THOROUGHLY MIFFED - PROLOGUE: THERE AND BACK AGAIN...

Guten tag, konichiwa, bonjour, aloha, ciao and g'day...  

...so I'm pushing the international flavour a little hard. Sue me. I got Monty Burns' team of lawyers waiting behind the moving wall. Push me and see...

It's been a compact eternity since my last blog, and there's no damned excuse for the first part of it. All those blogs I've promised, both publicly and privately, from "TSIK's Most Underrated Filmmakers/Actors", to "TSIK's Favourite Guilty Pleasures", to "TSIK's Blueprint For Peace In The Middle East" (clue: it has everything to do with ROCKY IV) have all remained unfulfilled. The good news is, you may see them pop up in the future. But, for now, their absence is the bad news. 

The good news for you, constant reader, is that the obstacle between the Bloggesphere and I during the last 3 weeks is also the source of my material hencewith: I've been ensconced, enmeshed and embedded in the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF) -- or, as we South-East Coastal Antipodean Film Nuts like to call it, Christmas in July.  Oh yeah... I am filled with the holy spirit of celluloid, for shizz.

MIFF always constitutes a veritable religious experience for me every year, one made positively miraculous by the divine intervention (sorry... I'm on a roll) of my fabulous partner, who, in her infinite wisdom and unparalleled loveliness, bought me a MIFF Passport for my birthday. A Passport, for the uninitiated, is the card which, once purchased for one sweet price, gets you into every session of MIFF bar Opening and Closing Nights. I've only been blessed with such a privilege once before -- although, that time, I had to pay for it myself... and ultimately pissed it away, seeing only 16 flicks that year, barely justifying the purchase. An offence for which I duly administered myself 40 lashes. 

No such tomfuckery this year. 

Oh, no. Your prosally (not a word, but I wanted a adjective of Prose and made it happen -- you should be so motivated) craptastic correspondent spent 17 days pinballing between Melbourne picture palaces The Forum (ahh, my favourite Melbourne landmark), The Capitol Theatre, The Kino-Dendy, ACMI and... uh, Greater Union... seeing no less than 58 sessions (54 feature films and 4 short film programs)!  

I'm here to do my now-yearly tradition of reviewing all the flicks I saw at MIFF, as well as my general MIFF experience for 2008.  Admittedly, this has been a much less daunting prospect in the past -- the last two years at MIFF, I saw 21 and 27 films, which then comprised a record... but are now, combined, still 10 short of what I saw this year alone -- but I'm gonna give it a bash anyway. 

Ready Mr Music?

1. THE EXPERIENCE

As always, beautiful overall. In the thick of it, I phased through many emotions: firstly, an almost unbearable excitement, followed by the thrill of MIFF actually happening, as you slip into all the old faithful habits -- waiting in serpentine queues whilst freezing one's kiester off, dashing as fast and gracefully as a heavy overcoat and small backpack will allow between sessions, meeting up with friends at sessions, stealing quick coffees and kisses with partner in between sessions, quickly debriefing with same friends before rushing to the next session, packing anywhere between one and five sessions in a single day, remaining steadfastly optimistic throughout projection issues (thankfully, these were predominantly brief), quickly shooting out to grab a popcorn combo -- likely the closest thing you'll get to a main meal all day -- before the flick starts, being devoured by the often broken seats at Greater Union, seeing the same "coming soon, to the small screen" ad for the same cruddy Aussie cop show so many damned times you begin to learn it word for word against your will, and, most sublimely, savouring the moment when the lights go down and your transport capsule is about to take flight to another cinematic world -- man, I love MIFF. To quote Jack from LOST: "WE HAVE TO GO BACK!!!" 

2. THE ONCE-BUT-NO-LONGER-GREATER UNION

Remember that song from SESAME STREET you heard as a kid? "One of these things is not like the other one, one of these things is not the same..." Nothing brings that to mind, for me, like the MIFF cinemas... The Forum, a true old-school picture palace which I couldn't love more if it had feminine genitalia, and holds much nostalgia for me (I saw E.T. there in 1982); The Capitol, a beautifully restored old-time cinema with a roof you could stare at for hours; ACMI, proudly flying the flag for arthouse, retrospective and revival cinema on this side of The Astor like a lone gunslinger of inexhaustible powers; Kino-Dendy, the new kid in the MIFF town, which is a sweet little arthouse venue on the "Paris end" of town... and, at the end of the line, we have the Greater Union. Once the biggest cinema in town, a stand-alone multiplex before such places were even a glint in a shopping mall's eye, now a fallen giant, an increasingly sad old pug who continues to pull on the gloves and throw down despite sagging skin, a decided lack of pace and now devoid of former grace. (Okay, GU was never particularly graceful, but go with me here...)

Since the Village Centre -- not a bad venue in itself, save for its rather rigid seats and horrifically close front rows -- closed it doors pour de bon after the 2005 festival, the only in-proximity commercial cinema venue with enough space to shoulder the extra MIFF load was the Greater Union Russell St theatre (which already had its hands full). The glorious Regent Theatre helped out in '06 and '07, but with something WICKED happening there this year, poor old Greater Union has copped the overflow. Never an attractive building -- at best, wacky in a 1970s way, at worst, downright creepy (once, as a session of HANNIBAL was about to begin, my friend Frank and I heard crickets in the theatre. Seriously.) -- what it lacked in aesthetic delights, it, too, made up in nostalgia... for me, anyway. This is where I saw GREMLINS in '84, and many, many other flicks. When we'd come into the city on school excursions to see flicks, this is where we'd often end up. And don't forget those pesky crickets. So I had no problem with it. 

Then you sit in the seats. Black vinyl moveable cushions, which threaten to swallow you anyway, even if the straps holding them in place weren't broken, which one in every 20 or so were. So it isn't Gold Class -- feh. I'm hardcore, I can roll economy class. It was kicking it somewhat old school, and I wouldn't dream to bitch about it.  

Cut to: three years later, and now one in 5 seats sport broken straps. One in 10 has a wonky armrest, and to call the projection facilities antiquated would be an insult to fine antiques everywhere. What was once charming is now just shonky... and, while I would be one of the first to suggest shonkiness has its own inherent charm, that time passed about five years ago. For what is arguably Australia's finest film festival to be sporting this as one of their flagship venues is just, well, embarrassing. What's more, no less than THREE screens at Greater Union were being utilised for this festival, so there was a 3 in 7 chance (3 in 6 on weekends, which equates to a terrifying 1 in 2 chance) your session will be there. Finer commentators than I have expounded upon the folly of this, and I shall do nothing more than add my tones to their chorus. Surely it requires a rethink in 2009. 

And now... the reviews. Turn the page to Part I when you hear this sound: ***RRRING!*** 

(You know, like those Golden Books on Tape you had as a kid?  You-- oh come on, it's theatre of the mind! Ah, to hell with ya...) 

TSIK