Filmonik: A Few Words
Existing in a harshly competitive industry, one could be forgiven for forgetting about the wonderment of creative collaboration from time to time. When it’s a case of landing the part or looking elsewhere for your bread money, it gets to that level of seriousness where you neglect to realise that in actual fact you are an artist and there are many, many more people like you who equally have the same stresses, worries and problems. I always find it strange that the industry is like this; I always preferred the creative union over the competitive cattle market reassuring myself that I am not motivated by money despite the necessity of it in my life. But it is what it is and is no doubt related to the sheer over-supply of actors alongside the many ‘business’ like producers and directors who want to get something for nothing, for free. I always remembered the experiences of creating shows with dedicated friends as being one of the better endeavours of my semi-professional life. Granted there are exceptions but overall there is something deeply rewarding and fun about getting together with a bunch of like-minded people who share a creative goal with you and have fun getting there. It is common sense, no?
Thankfully, some enterprising and wonderful soul (or more likely souls) created a forum wherein this process is celebrated and facilitated for all to enjoy. I am sure there are other similar environments but if anyone was wondering where I had disappeared to (my all of three or four followers) over the past ten days or so it’s simple enough: in Manchester, acting in films and getting no sleep. That’s the cusp of it really but it’s never really ever that simple. The concept of me being in films isn’t unusual given my occupation and getting no sleep to me is simply another part of my insomniac life but this was not part of some intense job I landed but something far more fun and far more tiring: Filmonik, Kino Manchester’s Summer Kabaret. And yes, the misspelling is intentional. I first stumbled upon the Filmonik group way back in April, before I resurrected this blog and well before I ended up just outside of London. I was in dire need of additional showreel footage and was hitting upon disappointment after disappointment in regards to the gigs I was landing; nothing seemed to be organised, well-scripted or even well-shot. At first, I was sceptical; my skills on camera were still under close personal scrutiny and I was unsure if I had anything at all to offer to the table but sanity prevailed and I took the plunge. Into what exactly?
The Kino movement (or so I’m told) holds its origins in Montreal circa 1999, where legend has it a bunch of filmmakers troubled by the oncoming millennium bug and subsequent ending of the world, decided to make a short film every month in a collaborative middle finger to the apocalypse in a way that only artists truly can. I think I speak for everyone when I say that thankfully the world did not end and what had previously been a defiant act in the face of oblivion now seemed like an excellent idea to facilitate the coming together of filmmakers, composers, actors, writers, animators and those with quintessential cardboard sculpting skills to the endgame of making a lot of short films on little to no budget. Naturally, the idea took off and now Kino cells exist worldwide with two in the UK: Kino London and Filmonik, Manchester. Having next to no experience with the London based cell, I can only speak for Manchester’s but the general premise of the Kabaret is a pool of people with various talents and resources and a somewhat insane time restriction before the films have to be submitted. In short: creative collaboration on steroids.
In Easter, I was no way prepared for what I was about to witness or experience. I turned up with a kitbag and a nervous smile and zero contacts inside the Lab (the headquarters, the nerve centre if you will). Once inside and with my pass identifying me as a legitimate attendee and not something for the security guards to worry about with my rucksack of wonders, I found myself withdrawing to a reminiscent state of an observational introvert; there were so many interesting people flitting to and fro, all of whom seemed to know each other or at least be quite at home being introduced by someone they did know. It was by no means a harsh atmosphere, not at all; I had been welcomed at the desk and pointed in the directions of the facilities and it was more of a case that I had promptly made my first mistake of drinking yet another cup of coffee. No sooner had I come to my senses past the caffeine haze when I realised that the true form and spirit of this event would not be found shying away into a corner working my way through a jar of Nescafé whilst taking notes on human behaviour. And so, coffee in hand, I found the nearest unengaged individual and set about getting to know them. It was overwhelming but in all the right ways. On a side note: it’s not that I’m shy or reserved, as an actor that could be the death of any career potential but I like to sit back and view human interactions at times and tend to opt for that when in unfamiliar surroundings; no surprises then why I enjoy world travel so much. This time however, at the summer Kabaret: it was like coming home. It is so weird in a comforting way to experience that sensation of returning to a familiar place with a familiar group of people. University reunions have been similar as have biker rallies with my father and aunt but nothing truly compares to walking into a room knowing you are going to make something special with the people around you. Yet, despite the familiarity, I still found myself over-caffeinated. Perhaps I have a problem?
There is a lot to be said for the creative process and its ability to force us past our physical limits and our comfort zones. At no point during the last round, for example, did I manage to get anything more than four hours sleep in any one go. To add context to that, each round in this previous Kabaret was seventy-two hours or so and for the first forty-four, I had about an hour of what could be called sleep. You find yourself in demand, regardless of your skillset because everyone has something to offer to the next person on: composers sit at their laptops and instruments diligently hammering out melody after melody; editors grind away at the project at hand, getting each frame just right; scriptwriters pour over their words searching for anything minutely out of place and of course the actors flit from shoot to shoot with tenacity and ferocity which gradually peters out into bleary eyed determination. Everyone suffers from the sleep deprivation that comes from Kabaret in some way or another because everyone wants to help everyone; everyone wants their film to be great and someone else’s to be greater. I cannot emphasise just how supportive the environment actually is to someone who has not encountered it, just the same way as I can’t explain the sheer size and magnitude of awesome the Dickens Fair is to someone who has not experienced it. The two events though different in form and duration both display a warming and soul-soothing trait of unity amongst peers: a sense of belonging to a family, be it Filmonik or Fair. Of course, it would be unfair to say everyone falls into this category because not everyone gets it, even while they’re there. They just don’t understand the value of the people surrounding them and their time and efforts, too steeped in their own pretension and arrogance to notice that their list of people willing to put up with such mistreatment is dwindling, as is their welcome at such events. But they are so far into the minority that they are barely worth mentioning past my frustrating habit of giving as near a balanced viewpoint on everything as I can. The Kabaret rolls on and the knowledge that there will always be a supply of comforting hugs, food and creative support keeps one going into the early hours, through the morn and well into the early hours past the afternoon and evening once again.
It epitomises, in my opinion, what artistry is all about: sharing our unique talents and skills with each other, allowing other people to share theirs with us as much as we do with them. Suffering as an artistic whole for, well, our art. In any other situation (and believe me when I say, I have been in other situations where these factors have been present) wherein I was deprived of respite, food and comfort, I would not only be disgruntled but intent on not returning to such a state again but at Filmonik (and Fair) there is no doubt in my mind that for the most part I was smiling and was content. Why wouldn’t I be? People around me are of a like mind, they are content and determined in no lesser way than I am. I am surrounded by people who value my skills as much as I value theirs. Professionals alongside amateurs in a way that blurs those definitions to a nearly single entity. And all in the name of fun; no-one gets paid for doing it. In fact, one has to pay to do it but that’s not the point. The point, I feel, has already been made and so long as I continue to feel that it is being honoured and maintained in such a reassuringly sound way: the Filmonik Kino cell in Manchester will forever have my support and patronage.
