CPH:DOX day 1 (for me)


I was what you’d call a late bloomer. I flash back to my formative years a lot these days, with one main question : Was I naturally curious? They say we all were, to begin with. We need to figure out everything from how to stand to how to hold a spoon to how to communicate, and that’s just our bodies and minds. After that there’s a whole world to learn and navigate. And sure, a part of that is biological necessity, but there is another part, more slippery to pin down, that keeps us learning, sometimes in spite of ourselves.

Ian Cheney’s The Most Unknown, the opening film of the Science program of the 2018 session of CPH:DOX, thrives in the space where curiosity borders on obsession. 9 scientists from different disciplines, in 9 places around the world (mostly the US), sleep badly, wax philosophic about the weird corners of nature that we haven’t even begun to explore, and challenge each other to explain to them the particularities of their disciplines which they (and by extension we) don’t yet understand. We meet an American microbiologist, cave diving in Italy, looking for rare blooms from rare bacteria and marveling over the slime trails on the cave ceiling left behind by… who knows what. As she says, there are something on the order of 30 trillion species on the planet. We know about 1 million of them. We don’t even know how to look for the rest, because we don’t know what we’re looking for.

We follow her to Italy, where we meet a physicist and his quest for dark matter (it’s everywhere but we don’t absolutely know it’s everywhere). He takes us to Belgium where we meet a psychologist trying to understand how consciousness works, who later takes us to the hot springs of Utah under the stewardship of a wonderfully geeky astrophysicist, who takes us to a cosmic telescope in the peaks of Hawaii, wide eyed to the biggest toy ever. Interdisciplinary encounters, they’d call it, turning the film into a micro-petri dish to see what an one can inspire in the other, and what that does to their practice.

The curiosity of each scientist is infectious, and emphasized by how much they all admit that they don’t know (which is most things). What drives them in fact is the blank spots in our knowledge, the need to answer all the questions the rest of us in our day to day never think to ask. What are we made of? What does it mean to be conscious? Every question we can answer raises a multitude more, and these engaging science nerds (gold star word) are basically grown up kids, full of wonder, searching for answers, and almost hoping they don’t find them.

One of the things I’ve come to love about science is the multiplicity of patterns. A network of rivers, viewed from way above, resembles a branch of veins inside our bodies. A genus tree of how species and life forms are organized drawn on a white board, viewed from a step back, looks like a brain, stem and all. And if you’ve ever seen Charles and Ray Eames’ Power of Ten, you’ve witnessed the patterns that repeat from the widest view of our galaxy, to the most microscopic study of our cells. We’re treated to some of that in the Most Unknown, and it’s the first time in a while I felt that drone shots are a serious addition to a film. From that vantage point, whether it’s true or not, it’s easy to believe that the building blocks of reality resemble each other because they’re perfect in their own way.

When I edit a film, I irritate the filmmaker with a million questions, trying to get to the heart of what their film is really about. Sometimes I wake up at night with fresh ideas, and sometimes there’s a moment (my favorite!) when we both realize that it’s not about what we thought it was about. It’s got the same character and we’re using the same footage, but with a fresh context it all means something totally new. I got a feeling like that watching this unlikely dream team for a couple of hours. If only I’d seen this film in high school…

Screening again March 18 & 24




Egyptian filmmaker Mohamed Siam’s portrait of a bad ass young girl named Amal, who stood with all the guys at Taher square during the Egyptian revolution. The film was shot over a period of years, following Amal from the age of 14 to 20, and through some amazing home movies from her youth, all the way down to infancy. A refreshing film that naturally affords respect to its character, instead of taking the easy route and painting her as the victim of a patriarchal society. Sure she is, but that’s not the sum of her anymore than it’s the sum of anyone living under oppression. Her dreams are no different than anyone else’s. The Egyptian revolution was full of promise, and she’s not immune to the disillusionment that followed. As one of those micro/macro films I like, it’s as much a portrait of Egypt today as it is of one young girl becoming a woman.

Screening again March 20 and 25 at CPH:DOX


Screening tonight:


The Ed Wood of Afghanistan.

Kind of rolls off the tongue doesn’t it.

Sonia Kronlund’s made a film about Salim Shaheen as he produces his 111th (?!) film, which is about as far from a picture of Afghanistan as I ever expected to have. I’m waiting to go in to the cinema now, so I’ll share my feelings later. But already, if this guy can produce 110 films (and presumably 111 works out ?) in a country where they would have us believe nothing is possible, then my tolerance for filmmaker complaints about how hard it is to make movies just nose dived.

Screening again March 20th at CPH:DOX


A Science fiction documentary. That’s what they’re calling it anyway. An experimental hybrid that focuses hard on sound design. Filmmakers Giorgio Ferreroand & Federico Biasin promise us a “film that locates the future in the midst of our present age.”

We’ll see.

Screens again March 22





THE THE’s Matt Johnson and director Johanna St Michaels on their new documentary The Inertia Variations, life, death, and other vices

All the bankers gettin’ sweaty beneath their white collars

As the pound in our pocket turns into a dollar

THE THE, Heartland, 1986


Radio Cineola live at CPH:DOX 2017, with Matt Johnson & Knud Romer.                                 photo PJ

Matt Johnson: If I were to define Britain as a person… if you think back to the school playground, and you know you would have the big bully going around thumping everyone, and there’d be one or two quislings, well I see Britain as one of the quislings. America’s going around kicking and punching. We’re the little sneak, that’s not strong enough to beat anyone up ourselves, but he’s happy to stick the boot in when someone’s down. I feel very ashamed of what’s happened, especially the last thirty years.

Knud Romer: But wouldn’t it be a pensioner?

MJ: An old pensioner.

KR: Yeah, somewhere in the countryside, lost his job because of east European workers, and he now stole a whole new generation’s hope by being reactionary and getting out of Europe?

MJ: It was Winston Churchill who coined the phrase “the special relationship.” And also the phrase describing Britain and America “2 great nations separated by a common language.” In England we had terms for men and women, “blokes” and “birds”. Everyone’s a guy now. We no longer celebrate Guy Fawke’s night… The American version of Halloween has now taken over. We’re also now celebrating thanksgiving! In England. Incredibly. And apparently there’s plans for July the 4th I suppose, as well.

Q&A @ CPH:DOX 2017


Matt Johnson has never been coy about his politics or world view, so when he withdrew from the limelight in the early 2000s, his silence was notable. The death of his mother Shirley, a few years after the death of his younger brother Eugene was a sort of catalyst of grief, and he focused his energies on soundtracks for his brother Gerard, publishing select writings on his own imprint, and hosting Radio Cinéola from his London home.

But 2017 it seems is the springtime of THE THE. Radio Cinéola, grief, creativity, the obscure writings of wish-he-wasn’t poet John Tottenham, and the occasional need to step back and take it all in, are some of the movements in Johanna Saint Michael’s new documentary The Inertia Variations. Named after some of Tottenham’s work, the film premiered at the Gothenburg film festival, and just had a celebrated run at CPH:DOX.

One of the things I always press filmmakers I work with is access. In Saint Michael’s case it’s a no-brainer.

MJ: Do you exercise or are you an athlete?

P: I’m no athlete but I do exercise.

MJ: What’s your favorite thing to do?

P: I love running but I wrecked my knee.

MJ: Ok well you know Johanna was a runner for the Swedish junior Olympic team.

Johanna St Michael: At the national levels.

MJ: Yeah, sorry. Well guess who was the fastest runner she ever ran against… Yeah it was me.

JSM: You were the fastest ex-boyfriend.

MJ: Fastest… ex-boyfriend? Not the fastest person?…”

P: Are you just finding this out now?

MJ: Yeah well…


photo PJ

I remember when Infected dropped, all saturated with lusty rage, piss and vinegar. A socio-politically charged album of unabridged Britishness? A duet with Neneh Cherry? A video for every song, released all at the same time as a film? What’s not to love?

P: I remember listening to your stuff in the 80s-90s and people either liking what you had to say, or getting instantly shut off from the political angle, like music and politics have no business together.

MJ: Living in the US “even good friends would get angry at us, who were Democrats and we could talk to a certain point then no further. Talk about foreign policy and they’d be up and arms, “you’re a foreigner and you’re criticizing us? Why don’t you go back to your country.”

JSM: It was really hard. We both like talking about politics and, for me, living in the states for 20 years and not really being able to talk about it? It really took getting used to.

The steady stream of music and spurted out by THE THE (“Have you tried Googling THE THE? Rubbish. Wish I’d known at the time” M.J.) at the height of the band’s popularity gets little attention in Saint Michael’s film. She gets right into the multi-media aspect of Tottenham’s verses, the Radio Cinéola broadcasts, and a sculpture created by her partner Jacob Sahlqvist, inspired by the Shukhov tower in Moscow.

The Inertia Variations photo Johanna St Michaels

The Radio Cineola tower in Gothenburg, Sweden                                        photo Johanna St Michaels

MJ: why the Shukhov tower, was because it was commissioned by Lenin, it was erected in Moscow, I don’t think it was finished until I think 2 years after Lenin died. But it was to broadcast across all of the new Soviet Union. And as I mention in the film, the irony, that in Britain particularly and of course in America there are people crowing about “we won the cold war” and I think; to what cost? Britain and America particularly we have CCTV, everything is monitored. We are the most spied upon country in human history. And yet we crow about winning the cold war. It doesn’t make any sense to me.


You would think by now that people would know better

Than to ask me what I have been doing with my time.

And you would think by now that I would have come up

With an answer that would silence them.

 John Tottenham, A long hard lazy apprenticeship of doing nothing

Inertia Variations is a touching exploration of creativity and its place in a creator’s life as he looks towards the future, but can’t escape his past. Johnson has reinvented himself over the last 15 years, eschewing the spotlight for a different role, as shepherd of a radio broadcast, composer of soundtrack music, publisher: in short everything except rock and roll.

Radio Cinéola acts as an odd hybrid, as Johnson welcomes political scientists, healers, and poets, as well as bands who re-interpret THE THE’s music catalogue. The film gives us glimpses into the workings of his broadcast scheme, but continuously runs back to John Tottenham’s texts, until you’re not sure where one ends and the other begins. At the same time, access or no, it becomes clear pretty quickly that Johnson will let us in only so far and no further. Maybe sharing Tottenham’s voice made the process easier to bear.

Johanna St Michaels with Matt johnson Inertia Variations

photo Gerald Jenkins

JSM: It Started as a different film. An art film. But we couldn’t get funding.

MJ: I was going through a particularly lengthy period of procrastination. Creative Inertia. I was living down at my dad’s. And so I received this (the poems) through the email. And I sat and read it in one sitting. And it made me laugh, it made me cry. I found it very profound, very poignant. But a lot of black humour. It was very, very funny. And then I said I’ve gotta do something with this. So I contacted John and I said listen, I really want to do something with it. So I recorded a spoken word project with soundscapes, and I was just gonna release that. And then I played it to a few friends, and I played it to Johanna. And she absolutely loved it. And she said, “look; this is you!”


John Tottenham at FOMO fest, 2014                                                                     photo Carl Pocket

JSM: Hah!

P: And the line in the film where you say “There’s nobody in prison who’s spent more time staring at the wall than me” That is you right?

MJ: That’s John. That’s the thing. It’s sometimes hard to tell who’s saying what, because it’s so similar. What he’s writing is what I could have written myself. And so people often think is it you or is it… It could have been me.

JSM: Well yeah, it was SO Matt. But that was the whole intention with the documentary. That you wouldn’t know. That you would think that the poem was Matt’s.

MJ: There are some clips on youtube of him doing readings. And I’m not being vain but I prefer mine to his. (laughter) No, no, no, but in some ways he reads them in a very comical, almost like a stand up comedian the way he… I mean they’re his words. Obviously it’s his voice. But I suppose the way I interpret them, and you could a third or fourth or fifth person, and they’d all be very very different. And John reads them comically which, they are very very funny. But they’re also very very poignant. And so each person that read them would give them a different interpretation. It’s be interesting to hear a woman read them. I think that’d be beautiful. That’s not a bad idea actually.

P: That would be interesting.

MJ: And get lots of different people to do readings. But when John heard my readings he went “ugh.”(laughs) because my voice was too soporific for him. But that’s the beauty of those words. That they are so pliable. And you’ll see in them whatever you want to see in them.

JSM: But you do have a good reading voice. Lots of people comment on that.

MJ: Some people have said I said it like Michael Caine. (laughter) “Not a lot of people know that.”


photos Annika Gustafson

JSM: in the beginning you were like I don’t want to be private in the documentary. I don’t want to reveal anything about myself. I want to do a political station. And then read the poems. But you have to get someone to be the main character as well. And then I thought the poem would be his inner self in the project, when we decided it was going to be a documentary instead of an art project. I think we took about 5 years of rejection before we started getting any money from kulturbryggand. They were the first ones to give in. We almost had a theatrical project to begin with: Matt was going to read the poems on stage and then we were going to have an art film, and that’s what we got money for.


Art imitating life imitating… The Inertia Variations installation @ CPH:DOX                          photo PJ

MJ: It went through so many changes. We were gonna have this room installation where you had 7 rooms, each representing a different section of the day. But, there was a lot of interest from these people that loved it as an art project but said “well, a 45 min art film a bout a poem is kind of boring.” So what happened was that…”

JSM: you wanted to do the radio station with it and then it got really confusing, like how are we gonna do this.

MJ: Well it was just sort of merging 2 projects. And then Johanna went off to these workshops. In Croatia and Norway. And then she came back.

JSM: Yeah. They said basically that it was so shitty, how are you gonna do this. It’s so boring. Matt is so boring. And I said he’s not really that boring, he’s self obsessed, and…

MJ: I’m not self obsessed.

JSM: No but they thought so.

MJ: Anyway… But then, she came back with this idea.

JSM: Yeah.

MJ: That we do a live radio show. And I was resistant, because I said no. I’ll just do the radio show from my normal studio. And Johanna insisted it’s got to be live. It’s gotta be authentic, and we’re gonna do it on election day. Which was…

JSM: In three months.

MJ: In three months.

JSM: No it was six months actually.

MJ: That long? So we set up the radio show, hired producers, I then approached various people I wanted to interview. Which were either friends of mine through local campaigning, or geo-political writers that I admire like William Engdahl. An old friend of ours in NY Abdi Assadi, a very highly rated spiritual counselor. A political professor chum of mine from Manchester. So it was an interesting group of people. And then I did a lot of research for the interviews. And then we built the radio set in my own studio.

JSM: But before we actually got to that point we did an art show with the tower, in Gothenburg. Because we had money that had been sitting in an account, that we needed to use.

MJ: Otherwise they take it back.

JSM: So what can we do with this money? And then we got Jacob involved, the architect of the tower, which is my boyfriend.

P: You want to keep it in the family.

MJ: Exactly!

JSM: So we built the tower. We did an 18min loop of the art film that I wanted to do. We projected it down in the snow. It was actually so well liked, standing there it was supposed to stand for like 2 weeks; it was standing there for 3 months, right underneath the bridge in Gothenburg.

MJ: It’s like a disused power station, that’s now an art gallery. And fantastic space and location.

P: So that’s the building in the beginning of the film.

JSM: Yeah. We thought it’d be great to have a… What would you call it? Something to tie it together.

MJ: A symbol throughout the film that repeats. And initially we wanted to take it to New York. To put it on the end of a pier of a seaside English town. We were going to …

JSM: Put it on the ice in a Swedish lake.

MJ: We had plans to take it everywhere, but the expense of dismantling it … it proved prohibitive. It is going to Edinburgh.

JSM: And London.

P: Because you’re premiering in Edinburgh.

JSM: Yeah so it’s taking a little tour.


In our lives we hunger for those we cannot touch.
All the thoughts unuttered & all the feelings unexpressed
Play upon our hearts like the mist upon our breath.

THE THE, Love is Stronger Than Death, 1993


The Johnson brothers with father Eddie.                                                               photo Shirley Johnson

Most artists have a running theme that permeates their work. Johnson, it could be said, is largely defined by a streak of social and political commentary, very British and very outspoken. Personally, I’ve been drawn by the personal stuff; raw shots of naked lust, or sadness, or confusion that I can nod my head to in recognition.

But one running theme that has influenced everything from his work to his inertia is loss. Sure enough, as the inertia Variations was gathering steam in 2012, a fresh dose of bad news arrived, about his older brother and lifelong collaborator.

MJ: When Andy got sick my youngest son had just been born. I was publishing my dad’s book, I was preparing the release of a soundtrack, and whoosh. Andy’s sickness just overshadowed it all. I remember being there with my dad and my other brother when the doctor gave us the diagnosis. Andy asked the doctor when it was obvious it was bad news, ‘so tell me’. And the doctor said ‘do you want the numbers?’ And he said yeah. 6 months. My dad started crying, I started crying. We all did. Andy was just calm.

JSM: That’s Andy.

MJ: Yeah, and when he started the treatment, I mean he had surgical procedures done… What was supposed to be 6 months was suddenly 2 and a half years. And then there was one time… Whenever Andy went to get examined he’d call us up afterwards to let us know what how he was doing. But this one day we waited and waited. Finally we started calling each other asking ‘have you heard from Andy?’ ‘No.’ Finally I worked out that… He’d got bad news, and he had probably gone to my dad’s to tell him face to face. And sure enough, that’s what he’d done.

JSM: And that took it all away from you. You couldn’t do anything for ages afterwards.

MJ: And you too. You were close you and Andy.

JSM: Yeah we were. We were family.

MJ: We are.

P: That’s kind of an amazing thing about your story; family. There’s you two, and I read your dad’s book, how your mom and uncle helped run the pub you grew up over, and THE THE had their debut there. Family is a big part of your story.

MJ: Yeah, family is the most important thing. And you know, Johanna and I have been separated for ages but she’s family and we have Jack together. And my family still treats her as family.

JSM: And mine treats you the same. And we certainly get on better than we ever did when we were together.


photo Annika Gustafson

The through line of the film is Saint Michael prodding Johnson to write a new damn song already. There’s always a reason not to, always too much to do. The death of his beloved brother though, is the turning point; when it’s clear that time runs out, that there’s a purpose, a catharsis in finishing the song.

It begs the question: would it have been easier for Johnson to write the song in his heyday? Has there been a shift in his process?

P: Do you spend time staring at the walls? How are you both different in the way you work?

JSM: I’m not such a perfectionist as say Matt is. Because I’d rather try and do things, but I seem to spin my wheels trying many different things. Like this film I spent maybe 4 months editing on paper, until I got it right. Then I went to the editor, who’s very fast, and I could say “no, no that’s not right.” And so back to editing on paper. And then we went back and forth like this because we had a tremendous amount of material. So I’m very slow in my process. I’m not so much sitting there not doing anything, but I’m pretty slow. It’s taken nearly 13 years to do this film. And my previous film took 5 years.

MJ: That’s not a fair indication. It wasn’t continual focus for 13 years. It was very much stop start stop start. And the project’s evolved and gone off in different directions. So it’s not fair to compare it to the other film. Because it’s so multi-faceted and has so many other people involved

JSM: Yeah. But I would say my process is slow. I’m not very quick. I’m saying “bap” that’ll be like that.

MJ: Whereas, oddly enough, when I’m in the studio I’m fast. As opposed to someone like Mark Hollis and Talk Talk. He would be in the studio for years at a time. “That note is not right”. We never met, but we knew a lot of the same people. So it would drive them mad, friends of mine that would work with him. They would quit cos’ they can’t take it. Like 10 days on one note. “ding ding ding ding.” So he would be in there for years whereas I don’t go in for years. But when I do it’s very fast. So I’m a hard worker, I just avoid going in there.


J: Yeah we’re different. I go in there but I don’t come out.



photo PJ

MJ: Boredom is such an important part of the creative process. You know in England on Sundays, or even Wednesday afternoons the shops would close. And it was so… boring. In England. There was nothing else to do. So I formed a little band. We would rehearse, and get into trouble with the police sometimes. I worry that if I was young in this day and age, 14 or 15, whether I would have the same impulse to create. I probably would be one of these kids looking at the phone all the time. And I worry that we could be losing generations that could become writers, painters, artists, poets. Because they’re just trapped in these little digital prisons. We can remember the alternative. But younger people have nothing to compare it to. It does worry me.”

Q&A @ CPH:DOX 2017

For all the productivity of Johnson’s peak output, St Michaels does go out of her way in the film to make inertia a central character. Partly I think, because it’s such a universal characteristic, particularly when you have to cope with grief and loss, and the love-hate relationship with celebrity (“it’s a toxin!” M.J.), and the always-connected assault of daily life, like the speakers in his hotel lobby that never turned off.

MJ: You can’t escape music. It drives me nuts. I think it’s desensitised our aural nerves. And I listen to a lot less music because I want to get away from it. I live in the party capitol of London. When I first moved there in the mid 80s there were only maybe 15 bars. Now there are 300. All I hear is boom boom boom boom. Driving me insane. Now… I figured I’d at least get some sleep here in Copenhagen. Early night, nice shower. Boom boom boom boom. You’ve gotta be fucking joking. I’m hyper sensitive to noise.

JSM: At home I love it when it’s just quiet. Jacob likes to have the TV on because he feels lonely. I just turn it off.

MJ: One of the things John really liked (in the film) was when I said; what people want doesn’t exist anymore. Whereas you often have people pretending to be who they used to be; cashing in, continually regurgitating something that they don’t even believe in anymore. Because everyone’s obsessed not only with youth but with their own youth. And that was an interesting point that he made, that…

JSM: But it’s sad really that they are so youth obsessed. And I used to work as a model and you’re like a package of milk: Every day you get worse, with best before dates. And a lot of old model, they’re hanging onto their beauty… Trying to find a rich man to support them. And my previous film Penthouse North is about a woman who’s 60.

P: Have you had different reactions from different generations?

JSM: I think people just recognize themselves in when they see the film.

MJ: But really young people, I don’t think they have that life experience, to have that sense of regret and time wasted. And I think it’s only once you get a bit older…

JSM: But I don’t think that’s really true, because Moa… Jacob has 2 kids, 20 and 18, and Moa is one of them and she said “You know my generation they’re so paranoid of growing old! Life is passé now at 20.

MJ: Is that what she said?

JSM: Yeah, you know I think that’s when life is just starting but she says her friends are depressed because they’re turning 20-21. Because they’re so youth obsessed.

P: Well it’s strange how creativity has a shelf life. You can try and reinvent yourself and then the fans are like “no we want more of that.”

MJ: Yeah. Well you’ll see it in many bands’ careers, when they hit on a winning formula, bands like Status Quo, Dire Straits, they pretty much across the border hit on a winning formula and they stick to it. The band members hate each other but they have to stay together. To me, even as a young boy I thought that is my idea of a living hell. Which is why I wanted a band that was fluid. So the members might change but also we might do collaborations with filmmakers and painters and such, so that it stays alive. And unfortunately, commercially that’s a bit of a suicide note because… when I put out these soundtracks that I do which I love, they sell a fraction of other albums, and people want me to sing and go on stage. But I don’t really want to do that. So if you’ve made that decision you have to be prepared to take that financial hit. Say I’d rather be happier, than richer.

JSM: But I think that’s interesting with the film actually. Your fans obviously when they come to the screenings, I had some in Stockholm, they’re like “get Matt to write! He doesn’t even have to sing, just write the words down. “ (laughs) And then you get somebody who’s forty, or under forty five. I had a very interesting experience at a party in Sweden. I met somebody who was maybe 50, who was “Oh you’ve been together with Matt Johnson! Can I touch you?”

MJ: Touch you where?


JSM: And then I met somebody who was forty who asked “who is that? I didn’t know who Matt was but the film really touched me.” Not musically so much but the subject matter. That’s nice, that you can reach out in different ways.


There are no voices – as the time approaches

I wanted to be like Bobby Dylan

Until I discovered Moses

Matt Johnson, Another Boy Drowning, 1981


photo PJ

Looking back on my own life is occasionally harrowing; sometimes lamenting who I was, or who I thought I’d be. I do take comfort on Johnson’s can-do attitude to his own path, as he recycles a lot of what he used to do, and continues to evolve. To that end, The Inertia Variations could practically be a blueprint for sharing culture and creative reinvention. He certainly talks with more spirit about his many projects than he does about singing more songs.

MJ: It was very much a collaborative process. Johanna and I are the main faces of it at this stage. And obviously John Tottenham, Jacob with the tower, Thomas Feiner took the photo of me in the poster, designed a 3-D version of the tower, and performed his version of This Is The Day in the film. There’s a huge amount of people involved. So it’s probably the most collaborative project I’ve ever done.

JSM: So many people.

MJ: Next I’m releasing a box, with three books and CDs; performed music from the film, my soundtrack, and the spoken word recordings.

P: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Tottenham’s books started selling millions…

MJ: I hope so! That’s the dream for me, for it really to come full circle, to that original inspiration that he provided.

JSM: We tried to get him over for the radio show but we really didn’t have it in our budget.

MJ: But we did get him on skype. That was the first time we ever skyped. And he’s hilarious.

P: That’s a wonderful piece in the end credits.

MJ: “Ah poetry is a disgusting, filthy habit. But I keep doing it.” (laughs)


A big chunk of the interview recording was lost (which is why I got to talk to Johnson and St Michaels twice), but we talked about the arrogance of creation (“you! Listen to my message!”) and the narcissism of youth culture when our kids spend half their device time looking at pictures of themselves.

Mostly I was happy to see a pair of artists happy to be moving forward instead of looking eternally behind themselves. And while I found myself mourning the restlessness that used to be simply natural, and which they still wear on their sleeves, I was mainly inspired by it.

By the way, I forgot to say face to face; thanks for all the music Matt. They made those years a brighter place. Especially when I was just staring at the wall.


5 Days exploring film, technology, science & art @ CPH:DOX in partnership with Documentary Campus.

Theme Day 1: Art, Technology & Change

The film industry is changing as fast as it can (not very), to keep up with audience habits. New tech however, is lean and flexible by nature, partly because creators are still struggling with finding the right delivery mechanisms, but mainly because it’s all new enough that the possibilities are still pretty open.

Case in point, one wonders if Watson might put me out of a job some time soon.


Brainchild of the Multimedia and Vision team from the T. J. Watson Research Center at IBM, WATSON is AI that’s started putting trailers together.

An AI film trailer, put together by AI. Smart.

John R Smith, IBM Fellow and Manager of the department, asked the question “Can artificial intelligence be creative?” A terrifying question for anyone in the business. We can sort of tolerate the idea that AI might be ale to analyse meaning from data, maybe even reach certain conclusions as well. But to mimic the creative process? The mysterious thing that justifies our existence and careers because it can’t be defined? That can be learned?

Not quite yet, but the wheels are in motion.



“For me creativity in science begins with method” says Smith. In other words, once you define a system of learning, you have a shot, if you follow it through.

Once films have been input into WATSON (in this case horror films), it is taught how to recognize what it sees on the screen: laughter, a car, the color red, the sky, etc. The same is done for trailers for those films, so it can evaluate what makes a good one. Then another film is through WATSON, and it tags everything it recognizes into its database. It files the information and can retrieve specific shots at will. With all the footage tagged and filed, It then evaluates what footage would be appropriate for a trailer, based on the reference films’ relationships with their trailers. In effect, it uses “experience” as a way of deciding what shots to choose. An editor does the creative work afterwards, but the selects come from WATSON.



And out of 10 shots selected by the beast, the editor agreed with 8 of them. Staggering.

If the method really is the beginning of creativity, I’d better start thinking of getting some AI implants or something. (to be fair, it did give me fantasies of being in my edit suits and saying “Watson, pull everything with a red flower in it.”



Staying in the realm of AI and automation, We’re still deciding what our relationship is with the things we create. David Sirkin’s talk How do we live with robots was a fascinating look at some of the user experience design research being done at Stanford.

Driverless cars, a living room ottoman, and even trash cans were all subjects in the department’s heavily documented research.

The amazing thing is how quick we are to assign personalities to the robots that we meet. A rolling ottoman places itself under a subject’s feet. When it later moves, the subject thought that he had done something to somehow upset the ottoman. Another pets it like a dog when it moves. Or desk drawers that respond to the patterns of the person sitting there. Sometimes they go with the flow, and sometimes against it. One desk even started “chuckling” when the subject dropped something (drawers quickly going in and out like a wheezy guffaw). Subjects’ reactions are measured, but always engaged in trying to understand the machine’s behavior.

We’re a long way from cylons, but what’s clear is that we have to be aware of how we interact with the things we create, lest we risk them becoming our overlords.


Back in a slightly more 2D world we heard from the realm of impact comics from Ram Devineni, Producer/Director at Rattapallax.

His talk was Augmented reality activism. His project, Priya’s Shakti, is an AR digital comic, that also works as an augmented reality piece that for once is actually targeted at the slums where violence against women, including acid attacks, are at their highest. “We looked at female characters from American comics (huge breasted, scantily clad), and said Fuck That! We spent lots of time creating a new kind of natural hero, steeped in Hindu culture.”

The comic itself is wonderfully different from the usual fare. I’m still a bit unclear about the impact of the AR components, but you can check them out yourself and see what you think.

At the very least, Yay! A positive female role model, and a project that understands that the problem needs to be tackled as a men’s issue (the perpetrators), not a woman’s.


Ah. Closeness to home, with a project from Montreal’s Dpt.

Paul George presented The Enemy, a VR / AR experience by war photographer Karim Ben Khelifa. He filmed combatants from opposing sides (Israeli / Palestinian for example), answering the same questions and speaking of the same things: Who is your enemy? Have you ever killed your enemy? And so on. In the VR space, users are between the 2 combatants, standing face to face. Looking at the Israeli soldier, he gets into what makes an enemy his enemy, and the Palestinian does the same.

“We have more in common than we have differences” says George. We fear the same things, respect most of the same values. If we could listen to each other… maybe we could hear each other.”

It’s always difficult to judge how a VR piece functions unless you’ve been strapped into the headset, but the theory behind the project is, I think, sound. Strip away the ideologies and politics and at heart we’re all ultimately human. A Jewish friend of mine with an Israeli girlfriend once said to me “ I can’t move to Israel. In theory you and I could end up shooting at each other (me being Syrian).” The weirdest pre-disposition to violence and warfare seems hardwired in, but it’s still ultimately learned. Maybe going through the VR “empathy machine” can bridge the gap that diplomacy and proximity can’t.




Ending the day was creative technologist Eric Magnee’s Smartphone orchestra. I don’t want to spoil it for you so check it out here.



Liberation Day


20170320_231809I had a tiny hand consulting on this project, but it was my first time seeing it on the big screen. What can I say; it’s a great film! Director Morten Traavik was there for a good Q & A afterwards, and all walked away satisfied.

One screening left Sunday the 26th at 9:30, at the Nordisk Film Palads cinema.


Coming up: The Conference coverage continues, More film, more industry, and an interview with Matt Johnson of The The fame, on the occasion of his new documentary The Inertia Variations, screening with Q & A Screenings






Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 19.56.08

I spent a year editing How It’s Made, exhaustively exploring the rhythm of machinery and human interaction. Working on the program was about as assembly line a job as I ever had too, so my psyche was nicely aligned to the content, until I couldn’t handle watching one more piece of sheet metal get pressed into the form of a sink, or another injection mould endlessly pump out toothbrush stems. I ended up getting my kicks imagining editing an hour long assembly of… something, never revealed except in a series of extreme close ups, made of plastic, wood, stone, every material imaginable.

What the title of Rahul Jain’s Machines, screening at CPH:DOX refers to gets blurry over time. Is it the coal ovens, silk screen printers and rollers that never seem to stop churning out textiles, or the people stoically operating them, working back to back 12 hour shifts to support their families? The distinction is made all the more slippery by the fact that almost nobody speaks in the film. This isn’t manual labor buoyed by friendly chatter, it’s mechanical, silent work done by men who look dead behind the eyes.

I’ve got a soft spot for the quiet, lingering doc that hypnotizes me. Having the time to submerge into simple moments make those moments stay with me longer, play out in my head, get re-evaluated depending on context. The thing I tell creators the most in trailer workshops is to let their scenes breathe more. Give us a chance to be there.

I re-imagined the film as an interactive piece, somehow immersing the viewer in the smell and sights and sounds of that hellish workplace. It wouldn’t require any more talking, just a different frame, with so and so’s name, from such and such a province, however many km away. How many kids they have, how many hours a week they have to work, what their life expectancy is after exposure to chemicals and the relentless wear and tear of heir brutal pace.

Not for the feint of heart, but well worth your time.


Less so the first batch of VR on display at the Charlottenborg Kunsthal. The impact series let me down. I spent most of the time wondering why the pieces were VR. Trevor Snapp’s We Who Remain was apparently about the people of the Nabu mountains in Sudan, but it was edited like a film, one with narration and graphics and multiple characters and no clear storyline. I spent real time trying to figure out what the film was about. Not a promising sign.

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 20.15.22

Jayisha Patel’s Notes to My Father had more going for it. From the Indian heartland a young woman is trafficked into the sex trade, but most of the film is spent at the family abode. Gorgeous rice fields are seriously heightened in 3d, and there are some genuine moments where time is allowed to pass quietly, slowly, where you can be where you are. But narratively the piece gets muddled, and, like We Who Remain, I struggled to figure out what the piece was really about.

Honestly people, abandon the idea that VR should be like film. Figure out what the language is.

There’s one moment of Inside Auschwitz where I feel the shivers up my spine that I should: when we’re at the ovens, and one can look around, take in the evil, where it’s quiet enough to let the awfulness wash over you. If the piece had been only that it would have been 50 times more powerful.

Screen Shot 2017-03-20 at 20.19.42

A conversation about storytelling today was about the unique possibility of doc to let contradictions tell the story, to trigger the audience to feel and think what the subject does, that gives doc the narrative advantage that it has over fiction. VR is well on the way to finding its edge, but that means letting go of cinematic tropes.

VR is just a kid, folks. Let it become the grown up its meant to.



Copenhagen is bigger than it looks, depending on what you’re after.

Which is my way of copping out of not having gotten more done today.

I’m sooo looking forward to the VR content this year. It’s broken down into simplistic, but useful categories, and all of it looks fascinating.

The first bit of the day was spent at the Propellor lab: a genuine movement towards finding new strategies for delivering content to audiences, from the production stages all the way to that after-sex cigarette stage of “wow, that was amazing(or a let down).


Led by Daniel Johnsen and Erwin M. Schmidt, the format is fast and loose. And demanding. If you’re a participant or observer there’s no holding back. You have to tell everyone your idea for a business model so that your peers can tell you everything that’s right / wrong about your it, and make it better.

The pace is fast, and it seems like everyone is digging deep in their guts, to quickly pull out what’s most important. Will that bring out everyone’s best? Tomorrow will tell.


The pitches, atThe Rainmaking Loft Copenhagen On Sunday, are open to all. If you’re interested in the thinking that’s drawing us forward, or want to pull that apart, be there!


Everyday life feels pretty complicated. Until you watch lifeless infants being pulled from mountains of rubble. Feras Fayyad‘s Last men in Aleppo drives a dagger into your heart over and over, making you hope for numbness, so you don’t have to feel the hurt so much anymore.

There are lots of Syria projects around right now; documentary, VR, journalistic and otherwise. But I can’t think of another that made me feel quite so much the “normalcy” of war and death. The “white helmets” whose job it is to save people drowned in the fallout from bombs are just people, like the mechanic you used to work with or the teenager who used to bug you by whipping a hockey puck into your garden or the guy who used to be your pharmacist. Stuck in extraordinary circumstances and determined to do right by their city, by their neighbors, by their own consciences, they don the iconic white helmets of Syria’s saviors and hurl themselves into the most dangerous situations imaginable, on the outside chance that a miracle will happen, and one of the people they can actually save someone. As a Syrian, it makes me ashamed for not being one of those white helmet guys.

Collaborator Steen Johannessen was at yesterday’s screening, while Fayyad was attending a premiere in Switzerland.

20170318_164606“We had a little over 200 hours of footage to go through, plus a huge amount of broadcast archive. There are a million Syrian stories to tell, and every decision was measured. This story is important because it brings us into the day to day reality of the people left behind. Abandoned.”

Not for the feint of heart, but required viewing for anyone who feels the shameful abandonment of an entire people by the international community. Rightful winner of the grand jury prize at Sundance.


Craigslist Allstars is a whole different kind of beast.

Filmmaker Samira Elagoz made the film as her thesis project, and it got enough attention to get played at the fest. She posted an ad in Craiglist hoping to be invited into strangers’ homes, and document their encounters. I suppose the kink should have been obvious, but I was more interested in the DIY approach of setting up the concept and being invited inside someone’s personal space.

“The sex, in hindsight, was probably the most likely outcome. But that wasn’t why I started making the film. But not a single woman answered my ad, and the men.. are men.”

Two screenings left at the fest. If you want to peel back some of those mysterious doorways, check it out.


superheroThe old cliché about the day of your kids’ birth is true: it’s a doozy.

My kid happened to be a girl, which made it a gender-specific doozy. It’s just a little bit different than the blessing of a boy, and in my case it suited me to a tee.

So in those moments when I drop the ball when it comes to gender issues, I feel like a pretty lousy dad. Especially in a world where a douche bag like… you know who, gets away with “locker room talk” and the assumption that being a powerful man gives him rights over anyone’s privacy. There are plenty of dark stories that start from the same kind of innocuous jackass.

I’ve got this thing for documentary films, and in particular, I’ve worked on a whole packet of films about women, usually fighters, struggling to make the world a better place, at least for women. My mom is one of my heroes, so I guess I just never understood why one gender would have power over another. It made no sense to me. Lower salaries, shorter professional shelf life, less access to higher positions: I always felt like it made no sense. So now, with a girl to nurture and raise, I see it as not only as an interest of mine, but a responsibility.

Last year alone I got to work on 3 powerful films that tackled women’s stories head on;


Biljana Turturov’s When Pigs Come


Nima Sarvetsani’s Prison Sisters


And my personal favorite, Koen Suidgeest’s Girl Connected

Koen locked me in an apartment in Leiden, without food or water, for a month last spring. We’d met tutoring at Lisbon Docs a couple of years earlier and have stayed in touch ever since. When he pitched me the project and asked me to come to Holland to edit the film I was thrilled.

For now you can watch it the whole film here!

Like me, Koen is surrounded by estrogen, with his partner, 2 daughters and a dog. He’s as empathetic a soul as I’ve met in the doc world, and he (and I) liked that I wanted to be left mostly alone with the material, so I could get as close to the girls in the film as I could. He’d come to the prison cell every day or every two days, and we’d look at where it was going and make decisions from there. It was a race to the finish line, but a fantastic process, and I’m super proud of the final product.

I had a chance to catch up with Koen and ask a couple of questions about his thinking around the project. (and he didn’t really keep me without food and water in Leiden.)

Me: What drew you to Girl Connected?

Koen S: My entire body of work is about people who are underserved, or in a disadvantaged position, and despite that are standing on their feet, progressing and making the very most of their lives. Since my work often involves children’s rights, women’s rights and themes of motherhood, generally in areas of poverty, Girl Connected is a natural issue/topic.

I wanted to make a film, along with ITVS producer Christi Collier, about girls who are fighting against the tide, upstream to what their culture expects from them.

Me: And how did you come to choose those particular girls?

K.S.: I worked with the country coordinators of this educational program, Women and Girls Lead Global. They often suggested stories and characters to me. Often, these stories had already happened and I wanted to film something that was happening currently.

Me: Always a better bet for a “motion” picture.

K.S.: So a lot of stories were put aside. Some of the interesting ones I ended up skyping with. Or if that wasn’t possible, I was sent some video footage through a local journalist. And we chose based on that. There were sports related stories from several countries, but I only wanted one sports story. So we settled on Ayesha. What was important was that there was variety.

Me: Must have been a hell of a process choosing someone based on their skype presence.

K.S.: Oh yes, it was a little risky. But it worked out very well.

Me: I think there’s a remarkable variety of girls, given that they mostly come from similar socionomic backgrounds.

K.S.: Indeed. And I love that we were able to tackle five such important but also different themes. Child marriage, teen pregnancy, leadership, sports & self esteem, creativity

Me: Does it ever enter your head that you’re a guy covering women’s stories? I know my own answer, but I’d love to hear yours. There is often controversy around men telling women’s stories “why can’t a woman make that film? It’s part of the problem” type of thing.

K.S.: Well, there are many women covering amazing women’s stories as well. Of course I am aware of being a man, but I can’t really change that, can I? And I don’t know if I need to be ‘like’ the subject of the film to be able to represent it better. Sometimes it’s actually better to be more of an outsider. And that counts for many differences between maker and subject: films about poverty, about armed conflict, about drugs… whatever.

Me: Yeah, I agree. It gives you that “fish out of water” in the sense that your own journey of discovery is part of the revelation. I think it takes men to stand up and say important women-positive stuff as well. Make it less us vs them.

K.S.: Totally true. Sometimes it takes a man to change a man’s mind.


My skype starts in 4 mins 😉

Me: Alright dude. Thanks a million!

K.S.: My pleasure, of course! And talk soon I hope.

Me: CPH:DOX maybe?

K.S.: Maybe…


A cryptic sign off, but we managed to cover the guts of the question, so…


I guess what I’m trying to say is happy international women’s day.

But I guess I’m also wondering why, in 2017, it would still be necessary. I would have hoped we’d be past this crap already, and diversity would simply be a fact of life instead of an exception, and guys like the one with the orange hair and skin wouldn’t be where they are.

But they are.

So let’s do what we have to to shut them down, so that eventually this can be known as international human’s day instead.

For my part I’ll keep cultivating projects that tackle women’s rights.

Maybe I’ll even start wearing a pussy hat.



During a doc interview, a subject says “I’m really shy.” Cut to the subject at a party, having a ball.

Or they say it in interview, but that doesn’t make it into the film. Instead you see them having a ball at that party, then get close enough to see that their eyes are nervous as hell, maybe they’re a little drunk, or maybe they’re a little startled when somebody bumps into them. Uncomfortable in their skin.

The first example tells me things, then it’s up to me to decide which I believe. Left to interpret the second example, I can reach my own conclusions about what’s really happening. I can relate to being at a party, to being out of my element but putting up a front. I’m making a hundred internalized connections that will stay with me. The first example will roll off my back, just like a duck.

Now that’s me, and it’s probably a bone head example, but hopefully it’s a functional one that cinema should be cinematic, the information should come through the context, not be stated. Tell me a story, only don’t TELL me the story.

Working with my own stuff I’ve been as guilty as anyone of telling instead of showing from time to time. It’s always a bit trickier when you know everything about your subject. Working with creators on their projects is, in a way, a bit of a cheat. Without their baggage I’m able to cut through material pretty quickly.

Grey Violet – Odd One Out, is a case in point. I met Finnish team Reetta Aalto and Liisa Juntunen (Finns really like doubling the letters in their names) when they pitched the film at the Baltic Sea Docs pitching forum a couple of years ago. It follows the journey of Grey, a complicated, “queer”, mathematician/art activist from Russia to Finland, where ze seeks asylum and some sort of meaning. I fell for the team right away, and the punk rock attitude of the material, coming as it does from the same environment Pussy Riot sprang from.

A couple of years later, and Reetta, in rough cut stage, has reached the end of what she felt she could do on her own, and mother hen Liisa calls me in to lend a hand. She sends me the rough cut.

“Too much of a good thing” is an apt description. Reetta clearly likes a lot of what Grey has to say, and I mean she really likes a lot of it. And it’s all in the film, and it, and Grey, are just too much. And we all know it. So again, the question (over a crappy skype connection because I don’t live in Finland) : “What’s your film about?”


It turns out it’s sort of about all of Grey’s strange theories and hard to decipher political positions, but not really. It just so happens that one thing that makes Grey an interesting asylum seeker to follow instead of one of the thousands of others is that ze does have these thoughts. But more to the point, ze doesn’t fit the mold, ze’s very, very odd. And therein lay the beginning of the core we worked towards.

We talked about a lot of strategies on identifying one focal point and building around that. There were very concrete suggestions thrown around, as well as more subtle abstractions, and then off she went with her notes.

The rough cut I saw next was totally transformed. She’d run with some of our ideas, totally ignored others, and showed me a character and a film I suddenly felt things for. And for that simple reason, a lot of Grey’s ideas flowed through me, and the one core theme rams home. It’s openly stated, but it really sinks in because of the way Reetta put everything together before that moment. A whole new film.

I still had tons of notes for her (because I’m a nitpicker), but all pretty specific; with the structure and emotional beats laid out, what was left were details.

screen-shot-2017-01-27-at-14-11-40So does the information get lost in the story? Some people will always think so. Some will want more of that, and less heart, or more heart and less politics, or whatever. My mission is always to help creators to craft films that will linger, with unanswered questions, honest characters, and a unique spirit.

Does Grey Violet do that? You tell me.



How much is too much?

At IDFA, Watching Pawel Lozinsky’s new film “You have no idea how much I love you” the question hung there, in every exchange, every cut. An experiment in form, the film is the simplest of concepts: a mother, a daughter, a therapist, 3 cameras, and extreme close ups only. 5 Therapy sessions filmed weeks apart chart the evolution of relationships, the heightening of tension, and tension’s release.

Each face that takes space on the screen is laid naked by the unforgiving close ups, every twitch, every movement of the iris telling a critical part of the story.

“That’s a nasty look,” says the therapist, when the mother involuntarily changes expression. “I’m juts trying to understand,” she replies. But true enough, under intense scrutiny, our faces can betray our real feelings, or be completely misinterpreted through the prism of our own experience.

With 3 camera angles to chose from, and such a subtly complex exchange of glances to play with, the editing, as Lozinsky himself said, was really, really difficult. Is it more potent to see a mother’s pain as she tries to explain her past behaviour, or the stoic, blank face of her daughter, as we wonder whether she’s interested at all? Or even the therapist’s intense, analytical stare, as he looks to interpret every syllable of every word.

The choices made, in the end, don’t edge towards that exploitative path. We don’t linger long on a reaction or an analyst while we hear the subject. Arguably we don’t linger there enough. At a given point, once the dynamic and language are established, I believe the editing could have veered further away from its matter of fact position. There was, in all likelihood, a wealth of possibility to explore that could have released another level. Like when someone you know is saying something publicly, and the person they’re talking about is there, and you find yourself much more interested in the person’s reaction than the person speaking. It’s not a clinical film by any stretch, but I think the form could have been taken further.

So maybe the question should be reframed as “how much respect is too much.”


screen-shot-2016-11-20-at-11-23-39It’s been a season of rough-cut screenings, trailer critiques, trailer building, and project tutoring. What’s nice about this more fractured pace, as opposed to spending long stretches editing a single film, is a reminder that, not only is there a huge variety of ways to tell a story, but that one of the most important bits of storytelling is the genuine honesty of the storyteller’s voice.

Any of you who have seen David Lynch’s Inland Empire might agree that it’s an opaque, mysterious film. I’m still not sure I understand… any of it. But, there’s not a second of screen time that I don’t firmly believe. Whatever Laura Dern gets up to feels absolutely genuine. Wherever the narrative takes us, weird, crazy and uncomfortable as it is, feels completely immersive and natural. The world Lynch creates is grounded in human experience, but it taps into the loony, subconscious way each of us, individually interprets the world. The performances, the editing, the cinematography all create a seamless weave, unique to Lynch’s vision.


What sucks about industry, is that formula is inevitable. In doc we sit around tables and talk about slots and 3 act structures, and the market. Sometimes we even talk about the audience. But there are only so many stations, so many broadcast hours in a day, so many docs we think audiences can stomach. So as an expert, I can gently coax creators towards the kind of structure and narrative that I know the BBC is in the market for, or that might work for Sundance. “You’ve got a good idea but for the sake of distribution you should X, Y, and Z.” That’s the market. That’s the whole shebang if you want to make your films for an audience of more than one. At IDFA this week, a massive part of the industry focus is on gearing creators to think that way.

In a mini-doc about Atom Egoyan I once made, he said “it’s absurd that a medium as young as film should already be so locked in form and content.” I agree, and it’s probably why I fell off the feature film wagon for quite a while. (until I saw The Lobster. Sensational!)

The danger in critiquing other people’s films is the risk that you might go past the questions that bring filmmakers closer to their own voices, and instead put your own stamp on it. Unlike the editing process, where your job is to influence the content and challenge assumptions, the development stage is more delicate; the film is slowly coming into focus and the filmmaker needs to get there more or less on their own.

Refreshingly, a couple of years ago Albina Griniūtė. was pitching her stunning Paradise Gowns at Lisbon Docs. Broadcasters didn’t know what the hell to do with a slow, contemplative, black and white doc where the main character was a place! But one of the sales agents at the table encouraged her to go farther “more of that! Build the cache and make it even more of what it already is.” (I’m paraphrasing. It was a while ago).

But then there’s life, and mortgages, and bills to pay and kids to feed, and cultivating an uber-creative voice in a flooded market is no guarantee of anything except frustration and struggle. There’s not any one answer. But asking the question on a regular basis keeps me honest. I hope.



editors are lonely in Malaysia too

“I could see you fighting yourself to keep from grabbing the controls and doing the editing yourself.”

The struggle in question: watching a somewhat new filmmaker making the exact opposite edits than I would make, on more or less every frame, and dialoguing in my head “if only I could… Why doesn’t he…But he’s trimming the wrong way…”

But, contrary to my colleague’s interpretation, I would never try and take over. I’m a professional. Besides, the guy was working on Final Cut X, and I can’t imagine anything that would motivate me to jump into a project built on Final Cut X.


Somewhere in this mess: the venue

We’re at a pitch pilot workshop in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, brought in especially by FINAS and MyDocs to work with regional talents shooting for the coveted international market, and building their pitch pilot trailers to do that. We have three days to pull four projects apart, and help their creators put them back together; better, stronger, faster. As my colleague put it, it’s about more than just a trailer or pitch, it’s about the film itself.

With no connection to the projects, no stake in them, we come in blind, knowing nothing except what we read in the proposals, and looking for clarity. Which, as is always the case, we don’t get from the first pitches.


calm before the storm

“There’s this blind football team and it’s amazing to watch.”

“Great, what happens in the film?”


Or, after a 6 minute pitch that’s full of energy,

“So… It’s about?.. “


Several hundred questions later we got to the heart of his story; essentially about a shaman being stalked by the spirit that blessed him with healing powers, and laying the equivalent of a restraining order on that spirit through a healing process run by another shaman. The kind of project that makes me rub my hands together like a b-movie villain, because nothing gets me going like a story the creator knows everything about but can’t put into words.



Pulling an idea apart to build it back up is a tricky thing; a process designed to help creators make a dynamic story, while remaining true to what they wanted to say in the first place. As my colleague said to the shaman director, ”I’m your worst possible audience. I’m as earthy as they come, and I’ll never believe what you believe.” But that’s fantastic. An opportunity, and a path towards the deeper corners of the story.

One of the first questions I tend to ask is what drew the creator to that project in the first place. In his case it’s because he believes, in shamanism, in spirits, and in his character’s story. However, if he pitched it straight-faced and matter of fact : “this shaman is trying to make peace with the spirit that blessed him with healing powers,” it would be easy to dismiss him as a crackpot.


Our next question: “What happens in this world?” And as he discussed the practice and belief we only got more confused, still unclear about what the character really looks like (he’s shy), or any detail beyond what we imagine in our minds. Time to dive into the material.

We had to push him to show us footage of his main character, because he felt he hadn’t gotten close enough yet, that he needed more time to overcome the shyness. If we hadn’t pushed we wouldn’t have seen his character in the middle of a mad healing ritual, collapsing on the floor along with a bunch of others in a disorienting flow of camera work trying to keep up with the chaos. It’s a jumble, a mess, and a beautiful illustration of the wild, unpredictable nature of this ceremony.

And suddenly we had it.

As a pitch pilot trailer, that scene proved so much; that he has exclusive access to something totally unique, that he knows how to capture that material on the fly, and that there is a cinematic film there to be had. Leaving him with all that to stew in his head, we left him to dive back in.


still confused

In the end, he figured out that he still had lots of work to do during the pitch. He clung to the matter of fact strategy in his verbal pitch, without answering the huge questions raised by the trailer. The audience had no idea what the film was about, but they were intrigued by what they’d seen. He had two choices then: to reign in the madness and make a more conventional trailer to better align with his words, or to do what I always encourage creators to do: use the trailer to ask a question, then answer that question in your words.

Pitching is an art, and how you convey information to your audience tells them a lot about how you do it in your films. If the pitch is all about information then it might be interesting, but it doesn’t tell us anything about how your film will be put together. My own approach to this film would have been to frame it as an examination of faith through the story of one man tortured by his own. Acknowledge the skepticism in the room and give it a role in the film. Invite us to a zany place that just might make us question our own cynicism. Let us meet and listen to people who can articulate a faith that we have little to no understanding of. All we can really do is ask the creators questions, and hope that those questions aren’t too leading. They are after all their films.


When we introduced ourselves my colleague and I showed a few examples of trailers that we thought worked well. One of my choices was the one discussed in my last entry, and it got a hell of a lot of discussion going; of how much information to push through, how to use the pilot in a pitch, how to tailor the pitch to the pilot, how to leave the audience hungry for more: how to be an entertainer when you pitch.

At the risk of sounding like a snake oil salesman, that is in one sense what you have to be. You have to take what you are curious about and believe in, and anticipate what others will want to know about it. You need to consider what you think will happen in the story and run with it. Go down the rabbit hole of your story world and mine it for the richest scraps you can. What drives the characters? What flaws do you see? How do you film someone who’s shy? How do you get us to understand what it’s like to play blind football?

If I’m doing my job my well of questions is bottomless. If the creator is doing theirs, they’ll answer those questions and more in the film.