Traversing the parks and sidewalks of Caroline Springs, I had the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the familiar terrains which mark my upbringing – the connections, memories and attachments that emerge from these places and its impact on forming my identity.

Revisiting local hotspots that I enjoyed as a teenager to the less frequented strips of Fitzroy, it occurred to me that I have a partial affinity for places of solitude and nostalgia. Places that bear witness to my formative years all the way to the establishing process of where I am today. What’s more is that I found myself forming a tighter grip with notions of identity and how certain landmarks can spark a wave of emotions that inspire memories tied to neighbourhoods – even if they aren’t my own.

In today’s tutorial, I was able to express and identify the different artefacts within my suburb that I’ve unknowingly formed a close attachment with (cue route down memory lane), including the seemingly mundane locations that nevertheless invoke a sense of familiarity and, most strikingly, a sense of home.

My first image depicts what is affectionately referred to as the ‘Kangaroo Tower’ by locals. To an older generation, the tower is a novel landmark overlooking The Grove, however, to Generation Y peeps like myself, the tower is reflective of a much more juvenile and self-involved time of our lives. As I mentioned in my presentation, the tower came to be a sort of unofficial place where high school couples would profess their love for another (a kind of ‘lover’s lane’ if you will) or, in its more general use, the tower serves as a sanctuary for those in need of some mental clarity and reflection. I chose the latter. The following images show me recreating my juvenile escapades growing up; meeting up with the girls and parking our bikes so we could climb up the observatory. To pay homage to the usual rituals that would occur on the tower, a spiel on introspection and where the years have gone would shortly ensue.

Going further into my presentation, it became apparent that a clear theme was forming. Particularly in the sense that every place I chose to photograph held connotations of growing pains and the adolescent experience. Hearing this directly from my classmates, one of whom stated that the images as a whole felt “distinctly Australian” and hugely “coming of age”, affirmed to me the significance that destinations and neighbourhoods can have on a person’s upbringing; the narratives and memories they create within these worlds and how, ultimately, these unique experiences helps to ingrain a fundamental sense of self.

Apart from the technical skills that I am slowly beginning to gain as a result of taking this studio, I have also been infused with the philosophical facets that are associated with neighbourhoods and how I engage with them. Particularly in the sense that there is indeed a difference between ‘space’ and ‘place’, where ‘place’ is physical and is often limited to a single building, estate or institution. Contrary to this, ‘space’ embodies a more expansive landscape, not necessarily always physical, but can extend beyond a single architecture. Space is abstract, it is infinite and conceptual, it inspires associations of freedom and infinite extension. It is a personal location replete with meaning and value that only the individual – depending on their experiences and engagement with the space – can ascribe to it. This notion particularly resonates with me as the idea of space is a personal one and can only be defined by myself, my experiences and the value I attach to the subjects within this space. Being an open and subjective concept, I feel that my definition of ‘home’ has expanded since entering this studio. ‘Home’, for me, is no longer limited to physical boundaries or landscapes, rather, ‘home’ extends to wherever or whomever inspires feelings of familiarity, community and acceptance. Feelings of which I can feel within my physical home and also beyond.

Taking a more practical approach, we were instructed to go out into the city, in pairs, and capture a series of images simply using our smartphones. The directions were to shoot places with a horizon, a close-up, a time-lapse, sound and anything else that caught our attention. Keeping in mind that these photos were taken with only an iPhone, the photos are not that visually appealing or incredibly considered. That being said, however, this exercise did make me notice different aspects of the city that otherwise escape my attention. Typically mundane, day-to-day activities, such as pressing the button before the pedestrian lights, suddenly became a much more dynamic and point of interest when prompted to record a sound within the city. This led to me noticing how much people rely on this simple function to navigate the city safely, how people are often extremely obedient of traffic laws and how others blatantly disregard these laws that are put in place for our protection.

Not beginning the class with the usual ice breaker of telling an obscure fact about ourselves, or having to name a guilty viewing pleasure (where we’d coyly go on to reveal the terrible reality show that we’ve secretly been enjoying). Rather, Memory, Identity and Neighbourhoods took a slightly different turn into memory lane and prompted us to go a little deeper into our background: who we are, where we grew up and what associations we have with our place of residence.

The first hour of today’s tutorial was dedicated to going around the room and acquainting ourselves with the unique stories of our classmates. Living in suburbia seemed to be a common thread that, in a way, weaved a lot of us together. Ranging from local suburbs in the West and stretching out to the far corners of the North-East made it apparent that while many of us grew up in suburbia, each of us hold fundamentally different attachments to our neighbourhoods. For some, the town of Fitzroy is reflective of a market culture much cooler and distinct than most. For others, the city of Brunswick holds connotations of familiarity and deep connections between the people and the town cat.

After living in Caroline Springs my whole life, it never occurred to me think deeply about the connections I make with my neighbourhood. Because of its close proximity and being a place that I know all too well, my suburb simply became a place that I live in; never mind the fact that it was, and is, this city that holds many of my fondest memories. Of course, however, it would be the provocative questions put forth by this studio that I found myself essentially unearthing what Caroline Springs to me – and it wasn’t just another city.

When it came to my turn to introduce myself and my neighbourhood, I noticed how much of my adolescence – and the pivotal moments that it encompasses – was ingrained within my suburb. To the class, I described my city as bearing witness to my transformative years including my “pre-pubescent angst” into my “post-adolescent idealistic phase”. Basically, Caroline Springs is the place that watched me develop from a cring-ey attention-seeking angst-filled child into a self-aware young adult ready to leave that piece of her behind. While I may come across as having had a dramatic childhood, the reality is that I feel only affection for the neighbourhood that gave me the memories that I now look back on with sentimental joy.

To end our short spiels on memories and upbringing, Kim asked us to provide a phrase encapsulating what our neighbourhoods means to us. I ended mine with “juvenile shits and gigs” because participating in childlike misdemeanours was definitely one  entertaining way to get us through the day.

It was Brad Bird’s 2007 Pixar film Ratatouille that first introduced me to the culinary connoisseur  (and my first encounter with a professional critic) that is Anton Ego. Brimming with disapproval towards the most inconsequential and minuscule detail, Anton is prepped and ready at the dinner table, complete with a sharp knife and a tongue to match. Perhaps it was his perpetual look of disdain, coupled with his unrelenting aura of dissatisfaction, that has since ingrained within me a certain archetype of the critic and the role it is that critics play. One that usually entails making captious, trivial and harsh judgements against often undeserving individuals. Nevertheless this is a sentiment that I couldn’t seem to shake — not since coming into this studio, that is.

Imbued with an overwhelming pomposity as well as a special contempt reserved for anything non-food related, Anton is to the culinary world what Steve Jobs is to the Apple fraternity; a disgruntled legend among mere consumers and worker bees. Yet in spite of the pretensions that seem to parallel Anton’s name, his opinion and what he thinks of a poor Frenchman’s menu, nonetheless grants him the ability to lay the steak on the table, and take away any credibility that was once left in their restaurant, unless of course, he likes the dish. The point being that I once found it to be the critic’s primitive role to solely dig into (pun intended) the self-esteem and business prospects of budding and established restaurants. Or so I thought. Much like Anton, I initially believed the same of film critics and the entire community of critics as a whole; that formally clad men and women, dressed in turtlenecks and fitted blazers, put it upon themselves to determine the validity and usefulness of whatever artefact is placed before them.

Perhaps it’s in part my begrudging nature to accept criticism — combined with my tendency to fume at the first sign of judgement — that I’ve grown to become sceptical of the validity and usefulness of the critic. A scepticism that extends to the role that critics play within an increasingly diverse and entrepreneurial society; one in which everyone’s a critic. (Because who’s to say what’s worth investing a person’s time in? Or what’s considered deserving of being rendered a “cinematic masterpiece”?) Taste, and the ways in which people go about cultivating their taste, has always been a subjective part of everyday life for me. What is considered worthy of reading, watching or eating is, for me, defined by what the individual believes to be an enjoyable and pleasurable experience. An opinion that should be left unadulterated by another individual’s beliefs and one that should be formed on a person’s own accord. More often than not, different people from various cultural and socio-economic backgrounds will go into a movie, television series, novel, bar and everything else in between, expecting various outcomes, for different purposes and to fulfil different needs. I once read a review of Rob Letterman’s fantasy and adventure film Gulliver’s Travels, starring comedian Jack Black, where the film was mercilessly slammed for providing nothing of intellectual substance to its audiences and that, even more ruthlessly, it required the aid of a ten-foot long shovel to dig out even a semblance of a moral. Now I don’t know about anyone else, but from the outset of the film, it isn’t particularly hard to gauge that the storyline is most likely intended to be a fun, light-hearted family movie, mainly to be enjoyed by a much younger demographic. But by the same token, had the reviewer known that Guillver’s Travels was simply about a lowly mail man turned giant — whose enormous size is used to defend the city of Liliput against the looming threats of their rivals — perhaps he would’ve saved his time and his money.

While it’s easy to sit here and criticise the role of the critic, there’s no denying that there is still very much a need for their insights and profundities. Reviews, when written on the informed and educated opinion of an established critic, can help individuals separate the wheat from the chaff when looking for, let’s say, an intellectual premise with a shiny moral at the end of the film (sorry you had to go through that aforementioned Gulliver’s reviewer). 13 weeks on, it’s become apparent since being in the media studio of Everyone’s A Critic, that if we were to leave it up to everyone and anyone to simply decide what’s considered quality and substantial material, then everything — regardless of where it stands in the cesspool of really terrible content — would be deemed worthy of our time. And in this age of oversharing, seemingly curated heaping masses of clutter, the lack of an established reviewer would make it unfathomably difficult to distinguish what warrants dedicating our time to. Phew.

But this isn’t the only hard hitting revelation that I’ve experienced in this studio, I’ve also come to the late realisation that while everyone can criticise, not everyone has the same credence to give such criticism. Everyone is entitled to an opinion (or so we’ve heard), but not everyone’s opinions are backed with the rich experiences, research and dedication to support and form such opinions. Critics are connoisseurs of culture. And sometimes, they even help you find exactly what it is you’re looking for before you even know what that is.

Regrets, regrets, regrets

Pulling a bit of a disappearing act in this week’s tutorials, I have no excuse but to admit that I am solemnly regretful for not having gone; a sentiment that isn’t helped when reading what my peers had to say about the vast wisdom and knowledge they gained from guest film critic, Alex Heller-Nicholas.

From what I’ve gathered, it appears that I’ve denied myself the opportunity to learn more about the importance of compassion in critical writing, as well as the tendency of some critics to put their ego before the actual material that they’re reviewing. This hit particularly close to home as I’ve found that I am, on most occasions, guilty of exactly this.

As someone who often prioritises how I’m perceived as a writer—as opposed to genuinely trying to see the value in the content I’m reviewing—I realise now just how valuable this week’s reality check, or more accurately, this week’s ego-check would’ve been for my development as not just a critic but as a writer in everyday life … and perhaps a few people could’ve avoided my verbal wrath.  

Yet in spite of my inability to show up to this week’s tutorials, I’ve nonetheless been hit with the realisation that above criticising a piece (albeit the intrinsic role of the critic), we must consider the amount of time and effort that went into creating the subject material.

Pitch Perfect

If there was a class that could affirm just how wide the scope for creative and unorthodox thinking is, then this tutorial definitely confirmed it. Set up like a boardroom meeting (except without the corporate outfits and solemn atmosphere), our class came equipped with ideas that could potentially feature in our studio publication.

Being in a predominantly supportive classroom, it didn’t matter how outlandish the concept or “half-baked” the idea, all pitches were received with open arms and boy, did we hear our fair share of let’s say … rather eclectic ideas.

Ranging from a review of Kate Bush’s discography, all the way to the bizarre trend of squiggly brows, no stone was left unturned when sharing our ideas; particularly in the sense that our ideas varied in the form they would take and the different mediums we would be exploring. Although it’s already expected that we share our creative flare with the class, I was particularly excited for today’s tutorial as this was not only free license to talk about what we’re passionate about, but an opportunity to extend and refine the scope of our pitch — and that’s always worth investigating.

Having traversed the internet for sometime, I was intrigued by American rapper and member of the hip hop collective Odd Future, Tyler, The Creator’s supposed admission of coming out. For someone who is notorious within popular culture for his aggressive, sometimes even misogynistic and homophobic sentiments throughout his music, I was both puzzled and fascinated by how Tyler is essentially shattering notions of neoliberalism and queerness in hop hop, or lack thereof.

Reviewing the role of the curator

Times are certainly evolving and with it, so is the role of the curator. When Alexia asked what is the first thing that comes to mind when we hear the term “curator”, images of an elderly silver-haired gentleman—ordained in a single glass spectacle with a golden key in hand—was one of the first thoughts that popped into mind.

In due time, however, this portrait of a pompous art custodian would promptly see its removal after I was informed that, in this technologically driven age, anyone is capable of becoming a curator. Regardless of a person’s previous experience or qualifications in the subject matter, the role of a curator is available to just about anyone. And who do we have to thank for this recent job opening? Why, social media of course. Now that online communication is more prolific than ever, anyone with an Instagram, Pinterest or even a food blog has the ability to curate. In other words, anyone who runs any sort of online account, to a relative degree, has the power to articulate and redefine taste.

Public figures like Gwyneth Paltrow, with the launch of her modern lifestyle brand Goop, and Tammy Hembrow, an Instagram lifestyle blogger whose carefully curated posts inadvertently set the standard of what is considered ‘the perfect life’, are a few of the main forces behind what is deemed the pinnacle of culture in today’s era of digital enthusiasts.  

Moving away from the intricate world of the curator, Wednesdays 8:30am class took us down a more practical and creative direction than Mondays 12:30pm tutorial. Putting our creative instincts to the test, each student was instructed to think of a TV show before choosing a one worded prompt at random. Blindly choosing a word would make the task of finding a common thread between our TV show and prompt somewhat more challenging.

Choosing Anne With an E as my TV show and receiving “regret” as my one worded prompt, I found myself initially writing about the different times in which the characters have displayed feelings of regret and granted, whilst regret is a running theme throughout Anne, I gradually began to write about regret in terms of how I felt after watching the series. Stepping further away from the plot-line and its characters, my writing became increasingly more introspective as I began to criticise myself for having judged the show so harshly from the outset. Here, I talked about facing my own regrets for having dismissed a quality television series so quickly.

But what I don’t regret is the lesson I learnt from today’s tutorial, this being that even the tiniest push can create a plethora of wonderful ideas – all you need to do is make a start.

The only explosives I have are these sentences

Embarking on a significantly different task from Monday’s tutorial, our class was set with the challenge of completing our very first descriptive task. The process involved creating what Alexia termed as “explosive sentences”; essentially, the aim of the task was to transform an initially bland paragraph – one that was devoid of any compelling details or emotion-inducing phrases – and to ultimately add some of our own personal flare to it, making the paragraph “explode” with imagery and description.

The choice was ours to make in terms of what sentence of the paragraph we wanted to embellish and, in spite of the task’s seemingly easy exterior, many of us found it quite tricky to revamp an entire sentence that didn’t necessarily have a whole lot of meat to work with. On the other hand, there was a select few of us that found that the sparseness of detail actually helped to ignite a multitude of narrative possibilities, ushering us into an hour long writing session which tested our creative flare and ability to construct a story.

After the allocated time had passed, it was time to share our newly refurbished sentences, starting from the first sentence and working our way to the last. Indeed, it was here that we found just how disparate many of our stories were in the sense that the same sentences, edited by different students, could end up following completely different trajectories. Protagonists ranged from melancholy to utterly depressed and the setting either frantic and panic-stricken to desolate and solemn the next.

This tutorial was certainly filled with many “why didn’t I think of that?” moments and other creative revelations that not only helped us explore the extent of our descriptive writing capabilities, but to go beyond those boundaries as well.

‘Paper plates & bokehs’

Still of Original vs Edited Bokeh exercise. Watch here.

After my return from The Reject Shop’s party aisle, I came home equipped with paper plates, silly string and fairy lights; taking on the challenge of transforming some of these fundamentally uninteresting objects and repurposing them in a way that adds dimension and creativity to my scenes. Honing in my diy skills, I went to work and mapped out the different ways I could bring to the life the cinematic possibilities of paper plates in a way that contributes to the overall aesthetics of my film.

Perusing the home decor and arts thread on Pinterest (a weird place to search for filmmaking motivation, I know), I was particularly inspired by the luminescent decorations of Christmas ornaments and the way they hung vibrantly around the tree or worked as embellishments for the household. Indeed, it was through the vast array of colours and shapes that I came across, that I was hit with the epiphany to make shapes out of my very own fairy lights that didn’t require going out and purchasing a new set of bulbs. Using the paper plates I had, I made my own personal light leak through a technique known as ‘bokeh’. This involves cutting the centre of a piece of cardboard to a desired shape, attaching it to the camera lens where it subsequently causes the footage to mould to the shape of the bokeh.

Aside from some of the failed attempts I encountered whilst undertaking this exercise, I was nonetheless thrilled with the end result as I am now starting to become more aware of the different ways I can add layers to a frame and ultimately, the different ways I can seek out the cinematic potential of a seemingly mundane object.

‘Let’s get silly’

Stills of Silly String Exercise. Watch here.

Inspiring romance isn’t really an intrinsic attribute of silly string, nor is it known for its ability to forge deep connections between two people. I suppose in some respects silly string is a fun loving and playful form of interaction, but as we get into the intricacies of it, silly string is really just bright coloured plastic string being propelled from an aerosol can (but that’s subject for another discussion). So why use it in our films at all?

Going into this exercise, I was eager to experiment with the aesthetic possibilities afforded by silly string and its supplementary use to my storyline featuring an adolescent couple enjoying a day in the park. Aside from the splitting moments of fluff and somewhat cringeworthy chasing scenes, without being too intimate, I wanted to communicate their relationship in a way that could be easily be interpreted through their actions. Keeping in mind my research topic—this being the ways in which ordinary objects have the ability to add cinematic value to a film—I was interested in how I could incorporate silly string as the sole object that facilitates any form of interaction between the pair.

Here, I found that an innately simple, but wholly overlooked item, has the capacity to portray a narrative that is both enjoyable and visually stimulating without the need for dialogue to explain the situation. Undertaking this exercise taught me that being resourceful and having a willingness to trial different forms of communicating a narrative will often yield results better than I’d expected. The silly string, in addition, helped significantly in evoking a naturally playful air between the couple; making my job as director and camera operator far less demanding.

Although outwardly vapid in its form, silly string bears an array of artistic and cinematic possibilities through its association with youth and juvenile misconducts, vibrant appearance and general air of care free playfulness. Also considering its ability to engender a sense of intimacy and rapport between people, silly string has the potential to add to the aesthetic and narrative qualities of any film.

‘Skateboards as storytelling?’

Still of Skating Exercise. Watch here.

Storyboard and dates of shot list

Diverging from my initial plan to research how ordinary items can add cinematic value, I went on to draft a storyboard that would enable me to tell a story stylistically. The narrative begins with an establishing shot of a suburban street which gradually transitions into a tracking shot, revealing more of the homely looking neighbourhood then finally, an individual house will fill majority of the frame. The camera closes in on the details of this particular house, including an extreme close up of the front garden and its picket fence, which I intended to demonstrate through a split screen. My intention was to incorporate quirkiness and whimsicality through my exaggerated use of the camera; adding to the overall nonsense with which my storyline is entrenched.

Obtaining a smooth tracking shot of my neighbourhood proved especially difficult when keeping balance on my skateboard while, at the same time, operating the camera with a hand held stabiliser. Considering my lack of skating experience, it isn’t hard to see why I struggled to maintain a consistent speed while also ensuring that the camera remained steady. However, I wouldn’t completely dismiss skateboards as insufficient tracking tools when they’re, in fact, quite excellent in adding fluidity and excitement to the storyline as they quite literally take the audience along for a ride. Initially, I was ready to give up on this experiment as I was getting increasingly irritated by my inability to see what I was filming, while also maintaining my balance on the skateboard. I allowed myself to get too easily discouraged by the raw footage as the playback revealed a shoddy and presumably un-editable clip. It wasn’t until I went into post-production that I realised most clips are salvageable and shouldn’t be disregarded too quickly; simple cuts made to a video, and a bit of experimenting with the stabilisation tool in Premiere Pro, works wonders in cleaning up an initially disastrous clip.

Indeed, it is here where I learnt to become less impatient with myself and my camera operating abilities, as there are ways that a clip can be rectified through editing. Not only this, but undertaking this exercise has introduced me to more unconventional ways of achieving a cinematic look that is both fun and enjoyable to watch. Granted, there are quite a number of improvements that can be made to the overall outcome of my skating clip (such as tweaking my ISO settings to remove the grain and ensuring that the camera doesn’t cut out too much out of the frame) however, I nonetheless feel more comfortable in my abilities as a filmmaker where I’ve learned to become more resourceful and to not readily dismiss a clip on its first take.

‘Camera and ISO experiments’

Original: The image has been shot on the ISO setting (1600 ISO) – Bright and vibrant lighting – moderate shadows.

Edit #1: The image has been shot on the ISO setting (800 ISO) – increase in shadows – underexposed image – dulling of colours gives the image a matt finish – pale complexion.

Edit #2: The image has been shot on the ISO setting (400 ISO) – moderate shadows – increased contrast, decreased highlights – underexposed image and inclusion of blue tint evokes.

After experimenting with various ISO settings and colour correcting palettes, I was able to successfully test the effects that post-processing has upon footage to create a dramatic and sombre atmosphere. I found that being able to distinguish between the advantages of having a high ISO setting compared to a low ISO setting and vice versa, really contributes to the overall tone of the film and its ability to exude a particular aura. I feel as though this production exercise really gave me insight as to how footage can be perceived based on how it has been filmed and that the correct lighting helps considerably in conveying emotion.

The editing software, Adobe After Effects CC, has extensive functions and features that enabled me to explore the different ways lighting and colour can be manipulated to achieve different effects. I found that the adjustment of correct colour hues, contrast and saturation help tremendously in adding warmth or coldness to a clip and how that, in turn, changes the way the audience perceive the footage. What surprised me most was how little experience and time was needed to drastically change the appearance of a clip. A simple raise in colour saturation can create intense vibrancy while at the same time increasing shadows and decreasing the visibility of facial traits. Similarly, a simple amendment to the exposure can help give the clip a more matt appearance (depending on how it is used) as well as dulling or enhancing a character’s skin tone and emotions. Whilst there is still much more to grasp, I believe that I have learnt the essentials in applying the appropriate ISO setting depending on how crisp and clear I would like my clip to be. In addition, I now know how to manipulate colour schemes in order to achieve the desired mood.

I found that the underexposed clips tended to have better cinematography as it muted the overbearing brightness and replaced it with a more crisp, clean appearance. A moderate ISO setting (between 400-800 ISO) created soft shadows along the side of the model’s face, ultimately adding depth and plains to the frame. This setting limited the amount of light that entered the camera lens which therefore, helped to set the dejected mood of this scene as harsh lighting was moderately minimised. Additionally, these particular ISO settings darkens the model’s hair, creating a nice contrast with her pale skin and giving her character more vulnerable and delicate features. Whereas the lower ISO setting, I found, saturated too many of the colours and essentially, drowned out the model’s facial features which proved undesirable as my product relies on the audiences ability to read the characters’ emotions in order to drive the narrative forward.

The most important lesson that I have learnt from doing this production exercise, is that lighting and the way in which something is filmed has a significant impact upon the aesthetic elements of a clip and can determine how the audience interprets the overall product. In the future, I believe this new skill that I have acquired will enable me to film more confidently as I will not be as concerned with switching between different settings until I find the most appropriate one. This skill has granted me with a broader understanding of how post-processing can be used to establish certain vibes and ultimately, how clips and filming can be improved to have the desired impact upon my target audience.

‘Contextualised research essay’

I’ll be honest with you guys, I went into this project brief with only a half a vision of what I wanted to do as my overall research question, and what it was that I wanted to achieve by undertaking this particular investigation. Taking into account my abilities as a filmmaker, which I believe to be somewhat limited, and the amount of time that I had to complete this project brief, I overwhelmed myself trying to think of the perfect research question that could account for all of these factors…

From the get go, I knew I wanted to create something visually enticing (as I have such a hard on for the aesthetics of practically everything), but I felt that this was too generic of a concept to explore and I found myself pitching something that I was only half-heartedly into. On the day of our presentation, I announced that I was interested in exploring the ways in which I could use seemingly monotonous, everyday objects and portray them in a way that liberates them from their mundanity. This could be something as simple as using streamers, silly string or fairy lights to create enigma and dimension within a shot. I wanted there to be little reliance on post-production as a means of creating a visually stimulating film and instead, utilise what was readily available within my frame. I suppose my hesitation to wholeheartedly pursue this idea stems from my intrinsic need to tell a story after years of growing to love narratives. Indeed, it is the more unconventional and philosophical approach to this media studio that put me in a far more reflective place than I’m used to. With less emphasis on the practical side of filmmaking and more so on my approach as a filmmaker, I found myself in a sort of grey area. This is not to be misconstrued as me not appreciating the aims of this studio, but rather, it challenged me to go beyond what I’m used to; which is my tendency to simply create a film without much consideration or analysis of what it is I’m truly trying to achieve; all I knew is that I wanted to create a story—whatever that might be.

With this mentality in mind, I found myself changing my original research question and opted for something that is more familiar and comfortable to me. This being the desire to create a storyline that, this time, also incorporates style. In saying this, however, the sudden change of research question proved too ambitious of a concept and I quickly learned that while it is all well and good to have a vision—that vision is nothing without execution. I was hit with this sudden revelation when I attempted to use my skateboard as a dolly that could capture tracking shots of my neighbourhood. My intention behind this more unorthodox, makeshift device was to trial different resources that could add dynamic to an otherwise dull suburban street. The outcome, however, turned out to be a shoddy clip as well as a huge disservice to the highly acclaimed “wobble cam”. Yet, in spite of this hard-hitting reality (where I found that I needed far better skating and organisation skills if I were to tell a story stylistically), I was nonetheless able to use the world around me as a conduit in which to convey my narrative. In particular, it was venturing out into my suburb’s local festival, Summersault, that I was presented with a plethora of amusement sights, neon lights, rides and vibrant landscapes which adhered beautifully to my vision of a stylistic narrative. Here, I quickly became inspired to use the festival as a backdrop for my storyline, wherein the fluorescent and multicoloured lighting provided the perfect ambience for my intimate storyline between two adolescent teens.

I didn’t, however, completely scrap my original idea from my final project as I was starting to become increasingly more invested in the concept of creating dynamic within a frame as well as fulfilling the cinematic potential of seemingly random items. After continuously oscillating between my two research questions, I finally set out to put my resourcefulness to the test in taking something initially uninteresting and making it, well, interesting. Traversing the aisles of The Reject Shop, I was beckoned by the knick knacks and trinkets of the party aisle and so, my basket was filled to the brim with items of seemingly little purpose, those of which included silly string, paper plates and artificial flowers, thereby marking the beginning of my make-these-not-so-interesting-items-interesting journey. The findings? Well, I had a particularly hard time making paper plates even remotely compelling and found that using them in their normal state was, to put it bluntly, rather dry. Determined to use what I had, I was suddenly hit with the epiphany to not use the paper plates within my frame but to instead, make a heart bokeh out of them. As you can see in my earlier experiments, a bokeh is an artistic technique that involves cutting a shape in the centre of a piece of cardboard, applying it to the lens, and transforming the shape of any lighting fixture. In addition to this, I went on to use silly string as a form of creating depth within my frame by layering it in front of the camera lens, essentially creating a natural embellishment to the shot, and having the actors interact with the silly string by breaking the fourth wall. Ultimately, I used objects that are traditionally dismissed as being tedious or uninteresting and repurposed some of them to generate a sense of excitement and curiousness within the audience.

‘Collaborative post’

Over the course of this semester, I was faced with the fulfilling and simultaneously infuriating aspects that come with collaborative work. Using my resources, I sought out two of my close friends who I asked to play the lead role in my list of experiments/short film. Needless to say, the familiarity and years of establishing a bond with each other, from primary school to university, made it that much easier in putting my mind at ease when attempting to direct my actors while operating the camera.

However, I must confess that I did take the easy route and used a friend with whom I’m very comfortable with and have collaborated on numerous projects in the past. It also worked in my favour that she, Ann, is highly used to being in front of the camera; considering the fact that it was her long-term desire to become a model and work in the fashion industry. Yet, being friends for this amount of time does not come without its pitfalls. The closeness of our relationship often made it harder to maintain a level of professionalism between director and actor, to the point that I often struggled to instil any sense of authority when the time came to really perform. Not only that, but there were times when my friend did something that didn’t look quite right in front of the camera (sometimes she’d make a very unflattering face without knowing it) and I found myself becoming a little too sheepish when trying to critique her performance out of the fear of hurting her feelings or appearing too bossy.

Yet, in spite of the hardships that come with working with a friend who you’ve known in such close proximity, also means there’s greater room for understanding and connection. With the both of us studying in the field of creativity and communication, I found that we were able to resonate with each other on a level that we hadn’t before this project. In particular, Ann knew the direction with where I wanted my film to go, knowing that she needed to tell a story through her actions and expressions, and acted accordingly in front of the camera. Aside from my meekness and inability to sometimes critique her performance, I found that working with a friend ensured that we were more in sync with each other and that we have a better understanding of what the other person’s vision is and the way they we execute this vision. Our closeness, I felt, really aided the filming process of this project and allowed me to hone in my skills as a director and filmmaker.