Notes From My Sick-Bed

Well, in the words of John Bender, it's been a banner freakin' year in the Calgie household. Usually my Christmas list consists of two DVD's I really would quite like, and a couple I'm not too fussed about. This year, I was determined to finally make good on all the times I said "Hmm, I really should watch that" and asked for a fair plethora- and got them ALL.

Not pictured: Inception and the ENTIRE STILL GAME BOX SET (these were a present from the Ross and he turned up after this was taken)

Sadly I was laid up with the evil winter lurgy at Ross's until two days ago, and so haven't had a chance to binge on too much cinematic goodwill. It was a surprisingly easy decicion to make- I discounted subtitled films on account of being barely able to see, then TV boxsets for only having watched them recently. Same with Batman. Which left me with something comfortable, familiar but not so recent so as to have gotten sick of it... everyone's favourite cannibal, Hannibal Lecter.

Shamefully I only saw Silence of The Lambs for the first time a few years ago- and only because I wanted to be 'in on the joke' about a friend whose party trick was an impression of Buffalo Bill. I caught it late at night by chance, and sat goggle-eyed from start to finish. The story- for other unenlighteneds like 21-year-old me- is based on the novel of the same name. Star FBI trainee Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) is given the chance to work on the case of gender-bending serial killer Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine), but in order to do so she needs the help of notorious killer- and brilliant psychiatrist- Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins on tangibly frightening form). Lecter is a well-educated man with a thirst for knowledge and fine wine, and a taste for people. Namely his victims. He will only help Starling as long as he can interrogate her on her troubled childhood and recall painful memories that have made her into what she is.

It's no exagerration to say that Silence of The Lambs is without a doubt one of the best- and classiest- horror films of the 1990s- and with the likes of Seven, Interview With The Vampire, even From Dusk Til Dawn, the decade was almost seeing some kind of new wave of well-produced, smart scary films from relative newcomers and established directors alike- Jonathan Demme had graduated from TV to make Silence of The Lambs two years before Philadelphia, and Robert Rodriguez was very much of the '90s new-wave', while legendary director Wes Craven got in on the resurgence of the genre that made his name with a potentially risky- but in fact, quite brilliant- parody. Which in itself spawned a sub-genre of its own in 'slasher movies'. If we put Leprechaun aside, the fact that Silence of The Lambs is so well renowned almost 10 years later is something of an achievement, to say the least.

The source material hasn't lent itself to sequels well (Hannibal- why, Gary Oldman? What went wrong?? Red Dragon- ach, it's nae bad. Hannibal Rising- get out of my sight). Similarly, writer Ted Tally's other works haven't made so much of a splash; he was even drafted in to write Red Dragon. Here though, something works and it works...soooo....well. Perhaps credit is largely due to the actors bringing it to life- Jodie Foster cemented her transition from child star to proper 'actress' with an Oscar for her portrayal of haunted but determined Clarice. Her scenes with Anthony Hopkins incredibly tense, helped by the half-lit jail cell. The whole film is beautifully under-lit, which works especially well in the scenes in Buffalo Bill's house- the final showdown in particular is terrifying in that we can't see anything, and don't know where anything is coming from.


That's what makes it such a shame that the sequels are so sub-par. With Hannibal, Lecter is made out to be some kind of comedy-uncle-cannibal type, with turds like "I'm giving very serious thought... to eating your wife". Whereas in Silence of The Lambs, Lecter's disturbingly creepy and intrusive tones get right under your skin and you can feel Clarice's discomfort at having to negotiate and open up to him. He is genuinely menacing, and the uncomfortably long close-ups between them really make you feel like you're up close and personal in the dingy hospital too.

Buffalo Bill is also an ingenious creation, giving a darkly sinister flamboyance that is fitting of the tone of the film. In any other script he would seem outrageous, but here it's frightening because it's so unpredictable. We only find out about him through infuriatingly cryptic and infrequent clues from Lecter. From parodies such as Jay and Silent Bob's homage in Clerks 2, to the voice of Chris Griffin in Family Guy being based on Seth Green doing "a bad impression of Buffalo Bill"- it has inspired alot of recent big hitters in popular culture for being absurd, but in its original context still works as a genuinely deranged and believeable serial killer.

The film is also littered with great shots edited together to make you believe things are going to turn out a certain way- I won't go into details but if you've seen it, it's the one which results in Clarice ringing a doorbell. It's beautifully staged and elaborately set up to deliver one of the most tense and tightly-wound surprises I've seen. Every scene is deliberate, considered and takes its time... and it's all the more reward when we do eventually feel like we're getting somewhere. In ten years after its release, all we were given was a sub-par sequel that managed to simulataneously vomit all over the legacy of the original AND make it look even more superior by comparison. Quite a feat indeed. In terms of its class, style, direction, cast and the roster of awards it received in return, I still don't reckon you will find a better example of 1990s horror- or indeed, of the last 30-or-so years. A pretty big claim, yes... but then again Hannibal Lecter himself was never one to do anything by half.

Scary Monsters, Super Freaks

Let's be honest here- despite the fact that I'm studying Digital Film and Television, there's no way I'm going to be handed the keys to the kingdom straight away when I graduate. I'm not going to be given control of a big-budget blockbuster. Just like with any other industry, you have to be willing to put the work in and be willing to start at the bottom. Still, it's nice when every once in a while, a little indie comes along that holds its own with the big boys.

We found ourselves with a few spare hours in between class last week and decided to saunter across to Cineworld and see what was on. It was a week of slim cinematic pickings- hence why once again I haven't made as much use of my Cineworld card as I told my mum I would when she got it for me. But anyway. We opted for Monsters, which I didn't know a great deal about... but the poster put me in mind of The Crazies, which I really enjoyed, so I figured it couldn't be all bad.
I haven't yet seen Cloverfield- well, that's a lie. I've seen about 15 minutes of the third act. It seems to be the recent yardstick by which all recent monster movies are based, which is most irritating. It really infuriates me when speights of films jump on the genre bandwagon, as every new one which comes along is always a little bit worse than the one which came before it. I put this to the back of my mind since I knew literally NOTHING about what we were about to see, and for this I think I was actually able to enjoy it alot more. The opening scene, of a group of US soldiers in Mexico, is all night-vision shaky cam and for a while I was worried we were about to see Cloverfield Part 36. Thankfully though, once we met our protagonists, all was resolved.

The Mexico of this film is a country divided- but not by any political means. Six years prior to the film's opening, NASA sent a space probe to Mars to look into evidence of extra-terrestrial life. The probe broke apart over Mexico, and shortly new life forms began to appear. Half of the country is quarantined as an 'infected zone'- but unfortunately for US photographer Andrew, it's the half that lies between him and going home. When Andrew's boss asks him to escort his daughter to the ferry back to America, he begrudgingly accepts. One drunken regret later and they have no choice but to head home the long way.

The rest is more of a road movie than a shlocky creature feature, which made for a pleasant surprise. There are only really two members of cast, Andrew and his 'ward' Sam. The two characters have a really natural charisma between them and their relationship develops really naturally. Sam is engaged, but she seems unhappy, Andrew is estranged from his young son and they're both stuck in a foreign danger zone alone. Even though the outcome of their relationship is obvious, you also really want it to happen because it feels like it should. There is a tangible chemistry between the two characters and their initial caution soon gives way to playful banter. I'd have felt cheated if they hadn't gotten together- and I was even more impressed to learn that the script was, for the most part, non-existent. The pair were simply given a brief description of the scene and played it out as they felt it should be. (An effect ruined slightly by learning that they're actually a real-life couple...but still, good on them).

The dialogue isn't the only thing that's ad-libbed about Monsters, mind you. The supporting cast were all locals who volunteered to take part, and locations were used on-the-run. The professional crew consisted of only two people too. I find something really appealing about this guerilla type of film making- it makes the medium far more accessible. Director Gareth Edwards is an established visual effects artist, true, but the 'monsters' are actually almost secondary to the developing relationship of the characters. That said, when they do turn up they're impressive- relief! They sort of look like giant electrical squids... and despite the title suggesting otherwise, they don't take up alot of screen time. The problem with other monster movies such as Jeepers Creepers is that the build up is better than the actual creature- when you see it you wonder what the hell you were waiting for. Sometimes no screen time is better, but thankfully with Monsters this isn't the case.

So not your typical horror then. The film is unique in that it launches you into the middle of the action, then the rest is a bit of a slow burner, but it works. The slightly-shaky camera never looks cheap or gimmicky, and there are plenty of gorgeous shots of the Mexican rainforest. One particular favourite shot of mine was when Sam and Andrew are sitting on a pyramid looking at the wall between them and home- it just looks stunning. If you're looking for something a bit different from your creature features, this is it. I just hope it doesn't spawn too many rubbish imitations... but then again, the one good thing about them is how much better they make the original look. Now, I'm off to find myself a Super-8 camera and a dog sized Godzilla costume. Think it'll work...?

A Dozen Ragin' Dudes, One Hell Of A Movie

There's alot to be said for super-long, cripplingly dull bus journeys. When I had to make the 4-hour journey back and forth between Aberdeen and Glasgow, it gave me alot of free time to read the kinds of books I'd normally only buy just to look 'cool'. Sadly my childlike attention span meant I never got much further than however much I'd read on the journey, although some did stick with me... Peter Biskind's sort-of-trilogy for one (three?). Seeing Is Believing was mostly concerned with the 1950s, which I felt MUST be important since it was full of references to very important films I'd almost heard of, but never seen.

I read the chapter on Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men then immediately watched the film. I loved everything about it, especially after reading about it, although I did categorise it alongside Citizen Kane- one of those films you watch only every once in a while, to remind you of why you like it. Recently, Auld Sid's name has popped up in our Cinema History classes with Andy too, so I geeked out and got his book Making Movies out of the library. It's really interesting, concise, and Lumet comes across as a very likeable- but knowledgeable- guy. Once again, I skimmed some things he said about 12 Angry Men, which got me all excited to see it again. I knew the outcome, but I'd left it long enough between viewings that I'd totally forgotten how everything played out.

The basic plot involves a jury deciding the fate of an 18 year old Hispanic boy, from a poor slum area of New York, who is being tried for the seemingly open and shut murder of his father. We only see one shot of the boy's face, as the twelve jurors are escorted from the courtroom, and we know nothing about him. In fact, we know nothing about any of the characters. The next 90 minutes take place within the confines of one room, as the men try to reach a decision on the boy's fate. Eleven of them opt for 'guilty' straight away, after a few hurried introductions and small talk. Crucially though, none of the jurors' names are ever revealed. One dissenter (Henry Fonda) argues that since a 'guilty' verdict will entail the death penalty, they should at least discuss it.

I know, doesn't exactly sound thrill-a-minute huh? Well, surprisingly, it is. The film tricks you, kind of... It's an 'alternative' courtroom drama, focussed on the behind-the-scenes preconceptions of the jurors. Twelve men in one room, for 90 minutes, is a tricky thing to keep fresh, but the film pulls it off with aplomb. The dialogue and tautly-wound structure ensure that we only learn information as the characters do. Looking back on the first week of term with Richard, we learned about the importance of 'who knows what'... and here, we don't find out anything easily. It's a brilliant move that means we don't have any preconceptions either. We know the accused boy as well as the jurors do, and we know them as well as they do each other. As the story unfolds and personal prejudices and backgrounds are brought to the fore, tempers and patience begin to run thin. Henry Fonda's eloquent dissenter never loses his own temper, but tries to coax the remaining men using logic and dispelling prejudice.

The 'trick' here is that it ends up being completely different to what we thought we were in for... once you've seen one courtroom drama, you can tell how the next one's going to go. Here, however, we have no idea whatsoever. The performances are uniformly excellent, despite not being familiar with most of the cast. Each character is so firmly rooted in their own beliefs and opinions that it's hard to see how one man will be able to convince them all to have a change of heart. In a sense, it's a mystery/thriller too, the whole way through I was on the edge of my seat despite having seen it already. As each of the men begin to come round to Fonda's logic, it is revealed how their own backstories have influenced their decisions, opinions or lack thereof. The biggest revelation is Lee J Cobb who's feverish backing of the 'guilty' verdict stems from his fractured relationship with his only son. Nothing is played out for sympathy, and we're not given huge spoonfuls of exposition...

...instead we are given no more information than what any juror usually would. This is part of the film's brilliance, I think, as it means we are left to make up our own minds. There is a subtle shift from courtroom drama/whodunnit to in depth character study; each of the complex personalities of each of the jurors, and how they interact with one another, reveal why they've come to their respective decisions. It's seemingly simple, but despite a potentially dull premise my attention never wavered once. Subtle changes in the different lenses also helped with the shifting focus between all of the jurors. Admittedly I probably wouldn't have noticed this fully unless it had been pointed out to me, but thankfully it had. The room stays the same size yet to us gets bigger, more claustrophobic, contains twelve men or is focussed on one. Despite the characters not being distinguishable by name, we're never unsure about who's making a point.

OK, so it's perhaps not light viewing, but as a piece of film-making this is a classic. The tension cleverly mounts for the whole duration of the film, meaning the climax has an emotional gut-punch that takes you by surprise, even if you've guessed how it might end. Confusing? Maybe. But then, so is the intricacy of human nature and personal belief, and that's what is really on trial here. The morality of the film is not thumpingly heavy-handed, but played out with clever reason and logic, and for that reason this is a film which rightfully deserves its place as an all-time great.

Production, Or Why I Couldn't Do An Office Job

Oh, the weather outside is frightful... and I'm getting a bit bloody sick of all this snow. Honestly, I don't care if I never see another flake of snow again. In fact, if Bing Crosby himself were to chap my door and start singing White Christmas he'd be getting a severe case of door-in-the-face.

Still, being snowed in has meant I have some time to catch up on blogging in between turning 24 (sob!) and standing about freezing bus stops desperately waiting for a bus that will never show. I've fallen behind on the old reflective blogging which I have absolutely no excuse for- especially now that it doesn't seem like I'm going to be going anywhere for the time being!

This year has been a bit of a frantic catch-up, since half of us spent the first month of term in Delhi. We've been getting full-on weeks of classes, starting with writing with Richard, then editing with Aldo and finally production with Abigail. I'll start with production, since it was the most recent...

It was never my strong point last year; it seemed to me to be like the film equivalent of an office job. Still, working on the grads, plus ours and the 2nd years' end of term films showed me first hand how much work producers actually have to do. It's alot of running around after people and requires an incredible amount of patience- plus having a car helps too, I'd imagine.

I don't want to be too quick to dismiss anything that could potentially be a career path for me in the future- after all, the other week I even managed to log all of my clips from last month's fashion show ALL BY MYSELF. Proud of myself or what! It just shows that if you put your mind to something and look pathetic enough that tutors think you need help at every turn, you can really do it. This year, though, production classes seemed to focus more on production 'management'... which involves a hefty amount of paperwork and seemed more like a crach course in using the various programmes on OfficeWorks than anything else. We mostly went over everything we did last year, and I found the whole thing incredibly dry.

We had to go into groups, pick a script and make a production folder consisting of a synopsis, production requirements, script breakdown, stripboard schedule, budget, paperwork checklist... SERIOUSLY?? A checklist for PAPERWORK?? Obviously working on a feature film, or even a short film, is a huge organisational undertaking, but I simply don't have the patience for it. When it comes to things like script breakdown sheets, I can do them no problem, so it's not a case of competence- it's just that it's SO repetitive, once you've done a few you can do an entire script's worth in record time. It just doesn't seem to leave much room for creativity- when I was about halfway through my stack of script pages I was so bored I wanted to claw my own skin off.

I do feel like if I were out in charge of this side of a production I could do it, and probably do it well. It's one of the few things I picked up quickly, but it reminded me of being in school. Whenever I'd finish something and find it relatively easy I'd get bored and start acting up. As much as I like to think I've grown up from being the class clown of my high school, I felt the same need for a challenge. At the end of the week we had an assessment, which for the first time saw us cloistered around a table in the library frantically reading over notes. Luckily for me it was essay questions- I was always good at these in school since I'd write paragraphs of spiel to make sure I'd covered EVERYTHING. If it were multiple choice I'd have probably been sitting nose-deep in a brown paper bag.

Overall then, I can safely say that this particular migraine-inducing class, while it may be an essential job, is not one for me. I'd just feel frustrated at outting so much work into something that I wouldn't have a huge deal on creative control over. Plus, I found it hard to even put all of my tips from work into a coffee jar to try and save them up- anyone who expected me to be able to produce a budget and manage to get funding secured would be as crazy as I feel after a week of ripping paper into strips.

Edit This!

Editing. One word guaranteed to strike fear into my heart right up until the end of last year. After spending an afternoon teaching myself Adobe Premier in college before editing our 5-minute, production-value-free film, I thought I'd be able to pick up new software in my stride. Dead easy, I thought. But nooooo. Last year I had migraines for the first time in 3 years- once after our question & answer editing assessment, and the second after our practical assessment. Then in the second term, our classes kind of... dried up. I sort of assumed that'd be it, as follow up classes never really happened and before long we were involved in other projects anyway.

I was quite happy to learn that Final Cut was getting launched in favour of Avid this year- for me, if I don't understand something, my preferred option is to start all over again and TRY not to fall behind in something new. We also had a new tutor, which was a double bonus because he wouldn't know how I was the last to leave on both nights we were editing our 'Home' films and it's STILL not finished.

The first two days of editing were a nightmare. I didn't 'get' anything, the 9am start was a sucker-punch to my insomniac system and trying to keep up I felt like I was running through mud. At the end of Monday and Tuesday I felt behind, which made me feel really horrible... like I was especially thick and couldn't understand something that no one else looked like they had a problem with.

By Wednesday however, things started to fall into place for me. I had tapes that needed captured and I was determined to learn how to do it on my own. I felt if I could do this for myself it would be a huge achievement for me. Cue inspirational montage music and images of me frantically pointing, clicking, nodding and taking notes.



After a most heinous start to the week, I finally started to keep up- or at least, I knew what to do a few seconds after it had been done on the big projector screen, rather than several minutes/weeks. It helped that Aldo seemed really enthusiastic about what he was talking about, and his knowledge on the subject was crazy. Plus he threw in a nice wee picture of Charlotte Gainsbourg in one of his slideshows- never a bad thing, IMHO. We also covered audio-editing a little bit, which was interesting for me. The Ross studied music technology at college and I think I may have bored the rear-end off him in trying to impress with my new-found knowledge.

On Friday, we had our third-ever sound class with Cammy. For this we were split into three groups, ours being the first up. After some confusion of time, my group (Me, Lucy, Meg, Dilara and Murray) finally got underway and we got to have a wee fondle of the equipment. Sadly because of time constraints we didn't have time to actually go out and practise with it, although the smaller class certainly made a difference. I felt as though it was easier to ask questions and I wasn't holding anyone back by doing so. I think sound is pretty interesting, if it involved getting to work on sound FX and things like that- but no way could I see myself being able to hold a boom-pole for lengthy periods of time. Unless I figured out some way to hold it underarm, thus freeing up my other hand for cigarettes and coffee. Despite our weeks of training in Delhi, sadly I have lost pretty much all the tone that tose three weeks of constant running about gave and I've gone back to being 'soft'... if we'd had sound on our first week back, I guarantee I'd have TOTALLY rocked it. Sadly, we'll never know...

As for those tapes I had to capture... Well, after a good 2 hours sitting in the DTU cringing at some shots. congratulating myself on others (although I'm sure our tutors would have other words to say about this... I hope not though!) and generally squinting until I could barely see in an effort to focus/concentrate, I managed to get them all logged! :D cue overly-enthusiastic victory dance and air-punching. Sadly since Gav was away that week, I couldn't get the external hard drive off of him to they're still not fully captured. For now though, I'm more than happy with myself for what I've done so far. And only a year behind everyone else!

You'll Need An Exorcist After This...

You know you're onto a bad thing when you watch a sequel to a film that you weren't aware had a sequel. Especially when it's a bonafide classic. I wasn't aware until after watching The Omen that it was actually a trilogy. I didn't know there were sequels to Jaws. And I most certainly wasn't aware that there was an attempt to follow up what has been deemed as the Scariest Scary Film Of All Time- The Exorcist.

Now, I personally found The Omen to be far scarier than The Exorcist and I thought it was pretty overrated in the horror stakes. But it's still a good film, and I imagine my lack of being scared is only due to the none-more-1970s special effects. If I hadn't been brought up in an age of more advanced special effects and CGI, I'd probably have been terrified. I still like it though, and I can see how it would've been controversial on its release. With Exorcist II: The Heretic, the only controversy comes from asking why it was allowed to be made.
It had been recommended to me by a friend who's possibly one of the biggest horror buffs I know. I naturally assumed it was some kind of unsung lost classic, waiting to be discovered. It had Richard Burton, aka The Man With The World's Greatest Voice, and Paul 'Casablanca' Henreid in it, plus a return from Linda Blair and even James Earl Jones dressed up like a giant locust. Louise Fletcher, whose Oscar-winning turn in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was voted A.F.I's 5th greatest villain of all time, was taking over the 'mother' role. All of this was directed by John Boorman, the guy who changed the way we feel about hillbillies and banjos in Deliverance. What could possibly be wrong with it?

It didn't take long for me torealise that there was a reason why no one really mentioned this follow-up in the same breath as the original. Or any breath, for that matter. It took me as long as it took to watch the original 1977 theatrical trailer on the DVD...



Take that, horror fans!!

As you can see it's... it's not great. But being the persevering soul that I am- not to mention it was a slow TV night- we decided to stick the film on anyway and see how we got on. This was our first mistake. Everything in the trailer told me there was nothing good about this film... but surely it's unfair to judge an entire movie by two minutes of trailer?

Well, sometimes, it is. This sequeal takes everything that was original, frightening and, y'know, WATCHABLE about the original and throws it out the window. The story itself is pretty standard sequel fare. Reagan Macneill is now 17 and seemingly fairly normal, given her less-than-traditional childhood experiences. In fact, she doesn't even remember them, dismissing them as "being really sick and having nightmares". Her mother is away on business, since Ellen Burstyn wisely decided to opt out, so in her place Reagan makes frequent trips to see psychologist Dr Gene Tuskin. Initially Reagan fails to see the point in the therapy sessions but goes to appease her mohter, until her nightmares begin to come back. In between tap dancing, pigeon-keeping, bending spoons and curing a girl of autism (seriously), she decides to take the doctor's advice and use a new-fangled machine to draw out her memories using hypnosis. Meanwhile, Richard Burton is Father Phillip Lamont, who's been sent by the Cardinal (Paul Henreid) to investigate the death of original exorcist Father Merrin. He gets to know Reagan, before his quest takes him to Africa to meet another victim of possession.

So far, so 'part two'. The problem with this film is that it tries far too hard to be serious and po-faced, but all the while its scientfic trump card is the good doctor's own invention- the 'synchronizer'. Basically, it involves Reagan and the doctor wearing silly-looking headbands with wires hooked up to them. Reagan then stares into a lightbulb listening to some kind of whale sound which gets deeper and deeper until her eyes roll back into her head. This apparently means she's under hypnosis, and Dr Tuskin can similarly put herself under and see into Reagan's memory. It's a tricky process which goes a little like this...
"Can you see your room in Washington, Reagan?" "No" "Look deeper. Can you see it now?" "Yes"

Pictured above- Science.


The hypnosis reveals that the demon which possessed Reagan- named Pazuzu, because presumably the film wasn't ridiculous enough- is still lurking inside her. Not only that, but it bumped off poor Father Merrin by FINGERING HIS HEART TO DEATH. Yes, this apparently great man who had fended off heinous demons in far off lands was killed by being tickled into a coronary. After this, Father Richard Burton makes his way to Africa to meet a young boy cursed by the worst edit point I have ever seen.. I mean eh, afflicted by a demon. I can't find the clip online, but trust me, following a shot of a 'possessed' face quickly spliced with a 'normal' face does not make up for a lack of good special effects.

Rather than trying to 'juxtapose' science and religion cleverly, this film's way of doing so is rather like having neeps and tatties and mashing them with a fork like a child. As you can see from the picture, the doctor's room is all glass. When the demon appears reflected in the glass, we also see Father Lamont's reflection next to Dr Tuskin's actual physical presence. Do you see? It's because science is PHYSICALLY GROUNDED IN FACT while religion is METAPHYSICAL. Imagine someone beating you around the face with Darwin's Origin of Species and The Bible at the same time.

Usually films with seemingly ludicrous premises can be made passable if the performances are good, but as you probably expect, they are not. Linda Blair has certainly done a good job growing up, but she seems aloof and weirdly childlike. Richard Burton at least has the good grace to look embarrassed, and is responsible for many of the film's most unintentionally hilarious moments. Fair enough, since he only signed on because he was contractually obliged to. His reactions to seeing an exorcism first hand involve some world class sweating and gasping though, I'll give him that.

For all of its many...many...flaws, there are some good things about this film. One scene involving a plague of locusts is particularly impressive, despite being stuffed in between what looks like some stock photos of Africa. The music is also effective, composed by the legendary Ennio Morricone who scored, among other thing, The Untouchables. Sadly, this isn't enough to make this film any better than a poorly executed, horribly acted and frighteningly un-scary pile of old tosh. From now on I'll stick to the originals... I heard that The Exorcist 3 is pretty scary too, but I'm not willing to try it out to see if this is true. I don't think my poor eyes can take anymore car-crash cash-ins. As far as sequels go, this is as far removed from the original as it's possible to get. In saying that, I'm a tiny bit intrigued by The Omen 2... it can't be any worse than this surely?

Mad, RED And Dangerous To Know

It's always disappointing when a film fails to live up to the sum of its parts. One of the many, many films I watched over the summer, Cop Out, seemed like it was onto a winner- directed by Kevin Smith, the slacker-comedy King of the 1990s, and starring Bruce Willis- no stranger to a witty smirk/action comedy- and Tracy Morgan, from the brilliant 30 Rock, it came with quite a pedigree. And then it started. It didn't take me long to realise that someone had forgotten to put any jokes into this comedy. Not only that, but I had the sudden sad realisation that Kevin Smith just isn't funny anymore. He's not even particularly relevant anymore. Tracy Morgan's shouty man-child act has been done to death by Chris Rock and Martin Lawrence, and Bruce Willis phoned in a one-note side-smirk performance that indicated he wasn't there to play anyone other than Bruce Willis.

Brucey Baby followed this up with a(nother) smirking, self-referential cameo in The Expendables, and when I first saw the trailer for Red, I wasn't exactly brimming with excitement. Still, when I read that it was based on a graphic novel and also starred Morgan Freeman, Helen Mirren and John MALKATRAZ, I was definitely hooked. Even if Bruce relied on his usual 'good guy having a bad day' schtick, the rest of the cast would more than make up for it.
It's good to know that even in these times of economic hardship, there is still work available to those who are willing to look for it. Even those who are past 'working age', as it were, are still more than capable of flower-arranging, putting up Christmas lights and... assassination? Not exactly something you'd picture your granny doing, but that's the beauty of comic books- anything can happen.

Bruce is Frank Moses, an bored ex-CIA agent who spends his days reading romance novels chatting on the phone to Sarah (Mary-Louise Parker), a call centre worker who deals with lost federal pension cheques. Of course the cheques aren't lost- Frank just likes the company, and when we meet them, the pair have clearly struck up some kind of over-the-phone rapport. His neighbours in suburban Cleveland, Ohio think he was just an analyst for the CIA. So far, so normal.

Frank's idyllic, albeit stiflingly boring, retirement plans are rudely interrupted when a gang of masked assassins break into his house in the middle of the night, and shoot the place to pieces. Quite literally. Annoying, no? Frank's reaction is to drive to Kansas and pick up Sarah, as their frequent conversations have made her a target too. Something in Frank's past has made him a target- he knows something, and he knows too much. He sets off on a road trip of sorts, recruiting his old crew along the way. Joe (Morgan Freeman) spends his time ogling young nurses in his retirement home, Marvin (John Malkovich) is hiding out in the Florida Everglades living underground, intensely paranoid about satellites after 11 years of secretly being given LSD, and Victoria (Helen Mirren) is running a B&B and enjoys flower-arranging. And, in her own words, 'taking on the odd hit on the side'.

Needless to say age hasn't dimmed their special skills at all and the gang are only too happy to hop back on the bandwagon and kick ass one last time. As they find themselves deeper involved in old government secrets and up against their former employers, the body count and cameos come thick and fast- also joining in are Brian Cox, Richard Dreyfuss (wow, is this guy irritating or what?) and even Ernest Borgnine makes an appearance. It may not be the most intelligent thriller and the storyline seems a little on the slight side- in fact it mostly seems to be there as a convenient way to pass time in between high-octane set pieces. Still, the cast put their all into their performances. Bruce seems far more comfortable here than in the aformentioned awfulness of Cop Out, and it's worth ticket price (ahem) alone to see The Queen taking down bad guys with a machine gun. Despite the ridiculous premise Dame Helen still manages to bring a touch of class to the proceedings. It's John Malkovich who is having the most fun of all, and every scene with him is a total riot. He's like Cyrus the Virus's non-evil grandad... with years of hallucinogenic abuse thrown in.

So, it's maybe not the most conplex storyline and in fact it seems like the plot is there merely to move from set piece to set piece... But the action and performances are what lifts the film from so-so to full-on action/comedy that fulfills both without compromising on either- and when do you ever really see that? As much as I loved the balls-out manliness of The Expendables, it never really seemed to let the audience in on the joke- if there was one. Red gives a knowing 'nod and wink' to the viewer and the lightweight fluff of the script is given a boost by this and the central performances. It's familiar enough to be comfortable, but there's enough going on to make you care if the characters get to the bottom of what's going on- if they make it at all. See it, unplug your brain and smile. Unless you're Kevin Smith.

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.

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...