Wellington Cinema - The Black Sheep of the Movie Industry

It's no Hollywood, but Wellington is quite the movie-production hotspot in New Zealand. From obvious greats like Lord of the Rings to lesser-known titles like The Tribe, Castaway, and Xena: Warrior Princess, Wellington has a fair hand in the world's cinematic imagination. It creates story-telling masterpieces that take our minds off of silly drudgery, stressful bosses at work, costly plane tickets, and our local surroundings - like those 40,000,000 sheep that keep getting in everyone's way around here.

But then came...
Filmed on location right outside Wellington city and in Wellington studios, Black Sheep doesn't take us away from the sheep, it puts us right in the middle of the most f*^%ed up sheep that generations of sheep-farmers could dream up. Director Jonathan King teamed up with Jackson's Weta Workshop to create the kind of lamb you'd never want to see on your barbie.

These are some vicious lady woolies, and they'll bite your wiener straight off...right on the silver screen. It's the ultimate violence of the lambs, and screwe the ramifications. For sure, there's enough gore in this movie to satiate Hannibal Lecter. It looks terrifyingly real on screen, but the important thing is to watch this movie in a theater with awesome, bass-thumping, glass-breaking surround sound. There's nothing like hearing mutant sheep-balls smacking into a man's buttocks from the rear of the theater to the front.

Besides the blood, guts, and ruts, the film takes itself typically un-seriously for a kiwi-made project. It's not so much of a philosophical, existentialist art film as it is a throbbing heart of haggis used as a weapon. It's simple and fun, and if you've got a squeamish chick by your side, she'll be on your lap by the end of the flick. Have her wear a thick wool sweater if you really want a movie you can feel.

For a review of Black Sheep, I'd give it 4 hooves way up - totally shaaaaagable. Wellington proves again that following the herd isn't all its cracked up to be.

The Boys are Back in Town...

Like the wild dogs crying out in the night, so too were some of the boys growing restless longing for some solitary company. They knew that they must do what's right...sure as Mt. Cook rises like Olympus above the flats of Southland. Seeking to cure what was deep inside, they were gonna take some time to do the things the never had... and by that, of course, we mean...

Morgan and Charlie took a week off from work to tackle one of New Zealand's 'Great Walks': the famed Routeburn Track. Hurry boys, it's waiting there for you...

Luckily Irish John (as previously featured in the 'Waiterere Weekend' post) was planning on driving most of the way there already, so the boys tagged along. We are forever in his debt. Speaking of debt, in an effort to save a few dollars in ferry costs, Morgan hid in the back seat of John's tiny Subaru as they boarded ship just before 2am.

"Hey Morgan, there's a bunch of people milling about right now...you're going to have to stay under there a bit longer. Sorry, dude." 5 minutes later Morgan emerged to an eerie Vanilla Sky-esque 3 hours on a deserted and sealed off vehicle deck/cargo hold...parked next to a delightfully fragrant cattle transport... but, as is true with any great epic, there can be no victory without suffering, no freedom without sacrifice, no triumph without loss.

It was sunrise in Picton, lunch in Christchurch, and sunset outside Queenstown, with the road between filled with driver changes, map checks, nap times... and that one scary moment when Morgan regressed to driving on the right (read: wrong) side of the road. Eventually we pulled up to the Base Backpackers where the chick at the front desk filled out John's paperwork for him, believing him to be illiterate...nope, just Irish. Dinner at Hell Pizza and a few drinks at the bar was more than enough to put us down for the night.

Ok, enough with character development...on to the rising action. Once again indebted to John for saving us an early morning shuttle ride, it was time to hit the trail. Admittedly the opening few kms up the Routeburn River to the aptly named Routeburn Flats didn't rise much, but after a solid few hours along the river's north branch standing in tall grass looking up at tall mountains, it was time to head for higher ground. The track itself, as with most of New Zealand's other so-designated Great Walks, numbers are regulated and trampers must stay in DOC maintained huts and/or campsites. While having gas stoves and bunks provided along the way made us feel perhaps only medium-core, we used that extra pack space for necessities like cheese and crackers, Nutella, and a bottle of fine red wine.

For the next three days we traversed ever-changing landscapes of spectacular and truly ineffable magnificence. Track follows the Routeburn River up through Mt. Aspiring National Park to it's source at Harris Lake, then crosses the Harris Saddle into Fiordland National Park. From the 1515m summit of Conicle Hill (a side trip up from the saddle) we felt on top of the world, looking out all the way to the Tasman Sea. The weather turned out better than anything we had dared hoped for...clear blue skies and deep starry nights. And talk about timing, the clouds rolled in and it began to rain not even an hour after we stepped off the track.

That night saw us back in Queenstown, where we had a good old-fashioned piss-up to celebrate our return. When both the actual and metaphorical fogs lifted the next morning, it was a gorgeous day spent in quiet Qtown doing nothing much more than resting our legs, checking to see how badly the auto-draft option had hurt our fantasy baseball rosters, and watching almost every over of the Blackcaps win over the West Indies... that, and preparing ourselves mentally for the oh-so-exhasuting sojourn back to Wellington.

7:30 -3:00 Queenstown - Christchurch

4:00 - 9:15 Christchurch - Picton
10:00 - 1:15 Picton - Wellington

Oh well, it was $200 cheaper than flying. And we got to watch the moonrise over the Pacific Ocean from the sleepy little beach town of Kaikoura. Moments like that are hard to argue with.

While photos can't nearly do it all justice, they do a much better job than my ramblings, so click here for a more shots taken along our journey.

Now it's back to work in Wellington, which today meant 13 hours. So, until next time...

I'm going to bed.

A note of vindication for New Zealand and Gillette

The Fusion Razor and Fusion Power have arrived - shining, massive, soul-shaking displays of them scattered throughout supermarkets all over the country. At long last, the Schick Quatro and old-timey Mach III are put in their rightful worldly place - the refuse heap. Shaving technology has evolved, and those less-capable 3 and 4-blade razors are about to become endangered...

What's this?!?

Gillette has just come out with the Gillette Fusion Power Phantom. According to the ad copy - "Gillette Fusion Power is so advanced, you'll barely feel the blades. The micro-pulses help reduce friction and increase razor glide - for a shave so good, the ladies will never even see you coming."

Great shiny dag! You could probably shear a sheep with that razor! And what a good looking piece of lamb-meat THAT would be...

It seems that razors have come a long way from the old straight-edge. Back in ye olden days, I bet girls could see the guys coming from miles away - shaving with only one big, non-powered blade like that. And who wants to shave their face with a mini-meat cleaver anyway?

No matter what we do - six blades, twelve blades, electromagnetic vibro-pulse precision blades, America will always find a way to be one step ahead of this shaving evolutionary curve. It's astounding that New Zealand can be left in the silky smooth wake of a country where 48% of the folk don't even believe in evolution, according to the latest Newsweek poll. In fact, about the same percentage of Americans take creationism as fact, and believe the earth was created 10,000 years ago in its present form. That's as crazy as saying that six blades came before four! Or why not try to just "come up" with an idea like micro-pulses without having something like a moisture lube-strip first?

It's probably easy enough for Americans to believe in things like creationism when they're plopped in front of a television for an average of more than 4 hours a day (when do they have the time to shave?). So while they're catching up on televangelism, CSI, and Fox News, New Zealanders are out swimming (or shaving?) in Lake Taupo - a 600-sq-km lake formed 26,500 years ago by one of the biggest volcanic eruptions in history. Or they're exploring the glowworm caves in Waitomo, which have cave formations dated at 750,000 years old, based on rates of stalactite and stalagmite creation of approx 1 cubic centimeter every hundred years.

Surrounded by a nation of volcanoes, fault lines, exposed uplifted sea-bed, ancient species, and dated razor blades, it's a bit easier to take a step back from all the talking points, dogma, ad copy, and razor smooth cutting-edge science. Down in New Zealand, we're not bothered by ideas of stealth technology shaving. We may not own the very latest toys or gadgets. We're not wrapped up in the latest fashions (you saw the hair-do's). We just eat lamb from the barbie, wear our shorts at mid-thigh, and if a lady sees you coming, then good on ya mate.

So don't look down on us just because we're not Phantom-powered yet. When we're sitting on the harbor at dinnertime, drinking Speights and watching the sun glint off the hill-side houses, we're happy enough. I guess we just don't know what we're missing.

A character who goes by the moniker "Prof" has recently weighed in on our Waitarere weekend.

Happiness is not bound up in doing for self, he notes.

I want the prof to know that your message has reached the boys. An emergency round table meeting was held last night to discuss our narcissistic ways. Voices were raised, tears were shed. Shock was damn near inconsolable.

Decisions were made. For each novelty mug of wine we drink tonight, $4.50 (NZD) will be donated to the Gay Children's Defence Fund, Dunne's charity of choice.

I know it's a small step, prof, but its a start.

'Atta Boy!

In today's news, Real World New Zealand gets pegged by the blogger crew as the 'Blog of Note' today. Thanks, team!


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Interesting and noteworthy Blogger-powered blogs, compiled by the Blogger Team.
For historical context, see Concerning the Historie and Nature of Blogs of Note.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Real World New Zealand

http://nzboys.blogspot.com/

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We threw a party to celebrate...

Waitarere weekend

To be able to fill leisure intelligently is the last product of civilization, and at present very few people have reached this level.

-Bertrand Russell, Conquest of Happiness



The city grind wore away at the boys, serene Wellington starting to feel like an actual hustle and bustle. Perspective needed to be returned to these working stiffs, these blue collar toastmasters. To the countryside they go.

One hundred clicks up the Kapiti coast lies a sleepy seaside town called Waitarere. No stop signs, let alone stoplights, Waitarere was an isider's tip your correspodent received from Establishment regular Tommy, who used to call it home. Sixty years old and Irish born and raised, Tommy is the regular you love to see pass through the door; always with a smile on his face, quick to bring a genuine one to yours. Tommy enjoys visiting on my sleepy afternoon shifts, talking sex, drinking, traveling, the bar girls, the roommates. If there's a personification of the classic Kiwi adage "Good on ya!", it's Tommy. He felt Waitarere was the remedy. That was good enough for me and the beach house was booked online that evening.


Morgan, Shock, Charlie, and myself made the trek, with travel buddy Irish John in tow. Trainer could not make it, as he was on a North island tour with Maggie, and Dunne could not attend due to nine to five constraints imposed by the New Zealand banking industry. Deliah served us well but broke down literally at the foot of our building upon return. The old girl might need to be put down, but that's a story for another post.

As far as the specifics of weekend activities, I don't think they would surprise too many. Drinking, feasting, muisc, card playing, and world classs lounging dominating the hours. Not to say nothing constructive occured. Shock developed his beer marinade, Mogan and Charlie stumbled upon a 19th century shpwreck, and my man-crush on Barack Obama deepened after reading more on his Chicago beginnings.


Tommy was spot on, as the weekend seemed to be what everybody needed; the tanks have been refilled. At press time, Morgan, Charlie, and myslef regroup at the penhouse sipping cold kiwi ale. Afternoon turns to evening. Clocks have gone back and autumn lies in wait. My work week hours away. Here we go again.

Homemade Postcard

From those of us who haven't written home in a while...

...we'll consider ourselves off the hook for a few more weeks.

It's Late, I'm drjunk, but...

I have to tell some one about this..

So I just spent the last 20 minutes trying to stymie the 'other american" 's attmpet sot follow me home. For those of you who have only recently joined us... i apologoze for leaving you o0ut of the loop, but I' donm;t hve much time before I pass out. So a few of us had a few drinks ast work after work... wjich usually leads to good conversataion. in this case hoxwerer , it lead to the other american provong that not only could she not stay classy....but mayhaps she was never classy to begin with...

Highlughts include...
The state capitol game..

"Delaware? No, that's too hard. ask me another one."
"Illinois? I don't know... Caspar. no wait, that's Wyoming. No, I mean Wisonsin."
"Pennsylvania? Harrisville...??, no wait... I know... It's Jefferson City."

But the quote of the night comes from the folloiwing exchange...

She: "There are really only thrre races in the world. Black., White, and Asian."
Me: "So what do you call South Americans?"
She: "Asians."

Sweet As!

It's time for a little more local culture...and further proof that crossing the International Date Line may have put us a day ahead, but still a decade behind. In this installment, we let a classic kiwi drink showcase classic kiwi fashion. Click Here to begin your education.





Sweet As, Mate! Good On Ya.

Today's episode was brought to you by the letters L & P.