Here on my desk, hemmed in by coffee mugs and dwarfed by the
computer screen, sits a stack of DVDs: the equivalent of a publisher's
slush of unsolicited manuscripts. So far as I can gather, each disc
contains an independent, DIY British motion picture. DIY in that it is
bereft of a studio and distributor; independent in the sense of being an
orphan. And as they mount up, these discs start to pose a conundrum.
There are simply too many of the things to sit through, and only so much
mileage in writing about films that nobody can actually go and see. So
they sit there silently, taunting me.
- Morris: A Life With Bells On
- Production year: 2009
- Country: UK
- Cert (UK): 12A
- Runtime: 101 mins
- Directors: Lucy Akhurst
- Cast: Charles Thomas Oldham, Greg Wise, Naomie Harris, Olivia Colman, Sir Derek Jacobi
- More on this film
Sometimes, against the odds, one of these orphans will break
out of the slush pile. Last Sunday saw the release of Morris: A Life
With Bells On, an amiable mockumentary about an avant-garde morris
dancer who finds fame on the California folk circuit. The film was made
on a budget of £500,000 by the husband-and-wife team of Lucy Akhurst and
Charles Thomas Oldham, who describe it as "a nice film about good
people". On its opening day, it racked up a higher take per screen than
The Soloist, a studio-backed Oscar contender starring Jamie Foxx and
Robert Downey Jr.
Morris is a breakout success story, an underdog
made good. Except that it almost didn't pan out that way. After
completing the picture, Akhurst and Oldham laid on screenings for the
major UK distributors. None of them would touch it. They said it was too
small, too niche. Many of them walked out just 10 minutes into the
movie. "That was horrible," Akhurst remembers. "That just kills you."
What
saved Morris was a trip to the countryside: they organised a tour
around the village halls of south-west England, where their film became a
word-of-mouth hit. That allowed its makers to bypass the distributors
and go straight to the exhibitors. Morris was finally picked up by the
Picturehouse cinema chain, which agreed to roll it out on wider release,
beginning last week.
So Akhurst and Oldham are entitled to feel
vindicated. They argue that the distributors missed a trick by passing
on Morris. The industry is too blinkered, they say, too London-centric;
too intent on chasing an illusory 16-24 demographic at the expense of an
untapped older audience in the regions.
The paradox here is that a
gentle, old-fashioned indie may well be the riskiest indie of them all
for the industry – if not the audience. "Nobody is thinking of the
audience," says Akhurst. "The general public goes to the cinema to be
entertained, whereas the people in the industry are looking for
something different. It's the equivalent of someone who works in the
wine trade. They want some difficult, faecal rioja as opposed to a
decent, buttery chardonnay." And by this, she means the critics as well
as the distributors.
Oldham agrees. "I never saw Morris as a
high-risk project," he marvels. "We pitched this as Spinal Tap meets The
Full Monty by way of Calendar Girls, and you can't get more mainstream
than that. But the problem is that the film celebrates a part of England
that rarely gets celebrated. Maybe the industry needs to take its Soho
hat off."
Akhurst and Oldham decided against entering Morris on
the festival circuit, partly because it costs too much to do so, partly
because it is not an obvious festival movie ("It would be like entering
Mamma Mia! at Cannes"). Then again, the festival scene no longer
provides the reliable launchpad it once did. Last month's Toronto film
festival was described by one commentator as "an indie bloodbath", as
the recession forced many independent producers to sell their wares for
next to nothing.
Here in the UK, the
Raindance film festival
(which kicked off on Wednesday) at least remains something akin to a
safe haven. Elliot Grove, who founded the event in 1993, explains that
there are 11 homegrown DIY features in this year's line-up, up from six
or seven in previous years. The most notable of these is Colin, a
British zombie movie reported to have had a budget of just £45. Its
director, Marc Price, says he made it in part to inspire other wannabe
film-makers; to make them think: "If this arsehole can do it, I can do
it."
Grove insists this is actually a good time for DIY cinema.
Quality is up, and the cost of making movies is down. Even so, he sees
few signs of a commercial breakthrough for any of the movies. "You have
to remember that 96% of cinemas are controlled by the studios, and the
studios don't want to show films they haven't made. But it works the
other way, too. Ask the public to choose between two films – a glossy
Hollywood one and an unsung British one – and nine out of 10 will go for
the Hollywood one. That culture is not about to change. Independent
film is always going to be niche."
At this point I decide I have
been taunted for far too long. The DVD stack is still sitting among the
coffee mugs, gently gathering dust. There is only one thing for it. I
pluck a disc from the middle and slot it into the computer's DVD player.
The
film is called Behind the Scenes of Total Hell. It was made for £2,000
and, like Morris, is a mockumentary (this, clearly, is the DIY
film-makers' genre of choice). Behind the Scenes follows the fortunes of
an inept director, Jamie Gunn, a man "misunderstood, by himself". And
guess what: it is actually pretty funny. It may also be an apt summary
of the pitfalls of shooting an independent motion picture.
But
what is to become of it? Its creator, Newcastle-based Andy Wilton, says
he has arranged a premiere at his local cinema. After that, the film can
be downloaded from his website for a charge of £2.50. It will almost
certainly not be going on general release. "In hindsight, I think I was a
bit naive," Wilton says. "I thought I could do it all myself, but I had
no game plan. Sales agents and distributors all say the same thing: 'We
won't take a film that costs less than $1m,' or 'We won't take it if it
doesn't star Brad Pitt.' I thought the film would be good enough that
someone would take it off my hands. But no one's bitten them off as
yet."
Talk to the makers of Morris and of Behind the Scenes of
Total Hell and they will sing from the same hymn sheet. The process of
making movies is actually getting easier, and there are now so many more
platforms to screen them on. Yet there is no overriding strategy, no
distribution system to knit it all together. A crucial piece of the
jigsaw appears to be missing.
Back in London, Liz Rosenthal runs
Power to the Pixel, an organisation that aims to help independent
film-makers navigate a changing, digital terrain. The business, she
says, is in a mess. "It's the classic best of times/worst of times.
There is now an infinite space to show your work, and the film industry
is an old business model, desperately trying to catch up. If you are a
traditional distributor, it costs a lot to release a movie, so obviously
they want to go with what they know and think is low risk. Every
film-maker still wants a theatrical release, but there are thousands of
films being made. They can't all expect to find a space."
Rosenthal
feels the problem lies as much with the independent British film-maker
as it does with the distributors. "Getting films out in the world has
always been harder than actually making them," she says. "But people
still have the tendency to think, 'Oh, I make films and that's that.'
You can't just finish a film and think, 'Here it is. Take it off my
hands.' The best independent film-makers don't just make a film in
isolation; they are an integral part of the entire process. They build a
fanbase and target an audience. They form groups and communities. And
that's not being tawdry: that's being creative." One might also argue
that it is part and parcel of being independent: a focus group,
film-maker and push-button publisher rolled into one.
In the
meantime, the world premiere of Behind the Scenes of Total Hell is set
for next Sunday at the Tyneside cinema in Newcastle. This,
coincidentally, is the same venue at which Jamie Gunn's disastrous
film-within-a-film received its own unveiling. A handful of people
showed up, the movie was derided and the director carted off to a
psychiatric institution. One hopes for a better outcome for Wilton's
mockumentary. But who can say? It wouldn't be the first low-budget,
British independent film to die a quiet, lonesome death. Sure as hell,
it won't be the last.
