Elly McDonald


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A World Gone Quiet

My friend Heather Dempsey writes:

Master of Something I'm Yet To Discover

One of my favourite books is Quiet by Susan Cain. It’s one of those books that made me go, “Oh. So it’s not just me then.” It describes all the great things about introverts even though it’s a struggle to get that known because we live in a world designed for extroverts.

The subtitle of her book is “The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking”. Well, the world has just gone a little quieter.

Containment measures are being implemented across the world to try and stop the spread of COVID-19. People are being asked to stay in their homes and only go out for essentials. Non-essential activities have been cancelled.

The Australian Football League has just suspended the season. My son messaged me with the news and Messenger gave me the option to reply with “Yay!” It’s a little worrying that my phone knows me so…

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K-drama. I’m not addicted. It’s because…

Ever had that moment, that pseudo-intimate moment, when you give your heart to an actor, sincerely and fully, when you say (out loud) “I LIKE YOU”– then discover your discovery has a fan club numbering in the millions?

It happened to me. This may (or may not) shock those of you who know me. And Cho Seung-woo, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think it can work out between us. Us and those millions others. Even if time travel could make me 20 years younger.

I have become addicted to K-drama. It happened abruptly – not the drama part, I’ve been a drama addict life-long: the ‘K’ part. I have become a Korean TV series tragic.


In a time-space continuum so short I’m embarrassed to admit it (okay, about 5 months), I have watched all or some of 47 Korean TV series and films. TV series completed: 22 (most K-dramas have a 16 episode run, but one went 50). TV series sampled: 18 (a couple I might revisit). Korean-language films viewed on Netflix: 7

그러므로 Therefore, despite not speaking Korean – yet, beyond the essentials (“Shit”, “Gosh”, “Thank you”, “I’m sorry”, “I like you”, ”Do you want to die?”, a few food items) – I feel qualified to bestow the Inaugural McDonald Korean Netflix Television & Film Awards. Even if not qualified, I intend to do so.

My first challenge is deciding award categories. A hallmark of K-drama is that series transgress genres. My sister, a K-drama novice, was watching what she thought was a comedy with me yesterday when the tone plummeted dark. “Suddenly we’re watching Gaslight?” she squeaked, alarmed. I nodded knowingly, in my best K-drama Big Boss mode.

I see via Google that most lists of Best K-dramas lean heavy on romance. Declaration of Non-Interest: Almost every K-drama features a romance, some more insistently than others, some more charmingly than others. The lovers are quite extraordinarily good-looking, blindingly good-looking. I did know some good-looking men men I was young, but they tended to be the type who’d force you to do hand-jobs in public places. The closest I got to K-drama style romance was my good-looking boss who tried to give me a CD of torch songs and nudged it into his desk-bin when I demurred; and the pop star who kissed me in the street. But that’s another story, or two, and only two. Generally K-drama romances cause me acute longing and make me grumpy.


Chaebols – the kind of filthy rich good-looking that forces hand-jobs in public


⭐ I like it

👎 Not for me

blank = no strong opinion unless otherwise annotated

Here are the categories I came up with, showing titles Viewed or Partially Viewed, with winners, annotated:

SAGEUK – historical costume drama
NB Does not include costume drama assigned to a different primary genre e.g. Comedy, Supernatural.
Titles listed roughly in historical chronological order.
Spoiler: Not all historical dramas are credible history.

Hwarang (P/V) 👎 – Let’s create a crack combat squad and let’s select warriors based on their good looks. Only in Goreyo/Korea.

CATEGORY WINNER: Six Flying Dragons (V x2) ⭐ – This is the one that started me, ended me. Obsessed. Charts the overthrow of the Woo kings of Goreyo and the founding of Joseon by the Yi clan. Great exploration of the mechanisms of power and politics, relative historical veracity (I said RELATIVE), with romance that got the tear ducts working. “This series is a GEM,” sobbed my sister. “This is the ending GoT failed.” Honorable mention to Yoo Ah-in as Yi Bang-won but really, cast is flawless.

My Country (V) – Covers the same historical events as Six Flying Dragons, with relative veracity stretched. Honorable mention for the fiercely sexy Jang Hyuk ⭐as a convincing Yi Bang-won. Fast forward and only watch sequences with Jang Hyuk. Priority to face-offs between Bang-won and his dad Yi Seung-gye (Kim Yeong-cheol). Also worth watching the always reliable Ahn Nae-sang, as the villain.

Deep Rooted Tree a.k.a. Tree With Deep Roots (V) ⭐ – Jang Hyuk again [big smile]. The Joseon dynasty’s finest hour: I give you King Sejong (not Jang Hyuk, the king is Han Suk-kyu, and excellent he is).

The Rebel (V) ⭐– Honourable mention, especially for final credits sequence. Structure and tone odd for those not familiar with Hong Gil-dong folk tales source material. Those unfamiliar with recent Korean politics might not get analogies.

The Empress Ki (P/V)👎 – Yeah right love triangle between Chinese emperor, Joseon king and transvestite concubine. The historical empress also known as Empress Gi.

The Royal Gambler (P/V)👎 – Might have to go back and watch throughout because it’s CHOI MIN-SOO [awestruck face]. How did a dark hairy bloke get to be a K-drama lead? (Answer: charisma. Sheer talent.) A royal scandal that’s been told and retold many different ways.

Love In The Moonlight (P/V) 👎Oh these transvestite girls-dressed-as-boys. Shakespearean. But not.

Mr Sunshine (P/V) – Very likely will resume and watch throughout, despite the lead actor’s extramarital scandal and the misery of Shinmeyangyo (“Western disturbance in the Shinmi Year”, 1871). Ain’t no sunshine…


THE SUPERNATURAL: zombies, ghosts, ghouls, gumiho

Arthdal Chronicles (P/V)– It’s pronounced Arse? Really? Watch the UK series Britannia instead, if you must, for Bronze Age weirdness.

Diary Of A Night Watchman (P/V) 👎– Special effects bombast.

Kingdom (V) ⭐– High production-value zombie horrors and Bae Doo-na [hearts emoticon for Doo-na]. Magnificent opening sequence Ep1. Unusually, there’s a S2.

The Scholar Who Walks The Night (V) ⭐– Phenomenally camp, a live action webtoon. The hero is a vampire. The villain is a vampire. Lee Soo-hyuk (villain) is the bomb and if he’s messed with his nose or eyes it’s a crime. Lee Soo-hyuk’s nose and eyes are works of art.

Arang and The Magistrate a.k. The Tale of Arang (V) ⭐– Oh the Grim Reaper! Take me, take me! Funny and fey and hits the spot, despite the lead actor’s makeup.

CATEGORY WINNER: My Girlfriend Is A Five-Tailed Gumiho (V)⭐– Delightful in every way. A strong contender in my Best Comedy category, and maybe in my Best Romance too – for the older couple, not the kid and the gumiho. Fabulous ensemble: Korea’s favourite little brother Lee Seung-gi loves my girl Shin Min-a; Sung Dong-il loves Yoon Yoo-Sun (and Chow Yun-Fat).

Hotel Del Luna (P/V) – 9th highest rating K-drama in cable TV history so might resume watching, if only for Seo Yi-sook, my fave Korean female character actor.

Black (P/V) 👎– OMG even by K-drama standards this plot is convoluted and implausible (best not go near plausibility as a K-drama criterion).


FEMINISM in a velvet glove:

CATEGORY WINNER: Rookie Historian Goo Hae-ryung (V x2) ⭐– costume drama, with THE most beautiful costumes ever. Sly and funny take on women entering male work domains. Political commentary on free speech and a free press. Female lead Shin Se-Kyung, who was wonderful as Bun-i in Six Flying Dragons. With Cha Eun-woo, perfectly cast.

Ms Hammurabi (V) ⭐– The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. The toolbox is full of tools. Very funny, nice romance, well-written drama. Go Ara has golden eyes and so do I. But I admit she’s prettier than me [wink]. My three faves in this category are all strong, hard to choose winner.

My ID Is Gangnam Beauty (V) ⭐– I didn’t expect to like this but loved it. Feminist critique of beauty obsession, wrapped up in a college romance. Did I mention it stars Cha Eun-woo, that one-man spawn pond of beauty obsession? Another live action webtoon adaptation.

Judge Vs Judge (P/V) – I can’t take it when girl characters screech.


Cha Eun-woo as Do-won in Rookie Historian Goo Hae-ryung – pardon me objectifying but gotta admit he’s cute



Her Private Life (V) – She’s scared her new boss will find out she’s a stalker fangirl. Her new boss, the art gallery director, thinks her secret is she’s gay. Somewhere in here, a pop idol collects pop art. Some terrific screwball comedy, particularly in the earlier episodes, some interesting and oddly realistic insights into the art world, albeit caricatured (I speak as one who worked at an art gallery for six years), but fizzled out into unalloyed soap opera then saccharine with a very questionable takeaway.

CATEGORY WINNER: Chocolate (P/V) – Very likely will resume watching, just wasn’t in the mood. Wins category without being viewed simply for its title. Chocolate, mon amour

Beauty Inside (P/V) – Looks gorgeous, chance might resume watching

Any and all titles listed above and below




Healer (V) ⭐– Gave it a second chance based on the amount of online love it receives, was worth persisting despite implausible ending (see previous comment re plausibility). Heavy on romance but this romance is sweet. One where I thought at first they definitely DO have sex. Not till near the very end, and they start under the doona wearing heavy winter outdoor clothes then wake up in white underwear (singlet, t-shirt), but was pretty sure It Happened. Apparently I was wrong.

Man To Man (P/V) – Too much man.

Vagabond (V) – Terrible prologue, terrible last episode. Everything in between entertaining and, again, quite sweet.

CATEGORY WINNER: Memories of the Alhambra (V) ⭐– Special award for best drama about Augmented Reality and gaming, and worst case of “Gosh I wish I had NOT killed that person” [horror face]. Stars Korea’s top-paid male star 2019, Hyun Bin (who immediately moved on to the popular romantic drama Crash Landing On You, not yet seen by me). Barrier to entry: a drawn-out sequence checking into a seedy hostel and the foulest clogged toilet ever shown on TV. After that it takes off 🏹  (After-thought: If you want feel-good, go with Healer.)



CATEGORY WINNER: Signal (V) ⭐– Outstanding. Based on the Hwaseong serial killings that began in 1986, ended 1994 and were only solved end 2019 (before this TV drama was made). Koreans must have wanted that c* I mean crim held to account so bad. Also the subject of an award-winning film, Memories of Murder (2003), by director Bong Joon-Ho (Parasite, Snowpiercer, The Host). And at least half a dozen other films and TV. Signal was remade in a Japanese version. Where Signal really scores is its innovative writing. There are popular tropes used and reused in K-drama, and time travel is one of them. This manages an original spin. It also packs a syrup-free emotional wallop, especially episodes where female lead Cha Soo-hyun is the focus. Don’t be put off by the opening episodes. Signal is worth it.

Tunnel (V) ⭐– More time travelling Korean cops, working to ‘solve’ the same real-life serial killings as the cops in Signal. This is essentially a more palatable rewriting of Signal: easier to follow, more conventional in every respect, often funny, more optimistic. Was that a spoiler?

Live Up To Your Name a.k.a. Worthy Of The Name (V) ⭐ – A time travel costume drama that hits all the right notes. Extremely funny. Touching romance. Some lovely, witty writing.


K-drama_Inadvertent_Time _TravelDRAMA:

CATEGORY WINNER: Stranger a.k.a. Secret Forest a.k.a. Forest of Secrets (V) ⭐ – Directed by Ahn Gil-ho, brilliantly. Stars Cho Seung-woo and Bae Doo-na, with exceptional support from a talented cast, not least Lee Joon-hyuk as a prosecutor more like malevolent feline. The ‘My head hurts’ stuff might not be neurologically plausible but the noir plot – more corruption, in politics and the prosecutors’ offices – is gripping.

Life (V) ⭐ – Same writer who wrote my fave series Stranger: Lee Soo-yeon. Similar themes of institutional corruption, this time a major teaching hospital and a corporation. Several same lead actors (Cho Seung-woo, Yoo Jae-myung, Moon Sung-geun, Lee Kyu-hyung). Great team 💚 Honorable mention to Moon So-ri as Director Oh. She fires all directions, like Brother Mark in that John Woo classic 💥

Pride and Prejudice (V) ⭐– At first I thought this might be a kind of sex comedy with humour that does not translate, then I thought maybe an office satire with humour that does not translate. I wondered why Netflix labels it “Dark. Unsettling”. By Ep4 I understood. A bravura turn by Choi Min-soo.

The Lies Within (P/V)👎– Nope, lead actress lost me.

Remember (P/V) – Revenge drama. From a kpopmap review: “Yoo Seung-ho’s crying and pitiful acting left viewers’ hearts in pain”. Never mind, I liked him as the Jade Emperor of Heaven in The Tale of Arang.

Distorted a.k.a. Falsified (P/V) – highly rated by Koreans who recognise the media-gagging scandal this refers to so chance might resume watching. See comment above about cannot stand the screeching. [UPDATE: I did go back. I’m still only a few episodes in but am hooked. The off-putting elements I saw as puerile fantasist stuff have given way to a more serious tale of investigative and tabloid journalism challenging corruption.]

Designated Survivor: 60 Days (V)⭐ – Remake of U.S. drama works better in Korean context. Highly polished, highly professional. Lead actor Ji Jin Hee is appealing.

Chief Of Staff (P/V) – Politics as soap opera. Again.

Suits (P/V) – Remake of U.S. drama, not needed in my life.


Cho Seung-woo breaking my heart


SPECIAL AWARD for Uncategorisable Brilliance:

Unchallenged Winner: Misaeng ⭐– live action adaptation of a webtoon. You can view it as workplace satire, comedy, feminist commentary, inspiration (yeah well not sure about that last). Just disregard completely the prologue and the final episode. Or view them as absurdist.



The Great Battle (V) – I learned a lot about siege defence.

War of Arrows (V) – I learned a lot about archer technology.

The Proxy Soldiers (V) – I learned about the Imjin Invasions.

Rampant (V) – I was reminded about zombies.

The Fortress (V) ⭐– I learned about the later Qing invasion.

Inspector K and the Virtuous Widow (V)⭐ – Laughed.

Inspector K and the Living Dead (V) ⭐ – Laughed more.

CATEGORY WINNER: Train to Busan (V)⭐– Zombies. They’re BACK.




Horses of the Australian bushfires, January 2020

My sister’s closest friend from our Adelaide childhood has a sister who lives in the Adelaide Hills, South Australia, with her horses, surrounded by wildlife.

The local race-track opened up for anyone with horses to bring them in for the duration of the fire threat, to be stabled, fed and cared for on race club premises.

Becky (Cathy’s friend) was at a pet supplies centre and asked the owner if they had horse feed in stock for horses at that race club.

The owner told her if she coordinated with other horse owners his business would provide whatever feed was needed, at cost price, with free delivery and drop-off at Oakbank Racecourse.

Becky texted me “Our practice [she’s a GP] bought 22 bales of lucerne which the fodder store delivered free to the drop-off point for aid in Oakbank. This was the message from the truck driver who delivered the bales – ‘Your bales are in that stack. Thanks for the help. Tony@magillgrain’.

Here (pic) are the bales Tony delivered.


I don’t write this to publicise Magill Grain or the unnamed local race-track that opened up as a shelter.

I’m writing because my sister teared up telling me this story. She was at Flemington Races last Saturday and the race guide had a beautiful watercolour on the cover, by artist Laura Crane, of what appeared to be a bunch of tanned holiday-makers sunning on a beach, with a thoroughbred race horse incongruously in their midst. It’s only when you open the cover that you see Laura painted from a photo by Herald-Sun photographer Alex Coppel, of people seeking refuge on Malua Bay beach on New Year’s Eve, the entire scene tinted a hell-ish orange, and yes, a race horse in the crowd.

vrc-bushfire-relief-2020_laura-crane-painting-630pwx380ph-72ppi copy

Watercolour painting by Laura Crane – inspired by Alex Coppel’s photograph


Photograph by Alex Coppel, Malua Bay, New Year’s Eve 2020 – people seeking refuge from bushfires, with horse

Turn the next page and there’s an article by Michael Sharkie that first appeared in Carnival magazine, 2015, about horses’ instincts faced with bushfires – see link attached for the extraordinary story of Fabish and his seven yearling charges. What a hero 🐎


Turn another page, and there’s a list from the Victorian Racing Club of ways “the Victorian Thoroughbred Racing Industry, including RV, the metropolitan racing clubs and Country Racing Victoria, will continue to work on a number of initiatives [itemised], equine welfare support, fundraising activities and practical support for people affected by the bushfires”.

On the facing page: The program for the January Twilight Race Day 18 January 2020 – Race 2 Donate to Foodbank Victoria; Race 3 Donate to Salvation Army Disaster Appeal; Race 4 Donate to Equine Bushfire Relief; Race 6 Thank You Emergency Services; Race 8 Thank You Firefighters; Race 9 Thank You Volunteers.

Entrance proceeds from the day, and from the previous weekend’s meet, went to the VIC Bushfire Disaster Appeal. Firefighters and their families had free entry both meets. Stands were in place for donations to the Salvation Army, along with pop-up stores where racegoers could purchase equine supplies on behalf of horse owners in fire affected areas.

Some of my friends oppose the racing industry, and some may think all this was and is a PR exercise. Personally, I’m glad to see racing bodies support the broader equine community.


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Six Flying Dragons (Korea, 2015) and Tree With Deep Roots (Korea, 2011) – spoiler-free

All the virtues of adventure costume drama with the added value of surprise.

Incredible sets, costumes, gorgeous young actors, swashbuckling action sequences, revenge, romance… and the whole way through I was trying to imagine how Korean audiences, knowing the framework of historical fact, would be interpreting characters and events.

Then when I realised I was watching the two shows in reverse order – Six Flying Dragons is a prequel to Tree With Deep Roots, made by the same team – I realised Korean viewers watching SFD would already know the fates of key characters, removing elements of suspense I found excruciating, but adding poignancy.

The entire political history of Korea would inform Koreans’ understandings of these dramas. I don’t have that. So my responses are naive, in the sense of… uneducated.


The FB diary:

“… starts off playing like a kids’ adventure yarn then turns into an examination of political morality, dissidents, the nature of power, the nature of courage, wrapped up in an origin story of the [medieval] kingdom of Joseon (Korea). (The actual founding of the Joseon dynasty differs in marked ways from the hero tale of Six Flying Dragons.)

“This is gathering in power episode by episode and the climactic sequences in Ep4 – the music! – are killing me.

“Some parts so far are so pertinent to what’s happening in Hong Kong but the political parable is encompassing.”

“Rock stars. Amazing. I think I prefer it to GoT.

“12 episodes into Six Flying Dragons and it’s striking to contrast its female characters with how women were presented on GoT.

“Not many female characters in SFD, but those there are, are strong and complex, and respected: a woman spy master, a woman master spy, a peasant village leader, a peasant family matriarch, a resourceful peasant in a player troupe, a very young political ‘genius’ (so described by her father’s retainer).

“There’s a dorm-full of women spy-assassins but no overt prostitution, no femme fatale, no fallen women, no nudity. No conniving queen. The only sex has been one implied rape, off camera.

“Plus one young woman who appears to have an orgasm when the [much higher status] man who is patiently courting her assists her in fitting her first real pair of shoes. But I’d lose it too if I were that particular young woman and that particular young man was fondling my feet.”

“Things are turning very bleak in the last 10 episodes of Six Flying Dragons.

“The essential questions: What constitutes a righteous action? Does loyalty to an ideology take precedence over loyalty to loved ones? Capitalism vs Communism?

“Does a person become evil by performing evil acts or were they evil already?

“And the perennial: Who will live? Who will die violently?”

“Traumatised by Ep48 of Six Flying Dragons then cried the whole way through Ep50, the finale. [And kept on crying for 24 hours.]

” ‘We are stronger when we have someone to protect.’ ”


“In my quest to become an overnight expert in Early Joseon I have done a deep dive into art history books, Wiki and Korean film and TV series beyond Six Flying Dragons.

Tree With Deep Roots picks up in time where SFD left off. I was going to say it presents a very different interpretation of King Taejong/Yi Bang-won but actually, the characterisation has a certain continuity, for obvious historical reasons. From this perspective, it makes SFD a romantic origins story.

“TWDR a.k.a. Deep Rooted Tree (a nice ironic pun) is more Alexandre Dumas.

“I also tried the popular Netflix series Kingdom, which has the apt conceit of making a Joseon crown prince a raving zombie. I applaud the idea – the entertaining Inspector K: Secret of the Living Dead turned Joseon nobles into vampires – but I couldn’t cope beyond the first ten minutes.

“However (Korean: honne), I am not surprised Kingdom has just been renewed for a second season. Maybe I’ll work my way up to it.”

Tree With Deep Roots turns out to be a conspiracy thriller about… literacy?

“Could you stake your life the pen is mightier than the sword, that debate trumps torture, that a good man can survive wielding power?

“Would you?”


Seoul Broadcasting System


Review: Then It Fell Apart (2019), by Moby

At end May, in reaction to controversy, Electronica DJ and author Moby cancelled all remaining dates of his book promotion tour and announced he was “going to go away for a while”.

There’s so much in Then It Fell Apart that is interesting and well written that it’s sad to dismiss the whole book due to its failings.

It does have manifest failings. I’ll outline them, but again, it feels sad to write off the whole project, and sad to lash an author who makes so naked his frailties.

In the Preface, Moby writes that after finishing his first memoir, Porcelain, “rather than go back to therapy, I kept writing”. That’s where the problems start. Much of Then It Fell Apart reads like therapeutic writing, best discussed between client and therapist, or as a starting point for meaningful private conversation between Moby and significant individuals in his life.

I don’t think Moby was well served by editors or publishers with this book. He’s keen to set out the full extent of his drug-fuelled behaviours and emotional issues. He recognises his desperate drive for validation, for affirmation. As readers, we did not need to know everything he chose to tell. Editors were needed to set boundaries. Publishers needed to put in place fact checks.

The most obvious area is how he writes about women. The controversy that resulted in Moby retreating arose from how he wrote about film actress Natalie Portman, introduced on p.30.

He wobbles on the tightrope for a few paragraphs before things fall apart.

‘She smiled again and looked straight into my eyes. “I’ll be in New York too. Can we meet up?” ‘

Moby remembers Natalie as “flirting”. Subsequently he remembers them as “dating”, albeit briefly. He writes sentences that can be read ambiguously, that read as disingenuous:

‘[…] he stared at me blankly and asked, “Are you with Natalie Portman”

“I guess so,” I said.’

‘I’d had an amazing night with Natalie in Cambridge […]’

‘At midnight she brought me to her dorm room and we lay down next to each other on her small bed. After she fell asleep I carefully extracted myself from her arms and took a taxi back to my hotel.’

He remembers himself as 33 and Natalie Portman as 20.

Natalie remembers things differently.

For starters, she’s clear she had just turned 18. She told Harpers Bazaar UK

“I was surprised to hear that he characterized the very short time that I knew him as dating because my recollection is a much older man being creepy with me when I just had graduated high school”.

Fact checks conducted by the Washington Post confirm that across the few weeks Moby refers to, Moby was touring in support of his hit album Play and Portman was making a film. The two met up in New York a few weeks after the initial backstage meeting, not a few days. They both attended the MTV Video Music Awards.

As Portman recalls, it was not her suggestion that they “meet up”:

“I was a fan and went to one of his shows when I had just graduated. When we met after the show, he said, ‘let’s be friends’. He was on tour and I was working, shooting a film, so we only hung out a handful of times before I realised that this was an older man who was interested in me in a way that felt inappropriate.”

You only have to see the photo Moby posted in rebuttal, showing the two of them backstage, him with his shirt off, her with a small, uncomfortable smile, to know the truth of this. It’s a fan pic: Moby, with his jaw-wide, rectangular grin, is the fan; Portman, so young, is the star.

I recognise these photos. I have several where I look just like Moby does here: an ecstasy of adulation; an instinctive professional pose in response.

Moby 3

This is part of the sadness of this book. Moby is a fan to the core, and some of the best chapters in Then It Fell Apart are accounts of growing up into fandom. The chapters that tell of teenage trips to New York nightclubs, the teen teaching himself DJ skills, even the chapters about his early exposures to music and the genesis of his record collection – all are wonderful.

As are accounts of having dinner with David Bowie and Iman, Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, and singing on-stage with New Order, channelling Ian Curtis.

Moby as fan is endearing. Moby as creepy older guy is not.

But he keeps doing it. He keeps introducing us to beautiful young girls, some famous (Christina Ricci, Lana Del Rey), some not, salivating on paper as he writes of their exquisiteness, implying he slept with them.

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. But he didn’t inform any of them a book was coming out with his version of whatever happened between them, or that his version implied sexual relations. His publisher didn’t inform them. Apparently no one had the opportunity to veto or correct.

In his Preface, Moby writes “I’ve changed some names and details out of respect for other people, but all the stories in this book actually happened.”

Memory doesn’t work like that. All recollections are reconstructions. Reconstructions are coloured by fantasies, desires, fears. Reconstructions are configurations of neural pathways. The neural pathways of a man who by his own account consumed massive quantities of alcohol and drugs on a daily basis for decades are shredded.

As for respect… is it respectful to recount an anecdote from a specific UK tour, where individuals can be identified, about a threesome on a tour bus with two female record company staff? Just how many female record company staff accompanied his entourage on that tour bus?

‘I looked down at my naked body. There was shit on my legs and on my stomach. Either I had engaged in messy anal sex that I didn’t remember, or somebody – possibly me, possibly one of the women – had shat on the couch we’d had sex on. It smelled like an open sewer, and I had to fight the urge to vomit.’

That anecdote goes on. And on. Did we need to read it?


‘She looked at the sheets. “Oh, sometimes when I have sex I get these burst cysts in my vagina. Or I got my period,” she said with disconcerting calm.

There was more blood than I’d ever seen in one place. It looked like a cow had just given birth. There was blood on the sheets. On Pam. On me.’


There are other tales of menstrual mess on couches, on sheets, of explosive diarrhoea, of the aptly-named Andy Dick, a comedian, attempting to shit on Moby’s birthday cake, pissing into Moby’s champagne.

There’s a tale of “knob-swiping”, a game whereby a man is dared to wipe his naked dick against another person in public, without that person’s awareness. Moby knob-swipes Donald Trump. First time I’ve been on The Donald’s side. More particularly, Moby writes with courteous restraint of Donald Trump’s daughter Ivanka, who is kind to him, then launches into telling about dick-wiping her dad. I bet Ivanka does not feel respected.

There are so many tales of hookers, strippers, desperate housewives, mobsters, molls… Did we need quite so many tales?

We get it. Moby was unable to sustain any kind of couple relationship with any woman. He panicked. He could only have promiscuous sex, sex with strangers, sex with what he calls “degenerates”, occasional sex (or implied sex) with women he idealises, sex that goes nowhere … except for that ex-girlfriend, the on-off girlfriend who lasted several years, who he calls Kellie. Kellie must hate this book.

My editing solution:

Condense the narrative about the boy growing up to two chapters: early childhood; then high school years and the brief attempt at college.

Condense the account of stardom and self-destruction. Keep the star-as-fan accounts of his brushes with fame, appropriately framed (fact-checked). Keep representative accounts of self-destructive behaviours and alienation.

The Lana Del Rey (Lizzy Grant) episode is good. If Lana/Lizzy is good with it.

Keep the context of Moby’s lifelong extreme anxiety disorder. Don’t over-egg it. Don’t let it turn into self-excuses.

I would much rather have read less about the hell of being an addict celebrity and had Then It Fell Apart be a three-strand volume: the childhood; the story of a crash; then the story of how Moby constructed an equilibrium, even if precarious.

I don’t need a happy ending. But I need more balance. As a reader, I know there is more to this story, because I made it to the final page. I imagine it was Moby’s intent to write a third volume, the volume of his recovery.

After the controversy prompted by how he wrote about Portman, and after his pledge to “go away for a while”, that book might never be written, or, if written, might never be published. Which is truly sad.

moby 4

As a reader, I’m left with the overwhelming impression of unmanaged anxiety, a man self-medicating with toxic substances, self-loathing, an eating disorder mentality (I don’t doubt Moby is sincere in his veganism on principle, but it does seem to me he’s a case-book male eating disorder), revulsion at bodily functions, and madonna/whore flip-flopping between idealisation of women and fury at women – ironic, given the feud that resulted when Moby accused rapper Eminem of misogynistic lyrics.

But then, he does say he had thought he and Eminem had much at core in common:

“Apart from misogyny and homophobia, I felt a strange kinship with Eminem. We’d both grown up in grinding suburban poverty. We both had complicated single moms. We’d both found refuge in music […] All along I’d assumed Eminem hadn’t really been that upset with me and that someday we’d meet up and have a friendly conversation […] We’d talk about growing up poor and scared, and maybe even become friends”.

Moby 2

While I don’t doubt at all that Moby grew up scared and poor, especially in the very early years, neglected in a chaotic environment, acutely feeling the disparity between his circumstances and the prevailing norms in the prosperous Connecticut county that was home, he never discusses the elephant in the room: his mother lived in Connecticut because that’s where she grew up, and her affluent parents were just up the road in their 10-bedroom mansion, where she and Moby apparently lived for long stretches.

Moby writes of his grandfather with respect and love, writes less of his grandmother – but what was the deal? Why was the child experiencing grinding poverty while living under his grandparents’ roof and later, in a modest house purchased for his mother and him by his grandmother, with his mother earning as a secretary?

When he writes of their temporary relocation to a somewhat less prosperous Connecticut county, he makes the point that he moved from an all-WASP school to a school community that was 90% Black and Hispanic. But then he goes and adds that none of his Black and Hispanic classmates were as poor as he was. Which is just embarrassing. It pushes the self-pity meter way, way up. Words like “entitlement” spring to mind…

Moby 1

So was Moby the little white prince, displaced? Is his rage and his desperate, driving need for validation a consequence of “I *should* have been pampered in the castle!”?

He does write at length about his envy of the billionaire set, despite seeing clearly at close quarters how wretched the billionaires are. And he writes of purchasing a castle, the top five floors of an iconic Gilded Era New York building with views all across Manhattan and the Hudson, and of how living in the castle failed to salvage his soul.

If we take the end page at face value, what salvaged his soul, finally, was AA.


Mystify: Michael Hutchence – a documentary by Richard Lowenstein

Today I attended a Melbourne media preview for Mystify, director Richard Lowenstein’s documentary about his friend Michael Hutchence, lead singer of the band INXS, who died by suicide in 1997.

Michael was my friend once, too. We were a year apart in age and we met not long after we both moved to Sydney in 1979. Back then, I was an Australian rock music writer.

As a rock writer, I wrote a number of articles about Michael and about INXS. More recently, I’ve written two memoir pieces about Michael as I knew him [links at bottom]. Today, I was fortunate to attend the preview as the guest of my friend Jen Jewel Brown, a prominent Australian rock music writer (writing as Jenny Hunter Brown or Jenny Brown), who also knew Michael back in the day, and who co-wrote the 2018 Michael Hutchence biography Michael: My brother, lost boy of INXS, with Michael’s sister Tina Hutchence.

At the end of Mystify, Jen and I sat transfixed. Afterwards, we talked for hours.

I sincerely hope Richard Lowenstein’s sensitive, intimate portrait of Michael as recalled by the people closest to him reaches its audience.

It would be a travesty if Mystify got lost in the wake of the many previous accounts of Michael’s life.

In addition to Tina and Jen’s book last year, published biographies include: Toby Creswell’s Shine Like It Does: the life of Michael Hutchence (2017); Michael In Pictures – A Celebration of the Life of Michael Hutchence by Richard Simpkin (2015); Total XS by Michael’s brother Rhett Hutchence (2004); Paula, Michael and Bob: Everything you know is wrong by Gerry Agar (2003); Michael Hutchence: Just A Man: the real Michael Hutchence by Tina Hutchence and Michael’s mother Patricia Glassop (2000); Michael Hutchence: The Devil Inside by Vincent Lovegrove (1999); and The Life and Death of Michael Hutchence by Mike Gee (1998), also released as The Final Days of Michael Hutchence.

There have been TV dramatisations and documentaries: The Day the Rock Star Died (2019); The Last Rock Star (2017); the mini-series Never Tear Us Apart: The untold story of INXS (2014); Autopsy – The last hours of Michael Hutchence (2014); The Life and Death of Michael Hutchence (2014); Behind The Music Remastered (2010); True Hollywood Story – Michael Hutchence (2004); True Hollywood Story – Rocked To Death: Michael Hutchence (1999).

Some of these accounts are outright exploitation. Others are attempts by people who knew Michael to tell his story as they understood it, or as they want the public to perceive it. Michael’s story is highly contested: it’s been told many different ways.

In Mystify, Richard Lowenstein presents Michael through footage filmed by friends and family, and outtakes from live performance and music video shoots. His friends, lovers and bandmates provide commentary superimposed on images from the time.

Some of the footage, photos and mementoes are breathtakingly personal. Kudos to the women with whom Michael had significant relationships who have chosen to speak honestly and insightfully, and who gave permission for private mementoes to be featured.

That they do this from love, not from any self-serving motive, is abundantly evident.

Kudos to the band members and fellow musicians who speak about Michael as they knew him, for better and for worse.

Kudos to Lowenstein (director of numerous INXS videos, Michael’s director in the feature film Dogs In Space), whose voice is not heard but whose commentary is expressed through his editing choices and the narrative structure.

A few things are brutally clear. Michael’s life was irrevocably altered by Acquired Brain Injury (ABI). He acquired brain injury in 1992 when a Danish taxi driver knocked him down on a cobblestone street in Copenhagen. His partner at the time, Danish supermodel Helena Christensen, recalls blood coming from his ears and his mouth. She recalls him insisting on leaving hospital, being nursed by her at home for the following month. He kept the extent of his injury from others. Perhaps he never fully recognized the extent to which head injury damaged him. But the brain scans exist: Michael had frontal lobe damage, which will have affected his emotional regulation and behaviours. He lost the sensory perceptions of taste and smell, which, for a sensualist like Michael, was tantamount to losing who he was.

In truth, the Michael I see in footage from the last years of his life is not the Michael I knew. His bandmates say it isn’t Michael as they knew him, either.

The Michael presented in those final years is panicking, desperate, lost, humiliated.

For those of us who cared for him, it’s hard to watch.

Afterwards, I felt like I’d been hit by a cannonball. “I feel sick,” I said to Jen. She felt sick, too.

I told Jen the last time I saw Michael was during the recording of their mega-album Kick, in 1987. He was walking up William Street in Sydney, towards Kings Cross. I was walking downwards, towards him. He was wearing a long loose beige coat. I was wearing red. He invited me to join him at Rhinoceros Studios, to help him fill in time between takes, chatting.

Or maybe it was that time when he stopped by my table in a crowded restaurant, and everyone in that room craned to check out who he’d deigned to talk to, strained their ears to hear what we talked about.

But actually, that wasn’t the last time I saw Michael. The very last time was New Year’s Eve 1988, when we were both at the same party at a fancy harborside mansion. He arrived trailing his model of the moment, an Amazon with sky-high cheekbones. We nodded. But by then INXS were major international stars, and I turned away without speaking to him.

Michael Hutchence was a real person, very real. I’ve heard him dismissed as a poser, a wally, a twat. For me, he was a sensitive, talented, inquiring young man, entranced by glamour, dreaming big. For years I thought the life he lived after that New Year’s Eve epitomized success: Michael living happily ever after, in the sunshine of the south of France.

I was disabused of that belief when Michael died.

In Mystify, I now see those years presented as a drawn-out descent into exhaustion and eventual dehumanization, as the tabloids chewed him up.

In one of the Mystify reviews I’ve read, it’s suggested Michael made a Faustian pact: “success”, at the cost of a life worth living.

I’m not sure who it’s implied is the Devil in this pact. I don’t think it’s “the devil inside” (to quote the song).

I do know fame’s a bitch.



  1. Link to my blog tribute to Michael Hutchence, with personal reminiscences – Someone Famous, With Girl (2014) https://ellymcdonaldwriter.com/2014/06/05/someone-famous-with-girl-for-michael-hutchence/
  2. Excerpt from my blog post W for War (2017). In its totality, this piece is not about Michael and there is some repetition with my Mystify blog post and my blog post Someone Famous, With Girl, above. W for War is, I suppose, about my own personal disillusion with previously held notions of “success” and “glamour”. It’s quite naked and wasn’t really written to be read (true confession!):Let’s begin with Michael Hutchence’s death. That’s a cynical place to begin, because of course it – any “it” – began much earlier. But this is a cynical tale, so let’s start where Michael ended.

    One morning late in 1997 I arrived at my Knightsbridge [London] workplace – the office with W emblazoned above the reception desk – and the tabloids on the foyer table screamed that Michael Hutchence was dead. Found hanged behind a hotel room door. I don’t remember much of that day but I do remember getting home at about 7.30pm and crying hysterically for two hours.

    Michael had been an acquaintance, possibly a friend, of mine. He was a year or so older than me and we’d arrived in Sydney at much the same time. In my first week in Sydney I saw Michael and his band, INXS, play at the bottom of a four-band bill at the Stagedoor Tavern. I say “saw”, but the Stagedoor was so crowded, so dark, I couldn’t see the stage.

    I became a rock music writer, Michael became a rock star. I interviewed him when the band were unknowns, then when they achieved national fame; I hung out with him while INXS recorded their international breakthrough album Kick, I met up with him occasionally and we nattered.

    I wrote him a poem, at his request:

    stops at the sound of
    his name called by
    a stranger – then
    who she is and forgets
    himself: it’s you
    he smiles (he always means it)
    he laughs (and feels abashed)
    her eyes mirror his
    she is his (they always are)
    they are both young
    they both can
    moments of belief, of the only kind
    he’ll know
    all strangers
    his kind. He is
    kind, or he could be, this singled out
    he takes her
    camera and asks
    Am I in there?

    Someone Famous, With Girl (1985)

    In 2014 I wrote a blog about Michael that stops at that poem and bears its title.

    The last time I saw Michael was New Year’s Eve 1988. I was at a party at a Sydney harborside mansion. Michael was there, with model-actress Virginia Hey. I was femme’d up – stiletto heels, a satin bubble skirt, ‘80s long hair – and we exchanged formal nods. My heels sank into the lawn and mosquitoes bit my shins.

    As INXS conquered the U.S. charts, and as stories about Michael’s jet-setting lifestyle cluttered the tabloids, I came to see Michael as symbolic of “success”: Michael was the one who’d made it. I envied him his home in the south of France, his London pad, his famous friends. I envied him the Good Life with the Beautiful People. Even when paparazzi ambushed him and Paula Yates that notorious Sunday morning on their weekend ‘getaway’ (as if), even as I grew anxious for his well-being, I still saw Michael as representing success, and I still saw success as luxury and celebrity.

    That night, after Michael’s death, I had a nightmare that another of my rock star acquaintance-friends, a peer of Michael’s, Marc Hunter, had hanged himself too. (Marc died a few months later, of throat cancer; I didn’t know he was ill). I wore black to work the next day, and a small cross, and Liza Minnelli sad eyes, and I told my boss and another workmate about my nightmare. Michael’s death was all over the papers, or should I say, the papers were all over Michael’s death. I worked at a media planning agency, with 50 young men, two young female media planners, and four admin support staff (all female). Almost all staff were aged under 30. There were jokes about rock star deaths.

    Rock star deaths proved such a hit that our Xmas Party Social Committee decided to make that the Xmas party theme: Dead Pop Stars. The 33 year old who headed up the committee announced his intention to go as Michael Hutchence, in blue face, with a rope around his neck. I said that if Dead Pop Stars was the theme, I – the marketing director – would not attend the Xmas party. The theme was amended simply to Pop Stars.

    My boss told me other staff complained I was making something out of nothing. They didn’t believe I’d known Michael Hutchence. My boss told me to buck up. I decided to use the shock of Michael’s death to make changes in my life. I took to jogging around the Serpentine in Hyde Park during my lunch break, a short-lived practice.

    On about my second run I emerged from the lift and stepped into the office foyer as my boss was waiting to take the lift down. I glared at him; I was embarrassed at being seen in lycra shorts.

    My boss asked, “You look at me as if you hate me. But I’m the only friend you have around here.”

    That, I think, is a truer beginning.

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Review: The Lost Ten (2019) by Harry Sidebottom

Harry_Sidebottom_The_Lost_TenHarry Sidebottom is an academic specializing in the 3rd Century Roman Empire who has written two popular novel series: the best-selling Warrior of Rome series (seven novels centered on a Germano-Roman general named Ballista), and the Throne of the Caesars series (three novels charting the tumultuous times between Alexander Severus and the Gordian emperors).

This year, a stand-alone novel was published (through Zaffre / Allen & Unwin), loosely connected to the Ballista tales, and titled The Lost Ten.

The cover blurb for The Lost Ten reads: ‘A crack squad. An impenetrable fortress. A desperate mission’.

Inevitably, this blurb conjures up sword’n’sandals Guns of Navarone or Andy McNab ripping yarn, which is probably how this title was pitched. In much the way his previous novel, The Last Hour, can be dismissed as Jack Reacher in Rome.

But I like Harry Sidebottom as a writer, and I like the way he evokes his ancient Rome, and I think it a mistake to dismiss these books.

Sidebottom writes in a fine tradition of historical fiction descending from Alexandre Dumas and Sir Walter Scott, through Robert Louis Stevenson to Patrick O’Brian and Bernard Cornwell.

At his best, in the Ballista novels, Sidebottom’s work is characterized by a keen eye and sense of humour, teamed with research-based authenticity, a confident, lucid writing style, rollicking plots, a moral awareness, a degree of sensitivity, and a grounding in the genres of contemporary popular culture, notably the Western.

The Ballista novels seem to hold a special place in the hearts of Sidebottom fans. With The Throne of the Caesars trilogy, he explored a weightier, more ponderous format, and my guess is it bit him in the butt commercially.

There was a change in publisher. The first two novels with the new publisher, Zaffre, are a bid to reassert the thriller creds of the Sidebottom brand. They seem to me directed to a target audience that is mostly (but not wholly) male, whose reading is perhaps (but not always) confined to military adventure novels and graphic novels, and really wants a fast page-turner.

Both The Lost Ten and The Last Hour deliver to that demographic.

For me, I think it would be a shame to consign the Sidebottom output solely to that demographic, however. In my humble opinion, there are rewards to reading Sidebottom novels that extend well beyond.

I look forward to whatever Sidebottom writes next, and to rejoining Ballista’s continued adventures.