Idea IS the format

I was back up in Inshriach recently for a stag weekend, a highlight of which was the walk to the pub on Friday afternoon, taking us through four hours of spectacular Cairngorm countryside. 

It included a mile or so along the shores of Loch An Eilean, a fair size loch not far from Walter’s place.  I took a few snaps, if only to post them here, for posterity:

Oh and there’s this one. Sorry it’s so small. It’s a shame as well, because the devil’s in the detail:

That was me yesterday.

And that, there on the left, looking slightly pissed off, is twenty-four hours later.

Nice to know I can shave ten years off myself armed with nothing more than a razor. Not to mention the fact that my good lady wife is prepared to be physically intimate with me again.

I hadn’t shaved since my cousin Max’s funeral back in November. I knew all along I was growing a beard for a reason, I just didn’t know what exactly what that reason was. Turns out it was #Plan9.

I’m going to assume that you’re a regular reader of my blog, and that if you’re not, you know how to follow a link. If you don’t know what Loch Ghoon is, you might want to read this.

The potted version is that late last year I saw a cousin four years my junior exit this world, and about forty-eight hours later decided to adopt a pet film project of his and see it through to fruition. Maybe it was actually just a moment of selfish psychological opportunism, a bid to try and revive my own faltering aspirations as a film-maker, jumpstarted by the shock of his loss. I don’t really know.

But I do know that we’re none of us, however many beards we shave off, getting any younger. And I know Max would have loved what we got up to yesterday, if only the sheer audacity of it. A shoot at one of the best locations in London, a cast of thousands, and it didn’t cost us a bean.

So what the hell is #Plan9? Well, it started life as just a regular Plan B. Driving back from Scotland after New Year, contemplating my spectacular failure to shoot the original Loch Ghoon teaser.

I guess I should have seen it coming, as soon as I settled on the title for this post. Sizemore or no Sizemore, you don’t get to rub it in the faces of the god of indie film-making without rebuke. And sure enough, things started to go awry almost as soon as the imaginary ink was figuratively dry.

With the entire Cairngorms cloaked in snow, and the temperature plummeting, a call came through from Walter. Just a delicate suggestion that we might want to start to rethink any plans to film outside. Or, for that matter, go outside.

If the house was to be our box, we had, at the very least, to think outside of it. I attempted some frantic rewrites, but quickly ran into trouble. It’s one thing for your protagonist to encounter an ancient amphibian aggressor lurking on the banks of a small Scottish loch. I found myself struggling to rationalise the hitherto reclusive creature’s decision to depart the sanctuary of its icebound home, climb several hundred yards up a steep hill, and break into a nearby house, for the sole purpose of molesting its peace-loving inhabitants. Anything I produced seemed to require not so much the suspension of disbelief as its unconditional expulsion.

Meanwhile, as the flavour of our original script was being diluted thus, it became increasingly apparent that the heroic intentions of our leading man – you may know him under the name of Benny Crime – were in danger of crossing the fine line that divides stoicism and lunacy.

Benny had kindly agreed to take the pivotal role in our original teaser, that of a gentleman thief called The Otter (so named because of his propensity for escaping over water).  His other half, Judy, had subsequently agreed to direct.  Both had committed, in doing so, to driving a small and notoriously erratic car called Colin the length of the country, in order to shoot thirty-six scenes, and then drive all the way back to London.  And all this over the course of just three calendar days.

Oh, and the penalty for failing to get back on time?  No biggie.  Just that they would miss Judy’s mother’s wedding, taking place on New Year’s Eve.

Finally, common sense prevailed.  And thank fuck, because when Emma and I reached the end of our own horrific journey north – the last two hours of which were spent driving blindly into a maelstrom of darkness and snow, punctuated by occasional bursts of bright light and sharp metal – we found a house full of party. Never a bad result, au contraire, but no place for an elaborate and already wildly over-ambitious film shoot.

All of which meant that, coming back down the M1 on January 2nd, the car needlessly burdened with all manner of unused film-making equipment, and my brain going overtime trying to synthesise serotonin from the various chemical constituents of pickled onion Monster Munch, I was feeling a little downbeat about the whole thing.

But you can’t beat yourself up over these things, not too much, not too long. You have to take the regret, the failure, the frustration, and shape it into something worthwhile, something better, something that couldn’t exist if it not for being forged in the fires of your own self-reproach.

So it was that Plan B came into being. Plan B, which swiftly became #Plan9, on account of the extent to which I was starting to identify with a man hailed the worst film-maker of all time – the writer, director and producer of Plan 9 from Outer Space, Ed Wood.

And #Plan9 is better. I’m not going to go into why – the stories you still hope to tell can always keep. I do want to thank the people who helped out though, I guess that’s what this post is building up to, even if it isn’t quite Oscar night.

It’s quite a roll-call. I’m talking @whatleydude, @_AKA_, @ruperthowe and @katiesol, the latter two of whom had volunteered to help without our ever having met in the flesh before. Then there’s @saffront, @scudamour and @skinnertron, all of whom had no reason to be there but for the readiness to help out, and be involved. And of course @bennycrime and @sizemore, even if Mike didn’t technically turn up, in the tediously corporeal sense at least.

And what did we achieve? I guess that remains to be seen. I’ll tell you what it meant to me though.

It meant an original idea getting off the page. Trust me, we’ve got the footage to prove it. It might be awful, but that’s got fuck all to do with it. If you’re like me, if you’ve talked up enough projects and never delivered, nailing a few scenes feels like blowing up the Hoover Dam.

It meant poking a finger through the slippery membrane that constitutes my comfort zone, and finding that I could pretty easily slide my whole body through. It was invigorating, it always is, when you realise that your essential insignificance is the greatest freedom you’ll ever enjoy. Rejuvenating even.

Meaning that, in a building full of things that aren’t getting any younger, I stole back just a day or two.

It’s a start.

A is for AFK – I seem to get some of my best work done when I’m not staring at a screen.  I guess I’m more of a pencil person.

B is for BREAKFAST – The most important meal of the day.  And a chance to get ahead on all the fruit and fibre of which my diet seems to be otherwise totally devoid.  Take my word for it, breakfast is going to be BIG in 2010.  And fibrous.  And, well, rather boring.

C is for CRUNK – My version of Lent, involving a break from all the crap drugs.  You know the ones;  booze; coke; sugar; television.  I’m not damning them outright, they just aren’t my cup of green tea.  Last year I managed 37 days.  As of right now I’m four down and counting.

D is for @danlight – Twitter’s become an outlet through which I waste time and energy trying to validate inconsequential aspects of my life in the eyes of people who likely couldn’t give a shit.  Which would be fine, except that that’s what my blog’s for. Going to try and mix it up a bit on Twitter.

E is for ELECTION – Some of my favourite blog posts (by me, that is) were written about the 2008 US presidential election campaign.  Hopefully I can find some time to conjure a bit of commentary on the ‘compassionate conservative’ clusterfuck we can look forward to in the run-up to May 6th.  Without having to break my leg in two places in the process.

F is for FAMILY – It’s the easiest thing in the world to cite work/writing/whatever-you-fancy as a reason for being an absent or inadequate husband/father/son.  Even worse, you might actually try to convince yourself that it’s more difficult, or more important. It’s not.

G is for graze.com – One of my oldest friends, Tommy P, is one of the founders of graze.com.  Honestly, I didn’t see them surviving the downturn, but they seem to be doing just that.  What’s more, I met a few of the guys behind the business, and they’re an impressive bunch.  Expect good things in 2010.

H is for HELIOPOLIS – James Scudamore, another very old friend  – try 30-odd years – published his second novel, Heliopolis, exactly one year ago.  It ha since received considerable critical acclaim, and was long-listed for the Booker Prize.  I still haven’t read it.  (In fairness, it’s not like I read any other novels in 2009.)  This is lame as fuck.  I will read Heliopolis in 2010.

I is for INSHRIACH – The hard-working highland estate owned and managed by our pal Walter.  Just back from spending a truly magnificent few days seeing in the new year, and set to get back up there for one family holiday, three stag weekends and one music festival over the next six months.  Oh, and I want to try and shoot a film there (see L).  Project Inshriach goes from strength to strength.

J is for JUICE – Just don’t drink enough of it.  Cranberry is best, for the kidney win.

K is for kickstarter.com – a clever little site, recognising the amplified power of Internet crowdsourcing as the basis for funding a range of worthwhile endeavours.  Hope to try it out with something, quite possibly…

L is for LOCH GHOON – …a film I’m going to make.  So far I’ve failed spectacularly in almost everything I’ve set out to do.  Fortunately, for as long as I’m only playing with my time or money, that doesn’t really matter.  Expect more spectacular failures in 2010.

M is for MAX – My cousin, who passed away in 2009.  I’m going to honour his memory in the year to come, in a number of ways.  (See L, N and V.)

N is for NORTH DORSET RUGBY FOOTBALL CLUB – Max was their Club Captain.  Going to make sure I get a long to a game or two, starting with the home game against joint-leaders of the Southern Counties League, Frome, on January 30th.  Let me know if you fancy it.

O is for ORGANISED – Not very.  Just a bit.  I’m talking a to-do list on a Monday morning, is all.  Meaning that O is also for Optimistic.

P is for PSYCHOTHERAPY – The new vocation Ems has chosen for herself, following almost a decade in corporate public relations.  Her foundation year starts right here, and four years down the line…

Q is for QUALIFICATIONS – …enabling her to practice Psychotherapy in a professional capacity.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about what could come out in the wash along the way, but it feels great that she’s pursuing a vocation that has the potential to play to her real strengths.

R is for RESOLVE – Emma has it.  Once she commits herself to something, she gets the job done.  I’ve always been more of a butterfly, but I don’t beat myself up over it – it has its own advantages.  Between us we both seem to get stuff done.  I guess R is also for Rapport.

S is for SLINGERS SIZZLE – Very keen to see where this ends up, after generating such a huge buzz back in early December.  So I guess S is also for Sizemore and Sleepydog.

T is for TOMMY P – He’s getting married in May.  I figure that gets him his own entry, especially being that I’m best man.  Soon as I’m done with this list, I need to make a start on that speech.

U is for UNSUBSCRIBE – Meaning I don’t care how many of my friends took quizzes this week.  Or what kind of dried fruit you are.  Or what kind of dried fruit I am.

V is for #VHSMovieClub – and the 365 VHS videos I’m going to watch in 2010.  Follow @VHSMovieClub to keep pace, and for details of our occasional outings, the first of which is the Max Biles Memorial #VHSMovieClub taking place at The Scooterworks on January 25th

W is for WILLIAM DESMOND TAYLOR – The subject of the most grown-up thing I’ve ever attempted.  Watch this space.

X is for EXERCISE – kind of.  Because I’m going to start taking regular exercise. Kind of.  It starts with getting back on a climbing wall.  Reckon my leg is back where it needs to be, and I can probably squeeze a spare evening out of the week, especially during Crunk.  Probably Thursdays at The Castle in Green Lanes, if anybody fancies it.

Y is for WHY NOT? – It’s a much better question than ‘Why?’  For someone who’s supposed to be creative, I think my mind is sometimes far too closed to the more challenging ideas of the people around me.  Need to fix that.

Z is for ZZZ – Every aspect of my life seems to be improved off the back of a good night’s sleep.  It’s effortless, enjoyable, and a great way to experience the extraordinary imaginative energy and latent creativity of the human mind.   Speaking of which, I fancy a kip.  See you in 2011.

I watched the original Creature from the Black Lagoon for the first time two nights ago, and for the second time last night – about to go for the hat-trick, just as soon as I’ve rustled up a cuppa and a couple of satsumas.  The major upside of my seasonal winter cold is that I get to lie in bed for a few days and watch a shitload of movies.  Or, in this case, the same movie, a shitload of times.

Regular readers of my blog will know why the sudden interest in the 1954 creature feature.  Everybody else should read this.  Bottom line is we have a film to make.  It’s called Loch Ghoon.

Rather than piling into the production of a full 120-minute feature, the plan is to produce a five-minute teaser, shooting before the end of 2009.  This gives us a chance to cut our teeth on some existing material, but also gives us something to bring to the table when we’re asking for help from family, friends and, if and when it comes to it, potential financiers.

A perfect example of how this ought to work is the Slingers ’sizzle’ (featured in my last post) which turned up on the web just over a week ago.  Pitched as ‘Ocean’s 11 in space’, Slingers is a sci-fi series created by Sizemore (AKA Mike Atherton) and in the process of being brought to life by production company Sleepydog (AKA Toby Moores and friends).

I don’t know what it cost to produce the sizzle itself, but I’m guessing that 60k views in under ten days feels like a pretty good return; not to mention the groundswell of grass-roots interest articulated through every blog, fan site and forum with even the most spurious interest in this kind of thing. If I was a TV exec busy trying to option a new hit mini-series, right now Slingers would be looking like a pretty intriguing proposition.

I’m sure there are a few traditional TV folk looking a tad grudgingly at Slingers, wondering how it is that Mike and Toby have come so far in such a short space of time.  The reality is that they’ve had the support of a network they’ve been developing for many years, consisting of seasoned bloggers and social media beatniks with more than a little to offer in relation to the changing face of television itself.

Taking all of this into account, you’ll realise how damn lucky I am that Sizemore has agreed to help develop the script for Loch Ghoon.  We caught up last week, and talked it over.  It took him about an hour to nail the basics.  Maybe forty-five minutes.

A week on, and we have our teaser script, introducing an ill-fated character who’s already begging to be resurrected in his own comic book.  It’s great to finally be working with Mike on a project like this, a couple of years on from our very first encounter, at the Tuttle club, serendipitously captured by Thayer Prime:

I think it was Mike who said it looked like a rehearsal for Lord of the Rings.

I guess now we have our quest.

- – -

Coming up next week: THEY CALL HIM MR CRIME…

This my cousin, Max.

He passed away ten days ago, very suddenly, as a result of a heart defect. It was pretty much his only serious defect, but turns out it was as serious as defects come.

The coroner described it as an ‘enlarged heart’. His heart was too big. For anyone lucky enough to have known Max, that’s always going to have more than a little poetry to it.

I don’t want this post to turn into a eulogy.  I already wrote one of those.  It was written to be spoken at the funeral, not read online, and for me it was very much in the moment, but a few people have asked me to make it available so here it is.

The bottom line is that it was a great honour to be asked to pay tribute to Max, and to do so in a church packed to the absolute rafters has left an indelible mark.

It’s also worth mentioning that Facebook has really come into its own through the course of the last week or so, allowing everybody who was ever close to Max to express a shared sense of his loss, and to better understand what it means to each of us.  Pooling grief is a fundamental part of the process of overcoming it, and Facebook has made that possible in a way that it wouldn’t have been otherwise.

I want this post to look forward though, not backwards.  To mark the end of a long and remarkable weekend spent grieving Max’s loss, but also to register the beginning of a new phase, that of his legacy.

First up is to announce that we’ll be holding our second ever #VHSMovieClub somewhere in London some time in January, at which we’ll be screening one of Max’s favourite movies – John Carpenter’s The Thing.

There’s a long and unlikely story about how I managed to get hold of a copy the day we heard that he’d passed, which also happened to be the day of our first ever #VHSMovieClub.  Catch me on the night if you want to hear it.  In the mean time, watch this space for details of where and when.

I’m hoping to use the occasion to launch a project, one that feels right, one that feels like it HAS to happen.

Max had a screenplay he was working on for a remake of Creature from the Black Lagoon.  His sister Briony has offered to send me the latest draft.  I’m thinking I’ve mixed it with more than enough indie film-making talent in the last year or two to try and take it forward.  Fuck knows where, but right now I’m feeling seriously hungry to find out.  I’m guessing we might have a few problems getting the rights to produce an official remake (of which there happens to be one already in pre-production) but I know enough about movies to know that you can pay homage to a film without buying the rights to do so.

With that in mind, and, given that my old friend Walter is (a) a university pal of Briony’s, (b) the unpretentious laird of a hard-working 200-acre Scottish estate and (c) pretty much the most resourceful fixer of things you could ever hope to meet, he was the first person I called.  A few minutes later I sat down at my laptop and registered www.LochGhoon.com.

Walter and I have worked on a couple of projects before now, to good effect.  We’ve been looking for the excuse we need to turn something around at Inshriach, a £50k indie with a 3-week schedule as wildly optimistic as the budget.

I don’t know how we’ll finance it, but I’ve got a couple of ideas.  I can tell you this – beyond anything I have to give away to make it happen, anything above and beyond goes to CRY, the charity nominated in Max’s memory.

So, picture the scene…

A handsome young man winds his way down a highland path, the weight of his knapsack barely registering on a pair of impossibly broad shoulders.

He is a monster hunter, making his way by foot to Loch Ness, in search of the ultimate proof of the existence of Scotland’s most fabled creature.  He will not arrive today though, and must find a warm meal and a bed for the night,

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a signpost, promising the close proximity of civilisation – or something like it.

The name of the place?  Loch Ghoon.

And his name?

His name is Max.