Logged Off. Big Time.

Bob Log 111
Am a fan, have the CD, love it.
So when I rang “the establishment” (the Alley Cat) to find out when the show would start, and rocked up half an hour prior only to find they were sold out (with no option of pre concert ticket purchase) I was slightly peeved.
Hence my well earned whinge.
So, I am at home, listening to early Bowie.
You Rock David.
And would always have a ticket for me, I’m sure.


Oh, my valve is starting to seize.

What Bugged Me About Metamorphosis

Here’s a treat for all you culture vultures: the Ten Days on the Island festival has put me in the mood for a theatrical whinge. Last week I went to see Metamorphosis at The Theatre Royal in Hobart. This English/Icelandic collaboration brings to the stage Franz Kafka’s surreal yet poignant story of Gregor, a hardworking young salesman who wakes up one morning to discover his body has changed into that of a monstrous bug. Unable to come to terms with this transformation, the family he once supported reacts with horror and disgust, and their superficial attempts at compassion are quickly replaced by irritation at the inconvenience his condition causes them, and neglect for his wellbeing.

I enjoyed Kafka’s original story, which is packed with symbolism and ideas as relevant today as when it was written in 1915. I even like to think that Kafka himself was having a subtle whinge about society’s selfishness and lack of compassion for those who are no longer of obvious benefit to us; hence I was looking forward to seeing this production. Most of the reviews and comments I heard, both before and after I’d seen it myself, were overwhelmingly positive. People have raved about it, with statements like “an 85 minute masterpiece”, “the sort of theatre we are glad to have seen before we die” and “it lives up to its hype” typical of the tone. This makes what I am about to say controversial, but a true whinger never shies away from controversy. Perhaps I am a philistine, but then again, perhaps I am the lone child in the crowd, pointing out to everyone else that the Emperor is, in fact, naked. Either way, I didn’t enjoy this stage adaptation of Metamorphosis all that much.

Much of the content of the novella centres around Gregor’s feelings following his transformation and his family’s subsequent reaction. There isn’t really enough action and dialogue in the story to sustain a full-length play, resulting in a contrived, drawn-out feeling to the stilted exchanges of the remaining characters. The performances of the supporting cast were average; I have frequently seen better acting in local amateur productions. In fact, the opening sequence, with the characters going about their morning routine in a musical montage, put me in mind of a high school Rock Eisteddfod. Yes, it has a soundtrack by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, but it’s really just one song split into parts and played at intervals throughout the performance. It’s pretty mediocre by Cave and Ellis’ standards and must have taken them all of about half an hour to write.

I admit that it wasn’t all bad. The set design was so original and striking that it redeemed the play somewhat, and Gísli Örn Gardarsson’s performance as Gregor was impressively athletic. The story itself is dark, sometimes funny and ultimately moving, although the play doesn’t necessarily improve on the book in this regard. But when you get down to it, what really bothered me was this: if you had to sum it up in one line, you’d say that The Metamorphosis is a story about a man who changes into a bug. Yet, in this stage version, he doesn’t actually change into a bug! The only hints we get are the silhouette of a beetle projected onto the bedcovers just before Gregor emerges dressed in a suit and tie, and of course, his family’s reaction to him. Call me childish, but I was keen to see how they were going to depict this gigantic bug crawling around the house, and when they just didn’t, I was disappointed! I also think this would be a problem if you went to see the play without having read the original work, in that it might not be clear exactly what is going on and why his family are suddenly horrified by his appearance and unable to communicate with him.

My disappointment at the failure of this aspect of the story to translate to the stage was further highlighted by the high cost of admission. For the ticket price I probably could have bought 4 or 5 copies of the original novella! Even one copy would have lasted longer, made more sense and been more enjoyable than this ambitious but flawed stage adaptation. The main achievement of this play was the metamorphosis of my $65 into the material for a good whinge.

Media Launch of The Whinger's Guide!

It was only a matter of time before our incessant whinging caught the attention of the media.

Tune in to Breakfast on 936 ABC local radio tomorrow at around 7.15am to hear me whinging live on air! I will be talking to Ryk Goddard about how The Whinger's Guide got started.

If you're not in hobart you can listen online at http://www.abc.net.au/hobart/radio/

I expect I will have to take extra precautions from now on to avoid the hounding of the paparazzi. How irritating!

Coming the (Not So) Raw Prawn at Monty's on Montpelier

I recently had my first experience of Monty’s on Montpelier, courtesy of my partner, who appeared to be trying to get into my (very exclusive) good books. Being whisked off to a surprise romantic dinner at a swanky restaurant is always a pleasant (if rare) experience, but never fear, dear reader; it was tough but I still managed to find a few things to whinge about.

Firstly, the service: there was too much of it. Not five minutes after one knowledgeable and competent waiter had taken our order, than a smiling and enthusiastic waitress appeared by our table, eager to do the same. When I explained that this requirement had already been fulfilled, she was overly apologetic, even blurting out that she felt like a bit of an idiot. Not to worry, for as I reassured her, it was better to have too much service than not enough.

Secondly, the food: it was so delicious I ate more of it than was strictly necessary, resulting in a slightly uncomfortable bloated feeling, and an unprecedented readout on my digital bathroom scales the next day. Admittedly, a tart filled with duck confit and pate was probably not the best choice as far as my waistline was concerned. What sort of parents give their daughter a set of scales for Christmas anyway? But I digress… My partner’s steak was one of the best he’s eaten, which is saying something, since he is quick (and usually correct) to accuse most restaurant steak of being inferior to his own. Unfortunately it was served topped with a large and obnoxious prawn, which was little more than a novelty and did nothing to enhance the dish. The chef would be well advised to ditch the crustacean garnish and let the steak stand alone, which it was perfectly capable of doing.

Finally, the management: towards the end of our evening the hostess approached our table for a little chat, acknowledging that it was our first visit to Monty’s, introducing herself and her husband the chef, enquiring about the suitability of our meal and expressing her desire that we would visit again. She was so lovely I was reluctant to mention the prawn, and in fact, felt obliged to give them a generous tip on top of the bill, which was already rather hefty after my partner had dabbled in the extensive wine list.

So, in summary, if you’re cashed-up, it’s a special occasion and you want to be scraping the bottom of the barrel for a good whinge, you could do worse than Monty’s on Montpelier.