Your are viewing a read-only archive of the old DiS boards. Please hit the Community button above to engage with the DiS !
is New Zealand actually like that?
It wasn't too far off.
I've always had my suspicions about the kiwis I've met
things are becoming clearer
But that is where the film is based, I believe...
The South Island really conforms to stereotypes, outside of the cities. I remember driving through a place called Garston and stopping for a sandwich on the way to Queenstown. A tiny postcard village with a population of 101 in the middle of fucking nowhere, and the only cafe open called itself 'The Garston Gig'. My friend and I went into the bare white room and rang the bell on the counter; the owner, an old guy, came out, and immediately implored us to play 'The Garston Gig'. We shrugged, and he handed us putters then pointed us through to the next room where there was a shoddily constructed crazy golf course (only 4 holes in length). The concrete was poured poorly, but he claimed this only added to the excitement. Feeling robbed, we walked back into the main cafe, where he again begged us to try something - this time, his 'Neopolitan hot milk drink'.
It was pretty amazing, to be fair. He managed to make a drink where hot chocolate, a vanilla milkshake, and a strawberry milkshake stayed separated as layers. "It's my own invention," he beamed at us. He clearly hadn't had any other customers in days. "It's a real neopolitan, you see, because the layers are vertical, not horizontal as in the mislabelled ice cream," he went on. We nodded politely. He kept explaining how his invention would take over the world, and that he had had to buy a new dictionary because, "when dealing with international copyright law you can't dick about with a student dictionary, I'm telling you." We nodded, politely. He then started talking about how he used to work in a junkyard when God convinced him that there was meaning in life and that that meaning could be found in opening a shit crazy golf course in a cafe in the smallest village in New Zealand. We nodded, politely, and as by this point it had been almost an hour since we'd entered his cafe we made our excuses and left.
Bloody mentalist, he wanted to eat our skin. If you Google 'Garston Gig' he's the first result and all: http://www.stuff.co.nz/southland-times/archives/queenstown/555178
as a tarantino-esque example of inconsequential yet intriguing-enough-to-keep-you-interested dialogue and narrative. all it needed was for you and your friend to waste the guy at the end, perhaps bludgeoning him to death with his own putters, and possibly burying him under his own poorly constructed crazy golf course with aforementioned badly poured cement.
in short, i like your stories.
i couldn't handle it
says it all don't it
or that film with the killer sheep
or Bad Taste
Once Were Warriors style.
and ate barbeque
(LoTR doesn’t count) are The Piano, Eagle Vs Shark, and Once Were Warriors – one an Auckland ghetto, one a sinister muddy Victorian sludge, and the other a Napolean Dynamite-esque suburban wasteland. If you combine those, you’ve pretty much got NZ in a nutshell.
A Victorian Napolean Dynamite-esque ghetto
you'd be forgiven for thinking we're a nation of cockney gangsters, dolescum northerners and drug-taking Scots who don't laugh except bitterly at something slightly less fucking depressing than the day-to-day toil of our miserable working-class lives.
we do have a few upper middle-class emotionally challenged London types who can only find romance with a healthy dollop of farce.
"loveable middle class eccentrics" from watching The Good Life.
Or cheeky quirky northerners, from watching Corrie.
although with less chance of swinging with the neighbours
everyone from the south is definitely basically Bertie Wooster in trendier toggs though.
I don't remember it having a particularly alien feel to it.