Well. As you can no doubt see, Jamie has been quiet of late. I kinda miss his philosophies and general ramblings on life and film and fighting.
If there are any people out there who likes what he writes, then maybe email him or post to this blog, as I want him to come back. That would be good. Maybe a petition of sorts. Even if it's like, one person. Well... me I guess. Yeah - Jamie... we want to hear your voice again. Talk about some old shit and we'll listen.
Andy
CiaV
Monday, July 16, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Two minutes of your time... or I can write FREE BEER
So... Andy from CANNES in a VAN here.
I just wanted to add to the ninja Jamie's blog to say a few things. Some of them worthless, some of them worthwhile...
3 blokes. A van. A projector.
An amazing, inspiring, incredible journey. For anyone following Jamie's writings along the way, you'll already know how he's captured every minute in an exquisite and beautiful way. The dude is gifted with words and his analogies hit home, which, to quote the man himself, "is good". For those of you who've only read this tiny paragraph - go back (or forth) and read his blog from the start. It will give you an insight into the man's truly inspiring philosophies on life.
For those of you who are still reading this bit... a few things. I've just finished listening to The Films, a band I've just seen at The Borderline tonight. Their name is The Films - it's a good name and quite fitting for CiaV. Check them out on MySpace, the album's out in June sometime. They had a good live presence.
I'm now listening to Deftones, which is a band Jamie has been banging on about over the whole trip. So I bought it. He did his bit for music PR.
What we'd like to do next with CANNES in a VAN is bring it home to a British audience, starting with London, our physical home. I wanted to say 'spiritual home', but I'm not sure that would be the truth. We want to promote new bands in the most lo-fi way we know - playing stuff from our van. The Films is the first band we're going to play.
At the same time, we'll be playing stuff from a composer/sound designer we met in Cannes. His name is James Tinney.
He's a sound bloke (no pun intended).
Finally, I wanted to say to anyone who cares... It all counts. Every click, every second you give CANNES in a VAN means there's one more person who knows what we're trying to do. That's cool. So click back when you're bored and maybe there'll be something new. Oh... and come and see some films if you've got time. They're really bloody good.
Cheers
Andy
I just wanted to add to the ninja Jamie's blog to say a few things. Some of them worthless, some of them worthwhile...
3 blokes. A van. A projector.
An amazing, inspiring, incredible journey. For anyone following Jamie's writings along the way, you'll already know how he's captured every minute in an exquisite and beautiful way. The dude is gifted with words and his analogies hit home, which, to quote the man himself, "is good". For those of you who've only read this tiny paragraph - go back (or forth) and read his blog from the start. It will give you an insight into the man's truly inspiring philosophies on life.
For those of you who are still reading this bit... a few things. I've just finished listening to The Films, a band I've just seen at The Borderline tonight. Their name is The Films - it's a good name and quite fitting for CiaV. Check them out on MySpace, the album's out in June sometime. They had a good live presence.
I'm now listening to Deftones, which is a band Jamie has been banging on about over the whole trip. So I bought it. He did his bit for music PR.
What we'd like to do next with CANNES in a VAN is bring it home to a British audience, starting with London, our physical home. I wanted to say 'spiritual home', but I'm not sure that would be the truth. We want to promote new bands in the most lo-fi way we know - playing stuff from our van. The Films is the first band we're going to play.
At the same time, we'll be playing stuff from a composer/sound designer we met in Cannes. His name is James Tinney.
He's a sound bloke (no pun intended).
Finally, I wanted to say to anyone who cares... It all counts. Every click, every second you give CANNES in a VAN means there's one more person who knows what we're trying to do. That's cool. So click back when you're bored and maybe there'll be something new. Oh... and come and see some films if you've got time. They're really bloody good.
Cheers
Andy
Monday, May 28, 2007
19:16pm, 28th May 2007
We are back in England. Each in our own place.
Got in at about two this morning.
Been chilling with flat mates for the day.
Got home to find a cut copy of the new Akala album in the post for me.
He is a great dude. Check out the album when it comes out. The producer Rez is one of the most intelligent men that I’ve ever met. Go and buy a copy in a few months when it comes out. It’s brilliant. Five stars hands down.
Cannes is far behind, somewhere south.
We were close to tension by the end. Though I have to say that the outcome was worth it. Luckily we didn’t try to kill each other. God what a trip. Incredible.
It’s raining here in Highgate.
Happy to be back. Andy and Si’s imagination came to concrete truth.
Feel like I bandwagoned it a bit.
Should anyone reading this see either of them at any point, give ‘em the time of day, ‘cause those guys have drive worth following.
Cheers for following the Cannes in a Van ‘ting.
Will post again in a few days.
Laters,
Jamie
Got in at about two this morning.
Been chilling with flat mates for the day.
Got home to find a cut copy of the new Akala album in the post for me.
He is a great dude. Check out the album when it comes out. The producer Rez is one of the most intelligent men that I’ve ever met. Go and buy a copy in a few months when it comes out. It’s brilliant. Five stars hands down.
Cannes is far behind, somewhere south.
We were close to tension by the end. Though I have to say that the outcome was worth it. Luckily we didn’t try to kill each other. God what a trip. Incredible.
It’s raining here in Highgate.
Happy to be back. Andy and Si’s imagination came to concrete truth.
Feel like I bandwagoned it a bit.
Should anyone reading this see either of them at any point, give ‘em the time of day, ‘cause those guys have drive worth following.
Cheers for following the Cannes in a Van ‘ting.
Will post again in a few days.
Laters,
Jamie
23:21pm, France, same day as it was a few hours ago.
We are cold and tired and bored and waiting at the tunnel.
19:51pm, 27th May 2007
Out the other side of Paris. The city that can be relied upon to reset the brain.
Very close to the train. Sat in back of van.
Andy and Si are inside a service station, probably the four hundredth that we have been to, and I have spent the last twenty minutes being followed around by a Romany kid who is trying to sell me a ring. I don’t have any change. Or rather, the change I do have has got to be used on the toll at the end of this motorway, otherwise we can’t get out of France. I think.
This service station is on the Somme Bay. Apparently twenty nations fought to the death on the field behind it in the Great War. From the front it looks like a lay-by loo stop. From the back it is all rolling plains, ducks and history.
A whole hoard of people died at this here service station. Shot, exploded, gassed.
Now it sells petrol and t-shirts.
Strangely enough, this place is probably the most relevant part of the whole trip. None of us are thinking about anything in particular, though that might be quite a sweeping statement seeing as I neither Si nor Andy. We just are. Chilled. Waiting to hit the road for the final stretch out of France. Knowing that we have accomplished what we set out to do.
Passed through Courtenay today. Bunch of my family came from there. Then a load of them went on to fight on the Somme. Now I’m sat here in a big yellow van surrounded by film-projecting equipment and a crate of short films waiting for my friends to tire of the bench inside. There probably shouldn’t be a car-stop built here. There probably shouldn’t be anything built here, though that would of course defeat the point of the battle.
We should come back here and show a film the next time we drive past.
The Romany boy just tried one last time. He seems to live in a caravan in the field behind. Nice place to live.
Andy just got in the van, figure that we’re rolling soon.
Very close to the train. Sat in back of van.
Andy and Si are inside a service station, probably the four hundredth that we have been to, and I have spent the last twenty minutes being followed around by a Romany kid who is trying to sell me a ring. I don’t have any change. Or rather, the change I do have has got to be used on the toll at the end of this motorway, otherwise we can’t get out of France. I think.
This service station is on the Somme Bay. Apparently twenty nations fought to the death on the field behind it in the Great War. From the front it looks like a lay-by loo stop. From the back it is all rolling plains, ducks and history.
A whole hoard of people died at this here service station. Shot, exploded, gassed.
Now it sells petrol and t-shirts.
Strangely enough, this place is probably the most relevant part of the whole trip. None of us are thinking about anything in particular, though that might be quite a sweeping statement seeing as I neither Si nor Andy. We just are. Chilled. Waiting to hit the road for the final stretch out of France. Knowing that we have accomplished what we set out to do.
Passed through Courtenay today. Bunch of my family came from there. Then a load of them went on to fight on the Somme. Now I’m sat here in a big yellow van surrounded by film-projecting equipment and a crate of short films waiting for my friends to tire of the bench inside. There probably shouldn’t be a car-stop built here. There probably shouldn’t be anything built here, though that would of course defeat the point of the battle.
We should come back here and show a film the next time we drive past.
The Romany boy just tried one last time. He seems to live in a caravan in the field behind. Nice place to live.
Andy just got in the van, figure that we’re rolling soon.
10:38am, 27th May 2007
The three of us are an hour and a half from Paris.
We have taken a route home that involves straighter roads than those we traversed on the way down to the South of France. Mostly I have slept. Which is a bit rubbish. Si did a spot of bombing the van down the highway at breakneck speed, which was quite fun.
The dashboard of the transit looks like a school cafeteria. Empty and half chewed bits of bread line the inside of the windscreen.
We are doing well for time. So we plan on chilling out in Paris for a little while.
I have not been to Paris for some time. I made a pact with someone that I would never go back without them, though this is kind of by accident so I figure that that might be ok.
Having spent ten days on the French Riveira showing films, being quite hot and generally annoying the other two, I now have no desire to return to London. Perhaps I will make a break for it in the capital. Tempting.
There’s a good hole to crash at on Rue St. Jacque around the 5th Eme.
We are now one hundred and thirty two kilometres from Paris. So states the road sign.
We’re doing seventy miles per hour. My maths is appalling, so I couldn’t tell you how much closer we are to getting there. I just know that we will make it to the border, as it were, and something will shift.
Cannes was obscene as a place. Useful, but fake beyond all recognition. A place fuelled by adrenaline and blind ambition; a place where people pretend to be friends. So, a lot like London, though with better weather and bigger boats. Paris always struck me as slightly more real a city. People seem less like idiots en masse. They don’t expect anything from you. Everyone is left to be themselves and instead people just nod politely at passers by as and when it seems appropriate.
London is close. Maybe not by transit van, but geographically the homestead is near.
Tomorrow morning life will continue as per and as Andy said yesterday, this surreal dream will come to an end.
We just hit a large insect at seventy five miles per hour.
It exploded over our windscreen. Poor bastard; though as it would know if it had been at the 60th Cannes Film Festival, and as the last ten days have proven
… do not underestimate Cannes in a Van.
We have taken a route home that involves straighter roads than those we traversed on the way down to the South of France. Mostly I have slept. Which is a bit rubbish. Si did a spot of bombing the van down the highway at breakneck speed, which was quite fun.
The dashboard of the transit looks like a school cafeteria. Empty and half chewed bits of bread line the inside of the windscreen.
We are doing well for time. So we plan on chilling out in Paris for a little while.
I have not been to Paris for some time. I made a pact with someone that I would never go back without them, though this is kind of by accident so I figure that that might be ok.
Having spent ten days on the French Riveira showing films, being quite hot and generally annoying the other two, I now have no desire to return to London. Perhaps I will make a break for it in the capital. Tempting.
There’s a good hole to crash at on Rue St. Jacque around the 5th Eme.
We are now one hundred and thirty two kilometres from Paris. So states the road sign.
We’re doing seventy miles per hour. My maths is appalling, so I couldn’t tell you how much closer we are to getting there. I just know that we will make it to the border, as it were, and something will shift.
Cannes was obscene as a place. Useful, but fake beyond all recognition. A place fuelled by adrenaline and blind ambition; a place where people pretend to be friends. So, a lot like London, though with better weather and bigger boats. Paris always struck me as slightly more real a city. People seem less like idiots en masse. They don’t expect anything from you. Everyone is left to be themselves and instead people just nod politely at passers by as and when it seems appropriate.
London is close. Maybe not by transit van, but geographically the homestead is near.
Tomorrow morning life will continue as per and as Andy said yesterday, this surreal dream will come to an end.
We just hit a large insect at seventy five miles per hour.
It exploded over our windscreen. Poor bastard; though as it would know if it had been at the 60th Cannes Film Festival, and as the last ten days have proven
… do not underestimate Cannes in a Van.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
11:27am, 26th May 2007
We are on our way out.
Campsite cleaned and left in some respectable condition.
Final night (last night) on the Coisette cancelled due to general exhaustion, inability to find a parking space anywhere in Cannes, plus rain and that. Instead we went to a bar and talked over all that we’ve done in the last ten days.
We turned a yellow transit into an international entity of film. That may sound like total crap, but it’s the truth. The van has been picked up all over the shop. We recently learnt that we have made a national German news paper, Nylon magazine (meaning that we’ve broken the States) and some French TV, as well as the stuff from before. Like the fact that we go out on the Culture Show on BBC2 this Saturday.
The three of us are about to head into Cannes for the last time (this year) and have a look around. Which is something we have not really had the chance to do, having spent the proportionate amount of out time here in or around a van.
I don’t really have the words to describe the last ten days, but a bonkers idea has turned good. Wooo. God knows where it’s going now. London I guess.
Time to hit the road.
Campsite cleaned and left in some respectable condition.
Final night (last night) on the Coisette cancelled due to general exhaustion, inability to find a parking space anywhere in Cannes, plus rain and that. Instead we went to a bar and talked over all that we’ve done in the last ten days.
We turned a yellow transit into an international entity of film. That may sound like total crap, but it’s the truth. The van has been picked up all over the shop. We recently learnt that we have made a national German news paper, Nylon magazine (meaning that we’ve broken the States) and some French TV, as well as the stuff from before. Like the fact that we go out on the Culture Show on BBC2 this Saturday.
The three of us are about to head into Cannes for the last time (this year) and have a look around. Which is something we have not really had the chance to do, having spent the proportionate amount of out time here in or around a van.
I don’t really have the words to describe the last ten days, but a bonkers idea has turned good. Wooo. God knows where it’s going now. London I guess.
Time to hit the road.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
19:11pm, 24th May 2007
Once again sat outside Mc Donald’s trying to use their wifi without actually having to go inside the place. Yesterday damned strange. Everyday strange, but yesterday goes right up there with the top end of a highly strung grappling hook.
Screened the first segment of a brilliant film entitled ‘Will the Real Pimps and Hoes Please Stand Up’. If you get the chance to watch it, do so. We had various cast members and the producer on site, and the night before pretty much everyone involved in the production side came down. They were all on scene promoting the film in the street with us. One of the guys involved (actor/writer) was called True Love, which is a great name. They had come over from Los Angeles to screen it at the American Pavilion (which is a bit swanky). They screened it. Then they brought it to us. Which was nice of them.
At some point last night a ninja appeared on the Croisette, ran around, made some pretty girls scream and then camped out on top of the van for a bit. After proceeding to jump off the van like Onikage
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onikage
it then sat and had an ice cream.
Later on we picked up eight Dutch musicians who’d van had broken down and took them back to their campsite, which was conveniently also out campsite. One of these guys accounts for the trumpet I mentioned in a previous posting. It turns out that they specialise in Dixieland, blues and jazz. They all wore matching orange shirts and claimed that their band was founded in the Netherlands in 1926.
Then we went home, got drunk with them and ate chocolate mousse.
Another professional day nailed at the biggest film in the world.
May the van rock on.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
22nd May 2007, 04:22am
Things change. And you never see it coming. People come and go.
I’ve no idea how to explain today.
As Si put it, it was a game of two halves.
So now I don’t have to explain it, because he’s done it for me.
It’s easy to forget things sometimes. Like the fact that things often turn out well.
Our logos turned up. So the van looks the way it deserves to look after the amount that it has done for us, what with running three computers, four speakers, an amp and a projector from it’s battery for the last five days.
This late afternoon we went to a party on a boat that was moored in Cannes, attempted to project on the pier and for the first time got moved on. So Andy moved the van and then we went back to the party. We screened a lot of films to a lot of people. We had our biggest crowd yet. Giving out free (warm continental) beer to anyone watching probably helped. At one point we accumilated a head count of thirty-odd people in the audience. Which was very satisfying. Then a middle aged French woman passed out whilst watching the films, vomited everywhere, an ambulance was called and then four policemen asked for my papers and searched me for trying to film it whilst laughing at the same time. I stand by it being quite funny.
After that the vibe and crowd kind of died down a bit. Which is fair enough.
So we took the coastal road out of Cannes and went to stand on the beach and contemplate things.
The sea is bloody odd. It’s huge. And alive. I am prone to forgetting that until I stand and look at it. It was past midnight by the point we reached it, and the sky out to sea was black. Utter darkness. Andy and Si stood and talked about all the things that this trip had brought to mind and I occasionally said something like “I agree” or some other thing equally as mundane. The ocean had my attention.
The sea swallows things. Like people. They vanish into it. Undercurrents and that.
The French Riveira allows for one to see the sea-bed through the water for as far as the eyes in question will allow. Even at night, it is possible to follow the sand trails out, though being night, they swiftly disperse into utter obscurity. The ocean really is endless. People underestimate it. Perhaps because we are not aquatic. Really though, seeing as people inhabit one third of the earth and the other two thirds are submerged, it would be silly to be surprised by the things that the sea is capable of throwing at you. And yet I still find it suprising whenever I look at it.
Cannes is filled with vast amounts of glitz, glam and now the van. The potential, art, money, film and style that the dudes and ladies in the streets and convoys project is all very impressive. But it doesn’t really come anywhere close to being on par with the truth in saying that none of it is any use to man or beast underwater. It is of use in one third of the planets ratio, and even then you have to be inclined to give a shit.
The other two thirds, they do things like stir the mind, house fish (who probably don’t like film that much anyway) and on occasion try to disapear passing swimmers.
I have been running through Okinawan drills for a couple of hours in some attempt to chill the mind and take a step back from it all. It has sort of worked.
There are a lot of good people out there who don’t deserve the things that happen to them. So hey, this is age old news but it still has relevence. These people spend a lot of time being resigned to life as it occurs, going unheard. Unheard is never good.
I’m happy that some of the films that we are putting out of the back of the van that is Cannes in a Van allow for people to take that step back from their day.
Even if it be for the duration of a short film.
They come, they sit, they watch. They listen to someones story and by all logic, the story came from somewhere.
Then they get up and wander off. In an enviroment as ludicrous as the biggest film festival in the world, that’s probably no bad thing.
Like Si said, “a game of two halves”.
I’ve no idea how to explain today.
As Si put it, it was a game of two halves.
So now I don’t have to explain it, because he’s done it for me.
It’s easy to forget things sometimes. Like the fact that things often turn out well.
Our logos turned up. So the van looks the way it deserves to look after the amount that it has done for us, what with running three computers, four speakers, an amp and a projector from it’s battery for the last five days.
This late afternoon we went to a party on a boat that was moored in Cannes, attempted to project on the pier and for the first time got moved on. So Andy moved the van and then we went back to the party. We screened a lot of films to a lot of people. We had our biggest crowd yet. Giving out free (warm continental) beer to anyone watching probably helped. At one point we accumilated a head count of thirty-odd people in the audience. Which was very satisfying. Then a middle aged French woman passed out whilst watching the films, vomited everywhere, an ambulance was called and then four policemen asked for my papers and searched me for trying to film it whilst laughing at the same time. I stand by it being quite funny.
After that the vibe and crowd kind of died down a bit. Which is fair enough.
So we took the coastal road out of Cannes and went to stand on the beach and contemplate things.
The sea is bloody odd. It’s huge. And alive. I am prone to forgetting that until I stand and look at it. It was past midnight by the point we reached it, and the sky out to sea was black. Utter darkness. Andy and Si stood and talked about all the things that this trip had brought to mind and I occasionally said something like “I agree” or some other thing equally as mundane. The ocean had my attention.
The sea swallows things. Like people. They vanish into it. Undercurrents and that.
The French Riveira allows for one to see the sea-bed through the water for as far as the eyes in question will allow. Even at night, it is possible to follow the sand trails out, though being night, they swiftly disperse into utter obscurity. The ocean really is endless. People underestimate it. Perhaps because we are not aquatic. Really though, seeing as people inhabit one third of the earth and the other two thirds are submerged, it would be silly to be surprised by the things that the sea is capable of throwing at you. And yet I still find it suprising whenever I look at it.
Cannes is filled with vast amounts of glitz, glam and now the van. The potential, art, money, film and style that the dudes and ladies in the streets and convoys project is all very impressive. But it doesn’t really come anywhere close to being on par with the truth in saying that none of it is any use to man or beast underwater. It is of use in one third of the planets ratio, and even then you have to be inclined to give a shit.
The other two thirds, they do things like stir the mind, house fish (who probably don’t like film that much anyway) and on occasion try to disapear passing swimmers.
I have been running through Okinawan drills for a couple of hours in some attempt to chill the mind and take a step back from it all. It has sort of worked.
There are a lot of good people out there who don’t deserve the things that happen to them. So hey, this is age old news but it still has relevence. These people spend a lot of time being resigned to life as it occurs, going unheard. Unheard is never good.
I’m happy that some of the films that we are putting out of the back of the van that is Cannes in a Van allow for people to take that step back from their day.
Even if it be for the duration of a short film.
They come, they sit, they watch. They listen to someones story and by all logic, the story came from somewhere.
Then they get up and wander off. In an enviroment as ludicrous as the biggest film festival in the world, that’s probably no bad thing.
Like Si said, “a game of two halves”.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
20th May 2007, 17:23pm
Just watched some more films that we are screening later on tonight. The vast majority of the films that we have are great. It’s weird how people receive films. Tastes. This whole thing is one of the most accurate tests of that. When the back of the van is packed(ish), it’s a good film. When people cross the street to come and check it out, it’s obviously an interesting film.
There are way too many mundane films being made. Luckily for us we don’t screen them.
Is a film still a good film if no one watches it?
... 20:08pm
The three of us are sat outside a McDonalds using the WiFi.
I have noticed that the tarmac has the words 'McParking' painted onto it.
Jeez.
It's cool...
we're out of here in a moment to show more films to the unsuspecting public.
There are way too many mundane films being made. Luckily for us we don’t screen them.
Is a film still a good film if no one watches it?
... 20:08pm
The three of us are sat outside a McDonalds using the WiFi.
I have noticed that the tarmac has the words 'McParking' painted onto it.
Jeez.
It's cool...
we're out of here in a moment to show more films to the unsuspecting public.
20th May 2007, 16:37
Have been without net for a bit. Connection here rubbish.
France is one of the first countries to have moved into a new special and super speedy internet connection and yet I see no sign of it.
Last night was our first proper total utter glorious success. We didn’t cock anything up. Nothing broke. A fairly large crowd emerged. People sat down and watched.
More clapping from the general public.
Right now Si is outside cutting up flyers in the sun. Andy is inside opposite me, tempting fate and wiring up a Playstation2 to the whole deal, so as to allow for another disk drive. This would allow us to cut down on the time it takes for us to shift from film to film inside the van. In aspiration of making the whole thing as seamless as possible.
Hopefully it will work. Time will tell.
Yesterday was fast paced as hell. I had the pleasure of playing a fine selection of punk very loudly (really, don’t underestimate the sound system) at people who looked a bit serious, which was total joy. The Culture show came down to film us. We will be on the telebox on Saturday. Their crew were lovely. I think they know how good they are. Which is fair enough. We were also interviewed by someone from the Times Online. Who asked me a question that I jibbered some shit out to, and Andy quite usefully saved it and gave a good stern answer.
Which was better than “umm”, which is a word I seem to specialise in.
I have not had much chance to train out here, karate and all that jazz, but I was talking to Si about it as a subject earlier and I am under the impression that he believes that I would loose in a fight to Big Daddy, whoever he may be. This is probably a fair statement, seeing as the dude is called Big Daddy, which being the most disturbing of names, probably makes him as dangerous as AIDS on a stormy night.
Anyway, enough of that. May the 36th Chamber protect me.
Si also managed to get us invited to a boat party. The party is on Monday night.
On a boat that “we can’t miss” if we go looking for it.
So says the Partner of a film financing company who invited us.
There is a lot of money here.
People may as well just staple dollars to their head and walk around.
The sign of the mega-rich? Ferrets. Watch day two of the video diary.
France is one of the first countries to have moved into a new special and super speedy internet connection and yet I see no sign of it.
Last night was our first proper total utter glorious success. We didn’t cock anything up. Nothing broke. A fairly large crowd emerged. People sat down and watched.
More clapping from the general public.
Right now Si is outside cutting up flyers in the sun. Andy is inside opposite me, tempting fate and wiring up a Playstation2 to the whole deal, so as to allow for another disk drive. This would allow us to cut down on the time it takes for us to shift from film to film inside the van. In aspiration of making the whole thing as seamless as possible.
Hopefully it will work. Time will tell.
Yesterday was fast paced as hell. I had the pleasure of playing a fine selection of punk very loudly (really, don’t underestimate the sound system) at people who looked a bit serious, which was total joy. The Culture show came down to film us. We will be on the telebox on Saturday. Their crew were lovely. I think they know how good they are. Which is fair enough. We were also interviewed by someone from the Times Online. Who asked me a question that I jibbered some shit out to, and Andy quite usefully saved it and gave a good stern answer.
Which was better than “umm”, which is a word I seem to specialise in.
I have not had much chance to train out here, karate and all that jazz, but I was talking to Si about it as a subject earlier and I am under the impression that he believes that I would loose in a fight to Big Daddy, whoever he may be. This is probably a fair statement, seeing as the dude is called Big Daddy, which being the most disturbing of names, probably makes him as dangerous as AIDS on a stormy night.
Anyway, enough of that. May the 36th Chamber protect me.
Si also managed to get us invited to a boat party. The party is on Monday night.
On a boat that “we can’t miss” if we go looking for it.
So says the Partner of a film financing company who invited us.
There is a lot of money here.
People may as well just staple dollars to their head and walk around.
The sign of the mega-rich? Ferrets. Watch day two of the video diary.
19th May 2007, 13:00pm
Yesterday evening.
Cannes in a Van reaped Cannes. Then we went to a street party, of sorts.
The police continued to completely dig our stuff
(though they may not be the target audience).
People came down. They watched. They clapped. Important looking guys took flyers.
It was, once again, a complete success.
It continues to be a success. The women here are not all ugly.
Andy and I nearly had an aneurism when we pulled up on the Croisette (which I realised is not spent with a Q) due to a four hour equipment check earlier in the day where everything was great seemingly not helping at all. We parked, banged on A Brief But Triumphant Intermission by Against Me (excellent band) to set up to, and then we suddenly had no sound. Luckily it came down the fact that we hadn’t turned it on.
I know, it doesn’t make sense, but what can you do.
There is an obscene amount of neon in Cannes. Everywhere. It’s quite good.
Apparently we went out on TV last night, and it was not too horrific. Which is also quite good. It hit us that being somewhere so far from London with no television is the best way to be when that kind of thing happens.
It’s too hot to write, there is someone playing a trumpet, badly next door to us and the campsite in which we are staying has a swimming pool.
Which is not hot, or next door to the same tune sixteen times played rather indecisively.
Right. Swimming pool.
Can’t write and swim, because I’d probably kill everyone in the pool with some narly electric surge. Too bad.
Cannes in a Van reaped Cannes. Then we went to a street party, of sorts.
The police continued to completely dig our stuff
(though they may not be the target audience).
People came down. They watched. They clapped. Important looking guys took flyers.
It was, once again, a complete success.
It continues to be a success. The women here are not all ugly.
Andy and I nearly had an aneurism when we pulled up on the Croisette (which I realised is not spent with a Q) due to a four hour equipment check earlier in the day where everything was great seemingly not helping at all. We parked, banged on A Brief But Triumphant Intermission by Against Me (excellent band) to set up to, and then we suddenly had no sound. Luckily it came down the fact that we hadn’t turned it on.
I know, it doesn’t make sense, but what can you do.
There is an obscene amount of neon in Cannes. Everywhere. It’s quite good.
Apparently we went out on TV last night, and it was not too horrific. Which is also quite good. It hit us that being somewhere so far from London with no television is the best way to be when that kind of thing happens.
It’s too hot to write, there is someone playing a trumpet, badly next door to us and the campsite in which we are staying has a swimming pool.
Which is not hot, or next door to the same tune sixteen times played rather indecisively.
Right. Swimming pool.
Can’t write and swim, because I’d probably kill everyone in the pool with some narly electric surge. Too bad.
Friday, May 18, 2007
...can't think of a title. Brain is hot by sun.
There are a few typing errors around the place in the last three postings, but I can't work out how to change them, because as I mentioned before, my computer has gone all a bit French. Bloody interweb.
Please ignore them and guess at the words.
Dress up as you do it and make a game of it.
You should probably start with paper hats.
15:30, 18th May, 2007
So we are here.
Actually.
Updating this blog is seriously hard, seeing as I don’t speak, or read French and for some reason all of the uploading stuff has turned all French. Argh.
We arrived two days ago. In the dead of night, or early morning. At our campsite. And made a total fucking ruckus of a noise.
It was pretty funny.
Cannes has come to us and we have come to Cannes.
We are not lost (which is good), because we spent a lot of time being very, very lost.
We still have no logo for the van but hey, last night we hit up the Quasette and showed the films tat we be packing.
In the middle of the street.
We tried it earlier on, on a side road and there were major technical hitches. The moral of the story is probably don’t do anything low-fi. If you’re going to do something this stupid, do it loudly.
Last night we had London Tonight following us around. We are the show tonight at 18:15pm. TV people are pretty odd, though quite sound.
As I just said, last night we screened things, people loved it, damn, even the police loved it. Everyone loved it. People actually stopped all their official crap and watched.
I have never been to L.A., or Hollywood, but I imagine that this is a hell of a lot cooler.
There were many ubiquitous celebrity folk around the place. Mostly looking smug.
Amongst other things, the highlights so far have to be:
i) getting here alive
ii) stuff only slightly going really wrong
iii) A helicopter took off from a yacht. Which is pretty cool,.
iv) a hoard of people taking flyers, reading them and asking things like “What?” or “Que?” and seeming interested by the bloody great yellow van blaring out films over the road
v) the fact that you can buy pizza on the campsite
Andy and I (mostly Andy) have spent the morning editing
the video footage that I have been shooting on the DV for the diary. The first posting is up. Which is cool.
So go and watch the footage.
.
The mountains here leave me wanting not to return to London.
I have that problem with mountains.
So far I have to say that its been a success. All of it.
All two days of it to date.
Even the bits that didn’t work.
Fuckin’ aye.
Actually.
Updating this blog is seriously hard, seeing as I don’t speak, or read French and for some reason all of the uploading stuff has turned all French. Argh.
We arrived two days ago. In the dead of night, or early morning. At our campsite. And made a total fucking ruckus of a noise.
It was pretty funny.
Cannes has come to us and we have come to Cannes.
We are not lost (which is good), because we spent a lot of time being very, very lost.
We still have no logo for the van but hey, last night we hit up the Quasette and showed the films tat we be packing.
In the middle of the street.
We tried it earlier on, on a side road and there were major technical hitches. The moral of the story is probably don’t do anything low-fi. If you’re going to do something this stupid, do it loudly.
Last night we had London Tonight following us around. We are the show tonight at 18:15pm. TV people are pretty odd, though quite sound.
As I just said, last night we screened things, people loved it, damn, even the police loved it. Everyone loved it. People actually stopped all their official crap and watched.
I have never been to L.A., or Hollywood, but I imagine that this is a hell of a lot cooler.
There were many ubiquitous celebrity folk around the place. Mostly looking smug.
Amongst other things, the highlights so far have to be:
i) getting here alive
ii) stuff only slightly going really wrong
iii) A helicopter took off from a yacht. Which is pretty cool,.
iv) a hoard of people taking flyers, reading them and asking things like “What?” or “Que?” and seeming interested by the bloody great yellow van blaring out films over the road
v) the fact that you can buy pizza on the campsite
Andy and I (mostly Andy) have spent the morning editing
the video footage that I have been shooting on the DV for the diary. The first posting is up. Which is cool.
So go and watch the footage.
.
The mountains here leave me wanting not to return to London.
I have that problem with mountains.
So far I have to say that its been a success. All of it.
All two days of it to date.
Even the bits that didn’t work.
Fuckin’ aye.
16th MAY, 19:46pm, 200 hundred kilometres from Marseilles (or anywhere sensible)
16th MAY, 19:46pm, 200 hundred kilometres from Marseilles (or anywhere sensible)
Some hours have passed since the last time hours had passed.
We are somewhere not in Cannes, but we are much closer than we were.
Andy is currently on the telephone to Radio4 about all that we are doing and why we are doing it. It is going out on air later tonight. It’s still raining.
Si has been driving for the last few (many) hours and is doing a rather good job of not crashing. I can’t drive, so I respect this.
The direction in which this is going, is South. The roads are blocked for the moment. Rush hour. I would tell you where we are in France, but I have no sense of direction so I couldn’t possibly do that.
Sharon the film maker managed to blow a wheel on her car earlier this morning, so she is someplace far from us right now. So we are not miked up and bugged.
Which is nice.
Her film will be interesting I think.
Right now we (Si and Andy) are doing quite great team work (the radio interview is over) in getting us out of a car park somewhere where the world is very green with long strips of tarmac. Roads and that.
The send off the other night was great. Despite the chronic fuck-ups in setting up for the grand unveiling, it all turned out quite well. Though upon leaving and turning a corner we ran over a bollard somewhere towards Piccadilly.
The bollard lost, the van is hard.
It has just been stated that we shall be driving hard to hit up Cannes by midnight.
Most excellent.
Check out the video blog for today. It’s quite good.
Basically, not a lot has happened since the last time I wrote something. That said, we are a hell of a lot closer to where we’re meant to be than we were twelve hours ago.
We just found hills on the horizon (well, some other people probably found them before us, but we’ve not seen them before so now they’re ours).
There is sun above these hills. And it has stopped raining.
And as I wrote that it has started raining again. Still, the clouds are hardcore;
it is quite a stunning sight.
We are picking up speed. French radio is appalling.
Apparently “We are going to arrive in darkness”.
The place we are staying is a road up from the beach; the ocean rules at night.
Tonight we will be on that beach.
So I say we will arrive in total fucking glory. And Cannes will be ours, for a bi
Some hours have passed since the last time hours had passed.
We are somewhere not in Cannes, but we are much closer than we were.
Andy is currently on the telephone to Radio4 about all that we are doing and why we are doing it. It is going out on air later tonight. It’s still raining.
Si has been driving for the last few (many) hours and is doing a rather good job of not crashing. I can’t drive, so I respect this.
The direction in which this is going, is South. The roads are blocked for the moment. Rush hour. I would tell you where we are in France, but I have no sense of direction so I couldn’t possibly do that.
Sharon the film maker managed to blow a wheel on her car earlier this morning, so she is someplace far from us right now. So we are not miked up and bugged.
Which is nice.
Her film will be interesting I think.
Right now we (Si and Andy) are doing quite great team work (the radio interview is over) in getting us out of a car park somewhere where the world is very green with long strips of tarmac. Roads and that.
The send off the other night was great. Despite the chronic fuck-ups in setting up for the grand unveiling, it all turned out quite well. Though upon leaving and turning a corner we ran over a bollard somewhere towards Piccadilly.
The bollard lost, the van is hard.
It has just been stated that we shall be driving hard to hit up Cannes by midnight.
Most excellent.
Check out the video blog for today. It’s quite good.
Basically, not a lot has happened since the last time I wrote something. That said, we are a hell of a lot closer to where we’re meant to be than we were twelve hours ago.
We just found hills on the horizon (well, some other people probably found them before us, but we’ve not seen them before so now they’re ours).
There is sun above these hills. And it has stopped raining.
And as I wrote that it has started raining again. Still, the clouds are hardcore;
it is quite a stunning sight.
We are picking up speed. French radio is appalling.
Apparently “We are going to arrive in darkness”.
The place we are staying is a road up from the beach; the ocean rules at night.
Tonight we will be on that beach.
So I say we will arrive in total fucking glory. And Cannes will be ours, for a bi
16th MAY, 05:14am (French time)
Cannes in a Van is on the road.
In FRANCE.
It’s bloody exciting and as Andy just pointed out the sky is coming up on the horizon.
The send off in Soho went well, sort of.
The sound system blew up. It fused. In the most wrong of ways.
Then a bunch of other crap happened that is so dull it’s not really worth going into, but suffice to say, fate seemed out to maim us in the head.
We are in a van. Our van, Somewhere outside Lome, and thirty six miles from some other place. A long way from Cannes.
We’ll get to Cannes. And as Andy also just pointed out, we’ll get there on a beautiful hot evening and it will all be joyous.
Today we met some people who like what we’re doing. They came to Soho to say hello to us, and tell us that they will be in Cannes. Which was polite.
The road is bendy. More tomorrow I guess. Blues (Howlin’ Wolf) in a van at this hour is good. The traffic is pickling up, the neon of the street lights is smashing off of the keyboard. It makes typing really hard.
Deftones on now. Gonna go watch the road pass under.
In FRANCE.
It’s bloody exciting and as Andy just pointed out the sky is coming up on the horizon.
The send off in Soho went well, sort of.
The sound system blew up. It fused. In the most wrong of ways.
Then a bunch of other crap happened that is so dull it’s not really worth going into, but suffice to say, fate seemed out to maim us in the head.
We are in a van. Our van, Somewhere outside Lome, and thirty six miles from some other place. A long way from Cannes.
We’ll get to Cannes. And as Andy also just pointed out, we’ll get there on a beautiful hot evening and it will all be joyous.
Today we met some people who like what we’re doing. They came to Soho to say hello to us, and tell us that they will be in Cannes. Which was polite.
The road is bendy. More tomorrow I guess. Blues (Howlin’ Wolf) in a van at this hour is good. The traffic is pickling up, the neon of the street lights is smashing off of the keyboard. It makes typing really hard.
Deftones on now. Gonna go watch the road pass under.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Jacques Bauer
I am now taking bets on whether this man is a fan of the Indy film scene
Less than 48hours to go and the Festival is looming like the Death Star.
Yesterday involved a lot of van-out-decking. Paint, curtains (obviously), turpentine in the finger nails, all that jazz. Plus a piece in the Sunday Times.
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/film/article1777412.ece
See, not lying.
Sharon Ward, the nice, loud (it's a good thing, she'll draw attention to us) woman who is making a documentary about Cannes in a Van and travelling down to the French Riviera with us, camera-and-assistant in-tow, did some filming and it was all a bit of a productive day.
The camera is freaking me out, but I’ll get over it.
So now I guess the blog (hopefully) ceases the rambling, and goes Diary.
So without further procrastinating…
14th May 2007, A DAY AND A HALF TO GO.
Arrgh.
Tomorrow is the leaving-for-Cannes send off in Soho.
Otherwise known as a party.
The van is a variety of truly lovely looking colours
(yellow, green and orange, HELL YES!)
Hopefully the Gendarmerie Nationale will like our van a lot; it is possible that the colour combination alone will be enough to sway them towards our cause.
The Gendarmerie are outside the jurisdiction of the French National Police.
I don’t know what that means but it doesn’t sound good.
I am also aware that they have an elite counter-terrorism and hostage rescue unit.
A bit like a French Jack Bauer. Jacques Bauer for instance.
Also, they have a parachute squadron and a hoard of mobile armoured units, some with 90mm cannons. Our transit does not have cannons. However, I very much doubt that they have a projector and a bunch of kickass films. So if it comes down to it, clearly, we’ll win.
It is now wise to consider that the motif of the Gendarmerie is a grenade. Word.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
huang and feng
We have a van.
We thought we had one before, but then it fell through. Ah well.
Last weekend was spent looking for a long wheel base high top transit or something of the sort. We had no joy. We also had some potential sponsors, who bailed out, who shall remain nameless.
It’s all been a bit of a close call.
Now we have one and everything is all good. Apparently it used to belong to a woman who sold flowers. Which is quite excellent. Tomorrow it shall be painted and decked out with joyous things. Like red carpet and bean bags. It will be the best van at Cannes, ‘swear to god.
The whole thing seems to be coming together. I keep saying this, but I really mean it this time. The utmost respect goes out to Andy for the amount of work he has put into making this happen, and to Si for his ever calm and always logical suggestions. Their idea is truly forming into something brilliant. The three of us, as well as some documentary-making woman who seems to dig the idea so much that she’s shooting the whole thing, are heading off next weekend.
A few of my posts placed on this site in the past have been ridiculous. I re-read them today and just thought Jaysusfuck if I were not me I would slap myself for parts of them. It’s hard to slap yourself. So apologies to the reading public for that’n.
I stand by the New York one though. That hobo was cool.
This morning I spoke to someone who I have not had anything to do with in a long while, and since having nothing to do with them, many weird things have occurred. The last twelve months have been really a bit odd, with parts of it verging on the David Lynch. There has been a lot of Sliding Doors in there as well. This Cannes idea is something that I really have a lot of time for, kind of just because it is Real, with a capital R. It’s really easy to stop having time for things and people, and that is never good. You end up interacting with others as something that is two thousand miles from who you are.
It makes people feel confused. Confused is never a good place to be.
Feng Huang is a compound term in Chinese. It means Phoenix. Feng is a male phoenix, whilst Huang is the female phoenix. Together they depict Yin and Yang, or perfect harmony, but separately they are very different things. The phoenix found in Chinese and in turn, Japanese mythology is not the loner bird that rises from the ashes in a ball of fire, it is something different altogether.
The image of the traditional phoenix carries many interesting connotations. It is a symbol of grace and beauty, an animal that appears in calm and tranquil times, but hides when there is danger near. It was the symbol of the Empress of the Chinese imperial household.
The Huang represents the sun, justice, obedience, and fidelity and has done so for over seven thousand years.
She is the guardian of the South on the compass. The turtle is the guardian of the North, whilst the white tiger is that of the West. They are all balanced by the dragon, known as Loong in Chinese, who is guardian of the eastern point. The turtle is the messenger of the dragon and the tiger his mortal enemy.
The huang has often been depicted throughout history in synchronicity or war with the loong. The dragon and the phoenix, always as blissful and passionate lovers, or as the most mortal of enemies. The dragon is also the deity of rain.
The tale of the dragon and the phoenix is a truly ancient one. The white tiger depicts grace and wrath, whilst the dragon carries the traits of raw power, almost anger, and emotion. The huang is always between them.
When the dragon looses the phoenix, he is alone, raw and moves with complete apathy towards the idea of the destruction of others or himself. He will challenge anyone, and strike to bring suffering in the name of sadism. Meanwhile the huang hides. With the phoenix in flight, the Loong is at peace, embracing his equal.
It is a never ending cycle of love and war between the two, but whilst the war is over they both soar. I'm not sure where this is going.
Hopefully to a place where it rains in the sunshine.
Go ridiculous writing.
We thought we had one before, but then it fell through. Ah well.
Last weekend was spent looking for a long wheel base high top transit or something of the sort. We had no joy. We also had some potential sponsors, who bailed out, who shall remain nameless.
It’s all been a bit of a close call.
Now we have one and everything is all good. Apparently it used to belong to a woman who sold flowers. Which is quite excellent. Tomorrow it shall be painted and decked out with joyous things. Like red carpet and bean bags. It will be the best van at Cannes, ‘swear to god.
The whole thing seems to be coming together. I keep saying this, but I really mean it this time. The utmost respect goes out to Andy for the amount of work he has put into making this happen, and to Si for his ever calm and always logical suggestions. Their idea is truly forming into something brilliant. The three of us, as well as some documentary-making woman who seems to dig the idea so much that she’s shooting the whole thing, are heading off next weekend.
A few of my posts placed on this site in the past have been ridiculous. I re-read them today and just thought Jaysusfuck if I were not me I would slap myself for parts of them. It’s hard to slap yourself. So apologies to the reading public for that’n.
I stand by the New York one though. That hobo was cool.
This morning I spoke to someone who I have not had anything to do with in a long while, and since having nothing to do with them, many weird things have occurred. The last twelve months have been really a bit odd, with parts of it verging on the David Lynch. There has been a lot of Sliding Doors in there as well. This Cannes idea is something that I really have a lot of time for, kind of just because it is Real, with a capital R. It’s really easy to stop having time for things and people, and that is never good. You end up interacting with others as something that is two thousand miles from who you are.
It makes people feel confused. Confused is never a good place to be.
Feng Huang is a compound term in Chinese. It means Phoenix. Feng is a male phoenix, whilst Huang is the female phoenix. Together they depict Yin and Yang, or perfect harmony, but separately they are very different things. The phoenix found in Chinese and in turn, Japanese mythology is not the loner bird that rises from the ashes in a ball of fire, it is something different altogether.
The image of the traditional phoenix carries many interesting connotations. It is a symbol of grace and beauty, an animal that appears in calm and tranquil times, but hides when there is danger near. It was the symbol of the Empress of the Chinese imperial household.
The Huang represents the sun, justice, obedience, and fidelity and has done so for over seven thousand years.
She is the guardian of the South on the compass. The turtle is the guardian of the North, whilst the white tiger is that of the West. They are all balanced by the dragon, known as Loong in Chinese, who is guardian of the eastern point. The turtle is the messenger of the dragon and the tiger his mortal enemy.
The huang has often been depicted throughout history in synchronicity or war with the loong. The dragon and the phoenix, always as blissful and passionate lovers, or as the most mortal of enemies. The dragon is also the deity of rain.
The tale of the dragon and the phoenix is a truly ancient one. The white tiger depicts grace and wrath, whilst the dragon carries the traits of raw power, almost anger, and emotion. The huang is always between them.
When the dragon looses the phoenix, he is alone, raw and moves with complete apathy towards the idea of the destruction of others or himself. He will challenge anyone, and strike to bring suffering in the name of sadism. Meanwhile the huang hides. With the phoenix in flight, the Loong is at peace, embracing his equal.
It is a never ending cycle of love and war between the two, but whilst the war is over they both soar. I'm not sure where this is going.
Hopefully to a place where it rains in the sunshine.
Go ridiculous writing.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Where the wind took Akira
(Taken from the Manga 'Akira' and uploaded for the viewing pleasure of the reader)
__
So firstly Thank You to the lovely folks at fourdocs who have kindly bought some wheels for our van. Wheels, see, are really quite useful. They allow for far more of a flow on the road than the basic grinding along on spindles. So, really, cheers dudes.
On a totally different note, I (along with various family members) scattered my Grandfather’s ashes this weekend. This experience was in itself pretty interesting. It always struck me that as a guy he was not too great a man to his immediate family and later attempted to change upon realising this (if a bit late). Whilst he was being scattered the Bob Marley line
‘None but ourselves can free our minds’ - Redemption Song
hit me. Can you redeem a lifetime of terrorising people in chilling out prior to death? Perhaps.
So I went home and watched Akira. Obviously.
This film, best known to fans of Manga Entertainment for the sound byte
“What’s Happening?” (used in all Manga trailers after the films release for over a decade), was directed by Katsuhiro Ă”tomo (who had been writing it as a comic strip since 1982); Akira was released in 1988 and blew away most of everyone who watched it with its depiction of a Neo-Tokyo.
Many, many people have watched Akira. This is a fact. It is possibly the most one-time viewed Anime around the world. That said, when you talk to people about it, it is often apparent that a lot of them did not quite get the point of the film.
Regardless of a whole hoard of convoluted characters, all very closely linked, Akira has only one protagonist within its plot and that is Akira. The entity of a small boy trapped in suspension of time and space, confused yet all knowing, lost and hurt but loving, without knowing how to love or what it means. Non-human to the point of being utterly alive. When I was younger my Grandfather said something to me that always stuck with me…
- “The future is not a straight line. There are many different pathways. We must try to decide that future for ourselves”.
Really very strangely, this line can also be found in Akira. The likelihood of him ever having watched Akira is beyond fuck all, so that always confused the hell out of me. I had seen Akira before he said this to me, but still, it confuses me to the same degree now as it did then. I was about nine at the time.
Odd.
Moreover, if you type ‘Akira’ into the Internet Movie Data Base, the second plot keyword to come up, after ‘1980s’, is ‘Nihilism’.
I often wonder if people are inherently assholes to people solely due to nihilism, only stopping this Way of being once they realise that life may in fact be worth living.
The film makes a lot of incredible points… and the soundtrack helps.
You can not change the past, you can only redirect it. The future is unknown, so hang onto the ones you love and if you do go the wrong way, you might end up as a cybernetic mutated military experiment made of a hybrid of anti-matter and violent mech-goo. So avoid doing so.
I believe my Grandfather to have found his way just prior to his death. The last thing he said to me was “Go a long way, don’t look back and stay in love”.
I think he might have been a deeply confused romantic at heart.
Hopefully the wind will take him somewhere worth going.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
taking in the sun in a exaltation to you
Tuesday morning is looking to be well lit.
The sun is up earlier than usual. There is frost on my roof and the house is so damn cold it is just not true.
No words are coming in the order that I would like them to do so.
Is it fair to say that distance and time and space and age and culture are the things that keep people apart? Sometimes I wonder if holding the stance of ‘hopeless romantic’ is just asking for it. Should any of the above govern what is to come?
Do we see these things in everyday life, or only in one’s own life everyday?
I’m not sure where this is going, but I know that if you listen to The Cure, Interpol, Broken Social Scene, Sonic Youth, Arcade Fire, Deftones, Eric Clapton, Led Zepplin, Kings of Leon, Bush, The Sisters of Mercy, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Natalie Merchant and the Levellers on repeat for five hours and talk to a drunken friend about your most serious relationships that were not to be and the reasons why, followed by a fleeting synopsis of your own personal desires for the future of your heart… not only are you most probably a complete idiot, but you should most likely stop thinking so much about the hypothetical and just go with it, like any decent protagonist in a particularly smooth film.
The direction in which to go?
Onwards and without the faded desires and bitterness, but instead like the kamikaze; deeply confused and headlong and strong, minus the aeroplanes and knowing what awaits. Take it as it comes, dig the playlist and appreciate that it is (still) unlikely that anything will make any more sense the following day.
Any point here? Nope.
Except perhaps that nihilism might not actually exist within that which is commonly referred to as ‘love’.
If anyone happens to have made a film that sums this up, I would kill to see it… please submit it to CANNES in a VAN.
Thanks.
The sun is up earlier than usual. There is frost on my roof and the house is so damn cold it is just not true.
No words are coming in the order that I would like them to do so.
Is it fair to say that distance and time and space and age and culture are the things that keep people apart? Sometimes I wonder if holding the stance of ‘hopeless romantic’ is just asking for it. Should any of the above govern what is to come?
Do we see these things in everyday life, or only in one’s own life everyday?
I’m not sure where this is going, but I know that if you listen to The Cure, Interpol, Broken Social Scene, Sonic Youth, Arcade Fire, Deftones, Eric Clapton, Led Zepplin, Kings of Leon, Bush, The Sisters of Mercy, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Natalie Merchant and the Levellers on repeat for five hours and talk to a drunken friend about your most serious relationships that were not to be and the reasons why, followed by a fleeting synopsis of your own personal desires for the future of your heart… not only are you most probably a complete idiot, but you should most likely stop thinking so much about the hypothetical and just go with it, like any decent protagonist in a particularly smooth film.
The direction in which to go?
Onwards and without the faded desires and bitterness, but instead like the kamikaze; deeply confused and headlong and strong, minus the aeroplanes and knowing what awaits. Take it as it comes, dig the playlist and appreciate that it is (still) unlikely that anything will make any more sense the following day.
Any point here? Nope.
Except perhaps that nihilism might not actually exist within that which is commonly referred to as ‘love’.
If anyone happens to have made a film that sums this up, I would kill to see it… please submit it to CANNES in a VAN.
Thanks.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Ever see the film Pretty in Pink? You know who Ducky is?
Released in 1986, the film was written by a man and some people acted in it. This is not a film-trivia orientated paragraph, aside from saying that Molly Ringwald played the lead, well. This evening a friend of mine broke up with his lady. He knew it was going to happen. It had to happen. Afterwards he found that he was very sad. He is a good man, and essentially it strikes me that he was saddened to have had to turn his back on a person that he cared about so much. The girl was crying as he walked out. Now he is sat in my living room playing video games. It seems to be an age old plot. The billion dollar question. Comedy or Tragedy?
Pretty in Pink has a character in it by the name of Duckie. Duckie is in love with Andy (Molly Ringwald), who is in love with a preppy fraternity boy called Blane, who dates an idiot. The one angle in the film that does not change at any point is Duckie being in love with Andy, despite knowing that she would never want to be with him. He would fight for her, defend her name and put his shoe down in artic water so as she could cross the ground on his foot. Obviously this is not attractive to the confused girl. She would rather go with the unattainable and set her sights on some predictable asshole. Pretty in Pink had two endings. When the film was shot the first time, Duckie got the girl. The test audience did not like it and so the cast and crew were called back to shoot a different version, in which Andy got Blane. This says a lot about people.
Maybe you have to see the film to get my point.
Though it is highly possible that I don’t have one.
I think my point is that my friend walked away because he was a Blane.
I think he is a fool. Then again I always liked Ducky.
Last night I sat in a flat in Finsbury Park and wondered things about short films.
The experience was in the name of CANNES in a VAN. I was with Andy of CiaV and two of his friends. We watched a lot of films. A few of them really made me think about things, the character of Ducky included.
There were some seriously great creations in the mix, by directors who will obviously go a very long way and in some sense it is an honour to represent these shorts at Cannes. Which is in about four weeks. So we are counting down. More so than usual.
A few of them should be compulsory viewing. So if you are at Cannes and you see a transit van (this one: www.cannesinavan.com) then come and look. Really, it will be worth it, and last night for the first time that REALLY hit me. It was a pleasing moment.
When sat in the flat the two friends of my friends were a couple, a seemingly tight one. I got the impression the guy had a lot of time for this woman. The dynamic reminded me of Pretty in Pink, if maybe Duckie had won. Also very pleasing.
My friend is still in the sitting room. I am still at my computer writing this crap.
He just came to ask why I was I was doing this when I could be pretending to fight Korea in the winter. Duckie. Always good.
Released in 1986, the film was written by a man and some people acted in it. This is not a film-trivia orientated paragraph, aside from saying that Molly Ringwald played the lead, well. This evening a friend of mine broke up with his lady. He knew it was going to happen. It had to happen. Afterwards he found that he was very sad. He is a good man, and essentially it strikes me that he was saddened to have had to turn his back on a person that he cared about so much. The girl was crying as he walked out. Now he is sat in my living room playing video games. It seems to be an age old plot. The billion dollar question. Comedy or Tragedy?
Pretty in Pink has a character in it by the name of Duckie. Duckie is in love with Andy (Molly Ringwald), who is in love with a preppy fraternity boy called Blane, who dates an idiot. The one angle in the film that does not change at any point is Duckie being in love with Andy, despite knowing that she would never want to be with him. He would fight for her, defend her name and put his shoe down in artic water so as she could cross the ground on his foot. Obviously this is not attractive to the confused girl. She would rather go with the unattainable and set her sights on some predictable asshole. Pretty in Pink had two endings. When the film was shot the first time, Duckie got the girl. The test audience did not like it and so the cast and crew were called back to shoot a different version, in which Andy got Blane. This says a lot about people.
Maybe you have to see the film to get my point.
Though it is highly possible that I don’t have one.
I think my point is that my friend walked away because he was a Blane.
I think he is a fool. Then again I always liked Ducky.
Last night I sat in a flat in Finsbury Park and wondered things about short films.
The experience was in the name of CANNES in a VAN. I was with Andy of CiaV and two of his friends. We watched a lot of films. A few of them really made me think about things, the character of Ducky included.
There were some seriously great creations in the mix, by directors who will obviously go a very long way and in some sense it is an honour to represent these shorts at Cannes. Which is in about four weeks. So we are counting down. More so than usual.
A few of them should be compulsory viewing. So if you are at Cannes and you see a transit van (this one: www.cannesinavan.com) then come and look. Really, it will be worth it, and last night for the first time that REALLY hit me. It was a pleasing moment.
When sat in the flat the two friends of my friends were a couple, a seemingly tight one. I got the impression the guy had a lot of time for this woman. The dynamic reminded me of Pretty in Pink, if maybe Duckie had won. Also very pleasing.
My friend is still in the sitting room. I am still at my computer writing this crap.
He just came to ask why I was I was doing this when I could be pretending to fight Korea in the winter. Duckie. Always good.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
If Darwin and God had a fight who would win?
This is a question my friend just posed to me.
And I have no answer. Mostly because the question is ridiculous.
However, if one were writing an essay on Charles V.S. The Great One and their argument was swayed towards Darwin and the writer was struck by lightening whilst writing, would this put the fear of God into them?
I also have no idea as to this answer. If anyone knows someone who has been struck by lightening whilst debating whether we all came from the pointy fingers of God I would kill to meet them. Then point and laugh.
Personally, I side with Darwin. How else do you account for the blindingly obvious?
CANNES in a VAN is approaching still, as it always is, what with time being quite a forward moving thing and whoever Gail is, yeah you, who posted a comment…
If you can get us equipment from your friends then that would be supremely cool. Please email me at Jamie_courtenay_grimwood@hotmail.com about this. We would happily take them up on this and in exchange play their music at Cannes from said equipment. If they are good, getting them gigs is also quite easy…
If anyone else wants to email me any crap then please do not, otherwise I will be forced to find you through the medium of your IP address and eat you alive. Unless it is good stuff about your films or gigs, in which case go for it.
Also, this said person also claims to perhaps have a film. This is the general idea of said CANNES in a VAN project, if you anyone out there has a brilliant genius amazing film of glorious joy, send it our way. It makes me happy that people are catching onto the general idea; Cannes is impending… so bring it to us!
Last night I went to see ‘300’; as a huge Frank Miller (comic-book overlord) fan, I was happily surprised to find that the cinematic rendition of his work made me want a spear as much as the graphic novel did. If I had a spear, I am sure some things would be easier. Settling arguments for instance.
‘300’ (seemingly loosely) loosely based on the Battle of Thermopylae, is possibly one of the best or worst films I have ever seen. I have no idea which.
It should probably be called ‘7301’, because the Spartans fought with 7000 other dudes, plus their king, Leonidas.
That said, the Spartans seemed to be a pretty tight crew.
They had a lot of respect for one another. It made me smile.
The totally unexpected ten second bouts of power metal throughout the film also helped.
I still want a spear.
I want one with CANNES in a VAN written on it.
This is a question my friend just posed to me.
And I have no answer. Mostly because the question is ridiculous.
However, if one were writing an essay on Charles V.S. The Great One and their argument was swayed towards Darwin and the writer was struck by lightening whilst writing, would this put the fear of God into them?
I also have no idea as to this answer. If anyone knows someone who has been struck by lightening whilst debating whether we all came from the pointy fingers of God I would kill to meet them. Then point and laugh.
Personally, I side with Darwin. How else do you account for the blindingly obvious?
CANNES in a VAN is approaching still, as it always is, what with time being quite a forward moving thing and whoever Gail is, yeah you, who posted a comment…
If you can get us equipment from your friends then that would be supremely cool. Please email me at Jamie_courtenay_grimwood@hotmail.com about this. We would happily take them up on this and in exchange play their music at Cannes from said equipment. If they are good, getting them gigs is also quite easy…
If anyone else wants to email me any crap then please do not, otherwise I will be forced to find you through the medium of your IP address and eat you alive. Unless it is good stuff about your films or gigs, in which case go for it.
Also, this said person also claims to perhaps have a film. This is the general idea of said CANNES in a VAN project, if you anyone out there has a brilliant genius amazing film of glorious joy, send it our way. It makes me happy that people are catching onto the general idea; Cannes is impending… so bring it to us!
Last night I went to see ‘300’; as a huge Frank Miller (comic-book overlord) fan, I was happily surprised to find that the cinematic rendition of his work made me want a spear as much as the graphic novel did. If I had a spear, I am sure some things would be easier. Settling arguments for instance.
‘300’ (seemingly loosely) loosely based on the Battle of Thermopylae, is possibly one of the best or worst films I have ever seen. I have no idea which.
It should probably be called ‘7301’, because the Spartans fought with 7000 other dudes, plus their king, Leonidas.
That said, the Spartans seemed to be a pretty tight crew.
They had a lot of respect for one another. It made me smile.
The totally unexpected ten second bouts of power metal throughout the film also helped.
I still want a spear.
I want one with CANNES in a VAN written on it.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Dancing light
I am laughing hard.
Who knows why, it doesn’t happen too often but I just cracked up.
Been dancing around a flat listening to ‘These Are Days’ by 10,000 Maniacs.
I am sat on my own and from where I am I can see Centre Point in the distance.
It’s an ugly bastard but it has its place.
Laughing at the candles, at the air, it is all making me smile.
A friend of mine left a few hours ago.
There is nothing like the company of a good woman to chill out the mind. And with no disrespect to any girl out there, the world is hardly swarming with them. Then again, the world is not exactly swarming with good men either. All in all people often suck pretty badly.
This of course explains the sheer quantity of Romantic Comedies instead of serious love stories produced as films per year. Imagine if, instead of Rom-Coms, there were troublingly deadly and rather realistic love stories put out en masse. Imagine the taglines on the tube. Opposed to “You’ve never seen love so funny”, or “The most touching film of the year”, your eyes would pass over “He probably had it coming”, “She was screwed from the outset” or
“Why’d they even bother? It was never gonna work”.
Haagen-Dazs would have a sales fallout due to blatant realism, Blockbuster would never again be able to get a weekend ‘friendly-looking-films’ deal going.
It would be fantastic.
So if anyone is wondering what to do this Easter weekend, for those who had all those plans but are now predictably curling up on the sofa to watch a film and think about why they are not outside… hire Dancer in the Dark.
A truly beautiful piece of cinema released in 2000, set Stateside in 1964 and written and directed by Lars Von Trier (though Björk might tell you otherwise). Following the pursuit of a better life and basic human dreams, it follows the fading sanity of a lovely, quite blind Czech girl called Selma JeĹľková (Björk). Selma moves to Washington State, works herself to exhaustion in hope of saving her also quite blind son’s sight and sings a lot. Whilst the average film about happiness, desire, passion and lust work on the grounds of the blindingly obvious, Dancer in the Dark mixes up some chilling-out on top of trains with an utterly moving prison-set based scene climaxing the films fade-out. Go watch this film. Please.
Watch a plot that relays life, with a character who totally has it coming, does not deserve it and like everyone else you pass in the street on the way to where ever it is that you are going, finds their own happiness (in an otherwise deeply hideous world where everyone is out to get her and nothing makes any sense). A film about just shutting up and embracing those unexpected moments that make you laugh out loud in your own silence, and dance around the room, even though you know you are going to wake up, and it might not be pretty.
My cd player is skipping… it had "Friend of the Devil" (written by Robert Hunter, sung by Jerry Garcia and released by the Grateful Dead in 1970) playing… it is stuck on the line “…might get some sleep”. Might take it up on that.
Also, I'm trying to track down some P.A. systems, six speakers, a Sub and a generator for the Cannes Van, so if anybody want to help out with that, sweet. Drop one of us a line. In exchange we will pimp you and love you forever.
Who knows why, it doesn’t happen too often but I just cracked up.
Been dancing around a flat listening to ‘These Are Days’ by 10,000 Maniacs.
I am sat on my own and from where I am I can see Centre Point in the distance.
It’s an ugly bastard but it has its place.
Laughing at the candles, at the air, it is all making me smile.
A friend of mine left a few hours ago.
There is nothing like the company of a good woman to chill out the mind. And with no disrespect to any girl out there, the world is hardly swarming with them. Then again, the world is not exactly swarming with good men either. All in all people often suck pretty badly.
This of course explains the sheer quantity of Romantic Comedies instead of serious love stories produced as films per year. Imagine if, instead of Rom-Coms, there were troublingly deadly and rather realistic love stories put out en masse. Imagine the taglines on the tube. Opposed to “You’ve never seen love so funny”, or “The most touching film of the year”, your eyes would pass over “He probably had it coming”, “She was screwed from the outset” or
“Why’d they even bother? It was never gonna work”.
Haagen-Dazs would have a sales fallout due to blatant realism, Blockbuster would never again be able to get a weekend ‘friendly-looking-films’ deal going.
It would be fantastic.
So if anyone is wondering what to do this Easter weekend, for those who had all those plans but are now predictably curling up on the sofa to watch a film and think about why they are not outside… hire Dancer in the Dark.
A truly beautiful piece of cinema released in 2000, set Stateside in 1964 and written and directed by Lars Von Trier (though Björk might tell you otherwise). Following the pursuit of a better life and basic human dreams, it follows the fading sanity of a lovely, quite blind Czech girl called Selma JeĹľková (Björk). Selma moves to Washington State, works herself to exhaustion in hope of saving her also quite blind son’s sight and sings a lot. Whilst the average film about happiness, desire, passion and lust work on the grounds of the blindingly obvious, Dancer in the Dark mixes up some chilling-out on top of trains with an utterly moving prison-set based scene climaxing the films fade-out. Go watch this film. Please.
Watch a plot that relays life, with a character who totally has it coming, does not deserve it and like everyone else you pass in the street on the way to where ever it is that you are going, finds their own happiness (in an otherwise deeply hideous world where everyone is out to get her and nothing makes any sense). A film about just shutting up and embracing those unexpected moments that make you laugh out loud in your own silence, and dance around the room, even though you know you are going to wake up, and it might not be pretty.
My cd player is skipping… it had "Friend of the Devil" (written by Robert Hunter, sung by Jerry Garcia and released by the Grateful Dead in 1970) playing… it is stuck on the line “…might get some sleep”. Might take it up on that.
Also, I'm trying to track down some P.A. systems, six speakers, a Sub and a generator for the Cannes Van, so if anybody want to help out with that, sweet. Drop one of us a line. In exchange we will pimp you and love you forever.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Thursday morning party
g reetings.
It is Thursday morning. And I am having a party at my house in Highgate.
It’s pretty cool. People are falling off of chairs and one of my flatmates is talking about going into Spearmint Rhino to clinch a deal. In the past tense. Which is scary as hell.
We are listening to AFI (A Fire Inside) - Leaving Song Part.2.
It’s a good song.
My friend from Oz who went to my school and I’ve known for some time is on instant messenger with my other flatmate, which is actually great… because we miss him a lot.
Today my Other flat mate, one of four, myself included, handed in her dissertation.
She did well and we are in a celebratory mood. Psychology is, I noticed, a hard subject.
I’ve no idea what is going on here, we started on the Vodka quite a few hours ago and to be honest this day is going the way of messy.
Today there is a piece in The Times newspaper of writing about Andy, Si and myself going to Cannes. This is because the cause is good.
So thank you to The Times for noticing the sweet styli thing.
This is as much as I can write on this right now. I can make no accurate analogy to film. Except perhaps the first Bill and Ted film, because if Rufus was in this room right now, telephone box or not, god it would be the best day ever. The sun helps also.
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, by the way, for the record, beyond genius.
Hail the sun!
Jamie x
It is Thursday morning. And I am having a party at my house in Highgate.
It’s pretty cool. People are falling off of chairs and one of my flatmates is talking about going into Spearmint Rhino to clinch a deal. In the past tense. Which is scary as hell.
We are listening to AFI (A Fire Inside) - Leaving Song Part.2.
It’s a good song.
My friend from Oz who went to my school and I’ve known for some time is on instant messenger with my other flatmate, which is actually great… because we miss him a lot.
Today my Other flat mate, one of four, myself included, handed in her dissertation.
She did well and we are in a celebratory mood. Psychology is, I noticed, a hard subject.
I’ve no idea what is going on here, we started on the Vodka quite a few hours ago and to be honest this day is going the way of messy.
Today there is a piece in The Times newspaper of writing about Andy, Si and myself going to Cannes. This is because the cause is good.
So thank you to The Times for noticing the sweet styli thing.
This is as much as I can write on this right now. I can make no accurate analogy to film. Except perhaps the first Bill and Ted film, because if Rufus was in this room right now, telephone box or not, god it would be the best day ever. The sun helps also.
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, by the way, for the record, beyond genius.
Hail the sun!
Jamie x
x V.S. x
CANNES in a VAN is getting close to full swing.
Some lovely people out there are seeing it for what it is, which is a bit excellent because this means that the concept of the independent is not yet the way of the dodo.
So to all of you who are truly digging this, CHEERS ‘cause as far as I can tell it makes the three of us pretty damned happy. Just thought I’d put that out there…
On an entirely different note, last night (or possibly the night before) I was sat in a pub South of Houston way (by this I mean Soho, but I’m still stuck in the New York thing and though London does not have a Houston, really who cares, I’m going with it) with two friends.
The two friends that came up with the whole CANNES in a VAN thing.
One asked me who would win in a fight between Seagal (possibly spelt ‘Segal’, but I really can not be sure) and Jean-Claude Van Damme. In the first instance I was personally inclined to scream “Seagal”, because he is clearly a true warrior. When you see the man speak about the martial Way, frankly, he knows his shit.
Regardless, the question is age old. This guy V.S. this guy, Chuck Norris V.S. Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee V.S. pretty much anyone, et cetera.
It’s the oldest playground conversation between boys aside from
“Would you go behind the bike shed with /-insert name of the not ugly girl in your year-?“. It is an obvious one.
If you raise the question, no one their right mind is going to say “I’m sorry, I don’t feel like this conversation” utterly regardless of how much they may or may not know about the logistics or reality of the situation. Whether it be karate V.S. gung fu (which was where the conversation in the bar the other night predictably led to) or the fact that the girl at school probably hates you anyway.
Martial arts films.
Amazing. No doubt.
But discipline V.S. discipline and actor taking on actor? It is an endless cycle.
Personally, I back Seagal over Van Damme, but this is based solely on my own dedication to the Japanese martial arts. Seagal is a master of Aikido (Ai - Harmony or Unification, Ki - Spirit, can be equated to the Force that binds all Jedi, Do - the Way of something) and he is a true Aikidoka. This renders him not only a master of the Way of the Harmonious Spirit, but also the Bokken (oak sword used in Kenjutsu - Ken - Sword, Jutsu - Art) which is featured throughout classical Japanese culture and cinema… in the event you have never seen an old Japanese film, think about the sticks Tom spaceman Cruise gets hit with in the Last Samurai throughout his training towards the beginning of that diabolically offensive excuse for a (massively inaccurate) period based film. Seagal is also familiar with the Jo staff, which is pretty much a quarter staff and a reasonably fundamental part of Aikido.
Van Damme has some karate experience and kick boxing style. He is also most usually greased up in his films and so in a fight that might make him hard to grab hold of. However, Seagal can start with a Jo, loose it, move onto a Bokken, loose it and still have the ability to become one with the oppenent. Van Damme can kick a lot.
This is the answer I gave in the pub the other day. This then led to gung fu V.S. karate.
Once again I sided with Japan and in doing so, karate. I have studied karate in its classical (Okinawan) form from the age of seven or eight ish. I can not quite remember but I know I first started training in the Okinawan weapons system known as Kobudo, Ko - small, or ancient, Bu - the character depicts the suppression of an uprising through the use of a spear, Do - Way (think the weapons used by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, plus a bunch of other bits of spiky things) at around seven years old. Which led to a hard studying of karate.
Which basically keeps me sane because, shock, it is so peaceful.
Ignoring this diatribe into myself, I, very much without thinking, sided with karate over gung fu. This is a STUPID answer.
Note. STUPID.
The correct answer can be found by watching ANY martial arts film ever… (and no, the outcome does not lie in the direction of the plot) the winner will always be the more talented.
No pure, classical and non-perverted martial art is better than another. Of course, in the study of an Art of Way, you will incorporate your body into the system and the system will in turn govern your body. It will, essentially, become yours. This is not perversion. Perversion is the changing of the basics through to the never ending degree of knowledge that can be found.
Nothing within a system is useless.
Back to the answer. Any martial arts film screams this answer at you.
Think back to Jackie Chan’s 1978 ‘Jui kuen’ (Drunken Master) film.
Wong Fei Hung (Chan) goes to train with his pissed-up Gung fu master uncle Su Hua Chi (‘Sam Seed’ in the dubbed thingy) to be taught the way of the Drunken Fist. At some point in the film he gets into a fight with the ubiquitous hired-killer character, in this case going by the name of ‘Thunderleg’, and gets his ass handed back to him. Chan goes back to his uncle to train more, studies diligently in the ‘Old Style’ (read: Classical) , becomes hard as nails and saves the day.
Think back to any Seagal film. Why does is character always win?
He is a better fighter.
Van Damme in Kickboxer? Watches his idiot full-of-it brother get laid out by Muay Thai legend Tong Po, goes away to train with an old sage in the woods who teaches him the ‘Old Style’, goes back to Tong Po and saves the day.
Daniel in the Karate Kid, one, two and three (it took him a bit longer to get the idea)? Same thing.
The list, bar Bruce Lee because all of his films involved (with every right known to man) showing off, is eternal.
So the next time someone asks you “Who’d win in a fight between X V.S. X?”
The answer is “Old Style”. Fact.
Some lovely people out there are seeing it for what it is, which is a bit excellent because this means that the concept of the independent is not yet the way of the dodo.
So to all of you who are truly digging this, CHEERS ‘cause as far as I can tell it makes the three of us pretty damned happy. Just thought I’d put that out there…
On an entirely different note, last night (or possibly the night before) I was sat in a pub South of Houston way (by this I mean Soho, but I’m still stuck in the New York thing and though London does not have a Houston, really who cares, I’m going with it) with two friends.
The two friends that came up with the whole CANNES in a VAN thing.
One asked me who would win in a fight between Seagal (possibly spelt ‘Segal’, but I really can not be sure) and Jean-Claude Van Damme. In the first instance I was personally inclined to scream “Seagal”, because he is clearly a true warrior. When you see the man speak about the martial Way, frankly, he knows his shit.
Regardless, the question is age old. This guy V.S. this guy, Chuck Norris V.S. Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee V.S. pretty much anyone, et cetera.
It’s the oldest playground conversation between boys aside from
“Would you go behind the bike shed with /-insert name of the not ugly girl in your year-?“. It is an obvious one.
If you raise the question, no one their right mind is going to say “I’m sorry, I don’t feel like this conversation” utterly regardless of how much they may or may not know about the logistics or reality of the situation. Whether it be karate V.S. gung fu (which was where the conversation in the bar the other night predictably led to) or the fact that the girl at school probably hates you anyway.
Martial arts films.
Amazing. No doubt.
But discipline V.S. discipline and actor taking on actor? It is an endless cycle.
Personally, I back Seagal over Van Damme, but this is based solely on my own dedication to the Japanese martial arts. Seagal is a master of Aikido (Ai - Harmony or Unification, Ki - Spirit, can be equated to the Force that binds all Jedi, Do - the Way of something) and he is a true Aikidoka. This renders him not only a master of the Way of the Harmonious Spirit, but also the Bokken (oak sword used in Kenjutsu - Ken - Sword, Jutsu - Art) which is featured throughout classical Japanese culture and cinema… in the event you have never seen an old Japanese film, think about the sticks Tom spaceman Cruise gets hit with in the Last Samurai throughout his training towards the beginning of that diabolically offensive excuse for a (massively inaccurate) period based film. Seagal is also familiar with the Jo staff, which is pretty much a quarter staff and a reasonably fundamental part of Aikido.
Van Damme has some karate experience and kick boxing style. He is also most usually greased up in his films and so in a fight that might make him hard to grab hold of. However, Seagal can start with a Jo, loose it, move onto a Bokken, loose it and still have the ability to become one with the oppenent. Van Damme can kick a lot.
This is the answer I gave in the pub the other day. This then led to gung fu V.S. karate.
Once again I sided with Japan and in doing so, karate. I have studied karate in its classical (Okinawan) form from the age of seven or eight ish. I can not quite remember but I know I first started training in the Okinawan weapons system known as Kobudo, Ko - small, or ancient, Bu - the character depicts the suppression of an uprising through the use of a spear, Do - Way (think the weapons used by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, plus a bunch of other bits of spiky things) at around seven years old. Which led to a hard studying of karate.
Which basically keeps me sane because, shock, it is so peaceful.
Ignoring this diatribe into myself, I, very much without thinking, sided with karate over gung fu. This is a STUPID answer.
Note. STUPID.
The correct answer can be found by watching ANY martial arts film ever… (and no, the outcome does not lie in the direction of the plot) the winner will always be the more talented.
No pure, classical and non-perverted martial art is better than another. Of course, in the study of an Art of Way, you will incorporate your body into the system and the system will in turn govern your body. It will, essentially, become yours. This is not perversion. Perversion is the changing of the basics through to the never ending degree of knowledge that can be found.
Nothing within a system is useless.
Back to the answer. Any martial arts film screams this answer at you.
Think back to Jackie Chan’s 1978 ‘Jui kuen’ (Drunken Master) film.
Wong Fei Hung (Chan) goes to train with his pissed-up Gung fu master uncle Su Hua Chi (‘Sam Seed’ in the dubbed thingy) to be taught the way of the Drunken Fist. At some point in the film he gets into a fight with the ubiquitous hired-killer character, in this case going by the name of ‘Thunderleg’, and gets his ass handed back to him. Chan goes back to his uncle to train more, studies diligently in the ‘Old Style’ (read: Classical) , becomes hard as nails and saves the day.
Think back to any Seagal film. Why does is character always win?
He is a better fighter.
Van Damme in Kickboxer? Watches his idiot full-of-it brother get laid out by Muay Thai legend Tong Po, goes away to train with an old sage in the woods who teaches him the ‘Old Style’, goes back to Tong Po and saves the day.
Daniel in the Karate Kid, one, two and three (it took him a bit longer to get the idea)? Same thing.
The list, bar Bruce Lee because all of his films involved (with every right known to man) showing off, is eternal.
So the next time someone asks you “Who’d win in a fight between X V.S. X?”
The answer is “Old Style”. Fact.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
What happened to Jimmy?
I have not posted for a little while.
I can not define a little while. Andy has kindly filled in.
Cheers buddy.
The last few weeks have been beyond hectic. Apologies, because hectic is a pretty stupid word.
I went and got lost in New York. It was like Escape from New York, with Kurt ‘Snake Pliskin’ Russel, but I was so lost that I couldn’t escape. Apparently I have no sense of direction. Have you ever been to Harlem? Do so. It is urban decay and pretty-vibe beyond all comprehension. Most of the people you talk to in the street have stories worthy of an odyssey.
The ‘Nam and Desert Storm vets are still sat, legless (like, without legs, opposed to inebriated) in the alcoves of sidewalks muttering about helicopters and friends come and gone.
I spoke to an old vet in Manhattan, as I was coming out of 116th Street station which is somewhere towards East Harlem. He told me that “the job of a hero is to kill foreigners, whilst the job of a soldier is to shoot his own side” and about ‘Jimmy’ who fell to the VC.
Apparently Jimmy loved cinema. The highlight of his rec time were the screenings in the makeshift barracks. This guy talking to me was sad that Jimmy would never see another film. It made me wonder, how many years had this homeless dude been sad about that? How many films had he seen since and gone away thinking about how much his friend would have loved that…?
What actually happened to Jimmy? Who knows.
I went away from the whole conversation realising the power and escapism film can bring to a person, and the emotion it can evoke. In amongst all of the crap put out there, always appreciate the films that hit it home for you.
The ones that you walk away from with the tight feeling and pensive vibe.
The 1995 masterpiece directed by Larry Clark and Harmony Korine, ‘KIDS’ always does this for me.
If you’ve never watched it, stop what you are doing, go out and find it. It’s about two skater dudes by the name of Telly (Leo Fitzpatrick) and Casper (Justin Pierce) who bum around Manhattan with their friends smoking up, fucking and getting screwed. There is the girl, Jennie (ChloŃ‘ Sevigny) and her friend, played by Rosario Dawson. It was Dawson’s first role in film, and she was found for it whilst chilling on a stoop in Manhattan. The actors famously play themselves, and most of the kids in the film were just kids in New York. It’s a long, complicated, truly beautiful and deeply cynical story of love, drugs and nothingness. Then everyone gets AIDS.
Apparently Jimmy the soldier who fell in ‘Nam would have loved it. Given that AIDS hadn’t hit by the time he died, it makes me think that maybe he just had a great taste in film from the outset.
Film does good things for people. May people continue making cinematic pinnacles of excellence.
On a total side point, CANNES in a VAN is picking up speed, getting closer to coming to be all it should be and some people have been noticing it. And these people are good people who represent good things. More on that in (impending) time.
After New York, where I also talked about film with some old Sicilian men in Little Italy and some total assholes in Tribeca, who clearly knew a lot but sadly were about as transparent as something astonishingly see-through, I spent a week in Birmingham. Riding motorbikes.
I went on a tour of the Triumph motorcycle factory as part of the course I was on, where amongst other things I learnt that the company have two factories in Thailand. Whist the business minds working in the factory openly admit that this is because against the Queen’s Finest Pound Stirling, the sum total of £1 to roughly 69Baht as an exchange rate allows for some serious revenue to be made; it leaves me wondering something. The sentence involves the words ‘labour’ and ‘child’.
There might be a story in that if anyone is interested…
Sadly no one that I met at the factory, or actually, anywhere in Birmingham knew very much about film. Or even where Cannes was. So that was unfortunate. There were however a lot of vans.
I am off to a shoot re CANNES in a VAN, so keep reading because one day I might write something interesting.
And go watch KIDS.
Jamie
I can not define a little while. Andy has kindly filled in.
Cheers buddy.
The last few weeks have been beyond hectic. Apologies, because hectic is a pretty stupid word.
I went and got lost in New York. It was like Escape from New York, with Kurt ‘Snake Pliskin’ Russel, but I was so lost that I couldn’t escape. Apparently I have no sense of direction. Have you ever been to Harlem? Do so. It is urban decay and pretty-vibe beyond all comprehension. Most of the people you talk to in the street have stories worthy of an odyssey.
The ‘Nam and Desert Storm vets are still sat, legless (like, without legs, opposed to inebriated) in the alcoves of sidewalks muttering about helicopters and friends come and gone.
I spoke to an old vet in Manhattan, as I was coming out of 116th Street station which is somewhere towards East Harlem. He told me that “the job of a hero is to kill foreigners, whilst the job of a soldier is to shoot his own side” and about ‘Jimmy’ who fell to the VC.
Apparently Jimmy loved cinema. The highlight of his rec time were the screenings in the makeshift barracks. This guy talking to me was sad that Jimmy would never see another film. It made me wonder, how many years had this homeless dude been sad about that? How many films had he seen since and gone away thinking about how much his friend would have loved that…?
What actually happened to Jimmy? Who knows.
I went away from the whole conversation realising the power and escapism film can bring to a person, and the emotion it can evoke. In amongst all of the crap put out there, always appreciate the films that hit it home for you.
The ones that you walk away from with the tight feeling and pensive vibe.
The 1995 masterpiece directed by Larry Clark and Harmony Korine, ‘KIDS’ always does this for me.
If you’ve never watched it, stop what you are doing, go out and find it. It’s about two skater dudes by the name of Telly (Leo Fitzpatrick) and Casper (Justin Pierce) who bum around Manhattan with their friends smoking up, fucking and getting screwed. There is the girl, Jennie (ChloŃ‘ Sevigny) and her friend, played by Rosario Dawson. It was Dawson’s first role in film, and she was found for it whilst chilling on a stoop in Manhattan. The actors famously play themselves, and most of the kids in the film were just kids in New York. It’s a long, complicated, truly beautiful and deeply cynical story of love, drugs and nothingness. Then everyone gets AIDS.
Apparently Jimmy the soldier who fell in ‘Nam would have loved it. Given that AIDS hadn’t hit by the time he died, it makes me think that maybe he just had a great taste in film from the outset.
Film does good things for people. May people continue making cinematic pinnacles of excellence.
On a total side point, CANNES in a VAN is picking up speed, getting closer to coming to be all it should be and some people have been noticing it. And these people are good people who represent good things. More on that in (impending) time.
After New York, where I also talked about film with some old Sicilian men in Little Italy and some total assholes in Tribeca, who clearly knew a lot but sadly were about as transparent as something astonishingly see-through, I spent a week in Birmingham. Riding motorbikes.
I went on a tour of the Triumph motorcycle factory as part of the course I was on, where amongst other things I learnt that the company have two factories in Thailand. Whist the business minds working in the factory openly admit that this is because against the Queen’s Finest Pound Stirling, the sum total of £1 to roughly 69Baht as an exchange rate allows for some serious revenue to be made; it leaves me wondering something. The sentence involves the words ‘labour’ and ‘child’.
There might be a story in that if anyone is interested…
Sadly no one that I met at the factory, or actually, anywhere in Birmingham knew very much about film. Or even where Cannes was. So that was unfortunate. There were however a lot of vans.
I am off to a shoot re CANNES in a VAN, so keep reading because one day I might write something interesting.
And go watch KIDS.
Jamie
Music and that. Written the day before I hit NYC
The house in which I live has a kitchen and I am sat in it.
I am listening to Without You I’m Nothing by Placebo. Who are excellent, if often quite silly on occasion. I covered one of their gigs for a mag a few weeks ago.
They looked very smiley and healthy, which was really odd.
Today I did some things, few of which were of any interest. However, I did think “hmm, if I were going to Cannes, and I had a van and knew some dudes with whom to go, what kind of thing would I take with me”. Luckily this hypothetical thought was of some use because it reminded me that I am in fact going to CANNES in a VAN and I will be taking films there with my buddies. Or rather my buddies are taking films and I’m going with them. Or something. I’ve yet to work that one out.
Not long ago, I met up with some people I know and watched an onslaught of their short films and projections set to music. Their project and installation was going by the name of
WHAT THEY COULD DO, THEY DID
and if you give a shit about ‘Art’ I would strongly advise checking out at least some of it.
They jammed in an old car showroom garage thing in Peckham. Mostly and by accident I ended up working the door and offending people who took themselves very seriously. Then a man tried to sell me a duvet, and some crack. Peckham is rubbish.
Art is often ridiculous. It is sometimes necessary to scream “you are recycling and recycling again you talentless fucks” but this should be kept to a degree of severe rarity. Mostly because it upsets people and only encourages them.
However, in and amongst the somewhat confusing art (-core) there were a few things that really grabbed at me. Or rather, witnessing them was a bit like being punched very hard in the throat and having your eyes stabbed out… in a good way.
YEBOROBO
THE FRANKEN ORPHANS (FRONTED BY IGNATZ HOCH)
H (yeah, as in like the guy from Steps but only in the sharing of a name)
AN EMPTY ORCHESTRA
Another few SUPERB acts to check out are:
THEY DON’T SLEEP (see them live, it’s Entirely worth every moment)
MIMI LEUNG (who has changed her performance name so many times that I can not keep up, but I do not care because the girl has skills to the degree that skills should be spelt with a Z. Go see her skillz.)
You can find them all in or around myspace or on Google. Go and look!
Ok, an interlude and ending all at once:
I have just taken Placebo off of my play-list because much like anything to do with Billy Corgan it is hard to make it through a whole album without wanting to stab oneself in the ears. Having moved onto a mangled hybrid mix of tracks consisting of Tool and some old-school tunes by The Offspring with a bit of Like a Train Through a Pigeon (excellent hard-core band) thrown in.
I am wondering if I should listen to something sensible.
What is sensible music? Any ideas? If you have any drop me or the other CANNES in a VAN dudes a line and between us (and our shamelessly joyous contact book) I am pretty sure we can book you some kick-ass gigs and get a couple of releases put out there in exchange for you not sucking and giving us at least one free trip to London Zoo. We will launch you on something with the word Shallow in it. Really.
Oh yeah, do you have to be white to like Bruce Springsteen?
I remember an episode from the days of the Fresh Prince where the answer was strongly suggested to be “yes”. I’ve wondered that ever since.
Go cyberspace.
I am listening to Without You I’m Nothing by Placebo. Who are excellent, if often quite silly on occasion. I covered one of their gigs for a mag a few weeks ago.
They looked very smiley and healthy, which was really odd.
Today I did some things, few of which were of any interest. However, I did think “hmm, if I were going to Cannes, and I had a van and knew some dudes with whom to go, what kind of thing would I take with me”. Luckily this hypothetical thought was of some use because it reminded me that I am in fact going to CANNES in a VAN and I will be taking films there with my buddies. Or rather my buddies are taking films and I’m going with them. Or something. I’ve yet to work that one out.
Not long ago, I met up with some people I know and watched an onslaught of their short films and projections set to music. Their project and installation was going by the name of
WHAT THEY COULD DO, THEY DID
and if you give a shit about ‘Art’ I would strongly advise checking out at least some of it.
They jammed in an old car showroom garage thing in Peckham. Mostly and by accident I ended up working the door and offending people who took themselves very seriously. Then a man tried to sell me a duvet, and some crack. Peckham is rubbish.
Art is often ridiculous. It is sometimes necessary to scream “you are recycling and recycling again you talentless fucks” but this should be kept to a degree of severe rarity. Mostly because it upsets people and only encourages them.
However, in and amongst the somewhat confusing art (-core) there were a few things that really grabbed at me. Or rather, witnessing them was a bit like being punched very hard in the throat and having your eyes stabbed out… in a good way.
YEBOROBO
THE FRANKEN ORPHANS (FRONTED BY IGNATZ HOCH)
H (yeah, as in like the guy from Steps but only in the sharing of a name)
AN EMPTY ORCHESTRA
Another few SUPERB acts to check out are:
THEY DON’T SLEEP (see them live, it’s Entirely worth every moment)
MIMI LEUNG (who has changed her performance name so many times that I can not keep up, but I do not care because the girl has skills to the degree that skills should be spelt with a Z. Go see her skillz.)
You can find them all in or around myspace or on Google. Go and look!
Ok, an interlude and ending all at once:
I have just taken Placebo off of my play-list because much like anything to do with Billy Corgan it is hard to make it through a whole album without wanting to stab oneself in the ears. Having moved onto a mangled hybrid mix of tracks consisting of Tool and some old-school tunes by The Offspring with a bit of Like a Train Through a Pigeon (excellent hard-core band) thrown in.
I am wondering if I should listen to something sensible.
What is sensible music? Any ideas? If you have any drop me or the other CANNES in a VAN dudes a line and between us (and our shamelessly joyous contact book) I am pretty sure we can book you some kick-ass gigs and get a couple of releases put out there in exchange for you not sucking and giving us at least one free trip to London Zoo. We will launch you on something with the word Shallow in it. Really.
Oh yeah, do you have to be white to like Bruce Springsteen?
I remember an episode from the days of the Fresh Prince where the answer was strongly suggested to be “yes”. I’ve wondered that ever since.
Go cyberspace.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
I say, we've lost him! Where for art thou J?
So, while Jamie is AWOL without computer, I thought I might fill in the empty dates with an entry about what's going on.
Well... after telling the film community of our imminent adventure, everyone is really encouraging and are totally rocking our world. The guys from 4Docs are getting involved against their better judgement and we have tons of emails and calls to get back to from numerous film-related sources. The journey is certainly beginning here! You can read Charlie from Channel 4's BLOG here.
I wrote to RR today in the vague hope he'll get my letters and maybe come down to a screening. We need a CiaV patron who loves what we're doing and can really draw attention to the films. Massive fingers crossed. I kinda thought Shane Meadows might be into it too. Maybe I'll look into it. In the meantime, I KNOW This Is England is gonna be great. Go to Shanemeadows.co.uk for more about his crazy world.
Anyway,
So much to do... so little everything.
KEEP SPREADING THE WORD... It reeeeeeaaaalllly helps!
Cheers
Andy
CiaV
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Where's Jamie?
Hi Jamie... Andy from CANNESinaVAN here. I knew that this was the only way we could keep track of what you're up to until we're actually all in the van, driving through the French countryside. Man, this trip is gonna be cool!
So, Jamie's in NYC spreading the CiaV love while we're still in the big smoke trying to drum up support for our latest endeavour. Hopefully you've got here through the blog link on our website, but if not - where the hell have you come from?! Email us and let us know - twoblokes@cannesinavan.com.
Right now we're getting the films together from sources all over the shop. Time creeps on as always and we need to hit that 16th May deadline. Ouch.
Well, speak soon and enjoy.
Jamie - Make it count!
Andy
CiaV
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
The High Tatras don't go away
Today I got an email from someone I met last summer when travelling in Slovakia (go check out and get lost in the mountains in Western Slovakia, the High Tatras, they’re incredible) and yeah, it was interesting.
A lot of truly odd stuff goes on there.
Whilst there I met (amongst a bunch of other people) a couple called Zuska and Tomas who lived on a slum-estate-thing (the biggest in Europe) south of the river that runs through Bratislava.
They hung with me, or I hung with them, for a bit (in a round-about kinda way) but then I fell out with the guy and his friends because he thought I was trying to steal his girly, which was only half true.
It was all a bit odd and people seemed to want to kill me quite a lot. It turns out that the study of classical karate is a good thing and can bail you out of a number of situations with only minor repercussions.
Anyway, one of their friends emailed me today “just to let me know” that they’re coming to London for a while. How did they get my email? Who knows?
At least it should be interesting.
This coming Thursday I am off to get lost in New York for a week and a bit.
I am going to go and make people care about CANNES in a VAN.
I last went there when I was eight and it was excellent. You can usually trust eight year olds to have pretty good opinions on things so I am trusting myself as to it being a good idea. In preparation I have been listening to a lot of Sonic Youth, and Broken Social Scene because they wrote a song called ‘7/4 Shoreline’ that sounds a lot like Sonic Youth and a song by the name of ‘Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl’ that always makes me smile in a truly dumb-ass way.
I am going to inflict lots of bad music on the two dudes I am driving to Cannes with. Though I can’t drive, so I’m going to sit in the van and probably irritate the crap out of them with a hybrid of angsty music and pointless facts.
Did you know that bats perform oral sex? This is an excellent truth of nature.
Also, bonobo are often quite gay.
Alright, I’m off to watch some Sonny Chiba (who played Hattori Hanzo the fabled sword maker in the Kill Bill films). His 1970s and early 1980s films are his most brilliant. If you get the chance go check out the ‘Street Fighter’ series. He rules various Yakuza members with his Iron Fist of martial incredibleness. There is an excellent scene in which he rips out the heart of an opponent with his bare hands and then shows it to him.
More on Sonny later. I am this second compelled to begin a Chiba-marathon.
Also, on Saturday night I met a twenty seven year old film student from Middlesex.
Is it me, or has anyone else noticed that most second year film students are basically the same person?
A lot of truly odd stuff goes on there.
Whilst there I met (amongst a bunch of other people) a couple called Zuska and Tomas who lived on a slum-estate-thing (the biggest in Europe) south of the river that runs through Bratislava.
They hung with me, or I hung with them, for a bit (in a round-about kinda way) but then I fell out with the guy and his friends because he thought I was trying to steal his girly, which was only half true.
It was all a bit odd and people seemed to want to kill me quite a lot. It turns out that the study of classical karate is a good thing and can bail you out of a number of situations with only minor repercussions.
Anyway, one of their friends emailed me today “just to let me know” that they’re coming to London for a while. How did they get my email? Who knows?
At least it should be interesting.
This coming Thursday I am off to get lost in New York for a week and a bit.
I am going to go and make people care about CANNES in a VAN.
I last went there when I was eight and it was excellent. You can usually trust eight year olds to have pretty good opinions on things so I am trusting myself as to it being a good idea. In preparation I have been listening to a lot of Sonic Youth, and Broken Social Scene because they wrote a song called ‘7/4 Shoreline’ that sounds a lot like Sonic Youth and a song by the name of ‘Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl’ that always makes me smile in a truly dumb-ass way.
I am going to inflict lots of bad music on the two dudes I am driving to Cannes with. Though I can’t drive, so I’m going to sit in the van and probably irritate the crap out of them with a hybrid of angsty music and pointless facts.
Did you know that bats perform oral sex? This is an excellent truth of nature.
Also, bonobo are often quite gay.
Alright, I’m off to watch some Sonny Chiba (who played Hattori Hanzo the fabled sword maker in the Kill Bill films). His 1970s and early 1980s films are his most brilliant. If you get the chance go check out the ‘Street Fighter’ series. He rules various Yakuza members with his Iron Fist of martial incredibleness. There is an excellent scene in which he rips out the heart of an opponent with his bare hands and then shows it to him.
More on Sonny later. I am this second compelled to begin a Chiba-marathon.
Also, on Saturday night I met a twenty seven year old film student from Middlesex.
Is it me, or has anyone else noticed that most second year film students are basically the same person?
Saturday, March 10, 2007
not late but awake in the face of a new-day
The Beginning.
Do you sleep? What a dumb question.
Regardless, I raise the subject because I am awake, it is quite late and I have been so for a while. Last night I walked around Highgate Village at five am with a friend of mine talking about life, universe and the planets. It seemed an appropriately pretentious place to do it, also we both live there so that helped a bit.
Two evenings backward from now were spent between talking to said friend about how killing some idiotic Frenchman in a flat in East Finchley was a bad idea; a few hours prior to this I sat in a bar in Soho with a different friend and discussed going to (‘)Cannes (in a VAN’); talking predominantly over how the hell we work the logistics of it all. It strikes me that there is a weirdly juxtaposed degree of synchronicity going on here.
Check both of my friends out here, they both deserve more than the time of day
… for very different reasons.
www.cannesinavan.com
www.geocities.com/moritzlanglotz/index.html
Perhaps I will go and watch a film. I could be painfully obvious and go with the bleak Cyberpunk techno-vibe of this here blog and claim that I could not get through the drudge of the hours without immersing myself in the (most commonly viewed out of the seven versions) Directors Cut edition of Blade Runner. Yes. But no.
This is not my desire.
Instead I will watch ‘Lone Wolf and Cub – Sword of Vengeance’, which is awesome.
If you have not seen it, go of your way to do so.
Kenjutsu, (Ken – Sword, Jutsu – Art, for future reference) in 1972 Japanese cinema at it’s best. There is a samurai called Ogami Itto, he has a little boy by the name of Daigoro. Ogami Itto spends the piece protecting the child and attempting to wreak vengeance on the 16th Century ruling feudal clan that murdered his much beloved wife. He does a pretty good job of it and consequently hacks the shit out of everyone along the way whilst retaining a degree of flawlessly beautiful movement throughout.
Itto was played by Wakayama Tomisaburo, who was once and long ago instructor of kenjutsu to a most excellent old dude who teaches me martial arts.
I now wonder where the hell I put the DVD.
Do you sleep? What a dumb question.
Regardless, I raise the subject because I am awake, it is quite late and I have been so for a while. Last night I walked around Highgate Village at five am with a friend of mine talking about life, universe and the planets. It seemed an appropriately pretentious place to do it, also we both live there so that helped a bit.
Two evenings backward from now were spent between talking to said friend about how killing some idiotic Frenchman in a flat in East Finchley was a bad idea; a few hours prior to this I sat in a bar in Soho with a different friend and discussed going to (‘)Cannes (in a VAN’); talking predominantly over how the hell we work the logistics of it all. It strikes me that there is a weirdly juxtaposed degree of synchronicity going on here.
Check both of my friends out here, they both deserve more than the time of day
… for very different reasons.
www.cannesinavan.com
www.geocities.com/moritzlanglotz/index.html
Perhaps I will go and watch a film. I could be painfully obvious and go with the bleak Cyberpunk techno-vibe of this here blog and claim that I could not get through the drudge of the hours without immersing myself in the (most commonly viewed out of the seven versions) Directors Cut edition of Blade Runner. Yes. But no.
This is not my desire.
Instead I will watch ‘Lone Wolf and Cub – Sword of Vengeance’, which is awesome.
If you have not seen it, go of your way to do so.
Kenjutsu, (Ken – Sword, Jutsu – Art, for future reference) in 1972 Japanese cinema at it’s best. There is a samurai called Ogami Itto, he has a little boy by the name of Daigoro. Ogami Itto spends the piece protecting the child and attempting to wreak vengeance on the 16th Century ruling feudal clan that murdered his much beloved wife. He does a pretty good job of it and consequently hacks the shit out of everyone along the way whilst retaining a degree of flawlessly beautiful movement throughout.
Itto was played by Wakayama Tomisaburo, who was once and long ago instructor of kenjutsu to a most excellent old dude who teaches me martial arts.
I now wonder where the hell I put the DVD.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
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