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Edinburgh, in a word, is stunning. Glasgow on the other hand, although it has its own charm is, quite obviously, the more functional of the two cities. Edinburgh belongs to the British, while the lifeblood of Glasgow is well and truly Scottish. And this was the discovery of our flying visit to both cities over the recent long weekend. Edinburgh and Glasgow present two very different interpretations of Scottish life.
Edinburgh is generally high on the list of places to visit for the incoming tourist trade, and is very much a British place to be, having been effectively handed over as the monarchy’s play town. This was evident from when I first walked through the door of our luxurious bed and breakfast, Two Hillside Crescent, which greatly outdid our expectation and we thoroughly recommend. The young lass managing the property, I had assumed was English due to her mild manner and barely hint of anything recognisably Scottish in her accent. I was later advised, no, that is the Edinburgh accent, but that some folk from this end of the country do consider themselves British before Scottish.
Having arrived in the dark I had hardly noticed the grandeur of the city, more focused on the impending black cab ride than the lights of the old town competing for attention with those of the new. The city itself is remarkable in its preservation of the old and accommodation of the new. Many of Edinburgh’s streets turn out not to be streets at all, but bridges, with the upper floors of buildings accessible from the bridge entrance and the lower floors accessible from ground level. Although apparently even ground level isn’t ground level as I am reliably informed that below again is a series of walkways and passages.
And so it was with mouth gaping and wondering in my eyes that we wandered around the old town of Edinburgh. As per my usual recommendation when time is of the essence we took the open top bus ride to get our bearings. It’s also a great way to continue on being a tourist even when the weather isn’t all that agreeable. Edinburgh Castle holds pride of place overlooking the movements of the population below. It’s an obvious tourist trap, and although of interest to many, for us the visit to Edinburgh was about a little more than an observation of its historical features.
Having graduated from University and unable to locate suitably stimulating employment, Mister Emmet upped stumps and moved to Edinburgh where he lived for close to a year. It’s here that he met one mutual friend, who I would not meet until several years later, and who would eventually lead us into each others lives. Awe, soppy I know. But for Emmet it as important to show me the places that marked a remarkable year for him. It was only fair, as I had shown him parts of Finland that had an impact on my life, he could now retrace the steps that provided him with a period of personal growth and began him on the path that brought him to me. And so it was we made our way to the National Museum of Scotland, where Mister Emmet worked briefly as a waiter. The Museum, unfortunately, is currently undergoing significant renovations so the actual location of the cafe was blocked off, but none the less a photo was taken outside the front entrance and we wandered inside to take a look at Dolly the cloned sheep. She looks remarkably like a sheep, to those out there who are wondering.
Enough of the sentimentality and back on the tourist trail…or maybe a mix of both, as we stopped at the memorial to Greyfriars Bobby, who for 14 years stayed by his master’s graveside. Bobby was well known by the locals who would provide him with food and water and ensured his survival in the face of dog registration requirements handed down by the local council. A little tear in our eyes as dog lovers hanging out for a puppy to call our own.
The remains of the day were spent wandering the streets, where I was blown away by the preservation of both the old town and the significant green space so close to a functional city centre is a really pleasing sight. As you’re walk on passed Marks and Spencer the view down the street may be one of green hills, a loch or of Edinburgh Castle’s all seeing eye. Edinburgh strikes me as being best appreciated in this way, being in amongst its city streets, so after a quick purchase of a new pair of shoes (the ones I was wearing were soaked through), that’s exactly what we did.
Today I’m a little annoyed. I keep encountering people in Dublin who, upon hearing my accent, ask from whence I have come only to poo-poo when I say I’m from south of Sydney (as much as I love the ‘gong there’s little hope of anyone over here having heard of the place).
‘Oh’, they say, ‘I was in Sydney once….’. And I go stumbling into the trap laid bare before me. ‘And what did you think of it?’, I ask, knowing full well what the response will be. ‘Didn’t like it much’. Shock horror. ‘Oh?’ I ask putting on a front of having not heard such a comment before. ‘Yeah, it’s not that interesting, and the people aren’t all that friendly’. I sigh as I ask the well practiced follow up question, ‘how long were you there for?’. ‘A week’, at best, ‘three days’, at worst, followed by ‘then we went up to Cairns’!
Now, there’s your problem right there.
Soon after I grew weary of the commute between Bulli and the City I moved to Sydney. First, as a contract employee without a permanent income or landlord reference to point to, I moved into a share house, a dodgy one at that, where there were no contracts, just a mellow property manager who would come around once a week with a receipt book and a pack of rollies. I lived in Sydney for somewhere between four and five years and even I haven’t yet figured out how it all works, it’s no bloody wonder that after three days you’d had enough!
But in all honesty, you just weren’t looking hard enough. And in three days who could ask you to.
Sydney is truly a commuter City in that the CBD, which incidentally is where all the obvious touristy things are, can be eerily quiet on the weekends when the workers who commute in, even if only from the inner suburbs, retreat to their locals to relax before jumping back on the nine-to-five merry-go-round. Dear tourist, did you venture beyond the Quay or the Harbour? Did you venture beyond walking distance of your hotel? Did you wander through the communities of Glebe, Paddington, Surry Hills or Newtown? Stopping for a beer in the Rocks just does not compare to drinking a slow pint in the Lord Wolesey, a million miles from City life and yet just behind Darling Harbour Exhibition Centre. Even so, I am still mesmerised by the sight of the Harbour Bridge lights reflecting on the water on a clear dark evening.
Below, dear tourist, are some suggestions, to take you away from your hotel that you have no doubt booked in Kings Cross, and ever so slightly off the beaten track in between some of the tourist essentials, to, hopefully, provide a more endearing impression of my City, of Sydney.
Heading the right way towards to the City, ie bypassing where you can Darlinghurst Road in the Cross, you should come to Woolloomooloo, where Russell Crowe has his City residence. Very nice. I would be amiss to not mention Harry’s Cafe de Wheels, a Sydney institution where the purchase of a beef pie smothered with mash potato and mushie peas swimming in gravy is an absolute must. Oh, and don’t forget to wash it down with a Bundaberg Ginger Beer!
Onward and you should come to the Domain, which may or may not, depending on the time of year, feature a festival or gig of some sort in its amphitheatre. Beside the Domain is the Art Gallery of NSW, where many a New South Welsh-child has been on excursion. Touring or specialist exhibitions sometimes cost a few dollars, or ten, but the permanent works are free to admire. Beyond the Domain there’s a butt ugly building, which is probably the ‘new’ part of Parliament House, a building I know all too intimately. The new section is restricted to political types and party hacks but the old part, where the two houses are, is actually worth a look, if politics is in any way your thing. Or you might just like to pass on by. Right next door is the State Library, which often has exhibitions of its own, a lot of which seem to be photographic. On the other side of Parliament House is the Eye Hospital, and then the Mint, and then Hyde Park Barracks, all of which feature exhibitions of one type or another, general historical in nature.
So, from Macquarie Street you’re pretty much smack in the middle of it! The Opera House is in one direction, Hyde Park in another and in a third direction there’s shopping! You can walk through the Botanic Gardens on the way to the Opera House just watch out for the flying fox poop! The Botanic Gardens make a nice place for a picnic or just to chill out. You’re in the middle of Sydney, but somehow you’re a million miles from anywhere. The Opera House has a tour through the concert halls. There’s a main concert hall and then a couple of smaller venues underneath. One feels like you’re sitting in a red velvet jewellery box, where you can usually see something a little bit fringe for a little bit cheaper. If you follow the curve of the Quay you’ll pass by the wharves that can take you to Manly, Balmain or Taronga Zoo for the day.
Keep wandering around and you’ll come to the Museum of Contemporary Art, then some swanky restaurants in the overseas passenger terminal. If you’re up for something nice, although a little pricy (but hey, you always win coming from the Euro into Aussie Dollars), try Wildfire. The mushroom plate for entre is unbelievable!
You should come to the Harbour Bridge pretty soon thereafter. If you have the time, I would recommend the Bridge Climb experience. By all accounts, rain, mist or clear skies, it’s worth the money and the climb. If you’re not a fan of heights then at the very least a walk across the Bridge is in order. It’s not too far and Luna Park on the north side is worthwhile for a photo or two, if not for reliving your childhood with a ride or two.
Back on the south side and I’d suggest a walk through The Rocks. It’s a historically significant settlement site, and also, as you walk along Circular Quay you’ll have noticed markers in the pavers which map out the 1788 shoreline. At the weekend The Rocks hosts a market, which sells interesting trinkets, snacks and the like. As you head back towards town stop in at the Shangri-La Hotel. The cocktail bar on one of the top levels has a brilliant view and the cocktails aren’t bad either!
Continue your stroll down George Street, as this will take you into the CBD and the shopping areas. If the walk is too long, stop off at Max Brenner for hot chocolate and a chocolate babka. Then roll out the door, onwards and upwards until you come to the Apple Store on George Street. From here the main pedestrian shopping mall of Pitt Street runs parallel for a block. But if you continue along George Street you’ll come to yet another building of architectural significance, the Queen Victoria Building, featuring a statue of HRH Queen V herself. Apparently a gift to the people of Australia from the Irish upon shaking off their colonial shackles.
Beyond the QVB and onward along George Street, stopping just short of where the light rail crosses the road, follow the rail line around to the right and you’ll have Chinatown on your right and Market City on your left. The markets are open Thursday to Sunday and have all sorts of bits and pieces that are imported cheaply from Asia. Towards the far end there’s also fresh fruit, veg, meats and seafood. But if you prefer, head over the road for something different in Chinatown. There’s a great little dumpling place up near Goulburn Street, or BBQ King slightly further along Goulburn Street, where I hear the Peking Duck is excellent.
If, though, rather than heading into Chinatown you follow the road around from Market City you’ll come to the Sydney Entertainment Centre…it’s pretty much an entertainment centre, and occasionally has something worthwhile seeing, but if you’re only in town for a few days there are probably better things you can spend your time doing. Just beyond the Entertainment Centre is Darling Harbour. You’ll pass by The Pumphouse, which has a good selection of world beers, and keeping on you’ll come to the Chinese Garden of Friendship, a little bit of serenity in the middle of what can be a bustling city.
Through the fountains and passed the MacDonalds (there are plenty of other options, in fact the main thing to do in Darling Harbour is probably eat), and you’re into the Harbour proper. I say ‘harbour’, but actually up until about 20 years ago it was actually a cruddy old docklands. Hard to imagine these days. Cockle Bay is the little bit with all the seating around it. So, down to the eating. There’s the Meat & Wine Co and Hurricane’s Bar & Grill for those who need a steak, ribs or burger. Pancakes on the Rocks for….well…pancakes, actually, the original is at The Rocks, but you’re here now, so we’ll make do. The Little Snail if you’re up for French inspired cuisine, the Bayside Lounge for sparking wine and canapes or a dessert selection plate, and Blackbird for something cheap and cheerful cafe style. I could go on, and basically in Darling Harbour you’re spoilt for choice! Sit outside if the weather is good, and if it’s a little chilly, sit outside anyway, under the outdoor heater provided. The backdrop of the city lights over dinner, or the blue sky over lunch can be truly glorious.
At this point you might want to jump on the light rail that runs just behind Darling Harbour, and head on over to Glebe. Remember, here you’re travelling in the direction heading out of the City, rather than into it. Alight at Glebe and walk up the stairs (it’s a bit steep) onto Glebe Point Road, the main drag. Now, you may think you’ve entered into suburbia, but bear with me. Glebe is a bit of a mixed bag, with some incredibly wealthy people living there while others live in council housing. Anyway, heading in the direction away from the water Glebe Point Road is littered with cafes and restaurants, most with an arty and relaxed feel to them, such as Badde Manors is great for a weekend breakfast fry! At the end of Glebe Point Road you’ll come to a highway, across which is the lovely Victoria Park. Beside Victoria Park is the University of Sydney, which has the reputation of being one of the country’s premier tertiary institutions. The University grounds feature an interesting mix of old buildings and new, with the chapel a popular choice for weddings. But, at the end of the day it’s a uni, so take it or leave it, depending on what takes your fancy.
The road that runs around Victoria Park becomes Kings Street, Newtown. Newtown likes to think it’s a bit alternative, a little bit bohemian, but looking at some of the property prices you can’t help but wonder how it maintains this charm and appeal. King Street, though, is lined with funky fashion outlets (Faster Pussycat), cinema (Dendy), bookstores (Gould’s Book Arcade), great food and varied drinking establishments. There’s a melting pot of meals within walking distance from each other. But Guzman y Gomez is my recommendation after an evening of sensible consumption of alcoholic beverages in one of Newtown’s fine public houses.
So, if you’ve done all that, you’ve had a pretty impressive and LONG day in Sydney. And we’ve barely begun! Turn in a different direction and you could end up in Paddington, where on Saturday’s there’s a market featuring the creations of tomorrows top designers and the streets are lined with designer stores and boutiques, not to mention the cupcake shop and another Max Brenner. Take the bus through Paddo and you’ll likely to end up in Bondi, which if you’re an English tourist keen on pinking it up (sorry guys, ya just don’t tan well, naturally anyway), might tickle your fancy. In another direction you’ve got Surry Hills, which is another cafe cultured location with a semi-bohemian but little more upmarket in places feel. Crown Street, which comes off the Kings Cross end of Oxford Street, will lead you to some funky shops (see Wheels & Dollbaby), galleries (try Outre) and cafes en route though to Surry Hills, where the Clock Hotel is not a bad place for a pint.
So there, a brief introduction, not too far from the beaten track, but hopefully just enough to enhance your three day stop over in Sydney.
Somewhere in the hinterland of my late teens I discovered the film Dogma.
As a young person brought up within the Catholic system and having by this stage developed my own sense of disenchantment, Dogma appealed to me not only as a lighthearted comedic way of passing time but in a more, spiritual if you will, way. Of course, the casting of Alan Rickman as the somewhat disaffected Metatron, the voice of God, also appealed. And it is from here I discovered director, writer and whatever else he lists on his resume, Kevin Smith.
1999 was probably a little late to have come to discover the [once] talent that is Kevin Smith, who can possibly be credited with bringing to the silver screen the genre of movies about you. By which I mean movies about the fatass loser who talks about comic books and somehow ends up getting the girl, who may not be stunning but is somehow normal. His first crack at that whip was Clerks, which is literally a film about a couple of guys working in a convenience store. With the discovery that, as Smith himself puts it, ‘this counts as a movie now’, Smith created a genre about normal people doing normal things and having the conversations that normal people have. Although highly scripted his characters tend to crap on about the same things you and your mates would after a few drinks, when we’re all equipped to solve the problems of the world only to wake up the next morning with no memory of the wonderous solutions we concocted the night before.
I’ve seen most of his films, but stopped short of Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Now, I’ve always been aware of Smith’s penchant for including extreme sexual references in his films for some time, and I am generally okay with accepting this when it’s spoken and not acted – call me a prude but it’s my personal opinion. For some reason Zack and Miri for me is the line in the sand, and granted it may also have something to do with the fact that it stars Seth Rogan of whom I am not really a fan. My gut feel about Zack and Miri was probably exacerbated by the donkey scene in Clerks II, which I did happily go along for convinced that, no, he couldn’t possibly go that far.
On Wednesday night last, Mr Smith did a show at Vicar Street in Dublin as part of his Q&A speaking tour. His talks, some of which are available on dvd, are known to be packed full of lengthy and expletive ridden stories of his life as a film and comic fanboy made good but are generally impressive tales. However. On this night I realised something. While I have grown up and moved on, Kevin Smith has not. Or at least the persona he puts forward at these events has not.
This of course, is not to say that there were not parts of the evening that I enjoyed, such as his relaying of the experience of directing 25 year veteran of this business of show, Bruce Willis during filming of A Couple of Dicks (due out next year), but even that story provided enough evidence that Smith truly is a fanboy dressed in director’s clothing. That said, I was impressed by his committment to his ‘art’, if you can call it that, as relayed by his stories of continual battles with the United States’ censors, the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), whereby Smith has had to fight for a lesser rating on almost all of his features, including, unbelievably, his most tame, Jersey Girl for the inclusion of ‘frank’ dialogue.
Unfortunately, in between the stories, and there is no denying Smith is a brilliant story teller, Smith obsessively talks about sex, anal sex, anal sex with his wife and now, also, becoming a full-time yet functional smoker of dope. And it is here that I lose respect for the man and begin to wonder if he has, indeed, had his day.
Kevin Smith, I fear, has possibly become synonymous with Quentin Tarantino, in that they’re both still doing the same thing they were doing ten years ago. The problem is, while I’m not sure Tarantino has the capacity to move on as a film maker, I have a sneaky feeling that Smith is actually more intelligent and talented than he lets on…he’s just lazy. For this reason I will still be interested to see what Smith produces in the future, more from a perspective of the written and directed by combination as I think he has the capacity to create interesting, well formulated and well scripted works of realistic fiction. His upcoming projects include Red State, a horror movie inspired by Pastor Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church, which is known for hating just about everything and everyone including the gay community, most other religions including Christian variants, and Sweden. Apparently Red State has no redeeming characters, which has meant a struggle for finance, but is also what will set it apart from other films that Hollywood is currently bombarding us with. However, Red State is likely to sit on the back burner in preference of Hit Somebody, an ice hockey movie that might also tickle my own fancy as a fan of the overall sport.
Okay, so I was a little late to the True Blood party, and am generally unlikely to pursue something simply because of the hype surrounding it, but in the case of True Blood I made an exception. Motivated primarily by the obvious passion it evoked in a number of my friends, whom I would generally consider intellectual, informed and with, again generally, good taste, I sat down to watch the first season of True Blood. Mister Emmet even went so far as to read the first of Charlaine Harris‘ Sookie Stackhouse novels, Dead Until Dark. He tells me that, as an adaptation the first season is quite accurate, with a few notable exceptions primarily involving the enhancement of some of the support characters. Although I haven’t read the book, for this, I believe we should be thankful, because it’s difficult to imagine how the story of Sookie, sorry, Suhkie, and her necromantic boyfriend Bill, would sustain an audience for the duration of an episode, let alone an entire season.
The basic premise is this, Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin) is a waitress in a small town bar in hickville, sorry, Bon Temps, Louisiana. She befriends and then falls for former Confederate solder and vampire William ‘Bill’ Compton (Stephen Moyer). But Bill isn’t the only neighbourhood oddity, with Sookie herself burdened by telepathy, the origins of which go unexplained, and her boss at the bar, Sam Merlotte (Sam Trammell), shoulders his own little paranormal secret. Really, neither of the two main characters is awe inspiring. If you met them down the pub you’d probably walk on by.
Sookie’s brother Jason Stackhouse (Ryan Kwanten) is the town bike, but of the male variety, which makes it okay… and is in the unfortunate position of being blamed for the untimely demise of a number of women in the small town of Bon Temps, which, for the record, is fictional. And here’s where the problems start. Jason Stackhouse as a character is underwhelming and one dimensional. Whatever about him being a commentary on the little lost souls of young men everywhere, unable to feel emotion and turning to constant and unrestrained sex as a substitute for developing relationships or attachments…blah blah blah. But it is HBO, and I’m convinced they have a quota system in place. He is little more than a tool to move the plot along, delivering very little for the viewer to invest in. In fact I lost interest in Jason at two major points, neither of which were effectively addressed or given closure within the storyline. First, Jason slaps Sookie during an argument. Fine, but the issue is thereafter passed over, with the guilt for the falling out between sister and brother squarely laid on Sookie when Jason’s junkie girlfriend convinces Sookie that Jason is really remorseful and that she should reach out to him…ummm, no. He hit her. He should come back, make at least some sort of apology and deal with being in the dog house for a good while yet. The second point I take issue with is the fact that he invited his Great Uncle to the funeral of their Grandmother…spoiler alert, whoops, too late. His ignorance of the wishes of his late Grandmother, who had obviously not been in any sort of contact with her brother for some significant period of time, and his sister, who, although unbeknownst to Jason, was assaulted by the Great Uncle, is unconscionable. I know Jason as a character is daft and stupid, but really?
This leads me to another point, why introduce the Grand Uncle at all? I know it’s in the book, but by the time we get to the Grandmother’s funeral we’re already half way through the season sustaining more than enough storyline for one science fiction soap opera. Bill eventually kills the Grand Uncle and that’s the end of that, no really. Sookie, for all we know is unaware of this having occurred. There is no discussion, there is no closure, just another unnecessary death. There is also no real addition to the development of the characters…Bill is no more a hero to Sookie, nor is he anymore an unremorceful murderer. So, we now know that Sookie was abused, but again, it builds no more into her character. Abuse is a hugely damaging and emotional occurrence, and all we get here is an underwhelming plot point wiped clean and swiftly forgotten.
Anyway, the show must go on, apparently. It is the support characters who have been given meatier and more interesting profiles in True Blood. Beginning with Tara Thornton (Rutina Wesley), Sookie’s best friend, although there is little for the audience to go on by way of proof of this relationship other than the characters told us so. Tara is a loud mouthed angry young woman who is arguably emotionally stunted due to her home situation whereby she has been responsible for her alcoholic mother (brilliantly played by Adina Porter). Throughout the first season Tara’s back story is more deeply explored and genuinely more interesting than that of the Stackhouse’s. Her character is a product of the Tara in the book, although there she was a white girl without much to say, and parts of Sookie’s original literary character, or so I’m told. Tara’s cousin Lafayette Reynolds (Nelsan Ellis) is similarly compelling, and has been described, at least to me, as one of the only two truly gay characters on television, the other being Omar Little of The Wire. I’m not sure what the gay community thinks this in the context of Lafayette as a prostitute and drug dealer (including the supply of ‘V’ – vampire blood), but none the less he does bring another side to this Southern story. To a lesser extent the development of Sam Merlotte’s back story also provides for a jucier story than that surrounding Sookie and Bill, but by far the most underutilised character is Terry Bellefleur (Todd Lowe), cousin of the local detective and returned Iraq veteran who serves up the occasional clanger but poignant commentary on current Bon Temps events.
In terms of the presentation, I’ve never been a big fan of graphic sex or violence on television. Now those of you watching True Blood would turn and say, well this show is not for you. And in part you would be right. I don’t feel the amount of sex presented on screen is necessary for the continuity of the show. It takes the allusion of being bitten on the neck and makes it an all out in your face assault. Sometimes leaving a little to the imagination is a far more useful plot device than tits and arse for all to see. Similarly, I’m not overly impressed by exploding vampires. For me it demeans the death, when, particularly in the case of vampires, it’s about the death of the soul as much as the destruction of the body. They’re already dead. To destroy the body in such a graphic way does nothing in the way of dealing with the idea of that body being in possession by something, undead, demonic, evil, I don’t know…but something greater than human, being, soul. Cartooning violence in my opinion is unsavoury. Death, murder, killing. It all loses it’s impact if all that remains is a pool of blood or a collection of fleshy fragments. I had a similar criticism of the recent District 9, in which I felt the explosive deaths undermined the attempts at commentary on serious issues. Also, why did Sookie not get high after the explosive death of the vampire barman in Fangtasia? She was quite literally bathed in the stuff, she must have ingested at least a few drops, and apparently that’s all it takes?
Despite all of this, and there is a lot to criticise, and I could go on, I will be interested to see where season 2 leads. The problem is that I’m really not sure what has sucked me in or why. But, what I do know is that it’s definitely wasn’t Anna Paquin’s side boob.
