The work of zero-budget auteur Adam Cooley is a provocative reminder that the career trajectory of a filmmaker should not necessarily conform to that envisaged by the majority of aspiring media professionals – and, likewise, the psychedelic potpourri of actor-director-editor Cooley’s lo-fi visions, rendered with primitive software and poor equipment, are a rejoinder to the overproduced gloss many seek to emulate. But his work (of which this is perhaps his finest achievement yet) is at once an entirely honest and personal experience, as well as a totally unprepossessing odyssey of unrivaled cinematic genius. Currently Untitled positions itself as a pseudo-documentary, charting the misadventures of a semi-fictional character who’s “making films for absolutely no-one”, and as such, through its hodgepodge of sped-up, slowed-down, pitch-shifted, colour-twisted imagery, mines much the same thematic territory as Jean-Luc Godard’s 1980s output, or even the work of Toshio Matsumoto or Shūji Terayama, both of whom Cooley cites as influences.

That the majority of film wannabes dream of becoming the next Christopher Nolan, Steven Soderbergh or even James Cameron is itself not a depressing reality, nor is it a valid cause for argument, but the prohibitive and knee-jerk attitude these same students and hobbyists – and, we must add, their educators and champions – have toward alternative cinematic sensibilities is not only shockingly fascist but socially intolerable. The more exposure given to filmmakers like Cooley by any media outlet helps to break this mindset: contrary to conventional movie wisdom, his work has garnered high praise and genuinely supportive reviews, with limited independent sell-thru releases of this and other films in the US – facts that not only offer encouragement to all alternative filmmakers, but quite rightly suggest Cooley’s films in particular deserve much more than a cursory interest. Unfortunately, modern mainstream attitudes might preclude this, which is an incredible shame, because it should not be inconceivable to see an Adam Cooley original on show in the same arthouse and multiplex theatres that promote Avatar (2009; dir. James Cameron) or Iron Man 2 (2010; dir. Jon Favreau).

Currently Untitled is not at the IMDb

Visit Adam Cooley’s official site

A recent YouGov survey suggesting that 69% of the British population want more interactivity with mainstream television, demonstrated by the ability to influence dramatic narratives through digital interfaces or online resources, also revealing the vast majority of audiences use social networking media whilst simultaneously viewing the more traditional television broadcasts, was reacted to with outright disgust by some commentators – a depressing poll on The Guardian website saw 92% of its readers against the idea, and the comments section on the same article revealed the contemptuous attitude many practitioners (both established and upcoming) have toward their audiences – but this indignation is both misplaced and damning. The barrier between creator and consumer must be broken down for the mass audio-visual media to escape the hierarchical and inhibiting cul-de-sac into which it has firmly encamped itself, and outlooks that belittle the audience are unacceptable.

The rationale behind this sickening reaction comes from the largely misinformed notion that many viewers want input solely through the digital function of their television sets – but to give the audience a multiple choice option through their remote controls, choosing from a list of predetermined plot developments, is just as patronising and elitist as not given them any choice at all. Let’s remember Channel 4′s failed experiment with Dubplate Drama (2005-2009), an otherwise interesting urban character piece belittled by its producers’ insistence on adding a desperate attempt at interactivity: at the conclusion of each episode viewers were encouraged to choose from two options, the decided of which would play next week. But the YouGov survey reveals that viewers want more input than this system offers them – they want to be an active part of making dramatic, non-factual programmes, and desire more from the experience than simplistic ‘red button’ choices.

Technology alone does not limit the extent of interactivity audiences have with the broadcast image, rather the manner in which it is utilised. To give viewers the full interactivity they crave through their handsets or laptops alone would be conventionally impossible – resources and coordination preclude real-time viewer influence on programmes unless all content is live, and their responses filtered through an impartial mediator – therefore, if this demand is to be met – and, contrary to the negative attitudes present in the UK at this time, it should be – then viable, executable alternatives need to be found. In order to be truly effective, these must take into consideration not only modern consumer technologies, including social networking, but also alternative media practices, which will allow audiences greater access to a programme than they have at the moment.

For a preliminary model, let’s suggest how an interactive programme – the initial premise of which is developed in the conventional manner, by commissioning editors and independent producers to suit mainstream channel guidelines and ambitions, and piloted successfully with a strong audience share and viewer appreciation – may be guided on broadcast not by the media professionals behind its inception and production, but by a responsive and proactive audience throughout its run – and in strict contrast to the test screening practices of modern cinema, where a single audience are asked to make decisions on largely predetermined factors. Constant consultation with the programme’s audience, through a chain of communication that facilitates this accessibility, would allow ideas to develop in an egalitarian, semi-improvisational manner, using online networking and regional brainstorming events, and forcing alternative processes to those usually employed in television production to come to the fore.

In this way, a programme filmed over a week and broadcast on a Friday can be discussed immediately during and after transmission by online forums, Twitter hashtags and Facebook groups, all of which are monitored by the production team. The results, opinions and ideas from these are then taken before a prearranged touring discussion group the following day, and finalised – the touring aspect ensures no two decision making sessions are ever the same, and should be chaired by actors and writers with close ties to the finished product. These brainstorming sessions should operate as open forums, without restrictions on those who attend, and guided by the chairs, who must deliver intrinsic knowledge of the production’s resources and schedule in order for the participants to best evaluate the information on display. The conclusions reached by the participants can then be brought back to the programme makers on the Monday morning, applied during rehearsals and improvisation sessions, and the subsequent episode is filmed in studio for broadcast at the end of the week.

This is only one model for true viewer interactivity, and certainly it is not the most refined or effective, but the actuality of any participatory practice on mainstream television in this country will not come to pass until media professionals accept that theirs is a shared creative form, one that requires participation and encouragement outside of any overtly defensive professional system in order to grow and develop beyond its initial aspect, and that the cult of the writer, prevalent in mainstream theory and criticism, as well as the actual professional structure itself, and growing constantly in power day by day, is both supercilious and cliquey. This won’t happen until viewer participation is accepted at a basic level of media education, or championed by a high-profile production company, journal or mainstream channel. The demand is huge in this country for interactive drama, for viewer participation and for changes in the way we create and consume our national television programming. That this demand won’t be met unless it is on the restrictive terms of those who hold the reigns of media power is as depressing as it is predictable.

Telefantasy has inspired a large percentage of viewers to pen unproduced screenplays, unpublished novels or self-distributed fanzines based on their obsessions, occasionally foraying into the realm of no-budget fan film production, but the golden fleece for all fanboys is inclusion in the official canon of their chosen show – something which today is completely and unconditionally denied them by the gatekeeper mentality of many modern media professionals and their respective products, which they maintain as unique and untouchable for fear that “amateurs” may damage their preciousness. But, by taking an under-appreciated programme no longer in circulation, and appealing directly to its fan base, Canadian outfit Retcon Studios are turning their sci-fi dreams into reality, and proving that viewer input is not only possible but essential.

Space: 1999 was crippled even before its release: a product of the overactive but underfed imagination of husband and wife team Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, and bankrolled by Lew Grade’s infamous Incorporated Television Company, it suffered in its conception from what appears to have been a stiflingly uncreative atmosphere, wherein artistic decisions were overruled in favour of opportunism and cost-cutting. The series as it stands is both confusing and inconsistent, as if those responsible suffered from a narrative amnesia, and yet, as thousands of fans would protest, there is much to treasure in its curiously sombre blend of Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Louis Stevenson and Carl Jung. The central performances are polished and refreshingly human, the production design is almost a thing of retrochic beauty, and Brian Johnson’s model effects work, later emulated by the likes of Star Wars (1977; dir. George Lucas) and Alien (1979; dir. Ridley Scott), on which Johnson himself worked, are pre-CGI textbook – all fertile ground for the work of talented artists and technicians, including David Tomblin and Christopher Penfold.

Retcon Studios have taken the original muddled episodes and reedited their content, as well as realigning them chronologically, to “improve pacing, integrate additional material to improve dramatic texture, and mitigate scientific and technical inaccuracies where feasible”. The mentality hidden by this rather cold objective possibly stems from the fan’s need to apologise for the failures of his or her idols, but sums up their innate desire to be part of the same; a need that informs projects such as the remastered Star Trek series or Star Wars films, both of which set precedents for Retcon’s aspirations. But, more than these, Retcon and their creative driving force Eric Bernard are attempting to rewrite the internal history, characterisation and narrative of the show; changing names, locations and plotlines, in an example of what, at it’s heart, is positive audience participation. Bernard and his colleagues may be media professionals by day, but, like all fans, they want to be part of the show they enjoy, to add to it as much as they are inspired by it – so above all, their actions with Space: 2099 are indicative of every audience’s inherent desire to become an aspect of the spectacle. A desire conceptually denied us in today’s media climate.

Currently the project is waiting for a green light – the copyright to the original shows is tied up with a major media player, and Bernard’s attempts to communicate with them have been frustrating. In his conversations with Granada and the SyFy Channel, there’s that familiar sense of condescending media bullshit, as if Retcon’s project was beneath them simply because it originated outside of their closed world. The mass audio-visual media bitterly resents input from outsiders, and protects itself with a self-imposed system of bureaucratic falsehoods and trivial conditions. Whether or not Space: 2099 will break through these barriers remains to be seen, but that it deserves greater exposure than that it has received from mainstream practitioners and commentators so far is undoubted – what the project says about the viewer’s ability to comprehend, influence and adapt any media product, and, more importantly, bring an effectiveness beyond that achieved by their creators, is just as inspirational as anything the original Space: 1999 put onscreen.

Visit the official Space: 2099 website

Visit the official Retcon Studios website

What begins as an overworked relationship drama reveals itself to have more in common thematically with the likes of Z for Zachariah (1984; dir. Anthony Garner) or the work of Alan Garner, particularly The Owl Service (1969-68) or his novel Red Shift (London: Collins, 1973), than it does any mainstream prime-time drama, and retains the essence of those juvenilia albeit in a modern adult sense, despatching some sublime pop-culture references along the way. The film drags through some wordy, actor-orientated segments that perhaps condemn modern cinematic concepts more than any of the personnel involved here, but these are admittedly well handled by the minimal off-beat cast, and ultimately help to elevate the more unassuming and impressive elements of the film.

In contrast to contemporary sci-fi offerings like Inception (2010; dir. Christopher Nolan) – reviewed here – Framework manages to convey complex themes without patronising its audience, and, even though its trajectory is as conventional as any blockbuster, what remains beyond the narrative is visually stunning and technically assured – properties largely absent from mainstream British cinema. Films like this disprove the myth perpetuated by many modern media practitioners and commentators, and supported by film education in this country and abroad, that successful feature length film production can only be achieved at an absurdly high cost, but helmer Mckenna and his creative team have crafted a fascinating and confident riposte to that misguided belief, joining the growing ranks of intelligent, entertaining and beautiful films made on low-to-zero budgets by UK filmmakers.

Visit the official Framework blog here

Watch the film online at Vimeo

This is an abysmally contrived film, attempting to trade not only on its populist comic book origins but also the trendy compliment of its cast, many of whom are familiar from the tedious North American indie scene. The result is a botched job, unsuitably pitched between a westernized Kung-Fu film and a nauseating teen rom-com, and unassisted by helmer Wright’s similarly slapdash inability to approach his material with anything but an adolescent mindset. The showy effects work here, which attempts to replicate a comic book mise-en-scène, is as flat and predictable as the derided onscreen sound effects featured in Batman (1966-69), precisely because Wright is unable to make the cinematic (and adult) distinction between panel framing and film composition, as exemplified by the likes of Diabolik (1968; dir. Mario Bava) or Hulk (2003; dir. Ang Lee).

That this film has support in the UK from some supposedly well-respected quarters – The Guardian and Time Out in particular have been aggressively vocal in their praise – says as much about the cloyingly desperate need for media commentators and critics to brownnose mainstream practitioners (identified here) as it does any talent on show in this mess. Through their zealousness, we’re forced to accept the view that Wright is somehow one of our most successful exports, both artistically and commercially, but this, his biggest film to date, has taken only sobering numbers at the box office – no doubt due to its impersonal conceit – and his work, which comprises the banal Shaun of the Dead (2004) and the painfully embarrassing Hot Fuzz (2007), reveals nothing but the awkward aspirations of a teenager; an insubstantial attempt to ape the oeuvre of Sam Raimi, with little precision or intelligence.

The British film industry, which has a wealth of untapped and ignored talent, deserves unbiased honesty, not only behind the camera but at a basic review level, especially when the fragile structures on which it rests are in question. The attitude of many critics in this country, and the performance of ex-pat helmers like Wright, who idolize and emulate a crass Hollywood model, cannot assist an industry already beleaguered by inactivity and lack of homegrown recognition. If Scott Pilgrim vs. the World was as well-tuned as it is hysterical, with a more considered control behind its cartoon technique, then any praise may be justified: as it is, it’s little more than a cruel joke to applaud this over countless marginalised UK films and filmmakers.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World at the IMDb

Actor, filmmaker and creator of YouTube sci-fi series Damon Dark, Adrian Sherlock has recently been re-editing and re-uploading his oeuvre, and today is the turn of The Death of Damon Dark, a shocking installment penned by Brett Gerry Films. Originally conceived as a four-part serial, Sherlock has revised the work into a short film format, condensing some of the action but retaining its mystery.

Read the original four-part screenplay here (PDF, 34.2kb)

Watch Damon Dark on YouTube

Visit Adrian Sherlock’s official website

Become a fan on Facebook

The opportunities for independent film and television production in this country, let alone in the North East region, are disappointingly few. Post-graduate media practitioners are taught to go where the money takes them, rather than build their own sustainable creative bases closer to home, and the regional screen agencies, who should be creating those opportunities themselves, are content merely to wait for the larger, more anonymous TV and film corporations to patronise their respective regions, thus ensure anything made under their guidance is anodyne and contemptuous as opposed to directly addressing the aspirations and anxieties of a select peoples. This is an intolerable situation and one that desperately needs to change.

But change comes at a cost that too many are reluctant to spend: the inhibitive, hierarchal situation present not only in the mass audio-visual media, but also at the most basic levels of cinema and television production, education and distribution – which on closer inspection reveals inherent fears over the collaborative nature of the form, and the loss of privilege that comes with alternative processes – desperately needs those same processes, even though the vast majority of media professionals, theorists and commentators are unwilling to acknowledge the necessity for change let alone accept alternatives. Only through real-world examples, initiated by those brave enough to strike against the old guard, can we prove these possibilities to the hostile mindsets of the fatuous incompetents who hold the reigns of media power.

In this patronising and debilitating atmosphere, the individual – which in this case should be taken as any independent film or television production start-up, regardless of numbers – must look for their own opportunities, create their own markets, and exploit avenues available to them uniquely on low to zero budgets. An excellent and admirable example of this forward-thinking, practical attitude originates here in the North East of England, where many media practitioners are quick to lament the lack of golden opportunities, but the superlative efforts of Durham-based journalist and broadcaster Richard D. Hall in producing his own content and marketing it directly to an available audience not only destroys this myth, but embarrasses those who cling to its insensible notion like religious zealots propagating a geocentric astronomical model.

This simile is well suited, as Hall has made alternative scientific, political and media orientated theories his stock in trade. His self-produced series Richplanet.net (2008-Present) – a name which points also to the important cross-platform nature of many independent productions, allowing viewers true interaction with programme makers usually denied them by the hierarchal, gatekeeping measures employed by the BBC and its ilk – has gone through four seasons of investigating, exposing and debating the counter-culture topics of UFOs, government cover-ups and secret world powers. Further to this, Hall has expanded his output to included his own idiosyncratic chat show The Richplanet Starship (2009-Present), wherein he willingly gives exposure to fringe commentators, some of whom are eccentric and harmless, others portentous or potentially contagious. Whether one endorses Hall’s view, and, to be brutally honest, it is of a well-researched albeit naively judgemental variety, his tenacity in and inevitable success at producing and distributing two programmes outside of any mainstream, big money corporation must be acknowledged, and, furthermore, endorsed if modern media practitioners, and the next generation of film and television wannabes, are to break the pedantic cycle we are currently inhibited by.

It is a telling point to examine the course not only of Hall’s work but its trajectory in relation to Edge Media TV, the erstwhile platform for controversial and alternative debate on UK television, previously available on satellite television, and home to small-pond big-hitters like Theo Chalmers and Philip Gardiner. Edge Media offered an outlet to alternative viewpoints, many of which felt consciously undermined by mainstream media, and, rightly or wrongly, had an axe to grind on a variety of topics. Hall’s work first appeared on his channel, alongside the pompous and self-important work of people like Gardiner, who themselves represented an as equally tyrannical regime as the media outlets they sought to expose. But Edge Media, perhaps because of this same self-satisfied attitude, ultimately ate itself: having over-spent its budget, the channel was forced to sell precious airtime to shopping networks and dubious phone-in psychics. Suddenly, Gardiner, Chalmers, Nick Ashron and the whole so-called “alternative view” circuit were left without a soapbox for their wooly content, and inspirational autuers like Hall or Christopher Barnett (who, with his level-headed and egalitarian approach, seems a natural successor to James Burke) were left totally in the cold.

However, unlike his peers, Hall seized this opportunity to project himself further into the consciousness of further potential audiences by jumping from the sinking Edge Media TV to another, unrelated and more commercial-minded channel, thus ensuring his market-share increased as much as his kudos. This move reveals more about alternative production and distribution models necessary for modern cinema and television production than it does about Hall and his specific content, but his example, again, should be lauded and promoted by and to media professionals and commentators. Hall has the ability that many practitioners desire in themselves but consistently fail to implement: he is not confined by his own convictions, nor does he exhibit any misplaced loyalties to his own content. Hall demonstrates, in both the marketing and distribution of his programmes, as well as in their simplistic but effective production techniques, an adaptability that ensures he continues to create and connect when others are stillborn or stalled.

Filmmaking in the UK should not be initiated by the arrival of foreign production companies propagating foreign production models, nor should television production wait for the patronising injection of cash and crew into a beleaguered and lonely region by London-based idiots, but, following Hall’s example, individuals must pursue and generate such opportunities themselves, just as Hall creates his own content and forcibly exploits it, at once remaining honest to his integrity but also ruthless in his own self-exploitation. This example should be recognised and replicated by public funding and education bodies such as the regional screen agencies, whose job it is to create and promote similar opportunities. That they would rather wait anxiously and childishly for the BBC or ITV, or various Bollywood or Hollywood companies, to discover their regions through tourist brochures, and exploit their parochial talents in a totally unpalatable and unprofitable manner, is further indictment of the mentality of many modern media professionals – the same mentality that no doubt would label Hall an amateur toiler rather than an iconoclastic fountainhead.

Visit Richard D. Hall’s official website

Miller’s film suffers from a dichotomy that Barry Humphreys, as central performer, physicalizes in the two roles he essays here: one urbane, witty and hypocritically impolite, and the other crass, slipshod, even embarrassing in its conceit. It’s not the gross-out humour that appeals in this film – although it cannily predicts the slide into that territory which Hollywood took in the late 1990s, when films like Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999; dir. Jay Roach), There’s Something About Mary (1998; dirs. Bobby and Peter Farrelly) or Road Trip (2000; dir. Todd Philips) tried to best each other with increasingly repugnant, alienating attempts at comedy – but the gentle, almost unnoticeable asides that the film dispenses simply across its scope framing. The passenger removing his kippah before landing in a Muslim state, the credit card that charges the Australian taxpayer, even the notion that Joan Rivers could one day be President of the United States – all of these small, throwaway touches are infinitely more welcome than a laboured fart joke or plasticine make-up effect.

On a different note, the film features another example of the problem identified in these reviews here and here. Pamela Stephenson offers a typically shrill, unfunny performance, further adding fuel to notion that British-based actors – who are largely untalented and egotistical – are involved in many productions purely because they are known in the industry, rather than for any artistic integrity they are trying to bring to a project. Thankfully, Stephenson has since retired from performing, preferring to write books about her equally unfunny husband, and sometimes psychoanalyze celebrities for Channel 4.

Les Patterson Save the World at the IMDb

Yesterday, Brett was invited to talk about the abolition of the UK film Council, and the prospective future of the British film industry, as related in our article here, on both national and local radio. Appearing on BBC Radio 5 Live’s Gabby Logan programme with James Richardson of Vertigo Films, and later the Jon and Anne drivetime show for BBC Radio Newcastle, this brought our understanding of the situation to a wider audience, and seems to have been received in a generally positive, interested light.

Exposure and discussions on alternative views to the generally apathetic and negative “Save the UK Film Council” campaigns are of paramount importance right now: we can only move forward with the British film industry if we accept the inevitability of the situation, and look to collectively establish the foundations for a new, improved government film body.

You can listen to both shows again on BBC iPlayer until Tuesday 10th August 2010.

Listen again to the Gabby Logan programme on Radio 5 Live

Listen again to the Jon and Anne show on BBC Radio Newcastle

This may be one of cinema’s finest ghost stories, and reminds us that folkloric myths like vampirism (which is suggested tentatively here) come from a different wellspring, and therefore demand better treatment, than the manner in which they are popularised by Hollywood and its imitators. The current trend for gothic chic, tied as it is to a boom in teenage literature, reveals nothing about ourselves other than our unceasing ability to swallow the comfortable, easy option. Vampire myths – like werewolves, zombies and witches – have been castrated by mainstream cinema: no longer do these myths have relevance to us as uncanny metaphors for disease, rape or postmortem panic, but merely offer an excuse for over-indulgent actors to wear thick eyeliner and stare into the middle distance.

Hancock’s film seems reluctant to actually name its monster – almost as if it predicts the ubiquity and vacuity of its cinematic successors, and wants to distance itself from them – but it uses vampirism in its most repellent and unsettling form, slowly tracing the infection through a small US backwater, allowing its cause (and the film’s villain) to remain literally under the surface, ready to break water like some vengeful memory. Whilst the film falls into the well-worn trap of many is-it-all-real plots, and some of the more promising sequences are ruined by that peculiarly American zeal for coverage, Let’s Scare Jessica to Death offers a strong case that myth and fantasy can be used to more powerful effect than in dire modern studies like Daybreakers (2009; dir. Michael Spierig and Peter Spierig), the Twilight series or True Blood (2008-Present).

Let’s Scare Jessica to Death at the IMDb