Protest and Academies

I have recently finished editing a piece I filmed for Stoke Socialist Party. This latest video was of the emergency budget protest organised by us and the National Shop Stewards Network, along with Youth Fight For Jobs. The CWU were also in attendance. Though only a small-scale protest this was an important step in opposing the Con-Dem coalition. This will be continuing tomorrow when I will be doing a lead-off on the need to oppose Academies. Despite the publicity and speed with which these are seemingly pushed through, there are many dangers attached to academies and could see the end of state education as we know it.
CWU Building
Lindsay Street
Hanley
Stoke-on-Trent
7.30pm

An Ordinary Truth: A Review of Cloverfield.

This is a film that even Vertov would have approved of. If a sense of verisimilitude is the current ‘in’-thing, then this one has clearly tried to take things to the next level. And gosh darn it I love it for it. I’m not particularly a fan of horror, nor films about American teens and their (ahem) ‘angst’ and Cloverfield has both. But this film manages to appeal to me in an effective way.First off, despite the fact that hand-held camera movies have been done to death in the last few years, here the low budget aesthetic becomes so much starker when CGI is captured on-screen – and this is where the sense of realism kicks in, and undoubtedly was precisely the intention.However, I would argue that verisimilitude is shown in a more cultural fashion than a simple ‘amateur’ effect (though this is always an obvious starting point). Sure, the head of the Statue of Liberty crashing down a busy street looks realistic, but far more indicative of a cultural phenomenon (and therefore perhaps more ‘truthful’) is the scene of passers-by filming the aftermath on their camera phones. Were this real Youtube would be inundated with this footage within minutes.It’s quite a good skill to be able to sustain some sort of narrative in a film that attempts uber-realism (only Christopher Guest movies spring to mind) and the only camera used is the one the actors’ hold themselves, but somehow Cloverfield manages to convey this, even if some of it is lost in a mish-mash of improvisation leading to redundant snippets of dialogue. But then is this not like real life anyway? - a constant mix of narrative and gibberish with no omnipresent script editor to cut out the waffle? But for me the most effective part of Cloverfield is the constant theme of ‘ordinariness’ – a strange juxtaposition in such a high concept, contemporary idea, but the fact that we see the action unfold from (supposedly) ordinary citizens gives a unique take on a film involving a giant rampaging creature. Not for this story the all-important scientist/soldier/superhero messiah who saves the city in other similar concepts such as Godzilla or Independence Day - in these films the heroes have to do their jobs whilst thousands of screaming passers-by run for their lives on the sidewalks below. But what about the stories of those passers-by? Every single one is an individual with a backstory and that’s the appeal here. Spielberg attempted this briefly in his version of War of the Worlds, and to good effect (even using a similar verite style) but at the end of the day it’s still a Spielberg film, and that’s still Tom Cruise running from the aliens. No, here there’s no staccato orchestral score, close-ups of the beast or high matte shots of the destroyed skyline, Cloverfield goes for the Mean Streets (literally).However, it could also be argued that the effective realism it aims for could be construed as too effective. Whilst technically not in the same sub-genre as United 93, or even Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center, there are eerie connotations to 9/11 peppered throughout – the sudden explosions, the ensuing chaos (even a slowly approaching dust cloud), the appearance of the army on the New York streets and the glimpses of emergency services seemingly powerless to stem the tide of ever-growing casualties. All this of course re-presented in ‘amateur’ DV – the same style and format any of us would have seen in the majority of 9/11 footage. Parallels were clearly meant to be drawn, but here the ‘truth’ was probably too close for comfort for American audiences. I’m always fascinated with how filmmakers have responded to 9/11 in cinema, and the most obvious angle the makers of Cloverfield have gone for here is the sense of uncertainty as to what it is that has caused destruction and chaos. Ok it may seem ridiculous comparing a massive monster to Middle-Eastern terrorists, but it will forever be this generation’s Atomic threat and Commie-watching of the 50’s, and Cloverfield may just be last year’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers. (Certainly American foreign policy following 9/11 seems to have certain connotations with the McCarthy trials but that’s for someone else to examine)It may be high-concept, have a large budget, full of CGI and contain annoying actors, but you know what? I don’t care. It’s different enough to be interestingly effective, and proof that not everything in a disaster story involves the authorities in charge, and that those in the usually faceless crowds do matter and have a story to tell – as the ‘anonymous henchmen’ in Austin Powers can attest. Granted, there are films in which this method of storytelling may not work. Would the political intrigue and scandal of historical dramas such as Elizabeth and The Other Boleyn Girl have worked if we followed the subject rather than ruler? Extra-marital affairs, political alliances and murderous betrayal, or clearing out dung and dying of leprosy? Actually there’s a film in that somewhere…

A Literary Giant in the Making I'm sure.

Hello all.
After sorting through my documents on the old laptop, I came across my half-hearted attempt at starting a novel I began whilst I still lived in Nottingham. I may continue it, but already it seems cringe-worthy. It's the first chapter. Enjoy!! I certainly didn't!

Chapter One.

It was a cold day in April. The clocks weren't striking thirteen though, Dave mused to himself as he walked along the path that ran alongside the old brook. He was on his way into town and had slipped into one of his random thoughts, usually involving some form of oft-stored pop culture references. Though he wondered, as he neared the large supermarket on the corner, how many people around him would have actually picked up on the reference to the opening sentence to Nineteen Eighty Four were they to somehow hear his thoughts at that particular moment.
Dave rounded the corner and continued at a fairly brisk pace to the subway that led under the ring road and into town. He was on his way to spend some of his birthday money he still had left from last week. By now he had honed the ability to discern how to get the best price for most DVD box sets he was interested in, and was on a mission to see if he could find the 5th season of Frasier cheaper than the internet stores. A tall order he conceded, but like the majority of people he knew was unwilling to wait 3 working days for to arrive.
After browsing through all three of the establishments that were likely to sell such an item, he sighed and returned to WH Smith and paid the extra ten pounds. As the cashier handed him his change and receipt, Dave made a mental note of which areas he could cut back on in order to accommodate this unnecessary additional price. "Well I walked here" he thought, "so that saved some petrol. And I'll probably get bought some birthday pints tonight, so that'll save some cash." In actuality this was a common exercise for Dave. If a DVD or CD took his fancy that seemed slightly out of his budget, he tended to buy it anyway, and then justify it later. "Oh yes, I need that Free Cinema collection because I can show it to my students to as an example of cultural identity." "The Best of Billy Bragg? Well it's a double album isn't it? I need something to last the entire car journey home." Ad verbatim.
The return walk home was indeed one of his cost-cutting exercises, but Dave wondered if he should just have bitten the bullet and driven down. If he had he would easily have been back by now. But on the other hand, Dave thought, he would also have been a hypocrite because in fact, he would have joined the ranks of those drivers he so despised – the 'can't-be-arsed's' he called them; mothers who drove 500 yards in their 4x4s to pick up little Angelina from school; blokes who headed out at 11pm in their cars to get some fags from the garage before it closed. Anyway, another internal rant over, Dave was actually pleased that thinking once again about such folk, he was over halfway home.






(Alan Sillitoe's rep is still safe then)

Richard Hawley at the Sugarmill 30/08/07

Last night myself and a friend made our way up to Hanley to see Richard Hawley at the Sugarmill. As we arrived Andy Gower was finishing his set, and the place began to fill up in the minutes that followed.
As Hawley played I couldn't help but be amazed by the tunes - mostly 'Bacharach-esque' romanticism in 3/4. One of Britpop's original players in his 40's. A glance around the venue revealed fans in the same mould.
"I was in a band called The Longpigs, many moons ago" said Hawley. "Yes" I thought, "and I saw you in the very same venue 11 years ago. And the singer then was from round here." How much had changed in the intervening years? Didn't bear thinking about.
Anyway, Hawley and his band mates, bespectacled and adorned in suit jackets and blazers, seemed to epitomize the state of those mid-90's acts still around today. Easier listening tunes and a more lounge-like approach. The crowd seemed to have embraced this as well. No reliving old times with zip-up stripey Adidas, Fred Perry's or Campus trainers that might have filled the venue in those days. We were all united in a sort of "let's just wear whatever, and hope the gig finishes before midnight so I can go to bed" vibe. There were quite a few 'oldies' there as well. Sadly, nobody I recognised from that bygone age. If I were to hazard a guess I'd say they're probably in their own homes somewhere, perhaps putting their young kids to bed, settled in a professional routine, maybe even living further afield.
"Britpop is Dead - get over it!" one might cry. But it isn't. It's just, like us, grown old with dignity. And the current scene is all the better for it.