ERROL FLYNN

Born with damn near nothing
Except your dreams to keep you warm
You live inside a movie
To hide you from the storm
Beautiful and reckless
You keep waiting for Hollywood to call
You’ll hate me when I leave you
But I won’t stand to see you fall
You think you’re Errol Flynn
And you’ll get away scott free
One day when you’re not Errol Flynn
My friend
You might remember me

Gambling in Kokopo
You risked your life to raise the stakes
Each day attempting to prove
You’ve got just what it takes
You’re restless and confused
You pray each night to be that shooting star
But somewhere along the way
You forgot who you really are

You think you’re Errol Flynn
And you’ll get away scott free
One day when you’re not Errol Flynn
I hope
You might remember me

You think you have to impress me
With your daredevil feats and tall tales
But buddy I was your one true friend
And that’s the bottom line when your bullshit fails
And don’t you forget it

You think you’re Errol Flynn
And you’ll get away scott free
One day when you come down to earth
Maybe
You might remember me

(C) Frank Howson 2019

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THE YOUNG BOY CALLED ME OLD MAN

The boy called me old man but I pitied him and his youthful arrogance, for I knew the pain that waited ahead for him. Life humbles us all. Even the ones who think they are Superman in those summer days of our lives. There will be plenty of time for him to look back at how much he squandered his power on those who let him down. Like an incessant drum beat that slowly fades and diminishes altogether till there is only the relief of silence that comes to those old enough to appreciate it. Some will rage against the unfairness of the inevitable but will fall where they stand as young men step over their bodies in their excitement to enter the ring.

When we are young we dream of running away with the circus. When we are old the circus runs away from us. But by then we can see through the grandeur to the sweat, fear and blood of the performance. And the toll it takes from us all.

It is unjust that we amass some experience and wisdom that gets us nowhere but a park bench in the sun. For no one is interested in listening to what we know because they’re too busy rushing around making all the same mistakes we did. And good advice is only met with resentment from the young, like telling someone how a book ends and spoiling it for them.

Some young men have so many women they don’t know what to do with them. Eventually the women realise this and leave for greener pastures and something more substantial than big talk. Or a big car. For they were never really interested in the car.

Time is a serial killer that picks its targets indescriminantly but will eventually come knocking for us all in the dead of night.

Even for those who were once arrogant young things who thought they knew it all

(C) Frank Howson 2019

EXCEPT YOU LOVE ME

I’ve been holding out
Thinking you’d let go
But your shadow tails me
To faraway parts of my heart
I’ve stopped waiting for our Messiah’s return
And watch the football
And all the moves you make
In your quest to break me with jealousy
Trouble is I don’t get jealous
But it’s cool
I ain’t complainin’
The crops look good
And it’s rainin’
Nothing to fear
Unless it floods
I watched another cowboy movie
But it came out all wrong
The good guys got away with murder
Then the credits rolled and they played a song
And I got to wondering
Just who the savages were
History is rewritten by liars
Then exaggerated by Hollywood hacks
And given awards
For burying the facts
Me? I don’t know nothin’
Except you love me

(C) Frank Howson 2019

MY LONELY ROOM

In my lonely room
I conquer the world
In my dreams that failed
And paled to the loss of a girl
Here I shed my tears
Over bitter wasted years
That led me to this crowded place
Filled with memories and fears
I never dreamed my life would lead
To this lonely room
Since you cut me I bleed
In this lonely room

(C) Frank Howson. 2019

WHEN YOU WERE MY FRIEND

We eat to fill the void
We fight because we’re scared
We’re quick to get annoyed
When our hearts are bared
So we hum our favourite song
That takes us back
To the time we went wrong
On some beaten track
We were so smart for fools
And treated life as a joke
We made our own rules
Until something broke
These days not so cavalier
It gets like this
When the end is near
And you’d settle for a kiss
Or a genuine word
A tender touch
Or something you haven’t heard
Like I miss you so much
So here we are
Poles apart
Maintaining our dignity
Playing our part
I miss our wild years
And those nights that had no end
That knew no tears
When you were my friend

(C) Frank Howson 2019

WHERE DID WE LEAVE THE STORY?

Where did we leave the story?
Oh, that’s right, you left me
Were we out of our minds
To ever think we’d be free?
What’s the name of that street?
No, wait, it’ll come to me
Did we throw away our good fortune
Whilst searching for destiny?

“I knew a man who went to sea
And left the shore behind him
I knew that man for he was me
And now I cannot find him”
You once sang me that song
On our way to the gym
I think it’s about a legless man
And how it was he could still swim

Where did we leave the glory
We’d fought so hard to win?
Perhaps God was insulted
And deemed it a sin
What is that condition
When we’re too scared to win?
But perhaps we can’t blame it on theories
The truth is we’re made of tin

Where did we leave those tablets
That got us through the night?
Who said we had a chance
And that we were in the right?
You know me so you know
When I glow in the light
I don’t give up till I’ve given my all
Although this time I just might

Why did you leave our story
Just when things had worked out?
Were you afraid to express
All of the things that you felt?
Well it snowed this Christmas
Alone I watched it melt
Then I toasted us with aged whiskey
Although our drink is stout

(C) Frank Howson 2019

SPEECH DELIVERED AT LONDON FILM FESTIVAL OPENING

I am very honoured to be here.

“What The Moon Saw” was the second movie that my production company Boulevard Films produced. Since then we have made another five films, all of very different genres. Yet “What The Moon Saw” is the one that seems to have taken on a life of its own.

Earlier this year this film was selected and shown in competition at the Berlin Film Festival where it was such a hit it came to the attention of Miramax who acquired all rights for North America and the U.K. It is the first Australian film ever sold to Miramax.

One of the most exciting experiences, after watching the Berlin Wall come down, was watching the movie with an East Berlin audience comprising of mostly children. It was the first film from the Western world they had seen and none of us knew what to expect. And yet, the enthusiastic audience reacted to the very same things that a Western audience responded go. The same laughter and the same tears. Well, except for when Mrs. Melrose accuses the playwright of being a Communist. I think they thought she was praising him.

The film transcends normal language barriers because it speaks in that most universal language of all – the language of the heart.

Young Steven Wilson lives inside all of us. He’s that child we left behind somewhere in our race to bigger things. Occasionally he resurfaces only to be told (by a grown-up) not to be so “childish”, or “You’re having too much fun”; driven away, by those who’ve lost their sense of joy and the appreciation of simplicity, with slogans like “Time is money”, “Act your age” and, the cruelest jab of all, “Grow up!”

At the beginning of the film young Steven is farewelled by his mum and dad as he leaves his small country town to get on a bus to go to the big city for the first time and spend a week with his Grandma. It is a long winding journey along the coast road as he looks out the window at wonders he has not seen before. And for us, the audience, it is a look at the magic of innocence.

I miss Steven Wilson. I miss his unique point of view. The way the world is so simple to him. Things are either good or bad – black or white – sunny or cloudy – and a grown-up’s word is taken literally. He couldn’t survive in the confusing contradictory greys in which we adults have to exist – so we drive him away. Back home to that other country. That simpler slower world where people do the right thing regardless of the cost. And dreams, not regrets, get you to sleep at night.

Thank you for making me feel so welcome. And my work so appreciated.

You’ve given me some warm memories to take back with me on my long bus ride home.

London 1990.

(C) Frank Howson 2019