Durban International Film Festival 2013

At the Blue Waters Hotel, the DIFF headquarters.
Look at me all smug with my DIFF bag and media tag!

Ok fuck!  I have been moping around for a month now complaining that “I have writers block”,  blah blah.  Meanwhile I have spent July going to the most amazing functions and parties – what more inspiration does one need! I tell you – sometimes I could just slap myself. Naughty! So within the next few days I will try to catch you up on the last month.

Ok so the last thing on my agenda was the Durban International Film Fest (DIFF). This is always a highlight for me - remember last year with the strippers and the getting drunk – well there was none of that this year. I was the picture of a good journalist, which I had to be because the whole festival became a media spectacle.

I attended the opening night in the usual full regalia, my small purse however did not allow for a pen and pad – the usual tools of my trade. But I thought what the hell, it’s the same every year and all the major points will be sent to me in an e-mail. Friends, I have never been so wrong! The evening started out as it usually does with speeches before an opening movie. This year instead of the opening film, we saw a notice. The film and Publication board had chosen that morning to ban the movie ‘Of Good Report’ for its depiction of child pornography. I tell you, it took me a good few minutes to realise what just happened. What had happened was that I was ill prepared for this kind of twist in the plot and I spent the next hour typing a page one lead on my blackberry. So it is safe to say I learned many things that night and the most important was: “NEVER BE UNPREPARED”!

The opening party.

We could go back and forth on our thoughts on banning and artistic rights but this is not the forum (although you are welcome to read any of my articles on the subject). The opening night for me was an opportunity to do some real journalism and I learned so much. I was lucky enough to meet the Jahmil Qubeka, the director, and speak to him about his film at the after party. The after party, by the way, which I decided to attend after having to write a sudden page one lead ON MY BLACKBERRY! I tried to get drunk. I must say though that the after party lived up to its usual splendor. There was the nomadic tent on the lawn of Suncoast Casino, a Latino band, yummy food and plenty of free drinks – but alas I went home sober - probably because my nerves had been shot.

The festival was a bit of a disappointment for me. My favorite part of DIFF is spending my days watching wonderful films. There were endless problems with formats and film classifications. On one particular day I went to watch four movies, but could only see one because of the aforementioned problems. I had to watch ‘World War Z’ instead of one ‘Spring Breakers’ and straight afterwards I went in to watch ‘Zombie Land’ only for that to be replaced by ‘World War Z’. I was in no mood for that! “Ain’t nobody got time for that”, as Divine Brown would say.

At the Closing party.

Fresh pizza at the Closing party.

The closing of DIFF was a wonderful day. I had been given some VIP tickets to Taste of Durban thanks to Vida e Caffee, which was held on the grounds of Suncoast. So I got to fill up on the most amazingly yummy foods and Champaign and wines and chocolates and snacks before heading into the movie theatre. I met my friend and colleague there, which turned out to be lucky for me because DIFF announced the unbanning of ‘Of Good Report’, so I would need to stay over to cover the film the following day. Once again I was unprepared, this time because of my lack of a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

The award speeches were rather long and unprepared but the evening ended wonderfully with a party at The Blue Waters Hotel. We spent the night eating handmade pizzas, listening to music and enjoying good conversation.

The Good Food and Wine show.

I was up early the following morning to watch an amazing film by Qubeka. I got to put DIFF to bed with an amazing sense of accomplishment having learned so many life lessons (I now keep a spare toothbrush in my car).

With director Jahmil Qubeka before the opening of his film 'Of Good Report'. Can you tell I haven't slept?

There are just a few points I want to make – mostly because I am a bitch. If DIFF had put their selected movies through to the Film and Publications Board to be reviewed earlier, then the banning and unbanning debacle could all have happened before the festival took place. Although we would have record of it going through this process, we would not have had the drama of the opening night. The fiasco did encourage a lot of conversation about banning laws in South Africa, and I know that the performance by the director was preplanned (the taping of the mouth and ripping up of the ID book –which was actually his wife’s temp passport). I wonder perhaps if DIFF has changed from its original purpose of showcasing art, to becoming a public mouthpiece. Not that I object to that at all. I would perhaps like a little warning because I went to DIFF to celebrate art, not to discuss my right to celebrate art. But what the banning did do was make the festival world – renowned and give a young director a wonderful platform for his next big creation – and well deserved I’d say.

My review as it appeared in The Witness Newspaper.

Feeling the love

After weeks (OK months) of writers block, I had an inspired thought: Writing is a medium for which I can share myself with the world, perhaps the reason I cannot write is that I feel disconnected.

I know that this is a self indulgent thought, but it gives the only reason for my absent words.

I have always felt like an outsider - But I have also thrived on the outskirts. The kind words of others seldom soothe the hurt of isolation, but isolation comes from me.  It is such a funny thing to be loved but to not feel the love.

The kindness has not gone unnoticed and I will repay it with words – soon. 

Top Gear Festival 2013

A thousand apologies for I have been dealing with incredible writers block and haven't written in so long. Also a word of caution, it seems that my new writing voice is incredibly self indulgent - you have been warned! Also all images and videos are courtesy of Yashen Moodley. 

Yup

Does anyone else remember last year’s Top Gear Festival? I do. I remember lots of guidos fighting; I remember plastic cups of black label, the smell of petrol fumes and dust so thick it made a line on my teeth where they stick out from beneath my goofy smile. I said to myself: “Not this time girl – you have come too far to be picking miggies out of your mouth.”  So this year I went as a guest of Shell. Oh friends what a delight it is to experience the VIP hospitality that is Shell at Top Gear. Let me count the ways ...

Because walking is so Top Gear 2012.

My colleagues and I got escorted to the media centre at the Moses Mabhida stadium. This is critical information because what I am saying is that we did not have to queue – I hate a queue. We got our media passes and from there the world of Top Gear was ours. All access, free food ... the only problem is that once you get a taste of VIP – Oh friends you cannot enjoy Top Gear without it.

We made our first stop at the Shell stand where I got to sit in an F1 car simulator as well as change an F1 racing car tyre. I was told that it takes the pros 5seconds to change the tyres and refuel an F1 car. It took me around 14 seconds to just pick up the heavy drill. I was the model for the day so I got to do some fun things of the girl’s - day - out - at - Top Gear variety. I think it was pretty amusing for my colleagues because I can barely drive. I was shown some sort of special car that had travelled Siberia and was told by Shell to point to the oil thingy for a picture. So embarrassing, I don’t even know where one places their car oil. The man had to show me, eventually placing his hands on the oil thingy because I don’t understand where “next to the engine” is!

Is it there?

They had the sexiest Greek men working for them; I guess it is the equivalent of eye-candy for bitches. Unfortunately for me these men where all business –there was no time for silly girls who don’t know car things. I had to do a small video and pretend that I had raced a circuit and they acted like it was their worst day ever. The video below is an example for you taken just before we made the official video. Look how angry this man looks, and look at me trying so hard – bless. Back in my youth the men used to check out my rack, now he looks like he is having the worst day of his life (I learned later that he was in fact dating the other sexy Greek man)

After that humiliation, Yashen, my wonderful colleague, and I went and hung out in some VIP car place. I don’t know cars, but I do love a shiny new beast of a machine and I have a weakness for Audi’s. So whilst Yashen gushed over something called a Bumblebee and something else with numbers and Z’s in it, I sat sipping my champagne staring at my Audi.  There is something wonderful about lounging on a chaise sipping Champaign and eating strawberries whilst the general public looks on from behind the velvet ropes and bouncers – and there was a pianist!

Sorry dahling ...

Ok, so I am milking this VIP thing and you are probably puking by now, so let me move on. We got escorted to the Shell hospitality suite in the stadium where we were greeted with a table full of beers. Yashen and I caught up with our Motoring Editor at the bar. He was on his fourth cider. We were called a bunch of pussies for not being drunk. “When I was a cub reporter we would be laying in a pool of our own vomit before this thing even started. Free drinks – you are a disgrace”. Well forgive me but I thought this was a work outing ... However, so as not to disappoint anyone I ordered a nice glass of merlot and headed into the VIP suite. Ladies and gentlemen – how will I ever enjoy the stadium again? Those suites have the best view, there was a private bar, and there was Lasagne for Christ sakes! It was as if Top Gear had just said “Crumbles - let’s make this girl happy”, and so they did.

The show was cool, there were cars, and babes and jokes about Oscar Pistorious (perhaps too soon). I was happy because I had done some really fun things and all it cost me was 200 words.

Can I have this one?

MTV Africa All Stars with Snoop Lion

One of the members of Camp Mulla chatting after their performance.

Saturday was one of the craziest nights of my life. I had to get legal advice in order to sort-of tell you what happened, but there are a lot of things I wish I could, but just can’t say. What I can say is that I had been waiting for this night ever since I first heard that Snoop Lion (aka Snoop Dog) was going to be in town. I received an invite to the African All Stars concert and I actually broke a nail in my haste to type a reply: “YES I WILL BE THERE – THANK YOU!”

Snoop Lion on stage at The Peoples Park.

I was already a little tired from the Dune Rats gig at Live - The Venue the previous night, but as soon as I drove into the stadium the atmosphere was electric! There were hundreds of people there - ok the number was closer to 13 000 people, but it was a truly South African representation. The crowd was completely mixed - I love this kind of vibe. It is the feeling you get when you go to a soccer match as opposed to a rugby game. We were all brothers and sisters and man, was I feeling the love.

Penny Lebyane on the red carpet.

Having said all of that, I must profess that there is one kind box I do enjoy being put into, and that is VIP. Friends, there is nothing like a bit of VIP access. You park close to the venue; get escorted to where you need to go and you get free food and drinks. I arrived with Penny Lebyane (of Motswako and Idols fame) so I was lucky enough to be escorted into the venue with her. The whole night was like that - there were ZAlebs everywhere. I just put away my press card and acted like I was a super star for the night.

I was welcomed at the door by a colleague who was working the event. When I asked her about not being able to take photos backstage (Getty had those privileges) she just said: “Trust me, once you are inside, you won’t want to leave.” She was right!

Dinner is served.

My favourite bar staff.

The VIP tent was a distinguishable from the highway; a huge see-through tent lit up with multicoloured lights. It was high off the ground with a vast wrapping balcony which took up half of the field alongside the stage. As I walked towards it I could see various lit tables with waitrons carrying silver trays of hors d'oeuvre scuttling beneath tall outdoor heaters. My invite said come at six; it was now half past and I was afraid of missing out on the snacks. Silly me. I have been told wondrous tales about events backed by the provincial government, there were three bars laden with alcohol, five different dining stations and fifteen Ola ice-cream carts filled with everything from Sole’s to Magnums. The best part was that if you were too busy talking about your wonderful, wealthy life, the waitrons were all too keen to fetch you whatever you needed. This is how the ZAlebs roll.

Cocktails and beautiful people.

I got myself a drink and headed out onto the balcony. I like doing events alone because I love meeting new people, but before that first drink I am always a frightened squirrel. I bumped into an obnoxious writer I know. This person prides himself on offending people. I usually find him rather funny, but he has recently graduated to mocking people just to see them get hurt. I don’t like this. But I went and said hello because I am nice. He started to mock my voice (it is rather nasal and whiny). As he stood above me, waiting for me to react I couldn’t help but notice some rather large nose hairs peeking out from his nostrils. Instead of giving him what he wants, I reached up and plucked the hairs straight from that large nose and showed them to him like a hunting trophy. I then wiped them on his shirt before heading back to the bar. I know it was childish, but seeing the tears in his eyes felt like wonderful revenge for all the ugly things he said to people in the past.   

Half of Camp Mulla, a Kenyan Alternative Hip Hop group.

Professor on the red carpet.

Professor was onstage and I couldn’t help twerking to Jezebel with the rest of the girls. The royal family (the younger members of course) were all sitting at the end of the room, distinguished by their royal leopard skins and headdresses. I asked the prince if I could take a photo with him and the family and I got chatting to one of the members of the family who I cannot reveal because he asked for weed in exchange for a private meeting with Snoop Lion (Snoop was staying backstage with his ‘people’).

Members of the Zulu Royal family.

When Snoop did eventually come on stage I lost myself. We all headed onto the balcony and danced for the rest of the night. He sang a lot of his old songs, so the throes of dancing managed to somehow damage the balcony which started to collapse under our booty-shaking asses. But all was well in the end - I managed to get my backstage pass.

After the show I made my way through the offstage smoke and haze ... and standing in front of me there he was: “Sup, you like my show”?

Snoop Lion on stage at the MTV Africa All Stars Concert. Note the Zulu headdress usually reserved for royalty.

Freedom Festival

Chanelle and I are trying to do the trance dance ... 

I woke up super early on Saturday morning to go to the Freedom Festival in Umhlali. I am not usually one for psy trance – or any kind of trance for that matter. But I am definitely not one to turn down a party. So after stocking the car with a veritable smörgåsbord of food (chips, cheese and cashew nuts), Chanelle, Courtney and I were on our way. Obviously none of us knew where Umhlali was, but that is what a GPS is for, and so we faithfully followed the Garmen all the way to fuck-knows-where amongst some sugarcane.

A delicious corn snack for the road.

After about a thousand kilometres we reached a tiny farming town and realised that we were probably not going to see another ATM soon. If you have ever driven through the Eastern Cape, you will recognise the kind of town I am talking about. There was one road, ten chicken outlets and a lowly Checkers which housed the only cash delivery system for about twenty kilometres. This was the only place to draw money. We parked amongst various vendors selling walky-talkies (SA name for chicken neck and feet) and braaied mielies. Coco stayed in the car whilst Chanelle and I made our way through the various goats and Sangomas to draw money. We arrived back to find Coco in hysterics because a man had tried obtain her for some good old fashioned raping, so needless to say we sped the hell out of there.

Chanelle in tears as she realises that
we are completely lost.

After another hour of driving, the Garmen lady told us to turn left down a gravel road. We knew we were close because the polo fields on which the festival was to take place were down a dirt road. Only once we had reached our destination (the famous Garmen words) we were literally at the end of a footpath which looked on to sewage and cane fields. Literally at the shit-end of the world, we were lost. Apparently this particular GPS likes to take its followers the long way around. Personally I think it was someone’s idea of a cruel joke. But luckily we are resourceful girls. We used our phones to look up the directions on the Freedom Festival website and soon enough we were on our way. The instructions were to take Glendale Road and follow it till the end; “You can’t miss it” according to the website.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is a deceptive remark. We found Glendale Road. What we didn't know at the time is that we were at the other side of Glandale Road. About thirty kilometers from the end of Glendale Road, where we really wanted to be.

Umhlali - beautiful but we weren't there for the scenery! 

We drove at around fourty kilometers fer hour down the rockiest dirt road ever. We were out of cell phone range and our petrol tank had been flashing red for the last half hour. At the top of the next bolder we decided to head back, certain that we had made a wrong turn. We were literally the only people on the road, the festival started at twelve, it was now four and we were getting scared. On our way down we saw a police sign and turned up another dirt road to ask the police for directions. They were helpful and told us we were on the right path but it would be about another twenty kilometers to our destination. We happily drove on. On the way we saw a bunch of small children who had caught a swallow and tied it to a string. I convinced them to let it go in exchange for a packet of Fritos.

Coco and I trying to make our humble abode.

We arrived at the festival at half four and set up our tent for the night. There are two kinds of people who go to a trance party. There are those (like me) who are there for the experience. These people tend to get into the spirit by dressing the part and perhaps even indulging in a bit of contraband. And then there are those who live for trance. They are at every festival; they are the true hippies who are involved in every aspect of a trance party. I met two of these characters. One was a forty-year-old woman who came up to us and asked us: “Do you girls want to spin?” “Sure, why not” we replied. We all held hands and spun around the field. I must say it was rather pleasant in an innocent childlike manner. This was all destroyed however when two men who were clearly not trance regulars joined in. Things got kind of out of hand and our new friend let out a cry: “You are going too fast.” And then it was all over. The second noteworthy character we met was a man we now refer to as ‘the toy maker’. He was a mixture between hippy and Goth, dressed in black, with black hair that would not have passed the ‘pencil test’ during apartheid ( it was shaved at the sides I guess to prevent the afro-effect which his hair is no doubt prone to). I digress. This man made us all imaginary balls in a kind of weird wizard dance. Once each of our balls was made he just stood with the ‘ball’ in his palm until we pretended to take them. I put mine in my pocket and he moved off doing a strange dance with his ball as if it was real and bouncing around. I just wonder what these kinds of people do other than hang out at trance parties? I cannot imagine him functioning in society. As judgemental as that sounds, how does he relate to people in everyday situations like work when he is constantly creating his own world in his head? I suppose on a weird level that is what everybody else is doing – Perhaps just in a less obvious way.

Pretty.

The main dance area. As you can see inhibitions are lost here ... Mr Two-steps.

Anyways, I realised psy trance is not for me. Boom-perdy-boom for twenty four hours can make a person seriously crazy. Literally every DJ set is the same boom-perdy-boom.  I can imagine all the woodland creatures eventually saying: “All right boom-perdy-boom, we get it, but can you change it up a bit for God’s sake?” Bambi’s mom is literally on the verge of suicide every time she gets word that there is going to be another trance party in her neighbourhood!

I love wine ...

At around two in the morning Chanelle and I fell asleep in the back of the car and at eight we woke to the sound of – you guessed it – boom-perdy-boom! We got out of there, and this time (following the right directions) it only took an hour to get home.

Chanelle loves cheese!

The festival by the way was beautiful. It was decorated so beautifully and it was in the most beautiful place. I felt really at peace and I met some of the most wonderful people. I really do recommend that everyone goes to a trance party at least once in their lifetime - if only to experience it.

One love! HERPDI DERP!

Friday night at Live - The Venue

It gets a 3 on the Kinsey scale. 

I had an amazing phone interview a few days ago with one of South Africa’s up-and-coming bands. These guys truly are amazing. Their music is amazing and the singer, I believe, has one of the best voices in the country. I just know these guys are going to be huge, and very soon too. My interview went wonderfully because the lead vocalist who I chatted to was an absolute treat. All too often the fame goes to the musos' heads and the band members walk around thinking they are Mr. Big Dick and they have no time for us little journalists. But not this guy: he was very polite, very sweet, and went as far as inviting me to be on his guest list for the band's gig this Friday. So of course I went – I would have gone anyway!

Saturday was my friend Chanelle’s birthday so naturally she was my plus one for Friday’s gig at Live – The Venue. Unfortunately I was a little late in meeting her at the Durban flat, so whilst I was getting my act together and driving down, she got stuck in to the Vodka. My fault really because I took so damn long. But by the time I got to her I had a lot of catching up to do, which I tried my best to do.  

By the time we got to the venue we had made best friends with our taxi driver, we sang him our favourite Zulu song, and had nearly got knocked over crossing the road, and then I nearly got electrocuted  when I walked into what I thought was a bank van, but what was actually an electricity station. Hot damn.

In the Taxi to Live.

We made our way to the bar, had a couple of drinks and reassessed our sobriety. I was ok, Chanelle remember had just polished of a bottle of vodka on her own. We decided to get meat pies. As fate would have it, we bumped into a rotti merchant at the door and he was good enough to deliver us the onioniest rottie ever. But it saved our lives. 

That face could melt the heart of a thousand warriors. 

The band started and we made our way to the front. Again I will say that this band is absolutely incredible. Their set is really tight, and let’s not forget that Live has got to be the best stage in terms of acoustics. That, combined with the voice of a baby angel and you get pure sexy magic onstage. We had a fab time.

After the set Chanelle and I went to say hello as I had promised to do. We waited patiently whilst all the lusty women and men did their usual gushing over the band. Once things had quietened down I approached a band member to introduce myself: “Hello, I am Alex with Media24. I did your interview last week. Thank you for coming so far to share your music with us”. I got a “Hello” and a grunt as he turned away from me. Yowzer! A little frosty for someone who had asked me to watch the band perform. Things got a little worse. I went to the vocalist who I had interviewed to introduce myself and left Chanelle standing with the other guy. She told me that after a while of standing next to him she said: “Hello you must be freaked out with me standing here.” “Yes I am,” he replied. So then the girl gives it here best; “It’s my birthday tomorrow – I’ll buy you a Jagermeister!” He moved away. 

I'll drink your Jagermeister!

This might sound a little silly, but if you are in a band, and you are doing well, there is a chance that you just might meet some girls who don’t actually want to fuck you. I get that there are groupies around, and in this band's defence they were being swarmed with pussay, but we were there as friends and as their guests. Yes we love you. No we don’t want you - just your music. Let this not tarnish their stellar performance and their absolute professionalism. I still think they are great, but common – it was Chanelle's birthday, let her buy you a drink for Christ’s sake!

But no, I still love you. After that we headed to Origin for another of my friend's farewell. But we ended up spending an hour at the hot dog stand instead where Chanelle got the biggest wors of her life. We ended the night on the couch watching The Banger Sisters, oddly enough, a movie about two groupies ...

Bend and snap!

4U Rage Intro - Rocca Bar Street Party

It's pure love between us! 

This weekend was probably one of the busiest to date – and it followed after one of the busiest weeks of my life. Slowly and happily my career is starting to take off and the sheer excitement of my wonderful life has left me in a crazy stupor. I really do mean crazy. I mean like bat-shit crazy.

After my busy week, my plan was to pop into three events in Durban for a couple of hours and then to go home to bed on Friday night. Then I heard that my wonderful friend Chanelle would be in town, so one thing lead to another and we ended up planning a whole night of partying instead. 

After a long drive we arrived at our accommodation for the night, both needing to pee really bad. You know the night is about to go south when you step out of the car at a gated residence and find yourself squatting behind a tree. Chanelle is the kind of friend you can pull your pants down in front of. As soon as we got inside our host said she could see everything from the window. She also alerted us to the fact that our heels looked like we had just run through a sprinkler.

Our first destination was an awesome club that I usually go to and I really wanted to party with my friend that night. But as soon as we got there I knew something was different. We were the oldest people there. It was crazy. We stood out from the crowd looking about a hundred years old. But being the positive person I am we decided to persevere and have a drink. Many Tequilas and a G & T later and we were still the oldest people in the club. So I decided to called up my wonderful friend Jay Tweek and asked him where the hell he was. 

I never could handle my tequilas!

We arrived at the Rocca bar Street Party completely overdressed. I was wearing a slutty dress with fantastic red wedges and, needless to say, my pretty shoes are now ruined. We found Jay and started ordering shots. I am not entirely sure what else we did that night besides drink, dance and party.

Rocca was really awesome – they should host outdoor events more often. The club has a really interesting design and when it is opened up like it was on Friday, it becomes a really fun maize of music. Chanelle and I ruined our shoes dancing to P.H.Fat. We realised that all the adults we had missed in the previous club were at this bar instead. Which is another reason I am so impressed because with the thousands of bodies all around, we had no problem at all getting a drink, perfect!

Jay Tweek doing his thang, take a look at those guns.

Jay was asked to play with Veranda Panda so Chanelle and I spent the rest of the night dancing. As soon as his set was done at around four, he gave us a lift home, but not before getting a meat pie at the local petrol station (this is getting to be a habit). Then Chanelle showed me how to TC (tactical chunder) which was just hilarious and didn’t work at all. Now that I am sober I realise that Jay is probably horrified at having to watch me behave so inappropriately. But at least he laughed! 

We woke up the next morning, watched Death Becomes Her and ate the world’s burniest pizza. Awesome weekend. Rocca aweh! 

So much love, and my ass is too big for that dress - White girl got junk yall!