People often ask me, "What's your all-time favourite film?" An innocent question for most, a minor panic attack for nereis! I love so many films I'm unable to single out one movie as having changed my life more than the others. Having failed question one, I often struggle to pass question two as well: "What's your top 5 films then?" Given fifteen minutes or so, I can bumble out a reply, but I never seem to give the same answer, mostly because I've never sat down and worked out a definitive list on paper. It's been seriously bugging me. I feel somehow inadequate as a cinephile and wannabe filmmaker. How can you call yourself a lover of film if you can't even name your great loves?

Well as a starting point, here are 5 names, off the top of my head, in the order they occur to me.

1. Thank God He Met Lizzie dir. Cherie Nowlan
2. Vivre Sa Vie dir. Jean-Luc Godard
3. Chungking Express dir. Wong Kar Wai
4. Rebels of the Neon God dir. Tsai Ming Liang
5. Rashomon dir. Akira Kurosawa

Damn that was difficult. In many cases I love the director's work on the whole, rather than any particular film. In fact, I think most of these directors have gone on to make better films, but I've stuck with the films I saw first. Argh, I can't believe I left out films by John Cassavetes, Luc Besson, Jim Jarmusch and Woody Allen! I love those guys! And what about Kenji Mizoguchi, Jean Vigo, Emir Kusturica, Paul Thomas Andersen, Mike Takashi, Takeshi Kitano, the Coen Brothers and Hal Hartley? Then there's individual works, like Laila Pakalnina's The Shoe, Jean Renoir's La Regle du Jeu, Olivier Assaya's Irma Vep, Cedric Klapisch's When The Cat's Away, Sylvia Chan's Tempted Heart, Peter Chan's Tian Mi Mi (aka Comrades, Almost A Love Story), Yuji Nakae's Nabbie No Koi, Stephen Chow's Shaolin Soccer, and Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line. But it's interesting that 3 out of my "top of the head top 5" are Asian films. I'm also glad that an Australian film topped the list. But I must admit, I just watched it, so I'm probably incredibly biased by post-movie exuberance and the fact that it's set in Sydney. Thank God He Met Lizzie is just one of those simple, honest films I wish I could have made. Rough around the edges, but filled with intimate moments of great beauty and tenderness. There are two lines that for me, sum up the entire spirit of the film...

1. You bit my bum!
2. The trouble with happiness is you don't know when you have it. You remember it.

Haven't had a drink in three days. Starting to feel depressed about things. It's true you can drown your sorrows in alcohol, but like a cockroach, they keep coming back. The moment you stop drinking the buggers come crawling out of the sink. You just need to smack some sense into em. Or some newsprint... Whatever.

I'm beginning to realise that when it comes to fight or flight response, I'm very flighty. I am an emotional procrastinator. I tend to block painful things out of mind... which allows me to be truly happy for days, or weeks even. But I also have a killer memory, honed by years of selective-school rote learning. So these dark thoughts never leave, they are just pushed to the margins of my consciousness. Every now and then I have to battle them, and cut them down to size with cold hard logic... something I learnt in philosophy class. Being able to zoom out and see the bigger picture is an invaluable skill. Sometimes we obsess over problems, we can't let go of them... we just want to squeeze them and feel the pain... like a zit on the nose... But the philosopher just zooms out to a distance from which the zit is not visible. And what he sees is a beautiful girl, standing in a park, under a blue sky.

But fuck it, sometimes it feels good to wallow. And fill the sky with falling anvils.

I am wearing white. But I have nothing but dark thoughts. I miss you G.

Barry knows Jeff Buckley's tracklisting by heart.
"What's your favourite?"
"Number 7"
"Lover you should have come over?"
"Yeah that one... and number 4"
"Lilac Wine?"
"How the fuck did you know?"

Been drunk almost every night this week. Not because I'm depressed or angry, but because all my friends want to commiserate with me. You poor bastard. You poor bastard.

Hey I'm a lucky bastard! Just look at all the great friends I have. Drink after drink. Mates before dates. Plenty of fish in the sea.

Falling into bed, naked and drunk... the bed is sinking as Jeff Buckley croons... maybe it's me sinking... I wonder if he felt surprised, drowning so quietly in the night currents of the Mississippi...

Sometimes a man gets carried away
When he feels like he should be having his fun
Much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

Tomorrow I will wear white.

Broke up with G last night, to the sounds of the Cranberrie's No Need To Argue. So many excuses, yet I still don't understand. It just doesn't make sense. Why now? What's new? Yesterday was our 2 year anniversary, and the last night to work on my AFTRS application. She knew how important this was to me. I don't understand her timing. Did she come over to celebrate our anniversary or to carry out a pre-meditated break up? Was she hoping I could pull her back from the brink on this day of days? I was wrecked. So stressed. I tried to hold her but she turned away.

I didn't get any sleep in the end. My camera fucked up and I couldn't dump my work to VHS. Had to borrow a friend's digicam at 6am in the morning and jig work to get the tape done in time. Sent an email to everyone in the office saying I had a stomach bug, which was half-true as I felt like vomitting the entire day. I'm sure they don't believe me as it's the second day this week I've taken off to work on my application. But the deed's been done. I submitted in person and came home to shower, shave and sleep. Felt cleansed but somehow empty.

Listening to Pearl Jam now. Feeling fucked. Haven't listened to this album since '93.

Took the day off work and went to uni to touch base with my roots. I still feel like I own the place. New faces, old stomping grounds. Caught up with my honours supervisor, and gave him a bottle of 1995 Clare Valley that I stole from my dad's cellar. I need him to write me a reference for my AFTRS application, but I told him the bottle was for the years of guidance. This man used to let me sit in on final year production classes when I was in first year. I wonder how different my life would be if I hadn't found a mentor like that. After chatting with him, I've decided I'm doing the right thing. It's okay to not have a dream and be a nobody. But to have a dream and turn your back on it, that is true cowardice.

What have I gotten myself into? I've been having an incredibly rough time lately. My Ah-Ma said I had both the rich way and the poor way written on my palm, and that I would take the poor way. Is that true? Is that what I'm doing?

It seems I would rather attempt something where failure is expected, than something where success is expected. Is that a fatal personality flaw or something to be admired? I'm not sure if it's bravery or cowardice.