There was a Hot Fuzz interview recorded on Wednesday for Channel M television, and I was lucky enough to be "crew" for the duration. I can't remember most of it, but I'll put what I can here.

Hot Fuzz is a British action film coming out in the UK next week, and it's from the creative team who were responsible for Shaun Of The Dead.

They arrived at around quarter to four: Co-writer and star Simon Pegg, costar Nick Frost and Director and co-writer Edgar Wright. Simon looked quite tired and seemed to have red lipstick on (although it didn't look like that on camera). Nick Frost had beardy growth and was a bear of a man - he looks completely different in person - and I got the impression he had other places he'd rather be. Edgar looked a little pale. This unexpected inclusion of Edgar in the interview threw me completely, and I'm afraid I gibbered incoherently. I remember shaking his hand and saying something along the lines of "On behalf of the Spaced Out Forums, I'll be the guy who stares creepily through the camera at you." I was pretty overwhelmed, and I could hardly speak, until Nick said "is he drunk?" I told Edgar "I wasn't due in today, and I'm not even full time, and I'm actually a student...". He replied, "and you don't even work here!" It's funny because it's true. He asked me my username on here, and Simon and Nick called him over with "we've an interview to do here!", to which he replied "I was just talking to Winston." trés cool.

The interview started, and it was pretty funny. Here are the bits I remember:

-Simon saying that he had become a scientologist and the interviewer buying it.
-Edgar talked about his former line manager at Somerfield, who he wished was still alive to see the film: "if there's one person I'd really have wanted to see this film, it would have been him."
-Nick referring to his penis as being "thick like a baby's beaker.(Turns to camera) You're watching Channel M".
-The interviewer mentioning "The Equalizer", and Nick shouting "Ewar Woowar!" Most amusingly, the interviewer had no idea what he was talking about. ("Why are there so many 'D's in Edward Woodward's name?" "Because otherwise he'd be called 'Ewar Woowar'.")
-Simon saying despite his Hollywood fame he always crawls back to Nick's bed. "Once you've had Frost, you'll never get lost."
-Edgar saying that the last two weren't a deliberate choice of genre, but instead that it came about organically. "It wasn't like we'll sit down and say "let's do a period drama"."
-Simon being asked a question and Nick suddenly laughing at a woman outside who had fallen through the ice around a fountain.
-The interviewer mentioning me as the source of a piece of trivia (there's a Zombie Party DVD shown in the trailer, and it has the same cover as Shaun Of The Dead. I knew that it was the english translation of the title abroad, although I couldn't remember if it was the Spanish or Italian title). They all waved at me, whilst I waved back, grinning like a moron.
-Simon saying to camera "If you go to see Hot Fuzz with a stranger, they will want to f*** you."
-during the GVs (the cutaways) there was a lot of swearing and general tomfoolery.

Afterwards I spoke to Edgar, who asked me "are you going tonight?" I should have said "well, I would, but I doubt I'll get a ticket (hint hint)", but I had conpletely forgotten about the Hot Fuzz preview screening (as I doubted I'd be able to get a ticket) and said I was busy instead, which I kind of was. Busy being starstruck. We shook hands again and Simon came over. Edgar introduced me as "Winston Smith". I shook hands with him too, and he said "I always feel weird when I look at the forums, like I'm spying." I mumbled something about using a fake name, and he suggested one I've heard him mention before (not in the member list yet). Then as they left, I said thanks, they said thanks, we all said thanks.

I have to say, cool as Simon and Nick are, the highlight for me was meeting Edgar. He's living my dream!

Hopefully the interview will appear on Channel M's website, although it might not be until next week.

My wisdom tooth had a little accident on Saturday. Little did we both know that it was curtains for the poor guy.
A filling fell out while I was eating chilli con carne, and I ended up swallowing it. I didn't even notice until later on, when I realised what had happened. I was miserable anyway, after a depressing email about my course, and so I moped around all weekend.
Monday came, and I called NHS Direct to arrange a dentist and some emergency dental treatment (the two are exclusive). During the course of the conversation, I accidentally let slip that I had swallowed the filling, and a few minutes later they called me back to demand that I immediately get over to the nearest Accident and Emergency for the swallowing of a "foreign body."
As it's a few miles away, I didn't fancy this in the least. Luckily I had access to a bike, so off I went, up and down the undulating hills until exhausted and hot, I arrived at the A&E. I queued up at reception, and told them what had happened. "Erm, you probably needn't be here," said the receptionist. "I know," I replied," but they were pretty insistant."
The receptionist clucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, much as I expected, before ushering me in to see the triage nurse, which I didn't expect at all.
NHS hospitals work in a specific way these days. Once you've queued to register at reception, you take a seat and wait to be seen by the triage nurse. She then evaluates how much of an emergency you constitute, and you wait a proportionate amount of time. Therefore the person with the sore finger has to wait until the person with the axe through his head has already been seen, no matter who arrives first. So, it was a surprise to jump the queue for the triage nurse. then again, it was probably just to save time and keep the queue down. "You can probably go, but I'll check with the doctor first," she said. I hung around for about ten minutes, and eventually the all-clear came. All told I was there for twenty minutes, and made the arduous journey back. Lovely, although I still had to sort the cavity out. I called the emergency dentist, who said, "there aren't any more appointments today. call this other number at 5.15."
The number was engaged from 5.15 until about 6, when the lady told me, "the evening number is only for people with swollen faces and the like, call the other number tomorrow at 9.00."
I gave up at this point and applied the temporary tooth filling I had bought. It's pink, and you squash it into the hole, whereupon it sticks to your fingers and makes a mess. I got it in, and then had a stirfry for tea. The filling fell out. I reapplied it, and it stuck this time.
This morning I called the number, and by half nine I got through. "There's an appointment at 10.40, but it'll cost £42.40." "Oh," I said. "Don't worry," they said. "They'll take cash, cheques and cards." So I made my way there.
The receptionist looked down her nose a little at me. "No, we only take cash or cheques," she said. It took ten minutes to find a cash machine in this rather less than sulubrious part of town, but I found one in the end.
Eventually I went in, and the small, pretty, lady dentist decided I had to have the tooth out, as too much of it was already gone. I hate needles. I hate them even more when they're sticking in my gums. She sent me to weait in reception for quarter of an hour, and it took that long to stop shaking as the adrenaline wore off.

The actual removal of the tooth wasn't too bad, if a little grindy and yanky. I walked back, and now I stalk the Earth, seeking sympathy and finding little. The paracetamol are working to some extent, but the dull throb is distracting.

I was in a good mood until about twenty minutes ago.

I was just sorting myself out for going to bed, when I slightly misjudged picking up a glass of water. The glass tipped over, off the desk, and onto my laptop. Which is now full of water.
I swore.
Unfortunately the glass still had a little momentum, and tumbled off the laptop onto the floor.
It didn't hit the floor, however. It hit my trainers, filling them with water.
It was at about this time that the glass finally exploded.

I swore again. I don't know if you've ever seen a glass explode, but it always tends to happen when it hits something soft. There were large-ish shards, but the surprising thing is that the base was in tiny little pieces, the largest no bigger than a grape.

I really don't know what annoyed me more:

• My laptop is now unusable at least until it dries.
• I'm in student accommodation, so I don't have a vacuum cleaner handy.
• I can't tell the difference between the pieces of glass and droplets of water.
• My shoes, trainers and slippers are filled with water, and possibly glass.
• Because my shoes and trainers are wet, I can't ask security to open the lodge and get a vacuum cleaner.
• Because my slippers are wet, I have to go into the scabby kitchen in my socks.
• My duvet is wet.
• I now have to get up earlier than I expected because I have to solve these problems before a doctor's appointment.

I meticulously picked up as much of the glass as I could find (which took a while), and laid out T-shirts from my laundry basket to protect my feet when I wake up in the morning.

I'm now drinking whisky to cheer myself up.

Glenlivet. 12 year old single malt.


Lovely.

I watched a TV programme today about guns in society, and it was excellent. I've been thinking about this from a filmmaking point of view for some time, but the programme has served to crystallise these thoughts.

Gun crime is rife in the inner city areas of the UK, and predominant amongst the contributory factors is American culture (another is the news, but that's another story); not just hip-hop stars such as 50cent (the Reebok ad where he recounts the number of times he's been shot and then laughs was a particularly evocative image), but also cinema from the US. There are images glamorizing guns in so many film posters; The Terminator, Casino Royale, Hot Fuzz, and even Pirates of the Caribbean. The problem is that guns are shown to be empowering (which they are to some extent), and to a disempowered demographic, they are enormously tempting. As a filmmaker and citizen I find myself given a great responsibility, in that I lean towards action films in my subject matter, a genre notorious for glorifying violence. Within the themes of my films, I can either add to the culture of gun-love, or try to negate it.

I did a quick survey of the films I have made which involve guns, and how they are portrayed. A positive image is one that shows guns as non-aspirational, a negative image is one that glorifies them:

 

1.      Bad Eye. The protagonist has a condition where he has hallucinations of bad things. He attacks his friend who he is convinced has just drawn a gun on him. He then discovers it was a mobile phone. My opinion: Positive image. The gun isn't fired, and its appearance breaks down the friendship.

 

2.      Vengeance. The protagonist has a shootout with his twin brother, fatally wounding him. His brother tells him he missed on purpose, and then dies. My opinion: Slightly positive image. Although there is glorified gunplay, the protagonist discovers that he has killed his own brother.

 

3.      Through The Bullet Hole. The protagonist is a hit man who arrives home to find (and despatch) two intruders. My opinion: Ambiguous. A hit man killing someone on-screen is obviously a negative image, but making him effeminate offsets the gun as an aspirational accessory.

 

4.      Milk, No Sugar. The protagonist loses his wallet in the back of a van, and finds out that it is full of weapons. The driver comes through the side door and fires a shotgun. My opinion: Slightly positive image. The hero has no gun, and the driver is an antagonist and immediate threat, which he must evade.

 

5.      Somnium Illis. The protagonist encounters two men in black, who chase him, before a zombie kills them. There is also an armed guard. My opinion: Positive image. The hero has no gun, and the men in black are instantly portrayed as the bad guys. They use their weapons against the zombie, but it is futile. The soldier is also immediately an antagonist, and never fires his gun.

 

I was relieved after I had done this little exercise. I enjoy watching the use of guns in films but, paradoxically, I don't agree with their use in real life. It seems that this subconscious, pacifist agenda has been with me all along. Now I'll approach the short with a different view.

You know what it's like, you get all involved with your degree, and everyone you know gradually disappears from view, and the next thing you know it's a year later and you don't know any of your friends. After a hiatus of at least a year, I finally had a chat with Duck again. It was fun, although my webcam has finally given up working. I don't know what's wrong with it, but when I start it up, it promptly shuts itself down again, saying it was in use. I know it was in use, I was using it for this! Sometimes I suspect that Microsoft have a secret agenda to take over the world by frustrating everyone to such a degree that the entire computer-using population descends into anarchy. They already bought big shares in Apple to get the mac users, and it'll be Linux next, mark my words...

Incidentally, there's a new post over at Lack Of Direction.

I've set up a new blog, solely as a production log for a film I have to make over the next few months. It's at http://lackofdirection.blogdrive.com, so feel free to swing by now and again. I'm also hoping to have more stuff here again, as I'm feeling more verbose.

I'm trying to get badges for a free t-shirt. So:

Thankyou for your patience. Some proper posts will arrive soon. In the meantime, Join the fuzz.

I decided that I don't have enough to do.

There's the essay I have to write, about British Action Films, or the lack thereof. It's due early in December. That's something.
There's the sixty minute script. It's set on a submarine. It's also due early in December. That's something else.
There's the editing for three different shorts on behalf of two different people. One of them will involve Additional Dialogue Recording. They're fairly pressing.

But no, not enough to do. Which is why I signed up to participate in the National Novel Writing Month. Fifty thousand words in thirty days. More? Just to make things more challenging, I didn't start until day nine, and I currently have 45,000 words left to write before the end of the month.

Piece of cake...

I've been away for a while, reflecting and so forth.


I'm back now, and I bring change.

The new layout should mirror the changes in my circumstances. I have moved. My sister got herself a new job, which starts after Christmas. Unfortunately for me, it means that she needs to buy a house closer to work, and so she has to sell her current house. So I've moved into the Halls of Residence. I could never do it before, as I would have had to find somewhere for the summer months (that wasn't my parents' house), and Sparty wasn't allowed. Now, however, I have no ties, and I can just up sticks and live wherever. So here I am, in a poky little room with as many of my possessions as I can squeeze in. Which isn't many.
It has its pros and cons, like anywhere else. On the down side, it's small, and I have to share a flat (as they call it here) with six others, whose idea of cleanliness is somewhat less advanced than my own. To be fair, it's probably just one secret resident who is responsible for the mess of the kitchen, but it's important to remember to wipe down any surfaces before preparing food, or indeed placing crockery or cutlery down.
On the plus side, I don't have to get out of bed until half nine when I have a 10:00AM lecture, and I don't have to travel for two hours a day on the bus. I can also go out to the student nights and so on, although I have yet to do so. I haven't been here that long yet.
It's the end of a huge chapter of my life, but also the start of another. I miss Sparty, and things will never be the same, but that's what life is.