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Although Mary is an infuriating ninny, we get to know her well enough to appreciate that gasping for breath beneath her wine-swilling garrulousness are deeply felt insecurities and a desperate desire to be loved.
Tony Abbott has been in public life for a long time. Most recently there has been his meteoric rise to leadership of the Liberal party and to a hair’s breadth from the prime ministership itself. Charming and disarming as he can be, there is something deeply disturbing in the way he carries out his public role.
When celebrities who have treated people violently suffer themselves from violence, their suffering is approved because it is an expected part of the plot. The death of Carl Williams has been covered as if it were an episode of Underbelly. Williams deserves better than this.
Brent's father was recently killed in a car accident. Brent, on his L-plates, was driving the car at the time. He has declined into a drugged and depressed daze. The ordeal he soon undergoes awakens a renewed will to live.
The Troubled Artist — for whom self-destruction is a necessary by-product of creation — is a cliché whose ubiquity risks robbing it of tragedy. Gainsbourg is portrayed as a swaggering louche, drinking and chain-smoking his way amid a murky and surreal Parisian backdrop.
The other people in Paul's life exist only as disembodied voices from a mobile phone, set adrift in the box in which he is trapped. This may be taken as an allegory for modern communication, where handheld electronic devices are the primary conduit to networks of interaction and intimacy.
Fiction writers have to arrange events so that they achieve the required outcome without stretching credulity. Yet real life routinely throws up sequences so bizarre that a fiction writer wouldn't dare to own them. Try this one.
A barroom brawl is transformed in Boy's head into a version of Michael Jackson's 'Beat It' music video. It's 1984 and Jackson is at his artistic and popular peak: pre-surgery, pre-child abuse allegations. Boy's worship is pure, but as an audience watching in 2010 we know the purity is transient.
The toys are brought to a landfill, where they are dragged towards an incinerator, a fiery pit equivalent to any vision of Hell confected by Dante. It's harrowing stuff for an animated feature, but you can never tell what the toys find more threatening: death itself or the despair of becoming obsolete.
In one poem Les Murray would reduce the causes of the Black Saturday fires to differences in forest management between 'hippies' and 'rednecks'. Utilising poetry to play the blame game demeans our understanding of the complexity of that disaster.
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