10 of the best independant cinemas in the UK. I am very pleased to see the grand old Duke of York's in there.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/gallery/2010/jan/22/10-best-independent-cinemas#/?picture=358359765&index=7
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Leon Morin, Pretre
For anyone who is familiar with Jean Paul Belmondo, you will no doubt associate him with the French New Wave of the 1960s - not least his role as the smooth, pouting, petty criminal in Godard's 'A Bout de Souffle'. Well, that's the first image of him that springs to my mind and you can imagine my surprise when I watched Leon Morin, Pretre to find him playing a devout priest in a philosophical discussion about religion. I came away on the edge of my seat for the sexually frustrated torment of Emmanuelle Riva's character. Melville portrays her as a bold, wayward young woman who is a militant communist in occupied France. Girl power indeed.
If you want to look at the beautiful Belmondo pace up and down in a habit for a couple of hours, then watch this film. What's more if you want to come away on the verge of hysterical torture, for the deftly portrayed frustration and unrequited love of this poor young heroine, then make yourself comfortable and get ready to flex the philosophical muscles, those French do know how to think...
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055082/plotsummary
If you want to look at the beautiful Belmondo pace up and down in a habit for a couple of hours, then watch this film. What's more if you want to come away on the verge of hysterical torture, for the deftly portrayed frustration and unrequited love of this poor young heroine, then make yourself comfortable and get ready to flex the philosophical muscles, those French do know how to think...
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055082/plotsummary
Pass the Asparagus!
More on Shortcutz London
For more information on the Shortcutz London event held every Sunday evening in Camden, see below. If you are new to film making and want to get your work noticed, this is a good platform.
Launching on 3 October, Shortcutz London provides a revolutionary way to experience new short film that looks set to become a regular and accessible part of London’s creative life. Part of Lisbon-based Labz – an international platform for disseminating and supporting global urban culture – Shortcutz is more than a short films festival; it is a showcase for new and existing talent that supports production and allows discussion between professionals, students, amateurs and anyone passionate about film.
Hot on the success of its Lisbon showcase, Shortcutz London will be a unique weekly contact point for new British short films. As the world’s only year-round event of its kind, it promotes close interaction with creative and technical teams, and the audience. Three short films, always presented by their creators and production team, will be screened every week. Two of these films will be entered into the ‘Best Short of the Month’ competition. The monthly winners are then entered for the ‘Best Short of the Year’. A guest professional will also attend to share their opinions and experience, and to stimulate discussion.
Launching on 3 October, Shortcutz London provides a revolutionary way to experience new short film that looks set to become a regular and accessible part of London’s creative life. Part of Lisbon-based Labz – an international platform for disseminating and supporting global urban culture – Shortcutz is more than a short films festival; it is a showcase for new and existing talent that supports production and allows discussion between professionals, students, amateurs and anyone passionate about film.
Hot on the success of its Lisbon showcase, Shortcutz London will be a unique weekly contact point for new British short films. As the world’s only year-round event of its kind, it promotes close interaction with creative and technical teams, and the audience. Three short films, always presented by their creators and production team, will be screened every week. Two of these films will be entered into the ‘Best Short of the Month’ competition. The monthly winners are then entered for the ‘Best Short of the Year’. A guest professional will also attend to share their opinions and experience, and to stimulate discussion.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Shortcutz - Camden
International short films movement.
Every Sunday, 07.30pm, Proud Camden, The Horse Hospital, Stables Market, Chalk Farm Road, Camden Town.
shortcutz.london@shortcutznetwork.com
www.myspace.com/shortcutzlondon
-come along this Sunday if you are making/interested in film. there is music, drinking and lots of networking opportunities.
Every Sunday, 07.30pm, Proud Camden, The Horse Hospital, Stables Market, Chalk Farm Road, Camden Town.
shortcutz.london@shortcutznetwork.com
www.myspace.com/shortcutzlondon
-come along this Sunday if you are making/interested in film. there is music, drinking and lots of networking opportunities.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Film
In September I started a Screenwriting course at London's MET Film School. Set in the historic Ealing Studios, there is no place more packed with atmosphere in which to study film. But anyway, MET Film plug aside...I started this course. I had great excitement going into it because I was undertaking something that I knew I had a passion for - if not a passion that formed many parts of a fragmented, slightly incoherent mix of passions that all steer me towards Film. Hopefully this course would be a good place to start the search for clarity and direction.
The course convenes every other Saturday and initially involved a group of very reserved, cool individuals who had to be coaxed out of their shells a little to start sharing their film ideas. It's been a brilliant experience so far, we study short films in minute detail and it is incredible how much effort and consideration is put into a frame in order to add to the overall message of the story. I am opening my eyes to the wonder of film as well as the frustrating fact that screenwriting is not a straight-forward affair. You take two steps forward with a script and then either a step back or a collision with a brick wall - that nightmare metaphor that plagues all writers. The problem with a screenplay though is that you don't have the freedom to explain away an emotion or an encounter - obviosuly it has to be shown through pictures and dialogue and this is a lot harder than you would think.
I am on a meandering path with my script and due to time constraints I find myself maddly scribbling things down while on juddery London buses. But it is a start, and I am learning. I am learning how to structure not only my screenplay but also the short film that I want to write, direct, film and produce in the new year - all grand plans considering my full time job. Better get back to it.
The course convenes every other Saturday and initially involved a group of very reserved, cool individuals who had to be coaxed out of their shells a little to start sharing their film ideas. It's been a brilliant experience so far, we study short films in minute detail and it is incredible how much effort and consideration is put into a frame in order to add to the overall message of the story. I am opening my eyes to the wonder of film as well as the frustrating fact that screenwriting is not a straight-forward affair. You take two steps forward with a script and then either a step back or a collision with a brick wall - that nightmare metaphor that plagues all writers. The problem with a screenplay though is that you don't have the freedom to explain away an emotion or an encounter - obviosuly it has to be shown through pictures and dialogue and this is a lot harder than you would think.
I am on a meandering path with my script and due to time constraints I find myself maddly scribbling things down while on juddery London buses. But it is a start, and I am learning. I am learning how to structure not only my screenplay but also the short film that I want to write, direct, film and produce in the new year - all grand plans considering my full time job. Better get back to it.
Pubs, Grub and Films Noirs
I went to Herne Hill last night to visit an old friend who I haven't seen in 5 years and we managed to pick up pretty much where we left off. Apparently I haven't aged but I know i've got fatter.
Herne Hill is nice, it lies around the delightful Brockwell Park which boasts a lovely lido for those intermittent summer days as well as a manor house atop a hill - probably Herne Hill. There are nice pubs in the area too - old victorian saloons brought into the urban trendy yet unpretentious 21st century styles. They are the kind of pubs where people sit alone by a fire reading a book and sipping a cider. My kind of pub.
Tonight I am going to a friend's in Vauxhall to be cooked chicken casserole and watch Jean Pierre Melville films, my earthy rioja should compliment this all as a real treat :-)
Herne Hill is nice, it lies around the delightful Brockwell Park which boasts a lovely lido for those intermittent summer days as well as a manor house atop a hill - probably Herne Hill. There are nice pubs in the area too - old victorian saloons brought into the urban trendy yet unpretentious 21st century styles. They are the kind of pubs where people sit alone by a fire reading a book and sipping a cider. My kind of pub.
Tonight I am going to a friend's in Vauxhall to be cooked chicken casserole and watch Jean Pierre Melville films, my earthy rioja should compliment this all as a real treat :-)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Tales of the Country...
As tomorrow is mother's day I find myself again in the wide open spaces of the Cambridgeshire Fens, a flat landscape dotted with sinewy trees, still bare from the what seems the never-ending winter.
I drove up on Thursday evening. Snaking through the London suburbs I was glad to shrug off normal life for a few days of fresh air and replenishment. However this feeling of ease didn't last very long. It began to ebb away when, parking at a service station in Essex (desperate need for a pee) I was greeted by three parked cars opposite mine, all of which were occupied by rotund people of a certain age wearing vacant expressions – said expressions pointed at me, gazing as I exited my car following my every move. I could be perfectly rational and conclude that the occupants were in their cars for warmth on a chilly evening, humbly finishing off their oversized confectionery. However, this being Essex I decided that this, the Holiday Inn carpark at Bishop's Stortford was clearly a dogging hotspot.
Safely inside the building I hear Michael Jackson's 'Wanna be Startin Something' on the radio and my mood lightening, I decide to purchase a coffee (and get the hell out of there). Now, a true sign that portions are gettting larger is when I rest my coffee cup on the cup-holder of my ten year old car only to discover that it will not fit. I settle the coffee somewhat precariously in front of the gear stick and I switch on radio 1. It is at this point that all recollection of my coffee purchase (and any remaining sense) leaves my head - I am in Essex after all, and I speed off, head banging and hand tapping back onto the motorway. It is only when I smell the sickly sweet latte rising from my passenger seat floor that I remember how delicately my cup had been positioned between gear stick and dashboard – what a dickhead I am. Much general swearing and high-pitched screaming over, I resolve only to laugh at my ridiculous misfortune, that is until I remember I am driving on a motorway and should probably pay more attention.
Contrary to the popular city dweller image of the countryside as being an idyll of tranquil trickling water, rabbits skipping arm in arm with beavers and geese gossiping down the lane, I can relate that it is in fact a sinister and treacherous place full of carniverous predators, decapitating farm machinery and strange locals that cycle in straw hats. Yesterday evening I took a stroll down the lane enjoying the longer evenings and less hostile weather when I turned a bend and suddenly found myself face to face with two large dogs (in the country dogs don't sit indoors, they roam outside waiting for another person to maim). The general expression of mania in the dogs' eyes convinced me to quicken my pace in the opposite direction, taking care not to plunge head first into a ditch on the way. Once back safely inside, panting, hair in disarray, expression of shock, I take to the nearest armchair and quietly recover my calm (mother keeps the gin with the potatoes)
Gin having barely parted my lips and we hear a loud rapping noise on the front door. Confused expressions exchanged between mother and me, (who knocks at the door in the country in the pitch black night?) well my intimate knowledge of any horror film told me that it could only be an axe-wiedling murderer quietly lurking in the near darkness. We decide to ignore the knocks, but they pursist. We then realise the knocks (and doorbell ringing) is coming from the back door- an entrance with a direct view into the living room where we sat ears perked. Before I could shout to mother 'where's the gun' a loud tapping and what I perceived as a slow rasping noise came from the window directly beside me (my imagination can occasionally cloud my recollection of events so if this all appears a bit fantastical to you, it most probably is near complete make-believe). My mother now thoroughly annoyed that someone would disturb the One Show jumps up and marches to the back door, me in hot pursuit, to find a large bald man darkening the doorway. In a panicked voice he asks if we have scrap metal, we say we don't (despite the rusting farm equipment in the field beside the house). Irritated my mother slams the door and we sit quietly contemplating the strange event and the general strangeness of Fen folk.
As I return to London tomorrow evening I will probably be more tense than before I left, will no doubt have recurring anxiety stemming from the events that befell me whilst in the country and will have to most probably take a leave of absence, bury myself in the city streets and recuperate my now tender strength via a spot of retail therapy and sublime cooking. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I turn the corner on that motorway and see on the horizon the glass towers of central London because it is where I feel safest – far from hairpin bends, drooling locals and murderous combines...
I drove up on Thursday evening. Snaking through the London suburbs I was glad to shrug off normal life for a few days of fresh air and replenishment. However this feeling of ease didn't last very long. It began to ebb away when, parking at a service station in Essex (desperate need for a pee) I was greeted by three parked cars opposite mine, all of which were occupied by rotund people of a certain age wearing vacant expressions – said expressions pointed at me, gazing as I exited my car following my every move. I could be perfectly rational and conclude that the occupants were in their cars for warmth on a chilly evening, humbly finishing off their oversized confectionery. However, this being Essex I decided that this, the Holiday Inn carpark at Bishop's Stortford was clearly a dogging hotspot.
Safely inside the building I hear Michael Jackson's 'Wanna be Startin Something' on the radio and my mood lightening, I decide to purchase a coffee (and get the hell out of there). Now, a true sign that portions are gettting larger is when I rest my coffee cup on the cup-holder of my ten year old car only to discover that it will not fit. I settle the coffee somewhat precariously in front of the gear stick and I switch on radio 1. It is at this point that all recollection of my coffee purchase (and any remaining sense) leaves my head - I am in Essex after all, and I speed off, head banging and hand tapping back onto the motorway. It is only when I smell the sickly sweet latte rising from my passenger seat floor that I remember how delicately my cup had been positioned between gear stick and dashboard – what a dickhead I am. Much general swearing and high-pitched screaming over, I resolve only to laugh at my ridiculous misfortune, that is until I remember I am driving on a motorway and should probably pay more attention.
Contrary to the popular city dweller image of the countryside as being an idyll of tranquil trickling water, rabbits skipping arm in arm with beavers and geese gossiping down the lane, I can relate that it is in fact a sinister and treacherous place full of carniverous predators, decapitating farm machinery and strange locals that cycle in straw hats. Yesterday evening I took a stroll down the lane enjoying the longer evenings and less hostile weather when I turned a bend and suddenly found myself face to face with two large dogs (in the country dogs don't sit indoors, they roam outside waiting for another person to maim). The general expression of mania in the dogs' eyes convinced me to quicken my pace in the opposite direction, taking care not to plunge head first into a ditch on the way. Once back safely inside, panting, hair in disarray, expression of shock, I take to the nearest armchair and quietly recover my calm (mother keeps the gin with the potatoes)
Gin having barely parted my lips and we hear a loud rapping noise on the front door. Confused expressions exchanged between mother and me, (who knocks at the door in the country in the pitch black night?) well my intimate knowledge of any horror film told me that it could only be an axe-wiedling murderer quietly lurking in the near darkness. We decide to ignore the knocks, but they pursist. We then realise the knocks (and doorbell ringing) is coming from the back door- an entrance with a direct view into the living room where we sat ears perked. Before I could shout to mother 'where's the gun' a loud tapping and what I perceived as a slow rasping noise came from the window directly beside me (my imagination can occasionally cloud my recollection of events so if this all appears a bit fantastical to you, it most probably is near complete make-believe). My mother now thoroughly annoyed that someone would disturb the One Show jumps up and marches to the back door, me in hot pursuit, to find a large bald man darkening the doorway. In a panicked voice he asks if we have scrap metal, we say we don't (despite the rusting farm equipment in the field beside the house). Irritated my mother slams the door and we sit quietly contemplating the strange event and the general strangeness of Fen folk.
As I return to London tomorrow evening I will probably be more tense than before I left, will no doubt have recurring anxiety stemming from the events that befell me whilst in the country and will have to most probably take a leave of absence, bury myself in the city streets and recuperate my now tender strength via a spot of retail therapy and sublime cooking. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I turn the corner on that motorway and see on the horizon the glass towers of central London because it is where I feel safest – far from hairpin bends, drooling locals and murderous combines...
Monday, January 25, 2010
I ran out of work at lunch today. Fortunately for me I had not broken the shredder, nor made kettle explode. I was simply ready for fresh air!
I walked eagerly along Pall Mall, passed the imposing gentlemens' clubs flanking one side of this grand thoroughfare. I quickly found myself in the hustle and bustle of Trafalgar Square. A stiff easterly breeze ensured I maintained a brisk momentum and I continued unabated through the swarms of tourists with my gaze fixed on Charing Cross. I sloped down Villiers Street - a grubby pedestrian alley that runs parrallel to the station. Here life itself never stops as office workers hurry about their daily routine - whether it be grabbing lunch or a brief chance to loosen up with seemingly sadistic on-street Chinese masseuses.
Through Embankment station I glided, hurried up the steps to Hungerford Bridge spurred on by what awaited me. At the top I gazed in awe as from here is one of the greatest views of London. A thousand times I have trodden this bridge but the scenery never fails to whisk my breath away, for it is a scene that reconciles all of London's history and modernity, jumbled together to present a city that's very presence booms power and might.
As I reached the other side, I turned and crossed again but this time I walked the other side with a fantastic view of the London Eye accompanied by Big Ben striking a quarter past one. Before long I found myself in Trafalgar Sq again but hurriedly burrowing my way deeper into the West End's labyrinth streets, I was met with all possibilities of diversity and life in just a few short metres as I wound my way through Chinatown and Soho. I was suddenly out in the open again, now under the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus - again working the crowds, trying in vain to get anywhere quickly. I paused on Piccadilly and sloped past an antiques market in St James Church. By this time I was peckish so I sauntered across a delightful landscaped park saluting a robin on the way and made it back to my desk in time to relax and recover from the sensory assault that is London.
What a marvellous trip! Taking in so many sights and all in half an hour. I really do love London because it displays all of life in its inexhaustible ways - and for that I can never be bored.
I walked eagerly along Pall Mall, passed the imposing gentlemens' clubs flanking one side of this grand thoroughfare. I quickly found myself in the hustle and bustle of Trafalgar Square. A stiff easterly breeze ensured I maintained a brisk momentum and I continued unabated through the swarms of tourists with my gaze fixed on Charing Cross. I sloped down Villiers Street - a grubby pedestrian alley that runs parrallel to the station. Here life itself never stops as office workers hurry about their daily routine - whether it be grabbing lunch or a brief chance to loosen up with seemingly sadistic on-street Chinese masseuses.
Through Embankment station I glided, hurried up the steps to Hungerford Bridge spurred on by what awaited me. At the top I gazed in awe as from here is one of the greatest views of London. A thousand times I have trodden this bridge but the scenery never fails to whisk my breath away, for it is a scene that reconciles all of London's history and modernity, jumbled together to present a city that's very presence booms power and might.
As I reached the other side, I turned and crossed again but this time I walked the other side with a fantastic view of the London Eye accompanied by Big Ben striking a quarter past one. Before long I found myself in Trafalgar Sq again but hurriedly burrowing my way deeper into the West End's labyrinth streets, I was met with all possibilities of diversity and life in just a few short metres as I wound my way through Chinatown and Soho. I was suddenly out in the open again, now under the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus - again working the crowds, trying in vain to get anywhere quickly. I paused on Piccadilly and sloped past an antiques market in St James Church. By this time I was peckish so I sauntered across a delightful landscaped park saluting a robin on the way and made it back to my desk in time to relax and recover from the sensory assault that is London.
What a marvellous trip! Taking in so many sights and all in half an hour. I really do love London because it displays all of life in its inexhaustible ways - and for that I can never be bored.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Twenty-Ten
It's a new year and a new decade, perfect for people who believe in the symbolic significance of the occasion to renew and renovate, to make resolutions and to start afresh.
2010 is made all the more symbolic for me because it marks the passing of a period of life that must now be resigned to my past. Leaving education and embarking on one's 'graduate' life is symbolic enough - in many respects it means a coming of age . Those graduates lucky enough to find a job will revel in the opportunity to earn their own money, accumulate experience and gain status in society. With all these positives also comes the daunting prospect of so much change and transition all at once. Learning how to wade through the quagmire of office politics and emerge on the other side not bitten down by fellow colleagues - well that's one thing. Having to adapt to multi-tasking, and adopt a consistent 'office persona' is another. It all takes time.
It has taken me the best part of 5 months to reach a point where things have finally begun to click and my life starts to seem somewhat routine in my eyes. Suddenly before you know it, things that once terrified you or seemed impossible are done without breaking sweat. I am not boasting, I think it is the same for everyone.
And so I start 2010 after a much needed rest and somewhat tumultuous reflection over the past intense few months and I hope to go forward with a somewhat clearer vision for the next decade. Perhaps a vision for the decade is a bit optimistic -best to deal with the here and now but one thing I am going to keep as my new mantra is to always have little projects on the go, with the hope that these will serve to expand horizons and provide enriching experiences.
I am aware that many people rush through life constantly distracting themselves. I don't want life to be one constant distraction. I want the things that I do to carry meaning and slot into an overarching vision. Perhaps I am an idealistic 23 year old but I am too restless to settle for the same everyday experiences, especially when I know that there is so much to get out of life. I do believe though that it is up to the individual to enrich their life and that is why this year I am setting myself a series of targets so that I can start that process.
If you think it all sounds cliched and idealistic, well, the proof is in the pudding. It will be interesting to see how I get on throughout the year, how often I lose this symbolic optimism and whether during such times I keep it going, or let it slide. Essentially, I am setting myself a challenge.
Well, we will see this time next year - god knows where I'll be or what I'll doing. Scary? yes, mildly but also ever so slightly more exciting.
2010 is made all the more symbolic for me because it marks the passing of a period of life that must now be resigned to my past. Leaving education and embarking on one's 'graduate' life is symbolic enough - in many respects it means a coming of age . Those graduates lucky enough to find a job will revel in the opportunity to earn their own money, accumulate experience and gain status in society. With all these positives also comes the daunting prospect of so much change and transition all at once. Learning how to wade through the quagmire of office politics and emerge on the other side not bitten down by fellow colleagues - well that's one thing. Having to adapt to multi-tasking, and adopt a consistent 'office persona' is another. It all takes time.
It has taken me the best part of 5 months to reach a point where things have finally begun to click and my life starts to seem somewhat routine in my eyes. Suddenly before you know it, things that once terrified you or seemed impossible are done without breaking sweat. I am not boasting, I think it is the same for everyone.
And so I start 2010 after a much needed rest and somewhat tumultuous reflection over the past intense few months and I hope to go forward with a somewhat clearer vision for the next decade. Perhaps a vision for the decade is a bit optimistic -best to deal with the here and now but one thing I am going to keep as my new mantra is to always have little projects on the go, with the hope that these will serve to expand horizons and provide enriching experiences.
I am aware that many people rush through life constantly distracting themselves. I don't want life to be one constant distraction. I want the things that I do to carry meaning and slot into an overarching vision. Perhaps I am an idealistic 23 year old but I am too restless to settle for the same everyday experiences, especially when I know that there is so much to get out of life. I do believe though that it is up to the individual to enrich their life and that is why this year I am setting myself a series of targets so that I can start that process.
If you think it all sounds cliched and idealistic, well, the proof is in the pudding. It will be interesting to see how I get on throughout the year, how often I lose this symbolic optimism and whether during such times I keep it going, or let it slide. Essentially, I am setting myself a challenge.
Well, we will see this time next year - god knows where I'll be or what I'll doing. Scary? yes, mildly but also ever so slightly more exciting.
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