Month: June 2008

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: A review in question

When you watch a particular movie an average of seventy three times a day over the course of several weeks months you develop a jaded cynicism quite the eye to the more mind-numbing aspects what some might call the shortcomings of the particular film.

In light of this I have several questions about certain parts of that insanity inducing movie I adored as a child the classic Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Oh sure, you’re all expecting the blatantly obvious:
– how did all the workers in the sweet shops get a toot sweet when Caractacus, Jeremy and Jemima had only turned up with two (smallish) paper bags let alone know the words and choreography to the song?
– how did Caractacus know all the words and choreography to the Old Bamboo song when he stumbles into the act while escaping the angry guy whose hair he destroyed?
– what the hell is that Old Bamboo song about anyway?
– how did Truly know the words to the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang song when she joined the Potts’ for a picnic?
– have you noticed that when Jeremy and Jemima are singing Truly Scrumptious at the beach at one stage Truly does not have shoes on and then she does?

Oh no, my dear friends, this goes way deeper than that.

1. Why is Truly able to drive out of the pond she careers off into three times during the film when she almost hits the children in the opening scenes, but the following two times must be carried out by Caractacus?

2. When Caractacus is making their dinner of sausages and eggs on his crazy cooking invention how does an egg and a sausage cook in exactly the same length of time without the sausage being turned?

3. The whole fanciful story of Baron Bomburst, Vulgaria and the kidnapping of Grandpa is made up by Caractacus when they’re on the beach. What I don’t get is the part when after they escape his evil clutches by Chitty Chitty becoming a boat they drop Truly at home where she sings the delightful tune about how her life now has a plan due to meeting the lovely lonely man (aka Caractacus). Then, Baron Bomburst’s spies kidnap Grandpa (thinking he is Caractacus) and suddenly Truly is back in the car, this time in a lovely candy-pink number, and they’re being driven off the road by Lord Scrumptious being in one of his moods.
There’s not even an attempt to somehow explain how they picked her up again – so are we to believe that Caractacus built the interlude into the story he was telling Truly and the children? I can’t tell you how many times I stop what I’m doing to come and watch this part of the film just to confirm they don’t even bother to try and make it all match, that they just put Truly back in the car in a new dress and hope no one notices minds.

4. Why is the VulgAir zepplin capable of pulling the outside dunny Granpa’s Hut with Grandpa in it off the ground and clearly quite some distance before it starts to lose altitude? Why is there a safe in the zepplin? WHY?

5. The Toy Maker*’s shop. Unless it is some homage to M C Escher it just doesn’t make sense. Follow me. To enter the shop you go down three steps. Once through the front door you go down a couple more steps. Then there is a whole turning stairway down into the basement. In the basement you can go down even more steps. And yet the basement has a window that sees out to the street. And not only does it look out to the street, it looks out at such a level you see the whole town square, not just people’s feet. Hell, you even see the sky. When the stupid disobedient children run out to the Child Catcher**’s promise of treacle tarts you can clearly see the window they’ve been looking out is at street level, next to the door of the shop nextdoor. It’s MADDENING.

6. Don’t even get me started on Caractacus singing Hushabye Mountain to those poor starving children living in the sewers under the castle.

IDIOT.

* You all know that’s Benny Hill don’t you?
** You all know that’s Sir Robert Helpmann don’t you?

Things I never thought I’d see

Oscar building (relatively) complex rocket ships out of lego that are (almost) symmetrical.

Oscar doing the butterfly stroke in swimming.

Random

Funny
Jasper telling me this morning that his nose had rocks in it.
Me: Rocks?
Him (digging around in his nose): Yup
Me: Oh, you mean snot? (we’re all snotbound over here at the moment)
Him: Noooo. Rocks. Look, here’s another one.
And another day begins.
*****
Weird
Blackbird made mention of their wonderful lollypop lady – who’s a man – and I mentioned how our one is just on some draconian cranky old man in the grip of some desperate bid for power.
Well the next day he wasn’t there – a first in the two and a half years we’ve been at the school – and he hasn’t been back since.
*****
Liberating
I ‘officially’ resigned today – in that I informed HR of my decision as well as my boss.
(Cue some Simon and Garfunkel) … hello poverty my old friend.
*****
Shocking
Hearing that my Uncle (the compulsory cool one – who when I was little was ‘studying’ at Sydney Uni and lived in a share house with some deaf people (he still works with the deaf and was always a remarkable voice of calm and reason for me when Oscar was a wee baby and we were averaging hearing tests every 3 months) in Grungeville Enmore or maybe it was Glebe*, which to a 8 (0r so) year old just seemed so exotic and well, cool) and Aunt have just seperated.
*****
Lovely
Meeting a woman at the little park near Oscar’s school that I took the little fellas to this morning who lives about 10 doors down from me.
*****
Encouraging
When I rang the little kindy a block down the road about coming in for a look see and putting down Jasper’s name for next year they didn’t laugh at me.
*****
Comforting
Making the family boiled fruit cake, which I think is the same one as Muppinstuff’s in that it involves a 375g pack of mixed fruit with some of the peel in it pulled out, a handful or two of extra sultanas, some extra glace cherries and a tin of crushed pineapple, iced with a simple lemon icing. I think I’ve eaten about a third of it today.
*****


* Don’t get me wrong, if there wasn’t the aircraft noise and traffic I would love to live in these parts of Sydney.

Well

here I was all ready to write a post about how I wasn’t going to post anymore. At least not for a while. For you see, I just have nothing to say. No really. Stop laughing.

Then Blackbird mentioned me and I know there will be a bit of traffic coming this way to see who I am.
And all my recent posts have been so crappy. And mundane. And melancholy. And give the perception I am some glass-is-half-empty wailing wench when that is just not who I am at all. But then if that is the perception, perhaps it’s the reality. And then there’s been some comments of late – well, two actually* – that confirmed my worst fears that is how I’ll be seen/what people will think that I just sort of lost my will to blog.

Oh sure, there are things in my head like where is that smell of wee coming from that is permeating the entire house.
Or why someone just hasn’t shot Mugabe and been done with it years ago. I mean, surely Israel, Afghanistan or Iraq could spare a suicide bomber or ten?
Or just what it is that makes me adore chai tea as I do. And that the one Cheryl makes me every Thursday afternoon at the boys swimming lesson is the best, with just the right amount of honey.
Where’s Grover?
Or how puberty sucks at the best of times but in a child with an intellectual impairment and dodgy chromosome the suckage scale just gets blown out of the water.
That I really need to find a decent acting class/program for Felix. Not one of those stage mother/show pony hideous hot-houses where the girls have ringlets and wear make-up from four while the boys all wear high-pants, lisp and do the eager-eyes-jazz-hand routine with way too much enthusiasm and just scream homosexual at an age such things should just not even be on the radar. Although I did spot Felix skipping on the football field last weekend.
Where’s Grover?
Jasper would love Kindergym. L.o.v.e. it. So shame the budget doesn’t go that far.
Oscar really needs some physio.
I need to make an appointment for Oscar to see that new paediatrician and maybe a new homeopath to help through the current minefield of tears and recalcitrant behaviour.
I need new bras. Ones without trapdoors. An underwire would be nice. And any colour than ‘nude’ thanks.
Badly.
Where’s Grover.
Must call J, one of my dearest friends from school who has just relocated to Sydney after many years forging a fairly awesome reputable career, including a stint in Geneva with an apartment overlooking the lake and getting to sit at a desk with ‘Australia’ in front of her.
Must call L and D and catch up.
What will I cook for dinner?
Must call and see E and A and their new little men – born one day apart and both with similar sounding names that start with C which guarantee I’ll mix them up from now until I’m dead.
Must go and help J pack up her life from the last eight years. It’s made slightly more bearable that BB will take her under her wing. Yes, two friends in Tuvalu – who would have thunk it!
I really need to vacuum the bedrooms.
Where’s Grover?
And so on and so forth.

But there’s been no drive to do a style post, or cooking post, or shoe post, or anything really. Nothing. Not a nadda.

Joke would tell me to get baking. Baking makes everything better and indeed it does.
So today, there is Bec’s Rotary Cake in the oven.
The house is full of baking smells laden with cinnamony goodness.
And indeed, maybe I won’t stop blogging after all.

* Yes I am that thin skinned.

Oh yeah, I resigned yesterday

and happy birthday to Chef who turns 37 today.