Promises Promises

This time around a sales rep called and offered to waive the last five months of my two-year mobile phone contract and send me out a new phone if I commit to another two years.  Nothing wrong with that, so I accepted.

But he also talked me  out of waiting for an iPhone and into getting a Nokia N97 on the promise that the new v2 Operating Software for the N97 was great.  The sales rep even claimed to own an N97 himself and to have upgraded the OS, and praised all the cool new features v2 offered.  Since I already own an iPod Touch, I went for the Nokia N97.

Delivery

Well, the phone arrived, and it’s a great unit, plus the 3G coverage out where I live is vastly better than my old phone’s reception.  So I have no real complaints with the phone itself at all.

BUT there is no upgrade to software v2 available for it in Australia under Optus — not by using the PC application, and not using the phone’s built in updater.  This kind of deception (dare I call it lying?) to make a sale leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth.  And it’s so pointless — there’s nothing really wrong with the current OS on the phone, but I was sold the new OS, and was delivered the old one.  It’s basic customer service — If I pay for X, don’t deliver Y.  It’s made worse when watching a video that shows the significant differences between the two versions:

My phone runs like the one on the left of screen in that video.  My attempts to get an answer out of Optus about why the firmware isn’t upgradeable is an exercise in futility.  They connected me to “Nokia Australia” in the end (the nice lady at Nokia “Australia” had a mild Indian accent, but maybe she was in Australia), and after a ten minute circular conversation she eventually put me on to the local Nokia Customer Care Center in Brisbane.  Now those guys responded very quickly to my email, but all they could do was inform me that, yes indeed, the upgrade is available to generic N97s, but not the Optus ones.

So the score is Optus 0, Nokia 1, Me 0.  Perhaps Nokia should let Optus know they have sales reps making promises the Optus network can’t deliver (yet).

Not The First Time

Almost a year ago I had a similar annoying experience where an Optus sales rep called me and promised to send me a wireless dongle but to also lower my mobile fees by the same amount as the internet service attached to the dongle – effectively making the wireless plan free.  Of course I said yes, but shortly later someone else rang to confirm the deal and they denied that such a generous offer was possible.  So I withdrew my acceptance (which they weren’t happy about), but the dongle arrived anyway.  I wasn’t home to receive it, so it went back, and after a couple of confusing calls I later did get a call apologising for the mix up.

They also assured me that the sales rep that made the “generous” invalid offer no longer worked there.

But after today, I’m not so sure.

ZoomIt

ZoomIt is the best PC-desktop-screen-zoomer-inner-thingy I’ve ever seen – and it’s free!  Great for zooming in on presentations or during software demos – both of which I do at home and at the QSFT.  I wish I had found it earlier.  Here’s a quick video of me using it (be sure to select HD mode when viewing it).

I’ve been looking for a smooth screen-zooming tool ever since I saw uber geek Chris Prillo use one on his desktop when demonstrating software and websites during his YouTube videos. His PC is probably more powerful than mine, but I could see he wan’t using the standard Windows magnifier, which magnifies a screen area into a separate window – his zoomer was zooming the whole screen into itself.  ZoomIt seems to offer the same effect, and as well as being free, it’s also tiny – less than 300KB, allows you to draw and write on the zoomed in desktop, and on Vista the magnified desktop is “live”, rather than a freeze-frame.

And yes, Mac lovers, this desktop zoom effect is standard on recent Macs – I know, I know.

I’ve been a big fan of The Ladykillers for a long time. My initial interest in the film was because Peter Sellers and Alec Guinness were in it, so I eventually tracked it down many years ago on late-night television. And it’s true that Guinness is terrific as Professor Marcus, and Sellers, in his first feature, showed a lot of promise – even if he was still a bit inexperienced.

Mrs Wilberforce takes a nap – maybe for good?

But what I didn’t expect, when I first saw it, was to be so impressed with the whole cast – Herbert Lom, Cecil Parker, Danny Green, and most of all Katie Johnson as Mrs Wilberforce. This little lady, who was seventy-seven at the time, gives a quiet and almost minimalist performance that gently but firmly dominates the film, despite (or because of?) the fact that she is surrounded by the relatively over-the-top antics of the male cast. She is perfect, and this is a nearly perfect film.

I recently rediscovered and rewatched the film thanks to three things: Kareena buying me the DVD of the film (what an amazing new transfer compared to the versions I have seen!); news of a recent remake (the trailer makes it look like it could be rather bad, but if it leads people to the original, then it’s a good thing); and stumbling across a great web page that compares the locations in the film to how they look now (I’ve always found that sort of thing interesting). Here’s a review that contains no spoilers for the second half of the film.

Mrs Wilberforce’s odd house

The film begins with a shot of Mrs Wilberforce’s house – itself a character in the film. It’s an odd little building, with its walls and doors all at odd angles due to the bombing during World War Two, so none of the pictures hang straight and the plumbing doesn’t work properly. When the rest of the crooks move in they dub Mrs Wilberforce “Mrs Lopsided”. Situated right on top of a railway tunnel, it is perched at the end of its street as an odd anachronism from the past – much like its owner.

“I understand you have rooms to let.”

Into Mrs Wilberforce’s ordered but lonely life comes a self-described criminal master-brain calling himself Professor Marcus, played by Alec Guinness wearing a long scarf, an expanded cardigan, and a startling set of false teeth. Professor Marcus rents one of Mrs Wilberforce’s rooms, and soon after follow the rest of the criminal gang: the cowardly Major Courtney (Cecil Parker in fine form), the slow but strong One-Round (Danny Green), the nervous Louis (Herbert Lom in one of his best), and the teddy boy gangster Harry (Peter Sellers in his first major feature film). Being a dark comedy character piece, there isn’t a lot of time to get to know these hopeless crooks in any well-rounded way, but they are sketched really well and have become memorable characters.

THE GANG Major Courtney One Round Louis Harry

Professor Marcus’ brilliant plan is to steal money from an armoured van and fool the police into thinking they have taken the loot out by train, when in fact they have tricked the innocent and above-suspicion Mrs Wilberforce into picking the stolen cash up from the station and bringing it to her home.

The team plan for their heist while fooling Mrs Wilberforce into thinking they are actually an amateur string quintet practicing in Professor Marcus’ room (using a record player to complete the illusion). Several charming scenes in the first half introduce the characters to us – these aren’t fully developed characters of course, but they are more than just two-dimensional stereotypes, the script and the actors really do bring these caricatures to life.

The men try to stay sane while cooped up in the small room, constantly having to place their string instruments into playing position whenever Mrs Wilberforce comes up to offer them tea, which is quite often. There’s a cute scene when one of her parrots escapes from its cage and the bungling crooks try to help capture it, destroying a chair and a section of guttering in the process. One bit that still amuses me is when One-Round has both feet stuck through the seat of a chair and is hopping around like a man trying to pull his pants up – when Mrs Wilberforce enters the room and sees this she gives a little “Ooh!” and quickly leaves, as if her modesty was offended by the sight.

These small but well constructed scenes underscore how much cinema has changed since 1955. There’s just no way a film like this will ever be made again, with its apparently unambitios scenes set in small rooms. These are scenes without any gags as such, they’re more like little character studies, though nothing too deep. It’s not just that the film was made on a shoestring budget that gives it this quality, as I doubt even a similarly low-budget indie film would have much success if it took a similar approach. If this story was made now the gags would be bigger and louder, and the heist would be for a much larger sum of money and be more dangerous (we shall see if I’m right when the remake comes out). In 1955 it was okay to tell a little story about small-time crooks, though for the time I’ll grant that the plot turns rather dark in the second half.

When the big day comes for the heist not everything goes according to plan, of course, and the meddling Mrs Wilberforce’s interest in the welfare of a horse nearly brings everything undone, but eventually the money arrives at the lopsided Wilberforce house, and all seems well as the crooks count their cash.

Of course, the film isn’t really about the heist at all, that’s just the elaborate set up, it’s about what happens afterwards. Mrs Wilberforce eventually discovers what the men have done, and how they have used her as part of the crime. Her softly-spoken yet outraged reaction is priceless, as if she has discovered young boys peeking into a girl’s changeroom. And, of course, these hardened criminals act just like young boys caught in the act – sheepish and apologetic, allowing Mrs Wilberforce to scold them and lock away their money. Eventually they realise they have to either convince Mrs Wilberforce to “stay buttoned up” or else kill her. But which of them will do it? The little Mrs Wilberforce is almost a force of nature – can anyone actually bring themselves to kill her? See the film yourself to find out.

Mrs Wilberforce is shocked

The look of the film is unique – it’s one of the first colour Ealing Studios films (and one of their last comedies I believe). Although this new DVD transfer is terrific, the colours are unavoidably a bit muddy and unconvincing (this is still really early colour), and the telecine colourist has wisely avoided trying to correct the image so that the colour and contrast are more in keeping with what we would expect today (even supposing that such a correction was possible).

“Embarassing, and humiliating.”

This gives the film an oddly garish quality, with bright reds and greens that contrast with the dark-comedy subject matter of death and murder. Also, the telecine seems cropped above and below compared to the TV versions I’ve seen, though this could be due to the TV versions being inaccurately taken from the full aperture print rather than what was seen in cinemas – since the film was released thirteen years before I was born, I’m going to have to trust CanalPlus on this one. Still, compared to the TV versions I’ve seen the film has never looked or sounded better.

See the original The Ladykillers before you see the remake – to give you a point of comparison. It’s not just many of the streets in the film that have vanished or been transformed since 1955, so has this style of filmmaking. The Ladykillers is highly recommended for those that don’t need their comedies filled with explosions.

THE GOOD	THE BAD
Great script Great performances A 77 year-old steals the show	The telecine is amazing but raises questions No extras to speak of
THE OPINION:	9.5

“Yes Mrs Wilberforce?”	Louis presses Professor Marcus’ buttons
“Shall I be Mother?”	“How ’bout dat, eh? How ’bout dat.”
Mrs Wilberforce remembers her twenty-first birthday	Mrs Wilberforce starts to piece it all together
Professor Marcus caught red handed	The indominatable Mrs Wilberforce

As the film Suspended Alibi opens, all seems well in the household of Paul Pearson (played by a wooden Patrick Holt). Their house is large and attractive, situated in a leafy suburb that seems green even when viewed on black and white film. Lynn, his attractive if stuffy wife (played by Honor Blackman) sits on the couch wearing a starched dress and a concete hairdo.

Withing minutes of the film starting, she is screaming unconvincingly as her young son dangles a worm in front of her. I’ve seen Ms Blackman do much better in other films so I’m going to blame the script and direction for her passionless performance in this one.

But this peacefull if dull existence is not all it seems. Paul, a newspaper editor, has been having an affair with Diana, his fashion reporter (played by Naomi Chance, who manages to act around some terrible lines). So – right at the start of the film we discover that the central character, the one we are presumably meant to be cheering for, is a cheating cad. Mind you, given the bland stiffness of his wife Lynn throughout most of this film, who can blame him?

Watching the old, usually black and white movies that the ABC screens in the wee small hours of the morning has become a semi-regular event for me. As a rule, the films are not high-profile classics, or even unknown gems, but third-rate films that have vanished from the minds all but the most fastidious of cinephiles.

It’s hard to say why some films culturally vanish, even if they were successful when released. Often these films appeal to concerns that no longer exist, or exploit senses of humour that are no longer funny (the endless Norman Wisdom films for example). Many seem so awful or weak that it’s difficult to believe they ever had an appreciative audience, and perhaps they didn’t. Yet someone somewhere is making crisp new telecines of these forgotten films, and the ABC is broadcasting them for night-owls like myself to watch. And so I do.

But back to Suspended Alibi. We soon discover that Paul, despite the dreariness of his marriage, has decided he is still in love with his prim and proper wife and has been trying to break off the affair with Diana for three months. Alas, Diana wants to continue the affair – heaven knows why, Paul seems about as passionate as the worm his son found in the pot plant, and about as morally developed.

The strumpet Diana telephones Paul at home, much to his understated discomfort, and he leaves the house to call her back from a pay phone. You see, not only does Paul have to worry about his wife or son overhearing him, but his home phone is what the film refers to as a “party line”, it is shared with a neighbour across the street. Given the way everyone just accepts this situation I can only assume it was not that uncommon in the mid 1950’s – but the thought of sharing a phone line with a neighbour gives me the willies.

Anyway we quickly discover that this neighbour is, of course, a nosey old woman named Mrs Beamster, complete with a stereotypical emasculated husband. She has become an expert in “accidentally” picking up the phone and listening in on Paul’s phone conversations, while also peering out the window at her neighbour’s comings and goings, so she knows all about his affairs. She also seems to take a certain pleasure in expressing her outrage to her newspaper-reading husband, whose own calm and long-suffering demeanor must surely conceal a secret desire to dash his wife’s brains out with a brick.

Meanwhile, Paul has returned home from the phone box after arranging to meet his soon-to-be-ex-lover elsewhere, and discovers that his young son has acquired a knife in a trade at school. It’s not a boy’s pocket knife, but a large Rambo-style don’t-push-it-or-I’ll-give-you-a-wound-you-won’t-believe kind of knife (what on Earth did the boy trade for such a weapon? A handful of Lolly Teeth?). Instead of recoiling in horror at the sight of his son with a shining blade as long as the child’s forearm, or taking his kid to see a shrink as any modern parent would, Paul simply takes the knife away with a friendly “We wouldn’t want your mother to see this would we?”.

Paul heads off to see his mistress after making the lame excuse to Lynn that he is going to his friend Bill’s hotel room for a night of cards and gambling. Is this supposed to be an acceptable cover story?! Are we supposed to like this guy?

For some reason, Paul takes his son’s elephant-gutting knife with him to break up with his mistress. Why? When he first drops by Bill’s place (for a more convincing alibi if anyone should check), even Bill asks him what he’s bringing the knife for. “Maybe to scare her a little” is Paul’s reply. Eh? Again I ask, are we supposed to like this guy?

Not that Bill is much better – when he cheerily takes the knife from Paul he says “Black both her eyes if you must, but this I can’t allow”. Nice guy. Try and figure out his moral code if you can. So after reluctantly leaving the knife behind with Bill, Paul heads off to see Diana for the last time.

I won’t cover the stilted conversation between Paul and his disgruntled mistress, except to say that as breakups go it doesn’t get much more well-mannered than this – no screaming, no hurling of vases, no I’m-going-to-kill-you-you-pathetic-twerp. Just more stiff acting and unlikely dialogue. I refuse to believe that people ever spoke this way to each other, even in 1956.

Things get a bit more heated when Diana briefly threatens to tell Paul’s wife about the affair. Paul’s gentlemanly response is delivered slowly through gritted teeth, “If you were to try and bust up our marriage, why I think I would kill you”. Realising she has gone too far for this tightly wound psycho, the mistress counters with an uneasy “Paul, can’t you tell when a person is joking?”. Doubtless she is inwardly thankful that she is finished with this selfish bully.

Meanwhile, back at Bill’s flat, a card game is in progress between Bill and Waller, the chap from across the hall. Lynn calls Bill to see if hubby Paul is there (she suspects something!). But Bill loyally lies that all is well and hubby is not carrying on with an employee, merely gambling away his son’s university tuition. Relieved, Lynn hangs up.

While on the phone Bill spots Waller stealing cards from the deck in the most open and foolish display of cheating ever committed to film. Accusations are made in clipped tones, a poorly choreographed fight occurs, leading to Waller grabbing Paul’s large knife and stabbing his host. Actually no, that’s not right. What actually happens is that Waller grabs the knife and Bill walks into it. Quite slowly. Bill clearly had a death wish. He gives a subdued reaction to being stabbed in the ribs – “That was a damn silly thing to do” he says. Showing remarkable consideration and neatness, Bill makes it to his desk and sits down before quickly dying.

Soon Scotland yard enters the picture, represented by Valentine Dyall. I have a soft spot for Mr Dyall as his distractingly deep voice brings back fond memories of old BBC radio shows and terrible Spike Milligan films, but he is hopelessly miscast and/or misdirected here (or else he’s a really bad actor). Sure, most of the performances in this film are stiff and unemotive, barely moving from the neck down, but Dyall’s performance makes the other cast members look like excited continentals.

Watching this tall man stride quickly into rooms and abruptly stop, delivering his lines in that window-rattling deep voice while standing as motionless as a particularly gnarled oak tree reminded me of the deliberately silly way Peter Sellers and Spike Milligan loped around in their short film The Great Muckinese Battle Horn – only in Suspended Alibi the filmmakers aren’t intentionally going for laughs.

Paul finally comes clean about his affair only when he is confronted with incriminating evidence linking him to Bill’s murder. So, sitting in his living room in front of one of his own reporters, the police, and his wife he blurts out the truth of where he really was and why. Lynn’s reaction to finding out about the affair goes well beyond British understatement and right into self-satire – “Paul, why didn’t you tell me?”, she says in a small hurt voice. Then she sits and says, “Darling”. That’s it. She never mentions the affair again. No recriminations, no hostility, no staying up all night discussing it endlessly, nothing. All is instantly forgiven. This weakens Lynn’s character to the point of farce.

This film is so silly and inconsequential that it wasn’t till it was finished that I truly realised just how ugly the central character was. Throughout the film Paul, our hero, is well spoken and well mannered, but he’s a moral vacuum who is innocent only of the central murder, while actually being guilty of so many other things.

The film moves along at a reasonably quick pace for the era it was made (and it only runs about an hour), though it’s hard to give a damn about the characters as they frequently behave in ways that make little sense. For example, the mistress, Diana, obliglingly lets the murderous Waller into her home, even though she’s never met him before, then proceeds to tell him that none of her neighbours would be able to hear raised voices from her flat, then hands over the only evidence that could confirm Paul’s alibi apart from her own testimony, and then even confirms that no one else knows about the evidence. Not surprisingly, Waller promptly picks her up and tosses her out of her top-floor window.

After that things plod along. The film features the world’s cheapest court-room scenes for the actual trial – a few shots of the justice statue on top of the court house and a nightmarish montage of voices from the trial played over Honor Blackman tossing and turning in bed (about as close to acting as she gets in this film).

I won’t give away the ending, except to say that it implausibly involves a priest and an extendable pencil (and it’s not as interesting as that may sound).

I think we can learn a lot from watching old films, even bad ones. We can see, through the distorted lens of what filmmakers were able to produce, how attitudes have changed towards women, violence, smoking, alcohol, marriage, sex, murder, politics, and of course filmmaking. Even those safe, boring second-feature films churned out by Britain for several decades usually contain a few surprises here and there – it’s like going through the contents of a time capsule and amongst all the heartfelt messages and earnest poetry you discover a whoopie cushion.

The most interesting parts of Suspended Alibi are when it ventures outside the studio. I found some of the shots of a now-vanished England fascinating. The leafy middle-class suburbs, the crowded train station at night, the view out the taxi window as the murderer races to escape. Part of what makes these shots so interesting is that they look as if they were shot with minimal or no extra lighting, giving them a reality sorely lacking in the rest of the film’s consistently even and high-key studio lighting. There aren’t many of these moments, but they make an othewise unremarkable film watchable, at least for me.

THE GOOD	THE BAD
Some images of 1950s England	Major plot holes Plot stupidities aplenty Mostly boring cinematography Wooden acting Lame dialogue
THE OPINION:	4.5

But when we came home tonight after seeing the film “In America” (a fun and often moving film with terrific performances from two young sisters) it was to find the street lights out and the lights along our unit complex’s driveway dimly lit, glowing at about a quarter of their usual brightness. I assumed it was some kind of clever battery backup, but we quickly noticed that our house lights and those of most of our neighbours were the same (but not all – some of them must have other sources of power, clever buggers).

At first the whole situation was oddly cool, as if the whole house was on a giant dimmer control and someone had set it to the lowest, most romantic level. But the novelty quickly wore off when we realised how few of our devices worked on the reduced voltage. Tungsten light-bulbs dimly work, but flourescent lights do not (I assume there isn’t the required voltage to charge up their starters). Our Foxtel satellite receiver works, and our TVs do too (in a slightly wobbly way) but not our amplifier, so no audio. Our fridges are dead and my PC’s subwoofer was giving out a continous and loud hum until I switched it off (time will tell if it’s damaged).

Somehow I have to update my presentation slides for a weekend course I’m giving in five hours (it’s 3:48am as I type this), but without power that’s tricky. Luckily my obsession with making backups of my data might save me again, allowing me to take in one of my backup CDs to the QSFT early and do the prep work there. Pity the poor students that get me as their trainer with only four hours sleep – if you were one of them, sorry if I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

But there are upsides to being cut off from power. I’ve wasted no time tonight reading blogs online or watching news on PayTV, which is saying something. I’ve had a chance to learn to use my early birthday present, a Palm Tungsten E handheld computer – I’m writing this text on it while lying in bed in a pitch-black room. This Palm uses the new OS5 pen method of entering text called Graffitti 2, and although it’s probably a lot more intuitive for a first-timer to use, I’ve used the original Graffitti method for so long that unlearning it is proving difficult. That’s why this post really exists, it’s a combination of brown-out-induced insomnia plus a need to practice Graffitti 2.

Thanks to the lack of entertainment I’m using my battery-powered radio to listen to more talk radio than I think I have ever heard before, or probably will again. I’ve listened to talk radio from local Brisbane stations, national stations, and BBC World. Tonight’s talk radio has taught me the following:

� There are a surprising number of over-sixty Australian women awake and feeling chirpy at three in the morning. This represents an untapped national resource. These women could be stuffing envelopes or designing web pages.

� At three in the morning, talk radio hosts find even the most banal comment or lame joke from a caller absolutely hilarious. Although often it is painfully obvious that the host’s laughter is forced.

� Many government-funded artists seem to genuinely believe that Australia would be “crippled” if these artists do not continue to receive government funding. No really.

� These same artists seem to believe that colourful metaphors and atypical anecdotes are not for embellishing or illustrating their arguments, but actually are their argumemts. Much easier than backing up their positions.

� Many members of the public seem to trust journalists more than they trust democratically-elected politicians. This is remarkable to me given all the scrutiny, checks, and balances placed on politicians and political power compared to the largely unaccountable careers of most journalists. I’ve met several politicians and many public servants and they’ve almost all been genuinely sincere about their work.

� Most of the BBC seems to be deeply in denial over the implications of the Hutton report, or at least those that I heard seemed to be. It was very disheartening to hear all that rationalising and bluster from a respected broadcaster. I love almost everything that the BBC has given me over the years; the Goons, Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, Dr Who, Blake’s Seven, Yes (Prime) Minister, Blackadder, and all of their news and current affairs, which makes it so hard for me to watch as they attempt to diminish and obfuscate Hutton’s findings.

I keep hearing most BBC people (and those they uncritically interview) failing to make a strong distinction between “the UK government honestly used faulty intelligence to justify war” verses “the UK government knowingly used faulty intelligence to justify war”, as if their was little difference between the two, as if being mistaken was the same as lying. And the less said about that first reluctant and highly conditional BBC “apology” the better. Sure, no one likes to receive criticism, but who would have thought that BBC News would have been so thin-skinned about such well-deserved findings?

At first I didn’t see the big deal – a BBC journalist got a few things wrong, but that’s OK, mistakes happen. He got carried away and “sexed up” his report, he wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last. But then BBC management compounded the error by defending the journalist even though it was pretty clear he couldn’t back up those claims that made the Blair government most unhappy. Even then I was willing to cut the BBC some slack, since it has always highly prized it’s independence, though placing independence above journalistic integrity was a bit much. But the way they are now trying to spin Hutton’s findings is beneath them.

And now it’s time for me to go teach a class (plus I think I’m getting the hang of Graffitti 2).

I went into this film with very low expectations. The seen-too-often trailers for Underworld, with their Matrix-style slow-motion acrobatic gun battles and cast members strutting around wearing black clothing of various tightness and glossiness, made the film seem so preposterously pompous and self-consciously cool that I was sure it was going to be a silly, silly film and a drag to watch.

Yet tonight when I finally went to see it I found that the film was an enjoyable romp that held my attention throughout, with engaging performances from the leads and the support cast, great visuals, confident and creative direction, and a cute twist on well-established horror story-lines. That I enjoyed it so much is saying something, as Underworld was the last film I saw in a three-movie marathon. If only the second and third Matrix films’ scripts and direction had moved along like Underworld’s they would have been better films. Underworld is director Len Wiseman’s first feature, after directing music videos and working in the Art Department on the films Independence Day (1996) and Stargate (1994). He gives his film terrific visual flair and consistency of design (almost too consistent), and gets great stuff from his actors. I found his extreme close ups on actors faces at crucial moments quite effective, and really appreciated the way he kept things moving along at a fast pace – there were no groaners in this film. Danny McBride’s screenplay was remarkably tight given the number of fingers in the story (his own, the director’s, and Kevin Grevioux’s (who also played the rumble-voiced Raze in the film) – and they’re just the contributors that the WGA lets us know about). The story never let us know too much too soon, and never got in the way of the action.

The central premise of Underworld, which combined vampires and werewolves in a fairly unusual way, was revealed in stages and was different and interesting enough that it isn’t a let down in itself, as is so often the case in these films (it appears that there is some legal action from a games company called White Wolf and a novelist claiming that the filmmakers stole the basic story and characters from their game/novel – we shall see if the lawsuit is successful). In any event, the film did not spend much time on plot, and even less on romance, thankfully. There were some small plot holes in the film – the usual sort of “Why didn’t he do that before?” or “Just how many bullets in one load?” kinds of things, but far less than most action films these days. About the only one that struck me was when I noticed that there were male and female vampires, but only male werewolves – it must be lonely to be a werewolf (it looks like the Underworld sequels will feature female werewolves). The action sequences, which despite all the fashion glamour are what audiences are really watching for, were creatively set up, tightly edited, and generally original – no one expects realism in a film like this. They contained too much slow-motion for my taste, but a lot less of it than many other films (and I seem to be in the minority in thinking too much over-cranking slows down action sequences). The sound effects were perfectly over-the-top, which suited the larger-than-life nature of the film.

So much of the colour has been drained away that the film is almost black and white throughout, but this worked I guess – even if it was a bit bleak after a while. The film’s look was very dark and high contrast, which is fine in itself (no one wants all films to be bright and high-key all the time) but I felt Underworld went a bit too far at times. The dark look of the film made sense in locations like alleys at night or vampire mansions, but even the scenes within a modern hospital were made to look quite dark – which made little sense and popped me out of the reality of the film. In several scenes I almost expected to hear minor characters say something like, “You know, this would be a lot easier if someone could please turn on a bloody light!“, and in at least one scene Selene (Kate Beckinsale) did turn on a ceiling light and it made such a small difference to the light levels in the room it made me laugh out loud. No one can afford a higher-wattage bulb?! But maybe it’s just me.

There was a similar uniformity to the colours of the costumes, which while interesting in themselves seemed to be chosen from a very limited range of very dark colours. It’s one thing to expect me to believe that vampires and werewolves like to wear black and/or goth outfits all the time – but even most members of the public seemed to be wearing dark clothing. And then there was Seline’s costume. Seline’s costume. Can one call a figure-hugging shiny-black leather (or is it PVC?) outfit a costume? In most shots it looked so tight it appeared to have been sprayed on Ms Beckinsale’s tiny body. As an audience member, I’m not complaining about the vision of Kate Beckinsale dealing death while wearing a cat-suit that leaves little to the imagination, but you know you’re getting old when you find yourself wondering things like “How does she get in an out of that thing for a quick trip to the bathroom?” or “What’s she like to be around after a sweaty night of werewolve-killing?”. Pew.

Still, this is nitpicking a film that was, to my surprise, genuinely enjoyable. Anyone who likes the look and gun-play of the Matrix, and who can suspend their disbelief long enough to swallow vampires battling werewolves, will enjoy Underworld. I think the filmmakers knew they were on to a good thing when they made it (I have seldom seen such a blatant “There’s going to be a sequal!” film ending in my life), and I expect it will do very well on DVD.

THE GOOD	THE BAD
Slick action Original yet unobtrusive plot Ms Beckinsale’s suit	Minor plot holes A bit dark
THE OPINION:	8.5

Today’s Courier Mail had a headline on page three that read “Movie body backs down on search for ’slave labour’“. You can view the online version of the article here (note the online edition is now gone – it had a less sensationalist headline, but the body of the article appears the same as the print edition). After reading it a couple of times, it looks to me like the PFTC tried to do the right/smart/realistic thing on a slightly touchy subject, handled it a tiny bit clumsily, and got well-and-truly roasted for it.

Now I don’t have very much to do with the Pacific Film and Television Commission (PFTC) – not because I’m “against” them, just because almost all the work I do is paid for by clients (or by nobody). Sure, I’ve been quick to pick fault with some of their decisions in the past, but since I have practically nothing to do with them my views are like the views of most other working stiffs – not heard and probably not relevant.

Note: In this rant, unless stated otherwise, I’m referring to the PFTC’s work promoting the expansion of the local industry and local films, not their equally important work attracting overseas filmmakers to shoot (and post?) in Queensland. For those that don’t know, in addition to many other tasks (like supporting film culture-type events) the PFTC has the work of both promoting Queensland to the world’s filmmakers as a great place to make films, and encouraging local production on local projects (the latter role they picked up when the late not-very-lamented Film Queensland body was wound up). Some have argued that there is a tension between these two roles (can the one body effectively attract and assist overseas filmmakers while also looking after local production?), I for one see no contradiction there, and in fact lots of potential opportunities in the one body doing both tasks – but that’s a rant for a different day.

So all faults aside, when I read the Courier Mail article I was reminded that the PFTC has a very difficult job (or set of jobs) to do, and they’re operating under a set of not very favourable conditions:

• They’re a government body – and Australians like to complain about government bodies as much as dogs like to chew bones (heck, it’s practically a national sport),
• They’re a government body that gives out money – this means that the unsuccessful applicants (which will always greatly outnumber the successful ones) have an extra-bitter axe to grind when complaining about the PFTC,
• They’re a government body that gives out money largely to filmmakers of the “emerging” or wannabe variety – a group of people that seem to take things more personally and complain more loudly and eloquently than most Australians (yes, I include myself in that definition!), and lastly
• They’re a government body that gives out money largely to filmmakers while operating under goals that are difficult to define and ultimately, in my opinion, impossible for any government body to achieve – namely, the emergence of a viable (ie, profitable) local film industry. This just isn’t the sort of thing a government body can do, no matter how hard they try, no matter how much money they spend (within reason). The film industry is the type of industry that can be ruined by bad government policies, but never created/sustained by good ones, that’s just the way it is (another topic for a future rant).

Today’s article in the Mail? The cause of all the fuss was the PFTC daring to advertise for an unpaid position on a feature film. Horrors! Almost every person I’ve met in this group of professions sometimes called “the film industry” has done their share of free work in their early days, and I have a small rant on a closely related topic on this website (casting for free). My personal position is that working for free (in any profession) is perfectly acceptable as long as it’s done with respect and as long as the person working for free is gaining valuable experience and knowledge. Feature films are one of those “businesses” that have many more hopefuls for each position than there are positions – so the potential for abusing the work-for-free system is definitely there. For example, unscrupulous producers could simply work their way through youngsters willing to work for free, ditching them as soon as they dare to ask for pay. But such producers would not only rack up a mountain of bad karma, but would constantly find themselves training newbies, which is itself expensive. Eventually, dedicated people get paid what they’re worth.

One of the policies of the PFTC I never understood was their reluctance to officially recognise this standard method of breaking in to the business. From what I understand (second hand, since I’ve never sought or received PFTC funding for a film) is that the PFTC will not fund a film that uses significant numbers of people working for free or for cut-rates (I believe there are some exceptions for some types of tightly-defined “attachments”). Basically, if the PFTC is the primary investor then everyone must get full pay – even for short films, which is odd, after all, who makes short films for money? Short films are for experience, credits, and maybe awards.

The PFTC’s everyone-gets-paid policy has always struck me as being unrealistic – if people are willing to work for free or cut-rate to build up their credits list then surely the PFTC’s money (tax-payer’s money of course) is better spent meeting those costs that cannot be defrayed (catering, rentals, etc) – thus making many more projects fundable, thus providing even more experience for more people. This policy is doubly odd when you consider that the Brisbane International Film Festival, of which the PFTC is the major sponsor, couldn’t exist without their volunteer labourers – so what’s the difference? Lastly, this policy is even harder to justify when set against the very, very quiet working scene here lately (everyone seems to agree that things are frighteningly slow in Queensland at the moment).

Which brings us to this recent flap. It started when for once the PFTC dropped its insistence on paid-only positions and tried to organise, even promote, a good opportunity for someone to gain potentially valuable experience by getting involved in some pre-pre-production work on a feature. What happens? The relevant union spits the dummy, describing the idea as “slave labour”. Doubtless the union sees their stance as protecting workers in general and their members in particular. Doubtless they see PFTC endorsement of working-for-free as the thin end of a wedge – after all, I imagine they argue, there are plenty of people willing to work for free, might this not lead to their members having to compete with zero-cost/micro-cost labour? My own view is that there are many problems facing the Australian industries, and the Queensland industries in particular, but legions of experienced and talented people willing to work for peanuts at all levels in all departments is not one of them, and nor is it likely any time soon. Even further, if more people willing to work at junior level positions for no or less money ends up making it possible for more films to be funded (thereby employing more paid workers in more senior positions) then I’m all for it.

In the face of such criticism of their promotion of this free position, what does the PFTC do? They fold, of course, and back down. What else could they do? They were contradicting their own established approach, and no one wants to hear the brutal realities of breaking in (ie, you usually have to work for free for a while to make it). The PFTC is not actually in the business of making films, so they only know what they are told, and they were being told that working for free is unfair, slave labour, exploiting workers, etc. So they backed down. I doubt they will make the same “mistake” again soon.

Meanwhile, hopefuls everywhere are still willing to work for free or peanuts to break into the film business, and on non-PFTC-funded projects that’s exactly how most of them will make it.

Other People was screening before a short experimental feature In the Beginning Was the Eye (ITBWTE). ITBWTE looked and sounded great, using all sorts of animation and camera techniques, as well as a great music soundtrack. It must have taken a lot of work, but the lack of plot made it unengaging for me. I like plot – a film can be as experimental as it wants to be as long as it tells me a story. But that’s just me.

It’s not just the tackiness of the basic premise of the show that bothered me (confront cheaters with their partners and a camera crew), but the whole tone of the thing. The host is hilarious, full of mock concern for the cheatee and phoney righteous anger at the cheater. He looks like a young Jerry Lewis in a shiny black leather outfit and funky black-rimmed glasses. Particularly endearing was the way he delivered his pieces to camera: he would stand at a 45-degree angle to the lens, but with his face pointing directly at the TV audience as he delivered the closing remarks for one segment, then he would turn 90-degrees to face the other way to introduce the next segment, all the while keeping his face locked to the camera – he even stayed face on when he stiffly walked off at the end of his speeches. He did this every time, very funny.

What’s really amazing is that so few of the people in the show have their faces pixellated out, which means that everyone else gave their permission to have their faces broadcast, even the cheaters. I hope they got a big fat cheque for agreeing to be nationally exposed as a cheater, but judging by the apparent IQs of the ones I saw tonight, they probably signed a release form without even reading it. Judging by the comments on this forum, the show is aimed at the right target audiences – rednecks (of all colours) and those that like to laugh at rednecks. Later comments on that forum state that in another episode the host gets stabbed in the stomach, which given the way he goads his victims is not very surprising, though I’m surprised they aired it. Then again, it seems the host I saw is a recent replacement, and much of the audience want the previous host back. Cheaters really is is trash TV at it’s trashiest. As one reviewer puts it:

[shows like Cheaters'] casts are made up of the slices of America least wanted by network television: the fat, the poor, the uneducated, the inarticulate, the strung-out–the people you don’t want sitting on the bus next to you. But watching their lives fall apart, in often devastating ways, is infinitely more riveting than watching some human resources director get her feelings hurt over a can of beans on a show like “Survivor.”