Six film classics to explore in lockdown six

Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief.

It’s taken me some time to come around to the appeal of “old” movies. There was a time when I thought there wasn’t much worth watching before, say, the late 60s. The charisma of the Golden Age stars, the antique production methods, the of-their-time plots – I was unimpressed. Yet as I have gotten a bit older and begun to understand the arc of recent history a little better, my eyes have been opened to the gems I may have neglected.
The world was still recovering from the devastation of the Second World War in the 1950s and early 60s. Life was uncertain for many, tenuous even. Having lived through such testing times, with its absences and loss of life, it’s little wonder audiences craved escapism, colour, romance and whimsy on screen.
Perhaps in our own unusual moment, the old movie classics may still have a place and a purpose.

Calamity Jane (1953)
Musicals may not be your thing (they’re certainly not mine) but in this age of cynicism and fear, watching a film in which characters spontaneously burst into song and dance may be just the salve you didn’t know you needed until you experienced it. This delightfully diverting bonbon starring the astonishingly talented Doris Day is thoroughly entertaining – and deserving of multiple adverbs. If it’s authenticity about the old, lawless west and the Black Hills of Dakota in the 1850s you seek, the sublime Deadwood may be more to your liking. This, however, is unalloyed entertainment from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Whip crack-away!

To Catch a Thief (1955)
When a series of jewel thefts on the French Riviera bear a familiar modus operandi, suave retired burglar John “the Cat” Robie (Cary Grant) is immediately suspected by the authorities. To prove his innocence, Robie sets out to catch the new Cat in the act. Along the ways he meets wealthy heiress Francie Stevens (Grace Kelly, in her final film with director Alfred Hitchcock). Romance and intrigue collide. This is a beautiful film to look at, with the amazing costumes by Edith Head as spectacular as the picturesque French seaside locales and the appealing cast.

The Court Jester (1955)
The film title may not be instantly recognisable, but the sparkling dialogue in this clever dose of medieval mayhem and skulduggery almost certainly would be. A classic scene involves shenanigans surrounding a poisoned pre-joust toast in which Danny Kaye’s eponymous character must recall that while the chalice from the palace contains a pellet with poison, the vessel with the pestle has a brew that is true. But of course, the chalice from the palace breaks, replaced by a flagon with a dragon …

The Nutty Professor (1963)
What it lacks in flatulence and fat suits, the original iteration of this Jekyll-and-Hyde tale more than makes up for with the wit, charm and talent of Mr Jerry Lewis, who plays both the delightfully square but kind Professor Julius F Kelp, and his alter-ego, the too-smooth crooner and lothario, Buddy Love. Alas, the potion responsible for transforming the dorky academic into a handsome aggressive jerk only lasts a limited time. This leads to all sorts of confusion on campus and at local club the Purple Pit, and a showdown between Love and love.

The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)
Gentleman thief Thomas Crown (Steve McQueen, the “King of Cool”) gets his kicks, and part of his company’s revenue, by designing elaborate heists. But will he be brought undone by savvy and sassy insurance investigator Vicky Anderson (Faye Dunaway)? Dunaway, incidentally, also turns up in the excellent 1999 remake, playing a psychotherapist. This is one cool, even slightly cold film. From the split-screen opening credits and jazzy soundtrack to the fantastic wardrobe of the leads, the cars, and the depiction of Crown’s enviable lifestyle, this is one smooth, stylish escapade.

The Italian Job (1969)
Not to be outshone by what was happening in Hollywood, in the last decade of the 60s, the Brits produced this highly stylised and engaging heist classic. Charlie (Michael Caine) is just released from prison when he finds out about his associates’ unsuccessful attempt to pull a once-in-a-lifetime job in Italy (hence the title). Setting about organising the job himself, Charlie pulls together a misfit crew of specialists and oddballs, with a squadron of sporty Minis taking centre stage. There are songs (“Self-Preservation Society”), the mafia, cockney rhyming slang, Benny Hill and great lines (“You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off”) involved.

Hard nuts, clangers and the fat side

The obscure language of Australian rules footy often confuses rather than clarifies.

Every sport has its own special language and terminology to describe play and rules. This lingo helps those who participate make sense of the game, to make play possible.

Some of these are basic and widely known – baseball’s home run, cricket’s leg before wicket, and rugby’s scrum come easily to mind. Others are more complex or arcane, such as the terms used in royal (aka real) tennis, such as penthouse and tambour, or polo, with its chukkas, hooks and bumps.

Tennis has its deuces and half-volleys, and golf its albatrosses, plus-fours and mashie-niblicks. Basketball features double-dribbles, alley-oops and pick-and-rolls.

Australian rules football (not to be confused with the AFL, which is merely the name of the elite national competition) has its own rich cache of terms. Consider torpedo punts, kicking through the big sticks, shepherds (nothing to do with flocks), handballs and ruck-rovers. These are all time-honoured terms those familiar with the game would doubtless have heard many times.

Yet the specialist language associated with our national game seem to be expanding, and at a rapid rate over the past couple of years.

Kicking to the fat side (that is, where fewer players are gathered), underground handballs, scoreboard pressure (aka scoring), frontal pressure, pressure acts, scoreboard relief, elite disposal skills by hand or foot (i.e., being skilled at kicking and handballing), slingshot football, strategic leading patterns, clangers (kicks that are intercepted or sent out of bounds), unrewarded running, conversion ratios, defensive unit or back six …

These are terms that would leave old-time aficionados of the more-then-100-year-old game nonplussed, if not angry.

It should be noted that the game’s official glossary of terms has probably not altered all that much in the past 20 years. Rather, it’s ad hoc terms perhaps invented by the AFL’s considerable coaching fraternity that could be to blame.

In times of yore (say the 50s, 60s and 70s) the elite competition for the sport was the semi-professional VFL. In those days nearly all the players and coaches worked day jobs; sport was a part-time commitment.

With the advent of the national competition in 1990 considerably more money arrived from television deals. Coaching staffs rapidly expanded, as did the remit. In the past coaches had been expected to do little more than put out the witches’ hats at training and provide mangled halftime speeches.

Despite COVID-related cost-cutting trimming overall personnel counts, every AFL club has a huge non-playing contingent of administration and medical staff, trainers, and assistant and specialist coaches.

A barely understandable patois allows these professionals to communicate with one another, and sometimes, the outside world, too.

Now coaches bang on about metres gained, playing through “the corridor” (the middle of the ground), players building tanks (aka running capacity), and doing the “one per centers”. The last is a statistic that relates to a variety of actions that benefit a team, but are infrequent or defensive, including knock-ons, spoils, smothers, and shepherds.

Having attended a corporate or academic short course in the offseason, you might also hear a coach pepper his postgame media conference with references to the “journey” (which might refer variously to a game, season, career or perhaps simply a kick), and “learnings” taken on board (i.e., lessons, or things the team has learned).

The sport’s professional commentariat is complicit in the creation, use and expansion of this alternative specialist language, perhaps to help justify its existence.

Is there a sports league more commentated upon, analysed and subject to post-mortem than the AFL? It’s hard to think of one. Some games have a panel of four or more commentators calling the play, with a few “boundary riders” also shoving microphones into players’ faces.

In contrast, long-time soccer commentator Martin Tyler manages to call games by himself, often in a studio on the other side of the world from which a game is played. He describes the action, but also provides the expert or “colour” commentary too. If there are any tidbits to share about coaches’ comments from during the week, or the inside scuttlebutt about the clubs and players, Tyler has that in spades and on demand. Tyler is also unafraid to let the action on screen speak for itself, understanding that sometimes on TV, silence is golden.

Some terms seem to be more popular with commentators than elsewhere in the footy realm. The implausible “gut running” is one of these. Surprisingly, this does not mean “running down the guts”, because (see earlier reference), the middle of the ground is referred to as the sacred corridor. No, “gut running” is something else entirely, defined by the Urban Dictionary as a “form of high-speed, long-term bipedal perambulation apparently performed only by AFL players. What other kinds of ‘running’ there are is not entirely clear.”

Commentators are also fond of “hard nuts” of which there seem to be fewer around these days. A hard nut is player of limited skill, talent and polish, but who maintains his place in a team based on his aggressive, committed and/or sometimes dirty play. Hard nuts (erstwhile St Kilda player Stephen Baker is a classic example) are defensive specialists, and often assigned negating roles, usually on players with “silky skills”.

Silkily skilled players lacking toughness and more concerned with their looks and taking speccies than anything else might derisively be referred to as a “prancing pony” – although I’m willing to admit this term might not have much currency outside the Dillon family. Geoff Raines and Warwick Capper were textbook examples.

Sublimely skilled players possessing adequate toughness but equal parts fairness and “class” are considered “ornaments to the game”. Melbourne great Robbie Flower, Kangaroo legend Keith Grieg and St Kilda icon Rob Harvey are ornaments worth celebrating.

And of course, ornaments to the game minimise the clangers and execute the one per centers.

More of the write stuff

Is there a secret sauce for being a successful writer?

Manhattan Nocturne by Colin Harrison is a compelling tale of urban intrigue and morally compromised characters, and the cynical and redoubtable New York columnist from whose perspective the story is told.

The narrator is a seasoned pro – an old hand whose fingers hurt, eyes are failing and back aches from too many days at the desk. He drives a beat-up old banger to assignments, doesn’t take notes “because the good shit sticks” and sometimes shares wisdom and observations from his life as a tabloid hack.

The best of these are some nuggets handed down by an even more wizened ink-stained mentor: “They’re not little stories; it’s all part of one big story,” and “Sometimes you have to lay brick”.

The latter phrase is a reference to the newspaper caper, where “Chronos rules” and deadlines are king. In these circumstances, scribes don’t have the luxury of having writer’s block. There is space to fill, and a column is due. Forget style and craft – when deadlines are imminent, the text just has to be there.

Writers have tools for dealing with their self-sabotaging habits, or with their perfectionist tendencies. I mentioned to my dad a while ago that I struggled with perfectionism at times – and he laughed like I hadn’t heard him laugh in years. What I meant was that in wishing to produce something of a quality, I often struggled to produce a single word. In the same way that many of my fitness regimes had struggled to secure a solid (or any) foothold, so too my writing projects had failed to escape imagination and actually reach a screen or paper.

So long as nothing is happening, perfection is still attainable.

“People delay because they think they have to be in the right mood to get something done,” says writer Andrew Santella, author of Soon, a book exploring procrastination. “They convince themselves that their mood will change in the future, so the future would be a more suitable time to act.”

Perhaps this underlines Harrison’s point: that texts, like abodes, must be constructed brick by brick. And that maybe I should be thinking “shack” rather than “mansion” in my metaphorical houses of words.

“If we make writing mystical, we place it out of our control, we give ourselves another reason not to do it,” says crime writer Laura Lippman. “If we hold our ideas to the standard of blinding love at first sight, then they will be few and far between.”

So, think prosaic and practical rather than spiritual and otherworldly.

Prolific novelist Stephen King says the scariest moment is always just before you start.

“”Don’t wait,” advises writer Napoleon Hill. “The time will never be just right.”

Author Hugh Lofting didn’t have ideal circumstances when he composed Dr Doolittle. Rather, he wrote the children’s classic in a series of illustrated letters sent home to his own children from the British trenches during the First World War.

Frank Herbert didn’t wait around for the muses to visit him before sitting down to crank out the singular world of Dune.

“I don’t worry about inspiration, or anything like that,” Herbert said of his writing practice. “Coming back and reading what I have produced, I am unable to detect the difference between what came easily and when I had to sit down and say, ‘Well now it’s writing time and now I’ll write’.”

When it was writing time, one author who seemed to have little trouble filling column inches was Charles Dickens. Fuelled by his solo peregrinations, with 32km frequently covered in walks through London, Boz, as he referred to himself, constructed veritable walls of words, phalanxes of paragraphs, canyons of chapters, and small libraries of books.

As it was for Harrison’s decrepit columnist (and, let’s face it, every writer) the clock was ineluctably ticking on Dickens. With his novels written in instalments, deadlines were a regular occurrence and challenge, but one the prolific scribbler could surmount with astonishing imagination and application. In his dextrous hands, words accumulated.

Dickens had a way of making sure word limits were reached, once describing a character having a grin that agitated his countenance from one auricular cavity to the other (from ear to ear in other words).

Fellow writer Wilkie Collins was once advised by Dickens to make his readers “laugh, cry and wait.” There was often substantial waiting as Dickens’ labyrinthine plots played out. The “waiting”, in fact, was the thing. The essence.

Another writer who used his perambulations as an intrinsic component of the creative process was poet Wallace Stevens.

For 40 years Stevens worked at an insurance company in Hartford, Connecticut. He used the 3km walk to work to compose in his head the poems that made his name. Timing words to the rhythm of his steps, he would dictate compositions to his secretary upon arrival at the office.

Other writers rely on more traditional tools of creation: their imaginations, pen, and paper.

Many years on from the books that made him famous (London Fields and The Rachel Papers), Martin Amis maintains a disciplined daily writing habit that commences mid-morning and continues to late afternoon. Beginning a new work within days of completing a book, Amis still writes seven days a week, and takes few holidays.

Interestingly, he doesn’t intricately plan out his novels in advance, but rather writes somewhat organically; the novels go where they go. Indeed, Amis is somewhat critical of novelists who do plot things out too carefully. You wonder what he would make of JK Rowling, who plotted the entire Harry Potter series out in spreadsheets.  

Frances Ford Coppola has said that not knowing how to do something never stopped him from giving it a try.  It’s an attitude that has served Coppola well, especially in his successful post-directorial life as a winemaker.

A surprising number of successful artists lack what might be considered skills essential to their craft.

Paul McCartney, Phil Collins and Dave Grohl can’t read music. Fashion designer Thom Browne has no sketching ability.

Restaurant reviewer AA Gill suffered so badly from dyslexia that he dictated rather than penned his columns because no one but he could understand his writing.

“The perfect,” wrote polymath Barry Jones in his recent book, “is the enemy of the good.”

Jones was talking about political policy, but the aphorism applies widely, and perhaps particularly to writing.

Another scribe has weighed in with advice for those who might follow in his steps.

“If you wish to be a writer,” said philosopher, author, and former slave Epictetus, “write.”

The best films from 2020

Because I usually watch new movies at the cinema, and of course these were mostly shut in 2020, I’ve had to improvise a little bit with this list of the 10 best films from last year. A few weren’t actually new, but just new to me – the first time I’d seen them. That said, despite a few major releases being delayed, there was some rather decent viewing to be had. Please note: this spiel does not include references to “pivoting”, “unprecedented” nor, “We’re all in this together”.

Calamity Jane (1953)
Not normally drawn to musicals from the Golden Age of Hollywood, this delightfully diverting bonbon starring Doris Day was thoroughly entertaining. Whip crack-away!

The Dry
AFP detective Aaron Falk (Eric Bana) returns to his Mallee home to attend the funeral of an old school mate, Luke, accused of the murder-suicide of his young family. When he’s asked by Luke’s parents to look into the crime, the trail of clues lead to an unlikely source, and helps solve an older, equally troubling death from Aaron’s past.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga
Eurovision is so hammy and camp that it basically sends itself up. Yet Will Ferell and Rachel McAdams take things a step further as unlikely Icelandic contestants, Lars Erickssong and Sigrit Ericksdóttir. Elves are involved, and the film contains the song “JaJa Dingdong”.

High Ground
Set in 1919 in Arnhem Land, High Ground explores relations between the Indigenous community and the unwelcome police presence, and how misunderstandings and entrenched prejudices have devastating consequences. A nuanced script is buoyed by wonderful performances, led by old hand Simon Baker.

Made in Italy
It has been many years since the death of Natalia, mother to Jack (Micheál Richardson) and wife to renowned artist Robert (Liam Neeson). Perhaps repairing their dilapidated house in Tuscany can also help mend the fissures in their relationship in this picturesque drama/comedy made more nuanced by the film’s connection to real life. (Neeson is actually father to Richardson, whose actress mother Natasha died in a skiing accident in 2009 when he was 13).

The Old Guard
In this kinetic and nifty actioner, Charlize Theron plays the head of a cadre of immortal super soldiers who have battled throughout time to keep evil at bay. Could Big Pharma be the foe that brings them undone?

Revenge (1990)
OK, I had already seen the original cut of this Tony Scott masterpiece (as described by Quentin Tarantino) before, but not the Director’s Cut, which is much tighter and propulsive than the original edit, focusing more on the doomed lovers (Kevin Costner and Madeline Stowe) and less on the ruthless husband they cross (Anthony Quinn). Sumptuous and sultry.

Some Like it Hot (1959)
After two male musicians (Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis) witness a mob hit, they disguise themselves in drag and flee. Laughter and confusion ensue in this clever and subtly subversive diversion. The dialogue sparkles, and the cast too shines. And if you’ve ever wondered what all the fuss about Marilyn Monroe is about, this is a good place to start.

Although I really didn’t like this time-travelling mind-bender from Christopher Nolan that much on first encounter, I subsequently relaxed into it. It’s possible to enjoy this slick, visually splendid (but silly) film if you just let your mind go. Your body will follow.

The Translators
In this tricky off-kilter French suspense film, it always feels like we’re a little behind the action. But that’s the deftness of the script on display in this formidable cross-cultural outing, whose storyline centres around the translation of a major new thriller as orchestrated by its unscrupulous publisher.

Charlize Theron as Andy, spiritual leader of The Old Guard.

Time for a change

Whether you consider it the start of a revolution or of a crisis, the development of quartz technology profoundly changed watchmaking and society upon its release in the last year of the 1960s.

December 1969 was a pivotal moment in horological history. This was the moment Seiko released the first commercially available quartz wristwatch – the Seiko Astron – powered by a battery.

It was an astonishing technological achievement. Consider for a moment that the Apollo 11 lunar landing took place in June 1969, a good six months ahead of Seiko’s time-telling landmark. (When you think about it, this probably makes the Moon landing that much more incredible.)

Wristwatch purists refer to this moment as the beginning of the Quartz Crisis – for them it’s the fall of Pompei, the rise of the Black Plague and the demise of Australian carmaker Holden all rolled into one.

Until this moment, if you wanted to sport a watch on your wrist, it had to be one of the traditional kind – a clever configuration of gears, cogs and springs powered either by the movement of the wearer’s body (automatic) or by winding (mechanical). The same method, in other words, as watches had hitherto been constructed for hundreds of years.

The new tech was warmly embraced by the masses, and for them (us), the Quartz Revolution ushered in a new age of more efficient and accessible time-keeping. Quartz watches are cheaper, more accurate and considerably more reliable than their analogue predecessors, and require no expensive maintenance.

As with all uprisings, there were winners in this revolution, but also victims. In the former category were companies such as Casio, and later on Swatch, which sold (and sells) affordable, colourful, collectable and semi-disposable watches in extraordinary quantities.

Later on, brands such as Fossil got in on the act with its classy (albeit made-in-China) aesthetic.

Among the vanquished in the new environment were centuries-old houses of horology located in remote picturesque Swiss cantons.

Designing and assembling automatic and mechanical timepieces the old-fashioned way is a rather time-consuming and labour-intensive enterprise. Each part of the process requires skill and patience to expertly and painstakingly assemble the wrist instruments, piece by complicated piece. (But realistically, perhaps nothing like the 11 months Breitling claims it takes to put together, balance and test its Navitimers.)

Mechanised processes have sped things up since the days of yore, and many brands today use hastily assembled generic automatic movements rather than those created from scratch in-house. Still, it doubtless takes time.

Many traditional watch brands initially survived the Quartz Revolution, and then thrived. Consolidation kept some brands alive. For instance, Longines, Omega, Certina, Tissot, Hamilton, Rado, Blancpain and Glashutte are all part of the epic Swatch Group.

In the 90s mobile phones took off. White-collar workers who already had the time available to them on their computer screens now had it at the ready on their phones as well. For many, a wristwatch, however unobtrusive, became an unnecessary encumbrance.

Luxe brands such as Rolex had long played up the exclusiveness of their offering. Now, with the need to tell the time via a watch less compelling than ever – time was, after all, everywhere, all at once – wearing a fancy timepiece became something else: a display of status, an act of defiance, even.

Traditional watchmaking isn’t going anywhere. Sure, it may have been superseded, but it has its steadfast adherents, just as vinyl records do.

Although they must have taken a hit during 2020, the luxury traditional watchmakers know there is a ready collectors’ market for their shiny wares. Whether it’s a Vacheron Constantin Overseas (upwards of $25,000) or an Orient Bambino ($200), there are afficionados, obsessives, fanciers, collectors and horological geeks collecting them.

Early on in the Quartz Crisis, some luxury marques panicked, thinking the superior performance of their battery-bearing brothers would mean their own swift demise without immediate wholehearted adaptation. Roger Moore’s James Bond wears a square-shaped quartz digital Omega in The Spy Who Loved Me.

Most of the upmarket houses have at one stage or another produced a quartz offering in their portfolio. Some still do. In fact, most ladies’ luxury watches are quartz-based.

The luxury brands tend to focus on the superior performance of quartz, sometimes investing in advanced versions. Longines, Breitling, Bulova and Grand Seiko all produce a super-accurate quartz timekeeper.

And what of quartz now? Well it’s still around too, still ticking along. The 50th anniversary of the technology came and went without a lot of fanfare, even in the horological world (an alternative dimension for sure, which prioritises matters timepiece-related above all others). Seiko released a special-edition solar-powered GPS Astron to mark the occasion and the achievement. Although the Astron name has been shared by other solar-powered models, it seemed a strange and somewhat careless way to recognise the ground-breaking technological advance of 1969. It’s somewhat akin to releasing an electric vehicle to honour the anniversary of the V8, perhaps.

Like many these days, Lee Child’s indestructible fictional action hero Jack Reacher has no need for a timepiece. Wherever he is, Reacher has the uncanny ability to simply know the time.

As for me, I prefer to wear a watch, despite the fact I can check my phone or PC to determine the hour of the day. Like the original Astron, I was born in 1969, so sticking with quartz feels like a kind of loyalty. We’re both kindred spirits of the late 60s.

Part of the reason might also be a way of thumbing my nose at the past. More than 30 years ago the watch I was wearing was dragged off my wrist during a car accident, taking with it the skin on my left palm and two-thirds of my middle left finger. Yet here I am still – I took a licking and kept on ticking.

Stretch targets

Yoga MSD 2

What lessons does yoga have for the business world, and for everyday life?

Mention the word “yoga” and you’ll get a range of responses. Some people associate it with ashrams and ascetics, a discarding of the modern way of life in favour of a quest for the more spiritual. Incense and chanting come to mind. Others think more of its physical manifestations, and of extremely flexible practitioners contorting themselves into unlikely or even dangerous poses – feet arranged behind the head, for instance.

Dominique Santana from the Australian Yoga Academy says when yoga is taught authentically it is a mental, physical, and spiritual workout.

“Yoga literally means union – of mind, body and soul,” Santana says. “It is the state of harmony achieved when all aspects of yourself are in balance.”

It might seem counterintuitive for a practice that has such seemingly lofty aspirations, but yoga and business are inextricably linked. At its heart yoga preaches the virtues of accountability, focus, stillness of mind, calmness, dedication – all practices espoused by and even necessary for business success in an era of corporate social responsibility.

Yoga’s physical benefits are undeniable, and many in the corporate world have embraced its practice as a way to unwind and relax from workaday stress.

Along with masseurs and healthier food in the canteen, you’re quite likely these days to see a yoga teacher guiding corporate types through breathing and stretching exercises on site. Managers have worked out it actually makes their staff more productive.

And there is an even more obvious connection: yoga is big business worth serious coin to those spiritual gurus not afraid of making money.

In its many and varied manifestations, yoga has been practised for thousands of years.

Yet the type most frequently practised in the West, and the most exercise-oriented, is hatha yoga, whose foundations were laid by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, Sri T. Krishnamacharya and B.K.S Iyengar in India in the 1930s.

Yoga participation in Australia has grown rapidly in recent years to become the 13th-most-popular physical activity, not including walking, according to figures from the Australian Sports Commission.

Practised by 2.9 per cent of the population, it ranks ahead of Australian rules football, dancing, fishing, and martial arts.

All sorts of reasons are given for participating in yoga.

“Why you would practise yoga is because it improves the quality of your life,” says Cairns-based Nicky Knoff, who has been teaching and practising for 38 years. “You breathe correctly, it improves concentration and focus, it clears your mental landscape, it increases muscle tone and range of movement so health is improved. It improves flexibility and enhances balance.

“It helps you to connect with yourself, so you’re tuned in when anger arises, so you have to time to act rather than react. It helps you build strength, fortitude, courage, daring.”

She also says it strengthens the immune system, normalises weight, helps release emotional blockages, improves self-esteem, and assists in overcoming injury.

Stephen Penman is the president of the Yoga Teachers Association of Australia, and a teacher of wellness, health enhancement and lifestyle management at RMIT and Monash Universities in Melbourne. He helped conduct a national survey of yoga in Australia in 2006, interviewing 4,000 yogis (or yoga practitioners).

The reasons most commonly given for starting yoga were to improve health/fitness and flexibility/muscle tone and to reduce stress or anxiety.

Although relatively few respondents mentioned “spirituality” or “personal development” for why they began doing yoga, many cited these as a reason for continuing.

“Yoga teachers will tell you that this is no surprise,” Penman says. “People come to yoga for the physical but stay for the spiritual.”

Santana is all for enhancing and mastering “the physical vehicle” (that’s “the body” to you and me) but believes practising yoga serves a much higher purpose.

“To me the most important benefit is a sense of responsibility and empowerment that comes from really understanding the psychology and philosophy of the yoga tradition – and that is that we are all responsible for the lives we create for ourselves,” Santana says. “And what we do – the actions we take, the words that we say – have a carry-on effect to those around us.”

It’s something that Knoff is also passionate about.

“That’s why we teach yoga, because we want to have a better world,” she says. “That’s how we find we can reach people. When they look after themselves, they start looking after other people, animals, the environment. Imagine if George Bush was a yoga practitioner. He never would have gone to Iraq – no way!”

Ask yoga teachers about the connection between yoga and business and their first instinct is to talk about the anxiety-ridden suits who come to class wanting to learn how to relax.

“Let’s just take for example pranayama, or the awareness of your breath,” Santana says. “There are so many engaged in the rat-race that miss out on so much health purely because they’re not breathing properly.

“One of the things that we do with our corporate yoga training is to get people to become more aware of their breath, to stop regularly at work and take a few deep breaths. And that practice of breath awareness can completely change your life.”

James Bryan, who teaches alongside Knoff in Cairns, says corporate clients often attend with the goal of discovering how to switch off from work.

“We have one stressed-out, high-powered businesswoman who comes to class and says the one time when her brain is not whirling at a million miles an hour is in yoga,” Bryan says.

According to the result of the Yoga in Australia survey, yoga has the capacity to change one’s outlook on life.

“Generally, I am a much happier, emotionally stable person, which is a change from how I was before yoga,” commented one survey participant.

Said another: “Practising yoga increases my quality of life ten-fold. I am calmer, more balanced and more in tune with my physical and spiritual self, making me a better friend, lover and mother.”

Don’t even get yoga teachers started on how our sedentary desk-bound lifestyle is damaging our postural alignment and health. Better just to step away from the desk for a couple of minutes, stretch in the opposite direction, refocus. It could make a huge difference.

Perhaps the apotheosis of yoga and business is Bikram Yoga, a form of the practice invented by Bikram Choudhury – a self-styled millionaire, “bad boy of yoga” and Beverly Hills guru – and performed in hot rooms around the world.

Arriving in the US from Calcutta in 1976, Bikram, as he is known, opened his first studios in California and Hawaii, combining the 26 postures in his series with two breathing exercises – all done in a superheated studio (up to 40°C) in a 90-minute sequence.

Though adherents swear by its health benefits, others in the yoga community aren’t so convinced.

“It’s not yoga,” says one teacher. “It’s aerobics in a sauna.”

Bikram was Knoff’s first teacher. She first encountered him in Japan in 1970. Then when she visited him again five years later in Hawaii, Bikram sent her to the airport in his chauffeur-driven convertible.

Yet Knoff is no fan of the style, either.

“I don’t agree with it all,” she says. “I think it’s downright unhealthy.”

That hasn’t stopped Bikram Yoga becoming the style of choice for many seeking the toughest of workouts.

Mili Crncevic owns and manages The Yoga Tree in Melbourne, which teaches Bikram Yoga classes.

The advantage of the hot room, she says, is that most activities have a warming-up and cooling-down period but only 30 minutes of action. In a Bikram studio you are hot straight away; muscles are more supple and there is less chance of injury.

“That’s the way it’s done in India,” Crncevic says. “If Indians can do it, there’s no reason Westerners can’t do it, too.”

Like all Bikram Yoga teachers, Crncevic completed a nine-week course taught by the guru himself in Los Angeles and costing US$5,500. Accommodation and food were extra. In order to continue teaching she must recertify every three years, which also carries a fee.

“He’s making a mint,” she says of Bikram. “He’s a very clever businessman.”

Bikram is also extremely protective of his empire. Having trademarked his series of poses, he threatens to sue anyone he sees infringing on his yogic territory.

“I have balls like atom bombs, two of them, 100 megatons each,” Bikram told Business 2.0. “Nobody f*cks with me.”

There isn’t a lot of philosophy in Bikram Yoga, Crncevic admits. Rather, there is a set script that Bikram insists be narrated by class teachers. The idea is that wherever you go in the world to do Bikram Yoga, you’ll have exactly the same experience.

For this reason, some have labelled it, not insultingly, as the “Starbucks of yoga”: a brilliant business model.

Yet classes at the Australian Yoga Academy and places like it can frequently change depending on the experience of participants, the season, or the mood of the teacher. Early in the new year, Santana dedicated one class to the cultivation of consciously creating new beginnings. The message, derived from Buddhist teaching, was that each single moment is an opportunity to start anew, to reinvent oneself.

The goal is for participants to experience a physical workout, but also to have the opportunity to become more flexible in their hearts and minds. One class staple is the final salutation, a Hindu word meaning “the divine in me greets the divine in you.” Namaste.

This article originally appeared in the March 2008 edition of INTHEBLACK magazine.

Knight moves

Knight moves imageFrom the chess board to the board room, what can business learn from chess?

There is an Indian proverb that says chess is a sea from which a gnat may drink and an elephant may bathe.

What may appear to some to be a board game, albeit a rather complicated one, is to others a confounding obsession, a deeply personal challenge, an intellectual battle, a psychological arm wrestle. To succeed at the game requires tremendous dedication – often many years of full-time specialised training – and also the ability to strategise, to mobilise forces, to make sound decisions but also audacious, unpredictable moves. You must understand your own strengths and have the ability to read those of others, and anticipate them.

Which, when you think about it, sounds a lot like the qualities required for success in business: focus, strategy, structure, discipline, expertise.

And, indeed, some have made the connection between the two demanding disciplines. David Cordover is a former Australian junior chess champion and a partner in Chessworld, a franchise chess equipment business operating in several Australian states.

“Business is just a game,” he says. “And knowing a couple of strategies absolutely helps you. The more I learn about business, the more I think it’s so, so simple – and it’s so like chess.

“The key thing in business is to focus and to have a plan. Chess is exactly the same thing.”

Though many countries claim to have invented chess, it’s commonly thought to have begun in India, evolving from the sixth-century Sanskrit game chaturanga.

The modern version of chess emerged in the 19th century. Today it is one of the world’s most popular board games, played recreationally and competitively either online or at social, club and tournament level.

The governing body is the World Chess Federation, or FIDE, which presides over tournaments, titles and rankings.

“To my mind there are two sorts of chess players,” says Gary Bekker, FIDE’s representative in Australia. “The first group are players I would describe as chess bums. They are very good chess players, but not so good at anything else.

“The other group are made up of those who are brilliant at everything. They have an excellent memory and a flair for anything that involves mathematical puzzles and problem-solving skills. They are not only chess masters but also successful in their business pursuits. They can be excellent sharemarket investors and have a head for managing businesses, for foreseeing problems and how they might be overcome.

“The problem is that usually you have to be either very dedicated to business or to chess,” Bekker says. “There are very few who are excellent at both.”

Those that excel in either discipline talk about the importance of establishing a blueprint for success, but being prepared to deviate from it as the need arises.

Former world champion Garry Kasparov achieved the highest FIDE rating of all time (2,500 is required for grandmaster status), and since retiring from the game has written extensively about chess, politics and business.

He says at the elite levels of chess it’s as important to consider your rival’s actions as it is your own. “In business, too, successful strategists think not just about their own new products, pricing and marketing, but also about how their rivals will respond – and how to respond to them,” Kasparov wrote in Fast Company.

“Smart executives … must understand that their competitors are at least as smart as they are. In chess, I know that my rival sees everything I see. Even if I do the unthinkable – a bold unprecedented move designed to leave him gasping – I must assume he has anticipated it and will have an equally daring answer. Call it the courage to accept humility.”

Guy West, 48, is an international master (a FIDE rating between 2,300 to 2,400), a former Australian chess champion, six-time Victorian champion and has represented Australia at 10 chess Olympiads. He also has enjoyed success as a share trader and is now a partner in West attributes his achievements in both domains to “determination rather than inspiration”.

“In chess, perseverance is extremely important, and shouldn’t be underestimated,” says West, who in the lead-up to his Australian championship win in 1996 devoted four hours a day to chess study – in addition to the many hours he spent playing.

“Many people in business will tell you the same thing – that if you survive the first five years you’ve got a very good chance of being successful. In chess and business, it’s certainly not enough just to be talented.”

Bruce Pandolfini is a world-renowned chess teacher (he was portrayed by Sir Ben Kingsley in the film Searching for Bobby Fischer) and the author of Every Move Must Have a Purpose, a tome offering guidance to applying the principles of chess to other endeavours such as business.

He says most great chess players think only as far ahead as they need to, usually just a few moves. “Thinking too far ahead is a waste of time,” Pandolfini says. “The information is uncertain. The situation is ambiguous. Chess is about controlling the situation at hand. You want to determine your own future. You certainly don’t want your opponent to determine it for you.”

The real issue, he says, is not how far ahead you think, but how well you think at the moment it is required. Good thinking, Pandolfini says, is all about making comparisons. If you see a good idea, think of a better one. Weigh them up.

FIDE’s Bekker says it’s important to note the difference between tactics and strategy.

“Tactics is all about what’s happening in the next two moves,” he explains. “Strategy is present in the overall position of the pieces on the board. Good chess players pay attention to both, correctly balancing immediate concerns with long-term strategy.

“It’s the same in the business world for a manager. What’s happening in the office and the day-to-day affairs of the company [its tactics] might all be going extremely well. Meanwhile, strategically, the company might be incredibly unprofitable. But a good manager will be able to modify as changes come along.

“And of course, the two affect each other,” Bekker says. “How your company performs day to day – the attention it pays to customer service and to details – impacts on its strategic direction, and vice versa.”

Says Kasparov: “Great chess players cannot lose sight of the mundane details. In business you might call this … the everyday operations that, if left untended, will undermine your organisation.

“One ill-considered move, or non-move, seemingly inconsequential at the time, can leave you hopelessly behind.”

The Melbourne Chess Club, established in 1886 and now located in inner-suburban Fitzroy, seems about as far from the business world as it is possible to get.

On a Monday night, the nondescript building, home to one of the oldest chess clubs in the world, is busy but quiet. It is tournament night. In one room there are several tables of players earnestly hunched over chess tables and punching clocks when they’ve completed their moves. In another, much larger room, the weekly tournament is taking place, and there is no talk at all.

This is clearly a male domain. There are no women anywhere, and the males present, ranging in age from perhaps early 20s to late 60s, seem not overly interested in socialising. Fashion, for most, is an afterthought.

Because chess has been around for so long, many of its manoeuvres have been codified. So, the moves I see players making – especially at the start of games – have been executed many times before, and are even allocated names, such as the Sicilian, Slav or French Winawer openings. There are many of these, and when chess aficionados talk about strategy and homework, they are often referring to the study of past contests: openings, endgames and technique.

Chess strategy has been analysed and refined since the 15th century, so its study can represent a lifetime’s work – and sometimes there is a fine line between passion and addiction.

“You tell yourself that it’s just a game,” jokes club member Scott Stewart. “But then you find yourself playing four tournaments a week. There should be a Chessaholics Anonymous.”

Another club member, Marcus Raine, loves studying old games – he can speak with authority about contests that took place in the 1930s – and talks about the beautiful aesthetics evident during great contests.

“Chess clubs,” he says, “are a bit of a sanctuary from the world.”

Chess in Australia operates very much under the radar.

In Russia, where chess has been played since the 11th century, the prohibitively cold climate lends itself to indoor pursuits. Chess teaching, learning and culture has a considerably more prominent place in wider society.

Kasparov, for instance, began learning under grandmaster Mikhail Botvinnik from the age of eight, his towering chess talent eventually making him famous and wealthy.

“When chess is taught in Europe it’s done so as something that enhances academic results in terms of improving problem solving, pattern recognition and memory,” FIDE’s Bekker says. “And all those skills are handy in a business sense.”

Gerrit Hartland from Canterbury (Victoria) Chess Club, where Australian grandmaster Darryl Johansen teaches, says chess also helps with concentration and logical thinking.

“You see the development of a young player who comes to us at the age of seven,” he says. “Bit by bit they learn to concentrate. They learn patience, which is one of the toughest things to teach a small kid.”

Whether or not youngsters adroit at chess harness their skills to later forge a successful professional life away from the chess board is another question.

“It’s a matter of time,” says international master West. “Most people who are successful in chess devote a whole life to it.”

Yet some do master both. Joop van Oosterom, for instance, is a billionaire Dutch businessman and chess enthusiast who became the world correspondence chess champion.

Dato Tan Chin Nam is the main owner for horse trainer Bart Cummings, and a chess enthusiast who sponsors tournaments. He frequently names horses after chess nomenclature.

There are many others, though, who find those forces on the board to which Hartland refers as irresistibly mesmerising, and from which it’s difficult to break free.

As eclectically talented as these players are, to them chess as a metaphor for business is therefore something of a moot point.

“Chess is chess,” Hartland says. “That’s the end of it.”

This article originally appeared in the February 2007 issue of INTHEBLACK magazine.

10 films to watch in lockdown

Every year I rate my favourite films from the previous 12 months. It’s a way of cataloguing the year’s viewing and revisiting those movies that for one reason or another stayed in my consciousness. It gives the films a longer life, a resonance, beyond the initial viewing. And then because I always compare the list with my good friend Derek Agnew’s best, I find out about those I‘d let slip by. Or if there are films that are highly rated by the cognoscenti that I find myself avoiding, I get an insight into my changing preferences and prejudices. For instance, the more I heard about Parasite and the louder the commendations, the less I wanted to see the thriller/comedy/drama/social commentary by the Korean iconoclast Bong Joon-Ho. Given that it earned best film honours at the Oscars, I may have missed out on one there. But the 10 I rated the most enjoyable were my own personal pantheon for the year. And I finally got around to listing them, roughly in order.

Apollo 11
What an astonishing viewing experience. Ideally, you’re watching this documentary about the 1969 lunar landing on a big screen to truly appreciate the epic scope of the mission, the team and infrastructure behind it, and the ambition of those who put everything on the line to get there. Made entirely from archival footage pieced together with tremendous deftness by director Todd Douglas Miller, the film charts the Apollo program’s most celebrated mission. This was a transportive, mesmerising experience in no small part due to the soundtrack, created entirely with a 1969-era Moog synthesiser by Matt Morton.

Sometimes, Always, Never
I didn’t notice this film on any of the year’s best lists, which is surprising, really. I left the cinema thinking I’d seen something unique, quirky and uplifting, despite a sadness at its core. Bill Nighy plays a natty retired tailor searching still for a son lost now for many years while struggling to connect with the son left behind, and his family. Scrabble is involved.

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum
Assassin deluxe John Wick has been made “incommunicado” for his actions in the second Wick outing. In this one he dispatches with lethal aplomb legions of fellow hitmen trying to take him out in order to earn the generous bounty on Wick’s head. In this cross-cultural celebration of the art of elimination, somehow Wick survives the depredations of the High Table, its underlings and henchmen, losing a digit and introducing us to horse fu and dog fu along the way.

True, 1917 represents an impressive technical achievement in editing and cinematography, and one can’t help but be impressed by the fluid, seemingly seamless movement of the camera, and the manner in which the film hangs together. But it is also a thrilling, visceral and tremendously emotional depiction of Britain in the First World War, and a moving cinema experience. I wasn’t expecting that.

Avengers: Endgame
There is a lot going on in this epic closing chapter (for now) superhero saga but somehow all the threads in the story are tied together with skill, tact, excitement and sensitivity.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Quentin Tarantino has famously declared that he will make an even 10 films and then never again call “action” on a feature-length film. But with Once Upon the Time in Hollywood seemingly the most Tarantinoesque film yet – featuring the director’s obsessions, conventions, excessive dialogue, gratuitous violence and generous running time – it’s been suggested this outing – his ninth – should conclude the canon. Brad Pitt (doing his best Billy Jack impression) and Leonardo DiCaprio both shine, but it might just be the costuming and production design evoking 1969 so convincingly that provide the film’s most compelling performance. Leave a bit more of Margot Robbie’s performance on the cutting room floor and this could really have been something extraordinary.

The King
Mendo (Ben Mendelsohn as Henry IV) and Edgo (Joel Edgerton as Falstaff) are standouts in this pared-down retelling of the band of brothers, the happy few, who fought and defeated an upstart contemptuous (what else?) French army.

Diego Maradona
It’s easy to forget how big and how good the little Argentinian soccer superstar was. In this narrator-less (seems to be the style these days) docco, the best example of “big” might be the scene where 60,000 Napoli fans turn up to watch Maradona ink his contract with the Italian giant. So, that’s just to put pen to paper, in his street clothes. And the “good”? Perhaps the footage of the maestro against the English at the 1986 World Cup and the two goals he tallied in the 2-0 triumph. The first was the famous “hand of God” score, but the second sees Maradona take possession and seemingly dodge and weave past every single Brit on the pitch to score and secure the win.

Ford v Ferrari
You don’t have to be a huge gearhead to appreciate this movie, but it probably helps to have an appreciation for cars (Fords and Ferraris in particular). That said, I’m not by any means an autophile, yet this biopic has enough narrative juice to power a V12, lively performances, cracking production design and a moving father-son story. It’s cinema that’s the winner at the falling of the chequered flag.

Amazing Grace
Technical difficulties and contract imbroglios meant footage from this concert, filmed at a church in Los Angeles in 1972 when a 29-year-old Aretha Franklin was at the apex of her considerable powers, sat in cans for about 40 years. This despite the fact that the album made from performances over two nights had been a huge success. Backed by the buoyant Southern California Community Choir and its effervescent conductor, and with the support of the Reverend James Cleveland, the docco provides a transcendent experience.





Setting the climate agenda

Recently I fired off my first letter to the editor. The missive was not published.
(Well, it was my first letter to the editor when I wasn’t in fact the editor and the recipient of my own ersatz correspondence).
In the midst of the awesome and awful bushfires engulfing Australia I issued a hastily worded epistle to The Age.
My point? The thing that had got up my craw was that it had taken Australia immolating for The Age to finally prioritise coverage for climate change as an issue worth reporting on and informing its audiences about.
In July last year (not long after the federal election) only a very small percentage of Australians were concerned about climate change. That figure has obviously changed now.
It wasn’t that nothing was happening in terms of the issue, was the point I was trying to make in my letter, merely that it hadn’t been reported very well. Contextualised. Framed.
I have read and heard so many people say since the fires tore through our country that the Earth’s climate is always changing, and the very hot conditions prevailing through bushfire season were merely a manifestation of this.
But do they realise the Earth is actually the hottest its been since humankind has been upon it?
Or that the level of carbon in our atmosphere is the highest it has been for 12 million years – back when Antarctica had forests on it?
Is your average Age reader aware that July 2019 was the hottest month on record?
These milestone tell a story: the narrative of a planet heating up.
Anyway, here’s the unpublished epistle in question:
Kudos to The Age for its excellent coverage of Australia’s heartbreakingly destructive bushfires. Chip Le Grand’s front-line reporting in particular has been as evocative as it is informative.
Where The Age has been less than stellar, however, is in its coverage of climate change in general.
This could be said for the past decade (the Earth’s hottest on record), the past five years (see above), and in particular over the past year (Australia’s hottest and driest on record).
Only now that the country is literally combusting are we finally talking about this crucial issue ahead of relatively trivial matters such as franking credits, Royal Family vicissitudes, or footy.
Meanwhile, over the past 12 months some major climate milestones have either been ignored or given low priority.
Consider that July 2019 was the Earth’s hottest month on record, with records dating back to 1880 in some countries.
June was the hottest June on record, and September, October, November and December either equalled or set new temperature records for these months.
August was the second hottest August on record (ref. Copernicus Climate Change Service).
In short, the world is heating up. Indeed, our planet is the warmest it’s been since humankind has been on it.
Harvard University Professor of Atmospheric Chemistry James Anderson says the level of carbon now in the atmosphere has not been seen in 12 million years.
Best known for establishing that chlorofluorocarbons were damaging the ozone layer (which led to the Montreal Protocol), Anderson says me must act, and act immediately.
To avoid the worst effects of climate change, an epic global mobilisation of resources is needed to halt carbon pollution and remove it from the atmosphere, and to reflect sunlight away from the poles.
This must be done, he says, within five years.
Perhaps I was being a bit harsh. The Age has certainly done a far superior job than News reporting on the issue. Unlike the papers in Rupert Murdoch’s Australian stable, Age columnists acknowledge climate change. The issue is covered regularly.
Coverage has certainly improved since the bushfire crisis unfolded, but this must continue to be the case.

To the Moon and back

Of all the events that took place in 1969, none have been subject to as much scrutiny, conjecture, analysis or celebration as the Apollo 11 spaceflight.

The mission famously took a crew of three astronauts to the Moon on July 16, and then returned them safely to Earth.

Our fascination with Earth’s only natural satellite stretches back millennia. Some ancient cultures built monuments to it, others worshipped it as a deity. Others still thought they saw in the dried seas of lava (or “maria” as scientists refer to them) a human face – the Man in the Moon.

With a diameter 28 per cent that of Earth’s, the Moon is located about 407,000km away from us at its furthest point.

The Moon impacts the ocean tides, and some say our moods, too.

My cousin Adrian, who was blind and deaf, was nonetheless thrown off-balance by full moons, which kept him awake and strolling outdoors in the middle of the night to head for his beloved swing.

Common wisdom had it that it was the Moon itself that causes a kind of madness, which explains how “lunar” and “lunacy” originate from the same Latin word.

Was it a kind of madness that prompted US President John F. Kennedy to promise in 1962 a manned spaceflight to the Moon’s surface by the end of the decade?

If so, it was lunacy borne of the Cold War, as the US and USSR fought for superiority in whatever realm they could compete – sports, culture, technology, and hegemony.

The Russians had a head start in the Space Race; they had propelled the first creature, Laika the dog, and the first human, Yuri Gagarin, into orbit in the late 1950s and early 60s.

Gagarin returned a hero. Laika, alas, a gentle creature originally discovered wandering the streets of Moscow, perished (from heatstroke, it’s since been admitted), an early casualty in the Space Race.

There would be more.

On January 27, 1967, the crew of Apollo 1 – Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Edward H. White, and Roger Chafree – were killed in a fire on the launch pad.

An investigation found that the blaze had begun under Grissom’s seat, somewhere within the 50km of wire on board the spacecraft. An exact cause was never discovered.

Though tragic, the incident was a turning point; from then on the program became more “coherent”, more streamlined and structured.

In an era of more primitive communications, the Americans could not exactly tell how they were faring against the Russians.

The truth was that the US program was considerably ahead of their Soviet foes. And after the Apollo 1 catastrophe, US efforts were redoubled.

The NASA Mercury and Gemini  “bridge” programs were run as testing initiatives for equipment, procedures, manoeuvres, operations, pilot skill and team capability.

A successful mission required an extraordinary number of things to go right – for every piece of a rocket, every tiny component, to work as designed, but also for the astronauts to know their roles. A minor pilot error on board could have epic consequences. The smallest equipment failure could spell disaster.

The Russians kept experiencing problems in their somewhat chaotic roll-out; the US persisted with a more organised program.

In October 1968 NASA launched Apollo 8, which flew to the Moon, orbited around it, checked it out up close, glimpsed its mysterious pockmarked “far side”, and in what became a famous photograph, watched the Earth rise above the Moon’s horizon.

Apollo 11 was the culmination of an astonishing effort involving billions of dollars and personnel of some 400,000 people to make happen.

On board were astronauts Neil Armstrong, Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin and Michael Collins.

Aldrin, who later legally changed his named to Buzz, campaigned behind the scenes to have the honour of being first to step onto the lunar surface.

It wasn’t going to happen. Armstrong’s more reserved character was favoured by the NASA suits.

And so on the morning of July 16, the rocket blasted off.

The rocket that did most of the flying component of the trip was known as a Saturn 5.

“This beast is best felt,” Collins said of the Saturn 5’s power. “Shake, rattle and roll! We are thrown left and right against our straps in spasmodic little jerks. It is steering like crazy, like a nervous lady driving a wide car down a narrow alley, and I just hope it knows where it’s going, because for the first 10 seconds we are perilously close to that umbilical tower.”

You do notice quite a bit of sexist language emanating from this time period; there are many references to men, mankind, “the hearts and minds of men” and the like. It is one of the reminders that the events took place half a century ago, before the impacts of the feminist movement were widely felt.

After nine hours, the rocket was due for a midcourse correction. By then the rocket was travelling at 10,844 m per second, sufficient to escape Earth’s gravitational field.

On day four of the mission, lunar orbit was reached.

“The Moon I have known all my life, that two-dimensional small yellow disk in the sky, has gone away somewhere, to be replaced by the most awesome sphere I have ever seen,” Collins said.

The astronauts slept in lunar orbit that night.

After breakfast the next morning, Armstrong and Aldrin climbed into the lunar module (LM), nicknamed “Eagle”. There was a 12-minute decent to the lunar surface.

A few things start to go wrong.

Mission Control can’t communicate with Eagle, and has to go through Collins in the command module (CM), nicknamed Columbia, to communicate with Armstrong and Aldrin. Communications drop in and out.

There’s an electrical problem on board. Computer alarms go off. 

Armstrong took over manual control about 150m to the lunar surface. There was an issue with timing that required a different landing spot than was originally proposed.

But with 30 seconds’ worth of fuel left Armstrong found an appropriate spot, and Eagle softly touched down.

“Contact light,” Aldrin said.

Six hours – six hours! – later, Armstrong climbed the 3m down from the module to the lunar surface, followed by Aldrin, who described the vista as “beautiful desolation”.

They collected rock and soil samples and took photos, mostly of Aldrin, who claimed photography wasn’t part of the training, but was perhaps getting revenge for not being chosen to take those portentous first steps.

Armstrong may have uttered “One small step …” but it’s Buzz who dominates the photo album.

They performed experiments, set up equipment and planted a flag.

A few hours later and they were back inside the Eagle. Then after a stay totalling 21 hours, the LM left the Moon’s surface and returned to rendezvous with Collins onboard the CM.

On the return trip all three gave TV interviews in which they thanked those who were part of the program, the American people, and God.

“This has been far more than three men on a mission to the Moon,” Aldrin said. “More still than the efforts of a government and industry team; more even, than the efforts of one nation. We feel that this stands as a symbol of the insatiable curiosity of all mankind to explore the unknown.”

A note was left beside’s JFK’s grave. It read: “Mr President. The Eagle has landed.”

On July 24, the trio splashed down in water 1,450km south-east of Hawaii, where they were picked up by USS Hornet.