2012-08-26

Comfort in Creativity

With only a couple of weeks to go before I begin my MLitt Theatre Studies, my excitement is quite obviously peaking.  Thankfully, my excitement is currently outweighing my anxieties - though to what extent I'm unsure. 

I wouldn't like to say that I coasted through my undergraduate degree (there were tough challenges, piling deadlines and endless reading to catch up on, as with any course), but overall I am still very proud of how easily I balanced the work and play ratio. 

There's no reason to assume I can't do it again, but the nerves are bound to fray at the prospect of entering a new level of academia after living so long as a working lad.  In a world of clocking on and off, I'm concerned my self-discipline over my unscheduled free time has seriously waned.  After three years of shift work and never knowing when the weekend will be, a dose of selfishness sets in on those sporadic days off, and having a good sit down always takes presidence over spur of the moment grand plans. 

Having written this, I would wager that my anxiety has nothing to do with the course itself, and far more to do with how I'm going to deal with a new lifestyle where I'm my own boss for a year.  Jeez, I'm such a slut for a rota. 

What I must remember is that my time as an undergraduate was endlessly inspiring.  My flatmates were perpetually inspiring, and besides their effect on my coursework, I was constantly painting, filming and writing.  Since then, the exhaustion and stress of an erratic shift pattern within a company that had slowly squandered my passion and loyalty for them through nepotism and power play.  When once I would have relished more responsibilities, the in-your-face nepotism and strange power play of a self-important manager left me with no desire to carry my enthusiasm past the end of shift. 

Wondermark.com pointed me towards this fascinating TED-style lecture by John Cleese, on the subject of creativity.  He highlights an idea that is at once both strikingly obvious and enlightening: creativity is limited only by one's environment, and not one's IQ. Having just watched it myself, I feel a surge of relaxation with regards to the coming year.  I have an opportunity to reassess why I'm following this career, how I can do it, and discover what was in my way before.  I'm going to be very poor at the end of it, but then, when haven't I been poor?  I can deal, right? 

2011-12-24

The Plan (so far)

1. Move. Tick!
2. Romance.
3. Career.
4. Bicycle.
5. Car.
6. Education.

(not necessarily in that order)

2010-06-08

You better believe our show is going to rock ultimate!

First of all, I realise I never really have anything interesting to say, but thank you all reading chumps for humouring me through six years of being a blogger, it's been a fun way to wile away the time that I'd otherwise just be watching telly and scratching myself and stuff.

Second of all, you really must look at this picture.

Third of all, have a read of this first draft of

Danger Historian 2: Get The Fuck Out

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT

Two boys GORDON and DANIEL are walking through a dark countryside, it is a clear night, but there is very little light. A Twilight Zone-esque tune overlays the first moments of this scene, and fades out to GORDON waffling about Doctor Who, which shall probably be ad-libbed on shooting.

GORDON
...The fact is, Jon Pertwee really was Britain's answer to Captain Kirk. The fact that previous generations of The Doctor's first reaction was to 'run away', Pertwee's Doctor could karate chop his foes into submission with one unconvincing shwing, and was fully trained in Venutian Aikido, if the two got into a fight, who'd you reckon would win?

GORDON looks around. DANIEL has fallen behind.

GORDON
Daniel? Dude, where are you? (pauses) Daniel!

GORDON pauses for a moment before walking back in the direction he'd came. He gets out his phone and dials DANIEL'S mobile. There is no answer, and goes straight to voicemail. Continuing back along the path, picking up pace now, each shot is dynamic and camera unsteady. GORDON eventually arrives at a wall, and decides to follow it back toward street light.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

GORDON arrives back at the cottage door, DANIEL is no where to be seen. GORDON unlocks the door, has one last look around, and heads inside.

INT. COTTAGE LIVINGROOM - NIGHT

GORDON sits down in the lowly-lit livingroom, and stares into middle distance for a moment, before reaching for the home phone and giving DANIEL another call. Still no answer, but this time GORDON leaves a message.

GORDON
Hey, dude, I'm back at the house now, couldn't find you, sorry. If you need to call, I'm gonna stay up anyway, so... Where are you man?

FADE TO:

INT. COTTAGE LIVINGROOM - MORNING

GORDON wakes up suddenly in his chair, and sitting next to him is DANIEL, also sleeping where he is sat.

GORDON
Woah, Daniel! When the fuck d'you come in?

DANIEL
(Awakening suddenly, startled)
Uh, I, dunno.

GORDON
Where'd you go last night?

DANIEL
I'll tell you where...

DANIEL looks directly into the camera with an excited look in his eye. The camera zooms in as the screen FADES TO:

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - NIGHT

The fading rants about Doctor Who alert us to the fact that we have skipped back to last night. DANIEL is falling behind rapidly as he stumbles along, to busy looking through some Magic cards he has brought along.

DANIEL
(Gleefully)
Captivating Vampire, you little priiick!

Torchlight suddenly fills DANIEL's face, blinding him for a moment.

[MYSTERIOUS FIGURE] is out of focus and in silhouette for a moment.

[MYSTERIOUS FIGURE]
You there! What are you doing here?

DANIEL
Who the hell are you?

We pull slowly into focus and the [MYSTERIOUS FIGURE] is revealed as none other than KEIR LAWSON.

KEIR LAWSON
I'm Keir Lawson, now get the fuck out of my documentary!

CUT TO:

The theme song, preferably composed by REALISTIC SUSAN & THE WEEGIE BOARDS but in any case a 70's funk style track. The title
Danger Historian 2: Get The Fuck Out rolls over a series of shots of KEIR LAWSON dancing and generally posing.

CUT TO:

KEIR LAWSON standing in midshot delivering an introduction to his documentary, while DANIEL stares confused into the camera, still slightly blinded by the lights.


The following sequence will be scripted on location and improvised. The following will occur and emerge through the backdrop of the Danger Historian documentary. Basically lots of dramatic shots of DANIEL screaming 'why?!' progressively louder and with more desperation. KEIR LAWSON'S conclusion to the documentary however will be told in the style of a comforting word of advice to DANIEL as KEIR LAWSON places a hand on his shoulder.

CUT TO:

INT. COTTAGE LIVINGROOM - MORNING

GORDON wakes up suddenly, and looks to the seat where DANIEL was sitting. DANIEL is not there. DANIEL was never there. He reaches quickly to the phone and dials DANIEL'S number. No answer. GORDON turns to camera, which zooms quickly into a close up.


GORDON
Where's Daniel?

CUT TO:

EXT. ROCKY HILLSIDE - DAY

A wide shot of a hillside landscape, somewhere hidden is DANIEL, only partially visible. Across the screen flashes the words 'Where's Daniel?' as a game show spike tunes in.


FADE TO BLACK

An interlude, if you will ladies and gentlemen, as we enjoy a clip show of quality home movie moments from the holiday.

FADE TO:

EXT. ROCKY HILLSIDE - DAY

The same wideshot, flashing words and games show tune are used. A drum-roll rolls. The camera zooms in toward where DANIEL is hiding, who then emerges, answers his phone, and winks at the camera. The words 'YOU FOUND DANIEL!' flash on screen.


FADE TO CREDITS

As credits roll, preferably more dancing. Definitely more dancing.

2010-04-29

"Like A Friendly Easter Island Statue with a Bow Tie"

I can't help but feel a little righteous (okay, quite a bit righteous) regarding Matt Smith's obvious success with establishing himself as The Doctor. The confident bounce in his delivery is impressive, a frankly seamless magic trick where there is both at once the recogniseable arrogance and urgency of his predecessors as well as a sweeping shift in tone; a New Man.

Whereas The Doctors 9 and 10 were weighted by the trauma of war, the realisation of mortality and general guilt and loneliness, this Doctor v11.0 has finally shaken off the angst and self-pity, instead running off in a feverish love affair with his own desire for adventure. Underlying all the 'woe is me'-ing of Tennant's apologies for getting everyone in such a mess was the blatant thrill of danger and uncertainty; The Doctor was a closet Indiana Jones. This Doctor, he's well up for some jeopardy! Having spent (more than) enough time settling scores and tying up loose ends with old friends, he's off to rekindle the eager fugitive-detective days of yesteryear with nary a care in the world.

That's all in the here and now though. Why were we so confident and enthusiastic for this new doctor when he was first revealed nearly a year before Tennant had even ended his tenure? Well, obviously in Steven Moffat we trusted, the newly appointed head writer and executive producer clearly had his reasons. The man clearly adores Doctor Who, and revels in timey-wimey narratives, so why would anyone doubt him? I'm not sure if this is anything new, but certainly in the past few years, a TV writer's reputation has been considerably more instrumental in a show's success, certainly in sci-fi anyway, if not since the rise and rise of American TV drama as a whole. Nevertheless, the unveiling of Matt Smith as The Doctor revealed that a large chunk of the viewing public, as always, were adverse to the idea of any bold change.

I was utterly dismayed by the number of people I personally know who (in some cases) were prepared to outright abandon the show on the basis of Matt Smith's weird-ass face. On a side note, let it be noted that in my particular sample of case-studies, these were all women who made this point - how odd, you might think, considering the general rage at the constant absence of normal (read: ugly) people in the media. Thank you very much Tennant and Barrowman (shakes fist), your pretty boy looks have led the public to assume that Doctor Who, in its Saturday night light entertainment slot is a place reserved for someone to sit back and sigh quietly and gently swoon after, when in fact...

Oh, wait... "It was this or a french maid outfit". Phwoah. Just give me a minute or two, ta.

Yeah, alright, I'm just going to have to let Matt Smith's weird face go; I'm far too happy to have Karen Gillan's redhead kissogram running about on the telebox to tackle this issue with any credibility. I mean just look at her. Sigh. Swoon.

Somewhat back on track, though keep Karen Gillan in mind, I'm coming back to her, Steven Moffat has an agenda. Firstly, the most major of changes to the show were largely directorial, with a delicately more filmic appearance and in physical design, with the exuberant and flamboyant shift to Barbarella-esque (Barbarellaean?) 60s flair, it seems this series has discovered what exactly makes Doctor Who a true gem of contemporary British design. It's the melding of the kitsch and domestic with the grand and inventive (the 3D glasses that see particles from other dimensions, the elegant and epic steampunk time machine hidden inside a phone box, the pocket watch that contains the secrets of a Timelord, a terrifying unseen entity borne from the bickering of a self-scaremongering crowd of Daily Mail types etc. ).

Hey, that last example wasn't an example of design, that was an example of scripting! Yes, yes, you're right there, Hypethetical Reader of Blog. Suck me off - stream of consciousness coming through.
I'm eager to see where Moffat's Doctor's character arc is headed; it's far too early to tell, I know. What he has made clear is his vision of Doctor Who as a fairy tale, which is an exceptional angle to elaborate upon. Certainly in the past, Moffat's stories have revolved around bump-in-the-night style creatures, and our introduction to Amelia Pond was simply spellbinding. In fact, the series opener very much introduced Pond as our chief protagonist, and the Doctor the magic and mystery at the bottom of the garden. How far this fairy tale will extend, I'm not sure yet - though that 'crack in the world' that keeps following them about, I would guess, indicates that that first story isn't entirely done with, and like any good fairy tale, it'll be our heroine's responsibility to fix it, the Doctor will only be the herald and facilitator to such an end. Well, maybe; that's my prediction anyway.

Och, I never actually mentioned Karen Gillan's Amy Pond there, just the little girl version, which isn't exactly what I'd had in mind. Cue unmotivated picture.

Finally, lets talk about Moffat's Scottish Agenda. I'm keen to see how this one plays out, and how audiences react to it. At first glance, its incredibly jarring, and not at all subtly imposed; I can imagine many an English viewer wondering why they're getting Scottish nationalism shoved down their throats. A wise move then to place episode two upon the Starship UK (side note: though its the weakest episode so far, there are some brilliant ideas in this one, just not enough time given to any one of them).

Since New Who began, the show has held a rather uncomfortable nationalistic pride of queen and country. For the most part, I can forgive them for simply trying to both mimic the quintessentially British hallmarks of the series' history (the past forty years of Doctor Who are more or less a map of British identity and sensibilities - more on Old Who another time though) as well as admirably trying to establish a personality separate from the successful template of American science fiction. Nonetheless, once Russell T. Davies got a taste for it, he just couldn't stop bumming the Queen (har har) and the pride of Britain was just all too much.

The Beast Below (another side note: I'm going to have to write another post dedicated to just how much sex is written between the lines of this new series... The Beast Below, now really...) was set upon a ship filled with 'British' people, covered in 'British' iconography, except no one on the ship are Scottish (they got their own ship). Nothing of the standard Doctor Who depiction of British life has changed, they still use the Union Jack, and there's very little reflection of Scottish identity other than Pond's accent marking her out as unusual. I'm very often told that I read too much into television, to which I reply Nonsense! and wave my arts degree in the air, to which they then humour me, because speaking at length about film and tv is about the only luxury it can afford me right now, but anyway!

I reckon these quips about the Scottish, particularly in this context are far more cynical and questioning of the series' portrayal of cultural identity in general than mere stamps of ownership from a Scottish writer. I'd love to see what effect this movement has on future episodes, whether the animosity over representation is explored, or the whole thing cooled and put to rest; on the one hand, you've got Winston Churchill portrayed as a bit of a thief, not to mention, a leader of the daleks, but on the other hand, they suggested that The Doctor got his hole with Elizabeth I.

2010-03-28

Tough Edit

Once again, I begin with an apology to my blog; yet again, I have left far too much space between far too little content of value (though that picture of Britain was pretty kick ass).

It's not like I've not been 'blogging' at all though; I've become rather swept up in micro-blogging instead. I must admit, I've fallen in love with twitter, its scatter-shot opinion and news gathering style suits my routines and habits as I wonder haphazardly through the series of tubes.

Still, I always feel sorry for my blog; long has it been neglected. Again. I've tried, honest I have; since August, I've saved 11 uncompleted drafts:

1x Magic spoiler speculation;
1x Thoughts on the American TV renaissance;
2x Depressed moans about being a poor Film Studies graduate in a recession, threatened with credit card debt, and the embarrassing prospect of having to move back home merely six months after having been a relatively financially independent and happy student;
1x The Kepler Mission;
1x Love of Autumn;
1x Love of a comfy chair;
1x Holiday movie thoughts;
2x Being depressingly single, and thoughts on why.
2x Doctor Who

These have remained unfinished for one of two reasons. In some instances, I've given myself a slap and decided not to feel sorry for myself and rant so self-indulgently, and in others, I've just felt my rants were embarrassingly inferior to what else I was reading on the web, and that my initial point would ultimately be best explained by merely posting a collection of links to better articles. I don't know why the latter bothers me quite so much, I mean its not as if I've really bothered with quality control in my blogs before.

...And actually, on that note, I decided to delete what originally followed that sentence (further complaints, moans and self-indulgent nonsense about not writing gooder). Just get on with it Gordon. I hereby relinquish my inferiority complex, and embrace the ensuing wave of cliches, sweeping generalisations and half-baked opinions. I've watched too much Doctor Who not to say something about it; watching the old series is a bloody Film studies module in itself. And Magic: The Gathering. I mean yeescht, I have to explain that one to myself, never mind anyone else. And the Kepler mission is just incredible.

I'm less enthusiastic about Autumn though, Spring and Summer have dibs on my hopes and dreams these days.

2010-01-08

Wrap up warm inside your tauntaun

2010-01-03

Timey-Wimey Stuff

...and there, as I'm sure you're all aware, goes David Tennant, sauntering off from a ridiculously well-received tenure as The Doctor. What a relief as well to see Russell T. Davies actually pull off his final episode with the gravitas he deserved.

Yes, I'm choosing to largely ignore part 1; while it was all good fun (mostly because, y'know, it was Doctor Who), but it was now clearly an hour of build-up for the proper showdown. They just didn't know how to tackle Donna, a character who was very boldly given a tragic end (to experience brilliance, only to be cast into ignorance). I understand that by bringing Wilfred back, whose character's importance was so utterly justified in the finale, that Donna would have to be tackled, but she only ever stood as a burden to the rest of the script. Oh well.

Absolutely loved Timothy Dalton's Rassilon - every bit as intimidating as the character's legend from the old series deserved (Rassilon was effectively one of the first time lords, having invented Time Travel, and viciously sought immortality). The Master too, OOF, unutterably good.

Showdowns. Phwoar. First off, there's the six-shooter stand-off; very western, yes, but also kinda steampunk, which the new series of Doctor Who has always lavished itself in, and I can't get enough of it. Facing up to what are effectively two opposing races of timelords with nothing but a six-shooter, aw yeah. And for the record, I adored the insane plan of jumping out of a spaceship with the gun in hand. Yippee kay ay motherfuckers.

I did kinda bore of the goodbye montage at the end, but to a greater more indulgent extent, I lapped it up. The visit to see Rose; oh, very Buffy/ Angel romance brooding. And getting Jack his hole - priceless.

How would the death of Doctor No. 10 have looked if he didn't hang about for a lengthy goodbye though? Well, the moment we hear Wilfred tapping away on the door, it was inevitable his death was going to be damned emotional. "Waiting for me all this time", he scolds Wildred. Exactly what this incarnation of the Doctor has been searching for from the beginning. I reckon I'd have been very happy if The Doctor had died in that little glass box, regenerated from that indignant crippled pile. But then that would be dark as fuck, and pretty harsh. Nah, I was happy with the path they took, despite it sometimes collapsing with the weight of duty (they really needn't have bothered visiting Sarah Jane, Martha, and Donna (again), but I see why they did). Crawling from his meeting with Rose back into the Tardis was lavishly indulgent poetry.

"I don't want to go". Famous last words, and they finally tie up Davies' 'Lonely God' arc to a triumphant close. And now for Matt Smith; I can't fucking wait!

2009-12-26

2009-11-12

Courtesy of milkround.com, "first for graduate careers".

Fucking dreading working in that shitty toy shop tomorrow.

2009-11-05

Visitors

Blogging without an audience isn't the most interesting thing to do with my time. So I watch TV instead. But then I go to work the next day, and Keir demands an update, which reminds me that actually, I do have an audience (hooray) but they just don't 2.0 it up and comment back. That or I'm not writing anything worth commenting on.

Which is fine, because I kinda feel like talking about what TV I watched last night.

A new show from the colonies 'V', starring Morena Baccarin and Alan Tudyk (y'know, Wash and Inara from Firefly) as well as Joel Gretch (y'know, Tom Baldwin from The 4400) instantly hooked my affection through some abstract support of cancelled classics. Add to the mix Juliette from Lost and there really becomes no argument for any heterosexual male not to watch. Also, seeing as Six Feet Under alumni spotting is always fun, Keith's black bodyguard friend's in it (though he was a bit rubbish).

Aside from listing cast though, it's about very attractive aliens coming to Earth and wanting to make peace with us all, except they some sinister little plot going on behind the scenes, and know how to work the media.

While I was watching, I convinced myself that the aliens represented evangelist Christians, but that inevitably won't be true (though how good will that be if it was?). The good guys consist of a disillusioned priest, a manipulated journalist, and a mother who's son has been wooed by the peaceful and friendly propaganda. It's a long shot, but that's what I'm hoping for.

At the same time though, the aliens bring promise of hope, peace, health care, a love affair with liberal press, CHANGE. Perhaps an anti-Obama sci-fi? Hmm.

Nah, it's probably just about sexy aliens, and I always had a soft spot for Species, so I'll just keep watching for now.

2009-10-26

Slow mo is pretty sweet

Dude, like woah, you totally need to see this.

http://napalmdragon.com/

2009-10-22

So 1.0

I'm finding it difficult to connect with the internet at the moment. Not that there's anything wrong with the flat's connection; on the contrary, it's certainly the best set up I've personally had, and it's not like I'm not making use of the bandwidth or what-have-you. This social networking thing though, and generally keeping up to date with email correspondance, is something I'm clearly not getting into anymore.

Strange maybe, seeing as I was pretty keen on it previously (though admittedly I remember holding a somewhat snobbish disregard for it to begin with). I suspect that initial love affair with facebook and blogging had much to do with me having just left school and an eagerness to keep in touch with a network of friends that had now dispersed across the country. Cut to a few years later, and those school era friendships have been filtered by time and lack of effort, and most of the people in the world who I care to speak to I either work with, live with, go to university with, or hang out with on a weekly, if not daily, basis; not much need for online networking anymore.

Nevertheless, I'm trying, vainly, to get back into the habit now that I've moved to Edinburgh, away from uni, away from work and away from home, and I'm now realising just how incontactable I actually am.

I'm well aware that it is myself that doesn't make it easy for others - after all, I rarely carry my phone about with me, and when I do, I refuse to reply to texts until a time that suits me (and that's when I have credit). In my defense, my phone habits are borne from an mildly OCDish paranoia of what thing is in which pocket and how secure it is in there. That, and how it's just easier to be carrying as little as possible. And that I am quietly annoyed by people who text while in conversation with me. And that people who want to know who and what you are texting really piss me off, so I just don't bother.

Excuses, excuses. Fact is, I need to get on top of keeping in touch, because there are plenty of people that are clearly making more of an effort, and I'd like to meet them halfway.

2009-09-12

Television

It really is rather ridiculous these pangs of enthusiasm I find myself having for the next series of Doctor Who. I mean really, it's still a year away!

I have utterly immersed myself in the series now, watching all the DVDs in chronological order, and now catching up on the gaps now that I can torrent. And now that I'll be watching the ones what Martha Jones was in with Dave, that's three versions of the Doctor I'm submitting too.

I just thought I'd state here, on this, where all my ill-planned and careless thoughts are stored until they are read again (so, just me, in three or four years time), that I'm really excited about the 11th doctor, and think his costume is excellent. Let's hope they drop the whole british nationalist wank they've been paradeing throughout David Tennant's reign though.

Hmm, television. I like television, more than films or books these days. While Doctor Who fills up all my day-to-day obsessive enthusiast tendancies, there is an incredible plethora of entertainment on its way before the year is through.

Dollhouse season 2 starts on the 25th September, and I cannot wait. I'm jittery with excitement. And only a week after the finale of True Blood season 2! Haw, man, sweet.

If you've not seen either of these shows, and can't promise me now that you will watch them soon, well, we need to reconsider some core principles in our relationship. Personally, they are the two most highly recommended shows I can think of that are on right now.

Then there's Dexter coming back! 'Caprica' and 'The Plan' - those crazy Battlestar spin-offs! New 4400... alright, I lied there, sorry. But new South Park!

Alright, I'm just having a geek wank, so I will bring this post, yet another fascinating and enlightening one at that, to an end, and return to the work I should be doing - cleaning the database post-fringe. Fun.

2009-08-27

A proud resident of Falcon Heights

Ugh, I spend too much time with a computer these days; when I'm home, my laptop is reduced to a mere DVD player (but my, what a DVD player!) and the internet just doesn't seem an interesting enough time waster.

So I'm writing from work instead, and ignoring pesky customers.

The work of which I'm referring to is of course the Traverse Box Office, which I've been residing in throughout this year's festival. Jolly good fun so it is, though bloody busy. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to start looking very seriously for a proper job sooner than I thought, as the hours I'm going to get post-festival are depressingly few. We'll see - the hunt starts now.

Well, sort of now, I'm at work y'know, and I've got a blog to rattle out.

As is probably inferred from me working in Edinburgh, I am now living in Edinburgh! Fookin' brilliant so it is, properly enjoying myself. With Conor, Dave and Ted (the cat) as flatmates, things are pretty sweet, I love my as-yet-undecorated room (though I do have the giant head of Michael C Hall watching over me, so that's ok) - I will give you a guided tour of the flat in good time, revealing the incredible secret fourth floor of Falcon Heights.

This all means however that I've now left the Byre. Very sad face. I was sorry to leave, and probably would've been happy to stay if it wasn't for my itching desire to leave home and St. Andrews, to seek fame and fortune (ha) in the big city. It was an excellent night out for my leaving do, and a lovely way to send off three years of happy employment.

Annoyingly, I'm still paying off the debt I put myself in by buying that HD video camera, but unable to use it because I left the cables in Fife... But once they are reunited, I'm hoping to make a few silly bits with Dave, so this page will likely look less like a dump site for impersonal youtube videos in the coming months.

Well, I say likely, I mean, well, there's so much good tv to watch, so...

2009-07-13

Me? Pacman.

Yeah yeah, I'll get round to writing you a decent something, but for now, watch this.


2009-06-26

One month to fit into a Traverse Box Office uniform

I'm just under the 14 stone mark on the scales for the first time in ages, so let's keep things that way alright?


2009-06-24

Graduat'd

Actually a pretty awesome day. Parents never met each other so the universe didn't end. No, wait, that's Back To The Future. My worries for the whole event were over-thought, with me underestimating my Dad's own insistance of evasion of Mum, and thus the whole day was double-plus good.

Brilliant sunshine, blisteringly hot, speeches alright (initially disappointed I had to graduate a year after Dame Diana Rigg retired as Chancellor, but James Naughtie - that guy what presents Today on Radio 4 - was a good speaker, and in any case was far more fitting considering Today was prescribed listening for the past two years). John Reid gave a decent speech on questioning stuff, and not letting religious dogma get in the way. Bumped into everyone I'd want to bump into, and got along really well with with the girl sitting next to me, which was good because I didn't know anyone in my line. Carvery for tea. Chocolate Brownie Sundae for dessert. Win!

2009-05-04

We never did find Marceau's grave

After getting far too interested in the topic of our perception of time, and whizzing through a couple of books on the subject, I've been looking at the past three weeks in a funny way. In one sense, they have absolutely zoomed by thanks to all the unusual things I've been doing. On the other hand however, now that it's all over, the three weeks feel like they've lasted months. If I'd sat about, scratched myself and watched tv, the weeks would condense into a single vacuous memory. Instead, despite having thought 'wow, today has flown by', the result of several unique and interesting things have formed more solid, individual memories, making the weeks greater than the sum of their parts. So hooray for that! Now, what was doing?

Well, The first week, I flew to Belgium for a few days, chaperoning the Byre's Youth Theatre on a NTS exchange. A superb experience; I got to join in the workshops they did with the group we met, Kopergietery, in a fascinating little theatre. We also got a chance to see what I considered a genuinely mind-blowing piece of theatre: taking place inside a velodrome, with mtorbikes, volleyball players, prog rockers, a guy dressed as a hamburger, a huge choir, powerpoint presentations told through dance... Can't say I understood a thing, but my jaw collapsed and never recovered from start to finish.



As soon as I got off the plane back in Scotland, I was off to join the rest of my film group for a week of filming in a spare slot in a shopping centre. I must say, it did feel very professional having our own space, and not worry about getting in anyone's way.

There was also one evening of shooting in Glasgow, where some Turkish guy tried his best pick uplines on me, and tried to get me back to his hotel room ("I win big on casino!"; "Hotel key, yes?"). All of this took place in a chip shop, so I couldn't quite walk away... all very awkward.

Then it was off to Paris! The final scene of the film, just a tiny bit really, is set in Paris, and trying to break records for ambition, we really thought it best that it be on location. So a great time all round! The first day, we filmed stuff, then chilled out. The second day, we chilled out a bit more. One of the absolute highlights had to be Pere- Lachaise Cemetary, home to the graves of the likes of Oscar Wilde, George Melies, Jim Morrison, Marcel Marceau and Edith Piaf. An astounding experience, just a brilliant place to go for a walk and see some beautiful statues. Oscar Wilde's was a difinite highlight, while Jim Morrison's was a sad disappointment, having been cleared of effigies and candles. George Melies on the other hand was wonderfully modest in size, but with the utterly brillant title: Createur du Spectacle Cinematographique.



If you've not seen La lune à un mètre (Trip To The Moon), what have you been doing? Bloody well see it.

Anyway, back home, and we got into editing full swing. It looks good, I'm very happy with it, even though the pop soundtrack destroyed even me after two whole nights of editing. Still, it all worked very well in terms of my love of forcing things into neat nostalgic little boxes - we test screened it in the first lecture theatre I ever had a class in, and followed it up with a lovely last lecture of my time in university. It gets screened in the Mainhouse of the Macroberts on Friday!

Rounding off the week, I headed to the Glasgow SECC for Bob Dylan (still a)Live. Hmm, well. It was seated, which I didn't realise when we bought the tickets, but everyone stands anyway, so being a short guy, I lose. Fortunately, I was drunk enough that I could sacrifice all my front-of-house hang ups about not sitting where I'm told, and went for a little wander. Got sitting two rows away for Maggie's Farm, which was awesome, since I'm only really aware of his earlier stuff. But I kept getting moved, and by the time I got bored of this little trick, I was too far away to even care that Dylan was even in the same room. Still, that's a better position than not seeing at all. Still, if he's not going to make a performance out of the gig, which I wouldn't expect him to, I'd at least hope to appreciate hearing him live. Well, tough luck, the SECC sounds just like what it is, a giant metal box. It's a shame, I'd love to have enjoyed him more, and though I can say I was there, that's really not a big deal.

Instead of ending on a sour note, I'll leave you with a funny subtitle fail, just because I didn't know how to fit it properly into conversation...




2009-04-12

This is probably why Dollhouse is failing.

Look into his eyes...

Dollhouse - Paul Ballard
Are you a Paul Ballard fan?


You're better than this Whedon!

2009-03-29

Please listen.



Or search on youtube for 'Tim Minchin, Storm' if this one is removed.