Lurking in the Shadows - My Thoughts on Prometheus

Before going to see 'Prometheus' last weekend, I did what seemed appropriate and revisited Ridley Scott's 1979 classic 'Alien'.

It still holds up!

It's a film I've revisited many times since I first saw it in the early 1980s. At first I just enjoyed the horror and suspense aspects of the film, but subsequent viewings have made me appreciate how groundbreaking it was to have a female lead, the gender-reversing shock of seeing a man 'raped' by an alien, HR Giger's masterful bio-mechanical set and creature design and the deliberate but operatic pacing of the film.

Perhaps the thing that has kept the film in the public consciousness and made it a cut above the average 'slasher' film is the fact that there are some intriguing questions set up that are left unanswered. Who was The Space Jockey piloting the ship which carried the alien cargo? What is the faceless Weyland-Yutani corporation? What is the extent of their knowledge of the Xenomorph? Is it a bio-weapon? The sequels to Alien wisely stayed away from answering most of these questions. I think this is largely because the fans wouldn't want to see these ideas tackled by anyone else but Ridley Scott (or perhaps James Cameron).

Prequels, reboots and sequels to beloved genre-films are a dime a dozen these days and I'm generally not a fan. The Star Wars prequels are the perfect example of why they don't work and I can explain why in one sentence - No amount of money or CGI wizardry can compete with a 10 year-old's imagination when it comes to envisioning 'The Clone Wars'. Alec Guinness' passing mention of it at the beginning of Star Wars was enough. Save yourself the time and money, Hollywood. At best prequels seem to disappoint and at worst they damage your opinion of the existing films (and your childhood memories)

If you don't believe me, then maybe Simon Pegg can convince you:

I went to see Prometheus with fairly low expectations, but I admittedly had been inspired by the viral videos (especially Michael Fassbender's 'David' video) and the trailers. Almost a week after seeing it, I begrudgingly like it. On the most basic level I enjoyed it and it delivered enough visceral shocks to warrant being included in the 'Alien' canon. I appreciate the fact that Scott seemed to be aware of the trappings of making prequels and avoided making the film a 'direct' prequel (although it is undeniably an Alien film). 

I think his willingness to mess with audience preconceptions has led to both the greatest successes and the greatest criticisms concerning the film. A lot of reviews complain of 'plot holes', especially when it comes to two key scenes. One involves scientists coming into contact with a clearly hostile alien species, showing no fear and joking around with the life-form. It doesn't end well. The other scene involves scientists taking off their helmets after detecting a breathable atmosphere (what about air-borne pathogens?) To be fair, these weren't plot holes, merely actions that were incongruous to the characters. I'll give Scott credit for trying at least to be darkly funny, but it was disconcerting to hear the audience laugh during a 'horror' sequence. The greatest success (at least in the scare department) was a clever take on the original chest-burster scene from Alien involving some impromptu abdominal surgery. Mwahahahaha!

Ridley Scott isn't a young man these days. His reasons for making Alien are different to the reasons he made Prometheus. It really feels like he has something to prove in Alien (especially if you watch the excellent bonus features on the Alien special edition) and he wrings every ounce of effort into creating something unique. Perhaps the amount of opposition he encountered actually helped him make a great film. Endless re-writes of the script helped hone the core of what the film was about before they even shot a frame. Budgetary constraints made them rely more on their imaginations about hidden threats rather than exposition. I'm not saying it was easy to make Prometheus, but with Scott's track record, perhaps he didn't encounter as much opposition on the 'artistic' side.

The thing that I love about Ridley Scott is that he can use an image to cut to the core of a subject. In Blade Runner the image of the unicorn represented 'memory' and the difference between what is real or implanted. The chest burster scene in Alien is an iconic 'body horror' image. I can't think of any single shot in Prometheus that sums up the film.

I think Prometheus could have done with being a bit 'leaner'. For a start there were too many characters. I know you need a fair amount of monster-fodder in these sorts of films, but there were a lot of people that seemed to sit around doing nothing for most of the time (including Charlize Theron's character). The properties of the 'black goo' that our heroes encounter seems to be rather random and confusing as well.

Ultimately, the theme of Prometheus seems to be 'faith versus science'. It's a fair enough theme to explore, but it is handled rather clunkily in Prometheus and I'm not sure that a trumped-up horror franchise such as Alien is really the correct forum to explore such lofty ideas.

The reason Alien worked so well is that it connected with primordial fears. What is lurking just beyond your flashlight as you're lying in bed? Am I giving birth to a monster? Who is ultimately running everything? Prometheus aims to be a bit more cerebral and ultimately spawn new themes such as the origins of mankind (and a new franchise), but it is unclear at this stage where they ultimately seem to be heading.

Prometheus was written by Damon Lindelof who wrote the tv show 'Lost'. I've never seen it, but I know it is famous for asking a lot of questions that ultimately are red herrings. Prometheus asks a lot of questions too and it is disturbing to think that they may just be threads leading nowhere. Maybe another scriptwriter with a more 'singular' vision would have made things flow better?

Prometheus goes a long way to explaining the subtext in the original Alien. The problem with this is, if you are going to explain subtext, then you have to replace it with something equally as compelling. To me, Prometheus is a worthy attempt. Maybe after a few decades of re-watching it the pieces will start to fall into place, but at the moment it just seems a bit of a mess. It's probably the best 'prequel' film I've seen, but that is a dubious honour. After seeing 'Attack of the Clones' I was disappointed that Darth Vader ended up being Hayden Christiansen. I was also disappointed that Peter Weyland ended up being Guy Pearce in Prometheus, but not as much - I like Guy Pearce! 

  

Grounded

When I was a kid I enjoyed pretending I was a superstar and would often perform impromptu shows for my mum's friends. I would pretend I knew how to play my toy ukelele whilst delivering an evocative and emotional rendition of the only song I knew the lyrics to - John Denver's classic hit 'Take Me Home Country Roads'. There may have been a cowboy outfit involved in the performance - I don't really remember.

I didn't have much of a love for John Denver besides my admiration for the fact that he'd been on The Muppet Show, but I was a professional and knew my mum's friends probably liked the wholesome down-home charm of Denver. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. After the performance I would gratefully acknowledge their rapturous applause before engaging in a little small-talk to acknowledge their fandom. To maintain my air of mystery, I would slink away after a few minutes for a bit of 'me time' and to decompress from the pressures of stardom and dissect the nuances of my performance.

A bit over a decade later (1987 to be precise) I found myself in a restaurant in The Blue Mountains near Sydney with my parents and my sister. I suppose I was seventeen at this point. The couple at the table next to us were discussing the lyrics to a song which sound especially inane and mostly involved listing  cliched Australian landmarks. Even though he no longer had his trademark round glasses and didn't look like a country boy, we recognised the man instantly as John Denver. He was with his wife (fiancee?) at the time Cassandra Delaney.

We did what anyone would do in this circumstance and talked about them under our breath for a while. I prayed that my parents wouldn't speak to them because, being 17 at the time, everything my parents did either 'sucked' or was painfully embarrassing. I think I would've preferred that the celebrity at the table was Bryan Ferry rather than John Denver, but then I would've been disappointed that he would stoop so low as to eat in a restaurant with someone like me.

I've never enjoyed speaking to famous people; partly because they always seem to be self-involved and living in an a state of arrested development - cocooned from reality by a team of sycophantic minders who indulge their every whim. Mostly though, I'm just jealous of the fact that I never get a chance to act like that.

There were no minders at the restaurant this night and my parents didn't have to speak to Denver - he spoke to us! When we ordered dinner my father ordered fish. As the waiter was bringing it to our table Denver leaned over and asked my father what it was. Dad replied 'rainbow trout'. Denver looked excited and immediately called the waiter over and changed his order. In some small way we had influenced the life of a legend!

I often wonder why he spoke to us. Was he just trying to give his fans a giddy little thrill - like I had done  for my mum's friends all those years ago? Was he homesick and just wanted someone to talk to? or was he just sick of listening to us talk about him under our breath?

It is a testament to the power of celebrity that we still joke about that evening to this day and I'm sure it's something that Denver himself would have no recollection of if he were still alive. Alas, he isn't. John Denver died after crashing an experimental plane in 1997. When my family first heard about it on the news the first thing we did was discuss that night back in 1987. It's funny but I even considered the possibility that we may have contributed to his death. Maybe that rainbow trout was loaded with mercury and it took ten years to manifest itself as poisoning in Denver's bloodstream, debilitating him on that fateful flight.

On some level, I feel sorry for celebrities like John Denver. They can never just sit down to a meal like normal people and are trapped in a world of their own making. There's no way out. John Denver could never just say 'screw it' and apply for a job as an office temp - everyone would recognise him. Instead he must have looked for other distractions from his music career. Obviously there was nobody around who cared enough about him to tell him that flying experimental airplanes is dangerous and not a good idea. Maybe Denver was looking for a hobby that matched the thrill of his early performances before the machinations of the industry and endless touring turned a passion into merely 'a job'?

Fame itself is a terrible narcotic. I myself have never been able to shake the excitement felt from those early performances of 'Country Road Take Me Home' in front of my mum's friends. I still perform to this day. I no longer play that particular song but I have some of my own songs that I perform a handful of times a year in front of my ever-loyal fan base of around ten people. Maybe I'll ask one of them what they're having for dinner next time I perform in a pub to give them something to talk about for the next couple of decades. Sure, I may not as be universally recognised as John Denver, but at least I have an office job I can turn up to on Monday morning.

Perhaps it's time I started wearing the cowboy outfit again.

A Public Life - A Private Hell!

Many years ago I was challenged to think of a title for my autobiography. I assumed that by the time I got around to writing such a document that I might have achieved some sort of celebrity status, so I tried to pick a title that was worthy of the highs and lows that a celebrity life entailed. I settled on the title 'A Public Life - A Private Hell!'

A friend of mine suggested that this title was too obvious and an autobiography needed to have more of an air of intrigue about it. He suggested revising the title to 'A Public Life in Private Hands'. I agreed with this assessment and made a mental note to use this title when finally the time came to reward the hungry public with tales of my exploits.

However, after reading two autobiographies in the past year, I've changed my mind and have now reverted back to the 'Private Hell' title.

The two books I read were Keith Richards' 'Life' and Michael Caine's 'From Elephant to Hollywood'. By far the better of the two is the Keith Richards' book. Like the title, the book cuts straight to the core of the subject. Even if you're not a Rolling Stones fan I suggest reading it anyway because Keith is a surprisingly witty individual and is as honest and forthright as a man who has lived for a few decades in the public spotlight can be. He comes across as self-effacing in the book and addresses his many shortcomings in a way that makes you realise he is aware of how he is perceived by the public.

Michael Caine's book 'The Elephant to Hollywood', like the title, is a bit more of a convoluted affair, which never really gets to the emotional core of the subject. Perhaps Keith's ghost-writer James Fox was able to spur Richards on to greater heights, but Michael Caine's biography seems to be written from a more defensive point of view, which would lead me to conclude that he wrote it himself.

It's not a bad book, however, and Caine should be commended for his attempt. Certainly he has led a very interesting life with some surprising twists and turns both personally and professionally, but the book reads like a list of accomplishments and famous people he has met, rather than a life closely examined.

Strangely, there are pearls of wisdom that I use from both books on an almost weekly basis. Both Caine and Richards are good working-class English lads and enjoy simple English food. Both men included recipes in their autobiographies that they have enjoyed throughout their lives.

Michael Caine describes how to make the best roast potatoes... I tried them and they are! Basically it involves par-boiling the potatoes and placing them in a baking dish with olive oil (don't skimp on cheap oil) that has been infused with garlic and rosemary. Remove the garlic and rosemary before putting the potatoes in and turn to coat. Sprinkle with celery salt and pepper and bake in a hot oven (200 degrees celsius) for an hour turning every 15 minutes. You won't be disappointed.

Richards' describes how to make simple but tasty bangers 'n' mash and goes in to great detail in regard to his love for Shepherd's Pie (you can find the recipe online).

 Here's one I made earlier:

Maybe I should take a leaf from Richards' and Caine's book  and start my autobiography with a simple recipe. Okay readers let's begin - Here is the one recipe that I have concocted in my life that I can truly call my own.

Trev's Italian Lentil Bake

Ingredients:
700 grams of potatoes
1 cup of brown lentils (boiled until soft)
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
2 cans roma tomatoes
1 cup of vegetable stock
1 bunch of broccoli, chopped
Italian herbs (either mixed herbs, oregano, basil or even just parsley)
splash of red wine
cheddar cheese

Method:
Boil the lentils until soft (you could just use a 400g can of lentils to save time). Drain and set aside. Slice potatoes (peel them if you want) and boil until soft. Drain and set aside.

In a saucepan saute' the onion and garlic until soft (but not brown). Add the tomatoes and crush with a wooden spoon. Add vegetable stock and herbs. Bring to the boil and then add broccoli, lentils and red wine. Reduce heat and simmer until the sauce thickens (about 30 minutes). Add salt and pepper to taste.

Heat oven to 180 degrees celsius. Tip saucepan contents into a baking dish and arrange the potatoes in a single layer. Top with grated cheese. Place baking dish in the pre-heated oven until cheese is golden.

Voila!


Note: I prefer recipes that take a long time and that require an excuse to purchase a bottle of wine. The beauty of this recipe is once it's in the oven you can drink the wine while waiting for your meal. I also like to multi-task and might also put on a nice record or play the guitar while waiting for dinner. Enjoy the process and don't think of it as a chore.

I hope this recipe tides readers over until 'A Public Life - A Private Hell' is written and officially released... Now that I think about it, I could probably do without the private hell part; and the public life part doesn't really appeal to me as much as it used to.

Maybe it's back to the drawing board.

Enjoy my recipe in the meantime.

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!!!