-walker in the lands. Because you know what? I knew I was good at it. I had practised and practised. And if the fine art of book-orienteering were a sport, I would be a household name. Also? I’m not the best at throwing a frisbee, but I’m the happiest at throwing a frisbee. I would lose a running race but I would win at gleeful cartwheels. I am 43. I failed textiles at school. Sewed one leg of my shorts to the other in a mad rush at the last minute. It was, in its own way, an artistic statement. In the real world, I would have been fired. All I had to do was sew the pants (with a machine) and make a pattern on them using half a potato carved into a kind of stamp. Trouble was, I became a bit obsessed with the potato stamp and I carved it into a perfect, miniature rhinoceros. Had Year 8 been assessed on our rhino-carving abilities, I am quietly confident I would have topped the class. Public Service Announcement: don’t be fooled into thinking you need to win everything, even (especially even) if you’re the one yelling at yourself that you should. If the phone rings and someone says “Hang about, you’ve messed up” don’t be fooled into thinking you’re in a race, pitted against others and failing. You’re not. You’re you. There’s not some fictional person in Lane 1 absolutely humiliating you in comparison while you fall back and everybody points and laughs. Real life isn’t like that. Real life is you doing your best. Sometimes that means making an intricate rhino out of half a potato that will turn grey and then shrivel so you can’t even show anybody later. That’s okay. You know how good the rhino was. Love the rhino. Do the cartwheel. Win the swimming race, sure, if that works for you, but instead of stewing over losing, maybe walk a book up a hill.

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

had to barrack for a child in a race the other day. More accurately, I had to quietly hope that the child – a friend of mine, you understand – would not be intimidated or humiliated and would walk away feeling okay. I didn’t care if the child won or lost, not really. I cared how the child dealt with whatever happened. I cared how all the arrows pointing to SUCCESS would make the child feel. Now, you may not have a friend who is a small child who is competing in a swimming race any time soon and you may think: this is not the relatable content I come to the back pages of The Big Issue for. But here’s the thing: you’re the child. We’re all the child. Ha! Gotcha. Public Service Announcement: it’s not about winning, even when it’s totally about winning.

12 MAR 2021

Love the Rhino

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Tastes Like Home edited by Anastasia Safioleas

PHOTOS BY ROB PALMER

Tastes Like Home Silvia Colloca

Hand-cut Sagne a Pezze With Lamb Ragu Ingredients

Silvia says…

Serves 4-6

his sauce is a classic from my Nonna Irene, whose Abruzzese heritage meant she knew a thing or two about cooking tender lamb. The name of the pasta itself means “torn-up pasta sheet” in the Abruzzese dialect, and they are similar in size and shape to maltagliati. Even though my nonna was not terribly precise in the kitchen, she never tore the pasta; she always cut it into neat rectangles. It is a recipe that she would turn to for special family occasions and one that she taught me how to make when I was about 20. We spent the entire day in her kitchen with this giant cauldron of simmering sauce and our hands heavy with flour and egg, rolling pasta. She was obviously passing down a recipe, but really, she was presenting her legacy for me on a plate. It is a very simple recipe. There are no special herbs – it’s literally a matter of olive oil, garlic, lamb, a bit of wine, a little piece of capsicum just for the flavour and, of course, tomatoes. This is just the way the ladies in Abruzzo make this sauce, and it is a true testament to keeping things simple and allowing the ingredients to have a chance to shine, without feeling the urge to smother them in a lot of extraneous ingredients. And like many Abruzzese recipes, there is nothing fancy about this dish, but it is a dish that speaks of family; therefore, it becomes incredibly special.

400g (2⅔ cups) plain or Type 00 flour 4 eggs, at room temperature 1 scant teaspoon salt flakes Plain flour or coarse semolina, for dusting

Method Heat the olive oil in a large heavy‑based saucepan over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook for 2-3 minutes until fragrant. Add the lamb chops and brown all over. Pour in the red wine and cook over high heat for 2 minutes or until reduced slightly, stirring to scrape up any caramelised bits caught on the base. Add the tomatoes, then ﬁll each empty can with water and pour into the saucepan. Add the capsicum and bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to low, cover and simmer gently for 3-4 hours or until the meat falls off the bone. Nonna would lift out the meat and reserve it for another meal. You can do that if you like, or remove it from the pan and shred the meat, discarding any bones, then stir it back into the sauce. Season to taste. While the ragu is cooking, make the pasta. Place the ﬂour on a board, make a well in the centre and drop in the eggs and

salt. Combine using your fingers or a fork, then knead the mixture vigorously for about 10 minutes. At first it will look crumbly, but once your body heat activates the starch in the flour, the dough will change its texture, turning into a smooth, firm ball. Wrap it (I use beeswax wraps) and let it rest in the fridge for 20 minutes. After it has rested it will feel elastic and very pliable. Dust your board with flour or coarse semolina and roll the dough into a 3-4mm thick square or rectangle. Dust the rolled dough with extra flour or semolina, then cut it into 3cm x 2cm rectangles. Dust again and set aside. Bring a large saucepan of salted water to the boil, drop in the pasta and stir through, then cook for 1-2 minutes. Using a spaghetti spoon, transfer the pasta straight into the ragu, dragging a little of the cooking water with it, and toss well. Top with freshly grated pecorino and serve.

SIMPLE ITALIAN BY SILVIA COLLOCA IS OUT NOW.

12 MAR 2021

Whole-egg Pasta

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 3 garlic cloves, bashed with the back of a knife 6 forequarter lamb chops (about 600g in total) 200ml red wine 2 x 400g cans chopped tomatoes ¼ red capsicum, deseeded Salt ﬂakes and freshly ground black pepper Freshly grated pecorino, to serve

Puzzles

ANSWERS PAGE 45

By Lingo! by Lauren Gawne lingthusiasm.com PERFUME

CLUES 5 letters ___ josh, type of curry Applying Freight Inert gas Taking legal action 6 letters Beach skirt Formerly Ho Chi Minh City Making better Mountain lion Outer cover 7 letters Blaspheming Flying high Occasioning Scratching Terrifying 8 letters Kind, courteous Obtaining Searching intently

A C U I

Sudoku

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

G O

R N S

by websudoku.com

1 6

8 1 6 2 4 5 8

3 5 3

8 4 7

1 7 2 5 9 6 7

6 1

Puzzle by websudoku.com

Solutions CROSSWORD PAGE 45 ACROSS 1 Belly flop 6 Unpeg 9 Toddler 10 Endgame

11 Edison 12 Username 14 Cage 15 Corner shop 18 Previously 20 Brio 23 Badinage 24 Boogie 26 Risotto 27 Hidalgo 28 Terse 29 Paperback

DOWN 1 Buttercup 2 Lodging 3 Yellow 4 Lark 5 Pleasantly 6 Underarm 7 Pharaoh 8 Geese 13 Focus group 16 Phone book 17 Vignette 19 End user 21 Regalia 22 Condor 23 Beret 25 Chap

20 QUESTIONS PAGE 9 1 Four 2 1962 3 C) Drew Barrymore – all the rest are twins 4 Laverne Cox for Orange Is the New Black in 2014 5 Nine 6 Red 7 Australian scientist Dr David Warren in 1953 8 Singapore 9 An avalanche 10 Greg, Peter, Bobby, Marcia, Jan and Cindy 11 Australia 12 1988 Seoul 13 2021 Senior Australian of the Year 14 Son Doong in central Vietnam 15 Archie Roach 16 Wang 17 The Leukaemia Foundation 18 Auguste Rodin 19 Agree to disagree 20 2019

12 MAR 2021

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

by puzzler.com

Word Builder

The per in perfume is the same as in words like per cent (by 100), per annum (by year) and perceive (by grasping). This per is from an older word per that meant “in front” or “first”, found in an even wider range of words including approach, priest and prime. The fume in perfume is what is given off by a burning substance – we just decided to focus on nice-smelling fumes in this instance. Fume goes back to a root that meant “dust” or “smoke”, and turns up in words like fumigate, funk (in the sense of “bad smell”) and typhus, a name given to the illness in Ancient Greek because the sufferer was trapped in the haze of stupor.

Crossword

by Chris Black

Quick Clues

THE ANSWERS FOR THE CRYPTIC AND QUICK CLUES ARE THE SAME. ANSWERS PAGE 43.

ACROSS

1 Painful dive (5,4) 6 Remove attachment (5) 9 Novice walker (7) 10 Chess phase (7) 11 Inventor (6) 12 ID (8) 14 Enclosure (4) 15 Milk bar (6,4) 18 Once (10) 20 Vigour (4) 23 Witty conversation (8) 24 Dance energetically (6) 26 Italian dish (7) 27 Spanish nobleman (7) 28 Laconic (5) 29 Type of book (9) DOWN

1 Flower (9) 2 Depositing (7) 3 Primary colour (6) 4 Caper (4) 5 Agreeably (10) 6 Style of tennis serve employed by

Kyrgios (8)

7 Ancient ruler (7) 8 Birds (5) 13 Market research tool (5,5) 16 Directory (5,4) 17 Scene (8) 19 Consumer (3,4) 21 Coronation ornaments (7) 22 Bird found in the Andes (6) 23 Military hat (5) 25 Man (4)

Cryptic Clues

Solutions

ACROSS

DOWN

1 Clumsily fall by pole, take a dive (5,4) 6 Finally, Alice Pung’s new release (5) 9 Starts talking loudly about Off the Wall and

1 GOAT gets trophy and flower? (9) 2 Depositing quarters (7) 3 Lemon chicken (6) 4 Songbird in large ship (4) 5 Any and all pets to be treated with kindness (10) 6 Unapproved delivery from Australia to New

Radiohead after finishing Johnnie Walker (7)

10 Aged men struggle with final stage (7) 11 Media insiders have issue with inventor (6) 12 Login menus are confusing (8) 14 Lock up actor (4) 15 Scorn her poor work for local business (6,4) 18 Formerly quiet priest has debt with Stallone (10) 20 French bread lacking revolutionary spirit (4) 23 Cut and thrust, I bandage wound (8) 24 Partner has private, intimate last dance (6) 26 Course correction for motorist missing entrance (7) 27 Hilda danced turn with Spanish gentleman (7) 28 Short Peter Sellers segment (5) 29 Essay support book (9)

Zealand? (8)

7 Monarch’s heir apparent starts appearing in

Oprah broadcast (7)

8 They fly out of refugee settlement (5) 13 Market research for mindfulness class (5,5) 16 Quiet hotel I reserve with directory (5,4) 17 Episode 6: reviewing final edit of Tenet (8) 19 Interminable rudeness bothered customer (3,4) 21 Crown Lager served up with case of IPA? (7) 22 Cordon off to a flyer? (6) 23 Sometimes black hat is integral to cyber-ethics (5) 25 Bloke’s heartlessly mean (4)

SUDOKU PAGE 43

5 9 8 6 3 4 2 7 1

4 1 7 2 8 9 5 6 3

6 2 3 7 5 1 9 8 4

2 4 5 3 1 7 6 9 8

8 3 9 4 6 2 1 5 7

7 6 1 5 9 8 4 3 2

1 5 6 8 2 3 7 4 9

3 7 2 9 4 5 8 1 6

9 8 4 1 7 6 3 2 5

Puzzle by websudoku.com

WORD BUILDER PAGE 43 5 Rogan Using Cargo Argon Suing 6 Sarong Saigon Curing Cougar Casing 7 Cursing Soaring Causing Scoring Scaring 8 Gracious Sourcing Scouring 9 Carousing

12 MAR 2021

Click 2018

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

words by Michael Epis photo by Getty

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

awrence Ferlinghetti, the Beat generation poet who always denied being a Beat poet, who has died aged 101, always loved liberty, or shall we say freedom – freedom of thought, of expression, of speech. He bought the Statue of Liberty mask in a costume shop, and wore it at readings. He fought for freedom, being among the liberators of France and the occupiers of Nagasaki post atomic bomb. He took a stand for freedom when he published Howl by Allen Ginsberg (definitely a Beat poet) in 1956, knowing that its depictions of sex and drug use would likely get him in trouble in McCarthyist America. It did; the charge was printing obscene material. “I do not believe that Howl is without redeeming social importance,” Judge Clayton Horn ruled, before adding that the book “presents a picture of a nightmare world; the second part is an indictment of those elements in modern society destructive of the best qualities of human nature; such elements are predominantly identified as materialism, conformity and mechanisation leading toward war”. The judge got it. I suspect he was a closet poet, to wit: “A word is not a crystal, transparent and unchanged. It is the skin

of living thought and may vary greatly in colour and content according to the circumstances and the time in which it is used.” Go judge. Ferlinghetti’s City Lights bookshop in San Francisco, modelled after Shakespeare and Co in Paris, which he visited post-war, became a gathering place for a generation (and more) of writers, like its French counterpart, and remains open today. Ferlinghetti became known to another generation via his idiosyncratic rendering of the Lord’s Prayer in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Waltz (1978). Caustically critical of American life, Ferlinghetti was forever the outsider. Born in New York, his father died around the time of his birth, and his mother had a breakdown. Separated from his four brothers, he was taken by an aunt to France. When her marriage failed a few years later, they returned – and it was an orphanage for Lawrence. Retrieved when his aunt became a nanny, she soon did a runner – leaving him with the family, who had lost a son, also called Lawrence. “I really believe that art is capable of the total transformation of the world, and of life itself,” he said in 1994. “And nothing less is really acceptable.”

17 APR 2020