Holding the Man & La Camera

This was a few weekends ago but I think I should put this up before I forget what happened. Bad memory – that comes with age. Ha ha…-____-

Holding the Man
The play is adapted from the book of the same name by Timothy Conigrave.

Tim and John met in high school in the mid-1970s. Tim was in the school production of Romeo & Juliet, and had a crush on John. John was the captain of the football team, and wanted to play for Essendon. By the end of high school even their yearbook acknowledged them as the year’s cutest couple.

This story is breathtakingly honest, achingly funny and a completely heart-wrenching account of a 15-year relationship that weathered disapproval, separation, temptation and, ultimately, death. It’s a story, and a celebration, that speaks across generations, sexual preference and cultures.

- Griffin Theatre

Just because I couldn’t be bothered summarising it for myself. I know. Lazy bastard, you’re thinking.

The book wasn’t too bad. Jiss made me read it in my 11th year of high school because of her penchant for gay literature. Frankly, beyond Maurice I have no interest in that area despite my penchant for gay porn. By which I mean stylised and idealistic portrayals of male love. Even then I’m not in it for the porn. Plot. Truly.

Anyhow, beyond their first meeting and subsequent falling in love, I thought it was a load of bogan Australianisms. But then that was someone’s life, so who am I to judge? The HIV/AIDS and dying parts were too traumatic and sad for me so I stopped reading. I can’t stand things that make me cry. Heart-wrenching is all fine and dandy until the tears build up.

What I love about the whole, crazy novel was the Xavier boys, Essendon and John. I couldn’t like Tim. Sorry late author, I thought you were a heartless bastard. A sweet, idiotic, heartless bastard. Xavier because I went to school in that Kew/Hawthorn area (you wouldn’t believe the mornings; private schoolkid mothers with their – unnecessary – four-wheel drives trying to out-manoeuvre each other through tiny residential lane ways in that small area concentration of six Victoria’s leading private schools: Xavier College, Methodist Ladies’ College, Ruyton Girls’ School, Carey Grammar, Trinity Grammar School and Genezzano FCJ should Gen, Ruyton and Carey even be counted? ;)) and generally boys in their uniform cuts quite a dashing figure. Essendon because that’s my club – even though we’ve been doing quite horrible for the past few years. John because he’s sweet as candy.

The play had some of the most energetic actors I had seen for sometime and that’s saying something if you’ve ever met a stage actor. The sentiment and emotion were all so tangible (John’s actor was amazing) but I didn’t cry because I had promised myself I wouldn’t. Oh yes, heartless. Likewise with the book, I couldn’t appreciate the Australian ‘bogan’ aspects of the whole production – but that’s no fault of theirs, rather it is my own preference.

The production is well worth a look if it’s ever touring your way.

La Camera
The day was Earth Hour and so La Camera had its main lights off and the dining area was lit by candlelight. This Italian restaurant is situated on the Southbank and we went on Jo’s recommendation.

Needless to say, it encompassed only too many of Southbank’s stereotypes:

• over-priced:
  $25 a dinner main was considered cheap here. In comparison, $25 can get you an entree and larger serving main with drinks and just short of dessert on Lygon St. or most other places where food is actually edible, see below.
• food was rubbish:
  I ordered Veal Parmigiana (I don’t eat pasta out for reasons that will be explained) and received chicken which was horrible and greasy and the ‘bed’ of vegetables was that frozen and steamed crap you might get in bad vegetarian take-away. Had some of my friends’ pasta and by the sorry state they were in came to the conclusion that I could have done a better job.
• service was -insert synonym for ‘horrible/terrible/bad/awful’ here-
  Waitstaff were bogans. There was a mini catastrophe behind us on the drinks tray that involved a resounding crash and some swearing. They swore rather loudly and colourfully.

And I suppose it was not their doing, but the atmosphere that night was awful. Dark and dim for Earth Hour, loud and overly crowded with birthday goers and a cramped lounge of patrons-to-be waiting for a table.

Needless to say, I’m never going to consider gracing that wonderful establishment with my esteemed presence.