Sim1Breakfast with Blassie
October 11th 2006 03:39
Cannes flyer
People often ask me how I would describe the current film industry in Australia.
That’s easy.
Imagine all the dinosaurs after the meteor hits huddling round a sun lamp. They’re all saying;
“Don’t worry, the Government will give us more sun lamps.”
I watched 8 Mile the other day. It’s a great film, that rap dude is cool and Kim Basinger is 100% on song as his mum. But when it finished all I could think of was that in Australia we could never make a film like that. It’s a simple genre film that works. But it would never get past the film-school cry-babies and that’s super-sad.
Sad, sad.
What we need is more people out there making great Australian films. Like The Man From Hong Kong. That has box-office appeal. Watch it and see if I’m not right.
You can’t expect lah-de-dah arty films slapping on fake sophistication or crocodile wrestling Australianism to carry. At the end of the day it’s all about entertainment, not about café latte drinking unemployables keeping their jobs.
But I’m not bitter.
I dream of a better place. I place sun-burnt and film-filled.
Time for a review.
My Breakfast With Blassie
Andy Kaufman, 1981
Mister Fred Blassie in a breakfast mess...
REM, Man On The Moon.
Love or hate Andy Kaufman, this is a great film. It’s got Fred Blassie and who can honestly say professional wrestling isn’t what sport should always be about - entertainment. I love professional wrestling. Kaufman meets Blassie for breakfast and what starts off as an intended spoof of My Dinner With Andre (Louis Malle, 1981), ends up finding its own place in the cinema vault of legends.
It’s a slow-paced, no budget, no action flick that draws you in. Applies the pop-rivets. Kaufman, sporting a neck brace from his recent wrestling encounter with Jerry “The King” Lawler, leads Blassie in a conversation that is the ultimate, it’s about nothing , gag. Forget Seinfeld. This goes where neurotic New York apartment humour is yet to tread. Blassie is smooth, believable, and lovable - although many wouldn’t run to him for a conversation, there’d be a queue to hug him when push came to shove. Kaufman is awkward, edgy and wonders in and out of little ego-psycho rants. About fame. His. And when they’re both not raving about personal hygiene, they order, eat and interact with patrons.
The reason I don’t like to shake hands with nobody is because, ah, I don’t know if they’ve been to the mens room, been to the toilet, maybe they went right through the tissue.
This is cutting edge comedy way ahead of its time. It says, as I always say, good cinema is about good ideas and good performance. It’s not about Hollywood.
And someone vomits. Which is always nice at breakfast.
Until next time and happy film-making.
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