church of KINO

sometimes i feel like i belong to an evangelical society -- such is the unstoppable feel-good tide which is the underground film movement, KINO & the associated reverence it creates amongst its followers.

last night was KINO #29 which was held at new über venue fraser studios, just behind the clare on broadway, skirting the fringe of sydney's CBD [where we ultimately ended up before the adorable dregs made it back to mine at the corner shop for an impromptu hot chip cooking session].

eighteen short films screened head-lined by incredibly talented jack's wonderful tribute to HP lovecraft [just selected for the 5th singapore short film festival] which irrevocably raised the bar for the night. still there were many other great films to follow including punk monk andy's oficially popping his KINO cherry with twisted love ballad, "a little shitty animation."

the very french & venerable leader miss marianne MC'd to a crowd of 150 peeps whilst matt projected & shone, karina expertly organised & punk monks clare & alex made crepes for all whilst the rest of us downed whiskey upon whiskey [or coopers beer] courtesy of will at the jamesons bar. the festivalists continue to place their indelible & delightful film stamp all over sydney town.

in my crippled introverted sobriety i mostly hung quietly by my prized heater spot at the front where the ever lovely stephen C & i shared a blankie under the pulsing short cinematic wave whilst giant incandescent cubes glowed all around us in picture perfect warehouse chic.

as promised, i also made a little experimental film just for fun with stevie the night before. a tribute to our night out earlier in the week where we hit the 80s themed roller disco at carriageworks in full furore & i just happened to have my trusty mobile phone...

roller punks from punk monk propaganda on vimeo.

burlesque betty spares rib

dita von teese is the undisputed queen of burlesque but she is a late yet very worthy commercially accessible heir to the throne of a tradition which has its roots steeped in athenian history, courtesan/stuntwoman flavoured intrigue AND massive misconception swathed in lashings of luxurious colour, texture & bauble...

burlesque was commonly appropriated by blue collar workers in the european but more recently founding american tradition & turned into something bawdier than arguably originially intended. almost synonymous with striptease until the recent public re-education it is an artform under constant reinterpretation & reinvention. but still it's often reduced to: "when do ya get your gear off..."

unattainable objects of desire are so much more fun when slowly unwrapped or not even at all... playing hard to get is one of the oldest yet most pleasurable torturous games of all. *adopts mental note*

true burlesque is about the art of tease but in many ways it embraces less is more which doesn't necessarily equate to fewer layers or none. it's all about seductive mystery with a dash of vaudeville thrown in for good measure. burlesque is an art form. period. her executors are superbly talented performers which obviously like anything is modified by degrees.

sometimes a carefully revealed [and well turned] ankle is enough to induce the required hysteria & longing. those greek soldiers were mere putty in their scheming wives hands post peloponnesian war days. couple that coquettish ankle several hundred years later with sheer stockings, rigorous dance routines & bite-sized pieces of thigh flashing & the sublime decadence of moulin rouge is born.

fast track to mid 20th century to betty page & marilyn monroe who were modern female heroines who embraced the dichotomous tradition of exaggerated subtlety with measurable cult effect.

there are mathematical equations which formulate masculine desire to the proportions of womanhood & with the aid of a corset, the achieved hourglass figure becomes tangible. swooning becomes de rigeur [through lack of breath]. actually this is really a fallacy: a correctly fitted corset should do nothing of the sort.

this past weekend i strapped myself in courtesy of the excuse of my wonderful friend karina's burlesque birthday party & was almost diasppointingly able to achieve raptuous breath when presented with ample opportunity without so much as busting a rib. i have jo at sydney's house of fetish to thank for always looking after me so very well & being the professional corset lacer with inimitable but up close personal pizazz.

...and for the most part at that party [from recollection] we all retained our clothes. our dignity on the other hand is an entirely different topic.

[thanks to marianne whose photos i have slightly pilfered as my camera maintained a low profile for the night. the only in focus shot was at the hands of AB.]

we didn't start the fire...

no KINO due to fire, no power in sydney's CBD, no rooftop to play on because of the rain... what are a bunch of film orphans to do?

play how many people can we squeeze into karina's apartment & stairwell instead (with marianne's famous crepes)!