Posts Tagged ‘hipsters’

CAST (and what they are wearing)


RTS –  a sometimes bitter, cynical thirty something woman who has wind battered, smog splattered hair from having driven manically across town with the window wound down in peak hour traffic. She is wearing a plain white summer dress that has been smeared in vegemite and snot from her young child, who has also torn the bottom two buttons off.


Producer Boy – a well meaning, highly excitable, documentary maker that for some reason now working in the field of making documentaries, minus the footage. He is wearing daggy ‘middle aged men’ shorts, which is ironic because he is not middle aged, matched with a child’s size livid green jumper that, being five sizes too small, rides high on his midriff.


The Talent – a comfortably confident young woman, who without trying to hard is stylishly dressed, and for the most part, quite sensible sounding.


Contributor Chick – a large haired young woman with a booming, over confidant, perfectly articulating voice. Outwardly she projects her ‘just a country girl’ roots, but this is matched with a fierce and striving city living ambition. She works at the ABC and even though it is well after work hours, she is wearing her identity card around her neck like a VIP card carrier mingling with the masses at a rock concert


Hipsters  – A homogenous bunch of twenty something’s that would be mortified to know they have been grouped together homogenously.

One – Has a long blond fringe swept to one side, which, mysteriously, hangs in his eyes. He is wearing a flannelette shirt, which is a trademark garment of Bogans, who wear them because they are cheap and warm, as opposed to hipsters, who wear them because they are not Bogans, which means they are making a fashion statement



Two – Is wearing tight blacks jeans matched with a tight white shirt and heavy black rimmed glasses, he seems to be shooting for the ‘cool, but intellectual’ look, which he might have had more luck with if he didn’t look like a fresh faced twelve year old.

Three – Is in blue jeans that are so tight they could have been painted on. The bottoms are rolled up at the three quarter mark and his singlet is so large, loose and low cut that the neck line comes down to his belly button, revealing a small, but prominent, patch of chest hair. On his pinky finger is the kind of solid bold, gold ring that Tony Soprano would envy.

Four and Five – two young girls that have so fully embraced their hipsterhood they are almost bowed under the weight of their clanking, clashing accessories. They scream ‘fashionable’ so loudly that your eyes hurt. Yet despite this brashness, their eyes are timid and nervous looking, and when no one else is looking, they give each other’s hands a little squeeze.




We watch as RTS, in a blaze of blunders, pulls up to the traffic lights, frantically checking her watch even though she knows she is going to be late.

Three young hipsters sail past on free wheelin’ bicycles as RTS sits stuck in her car, they leisurely park their bikes outside the production house. While RTS is perspiring smog, these fine young things have barely broken a sweat, having only had to ride less than five blocks to arrive here

RTS, caught between fond nostalgia for the times when she too lived a car free life in the inner city, and a stabbing bitterness for the naive bubble she believes they live in, stares vacantly at them, not noticing the lights have turned green until the cars behind her start blaring their horns.





We follow RTS as she arrives, late, into the production house meeting room, which is a harshly lit room enclosed with glass sliding doors. It sits right at the very entrance to the building, and the glass wall makes the inhabitants seem like they are in a cramped and over exposed fish bowl.

Over sized office chairs form a ring around the large circular table, the ridiculously pompous chairs are such an inefficient use of space that no more than 10 people can sit comfortably at the table. This has the rather unfortunate awkward side effect of their being no room for all the latecomers.

As people continue to arrive late, the over sized chair dwellers make cursory gestures of moving along, which mostly involves shuffling their asses in their seat but not actually moving, before looking up at the late person and giving a soft smile and a shrug of the shoulders as if to say, “I tried my best”. Contributor Chick is the most guilty of this.

As a result a small cluster of late comers forms at the door, some squeezed in on stools, and the rest left standing.

RTS, shocked by the fact that not one person who has entered the building has shown any signs of age or ordinariness, is starting to wonder if there is some kind of ‘NO plain clothes or hair cuts’ door policy, and if it was the vegemite stains on her dress that saw her slip past it, when Producer Boy coughs to signal that the meeting should start….


Producer Boy (positioned in front of the white board):

I think we should get started. I’ve chosen a special topic for the next show, “Home, House and Holden”

He scrawls this up on the board then looks around the room as if expecting no one to guess the immediate link here, he smiles knowingly and elaborates:

This is taken from a famous Menzies speech back in the day where he captures what he believes to represent the ‘quintessential Australian Dream’; that all Australians wish to own a home, a holiday house, and a Holden car. I think we can do a great contemporary take on this, starting with a story about a Filipino Housing Coop living in harmony with chickens and organic vegetables, that operates out in….

He pauses, screws his face in concentration, then continues finally recalls the name of the non-inner city suburb and says it slowly, like people are deaf, or have trouble understanding English words not pertinent to city centric lives

Auuuuburn. That’s it. They have recreated an Asian type village out there, and it would be fabulous to look into that.

He scrawl this suggestion up on the board

Ok. Other ideas?


Hipster One:

A have a friend who lives in his car and rents out a six room inner city warehouse he owns. So he is, like, homeless, but also, like, a landlord. I think that would be really interesting to look into (laughs) like how he just lives in his car by the beach surfing all day!

Small laughter erupts around the room

HI (continues): Yeah. So he is like totally homeless, which would just be a really interesting take on the whole, outdated, ‘own your own home’ thing.

A few murmurs go around the room


Hipster Five:

What about another homeless person story. Like someone living on the street. Does anyone know any real homeless people?


Hipster Four:

I might know someone who saw someone talk to someone on the street once


Producer Boy:

That sounds great, chase that up. Can you chase that up? What’s your name again?


Hipster Two:

Oh, there is this man I know of, he is a costume designer, and he lives in this, artist coop. He would be great. He is so wild. Like, oh my god, I have never seen anyone like this man. Wait. Check him out. I have a photo

(reaches into his bag and roots around for his digital camera, then holds it up for the room. No one can see the tiny image on the screen, but this does not dampen his enthusiasm)

He is just The. Craziest. Thing. I. Have. Ever. Seen.

Looks up beaming


Producer Boy:

Ok. Go for it. He sounds amazing. I love it. I love this man. Who is he?


Hipster Two:

His name is Zio.


Producer Boy:

Zio. That’s fantastic. I love this. You have to do this.


The Talent:

What about a story of someone who actually has a home and and house and a holden?


The room goes silent. Everyone is stumped by this suggestion


Contributor Chick:

I can talk to my contacts at the ABC, they might know of someone ordinary


The Talent:

Oh, and maybe a refugee family story, like, what is their take on what the “Australian dream is”?


Producer Boy

Oh Yes. Absolutely.


Hipster Two:

I think it is fair to say that the Australian Dream is really just a postulating reconstruction of the ever failing American Dream both being driven by larger economic imperatives and national aspirations that greater reflect increasingly outdated ideologies


A few people agree ‘yes’ and ‘totally’ while others stay firmly silent

Producer Boy has been busy scrawling all the suggestions on the board. He stands back to assess them.


Producer Boy:

Ok well lets take a look at this (scanning down). Great, great, it is looking great. Um, hang on, what’s this one, the ‘someone who actually has a ‘home, house and Holden’ – where is the ‘quirky’ take on that?! I’m not sure that’s going to work….

Oh but, the Refugee family, now that’s important. It’s really important that we tell that story.

Murmurs of accent roll around the room, with many people nodding meaningfully in agreement


The meeting continues in much the same fashion for another hour or so until Producer Boy wraps things up by declaring that they should all ‘pedal to the pub’. RTS slips quietly away, gets back in her car, and drives home, feeling ever so slightly judgemental….







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Inspired by true events

Written and Directed by RTS

Final Draft, Apr 2010.



Rodriguez still hasn’t left from last week’s barbeque and can be faintly heard singing from another room

Woke up this morning with an ache in my head
I splashed on my clothes as I spilled out of bed

It is almost as if he is providing a perfectly timed soundtrack for RTS, who we see, rather ineloquently, spilling to the floor from her bed

She stumbles into the kitchen grumbling about all the housework that needs doing



(earnestly, like ‘good dang darn’ kind of earnest)

I know dear, why don’t I do all the housework while you take our darling little tiddy toddler tots out for a coffee?



Coffee? At his age?!



(mutters to self, no longer so earnest)

Why not, the little fucker rounds rings around us anyway.

(then louder)

Of course dear. Its all the rage in the inner city, take him over there and have a lovely time


RTS perks up considerably believing, once again, that THE YANG is a total sucker. She bundles THE BOY into the car, leaving THE YANG to a house deliciously empty of human beings, where he pumps up his ‘early rare disco’ and gets into the housework with great gusto.




Cars are whizzing by in both directions, the sun is glimmering off the harbour waters, on the sidewalks people are walking their dogs, RTS is behind the wheel with the window down, the wind in her hair and the sun on her face and the stereo pumping, THE BOY sits up back, blinking.

Rodriguez, who is a hard man to shake, can this time be heard singing through the car speakers

Asked about her bag,
suburbia’s such a drag
Won’t go back



(to the stereo, and strangely, for her, optimisticly)

Rodriguez, dude, its not all bad, the burbs are ordinary, sure, but I’m coming to like that

Isn’t that right darling?



Diddy Diddy



Diddy’s at home darling, you going out with Mumma. Mum-ma. For a coffee. Cof-fee, cof-fee….



Gor gor gor gor



Gor gor’s not here sugar pee, she’s gone home. Where are we going now?



Ca ca ca



Mmm, car, yes, lots of cars



weeh weeh weeh



yes, with wheels



Did Did



Did Did at home darling


Despite this banal exchange that goes nowhere, RTS remains unperturbed, apart from a flicking moment of doubt that THE BOY is really not progressing fast enough and really should be able to hold a proper fucking conversation by now, she remains gleefully happy

Unawares to her she crosses an invisible line from suburbia to the inner city

The outside scenes that flicker by gradually start to change. Instead of dogs on leads, she sees young children being walked in harnesses, houses start getting closer and closer together, and instead of shimmering sun on water, tall buildings starts to cast growing shadows, and parks have shrunk to the size of driveways

RTS notices nothing, insisting on bouncing and bopping along in her freedom from housework

Even though Rodriguez’s soundtrack has started to take a slightly darker turn with ‘Inner City Blues’, fittingly, starting up…

Going down a dirty inner city side road
I plotted
Madness passed me by, she smiled hi
I nodded
Looked up as the sky began to cry
She shot it




RTS swings into a parking spot on a groovy café lined street humming with a weekend market crowd and eyes a hip ‘hole in the wall’ type coffee shop, her view is still tinted by rose coloured glasses and instead of cynically cursing this ridiculously undersized shop that is more of a cupboard than a café, she pops THE BOY into the stroller and heads right over, passing some hipsters on her way and overhearing the following exchange



Like, where did you get that jumpsuit?

(Hipster 2 is wearing a large balloon like one-piece jumpsuit, drawn in at the waist with a thick 80s belt, but billowing out both above and below the belt area. The suit is covered in black and white polka dots)

Was it Balmain, I bet it was from Hipdagwank in Balmain



(haughtily) Ugh, I don’t think so, this is like, my friend’s design. It’s a one off.



Oh yeah, totally, I thought so. But I have one in denim.



(looking away) Hmmmm


RTS looks down and considers her own outfit, a polyester dress with lemons on it and pair of ‘Birkies’ worn down to the point of having large holes in the sole. She shrinks into her shoulders and picks up her pace. Casting a look over her shoulder she can be heard muttering in the direction of the girls



(neurotically, paranoid and utterly defensively)

I’ve had these shoes for five years, FIVE years. They are very durable, and VERY sensible. And I like lemons. They are a VERY useful fruit. Ok?


She doesn’t wait for them to answer. She does however begin to notice a change in the atmosphere. She shivers, even though the sun falls in full glare on her side of the footpath. The roar of traffic increases, horns blare, people have scrawls on their faces, and shadows bend in the shape of frowns

Rodriguez’s soothing voice has given way to his steadily rising drum beats and introspective guitar picking

I wonder how many times you’ve been had
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad
I wonder I wonder wonder I do




Behind the counter a handsome barista mans the coffee machine, while his young assistant smiles serenely, notepad at the ready. The young assistant is directly facing RTS, the only customer, and even though she appears to be employed in the role of taking orders, it is the barista that leans over assertively and serves RTS



What would you like?



A latte and a one of those baby coffee things

(RTS knows there is a name for this, but cant being herself to say it)



How do you like your coffee?



(a bit baffled)

Um, how do you mean?



Well, how do you like your coffee?




I, I, don’t know…


(Barista grimaces, looks down. RTS smiles hopefully)

There is a screech and a sudden stop in the soundtrack, as if the needle has been yanked off the record. Silence.

The Barista looks on with disdain but is still waiting expectantly, eyebrows rasied, but not saying a word



Um, well, how am I supposed to answer?



Its fine. You did answer. You don’t know. You don’t how you like your coffee. Its cool.

(he shrugs as if to say its cool, but clearly, its not cool)



(sensing that he perceives her inability to answer as some kind of failure on her part, tires to rally)

Oh. Um. So what are the choices apart from a regular latte? What do people answer when you ask that?




Creamy. Strong. Not strong. People like their coffee different ways, you know, they are individuals.





RTS collects her change and takes a seat outside, or rather perches on the edge of the single stool available to sit on, and parks the pram next to her.

BARISTA brings out her coffee and humungous Baby Chino in a take away cup with a straw. RTS, already rattled, starts to panic –  THE BOY cannot use a straw, and once again she is forced to consider his slow progression, before quickly fumbling to take the lid off and the straw out and shove it in his hands.

The Rodriguez soundtrack returns, fast paced and frantic…

Gun sales are soaring,
housewives find life boring
Divorce the only answer
smoking causes cancer
This system’s gonna fall soon,
to an angry young tune
And that’s a concrete cold fact

RTS realises her mistake at handing a hot cup of milk to her toddler and quickly snatches it back. THE BOY starts howling and thrashing in his pram. Panicking further she unbuckles him, and he immediately bolts down the street. BARISTA comes back out amid this chaos



(attempting to sound both authoritative and cool)

Um, this is a doorway to, like apartments. Something like 50, 100, 150 people live in here and use this doorway. They like, come in and out all the time. And um, we cant have prams in the doorway, because people live here. And they come in and out all the time. So yeah, its like, not cool to leave it there.


RTS turns back to move the pram, momentarily forgetting about THE BOY, then doubles back so fast that she is a blur on the screen, scoops the boy up and returns to the stool where she spills her coffee. THE BOY squirming wildly in her arms is moaning loudly while pointing at his Baby Chino, passersby’s cast side ways looks at her. She skulls what is left of her coffee and then the pram rolls off down the street and THE BOY’S moans turn to screams. RTS runs after the pram, THE BOY tucked under her arm like a log.

She reaches the pram, and stops. It dawns on her that things are horribly amiss, she starts to sense THE YANG smiling down at her from his dizzy disco heights






RTS is rooted in place with a faraway look in her eye. She is beginning to sense she may not have drawn the long straw after all….




Sound of THE BOY still squealing and screaming in the background




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