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

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

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

The reaction to homicidal gunman Raoul Moat, whose criminal career ended with his apparent suicide, suggests, unlike the recent Cumbrian killing spree, that a large proportion of the public not only feel pity for Moat but endorse his campaign against the British police force, which left one civilian dead. In a unique scenario, public opinion has preempted and befuddled the mass audio-visual media, who usually, by their nature, reflect the attitudes of their consumers after the fact, but are currently at a loss to appease themselves with the unsavoury and subversive views on offer through Twitter, Facebook and bizarre public displays. Some news shows and publications have taken a hardline against these attitudes, safe in the knowledge that it will not alienate their mainly conservative market-share; others have responded with ambivalence – headlines like “Moat’s girl doesn’t know he’s dead” could be taken in either support or derision – but none have offered explanations or solutions to the issue.

On examination, support for Moat comes largely from his own social strata, from a middle to lower working class largely underprivileged and marginalised, not only by society but by the MAVM themselves. Recent events in this country, specifically incidents involving the police force and the recent general election, have left a growing sense of dislocation between state and public, especially amongst the lower classes, who feel betrayed by the electoral results and unable to reconcile themselves with a draconian authority that threatens their wages, tax credits, benefits and support structures. Likewise, they are grossly misrepresented by the mass media, who offer unsightly caricatures of a vast number of their viewers purely because the media professionals responsible for them have no experience of their subjects – and neither do they desire such. Programmes like Misfits (2009-Present), Eastenders (1985-Present) or Shameless (2004-Present) are constructed by liberal middle class graduates without sufficient research into the poorly educated and inherently bigoted lifestyles of those they portray. The working class in this country are expected to swallow this scenario without question: in Raoul Moat, they have found someone who wouldn’t.

The high-profile police brutality meted out at G8 demonstrations in this country, and the awkward killing of Charles De Menezes, coupled with the lower classes’ innate distrust of authority, feeds the controversial opinions of many, who are openly accusing the police in collusion for Moat’s death – a number which also includes the deceased’s brother. Similarly, Moat’s actions, regardless of their true origin, have been read as an attack against that authority, which, for some, can’t come soon enough. The police in this case are not the brave, upstanding forces of justice visible in cinema and television, but corrupt and violent “piggies” – again, the gulf between reality and media as perceived by some reveals itself. Moat was, to them, justified in selecting police officers as his prey, as, further on from this, Moat was raging against all institutions of authority, be they political, media or public, and the police force, in their stab proof vests and positions of seemingly unquestioned immorality, were the perfect metaphor. Whatever the truth behind Moat’s short-lived infamy, and it is undoubtedly one more abstruse and personal than this, this is how many have come to see him, and they have reacted as thousand have through the centuries to such illusionary figures of rebellion and freedom.

Moat’s former home has been deluged with flowers and tributes from friends and admirers, in a manner usually reserved for victims of criminals, or much-loved celebrities. His belongings have been stolen from under police custody, coveted not by ghouls but by passionate devotees, recalling the mediaeval obsession with relics. Online posters and commentators have declared their undying support for him, changing their usernames to swell the ranks of Moat-related content. In all of this, it’s not hard to see Moat taking on, in his death, the mantle of modern folk-hero – compare his growing mythos with that of Robin Hood or King Arthur, both of whom were lower class citizens who waged justifiable campaigns of terror against an institutionalised evil, and faced death against the guards of tyranny. It’s not unfair, also, to suggest a growing unease with Moat’s death, which, in some commentator’s eyes, has yet to be explained adequately by those present (importantly, the police), and has all the trappings of a protoplasmic conspiracy theory.

But how can the media react to this? And how can they adequately report back their findings without isolating core elements of their viewers and readers? In short, they can’t – simply because they are unable or unwilling to admit their part in it’s origins. As in this article here, we are faced with another example of the gulf between creator and consumer, of the ever-growing privilege afforded the media professional and denied the receiver. If those affecting such attitudes toward Moat felt they were adequately represented and consulted by the mass audio-visual media, they would not find it necessary to elevate a brutal and misguided criminal to a level of cultural importance. That they do speaks volumes about how they perceive their place not only in society but as lowly members of a media-centric hierarchy: they see news programmes, fictional dramas, newspapers, radio shows and magazines as separate to themselves, a wholly distinct world to which they will never belong, and they must rebel against it as Moat did, but with status updates, tweets and fan pages as their weapons.

This is not the case. If the MAVM can afford the same privilege to us all that it retains for itself, the schizoid scenario apparent in this country and abroad – which often feeds agendas even more detestable than that surround Moat – would be on it’s way to recovery. That this won’t happen, and that the MAVM will attempt to retain power for itself by hypocritically reflecting back the unfortunate opinions raised around the gunman, is yet more justification for a national conversation of the state of the media, it’s content and our position within it.

YouTube features its own promoted videos on its homepage, and, whilst it may be churlish to suggest the platform has ulterior motives for elevating certain uploads, they are by nature bland, unimaginative and safe. The discerning browser therefore needs alternative avenues to find content that will uniquely stimulate them. Thankfully, two YouTube users are championing unnoticed video bloggers, web serials, comedy sketches and plenty more with their “One Minute Introduction” series.

Camcorder Bandits, also known as Kev and Rick, are two users with a history of skits, tutorials and reviews, who have recently opened their YouTube channel to other users, not only to drive up their own views but (more overtly) to give new talent much-needed exposure. The requirements are strict but fair, necessary to avoid the transitory nature of many YouTube accounts, but the content is varied and largely enjoyable. Only time will tell if Kev and Rick’s selection process becomes as remote and particular as that employed by YouTube, but, for the time being, they offer valuable and unprecedented coverage to some exciting videographers.

Visit the Camcorder Bandits’ YouTube channel

“I hate that shitty office job in IT,” says this film’s main character, modestly played by helmer Armstrong, “I’d rather work in the media.” This blank-faced confession, wrought by the fictionalised Armstrong during the filming of this semi-fictionalised documentary, reveals the heart of Captain Wardrobe Must Die, and the nature of many conversations, images and scenarios explored throughout its length. The silent desperation of its characters – so eager to become part of an accepted success path that they forget who they are, adopting alter egos or paranoid fixations to cover their apathy – mirrors the aspirations and disappointments of a million wannabe filmmakers, musicians and artists of all kinds. So it’s fitting that Armstrong adopts a style and technique that distances himself and his film from its subject.

Displaying an uncanny knack for associational editing, Armstrong cuts-up and tumble-drys his footage – creating flash-forwards that never pay-off, and a staccato rhythm that forces the viewer to question the reality of what they’re seeing. Similarly, the North East locations – many of which were coincidentally employed in our Act2Cam feature Beanz – are rendered in a haunting, almost futuristic way, and seem, despite title cards that concrete both month and year, to be ghosts from the future, echoing the chronological nervousness of the film.

There’s always the danger that any independent project becomes marred by the inflated egos of its originators. Here, Armstrong manages to sidestep that issue by embracing liberating improvisational techniques loathed by the majority of media professionals – eschewing pre-written scenes in favour of on-location ad-libbing – and by allowing the machismo inherent in many male filmmakers’ understanding of the cinematic spectacle to be cruelly but justly invalidated in several key scenes, suggesting, like All This Time (2009; dir. Kris N.) or It’s Nick’s Birthday (2009; dir. Graeme Cole) – reviewed here and here – that successful, alternative film projects must employ not only alternative cinematic practices but an honest process of self-exploration within the filmmaker.

Captain Wardrobe Must Die is not at the IMDb

Visit Roger Armstrong’s official website

Klaus Kinski – genius or madman? Here the fabled German actor, who appeared in over 130 (mostly awful) films, gives us cause for concern over the latter, as he struggles to recite his own interpretation of the New Testament before an aggressive and unforgiving crowd. Some of those present applaud him, others go out of their way to heckle and cajole him. It’s not inconceivable that a fair portion of his detractors may only be there to provoke or disrupt, rather than react honestly to his monologue, possibly as part of some religious or political activism – reflecting the delicate situation in Germany at the time, Kinski is constantly labeled a “fascist” – but, regardless of the opposition he faces, it seems remarkable that Kinski, who no doubt identified to some degree with his subject, fails to see the gulf of irony between that he repeats fervently on stage, and his violent, patriarchal dismissal of the audience.

As a film, this is an exercise in found-footage, with helmer Geyer (also a biographer of Kinski) piecing together a live performance filmed nearly forty years previously. Because of his empathy with Kinski, Geyer seems unwilling to alter or interpret the material, which has the fortunate side effect of rendering Jesus Christus Erlöser – despite an ill-judged eleventh hour attempt to force the proceedings in the direction of festival favourites like One Day in September (1999; dir. Kevin Macdonald), with shots of the actor, police and spectators set to overly-dramatic music – as a surprisingly low-key and thought-provoking interpretation of the event, allowing us to make up our own minds as to Kinski’s self-proclaimed importance.

Jesus Christus Erlöser at the IMDb

A lot later than usual, this is footage from the seventh week of Act2Cam workshops taking place during this year’s spring term. As the countdown begins for the final shoot, which will be taking place in only a few weeks, we can see the students applying the skills they have learnt through the course in preparation for the big event.

On an incidental note, this is our 100th post on this blog – long live Brett Gerry Films!!

Visit the official Act2Cam website

Watch more videos at the Act2Cam channel on Vimeo

This week’s footage from our ongoing acting workshop is filmed entirely by the students themselves. These excerpts also give an impression of how the finished film may feel.

Visit the official Act2Cam website

Watch more videos at the Act2Cam Channel on Vimeo

After a long delay, here’s the next production diary for Scenes from the Private Life of Scratchman Drexel, detailing the ongoing research vital to our forthcoming feature film. What can you see beyond the obvious?

More to follow soon.