Wake in Fright understood the horrors of Australian booze culture. 50 years on, nothing’s changed | Joseph Earp

As a sober Australian man, I’ve battled the bottle and I’ve battled the boys. As Ted Kotcheff’s 1971 film knows, there’s no victory in either Get our weekend culture and lifestyle email Wake in Fright, the 1971 film-cum-anthropological study by Ted Kotcheff understands Australian men, it understands Australia’s drinking culture, and it understands the way those two things intersect – which is to say it understands games. Dick-measuring contests, arm-wrestling bouts, two-up, binge-drinking: Australian masculinity is a series of ongoing games with the promise that if you complete all of these contests you will be the winner – the mannest man. Of course, it’s an illusion: Australian men never really escape the playground rules of the handball court, which turn a swathe of casual interactions into high-stakes opportunities to prove ourselves. Continue reading... from Film | The Guardian https://ift.tt/jlNBdR4 via IFTTT

Maria review – Angelina Jolie plays the diva in magnificent stroll around the cult of Callas

Venice film festival
Jolie is a painting to be stared at in Pablo Larraín’s opulent drama, tottering around Paris in the 70s and drawing us in to tragedy as thoroughly as Bellini or Pucchini

Hide the overflowing ashtrays and move that infernal grand piano – Maria Callas, La Diva, is granting a valedictory TV interview. She’s pacing the halls of her Paris apartment, feeding her poodles and strung out on pills. The visiting journalist is called Mandrax, named after her favourite medication. He takes a seat and checks the mic. By way of introduction, he says, “I’d like to walk with you through your life.”

Callas’s life whisked her from the slums of Nazi-occupied Athens to the concert halls of Europe and the US, through a torrid relationship with Aristotle Onassis to collaborations with Pasolini and Zeffirelli. But Pablo Larraín’s opulent Maria shrewdly homes in on the soprano’s final days, showcasing a stiffly dignified Angelina Jolie as the lioness in winter, four years retired and a legend in her own lunchtime. “Make me an appointment with a hairdresser who doesn’t speak,” she orders her doting servants. “Book me a table at a restaurant where the waiters know who I am.” She is in the mood, she adds, for adulation.

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