Sunday 31 October 2010

L-O-V-E Spells L'amour

The festive season has pretty much passed me by this year. By festive season, I am OF COURSE referring to Hallowe'en. It's like Christmas for goffs, but without the presents. I had a stroke of last-minute genius with my costume, but an incapacitated hospital-bound boyfriend meant that half of it would be missing. Yep, we were doing the 'couples costume' thing, and the only silver lining is that I now have the majority of my costume for next year. It just wouldn't have been right to go out myself, ya know?

ANYWAY, since our plans for a messy Friday/Saturday followed by a horror movie marathon on Sunday went awry, I decided to go for something completely different. Also, I was feeling a teensy bit emotionally fraught so it wouldn't have been the best. We've been given the task of trying to write a 10-minute short film for Richard this year, and containing short films within a time limit is something I have a bit of trouble with. After wandering around HMV clutching a copy of Silence of The Lambs for about 15 minutes (I was thinking about tension...and bad trannies), I ditched the much-watched (but never owned) favourite, in favour of Red Road and Paris Je T'aime. Harry had told me about the former aaaages ago and I'd put it on my List Of Films To Watch but inevitably never did. A quick glance at the cover told me it was some kind of gritty thriller, and that was most definitely not what I needed. Instead, I opted for a collection of short films about love, set in the most romantic city in the world.

I know, I know- not something I'd usually have opted for, huh? I loved Coffee & Cigarettes, the Jim Jarmusch film, which was basically a series of short vignettes connected only by the eponymous black gold and happiness sticks. Paris Je T'aime had a similar theme, in that every 10-minute short was connected by the setting and the fact that they were about luuuurve. I must have been feeling particularly emotional, because I sat glued to the whole thing and my attention never wained once. There were 18 shorts in total, from a host of directors including Wes Craven, Gus van Sant, Alfonso Cuaron and the Coen brothers.

The format is quite simple- it covers all the different areas of Paris, from le Marais, to Montmatre, to the Bastille and everywhere in between. Each segment tells a different story of love and relationships, whether they be romantic, familial, happy, tragic or curiously quirky. Aside from the obvious common themes, each story was linked by the same beginning and end frame- that is, the beginning of one scene was the same as the end of the previous story. It seems really obvious but it was really clever in that it made the whole thing flow alot more seamlessly. There didn't seem to be any awkward transitions and it made each individual story follow on alot more naturally.

As is the case with films like this, some stories were alot stronger narratively than others, and sometimes it felt as if they ended as soon as they were getting interesting. The benefit of this, though, is that it constantly holds the viewer's attention and even if the current short isn't working for you, the next one will be along in a minute.
Thankfully, there were more shorts that worked than ones that didn't. Gus van Sant's 'Les Marais' was an early highlight, telling the tale of a smitten young assistant, Gaspard, talking to printers' assistant Elie, in rapid fire French about soulmates. It's a lovely little story and, when it seems like poor Gaspard's affections are going unrequited, it's revealed that Elie in fact doesn't speak any French. Also, this story featured an appearance by Marianne Faithfull, and she's just COOL.

I also loved Wes Craven's 'Pere le Chaise', for so many reasons... It's based around a young engaged couple finding Oscar Wilde's grave, which I visited when I was in Paris aged 18. Me and my flatmates spent a whole afternoon walking around the place and I found it to be really interesting and magical, in a macabre kind of way. The dark and autumnal look of the segment reflects this and it was kind of exciting seeing on film the place I'd been sitting myself. And yeah, I was looking for my own lipstick mark... I'm almost sure mine was there, although I'm certain I'm not the first person to think black lipstick would leave the biggest impression...



Obviously with such a huge roster of directors, never mind actors, the quality of performances is bound to vary a little too, but admirably most of it never falters. Probably the most affecting was Juliette Binoche as a mother who has recently lost her young son in 'Place des Victoires'. Her inability to move on, coupled with her shaken belief that there is a God, is heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.

On the flipside of this, there were a few times when I wished I hadn't lost my fast-forward button. 'Tour Eiffel' is about a lonely mime who finds love after driving around Paris in an invisible mime-car... It's sort of funny, but the guy's face and mime make-up was really creepy and the odd slapstick tone didn't really work for me. I thought I'd love 'Quartier de la Madeleine', a vampire effort starring Olga Kurylenko, but sadly it just didn't seem to work for me... It had a kind of Sin City, hyper-real comic book look to it which jarred really oddly with the rest of the film and also, Elijah Wood is a creepy looking man-child.

I'm not gonna sit and synopsisize every other story in the film. One, because it'd be the dullest thing ever and way long; two, because I just made up the word synopsisize; and three, because the true beauty of this film is watching each individual story unfold and link together with the next. Each relationship, regardless of its context, is beautifully portrayed, lovingly shot and shows a snapshot of Parisian life that is as eloquent as it is fascinating.
Despite the fact it might come across as quite twee and mushy, it's a little gem of a film that shows that romance isn't dead- it's everywhere around us as long as you keep your eyes open to it.

Wednesday 27 October 2010

Back To School: DFTV 2- The Sequel

I'd barely rubbed the sleep from my eyes in Heathrow and before I knew it, Monday morning had rolled around and we were back at uni again. I know, it's been FOREVER, right? We finished at the end of June, although we hadn't actually been in the building for any sit-down classes for weeks before that. So now, some four months on, I'm craving some intellectual structure in my life again. I'd expected it to be like last year, with a little bit of everything being thrown at us, but no.
Last week, we had three days of intense writing theory with Richard, which was the best thing for me to get my brain ticking over again. Even my blogging, which was always consistent if nothing else, fell by the wayside over the summer as I joined the ranks of full time bar staff. Fulfilling? Hardly. But it was an easy lifestyle to slip into and it didn't require a huge amount of brainspace. The push into having to think of ideas again was a huge challenge, especially as my head was still fuzzy from Delhi. Admittedly, I don't think my ideas were the best, but I'm pretty excited at developing one of my ideas from last year into a longer script. I'd shelved it last year because it was too 'wordy' for a 5 minute script, and as a result the synopsis I came up with was kind of...forced. During my tutorial Richard made some suggestions as to how I could change it to feel more 'organic' (incidentally, our word of the week) and to break it down into beats rather than charge in and start writing a script with no idea how to finish it. I was alot more enthusiastic about it once I gave some thought to how and why the characters are in their situations, rather than pushing things along for the sake of getting to the end.


As part of our class on suspense and tension, there was an interesting little challenge (there had to be one, right?). After some traffic mishaps- which I thought I'd managed to escape in first year, but hell to the no- I turned up a little later than anticipated and was totally confused by a box in the middle of the room. It was on a chair, and looked like a perfectly innocent gift box... OR WAS IT? We were given cryptic hints, and eventually were told that in ten minutes one of us would receive a phone call from Andy. We had until the time it rang out to guess what was it the box, and by the end of it the tension really was unbearable. Plus, there was £8 at stake and I had a duff bank card and no loose change. Eventually, a phone rang- but none of ours were going off. It was coming from the chair. We ran towards it screaming, "PHONE! THERE'S A PHONE IN THE BOX!". As we lunged forward to grab the box there was.... nothing inside. The ringing continued... from underneath the chair. D'oh!

On Friday we had our first editing lesson in what seemed like forever- and along with it a shiny new editing system AND a new tutor. It was good to start from the beginning, as Final Cut last year left me with severe eye strain and (I'm convinced) a tiny bald patch from tearing my hair out trying to edit a mere two-minute film. Thankfully Aldo (our new tutor) kept going back over everything to make sure we were all up to speed, and even asked if he was going slow enough. I wanted to ask him to imagine he was talking to someone with a mental age of 7, but I didn't want to look like the class eejit and I pleasantly surprised myself by being able to keep up. Success!

It was straight to the AGOS Foyer after this, for an Open Day workshop on camera. Basically I had to explain to potential applicants how cameras work and answer any questions they had about it. Given that schools today have way better amenities than when I was there- my Higher Media Studies film was shot on a handheld camera- I felt like I was fudging some answers a little, but for the most part I felt like I could answer their questions with some confidence. My greatest triumph was when one girl asked about lighting gels and "could you not just fix it in post production". This meant I got to do a little speech on how I hate digital colour correction and the reliance today on fixing everything afterwards. OK, so I might not have a tonne of experience to my name, but I know what I like and how I might like to work when I'm a bit more accomplished. I think you should always shoot a scene as closely to what you want it to look like as possible, and therefore only have minimal changes to make afterwards. Otherwise what's the point? What if you don't like the edit either? Then you're stuck with rubbish raw footage AND a rubbish final result *steps off soapbox*

We got an email last week too, asking if anyone was free to shoot a fashion show in the Corinthian. Anxious to get on the camera again, I fired off an email right away. It sounded really interesting- filming a show by five Textiles masters from the Glasgow School of Art, in glamourous surroundings, and all for Children In Need. Perfect! Harry and I were the lucky ones chosen, along with Hollie and Courtney from first year. I was a bit worried about looking technically retarded in front of the first years, especially after the talking-to we'd gotten over our Candid Cabaret footage (hint- it wasn't great). Still, being on camera for our end of year film had given me a renewed sense of confidence. As long as I kept the shots themselves fairly static, without trying anything fancy, I could concentrate on keeping everything in focus. I find this really hard because for the last two years I've known I need glasses to correct my poorly-focussing eyesight... it's just something I've never had the spare pennies to do. Or rather I have, and have just spent them elsewhere.

Not only that, but I somehow found myself playing go-between between the organiser, James, and the rest of the crew. After a mini-panic attack on Sunday morning when I realised I didn't have any first years'numbers- in fact, I hadn't even had a chance to meet them yet- we all met up in good time AND we found somewhere to stash the kit overnight. Even a small shoot, which had nothing to do with us organisationally, requires soooo much planning on behalf of the camera crew- NOT how I'd imagined spending my only day off that week, but it's good to get used to the professional practice!

After a quick run-through, we had an hour or so to make sure everything was perfect. I felt so frumpy in my all-black filming gear though- and being around statuesque rail-thin models meant I felt guilty for even thinking about being hungry! Still, I heard some fierce looking male models pass comment on my hair, which gave me a little bit of a spring in my step, so it wasn't all bad. The shoot itself went without a hitch, and the organisers were so accomodating with EVERYTHING. All in all, a great little day, some more experience under our belts and with the prospect of another job filming another fashion show, it turned out to be beneficial in mroe ways than one. All we have to do now is edit the tapes... it'll mean less sleep and will most likely severely cut into my precious few hours off but hey, that's what Red Bull and power naps are for.

This week we've been back on camera- well, we were on Monday and Tuesday, but illness and trying to lead a double life finally caught up with me and I was only in on Monday. We were introduced to filters, matte boxes, new tripods and follow focus... I was quite excited, as this means we're now learning how to construct a scene, and tailor it to how we want it to look, rather than just sitting the camera down, focussing and hitting [REC]. For me, it's a really interesting new direction as I'm really interested in cinematography. My only problem, I think, is my lack of belief that I can actually do it. It takes a while for things like this to register in my brain and camera class always leaves me feeling...well, a bit thick really. Everyone else seems to have that little bit more experience in some way or another, and I get really frustrated when I feel like I'm being left behind. That, coupled with tiredness, left me a bit disheartened but I know that I NEED to be able to do this... for the girl who's never had much in the way of definite direction before, I'm determined to get myself up to speed!

After a full day of sleep in between popping painkillers and generally just feeling out of sorts, I was raring to go today. Especially since we were staring at 2pm- double win! Sadly, when we got to our screening, Andy revealed the first film of the new film was.....Metropolis. NOOOOOOOO!! I watched this at Aberdeen and while I loved the production design (I think I've mentioned this before), I found it really frustrating that huge chunks of the 'action' were missed out and the running time stretched my patience without really keeping me interested. I'd hoped all the silent films we watched last term would've changed my opinion somewhat, but no- I still don't like it. As much as the production is stunning, and incredibly technologically advanced, the story and characters weren't really that interesting to me. The message of the film is solid enough- 'the mediator between the head and hands has to be the heart'- but it felt really heavy handed in delivering it. It's difficult to comment on the acting; the lack of dialogue in silent movies means every expression has to be super-exaggerated. In Metropolis it came across really pantomimey, although this feels like nit-picking given the confines of sound.

Sooooooo, that's me pretty much all caught up on the goings on of the last couple of weeks. It's been hard to get used to the routine again, and even for us our timetable's been pretty hectic. Still, I've really loved being back and as soon as I get used to the work/uni balance again, I'll be right as rain. Especially now that I've made my peace with Mahara...and all it took was "copy & paste"...

Not Much Room In Here, Huh?


As I've said already, my cinema going dwindled somewhat over the summer. SHAME, SHAME ON ME, I know. As the new term quickly approached I realised I had to dust off my Cineworld card and stop moaning about not seeing anything new. Before jetting off to Delhi, I made sure I went to see at least one new film I wanted to see... not that I was worried about being sold for camels, but you never know what's gonna happen. With my hair I reckon I'd go for a pretty good price.

Given the adventure/apprehension that lay ahead, the natural choice was OF COURSE Buried. I needed tips, y'know, in case our Action Man bus guard's AK-47 wasn't enough to ward off any potential attacks. The premise for the film is so simple, it could've been made on an Academy budget- Paul Conroy (Ryan Reynolds), a truck driver in Iraq, is kidnapped by terrorists and trapped in a box underground. He wakes up with only a phone, a Zippo lighter and a hip flask. With a $5, 000, 000 ransom on his head, a dwindling phone battery and an even more dwindling supply of oxygen, time is all Paul has on his side. The genius of the film is that everything we learn, we learn from Paul himself. The film opens with a full minute of darkness and heavy breathing, before he wakes up screaming. From then we only have phone calls from his kidnappers and frantic calls to the American embassy and his employers to put together where Paul is and why.

There are no sets, coffin aside, and no other visible characters onscreen. The only other characters are introduced via phone conversations and even then it's scarce at best. It is quite literally a man in a box, for an hour and a half. The whole film plays out in real time, which really adds to the tension. Every minute counts and unfortunately for Paul, he only knows he's in a box somewhere near the province where he was taken. The voices on the phone don't seem too over-enthusiastic about his release, and as Paul gets increasingly desperate, so does his situation. OK, so it's hardly action packed, but I think this is the beauty of the whole thing. The film really does hinge on the central performance and Ryan Reynolds is a surprising revelation. As time, air and batteries threaten to run out, he gets increasingly more frantic. The FBI and his employers seem more ancious to preserve their reputation, and even Paul knows that no one will pay such a huge amount for him.

Having to draw on his own resources, the economic writing shows a man growing more and more aware that he might not actually get home-although there are plenty of points along the way to suggest otherwise. The writing is fantastic, and the script is brought to life by Reynolds' fascinating solo performance. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, especially as it creeped closer to 9pm in film-time... which was when Paul was either done for or about to be lifted to a triumphant rescue. The tension was handled superbly- I can kind of appreciate it more now, after our classes with Richard about suspense and tension in a screenplay. It's a difficult thing to do while also keeping your audience engaged, and you always have to keep them guessing. Right up until the final scene I was torn between what was going to happen to Paul. One emotional phone call to his wife was particularly affecting, as he told her he'd definitely be home soon. I almost felt a wee lump in my throat! *ahem*

Buried proves you don't need huge budgets, flashy effects and a roster of A-list stars to make your film a success. In my opinion, it's all the better for it. It's stripped down, and relies solely on writing, performance and clever camera-work to make it believable. Being buried alive is the most horrific thing I can imagine, and director Rodrigo Cortes makes sure we experience the whole terrifying ordeal. I don't know how it'll transfer onto DVD but in the cinema, with the lights down and everyone sitting in silence, the huge hall suddenly felt clammy and claustrophobic. It just goes to show how the simplest idea, with the right execution, can be pulled off successfully. I did feel the need to run about in a meadow like a dog that's just been let off the leash afterwards, and I had some pretty horrific dreams for a couple of nights afterwards. For such a tiny film to have such a huge impact did help alot to soothe my despair over the recent onslaught of 3D, and proves that for every big-budget blockbuster, there's a little ingenious thought-provoker waiting to break out.

Tuesday 26 October 2010

Delhi- Nothing Like 'Aladdin', But Still An Absolut Riot

Well, I'm finding it hard to remember details of bootcamp without it sounding like some boring point-by-point account of what went on. At the time, since everything was so hush-hush we couldn't really blog about it lest we give away any Big Secrets- but now that almost two weeks have passed since Delhi itself, I reckon I'm safe. To be honest, I think I'm still recovering...

The few days between the end of bootcamp and leaving for Delhi didn't leave much time for a rest. I had to pack, but leave room for my costume, and giveneverything I'd read about monsoons and such, I had NO idea what to take. Plus there was all the documents, passport, Disclosure ceritifcates, money, flight information, rehydration sachets, anti-diarrhoea tablets (whoever said the jet-setting life was glamorous?)... Then it was time for a fitful sleep before having to meet in town at 7:45am. Which meant getting up about 6-ish to mentally repack everything... not the best start, you'll agree.

What followed can only be described as some sort of sadistic test of endurance. We touched down in Heathrow and I managed to sneak 2 last crafty fags before we had to wait in Terminal 4 (it still gives me the shudders) for 7 hours. SEVEN. HOURS. And beyond check-in, there was nowhere to go for a cigarette. I was climbing the walls, I tell ye. Eventually we boarded the plane, all ready for eight hours of flying over potentially shaky ground. I mean, I don't want to generalise or anything, but I felt more than a little uncomfortable knowing we were going to be flying over Afghanistan. Still, a well-timed angry shake of my fist threw off any potential attempts at taking down our plane and we touched down in Delhi airport at around 1ish on Wednesday afternoon, well over 24 hours after we'd left Glasgow. URGH.

As you can imagine, all this travel had taken its toll. Unfortunately, volunteers from the Games (I can only imagine they were, that or they were all randomers dressed exactly the same) decided they wanted to take as many pictures of us as possible. Immediately regretting my decision to dye my hair pink, and get tattooed, while cursing my genetics for making me the whitest person who ever set foot in India, I gritted my teeth and prayed we could go outside soon so I could finally smoke... I mean, uh, get to the hotel.
Yup. We were staying HERE. Aaw yeaahh...

We'd been booked into the 5-star Claridge's Hotel, about an hour or so from the airport. They'd booked it, supposedly, because we couldn't go anywhere ourselves and the place had a pool, gym, sauna, bar, pretty much everything we'd need for a nice break and some quality down-time. What we didn't realise was, travel wise, we'd definitely drawn the short straw. As soon as we checked in we had to change, get lunch and get back on the bus to visit the stadium. My biggest regret was eating instead of making a beeline for the pool- I only managed to get 10 minutes of swinging on a hammock in the midday sun before we were whisked away. After all I'd read about the stadium, athlete's village and other hastily built constructions, I was a wee bit worried. I was right to be...

The stadium- or the parts that we saw anyway- were HORRIFIC. The toilets were so bad I could hear people gagging. There were insects scuttling everywhere and we were shuffled into an overheated holding room barely capable of holding the 350-odd of us. Which, we found out, was where we were meant to be spending most of the day when we weren't needed. That's fine, I thought, we'll be running about like dafties all day tomorrow. We'll never have to spend any time in here... WRONG.

Apparently we were at the whim of the Delhi police, and our scheduled all-day rehearsals fell through. We had two run throughs in between the India cast practising their flame-throwing, sword-fighting, baton-twirling closing piece... I'm not gonna lie, I was a teensy bit worried our running about with fabric and inflatables was gonna be somewhat less than impressive. The Delhi cast had something like 6000 participants and had been working on their routine for 6 months... we had 350 and we'd only been rehearsing- and, y'know, LEARNING-our routine for 3 weeks.

The day of the performance was a total drag; the holding room was crowded and sticky, and the only other place we were allowed to sit was a dirty corridor. Mmm... Thankfully, I received a tip-off and managed to sneak behind the lost & found for a fly cigarette. Never say smokers aren't inventive... We were FINALLY called to get changed into our costumes, which thanks to the sweltering heat and unwillingness to use the..uh... facilities, were a little on the tight side. Also, the heat and excessive sweat had made my recently-dyed hair leak onto my forehead and my skin was tainted a lovely patchy shade of pink. The only thing I had to cover this up with was the lovely cheap orange foundation they'd supplied us with, which had to keep getting re-applied because it kept sweating off. MMMM. Hot. By this point I was desperate to just get it over with- which I think everyone else felt. We were all knackered, hungry, had been awake since 5:30am and really just wanted to get out there, do our thing, and get back on the bus.

As soon as we got the call on our in-ears though, the atmosphere changed. We shuffled into the vom, and for the first time saw the stadium at full capacity. Yup, that's 60,000 cheering fans. And we were about to go on and perform for them. Every rehearsal, every aching muscle and every early morning had led up to this and all I could think was "DO. NOT. TRIP. DON'T. EVER. TRIP". I hadn't fallen over at a single rehearsal, and I was having a mid-level panic that the performance itself was gonna be the Big One. The one where I'd land on my arse in front of a worldwide audience of 1 billion people. I didn't even know how many zero's that was, but it sounded like ALOT. As we marched onto the field of play you could practically feel the excitement and nerves in the air. Thankfully, half an hour or so of unexpected speeches meant we had some time to calm down and eventually we just wanted to get MOVING. Then Jonathan the piper marched onto the pitch, the music started and we were ready to go...


...The next ten minutes or so were something of a blur. I honestly don't remember anything apart from feeling like my heart was going to burst and I reeeeaaallly wished I'dlifted that last bottle of water. Even the crowd seemed to disappear as it was all about us, the performance and making sure every step was carried out with military precision. When the music ended and we marched off to The Proclaimers, I was waving and celeidh-ing my wee heart out, desparate that at least one camera would pick me up... There was barely enough time to take it all in as we had to be escorted onto the bus (by our friendly armed guard toting an AK-47... by the end of the 3 days I was pretty jaded by this) before the traffic let out, before we could get back to our promised shower/buffet/free drinks/PERTYYYYY.

The next thing I remember was getting off the bus at Delhi airport. I couldn't believe less than 72 hours ago, we were just arriving... No more being asked to pose for pictures with the Indian army like some kind of Goth Vera Lynn, no more 40-degree heat, no more dancing and guilt-free Snickers... it was back to normality from here.

So what did I learn from the whole thing then? I hate cheesy "it really opened my eyes" summative statements, plus I don't feel I saw enough of India to have some kind of life-altering experience. I was horrified by the shanty towns covered up by Commonwealth billboards, which lined the streets up to our opulent luxury hotel. We saw nothing but fleeting snapshots of India, where the laws of the road don't seem to apply and a man can carry a sofa or family of 5 on the back of a bike if he wants to. Indian men are the most openly leery I have ever encountered, but the people are also among the most polite. Free vodka is good, free Absolut poured without the hindrance of a measure is even better. Travel broadens the mind, the eyes and the stomach. Flick and I should never write comedies together, because we'll be the only ones laughing.
And I am far more capable than I originally thought. It was one of the biggest challenges I've ever undertaken, and for someone whose co-ordination is on a par with Helen Keller, I think I actually did well. That, and my mum said it made her feel "proud to be a Glaswegian"... and you can't really ask for much more than that!