Oh future!

I'm going to bring out my old motto. I have to say that the motto is not particularly optimistic, neither is it pessimistic, but more realistic, and in a small way, nihilistic.

Life, huh?

Do you not just hate it when you can't seem to get your life straight. And believe me, this is not one of these drunken, late night blogs where I will read it in the morning and be horrified at how personally pathetic I am, and then become even more horrified when I find 60 000 people have left comments going "hhmmm, what a cringe." No, this is more of a "I'm very very very happy, but I have no idea in what direction I'm heading in" type blog...

...and I think about this. Alot.

Maybe it's kind of stupid to worry about the future. I mean, let's face it, we have no idea. Only seven months ago, it looked like I was going to join the military. That's right! Coming back from New Zealand, I thought to myself, if I don't get into Westminster Film School, then I'll join the Royal Air Force for six years, make some money and then go to New York Film Academy. That was the plan. I mean, look below...

That was me, all clean shaven and short haired, only a couple of days before I went to "Her Majesty's Officer Selection Centre."

The plan was to be there for roughly four days...that's what we all had decided, that was in concrete. So we drove to RAF Cranwell where the worst snowfall in 20 years decided to drop most of it's bounty, and I left for my little room where I hung up my suit, shaved, combed my hair, and then went down to the Candidates Mess where I met the other fellows going for the job. They were all 25 year old University Graduates from Oxbridge and what have you, talking football and drinking pints of beer. Being 7 years younger then them, having just graduated High School and knowing absolutely nothing about football made me somewhat of an outsider, as I sat at the bar sipping coke out of a straw and commenting then and there about how the RAF was really just a back up and I would much rather make films. By 7:30, they had progressively migrated away from the sad, deluded, curly haired fellow playing with the toothpicks and so I went to bed. You must understand though, I wasn't sad or lonely, just rather bored with 'adult' conversation. I mean, it didn't even involve the odd excrement joke, the foundation for any decent conversation.

The next day, I was awoken by the wake up siren, so went to have a shower. I supposedly pushed in front of a bald candidate in the queue. He was big, a phone salesman by day and a bouncer by night, who had cigarette burns up his arms. He subsequently called me the imaginative 'c' word (the nasty one) and so my ego was bruised and pants soiled as he pushed his way past me. Later in the morning, we did Aptitude tests, which is where my story just about ends! I did them for 6 hours and they were all incredibly hard. One example is that they would flash on a number like 5678976543 for five seconds, then it would flash off and they would ask you to remember the 4th digit and the 8th. I guessed the whole time, which is why in the review the briefing officer just shook his head like I had a terminal illness and was beyond help. Anyhoo, I made none of the RAF positions available to me (surprise surprise) and so packed my bags and waited for Dad to pick me up. I spent the time playing by myself in the snow, reading FILM, drinking a pepsi and perusing the "SEX PROBLEMS" in Women's magazines.

But now, now I'm here. Film school. And I'm all hairy again.

(That's Zoltan behind me, by the way. He is Hungarian and has the greatest name in the world.)


But in that sense, all worked out in the end, did it not? But now I'm faced with a new choice...where exactly do I go?

Of course, I would very much like to be a director, as I'm sure would many people. To me, being a film director is the dream, but I'm not sure whether that is the choice I should specialise in! We have to think realistically, in my case anyway (it may be different for others) but employment wise, would cinematography be a wiser choice? Writing? Maybe I could just be a cameraman? Ooooh, how this plagues my mind.

And my room is an absolute tip. Perhaps I should get that in order before I start sorting out my life.

This Sums It Up Really

I have to say, if anyone in the future comes to me and asks why I want to work as a filmmaker, I hope that I can muster up an answer that someone captures the spirit of movie making like this short clip below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4HtMKk4L2g

Poetry Is The Language Of The Heart

I have been doing some writing recently, and I thought I might stick up some song lyrics Ive been working on.

I'm sorry if I've been
Confusing as of lately
I've just got your face
etched across my memory

I come from a good home
My daddy, he never beat me
Am I walking alone?
Or are you walking right beside me?

This Early Afternoon

I woke up this afternoon (1.30pm) feeling rather ill and confused. I had uncomfortable dreams about asking Angelina Jolie for a divorce, then immediately wishing I hadn't done, and so spent the remainder of the dream trying to explain myself. But she was so lovely. She was so loving and caring and she never once shouted at me about it. She just held one of our children and I could not believe how foolish I had been to jeapordise our relationship when everything was going so exceptionally well. I then went and rapped "FIGHT THE POWER" by Public Enemy in my greenhouse, then "Oh My Sweet Carolina" by Ryan Adams.

After this I woke up.

Already confused, I was more so when I sat up and looked across into the mirror. My hair had been perfectly straightened long around my face and I must have slept with all my clothes on, even, my glasses. For a few moments, I absolutely forgot who and where I was. Then my eye line moved to the can of beer resting on the mantel and all seemed to fit into place. It's been a funny week, this move to London. I've been to Tate twice, barely eaten any food, live in disorganised chaos, need a hair cut, walked naked in front of the window numerous times and realised that I really love the show Spaced. And when I'm not doing that, I've been going...somewhere? Doing...something? Ugh...I feel horrid.

Anyway, I figure I'd stick some photos up of my room so you can see how I'm living. They're a bit shaky, but then, I'm a bit shaky this morning...ah! Afternoon!!


mmmm...mess.

The view outside my window... new philosophy:

If thou shouldst avoid humiliation, thou shalt never walketh bare assed in front of open window.

It's just become a real problem that Mum isn't here to help me survive and I have reacted in the normal way...burnt my clothes, sliced HOLY HELL IM AN ADULT into my stomach and downloaded the entire Pokemon series 1 to watch until I finally resort to some child like innocence and have to be cared for by a more authorative figure.

SO! Plan for the day...organise myself, tidy my room, shower and then watch my hair return to it's glorious, curly self!

Life, huh?

Finally...I'm there.

After returning from New Zealand about... (god, how long has it been now?!) 10 months ago, I have been waiting patiently for film school to come around. Well, as of three days ago, it did.

HUZZAH!

Situated in Harrow, it's only twenty minutes by tube out of Central London, which I think is an excellent location. Postcard wise, it's not the prettiest borough in the world, but it has everything a student could need; coffee shops, costcutters, supermarket, pub, gregg's bakery. I have been up there a couple of times now and it's not too bad!

And the campus, it's excellent! It's very green, with fields and parks within and just outside. From my window I can see Wembley Stadium and the distant townships (I'm top floor, 16D - it's one hell of a walk up the stairs) and I also see the hospital. Now, I'm not going to lie, the hospital isn't overly attractive. Covered in soot and grime, people get leaukemia just looking at the place. But hey, if I happen to fall down my very long stairs or overdose on calpol, it's location might come in handy. I will stick up some pictures when I have the time to take and upload them!

We began with an induction to the course which was good fun. It was held in one of the studios and we all sat surrounded by huge digital cameras and sound equipment (terribly exciting!) We listened to the lecturers, which was all well and good, as they introduced what the course would be like, a sharp mix between theory and practical, with an emphasis on collaboration. We had to also write what we wished to specialise in come the second year. I had a slight problem with this, not knowing whether I should go for being a writer or a director. Directing is what I would most like to do, but as everyone seems to want to direct and writing is a very close second with me, I chose writer. Anyhow, many people initially wanting to direct change their mind later due to the full on commitment, so I might jump in and change should that particular path suit me. To the top it all off however, we were filmed individually being asked "What made you want to study film?" Well, everyone I have spoken to were under the distinct impression these films would be shown after the degree was over but, oh my dear lord no. We had to sit through about ten excruitaing minutes of waiting to see yourself pop up on screen and mumble something about being passionate and not being able to imagine doing something else. I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was something along the lines of wanting to be Woody Allen and choosing the course which would make my parents the unhappiest (only kidding.)

Today, the other film students and I all took the tube down to the British Film Institute where we watched Germany In Year Zero (1949), a neo realist film by Italian director, Roberto Rossellini.
Set in the ruins of post war Berlin, the film undoubtedly had alot to say and portrayed a clear insight into the lives of poverty stricken Germans struggling to survive without food, health care and, most importanly, money. A few moments struck as me as incredibly poetic, especially the shot of when the young Edmund has a play gunfight with his own shadow. Another, when the recorded speech of Hitler declaring that Germany shall have victory in the war echoed across the stricken streets of the bombed out city. I have to say though, overall, I did not enjoy the film. It comes down to taste in the end, and as I am not a huge fan of neo-realism in general (with the exception of some films by Fellini) it didn't strike me as a great film, especially when one considers that Casablanca was made around the same era and is so far superior in, pretty much, every aspect. After the BFI screening, me and some others from the course went to Tate Modern for a small while and happened to see some rather disturbing experimental films by Paul Macarthy. As the sign on the door said "THIS EXHIBITION CONTAINS STRONG SEXUAL/VIOLENT CONTENT" I was of course attracted to the idea and so unknowingly entered. What I saw were films being projected onto the wall and my my my, they were really something. A naked man punching himself bloody, some woman smearing what looks like guts and blood and god knows what all over her...it was quite a sight let me tell you, one that allowed my jaw to drop instantly and stay firmly on the floor. Subtle art at it's best, I feel.

Well, the course has yet to start but when it does I shall eagerly write up whats new. Till then

ciao!

This is my film school!

http://www.wmin.ac.uk/mad/page-284

In case for any reason you happen to be interested, this is the film school that I am too attend TOMORROW! Three years of filmmaking, baby cakes! Oh yes, I know this was the right choice because in six years from now...

...I'm going to be him!

...just considerably better looking, richer and more talented.

It's all going to come so easy!