Zadar sunset

Sunset in the historic walled Adriatic seaside town of Zadar in Croatia, taken on 7 June 2015.

Mastermind & Peter Sinclair

Peter Sinclair (screencap via The Spinoff)

Steve Braunias' column today about the penultimate grand final of the New Zealand edition of Mastermind in 1990 brought back fond memories. I was fortunate to appear in the final series of Mastermind the following year (indeed, I'm fond of claiming my appearance was its death knell) and can endorse the appraisal of the hugely experienced host Peter Sinclair as the consummate professional and just a decent, nice guy. Like the 1990 winner Hamish McDouall (now Deputy Mayor of Wanganui District), I was a relatively young competitor - either 17 or 18 at the time of filming, and from memory I may have been the 2nd youngest competitor in the programme's NZ run. 

It proved surprisingly easy to get onto Mastermind. At the time I was reading anything and everything, which is one of the benefits of doing the first year of a BA degree, so I made up for my lack of experience with a reasonable amount of book-smarts. And I surmised that in a country of three or so million, not many would actually put their hands up to be on Mastermind, which turned out to be accurate. My specialist topic was a series of books I was mad about at the time - the Belgariad fantasy novels by David Eddings. Not high culture by any means, but I knew them back to front, or so I thought.

My first appearance on the programme - also my first appearance on TV in general - went by in quite a daze.  It became obvious that the all-black background was convenient because it meant TVNZ could spend the bare minimum on set-dressing.  I don't think I met Sinclair before the recording, but I knew what to expect and my specialist questions were all straightforward. The general knowledge round wasn't particularly hard either, and I emerged the winner of my heat by quite a decent margin. The main memory of the night is the thickness and orangeness of my caked-on TV makeup, which was required due to my noxious teenage skin, which of course could not be permitted on viewers' primetime screens.

Some months later I returned for the first semifinal with three fellow contestants including, I think, a father and son duo, Olaf Peek and his son, whose name I can't recall. The competition was much keener, and the questions on my books had been toughened up quite a bit. University exams were on at the same time, so I hadn't had time to re-read the the five books before the recording. In the end I came something like 3rd in the semifinal - not good enough to progress to the final - and kicked myself for never having heard of Don McLean's 'Vincent', which was admittedly released two years before I was born.

Afterwards I was able to talk briefly with Sinclair, and he was particularly kind when he saw how disappointed I was. Rather than winning a much-coveted trip to England, it would take me six more years to finally reach London under my own steam. Sinclair revealed that he and the crew had thought I might be able to go on and emulate McDouall's feat of the previous year, which was a very nice thing to say. And I witnessed a moment of quiet dignity too, when some numbskull audience member asked Sinclair if it was alright to have his picture taken in Sinclair's hosting chair in front of the Mastermind sign. Sinclair of course offered to be in the photo too, and the man replied, 'Nah, that's fine'. It may have just been a thoughtless remark but it struck me that Sinclair just smiled and let him get on with it, ignoring the insult. A true gentleman through and through.

[The above text is a lightly edited cross-post of a comment I posted on the Braunias blog]

Wellington 150: a capital anniversary

Wellington c.1865 (via National Library)

In honour of the 150th anniversary today of the opening of the first Parliamentary session held in Wellington following the formal transfer of capital city status from Auckland to Wellington, here's the local newspaper's account of the opening of the general assembly back in 1865 during a traditional Wellington winter howler:

NEW ZEALAND PARLIAMENT.

OPENING OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY. Yesterday afternoon, at two o'clock, the ceremony of opening Parliament took place for the first time in Wellington since the removal of the seat of Government. The weather, unfortunately, turned out very wet, although in the morning it had given promise of a fine day. The Wellington Rifle Volunteers were ordered to parade on the Reclaimed Land at a quarter to one o'clock, to form a guard of honor for his Excellency [Governor George Grey], and at that time they had mustered in pretty strong force, there being present Major Gorton, commandant of Militia and Volunteers, Captain Kirwan, Captain Pilmer, Lieutenant Mills, Ensign Holmes, and about sixty rank and file. At half-past one o'clock they marched up to the House of Assembly in Molesworth Street, and on arriving there, were opened out into two ranks facing inwards, and after the usual preliminaries of "eyes left," "dress," &c., were ordered to stand easy as if such a thing were possible in the very uncomfortable state of the weather. In fact, the belles of Wellington, who had sent their gallant defenders to take part in the grand demonstration on the day, must have been grievously disappointed at the appearance of their heroes, for however prim they might have left home, the soaking they got there would doubtless damp all esprit de Corps. 

However, after waiting patiently for some time in anxious expectation, an Albert Car was driven up smartly to the entrance, and necks were stretched to their utmost extension to catch a glimpse of His Excellency, but only to be disappointed, for the occupants turned out to be three ladies, who, although not expected were probably all the more admired. At a quarter to two o'clock some one in livery rushed out of the door in frantic haste and commenced ringing a large bell in a most energetic manner, the meaning of which ceremony was to warn all laggard members to take their places. This passed over, and a few minutes before two o'clock expectation was gratified by seeing a small body of dark figures leave Government House and take road to the House of Assembly. A bugler (or perhaps we ought rather to call him a Herald) sounded a call on his instrument and immediately the gallant Major gave the orders "shoulder arms", "present arms" the band of the company playing inspiriting music during the time of transit from the gates to the House. His Excellency, accompanied by Major Grey, A.D.C., Capt. Bulkley, A.D.C., the Rev Mr Thatcher, Private Secretary, a Native Assessor, and other members of his staff, all in full uniform, advanced uncovered between the two lines of volunteers, but the effect was much marred by the sparkling uniforms being hid under horse cloaks, worn in consequence of the rain. After divesting themselves of these outer garments, His Excellency and suite at once proceeded to the House of the Legislative Council.
- Wellington Independent, 27 July 1865

See also:

History: Anzac Day eve street parade, 24 April 2015

History: Wellington Anniversary Day 1850, 22 January 1850

History: Pencarrow Lighthouse 1859, 20 January 2014

Dobbyn & Orpheus

Dave Dobbyn and band practice with the Orpheus Choir for their performance on 25 July 2015 at Parliament to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Parliament shifting from Auckland to Wellington.

Fra Mauro's map: an instrument of the imagination

'If you walk to the western corner of St Mark's Square, climb up the stone steps of the Museo Correr, pay 16 euros, saunter through nineteen rooms of marble, coins and globes, you end up at a glass door. This is the Biblioteca Marciana, the civic library built in the 1530s to house a vast collection of Greek and Roman manuscripts and later a copy of every book printed in Venice. And there, between the museum and the library, visible through the glass door but accessible only with special permission from an attendant, is the work of a Venetian monk named Fra Mauro, who somehow, in 1459, knew more about what was where in the world than anyone else.

Mauro lived and worked on the Venetian island of Murano, already famous for its glass by the time he established his cartographer's studio there in the 1440s. He had travelled more than most, and some of his early naval and trade charts were drawn from experience. His circular world map (coloured ink on parchment, about two metres in diameter) was constructed for King Alphonso V of Portugal, and although the original no longer survives, we are fortunate that a copy was made for a Venetian lord.

The map contains almost three thousand place-names and a vast amount of explanatory text, and although it contained the usual misplaced rivers and regions, it was a geographical masterpiece. It is also - almost definitively - transitional, hovering between the old world and the new, and between the medieval depiction of the earth as one round "planisphere" and the dual-hemisphere projection that emerged in the sixteenth century. It is the last great map of a former age, history as soon as it was framed. Venice's role as "the hinge of Europe" was beginning to come to an end, and Mauro's vision of a world enclosed within a fishbowl would also lose its dominance. Columbus would set sail within a couple of decades, and Mercator would chart his voyages on a map enticingly open to the navigable oceans'.

- Simon Garfield, On the Map, London, 2013, p.75-6.

'My map ... was only one version of reality. It would only be of any use if it were employed as an instrument of the imagination. It occurred to me that the world itself should be seen as an elaborate artifice, and the expression of a will without end'.

- Fra Mauro, quoted in Peter Ackroyd, Venice, Pure City, London, 2009, p.345-6.

Images of the Fra Mauro map on display in the Museo Correr at St Mark's Square, Venice, 13 June 2015:

Fra Mauro's map

South is at the top

The mysterious far east, informed by Marco Polo's travels

Mare Indicum, the Indian Ocean

See also:
Blog: The Sunday morning train to Verona Porta Nuova, 15 June 2015
Blog: The tyranny of distance didn't stop the cavalier, 1 February 2011
Blog: Venice in peril, 18 February 2007

Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight

Within producer-turned-director Bill Pohlad's 2014 film Love & Mercy there is a solid drama featuring John Cusack as a mid-1980s Brian Wilson of Beach Boys fame and Elizabeth Banks as the resourceful woman he meets in a chance encounter, who ends up falling in love with Wilson and rescuing him from the untender ministrations of a deeply manipulative psychiatrist (a menacing Paul Giamatti). This particular half of the film is sweet, affecting and engaging.

But there's also the other half of the film, featuring a typically standout performance from Paul Dano as the younger 1960s Wilson: a supremely gifted songwriter who drags the arch-traditional sound of the Beach Boys kicking and screaming into psychedelic modernity, in doing so earning himself a spot in the rock pantheon reserved for true geniuses. Dano's half of Love & Mercy is a cut above, and offers a truly compelling role.

The pressure of this musical responsibility fell on the shoulders of a complicated man, troubled by the unfeeling cruelty of his ruthless father and faced with the task of single-handedly competing with three of the most gifted songwriters of the 20th century in Messrs Lennon, McCartney and Harrison. It is Dano's musical and psychological journey from the top of the charts into drug-fuelled psychosis that sets the scene for, and is arguably a class above, the interspersed Cusack and Banks scenes.

Throughout there are plentiful glimpses of the Wilson studio genius, and the scenes with session maestros The Wrecking Crew primes the viewer for film festival screenings of the doco of the same name. And the film's take on the intra-band rivalries, with the bearded Mike Love demanding Wilson return to simplistic, deeply retrogressive surfer ditties to bring on the hit singles, brings back memories of the oft-used catchphrase of the Popdose website when discussing the Beach Boys: 'F**k Mike Love!'