#Tender Writer Sydney

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[whenmemorydies]

Napkins 3x06

I strongly suspect that this episode is going to either touch on or foreground Mikey's struggles with his mental health, and in particular his suicidal ideation or eventual suicide and its immediate aftermath. I'm ready for Ayo to direct the hell out of this.

In 1x08 Braciole, Tina tells Carmy a story about Mikey no longer ordering napkins for The Beef because he felt there was no point in doing so. She makes it clear that this behaviour was out of the ordinary for Mikey:

We know that in his final years, Mike was battling addiction and mental health issues (if his actions in 2x06 Fishes were anything to go by). Where suicidal ideation or suicidality is flagged for me is in Tina's mention that Mikey's behaviour regarding the napkins was out of the ordinary. The position he's taken in her retelling is one that's also resigned to a perceived fate. It reeks of hopelessness.

Dramatic changes in behaviour and feelings of hopelessness are both warning signs for suicide and suicidal behaviour.

Carmy seems to recognise the gravity of what Tina is implying in her story. As soon as she says that Mikey's attitude about the napkins was unusual for him, Carmy tells her to take the night off and that he'll cover her. Tina then asks Carmy if he knows how much she loved his brother. Carmy asks her how much and she tells him that she loved Mikey a lot.

This scene is one of the most tender in the entire series, in my view second only to Carmy and Sydney's table scene in 2x09 Omelette. Carmy asking Tina how much she loved Mikey will always take my breath away....because we know how much Carmy loved Mike. For him to hold space for Tina to express her love for his brother with him, especially given Carmy's own mental state at this point in the show, is immense. Watching this scene always makes my heart swell.

I've no doubt that 3x06 Napkins is going to be heavy. But these actors, writers and the rest of the crew on this show have shown that they can handle it, with grace, empathy and heart. I can't wait to see how they go about it.

[tvgremlin]

I just need sydcarmy fluff where they finally get their first star and LOVE CONFESSIONS galore!

you’re such a wonderful writer🫂🫂🫂🫂

Here you go! And thank you so much for the compliment, you are too kind!!

I've had terribille writers block latley but mark my words I will get through my prompts backlog! If you want to add to it my inbox is always open, just be warned that it may take a minute for me to respond <3

Read the rest of the prompts on ao3 here.

Stars

They are in the kitchen when they find out.

Standing side by side at the expo counter, the toes of their shoes pressed together as they wait. 

“Holy shit,” she says when the call pops up on her phone, dropping the device beside the ticket printer, “it’s-“

Her voice dies in her throat as he picks up the call, putting it on speaker.

“Is this Sydney Adamu?” The woman asks.

“Yes, this is she” her is voice shaking. She can feel Carmy’s hand on her back, holding her up.

“And Carmen Bearzatto,” he says.

“Wonderful,” They can hear the smile in her voice. “Well, I’m calling with good news. The Bear has been awarded a Michelin star. We’ll see you tomorrow at the ceremony. Congratulations.”

The woman hangs up before either one can say anything.

They look at each other for a moment. The air between them is charged. Something new inhabits the space.

He pulls her close. She melts into his embrace. 

She is crying now, tears of joy and relief staining his whites.

“We did it,” she repeats over and over, “We fucking did it.”

He is holding her so tight. She can feel his heartbeat, can feel how <i>alive</i> he is here.

<i>They did it. They made it.</i>

She thinks of them in New York, all scarred hands and rough edges. Blood orange and messy grief, a disaster still in progress.

She thinks of them in the Beef’s kitchen, talking about everything and nothing all at once. She can still feel his hands on her shoulders and can hear how he yelled when everything fell apart.

And she thinks of them side by side during service, so in sync, it scares the new line cook. She keeps him grounded as he lights a fire beneath her feet.

He squeezes her arm, his nose pressed into her cheek. He surrounds her. She hopes it is always this way. 

When he kisses her she realizes that this, this was how it was supposed to be. This is the love that the poets promised. 

He tastes like nicotine and the pasta she made for family. Like <i>home.</i>

In her arms he is soft. He touches her like she might disappear, tender and all-consuming. 

When they separate he presses his forehead to hers, lingering in her space. 

“I love you,” he says like it’s an easy thing, like this is how it’s always been.

“I love you too.” It feels like breathing to say it back. <i>They are alive.</i>

His hands cup her face. She is so beautiful. 

She smiles and he laughs. 

“I love you,” he repeats, “I love you and we have a fucking star.”

She is laughing now too, a fresh round of tears falling. <i>She is so fucking happy.<i>

“I love you, and we have to <i>retain a fucking star</i>.”

He wipes a tear from her cheek.

“We can do it,” He kisses her again, sweet and chaste, “It will be okay.”

Her hands are in his hair, carding soft curls through her fingers. She loves him. He loves her. This is all there needs to be.

“I know.” 

[uncriticalbunny]

me whenever I see people desperate for the writers to make sydney asexual and/or a lesbian.

long post ahead.

as a black woman who is ace, I don’t think sydney being asexual would be revolutionary or interesting. it would actually be so incredibly, hugely, profoundly... boringggggg. and people who insist on sydney being asexual get a massive side eye from me. especially white asexuals, because fuck your representation, and cishet people because who the fuck are y’all? 

so rarely are black women in tv and film treated with respect and nuance, much less when it comes to romance. so rarely are we treated as a person to be desired. to be loved. openly. warmly. carnally. even less so when it’s a darkskin black woman. writers pick from one of two things when it comes to black female characters: hypersexualized vs desexualized. superficially, for all outward appearances, there are lots of asexual black women in media. that is to say, they are certainly almost treated that way. unintentionally. intentionally. maliciously. void of sexuality or sensuality. no romance because she’s a Strong Black Woman who doesn’t need a man. or a relationship so pathetic that it can hardly be called a romance. would it be nice to have an asexual black female character who has a storyline that treats asexuality with respect? yes, yes it would. but that’s not really the point of this increasingly wordy essay. if the creators/writers are to be taken at their word that sydcarmy is strictly platonic, and they had her reject marcus because he misread their interactions, then it just shows they’ve developed nothing for sydney romantically. all the shots of carmy looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars are simply because she's his #bro. marcus really only liked her for her personality and simply confused that for romantic longing. platonic connections and a one-sided pursuit with zero heat. how groundbreaking. 

every fucking white character can have all of the romance-related things though. they can kiss each other, be shown as desirable, etc. etc. nat can be cuddled and cherished by pete. richie can go on dates in a nice suit with dirt caked under his nails, be loving with his then-wife, and ostensibly be wanted by jess. tiffany can still be yearned for by her ex-husband as she prepares to marry a new one. carmy can skip around like he’s in a romcom while neglecting his responsibilities to make out with claire and call her beautiful. claire can be shot in soft, dreamy sequences with closeups of her face and have a convo with her ass out for no reason other than to say she’s desirable and fucked carmy. claire and carmy can have screentime set aside for their relationship and a tender lovemaking scene. it’s expected for white people. it’s the norm. no romantic love for sydney though. because she’s driven. because she deserves better. because romance is unimportant. because she wants that star. because she can have no distractions. because asexual. because representation. [audience cheering]

sydney being a lesbian would also bore me immensely. too often are black female characters treated by writers as russian dolls with every diversity point they can think of. books, comics, tv, film, etc. she’s black, she's lesbian, she's asexual, she’s trans, she’s disabled, she’s poor, she’s this, she’s that. the diversity and representation everyone wants. why is every other character surrounding this ~pinnacle of diversity~ straight, or white, or a man? yes, because that’s who’s mainly writing and casting and greenlighting these things and maybe it’s silly to expect otherwise, but still, what the fuck? congrats on being represented by this fictional character. but it doesn’t feel genuine; it feels spiteful and lazy and self-congratulatory. like where's the other black women and diverse characters lmao. to be clear, I do want to see all the black lesbians in media because there's still not very many. and black women with one, or two, or all of those “diversity points” do exist in real life. we are lesbians, we are bi, we are disabled, we are trans. we're all of those and more. and we are loved and adored. on screen? maybe with a nonexistent or poor romantic storyline. or perhaps a decent and maybe even good storyline that eventually crashes and burns. there's a popular twitter thread right now about the disposable black gf trope and the examples that keep pouring in are bleak af.

the black lesbian character headcanon/canon increasingly feels like just another way to fridge us romantically. #notalllesbiantruthers but too many tbh. a black female character will simply exist without uttering a word and a slew of white women will be there to loudly proclaim her as the lesbian representation they want, need, crave, and adore. especially if there’s zero indication of the character being a lesbian. just stereotypes and vibes. hollow, insincere proclamations. bi black women don't even exist in their world. all these things I’ve observed with sydney. she's a bro, she's butch, she's a top, she's so husband-coded. babygirl is only reserved for the most woeful, pitiful white male characters. it's hilariously #coded. and no one will push back because after all, any gay representation is a good thing.

you’ll see hit tweets about how they know deep down sydney's a lesbian or how it will be so funny when the writers make her one. really, why is that? she can't be bi lest she actually gets with carmy. carmy can't be gay because they want to fuck him too badly. yeah I’m not so convinced all the lesbian sydney truthers earnestly want to see her loved, adored, cuddled, kissed, or fucked by another woman. because would that really be the writers’ objective or finished product? or will they just make her a lesbian and pat themselves on the back for doing only that. a throwaway line? maybe give her a cute romance built largely off-screen? lesbian sydney is a win for diversity and that’s enough. and who really wants to see sydney loved on loudly or be sexual anyway? that's not who she really is! she wears minimal makeup and oversized shirts and sweaters. let’s just focus on her working herself to the bone and getting that star. and I think deep down a lot of these truthers know her storyline possibly wouldn't be done justice. that's why it's going to be so funny to them when they make her one.

it all feels so shallow. fanfiction of sydney x fem!reader or original female character or nayia (the gorgiana black chef from s02ep03) is quite literally nonexistent [!!!]. sorry, y'all are not progressive or galaxy-brained. we get a black female character who’s multifaceted and fascinating, a deuteragonist even, in a show with a fandom that barely considers her as a person, and you’ve set your grubby paws upon her to be shelved romantically. bffr, the writers are already flailing romance-wise when it comes to sydney; they would not do an asexual/lesbian storyline justice. and even if they somehow make a halfway decent attempt, maybe they should have made it clear from the very beginning. not in season 3 or 4 or 5 or wheneverthefuck after they’ve given all the white characters romantic angles and developed her strongest and most important relationship with carmy, the main white guy or possibly because they hate the fact that people ship her with the main white guy. because then it just feels reactionary. and spiteful. and lazy. anyway, this ended up being way longer than I wanted. thanks for reading. fin.

[lyncirenzei]

I just really wanted to respond to the assignment outlined in this tweet...

Why can't I watch Sydney and Carmy be in a friendship with tenderness and obvious chemistry without pushing for romance?

The short answer is, I can watch without pushing for romance.

The extended answer is, I AM watching without PUSHING for romance.

Yes, they both have chemistry and they are both actively trying to deal with each other with care and tenderness because they are in an intimate relationship with each other already. They are business partners.

Intimate Definition:

So because Carmy allowed a close connection to start with Sydney by not only hiring Sydney but making her his number 1 in HIS family business, it would be wise for them both to exercise tenderness as much as possible when dealing with each other. Now I can go on a tangent about WHY he made her his number 1, but that's for another time. But just to add to the fact I won't discuss now, let me leave this here: Carmy checks often to make sure Syd is on board while Syd checks often to make sure Sugar, Carmy's own sister who he SHOULD be checking on, is on board. But I mean, Carmy said he can't even ask Sugar how she doing cause he don't know how he is doing most of the time, while constantly asking Syd how she is doing, so we know the "Men will do it (make it happen) if they WANT to" applies directly to Carmy... (and we ALSO know how and when that statement is usually used-and if you want to act dense, that usually is applied when a man is attracted to a woman and wants to make something romantic happen with her) but I digress.

Now, from what I see, people are picking up on what I noticed the minute Syd came on the scene in Ep. 1 Season 1, that there COULD BE something between Carmy and Syd. The writers and if not them, then the editors keep putting little plot devices in our face and making the COULD BE even more of a thing than what I initially picked up on. And there are so many great post that point out what those moments, interactions, conversations, scenes are. So I will not include them here.

Now it was stated in the post that chemistry isn't the only reason two people should start dating. And to that I say, you don't say? Really? I'm glad you know that and shared with the rest of us. Cause once again, what most people are commenting on is what COULD BE. Not what CURRENTLY IS.

You see, CURRENTLY, we are in season 2 and are still getting to know everyone and what makes them tick. We, the audience, who has a bird eye view, is STILL getting to know everyone. So if we're still doing that then naturally so are the characters with one another. They know less about one another than we know because they dont have the bird eye, omnipresent view. And all of this is controlled by the writers and editors. So no, currently I and I think most people who see Carmy and Syd as being a viable option for one another is wanting to see them start dating now.

When will they have time to establish a REAL romantic connection that doesn't take away from our thirty viewing minutes of the plot? Not anytime soon, that's for sure. But can they continue to give us 5 second moments that continue to build up what could be? Yes.

Now the question does remain, can they actually establish a real romantic connection? Yes. They definitely can. However, not in the way I am interested in seeing on THIS show with THIS plot. This is not Bridgerton, so I'm not interested in seeing Bridgerton type romance on The Bear. And I think most people will agree with me. You see, we already know this show isn't about romance. It deals with serious topics regarding business, family, mental illness, and human connection. And many people feel showing a romance would disregard those topics because of how romance is traditionally handled in media. Does that mean romance is not serious? No. It just means the way it is portrayed many times within a plot not needing romance, leaves one wanting...

However, The Bear may not be about romance, but as mentioned above, it is about Human Connection. And holding onto, and building on that human connection despite flaws, hurtful words/actions, because the people who portray them and suffer them are willing to change, improve, and do better.

I mentioned above that Syd and Carmy already have an intimate relationship. And THIS is what can potentially makes them Endgame.

Romance can be fleeting, it can be just like we witnessed between Carmy and Claire. Claire clearly had butterflies (idk about Carmy so much. He was very closed off with her and the moments he wasn't was told to us rather than shown to us) but their situation was the type of thing that we could have done without. Though, I believe Claire was needed, not only as a foil character, but as a plot devices as well.

However, in contrast (something the editors also wanted us to do with all there three-way contrasting scenes involving Claire, Carmy, and Syd) what Carmy has and is developing that will only get stronger the longer Syd sticks around and vice versa that Syd will develop the longer Carmy improves and sticks around is a deep respect and a deep love.

They are already intimate because of the business. They speak to each other intimately (also because of the business while some kind of way NEVER mentioning the business) personally, vulnerably. Carmy wants to hear Syd speak about her feelings, dreams and ideas. He even wants to hear her speak about her personal business though that part is hard for her to do. And Syd wants to speak about those things to Carmy even when it's difficult to do so.

THAT is the kind of intimacy I want to continue seeing on my TV screen. I don't need 5 minutes dedicated to them on a date, giggling and laughing about nothing! I need 5 minutes of them sitting closely, talking lowly about deep personal things that they can later laugh about together. I need the eye connections from across the room cause they GET each other and know what the other is thinking. I need small smiles of flattery that never get to be too much because they are in a professional setting. And at the end of the night, after they've worked another successful day at a restaurant that runs itself cause it's that successful (like Terry's restaurant) and they are just showing up to work cause they "still love to cook" but don't have to if they don't want to, they close down shop, walk out hand in hand down the street bumping shoulders like two best friends on their way to their SHARED home where private things happen privately (cause seeing all that is not important to the main plot. Though I wouldn't mind 😏).

That is Endgame.

That is slowburn

(And that ain't happening next season folks. I do not want them getting together sexually or otherwise next season. They have a lot of work to do not only on their restaurant but also on themselves). That is what I'd call an intimate relationship that hasn't distracted from the main plot, but that is still very real.

Now for those who think that possibility is "forced" that's most likely because Syd is a dark skinned black woman. Not actually because you can't see Carmy and Syd happening.

And for those who only see her with Marcus, that also may be because she is a dark skinned black woman and you really want to see her with a black man. Not actually because you can't see Carmy and Syd happening.

The same way I can see them remaining professional partners, only cause the writers and editors may decide to stop playing in our face with the hints regarding their already established intimacy, is the same way you should be able to see what is literally playing in your face when it comes to Carmy and Syd interactions, or the way they think/speak about/to each other.

So now I'm asking you to examine why you can't watch Sydney and Carmy be in a friendship with tenderness and obvious chemistry without admitting that the writers may decide to take it in an even more intimate direction, and being OK with that if they do?

[apinchofm]

Fic Rec Friday

(yes it's tuesday/wednesday but im depressed so allow it)

Tender Blooms by @tiltedtemple

Carmy and Sydney are so sweet in this!! I love this au so much!! Florist/Tattoo Artist AU

To Build A Home by @waterlilyrose

Ahh, it's complete!! Oh, this is such a beautiful fic and my moot is just such a brilliant writer and I was legit tearing up at some chapters. Kanthony, Memory Loss, Family Fluff and a lotta angst

Never In My Wildest Dreams by ElleannaQ (@little-engineer-who-cant)

Another brilliant fic that is complete! I love how Edwina and her relationships with the people she loves are developed in the aftermath of such a messy season. Ugh, this fic is so wonderful! edwina sharma x oc, m, romance!

Eating for Two by Blissymbolics

This made me giggle!! Carmy and Sydney being oblivious and everyone being loud and yet both right and wrong at once? Sounds intriguing? Have a read! Sydcarmy, Fluff and Humour,

come over here and profound for me by @dollypopup

Oh, this fic is heartbreaking and messy and everything I'd want from in a season or book!! angst and fluffy ending, polin, meloise

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

‘It’s the relationship I knew I wanted’: Scrublands star on learning to commit

Luke Arnold is an actor and writer who is best known for playing Michael Hutchence in Never Tear Us Apart. The 39-year-old discusses the endearing nickname he called his little sister as a child, a silly but romantic Christmas gesture and what he is most proud of in his current relationship.

“It’s interesting to reflect on the actresses I admired before I got into the acting industry who later became colleagues, like Heather Graham.”

My maternal great-great-grandmother thought her name was Jean, but when she was 70 she found her birth certificate, which said Jane. Her mother died when she was young, so I’m not sure what went wrong there, but she was still Jean to us all.

Some of my first memories are getting handwritten and recorded poems on cassettes from her. Looking at them recently, I can see the influence their form and patterns have had on my own writing.

When I was young, my maternal granny, Valerie, lived on a sailing boat with my step granddad. They also travelled around Australia on a motorbike. They were a great example of the freewheeling, bohemian lifestyle that was definitely passed down to me.

My parents, Nola and Colin, met while picking fruit. Mum is not the tallest lady and trained to become a jockey. It was her passion from a young age, but in the late 1970s she found the male-dominant culture of the racing industry too tough to realise her dream.

Mum is an enthusiastic and bubbly person. Before my younger sister, Ashley, and my brother, George, were born, I had her full attention for two years. It was great, as it meant that when I started school, I was on my way to reading and writing.

When I was just a baby myself, I used to call my sister “my little darling”, as we were so close. In the teen years we grew apart a bit, but since 2019 we’ve become close again. Ashley’s a web designer and is living the life of a digital nomad.

My first celebrity crush was Amy Jo Johnson, the actress who played the Pink Power Ranger on Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.

It’s interesting to reflect on the actresses I admired before I got into the acting industry who later became colleagues, like Heather Graham, star of Boogie Nights, which is one of my favourite films. When Heather enlisted me to act opposite her on her 2018 film Half Magic, it was a “pinch-me” moment. One minute I would be talking to her as a colleague, then the next I’d think, “You’re HEATHER GRAHAM!”

My first serious relationship was with Hayley at Sunshine Beach High School in Queensland. We bonded over acting and performing. It was nice to meet a girl after my teenage years in Sydney, where I’d worked as a clown, doing parties and magic, mostly around dudes.

While at drama school [WAAPA in Perth], I picked up a girlfriend from the airport dressed in wrapping paper. I’d asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she’d replied, “Just you.” I took that literally. It was a silly, ridiculous, romantic gesture. I’m glad camera phones weren’t a big thing back then.

In the 2022 NITV SBS series True Colours, Rarriwuy Hick and I both played detectives. Filming that was a huge education for me. My touchstones on the Northern Territory set were the women – Rurriway and Arrernte/Warlpiri woman Marie Ellis, with whom we consulted daily to follow cultural protocol.

It was nerve-racking to be the white fella who was ignorant of so many things. But the First Nations people had such generosity teaching me about that part of the country, and about the practices that impacted storylines, like men’s business, kinship and payback. There was overwhelming care for us outsiders coming in.

I’ve been with my current partner, Laura, for a year. We met while making a film 16 years ago and I was completely and madly infatuated with her. We were both young and at that time I was ill-equipped to handle such strong feelings.

We had a couple of false starts that left us both feeling tender, but we kept returning to the flame. Something I’m proud of is that we kept showing up, as it would have been easy to just turn it into a story of heartbreak and not deal with it.

We’ve always been great friends throughout it all. Laura is the person I want to call with good news, with a question, or if I’m anxious about something. It’s the relationship I knew I wanted, and I’m very grateful to be in it now.

Luke Arnold stars in Scrublands, premiering November 16 on Stan.

Source: The Sydney Morning Herald

[finishinglinepress]

FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: DOCTOR OF THE WORLD by Fleda Brown – 2024 Open Chapbook Winner

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/doctor-of-the-world-by-fleda-brown-2024-open-chapbook-winner/

If there is a center of gravity in this collection of prose #poems, it is a #cancer #diagnosis, but looking outward, there is the gravity that keeps the spheres from flying apart, there is the gravity of our collective maladies, there is the way we inflict injuries on ourselves and others. The poem, “Crickets” says, “You’re one of God’s creatures, yet the angels and imps outnumber you by a long shot. They’re out there jumping in and out of your notice like quarks and anti-quarks.” And who is Doctor who keeps the world in balance? It is exuberance, not just of being alive, but of the wonderousness of loons, robins, cats, crickets, and human creatures. There is never a right answer to how to negotiate this life, but there is radiance everywhere in these poems, to light the way.

Fleda Brown‘s tenth collection of poems, Flying Through a Hole in the Storm (2021) won the Hollis Summers Prize from Ohio University Press and was an Indie finalist. Earlier poems can be found in The Woods Are On Fire: New & Selected Poems (University of Nebraska Press). Her work has appeared three times in The Best American Poetry and has won a Pushcart Prize, the Felix Pollak Prize, the Philip Levine Prize, and the Great Lakes Colleges New Writer’s Award, and has twice been a finalist for the National Poetry Series. Her recent memoir is Mortality, with Friends (Wayne State University Press, an MIPA Winner and Midwest Book Award winner in memoir). She was poet laureate of Delaware from 2001-07. #poetry #cancer #life #healing #nature #awardwinning

PRAISE FOR DOCTOR OF THE WORLD by Fleda Brown:

“Reading a poem by Brown is a lesson in how to read one’s life, how each small thing, each seemingly casual detail, is in fact connected to perceptions and understandings of profound significance. . .”

—World Literature Today

“. . . . a poet of transformation and attention. One reads her poems and finds oneself changed by the trajectory, the engagement.”

–Laura Kasischke

“Fleda Brown’s voice is edgy, direct, yet surprisingly tender.”

–Rebecca McClanahan

“I have long felt that Fleda Brown the poet has an unparalleled capacity to meld keen intellect, extending even to hard science, with exquisite lyrical sensibility.”

–Sydney Lea

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems #nature #cancer #life #healing #awardwinning

[whileiamdying]

Barry Humphries (Dame Edna to You, Possums) Is Dead at 89

Bewigged, bejeweled and bejowled, Mr. Humphries’s creation was one of the longest-lived characters ever channeled by a single performer.

Barry Humphries as Dame Edna Everage in the one-person show “Dame Edna: Back With a Vengeance” at the Music Box Theater on Broadway in 2004. Credit... Sara Krulwich

by Margalit Fox April 22, 2023Updated 12:35 p.m. ET

Oh, Possums, Dame Edna is no more.

To be unflinchingly precise, Barry Humphries, the Australian-born actor and comic who for almost seven decades brought that divine doyenne of divadom, Dame Edna Everage, to delirious, dotty, disdainful Dadaist life, died on Saturday in Sydney. He was 89.

His death was confirmed by the hospital where he had spent several days after undergoing hip surgery. In a tribute message posted on Twitter, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese of Australia praised Mr. Humphries as “a great wit, satirist, writer and an absolute one-of-kind.”

A stiletto-heeled, stiletto-tongued persona who might well have been the spawn of a ménage à quatre involving Oscar Wilde, Salvador Dalí, Auntie Mame and Miss Piggy, Dame Edna was not so much a character as a cultural phenomenon, a force of nature trafficking in wicked, sequined commentary on the nature of fame.

For generations after the day she first sprang to life on the Melbourne stage, Dame Edna reigned, bewigged, bejeweled and bejowled, one of the longest-lived characters to be channeled by a single performer. She toured worldwide in a series of solo stage shows and was ubiquitous on television in the United States, Britain, Australia and elsewhere.

A master improviser (many of Dame Edna’s most stinging barbs were ad-libbed) with a face like taffy, Mr. Humphries was widely esteemed as one of the world’s foremost theatrical clowns.

“I’ve only seen one man have power over an audience like that,” the theater critic John Lahr told him, after watching Dame Edna night after night in London. “My father.” Mr. Lahr’s father was the great stage and cinematic clown Bert Lahr.

Mr. Humphries conceived Edna in 1955 as Mrs. Norm Everage, typical Australian housewife. “Everage,” after all, is Australian for “average.”

Housewife, Superstar, National Treasure

But Edna soon became a case study in exorbitant amour propre, lampooning suburban pretensions, political correctness and the cult of celebrity, and acquiring a damehood along the way. A “housewife-superstar,” she called herself, upgrading the title in later years to “megastar” and, still later, to “gigastar.”

Mr. Humphries as Dame Edna, wearing a hat in the shape of the Sydney Opera House, in 1976. Credit... Wesley/Getty Images

In Britain, where Mr. Humphries had long made his home, Dame Edna was considered a national treasure, a paragon of performance art long before the term was coined.

In the United States, she starred in a three-episode series, “Dame Edna’s Hollywood,” a mock celebrity talk show broadcast on NBC in the early 1990s, and was a frequent guest on actual talk shows.

She performed several times on Broadway, winning Mr. Humphries a special Tony Award, as well as Drama Desk and Theater World Awards, for “Dame Edna: The Royal Tour,” his 1999 one-person show.

In her stage and TV shows, written largely by Mr. Humphries, Dame Edna typically made her entrance tottering down a grand staircase (Mr. Humphries was more than six feet tall) in a tsunami of sequins, her hair a bouffant violet cloud (she was “a natural wisteria,” she liked to say), her evening gown slit to the thigh to reveal Mr. Humphries’s surprisingly good legs, her body awash in jewels, her eyes agape behind sprawling rhinestone glasses (“face furniture,” she called them).

Addressing the audience, she delivered her signature greeting, “Hellooooo, Possums!”

By turns tender and astringent, Dame Edna called audience members “possums” often. She also called them other things, as when, leaning across the footlights, she would address a woman in the front row in a confiding, carrying voice: “I know, dear. I used to make my own clothes, too.”

Mr. Humphries with the English actress Joan Plowright at the Lyric Theater in London. Credit... Evening Standard/Getty Images

Performances concluded with Dame Edna flinging hundreds of gladioli into the crowd, no mean feat aerodynamically. “Wave your gladdies, Possums!” she exhorted audience members who caught them, and the evening would end, to music, with a mass valedictory swaying.

Between the “Hellooooo” and the gladdies, Dame Edna’s audiences were treated to a confessional monologue deliciously akin to finding oneself stranded in a hall of vanity mirrors.

There was commentary on her husband and children (“I made a decision: I put my family last”); her beauty regimen (“Good self-esteem is very important. I look in the mirror and say, ‘Edna, you are gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous’”); and the constellation of luminaries who routinely sought her counsel, among them Queen Elizabeth II and her family. (“I’ve had to change my telephone number several times to stop them ringing me.”)

Dame Edna’s TV shows were often graced by actual celebrity guests, including Zsa Zsa Gabor, Charlton Heston, Sean Connery, Robin Williams and Lauren Bacall.

They came in for no less of a drubbing than the audience did, starting with the inaugural affront, the affixing of immense name tags to their lapels — for eclipsed by the light of gigastardom so close at hand, who among us would not be reduced to anonymity?

“Chuck,” Mr. Heston’s name tag read. Ms. Gabor received two: a “Zsa” for the right shoulder and a “Zsa” for the left.

A few pleasantries were exchanged before Dame Edna moved in for the kill.

“You’ve had nine hits this year,” she purred fawningly at the singer-songwriter Michael Bolton on one of her British TV shows. “On your website.”

Turning to the audience after delivering a particularly poisonous insult, she would ooze, “I mean that in the most caring way.”

Those guests who emerged relatively unscathed had the savvy to take Dame Edna at face value and interact with her as though she were real. The moment he donned those rhinestone glasses, Mr. Humphries often said, Dame Edna became real to him too, an entirely separate law unto herself.

‘I Wish I’d Thought of That’

“I’m, as it were, in the wings, and she’s onstage,” he explained in a 2015 interview with Australian television. “And every now and then she says something extremely funny, and I stand there and think, ‘I wish I’d thought of that.’”

But the truly funny thing, Possums, is that when Mr. Humphries first brought Dame Edna to life, he intended her to last only a week or so. What was more, she was meant to have been played by the distinguished actress Zoe Caldwell.

Mr. Humphries created a string of other characters over the years, notably the boorish, bibulous Australian cultural attaché Sir Les Patterson. But it was Dame Edna, the outlandish aunt who engenders adoration and mortification in equal measure, who captivated the public utterly — despite the fact that in later years, her mortification-inducing lines sometimes landed her, and her creator, in trouble.

So fully did Mr. Humphries animate Edna that he was at continued pains to point out that he was neither a female impersonator in the conventional sense nor a cross-dresser in any sense.

“Mr. Humphries, do you ever have to take your children aside and explain to them why you like to wear women’s clothes?” an American interviewer once asked him.

“If I were an actor playing Hamlet,” he replied, “would I have to take my children aside and say I wasn’t really Danish?’”

By all accounts far more erudite than Dame Edna — he was an accomplished painter, bibliophile and art collector — Mr. Humphries, in a sustained act of self-protection, always spoke of her in the third person.

She did likewise. “My manager,” she disdainfully called him. (She also called Mr. Humphries “a money-grubbing little slug” and accused him of embezzling her fortune. He did, it must be said, cash a great many of her checks.)

But as dismissive of her creator as Dame Edna was, she rallied to his aid when he very likely needed her most: after years of alcoholism culminated in stays in psychiatric hospitals and at least one brush with the law.

Mr. Humphries at the Booth Theater on Broadway in 1999 in “Dame Edna: The Royal Tour,” for which he won a special Tony Award, as well as Drama Desk and Theater World Awards. Credit... Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

‘I Hated Her’

John Barry Humphries was born in Kew, a Melbourne suburb, on Feb. 17, 1934. His father, Eric, was a prosperous builder; his mother, Louisa, was a homemaker.

From his earliest childhood in Camberwell, a more exclusive suburb, he felt oppressed by the bourgeois conformism that enveloped his parents and their circle, and depressed by his mother’s cold suburban propriety.

Dame Edna was a response to those forces.

“I invented Edna because I hated her,” Mr. Humphries was quoted as saying in Mr. Lahr’s book “Dame Edna Everage and the Rise of Western Civilization: Backstage With Barry Humphries” (1992). “I poured out my hatred of the standards of the little people of their generation.”

Dame Edna emerged when the young Mr. Humphries, under the sway of Dadaism, was performing with a repertory company based at the University of Melbourne; he had dropped out of the university two years before.

On long bus tours, he entertained his colleagues with the character of Mrs. Norm Everage — born Edna May Beazley in Wagga Wagga, Australia, sometime in the 1930s — an ordinary housewife who had found sudden acclaim after winning a nationwide competition, the Lovely Mother Quest.

Unthinkable as it seems, Edna was dowdy then, given to mousy brown hair and pillbox hats. But she was already in full command of the arsenal of bourgeois bigotries that would be a hallmark of her later self.

For a revue by the company in December 1955, Mr. Humphries wrote a part for Edna, earmarked for Ms. Caldwell, an Australian contemporary. But when she proved too busy to oblige, he donned a dress and played it himself. After Edna proved a hit with Melbourne audiences, he performed the character elsewhere in the country.

By the end of the 1950s, hoping to make a career as a serious actor, Mr. Humphries had moved to London, where Edna met with little enthusiasm and was largely shelved. (She blamed Mr. Humphries ever after for her lack of early success there.)

Mr. Humphries played Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, in the original West End production of the musical “Oliver!” in 1960, and reprised the role when the show came to Broadway in 1963.

But though he worked steadily during the ’60s, he was also in the fierce grip of alcoholism. Stays in psychiatric hospitals, he later said, were of no avail.

His nadir came in 1970, when he awoke in a Melbourne gutter to find himself under arrest.

With a doctor’s help, Mr. Humphries became sober soon afterward; he did not take a drink for the rest of his life. He dusted off Dame Edna and, little by little, de-dowdified her. By the late ’70s, with celebrity culture in full throttle, she had given him international renown and unremitting employment.

Edna did not seduce every critic. Reviewing her first New York stage show, the Off Broadway production “Housewife! Superstar!!,” in The New York Times in 1977, Richard Eder called it “abysmal.”

Nor did Edna’s resolute lack of political correctness always stand her, or Mr. Humphries, in good stead. In February 2003, writing an advice column as Dame Edna in Vanity Fair, he replied to a reader’s query about whether to learn Spanish.

“Who speaks it that you are really desperate to talk to?” Dame Edna’s characteristically caustic response read. “The help? Your leaf blower? Study French or German, where there are at least a few books worth reading, or, if you’re American, try English.”

A public furor ensued, led by the Mexican-born actress Salma Hayek, who appeared on the magazine’s cover that month. Vanity Fair discontinued Dame Edna’s column not long afterward.

In an interview with The Times in 2004, Mr. Humphries was unrepentant.

“The people I offended were minorities with no sense of humor, I fear,” he said. “When you have to explain the nature of satire to somebody, you’re fighting a losing battle.”

Mr. Humphries drew further ire after a 2016 interview with the British newspaper The Telegraph in which he denounced political correctness as a “new puritanism.” In the same interview, he described people who transition from male to female as “mutilated” men, and Caitlyn Jenner in particular as “a publicity-seeking ratbag.”

Sailing Above the Fray

Dame Edna, for her part, appeared to sail imperviously through. She returned to Broadway in 2004 for the well-received show “Dame Edna: Back With a Vengeance” and in 2010 with “All About Me,” a revue that also starred the singer and pianist Michael Feinstein.

Mr. Humphries was back on Broadway as Dame Edna in 2010 with “All About Me,” a revue that also starred the singer and pianist Michael Feinstein.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

As herself — it was she, and not Mr. Humphries, who was credited — Dame Edna played the recurring character Claire Otoms (the name is an anagram for “a sitcom role”), an outré lawyer, on the Fox TV series “Ally McBeal.”

Under his own name, Mr. Humphries appeared as the Great Goblin in “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” (2012); as the voice of Bruce, the great white shark, in “Finding Nemo” (2003); and in other pictures.

Mr. Humphries’s books include the memoirs “More Please” (1992) and “My Life as Me” (2002) and the novel “Women in the Background” (1995). He was named a Commander of the British Empire in 2007.

Dame Edna also wrote several books, among them “Dame Edna’s Bedside Companion” (1983) and the memoir “My Gorgeous Life” (1989).

Mr. Humphries’s first marriage, to Brenda Wright, ended in divorce, as did his second, to Rosalind Tong, and his third, to Diane Millstead. He had two daughters, Tessa and Emily, from his marriage to Ms. Tong, and two sons, Oscar and Rupert, from his marriage to Ms. Millstead.

The Sydney Morning Herald reported that his survivors include his wife of 30 years, Lizzie Spender, the daughter of the British poet Stephen Spender, as well as his children and 10 grandchildren.

Mr. Humphries continued to perform until last year, when he toured Britain (as himself) with a one-man show, “The Man Behind the Mask.” He returned to Australia in December for Christmas.

Dame Edna’s husband, Norm, a chronic invalid “whose prostate,” she often lamented, “has been hanging over me for years,” died long ago. Her survivors include an adored son, Kenny, who designed all her gowns; a less adored son, Bruce; and a despised daughter, the wayward Valmai. (“She steals things. Puts them in her pantyhose. Particularly frozen chickens when she’s in a supermarket.”)

Another daughter, Lois, was abducted as an infant by a “rogue koala,” a subject Dame Edna could bring herself to discuss with interviewers only rarely.

Though the child was never seen again, to the end of her life Dame Edna never gave up hope she would be found.

“I’m looking,” she told NPR in 2015. “Every time I pass a eucalyptus tree I look up.”

Constant Meheut contributed reporting.

Margalit Fox is a former senior writer on the obituaries desk at The Times. She was previously an editor at the Book Review. She has written the send-offs of some of the best-known cultural figures of our era, including Betty Friedan, Maya Angelou and Seamus Heaney. More about Margalit Fox

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[qnewsau]

Michael Griffiths' diva double feature with Carlotta and Madonna

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/michael-griffiths-takes-on-a-cabaret-diva-double-feature-with-carlotta-and-madonna/

Michael Griffiths' diva double feature with Carlotta and Madonna

Hayes Theatre Co. serves up two iconic Divas for two must-see cabarets to delightfully wrap up Mardi Gras, Carlotta and In Vogue: Songs by Madonna.

Following sell-out shows for their respective previous runs, Carlotta and In Vogue: Songs by Madonna are guaranteed camp perfection.

Both shows boast the award-winning cabaret singer, Michael Griffiths. Performing on-stage with Carlotta, and embodying the Queen of Pop herself, Michael Griffiths is a seasoned spectacle ready to entertain.

QNews was lucky enough to chat with Michael about what it’s like working with Aussie cabaret legend, Carlotta, and to talk about his love of Madonna and what audiences can expect at each show.

“In Vogue is basically an embarrassment of riches,” Michael told us. “I shamelessly favour her early years… it’s about a catalogue of songs, and they all kick ass.”

Donning no wig, make-up or cone bra, Michael’s embodiment of Madonna on-stage will be through song and storytelling. A collection of classic Madonna songs, filled with plenty of hits and fan favourites, Madonna enthusiasts young and young-at-heart will feel the tender buzz of nostalgia in this show.

Written by award-winning director and writer, Dean Bryant (Brittney Speares: The Cabaret, Gaybies), In Vogue will take you through the years of Madonna’s career via tongue-in-cheek comedy, era-defining memorabilia and, of course, her music!

“I do talk in the first person, and I am the Queen of Pop for the hour of the show. I read from my diary and just share kind of musings from my romantic life and my career… and my failed film attempts.”

Carlotta in action

Carlotta: The Party’s Over

Michael’s cabaret antics don’t stop there, backing up one icon with another, and this one is a bit closer to home. Michael joins a living legend on stage for another cabaret spectacular. Closing her 60+ year career is none other than the Queen of the Cross and star of Les Girls, Carlotta.

“I’ve been performing with Carlotta since 2015,” Michael says, recounting his performances with the cabaret queen. “She’s still got it, she’s still on her A game, she’s still feisty.” Carlotta began her career in 1963 as an original member of the long-running cabaret show Les Girls, a gem in the crown of Sydney’s Kings Cross nightlife.

From there, Carlotta shone and became the most famous member of the cabaret, solidifying Les Girls as a must-see attraction for visitors. Now in her 80th year, Carlotta has long been celebrated as a political activist and the inspiration for the film The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

With her performance years coming to a fabulous conclusion this March, Michael expresses what Carlotta means to him. “She’s a pro, and I’ve learned a lot from her… To be on stage with her and to see how she works. She’s the real deal. She’s wonderful in front of a crowd.”

When asking what audiences can expect, Michael expresses it’s all off-the-cuff. “There is zero script. Nothing is prepared except for the songs. Every show is different.” 

A Mardi Gras double feature not to be missed

Michael Griffiths’ embodiment of the Queen of Pop with In Vogue: Songs by Madonna can be seen at Hayes Theatre Co. from 1 – 3 March. Previous shows have been a sell-out sensation, so make sure to book tickets to In Vogue: Songs by Madonna.

Carlotta’s farewell to the Sydney Cabaret, performed alongside Michael, is from 28 Feb – 3 Mar at Hayes Theatre Co. Make sure not to miss the last chance to see a living legend do what she does best. Which is sing, dance and be one hell of a cabaret star. Book tickets to Carlotta.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[kingkirkwall]

Article text:

My mentor John Hughes taught me how to write. Then he plagiarised my work.

Joseph Earp

In 2022, the acclaimed Australian author was found to have plagiarised whole sentences from Leo Tolstoy and F Scott Fitzgerald. When a former student discovered he was among those greats, his reaction was complicated.

Ten years ago, I was living in Coventry, England. Though I had a room in a sharehouse, I barely used it. I preferred to live and sleep in the freezing cold shed out the back. I’d sit there chain-smoking, trying and failing to decide what I was going to do with my life.

Then, one day, a fox appeared in the garden. He spent a few days testing me out, evaluating me. Eventually, following whatever strange whim it is that guides the business of foxes, he came into the shed.

During the day, he’d sleep in there. I would sit and watch him. He didn’t like me smoking – he would leave as soon as I sparked up a cigarette – so I stopped. He’d rouse around dusk, give me a quiet, gentle stare, and then saunter out into the yard. And every morning when I awoke, he’d be back, curled up in the corner. Until one morning he wasn’t. And I never saw him again.

He was a strange, tender, beautiful creature – unexplainable, the servant of no master. He was just this thing that entered my life, shared a little room with me, and then moved on, leaving the tiniest scrap of beauty behind.

I have written these paragraphs before: they appeared word for word in a 2016 review I wrote for a small Sydney music magazine called The Brag. I had been tasked with writing about the new album from Lubomyr Melnyk, a continuous pianist, who makes strange, elliptical music that contains no human voices.

I had no idea how to describe what his music did to me, so I took the story of the fox, and I linked the line in the last paragraph, about the “strange, tender, beautiful creature”, to Melnyk’s music. I was paid $40.

"John Hughes met me when I was a battered teenager and gave me the skills and the care to make me a writer."

I published hundreds of reviews in The Brag. Many have been lost to my memory, but that one sticks with me, for three reasons. The first, because I am unusually proud of it. I think it captures something about Melnyk, and about a small streak of grace in a time where there was little of it.

Secondly, because when I shared that review on Facebook, my mentor – the man who saved me, who shaped my life, who met me when I was a battered teenager and gave me the skills and the care to make me a writer – told me he liked it. His name is John Hughes.

And the third, because recently, a journalist got in touch with me. She would not tell me over messages what the call was about. When I pushed, she mentioned the Melnyk review, but would give no further details. So I called her. She was audibly nervous. She made light, confusing conversation.

Eventually, she said the words I should have expected, but hadn’t. “I’m writing a story about John Hughes,” she said. “Can you talk to me a little about how you know John?”

–

I met John when I was 13 years old. I was a student at Sydney Grammar School, a private institution that I hated from the very first moment I stepped through its gates. I didn’t fit in; never properly found my people, or my place.

I had been a confident child, but that confidence had slowly drained from me. I started getting nosebleeds, constant nosebleeds. I had known since I was six years old that I wanted to be a writer, so I read a lot, and wrote a lot, but these activities gave me less and less pleasure. I grew very thin. I did not sleep.

I don’t know how I heard about John’s creative writing class. He was an English teacher at the school, and held a small, informal gathering of students in the library at lunchtime – a time I usually spent in bathroom stalls, reading poetry alone. I started going to his class instead.

‘I am still, in so many ways, that little boy, bringing my work to the quiet room in the back of the library, asking what he thinks.’ Photograph: Isabella Moore/The Guardian

John was then, as he is now, a man with an impossibly kindly face. He has short cropped black hair, and wears glasses. He does not stutter, but he gesticulates in a way that seems like a cousin of stuttering, nodding his head when you are talking, maintaining eye contact. He smiles frequently. He leaves a lot of room for you, in conversation, and has a sly sense of humour that takes a while to reveal itself. He always struck me as a man without ego, which is a way of saying that he is a man with endless curiosity. He sublimates himself into the things he loves, and he understands that he matters less than these things.

If it seems like I can’t write about him without revealing that I love him, it’s because I can’t, and because I do.

John told us early that if we wanted to be writers, we had to write. So that’s what we did. We brought in pieces of our work, and he, smiling, told us what he liked about them. He had recommendations for everyone. There was a library in his head, and when a line struck him, you could see him browsing that library, and pulling out something he thought you’d like.

Through John, I was introduced to Sylvia Plath, one of the central figures in my literary and personal life. He showed me the beauty in The Great Gatsby, a text that I had unfairly dismissed – under his guidance, it bloomed. He told me about Cormac McCarthy, Mark Rothko, Walden. And, as I grew older, I recommended things to him. I became obsessed with cinema, and would lend him DVDs. We talked Herzog; Haneke; von Trier, hanging around each other in the halls of the library, delighting in the conversation.

It wasn’t just that he recommended specific writers. It’s that he took me seriously. He knew I needed to write, that I was lost without it. What he probably didn’t know, immediately: that without the comfort and care he provided I would be in much worse shape emotionally.

So I wrote, at a blistering pace. Every week, I brought in a new piece of work. Some struck John more than others; these were like gold to me. When I was 14, I wrote a story about a young girl caught up in the Dresden bombings of the second world war . John was unusually quiet while I read the piece to the group. Afterwards, he hung by the door. It was just me and him.

“You should do this,” he said. “Be a writer. You are very good at it.”

Later, with an irony that is not lost on me, John revealed that he initially assumed I had plagiarised the piece – that my parents had written it for me.

But I have never forgotten that moment. Someone had looked at me, when I felt least seen, and told me what I wanted to believe, but lacked the conviction to do anything about. It was akin to the moment in the shed with the fox. Only this fox – John’s kindness, his support – never left. It’s in these words, too.

–

For me, as for most writers, there are people I write for. They live in my head always – little fictionalised versions of themselves, who I’m constantly in the process of showing things to, and testing things against.

Some of these people I write for are dead. Some of them I’ve never met. Plath is one. So is the poet Robert Lowell. Another is John Hughes. I am still, in so many ways, that little boy, bringing my work to the quiet room in the back of the library, asking what he thinks.

John never told us he was a published author, until his first book, An Idea of Home, won a major literary award. During my last year of high school, his second book, Someone Else, was released. I attended the launch with my parents. Someone Else is my favourite of John’s works, a series of “fictional essays”, in which he borrows the language and lives of the authors he adores to tell you something about himself. At the launch, one of John’s university friends described John as “fox-like”, moving through the world with cunning and wit.

I bought a copy of Someone Else that I took around the world with me as I spent the next half decade trying to be a writer. John and I would email each other; when we were in the same city, we got coffee. Each time, he revealed something that gave me the strength to keep going. He called me the most natural writer he’d ever taught; he got excited when I told him of my literary successes, and consoled me when I discussed my failures.

He always had recommendations for me. He put me on to Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, a short, strange, dark novel that inspired me to write my own short, strange, dark novel, Cattle. He believed, as I did, that reading is an important part of writing – that we are shaped by the books we love. He was the first person I sent Cattle to. He liked it.

One day in 2017, while sitting at a Redfern coffee shop, he told me about his next book. It was called No One, and he described it as a murder mystery in reverse. After we shook hands and parted ways, I watched him walk up the street – and then I turned around, and went home.

–

John never got the success I felt he deserved for the books I believe he wrote on his own. They were scantly reviewed. If you know of him at all, you probably know him as a plagiarist.

Earlier this year, John’s most recent book, The Dogs, was discovered to have featured whole lines and passages from a number of sources – The Great Gatsby, which particularly stung, given the way John had brought it into my life, as well as Anna Karenina, All Quiet On The Western Front, and more. Entire sentences were lifted and not cited, with only occasional words changed; the book was removed from the longlist of Australia’s most prestigious literary prize, the Miles Franklin, as a result.

John apologised for plagiarising Nobel laureate Svetlana Alexievich’s work “without realising”, but defended his process in the Guardian, saying he was not a plagiarist. He said that he was shaped by the writers who had influenced him; that he had, in a sense, little versions of them and their words that he kept in his head. He claimed that he saw all writing as a lineage of homage, and pointed to famous artists who have limped after the work of other artists – in particular Bob Dylan, who I know for a fact that John has loved for years.

This defence was not well received. On Twitter, I saw people anticipating that John might have a mental breakdown. They were waiting for him to be discovered “wanking on street corners”. Hoping to get some relief from my extremely complicated relationship with what was happening to a man I loved – something that I firmly believe came as a result of his mistakes, which were mistakes – I attended a book launch. John was a punchline within the first five minutes.

–

When No One came out, I skim-read it. I was in the process of getting sober, and my head was in a fog. But I liked it. What I missed, however, is this section, which occurs halfway through the novel:

“When I came of age, as they used to say, and was no longer a ward of the state, I moved from Cessnock to Sydney and rented a room in a boarding house on the outskirts of Windsor. I preferred to sleep, however, in the shed at the bottom of the garden. It was winter when I moved and very cold, but I’d sit and chain-smoke and drink from a goon of tawny port, trying and failing to come up with something I could do.

Then, one day, a fox appeared in the garden. I’d seen foxes before, in my last foster home in Cessnock, but never this close. She spent a few days evaluating me. Eventually, following whatever instinct it is that guides the business of foxes, she came into the shed.

She started sleeping there during the day. I’d sit and watch her. She didn’t like me smoking – would leave as soon as I struck the match – so I stopped. She would rouse around dusk, give me what looked like a gentle stare, then saunter out into the yard. Every morning when I woke she’d be back, curled up in the corner.

Until one morning, she wasn’t. And I never saw her again.

In retrospect, I think that’s what the Poetess was. A strange, uncalled-for, beautiful thing – inexplicable, the servant of no master. I like to think sometimes that she might have loved me, but it doesn’t feel like love. More something that entered my life, shared a small room with me, then moved on, leaving behind the tiniest scraps of what even now I cannot name.”

These paragraphs were brought to my attention by the journalist. The structure is identical to my Melnyk review. Many lines are the same.

Over the phone, the journalist asked me a few questions. Distressed, confused, I told her that I loved John, which remains true. After we hung up, I picked up No One from my bookshelf and read and re-read that section. I felt a number of things. The strangest, most immediate was a version of pride. The man whose approval I had always wanted had decided I was good enough to rip off. I was sitting, with Fitzgerald, in the library in his head; my writing, like Tolstoy’s, had stuck with him, somewhere deep, and he had turned to it when he wanted to say something that he couldn’t say.

"He had, I felt, failed me as an author. But he had not failed me as a man."

I was also fascinated by the lines that John had changed. Some of the changes are merely structural, and made sense in the context of his story. But why the addition of tawny port? Is that what he would have drunk?

What was wrong with my line – “as soon as I sparked up a cigarette” – and what was better about his line – “as soon as I struck the match”? Why “inexplicable” over “unexplainable”?

Some commentators have suggested John changed lines to “cover his tracks”. But he is an astonishingly smart man; if he wanted to cover his tracks, he would do it much better than this.

Instead, I felt that I was encountering some essence of the nature of writing and reading – another lesson from John. Writing is a series of choices. Reading John’s words – which are not really his – and then reading mine – which are not wholly mine either, because they come from my life, which is made up of other people, and which are shaped by those authors who I admire – was a process of watching those choices happen, in as close as we get to real-time with literature.

It hurt, and I was angry for what had happened to me and other writers – the way our labour had been co-opted, and not appropriately cited. Lots of people can imagine that hurt, I assume. But I can’t imagine that many other people understand the way it felt good, too.

–

John’s defences are not insane, or deluded, in the way that they have been characterised by some. Yes, all writing is homage. Yes, we need other writers in order to write. But no, that does not mean we can take their words wholesale. There is a spectrum, from plagiarism to homage, and all works fall somewhere across that spectrum. Some of John’s work, obviously, falls on the plagiarism end – and being shaped by others doesn’t justify not citing your sources.

John and I spoke after the first instances of his plagiarism had come to light. I had told him some of the things I hope he already knew – that he had changed and saved my life; that Someone Else came with me everywhere. I said little about the plagiarism itself. That is because I had decided, privately, that John was two things: a man that I knew, and an author. He had, I felt, failed me as an author. But he had not failed me as a man.

This was, I feel now, an arbitrary distinction, and the ways he plagiarised me make that clear. Perhaps I made that distinction for another reason: I didn’t want to hurt John. I still don’t want to hurt John.

Also, at the same time: he hurt me. He hurt me because I was a young, struggling writer, who got paid $40 to write about a significant period in my life, in a review that basically nobody read but him.

He then took those words, and my life, and put them in a book that – while not successful, per se – did get the kind of glowing reviews I have never received. He was rewarded for my labour. He did not cite me. He did not send the people who were moved by his words back to their source, which was me. He did not alert me, himself, to the ways he had taken from me. I had to find out from someone else. So, in fact, did many of the readers who enjoyed his work: they too were also left out of an important part of the writing, and they had to discover that through people who weren’t John. I am angry that he did that to me, and to the other authors whose labour he did not attribute. I am angry that he did that to his readers too.

If John Hughes ever publishes another book, the first line of any review will make reference to his plagiarism. He has done that for, and to, himself, and everyone who he has affected is entitled to feel how they want to about that. I have my own relationship with what he has done to my words, that involve me – on some level – having forgiven him.

But the fact remains: he hadn’t understood the context of what he was doing; he had not done his homework. I feel some cruel satisfaction, writing those words. What student hasn’t wanted to say to their teacher: do your homework. It’s my lesson to him.

John Hughes declined to comment for this piece.

…A deeply uncomfortable read. (One that immediately sparks the reaction “Ugh, what would it be like to have this happen to you?” …Except the writer makes all too plain exactly what it would be like.) :/

(h/t @neil-gaiman )

[wearenotasfarwest]

if you had to create a tigers cast using any member of the show you saw before who would you pick??????????

Okay, this was a really good question (hence why it took me so long to answer) but I think I have my answer so let’s go!

10. Chess - Katie DeShan

If you’ve been following me for any amount of time, this isn’t a surprise. I love Katie. I love Katie’s Chess. I will tell anyone who will listen how much I love her. Chess should be one of the harder ones because I’ve seen five, but it’s not. It’s not even a question. Katie gave my favorite performance I’ve ever seen in Tigers.

9. Farrah - Zoe Jensen

It’s not that I don’t like any of the other Farrahs (Janet Krupin is actually the reason I was introduced to Tigers in the first place!) but Zoe just hit all of the right notes as Farrah. I didn’t particularly care about or Farrah in any previous incarnations, like I didn’t actively hate her or anything I more just forgot about her, but then Zoe!Farrah came along and CRUSHED MY HEART. Perfect casting. Perfect Farrah. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

8. Clark - Luke Hoback

When trying to discover this fellow’s name, I discovered that he apparently isn’t an actor anymore, he’s a real estate guy, which is too bad. He was Clark in the workshop reading, and even though that production wasn’t staged and Clark is a fairly small role anyway, he worked the fuck out of what he was given, and I loved it.

7. Mattie - Cathy Ang

All of the Matties I’ve seen have been fantastic, but Cathy just really brought her home in such a beautiful and tender way, and I’m also really happy to see her getting wider acclaim with Over the Moon, because she absolutely deserves it! Total sweetheart!

6. Eva - Gerianne Perez

Okay, Eva was actually one of the harder ones because, in my opinion, she’s changed the most. Eva throughout the productions is nearly unrecognizable, especially between the workshop and Off-Broadway, because that’s when Shut Up and Cheer was written to replace High School Experience. And I do think that Sydney Parra is perfect for the Eva that we have now, but I really liked Gerianne’s performance in this little there is of her on YouTube and I wish I could see her in the show in full capacity.

5. Annleigh - Rachel King

I could, and probably have somewhere, filled essays with my love for Rachel King as a person and a goddamn superstar, which is called for because she’s an actual superhero, and I also really liked her Annleigh, which probably isn’t surprising, but I just really felt that she got Annleigh and her journey in a way that I haven’t seen before or since- not to mention homegirl got thrown into the workshop with about four hours’ notice and absolutely slayed it.

4. Reese - Gabi Hankins

No shade to Katie or Emily or Mimi, because they are all absolute angels and did a great job with Reese, but I felt like none quite balanced Reese’s comedic relief with her more serious side, and it might have just been that it was a different script that I liked more, but Gabi had me in the palm of her hand.

3. Kate - Cailan Rose

I think I definitely liked LA Kate more than any other incarnation (bring back ‘you’re telling this to the people who are all on time, by the way’) and I’m not really sure where the credit goes to the script and where it goes to Cailan’s portrayal, and some may go to me growing up, as when I first fell in love with the show Kate was unquestionably my favorite but now, as I get older, I find that while I still love her, I don’t hold her in the same regard I did when I was a high schooler myself. But I loved Cailan and I do still look back on her as a god tier Kate.

2. Cairo - Aubin Wise

Again, this is probably the script taking over, because have you ever loved a song so, so much that when it was removed the writer personally messaged you to tell you because he knew you loved it that much? I have! Eighth Grade, what up? 

1. Riley - Lauren Nicole Chapman

I have seen this woman play two leads, one is a murderer, and one is a literal Disney Princess. She has the RANGE! I love you LNC Riley, I’m sorry you only played two performances in a shady basement somewhere in Brooklyn xo

[meanstreetspodcasts]

“Crime is a sucker’s road...”

“There was a rough desert wind blowing into Los Angeles that evening. It was one of those hot, dry Santa Ana's that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair, make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that, every booze party ends up in a fight. And meek little housewives feel the edge of a carving knife and study their husband's necks. Anything can happen when the Santa Ana blows in from the desert.”

With those vivid and evocative lines pulled straight from the pages of Raymond Chandler and richly delivered by Van Heflin, The Adventures of Philip Marlowe came to radio on June 17, 1947.

Chandler was thirty-nine when The Big Sleep, the first Philip Marlowe novel, was published and the world of detective fiction was never the same. It’s Chandler who gives us the archetypal private eye as knight errant, working his way through a world of corruption and vice while he is guided by his own moral compass. Along with Dashiell Hammett, Chandler invented and popularized the “hard-boiled” style of detective fiction, and his signature character proved to be one of the most popular detectives to solve cases during the Golden Age of Radio.

In the years between the publication of The Big Sleep and the premiere of Marlowe’s weekly radio adventures, Chandler’s novels were adapted to the screen six times. Farewell, My Lovely and The High Window were retooled for other cinematic detectives (The Falcon and Michael Shayne, respectively); and Marlowe himself was played by four different actors in four films (Dick Powell in Murder, My Sweet; Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep; Robert Montgomery in Lady in the Lake; and George Montgomery - no relation - in The Brasher Doubloon, another adaptation of The High Window).

On radio, Dick Powell recreated his role for Murder, My Sweet productions on The Lux Radio Theatre and Hollywood Star Time, and The Big Sleep was adapted for a (sadly lost) broadcast of The Mollé Mystery Theater. But Marlowe wouldn’t headline his own series until the summer of 1947 when the detective was hired as NBC’s summer replacement for Bob Hope. MGM contract player and Academy Award winner Van Heflin starred as Marlowe, with scripts based on Chandler’s own stories. Writer Milton Geiger adapted “Red Wind” for the first episode, and it was a perfect story to introduce Marlowe to radio audiences. Set against the howling Santa Ana wind blowing through the streets of LA, it’s a story of murder, blackmail, two affairs, and old secrets coming to the surface. And wisely, Geiger kept Chandler’s signature dialogue and narration for Heflin to deliver.

Heflin prepared for the role by riding along with Los Angeles police officers before and during the run of the show. Heflin was a fine Marlowe; though he was just under 40, he sounds older, world-weary and cynical. But he also has good timing with a quip, and we see the romantic errant knight described by Chandler come through. He’s tough, but also tender; when he learns that the cherished pearl necklace given to his client by her late lover is a string of glass beads, he doesn’t tell her. He concocts a story about her blackmailer pawning the original pearls and he saves her from losing the memory that’s kept her going since her lover’s death. Despite his strong performance, Heflin failed to win over Chandler. In a letter to fellow mystery writer Erle Stanley Gardner (creator of Perry Mason), Chandler described the series and Heflin as “thoroughly flat.” Obviously, he’s the expert when it comes to Mr. Marlowe, but I have to respectfully disagree with him on this call. The NBC series lasted thirteen weeks, and when the time came for more episodes, Heflin’s film career prevented his participation. Only a handful of episodes survive; in addition to “Red Wind,” there are two other Chandler adaptions – “Trouble is My Business” and “The King in Yellow,” an episode that co-stars future radio Marlowe Gerald Mohr.

One year later, Philip Marlowe returned to radio in another weekly series of adventures. Producer/director Norman Macdonnell, a veteran of Escape and other programs, oversaw the production of the new show, which premiered on CBS on September 26, 1948. Stepping into Marlowe’s shoes was actor Gerald Mohr, a regular presence on Suspense, Escape, Our Miss Brooks, and The Whistler. Mohr brought a hard edge and a grim determination to Marlowe’s voice; his booming, powerful delivery was a contrast to Heflin’s approach. Mohr’s Marlowe used his fists (and his .38 tucked away in shoulder holster) when necessary; he marched through his cases and  bellowed the show’s legendary opening week after week: “Get this and get it straight…crime is a sucker’s road, and those who travel it wind up in the gutter, the prison, or the grave!”

The Adventures of Philip Marlowe was a hit, with scripts by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt.  By 1949, the series was attracting 10.3 million listeners a week, and Gerald Mohr had been named Most Popular Male Actor by Radio and Television magazine.

Like Dashiell Hammett and The Adventures of Sam Spade, Chandler’s name was all over the show (the broadcasts were billed as coming “from the pen of Raymond Chandler”), but the author was not involved in the actual scripts or broadcast. He did, however, have praise for the show’s star, declaring “Gerald Mohr’s voice is absolutely tops. A voice like Gerald Mohr’s gave you a personality which you fill out according to your fancy.” Mohr’s wasn’t the only strong voice; he was backed up each week by members of Macdonnell’s repertory company of actors, including John Dehner, Virginia Gregg, Jeff Corey, Larry Dobkin, Howard McNear, Parley Baer, Vivi Janiss, Georgia Ellis, and William Conrad. Many of those actors would join Macdonnell in Dodge City when he developed Gunsmoke, a program that grew out of CBS chairman William Paley’s request to Macdonnell for a “Philip Marlowe in the Old West.”

The Adventures of Philip Marlowe ran until September 29, 1950, and Mohr starred in every episode except for one. Future Gunsmoke US Marshal and TV private eye William Conrad played Marlowe in the April 11, 1950 episode “The Anniversary Gift” when Mohr was under the weather. The show was revived for a brief run in July 1951, with Mohr slipping back into the role of Marlowe as if he’d never left it. He hadn’t been out of the detective game in the interim; in early 1951, Mohr had a four-episode stint as Archie Goodwin opposite Sydney Greenstreet on NBC’s The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe. Philip Marlowe left the airwaves the same way he arrived on them: as a summer replacement series. This time, Marlowe kept the time slot warm for Hopalong Cassidy.

Nearly all the 114-episode Mohr series has survived in good condition, giving today’s fans a chance to thrill to the rough and tumble exploits of Philip Marlowe as radio audiences did from 1948 to 1951.