Glow, Blacklight Theatre With Invisible Ninjas

Short piece on a play I'm seeing this Saturday night. Feels like old times, being at the Opera House three times in a week. Used to be down there so often chefing and reviewing that I called it the Opera Home... can't say I miss those days. Kinda happy they happened, but happy they're over too. It's because I'm not chefing there anymore that I can see so much theatre again.

Anyway, this looks like a lot of fun. Looking forward to it.

Akram Khan's Gnosis Review

Gnosis by Akram Khan

Akram Khan is one of those performers you keep hearing about until you give in a go to see what all the fuss is about. The cavernous Opera Theatre appeared to be almost full on the second night of this two night season. A woman sitting next to me was telling her friends about the show with a great deal of enthusiasm; she had attended the previous night as well.

The stage was bare for this performance with Akram taking centre stage and being flanked by his musicians, all tastefully dressed and sitting bare-foot on the floor. The instruments included a cello, tabla drums, taiko drums and a sarod (which sounded like a sitar). There were vocals throughout and the sound of Akram's pants, lined as they were with rows of tiny bells that jangled rhythmically as his feet tapped and stomped.

The music was exotic and as polished as you'd expect from the best hand-picked musos from around the world. Unfortunately if you were seated even a little off to one side at least one if not two players were obscured from view. I could not see Yoshie Sunahata on the taiko drums at all, which was frustrating, especially as the dancer had really talked her drumming skills up.

The first part of the performance involved traditional dance, a bit of a slightly competitive jam session between the dancer and the tabla player, and while there was no denying Akram's skill and grace, without any clear narrative I did have moments of feeling as though it was occasionally a little repetitive. Occasionally, too, the moves veered into comical aspects of interpretive dance. Having the undisciplined mind that I do, started to amuse myself by guessing what it was that he was doing... is he introducing the moon to the Earth? This is the moon, this is the Earth, you two should get to know each other. Now he's picking fruit and giving it to the people, but he's taking the fruit back from the people and running away with the people chasing him and shouting you can't give us the fruit and then take it away again! It's just not fair! Come back here with our fruit!

He also took time out to simply chat with the audience. He is very well-spoken, appears quite humble and has a good sense of humour, even if the quite sweet story about the cab driver and his father (by coincidence a long-lost boyhood friend of the cab driver) didn't ring true somehow. Both plus 1 and I speculated on how this story could have been true; neither of us came up with a satisfying explanation.

The second act was Akram's take on the story of the wife of a blind king who wears a blindfold for her entire life to share her husband's experience. This section had a much more contemporary feel to it, And I finally got to see the Japanese taiko player as she joined the main star in what was quite a stunning dance routine. The opening scene as the two of them mirrored each others sweeping movements as they mimed beating giant taiko drums was hypnotically gorgeous. This last act was the highlight for me and went down a treat with the crowd, many of whom thought the show worthy of a standing ovation during the lengthy and rapturous round of applause at the end.

Having seen Akram Khan for the first time, I kind of regret having missed him when he was here last time performing with French actress Juliette Binoche. I'll have to settle for looking forward to his next visit.

Oh - I really wanted to use the line, so you think Akram Khan dance somewhere in the review, but that would have been silly.

Lee Bemrose. Photo by Richard Haughton

NYE At The Big pointy Building... Fast Forward, Please

New Year's Eve At The Big Pointy Building in a few hours... I just want to make it through the day and out the other end to join friends for drinks on new Year's Day. Check out this pic from three years ago. Three years? Feels like much longer.

I just read a couple of other posts from around that time. Does anyone's life turn out the way they expected it to?

Camille Is In The Spiegeltent

Long interfering work-days, they are poo. They get in the way of the real stuff. But I saw Camille at The Spiegeltent a couple of nights ago, and that was the real stuff. So far I think it is my favourite performance of the year. Perfect performance for that venue. I'd be happy to twattle on for a bit but I think the link I've given you perfectly captures the vibe of the show. The clip is, I think, a Nick Cave Song... although I thought at the time, based on the writing, that it was Tom Waits. I don't think I've heard the original. I think she handles it really well... catch the perfectly timed glints in the eye. Hard to believe she's a trained architect and not a trained singer. She's a total natural onstage.

As downbeat as this moment was in the show, there were plenty of upbeat ones as well, and some really funny sections where she played the crowd wonderfully. I loved this show and I loved that I saw it in the Spielgeltent. I almost don't want to go back and see any other performances because this was just such a perfect one. Also check her out and listen to some more here.

I have what I call Big Night moments. Years ago I was at the cinema watching a movie called The Big Night. It was about am Italian restaurant struggling to survive. The owners, a couple of brothers, were food purists sticking by their guns while restaurants all around them used gimmicks to pull business. These guys were passionate about their food and hoped that the quality of the food would be enough. Somehow a big star, a singer, I think, was due to eat at their restaurant and they knew that if word got out, this could swing business so they set about creating an extraordinary dinner.

There was a moment in the film that I realised it had sucker-punched me and I was really moved. I was moved by what was going on in the movie - there was lots of love, passion and celebration - but I was also moved by the look of the movie. Some of the shots were just gorgeous and I knew that a lot of passion had gone on behind the camera too. I'd been moved before by sad stuff in movies, but that was the first time I realised that I could be moved by someone really throwing themselves into something to create a thing of shining beauty.

So yeah, experiencing Camille in The Spiegeltent, I had several Big Night moments.

Hmm. I appear to have twattled on anyway.

And if there are tickets left I think I'm going to go along again tonight.

PS: Okay so I've heard the original now because it's there on the scrolly bit on the bottom of the youtube screen. Definitely Nick Cave but very Tom Waits too. Now go back to the scrolly bit and check out Camille doing Not In These Shoes. Brilliant.

The Niggly Thing

As I left home for work this morning, I had that feeling, like something is not quite right. You get that feeling, you check for your keys. The Dreaded One is away for a few days so locking my keys inside is a fear that keeps me a wake at night... or it would if I didn't stay up all night anyway.

I check for my keys. They are there. I close the door and head off, still feeling that something is not quite right. I'm a good block away from home when I realise that I have left my phone behind. This is not good. This will totally bother me the whole day. I hesitate. If I go back and get my phone I will be late. I will feel more at ease having my phone with me but I will be late. I pause for just long enough to absently watch the 301 pull in, pick up my should-be fellow passengers, sit for a bit, then pull away.

Bugger. I commence walking to the station, deciding that I will somehow make it through the day completely phoneless.

As I approach The Big Pointy Building, something niggles. Niggly niggly niggly thing. Something is just not quite as it it should be. I would check that I am not wearing odd shoes and that my fly is zipped up but I have already done this several times and really need to get over these petty insecurities.

I get to Stage Door, the entrance to The Opera House and the kitchen where I faux chef. I look for my security pass and realise that I have left it behind.

Ah-ha, I think, that is The Niggly Thing.

But it is not The Niggly Thing.

I tell the security guy that I have left my pass at home. He asks for my surname. I tell him and commence spelling it immediately because every human known to humankind has trouble getting my last name right. On this occasion, my help only confuses the guy. I mean, he gets it, takes it in, has got all the letters right and in the right order, but he has the need to spell it back to me to confirm that we are in agreement regarding the spelling of my last name. What he comes back with is the most peculiar version of the phonetic alphabet I have ever encountered.

"So let me get this right... that's B for B-Grade movie?"

"... Yairs..."

Biting his tongue gently with his side teeth, the guy hunts and pecks.

"E for emery board?"

"Yes."

"M for... I dunno... Mary had a little lamb?"

"M for Mary had a little lamb. Yes. Very good."

"R forrrr... rose."

"Yes and actually that is the rest of the name. Rose."

"What?"

"You don't have to say O for origami maker, S for saxophone player etc. Just type in Rose. Bem - which you've already typed in - and Rose. It's actually not all that difficult."

Just then one of the other chefs walks in. He looks at me a little strangely, like why am I loitering at Stage Door?

"Left my pass at home," I tell him with a would-you-believe-it roll of the eyes while M for Moron says something about me not being on the system.

"But why are you here now?" other chef asks. "You're not rostered on until midday."

And there we have it - The Niggly Thing!

I tell the security guy to stop looking for me in the system because as impossible as it seems, he has clearly spelled my name incorrectly.

I head back home to collect my phone and my security card and to push the reset button for the day.

The Elevator Of Doom At The Big Pointy Building

I'm Faux Chefing at The Big Pointy Building. I have avoided The Elevator Of Doom all night because too many staff have been trapped in there in the past, sometimes for hours at a time. But tired from running up and down the stairs all night, I think to hell with it, I'll probably be all right for this one trip. I step inside the elevator. The doors start to close when two cute Russian or Polish waitresses dash towards me asking me to hold the elevator. I oblige. They enter. The doors close.. roll credits and cheesy music.

It's just like the opening of a '70s disaster movie, isn't it?

Inside. For a long while The Elevator Of Doom does nothing. We smile at each other nervously. TEOD shudders but doesn't exactly move in an upward direction.

"This is the dodgiest elevator in the world," I say in my best Steve McQueen. "I just hope we come out of this alive."

The girls giggle nervously and smirk demurely and lasciviously simultaneously, obviously in awe of my uncanny resemblance to Steve McQueen.

"Sometimes," I say ruggedly, "it kind of groans a kind of... ominous groan."

One of the girls, a real cutie, she tells me she's heard that groan before.

"Are ve moovink?" she adds. "I cannot tell if ve are moovink."

The elevator starts to move, like an old man getting shakingly to his feet from the toilet where he's just spent half an hour taking a really disappointing dump that he's suddenly not really convinced ever happened because ever since this memory wotsit started to... "What the hell am I doing here?" the old man shouts, "and where in the Goddamn hell are my pyjama pants?"

So. Anyway. Elevator is on the move. We're on our way, and I can't help thinking again that I just hope we get out of this one alive.

There's a moan that sounds like a groan. The very kind of ominous groan we'd just been talking about. In fact it's the very same one. It's an ominous groan of doom that echoes ominously into the doomy room of the hollow void of the elevator shaft and I physically have to slap my Steve McQueen dopplegangy face before I think once again... that I just hope we get out of this one alive.

You know that distance you hold your thumb and forefinger apart to indicate to someone a very small distance? That's how close I come to totally pooping my pants when TEOD wobbles to a stop, then drops sphincter-twitchingly to a stop a lot more than a thumb and forefinger distance of littleness. I'm guessing we've dropped maybe half a floor. Half a floor or two Russian or Polish shrieks of terror long. Either way, both are the same length.

The elevator bounces, and I get really tired of thinking that I just hope we get out of this one alive.

The girls look at me, like I'm supposed to know what to do. I look back at them and think, you think if I wasn't allowed to scream I wouldn't have? You think I'm enjoying this? You think I have a freaking clue what to do? Right now I'm about as heroic as an old man on the crapper wondering what's happened to his pyjama pants! Back off with the gender expectation stuff, cute Eurobitches!

Then I realise I have a self-delusion to uphold.

"Relax, girls," I Steve McQueen to them. "Everything's going to be all right. Just leave this up to me. There's a button, and I'm going to poke it in a reassuringly masculine way."

There's a button with a picture of an old fashioned phone on it, so I poke it, in an old fashioned, reassuringly masculine way."

"Broken Elevator Guy," a voice tells me.

"It's Ste... Lee, known in some circles as Black Rainbow but that's another blog post. Anyway, this elevator is stuck again so you better get someone down here ASPA... PSAP? SAPA... look just get someone down here as soon as possible because I really wanna get out of this one alive."

"Sure thing Steely Black Rainbow, you sit tight, we're on our way. Or as we like to abbreviate, mainly to save time in moments of emergency such as these - WOOW!"

Suddenly nothing happens. Then something happens. A supervisor calls down the hellish empty nothingness of the little crack between the elevator doors but from somewhere above or below us... "Helloooooo....? Are you stuck? Who is stuck in the elevatooooor...?"

"Olga is stuck in zee elevator," one of the girls - whose name I deduce is Olga - calls through the crack in the elevator doors. "And Olga alzo is stuck, and alzo zees amazink man who looks ever so much like that dead actor... agh, vot voz hees name?'

"I think you're thinking of Steve McQueen."

"Veencent Price! Spittink image! It eez eencredible!"

"Who else is trapped inside the elevatooooor....? Vincent?"

"It's Lee," I shout through the crack just as the elevator drops another two Olga shrieks and one Australian fuckinghellthisisridiculous.

"Just for the record," I call to the voice on the outside when my ears have stopped ringing, "it was not Lee who did all that shrieking. We clear on that? Not Lee. Lee did not shriek."

I settle in for the long haul. I look forward to getting to know Olga and Olga and maybe forming lifelong bonds. Maybe we will look forward to reunions long into the future to celebrate our survival. Maybe they will one day bring their kids to these reunions and introduce them to me as Steely Black Rainbow and Steely Black Rainbow.

Then again, maybe the doors will open a very short time later, and I will find that we do, indeed, get out of this one alive... for now.

Shagged

Shagged. Just finished two 15 hour reasonably hectic shifts with a five hour nap separating them, so I don't really trust myself to write anything that makes sense. So instead here is my next Grumpy column as it appears in Tsunami mag.

Commencing intense alcohol wind down. Night night... Ooh - Nick Cave special on the telly. Sweet.

Grumpy

Lee Bemrose

Sometimes my working lives are so far apart from each other it does my head in. For example, I am somehow part of the team of chefs at The Sydney Opera House that will be feeding George Bush and his Australian girlfriend John Howard during this fiasco called APEC. Various spook organisations have apparently done background checks on us to ensure that no matter how much we might not like these storm-trooping world leaders, we’re not going to attempt to assassinate them. Brilliant idea, isn’t it? Get some of the world’s most unpopular leaders together in a building that doesn’t exactly blend into the background, shut down the city, close private businesses, commandeer private carparks in the surrounding area, spend squillions on defence so that the leaders of various countries can... can do what exactly? Talk about stuff. Oh yeah – and last night on the news it was announced that the public will be denied access to nearby public areas to watch the massive fireworks display being put on for George & Johnny. I’m glad they get to watch the fireworks in private. It’s so romantic it makes me shit in my pants. With all the security and undercover going on, we keep making nervous jokes about how we should be paid danger money. But you know, I kind of think we should be paid danger money.

At the other extreme, I have this very cool clothing shop called Psydeways. It’s a great little place that pulls all sorts of party people. International visitors drop in to find out about the local scene. I meet like-minded party people all day long, talk about various parties and DJs... you call this work? Also, I get to dress the mannequins and girliquins. And I’m fucking good at it too. As good as any gay guy I know.

Also, the other day a customer came out of the changeroom wearing a cute little top. Checked herself out in the mirror. Turned one way, then the other. She looked hot. She looked pleased, then frowned. She jutted out her perky chest a little and said, “Is the top see-through?” I looked at her breasts but couldn’t tell. So I moved closer and squinted while she jutted... and yeah, it was kinda see-through. “But in a good way,” I reassured her. She looked pleased again and bought the top.

The job with danger money or the one without? Hmm. Think I’ll take both.

Under A Blood Red Moon

Just over one year ago The Dreaded One and I had traveled to Turkey to see a full solar eclipse in a national park just outside Antalya. Tonight there was a full lunar eclipse in Australia that turned the moon red. Not sure if the red business happens during all lunar eclipses, but it was pretty special.

I thought I was going to miss the whole show because I was working, but I managed to slip out through one of the Opera House back doors and it was a great sight. I grabbed a couple of the Bangladeshi kitchen hands and an apprentice on the way so they could see the eclipse too. Loads of people were out there all looking up. The Bangladeshis chatted quietly in their language, English being a constant struggle, and after about 5 minutes one said to me, "Chef... what is happening?"

I explained what an eclipse was all about, pointed at the moon and then where the sun was (it obviously looked like I was pointing at the ground), I winged it about the redness and said it was some weird kind of light refraction phenomenon.

The kitchen hand looked at me blankly the whole time and half nodded when I stopped making words at him. We went back inside.

"That explanation," the apprentice said to me, "went so far over his head."

Guy probably thinks I'm totally mad.

Pretty moon though.