So you've got the people.
And you've got the locations.
And you've got the props, the craft services, the transport and the equipment.
And, granted, five and a half of the above things fit in one car.
What else could go wrong?
One thing to remember that's served me well; always notify the local police before doing anything that could be construed as 'suspicious'.
So it was that I rang the local constabulary and established where we were, how long we'd be there, and that we had permission to be there in the first place. Because, well, as previous posts will attest, ninjas. We received some exceedingly curious looks from the occasional passer-by, but not much more than that; one pair came back to have a second look at one point, because, well, ninjas, but I'm not writing this having been bailed on charges of tresspass and causing a public disturbance, so something must have gone okay.
At one point, a gentleman rich in years walking his dog wandered through one of our setups.
"I'm not getting in the way of anything, am I, lads?"
"No, no, you're alright."
A moment later and he had wandered off, without ever wondering why a man in a feather boa and army greatcoat was standing round the corner of one of the buildings.
Anyway; just so you know, Eton Crow has a website. Granted, all there is there is a link to here, so things may get recursive for a little while, but still, it's a start.
Sunday 31 May 2009
A revelation of sorts
Anyway, the point of all these recent posts has been to provide a sort of in media res introduction to Eton Crow as it is. I mean, we thought about just writing a Hi, We're Eton Crow and this is what we do! kind of an introduction, but then someone reminded us how important foreplay is, and so, a week on, here we are.
So, hello! My name is Lewis, and I'm the blogger for Eton Crow. It'I mean, as jobs go, it's pretty thankless, but then so many jobs are. If you're reading this - and if you're not, we're into Shrodinger's Reader territory, so beware of waveform collapses - then welcome.
There's not much point in being anything other than frank. We here at Eton Crow make films; short films and trailers at the moment because, well, we haven't got any money. Continuing on the theme of frankness, our films at the moment are probably not going to win any awards. So it's fortunate, really, that we don't actually care so much about recognition because, well, it's pretty unlikely we'll ever really get any, so... Why worry?
You probably won't believe what I'm about to say - even I have some trouble believing it myself - but it turns out there are other reasons to make films than money, power, success, respect, the adoration of people of your gender of choice... Sorry, where was I? I kind of drifted off there. Anyway, it turns out, another reason for making films - or at least making an attempt at making films - is because it's actually something you enjoy doing.
Take our first excursion into the shallow end of the swimming pool of film. As my previous posts will attest, I didn't actually think I'd get away with half the stuff that took place last weekend. Instead, I expected a mass walkout, or to be tarred and feathered, or otherwise beaten around the head with a wooden bokken for what I was asking people to do. Instead, they all seemed to enjoy the day, and while I'm prepared to believe that everyone there last Saturday could be a particularly eloquent and gifted liar, it is in theory true that they're not, and they actually did enjoy the day. I find it much easier to believe the former theory, paranoiac as it may be.
Put it this way. You're someone's friend. They call you up and ask for a favour, which can be outlined as follows.
"Hi, I'm trying to produce a film. How do you fancy spending a whole day in full sunlight - without sun cream, because the director refused to believe the weather would be good? You can spend the first four hours trying not to cripple someone else with a wooden sword and being chivvied around various places, then, after a break for lunch, you can dress as a ninja in a public place and then be chased around by a man in a 1950s army greatcoat replete with feather boa.
How does pickup at 8:00am sound?"
Based on this, I was expecting to be laughed at, beaten with sticks and cast out into the wilderness. And yet, instead, everyone turned up (!) on time and went through the whole day with the minimum of complaints.
Oh, sure, the footage we're editing together at the moment won't win any awards. But, dammit, we had a lot of fun making it, and, curiously right now, that seems to matter more than anything else...
So, hello! My name is Lewis, and I'm the blogger for Eton Crow. It'I mean, as jobs go, it's pretty thankless, but then so many jobs are. If you're reading this - and if you're not, we're into Shrodinger's Reader territory, so beware of waveform collapses - then welcome.
There's not much point in being anything other than frank. We here at Eton Crow make films; short films and trailers at the moment because, well, we haven't got any money. Continuing on the theme of frankness, our films at the moment are probably not going to win any awards. So it's fortunate, really, that we don't actually care so much about recognition because, well, it's pretty unlikely we'll ever really get any, so... Why worry?
You probably won't believe what I'm about to say - even I have some trouble believing it myself - but it turns out there are other reasons to make films than money, power, success, respect, the adoration of people of your gender of choice... Sorry, where was I? I kind of drifted off there. Anyway, it turns out, another reason for making films - or at least making an attempt at making films - is because it's actually something you enjoy doing.
Take our first excursion into the shallow end of the swimming pool of film. As my previous posts will attest, I didn't actually think I'd get away with half the stuff that took place last weekend. Instead, I expected a mass walkout, or to be tarred and feathered, or otherwise beaten around the head with a wooden bokken for what I was asking people to do. Instead, they all seemed to enjoy the day, and while I'm prepared to believe that everyone there last Saturday could be a particularly eloquent and gifted liar, it is in theory true that they're not, and they actually did enjoy the day. I find it much easier to believe the former theory, paranoiac as it may be.
Put it this way. You're someone's friend. They call you up and ask for a favour, which can be outlined as follows.
"Hi, I'm trying to produce a film. How do you fancy spending a whole day in full sunlight - without sun cream, because the director refused to believe the weather would be good? You can spend the first four hours trying not to cripple someone else with a wooden sword and being chivvied around various places, then, after a break for lunch, you can dress as a ninja in a public place and then be chased around by a man in a 1950s army greatcoat replete with feather boa.
How does pickup at 8:00am sound?"
Based on this, I was expecting to be laughed at, beaten with sticks and cast out into the wilderness. And yet, instead, everyone turned up (!) on time and went through the whole day with the minimum of complaints.
Oh, sure, the footage we're editing together at the moment won't win any awards. But, dammit, we had a lot of fun making it, and, curiously right now, that seems to matter more than anything else...
Sunday 24 May 2009
Talk is not necessarily cheap
This weekend has yielded some interesting conversations, too.
*
I'll get four pairs of the long socks, please - the 4 for £10?
Certainly. What do you need them for?
Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.
Go on, try me.
Um... Okay. Ninjas.
*pause*
Oh, ninjas, is it? Well, I've got some tutus round the back if that'd help.
*
I still haven't worked out how exactly tutus relate to ninjas. I'm kind of assuming it's a 'oh, you're taking the mickey, I can do that too' sort of a conversation. But, curiously, I wasn't taking the mickey.
See, there were some problems. I needed ninjas - ask yourself, who doesn't at some stage in their life? - and, as I've mentioned before, a fairly integral part of the ninja ethos is the face mask. However, 'ninja mask' tends not to bring up many results on the online auction sites, unless I'm missing something.
Anyway. As is the way, a tip for anyone planning anything involving ninjas; I'm sure I've mentioned this several times, but if you buy anything ninja-related on a popular auction site, then always check to see if there's a size specification first, otherwise, hilarity ensues.
*
I'll get four pairs of the long socks, please - the 4 for £10?
Certainly. What do you need them for?
Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.
Go on, try me.
Um... Okay. Ninjas.
*pause*
Oh, ninjas, is it? Well, I've got some tutus round the back if that'd help.
*
I still haven't worked out how exactly tutus relate to ninjas. I'm kind of assuming it's a 'oh, you're taking the mickey, I can do that too' sort of a conversation. But, curiously, I wasn't taking the mickey.
See, there were some problems. I needed ninjas - ask yourself, who doesn't at some stage in their life? - and, as I've mentioned before, a fairly integral part of the ninja ethos is the face mask. However, 'ninja mask' tends not to bring up many results on the online auction sites, unless I'm missing something.
Anyway. As is the way, a tip for anyone planning anything involving ninjas; I'm sure I've mentioned this several times, but if you buy anything ninja-related on a popular auction site, then always check to see if there's a size specification first, otherwise, hilarity ensues.
It is the way of things
Apparently, there's an important lesson to be learnt.
If you spend all your time planning for everything - every, single, thing you can think of - to go wrong, then you will be truly confounded by the idea that everything can conceivably go right.
If you read the previous entries, there's a fairly obvious negative streak running through things; a pessimistic chocolate streak mixed into the ice-cream of cautious optimism. It's very, very easy to be pessimistic because it's very easy to believe that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, and will do so bone-crunchingly hard.
I have to, however, accord praise wherein praise is due, because I was proved wrong; every person involved could not have been more helpful and amazingly willing to put up with the depradations and strange requests made of them. It's tempting to go back and retroactively edit the post containing my concerns about them, but I'd rather leave it as it stands and apologise about it here.
So, to the people who I had unwarranted concerns about, sorry; bear in mind that my cynicism was founded in the belief that finding six people willing to give up a day and travel to a small town to be ordered around by someone with only the bare bones of an idea and a lot of enthusiasm to flesh them out.
If you spend all your time planning for everything - every, single, thing you can think of - to go wrong, then you will be truly confounded by the idea that everything can conceivably go right.
If you read the previous entries, there's a fairly obvious negative streak running through things; a pessimistic chocolate streak mixed into the ice-cream of cautious optimism. It's very, very easy to be pessimistic because it's very easy to believe that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, and will do so bone-crunchingly hard.
I have to, however, accord praise wherein praise is due, because I was proved wrong; every person involved could not have been more helpful and amazingly willing to put up with the depradations and strange requests made of them. It's tempting to go back and retroactively edit the post containing my concerns about them, but I'd rather leave it as it stands and apologise about it here.
So, to the people who I had unwarranted concerns about, sorry; bear in mind that my cynicism was founded in the belief that finding six people willing to give up a day and travel to a small town to be ordered around by someone with only the bare bones of an idea and a lot of enthusiasm to flesh them out.
Thursday 21 May 2009
Elements of personal interaction
Of course, a film is nothing without it's actors.
Unless you're Philip Glass, of course.
You can claim that Koyaanisquatsi is visual art, or a revolutionary juxtaposition of images and sound, but, at the heart of it, I choose to believe that Glass was simply sensible enough to realise that working with actors was a very simple way to make a very complicated process even more so.
In fact, the process of working with actors appears to get conversely simpler and simpler the higher-up you go - because when you're dealing with a Star, who commands millions of dollars and their own trailer, you're not always dealing with them; you're dealing with their agents, and your assistants are dealing with their assistants, etc, etc, because once you're up in the stratosphere you don't necessarily have to actually do all that much. Just, oh, make the most important decisions on a day to day basis.
When the people you're working with have day jobs, and reservations about being dressed as giant pimps in the middle of a quiet suburban town, and curious things called - I believe - 'morals', then life becomes that much more difficult.
A star will do something because, at the end of the day, they're being paid to do it. Artistic integrity is one thing, but when you do something for a decent paycheque, your motivation is that much less grey.
A friend will do something out of one of several motive forces. One, they're doing it because they genuinely want to - which branches out into subsets of motives, because why oh why would they actually want to do whatever it is you're asking of them? Two, they're doing it as a favour, or because they owe you a favour, or some essential mechanism of exchange is involved somewhere.
Or, three, you're bribing them. Money, power, sexual favours, whatever; people experience a curious form of cognitive dissonance when it comes to helping out with filmmaking.
Much less likely, but fun when it happens, is that they actually like the idea of being on film and enjoy the concept of helping a wannabe director out. Which is sweet, but a little disturbing.
Let's put it this way. I have four - maybe five - people who are willing to help me.
The first is a mixture of one and two; they are travelling a long way to help me, but they're doing so because there's a complicated mixture of favour and counter-favour between us. There was an attempt to include elements of three in the transaction, but this has - hopefully - petered out. Secretly, person one also has elements of four, but hides them from the world at large.
Person two is coming because of a genuine belief in number four, and this scares me a little bit - they're expecting the process to be fun. Oh how I wish this was the case. Maybe it will be, and I'll be pleasantly surprised. But person two is, curiously, a genuinely good person who wants to help out. Which is also scary.
Person three is, I believe, genuinely curious about the whole thing. Other than healthy curiousity, their motives are also relatively altruistic.
And person four is doing it because I'm doing something for them in return. I'm not sure who gets the better deal, but needs must, I suspect.
Person five is ephemeral, and may not even turn up. Which is a relief, because otherwise I'd be worried that I had a perfect cast who'll all turn up on the day on time bright and shiny as a button, ready to help out. And this could not happen, because the universe wouldn't let it.
In case you're wondering what all this is in aid of, I confess; I'm nervous as hell. I have people travelling out to help me with something that is, in all likelihood, not going to ever be as sexy as I would like it to be, and they're all seemingly so helpful that I feel humbled by their very willingness.
Still, at this time in two days, it'll all be over, I feel.
Unless you're Philip Glass, of course.
You can claim that Koyaanisquatsi is visual art, or a revolutionary juxtaposition of images and sound, but, at the heart of it, I choose to believe that Glass was simply sensible enough to realise that working with actors was a very simple way to make a very complicated process even more so.
In fact, the process of working with actors appears to get conversely simpler and simpler the higher-up you go - because when you're dealing with a Star, who commands millions of dollars and their own trailer, you're not always dealing with them; you're dealing with their agents, and your assistants are dealing with their assistants, etc, etc, because once you're up in the stratosphere you don't necessarily have to actually do all that much. Just, oh, make the most important decisions on a day to day basis.
When the people you're working with have day jobs, and reservations about being dressed as giant pimps in the middle of a quiet suburban town, and curious things called - I believe - 'morals', then life becomes that much more difficult.
A star will do something because, at the end of the day, they're being paid to do it. Artistic integrity is one thing, but when you do something for a decent paycheque, your motivation is that much less grey.
A friend will do something out of one of several motive forces. One, they're doing it because they genuinely want to - which branches out into subsets of motives, because why oh why would they actually want to do whatever it is you're asking of them? Two, they're doing it as a favour, or because they owe you a favour, or some essential mechanism of exchange is involved somewhere.
Or, three, you're bribing them. Money, power, sexual favours, whatever; people experience a curious form of cognitive dissonance when it comes to helping out with filmmaking.
Much less likely, but fun when it happens, is that they actually like the idea of being on film and enjoy the concept of helping a wannabe director out. Which is sweet, but a little disturbing.
Let's put it this way. I have four - maybe five - people who are willing to help me.
The first is a mixture of one and two; they are travelling a long way to help me, but they're doing so because there's a complicated mixture of favour and counter-favour between us. There was an attempt to include elements of three in the transaction, but this has - hopefully - petered out. Secretly, person one also has elements of four, but hides them from the world at large.
Person two is coming because of a genuine belief in number four, and this scares me a little bit - they're expecting the process to be fun. Oh how I wish this was the case. Maybe it will be, and I'll be pleasantly surprised. But person two is, curiously, a genuinely good person who wants to help out. Which is also scary.
Person three is, I believe, genuinely curious about the whole thing. Other than healthy curiousity, their motives are also relatively altruistic.
And person four is doing it because I'm doing something for them in return. I'm not sure who gets the better deal, but needs must, I suspect.
Person five is ephemeral, and may not even turn up. Which is a relief, because otherwise I'd be worried that I had a perfect cast who'll all turn up on the day on time bright and shiny as a button, ready to help out. And this could not happen, because the universe wouldn't let it.
In case you're wondering what all this is in aid of, I confess; I'm nervous as hell. I have people travelling out to help me with something that is, in all likelihood, not going to ever be as sexy as I would like it to be, and they're all seemingly so helpful that I feel humbled by their very willingness.
Still, at this time in two days, it'll all be over, I feel.
Of course, it's never that easy.
I am a short filmmaker in the same way that a teenager with a band poster and a cheap electric guitar is a musician, to be honest. Given enough practice, and the right opportunities, that teenager might eventually crank out a passable version of Smells Like Teen Spirit's opening chords.
Given the chance that everything might actually work, I have a chance of putting together a half-decent short film.
Unfortunately, today, two days before filming is due to start, things have already determinedly decided not to go to plan. Which is, curiously, exactly how I thought they would.
When you plan for things not to go to plan, should you be surprised when they don't?
Don't answer that.
Anyway, this is just preamble, because, like I say, there are two days to go before anything resembling filming takes place.
It's just a shame about the balaclavas, really.
At the end of the day, you get what you pay for. When you can't afford to pay very much, what you get isn't necessarily going to be of particularly high quality. Of course, a balaclava for £1.43 is a tempting prospect when you have ninjas on the shooting schedule.
However, nowhere on the listing did anybody mention that size of the balaclava in question. So when I received them today, and discovered that they are, in fact, designed for an 8-year old motorcycle enthusiast, it was a small shock.
But aspiring to be a short filmmaker means rolling with the punches, so when the three - hopefully - people - hopefully again - turn up on Saturday, I hope to have something that will make them look vaguely ninja-like. Because, if not, things stand a chance of getting vaguely surreal.
This is before we even get into the semantics of ordering something 'In Stock' pre-9am on a Tuesday morning and then getting an email stating it will, most hopefully, be dispatched three days later.
Pleasant surprises, however, include the bokken - including a warning stating that misuse can lead to injury or even death, but then, as a giant wooden sword, it's kind of an occupational hazard - and the feather boa, which was suitably feathery and boa-y.
Pimps, mariachis and ninjas with curious headgear; welcome to my world.
Given the chance that everything might actually work, I have a chance of putting together a half-decent short film.
Unfortunately, today, two days before filming is due to start, things have already determinedly decided not to go to plan. Which is, curiously, exactly how I thought they would.
When you plan for things not to go to plan, should you be surprised when they don't?
Don't answer that.
Anyway, this is just preamble, because, like I say, there are two days to go before anything resembling filming takes place.
It's just a shame about the balaclavas, really.
At the end of the day, you get what you pay for. When you can't afford to pay very much, what you get isn't necessarily going to be of particularly high quality. Of course, a balaclava for £1.43 is a tempting prospect when you have ninjas on the shooting schedule.
However, nowhere on the listing did anybody mention that size of the balaclava in question. So when I received them today, and discovered that they are, in fact, designed for an 8-year old motorcycle enthusiast, it was a small shock.
But aspiring to be a short filmmaker means rolling with the punches, so when the three - hopefully - people - hopefully again - turn up on Saturday, I hope to have something that will make them look vaguely ninja-like. Because, if not, things stand a chance of getting vaguely surreal.
This is before we even get into the semantics of ordering something 'In Stock' pre-9am on a Tuesday morning and then getting an email stating it will, most hopefully, be dispatched three days later.
Pleasant surprises, however, include the bokken - including a warning stating that misuse can lead to injury or even death, but then, as a giant wooden sword, it's kind of an occupational hazard - and the feather boa, which was suitably feathery and boa-y.
Pimps, mariachis and ninjas with curious headgear; welcome to my world.
Tuesday 19 May 2009
Ways to get noticed
If you ever want to get people interested in you, there's a simple way to go about it. Become a short film-maker. Trust me, there's no way any conversation with an authority figure over my recent spate of prop-shopping could ever go well. For instance:
AF: Mr Crow, if you have a minute, we'd like to discuss some of your recent online purchases.
EC: Okay, sure, go ahead!
Authority figure (AF): Thank you. Okay, firstly, can you explain the need for three balaclavas and three pairs of black gloves?
EC: Sure. They're for the ninjas.
AF: [makes notes] Thank you. And the wooden swords?
EC: Yes, they're for the samurai, as was that ugly-ass ring and the sakura pendant.
AF: Thank you. And the five gold teeth and two feather boas?
EC: Certainly, they're for the pimp.
AF: And the flat cap and tobacco pipe?
EC: Well, if I'm honest, they're for the philosopher.
*
None of this is hyperbole; we here at Eton Crow believe in the kind of quality that you can only get by buying cheap props on Ebay, and the kind of emotional investment that can only come from a film involving ninjas, mariachis, pimps, businessmen, and samurai.
AF: Mr Crow, if you have a minute, we'd like to discuss some of your recent online purchases.
EC: Okay, sure, go ahead!
Authority figure (AF): Thank you. Okay, firstly, can you explain the need for three balaclavas and three pairs of black gloves?
EC: Sure. They're for the ninjas.
AF: [makes notes] Thank you. And the wooden swords?
EC: Yes, they're for the samurai, as was that ugly-ass ring and the sakura pendant.
AF: Thank you. And the five gold teeth and two feather boas?
EC: Certainly, they're for the pimp.
AF: And the flat cap and tobacco pipe?
EC: Well, if I'm honest, they're for the philosopher.
*
None of this is hyperbole; we here at Eton Crow believe in the kind of quality that you can only get by buying cheap props on Ebay, and the kind of emotional investment that can only come from a film involving ninjas, mariachis, pimps, businessmen, and samurai.
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