Remembering the Village Twin

Growing up in Brisbane in the 70s and 80s I got used to seeing iconic landmarks getting routinely bulldozed to appease private interests, despite any amount of public outcry. It continues to this day, with the most recent inclusion on the list being the Hoyts Regent cinema in the Queen Street mall.

I live in Melbourne now, but I was in Brisbane a few months ago and happened to walk past another iconic Brisbane building that is boarded up and forlorn - New Farm's Village Twin Cinema. This cinema in its heyday will always be what I think of when I think of an ideal viewing experience.

With decreasing box office sales, increasingly elaborate home cinemas and the explosion of online piracy, the laws of commerce probably don't favour a cinema with only two screens, no cup holders and a less than state-of-the-art audio system. The Village twin made up for any failings in these areas by a wealth of unique design charm, as well as screens which were big enough to give an epic feel to the most humble of films. It was also the first place where I saw '2001: A Space Odyssey'.

I was about six or seven years old when Star Wars first came out in 1977. Like any kid of my generation it was a revelation and the beginning of the golden age of the blockbuster. I originally saw it with my family and my lasting recollection of this first viewing was literally jumping out of my seat in the trash-compactor scene when the walls start to converge on our hapless heroes. I was holding a box of Jaffas in my hand and a fair amount of them flew out of the box and rolled down the aisle. I had become a cinema cliche!

I saw it several times after that and on at least one occasion I was lent out to one of my dad's friends because she didn't want to go and see a 'kids' film' by herself. I didn't mind - I loved Star Wars and to my shame identified with Luke Skywalker more than Han Solo. Now that I'm an adult I want to be Han Solo - who wouldn't? - stupid kid!

My dad must have noticed my interest in sci-fi and made the incredible leap of logic to think that a seven year-old Star Wars fan might enjoy a screening of '2001: A Space Odyssey' at the good-old Village Twin.

The simple fairy tale whimsy of Star Wars was replaced in 2001 with a deep, disjointed, metaphysical journey. Lightning-fast action sequences were replaced by ponderous snail-paced operatic space ballets and an indecipherable psychedelic third act light show. It was the first time I remember looking over at my father and thinking 'you are a strange human being'. Despite my initial misgivings (or perhaps because of them) '2001: A Space Odyssey' has gone on to be my undisputed favourite film.

I think the reason I eventually embraced this film had to do with my dad thinking I was mature enough to understand it, but a lot of it had to do with the atmosphere in The Village Twin cinema. The ceiling in one of the two rooms had these strange, white, conical fixtures jutting out which gave the impression of being inside a starship. They were topped off by flat black circles which looked like speakers (which they were certainly not) and if you stared into them they gave a feeling of infinity outside of the confines of the cinema. This, combined with an early 1970's array of rainbow-coloured down-lights was a perfect visual accompaniment to '2001'. The other cinema had a similar 1970s aesthetic but featured square panels and a purple lighting scheme ( I liked both cinemas but always secretly hoped for the '2001' room).

Now that I'm a parent I figure that children probably grow up faster than when I was a kid, so when my daughter turned three I decided it was time to show her '2001: A Space Odyssey' which I now own as part of my 'Stanley Kubrick: A Life in Cinema' box set collection. She was surprisingly attentive and seemed to  understand a lot of what was going on. The only thing she seemed to be afraid of was at the end where there is a close-up of a blinking eye which changes colour. Apparently, a monkey beating his enemy to death with the sun-bleached bones of a fellow tribesmen doesn't warrant any need for concern from this new generation.

My Daughter's surprisingly astute critique of '2001: A Space Odyssey' is as follows:

"It was pretty good but a bit scary. There was a baby and a big eye"

I wonder if '2001' will go on to be my daughter's favourite film?

What will she remember about it?

Now that I think about it I probably didn't even see 2001 at the Village Twin. It just seems like the place I should have seen it. My daughter Clementine will probably mis-remember seeing it at the iMax cinema in Melbourne (in 3D even!) instead of in the lounge room at home. The one thing she will remember (which is open to debate) is that her dad is 'a strange human being'.

My job is done.

Long live The Village Twin cinema.

Inside the Golden Days of Pinball

I've always felt I have something in common with Dionne Warwick - we both don't know what to do with ourselves. I probably found myself at my greatest loose-end in the late 1980s straight after high school. I didn't get in to the course I wanted to do at university, which resulted in all my ambitions for my future deflating from conquering the film and literary world, to making sure I was at home every weekday afternoon at around 4pm so I could watch Count Duckula. After a couple of months of worried looks from my parents, I managed to summon enough initiative to go for a job at the public service (the interview was in the morning, so I'd have plenty of time to make it home for Count Duckula).

To my surprise I actually got a job with the Queensland State Government in what was then known as The Department of Housing. To this day I'm not exactly sure what it is I did there, but I know it involved colouring in maps with pencils to indicate properties the department purchased and spending hours doing searches on properties which can now be done over the internet at the click of a button.

Of course, being the precocious little shit that I was, I found this all to be beneath me and I registered my contempt through my wardrobe of ever-lengthening hair and op-shop paisley shirts with extra-wide 1970s ties. My corporate image was completed by a very fetching blue Batman lunchbox. Looking back I should've probably shown some more interest in my own life rather than criticising others for being career public servants and making life decisions like getting married at 19 to the guy down the road, before they'd even had a chance to see the world (I'm 40 now and I still don't quite get that one).

Luckily there were others around my age that also were marking time until something (hopefully) better came along and we used our god-given flex-time entitlements (to the laymen, this is accrued extra time that can be used to to have time off for extra-curricular activities) to spend many a lazy afternoon down the pub drinking. It's a testament to how little interest I had in my job that whenever anyone mentions those Department of Housing days the first thing I think of (besides friends I made back then) is the Party Zone pinball machine:

It was located upstairs at Rosie's Tavern which was just across the road from our place of work. It became a popular game to play at lunchtime. It eventually became an after work activity and at our lowest ebb, we would even duck over at morning and afternoon tea breaks to play.

The thing that I liked about Party Zone was that it was not affiliated with any movie or TV franchise and it was like having a swingin' retro-themed outer-space party every time you played. I haven't played it for years but I remember you could choose the song you that played in the background and it had a Super-Sonic-Robotic-Comic feature that told an inaudible joke followed by canned laughter. It was groovy, man! 

In all the time we played, I don't think any of us ever improved at the game. There were other distractions at Rosie's - like having to drink 12 pints of VB to win a five-dollar VB t-shirt (you didn't have to do it in the one session - but we did anyway)  and of course there were office politics to discuss.

After several years with The Department, Indications that it was time to move on began to present themselves to me. Possibly the earliest of these was Party Zone being replaced by other machines; most notably Dr Who, Star Trek: The Next Generation and the one that almost filled the hole in my heart left by Party Zone - The Creature from the Black Lagoon. My drinking buddies started making plans for the future as well and it saddened me to imagine myself playing alone in the corner.

The biggest impulse to leave happened when the section I worked in was taken over by a particularly bland middle-management type, who would often bore me senseless with endless talk of investment opportunities and planning for my future. I probably should've listened to him, but I would've been more interested in his opinion of what The Super-Sonic-Robotic-Comic might be saying and if it was actually funny. Also, he seemed to have long, tense discussions with his wife on the phone (almost certainly concerning money and their investments) and it occurred to me that if I stayed any longer then I might end up like him. I had been at The Department for five long years - it was time to quit and go overseas.

On my last day at work, as a mark of respect, I wore my specially-purchased tuxedo t-shirt. I told my section-head that I didn't want any sort of presentation and instead invited my friends down to Rosie's to play pinball for the last time. When we arrived back at work I discovered they'd gone through with a presentation anyway - without me! I had burned my bridges spectacularly. If I had exited the building playing my boss' head like a bongo-drum I don't think I could have made a worse impression.

After travelling around England and Europe for several months I returned to Australia jobless and penniless, but ultimately I still feel I did the right thing. I've had better jobs and worse jobs since but at least a new generation of public servants are not pointing and talking under their breath about the middle aged guy in the corner at Rosie's playing pinball by himself! 

Epilogue:
I still have my tuxedo t-shirt! When I found out my wife was pregnant I had to buy one for our child. Here is a picture of our daughter wearing it. May she use it more wisely than me!

Marvelous Clouds

I've always loved the band Ween. Their music is what I would describe as 'gleeful'. That's not something you could say about too many bands out there. Lead singer Aaron Freeman (aka Gene Ween) always sounds like he's singing with a smile on his face and although their music has become increasingly sophisticated over the years, I still imagine Freeman and his musical partner Mickey Melchiondo (aka Dean Ween) sitting as teenagers in their bedrooms coming up with weird sounds on a 4 track recorder and laughing about the possibilities of what they could get away with. That spirit of the band never wavered over their almost thirty year partnership - up until their most recent album La Cucaracha, they were still mashing musical styles, trying out weird effects and shifting gears from offensive and silly to poignant and soulful.

That's why it annoys me when people dismiss Ween as a 'novelty' band. To me there's nothing inauthentic about the band at all. Music is like being at a party. The first instinct I have when I meet new people is to try and be funny, later, if I like someone enough and feel we have common interests then maybe I might share something a bit deeper. If someone doesn't get my sense of humour then there is no way they're going to truly understand me. Humour is the doorway to understanding. People are playful! Music should be playful as well. To me it's more inauthentic to expect people to listen to your 'deep' music straight off the bat if you are unwilling to share any other aspect of yourself. Ween is such a great band because they don't place any musical boundaries on what they can do.

It could be argued that a lot of Ween's music is 'ironic' but I think this is too lazy a description as I have often found myself unexpectedly moved by some of their songs over the years and I think they genuinely have a love for the musical styles they pursue, even if they are lampooning them. That's why it wasn't too much of a surprise to me to hear that Aaron Freeman chose to do an album of cover versions of songs by 60s and 70s troubadour Rod McKuen as his first solo album. McKuen was a popular poet and songwriter at that time but was dismissed by critics as being too schmaltzy, whereas Ween seem to have critical respect but don't really back it up with commercial success. Both artists could claim to be misunderstood. The real surprise of Freeman's album 'Marvelous Clouds' is how much he makes McKuen's songs his own and the directness and sincerity of his delivery.

It's no secret that Freeman has had his share of substance abuse problems over the years and recently (to his credit) he has sought help. In this regard you could consider the album to be a 'recovery' album - it's filled with tasteful arrangements, gentle strings, acoustic guitars, brushed drums and it's all topped off with Freeman's clear vocals with multi-layered harmonies. Opening track 'As I Love My Own' is the most Ween-like song on the album but there are other aspects that also fit in with the Ween sensibility. The second song 'Jean' could be interpreted as a love song to his alter-ego 'Gene Ween' and the Guns 'n' Roses style solo in 'The Beautiful Strangers' is reminiscent of something Freeman's old pal Dean Ween might pull out (I can see his eyes closed, mouth open and nostrils flaring as I listen to it).

Perhaps the biggest eye opener is the spoken-word tune 'Pushing the Clouds Away'. Even I baulked at the age-of-aquarius stream-of-consciousness approach over an almost jazz-like beatnik backing, but the sincerity of Freeman's delivery makes what could be interpreted as fairly cliched lines pondering the nature of clouds and not being able to push them away, into something quite haunting; especially the final line where he desperately but wearily begs "Help Me" followed by a plaintive "Please?"

The song 'Mr Kelly' is also a highlight. A grown man such as myself should not be so easily moved by a song concerning the simple pleasures of playing with your dog on a summer's day, but who doesn't love a dog? Maybe that is what Freeman is trying to reconnect with - a sense of innocence. I know when I was young I used music to try and define myself and in a way push people away, but when I got older I tried to use music as a way to reconnect. It's not an easy thing to do when people don't seem to have time to listen anymore.

I remember a few years ago drunkenly putting on Billy Joel's song 'It's Still Rock and Roll to Me' and dancing around a friend's loungeroom. Sure, I said I was being ironic, but ultimately I was genuinely enjoying myself. I've reached the point now where a good time is a good time and I don't want to have to explain myself or prove anything to anyone. I like Aaron Freeman's album 'Marvelous Clouds'. It may be different from what I'm used to from his Ween output, but it's still rock 'n' roll to me.

My Greatest Literary Achievement

Success in the literary world is difficult to achieve in this time of fragmented media outlets and declining sales of broadsheet newspapers, but luckily I had success early on in my career when the newspaper industry was thriving.

When I was nine I had a story printed in the kids' section of The Courier Mail which was at the time the largest circulating newspaper in Brisbane. 

The story was called 'The Beginning of Life On The Moon' - It was a bold, provocative piece of writing foreshadowing the development of a self-contained colony on the moon and describing in intricate detail how this might come about. 

Like all good works of science fiction, my story built on the work of the great predecessors. The most obvious influence is Jules Verne's masterpiece 'From the Earth to the Moon', however, considering my story was written in 1980, filmic influences such as George Lucas' 'Star Wars' and especially Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey' can not be ruled out.

Upon its publication the story had some detractors - especially in the schoolyard - who were jealous of my literary ambitions and success. There was the occasional dead-arm to contend with and some criticism about technical terms in the story such as 'forward pitch thrusters', but aside from that I was mostly revered from a distance with a quiet sense of awe.

It's an unfortunate flaw in my personality that whenever I encounter success in a field, I tend to rest on my laurels rather than capitalise on that success. My story was the first instance I remember of this happening - I haven't written a story as successful since. The most tragic part is I never even cashed the cheque I received for the story. I think that mostly had to do with the fact that I didn't have a bank account at the time and the amount was less than one dollar.

Although 'The Beginning of Life On The Moon' easily stands beside the great auteurs such as Verne, Lucas and Kubrick, I believe I am more like Orson Welles in that I'm a boy genius constantly living in the shadow of my early success and never being able to match its majesty and cultural impact. Welles had 'Citizen Kane' and I have 'The Beginning of Life On The Moon'.  

The story was so ahead of its time that I believe the technology to bring my vision to the screen has only really caught up now. Digital advances made in films such as 'Avatar' and 'Lord of the Rings' now provide a big enough canvas to match the breadth of my imagination.

With this in mind, dear reader, I beg you to consider the story below and help my campaign to bring this work of genius to the big screen. Let the nine year-old Trevor live again....

and, more importantly - Let the bidding war begin!!!  

The Hunter and The Hunted

It's time the world knows. I have a secret hobby. Discussing it feels very uncomfortable as the 20 year-old self-destructive me would certainly not approve. Honestly, I don't know how it came to this, but for at least the last four years I have run almost every weekend. There - that feels better. My name is Trevor Ludlow and I'm a runner.

If I look back it would seem to stem from my wife's interest in personal fitness and the guilt I felt watching her head out to the gym whilst I sat hung-over on the couch playing computer games. At the time there was a gym around the corner from our house, so I only had to make the most minimal of efforts to join, which I did as part of my never-ending and often futile-seeming quest to impress my wife.

I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. The mental benefits were almost instantaneous as a workout at the gym made me feel less compelled to hunt down and kill strangers who would cut me off in traffic. I was also less likely to slam cold-calling salesmen's legs in my front door. The physical benefits took a bit more work, but over time I went from looking like a wasted heroin addict (which I never was - don't do drugs, kids!) to a regular human being.

People who knew that I was going to the gym often wondered how I could stand being in such a meat market - and I agree, there probably were a lot of people checking each-other out, but this never made me feel self-conscious. The sad truth is I don't think I've attracted any female attention (warranted or not) this century, so it was nothing for me to be concerned about. I'm bad at gauging this sort of thing anyway, but I've noticed my status with the ladies declining over time from a point where a waitress might give me an extra scoop of ice-cream and a sly wink when I ordered desert; to now, where audible sighs emanate from dead eyed waitresses when I ask for some sugar for my coffee - before they go on to give me the wrong change. I can understand, however, that women might not like unwarranted attention from sweaty, testosterone-fuelled, preening alpha males at the gym, which is certainly why gyms like Fernwood are so popular.

I suppose the thing that stopped me going eventually was the whole humourlessness of the affair (and the incessant blaring techno). I remember watching one guy place every available weight on one machine and then trying to bench the whole lot while making sounds like he was giving birth at a volume that made the whole gym stop and stare at him. I couldn't help myself and started laughing - I got a lot of angry stares from other gym members.

Other life-changing things happened around this time. We moved from Brisbane to Melbourne and also had a baby. This meant that the gym was no longer around the corner, and besides, now I had absolutely no money to pay for gym fees. Instead I took up running at Royal Park which was near our house in Kensington. At first I could barely run a lap (about one kilometre), but over time I could manage about 10 or 15 laps. It was great to be out in the open air, but running around a circular track often felt futile. There is a monument to the Burke and Wills expedition at Royal Park which I would often stare at and this may have contributed to the feeling of futility.

When we moved from Kensington to Coburg, however, we moved near Merri Creek which has a track that follows the creek for about 15 kilometres and is much more conducive to the feeling that you're doing something worthwhile. It's a really nice run and as long as you're not running along in the blazing sun or being chased by the unregistered trail bike riders, then it's quite relaxing.

I must admit that probably the best thing about going for a run is me-time. The outdoors is like my own mobile lounge-room. I'd never consider going out without my trusty iPod and I can catch up with podcasts such as WTF with Marc Maron and the Ricky Gervais Show (I now consider these people to be friends). I also get to listen to things which are unsuitable for my daughter's ears and music my wife doesn't like. Occasionally a rabbit will hop across the path. It feels like some kind of Disney movie with a filthy soundtrack.

As with any endeavour, running has its cliches and whenever I mention to someone that I run on weekends, the first thing they mention is the movie 'Forrest Gump'. For those unfamiliar with the film, there is a moment where Forrest Gump gets up one morning and suddenly runs across America for no reason in particular. I always smile and nod when people mention this, but there is a grain of truth to it. Sometimes when I'm running along there is a feeling that I'm running away from something or that something is running after me. It could be some form of primal conditioning left over from cave-man times, or else something could really be after me. Either way, I'm not going to stop running to find out.

I Love Karl Pilkington

Karl Pilkington is probably best know these days as the star of An Idiot Abroad and The Ricky Gervais Show animated series. I first heard about him several years ago as one third of The Ricky Gervais Show podcast, which, for the uninitiated is basically a series of amusing but rambling conversations between friends.

I heard the podcast on a long drive from Melbourne to Sydney. The episode that got me hooked was in season five and featured Ricky Gervais devising a scenario for Karl where his family would be killed if he didn't marry either a monkey or a gay man named Graeme.

Karl was smart enough to know that he didn't want to appear homophobic in front any gay listeners but also didn't want to get any ribbing from his mates down the pub. He cleverly avoided the answer by saying that Graeme wasn't really his type and would instead ask Graeme if he'd seen any monkeys around.

After that road trip I quickly downloaded the previous series and all the subsequent 'Guide to' podcasts as well as 'XFM: From the Vault' compilations (the initial podcasts were a spinoff of Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's radio show in which Karl was the downtrodden producer). I would listen to these podcasts while jogging on the weekends. Some of Karl's remarks often made me burst out laughing especially when Gervais would extrapolate some of Karl's mystical beliefs to their illogical conclusions. It must have been a strange sight to see someone running and then suddenly fitfully laughing. Running is normally such a sombre pursuit.

The thing that continually makes the podcasts interesting is wondering how the dynamic of the show works and how much Karl is 'in on the joke'. Ricky Gervais assumes the role of 'the bully' (a role he seems to be increasingly prone to accept) and Karl is 'the victim'. Stephen Merchant takes on the role of mediator but both he and Gervais will more likely gang up against Pilkington with science and facts rather than let Karl get away with his poorly researched internet stories and hearsay.

From my many hours of listening I have devised this much about the show:

- Gervais and Merchant seem to be the ones who come up with material to ask Karl about every week. Karl works on his segments which are either Monkey News, Rockbusters or his diary. Early on they were not allowed to meet during the week to discuss the show but I suspect they have a brief production meeting. They do not rehearse the show as such.

- Karl never backs down from an argument no matter how ridiculous and he never laughs. This appears to be a rule because Karl sounded disappointed one time when he was caught out laughing. I don't think Karl is a defined 'character' and most of his thoughts seem to be genuine and spontaneous.

- Ricky Gervais will dismiss something Karl says as 'bollocks' rather than admit there may be a grain of truth in something Karl says.

An example of Gervais dismissing a story can be found in Karl's 'Monkey News' segment. Karl mentioned that he had read on the internet that a monkey brain had been kept alive on 'a stick'. Gervais mocked him for this and said it was impossible. Recently while watching Doctor Michael Molesley's 'Make Me Live Forever' documentary there was a clip of an experiment from the early 1970s in which Doctor Robert White managed to transplant a monkey head onto the torso of another monkey's body. It occurred to me that this is what Karl had probably seen. Gervais, being a former biology student would most likely have been aware of this experiment but refused to give Karl any credit. (BTW if you don't believe me the clip is on Youtube, but I warn you that once you see it you'll never be able to 'unsee' it.)

I'm a fan of the podcasts more than the animated series probably because I've envisioned Karl's stories in my own mind and often prefer my take on things - but occasionally the animation really adds something to Karl's ramblings. One example in the last series is the show in which Pilkington recounted an actual meeting with some film producers in which he pitched a ridiculous premise for a film which he envisioned would star Clive Warren (Karl meant to say Clive Owen) and involved some weird lesbian brain scenario. The animated embodiment of 'Clive Warren' and the subsequent movie segments were both hysterical.

I'm also a big fan of An Idiot Abroad because it makes me realise how much Karl and I have in common. Unlike most travel shows Karl is prone to pointing out what is wrong with a certain destination rather than what is great about it. Examples of this include his visit to the pyramids where he became fixated on all the garbage blowing about in the breeze rather than the pyramids themselves. Also his swim in the Dead Sea was marred when he encountered someone else's snot in the water. Watching this reminded me of postcards I sent back to relatives when I travelled through Europe noting that 'Big Ben isn't that big' and a visit to Disneyland where I remarked that The Magic Castle looks like it's made out of plywood. Perhaps television has conditioned us to expect more out of travelling than reality can possibly deliver.

One problem with An Idiot Abroad is that you realise Karl is more 'in on the joke' than the podcasts would have you believe. There is no way that Karl could be abducted in a training scenario without having some foreknowledge about what is going to happen. The same with his prostate exam in the second series. He would have to give his consent for something so private to be broadcast on national television. Also, the fact that he consented to a second series (and possibly a third) would indicate that he's not as unwilling a participant as you might expect. Karl is nothing but practical, however, and points out that he needs some form of employment.

Ultimately, the thing that is great about Karl is that he has had very little formal education but is always questioning - even if it is a stupid question like 'Jellyfish - Do we need them?'. He's interested in things even if he doesn't quite understand them. He's like that kid in school who puts up his hand and is derided by his classmates for asking a stupid question but secretly everyone in the class was just too afraid to ask. I admire people who aren't afraid to look stupid.

I love Karl but if it was up to me to decide whether to marry a chimp or Karl Pilkington then I would probably choose the chimp - but only just. Looking at some of his photos maybe there wouldn't be too much difference between the two of them but at least the chimp doesn't have a 'head like a fucking orange'.

500 Episodes of The Simpsons

What can be said about The Simpsons that hasn't already been said, eh? That's my challenge writing this blog but also a challenge for the show's writers having to come up with a new series every year.

I've been watching the show from the beginning and I remember not being an instant fan. I'd seen a few of the shorts from The Tracey Ullman Show and thought it was okay, but when the show became a half-hour fully-fledged series it wasn't really given the promotion it deserved.

The advertisers seemed to think that because the show was a cartoon the audience would most likely comprise children, so they focussed on the antics of Bart Simpson and released the woeful late 80s synth-pop number 'Do The Bartman' as a tie-in to the series premier. A lot of merchandise was released also featuring Bart and his incongruous catch phrases such as 'Eat My Shorts' and 'Don't Have a Cow, Man'. These were quickly phased out in the show and Bart's early penchant for catch phrases was openly derided in the  'I Didn't Do It' episode some years later.

I really fell in love with the show when living in a sharehouse with about five other people. We'd watch the new episode every week and had an extensive VHS library of past episodes to tide us over until new episodes were aired. There was nothing better than sitting down with a couple of slices of pepperoni pizza from Ribbets at Auchenflower and a four litre cask of lambrusco.

After watching the show with others it was obvious who the star of the show was - Homer. His unbridled rampaging Id combined with his laziness and his lack of concern for others represented the worst aspects of 'the ugly American' but there was something about him that was sweet and childlike too. In spite of early criticism the show received from detractors, The Simpsons, although dysfunctional, proved to be a pretty solid family unit that loved each other and were more easy to relate to than families on shows like Growing Pains and Family Ties which were so formulaic and saccharine. President George Bush Senior famously said that Americans should be 'more like The Waltons and less like the Simpsons'. He would go on to be lampooned in the show as a Mr Wilson-type character that moves in over the road from Bart's 'Dennis the Menace.'

Simpson-speak became an instant part of our vernacular. This, combined with quotes from 70s Australian television shows, sporting commentators and archaic dad-speak made conversations between me and my friends almost indecipherable to the outsider for the best part of a decade (I think I've recovered to some degree now). But that was the thing - if you could drop a Simpsons quote into a conversation and get a response then you knew the person you were talking to was in a group that was as important and exclusive as The Stonecutters. On one occasion this didn't work in a friends' favour. I remember the look of disappointment on the face of his girlfriend who was not familiar with the show when she realised all the witty remarks that my friend was spouting were all lifted from The Simpsons. The show travelled so much comedic terrain that there was no subject the show didn't touch. Even South Park acknowledged this in the episode 'The Simpsons Already Did It'.

To my mind there are three Simpsons eras. Early episodes focussed on the dynamic of the family when the show looked and sounded more like a deranged Peanuts cartoon. When writers ran out of these family scenarios the show shifted into being about social satire and popular culture. Now the Simpsons' universe is so large that they seem to be able to sustain storylines from their own rich past. This makes it strange when watching new episodes because any guest stars seem to be shoehorned in. The show no longer seems to be a part of this world.

Another way to divide the series up would be to consider episodes to be Phil Hartman episodes or post Phil Hartman. I remember being genuinely shocked and saddened when Hartman was murdered by his wife in 1998 as he seemed such a well adjusted guy and was effortlessly funny. He most notably played attorney Lionel Hutz and washed up actor Troy McLure in The Simpsons and left a gaping hole in the series when he passed away. To their credit, The Simpsons' writers did not replace Hartman with another voice actor but his loss is still felt. Hartman's performance in the musical version of 'Planet of the Apes' is still one of the series highlights and a reminder of when songs in The Simpsons were worthwhile. The 'Songs in the Key of Springfield' album is pretty great but the tunes went downhill after that for some reason. If you're a Hartman fan I also recommend his performance in the role of Captain Carl in Pee Wee Herman live.

Like any Simpsons fan I have my favourite Simpsons moments. I like it when the show gets a little bit surreal and characters act against-type and unexpectedly. Although not particularly funny, one of my favourite clips is when Marge is on the front lawn of the house with sisters Patty and Selma. They have been fighting with Homer. Marge tries to placate her sisters by explaining that Homer is 'a complicated man'. Seconds later Homer sticks his head out of an upstairs window, smashes a plate over his head and exclaims 'No I'm not!'

If I had to pick a low point of the series it would have to be the episode 'That 90s Show' which came out in 2008. The show reimagines the Simpsons' timeline so that Homer and Marge are college-age in the 1990s. Besides some pretty lame references to Nirvana and shows like Melrose Place the biggest deal breaker is the fact that they could have been a bit more imaginative and true to The Simpsons timeline by at least making it a dream sequence. Does this mean that Marge never picked Homer up after a humiliating high school prom or that they never unknowingly met at summer camp when they were children? Even the episode where Principal Skinner was found to be an imposter named Armin Tamzarian was reset at the end when they made Springfielders swear they would never mention Skinner's real identity again 'under pain of torture'.

I suppose this episode made me tune out of the show for a while but I started watching it again. Luckily the writers seem to have learned from the mistake of messing with the timeline. There are still talented people working on the show and over the years Conan O'Brien has featured among the writing staff and Brad Bird has been one of the notable directors that has gone on to do feature films such as The Incredibles and Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. It's undoubtedly a great pool of talent and amazing to think it has lasted this long. When I watch it now it is kind of like watching a modern Rolling Stones concert. Sure, it's not their heyday anymore but I'm still interested in what they're up to and something that has had such a profound impact on popular culture deserves a lifetime pass in my book.

So if a nuclear bomb suddenly lands on me one day and I have a split second left to live, I won't be like Comic Book Guy and declare that I've 'wasted my life' - on the contrary - I've spent a large portion of it watching The Simpsons!