Food encore!

Weather has been great. A lovely visit to the Sahara restaurant in the wilderness of Paparoa the other day. A laid-back atmosphere and service. Water carafe brought eagerly to the table, but a hassle to obtain glasses with which to consume the liquid. The removal of entrée plates, then to be asked if we would like dessert or coffee. The ebullient one suggested we could perhaps decide after consuming the mains! Food was up to the standard of pricing and expectation and was a very pleasant occasion.

After a very pleasant BBQ with wonderful food and company at le Chateau last evening to celebrate an old man’s birthday I decided to watch a broadcast of O Calcutta.( I do admit it was difficult to drag myself away from the entertainment of the young Pétomane).

I recall Kenneth Tynan described it as ‘Tit for tat’ but recall more vividly Robert Helpman explaining why male ballet dancers could not really perform nude. After a series of pirouettes one usually finishes with a perfect 4^th croisé – but not everything stops swinging!

Hoffman's Tales

I was not over thrilled with the Met’s new production of Les Contes d’Hoffman. It is hard to shake my love for the Powell/Pressburger filmed version, Moira Shearer, Ludmilla Tcherina*, Robert Helpman*. and the voice of Marghareta Grandi! Vocally the Met production was very good. A delightful as Olympia, (Kathleen Kim, *) and Anna Netrebko as Antonia performed well. The Hoffman of Joseph Calleja was a delightful ‘french lyric’ tenor.

I had a sense of deja vu when I saw the patterned housecoat of Antonia’s father. Now I know from whence Trelise Cooper may have obtained her designs for Air New Zealand’s new uniforms. Uniforms designed to police the mile high club cuddle seats. The claim by some Maori cultural endeavours to eventfully seek some ‘remedial’ compensation for advising upon the ‘correct” execution of the motif design could be a conflict. I recall similar such designs appear in the Alcazar and of course could raise the questions regarding the Spanish discovery of New Zealand.

Where are the movies going?

This decade has seen a revolution in the cinema presentation. Whenever movies are challenged they fight back to gain that entertainment dollar. Gone are the days when there was nothing else to do. Closing of pubs at 6.pm, no licensed late night dining. Retail closed from 9pm Friday until 9am Monday, with the classic closing of stores for the four-day holiday breaks. Television in 1945 led to the challenge of ‘Cinemascope and stereophonic sound” and 3D films. Now we have digital 3D with comfortable seating and waiter service - perhaps ‘cuddle seats’ in the future? The fight continues. Who would have thought ‘Avatar” would create such interest? James Cameron? No one is patronising the ‘flat” screenings of this film whilst they are still queuing for the 3D version at premium prices.

But now there is a problem.” Alice in Wonderland,” a 3-D adaptation from the minds of Tim Burton and Disney, is set to replace “Avatar” in all commercial Imax theatres and in many multiplexes that operate 3-D screens on March 5. Problem is that “Avatar” is still playing to big houses in 3-D theatres, which charge premium prices for tickets. . Then there is DreamWorks’ Animation and Paramount Pictures, “How to Train Your Dragon” in 3-D, and Warner Brothers. has just decided to convert its sword-and-sandals fantasy “Clash of the Titans” to a 3-D format. . Sounds good for the movie business and of course more expenditure for exhibitors.

Then there is the influx of attendances at Opera screenings. The Metropolitan Opera is now in its fourth high definition season, transmitting nine operas live and attracting sell-out crowds in over 900 theatres around the world. The Opera house of Milan, Rome, Covent Garden, Paris, and Glyndebourne, with theatres such as Shakespeare’s Globe and the Teatro Real Madrid have not been slow in following the trend. The experience can be better than the cheaper seats in the Opera house, Camera angles are well plotted and trained to follow the action and there is the bonus of interviews etc during the intervals. Who said cinema is dead?

Reductio ad absurdum

The earthquake in Haiti is a major tragedy. How magnificent the prompt rallying of its troops by the USA. Of course their unhesitating actions with regard to the New Orleans disaster was a rehearsal.

I feel that I know that western half of the island so well. Nurtured on the magnificent Universal films about the mysteries of Voodoo and Zombies, nostalgia for Papa Doc and the ton-ton macoute - how can I forget.

The 1840 slave revolution was a pyrrhic success, leading to ostracisation by the rest of the world. Pauvre Napoleon III, he even had to sell Louisiana for a pittance, together with its version of voodoo including Gris gris and li grand Zombi. How wonderful that the evangelical ministers are denouncing the Satanism and devil worship in Haiti as being the course of this disaster – and what they deserve. How enlightened. What else could they expect?

Naturally the troops will pour in to take command.

"As we know, there are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns. That is to say, we know they're some things we do not know. But there're also unknown unknowns; the ones we don't know we don't know."

Why restaurants fail!

The day was tranquil, Apollo in his chariot was supreme in his travel across the sky, whilst zephyr breezes, sounding like Rita Streich, gently fanned my brow. I drove to collect the ebullient one. Rescuing her from the clutches of Cerberus we journeyed to the rippling coastline to sample the offerings of the latest Portuguese addition to the plethora of restaurants luring diners with their gastronomic tentacles.

Being deluged with magazine and TV paraphernalia concerning the running of restaurants and ‘everyone’s a cook” we looked forward to a sublime evening. Scintillating and witty conversation, ribald jocular dissection of mutual friends with literary bon mots can feed the cerebellum but digestive acids must be appeased. Despite the table being booking a day previously it must have been written in lemon juice, as it was not visible. The multiple attendants dressed in funereal black with the hint perhaps of a fado performance chattered and scrambled at the counter until finally their vestal leader took the proverbial 'bull by the horns' and led us to a table. Decor was a refreshing blue and white –although not a tile in site, and the pristine white tablecloth and silver accoutrements looked promising. (I was certain I saw Pedro and his boat on the shore wall.)

The menu provided the appropriate fruits of the sea whilst the mark-ups on the wines were most generous. I ordered the (Portuguese?) bread with the usual olive oil and balsamic vinegar, followed by a chorizo flambé. The ebullient one chose scallops, followed by a "Caldeirada.” With no "Bacalhau," or "Cozido à portuguesa," on the menu I plumped for the duck breast.

My pinot gris was pleasant, but the sparkling one’s sauvignon was indifferent.

As we patiently waited for the bread to arrive - was it being freshly baked? - We amused each other with our acerbic repartee.

Whilst in no way denigrating the enthusiasm for the waiting nymphs they obviously they had not yet achieved a leaving certificate from whichever catering school they had attended. Charm can prove so transient We were informed after a long wait ‘scallops were no longer available” so the patient one volunteered to ascertain the flavour of the prawns. Our entrees arrived followed a little later by the bread. (We had been asked if we would like it prior to the entree to which we gave an affirmative answer. I am told the prawns were acceptable. My chouriço was very good but somewhere in the back of my memory stick it reminded me of something or someone.

As we filled the air with decorous laughter time passed, Apollo retired and Selene gradually rose from her slumber. The mains arrived - but where to place them. The table had not been cleared. A flurry of shadows quickly cleared the table and we commenced to demolish our meal. A finger bowl that would have accommodated a foot was placed beside the Reubenesque one as she tried to squeeze the scalding lemon slices over her seafood. (Pedro must have been active as scallops mysteriously materialised with the other piscine delicacies.) I contemplated my ducking. Roast? I think rather poached. Caramelised orange sauce. I think not. Vegetables? Reheated roast potatoes and blanched - or possibly just screamed at - broccoli.

Oh well, there was always dessert to look forward to. Possibly rice pudding and caramel custard, a nun’s belly, angel’s chests, or bacon from heaven? Nada. It was a choice of chocolate brownie, strawberries and cream, or Bailey’s bread and butter pudding - with cream or ice cream. We both greedily chose the bailey’s bread and butter pudding. Foolishly we had assumed it to be the Bailey of liqueur fame that would have suffused the pinwheel we were proffered, but it probably was the recipe of the man who would not come home. We know know why!

We chose not to sample the coffee. (They have an awful lot of coffee in Brazil.)

Admittedly the restaurant is still settling into a smooth running operation and time will tell what will occur. Not a good start. It was not professional and did not justify the charges. But the brilliance and sophistication of the company superseded all expectations and transformed the night’s experience into a celestial state of exaltation

Beverly Quinn

It was a lovely morning before the rains came. Driving down to the gate on one side were the new born deer, on the other the inquisitive gazes of last years flock. Driving along with the roof down, Cecilia Bartoli spinning through Nicola Porpora’s ‘Siface” and the subsequent demitasse –with marzipan roll – with Linda – what more could anyone want in this new year. I am so blessed.
The news yesterday of the ebullient Beverly Quinn’s demise, although expected, was still sadness. The extinguishing of such a vibrant and volatile flame has deprived the world of some luminosity. The widow of Laurie Quinn, she was his companion during those heady years of World War two entertainment at the Civic. The onslaught of the American troops, ostensibly here for R&R, they were the life of the Wintergarden. World premieres, visits from such as Eleanor Roosevelt and Artie Shaw, the troop of Lucky Lovelies with the likes of fan dancer Lenore Truscott, and the nudity of the “fever of the fleet’ Freda Stark were all held to together by the reins of Laurie Quinn.
Hail to a wonderful lady!

Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien
ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
tout ca m'est bien egal
Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien
c'est paye, balaye, oublie, je me fous du passe
avec mes souvenirs j'ai allume le feu
mes shagrins, mes plaisirs,
je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
balaye les amours avec leurs tremolos
balaye pour toujours.

It's a new decade!

Another New Year! New? What exactly does that mean. Janus is facing both directions and we cannot escape our past. It is no coincidence that he keeps the gates of heaven.

Looking at last years ‘aide memoire’ I find I am repeating what I did then again this year.

As time flies past us any of ones contemporaries fade away. The solitude of old age is not being alone or bereft of company. The loneliness of a crowd is always evident and the company of our thoughts is the remaining solace. Unavoidable, but still sad.

The gradual waning of a vibrant personality is always sad.

At the 80th birthday celebration of the Civic Theatre it was a pleasure to see the sparkling Rona von Zalinsky cutting the cake. It was sad to see the decline of the ebullient Beverly Quinn. The slow dimming of a bright flame. As Lawrence says ‘like a candle in the wind, not knowing who to cling to when the rain sets in.”

Noel 2009

To what shall I compare this generation? It is like children who sit in marketplaces and call to one another, 'We played the flute for you, but you did not dance, we sang a dirge but you did not mourn.’ Spare me the invasion of "rug rats” during Christmas.

Kerching! Christmas sales began two months prior to the 25th. St Stephen’s Day (Boxing day) sales were advertised three days prior to Christmas. Gradually the parameters are disintegrating. Life is just one big shopping spree

One of the highlights of the Civic’s 80th Birthday party was the presence of Leonard Maltin and family. We are so used to looking up on the Internet for a reference to a film that is written by a person without much knowledge about films, let alone films from last century. There is an advantage in reading a critique by someone who actually knows what they are talking about, and whilst we might not purchase the heavy tome which is the "The Leonard Maltin Movie Guide" - he does of course have a website! www.leonardmaltin.com/

Whilst Kenneth Tynan has accolades for his acerbic, brief theatrical criticisms, Mr Maltin has the record for the briefest cinematic review for the 1948 musical “Isn’t It Romantic?” “No”.

His interview is available on my facebook page.

The campaign for saving the St James Theatre is slowly gaining momentum. Interestingly the spearhead is from a person who was so anxious to see His Majestys demolished.

Life

You start out young and strong and bold

and end up doing as you're told.

Jon Corelis

I recall the race to make a film bio of Freda Stark. Rival scripts and directors - and it all seem to come to nothing.

Now two British screenplays are competing to tell the “story” of the Maria Callas/Aristotle Onassis liaison. One project to feature Anne Hathaway, the other Penélope Cruz. I personally would prefer Fanny Ardant but I think Cruz is preferable to Hathaway. Then into the pot is Nicholas Gage's potboiler biography Greek Fire starring Eva Mendes. Enough already. We have already had the interesting but unsatisfactory Franco Zeffirelli attempt. "How do you capture a legend like Maria?”

The 80th

Well, the celebration finally took place - and on the appropriate date. December 20th. Yes, the celebration of the Civic theatre’s 80th birthday. Highlight of course was having Rona von Zalinsky present. Now 104 years young she was secretary to Thomas O’Brien who built the theatre.

Present were members of the Friends of the Civic, past projectionists and staff as well as the architects who were responsible for the transformation from picture palace to lyric theatre. Congratulations to George Farrant who organised the event. The Mayor of Auckland, John Banks, was present and gave a speech - as Mayors are want to do. We very lucky to have present the renowned film critic, Leonard Maltin and family. (You can see an interview with Leonard Maltin on my facebook page).

Yes, there was a birthday cake, beautifully decorated, and Rona cut the cake. She also lost a shoe in the process, which the Mayor dutifully replaced, up her foot.

The theatre has been saved and restored to its original splendour and is in now (immediate) danger of the demolition ball, but it was a warm fuzzy nostalgic gathering of many of those who loved this ‘grand old picture palace’ - the finest in the southern hemisphere!