Mates

Peter Weir's GALLIPOLI was on cable the other night. I watched, because whenever Peter Weir's on, I watch. The man's a master.

Anyway, all I could hear, as I watched, was the voice in my head of a professor I had in an Introduction to Australian Film class I attended while studying at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. "Don't be distracted," the professor said, in his heavy German accent, "by the film's overt context, which is Australia's involvement in the First World War. What we're interested in, here, is the subtext." Or words to that effect.

The subtext, for those unfortunate of you who haven't seen GALLIPOLI, or weren't paying attention, is the uniquely Australian concept of friendship. That is, the concept of mates. A mate is the friend that you stand behind, and who stands behind you, come hell or high water. The guy who's got your back, in a nutshell. It reeks of machismo, and it's difficult to describe without sounding like a fratboy or a deeply-closeted homosexual, but if you've got it, you know it: the friend you can call in the middle of the night, half a continent away, and ask for help, knowing with certainty that you'll get it, that he'll be in his car before the sun comes up. The friend you can see after a year of absence without missing a beat, picking up the conversation right where you left off. You can be in a pub single-handedly challenging the entire Sydney National Rugby squad to a drag-down brawl, and your mate will be standing behind you, maybe not liking the idea so much, but standing there nonetheless.

You don't hear much about mates. You hear about "friends," about "buddies" and such, but it's really not the same. Mates are a rare thing, and when you've got them, you've got them for good. That kind of loyalty's a hard thing to come by in these times...it's too much work. Casual friendship is easy. Casual friendship is safe. You can walk away from casual friends without much of an effort, without sparing so much as a glance behind. Mates, on the other hand, are hard. Honestly, mates can be a pain in the ass, and they can get you into a world of hurt. But in the end, they're the ones who are worth it.

I've got mates. I don't see them nearly often enough, but it's enough to know I've got 'em. You can judge a man by his friends, by his mates, and I'll be happy enough being judged by mine. And I'd go to the wall for them. Because, really, what the hell else is worth going to the wall for, if not your mates?

I turn into a real sentimental sonofagun after a couple of pints of Guinness.