ISSUE #9

SWINBURNE STUDENT MAGAZINE 2016

IF YOU WANT TO SHARE ANY PIECES OF WORK OR IDEAS WITH US, CONTACT US AT: EDITOR@MEDIA.SSU.ORG.AU DESIGN@MEDIA.SSU.ORG.AU

CONTENTS

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the old house

10 interview with kirstine west anderson

14 soggy, smelly, rotting muck

18 i hate videogames 20 college photo series 28 home is work 34 treats

Swine Issue #9

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film review: BvS:DoJ

40

music reviews

44

origami & sudoku

Published May 2016 www.swinemagazine.org Swine is published by the Swinburne Student Union Email us at advertising@media.ssu.org.au for advertising enquiries

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SQUAD

Nick Kennedy

Pedro Cooray

Editor-in-Chief

Managing Editor

credits Grace Griffith Photography Chloe Morgan Photography Ana Tinc Writing Kristen X (Alias) Writing Scott Renton Writing Scott Renton Writing Jeremy Ponniah Writing

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Josh Coates

Jared Berman

Lead Designer

Promotions & Distribution Officer

issue 9 What makes a house a home? Family?

Familiarity? The stench of your twoweek old dirty laundry? It’s a question with almost endless answers, and in this issue of SWINE Magazine we decided to put that question to Swinburne students that live a little differently to the rest of us. Foreign exchange students, students with heritage halfway around the world, students who try to forge a home in a community they love, only to see that community turn into something they hate.

Grim stuff at times, but there’s also a lot of wide-eyed optimism. Creating new homes is something all of us have to do at some point in our lives, and its everyone’s unique approach to building their own space that makes homes beautiful things in the first place.

We hope you enjoy reading, relating, and being invited into the homes and lives of the people we’ve included in this issue.

Many thanks, SWINE Magazine Team.

THE OLD HOUSE

Pedro Cooray Almost all my memories of growing up in Sri Lanka take place in and around the house my family lived in, in Rajagiriya. I remember the TV where my sister and I would watch anime in Japanese without subtitles, the computer room where I shot out the light bulb with a BB gun (life lesson: never give a BB gun to an 8-year-old), and the extension out the back where our landlord’s sweet old mother stayed until she died.

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Our house was where we said goodbye to our entire extended family we’d known our whole lives. They travelled miles to see us off when we found out we got our Visa to come to Australia – the day before our f light.

In the fourteen years since, we’ve been back to Sri Lanka four or five times, and every time we never had a chance to go back to the house. When you’re trying to cram in multiple family reunions and sightseeing into a two-week period, there’s barely any time to catch your breath.

But don’t get me wrong; I love my family in Sri Lanka. Sure the house is important to us, but the people are what make being in the country worth it; through the pollution, poverty, and sweating through your clothes just from standing still.

But Christmas 2015, on a three-week trip (which was far too long; we’re never trying that again) we made time. We set aside an afternoon, borrowed my uncle’s car, and went back to Rajagiriya.

Finding the place took ages. Turns out, gentrification isn’t just a Western issue – the entire street was all fat houses surrounded by white walls. Even my parents thought the road was half the size it used to be. But in between the big white boxes, we found a tiny grey one with a bunch of trees coming out of it.

That was our house.

We peeked over the wall to see our old yard. My fears were already coming true, as my memory of an enormous, green backyard was replaced by the sight of what looked like a shoebox with corrugated iron and loose paint cans in it.

Turns out, gentrification isn’t just a Western issue

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Besides, I thought, another family probably lives there now.

Part of me never wanted to go back and see some other kid running around my bedroom, or a f lat-screen where our standard-definition cube used to be.

I didn’t want to realise how cramped the house is for adults, because it was a mansion when I was nine. I didn’t want to ruin my perfect memories with stupid, boring reality.

Dad went over to the gate next door, and called out for Mr Tudor, our old neighbour, and our landlord’s brother.

Along with his wife and teenage daughter, the Tudors were frequently our babysitters when our parents needed them.

Recognising us immediately, Mr Tudor rolled open his gate and invited us in to his place. Looking out the window, I could see the back gate to our house. I wondered if the new family would mind us taking a look around. What if they refused, after we came so close?

Mr and Mrs Tudor wanted us to sit and chat, offered us a meal and asked us to wait until their daughter came back from work, but we were on a deadline. Dad was eager to get to the point.

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‘We were trying to get in contact with your brother, to see if we can get in. Do you have his number?’

‘Oh, my brother died in prison five years ago.’

We didn’t react.

‘But I’m friends with the boys who live there now. Come with me, I’ll let you in.’

So we went in. Walking inside felt exactly the same. The windows facing the yard still had the elaborate-yetsymmetrical bars; I remember my sister squeezing through them into the house, that time our parents forgot the keys.

Even the colour of the f loor was the same, if that’s not a weird thing to say.

But the first difference I noticed was looking in the spare room, where they’d crammed in two sets of bunk beds.

‘We were trying to get in contact with your brother, to see if we can get in. Do you have his number?’

‘Oh, my brother died in prison five years ago.’

security guards were trying to get some rest, wondering what the hell tourists were doing walking through their naphut. One was reading the newspaper.

One was hastily putting a shirt on, never expecting women to see him in that state.

Then I saw the rest of the house.

Apparently Mr Tudor’s brother died in debt, so the government took all his assets, including the house. It was then sold it to a security company, and it’s now where their night staff come to sleep.

Every room was filled with bunk beds, and no other furniture, apart from a single cabinet where our dining table was. Even the living room was wall-towall bunk beds. This was same the room where, fourteen years earlier, we sat in the dark with our family, trying not to cry, thinking about how we may never see each other again. Bunk beds.

We were silent the whole time, with the nostalgia at finally returning, mixed with the awkwardness of navigating between sleepy strangers. These poor

‘They painted over the wall, but the shelves are exactly the same.

Can you see?’

Mum nodded rapidly, pretending not to notice the confused man ironing his pants in the kitchen.

We waited fourteen years to come back, and I think in total, we spent about two minutes in there. We’d seen enough. We said goodbye to the Tudors, got back in the car, and laughed.

I was so afraid that seeing another family living there would wreck my memories of the house, that seeing it turned into a hostel for shift workers is honestly the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Not many people get chances to self-indulge and go back to houses (or countries) that they used to call home, so I have no regrets at all.

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Clothes and plastic bags were thrown around the place. How many people are living here now?

Mr Tudor was pointing out everything that’s changed. He led Mum to the computer room – or whatever it’s called now.

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INTERVIEW WITH KIRSTINE WEST ANDERSON what it’s like to be an international student in Melbourne

Attempting to fit into a foreign nation can be daunting, even when you have tons of free time and plenty of cash up your sleeve. Expectations can be challenged and shattered, public transport networks are riddles that everyone knows the answer to but you, and if you’re a university study you’ll probably end up living on campus dealing with all the filth and noise that can come from sharing a building with dozens of other 20-somethings.

As Kirstine tells it, “everything in Denmark is small”, but apparently there is more things in common between Melbourne and Denmark at large than we might think.

I sat down with Kirstine at Oscar Mike outside Glenferrie station to find out what it’s like to be an international student in Melbourne right now.

SWINE MAGAZINE: So what are you studying back in Denmark?

KIRSTINE WEST ANDERSON: I study digital design, I.T., aesthetics and human interaction – and that’s human interaction with everything from digital art, computer games, service design, even healthcare. So we look at interfaces and stuff that people use when they encounter technology and other design. Every time you interact with a technology there is some kind of experience there – which we try to improve!

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Kirstine West Anderson is a Denmark export out of the city of Aarhus. As Denmark’s 2nd largest city, Aarhus has a population of around 330,000 people – for reference, Melbourne currently boasts a population of over four million people.

SM: And so what do you want to do with that degree once you’re finished, any specialisations you’re thinking of?

KWA: I’m really interested in the biomedical engineering part of it. So like, implants, disabilities, how you can use technology to improve people’s situations. So hopefully I’m going to do design that helps people in health related ways.

SM: What made you want to bring your studies to Swinburne, or Australia in general?

KWA: Well I love travelling, seeing how different cultures act. I don’t think the Australian culture is that different from the Danish one. Also, if I stayed in Denmark I’d have to study something completely different for the last semester of my major.

I heard that Swinburne was known for design and biomedical engineering so it was mainly because I could learn something here that I couldn’t learn back home.

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SM: Has Swinburne lived up to what you expected?

KWA: (pauses) yeah? I have some design classes; I don’t really have biomedical engineering classes. I didn’t really know what I should expect of it, but I did want to see how you could have a different approach to it – a more international approach.

SM: Is the Denmark university experience similar to what we have here?

KWA: In general, I think it’s pretty similar. Funnily though, many of the readings back home are in English – even the Danish researchers are doing their research almost entirely in English.

SM: And what do you do when you’re not studying, back home or in Melbourne?

KWA: I’m part of an art group called Rum13 (Room13), we do installation art; our members are all from different university years. Our latest piece is ‘COTree’ which is this amazing treelike installation that has an electronic nervous system that runs through all of the leaves on the tree. The leaves either grow or wither depending on how much CO2 is in the atmosphere around it! It’s supposed to show a sped up effect of climate change and pollution.

SM: It seems like everyone outside of the Scandinavian region seems to think its the best place in the world, like it’s got something really good going on. Do you agree with that?

KWA: I think it’s really difficult to notice it when you live there yourself, especially when you do a lot of travelling, you think they’re all the greatest because it’s so new and different. I think there’s something really nice and humble about Denmark – that’s not very humble to say but, I think people there are very happy where they are.

SM: This is a weird question, but were you there for when the refugee situation began in Europe?

SM: What’s your living situation like in Melbourne?

Do you live on campus?

KWA: I live off campus. I prefer that; I figured I’d be spending a lot of time at Swinburne anyway, so if I wanted to experience more of the city and meet more local people I would prefer to live near that.

SM: How have the locals been?

KWA: Really nice! I got a great impression. At least in North Melbourne. I consider myself an outgoing introvert, I’m pretty curious about other people and other cultures. I like that about Melbourne – because the city I’m from, I’ve noticed now from being in Melbourne, is not as multicultural as I thought it was, like, there are so many white people back home!

SM: ‘Outgoing introvert’ is something that rings true for a lot of people, I think.

KWA: Absolutely, yeah. But I do need to spend time on my own sometimes.

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KWA: Yeah I went to a lot of demonstrations, to raise awareness about it. The government have been very critical towards taking more refugees – some of the politicians have even published articles in the Middle East to scare people from going to Denmark! Luckily a lot of people in Denmark don’t agree, so we’re trying to change things.

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SOGGY, SMELLY, ROTTING MUCK.

Ana Tinc To some, that string of words may be repulsive but to others it is more than nature at its finest, it is home. With this graphic imagery, I invite you to place yourself in the shoes of someone who lives zero waste which could well mean no shoes at all.

Probably smelling of a concoction of essential oils, you are a vigorously prepared and creative person that makes the conscious effort every day to refuse using products burdened with complex disposal rituals.

Single use? No thank you. Chemicals? Yuck.

Plastic? Sorry, did you say the Devil?

These are just a few of the products you choose to break free from, which makes your life improvised and satisfying.

You know deep down that all these resources being used for our culture’s entertainment will one day run out, we cannot subtract from Earth at the pace in which we produce, consume, and inevitably dispose of without hitting a major brick wall.

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You walk past shops and all your eco-friendly mind can see is a linear system of production on a finite planet. You weep at the sight of gleaming stores with pretty wrappings next to overfilled public bins, sometimes known as train stations (any hipster stopping at Vic Park would understand the gravity of just how similar to a tip that station is).

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Earth’s resources were never infinite, despite what big companies tell us. With your Jesus like beard (ladies don’t deny your facial hair) you rush past, mason jars clinking in your canvas tote bag, and you restrain the urge to preach and advocate for a more ecologically sustainable future.

Now you’re probably wondering why you have mason jars in your bag. This brings us to your passion for reusing. Had to buy a jar of sauce that one time you were too poor (or lazy, or both) to cook your own from scratch? No worries amigo, that jar has now become your ethical fair-trade sugar’s new home! You can now add it with all your other reusable and non-plastic containers neatly decorating your house. How exciting, you have a little glass jar to take to the store in which you may place your ethical sugar in. You’ve officially cut out the nasty middle man and rid yourself of any single use packaging.

What’s that? The store doesn’t have ethical sugar in bulk bins? They have recyclable packaging in smaller quantities? Well it’s not the end of the world (yet) so recycling will do just fine.

Earth’s resources were never infinite, despite what big companies tell us

Once your humble abode is stocked with enough miscellaneous goods, the next step your little self does is recycle. We’re talking properly this time, get all up in your sinks grill and wash away any residue from your containers before placing any paper, foil, cardboard or plastic in the recycling bin. If the miscellaneous object is a bit inappropriate to recycle (we’re talking clothes, bags, tables), never underestimate the power of giving. If the object is fit for a second hand store, by all means there is no better way to recycle something than allowing you trash to be someone’s treasure.

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When you’re a zero waste, bearded Jesus you find in time you start to treasure everything, especially what Mother Nature does best - rot. Ah yes, rotting is a great and essential skill to uphold. Composting all your organic tea bags and vegetable based leftovers is essential to living zero waste, and to establishing a more wholesome home within the Ecology. The acceptance of allowing teeny tiny life forms to remould what you are done with shows that your moral and justice driven consciousness acknowledges that zero waste doesn’t mean “no waste,” it simply means accepting the nature of matter to change form and use.

What once was a banana peel is now turned into nutrition for your succulent, home grown tomatoes and copious amounts of parsley.

Living zero waste means so much more than reorganising you time and habits, it means making this world your home.

Reconnecting with your creativity, respecting the cycle of nature and stripping yourself free from consumerist ideals. Don’t worry about what they say, your beard really does bring out your eyes, and your heart has grown three times more now that you’ve found a sense of belonging within Mother Nature.

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Pedro Cooray

I HATE VIDEOGAMES

Every time I see someone wearing, let’s say, a Legend of Zelda-themed t-shirt, there’s always a voice in my head going “Oh my god, what if someone sees that?”

I never liked calling myself a ‘gamer’. I prefer ‘person who plays a lot of videogames, but not too much, because he also has a life’, which I feel rolls off the tongue more. I’m a brown, gay immigrant; there’s already enough labels thrown at me letting people know I’m a weirdo, so I don’t see the point of going out of my way to get some new ones.

Don’t get me wrong, videogames are a major part of my life: even as I write this, I keep taking breaks to resume a run of Final Fantasy 13-2. Even though I’ve run through the game before, I’m brought back for the adventure over and over again, and I still have two assignments due next week.

Gaming was – and still is – my comfort zone. It’s what I usually turn to when I need to take a break from the world and relax for an hour or two. Or four. Or, when I was younger and had more stamina, nine.

It’s also a great social tool. I recently finished Diablo 3 with two buddies from high school. I don’t get to see them very often, so we played the game on-andoff for almost two years. While our characters were exploring fields and slaying demons together, we chatted IRL and laughed at how something described as a “suit of armour” would be, on my female character, a metal bra with wrist guards.

But I tend to avoid talking about games around people, even close friends. Part of it is the shame of being a grown man indulging in what was, for a long time, seen as toys for children, coupled with the resentment that, honestly, I could be doing more productive things with my time.

But when there seems to be a new report every week of a prominent woman in the industry being the target of a harassment campaign, or of mass outcry at a new game including a single transgender character, it’s hard to think of them as just a stereotype.

What really makes me ashamed of mine is the gaming community itself.

These are people who sincerely believe ‘gamers’ are an oppressed minority, and are fighting in the name of ‘ethics in games journalism’ to defend the poor, endangered rights of men and white people worldwide.

And that’s the real reason I hate videogames: because I don’t want anyone to think I’m one of those people.

I know there’s a good side to the gaming community. I know there are spaces where people can get together and talk shop without being horrible to each other, and I know that good side is the biggest part. But the bad part is so loud I don’t care about any of it anymore.

Gaming is still my comfort zone, but it’s a private one, and when I’m done with it I go back to the real world.

And back in the real world, it’s not a big deal. It really only affects how I speak when I meet new people. They ask me if I have any hobbies. I hesitate.

‘I, uh, write.’

‘Oh yeah, what do you write about?’

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But hey, it’s a guilty pleasure.

Everyone’s got those. What really makes me ashamed of mine is the gaming community itself. There’s a common stereotype of ‘gamers’ as entitled jerks who sit at their computers all day, judging books by covers and anonymously threatening women online.

They are real, they are out there, and they are hurting people. Online movements like GamerGate have become so prominent that they’ve been editorialised in The New York Times.

Y’know, the real news, the kind that has a dedicated weather section.

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COLLEGE PHOTO SERIES

Josh Coates & Chloe Morgan This collection of photos are of college bedrooms at Swinburne. College is a dormitory style accommodation with shared facilities available only to first years.

For many students, this is the first time they’ve lived alone, away from home. Three months into their accommodation, Chloe and I took a photo of each student’s room to see how they made it theirs.

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HOME IS WORK

Kristen X “The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” ― Maya Angelou I’m an incredibly transient being. Most sex workers, you’ll find, are.

We nicknamed it “Crack Den”.

I lasted two weeks in Crack Den before I was outed. Two weeks of coming home at 3am, four nights a week – coincidentally the same nights that the local strip club was open. Two weeks of trying to muff le the sounds of the door closing, of only walking on my tiptoes along the hallway corridors and lowering the water pressure on the shower in order to minimize the terrifying prospect of being found out.

Two weeks in and the chick who roomed next to me was knocking on my door, asking why I was coming home so late all the time and where was I when I was out, and “gosh Kristen, I’m just worried about you. no need to act so defensive.”.

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The first time I moved out of home I moved to a five-bedroom place with eleven other people, where rent was paid in cash every fortnight and no one asked any questions about the locked shed in the back we weren’t allowed to access.

Shockingly, I’ve never been the best at hiding my identity, so after lazily feeding out disingenuous answers a few times, I didn’t have the heart, nor the energy, to conceal my activities as a sex worker. Of course that revelation led to an hours-long conversation on my bedroom f loor as she rif led through my lingerie and shoes that made up my work uniform, all whilst I was sitting there wishing for sleep because I started work in a few hours and couldn’t make it til 3am otherwise.

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Civilians have never shown much respect for my job. Curious civilians, even less so. As soon as you start f lashing pussy for money, every aspect of your life and personality is held up for exhibit for civilians to examine and question.

All without regard for your emotional wellbeing or right to privacy.

I can only attribute this particular lack of respect to the fact that the only other chick in the household showed up at my door, demanding to know why I was a stripper and how I got into this and “can you please teach me everything you know Kristen, I want to start tomorrow night because I need the money,” with no thoughts about the road I walked to get there.

Outing, to a sex worker, is essentially the worst thing you can do. For some it means death. For others, like me, the best I can hope for is estrangement from my family.

For the very, very lucky few, it comes with no consequence but bearing the stigma on their name for the rest of their lives.

I stayed in that house for another month and a half, dragging the two girls along with me to work (and ruining my hustle for them), before I found out - by shaking his hands off of me - that they’d told the house creep my job. Immediately, I packed my belongings into two bags, called a taxi, and ran.

Civilians have never shown much respect for my job.

Curious civilians, even less so.

Their outing caused me to be homeless for two weeks. I was the lucky kind, the kind who had friends’ couches I could crash on each night. But when you count your blessings for being the lucky kind of homeless, you’ve not many blessings at all.

I’m not the only worker I know living with others from the industry. We tend to band together, with an “us against the world” mentality, knowing that this is the only way to guarantee safety. At my old strip club, the one I worked at whilst living in Crack Den, I knew three girls that met at the club and subsequently moved in together. They had a pole installed in the centre of their living room, and relied on one of them not to drink that night so that they could all get home.

It sounded like a dream to me, until one of them showed up at work with a black eye barely covered by makeup and not talking to the other, and the third began to spread rumours about the two of them, turning clients against either girl.

That, and the sheer amount of money that got stolen from each of them whilst they were there. Downside to housemates knowing you’re a sex worker – they also know you’ve most likely got a metric fuckton of cash laying around.

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My current housing situation is much different. I moved in with a friend who used to engage in the industry, and therefore doesn’t pry into my work life, nor take issue with it.

Then we’ve got the girls who literally make work their home. This was evident at my old escort agency, where we were encouraged to sleep between clients, using provided blankets and pillows, and coerced into doing 12-14 hour shifts – usually between the hours of 4pm to 6am.

I’ve never felt more at home than when I’ve walked into whatever my current club may be at the time.

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It’s easy to avoid having a home when your job provides you with a safe place to store belongings and a stable place to sleep. I remember uproar when they instituted a policy that required you to be out of the doors and not working for at least 4 hours each day.

One girl, in particular, was infuriated by the rule change. She only worked here for two weeks straight every four months, she insisted. Her boyfriend couldn’t afford to f ly her over from her home country any more frequently.

She had money goals to meet. More importantly, she insisted, she had money goals for her boyfriend to meet – else she wouldn’t be able to go back home. `

The nightshift culture in sex work makes it very easy to disguise trafficking or pimping – but how can we report one girl who makes work her home when the rest of us do the same?

I’ve never felt more at home than when I’ve walked into whatever my current club may be at the time. When I take off my beanie to unveil my hair, when I slip out of my overcoat and my three layers of jumpers I’ve piled on that day to reveal my lingerie combination of the night, I feel like I’m stepping into a self I know better than me.

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When I slip into my heels and lace up my corset, I feel a sense of comfort, of security I’m not often afforded – even when I’m alone in my house. Walking into a dressing room filled with girls in various states of undress, applying fake tan and fake eyelashes and covering their faces in makeup – I feel at home.

I know here that I won’t be questioned, that I won’t have to hide who I am anymore, that I can be Kristen comfortably and safely and securely. It’s only on the street that I have to worry about being outed and all of the consequences that can follow – in the club I am the safest I can be.

And that’s what makes my work home, for me.

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TREATS

batman v superman: Being a nerd interested in film analysis dawn of justice review and the production of movies can give a unique and frustrating perspective sometimes. I can often see and understand what film maker are trying to accomplish, while also seeing the comic book roots of what is being shown. But that just makes it all the more infuriating when the filmmakers just don’t get it.

I’m not writing this to tell you that you’re wrong for enjoying Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice, in fact I will happily listen to you telling me what you enjoyed about the film and I may even agree with you.

However, I did not enjoy BvS: DoJ, I spent most of the movie with my mouth wide with shock at some of the creative decisions made by the directors and producers. To the point then, I will try my hardest not to nit pick as I feel that type of critique is pointless at this stage but instead look at the bigger picture, the characters and plots in the movie itself. I feel that I can do this with the full knowledge that the readers have watched the movie, and I highly encourage you to do so.

If you have not watched Dawn of Justice and do not wish to be spoiled please do not continue.

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Jared Berman

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Let’s talk about Superman.

To me, Superman represents the best that humanity can be. The strongest and most morally pure being that still call themselves human. Clark Kent spent his entire childhood living on earth, all his basic knowledge and understanding of ethics comes from us. We gave him a home, accepted him with open arms, without even knowing we had done so. It is for these reasons Superman does what he does. Superman is indestructible and we are not. So he stands in front of the danger because he has the capacity to do so. Like his Marvel buddy Spiderman, Superman has a moral duty to use his powers, skill and knowledge to protect and save us. Despite the danger to themselves and despite all the negative attention that brings.

In 2013’s Man of Steel director Zack Snyder presented a being so disconnected from humanity that despite being brought up as one, he is still does not know that taking a life is often morally repugnant. When he does just that at the end of the film we see a man destroyed, forced to kill and then vowing to never do that again. After the f lashbacks through Bruce Wayne’s life in Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice the first thing we see Superman do is murder a man.

In direct contradiction to what the film makers had said they were trying to achieve in the first film, Superman kills the head of a militia that has Lois Lane held hostage. Superman continues along this route to exemplify the exact opposite of what the source material shows his character to be, the movie going so far as to have Martha Kent tell Clark Kent to not even be Superman as he owes the world nothing.

Now, let’s talk about good old bats.

Batman fares no better in this travesty of an interpretation of pop culture icons. As a young boy Bruce Wayne’s parents are murdered in front of him in a mugging gone wrong. It is then that Bruce makes his vow to never let this happen to anybody ever again, by punching every criminal in Gotham. As part of his vow Bruce declares not to take life or use the primary tool of the criminal class he has declared war against, guns. He punishes them himself and then hands them over to the police so that they can be imprisoned and segregated away from law abiding citizens and innocent victims of crime.

So begins Batman’s elaborate plan to kill Superman. He see’s Superman as a potential enemy of humanity, one with too much power; therefore, he is The Batman’s enemy. The only thing that could possibly deter such a man from his goals is Superman gasping the name of his mother, Martha, which is coincidentally the same name as Bruce’s. This is the hinge on which their entire relationship f lips, which is ridiculous. Immediately after this Batman is Superman’s best friend and helps him defeat their common enemy, Lex Luthor.

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There is none of this in Batman Superman: Dawn of Justice, there are two fight sequences when Batman actively uses guns and actively shoots the shit out of goons. We see adult Bruce Wayne during the destruction of Metropolis at the hands of Superman and General Zod, and from the look on his face we see that Bruce Wayne takes *some* issue with the wanton destruction by the Kryptonians.

But by far the worst treated character is Dianna Prince A.K.A Wonder Woman.

As a first insult to her writing, the entire character could have been removed from the story and nothing would change.

We first meet Diana at a fundraiser where she steals Bruce’s device that once placed on an exposed cable copies Lex’s entire server farm. Cool. The reason she does this is that Lex Luthor has a photo of her that she wishes to retrieve. Okay.

She then returns the device, explaining that she cannot decrypt the information on it. Uh, sure. Once decrypted we find that Lex has a photo showing Diana Prince some time in the first world war dressed in her Wonder Woman armour. Wait, okay…hold on.

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Are you keeping up? This kind of manic schizophrenic direction is common in Zack Snyder’s films, having them end up as a battle for the audience to even know what in the world is even going on.

When Doomsday is revealed to be Lex’s backup plan she makes the decision to no longer remain private, but reveal herself to the world and help Batman and Superman fight.

I was prepared to give Gal Gadot the benefit of the doubt and see what she could do with the character. Being a model, Gal Gadot is really good at delivering a lot of emotion with just a look, rather unfortunately she cannot deliver dialogue nearly as well. Her entire reason for being in the movie is to stop the plot dead and ham fistedly remind you that there is a larger DC Universe being established.

Speaking of ham, we have a remarkably over the top performance by Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor. To me Lex is at his best when he is devious, stoic and unfathomably intelligent.

Being a model, Gal Gadot is really good at delivering a lot of emotion with just a look, rather unfortunately she cannot deliver dialogue nearly as well.

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I would not be the first person to imply that Eisenberg’s performance would be better suited for the role of The Joker.

His plan for defeating the Man of Steel is to manipulate Batman into a position where he will fight Superman and kill him.

The reasons for this are unclear in the movie, in the comics Superman foils Lex’s schemes because they would harm the people. Here Lex benefits from the destruction of Metropolis and the talk of Lex hating Superman because of his inherited and unearned powers are missing.

This is my biggest issue with the movie.

Zack Snyder, Warner Brothers and DC seem to think that all I want from this movie is to see Superman and Batman punch each other with a few brief glimpses at the expanded roster of superheroes.

The reason Batman and Superman fighting is such a powerful image is because it’s not just the men themselves fighting, but the ideologies those people represent fighting to prove which is the greater. Superman’s death has emotional weight not just because it’s the death of a messiah figure, but because we’ve shared so much with this character in the thousands of stories we’ve read, seen and heard. These artists and film makers haven’t earned Batman and Superman fighting to prove which ideology is best for humanity, they haven’t earned the death of Superman and they haven’t earned the ten movies that will be produced in the next five years.

ALBUM REVIEWS

SMILE Rhythm Method Smooch Records Find it on: Bandcamp

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Scott Renton Four piece Melbourne outfit SMILE have come a long way since they formed in 2012. Producing a sound that can be described as droned out soft rock with minor hints of dream pop, the band have explored some interesting new ground on their second LP, Rhythm Method.

Rhythm Method is ethereal to the core, managing to provoke a sense of feeling in you without really understanding just what those feelings are. The album opener feels like something out of a horror movie set in outer space, building anticipation for the other seven tracks.

There is a uniquely Australian sound on this album, in the sense that SMILE manage to make it obvious that they’re based in Melbourne despite carving a musical niche that sits somewhere in between Pink Floyd, The Stone Roses and some Californian surf-punk outfit. This idea is evident on tracks like “Cool. I Need Money”, “Holiday” and the appropriately titled “Boundless Plains to Share”.

Crunchy yet eerily dreamy guitar sounds drive Rhythm Method along, and most of the lyrics build on the notion that these guys are part back-of-the-bar-chordstrummer, part philosopher. A line in Central Business Dickheads highlights life’s little inadequacies getting you down: “Got holes in my shoes, got a hole in my pocket, I’ve been feeling out of sorts.” This is heard at the beginning and the end of the song as a precursor to a long, blissful, Led Zeppelin-esque instrumental which gives you time to mull the lyrical message over.

Rhythm Method is dreamy and raw, with an Australian theme that also sounds like something you can’t quite put your finger on. Being unable to work it out is what makes this LP great - it keeps you guessing.

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Zayn Mind of Mine RCA Records Find it on: Spotify Jeremy Ponniah From his X-Factor beginnings to his turbulent One Direction exit to his debut album, Zayn Malik has powered his brand with the art of minimalism.

Much like Lana Del Ray’s Ultraviolence did, Mind of Mine has become a self-sustaining engine that generates sales and discourse sheerly through black-and-white Instagram posts.

And like Lana, Zayn fully, unequivocally delivers.

The record’s streamlined brand of trap-pop crafts a relatively blank canvas that Zayn is more than able to dominate. From ballads (“It’s You”) to bops (“Like I Do”, “Befour”), Zayn covers a lot of ground, simultaneously remaining profanely candid and supremely unknowable.

Love him or hate him, Zayn’s progression to mononymous powerhouse drives home the point that, sometimes, less really is more.

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Nicholas Kennedy Makes sense that The Drones’ Gareth Liddiard would rather find his soul mate in a dead body on the shores of 1948 Somerton beach than anything else that exists in the pantheon of Australia’s bloodied and bleached history.

A forgotten man left to die alone in his sleep, no one mourning or particularly perturbed by his meaningless existence, other than that it proved irritating to just quite pin down how and where he fit into history – turns out mystery is identity enough for a society destined to live on a diet of AFL scandals and a perpetually disappointing political system.

The Drones Feelin’ Kinda Free TFS Records Find it on: thedrones.com.au

The Drones see the end coming from a mile off – making arrangements for their own oblivion is basically the first thing they do on Feelin’ Kinda Free. ‘Private Execution’ introduces proceedings with a digitized cacophony mess while synthesizers tear straight to your heart. Nothing is especially subtle here – “I’m either taking up more space than I have taken up before or the days are getting shorter”, seems even an old school political ranter like Liddiard runs out of cautious optimism at some point.

The instrumentation of “Public Execution” and the larger part in general of Feelin’ Kinda Free ends up finding a weird transpacific pessimistic touchstone in Vince Staples’ Summertime ’06, but it’s the bullshit calling riot of Run the Jewels’ second album that also has a lot in common with Liddiard’s lyricism here. Where Killer Mike and El-P were sneering at American’s ability to look away while the percentage of African Americans making up prison populations rose to 60 percent, Liddiard takes aim at Australia’s comfortable xenophobia and the coddling of outdated values that permeate throughout this great southern land.

“Then They Came for Me” predicts the kind of disappearing act a lot of dissidents seemingly pull when dissent becomes problematic for governments, and “To Think That I Once Loved You” strips back the wailing keyboards and shuddering bass for what is possibly the closest thing The Drones will ever come to the concept of ‘less is more’ – their impression of the last love song ever sung? Given the context, it’s not an unfair assumption.

“Boredom” sees The Drones pushing further down the path of electronic art punk that Feelin’ Kinda Free seems to be forging – the drums get industrialised while voices warp and fade over the hook, with everything tied up by Liddiard’s spitting vocals. What was that I said about this not being a hip hop record?

Feelin’ Kinda Free is another ambitious step in irreverence and frankly a breath of fresh fucking air as far as Australian “rock” music goes, unafraid to make enemies of anything with a pulse and a bank account all in pursuit of anything but another easily digested protest song.

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Perhaps that makes The Drones sound like a rap outfit, but Liddiard’s raspy sneer crackles all the way through Feelin’ Kinda Free. “Taman Shud” feels like Liddiard breaking a dam of objection, long turned bitter, on the behalf of thousands – just try not to appreciate “you came here in a boat you fucking cunt” – and it’ll easily convince you it’s the best song on the album.

The simple but effective wordplay of “thud, thud, my taman shud” is all the song really needs for a chorus, but it’s verses are loaded with stabs and snipes that you can practically see Liddiard’s brain running out of space for the amount of things he needs to give a long deserved “fuck you” to.

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issue 9, May 2016