It takes time for European movies to sail down to Oz. It’s probably a good thing, as the ones that are not good enough usually drown and never make it down here to pollute our waters. Yet pity that the better ones can’t sail a little faster or take a plane instead.

Anyway, enough of mediocre jokes! Time for real mediocre views now!

Following its unpredicted although not surprising Oscar success earlier this year, German movie The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen, 2006) hit Australian and other English-speaking cinemas. A movie about Stasi agent spying on a dramatist and his mistress is cinematically simple, nevertheless captivating and convincing. What makes it a real gem forcing people to remember it, is main character’s face through which audience reads his thoughts and understands his moves.

It’s East Berlin of 1984 — that almost makes one think it isn’t coincidence — when agent Gerd Wiesler (outstanding Ulrich Mühe) sets surveillance on Georg Dreyman, played by Sebastian Koch, and his lover Christa-Maria Sieland (Martina Gedeck). Obviously, he’s only following the orders. Until he finds out that a minister of culture lures Dreyman’s girlfriend and wouldn’t mind having him out of the way.

That somehow makes agent Wiesler re-think his commitment to watch and report while he’s getting to know Dreyman. Gradually, a first-rate spy starts to gather useless intelligence and covers Dreyman’s actions in a bid to keep him out of jail. Wiesler becomes intentionally ineffective, and potentially self-destructing. Deep down, he changes, but for those around him, this change goes overlooked. Bosses question his competence and as he hardly talks to or meets anyone else, there’s no one to notice his metamorphose. Yet he bears the cross of being ousted until the fall of the regime, and even afterwards, as a former Stasi agent.

The debut of German filmmaker Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck is a bit long, albeit a superb film. It avoids cliché, doesn’t mentor, makes people talk, and above all, drives Hollywood to produce a remake. Definitely worth seeing.

It was probably 1994 or 1995, one of those fantastic years when I was doing absolutely nothing and enjoyed doing so in a super cool fashion; in other words, life was about hanging out, picking up girls, drinking and writing pieces about love, loneliness and despair. Like things that later became lyrics for Gabriel’s One Night Stand.

Sometime about that time, there used to be a weekly film quiz in a local newspaper. Three questions, one lucky winner of a VHS tape. VHS tape, people, as that was well before DVD times. As you surely understand, there was no IMdB, not even mentioning hippie know-it-all Wikipedia at the time either. In fact, there was hardly anything on the Internet at all (as I do not consider Apple, Cisco, Sun, Xerox and Playboy sites relevant to this article). Yes, whoever wanted to enter, they had to know, guess, or dig (oh!) through real heavy weight encyclopaedias.

As it happened, once, there was Cyril Collard’s Savage Nights to win. Some might say a cult movie. By chance — as I’m down to Earth — I knew or figured out the answers. So it made perfect sense that the tape was to be mine. Yet, what if somebody else knew the answers, too? Hm… The more cards sent, the higher the chance the tape would make it my way. Hm…

My parents’ place was a hangout joint. We used to play table tennis downstairs and local version of D&D upstairs. So there were always mates coming in and out. Each of them gladly filled a card for me, no hesitation. Except for Gabriel. While he did, he had a decent whine about one’s limited share of luck and him potentially giving up his fair part in my favour. That reminds me that I must ask him to explain his theory in full for our broad audience one day.

Eagerly, I’m waiting for the following week. Flicking through pages in anticipation — and there it is: Gabriel won me my Savage Nights! I can see his sad eyes to these days. Bleak, gloomy day, we’re sitting in a downtown bar, sipping apple juice, and Gabriel doesn’t have to say anything, telepathy worked rather good those days already. I’m getting a dose of his limited luck theory quietly and wirelessly. He just sacrificed a share of his luck that he didn’t want to. I owe him this, I have to pay him back. Even starring at the glasses is exhausting. Air’s too heavy to breathe. We’re leaving silently against lousy weather.

2007. Gabriel lands in Sydney, bringing me Savage Nights paperback as a present. And when I’m looking at him, I can still see a bleak, gloomy day with ourselves sitting in a downtown bar way across the planet.

He just stopped by to remind me. I have to pay him back. I still owe him a share of his luck.