GrodsCorp has long been scathing of Sally Morrell’s vacuous and anti-intellectual dribblings in the Herald Sun, but anti-blogging blogger Jim Schembri has staked a serious claim for the Sally Morrell equivalent at The Age, having written one of the most stunningly vapid grade eleven essays to ever be shat onto the opinion page. The lame by numbers article begins:

When taking the weighty decision to get into shape by investing in a “home gym”, one must stay focused on the primary purpose of the enterprise, which is to get healthy and prolong life, not to kill yourself while attempting to operate the aforementioned home gym. Thus, I heartily recommend to anyone contemplating the purchase of a bargain-priced treadmill to get their head examined, promptly.

Even if anyone gave a flying fuck about the process of buying a treadmill, or if the subject of buying a treadmill was worthy of the opinion page, Schembri doesn’t provide any insight into the subject, instead rolling out the most pathetic cliches and tired jokes imaginable.

You should have heard this chick [salesperson] go. She went on about how much time it would save, about energy-burning co-efficients, about reduced joint stress, the in-built calorie counter, the free pedometer. She even worked in a reference to NASA, which I didn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with anti-gravity technology or exercising in orbit. She made it sound too great, and her enthusiasm was so infectious I felt that leaving the store without this treadmill would be the biggest mistake of my life. So we rang it up and home it came.

Still awake? If so, I bet you’ll never guess what happened next.

Assembling it was a trial, and for a while it looked like I was going to burn more calories putting the thing together than I ever would using it. But once it was in one piece I felt the world open up before me. “This is it,” I thought. “I shall be Adonis, just like the guys in the gym.”

He had trouble assembling it! How original! I bet you’ll never guess what happened next.

Then I got on and gave it a go. Or tried to. I need to stress here that there was nothing wrong with the machine. All the parts moved the way they were supposed to. It merely required ventricle-bursting strain to get the thing going. Sweat showered off me. You know those old movies about ancient Egypt where you see the slaves pushing those big stone blocks up the ramps to build the pyramids? Those guys are my brothers.

He didn’t like using it! How original! I bet you’ll never guess what happened next.

So what was I to do? What else? Leave it right there, in the middle of the living room. Eight months later the treadmill wound up the way 95 per cent of all home-gym equipment winds up: covered in towels, jackets, socks and shirts. I was going to sell the dreaded thing but then thought, no, this is actually garbage, so the next hard-rubbish day it was gone. I even watched through the window as they carted it away.

He didn’t use it and it sat in the corner collecting dust! How original!

Jim Shembri, you are the hackest of hacks. You are a disgrace to the profession of journalism. If anyone needed any further proof that The Age was a paper no longer worth even a tenth of the cover price they need look no further than the presence of this abomination on today’s opinion page.

As part of my membership of the Melbourne International Film Festival I received two free tickets to a preview of Tom Cruise’s new film, Valkyrie, last Monday night. So Spykey and I reluctantly trudged along to enjoy some air conditioned respite from the 35 degree temperatures, even if it meant sitting through two hours of Cruise trying to be all serious and noble and shit, and not even attempting to soften his American accent to match his German character.

The film was okay. There were some nice tense sequences, it was reasonably edumacational and historical, and the visual style was appealing. However, the drama was hideously overblown, there was too much creative license taken with the true story to Hollywood-ise it, and Tom Cruise was, well, Tom Cruise. Even if his eyepatch did differentiate this performance from all of his others.

Two stars, Margaret.

But Jim Schembri loved it…

…a fast-moving, dramatically satisfying, surprisingly engaging tract…

…and broke his pants.

Looking resplendent in his starched uniform, Cruise plays Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg with a muted heroic swagger.

Clearly it’s the “resplendent” Cruise with his “muted heroic swagger” that raised Schembri’s rating to three-and-a-half-stars.

Jim Schembri: “You can raise my rating anytime, Tommy.”

Anti-blogging blogger, Jim Schembri, attempts to smear an enemy by accusing him of “[descending into] blogspeak”.

While accepting an award for best original screenplay for The Black Balloon, co-writer Jimmy Jack took public exception to my long-standing criticisms of the Australian film industry, and of his film. He read some of it out, then followed it by saying “Jim Schembri. F*** you.”

This undignified descent into blogspeak – whatever remaining shreds of class the AFI awards had are now gone – reportedly drew a spontaneous round of applause from some in the crowd.

If I was in the audience I would’ve led a standing ovation and a mexican wave.

Anti-blogging blogger, Jim Schembri, makes a revealing comparison while discussing the film Australia.

In the camp-fire scene where Hugh Jackman pulls off his shirt to reveal the kind of ripped torso you usually see only in high-end gay porn…

I wouldn’t know, Jim.

Remember how Jim Schembri slagged off bloggers and then started a blog? You may also be aware that last week he slagged off jazz and then within a few days became a jazz fan.

Jim yesterday announced that he is taking a “short break” from his “journalism” and blogging duties. Let’s hope he makes it a long break. A really long break.

Jim Schembri wearing his trademark smug, shit-eating grin

Realising that the 21st century is well-and-truly upon us, GrodsCorp has blundered into the brave new old world of podcasting and presents to you the inaugural GrodsCast (see the play on words there?) GrodsCasts will be recorded weekly on a Tuesday night and broadcast either immediately or the next morning depending on the number of beers we drink during the show.

In this episode The Editor, John Surname, Prophet and Craig discuss the following:

* Heath Ledger
* Scientology
* Australia Day
* Telstra
* Don Bradman
* Big Day Out
* Helen Razer
* Jim Schembri
* Chris Johnston

 GrodsCast RSS feed

The Age’s pretentious blog-hating blogger, Jim Schembri, has written a fawning piece about the Australian-born, Hollywood actress Radha Mitchell. Jim’s hard-hitting and critical journalism skillz have produced an article of such alarming vapidity and so lacking in substance that it’s difficult to cut-and-paste into this post. Normally I wouldn’t even bother reading this kind of article (despite The Age deeming celebrity rubbish worthy of page six) but Radha decides to give us a sanctimonious lecture on politics from a proud position of stunning ignorance.

SHE may be a citizen of the world, but Melbourne-born, Hollywood-bred, LA-based actress Radha Mitchell will have her say come election time. Provided she can work out where to send her vote.

“I’ve asked somebody to help me out with that, just to get the thing to the ballot or whatever,” the hugely talented 34-year old says with a rich Californian accent.

“Hugely talented“! It’s hard to type with one hand under the desk isn’t it, Jim?

…Mitchell spoke frankly of her voting intentions.

“Just get that guy [John Howard] out, you know?” she says, laughing. “Get rid of him. Move on. It’s not just the economy that drives the next evolution of where society should be going.”

Having lived in Los Angeles for almost a decade, Mitchell says she doesn’t read Australian newspapers to keep up with local events, relying instead on more informal sources such as TV and “my mum on the phone. ‘What’s going on? Oh, there’s a drought?”‘ She laughs again.

Hugely talented, yet celebrating the fact that she has absolutely no idea about the world outside Los Angeles.

“I don’t have a very provincial Australian point of view,” she says.

You don’t have any kind of view, Radha.

“I have more of a global point of view. I do feel like the environment is a big issue.

“And obviously we need to pay attention to the sense of impotence about global poverty, which is a little pathetic.”

You’d know all about pathetic wouldn’t you, Mitchell?

Though she is self-conscious about sounding like “I’m standing on a soapbox”, Mitchell is eager to back her words with action.

“It’s almost like we’ve reached a point where we can redesign our concept of culture, like we don’t have to just accept things the way they are.”

To that end, she’d like to set up a local office for Global Green, the environmental organisation founded and chaired by former Soviet premier Mikhail Gorbachev.

“I might help do that, but I’m no politician. I would just help (by being) somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody.”

Please, Radha, don’t stress yourself. You must be flat out.

“It’s an amazing profession and it’s a privilege to be able to act in movies.”

She checks herself. “God, this is so honest. You better be careful how you present me.”

Not a problem. Mitchell no longer reads her own press.

Is that the smell of burning humility? Or is it Schembri’s burning lubricant?

I’m Radha Mitchell and I’m here to help (aren’t I beautiful?)

The Melbourne International Film Festival kicked off last night and my first film of 13 is tonight. As in previous years GrodsCorp will review each film viewed while providing crucial updates on Bicycle Pump Man sightings (I might even see if I can get a photo this year.)

Recent convert to blogging, Jim Schembri, on the other hand, is too lazy to blog about his MIFF experiences so he is asking his reader(s) to do the work:

CineTopia would like to hear your comments about anything you see – and we mean anything. The strength of any film festival such as MIFF is that it allows you to see things you might not see otherwise, or may ever see again.

So while comments on films that will get a commercial release are welcome, CineTopia is particularly interested in those hidden gems residing in the distant corners of the program that most people never get to hear about. Certain films that warrant special attention will get a separate page.

If you wish to submit a review to CineTopia, there are just a few basic grounds rules to observe:

(1) Please put the film’s name in caps;

(2) Keep your pieces to a max of around 200 words;

(3) Don’t be backwards about coming forward – but, please, no blurting. Sentences, punctuation and grammar are still very much in favour, even on the ethernet.

First he trashes blogging, then he starts blogging, then he gets other people to do his blogging for him. Does Schembri have no shame?