Court Jester
in a
shredded democracy

Rod Quantock: Keeper at the barricades
Harold Hark
16 August 2002

Awhile back I had the pleasure of watching two five star films within a few hours of each other: the French film, "Amelie" in the theatre, and later that night a Swedish film, "Show Me Love" ("Fucking Åmål") on World Movies. I'm no film reviewer, but I wrote about both (See: Hark's Rippers & Wankers.) Each was an affirmation of life, a celebration of the human spirit and its potential to overcome fear and limitation.

Over the past weekend I was treated to a similar confluence of excellence, again occurring within a few hours. Once again a celebration of the human spirit, this time the events pertained to courage and the ability to comprehend the difference between right and wrong, no longer as clear as it once was.

The first event was the 1999 film "Cradle Will Rock," an inspired portrayal of the courage anyone who reads this newsletter needs in the endless battle with the conservative establishment, its ethics-free worship of Mammon, and its attempt to thwart human evolution since the beginning of time. You will be cheering at the end.

The second was "Boredom Protection Policy," the one man show of the indefatigable Rod Quantock. One of Australia's living icons, Quantock held forth at the unfashionable Trades Hall Theatre, where he has been performing his political monologues since 1977. It was a full house, and although most in the audience were a good half century old and no doubt converted since birth, there were at least a dozen non-MBA-grasping young people. Too bad the ratio wasn't reversed. But then, the role models for youth these days are oinking in the trough.

Quantock covered the recent travesties of our appalling government, and in particular, the born yesterday ruminations of Herald Sun columnist Andrew Bolt. He read from a recent column in which Bolt was cheerleading the pinch-faced Protestant Work Ethic and the dour rigours of its philistine, bottom-line devotion to keeping the mass of human beings in harness. Bolt contrasted business as the sole reason for existence with his disdain for the ribald humaneness of Catholics, who, it seemed, were incapable of producing anything but art and babies.

Throughout the hour and a half show, Quantock interspersed his political comments with anecdotes from his life, quaint little stories that served to show just what a wonderful place Australia was, and what a shallow, fearful place it has become.

One of Quantock's talents is to ramble on with an idea that is calculated to cause listeners to gradually rise from their seats with revolutionary outrage (or to crumple with despair), and then relieve them with a hilarious interjection just before the punch line; which then rekindles the emotion. Quite a feat. He does this while skipping jovially around the stage as well as mixing with the audience.

And yet, accompanying the hi jinx is what appears to be an extreme weariness, as if he were carrying a burden.

I wonder what he might be doing if Kennett and then Howard hadn't come along.

It seems that his mission, to remind us through humour of the reactionary devastation wrought by the Illiberal Party (and Labor, lest we forget), has become a duty. And with duty comes weariness. For Quantock is not just a comedian, not just an entertainer, not just a political satirist. Nor is he a radical. His function is to keep the flame of outrage from going out. And he does it as if from the boot of his car. Only he's not selling items of clothing, but gently exhorting anyone who will listen not to let their freedoms slip away. It would seem that he has no choice. And that is perhaps what lends the weariness to his act.

Maybe I'm just projecting. Because that's exactly how I feel.

The show starts at 8:15 PM Tuesday through Saturday, until 23 August. Tickets at the door.

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