The House of the Devil

If, like me, you're a fan of Horror films but over the years have become increasingly disillusioned with the genre, what with the spate of ridiculous remakes and teen slashers, then you could do a lot worse than to watch a little independent film called The House of the Devil (Directed by Ti West).

Ashamedly, I'd never heard of it until last night when I was browsing the dusty shelves of my local Blockbuster (of which, this particular branch is an ever depressing place, forever empty and reeking of loneliness... but enough of my Thursday night). As per usual, I found myself getting angry at the majority of pathetic films on display and was all but ready to jack it in, go home and get something on pay per view. That was at least until this diamond in the rough exposed it's pert little self to me...

It was only the other day that I was wondering why nobody makes Horror films like they used to during the late 70's and 80's anymore? By that I mean films that take their time to buildup some real tension instead of rushing headlong into a tedious, cliche ridden plot. Most Horror films these days seem to want to make the audience piss themselves during the opening thirty seconds and then attempt to supply a cheap 'jump' every 6 minutes thereafter. This film trades in those obvious techniques and opts instead for dreadful anticipation, there's no instant gratification here, the audience is in for the long game.

Although it was only made in 2008 it looks like it's straight out of the 80's. This is pure retro homage, and they've pulled it off superbly. The score is brilliant too, really capturing the time period and tone of the film very well. This moment in particular is great and very creepy in its correct context, featuring a tune by The Fixx. It's a great sequence, she can move too...

Although House of the Devil isn't the scariest film out there, I respect it for not pandering to the expectations of the Multiplex audience and for not conforming to the conventions of recent slashers. It uses suggestion and suspense over all-out gore, it's a real slow-burner. Fans of Rosemary's Baby will not be disappointed.

So, if you're looking for a good, intelligent Horror flick this Halloween, you can't go wrong with this. Here's the trailer to whet your appetite...

On a final note, it's worth watching it if only for the performance of the lead actress, Jocelin Donahue. She's one to watch I think.

The Motorcycle Boy Reigns

Just got round to watching Francis Ford Coppola's 1983 film Rumble Fish, I'd been meaning to catch it for years. Despite hearing from a trusted source that it was a great film, I was still pleasantly surprised at how good it actually was, considering how underrated it is.

I was particularly won over by the the performance of Mickey Rourke, of whom I've never been a huge fan. He plays a character known only as The Motorcycle Boy, a sombre and nonchalant character who delivers his lines in a slow, almost lackadaisical way which I found myself eagerly hanging on to every syllable for the meditative and considered thoughts he expresses. He really is as cool as a refrigerated cucumber.

The Motorcycle Boy: Even the most primitive of societies have an innate respect for the insane.

For me, The Motorcycle Boy comes across as a character in the same vein as James Dean's Jim Stark from Rebel Without a Cause. Alienated and discontent with the suburban life that everybody else seems happy enough to plod along with. Struggling to find meaning and attempting to live authentically, regardless of how counter-productive or 'insane' that may appear to be.

It's definitely a 'coming of age' movie, with the theme of growing up and time passing featuring prominently. Tom Waits' character, Benny, brilliantly puts youth into perspective when thinking of life in terms of how many summers remain...

Benny: Time is a funny thing. Time is a very peculiar item. You see when you're young, you're a kid, you got time, you got nothing but time. Throw away a couple of years, a couple of years there... it doesn't matter. You know. The older you get you say, "Jesus, how much I got? I got thirty-five summers left." Think about it. Thirty-five summers.

Tom Waits for no man...

There's also a great scene between Dennis Hopper and Matt Dillon, playing The Motorcycle Boy's Father and Brother, respectively...

Father: Every now and then, a person comes along, has a different view of the world than does the usual person. It doesn't make them crazy. I mean... an acute perception, man... that doesn't, that doesn't make you crazy.

Rusty James: Could you talk normal?

Father: However sometimes... it can drive you crazy, acute perception.

Rusty James: I wish you'd talk normal 'cause I don't understand half the garbage you're saying. You know? You know what I mean?

Father: No, your mother... is not crazy. And neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother crazy. He's merely miscast in a play. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river... with the ability to be able to do anything that he wants to do and findin' nothin' that he wants to do. I mean nothing.

The burden of Freedom.

The soundtrack was a real surprise too, composed by Stewart Copeland of Police fame. I've been hammering the main theme tune Don't Box Me In since I heard it. Tune...

A Tribute to Chip

Chip, Chippy, Sir Chipalot, Chipski, Chippin, Chip 'n' Pin, Pippin, Pipkin, Chripy, Frippy, Chipstick, Chipstickle.

I recently saw the brilliant short documentary called 'Last Minutes with Oden' and it moved me to tears, or at least a tear. It made me remember that often in life a lot of things are taken for granted and it's usually only through the loss of said things that we're made aware of this.

Check out the documentary...

It made me think of my dog Chip...

When trying to find out more about a person's character a question that is sometimes asked is whether they prefer dogs or cats. Like are you an Elvis or Beatles person? (See the deleted scene from Pulp Fiction...)

I'm more of a dog man myself and this quote pretty much sums up my stance on the issue...

Dogs have Owners, Cats have Staff.

There's been many dogs in my life. Now that I think about it, there's always been a dog for as long as I can remember. There's been Sandy (Labrador), Barny (Labrador/Staff cross), Jessica (Collie), Alfie, Molly and Harry (English Cocker Spaniels), Stanley (Jack Russell) and finally Chip (Jack Russell/Daschund cross). There was Kelly too, although not technically a Canine, she was a dog nevertheless, a bitch of the Stoke Newington breed if my memory serves me correctly.

Sandy was the first dog I remember, he belonged to my Nan and Granddad and, like them, Uncle Sandy was a genius, a true scholar of a dog.

Among other things, he knew when it was dinner time just by listening to what was on T.V. When the theme tune to Neighbors came on he got up and strolled into the kitchen. But the truly clever thing was that it was only on the sound of the closing credits that he got up. He distinguished between the beginning and ending of the programme, knowing full well that dinner would be served only when Neighbors had finished.

Never has a dog eaten so well. A funny thing about my Nan was that when dinner time was approaching we'd start smelling these wonderful aromas drifting in from the kitchen, like rich, thick gravy and perfectly steamed vegetables. Then she served it up... in Sandy's bowl! Only after Sandy was content with his lot would she start cooking our dinner, which was delicious nonetheless, but I always wondered how good a mouthful from Sandy's bowl would taste.

Sandy also had a bowl of tea in the morning and, being the gent that he was, he always smelt of the Hugo Boss aftershave Elements. I later figured out that the only explanation for this was that it had rubbed off from my Granddad's hands. I was bitterly disappointed that Sandy didn't apply the cologne himself.

I've since tried to find Elements but I think its been discontinued. The closest I've come to smelling something similar is Dior's Fahrenheit, which I was once given as a birthday present in my early teens and now evokes memories of swings, cider and B&H Gold. Elements was a lot more subtle (and nicer) but I guess it has the same base ingredient.

Probably better that I don't smell it anyway, I'd probably have another relapse into childhood. Like when I smelt marzipan for the first time since nursery school, but that's another story for another day.

When from a long-distant past nothing subsists... the smell and taste of things remain poised for a long time... and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

Marcel Proust, The Remembrance of Things Past

A B

A few video idents shot at The Old Truman Brewery in Brick Lane...

A&E

Street Fighter

Brighton

The Grand Scheme

The 48 hour film turned out to be a right laugh. It was really cool working the way we did, with no crew roles, everyone just chipping in.

It's been a long time since I was involved in something like this and it reminds me of back in the day when myself and friend L. would turn the camera on ourselves and act out short scenes. These were usually variations on the same formula; the two of us smoking a lot of cigarettes and ad-libbing with New York accents whilst pretending to be mob bosses, inevitably ending with one of us shooting the other with a plastic gun, muttering ‘Fat Joe said go fuck yourself’, or something to that effect, before vehemently flicking the cigarette on the floor, spitting, then walking off screen to leave the other pretending to choke in a pool of blood. Those scenes were the very foundation of my filmmaking experience.

Regarding whether working without roles can be successful is completely down to the crew and project. A lot of the time I imagine it will completely fail, but with like-minded people I can see this method being really 'organic' (forgive me for using that word in this context), without the formalities of roles and hierarchy.

I think it's a good idea to not always be so serious about doing things the conventional/'right' way all of the time and to experiment more.

Anyways, here's the finished piece...

And some photos I took along the way...

Little Dorrit...

A nice building in Dalston...

The naughty corner...

At last, Borough has its own old skool Garage night, can't wait...

An opportunistic Crow...

Janine's desk

With reference to my previous post entitled ‘Desk space’, allow me to draw your attention to this passage that I’ve just come across…

…in her office where there were such quantities of lecture notes, letters and other documents lying around that it was like standing amidst a flood of paper. On the desk, which was both the origin and the focal point of this amazing profusion pf paper, a virtual paper landscape had come into being in the course of time, with mountains and valleys. Like a glacier when it reaches the sea, it had broken off at the edges and established new deposits all around on the floor, which in turn were advancing imperceptibly towards the centre of the room… It once occurred to me that at dusk, when all of this paper seemed to gather into itself the pallor of the fading light, it was like snow in the fields, long ago, beneath the ink black sky.

W.G. Sebald’s ‘The Rings of Saturn’

48hfc

Taking part in the Smoke & Mirrors 48 hour film competition today. The theme 'size' was unveiled at 7pm last night. Despite our group failing to come up with a concrete idea (most of our stronger ideas revolved around a man with a micro penis who compensates this by always buying the largest sizes of everything), we are still meeting this morning to start shooting.

Regardless of how the piece turns out, it should be fun. We're lucky enough to have a tall friend who has agreed to let us film him. So I imagine we'll end up going down the documentary (or maybe mockumentary?) route, exploring the pitfalls of being so dangerously tall.

Shooting using a dslr. No lights. On board sound recording. Back to basics. Proper Dogme. Bring it.

Frank's Cafe

Here are some pictures I took last night at Frank's Cafe on the roof of the multistory carpark in Peckham. Hanging around in a multistory car park at night isn't something I'd usually recommend, however...

The view from up there is great because you can see both West, the City and the Docklands all in one skyline. I was going to take three photos of the different parts of the skyline and then use my Photoshop wizardry to stitch them together into one beautiful panoramic triptych. After a few beers I forgot all about that idea. I did at least get the Docklands shot though...

As the next picture highlights, the drawback of holding an event in a dark carpark is that the whole place ends up being used as a toilet. There were portaloos there but the majority of people opted to find one of the many shadowy alcoves instead. By the end of the night there was a torrent of piss streaming down the ramps.

People were respectful of the installations at least.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case when I drink too much, the night ended on a rather sour note. I'm not referring to stuffing my face with junk food, although that is equally shameful (I'm so disappointed with myself *sob*, I was doing so well at eating healthy recently, and now *sob* it's all gone to shit. I might as well stuff my face for the rest of the week now).

No, the real silly moment came when myself and a friend of mine, Gavin, were leaving and, as is customary between real men, we had a little bit of a Greco Roman wrestling match. Alas, things got a bit heated and Gavin's glasses fell off, I seized the opportunity, picked them up and launched them right over a fence.

I have no idea why.

The thing is, these weren't those black rimmed glasses that hipsters wear to look nerdy, no, these were Gavin's real glasses, he needs them to fucking see.

After I did it we both looked at each other and realized how stupid it was. Well, I say we both looked at each other, not quite accurate, I was looking at Gav, he thought he was looking at me but was actually squinting at a lamp post.

We spent the next 40 minutes trying to find them. I climbed over a barbed wire fence and squeezed myself in a space no more than half a metre wide between the fence and a wall and then proceeded to rummage through rubbish and leaves. As you can probably imagine, we didn't find them, which was unfortunate because it meant I had to lead Gavin home like a Golden Retriever. Luckily he has a spare pair at home.

Strangely, I actually have a picture of the glasses in question. Strange, because it's not something I'd usually take a picture of. Perhaps I subconsciously plotted to do it all along?

Apologies to you once again Gavin. A good night though I think you'd have to agree.