Universe Daily: 2006/06

The Roar of the Greasepaint! The Smell of the Crowd!

Many, many years ago, I was an extra in a movie starring Denholm Elliot set in South Africa--'Zulu Dawn'. It was the story of the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, when the Brits still were known as Redcoats, and the Zulu Impis wiped out a British column attempting to invade Zululand; a particularily unsavoury episode in British Imperialism, it has to be said. Back when I was a callow youth, and impecunious student it seemed like a particularily terrific idea; do sod-all and get paid for it. Alright, one had to endure the occasionally-unwelcome attentions of the Boys from Wardrobe, but y'know, a quick dab of mud on the crotch (all in the interests of versimilitude you understand..) was a small price to pay. Free food! Free accomodation! The movie business! The glamour of it all! I was probably on-screen for 0.123 of a second, with a spear through the guts, but hey, it's a start.
(My pharmacist swears that I'm the spitting image of Kenneth Branagh, but then she is breath-takingly myopic.)
About 3 years ago, I was again rather short of folding money. Hell, I was short of any money, folding or otherwise. I signed up with 'Characters' to act (which is a probably over-stating it) or model for adverts, that kind of thing. Paid R350 to do a photoshoot for the portfolio. And waited for the flood of offers. And waited. Nothing. I concluded it was a scam.
But no.
Two weeks ago I got a call from my agent (sounds cool, right?) 'My agent'. 'My people will call your people.' kind-of-thing.
So, Tuesday, did a shoot at Gold Reef City for Suburban Productions, part of a documentary on the founding of the gold mining business in Jo'burg. I was a Victorian business man; embroidered waistcost, fob watch, the whole nine yards. I was astonishing. The critics raved. The crew applauded. The cast wept with wonder. If you want someone to shake hands, pour tea, smile engagingly, eat biscuits daintily, heck, I'm your man. Latest estimates are slightly better, probably 0.798 seconds, but that works out out at R1127.82 per second. What do you earn? No mud-in-the-crotch, but Ivan (the new Boy from Wardrobe) thought I looked DIVINE.
So. Move over Branagh. Lecter was lovely, Anthony, but enough already--Blue's coming.
If you simply MUST have a signed 9"x4", talk to my agent.
Thank you. I love you all.

I saw...

..."Brokeback Mountain".
Yeah,yeah, I know, but this is the third world you know.
Brilliant.
Alright, I had to take a deep breath a one or two points. I'm not that liberated... Ledger was inspired. I'm sure you have already, but if not, you really should. Or alternately see it again.
'nuff said.

Swedish Fan

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Fan of Trinidad & Tobago

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English fan

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Only in Africa

...and in other news.....

The traffic on the N3 freeway outside Germiston was snarled this morning by a 3-car pile-up. No one was seriously hurt.
So what?
A articulated truck driver had pulled over to get some sleep last night. Meantime someone (or ones) had tried to steal the wheels off his truck and been disturbed. The outcome? As he continued his journey this morning, the wheels fell off. In trying to avoid them a Toyota crashed into an Opel, which crashed into etc. etc.

And in lighter vein; I usually get into work fairly early to avoid the traffic. One lady is always here before me; a lovely person; hard-working, reliable and a dedicated, practicing Christian. I always put my head around her door to say hello. She's usually reading her Bible or listening to sermons. More power to her.
But not today.
She was deeply engrossed in a new book. So deeply engrossed that she didn't notice my presence.
'What was this captivating book?' I hear you ask.

The Dummies Guide to...'Being Sexy.'
Complete with diagrams.
I've ordered my copy already.

Excerpt

Angelina eased back in her chair and offered Rory a cigarette. They chatted about the favourite movies and occasionally passing cruel verdict on the passers-by while the guitarist ran through a weird repertoire. They found themselves naming the tunes. Predictably, Angelina won 7-3, but Rory chuckled with triumph at Danny Boy, Hey Jude, and Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Angelina sighed quietly. ‘It has been a long time since I have done this. Do you do this in South Africa?’
Rory felt the stubble on his jaw. ‘No.’ he said briefly. ‘There are plenty of parks—not like this—but they’re often too dangerous.’
‘But did you ever want to do this? Just sit and watch the world?’
He was aware of her stare. ’Why do I think there is a wrong answer to that question?’
‘Because there is a right answer.’
‘I don’t ever remember sitting in a park before.’ He checked his watch. ‘Not for nearly two hours. There never seemed enough to do. No, that’s wrong; it never struck me, actually.’
‘Never struck you?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It never occurred to me. You know, a park is where you take your kids on a Sunday afternoon to eat ice cream. I never had kids and there weren’t many Sundays to spare.’
‘That is very sad.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, of course. When do you get the chance to stop?’
Stop what? ‘Oh,’ he said airily. ‘Often enough. Aren’t you hungry?’
‘No not really. What went wrong with you and your wife?’

June 16th; reflections of a White Boy

In contrast to the usually flippant and self-indulgent tenor of this blog, this is--for a change--rather serious.

June 16th is Youth Day in South Africa. It marks and pays honour to the children who on and around that day, first took to the streets in protest against the practice of teaching in Afrikaans, the language of the then oppressor; that was the ostensible reason. In reality it was the culmination of many decades of building resentment against the apartheid government and state in South Africa.

It was the beginning of the end of apartheid, which finally came to an end in 1994.

I'd only arrived in South Africa 9 months previously from a small village in Wales. Politics--especially violent politics--was as much as mystery to me as the craters of the moon. I was just trying to pass my final year of schooling.

We lived on Kimberley Road, Robertsham in the south of Johannesburg, perhaps 5 miles as the crow flies from the edge of Soweto, the major ghetto of Jo'burg. Or if you like the embodiment of all the fears of the white elite.

One evening I was woken up by the rumble of traffic and my father talking quietly. I got up and joined mum and dad outside in the cold. Convoy after convoy of police and military vehicles were heading into Soweto. The photograph below (acknowledgements to the City of Johannesburg)is why. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of kids had finally give up and encouraged by their teachers had taken matters in to their own hands. No doubt many thought it was very exciting and at least a day off school. I doubt many thought that as they died.

A few nights later a Molotov Cocktail landed in our street. Also very exciting; except for my late father--an unabashed racist--who thought that the decision to move to South Africa may have been a monumental blunder.

Of course 30 years on people begin to forget and those days pass into history. We shouldn't. Shades of The Holocaust. My kids never knew apartheid. Thank God.