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Peter

No Cherry for Cheri

Based on the 1920s novel by French writer Colette, Cheri is a tragic comedy love story set in Paris in the early 20th Century. A time considered the twilight of the ‘Belle Époque’, literally the ‘beautiful era’.

Directed by Stephen Frears, (The Queen), screenplay by Christopher Hampton, (Atonement) and starring, Michelle Pfeiffer, (Hairspray), Kathy Bates, (Fried Green Tomatoes) and Rupert Friend, (The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas).

So it’s a cast and crew with lots of talent, in fact Frears, Hampton and Pfeiffer all worked together on 'Dangerous Liaisons' in 1988. Unfortunately they do not recreate the magic in this offering, somewhere in the mix things get a little lost.

The film is beautifully shot and sumptuously dressed but doesn’t quite work as the tragedy/comedy it sets out to be. Sure there are some awfully good individual moments but too few of them to make an entire film.

The plot is simple enough; aging courtesan Lea de Lonval, (Pfeiffer), is considering retirement she agrees to help her former colleague and sometime rival Madame Peloux, (Bates), by taking Peloux’s 19 year old son Fred aka Cheri, (Friend), under her wing and save him from a life of louche hedonism. For six years Lea teaches Cheri the art of love and life and they settle into a life of easy domesticity. Just as Lea seems prepared to make a commitment Cheri is married off to the daughter of another courtesan. Cheri and Lea who have unwittingly fallen for each other must now come to terms with their lives being lived apart.

Pfeiffer handles the role of Lea with a sense of style and class, allowing us, every now and then, to peak through the veneer of world weariness and see the vulnerability beneath as she confronts her lost love and lost youth.

Bates, as Peloux, is conniving, manipulative, vengeful and petty, her performance is both over the top and larger than life. Aware that her looks and figure have long since departed she has retreated into a world of venality. Clearly she must have been a hit as a courtesan because she looks as if she has eaten her way through many a fortune.

Friend, (Cheri), is the weakest character. Frears has chosen one of those mop top almost androgenous man/boys that England seems to produce by the bucket load, think ‘Twilight’ and ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’, to play the part of the ‘beautiful youth’ who has seen it all, done it all and been bored by most of it. Friend doesn’t excite, in fact he is so wet and annoying that I found it hard to understand why Lea, a sophisticated woman in need of intellectual stimulation would have put up with him for so long. Leaving aside this one major flaw, it’s an easy film to watch and luxuriate in.

One unkind critic, not me, summed it as, “A cougar catches a twink, loses a twink and then tries to catch him again.”

There are some extremely camp moments and if awards are ever handed out for ‘chewing the scenery’ then surely the two older ‘women’ playing cards will win hands down.

The voiceover that moves the story forward and then wraps up the rather tragic and unseen ending is spoken by an uncredited Stephen Frears.

Cheri will be in general release from July 23.

Poor Boy

Seven years ago on the night that ‘Jem Glass’, (Jed Rosenberg/ Nicholas Bakopoulos-Cooke), was born something happened; an event that would link two families through time, ‘Danny Prior’ (Mathew Newton), died. He was run down as he crossed a pedestrian crossing and left to die. His mother, (Sarah Peirse) and his wife, (Abi Tucker), have never really moved on from that night.

Jem Glass is about to celebrate his seventh birthday, the cake is made the candles are lit but Jem passes out before the family can celebrate. When he comes to he’s not who he once was. Jem arrives at the Prior family home claiming to be their long dead son, Danny. He knows all there is to know about his ‘new’ family and nothing about his ‘old’.

One family has to let go while the other has to embrace someone they thought they had lost forever.

What happens when one soul needs to complete with the family left behind? What is a soul? These are just two of the really big questions that ‘Poor Boy’ attempts to answer. Pretty heady stuff you would imagine, questions that some of the great minds have been struggling with for centuries.

Strong performances across the board from the cast with the standouts being Linda Cropper as ‘Viv Glass’ and Sarah Peirse as ‘Ruth Prior’.

It’s the staging that grabs your attention, on a multi level set designed by Iain Aitken the players of this family drama try to come to terms with reincarnation and excise the demons of deeds past.

To use an old fashioned term, this is a lavish production. It’s theatrical, expertly staged and what a luxury to have the band on stage, on hydraulics, and what a cracking band it is, directed by Ian McDonald.

But here’s the rub; does the ‘work’ stand up as well as the staging? There are some really great moments in this production but there are some truly cringe worthy bits as well – the rebirth of the Flame tree made me groan, the affectation of the zebra head, as much as I loved the head, in the end, how much did it really move the story forward?

The author, Matt Cameron, describes ‘Poor Boy’ as a play with music by Tim Finn, (pictured). Sure new songs have been written for the production but other songs most noticeably, ‘I Hope I Never’, have been worked into the script, not always successfully.

The show doesn’t quite live up to the staging.

Having said all of that at the end of the performance the audience was very vocal and energetic in its approval.

It’s at times like that, when I’m seeing a play or a piece of theatre and everyone around me is so entranced and taken up by the whole experience that I start to wonder, “Why am I not as moved or involved as the others. What is it about me that stops me from experiencing the same amount of joy that everyone else seems to be.” I sat in the theatre and listened to the cheers and the applause for the show and thought, “Have we all just seen the same piece? Sure it was good but it wasn’t great.” Immediately I began to doubt my own critical abilities.

I have prepared myself to be shot down in flames by the rest of the audience.

‘Poor Boy’ opened July 9, at the Sydney Theatre and runs until August 1.

'Every Little Step' - stumbles but it's worth the trip

May 21st, 1975, off Broadway, at The Public Theatre the first professional performance of ‘A Chorus Line’ was staged; Michael Bennett’s Pulitzer Prize winning show about the dancers, (Gypsies), who perform behind the star.

After a year of taped workshops in which dancers told their stories the format for the show was set. From all the diverse characters that gathered together for Bennett’s workshop a theatrical event was born. A show that proved to be the forerunner for the reality TV shows that fill screens today: ‘So You Think You Can Dance, Australian Idol’ to name just a couple.

The plot for the show is simple; seventeen dancers audition for eight roles, four male and four female, in an upcoming Broadway show. Through the audition process the audience learn that the dancers are not just distractions to keep you entertained while the star changes into yet another, brighter and bigger costume, but that each one of these ‘Gypsies’ has a story and that these stories deserves to be told.

‘A Chorus Line’ grabbed the heart of New York and indeed the world. It transferred from Off Broadway to the Schubert Theatre. It went on to be the longest running show on Broadway running for 6,137 performances. A record since broken by 'Cats' and 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

‘Every Little Step’ is a documentary about the restaging of the show in 2006 on Broadway. Using flashbacks of the original cast and sound clips from that first workshop the filmmakers attempt to link the two audition processes together.

Unfortunately, while the documentary is hugely entertaining, thanks mainly to a superb audition piece by Jason Tam that had the Producers and the audience in tears, and the hunt for Sheila, the film misses, not by much, but enough to leave you wanting something a little more organic from the film makers.

The main problem for me is that there is not enough reference to the past and not enough engagement with the present.

We’re all used to the ‘Reality’ format of such TV shows as the previously mentioned ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ and ‘Idol’, shows that encourage you to become emotionally attached to particular performers throughout the competition. 'Every Little Step' for the most part leaves you feeling slightly distanced from those auditioning.

Don’t get me wrong by the end of the film I was an emotional wreck but still left with a feeling that something was missing.

The show ‘A Chorus Line’ succeeds because the audience is invited in to the world of the dancer and we experience the struggle, pain and heartache that they go through to try and achieve their goal. We are seduced by their stories.
‘Every Little Step’ misses because we're not as invested in the people auditioning.

However with all those reservations it’s well worth spending 90 minutes in a darkened theatre and allow this piece of American musical history to take you away.


‘Every Little Step’ is playing at Palace Cinemas – check your local paper for session times.

When Shi Isn't She

In other news today, July 6th, Shi Pei Pu passed away possibly aged 71.

Shi, (pronounced Shuh), was a Chinese national who taught the French diplomats wives Chinese in Beijing. Shi may or may not have been a singer with the Chinese Opera. Shi also had an affair with a very minor French diplomat named Bernard Boursicot.

Boursicot believed Shi was a singer with the Chinese Opera and female.

They met in Beijing and the affair continued on and off for almost twenty years. Shi convinced Boursicot that their union had produced a male child, Shi Du Lu, (Bertrand). Believing that Shi’s safety was in jeopardy Boursicot agreed to pass documents to the Chinese secret service.

Boursicot was instrumental in getting Shi and the child out of China to Paris in 1982, where they lived as a family until their arrest in 1983.
The affair, when it was discovered ruined Boursicot and he became a laughing stock in France. He and Shi were tried for treason in 1986, both receiving six year sentences and both being pardoned a year later.

Boursicot never knew that Shi was male until they were arrested in 1982. He explained that their sex had always been rather hurried, frantic and always in the dark. When he found out the truth he tried to commit suicide by slicing his throat with a razor blade.

The affair between Shi and Boursicot spawned the Broadway show and movie M. Butterfly.

Boursicot now lives happily with his longtime partner, (male).

Shi is survived by his son Bertrand who also lives in Paris, but has no contact with Boursicot.

1969 was a VERY big year!

1969 it was a very big year for change. A lot happened in 1969 - not all of it good.

It was the year that Richard Milhous Nixon was first elected President of the United States of America, the year of the last ever public performance by The Beatles, on top of Apple Records, the year of the first flight of the Boeing 747, the Jumbo jet that would revolutionise air travel, Judy Garland died from an accidental drug overdose, Prince Charles was invested as Prince of Wales, Apollo 11 was launched and the lunar module Eagle landed on the lunar surface, Charles Manson and members of his cult murdered a pregnant Sharon Tate, the Woodstock Festival was held in upstate New York, The Brady Bunch premiered on American television, Sesame Street started, the first GAP store opened. It was a busy year.

Two other events were reported for 1969, events that have changed the life of every gay man and woman.

1969 is reported as being the first year that the HIV virus was documented as migrating to the USA from Haiti.

1969 was also the year of the Stonewall Riots in New York.

These two events would continue to colour our lives for the next four decades and probably for many more to come.

In Greenwich Village on Christopher St. there was a small, rather seedy bar run by the Genovese Mafia Family. It served watered down drinks, paid off the police and was frequented by transvestites, lesbians, gay men and homeless kids. On the night of June 28 the New York Police raided the club. This type of event was reasonably common in the 50s and 60s but for some reason on this particular night, people had decided that they had had enough and refused to go quietly.

No one is really sure who was first to say “Not this time”, was it a butch dyke dressed as a man or a transvestite who first resisted arrest and started to rally the crowd?

It started with the throwing of coins, a symbol of the graft that the Mafia were paying the police, (gayola) and quickly escalated to bottles, rocks and anything handy being hurled at the law. The normally meek ‘fags’ decided that now was the time for ‘Gay Power’.

Word spread through the Village and across the city; hundreds of gay men, lesbians and other minority groups converged on Christopher St. to join the protest.

The Police were woefully outnumbered and had to use the pay phone inside Stonewall to call for reinforcements. Bolstered by the Tactical Patrol Force, (TPF), riot police specially trained to deal with anti Vietnam War protesters, New York’s finest tried to regain control of the streets but every time the protesters were dispersed they would reform and challenge the TPF by forming a ‘kick line’, like a crowd of angry Rockettes, singing and mocking the police. This was a different style of protest, a protest never seen before but soon to become familiar throughout the world. A protest with panache, that would one day become the mainstay of Gay Pride marches throughout the world, proving that you could get your message across and achieve change with wit and humour.

For the next five nights the crowds, in varying numbers, would regather to hammer home the message, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it.”

In July, the week after the riots, a new organisation was born in New York, the ‘Gay Liberation Front’, (GLF), whose sole purpose was to promote equality and force change on an unwilling government. During the next year lesbians and gay men, through out the world formed their own version of the GLF and took their fight to their streets.


In Australia as news of the riots filtered through, Sydney’s first political group, ‘Campaign Against Moral Persecution’, (CAMP), was formed in 1970. The first national Gay Pride march happened on 15 September 1973, with 18 arrests. In 1975 Rod Stringer with Bill McElvie launched ‘Campaign’ a national gay men’s magazine. On the night of Saturday, 24 June, 1978 the first major protest rally to demand equal rights for homosexuals was held in Sydney and from that march the ‘Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras’ was born.

Meanwhile, back in 1969 that little known virus that had migrated from Haiti to America was marshalling its own troops and by the 80’s was ready to mount its own attack on an unsuspecting populace.

1969 was for a lot of reasons a very BIG year.

From Motown to Tehran - Before Breakfast

Here is where I started: I woke this morning checked my laptop for emails and logged on to my Facebook account and ended up asking...

How did you hear about The Princess of Wales’s death? Did you read about it in newspapers, hear it on the radio or perhaps you watched the reports on television as the events unfolded. It was a story that was slowly played out through the media as the world’s journalists gathered information and wrote their pieces.

How did you hear about Michael Jackson’s death? Chances are it was either on Facebook or Twitter. The message was spread virally. Rumour was written as fact before it was confirmed by either the doctors or the family. People all over the world knew that Michael Jackson was dead before his body was cold.

Who controls the information that we are fed, on a minute by minute basis? It seems like just yesterday it was Rupert Murdoch and Kerry Packer but now more often that not it is the new breed of ‘citizen’ journalist, the blogger and the man or woman with the mobile phone or camcorder who is on the spot as things happen. There is no censoring or verification of most of this news unless the story is later taken up by one of the ‘old media’ organisations. Yet we believe it and take it as gospel.

Factual reporting is a dying art form. Opinion pieces, like this one, are the new way of disseminating news. The Internet gives people who live in countries less liberal than ours the ability to create change. It is no wonder that all through the world governments both elected and non-elected are nervously trying to limit the amount of damage that this freedom can cause by creating new laws to enforce censorship.

From pondering I started to wander and then went in this direction…

Censorship has always been an issue that arouses strong feelings on both sides of the debate. Does anyone have a right to restrict anyone else’s ability to access information? If we lived in a perfect world, which clearly we don’t, then there would be no need for any form of censorship. Fairness and equality for all would be one of the underpinning bulwarks of our Utopia. However people being people this is not how our ‘real’ world works. We live in a world filled with deception and manipulation with self interest and selfishness. So somewhere, someone decided that we could not be trusted to monitor our own reading, viewing or web surfing activities; but the world has changed. The old argument of “if you don’t like it turn it off” has lost some of its power. Today it is almost impossible to turn off information. Information is the constant white noise that continuously wraps us in its warm embrace.

People and more importantly governments are scared. They are scared because they are losing control and the more they tighten their noose of censorship the more people are demanding their right to freedom of thought.

In Iran the message of revolution is being carried to the populace and the outside world by the Internet, mainly Twitter, as the Government tries to control every other foreign news source. Images of a beautiful young girl lying, dying, in the street from an assassin's bullet are carried on to Youtube. Her eyes stare at the camera as her blood stains the road as her life force leaves her.

Similarly in China the ruling elite censor and distort reports from inside Tibet or indeed any of their ‘spheres of interest’ throughout the country. Computers are now being sold with inbuilt filters to block sites that the Chinese describe as ‘unsuitable’. China is now trying to construct 'The Great Fire-Wall' to keep their population 'safe'. They have asked, (demanded) that new software should be designed by Hewlett Packard, Dell and even Apple to allow each keystroke entered on your computer to be tracked. This would allow the Central Government to effectively control exactly which computer user is accessing what sites and then take ‘appropriate’ action.

The Australian Labor Party is proposing to expand an already existing censorship system that allows the government of the day to block sites that it considers to be unsuitable, or worse sites that are not in line with the ‘public morality’. 'The Black List'. The examples used to justify such a move are always sites that promote, propagate or groom young children for sex or sites that associate violence and sex. Of course there is a case to be made for censoring web sites that seek to exploit young children for sexual gratification but who will be setting the limits, who will decide what is acceptable? We all remember what happened to Bill Henson’s photographs.

Senator Conroy the Labor Senator in charge of the implementation of the filter says that there will be an ‘opt out’ option, so you can contact your provider and advise them that you would like to have the filters lifted from your computer, with the exception of ‘kiddie porn’ and ‘R-rated’ sites.

The three major ISP’s in Australia all claim that the proposed system is unworkable and will slow Internet access down by as much as 80%. However as technology improves and the Chinese Government’s demands for greater control over its citizenry increase, then surely Prime Minister Rudd’s ideal moral, Christian, right society is only a mouse click away.

Now at the end I am here; worried about freedom, gossip disguised as news and the Nanny Rudd state we are all about to live in. Who would have thought that the death of Michael Jackson would cause me so much concern?