Melbourne Observer. 120718B. July 18, 2012. Part B. Pages 19-34

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Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

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baker on the Church Square at Faverolles, waspreparing to go to bed, when he heard a violentblow on the grated front of his shop. He arrivedin time to see an arm passed through a holemade by a blow from a fist, through the gratingand the glass. The arm seized a loaf of breadand carried it off. Isabeau ran out in haste; therobber fled at the full speed of his legs. Isabeauran after him and stopped him. The thief hadflung away the loaf, but his arm was still bleed-ing. It was Jean Valjean.This took place in 1795. Jean Valjean was takenbefore the tribunals of the time for theft andbreaking and entering an inhabited house at night.He had a gun which he used better than any oneelse in the world, he was a bit of a poacher, andthis injured his case. There exists a legitimateprejudice against poachers. The poacher, likethe smuggler, smacks too strongly of the brig-and. Nevertheless, we will remark cursorily,there is still an abyss between these races ofmen and the hideous assassin of the towns. Thepoacher lives in the forest, the smuggler lives inthe mountains or on the sea. The cities makeferocious men because they make corrupt men.The mountain, the sea, the forest, make savagemen; they develop the fierce side, but often with-out destroying the humane side.Jean Valjean was pronounced guilty. The termsof the Code were explicit. There occur formi-dable hours in our civilization; there are mo-ments when the penal laws decree a shipwreck.What an ominous minute is that in which soci-ety draws back and consummates the irrepa-rable abandonment of a sentient being! JeanValjean was condemned to five years in thegalleys.On the 22d of April, 1796, the victory ofMontenotte, won by the general-inchief of thearmy of Italy, whom the message of the Direc-tory to the Five Hundred, of the 2d of Floreal,year IV., calls Buona–Parte, was announced inParis; on that same day a great gang of galley-slaves was put in chains at Bicetre. Jean Valjeanformed a part of that gang. An old turnkey of theprison, who is now nearly eighty years old, stillrecalls perfectly that unfortunate wretch whowas chained to the end of the fourth line, in thenorth angle of the courtyard. He was seated onthe ground like the others. He did not seem tocomprehend his position, except that it was hor-rible. It is probable that he, also, was disentan-gling from amid the vague ideas of a poor man,ignorant of everything, something excessive.While the bolt of his iron collar was being riv-eted behind his head with heavy blows from thehammer, he wept, his tears stifled him, theyimpeded his speech; he only managed to sayfrom time to time, “I was a tree-pruner atFaverolles.” Then still sobbing, he raised hisright hand and lowered it gradually seven times,as though he were touching in succession sevenheads of unequal heights, and from this gestureit was divined that the thing which he had done,whatever it was, he had done for the sake ofclothing and nourishing seven little children.He set out for Toulon. He arrived there, after ajourney of twenty-seven days, on a cart, with achain on his neck. At Toulon he was clothed inthe red cassock. All that had constituted his life,even to his name, was effaced; he was no longereven Jean Valjean; he was number 24,601. Whatbecame of his sister? What became of the sevenchildren? Who troubled himself about that?What becomes of the handful of leaves fromthe young tree which is sawed off at the root?It is always the same story. These poor livingbeings, these creatures of God, henceforth with-out support, without guide, without refuge, wan-dered away at random,— who even knows?—each in his own direction perhaps, and little bylittle buried themselves in that cold mist whichengulfs solitary destinies; gloomy shades, intowhich disappear in succession so many unluckyheads, in the sombre march of the human race.They quitted the country. The clock-tower ofwhat had been their village forgot them; theboundary line of what had been their field forgotthem; after a few years’ residence in the gal-leys, Jean Valjean himself forgot them. In thatheart, where there had been a wound, there wasa scar. That is all. Only once, during all the time

Jean Valjean had just attained his twenty-fifthyear. He took the father’s place, and, in his turn,supported the sister who had brought him up.This was done simply as a duty and even a littlechurlishly on the part of Jean Valjean. Thus hisyouth had been spent in rude and ill-paid toil. Hehad never known a “kind woman friend” in hisnative parts. He had not had the time to fall inlove.He returned at night weary, and ate his brothwithout uttering a word. His sister, motherJeanne, often took the best part of his repastfrom his bowl while he was eating,— a bit ofmeat, a slice of bacon, the heart of the cab-bage,— to give to one of her children. As hewent on eating, with his head bent over the tableand almost into his soup, his long hair fallingabout his bowl and concealing his eyes, he hadthe air of perceiving nothing and allowing it.There was at Faverolles, not far from the Valjeanthatched cottage, on the other side of the lane, afarmer’s wife named Marie–Claude; the Valjeanchildren, habitually famished, sometimes wentto borrow from Marie–Claude a pint of milk, intheir mother’s name, which they drank behind ahedge or in some alley corner, snatching the jugfrom each other so hastily that the little girlsspilled it on their aprons and down their necks.If their mother had known of this marauding,she would have punished the delinquents se-verely. Jean Valjean gruffly and grumblingly paidMarie–Claude for the pint of milk behind theirmother’s back, and the children were not pun-ished.In pruning season he earned eighteen sous aday; then he hired out as a hay-maker, as la-borer, as neat-herd on a farm, as a drudge. Hedid whatever he could. His sister worked alsobut what could she do with seven little children?It was a sad group enveloped in misery, whichwas being gradually annihilated. A very hardwinter came. Jean had no work. The family hadno bread. No bread literally. Seven children!One Sunday evening, Maubert Isabeau, the

he was in his garden, walking, meditating, con-templating, his heart and soul wholly absorbedin those grand and mysterious things which Godshows at night to the eyes which remain open.As for the man, he was actually so fatigued thathe did not even profit by the nice white sheets.Snuffing out his candle with his nostrils after themanner of convicts, he dropped, all dressed ashe was, upon the bed, where he immediatelyfell into a profound sleep.Midnight struck as the Bishop returned from hisgarden to his apartment.A few minutes later all were asleep in the littlehouse.

“Towards the end, when he had reached thefigs, there came a knock at the door. It wasMother Gerbaud, with her little one in her arms.My brother kissed the child on the brow, andborrowed fifteen sous which I had about me togive to Mother Gerbaud. The man was not pay-ing much heed to anything then. He was nolonger talking, and he seemed very much fa-tigued. After poor old Gerbaud had taken herdeparture, my brother said grace; then he turnedto the man and said to him, ‘You must be ingreat need of your bed.’ Madame Magloirecleared the table very promptly. I understoodthat we must retire, in order to allow this travel-ler to go to sleep, and we both went up stairs.Nevertheless, I sent Madame Magloire down amoment later, to carry to the man’s bed a goatskin from the Black Forest, which was in myroom. The nights are frigid, and that keeps onewarm. It is a pity that this skin is old; all the hairis falling out. My brother bought it while he wasin Germany, at Tottlingen, near the sources ofthe Danube, as well as the little ivory-handledknife which I use at table.“Madame Magloire returned immediately. Wesaid our prayers in the drawing-room, where wehang up the linen, and then we each retired toour own chambers, without saying a word toeach other.”

Continued on Page 22

●●●●● Victor Hugo

CHAPTER IV

DETAILS CONCERNING THE CHEESE-

DAIRIES OF PONTARLIER

Continued

CHAPTER V

TRANQUILITY

After bidding his sister good night, MonseigneurBienvenu took one of the two silver candlesticksfrom the table, handed the other to his guest,and said to him,—“Monsieur, I will conduct you to your room.”The man followed him.As might have been observed from what hasbeen said above, the house was so arranged thatin order to pass into the oratory where the al-cove was situated, or to get out of it, it was nec-essary to traverse the Bishop’s bedroom.At the moment when he was crossing this apart-ment, Madame Magloire was putting away thesilverware in the cupboard near the head of thebed. This was her last care every evening be-fore she went to bed.The Bishop installed his guest in the alcove. Afresh white bed had been prepared there. Theman set the candle down on a small table.“Well,” said the Bishop, “may you pass a goodnight. To-morrow morning, before you set out,you shall drink a cup of warm milk from ourcows.”“Thanks, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said the man.Hardly had he pronounced these words full ofpeace, when all of a sudden, and without transi-tion, he made a strange movement, which wouldhave frozen the two sainted women with horror,had they witnessed it. Even at this day it is diffi-cult for us to explain what inspired him at thatmoment. Did he intend to convey a warning orto throw out a menace? Was he simply obeyinga sort of instinctive impulse which was obscureeven to himself? He turned abruptly to the oldman, folded his arms, and bending upon his hosta savage gaze, he exclaimed in a hoarse voice:—“Ah! really! You lodge me in your house, closeto yourself like this?”He broke off, and added with a laugh in whichthere lurked something monstrous:—“Have you really reflected well? How do youknow that I have not been an assassin?”The Bishop replied:—“That is the concern of the good God.”Then gravely, and moving his lips like one whois praying or talking to himself, he raised twofingers of his right hand and bestowed his bene-diction on the man, who did not bow, and with-out turning his head or looking behind him, hereturned to his bedroom.When the alcove was in use, a large serge cur-tain drawn from wall to wall concealed the al-tar. The Bishop knelt before this curtain as hepassed and said a brief prayer. A moment later

CHAPTER VI

JEAN VALJEAN

Towards the middle of the night Jean Valjeanwoke.Jean Valjean came from a poor peasant familyof Brie. He had not learned to read in his child-hood. When he reached man’s estate, he be-came a tree-pruner at Faverolles. His motherwas named Jeanne Mathieu; his father wascalled Jean Valjean or Vlajean, probably a so-briquet, and a contraction of viola Jean, “here’sJean.”Jean Valjean was of that thoughtful but notgloomy disposition which constitutes the pecu-liarity of affectionate natures. On the whole,however, there was something decidedly slug-gish and insignificant about Jean Valjean in ap-pearance, at least. He had lost his father andmother at a very early age. His mother had diedof a milk fever, which had not been properlyattended to. His father, a tree-pruner, like him-self, had been killed by a fall from a tree. Allthat remained to Jean Valjean was a sister olderthan himself,— a widow with seven children,boys and girls. This sister had brought up JeanValjean, and so long as she had a husband shelodged and fed her young brother.The husband died. The eldest of the seven chil-dren was eight years old. The youngest, one.


From Page 21

which he spent at Toulon, did he hear his sistermentioned. This happened, I think, towards theend of the fourth year of his captivity. I know notthrough what channels the news reached him.Some one who had known them in their owncountry had seen his sister. She was in Paris.She lived in a poor street Rear Saint–Sulpice, inthe Rue du Gindre. She had with her only onechild, a little boy, the youngest. Where were theother six? Perhaps she did not know herself.Every morning she went to a printing office,No. 3 Rue du Sabot, where she was a folder andstitcher. She was obliged to be there at six o’clockin the morning — long before daylight in winter.In the same building with the printing office therewas a school, and to this school she took herlittle boy, who was seven years old. But as sheentered the printing office at six, and the schoolonly opened at seven, the child had to wait in thecourtyard, for the school to open, for an hour —one hour of a winter night in the open air! Theywould not allow the child to come into the print-ing office, because he was in the way, they said.When the workmen passed in the morning, theybeheld this poor little being seated on the pave-ment, overcome with drowsiness, and often fastasleep in the shadow, crouched down anddoubled up over his basket. When it rained, anold woman, the portress, took pity on him; shetook him into her den, where there was a pallet,a spinning-wheel, and two wooden chairs, andthe little one slumbered in a corner, pressinghimself close to the cat that he might suffer lessfrom cold. At seven o’clock the school opened,and he entered. That is what was told to JeanValjean.They talked to him about it for one day; it was amoment, a flash, as though a window had sud-denly been opened upon the destiny of thosethings whom he had loved; then all closed again.He heard nothing more forever. Nothing fromthem ever reached him again; he never beheldthem; he never met them again; and in the con-tinuation of this mournful history they will not bemet with any more.Towards the end of this fourth year JeanValjean’s turn to escape arrived. His comradesassisted him, as is the custom in that sad place.He escaped. He wandered for two days in thefields at liberty, if being at liberty is to be hunted,to turn the head every instant, to quake at theslightest noise, to be afraid of everything,— of asmoking roof, of a passing man, of a barkingdog, of a galloping horse, of a striking clock, ofthe day because one can see, of the night be-cause one cannot see, of the highway, of thepath, of a bush, of sleep. On the evening of thesecond day he was captured. He had neithereaten nor slept for thirty-six hours. The mari-time tribunal condemned him, for this crime, toa prolongation of his term for three years, whichmade eight years. In the sixth year his turn toescape occurred again; he availed himself of it,but could not accomplish his flight fully. He wasmissing at roll-call. The cannon were fired, andat night the patrol found him hidden under thekeel of a vessel in process of construction; heresisted the galley guards who seized him. Es-cape and rebellion. This case, provided for by aspecial code, was punished by an addition offive years, two of them in the double chain. Thir-teen years. In the tenth year his turn came roundagain; he again profited by it; he succeeded nobetter. Three years for this fresh attempt. Six-teen years. Finally, I think it was during his thir-teenth year, he made a last attempt, and onlysucceeded in getting retaken at the end of fourhours of absence. Three years for those fourhours. Nineteen years. In October, 1815, he wasreleased; he had entered there in 1796, for hav-ing broken a pane of glass and taken a loaf ofbread.Room for a brief parenthesis. This is the secondtime, during his studies on the penal questionand damnation by law, that the author of thisbook has come across the theft of a loaf of breadas the point of departure for the disaster of adestiny. Claude Gaux had stolen a loaf; JeanValjean had stolen a loaf. English statistics provethe fact that four thefts out of five in Londonhave hunger for their immediate cause.Jean Valjean had entered the galleys sobbingand shuddering; he emerged impassive. He hadentered in despair; he emerged gloomy.What had taken place in that soul?

Let us try to say it.It is necessary that society should look at thesethings, because it is itself which creates them.He was, as we have said, an ignorant man, buthe was not a fool. The light of nature was ignitedin him. Unhappiness, which also possesses aclearness of vision of its own, augmented thesmall amount of daylight which existed in thismind. Beneath the cudgel, beneath the chain, inthe cell, in hardship, beneath the burning sun ofthe galleys, upon the plank bed of the convict,he withdrew into his own consciousness andmeditated.He constituted himself the tribunal.He began by putting himself on trial.He recognized the fact that he was not an inno-cent man unjustly punished. He admitted that hehad committed an extreme and blameworthyact; that that loaf of bread would probably nothave been refused to him had he asked for it;that, in any case, it would have been better towait until he could get it through compassion orthrough work; that it is not an unanswerable ar-gument to say, “Can one wait when one is hun-gry?” That, in the first place, it is very rare forany one to die of hunger, literally; and next, that,fortunately or unfortunately, man is so consti-tuted that he can suffer long and much, bothmorally and physically, without dying; that it istherefore necessary to have patience; that thatwould even have been better for those poor littlechildren; that it had been an act of madness forhim, a miserable, unfortunate wretch, to takesociety at large violently by the collar, and toimagine that one can escape from miserythrough theft; that that is in any case a poor doorthrough which to escape from misery throughwhich infamy enters; in short, that he was in thewrong.Then he asked himself —Whether he had been the only one in fault in hisfatal history. Whether it was not a serious thing,that he, a laborer, out of work, that he, an indus-trious man, should have lacked bread. Andwhether, the fault once committed and con-fessed, the chastisement had not been ferociousand disproportioned. Whether there had not beenmore abuse on the part of the law, in respect tothe penalty, than there had been on the part ofthe culprit in respect to his fault. Whether therehad not been an excess of weights in one bal-ance of the scale, in the one which containsexpiation. Whether the over-weight of the pen-alty was not equivalent to the annihilation of thecrime, and did not result in reversing the situa-tion, of replacing the fault of the delinquent bythe fault of the repression, of converting theguilty man into the victim, and the debtor intothe creditor, and of ranging the law definitely onthe side of the man who had violated it.Whether this penalty, complicated by succes-sive aggravations for attempts at escape, hadnot ended in becoming a sort of outrage perpe-trated by the stronger upon the feebler, a crimeof society against the individual, a crime whichwas being committed afresh every day, a crimewhich had lasted nineteen years.He asked himself whether human society couldhave the right to force its members to sufferequally in one case for its own unreasonablelack of foresight, and in the other case for itspitiless foresight; and to seize a poor man for-ever between a defect and an excess, a defaultof work and an excess of punishment.Whether it was not outrageous for society totreat thus precisely those of its members whowere the least well endowed in the division ofgoods made by chance, and consequently themost deserving of consideration.These questions put and answered, he judgedsociety and condemned it.He condemned it to his hatred.He made it responsible for the fate which hewas suffering, and he said to himself that it mightbe that one day he should not hesitate to call it toaccount. He declared to himself that there wasno equilibrium between the harm which he hadcaused and the harm which was being done tohim; he finally arrived at the conclusion that hispunishment was not, in truth, unjust, but that itmost assuredly was iniquitous.Anger may be both foolish and absurd; one canbe irritated wrongfully; one is exasperated onlywhen there is some show of right on one’s sideat bottom. Jean Valjean felt himself exasper-ated.And besides, human society had done him noth-

ing but harm; he had never seen anything of itsave that angry face which it calls Justice, andwhich it shows to those whom it strikes. Menhad only touched him to bruise him. Every con-tact with them had been a blow. Never, sincehis infancy, since the days of his mother, of hissister, had he ever encountered a friendly wordand a kindly glance. From suffering to suffer-ing, he had gradually arrived at the convictionthat life is a war; and that in this war he was theconquered. He had no other weapon than hishate. He resolved to whet it in the galleys and tobear it away with him when he departed.There was at Toulon a school for the convicts,kept by the Ignorantin friars, where the mostnecessary branches were taught to those of theunfortunate men who had a mind for them. Hewas of the number who had a mind. He went toschool at the age of forty, and learned to read, towrite, to cipher. He felt that to fortify his intelli-gence was to fortify his hate. In certain cases,education and enlightenment can serve to ekeout evil.This is a sad thing to say; after having judgedsociety, which had caused his unhappiness, hejudged Providence, which had made society, andhe condemned it also.Thus during nineteen years of torture and sla-very, this soul mounted and at the same timefell. Light entered it on one side, and darknesson the other.Jean Valjean had not, as we have seen, an evilnature. He was still good when he arrived at thegalleys. He there condemned society, and feltthat he was becoming wicked; he there con-demned Providence, and was conscious that hewas becoming impious.It is difficult not to indulge in meditation at thispoint.Does human nature thus change utterly and fromtop to bottom? Can the man created good byGod be rendered wicked by man? Can the soulbe completely made over by fate, and becomeevil, fate being evil? Can the heart become mis-shapen and contract incurable deformities andinfirmities under the oppression of a dispropor-tionate unhappiness, as the vertebral columnbeneath too low a vault? Is there not in everyhuman soul, was there not in the soul of JeanValjean in particular, a first spark, a divine ele-ment, incorruptible in this world, immortal inthe other, which good can develop, fan, ignite,and make to glow with splendor, and which evilcan never wholly extinguish?Grave and obscure questions, to the last of whichevery physiologist would probably have re-sponded no, and that without hesitation, had hebeheld at Toulon, during the hours of repose,which were for Jean Valjean hours of revery,this gloomy galley-slave, seated with folded armsupon the bar of some capstan, with the end ofhis chain thrust into his pocket to prevent its drag-ging, serious, silent, and thoughtful, a pariah ofthe laws which regarded the man with wrath,condemned by civilization, and regardingheaven with severity.Certainly,— and we make no attempt to dis-simulate the fact,— the observing physiologistwould have beheld an irremediable misery; hewould, perchance, have pitied this sick man, ofthe law’s making; but he would not have evenessayed any treatment; he would have turnedaside his gaze from the caverns of which hewould have caught a glimpse within this soul,and, like Dante at the portals of hell, he wouldhave effaced from this existence the word whichthe finger of God has, nevertheless, inscribedupon the brow of every man,— hope.Was this state of his soul, which we have at-tempted to analyze, as perfectly clear to JeanValjean as we have tried to render it for thosewho read us? Did Jean Valjean distinctly per-ceive, after their formation, and had he seendistinctly during the process of their formation,all the elements of which his moral misery wascomposed? Had this rough and unlettered mangathered a perfectly clear perception of the suc-cession of ideas through which he had, by de-grees, mounted and descended to the lugubri-ous aspects which had, for so many years,formed the inner horizon of his spirit? Was heconscious of all that passed within him, and ofall that was working there? That is somethingwhich we do not presume to state; it is some-thing which we do not even believe. There wastoo much ignorance in Jean Valjean, even afterhis misfortune, to prevent much vagueness fromstill lingering there. At times he did not rightlyknow himself what he felt. Jean Valjean was inthe shadows; he suffered in the shadows; he

hated in the shadows; one might have said thathe hated in advance of himself. He dwelt ha-bitually in this shadow, feeling his way like ablind man and a dreamer. Only, at intervals, theresuddenly came to him, from without and fromwithin, an access of wrath, a surcharge of suf-fering, a livid and rapid flash which illuminatedhis whole soul, and caused to appear abruptlyall around him, in front, behind, amid the gleamsof a frightful light, the hideous precipices andthe sombre perspective of his destiny.The flash passed, the night closed in again; andwhere was he? He no longer knew. The pecu-liarity of pains of this nature, in which that whichis pitiless — that is to say, that which is brutaliz-ing — predominates, is to transform a man, littleby little, by a sort of stupid transfiguration, into awild beast; sometimes into a ferocious beast.Jean Valjean’s successive and obstinate at-tempts at escape would alone suffice to provethis strange working of the law upon the humansoul. Jean Valjean would have renewed theseattempts, utterly useless and foolish as they were,as often as the opportunity had presented itself,without reflecting for an instant on the result,nor on the experiences which he had alreadygone through. He escaped impetuously, like thewolf who finds his cage open. Instinct said tohim, “Flee!” Reason would have said, “Re-main!” But in the presence of so violent a temp-tation, reason vanished; nothing remained butinstinct. The beast alone acted. When he wasrecaptured, the fresh severities inflicted on himonly served to render him still more wild.One detail, which we must not omit, is that hepossessed a physical strength which was notapproached by a single one of the denizens ofthe galleys. At work, at paying out a cable orwinding up a capstan, Jean Valjean was worthfour men. He sometimes lifted and sustainedenormous weights on his back; and when theoccasion demanded it, he replaced that imple-ment which is called a jack-screw, and was for-merly called orgueil [pride], whence, we mayremark in passing, is derived the name of theRue Montorgueil, near the Halles [Fishmarket]in Paris. His comrades had nicknamed him Jeanthe Jack-screw. Once, when they were repair-ing the balcony of the town-hall at Toulon, oneof those admirable caryatids of Puget, whichsupport the balcony, became loosened, and wason the point of falling. Jean Valjean, who waspresent, supported the caryatid with his shoul-der, and gave the workmen time to arrive.His suppleness even exceeded his strength.Certain convicts who were forever dreaming ofescape, ended by making a veritable science offorce and skill combined. It is the science ofmuscles. An entire system of mysterious staticsis daily practised by prisoners, men who areforever envious of the flies and birds. To climba vertical surface, and to find points of supportwhere hardly a projection was visible, was playto Jean Valjean. An angle of the wall being given,with the tension of his back and legs, with hiselbows and his heels fitted into the unevennessof the stone, he raised himself as if by magic tothe third story. He sometimes mounted thus evento the roof of the galley prison.He spoke but little. He laughed not at all. Anexcessive emotion was required to wring fromhim, once or twice a year, that lugubrious laughof the convict, which is like the echo of the laughof a demon. To all appearance, he seemed to beoccupied in the constant contemplation of some-thing terrible.He was absorbed, in fact.Athwart the unhealthy perceptions of an incom-plete nature and a crushed intelligence, he wasconfusedly conscious that some monstrous thingwas resting on him. In that obscure and wanshadow within which he crawled, each time thathe turned his neck and essayed to raise hisglance, he perceived with terror, mingled withrage, a sort of frightful accumulation of things,collecting and mounting above him, beyond therange of his vision,— laws, prejudices, men,and deeds,— whose outlines escaped him,whose mass terrified him, and which was noth-ing else than that prodigious pyramid which wecall civilization. He distinguished, here and therein that swarming and formless mass, now nearhim, now afar off and on inaccessible table-lands, some group, some detail, vividly illumi-nated; here the galley-sergeant and his cudgel;there the gendarme and his sword; yonder themitred archbishop; away at the top, like a sort ofsun, the Emperor, crowned and dazzling. Itseemed to him that these distant splendors, far

- Continued on Page 33

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CHAPTER VII

THE INTERIOR OF DESPAIR

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●●●●● Pinkney and Casey’s milk bar, Melbourne, 1977. Note the posters for theMelbourne Observer and the Sydney Sunday Telegraph newspapers.

Trivia ChallengeAnswer: Dali

(From Our Melbourne Correspondent)■ The pedestrian in Melbourne or suburbs whocrosses the street up to his ankles in slush andthen gets a shower bath from a passing motorrequires a good deal of self-restraint to keepfrom saying naughty things, when some oneremarks, '"My word, this is good for the coun-try."■ A firm of patent medicine vendors hailingfrom the land of; the Stars and Stripes appliedrecently to a suburban council for' permissionto 'drive in a drag through the 'principal streetswith 'a brass hand playing. The permission wasabout to be granted, when, one of the city fa-thers remarked that it sounded very much likeaccording their, patronage to the venture, andsuggest- ed that the Mayor should first he re-quested to try the patent medicines to be adver-tised. His worship, who was giving his annualball in a day or two promptly declined to undergo the ordeal, and in the end the right to drivearound blowing trumpets to advertise powdersand potions was refused.■ An enterprising tailor has taken the troubleto count the atitches in the last coat he made.He found 32,937-23,800 machine stitches and9,137 hand stitches. The coat was of the jacketvariety, thirty-two inches long. A frock or eveningcoat would require many more stitches. This ishow the counting was done : "I kept a little tab-let with me at my work, and every time I counteda hundred strokes of the needle I made a mark.On my machine, I found four and a half stitcheswere taken at every stroke of the pedal. Thatwas forty-five stitches to ten strokes, and so Iput down a mark at every tenth stroke."

100 Years AgoThe Evelyn Observer (Kangaroo Ground)

Friday, July 19, 1912

■ Now that it's all over, what did you really doyesterday that's worth mentioning?

- Coleman Cox

■ Abderian. Given to incessant, idiotic laughter.

■ What Spanish artist said he would eat hiswife when she died?

Ingredients1tablespoon olive oil1 small onion, finely chopped1 teaspoon fennel seed1/2 teaspoon celery seed6 carrots, peeled, trimmed and julienned5 ribs celery, peeled, trimmed and julienned1/3 cup chicken broth2 garlic cloves, pressed or mincedTimerprep: 10 minutestotal: 15 minutesToolslarge skillet or wokInstructions1. In a large skillet over medium-high, heat theoil. Add the onion and stir until softened, about 1minute. Add the fennel and celery seed, followedby the carrots and celery. Toss the vegetables tocoat with oil and cook for 3 minutes, stirring oc-casionally.2. Add the broth, cover and cook for 3 moreminutes. Uncover, stir in the garlic, a sprinklingof salt and pepper and continue to boil until mostof the liquid in the pan has evaporated.

■ Wednesday, July 18. Observer reader Peterof Thomastown/Epping is 57.■ Thursday, July 19. Melbourne publicistJulie Cavanagh celebrates today.■ Friday, July 20. Radio man Ken Sparkesenjoys a birthday today; his Juke Box SaturdayNight is now also being played on Aurora(Foxtel) on Thursday nights.■ Saturday, July 21. Observer reader Jennyof Kinglake is 59. Happy birthday to CecilyWaters.■ Sunday, July 22. Actress Sharni Vinson is29 (1983).■ Monday, July 23. Geoffrey Brown ofIvanhoe Grammar School is 68 today. Enter-tainer Bert Newton is 74 today.■ Tuesday, July 24. Observer subscriber Jamesof Kirwan (Qld) is 30. The 3AW newsroomcelebrates the birthday of Donna Demaio today.Hapy birthday to Ashley Browne of AFL Media.Radio man Andy Grace also celebrates.

■ Special wishes to Darryl Cotton, re-admit-ted to hospital by ambulance last week.■ Greetings to Matthew Anderson from EricaDavidson of Wentworth.■ Cheerio to Ari Vlassopoulos from Muriel ofSouthbank.■ Best wishes to Melbourne Observer Distri-bution Manager Sam Fiorini who early thisweek had knee surgery at Warringal PrivateHospital, Heidelberg.

■ Betty Bowen of Diamond Creek wrote tothank us for publishing an obituary tribute forher late husband, Brian Bowen.■ Observer subscriber Donald Davy of Fern-tree Gully wrote to say thanks for being a win-ner of a Golden Memories CD, produced byGolden Days Radio: “Thank you for your qual-ity newspaper covering real news pertaining todear old Melbourne town, and we its inhabit-ants.”

Aries (Mar 21 - Apr 20)Every sign has bad habits, it's just that you seem to be going back to yours. Use thisweek as your starting point for a fresh approach and let your sign's determination cometo the fore.Taurus (Apr 21 - May 21)Recent changes to a very emotional matter have put you in a far better place than thistime last month. You're stronger now and with a clearer vision of what you need tomake yourself happy.Gemini (May 22 - June 21)You are allowing people who don't even really know you to cast judgement on youractions.Stand up for yourself. In fact, don't even give them your time. You've got afuture to start living!Cancer (June 22 - July 23)News of children or even of births or pregnancies is sure to give you much to talkabout. It may even make you rethink your own plans in life. Revelations from a closeone bring joy.Leo (July 24 - Aug 23)If you're not happy with the way things are going then do something about it. You thinkyou hold no power but you are wrong. Invites you get at the last minute are definitelyworth accepting.Virgo (Aug 24 - Sept 23)Good news you get around this time should change your mood in a really dramaticfashion. The spring in your step is sure to attract not just one but several new admirers.Libra (Sept 24 - Oct 23)You're going to find yourself in the right place at the right time. If you have anyimportant meetings to arrange, then do it for today. You have the power of the starsbehind you.Scorpio (Oct 24 - Nov 22)Although some sort of emotional upheaval is indicated I can also see that it will soonblow over. Have faith in yourself and your stars. Anything is possible if you believe inyourself.Sagittarius (Nov 23 - Dec 21)You have not been feeling as strong as you should but you're finally starting to get backyour energy and your self confidence. Just in time for you to make the next move inlove!Capricorn (Dec 22 - Jan 20)Say what you mean to a close one who has already guessed far more than you thinkanyway. Honest talking can help you to shape life to both your needs.Aquarius (Jan 21 - Feb 19)Family think they know what's going on in your life but they've only got half the story.Will you tell them what's really going on? I doubt it. You'll soon have to though.Pisces (Feb 20 - March 20)The home comes under the spotlight and you may find yourself having to pay out forsomething which you won't feel any immediate benefit from.You will soon though, sodon't moan my friend.

Your Stars with Christina La Cross

Tributes

●●●●● Yoni, 7, at the Melbourne RabbitClinic earlier this month

■ Melbourne publicist Helen Reizer ismourning the passing of family pet, Yoni,aged 7. Earlier this month Ynoi had beentreated at Melbourne Rabbit Clinic for flu.

●●●●● Send letters to: Editor, Observer,PO Box 1278, Research, Vic 3095


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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 18, 2012 ADVERTISING FEATURE

Healthy Living

Stroke survivor inspires book■ Trevor Savage has written a book about his wifeJacklyn’s miraculous recovery from a stroke.

If readers take in just one piece of wisdom afterreading his new book, Trevor Savage hopes they willbe inspired to learn first aid.

Last July, Mr Savage applied CPR to his wifeJacklyn after she suffered a stroke, followed by twocardiac arrests.

He believes his wife may not be alive otherwise.Speaking to the Melbourne Observer on the eve of

the first anniversary of the incident, Mr Savage said itwas the first time he had to perform CPR.

“I think everybody should learn CPR because younever know when you’re going to need it,” he said.

“Anybody you meet anywhere who collapses, atleast you can have a go at saving their life.

“You don’t know how it’s going to turn out but it’sbeneficial to know just in case, and in Jacklyn’s caseit worked.

“One-third of the population is going to die fromheart attacks or strokes so it’s pretty relevant to everyhuman being on the planet.”

The Cashmere resident has just published A StrokeSurvivor’s Miracle: 3 Minutes to Live, 3 Minutes toDie, which details Jacklyn’s recovery from her stroke,which has stunned doctors.

She has resumed her active lifestyle and is “mak-ing the most of every day” with no side effects fromher stroke.

“I discussed this type of stroke with the rehab doc-tor and he had been working for the last seven yearsexclusively with stroke victims,” said Mr Savage, whobelieves nutritional supplements helped her rehabili-tation.

“She is the only person that he is aware of in Aus-tralia and in Great Britain who has survived this typeof stroke with no neural deficit.

“She hasn’t drunk or smoked in her life and she’salways had a good diet and taken a lot of supplements.

“The aim of the book is to educate people and alsogive them an idea that nutrition can be a part of recov-ery, as well as prevention of some of these things.”

Mr Savage stressed the importance of people know-ing the phone number to dial in an emergency is triple-zero, not triple-O.

Copies of A Stroke Survivor’s Miracle: 3 Minutesto Live, 3 Minutes to Die, in both book and CD for-mats, cost $29.95 each and are available by phoning(07) 3882 4446 or by emailing [email protected] www.strokesurvivormiracle.com

SPECIAL FEATURECopies of A Stroke Survivor’s Miracle: 3 Minutesto Live, 3 Minutes to Die, in both book and CDformats, cost $29.95 each and are available by

phoning (07) 3882 4446 or by [email protected] and

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

From Page 22

from dissipating his night, rendered it more fu-nereal and more black. All this — laws, preju-dices, deeds, men, things — went and cameabove him, over his head, in accordance withthe complicated and mysterious movementwhich God imparts to civilization, walking overhim and crushing him with I know not whatpeacefulness in its cruelty and inexorability inits indifference. Souls which have fallen to thebottom of all possible misfortune, unhappy menlost in the lowest of those limbos at which noone any longer looks, the reproved of the law,feel the whole weight of this human society, soformidable for him who is without, so frightfulfor him who is beneath, resting upon their heads.In this situation Jean Valjean meditated; and whatcould be the nature of his meditation?If the grain of millet beneath the millstone hadthoughts, it would, doubtless, think that samething which Jean Valjean thought.All these things, realities full of spectres, phan-tasmagories full of realities, had eventually cre-ated for him a sort of interior state which is al-most indescribable.At times, amid his convict toil, he paused. Hefell to thinking. His reason, at one and the sametime riper and more troubled than of yore, rosein revolt. Everything which had happened to himseemed to him absurd; everything that sur-rounded him seemed to him impossible. He saidto himself, “It is a dream.” He gazed at thegalley-sergeant standing a few paces from him;the galley-sergeant seemed a phantom to him.All of a sudden the phantom dealt him a blowwith his cudgel.

Visible nature hardly existed for him. It wouldalmost be true to say that there existed for JeanValjean neither sun, nor fine summer days, norradiant sky, nor fresh April dawns. I know notwhat vent-hole daylight habitually illumined hissoul.To sum up, in conclusion, that which can besummed up and translated into positive resultsin all that we have just pointed out, we will con-fine ourselves to the statement that, in the courseof nineteen years, Jean Valjean, the inoffensivetree-pruner of Faverolles, the formidable con-vict of Toulon, had become capable, thanks tothe manner in which the galleys had moulded

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Observer Crossword Solution No 35

Nothing on the horizon; nothing in heaven.He implores the expanse, the waves, the sea-weed, the reef; they are deaf. He beseeches thetempest; the imperturbable tempest obeys onlythe infinite.Around him darkness, fog, solitude, the stormyand nonsentient tumult, the undefined curling ofthose wild waters. In him horror and fatigue.Beneath him the depths. Not a point of support.He thinks of the gloomy adventures of the corpsein the limitless shadow. The bottomless coldparalyzes him. His hands contract convulsively;they close, and grasp nothingness. Winds,clouds, whirlwinds, gusts, useless stars! Whatis to be done? The desperate man gives up; heis weary, he chooses the alternative of death; heresists not; he lets himself go; he abandons hisgrip; and then he tosses forevermore in the lu-gubrious dreary depths of engulfment.Oh, implacable march of human societies! Oh,losses of men and of souls on the way! Oceaninto which falls all that the law lets slip! Disas-trous absence of help! Oh, moral death!The sea is the inexorable social night into whichthe penal laws fling their condemned. The seais the immensity of wretchedness.The soul, going down stream in this gulf, maybecome a corpse. Who shall resuscitate it?

him, of two sorts of evil action: firstly, of evilaction which was rapid, unpremeditated, dash-ing, entirely instinctive, in the nature of reprisalsfor the evil which he had undergone; secondly,of evil action which was serious, grave, con-sciously argued out and premeditated, with thefalse ideas which such a misfortune can fur-nish. His deliberate deeds passed through threesuccessive phases, which natures of a certainstamp can alone traverse,— reasoning, will,perseverance. He had for moving causes hishabitual wrath, bitterness of soul, a profoundsense of indignities suffered, the reaction evenagainst the good, the innocent, and the just, ifthere are any such. The point of departure, likethe point of arrival, for all his thoughts, was ha-tred of human law; that hatred which, if it be notarrested in its development by some providen-tial incident, becomes, within a given time, thehatred of society, then the hatred of the humanrace, then the hatred of creation, and whichmanifests itself by a vague, incessant, and bru-tal desire to do harm to some living being, nomatter whom. It will be perceived that it was notwithout reason that Jean Valjean’s passport de-scribed him as a very dangerous man.From year to year this soul had dried away slowly,but with fatal sureness. When the heart is dry,the eye is dry. On his departure from the galleysit had been nineteen years since he had shed atear.

he went and came along the deck with the rest,he had his part of breath and of sunlight, he wasa living man. Now, what has taken place? Hehas slipped, he has fallen; all is at an end.He is in the tremendous sea. Under foot he hasnothing but what flees and crumbles. The bil-lows, torn and lashed by the wind, encompasshim hideously; the tossings of the abyss bearhim away; all the tongues of water dash over hishead; a populace of waves spits upon him; con-fused openings half devour him; every time thathe sinks, he catches glimpses of precipices filledwith night; frightful and unknown vegetationsseize him, knot about his feet, draw him to them;he is conscious that he is becoming an abyss,that he forms part of the foam; the waves tosshim from one to another; he drinks in the bitter-ness; the cowardly ocean attacks him furiously,to drown him; the enormity plays with his agony.It seems as though all that water were hate.Nevertheless, he struggles.He tries to defend himself; he tries to sustainhimself; he makes an effort; he swims. He, hispetty strength all exhausted instantly, combatsthe inexhaustible.Where, then, is the ship? Yonder. Barely visiblein the pale shadows of the horizon.The wind blows in gusts; all the foam over-whelms him. He raises his eyes and beholdsonly the lividness of the clouds. He witnesses,amid his death-pangs, the immense madness ofthe sea. He is tortured by this madness; he hearsnoises strange to man, which seem to come frombeyond the limits of the earth, and from oneknows not what frightful region beyond.There are birds in the clouds, just as there areangels above human distresses; but what canthey do for him? They sing and fly and float,and he, he rattles in the death agony.He feels himself buried in those two infinities,the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time:the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud.Night descends; he has been swimming forhours; his strength is exhausted; that ship, thatdistant thing in which there were men, has van-ished; he is alone in the formidable twilight gulf;he sinks, he stiffens himself, he twists himself;he feels under him the monstrous billows of theinvisible; he shouts.There are no more men. Where is God?He shouts. Help! Help! He still shouts on.

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 18, 2012 - Page 33

C O N S E R V E D C A V I T Y A H U R R A H S T E V E D O R E

A O V A U N I T N O D D L Y E M A N E X G R N

L U I S S U E C O N F E R O P U F F I N N I C E R C I

M O N O C L E T E A L I K N H I S K I D E M E R A L D

M S T A S H I D L E D E L I T E N O S E D P L U T O A

M A N S P I O T A R E P R E S E N T E D R I F E S P A C E

O R I O N B H C O L A M N I D O L O R M E T E D

U C O B L I G E D D M E A N D E R U A M M O N I A T D

N E A R B Y S R A K E U P N E A P R O N S X R E M E D Y

T R B E N C H T E N S U R E D T W I D O W N I

E M A I L S U M A R T Y R R E A G L E S D N E W T O N

D G E E S A U A O S T R A C I S M U P E E P S I G

S U E D E S M U T L R N C B N A Y S S T O O L

A M E W S M I L K O L I V E L E G S P A V E N

A P A I D E S P O U S E D U S K E L E T A L R A T A A

E M M A R I M S T R P G M T I O R A T O M M O B S

M R T S K E T C H I E R R E C E P T I O N O O E

M O C K U P S O E H C O V A K E D A M A R K E T S

A A E P R A N G M U G S P R I G N E R D S P T O

C O R K R A S S R E A R S I P N O T E H E W O C H O P

H N E A T E R S A M E R E E R G O G O I N S O L E P

O B E Y I T A N N U M A S I D E S O L I D F T O R G Y

O E N O R M S D O W N A G E E E N T E R W A

T O E D E I S W I N G U P P E D S U C K S N O N A G S

O P U N N E D I O R I P E C Y S T T I E S P I E S O

W H I P T G E N S L A M N I L P E T E A D S H D H A L

E C L E N S U E M A I N A S A P D E N I S E E V

D I S M A Y S V N A G A L I N C F S E S S E N C E

R E C E X C E P T I O N R E G R E T F U L R L U

J A V A L U L L L R N T I S L L U O R A L M O B Y

N L O A D O N E L I N E R C R E A L I S E D S A Y S E

B R S V P A L L Y O P E R A R O D E G L E N N

G R E E K E T N A M T C P C E D G E G A L A S

O I R E L S A M P L A Y A C T E D A O D E S F V G

V A C U U M E T R A S H Y P M E S S E D I E F F I G Y

E A D A L A I O R I S S O L E V I N D I A G P

R A B B I S R M U E S L I T I N A B B E D S R I V A L S

A R T H I N O U T T C U R D L E D L N A S T I E R T I

L E A S E I G P A P A O C E D A M N E S C O N E

L U C K T N O G O G A L L B L A D D E R K I W I F U R I S

R Y O U N G E L D E R L E O N E M E T R E N A R K S L

S O M E O N E E R I E R O O A E H O L D P E O P L E D

E I M A R I A V A N I T Y P C O R D O N O T H E R E I

T N P V S U E T E D I E G O I S E W N I E V N

S L I G H T E S T R H O D E S D N A T T E R E N D E A R I N G

MELBOURNE OBSERVERMEGA 035S- ( X grid)MEGA.eps.© Lovatts Crosswords 21/12/06 - Artist - JT

CHAPTER VIII

BILLOWS AND SHADOWS

A man overboard!What matters it? The vessel does not halt. Thewind blows. That sombre ship has a path whichit is forced to pursue. It passes on.The man disappears, then reappears; he plunges,he rises again to the surface; he calls, he stretchesout his arms; he is not heard. The vessel, trem-bling under the hurricane, is wholly absorbed inits own workings; the passengers and sailors donot even see the drowning man; his miserablehead is but a speck amid the immensity of thewaves. He gives vent to desperate cries fromout of the depths. What a spectre is that retreat-ing sail! He gazes and gazes at it frantically. Itretreats, it grows dim, it diminishes in size. Hewas there but just now, he was one of the crew,

CHAPTER IX

NEW TROUBLES

When the hour came for him to take his depar-ture from the galleys, when Jean Valjean heardin his ear the strange words, Thou art free! themoment seemed improbable and unprec-edented; a ray of vivid light, a ray of the truelight of the living, suddenly penetrated withinhim. But it was not long before this ray paled.Jean Valjean had been dazzled by the idea ofliberty. He had believed in a new life. He veryspeedily perceived what sort of liberty it is towhich a yellow passport is provided.And this was encompassed with much bitter-ness. He had calculated that his earnings, dur-ing his sojourn in the galleys, ought to amount toa hundred and seventy-one francs. It is but justto add that he had forgotten to include in hiscalculations the forced repose of Sundays andfestival days during nineteen years, which en-tailed a diminution of about eighty francs.

To Be Continued Next Week

Movies, DVDs

Reviews by Aaron Rourke ObserverMelbourne

Top 10 Lists

THE AUSTRALIAN BOX OFFICE

TOP TEN:

1. TED.

2. THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN.

3. ICE AGE 4: CONTINENTAL

DRIFT

4. BRAVE.

5. SNOW WHITE AND THE

HUNTSMAN.

6. KATY PERRY: PART OF ME.

7. THE THREE STOOGES.

8. PROMETHEUS.

9. A ROYAL AFFAIR.

10. BOL BACHCHAN.

NEW RELEASES AND COMING

SOON TO CINEMAS AROUND AUS-

TRALIA:

JULY 12: HYSTERIA, NOT SUITABLE

FOR CHILDREN, BARFEE.

JULY 19: THE DARK KNIGHT

RISES, THE DOOR.

THE DVD TOP SELLERS:

1. THIS MEANS WAR [Comedy/

Tom Hardy, Reese Witherspoon,

Chris Pine].

2. CONTRABAND [Action/Drama/

Mark Wahlberg, Kate Beckinsale,

Ben Foster].

3. JOHN CARTER [Action/Taylor

Kitsch, Mark Strong, Bryan

Cranston].

4. THE ARTIST [Comedy/Drama/

Romance/Jean Dujardin, John

Goodman].

5. PROJECT X [Comedy/Jonathan

Daniel Brown, Oliver Cooper, Tho-

mas Mann].

6. CORIOLANUS [Drama/Ralph

Fiennes, Gerald Butler, Vanessa

Redgrave].

7. EXTREMELY LOUD AND IN-

CREDIBLY CLOSE [Drama/Tom

Hanks, Sandra Bullock].

8. HEADHUNTERS [Thri l ler/

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Aksel

Hennie].

9. MY WEEK WITH MARILYN

[Drama/True Story/Michelle Will-

iams, Kenneth Branagh].

10. MAN ON A LEDGE [Action/

Drama/Jamie Bell, Sam

Worthington, Ed Harris].

Also: CARNAGE, THE GREY,

J.EDGAR, UNDERWORLD-AWAK-

ENING, SHERLOCK HOLMES: A

GAME OF SHADOWS, SAFE

HOUSE, THE GIRL WITH THE

DRAGON TATTOO, MISSION IM-

POSSIBLE: GHOST PROTOCOL,

WAR HORSE, THE ADVENTURES

OF TINTIN.

NEW RELEASE HIGHLIGHTS ON DVD

THIS WEEK:

ANY QUESTIONS FOR BEN?

[Comedy/Christian Clark, Rachael

Taylor].

LONDON BOULEVARD [Crime/

Thri l ler/Colin Farrel l, Keira

Knightley, Ray Winstone].

A SEPARATION [Drama/Leila

Hatami, Sareh Bayat].

21 JUMP STREET [Comedy/Jonah

Hill, Channing Tatum, Ice Cube].

KILLER ELITE [Action/Robert De

Niro, Clive Owen, Jason

Statham].

WANDERLUST [Comedy/Jennifer

Aniston, Alan Alda].

THE DEVIL INSIDE [Horror/Evan

Helmuth, Simon Quarterman].

NEW & RE-RELEASE CLASSICS ON

DVD HIGHLIGHTS:

HOOP DREAMS [Feature Docu-

mentary/Arthur Agee, Emma

Gates].

Turn To Page 47

What’s Hot and What’s Not

on DVD and Blu-Ray

Observer

Showbiz

Observer

Showbiz

With

James

Sherlock

■ How do you condense a career likeErnest Borgnine's into one short ar-ticle?

It's almost impossible.Hollywood lost one of its most

recognisable faces when this iconicactor passed away on Sunday July 8due to renal failure, aged 95.

This immensely likeable actor ap-peared in too many movies and TVshows to mention, but his distinctiveon-screen presence and his behind-the-scenes professionalism and teamspirit ensued that he remained busyup to the day he died.

Most people will know MrBorgnine from the popular TV seriesand movie spin-offs McHale's Navy,but he gave a number of memorableperformances in a variety of classicfilms.

From his debut in the gamblingdrama China Corsair (1951), MrBorgnine worked non-stop, in filmssuch as (taking a deep breath) TheStranger Wore A Gun (1953 - directedby Andre De Toth), Johnny Guitar(1954 - directed by Nicholas Ray),Demetrius And The Gladiators (1954- starring Victor Mature), The LastCommand (1955), the musical TheBest Things In Life Are Free (1956 -directed by Michael Curtiz), The Vi-kings (1958 - directed by RichardFleischer and starring Kirk Douglas),The Badlanders (1958 - a remake ofthe 1950 John Huston classic TheAsphalt Jungle), Man On A String(1960 - again directed by De Toth),Pay Or Die (1960), Chuka (1967 - di-rected by Gordon Douglas), The Ad-venturers (1969 - directed by LewisGilbert), the Italian actioner A BulletFor Sandoval (1969), Suppose TheyGave A War And Nobody Came (1970- directed by Hy Averback), BunnyO'Hare (1971 - starring Bette Davis),Hannie Caulder (1971 - directed byBurt Kennedy and starring RaquelWelch), The Neptune Factor (1973),The Devil's Rain (1975), Hustle (1975- directed by Aldrich, whom Borgnineworked with a total of five times), TheGreatest (1977), Convoy (1978 - di-rected by Sam Peckinpah), the post-apocalyptic curio Ravagers (1979 - co-starring Richard Harris), the IrwinAllen disaster flick When Time RanOut (1980), Super Fuzz (1980 - co-starring Terence Hill), Young War-riors (1983), Code Name : Wild Geese(1984), Laser Mission (1989 - star-ring Brandon Lee, Bruce's son), AnyMan's Death (1990), the voice of thehead villain in All Dog's Go To Heaven2 (1996), the remake of McHale'sNavy (1997), the Sean Penn-directedsegment in 9/11/01 (2002), and Jan

Kounen's wild western Renegade(2004), starring Vincent Cassel.

Mr Borgnine's final film was therecently completed drama The ManWho Shook The Hand Of VicenteFernandez.

Mr Borgnine's TV credits rangefrom providing a voice on the popularkids TV series Spongebob Square-pants, the seminal series TheSimpsons (the Season Five episodecalled Scout Boyz 'N The Hood, backin 1993), to the hugely successfulmedical show E.R, and of courseMcHale's Navy.

This is just a portion of MrBorgnine's body of work, but the fol-lowing films are ones that I can defi-nitely recommend, showcasing overvarious genres an actor who will cer-tainly be missed.From Here To Eternity (PG) (1953).118 minutes. War Drama. *****Vera Cruz (PG) (1954). 94 minutes.Western. ***1/2Bad Day At Black Rock (PG) (1955).81 minutes. Drama. ****1/2Marty (G) (1955). 91 minutes. Drama.***** (Won his Oscar for Best Actorhere).Violent Saturday (PG) (1955). 90 min-utes. Thriller. ****Barabbas (PG) (1961). 137 minutes.Biblical Drama. ***1/2McHale's Navy (PG) (1964). 93 min-utes. Comedy. ***Flight Of The Phoenix (PG) (1965).147 minutes. War Drama. ****1/2The Dirty Dozen (M) (1967). 144 min-utes. War Action. *****Ice Station Zebra (PG) (1968). 148minutes. Adventure. ***The Wild Bunch (MA) (1969). 144minutes. Western. *****Willard (M) (1971). 95 minutes. Hor-ror/Thriller. ***The Poseidon Adventure (PG) (1972).117 minutes. Adventure. ****Emperor Of The North (M) (1973).118 minutes. Drama. *****The Black Hole (PG) (1979). 97 min-utes. Disney Sci-Fi. ***High Risk (PG) (1981). 94 minutes.Action/Adventure. ***Deadly Blessing (M) (1981). 102 min-utes. Horror. ***Escape From New York (M) (1981).99 minutes. Sci-Fi/Thriller. ****1/2Gattaca (M) (1997). 112 minutes. Sci-Fi/Drama. ****Small Soldiers (PG) (1998). 99 min-utes. Family (voice of Kip Killagin).***BASEketball (M) (1998). 103 min-utes. Comedy. ****RED (M) (2010). 111 minutes. Ac-tion/Comedy (Lovely cameo). ****

- Aaron Rourke

Page 34 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 18, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

FILM: CHINATOWN:

Cast: Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway, John Huston.

Genre: Drama/Mystery/Thriller.

Year: 1974.

Rating: M.

Running Time: 130 Minutes.

Format: DVD and BLU-RAY.

Stars: *****

Verdict: A brilliantly written, directed and constructed contemporary

Film Noir mystery- thriller set in 1930's Los Angeles of a private detec-

tive investigating an adultery case and stumbles on to a scheme of

murder and political corruption. Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway have

never been better as the Private Detective and the Femme-Fatale. Stun-

ning cinematography by John A. Alonzo and Stanley Cortez, with a beau-

tifully moody and haunting music score by Jerry Goldsmith, everything

about this movie excels on every level all thanks to the skilled and

unparalleled direction of Roman Polanski, who has an unforgettable role

as a hood. A must-see masterpiece of the genre!

FILM: AGE OF CONSENT:

Cast: James Mason, Helen Mirren, Jack MacGowran.

Genre: Drama.

Year: 1969.

Rating: PG.


Format: DVD.

Stars: ****

Verdict: The enchanting tale of an artist who thinks he has past his

prime, but on an off-shore island he re-discovers his muse in the form of

a young girl. Screen legend James Mason is superb as the aging and

cynical artist, but it is Helen Mirren, in her first big screen role, that is

a standout. Breathtaking Queensland and Great Barrier Reef locations

are captured with stunning beauty in another wonderfully orchestrated

and entertaining classic from legendary filmmaker Michael Powell, a

captivating, poignant and incomparably important piece of Australiana.

FILM: BLOW OUT:

Cast: John Travolta, Nancy Allen, John Lithgow.

Genre: Thriller.

Year: 1981.

Rating: M.


Format: DVD & BLU-RAY.

Stars: ****

Verdict: A thrilling race against time tale from legendary thriller-chiller

director Brian De Palma (Carrie, Scarface, The Untouchables, Mission

Impossible) of a B movie sound effects man who accidentally records

evidence that proves that a car accident was actually a politically or-

chestrated murder and consequently finds himself in danger. Superb

traditionally stylish trademark direction from De Palma, excellent mu-

sic score from long time De Palma collaborator Pino Donaggio, good

strong performances and standout Philadelphia locations make this a

tense, moody and atmospheric edge-of-your-seat fun ride.

FILM: CARRY ON SERGEANT:

Cast: William Hartnell, Shirley Eaton, Kenneth Williams,

Charles Hawtrey.

Genre: Comedy.

Year: 1958.

Rating: G .


Format: DVD.

Stars: ****

Verdict: The prototypical comedy that started it all. The first hilarious

"Carry On" adventure remains the best in the series, as an army Ser-

geant who wants to retire dreams of winning the Star Squad prize with

his very last platoon of newly called-up National Servicemen before he

goes, but they turn out to be a motley bunch of misfits and no-hopers.

Great cast, led by the irreplaceable William Hartnell, keep the laughs

coming thick and fast, and set the pace and style of more "Carry On"

movies to come. A riotous landmark British classic! The equally funny

Carry On Teacher and Carry On Nurse are also available.

●●●●● Jack Nicholson in one of the best roles of his career as

private detective J.J. Gittes in Roman Polanski's landmark film

noir masterpiece Chinatown.

ERNEST BORGNINEJanuary 24, 1917 - July 8, 2012


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