Of course, I will always be able to reminisce of the excitement in the Sidney Myer Music Bowl when during the premiere of Queen Of The Damned there was a brief, yet distinct flash of five figures, one carrying a pitchfork and another a black rose. I am told there also exists a brief shot of my sunflower dance elsewhere in cinematic archives, though I am yet to see the movie Nightclubber to confirm or deny such a rumour.
I’d just seen Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen, and it obviously took the walk from the cinema to the car park for a shot of a man pointing frantically at an approaching Decepticon that featured towards the end of the movie. The film itself was quite enjoyable, if a little long, and I was grateful that the Transformers spoke because their voiced provided much amusement in the opening sequences. I also learned that Transformers come from space. But it was the perhaps one second of some guy pointing to the robot which has remained etched on my mind. I don’t want to be an actor, but I want to be up there on the big screen, if only for a second, highly noticeable. Not just a dancing figure in the background, but someone prominent. I want to be referred to in a script or storyboard as ‘guy in foreground,’ even though the role could have gone to anyone. Perhaps there is already a name for such a role, other than ‘prominent extra.’ I don’t know. But maybe I should try calling the dubious looking number that is a permanent fixture in the careers section of The Saturday Age calling for extras of all ages, shapes and sizes.
After I got home from the movie, I moved into the next phase of my native revegetation scheme. My previous attempts at revegetation were thwarted when, in broad daylight, a pair of infants advised me that ‘you aren’t allowed to plant trees in the park!’ On a whim, I countered that this was a part of a native revegetation project.
‘Oh…’ one of them said, and they looked at each other before leaving either satisfied with my response, or confused at the words which may be considered complicated for children of their years. Nevertheless, when I went to water the plants, they were gone, either deliberately removed, perhaps as a result of the children telling some kind of authorities, or simply having fallen prey to the lawn mover.
With this defeat in mind, for my second attempt at the project, I used trees which were a little older, and planted them in the midst of stumps and other obstacles to make them immune to the effects of the lawn mower. For additional support, some have even been interwoven amongst the remains of dead flora. I am more confident with this batch, the cover of desolate Sunday night darkness also working to my advantage, though a neighbour man did seem to sight me from his upstairs window returning from the park with a shovel. Luckily, to avoid identification I slipped down another neighbour’s path, hiding the shovel on the way, and advised them that I had noticed they left their headlights switched on.