MAGNET contributing writer Jud Cost is sharing some of the wealth of classic films he’s been lucky enough to see over the past 40 years. Trolling the backwaters of cinema, he has worked up a list of more than 500 titles—from the silent era through the ’90s—that you may have missed. A new selection, all currently available on DVD, appears every week.
Love Serenade (1996, 101 minutes)
A former high-profile disc jockey is driving south from Brisbane, through the Australian countryside, to an almost-deserted town called Sunray, nestled on the Murray River in a parched landscape dotted with the occasional well-irrigated vineyard.
In what looks like a desperate career move, Ken Sherry (George Shevtsov) is taking over Radio Sunray, a station whose record library consists of a modest wall of dog-eared LPs. Sherry’s bloodshot eyes, shaggy hair and underslung chin make it look like he hasn’t slept in a week. But he’s driving a pretty slick machine, at least when it was new, about 14 years ago.
He slides a Barry White CD into the car stereo, and belts out in his most seductive voice, “Oh baby, keep on doin’ it.” Turning right at the “Sunray 5 Miles” road sign, he passes a weatherbeaten billboard that reads, “Hey Anglers! Fish Are Biting! Drop A Line!” then cruises by the Emperor’s Palace, a Chinese restaurant with zero curb-appeal.
Vicki Ann Hurley (Rebecca Frith) and her younger sister Dimity (Miranda Otto) scrutinize the back of Sherry’s dusty vehicle, parked in the driveway next door. “You think somebody moved in?” says Dimity. “Oh my goodness!” squeals Vicki Ann noting the custom Queensland license plate that reads: “SHERRY.” “Ken Sherry! He must have moved in!” “Who’s Ken Sherry?” asks Dimity. “Dimity, you amaze me sometimes,” says Vicki Ann just as Sherry’s front door opens and the great man, himself, steps outside.
Like schoolkids, the girls scamper back to their front door undetected and watch as Sherry unloads possessions from his car. “Ken Sherry is only a highly regarded radio personality,” divulges Vicki Ann. “We should count ourselves extremely fortunate to have him living right next door. Now, I don’t want you hanging around, gawking at him. Celebrities are entitled to their privacy.” Dimity walks back inside, saying, “I couldn’t care less about Ken Sherry,” as he slams the trunk lid down hard, then slams it again when it fails to catch.
It takes Vicki Ann half an hour to break her own rule. “Welcome to Sunray,” she says nervously when Sherry opens his front door. “I thought you might not have any food in the house, so I took the liberty of offering you one of our homegrown Murray cod, freshly caught by yours truly, this afternoon.” He limply extends his right hand and says, “Ken Sherry.” “We all know who you are. We’re thrilled to have you here in Sunray,” she smiles, offering him the fish still dangling from a hook. “I’m sorry, but I don’t eat fish. That’s just the way it is,” he says, starting to close the door. “Maybe I could make you a chicken casserole?” she counters. “No thank you,” he says, cold as a dead mackerel, before closing the door.
