The world adores matt hayward

Mention Bollywood and most of us will whince like you’ve sucked on a thousand lemons. Because Indian’s expect a bloody lot of entertainment for their Rupee and more dancing that Grease on ecstacy. So Bollywood can seem to be all about camp and all about quantity.

So what happens when Bollywood decide to remake Reservoir Dogs? What about how Indians are not allowed to kiss in movies and random dance routines are imperative? Well remake they have and it works a lot better than you might think.

Kaante is a bit like lengthy, but in many ways, it’s not long enough. Sure, it waters down Reservoir Dogs to an Ma 15+ rating, but at the same time adds a lot more Hitchcock-like suspense and fear into scenes. In a refreshing kind of way, it’s a flashback to violent movies before liberal use of fuck, shit and cunt and pornography (not that I don’t love those things dearly). Far better than any Hollywood remake, it gels its cultural influences to the original storyline that even Tarantino must admire.

Kaante is entirely set in Los Angeles. All the lead actors are Indians, including the ‘Major’ who is trying his best to look like a greying Pacino in ‘Dog’s Day Afternoon’. The characters switch dialogue from Hindi to English with all the fluidity of a Rolls Royce changing gear, which is kind of intimidating when you expect them to sound like Apu off The Simpsons. But this movie potrays that Indian blokes can be your best friend and your worst enemy. Even if you yourself are an Indian.

Friendship and trust are the common threads between the original and this reproduction. The characters don’t take on the ‘Mr Black’, ‘Mr Pink’ or rather aptly ‘Mr Brown’ (which is perhaps why they avoided it) but it’s not long before the characters start talking big time betrayal and treachery to one another. In some ways, you’re more compelled by the Indian villans inquisition for the rat than the original version. There are some absolutely stellar performances.

So what’s retained from the original? We’ll there is a good take on the mystery ending, and they do torture a cop, but no chop-chopping of the ears. Nor my favourite Harvey Keitel ‘let’s go get a Taco’ scene, where Mr Black gives his thoughs on crowd control. I was really pissed about that.

They’ve added at least four dance scenes that involve pole dancers in a strip club, and even in the gangsters’ hide out they do a big dance number without making you want to shoot yourself. It’s actually quite cool. All the Indian chicks are kind of Anglo and put in good performances. But there’s no unrequited lover that dies at the end. Just a stuck up bitch who wants child support and a cancerous leech. So at least there’s a modern slant on the mandatory Bollywood love story.

Instead of a jewelry store being held up, it’s a bank. But a bank where all the cops keep their money, so the security is lax. Unfortunately, the bank shoot-em-up scene is way over the top. More ‘Last Action Hero’ than Tarantino which really licked balls. But it was still enjoyable. After all there are plenty of bright, shiny objects being shot at.

Having lived with Indians for a short tenure, I found the characters pretty real and believable. Although they did try and make them a bit too hip and cool (one character has bleached hair like some surfie twat from Summer Bay) in some sequences. But when it comes to the ‘Who’s the snitch?’ dialogue they’re right on the money and in many ways scarier than Keitel.

In case you’re one of those cheeky buggers who’se scrolled to the last paragraph, it’s worth it. If you’re a truly one-eyed tarantino nut, well you’re not going to enjoy it. But if you’re open minded and can appreciate directors who work within cultural constraints to use other techniques than graphic violence and profanity to compel you, this is the trick. Recommend leaving the missus at home though and putting a few cold ones in the fridge. 7 out of 10. Bloody great flick.

By Ben Canaider and Greg Duncan Powell.

There are several good things you can do under the influence. But most of them are illegal. Still no one can stop you getting pissed in your own house and whipping together a slap up meal. It’s really good to see though that these two blokes have apparently made a career out of it - and good on ‘em.

As you can tell, this ain’t your regular cook book. It starts with a preface on the five points to select a good wine to match your meal. Also all 100 recipies have a suggested wine (or beer) to bring out the flavour of the food. Oh, and not forgetting the wine glossary and guide at the back of the book. So it’s not just under the influence, it’s influencial.

Unlike their metrosexual, cockney counterparts these boys keep it down to earth. They have substitute items for when pay day is too far away, but don’t hold back telling you when you need to get the really good French wine either. Recipies in the book range from cheats’ pizza (highly recommended), consisting of dodgy fridge items to very flash, posh Euro recipies these bogany types learnt whilst ‘working abroad darling’. But nothing you can’t cook with a stubby in one hand.

This really is more than a cookbook. It’s funnily written and you can learn a hell of a lot from it without having to change your whole wardrobe or get tips in your hair. These recipies are far more fun than Bill Granger ones. So if you wear pink shirts with the collar up, check out his books instead. Finally a good cook book for us salt of the earth, Aussie types with a taste for fine (and bad) things! I say buy it. Broaden your palette and still remain a bogan!

Published by Murdoch Books. ISBN 1740453700.

NOTE: if you\’re in OZ, you can see parts 2 and 3 of the corporation on SBS, Weds 12 and 19, 8.30PM.

Full kudos to SBS in Australia for making a 3-part series of the movie \’The Corporation\’. Just like in Supersize Me, when they challenge people on the street and ask \’What is a calorie?\’ the responses are equally scary. How can such a salient household term be so tragically misunderstood?

This doco chases the origins of the corporation, which trace back to the industrial revolution in the UK and how the seppos (Americans) used their fourteenth ammendmant as a precedent to make the corpration be regarded by law as an individual. Just like you or I. Except whilst the corporation is ultimately responsible to the law, it\’s sole responsibility is to make a profit for it\’s shareholders.

Yup you guessed it baby, 0.5 percent of the US population max are shareholders of any corporation, so where does the benefit for the populous lie? That\’s right, there isn\’t any! No morality in actions!

The movie is kind of triptich(?) for lack of a better word. It starts out with the typical chat to experts, anti-capitalist diatribe, then suddenly takes a huge depressing nose dive with some South America horror stories, and ends on the positive \’here\’s what you can do!\’ note.

Anti capitalist diatribe reference may not be completely fair though. There\’s a reasonably broad sprectum of people being interviewed. From the token Michael Moore appearance, to the brazen NYSE stock trader, to the staunchly British chariman of Shell. There\’s also Noam Chomsky (sound familiar? He\’s one of the most quoted people ever) and one bloke who runs a corporation that\’s now a CEO environmental evangelist.

If by now you\’re wondering whether it\’s worth seeing, absolutely! If only just to get a perspective on what a corporation really is, does, why they don\’t care and just how many mistakes are being made. It has its bone tingling scary moments where you think there\’s no hope for man kind, then shows you just how easy it is to kill the behemoth by not buying his icy cold can of Coke.

I\’d sing Happy Birthday here now, but as the movie tells you, it would cost $10,000 in royalties to the AOL Time Warner Corporation that owns the copyright!

This article was originally published in August 2003 for the Melbourne Car Club Registry (Melbccr.com). It has since been revised and re-edited.

Suburban trains used be a dangerous place to be when I was still a high school kid. Some of my mates used to go to the Catholic boys’ school at the first station, and some other friends to the tech school at the stop before. Get off at the wrong station in a shiny school blazer and there would be guaranteed biffo.

So here is a coming of two worlds. I am waiting for our old school rep ‘V8GENT’ (his club nickname) and his LX Torana coupé to arrive and our delegate from the new school, Nakedterror to front in his twin turbo Toyota Supra.

As I finish my coffee, I’m wondering whether this coming together was such a good idea. I am fearing aggro. At the end of the street, I hear a V8 idling like a sack of spuds tumbling down a stair well.

Lo and behold, it’s Tim’s beast of a Torana. Even from a distance it’s easy to see old school is still formidable competition for the new. Especially when this much work (and hard earned) has gone into it. Tim clearly doesn’t do things by halves. As a teenager, his mates didn’t think much of the ‘plastic’ Aussie 308 engine. As if to prove a point, he’s balanced, blue printed, fuel injected and AUSCAR spec’d this mutha within an inch of its life. And yes, it’s detuned for the road.

So Chevy power may be not, but this car speaks volumes in terms of grunt. And just in case the new school get nasty, he’s brought some friends along too.

V8GENT’s mates include a mean looking red 350 HQ GTS and a tidy HR Holden in case things get messy. Things are already looking good for the old school. But Nakedterror (Aaron) isn’t coming alone either.

Aaron (nick named ‘Nakedterror’ on the club forums) is certainly a show-up for the books for team new school. Thrust like a school bag in the face of V8GENT, his fully kitted up Supra certainly looks the goods. It might not burble or growl like the old school V8, but the stealthy Supra isn’t shying away from a punch on.

Neither is his new school mate. Craig from J-Spec Imports brought along a full race spec, wide bodied R33 Skyline GTS-T - one of about one hundred in existence. It’s gonna be an interesting cup of coffee. . . Not just the blokes at the table, but the well over 1000 kilowatts sitting in the car park.

All the boys are now sitting down at the table and surprisingly, there’s no bad blood between them. In fact, that’s what everyone agreed that they like so much about Melbccr (Melbourne Car Cruise Registry), that it’s not a ‘cliquey’ car club dedicated solely to one make or era of car.

Brekky is ordered and the new-school boys are straight out interested in Tim’s Torana, parked smack in the centre of a trendy Melbourne  CBD café. The Torry ‘Polar8′ certainly has got around - in a good way. That ballsy five litre V8 sound has been professionally sampled for use in Playstation and PC games. It’s also been used to give Porsche and WRX owners the shits (particularly one 911 turbo driver!).

Unlike the imports, Polar8 is the end product of about five years of toiling for the ultimate Torry. Tim’s had previous cars in magazines before and decided this one really had to be distinct from the mullet brigade. There were two years when there wasn’t the time or funds to put into the project, but he persevered.

When the car was finally on the road, it was a tangerine orange hatch (’AGENTO’ or Agent Orange)… well, that was until fate had sodomised it by way of an errant Fairlane driver trying to catch an amber light, not noticing the light was red and that AGENTO was in front of it. The end result - a total write off. The impact bent the entire drive shaft of the Torana irreparably.

The car had less than 150 kays on it after the complete rebuild. Fortunately, Tim was able to salvage the motor, stereo, interior and most of the cool stuff into another Torana shell and decided this time to keep it simple and keep it white. The end result is no less spectacular than the pre-Ford molested AGENTO.

But Aaron in the Supra is no shrinking violet. The Supra in stock form is a horny beast at the worst of times, but his is subtly modded for performance. Unlike a lot of the ‘ricers’, he’s got far less time for stickers, than he has proper mods (what no neons bro?!). Aside from the 18s and the body kit, and some ECU enhancements [I’ve long since lost the notes from this interview], it’s a relatively mild state of tune compared to the competition. But in fairness, the Supra is a pretty sublime package.

So much so that under acceleration (no I wasn’t that scared Aaron) it feels like Warp Speed being engaged on the Starship Enterprise. “That’s only running at half a bar of boost man!”, shrieks Aaron. Or I think that’s what he said. My hands were getting better acquainted with the dashboard at the time. Suffice to say, new school has substance to back up the style.

The next ride was in an old schooler, the Holden HQ Kingswood. And yep this tank was built for cruisin’.  While I’ve got a whole lot of time for Aaron’s pimpin’ Supra, I am glad for the more sedate cruisin’ experience that only a Kingswood can offer.

Better still I don’t feel like a geriatric old man climbing in and out of the car. Unlike the new school, you sit on a seat. In the Supra, you somehow open the door and the thing cocoons itself around you.

If you like a steering wheel an inch away from your crotch, then you must be new school. But cruising in Justin’s trick HQ felt a lot like home and it reminds me of what cruising is all about: a slow, steady and stylish display of grunt. More Bon Scott than Fred Durst. Am I showing a slight love of the old school here?

But let’s not forget our star performer. Tim’s Torana is the final ride for me. Sitting somewhere between the comfort of the old school seating position of the Kingy and low slung Supra, this Torana stands tall. So tall you really don’t realise how old this car is until it’s parked next to the Supra. But the old girl looks a million, and she goes like two mill’. And as a J-car freak, I’m loathed to admit the old school sure got the lion’s share of the looks.

Hitting the street with Tim, he revs the Torry freely to a lazy four grand and I feel my hands reach for the roof lining. “$#@! me that’s quick!” I said as Tim just laughs. I guess it’s not the first time it’s happened in this car, and thankfully we’re driving me home in bumper to bumper footy traffic. Because this kind of power really does take some getting used to. Not that Supra couldn’t go toe to toe with it, it’s just more refined about it.

If you’re expecting a forgone conclusion here though, that’s not what these guys are about. See, most of the guys (and girls) in this club don’t care what flag you’re flying or where the car’s from. It’s just simply how much you enjoy it and love sharing the experience of cool car ownership (old school or new) with others. No inter-school punch ons here.

Even after a whole day of co-existence between these boys, the most contentious comment said all day was while popping open the bonnet of the Supra,

“Geez nice engine. It would look even better with two extra cylinders!”
"Yeah right and how about a snail on the side of that V8?"

Don’t get any ideas Tim. Thanks for the ride guys. But if it’s biffo you’re after, catch the Belgrave line after school!

Last time I rented a BMW the world seemed to change. All of a sudden I was driving around Toorak with a Swedish blond named Elin, searching for the Swedish Church, and that was just the 3 Series. But the 3 went back to Hertz and Elin went back to Stockholm. This time around, it’s the brand new Z4 convertible.

Unfortunately the companion this time is a Shanghaiese accountant named Ian, but at least the weather’s good. And this time there’s a Melbccr unofficial cruise to Sugarloaf Dam. So we take off, this time with the mirrors firmly adjusted to the road. Mental note: next time line up girl in advance of getting new convertible.

What really gets you straight away about the Z4 is how damned quickly the roof goes down. Sure you do have to be in neutral with your foot on the brake (with the sun shining over Stuttgart, facing strictly north, north east while . . . you get the idea) but if the suns up, the roof’s down in about 30 seconds with the press of a button.

If only getting in was easier. It’s clearly obvious this car was designed for the steering wheel on the left hand side. The legroom cavity on the left side is noticeably wider than the right side. Which makes the SMG auto a good choice because it would be bloody difficult to clutch. Also you are sitting low. Really low. This is great except when you’re getting petrol (filler cap is on the drivers side. Bad idea), shopping or got any kind of er, hamstring injury. Maybe that’s the real reason the Dukes of Hazzard County jumped in.

One thing I should say though is these are all moot points. This is a sports car. And if you wanted to drive bolt upright, you’d get a Camry.  So I can accept these realities, man there are some high points to talk about. Firstly, those there are those beautiful BMW brakes. They don’t whine, smoke, fade and they never, ever give up. Which certainly comes in handy through the twisties of Warrandyte.

But Beamers have more acronyms that a government specification, DSC, DTC, TLA, FLA and all of them decide how you ride. That is unless you switch them off. The first acronym that you want to switch off is the Driver Stability Control (DSC). Because no matter what situation you get the Z into, the wheels will NOT spin. At speed when you really don’t want to fright Asian accountants though, so I guess every acronym has its place…

The downside to all that assistance is that at speed, the steering feels over assisted. Turn off the DSC and the Bavarian stunner isn’t exactly sideways happy. She still takes a lot of convincing to get her sexy behind out. So if you really want to chew the treads, this might not be for you (this one had a single spinner diff anyway).  No doubt it was never designed for the dorifto squad anyway.

Maybe it’s because this car is still new, but shrinking violets won’t love driving with the top down. This car gets more attention than Shane Warne’s phone bill. It does take a bit of getting used to. The lack of wheel spin is in now way because the beamer is soft up front. She has a delicious burble, almost V8-like at the back, and is very rev happy past 5000 revs. The only problem is getting there in this lumpen 2.5 litre model.

Having said that, a force fed version would be fantastic, but it would probably spoil an otherwise sensational package. Especially given that you don’t want to cover those beautifully crafted panels in rice boy stickers and ‘bling bling’ rims. Well at least everyone who pressed their face against the window on the number 96 tram would seem to think so.

Those wondering how it stacks up against the Z3 (the 2.2 litre model reviewed earlier), they’re chalk and cheese. The 4 feels a lot more involving on the road. Aesthetically, the brushed aluminum dash and console is where any Z3 driver will immediately notice a change for the better. To drive the suspension is on the harder side of firm, where as the predecessor was a little softer. It’s the really perfect blend of agility and looks. Kind of like if Elin was a gymnast – which she wasn’t sadly.

This cars bold, but simple lines are plainly sublime (well except for the pugly front nose), where her rivals are just plain gaudy. And while most Z4s will be scraping Richmond speed bumps, this car can will rise to the occasion quicker than a Viagra in the Playboy mansion. For once the accountant agrees with me, this car truly is sheer driving pleasure.