Australia the movie (the real version)
This is Australia?
Baz stated his intentions pretty early on in the project, stating it was to be the Australian version of Gone with the Wind – a film that is firmly woven into the American folklore fabric. He then cemented his nationalistic position by naming the film after the country itself - Australia, and then casting arguably the two most valuable Australians in Hollywood - OUR Nicole and OUR boy from Oz.
And then, from previews and promo shots, Baz finally laid bare his vision...a cavalcade of Australian cliché. Cattle stations, red sand, brown clothes, akubras and of course Aborigine spirituality. You could almost hear the drone of a didgeridoo in every still.
In fact, it was Luhrmann's down-under indulgence that prompted the bigwigs at Tourism Australia to heave their heads from their hands after the well-mocked 'Where the Bloody Hell Are You?" campaign, and conjure up a new plan.
Luhrmann's images of thousands of wild horses thundering across the formidable, but recognisable Australian landscape resonated well with the nation’s marketers, and so they recruited him to produce some Tourism Australia propaganda to compliment his new film.
But why did they fall for the romantic view of Australia over reality? What made them think Baz’s Australia was remotely like Australia at all? Really, how many of us gaze through squinting eyes at the majestic figure of the silhouetted watermill standing stark against the shimmering orange haze as the sun falls to the red, dusty sands beyond. One?, two tops? How many of us grip tightly upon the reigns as we bound over the rockiest outcrops of the Simpson on the back of a barely tamed brumby, hoping against hope to chance a billabong to escape the scourging heat? Maybe a few? But certainly not enough to warrant a whole commercial campaign.
The Tourism Board clearly forgot Baz's trademark perspective. Contrary to what Baz has portrayed in the past, people in Southern California aren't Hawaiian shirt wearing, gun toting maniacs who speak in Shakespearean verse. They speak mostly English and Hispanic. And despite what Mr. Luhrmann has presented us before, Parisians aren't actually very good at singing or dancing.
So perhaps if Tourism Australia want to promote this fine country in a way that won't instantly send tourists turning on their heel the moment they step off the plane and not see a ripped, rugged stockman whipping droves of kangaroos into a pen - perhaps they should take the responsibility (and many many dollars away from Baz, and hand it to me.
My film is much better.
This is Australia!
It’s 1988, and Mark ‘Gibbo’ Gibson is a concerned man. It’s quarter to one on Satd’y arvo, and his whole crew of mates are expected to arrive in a tick.
His missus, Tamarra has nicked off to her mums for the night, taking the kids Blake and Bryce. Everything was going honky-dory, until Mark bunged open the lid of the esky, only to see glaringly white emptiness inside. Panicked, Mark raced to the fridge…empty. His ticker thumping, Mark then slipped on his double-pluggers and bolted through the screen door to the back fridge. His mullet flailing in the wind as thoughts of imminent embarrassment stabbed his mind. What he found confirmed his deepest fears….one solitary stale stubby and an empty snag pallet.
But the embarrassment was not to end there. Peering across his pristinely mowed backyard, Mark then noticed he had left the cricket bat in the rain overnight and the handle had rotten considerably…and to make matters worse, he noticed his kids had already lost all the tennoes in next doors gutter. The realisation of no backyard cricket caused Mark to stumble…beads of sweat began to emerge around the edges of his navy wife-beater. Gasping for air, and hope, Mark then peered over to the pool. Green and full of bat shit. A barrage of leaves and branches had fallen into the depths of the above ground and choked the life out of the creepy crawly, whose once trustworthy patrolling of Mark’s most prized outdoor possession ceased, allowing algae and debris to reign.
Left with no choice but to duck down to the shops to pick up some beer and snags and hope his mates were late – Mark jumped into his V8-donk Commodore and turned the key. Silence. Marks eyes widened in terror, he left his lights on after driving home from the pub the other night. His battery was deadest flat. Mark collapsed back into his sheepskin seat and felt the impending wave of utter doom sweeping through his body. No food, no beer, no backyard cricket and no car…and a whole party of rowdy punters due to arrive at any moment. “Shit ay” uttered Mark.
This Summer, one man must battle against all odds to salvage completely disasterous BBQ plans before his mates turn up and get real devo’ed. Starring Chris Franklin as Mark “Gibbo” Gibson, Judith Lucy as Tamarra and Mick Molloy , Russell Crowe and Mark “Chopper” Reid as Gibbo’s rowdy mates.
This is Mark “Gibbo” Gibson in strife, this is a barbie without beers…this is…Stralia.
Coming Soon.
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