The spirit of Tasmania, A poem about a party by Georgia Lucy
Since 1983, Australiana by Austen Tayshus remains the greatest selling single in Australian history. Georgia Lucy has a go at a homage. There are 123 local pun ones riddled in here. Some didn’t make the cut. Can you tally any more?
As much as it is a warped love letter to Tas, it was made on stolen land. Georgia Lucy respectfully acknowledges that the place names made fun of in this film are not the only names for these places.
The traditional custodians of these lands, the palawa people, have had their own unique names for these places for countless generations.
The Spirit Of Tasmania: A Poem About A Party By Georgia Lucy
Written, Performed, Directed and Edited by Georgia Lucy
Music by Callum Cusick
Camera 1 – Tess Campbell
Camera 2 – Kim Walls
Filmed at the Fern Tree Arts Hall December 2018
Project funded by Kirsha Kaeshele
Here is the secret script shhhhhhhhh
THE SPIRIT OF TASMANIA A Poem about a Party by Georgia Lucy Is this it? Is this it?? Let me look down to my lap… At… My little map of Tas App… A little check seems apt U-turn urinary tract Naval navigation gap Roll up that tent flap… Location lone track No returns backpack I got me card can I tap tap? Bushy bushy Bushy Park it! Stat! This is it I haven’t lost the plot, the blue dot is on top of the red spot And there’s balloons on the letter-box I go forth Hit the door with a knock knock The sign says: “Enter through the rear.” I guess we're here! On a table there’s a mean spread. An Eggs and Bacon Bain-marie, in bread. I start hookin’ into it. Mona Boats in, tryin' a get me fatter, offering me her sweet platter. “Lymington? Chocolate e-Clare, mont-ecarlo? Kingston biscuit? “What about something savoury? Chip? dip? Get ya guacaMoles worth, quick! Tri-a-bunna.” “What’s a ‘bunna?’” I ask Mona. “Why, it’s a fraction of a kabana. What about a patty? Melon? Slice of Devon? Port? Have a glass of Port Arthur. This Wine Glass Bay-longs in the hand of a Cambridge man!” “Mmm, thanks ma’am.” Through the window I got a glimpse of Glen orchy-strating a game of cricket. He was using a Tinderbox as a wicket. Rose set a-nother lot of stumps up what seemed like a Seven Mile distance from Glen’s. Long pitch! “Say,” said Glen. “Why doesn't chef field? He's been fryin' up sweet meals all day.” Okay! I helped Somer set up a camera to film the occasion (chef usually requires 4 cups of persuasion). Then… I took a seat on Dicky Knee’s knee, who was sitting on the Esky minding David’s boon. “Mate, Knee? Can I please have a Brew Knee?” He laughed at me. “Don’t be daft,” he remarked. “There is no beer under here, I’m just sitting on a Penguin tryin’ a keep him cool man.” “Oh, come on Knee! Just a hair of the dog. I need a… a Morning tin. Or have you got something light? A mid-strength? A Middle tin?” Win win! He grinned! And as he did the ball got smashed for six, and there’s a loud au-roar-a from the crowd. The ball has pierced through the clouds, falling through the tin roof of the shed, causing a hole that may lead to a leakage. Knee said “Go fetch, and then you get your bev’rage.” Hunting for the ball I stumbled into a karaoke session - and an applause. It was Lynn finishing on Mariah. Flat tyre… She asked me how she went. I said: “To be Frank-Lynn, you butchered it. Your voice isn’t that of a Saint - Helen’s got a much more suited range for that diva’s repertoire. But you got balls mate. And I’m lookin’ for one!” Smith gave me the mic (a ball mic) and said: “Here you are…” “I’m singing in Warrane… just singin’…” but when I got to the Bridge, water seemed to splatter from the roof, pitter-patter on the stezza, causin’ an Electrona matter! “Smith, turn it off! It’s gonna sizzle, fry! We need a bag of dry rice.” GUYS! Oh dear. But! Geeves is here! Waiting patiently. He, bein’ a mechanic, fixes it instantly. “Surely now it’s Geeves’ turn...?” Geeves rolls up his sleeves and does a little number from Grease. “Oh Sandy Bayyy…” be- cause the 2014 footy grand final was on it got unplugged pretty damn quick. “Oh Lordy, Dale. Did you have to cut me off in the middle of my set? I’m Leven Dale.” Geeves was mighty peeved. He went off weeping in a huff, and slammed Mar gate. Bit rough! “Take it easy mate, that’s Good wood! Huon pine! It’s a crime.” “Arthur, party Pie man?” “Great Scotts, Dale! That was mean. Poor Geeves… And you got Ross a bit cross too, he'd been waiting in that queue all afternoon.” He said “Jeeez, the footy is priority!” Stewie winced. He wasn’t convinced. “It's para-Mount Stewart! Its the GF!” Stewie’s efforts to change it were thwarted. Dale was indecisive. He had a scarf ‘round his neck that bore the colours of both the grand final teams on it. It had a bit o’ blue, white, gold, and a mean brown stripe. He got it from the C.W.A. I said “Ay Dale, you got an Eagle / hawk Neck! What the heck?” Ville came in with a plate a berries. “Wanna Berry Dale?” “No munter, I am a punter,” he replied. “I just wanna know who to lay my bets on.” Well, Ville started windbaggin’ on about the pros and cons of both birds of prey, and the roles they play on the coastline of our great island state. He’d been goin’ for half a Howrah. Dale cracked it! “GET TO THE PONT VILLE!! And anyway you’re in the way of the TV, can Swan see the TV?” Swannie didn’t care for it. She’d been doin’ the dishes and had dropped her Cygnet ring down the plughole. “Devils Kitchen!” cursed Swannie. “Devils Kitchen!” She needs a hero. So Kelly steps into the kitchen donned as a hero. Great! “Kelly, can you help Swannie Kett ‘er ing?” “Who you s’posed to be? I didn’t know it was fancy dress.” She said: “Yes, well… I’m Sal. A manga character from Wadanohara and the Great Blue Sea. It’s Japanese, circa ‘93.” Jeez, I hadn’t heard of it. She looked good. She was in a Cape, Grim, and was looking at my leg. “Is that tatt rell?” asked Kell. I said “It hurt like hell Kell, it’s So rell.” Kell was not convinced. She licked her thumb, tryna come it undone, rubbing it on my thigh. La scene from a Frenchman’s Cap. We were getting pretty Snug on the beanbag. Fern ruined the moment, fart! He came in looking for a dart. I couldn’t hide them. Kell had her fingers in my pouch. Look out! “Um, I got no papers Fernie.” He cried out to Bart, “Hey Bart, you got any Tally-Ho Bart?” I really didn’t wanna share, but to be fair - Fern Tree-ted me to a meal at the Tav last month, so I guess I owed him one. “How’s Chig and Linda?” “Chig? Well, Chig’s well, and Belle-rieve it or not Linda’s farne, considering the Great Western Tears shed last time we saw ‘em. Indeed, our mutual friends are Both well.” “Swell.” A Commotion in the Hallway !!! I went out and busted Ricky Ponting a bat at Tas. “What’s up with you lot? Ricky, whadayadoin’?” “Tas tried to Mount Nelson earlier this week, he’s already Mayde Ena cry and leave… and he’s crackin’ on Ta Roona as we we speak!” “Creep!” hissed Marion, Bay-ing for blood… I looked at Roona. She seemed to be minding her own, she was givin’ it to Tas… “Oh, don’t sweet talk me Tas, I’m not havin’ a bar of your vo-Cadbury… Get away from me!” “You heard her Tas, rack off!” Well, in response, Tas lost the lot. His daks dropped and he bent Dover and shined her one. “Enough! This is a safe space. What a disgrace….” I grabbed Tas by the ear and had a stern talkin’ to him. “Tas, man, did you really have to Moon ‘er? Bit Rich mon, don’t you do that. You’re excluded. Deluded! Loose! If you come back, I’m callin’ the cops on you! Cape Barren Goose! Be better Tas!” All of a sudden David, Foster then a foot on the hot bitumen burst in to say that the cops have already been called… and they’re on their way! Hooray! “How far off are they?” asked Lee. “Oh not Long Lee…” Lee looked at Jud, who was looking very anxious. “What do we do about all this dope then, Lee?” “Um, bury it Jud. Quick Jud, bury it!” Dig it! “There’s some shovels in the closet…. Get on it!” But we tripped over some idiot groveler on all fours under the coffee table. It was Ceston. He was lookin’ for his mate Blunnie. I said, “Look, it’s 4:20. Blun’s stoned out on the Lawn Ceston. He’s a mighty Stonor. Blunnie’s not what he used to be. Follow us.” Sure enough, we found Blunnie passed out in the sun. The sun shone Bright on his face. His face was redder then a cherry tomato. “What do we do about all this UV Burnie on Blunnie?” asked Ceston… “Slip slop slap... Collin’s Cap could do it? And I hear Nyr Star zinc works alright mate. Hey let’s just drag him into the shade… before he falls into those digger’s graves.” “Oh behave! ‘Allo Vera! Smear her.” “Maybe we should put him in with Ris?” “Where’s Ris?” “On the couch. Ris done Vale…ium. Carpe dium! Contents of her bag Strahan all over the carpet.” “No, Blunnie’s alright here...” But Mures! What’s that fishy smell? Mu-ers! It was Gordon. He’d been out on the boat all day, and was now fryin’ up his catch. He flipped that Bass Straight outta the pan and into the pool. Cool. “Strath Gordon, different kettle of fish that one!” It startled Prim alright. Prim rose, Sans her sandwich, and that ended up in the pool as well. Nipple Tassal floating to the surface. (-pathetic beep sound-) “Is that the cops?” “Nah, it’s just Acton tryna find a parking spot…” “Acton, Park cross the street, there’s one for ya. Under the tree.” (-dirty beep sound-) Who’s that? Oh it's Dirty Derwent. “Park! Stop! Pull over! You've lost your licence, and you only live round the corner!" (-beep beep sound-) Make room for Hill. Here she is, fresh from workin’ at the Female Factory… “Nice Bonnet Hill. How’s work?” “Oh, Dynnyrne much. Those New Norfolk keep comin’ down and stealing all my shifts. I’m Dun, hourly rates been cut. I’m fed up. Nothing works… There a party going on or something?” She was tryin’ a figure out how to use the remote for the garage door. I said “Hill, you gotta get the Battery Point and stick it on the Springs.” Win! The door rose, and she went in. (- beep sound-) “Hello Rosny, Park in the drive will ya? “We need to load the drum kit into the boot. Cheers.” I popped the boot, and to my surprise there was Dad getting out of the boot with a sack of shellfish. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I really did not want Dad here at this particular party… “Uhhhh, do you want me to carry your Bag Dad?” “That’s not funny… “I… am not… your father! Call Brook and ask her who your real father is. I’m here to kill Patrick! I got an Oyster Cov-ered in Mercury Red in here, and I’m seeing red! I’m gonna feed and kill the fucker!” “Dad?” “I am not your dad!” Get shucked! Hectic. Does this mean my real dad’s Patrick? It’s time to find an exit. Oh no. Lenah has covered it. With a stall? Stalled. “What’s this for?” “I’m selling raffle tickets.” “What’s the cause?” “It’s for a great Campaign ya. I’m tryin’ a cure the cancer off the Tassie Devil’s face.” “Whadya win?” “Oh, you Win yard sculptures. Crafty hedges. You heard of the town of topiary?” Legend! Gimme five. I thought I was clear… but at the back gate Customs leered. With their beagle. Keeping it legal. They went through my backpack with a fine-tooth comb. I just wanna go home. I forfeited my Stanley. But they wanted more from me… “Nut?” “What did ya call me?” “Fruits? “Vegetables? “Apples? “Macintosh? “Laptops?” “No!” “What about… Errol’s soul?” Judging by my smell, I thought you could tell… I don’t use a flammable deodoriser! “Errol’s soul? I don’t have it.” They searched my pockets. “Look, I have not got Errol’s soul! Are you Flynn-ished? “What is this?? “The Spirit of Tasmania?” -END-
Georgia Lucy 