Being the only guy in the group, it was agreed that I would act in both scenes that we were to recreate as there is a guy in each. I was pretty nervous to be honest – I’ve done a lot of acting in the past so I feel like I have a standard I need to reach but I’m totally out of practise at the moment so it’s not as easy as it could be.

Another problem is that I would consider myself a comfortable stage actor, drawing energy from the audience and the continuous nature of the performance, so screen acting is something that I don’t find that I can settle into as naturally. It’s a completely different ballpark – trying to maintain a character for a single scene that, given that you account for all of the equipment being set up and the myriad of takes that are required to get the right material, typically spans over the same amount of time that an entire play would be run from start to finish. So many new challenges present themselves, for instance, how much do you vary your performance across the takes? You have to be thinking about your character in relation to other scenes, which you may also be doing as a stage actor but it’s a lot easier to be caught up in the moment when all attention is focused on it.

The final essential problem was that I hadn’t learnt my lines, meaning that I hadn’t had any time to think about my characters or how I would go about portraying them. In between takes I was glancing over my shoulder at the script and forcing myself to go over them in my head, even during the takes themselves, so the performances turned out to be pretty contrived as I was thinking about what lines were coming up rather than just responding to what was said to me in character. I became so focused on this and where I was standing in relation to the camera, if I was speaking loud enough/too loudly, etc.

It was a great experience despite the discomfort I find in screen acting as it forces you to be aware of the entire process – all eyes are on you, and you have to be conscious of your performance in many more ways than stage acting begs of you I find.

I had originally planned to conduct an interview with my friend Max, who is very passionate about analog synths, with the hopes that I could get some footage of him playing and crafting sounds which I could intercut with the interview. The timing didn’t work out the night I collected the equipment, so I decided to interview Keith, my girlfriend’s father, who is staying with us at the moment. Faced with this last-minute change, I admittedly was not as prepared as I would have been if the original interview had taken place.

I decided to interview him about travel, as it is something close to him and that has been a particularly important part of his life. We shot it in my lounge room against a plain brick wall, so immediately the attention is drawn to him and what he is talking about. He spoke about the subject quite broadly, and in hindsight I should have prompted him to speak more personally about the topic as it may have given more insight into his character.

This being said, I incorporated a couple of close ups into the interview as I felt that his features and mannerisms somewhat contributed a personal touch in place of it not being said. For instance, I incorporated a couple of close-ups to capture his eyes and the way that he paused and searched for the way to describe what he had in mind, as if he was reliving some memories to bring the answers to mind. In the opening shot, I framed his head on the right side of the frame and his hand, which he brings into frame as he speaks, on the left in order to give them equal merit and to indicate that the way that he is communicating what he is saying involves more than just what he is saying.

Next time I plan on being more organised in arranging the interview so that I am more prepared during the actual production process. This interview, being quite impromptu, gave me the opportunity to get better at operating the camera quickly which is a skill that I will carry into future documentary filmmaking.

As the wind picked up, things began to give in and the environment around me changed. Trees were no longer the peaceful, unmoving constants that keep their surroundings stable, they now shook with frantic panic. Each step of the people around me became more forcefully pushed into the ground. Windows rattled, plastic bags took flight, sheets of paper rolled along à la tumbleweed. The still city was now a cacophony of clutter.

Perhaps what most grabbed me was the valiant pigeon, who hopped along the side of footpath in pursuit of food that had been abandoned. With each hop, it was blown two hops back, yet persisted in its seemingly unachievable task.

THE FILM:

Contrast between the still environment and the effect of wind, focusing on the way in which the wind changes the feel of the environment. Static, sustained shots of trees, fragile architecture, people and animals, all sorts of things that can be noticeably affected by the impact of the wind.

Juxtaposition of natural and non-natural: for instance, trees intercut with rattling windows, or leaves intercut with plastic bags/scraps of paper.

Again on the train I am surrounded by bubbles of personal space. This train is not quite as packed as the last, however, with everyone seeming to fit in quite comfortably. There is a drowsy atmosphere. Again it is a Monday, people have been torn from their weekend luxuries and hurled into the daily grind. One four seater hosts two sleepers on one side, a schoolgirl on the aisle sure and a middle aged man by the window. The latter is resting against his knuckle, which repeatedly slips from the ledge it rests on, dragging itself from his forehead to his cheek in a way that looks like he is punching himself in his sleep. The schoolgirl sits with her head thrown back, unmoving in her slumber, with earphones in each ear. Perhaps she is not asleep at all, and is only deeply entranced by the music she is listening to. Opposite them on the window side there sits a young man with green headphones on, who hasn’t shifted his gaze from a single point out the window for the entire duration of the train ride. His music seems to keep him persistently upright and rigid. The train shakes a little more ferociously than it has on the trip thusfar and suddenly this drowsy nook of the train is jolted awake, now faced with the necessity of assuming the Monday identities that their weekend is still so desperately trying to pull them away from.

The film: A four seater on a train, a glimpse into what each is internally experiencing intercut with their joined experience on the train. The dreams of the schoolgirl and the middle aged man will be displayed, as well as the thoughts of the others. The train will play a part throughout, waking the passengers up every now and again and forcing these focal characters to momentarily leave their internal worlds and acknowledge one another.

I haven’t really paid much of an interest in the olympics at any point in my life, although it is entirely unavoidable now. Its ubiquity on social media through trending articles, pieces of footage and people’s discussion extends its spectacle into the social sphere to the point where you really can’t have one without the other. I found myself explaining a series of olympic-themed memes to my girlfriend, my explanations bolstered by a substantial amount of information regarding the events that each of the memes were drawn from – knowing as much as I did, I may as well have just watched the olympics.

This is the first time that’s happened to me – that is, becoming at all informed about the olympics. My identity has become so intertwined with its online counterpart that any event that takes the virtual world by storm becomes a part of my vocabulary by default. I contribute to the global conversation without even meaning to do so, caught in a web of memes with no hope of escaping it.

Another gloomy Monday, another overflowing express train into uni. After a few stations I shuffled over into the aisle to let more hoards on board. I had quite little space to move around – even less than the aisle allowed – because of all the knees in the way.

The need for personal space makes for an interesting arrangement on a packed train: in a group of 4 seats, the two sitting on the window side will typically have their knees in front of them but slightly skewed to avoid the knees of the person opposite them, while those sat in the aisle seats generally have their knees tilted out into the aisle so that they’re at least slightly facing away from those next to them.

It almost seems choreographed because it’s just so natural for all of these regular train passengers. The moment anyone steps onto the train, they instinctively move into their position and delve as deeply into their personal space as they possibly can, hastily plugging earphones in and gluing their faces to their smartphones.

A network of bubbles so intricate that we hardly ever notice it, if at all.

Sitting in the Building 9 common room, I noticed a lanky guy hurriedly pace in and set up his laptop. He began furiously typing and checking his watch every so often – it was clear that he had something due in an upcoming class. After about 5 minutes he seemed to be getting into the zone and stress levels appeared to be reducing. It wasn’t long before this was disrupted by someone who took a seat opposite him and began chatting. After about a minute of small talk it became apparent that this was an old uni friend, someone he had shared a class with earlier in the course and had since drifted apart from. At first the small talk was pleasant and after the first minute it seemed to begin easing to a halt, only to be kicked back into overdrive as the old friend played the nostalgic stories card.

The lanky guy’s genuine laughter gradually became increasingly artificial as his answers dropped from sentences to breaths of acknowledgement. The old friend didn’t seem to pick up on these cues and continued to chat away. Watch checks became more frequent. The due time drew nearer. There was a moment of hope as the old friend slowly withdrew his laptop from his bag, only to be diffused as he placed the closed laptop onto the table and showed no sign of opening it, relaxing back into his chair. The lanky guy eventually gave in and snapped up his laptop, muttering something along the lines of “yeah man good to see you, just gotta head off to class but I’ll catch you around”.

After the lanky guy left, the old friend sat at the table with a closed laptop, scrolling through Facebook on his phone before packing everything up and leaving about 10 minutes later. I wonder if he roams around uni in between classes, seeking out people he knows to smother with small talk.

A mother swoops into the florist to get the gift out of the way.

Her eyes scan the orchids, placing price above petals. She weighs up size while weighing down the curiosity of her children, whose eyes are wonderfully fixed on the terrariums.

I can see them wondering what those cacti feel like – if it’ll hurt to give them a pat; if they’ll be brave enough to muster the pain in front of their sibling. Soon enough, thought evolves into action and a hand lowers into the bowl before being swatted out by the mother, who continues to round up the kids and point them in the direction of the counter.

She instructs me to box the orchid as she continues along her trajectory over to the $7 gift cards – no, she thinks, before noticing the $4 gift card rack and hurriedly scanning these for something suitable. She juggles cash, keys and the card, scribbles an empty message and pays before abruptly sweeping out of the store with kids in tow, who clumsily navigate their way out of the forest.