Brisbane's West End, mid-70s. Saturday morning and a group of we high school seniors were off on the town to watch a movie under the guidance of our English teacher, Ray Fuary.
Mr Fuary was a ratbag, simple as that. In the largely conservative world of Bjelke-Peterson's Queensland, he surely voted Labor, smoked dope, and hurled bricks at sacred cows. He was a breath of fresh air, and just a bit scary.
The movie was Harold and Maude, one that had never made the mainstream cinemas in Brisbane, but had somehow attracted Mr Fuary's ratbag attention to the extent that he thought it worth exposing a class of callow teenagers to. To entertain us, to shock us a little bit, to make us think.
I was a few minutes late and as I sat down beside a schoolmate, I asked him what I had missed. "Not much," he replied. "The star committed suicide in the first few seconds."
Read the rest of the review here.