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A Dave new world

I have to book a flight for Damascus to fly tomorrow but British politics finds me hiding from the world deep under the sheets in my bed. The news announces “Today we wake to a new day in British politics…” but I feel as depressed as I did in 1979 when the iron cow took office and proceeded to wreck the country.

The thought of having an out-of-touch toff from Eton leading us sends me back to sleep. I want to sleep for 5 years to avoid seeing these rosy-cheeked plums ‘leading’ a country they know nothing about.

The election result could also be the beginning of the end for documentary on television. David Cameron spoke about his plans to get rid of BBC3 & BBC4 if he took office. Can the usually spineless Lib Dems protect us from David in this flimsy coalition? What British TV network will there be left for serious documentary film making if BBC4 goes? Does David care, did the Tories ever care?

When I was 16 I left school and fell straight into Thatcher’s unemployed underclass. Thanks to the Tories we saw hordes of homeless walking the streets, communities were wrecked, people were cast aside, the sick and elderly were ignored and left to die alone at home. Industry was privatised and so was the individual. People took to the picket lines – I was politicised thanks to Margaret, she made me want to pick a camera up and record what was going on; as a force for change, maybe I should thank her.

My only hope today is that David will also help politicise the millions of new poor displaced working class members of British society who are going to be punished by his policies to ‘reform’ this country left bankrupt thanks to the lies of New Labour and the greed driven behaviour of their friends the bankers.

Now in office David has offered inheritance tax allowance up to a million pound to his wealthy friends whilst promising public sector cuts and evictions for the poor. How does this help anyone in my home-town of Hull? Only those like John Prescott – ‘The fat leisure class’ which emerged as a result of the deceit of New Labour will benefit.

And so today I struggle to pull myself from the sheets feeling fear and sadness for my country and anger at being let down by a Labour party that became ‘New’ to attract a middle class vote but in doing so got rich and corrupted by power, and the thrill and desire to stay in power, so much so that the working class once again have been betrayed and compromised – no wonder many of them didnt bother to vote, allowing the Tories in again!

In a glimmer of hope I make my way to the bathroom for a pee contemplating the Labour party now in opposition. I feel there is a chance for it to regroup and rethink and re-kindle core Labour values.

As desperate days under Tory rule take hold and wage freezes / cuts throughout the public and private sectors become reality, and the homeless return back to the streets again in ever growing numbers I for one hope for 1970’s style strikes across Britain again, and riots like the ones I that I grew up with in 1980, to help fuel a fire for change from within, from the voiceless working classes, from the people who are being forced to suffer because of the actions of others, so that after these 5 years of hell we can make a positive change for Britain again, with Labour hopefully representing the poor as its core value.

I only hope BBC4 is around to commission filmmakers to make the hard hitting documentaries that will illuminate this country as it teeters on the edge of change and revolution. But for now I must escape the depressing landscape of a Tory Britain to find freedom and fun in Damascus, Syria, an authoritarian dictatorship where I’m trying to make a film and where the Tories thankfully don’t exist.

The Window Cleaner

I am sat in a cafe in Brighton watching a window-cleaner wash down a dirty shop front. He has my complete attention, I watch his every wipe, each delicate stroke caressing the shop front, his vigorous scrubbing and mopping before finally rinsing down and brushing the street of any excess water. It is an art form and he is the artist.

Cleaning has become my obsession (along with cooking) whilst I am lost between films.

I sip on the Caffè macchiato in front of me, it is a short espresso with a dash of hot milk on top. I stare out of the window and take in the sun, my mind drifts to Damascus and the fantastic Costa coffee macchiato I first tasted there… why is it so much better than this one here in Brighton I ask myself?

But apprehension about my next trip is never far away, and I do anything to take my mind off it, opening too many wine bottles at home or propping up the local Weatherspoons bar or cooking curries and, of course, cleaning up.

I must go jogging. The thought reminds me of Dubai and a film I didn’t make. Was it the thing to do… To walk away?

In Dubai I was jogging everyday to try and escape the depression of living in hell.

But now, as another year has passed and I have nothing to show for it, I start to wonder if I should have stuck it out in Dubai. Part of me worries that there is no story in Syria, I mean a big story like there clearly would have been in Dubai.

Now that Nizam has set himself free to live his life without my camera recording his every move I am searching for a new soul-buddy, for a new obsession, for a new love.

The shop across the road is shining, its beauty lifts my day. The artist stands proud, wiping his brow and brushes, the shop owner brings his wife and daughter to view the finished work, everyone is smiling, everyone is happy.

I finish my coffee and head for the station, but as I walk I cannot stop myself looking over my shoulder again and again unable to take my eyes off the wonderful work of art which is shining magnificently in the midday Brighton sun.

I can’t wait

So here I am back in London in my local Weatherspoons soaking up their joyous beer festival and having a beautiful pint of real ale. It was about a week ago that I’d raced here whilst being filmed by Phil (a film-graduate friend) who has been helping me edit a ‘series trailer’ which would introduce people to all my films in one go.

We had the crazy idea of using me as the link that makes the films relevant to today’s world, so what better than the filmmaker relaxing having a pint. But then, just like now, as soon as my lips hit the beer glass I am finished for the day and all I want to do is relax, chat, and enjoy the drunks around me.

But today I am not being lazy, I am celebrating my ‘new’ film being commissioned by the BBC, though I still need to get more funding from other sources before they (BBC) will actually cough up their contribution.

As a result I’m hitting everyone in every direction. Today I have taken a small step by successfully completing ‘The Media Fund’ development application (worth 50k) form. The hard work wasn’t down to me though, it was thankfully the responsibility of my producer friend Fiona who is an expert in such matters. It has taken months to find all the required information, Fiona masterly made the application even designing a cute ‘Tenfoot Films’ logo in the process. Now the development application is in, we move onto making the production application. This is a big job in itself; forget filmmaking, I am now a full-time fund-raiser.

And, as well as fund-raising and form-filling I still had to get the ‘series trailer’ completed for my German sales agents who are pitching my new film (and my back catalogue) in Cannes this week at MIPCOM one of the biggest TV sales events of the year.

Plus I am also waiting to hear from the NHK, the Japanese broadcasters, they may be buying in on the new film; and if so I need to know when… All I want now is for another ‘funder’ to come on board and offer us a semi-serious wadge and hey-presto the BBC money will be released and before you can blink I will be out of here – lost to the Middle East again… I can’t wait.

This fucking film

I must write back to Nizam. He’s been asking what I am trying to get at with this film, cautious that his family may be exposed in some dangerous way. It is a question everyone I film asks at some point, but I find it very difficult to answer. The truth is I’ve got no idea; it is my endless curiosity and determination that motivates my films, I never know what will happen, nor do I want to, for me this is real film making with a true sense of adventure.

I seek a mutually understood relationship/friendship based on trust. The people in my films have to want to give, otherwise it just doesn’t work. And sometimes, for many reasons, some people can’t do it. In Japan I must have met over 10 potential characters for my film; sometimes filming for months on end only to realise, eventually, that for one reason or another, it just wasn’t right.

Now, as Nizam faces a crossroads in his life I feel I am becoming more of a problem than a release for him, and with the added pressures from a difficult marriage I wonder how we can progress.

I was so disappointed after my recent ‘filming’ trip to Bergen, I felt like the standard BBC guy trying to get his story rather than the friend I’d become over the year or so of filming with him. But Nizam was never confident at being the character and only really agreed because he wanted to learn from me about this supposed crazy life making films.

Now he worries about exposing himself and feels invaded by my camera. Having been filmed myself and not enjoyed it one little bit, I know the feeling, I feel his pain. Nizam wants to know when it will all end, and I want to know when it will start. So I must write him a reply and hopefully answer that difficult question, why am I making this film and what am I trying to get at?

If only I knew.

Waiting

Waiting for bloody Godot must have been easier than waiting for Nizam, my life seemingly revolves around waiting and waiting never knowing if he will show up or not. In Oslo he has a very busy work schedule and an extremely troubled family life, so he ends up bouncing from one to the other and now, he also has the problem of me and my needs thrown into the frantic mix. His partner is completely against us making this film and won’t even agree meet me. I sense, not surprisingly, that this added pressure is exactly what Nizam doesn’t need right now.

Torn between getting his family life back together and making a film with me he must obviously prioritise his home life, but when he said he was taking a vacation from Oslo to see a friend in Bergen it seemed a good time to catch-up and get some filming done.

For me it was also difficult to organize, I had my own kids to care about and managed to get my mother to come down to London, which allowed me to make a flying visit to Norway. Following my night-time arrival Nizam and I just sat and drank with his bubbly Iranian friend, I didn’t want to film on the first night and hoped to do some the next day but, as usual, I found myself imprisoned in my hostel waiting for his call.

Nizam eventually rang at 5 and we met in darkness at 8pm. I’d already given up the idea of filming this beautiful city with him, and anyway he wanted to cook something before taking off to a jam-night in a local bar. I saw a glimmer of hope, maybe I could at least film a cooking scene at his friends place, but this was short lived as he asked me to stop filming, he didn’t feel up to it.

So we ate the wonderful couscous he made and hit the bar, I tried filming but he wasn’t interested so I didn’t push it. Instead I watched the scenes we could have filmed. A great conversation with a Norwegian guy in the bar about the simple life he misses in Syria, followed by lots of Norwegians drinking and partying hard and then hordes of them drunk all along the streets as we headed home with my camera still locked in its bag.

Any-time soon I’m supposed to sign contracts with a German agent to sell this film, a film already commissioned by the BBC, nearly commissioned by the Japanese, and with a possibility of Norwegian TV coming on board too. Now I wonder what to do, do I push someone who isn’t interested in being filmed anymore, do I continue to try and convince Nizam of why he should be filmed, why it mattered to him and to me, or should I just cut my losses and call it a day?