(Above: not a member of the snobberati, just an alienated existentially aware human bean).
As if the chattering twittering commentariat class didn't have enough to contemplate, The Punch has now decided that it needs to do extensive coverage of the coverage of the earthquake in New Zealand.
First there was the crocodile tears in David Penberthy's The media takes no joy from tragedy - no joy, just slavering 365/12/24/7 coverage - and today there's Natalie Savino brooding about Disaster coverage: When is enough enough?
And by any post referential Roland Barthes' standard this now becomes coverage of the coverage of the coverage. Enough already.
Speaking of minions of Murdoch, it wouldn't be a decent day in purgatory without passing reference to the folly of the NBN, and this time it's Peter B. White's turn, baseball bat in hand to compare it to AUSSAT back in the nineteen eighties, in NBN a repeat of AUSSAT fiasco. Why and he doesn't even manage to mention the entire pay TV experiment that saw the country in the sway of a monopoly going by the name Foxtel ...
And of course the fear mongering Dr No is on hand to begin his campaign in the Murdoch press, with Gillard never met a tax she didn't like and hike, live blogging away at the Daily Terror at a time when unfortunately I will be gazing at my toenails in rapt silence ...
But what's this? Oh no, it can't be, say it ain't so. The anonymous editorialist has turned into an unthinking puppet parroting the Gillard line, in Labor's poll omission sparks MPs' emissions:
Makes sense? Makes sense? Oh there'll be trouble at mill, and in Dolt and Bleagh land on this one as Dr. No goes about his emissions with relish ...
Naturally the fat owl of the remove is apoplectic, and the frothing and the foaming in Carbon tax the cost of duplicity is fearsome to behold ...
But contemplating the Friday wind down, we wanted to confront a serious issue that could cause heartburn the entire weekend, and thanks to the immortal Miranda the Devine, we've found it in Don parties on, despite the snobberati.
Lordy, how we hate the snobberati, fie, we spit on them and their dirty deeds. Vile, loathsome, dirty.
Luckily, we now know who isn't the snobberati, and who in consequence gave David Williamson's play such a warm Sydney welcome:
Bob Hawke - one of a dozen politicians in the audience including Nick Minchin, Rob Oakeshott, Pru Goward, Sarah Hanson-Young, Bob Brown and Peter Garrett, even stood to applaud the maligned playwright.
I have to confess that a tear came to my eye at the thought of all this rapturous applause by a mob of common folk, politicians and greenies and dear old Bobbie, who mingles his precious bodily fluids with Blanche D'Alpuget, and not one member of the snobberati or elite amongst them. Just peasants, bumpkins, hayseeds, provincial rubes, rustic serfs, villeins the lot of them ...
But hark, all is not well in Denmark, and the mighty Devine is in a rage:
... disparaging Williamson has become a badge of belonging in the arts world, despite the fact his plays have kept Australian theatre solvent for more than 30 years. His work is slammed as too bourgeois, too “commercial”, too accessible to mainstream audiences.
One particularly bilious online critique described Williamson as an “ageing irrelevance” whose writing was “fat, lazy and stupid”. Williamson was so wounded he wrote hundreds of words in blog comments in reply, their graciousness a credit to him.
One particularly bilious online critique described Williamson as an “ageing irrelevance” whose writing was “fat, lazy and stupid”. Williamson was so wounded he wrote hundreds of words in blog comments in reply, their graciousness a credit to him.
Oh dear, and he's kept the Australian theatre solvent for more than 30 years, and so gracious and witty and charming ... and remind me again, why are the three tiers of government shovelling all that subsidy down the throats of theatres across the lands?
Why there's good old George Brandis, our new favourite multiculturalist, boasting back in 2007 how his government was injecting $24.1 million in new funding to twenty core companies ... including but not limited to Bell Shakespeare, Melbourne Theatre Company and Sydney Theatre Company ... on top of the base funding (here). Indeed, when someone last contemplated the figures at the Australia Council the three tiers of government kicked in a handy $6.3 billion - don't bother counting the loose change - for 'cultural activities' (and more details here).
Funnily enough, through a quirk and an anomaly of time, the Melbourne Theatre Company is still within the purview of the University of Melbourne, and so generally held not to be part of any academic elite or snobberati, the University of Melbourne having turned itself into a sordid money grubbing exercise in educational capitalism - though these days the council members like to refer to the MTC as a "semi-autonomous body"as they contemplate written reports from the MTC's board of management.
Phew, it's all a tremendous relief. Greenies and Garrett not a part of the snobberati, and tertiary elites also nothing to do with the snobberati. But what's this?
It is an indictment of our taxpayer subsidised theatre industry that Don Parties On, which, despite the critics, ended up a smash hit at the Melbourne Theatre Company, was rejected by the Sydney Theater Company, whose artistic directors are Cate Blanchett and Andrew Upton.
Yes, it's a scandal. One heavily subsidised body rejecting a smash hit for another heavily subsidised body ...
Fortunately there was an angel in the wings, one Rachel Healy ...
“The critics and the arts community have a response to Williamson you would never see elsewhere,” she says. The children’s literature community doesn’t sneer at JK Rowling’s success at bringing a new generation of children to the love of reading. Williamson, likewise, brings “thousands of people out of their couches to [be] incredibly entertained. But it’s bizarre that being entertaining is something to be ashamed of [when] the prime motivator for people to go to the theater is entertainment.”
“The critics and the arts community have a response to Williamson you would never see elsewhere,” she says. The children’s literature community doesn’t sneer at JK Rowling’s success at bringing a new generation of children to the love of reading. Williamson, likewise, brings “thousands of people out of their couches to [be] incredibly entertained. But it’s bizarre that being entertaining is something to be ashamed of [when] the prime motivator for people to go to the theater is entertainment.”
Indeed. Though I remain a tad disturbed at the way JK Rowling's success has alienated millions of honest, devoted Xians, going about their business worshipping their imaginary friend, only to be confronted by demons and witchcraft. That's not entertainment, that's the anti-Christ at work.
“I worked in subsidised theatre,” said Healy, former general manager of the avant garde Belvoir theatre. “I was part of that community of snobbery” . But not any more. At the Opera House she needed to find work that attracted a paying audience and soon learned: “It’s not just about you.”
And it's at this point I broke down in hoots and gales of laughter. Belvoir Theatre as avant garde? Oh come on, pull the other leg ...
Is this the same Rachel Healy who rabbited on about the Belvoir thus?
For Rachel Healy, the vision for the future of the Belvoir Street Theatre was uniquely intertwined with the theatre’s past. Belvoir Street theatre-goers are generally aware of the theatre’s history and its struggle to survive against the odds, and are also appreciative of its informal and accessible feel. Rachel reminds us of a time whether theatre going was about red plush carpets and wearing your ‘Sunday best’, and in contrast “the Belvoir Street Theatre created an environment that was informal, accessible and welcoming, and backed it up with shows that were new and sometimes challenging and frequently Australian and ticket prices which were as cheap as the company could make them”. (here)
A community of snobbery that's informal, accessible and welcoming?
Ah well, I guess it's good to feed the media chooks plenty of corn, and by golly does Miranda the Devine so love her corn ...
... of course, if you are an insecure philistine posing as a sophisticated arts appreciator you won’t trust art that is entertaining, beautifully constructed, and coherent, as Williamson’s plays are. Poseurs prefer to consume obscure niche art – no matter how bad – for one reason: because it marks them as superior to the masses.
No, no, no Miranda, we love wankers as much as the next mug punter, and that's why we love to read your columns. Gratuitous stupidity and a chip on the shoulder is always such fun ... it makes us feel superior to the minions of Murdoch in the media.
Now is this the right time to admit that I'm off to the heavily subsidised Opera House to take in a heavily subsidised performance, and nothing wrong with any of that ....
Meanwhile, having been sold the publicity pup, and generated the fake controversy which always comes around when a David Williamson play comes along, can we leave Miranda the Devine for this review?
There's a flurry of pre-publicity in which we hear, again, that Williamson is our best-selling playwright, a "national myth-maker" who takes the pulse of our times and touches the receptive hearts of the masses. We hear that "the critics" are unkind and out of touch with ordinary folk, and that the only reason people dislike his plays is because he's too popular. We hear that the theatre world is continually chanting that "you can't have naturalism on stage". Preferably, somewhere in the middle of this, someone mentions Barrie Kosky.
Same as it ever was. Williamson has been working this schtick since Stork, and nothing wrong with that ...
Then a good chunk of the theatre community gets dressed up to the nines and heads off to the premiere. The play occurs. Some people laugh. Some people leave at interval. A sizeable proportion of the audience applauds rapturously. Another sizeable proportion emerges in various states of crankiness and flees for a debriefing session over a stiff drink.
Ah the anti-snobberati dressed up to the snobbish nines ...
Well there's more here, and it's a fun read ... and we haven't once mentioned the Crikey v Williamson stoush, well not since the self serving Crikey put the self-serving Williamson behind its paywall. Two self servers playing the money making game though we fancy Williamson came out the better, at least so far as the tinkle of the till is concerned ...
You know I used to think force feeding geese to produce foie gras was cruel, but is it possible, if the Devine was fed a sufficient amount of corn, she might produce something other than tripe?
Worth thinking about, but excuse me I must go get dressed up to the nines for my heavily subsidised experience in a heavily subsidised theatre ... though I hasten to add it has a cheery welcoming informal iconic tax subsidised feel to it ...
(Below: and time now for a fit of snobbery, in any of its extremely useful forms, pace Nick Hornby and High Fidelity).
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