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Director's Notes:
‘Your self-confidence is based on ignorance’ – this is what a major UK funding body told me when we first pitched the film. As it happened, nothing could have been farther from the truth – we had researched so well and knew the scale of what was involved – but it was our first pitch, and we didn’t give a good account of ourselves, or at least didn’t fit into a certain mould – I guess they thought they were giving us a ‘reality check’. One other comment also really stuck with me – ‘why would I go and see your film this week when I can see Troy?’ To me that was an argument against ever making any film, against your first film, against a small film, an independent film, a film without a sales agent already in place, a film that wouldn’t be a summer blockbuster. Why bother? And this was what a funding body was telling me, a body designed to foster new filmmakers and encourage filmmaking. After my fury subsided, I thought either we give up or… we try to make it with whatever we can get our hands on – that is, we’ll make a feature-length period drama with a main cast of 25 and over 50 extras, involving period cars, trains, horses, a bathing machine, a cliff stunt, oh and a massive battle scene where soldiers and police storm the barricades. I felt that most people’s instincts with no resources would be to make a small film, something with three people in a lift for example. But what happens if you go to the other extreme and make something huge? Now that would be interesting. I desperately didn’t want to be one of those people who talk and talk and then fail to follow through, lose their bottle, make up excuses like lack of money or experience. Surely a first step in the right direction was the way to go and then there was a chance things would snowball? Besides, the first film is a justification in itself. It didn’t have to be the best film ever, just as good as we could make it, just to give it everything and find out whether I could even really direct, something I didn’t really know at this point. Whilst making the film I concluded that you can’t listen too much to people who are quick to give reasons why something won’t work, even if they appear to be knowledgeable. Especially if that knowledge is actually theoretical or commonsensical and not borne out of genuine experience. Criticism is good and should be listened to - but not doubt, doubt is the enemy. You can never let a problem shake your belief that it’s better to film than not to film. The first time we tried to do the promenade scene, everyone was finally in place - parasols, dresses, Model-T Fords, horses and carriage, bikes, everything – and then… it rained like a bastard. We could only film on weekends – everyone had jobs – would the English summer scupper everything? We were already having to do it over a matter of months, but what if it rained consistently on each weekend? The next week we tried to do a fish gutting scene on Broadstairs jetty. Cue torrential rain, and dragging all the boxes, tables, props undercover, standing there wondering if it would ever stop. A horrible feeling of being conspired against by forces outside of your control. Absolute depression. But rather than call the day off, one of the actresses suggested waiting a while to see. And sure enough, eventually, beautiful sunshine appeared, carrying on all late afternoon and into the evening. We did scene after scene with great light and everything swung from utter depression to an overjoy at finally being able to work and get stuck in. The only reason this film got made was due to that kind of waiting. A huge amount of people waiting and patiently getting the film done weekend after weekend. This was what made it a genuine community film. Nearly all the filming took place in Thanet where I grew up – a coastal corner of Kent in South-East England. The events had always been set in definite places around there in my mind. Thanet has beautiful areas to it, but has always had a rundown air, a sense of faded glory. And I felt that all the films that had been made there exploited this in a very obvious way, in their interpretation of what the area is. Last Resort, Last Orders, Gypo – the titles say it all really. Thanatos rather than Thanet. That’s not to say these are bad films on their own terms. It’s just I wanted to challenge the dominant view or version of the area, be that faded holiday top spot, gritty East End getaway or racial battleground over asylum. I also don’t like the assumption that a film depicting social problems necessarily tackles those problems (an assumption I think that pervades the funding bodies in Britain). Rather, it’s not the film but the filmmaking process which has this value. Its collaborative nature means all kinds of interesting connections can happen. Putting a region on film has a validating effect, regardless of the kind of story, be it sweet love story or violent dystopia. Which is to say, all the filmmaking presence in Thanet is a positive one - but I think there are more interesting and original ways to use that history, those locations, that beauty for differing stories. Donovan Slacks deliberately attempts to play with genre – beginning as a civilised 20s period piece and moving into a darker, talkie segment which looks at certain unpalatable elements underneath that civilised veneer, such as the implied, and then ultimately real use of force to uphold a dominant view. The people at the heart of the film learn to question the way things are and ultimately force the film to challenge the genre it begins with. The move from Super-8 to DV, from silent to talkie, reflects this questioning. I’ve tried to see what happens if you put Mr Hulot’s Holiday and On the Waterfront into the same film. Finally, let me share two reviews I received whilst actually making the film: first, a rather batty old woman started shouting at us during one scene, demanding to know what the hell we were doing. Once she finally understood, she duly pronounced it A BLOODY WASTE OF TIME – IT’LL BE RUBBISH ANYWAY! Our second review was received during the bathing machine scene on a windy beach – the horse, patiently waiting for his take, gently stepped backwards into shot, paused… and then took an almighty dump. Still, you can’t please everyone… |