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.

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!

GET SOME!!!!

You know, sometimes, after a year of watching films which shaped the History of Cinema, and several years watching Sort-Of Intelligent Films I Think Will Make Me Look Cool to Have Seen, there's a part of me that will always love what you'd call 'Entertaining Shite'. The kind you watch with no expectations and pretty much put your brain on aeroplane mode for an hour or so.

My last cinematic outing was Chris Nolan's Inception, which I followed up by buying The Prestige and Memento. These, I'll save for another blog once I've attempted to make them into some kind of coherent timeline... and not half-watched after falling in from work at 1...2..ish..in the morning. No, I returned to the cinema, at HALF FREAKIN' TEN on Wednesday morning to make sure I didn't lose out on tickets for something quite different altogether...

Aaawwwww yeeeaaahhhh.

Action movies and most things made in the 80s with high concepts and higher budgets are a bit of a favourite of mine. I remember seeing Die Hard for the first time, I demanded my mum sign up to Blockbuster JUST so I could rent it after a friend told me all about it. Like most teenage boys, I went through a WWF phase (Friday Night Raw, Saturday Night Smackdown...ah. Simple times). I watched Face/Off and The Rock and Con Air years before I was probably supposed to. Soooo when I read ages ago about THE BEST ACTION CAST EVER ASSEMBLED- and Eric Roberts- I was more than a li'l bit intrigued.

Coincidentally the film was released finding itself sharing hype with Scott Pilgrim vs The World. After watching the only man in his 20's who still sounds like a teenage girl, do the 'adorable monotonous geek' thing one too many times in Youth In Revolt, the constant exposure of his
weedy, ironically cool face everywhere was beginning to wind me right up. Instead, I opted for the "man's" film, and enjoyed it far more than I would watching Michael Cera waste more time waiting for his first chest hair to come through.

There isn't much about The Expendables that you can't tell from the trailers, or at least the poster. It's written and directed by Sly Stallone, a man who can barely talk yet is somehow able to string a semi-legible screenplay together whilst getting thrown about by Stone Cold Steve Austin. Basically he, Jason Statham (..swoon....), Jet Li and Dolph Lundgren are a team of killer assassins, but assassins with an odd sort of moral code that means no killing for no reason. But...shock!...big Dolph gets his drug problem and need for blood get the better of him
and he's kicked out. Sly ponders this, and his lack of belief in anything, whilst hanging about Mickey Rourke's tattoo parlour/bike shop watching Jason Statham throw knives at dartboards. He is summoned by John McC... sorry, Bruce Willis who asks him to go to an island somewhere in South America and overthrow the evil dictator who's actually really working for Eric Roberts. Who's growing cocaine. And the General's daughter is a rebel who allows Sly & Stath to sneak into the island in the first place.

Caught up? Well done. You're about as clever as 98% of the population. There's also some soul searching thrown in courtesy of Mick- I'm guessing since he's the only one who could, y'know, ACT, he was just given all the dialogue. This leads ol' Sly to finally find something for himself to believe in, despite barely escaping with his life visiting the island for the first time. Deeeeeep. I kinda wondered why they even bothered coming up with character names in the first place- Jet Li's character is called 'Yin Yang' (for serious). Stath is Lee Christmas, Dolph becomes Gunner and Steve Austin's character is called Paine. PAINE.I'm guessing as much thought went into the dialogue as went into the name choices/plot twists/plot...in general... For example, Austin's ass-whooping/word-mangling style of interrogation throws up this little gem:

Paine: "Who are you working for?" Barney Ross (Sly): "Your hairdresser". Brilliant stuff, truly brilliant. Still, for all its terrible soundbite dialogue, questionable acting and apparently missing plot, there's one area in which this film pulls no punches... the ACTION. The fight scenes are bursting at the seams with testosterone and even when our heroes are enjoying some down time together, they're still having Manly down time.

This film is the perfect antidote for anything you've seen so far that has left you feeling confused, befuddled, unfulfilled or, y'know, thinking about it afterwards. There's not really a great deal more to say about it- I think I've said all I can really. Although for those eager to see the greatest sharing of screen time since De Niro and Pacino in Heat, the scene between Sly and AAAH-NUUULD is literally JUST a scene, full of cheesy self-references and further proof that former bodybuilders don't necessarily make for good...or at least passable...actors.

For all my semi-slagging of the film, it is genuinely a whole mess of fun. As long as you expect nothing from it. I even found myself shaking an involuntary pumped fist at the screen and shouting of "GET SOME!" on more than a few occasions...worryingly though, since then I've tried to watch Memento three times and have gotten nowhere, and abandoned the book I was reading for Ozzy Osbourne's autobiography. Can too much manly action really have deteriorated my brain? Ah, well. I'll just go and watch Rambo again. (Funnily enough, aside from the setting and larger supporting cast, if you've seen Rambo 4 you'll find yourself in very comfortably familiar territory with The Expendables).

EIFF 2010, Or Why It's Sometimes Good To Play Safe

After a year of anticipation, it was finally upon us... the end-of-year celebration, the respite after the slog of endless weeks of running, planning, fretting and filming... yes, last weekend, DFTV1 arrived en masse in the capital for the Edinburgh Film Festival. Given the festival's track record for launching new films (including, as the posters proudly boasted, Taxi Driver, Pulp Fiction, Let the Right One In and Wild at Heart) I was excited as to what potential future gems we would uncover. Unfortunately, I think we picked the wrong weekend to go- the last of the festival, when the Big Films had been premiered. Soooooo, gone were my plans to see Cherry Tree Lane, The Illusionist, The Dunwich Horror, Get Low, HIGH School, Cigarette Girl, TOY STORY 3... Still, not one to turn down a free cinema ticket, I figured it'd also be a perfect reason to go and see films I wouldn't necessarily have chosen to see before.

First up was actually something I thought I'd have really liked to see, even if my original choices were still showing... the Mexican 'Mariachi noir', El Pantera Negra. What is a Mariachi noir, I hear you ask...? Well friend, you're asking the wrong person, because I don't have a clue either.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4VIXtdtcbA&feature=player_embedded

Starting out oh-so-promisingly, the story centres around Nico, a dishevelled private investigator with more than a passing fondness for the drink. A mysterious phone call from 'God' sets him on a mission to find the fabled 'Black Panther', in return for 50,000 pesos a month- forever. A tip off leads him to the Pantera Negra nightclub, wherein he meets a sultry femme fatale (who is apparently Death), who wants Nico to bring her deceased Mexican singing legend Pedro Infante. (Clearly they're not as fussed about their idols in this film/Mexico, Pedro Infante looks like a caricature from the front of a tequila bottle).
On top of all this there are murdered jockeys, love interest hit-girls (WHY do all female assassins wear skin-tight PVC? Aside from appealing to a certain audience, logistically they must be a bit of a nightmare), shaky looking UFOs, lesbian martians who bear more than a passing resemblance to Frank N. Furter, underground clubs in cemeteries... it's more than a wee bit confusing, and a big bit completely batshit crazy. The film comes across as if reconstructed from Ed Wood's old prop store, with an added slammer of surrealism. I'd like to see it again... mostly because I (shame!) nodded off for 20 minutes in the middle.

Next up that day was a documentary, which is something I'd admittedly only watch if it was on TV. Which, being a More 4 production, this film would've been. Still, Road to Las Vegas sounded like some kind of fun road-trip effort. I was wrong. The family- mother Vanessa, father Maurice and their five youngest (!) children- upped sticks after Vanessa had a message from God, in a dream, telling her she must move the family from their home in Anchorage, Alaska to Las Vegas. Considering Vegas was, at the time, America's fastest growing city, this seemed like a pretty sensible idea.
There wasn't much of a road trip, as the family arrived in Las Vegas in the first ten minutes, with less than $300 to their name. The director followed the family for the next four years, through sleeping in their car, struggling to find work, battling drug addictions and grieving lost family members.
Not exactly cheerful stuff, but director Jason Massot clearly develops a bond with the family, and always portrays them without bias; while there would have been plenty of scope to criticise the family, he instead takes a step back and instead presents them as no different from any of the 7 million Americans who migrate across the country every year, trying to find a better life and the American dream. Possibly not something I'd have chosen to see in the cinema, but an honest and eye-opening film nonetheless.

On Friday we saw another documentary, although this one was as far removed from the trauma of the first one as could be. Superhero Me, by Steve Sale, asked the question previously brought to our attention by Matthew Vaughn's recent Kick-Ass... what happens when real life people try and become superheroes?


Using whatever technology he could lay his hands on, including mobile phone cameras, this debut feature had 'amateur' written all over it, but this really added to the final effect. It had a real home-made feel, and thanks to cameos from Steve's parents, friends and long-suffering fiancee (who becomes his wife during the course of the film), it's a very personal little film too. And, crucially, it's funny- from Steve riding around his hometown on a chopper, trying to learn kung-fu or writing his own theme song, he makes great use of a subject seemingly made for a documentary like this. Steve also meets real-life superheroes, even jetting off to Florida the day after his wedding to meet Master Legend- a good samaritan with over 20 years experience under his (utility) belt. This film is definitely a rough diamond, if a somewhat uneventful one... even if Steve never quite masters superhero skills of climbing walls...or even getting a six-pack!

We followed this up with International Shorts, a series of short films from around the world, funnily enough. The result was a mixed bag, for me. The first film, a Hungarian film called Birthday Party, was a beautifully shot, dialogue-free film. It made clever use of extreme close-ups, only panning out to reveal the final shot, which made the impact of the scene alot greater.
The second film was an eyewitness account of a Swedish bank-robbery, filmed from outside the bank...it didn't really seem like there was much going on, and not seeing the action inside left it a little flat- there wasn't any real sense of excitement, although it was pretty funny watching the bumbling robbers hauled off of a moped by bank security!
After this was an American short, which I didn't like at all- alot of close ups of a boring middle-aged guy, trying to come to terms with his boring middle-aged life. I didn't see any real drive in this film, there was no inciting incident as such, and the final scene- the man managing to thread a needle- seemed a clumsy and cack-handed attempt at whatever 'redemption' he was looking for. Mostly I was just irritated, and the strange use of focus made me feel a wee bit nauseous.
The final film was a strange, but quite funny, little number, about a jobbing actor sent to the Phillipines to coach call centre workers. His guided tour by one of the workers doesn't end up so well though, with his being mistaken for Brendan Fraser in The Mummy 2 causing quite an uproar. Some funny moments, and a curiously downbeat ending, made this an intriguing film, and it seemed the most 'film-like' of all the ones we saw- in that it had a definite structure.

Overall then, quite a variety- although definitely not as many films as I would like to have seen. I'd have liked to have seen more than just documentaries and short films, and I can't say I was especially blown away by what I saw. Lesson learned for next year, though... don't book tickets for the last weekend of the festival, and maybe get up a wee bit earlier to see the films I really want to!
I had also hoped the festival would change my attitudes to Edinburgh in general... I've never been there for more than a day, and I've never really been a huge fan of it. I dunno if it's unfamiliar territory or whatever, but I wasn't particularly bowled over- there's just something about me and that place that doesn't quite gel. Perhaps I'm too 'weegie'- so I guess I'd better get practising my non-regional dialect for next year!

Two Seconds, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Camera

It feels strange to be sitting with my feet up, and the TV on, writing a reflection on our end of year films. For a start, they mark the end of our time as the 'babies' of DFTV. As of next term, we'll be right in the middle of our degree and won't be able to blame silly mistakes on being young uns any more. Also, it's weird knowing that, as far as our films are concerned, I have absolutely nothing to do. After the last few weeks, the thought of having nothing to do seems a strange and alien thing to me but hey, I'm not one to question a free afternoon to myself.

vThe last few weeks have been a flurry of goings-on, pretty much as soon as we found out which roles we were taking on for our end of year films. Admittedly I was a teensy bit terrified that I'd been made camera op with no assistant, especially since it's been so long since I was even near one. (My last shot at camera opping was Candid Cabaret and that was pretty much 'press record, leave camera alone'). It was a relief to be working with Harry, since we seemed to have alot of similar ideas about how the film would look.

We had our first production meeting in a cupboard somewhere near the AGOS foyer and after that we were ready to go. The next week or so that followed were a headache of planning, scheduling and trying to work out shotlists, storyboards and other necessary things which seem extremely tedious and time-consuming. As most necessary things tend to. I was dreading doing the storyboards, since I haven't drawn...well, anything since finishing college. Once I forced myself into it though, it turned out OK. There were more than a few glitches along the way- mostly involving unwilling agents and promises of extras which fell through. Happily (for me), this was more an issue for our more-than-capable producers Sam and Julia to sort out, although I'm soooo happy we got sorted in time. I found the way the agency had treated us was appalling- surely if you have actors on your books, who are suitable for the role & have agreed to do so, it should be a relatively straightforward process? How is that going to work when said actors are out there trying to get jobs in the 'real' world? I'm just glad it wasn't me who had to deal with them...


We also had a shaky start with our sound recordist. Since we've only had two classes in sound, away back in February, none of us were overly keen to sign ourselves up. We managed to bag one, but true to form, he too cancelled on us. Grr! At the last minute, somehow, it was decided that our editor Michael would do sound on Sunday, followed by Gav on Monday. Location-scouting was alot more straightforward... for day one, we'd be building a three-walled set in AG10, and the second day would be in Harry's flat on Glasgow Green. Happy days!

Last Saturday we started building the set- it's a strange, bizarre thing to be in uni on a Saturday, with all the junior academy types floating around, but we kept out of the way. And thankfully, too, since I'd brought my scabby painting gear with me- which, YES, consisted of trackies and a stretched out old t-shirt I haven't worn outside in MONTHS. Not exactly hot stuff, but still, it was gonna get covered in paint. We had Sam's joiner friend on board to help with the actual, y'know, joinery, so all we had to do was paint...a good thing too, those flats were bloody HUGE!

The next day was It... The first day of shooting. I was determined to not make any mistakes with the camera, and luckily my fellow DoP Amelie is quite well-versed in all matters camera... or at the very least, she knew what needed done when I was in a flap about white balancing and such. Once I got going though, everything seemed to run pretty smoothly. We were lucky that Julia Jack, our actress, really got into her character- pretty essential for a film based heavily on a central performance!- and carried the emotional weight of the film really well. It was also good to see everyone growing in confidence as the day went on; and this continued into the next day as well.

The only real problem on day one was sound... apparently the camera was switched onto 'front mic', rather than coming through the mixer, and I was more than a little annoyed that this wasn't picked up on until we were about to break for lunch. ESPECIALLY since we only had an hour's worth of tape for each day, therefore couldn't afford to go back and re-shoot. Plus, I was really proud of some of my random shots I'd captured, which were mostly complete flukes and I didn't know if I'd get them again. It just shows how unequipped we are to do sound on our own, and definitely need a few more classes in this field...

The next day got off to a bit of a rough start, since the charger broke down and refused to charge anything. Nightmare!! Amelie, Harry and I got into Harry's flat to set up, but without batteries for the camer and monitor, there wasn't much we could do. Eventually, a new charger and a fully charged battery arrived, as did our three-month-old co-star... Sam's little boy cousin, who for purposes of the film we had to dress in a pink babygrow...I just hope it doesn't scar him too much! Keeping it in the family, the role of the daughter aged 15 was played by my wee cousin Samantha. It was good since uni and work mean I don't get to see as much of my family as I'd like, plus she got to see me in action too. I can only apologise though; after my auntie saying she could take the day off school to come along, the wardrobe requirements were...uh..school uniform. Sorry, Sammy!

Tempers were a bit frayed on the second day, but after some lunch in the sun I think everyone managed to chill out a little bit. It's a long, claustrophobic day on shoot and you tend to fall over each other quite alot- especially when you're pushed for time and feel under pressure to not only wrap a scene, but make it look the best you can. I think we pulled together well towards the end, and I'm really excited to see the first rough-cut. Or, in the case of the end-of-day scenes, AKA when the monitor battery ran out and we had to rely on what I could see through the viewfinder, more than a little bit apprehensive... the words "we'll just have to trust Ada's judgement" struck a teensy bit of fear into me, I must admit! I did find that I really loved doing camera though- I dunno if it's the narcissism of people seeing what I shot, the way I framed it, or helping to bring Harry's words to life, but I definitely know I'm over my fear of camera. And who knows, maybe it's even something I could see myself doing?? Watch this space...

The Last Picture Show (1971)

Why don't you love me like you used to do?

This song, which plays over the credits of Peter Bogdanovich's The Last Picture Show, has so many inferences throughout this film. Relationships, friends, family, even the town itself gets cast aside eventually and the result is a sad, barren dust pile somewhere in Texas that is slowly dying.

This film, shot in black & white for an added feeling of melancholy, reminds me of Jim Jarmusch in its simplistic style, but at the same time looks fitting of the period. Despite being made in 1971, Bogdanovich and designer Polly Platt have created a world so starkly and believably realised that it's hard to tell it was filmed 20 years later. It focuses primarily on the relationship between Sonny (Timothy Bottoms) and Duane (Jeff Bridges), two high-school best friends at that awkward age when all there is to do in small town Americana is hang about the pool hall and try and have sex.

The odd juxtaposition of the 'Wild West' setting and the boring, unfulfilling lives the inhabitants lead make for an unusual setting for such an in-depth character study, but I think the contrast works well. By keeping the film's focus so inward facing, it allows us to get to know the characters more thoroughly. This, I think, give the final act a more affecting impact and the 'climax' is genuinely touching because of it.

It's a low-key, slow burning film which does tend to feel a little directionless at times, but I think this is the whole point. Like the wind rolling in at the start of the film, things just take their time rolling by, both on screen and in small-town life in general.