went on facebook and pitched this idea, and they loved it and took it really well. Year I, Issue 2
03.31.2011
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The Aberystywth Film Awards 2011 Interviewed by Tazmeena Haque On Friday the 25th March, the second annual Film awards were held at the Arts Centre in Aberystwyth. The Film and TV cast and crew turned up in their celebration outfits and took their seats, among them, Ben Hayward and Martin Thorpe, (pictured left) who especially looked very suave for the occasion! We all took our seats, and watched as our films were played on the big screen one by one for all to see. It was amazing to see everyone’s films on the big screen, and the amount of work and dedication could be seen in each film. Then came the moment we were all waiting for, the awards. I was joined by Tom Thompson and Rachel Harris who won the award for Best Film and Best Editing for their film “Weak 7” about two filmmakers struggling to come up with a script, as they share their ideas with each other, we as the audience see their ideas come to life, discussing musicals, camera angles and witnessed the funny argument of whether or not that scene should be black and white or sepia, with some clever editing, they showed off their talent.
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Sam: It was totally your idea was it?! You robbed it from 127 hours.
Tom: We didn’t know in that part if it was going to work. We did Joe: Just the music! really boring horror stuff the week before? Tazmeena: How did you decide who was going to act in it, Rachel: Yeah it was Lonely Road. The way module was set up Ross’s performance was really strong. it was really good. Joe: Well this is it, every other week we allocated roles, but this Tom: It really sees the films progress. week, we thought Ross would be good and he really wanted to Tazmeena: You guys are really good actors and make a good do it after we pitched it to him. team, were you forced to act or did you jump at the opportunity? Sam: And we then thought who looked more convincing as the Rachel: I really don’t mind, it’s fun, I’m in 6/7 of our films I runner?! think… Joe: When it comes to directing, it was a really group effort, Tom: I was like in 4, Grace was in two or three. Oh no I was in although I would take most of the credit because I was amazing. I was like yeahhh when we won! 5? Tazmeena: How was editing? The film looked very complicated Sam: Oh god… editing wise. Tazmeena: What was filming like? What were the funniest Tom: It took 3 days…ish, we had biscuits and chocolate and moments during filming? stuff. It was fun. We knew what we were doing, it just had to be Joe: Filming was… really precise. Sam: Long Tazmeena: Did you use Avid or Final Cut? Joe: Yeah long, we planned it in Rosser Lounge, we did it in like Tom: We used Final cut, but we used Imovie for the titles, then three hours, and there was like one morning we met up at half 7 put the soundtrack on it. in the morning, coz we knew the running track was going to Tazmeena: I had “Fascination” by Alphabeat stuck in my head look busy by ten, so we did it then, we finished there about eleven o clock. all day after watching your film. Tom: Oh yeah, and that’s another thing, we didn’t know what Sam: The last shot with the sunset was really good. was going to happen at the end. We said lets just fade to white, Joe: We filmed over two days, when Ross fell over on the track, no, fade to black! We ended up saying it as the film faded to George’s camera almost got killed. The mug as well that Ross black at the end and it turned out really good! was meant to smash against the wall, it didn’t smash, but hit George’s camera instead. Tazmeena: What ideas have you got for next year? Tom: I don’t really know. Rachel: Justin Beiber parodies.
Tazmeena: Oh dear, the poor camera. How did you find the editing? Sam: Took ages.
Tazmeena: Congratulations on winning Best Film and Best Editing. Who came up with the initial idea of your film “Weak 7?”
Joe: We did it on the Thursday, we met up at like two, we got a big group as well, so me and Sam edited it back at my place, we started at two, and we finished at seven on the dot. And even then we didn’t properly finish. The editing wasn’t perfect, so we met up a couple of days before the screening and tidied it up.
Rachel: I don’t have a clue where it came from, it was all of us really, every week we have loads of ideas, we never have one person write it. Tom: Rhi said something about the whole black and white/sepia thing. Like we thought we should include that in the script meeting.
Tazmeena: Are you proud of your final piece?
Tazmeena: I think there was a real mix of genres there, how did you manage to tackle them?
Joe: Yeah, the only thing I would say, we only missed one important shot, the ending needed more of a solid ending.
Rachel: I think the way we tackled it was more cheese, cheesy works and makes it more funny.
Sam: We were hoping to have that hill at times in the film, to show that that was the challenge.
Tom: I don’t know what we were thinking. It was a risk, if we didn’t make it then it didn’t matter.
Joe: Yeah, but overall, very happy with it.
I was also joined by Joe Szwed and Samuel Ford who created “The Runner”. A feel good film about a man who had his Rachel: We had so much fun, we got into several funny dreams of being a professional runner crushed after a serious arguments when it came to the lines. leg injury, but overcame them and conquered his biggest fears. The film deservedly won Best Drama and was runner-up for Tazmeena: What was it like working with the group? Best Direction. Tom: It was so good, definitely this last week was brilliant. Rachel and I thought lets just have some fun, we knew what we Tazmeena: Congratulations for your awards, it was a brilliant script, how did you come up with the initial idea? were going to do. Rachel: Yes…I’m being stalked by a guy with a potato.
Joe: It was me mainly, when we had the Friday screening of our previous film, I was determined for the last week to be good, the first idea, no one liked at all, after taking the initial rejection, I
Mirri - short story It was a Friday and we had gone to the cinema. Together. The rain had been pouring all day and it had left me in such a grey mood and now here I was, trudging through mud in high heels. I'm still not sure why I did wear them. I suppose it was all part of the act, the show you have to put on. Besides, they made me feel unbreakable, or something ironic like that. Wind blew my hair out of place while puddles splashed up against my bare legs and he ran ahead of me. I waited for the traffic lights to turn green. I waited and waited, soaked to the bone, personality sinking out of me, an un-findable me. All those years of supposed love, rushing through my head like flickering cards. Couldn't you have just waited? We settled in this little lit up cafe on the corner of the street. You tried to talk to me but with every sentence a cloud snowballed into my mind so that all I felt was emptiness. We ordered toast and cappuccinos. You even suggested we get milkshakes, just for fun. I suppose that's the one thing we've kept after all these years; always trying so hard to be strange so that we escape the drag of normality. Strangers ran about outside, drunkenly screaming in their colourful blurs while the street lamps drooled their tunnels of foggy light. I'd forgotten how it was to be young. Funny. There was a candle on our table. I noticed how clear the particles of dust were that loitered above it. Watching them made my head fill with words that melted and bent and bulged and twisted themselves into one another so that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t quite make sense of what they meant. You ask me what my favourite part of the movie we just saw is and the waitress brings our orders. I say 'emmmm', for a really long time and watch my eyes in the coffee. You interrupt, bored probably, and say you didn't like any of it. That you thought it was all a bit pointless. My insides drop to somewhere with no splash, just hollow falling while my ribs tighten and I grip the hot mug and feel a distant rush of sadness. You never could figure out art, and it says a lot about a person really. Like that time we both went on a spontaneous walk and I wanted to stop beside this big tree for a while because of how beautiful it looked against the tie dye dusky sky, us two stood between its splayed out shadows on the pavement. Yet you couldn't even stand it for a minute and walked off to sit down on a bench. I even remember you saying to me as we walked back, "I don't understand why you're so mad." I still don't understand how you couldn't feel what I felt. You laugh at the way my hair is all stuck to my face and lean over to move it. That's another thing. Always the comedian, you could never take me seriously, never. Besides, I know you're falling out of love with me too, the way your pupils drift when I look straight at you says sad news is in your head. I turn away and look towards all those other people, in their own worlds walking through mine unknowingly. I have this overwhelming urge to switch you off like a TV set, and turn the patch in front of me to black. Perhaps that's too cruel. I don't mean it to be so cruel. Maybe I do. Cruelty's allowed after putting up with someone for ten years of marriage, surely! You get up to find sugar and for a moment I pretend that you’re a stranger and I like you. I want to know you, I miss you.. But then you stumble and sit down clumsily and I hate you all over again. The happy past, occasionally flickering like far away bulbs, giving birth to glow worms that shiver speedily through my body and in a brief moment meet to light up the shape of my soul before it steeps back into invisibility. It’s so tiresome being caught up in this constant pull of dissatisfaction, and right then I decide I can’t take it anymore.
I go to speak but just at that moment an old man stumbles through the door. He must be around seventy. I see him gazing around at all the other girls in the room. We catch each other’s glance and I fall into those watery old eyes like a heart might sail along the melody of a sad song. It’s impossible to tell if he’s happy or not. He sits on his own and coughs uncontrollably, hands weathered in crepe like skin. Even if I walk out now, I wonder if I’ll miss it. Despite the hatred, the torn up anger bubbling inside, I wonder if I’ll remember it all in dreams and movie scenes and cry when I’m that old and wish I’d given things more of a chance. It's that wonder that keeps me. It keeps me stepping towards the water, dipping my toes in, getting closer and closer to falling in, but then at the last minute, stepping back. "Did you want anything else?" The waitress hovers, chewing gum impatiently, and I look at the old man once more and say, "No, we're fine. Thanks." With the spark of a cold shiver I turn around and continue watching the blue ripples, the dizzying sunlight that floats, that flickers like owl eyes between branches in a black forest. By Amber Louise Bryce
RADIOHEAD – THE KING OF LIMBS After the much anticipated and controversially distributed seventh studio album In rainbows, Radiohead had set the bar rather high for their 2011 follow up The King of Limbs. It has, so far had a mixed, but generally lukewarm reception from critics and fans alike. The shortest album Radiohead have ever released, it seems, has underwhelmed many music listeners. And this is perfectly natural, considering the wealth of ideas and stylistic divergences we were treated to with In Rainbows. The King of Limbs however, is a totally different animal. It is clear to see its musical parentage from previous albums, in songs like Little by Little that echo Kid A’s In Limbo in its unsettling tonality, and the haunting Codex, with its Videotapestyle cathartic, ebbing piano chords, but there are oceans of difference between this album and anything Radiohead have done before. The general emphasis of the album tends towards complex, rhythmic textures. This is not to say that the song writing isn’t harmonically well structured and beautifully inspired, but rather that the most striking aspect of the album is that every song plays, in a rather unsettling way, with rhythm. Songs like Mr. Magpie and In bloom seem to simply drift between order and syncopated chaos while Thom Yorke somehow manages to pin down an ordered, memorable vocal melody line. It is this collective ability that truly sets Radiohead apart from other artists. Their music is both, floating in a chaotic swirl of constantly changing and developing motifs but also grounded by strong melodic progressions, and very vivid lyrical impressions. Like it or not, Radiohead have created something more wild and experimental than most mainstream bands aspire to and something more meaningful and memorable than most experimental electronic artists generally achieve. I understand the frustration with the albums brevity (8 tracks total) but I seem to remember school teachers drumming in to my head that it’s Quality not Quantity. I will always prefer a short-lived, inspired, diverse and innovative new album than ten or twenty tracks of utterly generic, formulaic mass-produced Katy-Perry-Kesha-Guetta-electro-pop that a monkey with a synthesizer and a drum machine and enough auto-tune could accurately recreate. By Sam Lewis
ALL THE PRESIDENTS MEN (1976) I've got a thing for Richard Nixon. I mean, I hate the motherfucker, of course. But he fascinates me. The way a man so utterly crooked could rise to power not by means of force, but being elected is beyond my comprehension. It reminds me a little of Berlusconi. Now, it is my belief that most (if not all) politicians are, in some way or another, crooks. Nixon, though, is the absolute epitome of crookedness in politics. He was President of the United States, elected twice. The second time he was elected, running against McGovern, the Watergate scandal was news. News, at least, for those brave enough to publish it. And here is where Pakula's amazing analysis of how two reporters of the Washington Post uncovered (most of) all that was behind Watergate starts. All The President's Men is a film about journalism as much as it is a film about politics. The struggle of two young reporters trying to uncover the truth of something that isn't as clear as it might seem, and that goes far deeper than anybody would have ever expected. The film starts with the actual Watergate break-in, from there making its way to the well known conclusion of the affair, fast paced, especially for a film set in the world of journalism. Somebody who doesn't know much about the Nixon presidency, Watergate and politics in the U.S. of A might be put off at first by the enormous amount of information that is being thrown at the spectator minute after minute. Fear not. While at least some knowledge of the facts would help in appreciating more aspects of it, the film takes its time, doesn't rush it, allowing everybody to understand what's happening. Of course people might get lost on a name or two, but that's not important: this is not a History lesson, but a political thriller. And as that, it works like few films of the kind work. Pakula's direction is precise in its following of the two main characters: all that the spectator gets to know is through them, a clever and almost necessary decision to avoid an overdose of information. The camera, fixed, from time to time allowing itself some amazing tracking shots, tries not to leave Bernstein and Woodward. That is Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford in a ballet of perfect acting, never exaggerating in their interpretation: walking on the razor's edge, leaving just enough space to each other, in an astonishing dance where every movement must be carefully chosen. Nixon is never clearly named as the main hand behind Watergate. He was a crook. And he surrounded himself with crooks. But this, cleverly, is just implied in the film, never said aloud in some kind of puerile j'accuse. After all, Nixon, when the movie came out, had already resigned, and shooting on the red cross would have been quite useless. What the film does, though, is question. Question the facts, question the people, question what we're being told. And this necessity to question is its main strength, now as much as 35 years ago. By Andrea Buccino
Coffee house Fathers and Mothers sit with their babies Friends next to friends Conversations of days past, of drunken parties and forgotten memories A couple leave, then move in the cleaners, Clearing the table of cups and clutter And wiping down for its next visitor A boy waits for his mothers order While she catches up with friends Not knowing what to do, he fiddles with his fingers And holds his hand for safety A forgotten face enters, she smiles with unsure recollection She disappears to order Time wonders with the mind Does she remember my changed face She sits at a table, near by Facing my way We both look down, unsure on the next action Unsure of each other We look up We pause eyes locked She has foam on her lip I indicate this to her She laughs and wipes her lips And says ‘Hi’ By Ieuan Jenkins --------------------------------------
Carnage
‘I Can’t Sing’ - Tami Dončić ---------------------------------------
And that is why we call them Stars A young man is never still And he is never young for long Those famous ones will live no longer, still The impressions they leave are strong We feel them long after they are gone; A will And that is why we call them stars. Eventually they all burn out and in death, Explode in universal directions And that is why we call them stars They shine their light where once There was darkness And where light was needed and seem like gods And that is why we call them stars They exist because people are still watching them Gazing, thinking: “Like Gods…” And that is why we call them stars In my moments of absolute stillness A steady pulse shudders visibly A jerk on a vein’s way across my collarbone The components of flesh ebb in an invisible tide The stars flicker on, fixed for ever in the night sky.
Where are you headed? To Carnage. How much does it cost? A tenner a Head. No, what’s the Price? A tenner a Head, Why, you interested? Just curious really. It’s gonna be wicked. Yea, wicked’s the word.
By Sam Lewis
What? Nothing. Whatever. Whoever, whenever, wherever? What? Nothing. Whatever. Where are you headed? To Carnage. How much is it? A tenner a Head. No, what’s the Price? A tenner a Head, Why…you interested? Just curious really. Well, It’s gonna be ‘wicked’.
‘They Have Marched’ – George Gäneart
By Sam Lewis
Editorial Board George Bøgdan E. Gäneart: Editor in Chief Tazmeena Haque: Managing Editor and Creative Director Barrie Stott/ Catherine Deering: Copy Editor Suzanne Curley: Associate Publisher Tami Dončić: Photography Editor Catherine Deering: Reviews Editor