click to toggle flash on or off
   

shane maloney presents death in brunswick

notes

death in brunswick
Death in Brunswick
Back in the late seventies, I was a booking agent for rock bands. Off duty, I had an occasional tipple with a barfly named Boyd Oxlade. When pub rock was killed by stand-up comedy, I changed jobs, bought a house in Brunswick and gave up tippling with barflies.

Then along came Death in Brunswick - first the novel, then the film. Oxlade had been hiding his light under a stubby. His story grabbed me immediately. Not only was it deeply rooted in my dreaming - the vast untamed wilderness to the north of the Fitz-Carlton ghetto, between the majestic Merri Creek and the awe-inspiring Tullamarine Freeway, but there was something eerily familiar about his protagonist, a screwup minion in a sticky carpet rock palace.

Ever since, Death in Brunswick has been following me around. It's mainstay actors - John Clarke, Deborah Kennedy and Sam Neill - starred in the telemovies of my novels, the most recent of which opens in Coburg Cemetery where Carl and Dave buried Mustafa. And I swear I saw Gustav Mahler down the local the other night. Trying to get a gig, probably.

Shane Maloney, 2007

Death in Brunswick
 
 
Facebook icon   Twitter icon   Contact Us Terms of Use Privacy Site Map   Share and Print   Victorian Government Website