Daniel Sherrell goes all in on Mother Nature and much more!Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ 
James Pillion
 

MY FAVOURITE THINGS | Echoes

β€œReading isn’t important because it helps to get you a job. It’s important because it gives you room to exist beyond the reality you’re given. It is how humans merge. How minds connect. Dreams. Empathy. Understanding. Escape. Reading is love in action.”

β€” MATT HAIG
 

I found myself soaking in the tub the other night musing over David Cronenberg’s A Dangerous Method, an historical drama that explores the growing chasm between Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung’s professional outlook. Of Freud’s airtight belief in certainty (what you see is what you get) versus Jung’s instinctual belief in the great unknown (that the answers we seek lie beyond the comforts of what we know). What made Jung such an incredible figure, and leading film character, was his slow transition from a man of rigid principles to one with a hunger for endless horizons. If we’re honest with ourselves, our greatest achievements rarely come without great sacrifice and toil, borne instead from reaching deep within. When we banish the comforts of certainty to the shadows, we open ourselves to a world with no limits.
 

Warmth: Coming Of Age at the End of The World πŸ“š

Daniel Sherrell’s new book is not for the faint-hearted. Yet with daily headlines of severe droughts, floods, avalanches, cyclones, hurricanes and collapsing ice shelves it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the inevitable. In the case of Sherell, it led him to collate his existential anxieties as a reflexive coping mechanism for what he dubs β€˜the problem’, a coy euphemism for our warming biosphere. With James Lovelock’s recent passing and his legacy around the vanishing face of Gaia, it’s strangely comforting to find a kindred spirit in this millennial climate activist. I only hope we can put an end to the finger-pointing and heed the pleas of Marshallese poet Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner to save her tiny atoll from rising sea levels. 

β€œAs the world around me began to fall apart a new one was blooming outward from the palm of my hand. And as the former reeled from floods and wildfires, a retreat to the latter seemed not only more tempting but increasingly more viable.” - Daniel Sherell
 

Tokyo Story πŸŽ₯

I have Bob Carr to thank for turning me onto this Yasujiru Ozu classic. As I whisked Carr, and a few other patients to a rehab appointment, (I do some care work once a week) the former Premier of New South Wales regaled me with recommendations on Satyajit Ray and Ozu’s Tokyo Story. As fate would have it, The Ritz, my favourite hometown cinema, was screening a restored print of the 1953 film the following week. As Kogonada’s viral video essay reveals, this slow burning family drama aptly reflects on the meaning of life and death. Few filmmakers ever master such a gift yet Ozu’s ability to examine the pitfalls of legacy with clear restraint stands him in rarefied company. I look forward to making time for Late Spring and Early Summer, the first and second installments in this trilogy. 
 

Angela’s Ashes πŸ“»

A recent re-watch of Alan Parker’s faithful adaptation of Frank McCourt’s celebrated memoir left me soaring. The very premise of this film occupies a special place in my own heart as the story, according to my father, captures the spirit of his own upbringing in 1950s Dublin. What makes the film so profound, especially in the age of the algorithm, is its delicate balance between great tragedy and comic levity. The film sent me on an internet binge, soaking up this wonderful Charlie Rose interview with the author and this hilarious diary essay from the film’s director on the uphill battle of bringing the New York Times bestseller to the silver screen. As much as the film left me wide open, this abridged version of the book, narrated by the late author, reminds that the most painful moments in life have the potential to yield the most potent laughter.
 

The Mid-Century Theorists Who Saw What Was Coming πŸ“»

While its all too easy to feel like we’re drowning in a sea of choices, there’s something comforting in returning to the same well of knowledge. I have Austin Kleon’s newsletter to thank for turning me onto The Ezra Klein Show and this deeply insightful chat with Sean Illing. When I first read Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves To Death in the depths of the Trump Presidency, it was hard not to see the obvious, a media landscape eating itself into irrelevance like a greedy ouroboros. Now with the worst of the pandemic in the rear-view, the situation seems all the more dire, as social media preys upon our better nature. We only have to look to the Marshall McLuhan line β€˜the medium is the message’ to realize that discourse was never invited to the Twitter party.

 

Predator πŸŽ₯

While I set out to profile Prey, the new origin installment that shamelessly feeds the franchise machine, I was won over by a Saturday night-in with Predator. There is an iconic scene that remains vivid in my mind. A somewhat literal metaphor for mankind’s destruction of the natural world. When a team of Special Forces find themselves outgunned by an alien presence deep in the South American wilderness, they set upon decimating the rainforest with an embarrassing amount of ammunition. As this fawning profile on producer John Davis attests, (whose friendship with Arnold Schwarzenegger landed him his debut producing gig in the jungles of Chiapas) there’s a reason this hi-octane eighties extravaganza continues to pack revival houses.  

β€œArnold had decided we should all smoke cigars all the time. All the time. And then at the end of the movie, the studio gave us the bill for the cigars and we’re like, β€˜Oh. Yeah…'” β€” John Davis
 

Films of Endearment πŸ“š

A new friend gifted me a copy of Michael Koresky’s heartfelt memoir, a collection of childhood memories of growing up gay in 1980s America. In this new release, the film critic reflects on the films of his childhood as seen through the eyes of his mother. While I was more taken with the book’s premise than many of its anecdotal stories, I was left with the realization that movies can be so much more than mere entertainment. That they can offer a window into ourselves, allowing us to better understand our own unique place in the world. His dissection of James Cameron’s Aliens was particularly astute and reveals a rare example of a franchise sequel that sheds great insight into motherhood and the defining power of trauma.
 

This Much I Know To Be True πŸ“Ή

I’ve got ants in my pants for the release of Andrew Dominick’s Blonde later this year which left me curious to stream his latest documentary on Nick Cave and Warren Ellis. The production, shot in the time of COVID, follows up on 2016’s One More Time With Feeling and strikes a comforting balance between pretense and passion. I love the way the doc dips and weaves around the live production, especially the tangents concerning Cave’s reflections on The Red Hand Files. To hear Cave reflect on the spiritual process of his email newsletter and its ability to bring out the better part of his nature left me with goosebumps. That’s just what My Favourite Things feeds me.

 

The Last of the Mohicans πŸŽ₯

This 1992 period tale makes for inspiring viewing. Yet a curious notion struck me halfway through this romantic action-adventure blockbuster. A sad realization that the colonial empires of France and England had not only usurped America’s First Nations tribes but conscripted them for their own nefarious purposes. A recent Marc Maron interview with Michal Mann inspired my recent re-watch, especially after discovering that the film’s genesis was borne out of a latent dream to capture the British red coats on celluloid. In the age of limitless content, this film reminds that quality is king. The WTF chat also led me to pre-order Heat 2, Mann’s debut work of fiction with Meg Gardiner. 
 

Pain & Gain πŸ—ž

This is by far the most compelling Michael Bay film I’ve had the pleasure of consuming. While I was in the mood for something mind-numbing, I had no idea that this ridiculous romp, based on the true-to-life story of a trio of veritable dumdums, would leave me guffawing like a punch-drunk monkey. It also delivers Dwanye Johnson’s most nuanced and complex screen portrayal to date. I never knew how much I savoured β€˜life imitating art imitating life’ stories until I sat down with this over-saturated masterpiece. This bonkers long-form piece by Pete Collins of Miami’s New Times is one of the most riveting articles I’ve stumbled across, littered with a litany of tales that encapsulates the hollow foundations of the American dream. 
 

Martin Eden πŸŽ₯

It’s a rather passΓ© tradition to set a film around the life of a budding writer, a young man from the wrong side of the tracks with a thirst to discover and uncover the world through the printed word. Yet Pietro Marcello’s faithful adaptation of Jack London’s book of the same name (available to download gratis straight to your kindle) elevates this class love story above mere clichΓ©. It’s lush camerawork and poignant casting giving the film a gravitas that is rare as hen’s teeth these days. There’s an ineffable magic in Luca Marinella who fills the shoes of its eponymous lead. Whose very nature, especially when juxtaposed against newcomer Jessica Cressy, is reminiscent of Italian cinema’s golden age. I’ve been obsessed with Marco Messina and Sasha Ricci’s original soundtrack too. 
 

Issey Miyake πŸ‘€

I was oblivious to Issey Miyake’s pervasive legacy, from his technological innovations in the rag trade right down to the ubiquitous black turtleneck that became a symbol of innovation. One of the most potent discoveries reading his obituary was the fact that Miyake was a survivor of the Hiroshima atomic bombing. That he was able to overcome such trauma, especially after own mother died from radiation poisoning, to harness his true calling is something special. I loved this short but sweet 2009 op-ed piece in response to Obama’s historic visit to the Hiroshima Memorial Park, back when the United States was still committed to leading by example.

β€œWhen I close my eyes, I still see things no one should ever experience: a bright red light, the black cloud soon after, people running in every direction trying desperately to escape. I remember it all.” β€” Issey Miyake
 

Attarazat Addahabia - Al Hadaoui 🎢

I’ve been a real spoiled brat for new music. Wrinkling my nose at just about everything. Until now. Attarazat Addahabia, I was amazed to discover, were a Moroccan band founded in 1968. Fronted by Abdelakabir Faradjallah, the 14-piece group consisted of three generations of his clan (talk about keeping it all in the family!). That Al Hadaoui, a warm kinetic LP recorded at Boussiphone Studio in 1972 never saw the light of day until now is a damn sham. To my mind, this 2019 pressing is an acoustic trip to a time and place that feels so very warm and inviting. If you enjoy this album you’ll almost certainly dig on this Arab Funk playlist brought to you by Habibi Records.
 

Thanks for reading. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it or treat yourself to one of my books.

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WRITING | @jamespillion
FILM | @jamespillionfilm

8 Stephen St
Bondi, NSW,
Australia

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