Of Carrots & Q-Tips

To DeLane Lea tonight, for a screening of Simon Aitken’s Monologue Triptych.

Simon’s an independent filmmaker whose work has been quietly working it’s way in from the margins. His work is now popular enough that he could have easily filled the screening room twice over. I ended up sitting on the floor, and I’ve got a credit on the thing. Thanks, Simon.

The piece is a nested set of three shorts, each giving a different aspect to the character of an artist, bent on unburdening himself during an increasingly wine-soaked evening. The sole actor, Benjamin Green, does outstanding work in inhabiting a character who, let’s be frank, is a major-league arsehole. He describes the beating of an acquaintance with a pool cue as “probably the fourth-worst thing I’ve done”, and freely admits that most of the people he knows actively despise him.

Despite this he remains likeable, and manages to turn the viewers’ assumptions around in the third film, revealing the loss of his wife and daughters. The tears running down his face in this final section wash the bravado of what has gone before away, and the final close-up of a drawing done by his children is genuinely affecting. He perfectly serves Ben Woodiwiss’ sharp, funny and moving script.

I was the colourist on Monolouge Triptych. Shot on HDV, I had to work on a downconverted version due to circumstances I won’t bore the casual reader with. I was pleasantly surprised by the end results, however, with the projection being pretty accurate to what I’d graded. After the first fifteen seconds anyway. A minor projector fault led to the first couple of shots coming out bright green. My heart hit my boots, then my throat, in very quick succession. I was congratulated by the DOP on the look of the piece afterwards. Considering how it could have gone, that gave me a bit of a glow. Makes a change from having to explain what I do to people in a slow careful tone.

Oh, had to do that too. Colourist’s curse. Hey ho.

Boozy conversation in the bar afterwards led to Ben Green proudly fessing up to his carrot-chopping technique (those are impeccable 5mm slices, people!) and in the best way to get an actor to cry on cue. (Soap and water on a q-tip applied to the tear glands just before shooting.)

In general, then, a fun night with just the one spike of abject terror. (Simon, how was it for you?) As screenings go, that’s a bit of a score.

Check out a preview of Monolouge Triptych here (granted, without my lovely grade, but you get the idea.) It’s well worth a look.

Finally, a few words from Simon himself:

“I knew it would be a good night with all my friends, but when I walked into the screen and say that it was packed, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was amazing. Then to talk to all those people as well afterwards, it was really good. Only thing I need to get for these screenings is an assistant, to help organize the actually night. When you have to do everything yourself to don’t get a real chance to talk to people. Apart from that it was really good to see everybody and people really enjoyed the films. That’s all I could ask for.”

That says it all, really. Here’s to the next one!

A Tale of Two Films

I thought it might be worthwhile showing everyone the scripts that didn’t get made for Straight8. They are the final draft shooting scripts – lean, mean, film-making machines.

Rock N Roll Martians VS Red Planet Earth

A blare of over-excited martial music; a TITLE CARD in blocky Cyrillic text.

V/O
ROCK AND ROLL MARTIANS VERSUS RED PLANET EARTH!!!


EXT. space – day?
A spaceship rockets through the eternal night of space.

V/O
Future year 1989.

INT. SPACESHIP CONQUEST – DAY
Three figures sit around the control panel, working intently.

V/O
The Commander! Ivana! Igor! The intrepid cosmonauts whose desperate mission to Mars will decide the fate of planet Earth!


The COMMANDER, is a no-nonsense apparatchik. His SCIENCE OFFICER, IVANA is stern yet sexy. The ENSIGN, IGOR, is an eager, clumsy puppy.

V/O (Earth STATION)
Conquest, this is Earth Station. Radio signals increasing in strength and
frequency. Tune auto-landing circuitry to carrier wave. It will take you to the source.

COMMANDER
Auto-landing engaged.

EXT. MARS – DAY
The CONQUEST wobbles to a landing on a barren red landscape.

EXT. MARTIAN DESERT – DAY
The CREW disembark down a ladder. IVANA waves a metal device around.

IVANA
Oxygen levels normal.

IGOR doffs his helmet, and – chokes! The COMMANDER glares at IVANA.
IGOR stops choking and grins. It’s a joke. The COMMANDER slaps him across the face.

Suddenly, IVANA spots movement.

IVANA
Martians!

MARTIANS: they appear human but are dressed as 1950s greasers and bobbysoxers. With them is JUKEBOT, a lumbering boxy robot. Their leader, HEPCAT, has clearly been chosen because he is the coolest.

COMMANDER
We bring greetings from Communist planet Earth. Take me to your leader.
HEPCAT
That’s me daddy-o. What’s buzzin, cuzzin?
COMMANDer
We seek the source of the transmission wave beamed at our planet.
HEPCAT
You mean the rock ‘n’ roll, baby!
IGOR
What is this…rocking roll?
HEPCAT
Hey man! Why tell you when we can show you? Jukebot!

JUKEBOT starts playing rock ‘n’ roll music. The MARTIANS dance along.
IGOR, intoxicated by the beat, starts dancing with one of the foxier aliens.

COMMANDER
Igor. Return to your station.

He pulls a zapgun, and waves it in a threatening manner. He turns to IVANA.

COMMANDER
Ivana!

Too late. She’s gone too, dancing with HEPCAT.

The TWO MARTIAN LOVELIES drape themselves seductively over the COMMANDER. He is unmoved, and punches them out!

The MARTIANS, and the controlled crew, advance on the COMMANDER.

IGOR
Join us, Commander – you’ll dig it the most!

The COMMANDER is grabbed from behind by JUKEBOT.

JUKEBOT
Don’t be a square.

He spins free, and blasts JUKEBOT with his zapgun. JUKEBOT dies noisily, squirting fluid.

JUKEBOT (CONT’D)
Uncool…uncool…uncool…

The COMMANDER mounts the ladder to CONQUEST, waving his zapgun.

COMMANDER
Back, you imperialist dogs!

EXT. MARTIAN DESERT – CONTINUOUS
The CONQUEST launches.

ExT. SPACE – CONTINUOUS
The CONQUEST zooms away from Mars.

INT. SPACESHIP CONQUEST – CONTINUOUS
On the viewscreen HEPCAT and IVANA are snogging. The COMMANDER stabs at a control marked MISSILE LAUNCH.

EXT. MARS in space – CONTINUOUS
Mars explodes!

V/O
Beware, comrades! This has been fiction. But the pernicious threat of rock ‘n’ roll is real! Stay alert, stay vigilant!


Clive Ashenden/Rob Wickings/Sick Puppy Films 2007


INPUT:OUTPUT or DB-E does DL-S

FADE IN:

Caption:
INPUT/OUTPUT
or
DB-E does DL-S
In a blocky system font, accompanied by modem noise.

CUT TO:

INT. Living Room – Day
A normal front room. DB-E is dusting. DB-E is a hulking 50s style cardboard robot in a pinny.

The doorbell sounds. DB-E turns.

Ext. House – Day
A typical suburban exterior: DL-S, another robot, stands at the door.

INT. Hall – Continuous
DB-E opens the front door to DL-S.
Apart from the toolbelt he wears, DL-S is almost exactly the same make and model as DB-E.

DL-S
Good afternoon, madam. I am here to install your cable television.
DB-E
Scanning ID…Entry authorised.

DL-S enters.

Int. Living Room – Continuous
DL-S fishes in his tool belt while DB-E watches.

DL-S
I will require a large tool for this installation.
DB-E
I assume you have one of sufficient size.
DL-S
Affirmative.

He reveals a large spanner.

DB-E
Query: is this your largest implement?
DL-S
Negative.

He rummages, to reveal (OS) a vast robotic groinal appendage.

DB-E
This unit requests input.
DL-S
Request received. Implementing.

Funky music swells as the robots get on down.

DB-E
Confirm. This input is acceptable.

On sofa, the usual porn shenanigans begin. Multiple positions.

Int. Bedroom – Day
They continue. DB-E is tied to the bed with coloured cable ties.

DL-S
Engage external stimuli.

He has a feather duster attached to a drill attachment on his arm. He applies it vigorously.

DB-E
Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

Further naughtiness. Lots of cardboard banging.

DL-S
Request access to serial port.
DB-E
Negative. That port is output only.

DL-S
Transmitting system update.
DB-E
Data buffer overflow. Input enabled.

DL-S hammers away, drill speed.

DB-E & DL-S
11110001010010010001001001001001!

Finally, they arrange themselves for the climax.

DL-S
I love you.

There is a Diet Coke and Mentos moment.

DL-S makes a noise like a kettle boiling.
DB-E is hosed in slow motion.

Jump Cut to:

Int. Bedroom – Day
DB-E and DL-S are sat bolt upright in bed. Motionless, each has a lit cigarette dangling from its mouth grill.

THE END


Creative Commons License

This
work is
licensed under a
Creative
Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0
License.

Rob Wickings/Clive Ashenden/Sick Puppy Films 2007

A Tale Of Three Films

First of all, go here. Read carefully.
OK? Great.
This weekend, the Sick Puppies shot their first Straight 8 film. After a month of planning, expense, writes and rewrites, heartbreak, laughs and a few too many late nights, we have a film.
It’s not the film we initially planned.
In fact, it’s not the film we slung together as a backup, either.

This is the story of how we made “The Gourmand.”

It began, as most Sick Puppy things do, in a pub. We had decided to get back into the swing of film-making after a frustrating 2006 which had led to an awful lot of writing and abortive fund-chasing, and nothing but a short video for a Robbie Williams competition to our name. This was the way to put something together that was filled with the can-do spirit and skewed sense of humour that typified the Sick Puppy approach.

The idea we settled on was entitled “Rock ‘n’ Roll Martians vs Red Planet Earth!!!” It was pulp sci-fi done in the style of a Soviet propoganda film. It had a cardboard and tin-foil robot. It had degenerate hipster youths. It had a dance sequence, for frak’s sake. It was far and away the most ambitious thing we’d ever attempted, with special and model effects, and a team of 50s dancers.

The script was great, we had actors in place, models were coming together, sound design was by all accounts rolling along nicely.
Then it all started unravelling. Steve, the third head of the SPs, producer, composer and sound designer, vanished. Phone calls and emails went unanswered. The actor’s schedule’s began to conflict. Suddenly, people couldn’t do certain days. Everyone had day jobs. Everyone had prior commitments. The weekends that we had to do the shoot began evaporating.

Finally, a crisis meeting was called. Clive and I were the only two Puppies to show. Carefully, Clive went through the plus and minus points. In Steve’s absence, he had become defacto producer. The main Mars shoot was still just about doable, but on the one weekend that I couldn’t make. We’d have to split our resources. I could still do the model and interior shoots. It would be a three day project, but still within possibilities.
Until we looked at the budget. Bear in mind that no-one was getting paid for this. All we could manage was food and travel expenses. Three days of costume hire and transport bulked out the budget.
Once we got to the thick end of a thousand quid, we realised that “Rock ‘n’ Roll Martians” couldn’t happen. Not now, not like this.

An urgent brainstorm later brought us a plan B. A weekend shoot at my place in Reading, a crew of three incorporating our model-builder Adam, and a new premise.
Robot Porn. A standard 70’s porn scenario, acted out by two tin-foil and cardboard robots, under the title Input:Output or DB-E does DL-S. It was silly and peurile, but hey, it’s blokes in cardboard banging together. Comedy value – priceless.

Friday evening. I’m gathering prop materials, and prepping the house. The phone goes at quarter to nine. Clive. With bad news.
Adam had dropped out, with maybe three hours warning. There was no-one else available. It was us. That was it. And there was no way we could do Input:Output with two people.

There’s a point in any endeavour where you realised it’s doomed. When you come to the final understanding that the world has conspired against you to teach you that sometimes you just have to say no. That sometimes it’s just not worth the trouble.

This was that moment.

“Screw it”, I said to Clive. “Come to Reading. Bring the camera. We’ll work something out.”

Saturday morning dawned, sunny and clear. Over bacon sarnies and coffee, Clive and I worked out a plan. One person behind the camera, one in front. A monolouge piece. Clive joked about doing a cookery piece.

A light came on in my head. Yes, a cookery piece. An illustrated recipe. Narrated by a cannibal.

It was perfect. The details came together almost too quickly. I would be the cannibal. Clive would be the “meat”, hanging in my shed. The voiceover and sound design could come later. It was a true Straight8 moment. Suddenly, we were forced to think outside our normal comfort zone, without a proper script, inventing on the fly.

It made absolute sense. It was completely stupid. It would work. Unless it didn’t. Either way – we’d tried.

A quick hunt for materials, and a wasted hour while Clive shaved himself (we thought that meat should not be hairy. We were extemporising.) meant that we began shooting at around 2pm. Three hours of available light, and whatever we could push out of my house lighting. I bought a million candle-power torch from a local hardware store, that resolutely refused to work. Heyho. Just another obstacle.

The shoot ticked on, moving between cooking bits in the kitchen, and the horror bits in the shed. Clive became increasingly naked, and increasingly coated in lard and seasonings, and I can’t believe I’ve just written that sentence. I made my first attempt at mixing fake blood. It was too see-through. It didn’t matter.

As we chased the last of the spring light down the garden, we started to realise maybe we did have something after all. Whatever else, we were working with people whose creative instincts we trusted completely. There were no arguments, no ego trips. We were coming up with proof that all you needed to make a film was a camera, and an idea.
At 6pm we ran the stock out on the final shot, the cannibal chewing slowly on the meal he’s spent all day on. It was pork, and it tasted deeply wrong.

And that was that. I packed Clive off to the station, drove home and flopped. An exhausting, yet deeply satisfying day. The sound design and voiceover is yet to be done, but shouldn’t cause any major obstacles. (Hark, the hollow sound of sarcastic laughter…)

On Saturday, March 16th, Rob Wickings and Clive Ashenden made a Sick Puppy film. With luck and a following wind, it will be screened at Straight8 in May. If not, it’ll be on YouTube soon after.

Of the three films we could have made, this is the one I’m proud of.