Betty Paginated #36 Preview: R.I.P. My Beer Bottle/Can Collection

January 24, 2017, 3:24 am

IN EARLY January, Helen and I discussed the fact that we lacked Lebensraum in our house due to our growing family and, more importantly, our growing amount of STUFF. While the idea of building an extension to the house is a long-term plan, in the short-term we talked about buying more bookcases for the back room to house an ever-expanding collection of Geronimo Stilton and Garfield books, free CDs from work and kids’ trophies.

Out of the blue, I said, “Why don’t I clear away the beer bottles on those shelves near the bar? That’ll add some extra storage space.”

Now, this was a momentous decision on my part and I’m surprised I made the call so quickly. I had been collecting bottles and cans ever since we first moved into our present home 10 years ago. Every new exotic overseas beer or quirky local brand that I drank at home found a place on the shelves left by the previous owners (and the extra shelf I added a year after we moved in).

They were a source of quiet pride to me and some bemusement to people who came to visit, like Jonesy’s Muslim friend.

Anyway, I announced my intention and Helen, a little surprised, agreed.

I spent the next hour humping hundreds of bottles and cans to our recycling bin and I felt surprisingly alright on an emotional level about dumping 10 years of boozy history.

I just didn’t expect my six-year-old son Dash to take it so hard. He’s a lot like me and hates change, so this radical move on my part knocked him for a loop

Dash was very upset – he kept trying to block me from taking bucket after bucket of empties to the bin. He even sprayed me with the water hose and kept shouting, “You can’t pass me till you say the password!”

To which I replied, “The password is ‘You won’t get any more screen-time today unless you let me pass.’”

Since then, Helen’s told me that Dash reckons we need to drink exactly the same beers and replace the bottles.

Ain’t gonna happen, lil’ dude.

Daddy’s grown up…or something like that (but I aint’ getting rid of my comics or wrestling dollies, Helen. Okay?)

Three empty shelves are ready to be cleaned, then filled up with CDs and kids’ trophies

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MARCH ZINES ROUND-UP

March 12, 2017, 10:04 pm

≫ Next: MOVIE REVIEW: Colossal (2016, USA)

≪ Previous: Betty Paginated #36 Preview: R.I.P. My Beer Bottle/Can Collection

HARD-COPY zines - yes, they still exist. Obviously.
I don't receive as many as I used to, but here are a couple that landed in my mailbox in recent months.

SPRAK! Vol. 2 No. 12 (Kami McInnes, PO Box 278, Edwardstown, SA, 5039, AUSTRALIA or cammy@bigbutton.com.au) has been around forever and is still the same delicious mix of bad movies, blood, babes and beer. This time round, Kami focuses on an Ozploitation Special that features reviews of some well-worn faves (Howling III, Patrick, Chain Reaction, Stone) and more obscure titles like Pandemonium, Demons Among Us and Flange Desire. There are also reviews of some classic soft-core pornos such as the underrated Felicity and the crazy Coming Of Age starring ex-AC/DC frontman Dave Evans. Kami writes with enthusiasm and respect for the film-makers. Sure, some of these flicks are low-budget shite, but they all have SOME redeeming features and Kami is more than happy to point them out to the reader. I want to thank him, too, for turning me onto Terry Bourke's 70s horror flicks Inn Of The Damned and Night Of Fear. I recently bought them as a double-DVD in Newtown. Noice!

Stu is back in 2017 with a second volume of STRATU'S DIARY COMIX (Stratu, PO Box 35, Marrickville, NSW, 2204, AUSTRALIA or http://blackguard23.livejournal.com/). The January issue comes with a personalised cover, which is pretty damn cool. "I'm doing these for - at least - January and February," he informs me. If that's not enough to entice you, then Stu's day-by-day comic diary will keep you informed and entertained on the life and times of one of this country's premier underground artists and zinesters. As he puts it on my personalised cover: "Good mail days...Instagram obsession...internet shopping addiction...and much more!"
B&W copies are AUD$4pp ($5 overseas), while colour copies are $9 ($10 overseas).

UNBELIEVABLY BAD #19 and #20 (AUD$9 from Von Helle, 9 Ross Street, Dulwich Hill, NSW, 2203, AUSTRALIA or email unbelievablybad@gmail.com or head to unbelievablybadmag.com).
High-quality, square-bound, full-colour covers and 68 A4 pages of rock'n'roll goodness.
Issue 19 has a lot of articles that will appeal to different people, but my personal highlights were a feature on a guy who hung out in prison for a time with Port Arthur massacre gunman Martin Bryant. Eye-popping stuff...the final instalment of UB's never-ending interview with gore flick pioneer Herschell Gordon Lewis (although nobody, let alone HG, knew this was the case at the time)...the true story behind oddball 60s masked Australian pop band The Mystrys...and a piece on "The Two-headed Nightingale" Millie and Christine McKoy.
Issue 20 has a loving tribute to HG Lewis, the man who gave us Blood Feast, Two Thousand Maniacs and so much more...film reviews from Kami...and the amazing story of outsider muso John Watermann... Plus a ton of interviews with guys revealing a surprising amount of man-flesh in their photos.
Finally, editor Matt Reekie's editorial will break your heart. Anything I could say beyond that is inadequate, so I'll stop there. R.I.P. Angus.

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MOVIE REVIEW: Colossal (2016, USA)

April 10, 2017, 7:34 am

≫ Next: MOVIE REVIEW: Raw (2016, France)

≪ Previous: MARCH ZINES ROUND-UP

I’M NOT certain what sorta audience Colossalis aiming for. I think audiences COULD get behind a quirky mash-up of Godzilla-style monster flicks and small-town romantic comedies, but what will they make of director Nacho Vigalondo’s main themes of alcoholism and domestic violence? What starts out as a fun, light-hearted fantasy turns into something dark and ugly, with a sad, ambivalent ending that is very un-Hollywood.

Gloria – played by the breathtakingly beautiful Anne Hathaway – is an unemployed writer who wastes away her nights drinking heavily and partying in New York City while being supported by her workaholic boyfriend Tim (Dan Stevens). When she lets him down one too many times, he throws her out of their apartment and she’s forced to return to her childhood home in a rural town.

She renews her friendship with school chum Oscar (Jason Sudeikis), who runs a bar. The easy-going bachelor offers her a waitressing job and they’re soon best buds, spending the wee hours after work boozing with Oscar’s buddies.

At this point, I was thinking Gloria and Oscar were gonna hook up, because he’s a chilled, fun guy unlike her uptight ex Tim. But Oscar has a dark past and it surfaces in an ugly manner soon after they learn the news that a giant monster is smashing up Seoul. It appears briefly every night and causes untold mayhem in the South Korean capital.

Through a few quirky coincidences, Gloria discovers that SHE controls the monster and it only happens when she walks through a playground near where she lives.

When Oscar follows her one morning and walks through the playground, a giant robot appears in Seoul. It seems there’s a strange link between the couple and the playground, but it takes us quite a while to find out what it is.

In the meantime, Oscar – who feels he’s done little with his life – is affected by the new-found power he now possesses as a skyscraper-toppling robot. Gloria is forced to take on the role of Seoul’s protector and fight her former friend.

And that’s where things turn really nasty. A few scenes between Gloria and the mentally disintegrating Oscar are almost unwatchable. Give credit to Sudeikis for taking a likeable character and, mid-way through, turning him into a genuine human monster.

Colossal is unlike any other film I’ve seen and goes in completely unexpected directions. It’s not perfect – and I suspect it won’t find much of a mainstream audience – but it is wholly unforgettable.

Oh, and Anne Hathaway is goddamn GORGEOUS. Sorry, I just had to say that again.

* Colossal– released by Transmission Films – will open in Australian cinemas on Thursday, April 13.

Watch the trailer HERE.

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MOVIE REVIEW: Raw (2016, France)

April 13, 2017, 2:50 am

≫ Next: Article 0

≪ Previous: MOVIE REVIEW: Colossal (2016, USA)

I WAS reminded me of a 1982 short story by Stephen King called Survivor Type while watching director Julia Ducournau’s shocking 2016 movie Raw. In the story, a crooked surgeon is marooned on an isolated island with only his surgical tools and a large suitcase filled with heroin. With nothing to eat on the island and unable to hunt for food after breaking his ankle, he makes the horrendous decision to amputate his foot and eat it to survive. Snorting vast amounts of heroin as a makeshift anaesthetic, the surgeon continues to amputate his limbs for food. With the lower half of his body gone, he eventually cuts off his left hand and muses, “Lady fingers…they taste just like lady fingers.”

It may class itself as an arty coming-of-age story, but Rawis PURE HORROR and easily one of the most disgusting films I’ve ever seen. It’s not hard when Raw deals graphically with the subject of cannibalism. I’m not surprised people passed out when it was screened at the Cannes Film Festival last year.

Mousy Justine (Garance Marillieri) arrives at veterinary school to join her big sister Alexia (Ella Rumpf), but part of the learning process is dealing with the, at times, extreme hazing from older students.

One bizarre ritual sees the newbies forced to eat raw meat. Alexia orders her younger sibling to do it, even though she’s a vegan. Almost immediately, Justine begins to notice physical changes – she develops a nasty skin rash, sexual feelings towards her gay roommate Adrien (Rabah Naït Oufella) and, more disturbingly, a craving for meat.

Wolfing down burgers and consuming raw chicken from the fridge doesn’t seem to satisfy her carnivorous urges.

One night, there’s a freak accident and she accidentally severs Alexia’s finger. While contemplating the digit, Justine is overcome with desire and begins to greedily gnaw at it like a BBQ rib.

“Lady fingers…they taste just like lady fingers.”

Alexia eventually reveals a shocking family secret to Justine, a secret that you just KNOW will end in tears for everyone.

While I enjoyed Raw (despite my disgust) I feel like there were a few plot holes and a somewhat ambiguous ending. But there’s no doubting the movie’s…ahem, RAW power.

This is an extraordinary film, not least of which because both Marillieri and Rumpf are extraordinarily beautiful women and they spend large parts of it wearing very little. They ooze eroticism. And danger.

Raw may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for those willing to put up with the gore, they will find it a thought-provoking experience that will stay with them long after the final credits roll.

* Raw– released by Monster Pictures – will open in Australian cinemas on Thursday, April 20. Watch the trailer HERE.

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Article 0

May 6, 2017, 1:52 am

≫ Next: MOVIE MONDAY REVIEW #2: Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

≪ Previous: MOVIE REVIEW: Raw (2016, France)

So.....after umpteen years, this is the last entry in my blog.
But never fear, BETTY PAGINATED lives on in my NEW blog, which can be found HERE.
Please come check it out - it's SAFE FOR WORK, too. ;)

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MOVIE MONDAY REVIEW #2: Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

February 13, 2015, 6:27 pm

≫ Next: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

≪ Previous: Article 0

I'VE heard much about this TV special that the Beatles put together themselves soon after manager Brian Epstein's death. I'd read that it wasn't very good, self-indulgent and lacking Epstein's critical eye to pull it into some kinda watchable shape. But all I've seen is a clip from the film of the band singing I Am The Walrus, so I'd never really got a full gauge on its merits, good or bad.
Well, now I've finally seen Magical Mystery Tour and I can wholeheartedly tell you...
It is SHIT.

Imagine the worst home movies your dad ever filmed, add a healthy dose of psychedelic drugs and too-cool-for-school, ego-driven pop star vanity (decades before Kanye West was a sperm in his daddy's ballsack) and you'll get an idea of what this flick is like.
It's not that the film makes no sense - or even that it has no middle or ending - it's just that the whole project is...WORTHLESS.
And the Beatles aren't endearing, likable, reasonably talented actors like they were in A Hard Day's Night, which was heavily scripted, I'm sure. Instead, we get dreary ad-libbing by drug-fucked hairy muppets who can't act and think they're funny (but aren't).
Even the soundtrack can't save this mess.
Of the six Beatles songs,the title track and I Am The Walrus are fantastic. Your Mother Should Know is kinda music hall, but fine. The Fool On The Hill is pretentious twaddle. Flying is an instrumental consisting of forgettable psychedelic noodling, while Blue Jay Way is quite possibly the worst George Harrison sitar-saturated tune ever committed to record.

The "storyline" sees Ringo and his rotund Aunt Jessie get on a bus filled with eccentric passengers, including the other three Beatles.
The film's supposedly a comedy but the bus is run by vaguely sinister people and their adventures - as confusing as they are - get increasingly unpleasant.
In one scene, Aunt Jessie dreams she's in a restaurant where John Lennon plays a waiter who's repeatedly shovelling huge amounts of spaghetti onto her plate. As she throws it onto the ground and weeps uncontrollably, he keeps a shit-eating grin on his face, shovels the muck off the floor and throws it back on the plate. Apparently, this scene was included because it was a dream Lennon had had and when he told Paul McCartney about it, Paul suggested they put it in the film.
I wouldn't be surprised if this gross scene inspired Mr Creosote in Monty Python's The Meaning Of Life in 1983.
Elsewhere, Aunt Jessie falls in love with a nutty passenger called Buster Bloodvessel and they have a long dream sequence where they frolic on a beach. It goes on for way too long and is ultimately pointless.
Much of the film is filled with similarly unrelated, dull scenes. At one point, everyone enjoys a huge pub-style sing-along on the bus, accompanied by an accordion player. This would be okay except it goes on for ages and they're singing shit like Roll Out The Barrel.
The final scene takes place in a strip club and sees The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band accompany noted English stripper Jan Carson on stage while singing Death Cab For Cutie. It's perversely surreal but goes on for ages. Punters watching it on TV would have been wondering why they were being forced to watch a semi-pornographic striptease accompanied by a band doing deliberately bad cabaret.
Afterwards, the Beatles don swanky suits, hop on stage and sing Your Mother Should Know. Roll end credits.
Honestly, if my description has made this special all sound half-interesting, then I apologise. It's actually very boring, confusing and downright awful.
Even if you're a Beatles fan like myself, avoid Magical Mystery Tour and catch the next bus instead.

FINAL COMMENTS: I want a refund on my bus ticket. (2/10 - for two good songs)

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I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

March 21, 2015, 2:38 am

≫ Next: ZINE/COMIX REVIEW: Stratu’s Diary Comix

≪ Previous: MOVIE MONDAY REVIEW #2: Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

AFTER three years......the new issue of BP is out now. Email me (or comment below) if you're interested in buying a copy. It's 24 A4 pages of adults only ziney goodness. :)

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ZINE/COMIX REVIEW: Stratu’s Diary Comix

May 16, 2015, 8:28 am

≫ Next: Four-book review #1

≪ Previous: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Stratu’s Diary Comix #1, #2: I’ve known Stratu for nearly 20 years, but I didn’t KNOW him till I read the first two issues of this fascinating comic/zine. Through words and pictures, Stratu gives readers a daily look at his life: the frustrations, fears, wonders and simple pleasures. It’s a great concept – the first two issues cover January and February of this year and I can’t wait to read March (partly ’cos I should be in it!).

Oh wait…I already CAN, because Stratu also posts full-colour diary strips every day at http://atomiser.blogspot.com.au/.

Stratu, PO Box 35, Marrickville, NSW, 2204, AUSTRALIA; sstratu@gmail.com; blackguard23.livejournal.com [email for price, 8 x A4 pages, reading time: 15 minutes]

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Four-book review #1

May 24, 2015, 5:30 am

≫ Next: Farewell to a briefcase

≪ Previous: ZINE/COMIX REVIEW: Stratu’s Diary Comix

LAST Christmas, me and the family made our semi-annual pilgrimage to the dry, dusty mid-north of South Australia to visit Peterborough – a once-majestic railway town, now slowly dying in this post-railways era. Frankly, if my elderly parents didn’t live there we would have had no reason to come.

There’s not much in Peterborough. Hasn’t been for decades, since the days I first lived in the town in the late 70s and early 80s.

But we made a welcome discovery during our visit when we stumbled across a hidden gem: 229 On Main Cafe (housed in the old Capitol Theatre).

The kids loved exploring the spacious, renovated movie theatre: looking at the quirky bric-a-brac, old movie posters and rows of lollies in glass jars. Or playing on the vintage jeep and 1940s taxi while staring at the life-sized fibreglass statues of Marilyn Monroe and the Blues Brothers.

I contented myself to drink good coffee, wondering how I’d missed this place on previous visits (it had been open for several years) and trying to not think about my parents and their increasingly frail state.

The cinema was once a junk shop/second-hand store owned by Mrs White (as I knew her) – I remember as a 10-year-old buying “old” Marvel comics (c. late 60s) from there.

Now, it was cleaned up and converted into a hip cafe by her son and his wife. Despite Peterborough’s economic woes and the general oddness of such a cool joint existing in the town, it survives and seemingly thrives from the passing tourist trade going to and coming from the Flinders Ranges.

As for the junk once housed in the theatre, it had moved into a vacant shop next door. Me and the family took the opportunity to peruse it after a long, relaxed stay in the cafe.

The kids found a few games and toys and I was happy to find four interesting-looking books, which the owner wanted to sell to me for the grand total of two bux. I managed to beat him up to $5, but it was still a sweet deal...and an interesting experiment. Would they all be duds or would there be a few gems among the lot?

Skinhead Escapesby Richard Allen (New English Library, 1972)

I’VE heard much about this notorious series chronicling the misadventures of sociopathic East End criminal Joe Hawkins, but this – the third entry in the series – is the first one I’ve actually read. I certainly won’t be seeking out any more of them.

When the book opens, Joe is doing hard time in jail, but within the first four pages he’s made his escape and hatches a plan to make some quick cash. Along the way, he rapes a girl, steals a gun to aid him in a big robbery, shoots two cops, betrays numerous accomplices, avoids the incompetent police and a vengeful underworld who are chasing him, before finally being captured with pathetic ease. Which is a helluva lot of plot to pack into 125 pages.

In the foreword, Allen – in reality, a Canadian-born hack writer called James Moffat, who churned out a ton of pulp novels in the 70s – admits he only brought back Hawkins for a third instalment due to public demand. Which probably explains the rushed, perfunctory, “let’s get this shit on the bookshelves ASAP” writing style. It probably took Moffat a weekend to knock it together on his typewriter.

I read elsewhere that Moffat was a right-wing cunt and it’s obvious in Skinhead Escapes. He buries unions, working-class people, the Irish, Catholics, young people and youth culture in general. He has particular disdain for women, who are either whores or sluts who deserve to be raped. The most jaw-dropping moment comes when Joe’s victim finds out she’s pregnant and Moffat offers this little-known scientific “fact”:

“She thought hard about her torment. Pregnancy resulted not from the man’s ejaculation but a mutually responsive female orgasm. Had she actually spasmed when he reached his climax? She didn’t think so but...”

WHAT THE FUCK???

Throughout the book, Moffat has Joe espouse various fascist views and I think the reader is supposed to laugh at the scumbag’s ignorance. But as they’re actually Moffat’s views, then I’m not sure what we’re supposed to think.

For an idiot, Joe has almost mythical qualities that make him virtually untouchable while on the lam – until his final arrest during an anti-climactic ending, which seems to come from left field for no other reason than Moffat didn’t want to miss Monday’s last mail to post his manuscript to the NEL editors.

No character comes out of this book looking good. The author clearly despises Joe, but he has no respect for anyone else...except a couple of senior cop figures who are painted in a reasonable light.

Moffat’s writing style also leaves a lot to be desired. Everything is rushed, particularly the ending. Worse still, there are several supporting characters who are featured –seemingly to play a bigger part later in the book – only to vanish, never to be heard from again.

The most notable is fellow prison escapee and hardened gangster McVey, who seeks revenge on Joe. Several chapters are devoted to McVey chatting to his wife about his plans, yet nothing eventuates. Why did Moffat even bother writing about the guy if he wasn’t going to figure in the climax? To up the word count, I suspect.

Or maybe he popped up in a later book in this odious series.

I can see why people read Moffat’s books nowadays – hey, we all like a post-ironic guffaw, I suppose. But it’s hard to know who was the original audience for this nasty tripe. Joe repeatedly assaults, rapes or insults innocents – rarely confronting villains worse than him – making him a coward and utterly repugnant. The political views are abhorrent and the “social commentary” is appallingly inaccurate.

I assume it was marketed towards semi-literate skinheads who just liked reading about skinheads thumping people.

FUCKWITS, in other words.

Halloween III: Season Of The Witch by Jack Martin (Star, 1983)

THE book adaptation of the disastrous movie is kinda naff, but still a fun read with a delightfully nihilistic ending.

Dr Dan Challis is an overworked LA hospital medico with a vindictive ex-wife, two spoilt kids and a drinking problem. Around him, people gear up for Halloween, with the hottest item around being the garish masks made by the Silver Shamrock company.

Life changes for Challis when an hysterical old man clutching one of the masks is brought to the hospital. He keeps proclaiming that “They’re...going to...kill us! All of us!”

After he’s given a sedative to help him sleep, Challis staggers off to get some sleep himself but is awakened by screaming. He runs out to find the old man has been murdered – his face pulled from his skull – and the killer making a quick exit to the car park. Chasing after him, Challis sees the killer drench himself and the car with petrol, then set both alight.

Soon afterwards, Challis meets the old man’s daughter Ellie and learns he was a toy shop owner, who’d last been seen driving to Silver Shamrock’s factory in nearby Santa Mira.

The two join forces to investigate the factory and, suffice to say, things go from bad to worse. They’re soon knee-deep in a monstrous mystery involving a demented novelty toy maker, an ancient large gemstone imbued with demonic power, dozens of super-strong plastic robots and a monstrous plan to get 50 million unsuspecting children to don killer masks and plunge America into a nightmarish new world.

Challis and Ellie seemingly stop the mask-making madman and his minions, but there’s one final twist that undoes all of Challis’s heroic efforts.

As a tip of the hat to the first two Halloweenmovies, Martin throws in some red herrings early in the novel to give readers the impression that Michael Myers is lurking near the action. But he later makes it clear that they’re fictional in his world, with the first Halloween even being advertised as a part of a TV movie marathon.

Overall, I enjoyed this adaptation – I don’t know whether it makes me want to watch this much-maligned flick, but at least I now know it isn’t utter shit.

Disco by Chelsea Farrady (Horwitz, 1977)

CASHING in on the music fad at the peak of its popularity is this sexy potboiler published by my wife’s former employer, Horwitz, which went on to be fine porno publishers of AustralianPenthouse and Australian Women’s Forum.

Michelle is the queen of the New York disco scene, a middled-aged man-eater who runs the hottest club in town. But her past is humble – born and raised in poverty in New Orleans – and her love-life is scandalous, mainly involving her mother’s boyfriend, gangsters and deranged southern playboys. When an investigative journalist comes to interview her, will Michelle’s carefully created kingdom come crashing down around her ears.

Disco is topical, never dull and Michelle is a surprisingly sympathetic heroine (at least her younger incarnation is – she turns into quite the shallow bitch by book’s end). Still, a fun train read.

Creatures Of The Mistby Vern Hansen (Digit, 1963)

I PICKED up this oddball sci-fi book for the cover (a fanged chimpanzee leering ominously over a rocket leaving a planet’s orbit). I thought it was just artistic licence from a drunk cover artist, but it’s actually surprisingly accurate: the main villains in the book are a bunch of savage ape-like creatures.

This book is odd as the “hero”, Bruin, is actually an escaped convict, who’s kidnapped by a dying alien race (along with a stripper and a vacuous politician) to help repopulate the planet Sooloolia.

The three victims’ brains are placed in new alien bodies, but they quickly assume positions of power on Sooloolia due to their superior Earth cunning and strength.

But Bruin – now an emperor – soon his newfound power challenged by disaffected Sooloolians and the more savage Doonamian apes from the planet’s badlands.

There’s a climactic battle, which ends with Bruin taking on the Doonamian overlord one-on-one to decide the victors. There’s a surprisingly downbeat ending to Creatures Of The Mist, which shows that there was a time when sci-fi – no matter how lowbrow and hackneyed its origins – could afford to be weird and break stereotypes.

It was certainly a worthy novel to end this four-book experiment.

- Dann Lennard

COMING SOON: The Four-Book Sequel

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Farewell to a briefcase

May 26, 2015, 11:35 pm

≫ Next: Book reviews: Four-play revisited

≪ Previous: Four-book review #1

THE briefcase is battered and beaten. It has been smashed over large men's heads at wrestling events, splashed with beer and spirits during drunken benders in seedy pubs, and been carted over much of Sydney when I've attended functions, screenings and parties straight after work.
The briefcase witnessed bar fights, naked ladies and more stupid horseplay than I ever thought possible. Yet, somehow, it remained sturdy and reliable for 18 years as I carried it to and from work.
The briefcase was presented to me as a farewell gift when I left my old newspaper in 1997. It's been an extension of me ever since. I've carried everything in that briefcase, sometimes till it was bulging at the seam: numerous books and magazines I read on the bus or train commute to work...bulky headphones...junk food...sex toys (don't ask)...groceries...changes of clothing...contraband (again, don't ask)...
But it's finally time to put the old girl down.

The hinges are busted, the woodwork is split in several places (being used as a weapon on a sweaty wrestler's noggin in 1999 didn't help the cause), the latches have started springing open at awkward times and, the final straw, a hole has appeared in the bottom of the briefcase rendering it non-waterproof. And in Sydney, you need your briefcase to be waterproof.
Yes, it's going into the rubbish bin tonight. By tomorrow, it'll be buried under a ton of garbage at some local tip.
I may sound a bit melodramatic, but I'm gonna miss the damn thing. It's been a huge part of my Sydney life for nearly two decades.
I bought a new satchel at lunch. The salesman at Myers was very friendly and got me a great deal on it. In passing, I asked if he had any briefcases for sale.
"What? You mean the old square ones? There's hardly any of those made anymore. They haven't been popular for 20 years."
*Sigh*

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Book reviews: Four-play revisited

June 9, 2015, 8:02 am

≫ Next: The greatest issue of the greatest porn magazine ever!

≪ Previous: Farewell to a briefcase

THE last time we went to Peterborough was this past April to visit my dad in a nursing home in a nearby town and visit my mum as she prepared to leave the house they’d lived in for 25 years and move into a nursing home, too.

Everything was pretty hectic during the few days we stayed at the old house, and it was probably for the best as I didn’t have a chance to get too sentimental and maudlin.

I didn’t even have the opportunity to visit all my old haunts one last time...but I did find time to make one last trip to 229 On Main Cafe.

Once more, I browsed the dusty bookshelves next door to it and retrieved another four cheap books from oblivion for nix ($2 the lot). Here’s what I found.

The Evil Firmby Brian McConnell (Mayflower, 1969)

500

THIS is an extraordinary true crime book, considering it was seemingly written (and probably released) mere weeks after the sensational trial that put London master criminals Reggie and Ronnie Kray behind bars for murder and other gangland-related crimes.

The facts of the crimes and case have been meticulously gathered by journalists from The Daily Mirror, before being knocked together by the author.

McConnell’s writing style is straightforward and brutal. He’s a man who calls a spade a Cockney cunt. Yes, Brian makes it pretty clear from the outset that he hates pretty much anyone who lives in the East End of London. If you replace the word “Cockney” with “Pakistani” and you could have the author up on charges of inciting racism. The disdain he has for these people is palpable.

The crimes committed by the Kray twins during the 1950s and 60s were many and varied, yet deep down they come across as insecure working class yobbos, desperate to better themselves by owning West End nightclubs and hobnobbing with celebrities and the upper class. It’s endearingly pathetic...almost.

Apart from detailing the Krays’ horrific rise to power, McConnell describes the modern history of London’s gangland going back to the 1920s and goes into great detail about not just the Krays’ activities, but also their rival gangs.

To be honest, the twins were by no means the most vicious mob plying their trade back in those days. Brutal beatings and torture – even of their own gang members –was par for the course for these guys. You seemed to be worse off if you WERE a criminal than if you weren’t.

The one thing I found most curious was how McConnell steers clear of mentioning Ronnie Kray’s homosexuality. There’s just one glaring line about Ronnie being arrested by police who found him “sharing his bed with a young boy”. Nothing is said again about it.

The Krays spent pretty much the rest of their lives in prison. Ronnie died in 1995, while Reggie was released a few weeks before his death in 2000.

The book is a fascinating read, despite McConnell’s curious prejudices. I like to think he was an ex-Cockney himself, filled with self-loathing.

NOTE: I was inspired to buy this book after again seeing Monty Python’s classic skit, The Piranha Brothers, which also came out soon after the trial concluded. While spoofing the Kray twins, the long sketch – arguably the finest work the Python boys did in their TV series – is remarkably accurate in describing the sadism, violence and perversion that surrounded the Krays and their rivals.

The Boysby John Burke (Pan Books, 1962)

THIS is an adaptation of a British telemovie that purports to expose the dark underbelly of teen rebellion and the Teddy-boy lifestyle. It’s actually an intriguing courtroom drama with a fun mid-book twist, but suffers a flat ending due to a curious case of middle-class morality.

Four male teens go on a rampage through London one evening, ending with an attempted break-and-enter that goes wrong and leads to the death of a nightwatchman.

Everyone – including the prosecutor (who’s suffering marital issues in an unnecessary sub-plot) – thinks the case is cut and dried, especially as one witness after another is trotted out to relate the boys’ antisocial behaviour that evening.

However, at this point, Burke turns things on its head. The defence attorney Montgomery (played in the movie by Robert Morley) begins to chip away at the testimony of the various witnesses, giving a plausible explanation for every action of the Teds that evening and how much of their behaviour can be explained away by youthful high spirits, misunderstandings and resentment towards people who judge books by their covers. These aren’t violent criminals, says their lawyer, they’re just lads having a night out, but being picked on for their raucous behaviour, long hair and loud clothes.

At this point, I thought The Boys was a bloody good read.

Sadly, there’s one final twist in the tale that undoes everything that’s come beforehand, making Montgomery look like a fool and reaffirming the readers’ prejudice about those “bloody Teds”. Disappointing really.

The Ms. Squad #1: Lucky Pierre by Mercedes Endfield (Bantam Books, 1975)

FEMINISM clearly terrified this author (not actually a woman or his real name, I suspect) when he wrote this sexy-but-misogynistic novel, which appears to have been some inspiration for Charlie’s Angels (which hit TV screens a year later). If it didn’t, then I find the coincidences astounding.

Even the cover blurb states, “These three angels rush in where male fools have tried – and failed!”

Three beautiful women – who consider themselves smarter and more talented than the men who surround, employ and exploit them – meet by chance and realise they have a lot in common. They join forces and decide to recreate famous botched robberies, only this time they’ll succeed, thereby proving women’s superiority over men.

Sounds a lot like Charlie’s Angels to me...except these gals are crims, not cops.

Along the way, they fall foul of a male suave super-spy and some nasty Mafia types before triumphing and setting things up for the next novel. Who knows if that ever came out?

It’s a dumb, trashy read that relies on too much male stupidity and the main characters’ dumb luck to push the story along.

The Invaders: Dam Of Death by Jack Pearl (Whitman, 1967)

COMPANIES like QM put out a ton of these licensed novels for children based on various popular 60s TV series (I have similar hardbacks for Combat and Lassie). I grabbed this one because I’ve never seen The Invaders, but I’ve heard good things about this sci-fi TV series.

David Vincent is fighting a one-man war against alien invaders, but no-one believes him when he says Earth is threatened, so he must fight on alone, unable to trust anyone, against a hidden foe who can assume the shape of any human, including David’s closest friends and family. The series sounds like a mix of The Prisoner, The Fugitive and Invasion Of The Body Snatchers.

In this book, the invaders take over a small Caribbean island containing a large dam that can create enough hydro-electricity to transport thousands of aliens to Earth. It’s up to David and some new-found allies to stop them. Unfortunately for them, one of his friends is a traitor, and David finds himself a prisoner of the evil aliens.

These books are a breeze to read with obvious plot twists and endings that are never in doubt, but I still kinda enjoyed the paranoid element to Dam Of Death, not to mention the seedy violence, which was probably a big attraction to kids who read it.

- Dann Lennard

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The greatest issue of the greatest porn magazine ever!

June 21, 2015, 8:11 am

≪ Previous: Book reviews: Four-play revisited

BACK when I was a teenager - in the mid-80s - Knave was the bee's knees when it came to grumble mags. The English publication had hot pictorials, a sharp sense of humour, literate reviews of interesting books and movies and....although I didn't appreciate it at the time...fantastic interviews and fiction by staffer Neil Gaiman. Yes, THAT Neil Gaiman.
Many years later, I read a biography on Gaiman and he explained that the editor at the time, Ian Pemble, was trying to do something different with Knave, producing a smarter-than-average wank mag. Obviously, that changed when he left the helm, because Knave eventually degenerated into the bog-standard type of periodical that most porn critics would expect: all cunt and no cleverness.
But Knave really was a cut above back the pack in 1984.
I found this particular issue cheap at a second-hand bookshop in the seaside village of Victor Harbor, South Australia, while on holidays in April.
Everything else in the shop was woefully overpriced, but this gem was being sold cheap for some reason. A wave of nostalgia splashed over me, so I bought it.
Little did I know itwas a classic issue in a classic run of issues.
It's cool enough that the Christmas 1984 edition features a Neil Gaiman interview with Bill Oddie (back when he was still fresh in the British public's minds after a long stint on TV's The Goodies. Who knew he'd swiftly become all-but-forgotten in his homeland, loosely remembered for being an eccentric birdwatcher and the oddball friend of fictional clown Alan Partridge, yet revered in Australia as a comedy genius for the next 30+ years?).
However, making things even sweeter is the inclusion of an original short story by Alan Moore (yes, THE Alan Moore).

It's not a particularly good story. But it IS Alan Moore, and that's something to celebrate.
Throw in a review of Vanessa Del Rio's new stick-flick Viva Vanessa! - including two pics of the X-rated legend that I've never seen before (and I'm a Vanessa aficionado) - and you have what I consider to be the PERFECT top-shelf mag.

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