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Francophile Friday: Cinema Paris-Miaou

31.8.12

Paris Illustration of Le Champo cinema by Shell-Sherree, ink & watercolour ACQUIRE PRINTS

Today's grey fluffy clouds hold the promise of excellent movie-watching weather, though I hope it fines up for the first of spring tomorrow!  And courtesy of a Liebster Award from the sagacious le0pard13 of It Rains... You Get Wet, I will be answering 11 mostly-movie-related questions, since le0pard is a film buff {and his blog is excellent!  Thanks, le0pard13, I'm chuffed}.  Where better to hold our interview than outside the grand old Le Champollion cinema in Paris, then we can head in for an old classic.  We just missed Catsablanca and Doggone with the Wind but Kitty Kong will have us on the edge of our seats.

Inspired by the local language, I'm taking a laissez-faire approach to the Liebster ~ an award comprised of a very enthusiastically-long list of components ~ and I'm streamlining it.  Here are my answers to le0pard13's questions, and I will pass the award and baton to the entertaining bloggers in my sidebar.  {If you would like to participate, feel free to refer back to le0pard's post to follow the award more thoroughly than I am.}  Here goes...

What was the last reference book (regardless of subject or genre) you used?
A French dictionary.
What pop song from your youth, used in movie, immediately got you to react, “Oh no, you didn’t!”?
Has anyone has ever used 'Muskrat Love' in a movie?
Steve McQueen or Paul Newman?
Paul Newman
Which foreign country, known for its cinema, have you yet to watch a movie from? 
Catzakhstan
Favorite film with Samuel L. Jackson in it? (whether he’s starring, supporting, or cameo)
The Long Kiss Goodnight
Favorite over-the-top performance from Face/Off: John Travolta as Sean Archer/Troy Castor or Nicholas Cage as Troy Castor/Sean Archer?
John Travolta {I'm not keen on cages...}
Ketchup or Salsa?
Salsa.  {We're talking about dancing, aren't we?}
What clearly dramatic scene from a movie made you inexplicably burst out laughing in reaction?
No movie I can think of, but I have to be very careful at weddings.
Wyatt Earp or Tombstone?
Harp or trombone?  Trombone.  {Where are my glasses...}
What was the latest, or earliest, movie screening you’ve ever attended?
The earliest have been some 10:00am Sunday sessions.  I learned that lots of octogenarians titter if someone swears.
Who is your favorite writer? (can be author, film or TV screenwriter, or director/writer)
I don't know how to choose between C S Lewis, J R R Tolkien and Robert Crais.  Perhaps Robert Crais, because I've never had to guess his first name.

The lights are dimming and I smell popcorn, so let's hustle inside.  And on that note...

Happy Francophile Filmish Friday to you!

Le Champo
51 rue des Ecoles 75005 Paris | Métro : Odéon - Saint-Michel | Tél : 01 43 54 51 60
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Help Animals: Is Scarlett Catty in Dog-Gone with the Wind

15.12.09



Today is the 70th anniversary of David O. Selznick's sweeping epic dramatic-romance-weepie movie {based on Margaret Mitchell's novel}, Gone with the Wind.   I saw it when I was 15 years old and developed a teensy crush on Vivien Leigh.  I think it had a lot to do with Scarlett's gowns, and feeling sorry for her having to endure Clark Gable's breath, rumoured to make large dogs run a mile {let alone cats}.

Speaking of dogs and cats, I'd planned on doing an illustrative tribute to Gone with the Wind, when along came an email asking for help with something that's much closer to my heart than fancy dresses: animal welfare.  With jingle bells on, I accepted a request to participate with other bloggers to help raise $50,000 to help care for the 16,000 abandoned or neglected animals expected to land on the doorsteps {and they are just the "lucky" ones} of the RSPCA Victoria's animal shelters over the Christmas period.

So with your collective help, strong silent types {aka "lurkers"} included, I'm hoping to exceed the modest target given to me of $100 $240 by 15th January.  {Update 16 Dec: thanks so very much ~ due to the wonderful response, we're increasing my target.} Please, no matter what the amount, join me if you can by clicking on the ChipIn button over in the little widget on the top right.  Donations go directly to this appeal, providing some warm beds, comfort and the drying of tears of animals of all shapes, sizes and ages at this tough time of year.

It seemed only fitting to combine my tribute to Gone With the Wind with a tribute to our wonderful little furry rays of sunshine, goodness and light.  {Cafe Pasadena, my mixing of canine and feline is for a good cause ~ I'm sure you forgive me.} 

Thank you so very much!  And after you've donated, if you haven't already entered my giveaway, please pop over here before 9am Friday 18th December {Brisbane time}.  Bonne chance...
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I'm so Frilled ...

23.6.09

Et Voilà ~ as promised last time, I've combined colour with frills. But what is it, you scratch your head pondering? Something to put on your car dashboard? No...

It's me, doing a Happy Dance! I won an awesome prize at PopCultureNerd's intelligent and insightful entertainment blog. Yay!! Though she hinted she'd quite enjoy a YouTube video of me doing a happy dance, I opted for a drawing instead. {It seemed appropriate, given my name was drawn from a hat.} Actually, the pink skirt was a late inclusion. I was originally dressed à la Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face but my assurance that I'd provide something colourful and frilly this post called for a little artistic license!

PopCultureNerd is currently on a road trip so wherever you are, petal, I hope this gives you a chuckle!
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Russell Crowe Wins Over Tights

22.4.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Poor Russell Crowe. What a brouhaha. So he's been wearing his fat pants again. All for his art, of course. After all, he's had back to back roles where a little extra baggage on the front and rear of the carriage added appropriate weight to his performances.

And yet sometime when no-one was looking, he supposedly crossed the line between attracting admiration for going the whole hog, and accusations of eating the whole hog. For breakfast. Every day.

It seems a bit unfair to me. After all, he has a proven track record for plumping up or trimming down depending on the part. Hark back to The Insider {chunky} followed by Gladiator {hunky}. In those days, he was applauded for his ability and willingness to wax and wane.

"Remarkable!" they cried.

"Bravo!" they cheered, and danced in the streets.

"Here's an Academy Award," they shouted, and genuflected before his portion-controlled greatness.

And so he's at it again. What's wrong with that?

Last year, buoyed by the positive reinforcement of his previous successes {and possibly a little fluid retention}, Russell valiantly won his fight to convert muscle to fat. With the help of his old training gang, the Cheeseburger family, and listening non-stop to his own recording of his 1980s song, "I Want To Be Like Marlon Brando," he stacked on a Whopper 63 pounds for Body of Lies {directed by his good mate from his Gladiator days, Sir Ridley Scott, who decided that for Body of Lies, he wanted two all-beef patties for the price of one.}

As luck would have it, this cuddly physique also worked for Russell's role as a veteran reporter in his newly released movie, State of Play, though Brad Pitt was originally cast. Perhaps in this instance, the part was neatly expanded to suit Russell's girth. Ah, the beauty of a script that wears pants with an elasticised waist.

Ironically, Russell's next project was Robin Hood, also for Sir Ridley Scott. Ask your leading man to stack on weight in haste ~ and repent at leisure, Sir Ridley. Given the choice between a Robin Hood who adds notches to his belt and one who can't do up his belt ~ it seems there was no contest. A photo just released from the Robin Hood set proves that Russell, being the consummate professional he is, has firmly buried his fat pants at the back of his closet again.

Better that than buried up the nose of the next reporter to ask him about his weight loss regime.

And the best news of all? Russell's Robin Hood has eschewed the traditional 100 denier tights in favour of duds that are far more rugged and less likely to snag on Sherwood Forest. And I'm all for it. How about you? Surely some things - no matter how thoroughly buffed and toned - are all the more attractive when left to the imagination?
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Hold the Billy Bob and Pass the Gravy

15.4.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Oh, I do wish Miss Mild Manners wasn't still on Easter holidays.

If Billy Bob Thornton's recent behaviour during a Canadian radio interview is anything to go by, I understand why the position of Wife Number Six is still vacant. {I'm sure his aversion to silver flatware, French antiques and his fear of harpsichords have nothing to do with it. And yet he has no issues with that other plucked string instrument, the banjo. There's a warning sign if ever I saw one.}

In the interests of research {snort}, I watched the video of the whole thing. All thirteen minutes and forty seconds of it. Around ten minutes and forty seconds of it consisted of awkward silence, heavy sighs, pursed lips and more eyebrow gesticulation than a Marx Brothers movie, minus the fun. But enough about me.

Billy Bob was there with the other members of his band, The Boxmasters, to promote their latest album and their tour with Willy Nelson and Ray Price. It turns out they were there on the proviso that Billy Bob's movie career would not be talked about. Yes, modest Billy Bob did not want to detract any attention from his fellow band members {whose names don't appear on their website, as far as I could see}. I mean to say, they even named the album Modbilly. Could they have made it any more obvious how low-key he wanted to be?

Unfortunately, radio show host Jian Ghomeshi decided a teensy-weensy mention for 'contextual' purposes would be harmless. After briefly name dropping so his listeners could experience spontaneous penny-dropping, he asked a straight forward question about how long The Boxmasters had been together. I started to wonder if I'd misheard and he had instead asked Billy Bob why he decided to give up directing after he was forced to cut an hour from his adaptation of All the Pretty Horses, because I'd swear Billy Bob snorted and pawed the ground under the table.

Whenever Ghomeshi tried to include Billy Bob in the conversation, he was rewarded with responses that varied from the succinct {"I don't know"} to the off-topically effluent {you don't want to know}. Eventually, an uneasy truce was openly agreed to, after which Billy Bob further unendeared himself to the listening public by saying Canadians were like mashed potatoes without gravy. After all, he said, The Boxmasters "tend to play places where people throw things" - something many Canadian ticket holders were looking forward to doing for the first time in their lives shortly thereafter.

Not surprisingly, The Boxmasters cancelled their remaining shows due to the flu.

Though the Billy Bob camp has pretty much responded to the incident by saying he had no requirement to answer questions since the basic protocol he'd requested had been ignored, I have to wonder why someone whose own official website is called Billybobapalooza and shows a photo of his star on Hollywood Boulevard {number 6801 if you want to go and stamp your hoof on it} would seriously take such offense at a passing mention of his non-musical credentials.

But wait, I'm forgetting - he didn't want to take any attention away from his fellow band members, who looked like they were desperately hoping The Island in Lost would move again and create a keyhole through which they could vanish, go back ten minutes in time and bonk Billy Bob on the head with one of the cymbals from his own drumkit, the one he couldn't be bothered bringing because it was 6 o'clock in the morning and he didn't want to attract any attention to himself.

According to my trusty Wikipedia, Billy Bob said following his movie Bad Santa's success that audiences "like to watch [him] play that kind of guy, and they [casting directors] call [him] up when they need an as5hole."

Billy Bob, I think your phone is ringing.
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Hogwarts Pineapple Express

8.4.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Unfortunately, most of the good potshots have probably been taken by now about one of the stars of the Harry Potter movies allegedly being arrested for possession of ... pot. {In fact, you'll find this post to be rather brief because I'm desperate to finish it before my own title is snaffled.} For instance, such headlines as these are just waiting to happen if they haven't already:
  • Harry Pothead {Definitely taken! Read the full story here.}
  • Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stoned
  • Harry Potter and the Chamber of Reefers
  • Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Hashkaban
  • Harry Potter and the Acapulco-Gold-Goblet of Fire
  • Harry Potter and the Order of the Hashish
  • Harry Potter and the Half-Baked Prince
  • Harry Potter and the Doobie Hallows

Nineteen year old actor Jamie Waylett was taking a drive in his Audi with a mate when he was allegedly pulled over by the police after a tip off. After reefing open a door and allegedly finding eight bags of Turner and Hooch in the vehicle, the police locomoted over to his family home and inspected the joint. They allegedly found a hydroponics experiment in his bedroom {apparently a successful one: a skill that could come in handy if he's assigned to the organic kitchen garden in the Big House}. His mother Theresa ~ no, I didn't make that up ~ was no doubt beside herself, though perhaps in possession of a better understanding of the recent inexplicable butter marks left on her cookie recipe pages, and the spike in her electricity bill. {I did make that bit up. Should I say 'allegedly' again?}

Ironically, Jamie Waylett plays the delinquent bully Vincent Crabbe in all six of the Harry Potter films. Could this be another troubling and unfortunate case of method acting gone wrong? Let's hope not. It could just be a storm in a herbal teacup.
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Dear Miss Mild Manners, writes Mr Q Tarantino of Hollywood

5.4.09


Deer Miss Mild Manners

Have ewe ever bean in a position where you wrote a script at brake-neck speed so the film could be finished in time for the Carn Film Festival and your spell-check didn't work and you assyoumed Some-Godamm-Won out of all the assistance, editors ~ frick, any old basterd ~ wood pick up the misstake befour it made it rite threw to publicity with the wrong spelling and now I'm stuck with looking like I'm illegitimate? Inglourious Basterds. That's the movie title, not me calling them names. But really, what do I pay all these peeps to do all day? Playing with fake blood spatters and pretending their druggie Ninjas or something? Isn't that what I pay actors four? I guess it could have bean worse. I could have scrawled In Glourious Basturds on the cover of the script instead. Any thoughts as to how I can fix this frickin' mess?

Yours
QT


Dear QT

I apologise for being blunt, but frankly, no. The horse has already bolted. The incorrectly spelled writing is on the wall {and very nearly in neon lights}. I would say you're up a creek without a paddle. There's no point crying over spilt milk. And please take this in the spirit with which it is intended, but a bad workman always blames his tools.

One could argue that desperate times call for desperate measures. And perhaps it isn't over until the fat lady sings. {And before those of physical largesse inundate me, this expression merely pays tribute to the excellence of buxom, barrel-lunged opera singers. It is flattery in its highest form.} But in this case, I suggest it's better to let sleeping dogs lie. The current interpretation of your atrocity on the language is that it was a deliberately contrived artifice, some secret for you and you alone to know; dare I say, the uncouth equivalent of a Mona Lisa smile.

Next time, I would caution you to remember, more haste, less speed. Much less speed. And I have a larger bone to pick with you. Unless your movie truly is about illegitimate men, one could argue that including a cuss word in your title, albeit a misspelled one, is far more grave a transgression than incorrect spelling.

But to err is human; to forgive, divine.


Yours with such forgiveness, and wishing you the very best of success ~

MISS MILD MANNERS
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Sean Penn as Milk, no Sugar

4.3.09

by SHELL SHERREE

I'm confused. {Just another day, you're thinking to yourself.}

Where does Harvey Milk begin and Sean Penn end?

Penn's portrayal of Milk in the biopic of the same name was so convincing that people were saying things like, "Sorry, was Sean Penn in that movie? I thought it was a documentary."

He was so Milk-like, he denied Mickey Rourke the opportunity to give the Oscars' censors RSI of the Bleep finger in Guinness World Record time. {And the soft-gel ear plugs placed on the Kodak theatre seats went completely to waste. Tsk, tsk, people, there are poor, starving lighting technicians on the sets of Christian Bale movies who could have used those ear plugs.}

He was so Milk-like that we can expect a new phrase to become commonplace in our language, replacing "Like White on Rice," with "Like Penn on Milk". {"Like White on Milk?" ... "Like Milk on Rice?" But I digress...}

Just like Harvey Milk, Sean Penn stands up for what he believes in. And he believes that Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger should sign a bill recognising Milk's birthday on the 22nd May each year as a "day of significance" in California, in spite of Arnie politely declining the same opportunity last year while drinking a soothing cup of diplomacy tea and watching The View.

At a news conference on Tuesday, Penn tried the Shame-You-Into-Submission-Plus-Backhanded-Compliment approach, saying to the cameras from the top of his milk crate, "I would never assume such ignorance as for him to not have revised his (position). I have too much respect for him to be able to do that."

I find double negatives more confusing than not saying what you really don't never mean. Pardon? So I can only take a rough stab at this, but loosely translated, it might be taken as, "Now that I've poured my soul into an Oscar nominated movie about the man, will you let the damn bill go through? Oh, and I just implied that you're a dumb ass if you don't."

Well, the Penn may be mightier than Conan the Barbarian's sword, but there's a much easier way to get what he wants, if a little less lofty. It's gold, shiny and naked and is probably sitting in the door of his fridge next to the orange juice. A few weeks on loan to the Governator and I suspect Oscar could be very persuasive.
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Secret Diary of an Oscars' Host

24.2.09


Dear Diary

It's been a bloody long day, but what a day!

I woke up yesterday morning and was so excited, I could barely eat my Coco Pops. The Academy Awards were finally here. And you should see Deb. Man! She's hot. She had her hair cut especially and she's been helping me at the gym. I think spotting me for my bench presses has helped her just as much as me. And the Alex Perry dress she wore? Man! Did I tell you she's hot?! If I had a tail, I'd be wagging it a lot!

I've had some late nights but it's all good. People thought I was joking when I said that I made the props for my opening routine. Lucky Deb and I have a huge crafts stash for Oscar and Ava and a truckload of Clag. Hey, I just realised ... how cool is that? Oscar's called Oscar and I just hosted the Oscars! Ha. I wish I'd thought of that earlier.

And how great to have Sarah Jessica Parker near the front row so I could scare the Victoria's Secret pants off her when I said, "Hi, Sarah Jessica," just a minute into the number. After pulling her out of the audience for my 2004 Tony telecast and getting her to lap dance ... haha, the poor little darl' was probably shaking in those Manolo Beatniks she wears! Hm. Getting her to lap dance again would have been a really great move for the Wrestler tribute. Never mind. I had fun taking the Mickey-Rourke out of myself with my big Wolverine finish. I hope it wasn't too obscure. I wish I hadn't run out of time to sew silver spray painted paddle pop sticks into the end of my wrestler arm pads for the full effect.

I've also been spending hours and hours drilling my dance steps, mostly for the big Busby Berkeley flavoured number with a triple scoop of Baz on top. I had such a ball! In fact, I don't think I've had so much fun since The Boy from Oz days, though I kind of missed the tight gold duds. But being able to dance with a girl made up for it. I was a little breathless by the end of the number, but I did rescue a cat from a tree and save a little old lady from a burning building on the way to the theatre, and I think that knackered me a bit.

Well, it's time to read some bedtime stories to the kids.
H.J.

Note: Of course, this is all highly fictitious and bears no relationship whatsoever to any real person or persons, living or pretending to do so, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Really.
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Colin with a Farrell: Still No Hope for Firthophiles

18.2.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Like many ladies surfing the web today, I had a brief coronary flutter when I saw a headline, "Colin in Latest Celebrity Breakup".

I had to make myself a consolatory cup of Earl Grey when I clicked {forgive me, I think I Double Clicked} and discovered Colin Firth was not the Colin in question.

It was the other Colin F: Colin Farrell. The naughtier one. The one with two twinkles in his eyes. He, likewise, has a charming accent and is mighty pretty, so there's hope and good cheer for some. But I suspect those damsels could be a generation or two younger than we Firthophiles. While the Party Farrellers are frantically texting and Twittering about the news and downing Cosmos, we Firthophiles would have discreetly High Fived ourselves in the privacy of the bathroom then put on our prettiest dressing gowns, picked up the phone and dialled our mothers ~ or daughters.

The split was announced by Colin Farrell's {now ex} girlfriend Emma Forrest to the American magazine InTouch. She felt that by her calculations, X {his lack of taking her to meet the family} multiplied by Y {his lack of thanking her in his Golden Globes acceptance speech for Best Actor Musical/Comedy, In Bruges} equalled Zero commitment. I hope she doesn't regret it. Surely she was an English major? Really, how good is her maths?

It could be a shame if it's true. The novelist/journalist was credited with being a stabilising influence in his life. {You don't see yachts getting up and thanking their stabilisers at the Annual Boat Show Awards, do you? Clearly being a stabiliser is a thankless role. Perhaps she was a little hasty to dismiss the relationship. And to be fair, Colin showed every drop of his poetic Irish blood with a lyrically humble speech that went on for a while. A giant hook may have been hovering side of stage causing him to have a premature culmination.}

Mind you, I doubt Colin Farrell would ever have a premature culmination or forget to thank his stabiliser. He would have a carefully prepared speech memorised ahead of time, checked for timing against his fob watch and a spare copy folded inside his tux pocket, together with a monogrammed silk 'kerchief and a bottle of smelling salts just in case.

He's such a nice young man!
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Oscar Overcomes Intimacy Issues

14.2.09

by SHELL SHERREE

When Hugh Jackman starts talking about intimacy, I'm listening.

In an interview with the Associated Press about his upcoming hosting of the Academy Awards, he hinted that the Kodak Theatre would be less like a place to roll gold-foiled Jaffas down the aisles, and more like the nightclub of your dreams ... some place Intimate.

{Excuse me, that was the sound of my knees going weak ...}

It's one of the few clues to what lies ahead with the Oscars ceremony, shrouded in more mystery than Joaquin Phoenix's bizarre appearance on the Letterman show a few nights ago. Or the contents of his beard. {Personally, I wonder if he's been preparing for the sequel to his hit Johnny Cash biopic. I heard the working draft of the script is titled, "Snort the Line".}

Bill Condon and Laurence Mark are first time producers of the Academy Awards, perhaps credentialled for the gig by their 2006 movie, Dreamgirls. They are running with the 'curiosity' approach to luring viewer numbers. Perhaps they are onto something, in a world littered with reality TV shows and way too much cybersharing of breakfast and underwear choices.

Let's put the Miss back into mystique, I say.

Let us cast asunder the cheap and tarty name dropping of scheduled awards presenters {a thinly veiled attempt to increase ratings}. Rather may the upcoming ceremony be like a discreet lady allowing her skirt to rise slowly to reveal a hint of garter and stockings one glimpse at a time.

Condon and Mark are so intent on the secrecy, they have threatened that any presenters whose loose lips sink the Oscar Surprise Ship shall have their backstage passes torn up and even worse, their goodie bags confiscated. Clearly they mean business. Botox vouchers, mudwrap sessions and engraved iPods are not to be messed with lightly.

This much we know:

Baz Luhrmann is producing a number for Hugh.

With the Kodak Theatre's intimacy makeover, can we hope that Hugh will be lowered seductively from the ceiling on a trapeze to hover over the swooning crowd à la Moulin Rouge? Or will Baz create his own private homage to their snubbed 'Australia' by having Hugh tap dance to Singing in the Rain while stripped to the waist and tipping buckets of water continuously over himself? {Either is fine with me. Mighty fine. Damn, there go the knees again...}


Best Song Nominees will undergo speed dating.

Condon and Mark have blown the dust off the Academy's ceremony rule book and discovered that the Oscars must be wound up within three hours or on the last stroke, Tom Cruise's head will turn into a pumpkin. Dedicated to the cause, though perhaps shutting the gate after the horse has already bolted, the dynamic duo has decreed that all Best Song nominees will speed date in a medley. Each has 65 seconds to sing up their good points in hopes of going home with Oscar. Peter Gabriel has already put his foot down on moral grounds, refusing to be on stage while Wall-E's 'Down to Earth' goes through the compactor. Who can blame him?


There's an obligatory "we love you - now please use the trades' entrance" tribute to comedy.

Perhaps by way of apologising for comedians always being the bridesmaids at the Academy Awards, the tributary equivalent of a cheerful floral bouquet will be presented to comedy. {That's nice and all, but next time, throw NOMINATIONS instead.} Judd Apatow has been recruited to help. That's Judd with a J and Apatow with an "Eh?". No, I'm sure you've heard of him. He has a string of funnies under his belt and some rib tickling movies as well: The 40 Year Old Virgin, Talladega Nights, Step Brothers, Knocked Up ... An intriguing choice, but class and intimacy don't always go hand in hand.


Sadly, there are rumours that In Memoriam will rest in peace this year. That's a shame. It's a good test of whether wearing aluminium-based deodorants does in fact contribute to the early onset of Alzheimers. If I start wailing in shock as the montage rolls on, I'll know it's time to switch to something natural. I wonder what Joaquin uses ...
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Please Help Me, Miss Mild Manners, Writes Mr C Bale of Hollywood

7.2.09


Dear Miss Mild Manners

Ok, I give up. I wave the effing white flag. I thought I was improving my vocabulary by studying Gordon Ramsay's TV shows. I don't understand what happened. After all, he's a cool, popular guy and English. Like that Queen broad.

How was I to know the eff word wasn't a noun, verb, adjective, adverb and pronoun? Not that I understand all those things, I just remember hearing about them in grade school.

In my busy life, being the effing talented actor that I am, it seemed the ideal multifunctional word to save me time. When I wanted to give some friendly feedback to some misguided moron on set, I thought my effing eloquence would impress my fans and fellow lesbians alike.

Please help me. When the eff I can use the eff word without ending up being laughed at all over the internet and how come Gordon effing Ramsay doesn't get everything he says turned into weirdo effing YouTube remixes that make him look like some psycho fruitcake.

Effing yours {is that OK?}

MR C BALE



Dear Mr Bale

I believe the word you seek in your penultimate paragraph is 'thespians'. {I recommend a reputable dictionary and thesaurus as a starting point for the expansion of your vocabulary.}

No, it is not appropriate to sign off correspondence using the F word. A simple 'Yours sincerely' is always polite and warm.

Miss Mild Manners is not a personal fan of Mr Ramsay's colourful language but please bear in mind he is Scottish, not English as you conject, therefore one has to consider the use of the F word within the context of the language of the Scots. Since there is much speculation as to the origins of Scots and variants of the dialect, including germanic influences, there is a certain leniency that can be lent to use of the F word by those of Scottish heritage.

In short: he can do it and you can't.

Quite simply, Miss Mild Manners suggests there is only one occasion whereupon it might be acceptable and forgiveable for you to use the F word. If you ever accidentally chop off your own hand, go right ahead. If you chop off someone else's, do not under any circumstances offend them further by using the F word. Apologise immediately and dial 911 for them, since they are now incapable of doing it themselves. {A fruit basket and a typed note would also be a thoughtful touch. This is one of those rare occasions on which a handwritten note would be most insensitive.}

The English language is resplendent with inoffensive alternatives for the F word. For instance, Miss Mild Manners suggests substituting a gentle 'fluff' or 'fluffy' should the need arise again. For example, notice how comparatively inoffensive the beginning of your monologue sounds thus:

"I want you off the fluffy set, you fluff. No don’t just be sorry. Think for one fluffy second. What the fluff are you doing? Are you professional or not? ["Yes, um, I am..."] Do I fluffy walk around and rip down – No, shut the fluff up, Bruce – do I walk – No! No! Don’t shut me up. Am I going to walk around & rip your fluffy lights down in the middle of a scene? Then why the fluff are you walkin’ right through, "Oh da da, da da" like this in the background? What the fluff is it with you? What don’t you fluffy understand? You got any fluffy idea about Hey it’s fluffy distracting, having someone walking up behind Bryce in the middle of the fluffy scene? Give me a fluffy answer. What don’t you get about it?..."

I wish you the very best of British {not Scots} for your endeavours to safely expand your vocabulary in the future, Mr C Bale.

Yours sincerely

MISS MILD MANNERS

Note: Of course, this is all highly fictitious and bears no relationship whatsoever to any real person or persons, living or pretending to do so, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Did I disclaim that enough? Seriously ...

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Worthless Oscar Tips Here. (I mean Priceless.)

27.1.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Due to popular demand by my readers {snort}, I have put together my tips for some of the major categories in the upcoming 80th Academy Awards. {What's that? The 81st Academy Awards? Oh, damn it all. Be right back ... }

Sorry for the wait. Back to those tips. As those who rode my Melbourne Cup tips all the way to the losing post know, my methods are fallible. Flawed at best. So consider yourself warned, as my method for choosing Oscar winners {there, I've said it - Winners, Winners, Winners - 'recipients' my ass} is heavily influenced by a pin, some Angel cards and a few jiggers of Stones Green Ginger Wine. {I'm on a cleanse.}

Some of these movies have only just been released in Australia. And more are still strapped to the back of a camel crossing the Sahara and facing an unpleasant tick bath on arrival, unlike American Idol episodes that glide here on virtual wings to appear on Foxtel within hours of the US. {Where's the justice.} So I'm including a form guide for the Best Picture noms to help you come up with your own Winners, Winners, Winners.

BEST PICTURE NOMINATIONS
  1. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
  2. Frost/Nixon
  3. Milk
  4. The Reader
  5. Slumdog Millionaire

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button The Pseudo D&M-Arty contender. Inspired by a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The story is about an old man born in a baby's body, growing younger as he ages while being remarkably unsurprised about the whole thing. Stars Brad Pitt. We see 'hunky Brad' for only fifteen minutes of a three hour movie and are teased with makeup artistry for the rest. Take a tinkle break at your peril. Cate Blanchett plays Daisy, doomed with Benjamin to an unconventional love {and one too many SK II face masks}. Quite a visually beautiful movie but as emotional as Keanu Reeves on Prozac.

Frost/Nixon The Political contender. Based on a play based on a series of actual interviews in the aftermath of the Watergate kerfuffle. British talk-show host David Frost looks at Nixon and sees an audience pull of Super Bowl proportions. Nixon looks at Frost and sees a neatly coiffed cream-puff with a poncy accent and plans to eat him for breakfast. However, pressure mounts on Frost to wangle an apology from Nixon and he shows that even fluffy pastries can break a tooth if it has a weak spot. Frank Langella {Nixon} and Michael Sheen {Frost} had plenty of practice in their roles, after treading the boards {or mostly sitting in chairs} with the play in London and Broadway. {I hear Frost/Nixon: The Musical is in talks at the moment.}

Milk The Activist contender. Another film based on actual events, therefore completely ruining the ending. Sean Penn plays Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to be voted into major public office in America when he was elected to the San Francisco County Board of Supervisors in 1977. He became a hero and champion of human rights, only to have his life cut tragically short when he and Mayor George Moscone were assassinated in 1978 by an unravelling fellow supervisor, Dan White {Josh Brolin}. If Milk wins, they can play rock, paper, scissors to choose which of the three openly gay actors in Hollywood gets to present the Oscar.

The Reader The obligatory Bleak and Tortured contender. Kate Winslet plays Hanna Schmitz, former SS guard turned tram conductor. She has a brief affair with Verging on Inappropriately Young Michael {David Kross} during which she insists he read to her each time before they do the deed. Some time later while becoming a lawyer, he rediscovers her accidentally when he attends war crime hearings only to find her on trial. He realises he holds a key that could help her. Older Michael {Ralph Fiennes} helps with the revelations in between visits to his therapist. A two hour depression pill.

Slumdog Millionaire The Feelgood contender {just close your eyes and hum during the murder/squalor bits}. Kid from Mumbai slums competes in the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire but is hauled away on suspicion of cheating. {Show host should be hauled away for hair atrocities.} His story unfolds, revealing how a kid like him knows the answers to the unlikeliest of questions. It's not all fun and games but springs a Bollywood hope eternal. On Oscars night, I think this would be a nice touch: "And the Oscar goes to ... we'll find out right after this commercial break."

My TIp: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Because it's the most Beatrix Potter sounding movie while not being a Beatrix Potter movie.

BEST DIRECTOR NOMINATIONS

  1. Danny Boyle Slumdog Millionaire
  2. Stephen Daldry The Reader
  3. David Fincher The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
  4. Ron Howard Frost/Nixon
  5. Gus Van Sant Milk

For a change, all five directors of the Best Picture nominees scored nods. The Academy is clearly fed up with all the wisecracks made on the night about movies directing themselves.

My tip: David Fincher. Because following the same logic, how can the Best Picture be directed by the Not Best Director. {And for having the guts to cast Brad Pitt then swaddle him in an old man disguise for most of the movie.}

BEST ACTOR NOMINATIONS

  1. Richard Jenkins The Visitor
  2. Frank Langella Frost/Nixon
  3. Sean Penn Milk
  4. Brad Pitt The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
  5. Mickey Rourke The Wrestler

My tip: Mickey Rourke. Because I'd love to see him thank his dogs again!

BEST ACTRESS NOMINATIONS

  1. Anne Hathaway Rachel Getting Married
  2. Angelina Jolie Changeling
  3. Melissa Leo Frozen River
  4. Meryl Streep Doubt
  5. Kate Winslet The Reader

My tip: Kate Winslet. Because I've never seen anyone faint during an acceptance speech. I think it's about time.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR NOMINATIONS

  1. Josh Brolin Milk
  2. Robert Downey Jr. Tropic Thunder
  3. Philip Seymour Hoffman Doubt
  4. Heath Ledger The Dark Knight
  5. Michael Shannon Revolutionary Road

My tip: Heath Ledger. Because - well, because.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS NOMINATIONS

  1. Amy Adams Doubt
  2. Penélope Cruz Vicky Cristina Barcelona
  3. Viola Davis Doubt
  4. Taraji P Henson The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
  5. Marisa Tomei The Wrestler

My tip: Penélope Cruz. Because according to Academy traditions, last year's Best Supporting Actor Javier Bardem, also her current amor, should present the award. I need my TV screen steam cleaned.

BEST HOST NOMINATIONS

  1. Billy Crystal.
  2. Billy Crystal.
  3. Billy Crystal.
  4. Billy Crystal.
  5. Billy Crystal.

My tip: Hugh Jackman. I love Billy Crystal but honestly, what did you expect!

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If It Acts Like a Log ...

20.1.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Tom Cruise met with reporters in South Korea on Sunday to promote his latest movie 'Valkyrie' in which he plays Claus von Stauffenberg, would-be Hitler assassin. Cruise {reportedly} told reporters "I've always wanted to kill Hitler. As a child, I used to wonder why someone didn't stand up and kill him."

Sorry, Tom. Take a number.

I wouldn't have pegged Tom Cruise as the capital punishment kind, though.

Ok, I freely admit you can put what I know about Scientology in one small time capsule, waiting for the mother ship to teleport it home. {See what I mean?}

I would have expected something different from Scientologists {'Sci' being derived from the Latin 'Scius-Fius' meaning rooted in fantasy that no-one is meant to understand without paying for}. Faith that they could have taken Hitler and really shown him what indoctrination was all about. {From here on in, I shall abbreviate to 'log' lest They use the false god Google to seek new prospects against whom to seek legal retribution. My piggy bank simply isn't that big. And the choice of 'log' is no reflection on Tom's acting, I promise.}

Knowing that Tom Cruise is a devoted log and poster boy, not just a flibbertigibbet passing through the ranks in hopes of John Travolta's autograph, I have to take it on face value that his feelings are representative of the beliefs of all logs. In a strangely comforting way, it goes to show that no matter how much earthly wealth or media coverage someone has accrued, logs do draw the saviour-line somewhere.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against log, in spite of the fact that I'm too scared to use its real name enough to risk optimising it for search engines. {And please, now is not the time to Digg or Stumble me.} I do admire John Travolta - he seems genuinely kind, gracious and cool. Surely anything he's hopelessly devoted to must have some goodness? {No wait - that's Olivia Newton-John. Never mind - the point still applies.}

Of course, the whole "I've always wanted to kill Hitler" thing could be nothing more than Tom Cruise showing his sense of humour. After all, let's not forget the Oprah Couch Incident or his Golden Globe nomination for Best Supporting Actor in 'Tropic Thunder'. {No wait - that's the Hollywood Foreign Press showing its sense of humour. Never mind - the point still applies.}

Or perhaps he simply forgot that 'Valkyrie' was already finished and 'in the can', and he was still stepping in Claus von Stauffenberg's highly polished boots. Does he get so involved with his characters so that he finds it hard to leave them behind? I guess we'd have to see whether he dances in his underdacks and socks in his lounge room at home to know. Anyone have Katie's phone number?
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Aircraft Safety 101

17.1.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Johnny Knoxville, star of 'Jackass', was detained last Thursday morning at LA International Airport for allegedly having a grenade in his luggage. Oops. There was no real threat, though, aside from the fellow passengers on his Miami flight succumbing to salted-peanut-induced sodium overload while waiting. During this delay, authorities ascertained that it was not a working grenade at all. No firing pin. No explosives.

If you are as concerned as I was that Quality Assurance is a thing of the past, don't worry. It was never intended to be a real live serious blow-your-Jackass off grenade! It was just a prop, which Johnny alleged was put there by a wardrobe girl after a shoot. (A turkey shoot?) He graciously apologised for the ruckAss and said he should have checked his bag himself, thereby deftly planting the blame in the wardrobe girl's carry-on luggage.

It led me to thinking, though: (Credit where it's due, I'd never have thought Johnny Knoxville would be brain food.)

Which souvenir movie props would be best left at home when travelling?

Here's my list so far.

  1. Gwyneth Paltrow's prosthetic head in a box ('Se7en') Kiss your connecting flight goodbye;
  2. Humphrey Bogart's bottle of gin ('Casablanca') Far exceeds the 100mL carry-on fluids limit;
  3. Michael J Fox's DeLorean DMC12 car ('Back to the Future') Tough on excess baggage, not to mention the 1.21 gigawatt Flux Capacitor playing havoc with the navigational instruments;
  4. The birds (Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Birds') Though one could argue they'd be less hazardous inside the plane than out in front of the engines;
  5. Carmen Miranda's fruit salad headdress ('The Gang's All Here') Head straight to Quarantine, do not pass Go.
Of course, there are many movie props that would be invaluable to have on the plane with you, like Audrey Hepburn's iconic black sunnies from 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' when you've mistakenly tried to hydrate yourself for the last three hours with white wine instead of water.

Make the most of that loophole, though. It's only a matter of time before they ban sunglasses in the aircraft cabin lest you snap off their arms and desperately try to cut your sweet and sour aircraft dinner chicken with them instead of the airline-supplied spork. Can't have that, can we.
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Misplaced: One Golden Globes Ceremony

13.1.09

by SHELL SHERREE

Does anyone know someone who knows someone whose hairdresser's uncle's accountant might know someone who works at the commercial TV stations and can come up with a logical reason why none of them showed this year's Golden Globes ceremony? I thought not.

Thank Heavens for pay TV.

Our special Economy Footy package usually only gives us permission to watch sports channels, black and white movies from the pre-Talkies era and lifestyle programmes that show you how to make a guest house from five years' worth of Paddle Pop sticks, twenty-one pairs of old pantyhouse and a hot glue stick.

This time, however, it came through for us. After cable surfing for long enough to see a frantically silent heroine rescued from the train tracks and a handbag fashioned from recycled fruit juice tetra packs, I located the elusive Golden Globes broadcast.

Imagine my chagrin to find that I'd already missed the first hour. Simon Baker presented an award in the first hour. I'm not sure which award he announced but it could have been Best Sandwiches by a Catering Van and he would have my undivided attention.

My hubby was grateful we didn't miss one of his personal favourites: Renée Zellweger. He said how lovely her gown was. (I said she could spend a bit more time eating the Best Sandwiches by a Catering Van.) He thought all his Christmases had come at once. (I thought her stylist was one branch short of a Christmas tree.) Then he put on his glasses and realised she was not naked under her diaphanous black gown but was wearing a flesh-toned corset. I rested my case. He decided life was better without glasses.

Lack of correct underwear aside, Globes for movie categories dominated proceedings. This was probably for the best, as the winning TV shows seem annoyingly absent from our commercial channels, thus rubbing our noses in what we are missing out on. Maybe the Mad Men at the TV stations hid them under the same 30 Rock that they used to hide one Golden Globes ceremony and a fetching black corset. I (and my hubby) live in hope.
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Hugh Jackman Hosts Oscars: Shares Spike in Smelling Salts Company

14.12.08

By SHELL SHERREE

It's official. Huge Hunkman is hosting the 2009 Academy Awards.

That's right. In the big format shakeup slated to bring viewers back to the Oscars fold, the decision was made to put comedians on the back burner and instead, choose the man best qualified to bring them back in droves: The Drover. Oh, who do they think they are kidding! They really chose the man most women want, a heck of a lot of men want and the rest of the men secretly want to be: Hugh Jackman.

Although it is touted as a break from tradition, I'm almost at the worship point of imagining him soft-shoe shuffling on water, so a sudden display of comedic timing would not surprise me in the slightest. And since he is said to be so short-sighted that he has difficulties reading teleprompters (but he will likely memorise his lines - beauty and brains, sigh), I wouldn't even put it past our Hugh to come up with his own impromptu material on the fly and go on to become the next big thing on Saturday Night Live. I do hope there's a bit of song and dance, too. Nothing says Awards Ceremony like an old fashioned choreography number and we know he won't put a foot wrong.

My only concern is that when it really boils down to it, we don't actually see that much of the host. Every category gives the excuse for another pair of glamorous celebs to amble out and steal precious minutes from quality time with our Hugh. I'm all for seeing celebs in their Sunday best, but not this year. We can check them out on the red carpet preview instead, thanks very much.

I might need to pick up some smelling salts, though. Hugh Jackman in a tux ... that's swooning material if ever I saw it! (Even my hubby agrees with me. Not that there's anything wrong with that ...)
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Baz Luhrmann: Just Foxing

20.11.08

By SHELL SHERREE


Are we the lucky country or what? Think how Kath and Kim we'd have sounded if Mark Anthony Luhrmann had taken the nickname Bazza instead of Baz.

"Bazza Luhrmann's Austroilia. Now showing at a cinema near every bloke and his sheila."

Thank heavens for small mercies. Come February 22nd, 2009, does anyone really want to hear, "And the Ocker goes to..." (If that day ever comes, pickle me pink and keep me perpetually sozzled.)
As a matter of fact, Baz earned his affectionate nickname for his resemblance to the adorable British glove puppet fox, Basil Brush, created in the late 1960s. So to all those Hollywood naysayers who doubted whether Baz would get 'Australia' over the line in time, take that - he was probably just foxing! (I say 'as a matter of fact' loosely, by the way, because my research only extends as far as Wikipedia and since it can be edited by anyone, there's a modicum of chance I'm giving you a bum steer. I'll always wonder if Josh Groban really did play kazoo at school...)


My same source says that Basil Brush's "persona, speech and gap-toothed look", in turn, was inspired by Terry-Thomas, a stirling English comedian, renowned for portraying disreputable cads of the upper classes and uttering "Good show!" By my calculations, this makes Baz a second cousin to Terry-Thomas or at worst, only two degrees of separation away, which is considerably less than the distance between Terry-Thomas's teeth. (I, on the other hand, have a veritable mosh pit of pearly whites jamming in my front row, proving that you can have too much of a good thing.)

Little wonder that Baz turned to show biz with such associations in his life. (Oh, and his father ran a petrol station and movie theatre, both of which would influence his film making career, according to my source. Not sure about the petrol station. He wanted to set the world on fire? He learned the importance of being able to pump up his own tyres? He saw the look in a woman's eyes when offered a grease and oil change and realised the power of a great romance?)

From the early critic reviews, it looks like Baz Luhrmann's love of the theatrical and a love story as mushy as the best pie and peas are evident in 'Australia'. I haven't seen the movie yet, but I will and I'll love it, damn it all, because I'm already fed up with people sharpening their secateurs for some Tall Poppy pruning.

For those who say the love scenes are Harlequin or Mills & Boon-esque as if it's a bad thing, let's guess how many millions of women have had their fancies tickled and blood pressure elevated by such entertainment over the years. I'd say A Lot.

And to the angst-riddled types who think giving people what they want is a sign of artistic weakness, perish the thought that Baz knows the fairer sex far too well to hide Hugh Jackman's melting smile and tanned six pack under the shade of a sensible Akubra for long. I have to admit, though: I think I'm a little in love with Deborra-Lee Furness. What a woman! She has the guts not to embrace camping even though her hunk of hubby was filming in the Never Never (we comfort-lovers instinctively know there's a reason why it's called that). And she has the fortitude to not pass out with delirium every time he looks at her the way he does ... no wonder Hugh is so smitten!

There are accusations of schmaltz in 'Australia' but let's remember that Baz wanted to bump off The Drover. After a pushy test audience and possibly a beer or two, he acquiesced to peer pressure and went for one of his alternative endings, so it wasn't really his fault. (He was also seen hanging around the back of the cinema on opening night having a few surreptitious puffs with the tough kids.) I'm looking forward to seeing it and finding out for myself. Fortunately my blood pressure is on the low side so I can take a few hours of The Drover without missing a beat.
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