I HAVE MOVED, PEOPLE

As in, I haven't just moved to Fairfield.

Reb, Not Bec has moved to Tumblr. I'm not entirely sure whether this is a great, or a terrible idea - but IT HAS HAPPENED and if you'd like to keep on reading my ridiculous shit, you will have to do it at:

rebnotbec.tumblr.com

Wooooooo.

I've moved over a few "choice" (read: "merely okay") ramblings and drawings. And I'm definitely going to be updating more. This whole "No Internet" thing at home has meant I've actually been doing some constructive things with my time. 

So go! Go to the tumblr. Way of the future, all the kids are doing it, #etc. 

The Great Gatsby or: "Meh"

That's really all it boiled down to for me. A loud, resounding glitter cannon of "…meh."

Yes, it's Baz Lurhmann's interpretation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic and yes, of course I expected it to be a visual spectacle on hip hop blasting, Charlston-dancing, technicolour steroids. That said, the fact that "everyone knows what to expect from a Baz Lurhmann film" (something uttered to me in various forms in the days after I saw The Great Gatsby) doesn't reduce, or excuse for that matter, the glaring faults within the Event Film of the Year. Or at least, that's my opinion. Old sport. Etc. Glitter cannon.

So, let's start with what I did like.

Firstly, The Great Gatsby is amazing to look at. Obviously. It's a sumptuous feast for the eye-holes, in 3D that - while a probably-rather-ostentatious stylistic choice - actually serves to enhance the visual goings-on. By that I mean things (mercifully) don't fly out of screen AT YO FACE in 3D wankery. Call it "classy 3D".

More than the thankfully-not-obnoxious 3D though, the costumes design in The Great Gatsby is a sight to behold. It's more than a little staggering to ponder exactly how much time and effort and dollars went into the styling of the film; everything looks damn-flippin' spectacular.

Secondly, the party sequences are just about worth price of admission. If someone else buys your popcorn, and if you BYO 3D glasses, that is. (side note: trips to the ol' cinematorium are getting EXPENSIVE AS FUCKERY. How expensive is fuckery? $25 for snacks, that's how) In any case, if you came for a visual spectacle, you could probably doze off - or leave - after the giant, sprawling party in which we're introduced to the titular Great man himself (complete with actual fireworks and fanfare heralding the moment). The party, or as I'd like to call it, The Peak of the Movie, is all tasselled dancers rocking out to dubstep, whooshing quick-cut camera movements over seas of people, fireworks, and a lot of booze. It made me want to go drink about five more cocktails and have a D-Floor rampage, so I suppose that's a successful party set piece.

As something purely to look at, and to take in as purely a visual spectacle, The Great Gatsby succeeds. Unfortunately, two and a half hours of pretty dresses and spectacular set-pieces a good film does not make.

Maybe if The Great Gatsby weren't based on a classic book so well-loved by so many (myself included), I'd be less critical. Maybe that'd be the case, but unfortunately The Great Gatsby did begin its life as a book. It's interesting to note that it's at this point that I'm compelled to write anything regarding the plot, or the character-related goings-on. It's pretty indicative of Lurhmann's Gatsby; the fact that style is favoured over substance, visual spectacle and aesthetic fappery over character and emotion. So yeah, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) rents a place next door to Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). His - Nick - cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan) has married Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton), and Tom's fooling around behind her back. Gatsby's bought a giant palace to be near Daisy after five years apart. Nick falls "half in love" with Daisy's friend Jordan Baker (Elizabeth Debicki). Everyone wonders who Gatsby is. Gatsby and Daisy reconnect for a fleeting moment, but it's not to be. Sigh, etc.

F. Scott Fitzgerald's book is told from the point of view of Nick Carraway, who describes his dealings with his neighbour Jay Gatsby, his cousin Daisy and her husband Tom with a detachment and subtlety. Beautiful moments filled with emotion bubbling just between the lines ("I've never seen such beautiful shirts!") are here handled with all the subtlety of a drunken bull riding a cannon. A glitter cannon.

Here, Nick annoying narrates the film, telling the audience exactly what's going on, and exactly how/why it's happening. Those aforementioned beautiful moments occur - featuring some great performances, just FYI - but are then ruined by narration then describing to the audience what just happened.

My biggest gripe with The Great Gatsby was the incessant heavy-handed nature in which EVERYTHING goes down. The audience is basically pistol-whipped with the point/meaning of every action that happens. At one point Gatsby tells Nick about a letter he wrote Daisy, and as he describes it, Daisy's image appears in the night sky like some sort of giant, human, simpering Jazz Age Mufasa. When things like that happen it doesn't matter how much of a beautiful spectacle a party is, because a bejewelled Fonz just jumped the gold-plated shark. I actually struggled to hold back laughter at a couple of points.

Good one, Baz. 

Which is SUCH A SHAME. Because the cast assembled here is really good, and Baz Lurhmann at times just doesn't trust them to just act. I mean, Leo's good in just about everything he does, and certainly he's a charming and charismatic Gatsby (his refrain of "old sport" doesn't even sound ridiculous) but I didn't find myself giving as much of a shit about him than I would have liked. Same goes for Carey Mulligan. Tobey Maguire fares even worse; he's required to look in turns tired, bewildered, and then slightly less bewildered. Joel Edgerton's the only one who really gets to do anything, and as such, really shines in his hulking, grunting Tom Buchanan. Elizabeth Debicki too, is a standout (although at times I found it distracting watching her, as we happened to go to high school together...fun fact) in her tall, aloof badassery.

And to those who told me "Yeah, it's fine if the movie is all style over substance, it's supposed to be, because that's what the 1920s were like!", I reply with "NO". That's like saying a movie about racism/misogyny/something else is all good in the hood to be racist/misogynistic/something else in its own (the film's) depiction/view/POV/stance/all-seeing eye because that's "what it was like" during point in history it's depicting.

I probably could've articulated that better, but it's late and a bathroom mirror fell on my head yesterday (true story). What I'm trying to say is that I would've liked at least a little bit more character/substance/actual chances to give a crap about the characters during The Great Gatsby.

I feel like I'm doing a little too much griping. Honestly, I enjoyed The Great Gatsby. Even though my mind began wandering to the weekend ahead at about the two-hour mark, it was a rollicking and entertaining ride through the 1920s. And it was beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. The party sequence is worth price of admission. The performances were solid, albeit via an underused cast. Let's face it, the lead pair are good in just about everything they do, and the core cast does actually manage to elevate the film. This is definitely the event film of the year, and as an Event Film it lives up to the spectacle. However, I don't often get into films that are as heavy-handed, obvious, melodramatic and as prone to bitch-slapping audiences in the face with "the point" with a chain-mail gauntlet as this one.

Don't re-read the book before seeing The Great Gatsby like I did.

Superman.

I literally ran into the bathroom and laughed for about ten minutes. Then messaged a bunch of friends, telling them about this dude. Which is mean, and horrible, but I have learned that I'm a horrible person who judges people on their love of Chad Kroeger, as well as Three Doors Down.

Sorry, universe.

What I've Been Doing Without the Internet

I've had a lot of time on my hands, so I've been doing things.

Like DRAWING SHITTY PICTURES. See what no internet drives me to? Crappy TV and crappy scribblings. I even watched The Big Bang Theory last night. Next thing you know, I'll be "upvoting" things I like in really "inappropriate" ways.

Anyway, enjoy. If anyone needs me, I'll be in (r)Adelaide for the next few days. YEAH.

Eurovision was last night and I had no internet

I've been without the internet for a few weeks now. And of all the moments of isolation, deprivation and complete and utter hopelessness I've endured over those few weeks, last night was the worst. For the 2013 Eurovision Song Contest was on TV, and I had no way to follow the Twitter stream. I had no way to contribute. My hysterical laughter and (at times) utter confusion was confined to the living room I now share with dearest Milly Bean. And while she humoured my yells and cackling laughter and couch-bound dancing (flailing), she clearly isn't as into it as I am. 

The songs! The choreography! The costumes! The crazy-ass camera movements! The absurd English-definitely-not-first-language lyrics! The narration! Oh boy oh boy oh boy, was it ever amazing. Personal highlights were (obviously) the absurdity of Romania's entry (which basically encapsulated all that is amazing/confusing about Eurovision), Greece singing about how "ALCOHOL IS FREE" (in kilts), and the GLASS CASE OF EMOTION displayed during Azerbaijan's "Hold Me". 

Side note: last night I learned Azerbaijan is a country. Is that bad? Probably. But perhaps, it's also testament to the wonder that is Eurovision - it's as educational as it is a glorious trip to a ridiculous Euro pop wonderland. Seriously though, watch Romania. It's probably the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Ever. 

If nothing else, Eurovision 2013 made it very, very clear that I need internet. And I need it soon. With each live Twitter update onscreen, with each hashtag and Facebook update, each photo posted and lol shared, I felt an actual pang of "GODDAMN IT, I WANT TO GO TO THERE". What does that say about me? I'm not sure. Probably something along the lines of "Fuck, you need to get out more" as a follow up statement to "Why do you care about these internet antics and Twitter feeds?" 

In any case, the situation is dire. I fear I'll say "hashtag" before statements, or prodding people in the forehead in an attempt to "upvote" whatever they just said. I'll start saying things like "UMAD?" or "gg" or "FTFY" in the IRL world. Maybe my face will actually turn into this: 

I'll give thumbs up to people before declaring "LIKE!" at them. I might even take to printing out my favourite hilarious pictures and sticking them up on poles along my street so I can make sure I'm filling the brains of people I don't know with images of adorable dogs and cats doing hilarious things. 

Or maybe I do a great many of those things already guys and I'm really really ashamed guys. 

I need internets

Anyway, the hunt for adequate internet (my standards have fallen) has intensified. 

Now, once more. With feeling. 

Groovin' the Moo 2013

Or: The Bronx were awesome, the crowd was shit, and the rest of it was pretty good. 

Exactly one day before we all moved out and bade farewell to Castle Mega (as our Toorak abode came to be known), Mike, Jaz and I hit up Groovin' the Moo in Bendigo. The day was gloriously sunny, then bitterly cold, and filled with music and a very young crowd. 

The day taught me three things, all of which I actually already knew:

• I fucking love The Bronx
• I despise young, obnoxious crowds
• I'm kind of getting sick of day music festivals swimming with a young, obnoxious crowd

Much of the day. 

Okay, let me rephrase and explain. I had a good time. It was an enjoyable day, and a nice way to tie up the time Mike (and Jaz) and I had spent together. After all, the first real conversation Mike and I had was basically a Bronx love-fest that became louder and louder as we discovered how damn much we each love the Bronx. There were plenty of fun times had, and at least a couple of minds blown upon seeing The Bronx. 

Unfortunately, for a disappointing portion of the day I felt like I was an angry old man, waving his cane/walking frame/wrinkly old fist at a pack of good fer nuthin' young whippersnappers intent on ruining his day/lawn. At first I put this down to the fact that I'm often very quick to anger and impatience when it comes to inanimate objects, most drivers on the road, and teens. I then became severely disappointed at myself for being so ageist and a prematurely grumpy old woman. 

Of course, it's also the first music festival in a while that I spent the entire time completely sober, so that might've been it (although I severely doubt it). 

First off - the good bits.

Saw some swell music. Frightened Rabbit were great, Alpine were an enjoyable listen, The Kooks were also a bit of fun. Regurgitator were a fucking BLAST and made me very glad indeed that I ended up going to the festival at all. And The Bronx, I'm glad to say, were well worth price of admission. The entire time they were onstage I wished I'd had the smarts to buy a ticket to their Corner Hotel sideshow ... which from all accounts, was an ear-gasm inducing sweaty pit of glorious tunes.

I'd seen them before, at Soundwave a few years ago. To give you an idea of what it was like, in a day that Iron Maiden were the headliners, The Bronx was my highlight. They blew my mind, and left my pals and I as sweaty, elated, bruised and battered messes.

What ensued at Groovin' the Moo was pretty much a repeat of that, in that it was fucking awesome. Mike and I later praised Matt Caughthran on his onstage charisma, and his ability to whip a crowd into a frenzy (but of course, that's a given). I also later expressed my desire to "shag the ever-loving snot out of Joby". By George, I wish I'd seen their sideshow. They were exciting and tight and brutal, the crowd was rowdy, moshing, circle pit-ing mess, and hell - this was a watered-down, sunny, big festival context. I can only imagine what they were like in a cramped, enclosed, sweaty Corner Hotel context full of dedicated fans. I'm pretty sure I would have died. And it would've been a most glorious way to go. Highlights were "Knifeman", "Shitty Future", "History's Stranglers".

There's just something incredibly exhilarating about bashing into a crowd of other people jumping around, yelling and sweating. And about everyone screaming as one, "MOTHERFUCKER, I WANT YOUR BLOOD!!!" while the singer sails over you on a sea of hands. I didn't want the set to end, to say the least. As Jaz and I looked for Mike afterwards, I was still jumping around wild-eyed, ripping off layers of clothing. Mike greeted us with a massive high five and a huge grin.

"THAT WAS EVERYTHING I WANTED AND MORE!" He declared.

That was the highlight of the festival, and it was about 2pm.

Now, onto the raging.

What I wanted to do most of the day

Way back when I went to Soundwave (and saw the Bronx), I made sure to make a distinction in the following blog post (which I can't be bothered finding now) between the crowd that day and the crowd I'd endured at Big Day Out just a month or so previous. I think my comments were somewhere along the lines of: 

Big Day Out Crowd: Young, obnoxious, at Big Day Out in order to "be at Big Day Out", not there for the music (yes, I'm aware of how cliched and wanky a thing to say that is), and generally kind of just rude. 

Soundwave Crowd: Not really any of those things. 

Of course, that's a gross overgeneralisation. There are dickheads in every crowd. And dickheads come in all shapes and sizes and ages, of course. However. However. However. The general feeling conveyed above was something I felt again at Groovin' the Moo, and I think that in large part it was a result of the very, very "all ages" crowd at Bendigo's showgrounds. 

It was the kind of crowd that - even if there was plenty of room around in a not-too-packed space - would make sure to shove past you on their rushed way to the stage. The kind of crowd that - upon arriving at the stage - would do everything in their power to push, bump and shove their way as close to the front as humanly possible, with no consideration given to anyone around them, or to the fact that all they'd then be seeing is someone's back. Then they'd spend the entire set watching the stage through the pixels of their phone screen.

I can't tell you how many times I saw an ocean of arms thrust above the crowd, phones clutched and recording. Oh man. Oh, man. Oh, MAN was it ever infuriating. I actually began taking photos of people taking photos. Which maybe makes me a hypocrite, but fuck you - it was intermittently and it was to prove a point. And yes, I realise I took a photo of The Bronx with my phone. But that was one photo, after which I shoved my phone back into my bag in order to continue rocking out.

To those who watch gigs through a phone screen - why? Are you really going to re-watch the fuzzy, blurry, shitty footage you've recorded ever again? Don't you think at all that actually being present in the moment might make for a better memory of the gig? Don't you think for a moment that you might be a walking millennial cliche?? FUCK. 

Take Tame Impala. This is an instance where at first I thought my enjoyment was impeded by the fact that I was stone-cold sober and sans Dane to dance like a maniac with me, until I realised it really wasn't. We positioned ourselves in the crowd, and soon began to enjoy - read: not enjoy - being constantly shoved by screeching girls and bro'd-up guys trying to get that little bit closer to the front. Why? WHY?

I really tried to get into it and have a good time, which was difficult considering Jaz was standing there, glowering. Hard to dance when your pals are fuming. It's also hard to rock out when the crowd doesn't seem to even register there being a band onstage - exactly the case during Tame Impala. It was almost as if it didn't matter whether there was music occurring at all, the crowd was just interested in taking selfies of themselves being at #GTM2013. After hearing a few songs, attempting to boogie to "Elephant" and realising the band seemed to be in the mood to jam, I admitted defeat and told the guys we could head to Flume.

Which was a terrible decision.

In fact, when I was describing all this to a friend a couple of days ago, he interjected with, "Was it the Flume crowd? Were they the worst?"

To which I replied, "Yes."

They were. So bad. Obnoxious. Awful. Trashy. With an average age of about eighteen. It was packed. I immediately regretted the fact that we were amongst the thick of it; I'm sure following my own advice of being further back with space to move and space to breathe where there wasn't someone constantly farting/shoving would've been the way to go.

Now, please know that I realise crowds like that are conducive to shoving and being in close proximity to other people. And that is more than fine with me - I love mosh pits, I love boogying up a storm in a sea of people, all that bizzo. And of course, I've been known to rock out without really registering what band was on (I forgot to notice when Flume played at Golden Plains). But oh man, what had started as irritation and exasperation earlier in the day and in the Tame Impala crowd, quickly turned into a flying rage during Flume. I turned around and saw Jaz, stony faced and looking like steam was about to burst out of her ears. So many phones in the air. A girl literally shoving people out of her way. Young dudes being complete douche canoes.

Flume's set was completely fine, enjoyable. Unfortunately, I wanted to roundhouse kick just about everyone in the crowd. We soon left (which was an exercise in "FFFFUUUUUUUU" in itself) and went over to The Kooks. I noticed how quickly my mood shifted back to "agreeable" and "cheerful" being away from the Flume crowd. Until of course, Flume's set finished and they all poured like some sort waterfall of bug larvae from a larger bug. I'm sorry, that's an awful mental image.

Later on, as the day was done and the three of us made our way back to the car, I noted how old and angry I felt throughout so much of the festival. And I was pleased to hear Mike and Jaz completely agreed with me. If I'm angry and old, then they are too. Or maybe it was just apparent how dudd-ful the general crowd was (not including the crowd at The Bronx). Was it because I was completely sober? Was it because I'm an impatient person? Was it because The Kids have no sense of "etiquette" and "not being a complete dudd"? I'm not sure.

Reading back on this, it seems like I had a shitty, shitty day apart from The Bronx. Not true! Frightened Rabbit were rad. Regurgitator were very rad. Kooks were fun. Flume would've been fun if not filled with dudds. I had a blast hanging with Mike and Jaz. It was a sunny, lovely day and I was wearing a TIE fighter t-shirt on May the Fourth.

That being said though, I'm very certain I'll be adding Groovin' the Moo to sit alongside Big Day Out in the list of "there'll have to be a fucking amazing line up for me to hit that again".

Things at the Moment

It's official - I am finally living in the north. North of the river, north of the wall. Call me The Reb in the North. That's the main reason things have been a little quiet on the blog front; I was packing, then moving, and then upon arriving in the new abode discovering that I'm without internet.

I lie - I knew the internet situation, I just didn't realise that acquiring internet would be such a cumbersome and rage-inducing process. Can't there be a one-stop internet store, in which one might be able to pluck internet out of the air and just put it in any place? I mean, without "oh, you need to do this line rental fuckery" type fuckery. Seriously - this whole I-don't-have-the-internet-I-need-internet thing is irritating as all hell. I think, "Man, I wanna find out about different types of internet-giving-companies. I know! I'll just check online... FUCK."

In any case, I've been feeling equal parts isolated and gif rampage/reddit/youtube vortex-deprived as a result of no interwebs, and all super-chuffed and pleased with myself for finally now living northside. It is a two-edged sword. Soon however, it will be one-edged though, and a sword of close proximity to friends with internet to boot.

Every moment I am without Reddit. 

But! I just bought a new desk (one that didn't begin its life as a dinner table, and thus can fit in my room) and it's time to blog. It's just too bad I have no internet. So after I get internet I'll be blogging like a mad woman.

Now, I'll just have to be content to trundle over to my folks' place and gorge myself on stupid videos, tumblrs full of gifs, and sending myself into a rage wondering why studios nowadays seem to have reverted back to the old-Hollywood trend to lay out the ENTIRE PLOT in a two-minute trailer.