Down at the Farm; A London Short Film Festival Weekend

I couldn’t resist a weekend of short films, lectures and networking opportunities, but what really sold this London Short Film Festival (LSFF) event was combining all this with a countryside camping weekend at the Quadrangle farmhouse and barn near Shoreham, Kent. I saw great films, met wonderful people, learnt more about producing a film, and left feeling validated as a professional screenwriter, filled with the confidence to go forth and make a film, not tomorrow, but today.

The LSFF runs every January, but this was their first time Down at the Farm. They’d invited about thirty farmhands to camp from Friday to Sunday afternoon, and really looked after us, with many IPA’s included as networking drinks, and all our locally sourced, top notch meals for a little extra, which kept us going through the back-to-back line up of films and talks.

In the first talk, Valentina Brazzini and Tristan Goligher from London film production company, The Bureau, mentioned how you have to love the project you are working on. This is something I remembered from my MA. Not only do you have to have something to say, you have to have passion for the project, and be able to defend it. When I pitched my latest feature film to David Pope of Advance films, I discovered a part of my story that I wasn’t passionate about, couldn’t defend it, and realised it didn’t match what I wanted to say.

You also have to be able to identify your projects weaknesses and counter them before they become a problem. Jamie Stone spoke about his latest film project, Orbit Ever After, a magnificent sci-fi love story, all made for a measly fifty thousand pounds. Instead of ignoring the projects weaknesses, Jamie developed new, shoe-string budget in-camera special effects and demonstrated them in his pitch with the BFI, which secured him the funding.

Roger Hyams from the London Film School discussed how short films don’t have to be narrative based. At first, I was a little uneasy as I’m passionate about storytelling and felt Roger wanted to see more art house pieces, but I left realising the scope of short films. He said that a film can be like a poem, with the example of a film about the New York Elevated Train, which was a succession of train images, glorifying the filmmaker’s joy of trains. He spoke about La Jetée (which I saw the following day and loved), a huge narrative set in a dystopia after world war three, but told in about thirty minutes through a succession of still images. It really only worked as it fit the film's idea of memories and images, but showed how you can think outside the box about which form works best for your piece. 

It was great to hear from Polly Stokes, Producer and Development Editor at Film4, who said they would like feature films, specifically genre pieces, such as comedy and sci-fi, as quite a lot of new writers write straight dramas. One of the best pieces of advice was how shorts are best as simple, beautifully expressed single ideas, such as the short, Talk, which follows a lonely man who wants to find someone to talk to. It made me reassess my shorts, which I find are quite complicated as there are often several ideas and possible themes at work.

Michael Caton-Jones, director of films such as The Jackal and Rob Roy, showed us his essential short, a 1936 documentary called Night Mail, which he said was a simple film that became something else when explored, which I often find in poetry. I felt it was like a war-time army going into battle, a very serious, well-oiled machine with honour. The best thing was how Michael said that film is not a visual medium, but an emotional one, that film isn’t about showing a story through pictures, but expressing emotion through picture and noise.

I got valuable tips on pitching to industry professionals when I pitched with David. He said it’s important to give your job title up front, as, for example, if I say I’m the screenwriter and he’s the financier or studio executive, he can relax, as he knows he won’t do business directly with me. When I pitched, I kept swapping between detailing the story and the characterisation of my protagonist, but he said that next time I should just tell him the story, because if it’s well written, the characterisation will come out naturally. I need to let the story speak for itself.

The final talk on producing got me thinking about forms, permissions and wages; all the practical stages of producing a film. This, along with seeing Jamie’s film and the films of Steve Oram, who was unafraid to make the films he liked making, made me realise that it isn’t impossible to get a project on screen. I’d started this weekend worried that everyone else would be more professional and successful than me, but I left feeling a part of this short film family, and confident that if I wanted to get a project produced, that I could do so. It’s actually quite easy to get hold of cameras in today’s world, and there are lots of people to collaborate with. Time and money are often excuses used to mask fear of failure, but in the end, it doesn’t matter what happens so long as you make the films you’re passionate about.


The next LSFF takes place in January 2014, but there are events throughout the year.

The next big short film festival on the calendar is Encounters in Bristol. I hope to be there. If you're interested, check it out, here.

Getting an Idea Through Re-Writes

I spent the last few weeks writing a two-minute film, but gradually, through re-writes, I saw it morph into a longer, deeper, and hopefully more interesting piece. I had to rely on my own reactions to the script as my usual writing group were busy with their master’s scripts, but I did make some interesting observations, summarised as a sort of self-review guideline at the end of this post. It reminded me of the importance of re-writes, but also how not assuming you know what you’re writing at the start (ten-minute short, sixty-minute drama, feature) can give you the flexibility to develop the best possible story from your initial idea.

My film focused on a fussy guy at a new year’s party who struggles to find a girl to kiss before the countdown ends, and can't even get a kiss from a granny in the end, the joke being that the granny could’ve been good for him. I thought it was a fun idea, but once it was written, I found it really dull.

I wondered if I had too much going on, until after I had written an article about empathy, I realised it was boring because I had no empathy for the main character. He objectified women and got what he deserved; not a character I could follow or feel anything for.

For draft two, I made the hero insecure about the way he looked, which made him a bit of a cliché geek up against a handsome lad, but it did make for a more interesting read. This version came crashing down, however, because the story of a guy trying and failing to get a kiss became repetitive and unsurprising. I made him kiss the old woman in the end, but it didn’t mean anything. A guy struggles to get a kiss, and gets one, and that was about it.

I remedied this by focusing on what was interesting, which to me, was an older woman in a nightclub. I fleshed out her character, focusing on her strengths and weaknesses, and made the story about the hero (Chris) having a relationship with this older woman (Linda), but had Chris worried about being with her because of what his family and friends might think. Chris kissed another girl in an attempt to move on from Linda, and Linda saw him and ran into the bathroom, where Chris came in to apologise. It felt nice to set it in a small location after an event had occurred, and allowed me to surprise the audience when Linda opened the cubicle door and revealed her age.

Thanks to feedback from a trusted friend, I realised my theme was unsatisfying. Linda had to stop partying so hard, and in the end, became friends with Chris, which was basically saying when you get old you can’t act young or have a relationship with your true love if they’re too young for you.

My final version had Chris too afraid to reveal his true self to the world (and thus clubs to meet girls when he’d rather be out hiking and writing poems) and therefore is unable to accept being with Linda, and ends with a revelation that if he did have Linda, he wouldn’t be alone.

My final problem was even though Chris realises his true fear is being alone, he was still too afraid to choose Linda over friends and family. I ended up playing off the 'Linda-as-older' idea that she'd been clubbing so hard (in an attempt to not become what she perceived as a 'dull old-person') that she became exhausted and fainted. Chris realised he couldn't live without Linda and openly loved her at the end. It felt good, but I had trouble bringing in this new element without having set it up, and it made me wonder where to open the film.

It’s great to have flexibility, but there comes a time to decide upon the best path to take. I’m not sure how interesting it’d be if I began at the start of their relationship, and really I'm just starting to get the idea, but re-writing the script has shown me what has and hasn’t worked, and brought it to the point where I feel I have something to say. So if you feel you have an idea worth telling, tell it, but don’t be afraid to change and re-write.

Gareth’s Self-Review Check-list

• If your script is dull, perhaps it’s because we have no empathy for your hero.
• If your story feels unsurprising or unsatisfying, perhaps you’re being repetitive or aren’t expressing a theme.
• Perhaps you can find a theme by focusing on what is interesting in your story.
• Shorts work well with fewer locations, when they start after an event has occurred, and are really interesting with a ‘surprise’ at the end (although one organic to the story).
• Have you thought about the resolution of your story, and what it might mean?
• Have you introduced a rouge element half-way thorough? Perhaps it needs to be set-up to not confuse the audience and create anticipation e.g. if we knew Linda was suffering from exhaustion, it would play out the whole scene until she faints.