Monthly Archives: September 2012

Tomorrow, The Other Day

So tomorrow the Strange Bedfellows blogging project begins in earnest, and by some cosmic mishap I’m a part of it. You can get the proper gist of it here, but to summarise it for the lazy among you it’s about “the relationship between creativity and analysis in an age of austerity”, which I’ve essentially taken to mean that I can just talk about how crap the Star Wars prequels were and then lay out my plan for Episodes 7, 8 & 9.

You all made that leap too, right?

Anyway, I met a few of my fellow bloggers t’other night. I’d known one of the co-ordinators previously, but no-one else (…well, apparently I’d been introduced to another of them while inebriated, but neither of us remembered so it was amiably awkward).

It was fun to meet people who knew a lot about things that I didn’t know about. But also terrifying because they were all much smarter than me (most are doing PhDs) and knew a lot about things that I didn’t know about. Good thing they’re all lovely or I’d be crying into a pillow right now.

Regardless, I was assured that the content doesn’t have to be incredibly lofty or reference-heavy; it just has to be there. A post once a fortnight is required of the ten-strong blogging team so it’ll be chock-full of content.

Oh, and interesting. Interesting would help. I’m sure I can pull something like that from somewhere. Surely. Probably. Maybe.

Like I said, it all kicks off tomorrow! Check out the site frequently and I’m sure there’ll be something for you.

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Better Than Neil

Yeesh. So that’s what a five-day shoot does to my blogging schedule. Rest assured, this will be rectified today and tomorrow.

I hope that’s reassuring and not cause for stifled groaning.  ‘Cause that would kinda hurt, and I hoped we were good enough friends that you were able to hide your distaste for my overly self-conscious meanderings a little better.

Anyway, we finished shooting on Friday, flopped around and moaned a bit on Saturday and watched Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog when our lust for heroes with silly outfits could no longer be sated by the promise of another Tim scene.

Oh, and Commentary! The Musical, which not enough of you have heard. A sample, for no other reason than it’s Nathan Fillion playing his best character…Nathan Fillion.

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50%

Film shoots that involve a lot of cardio are always the most fun. If also the sweatiest.

Tonight’s shoots had me crisscrossing two camera lines with a hunk of sound recording kit strapped to me, along with a fetching whiteboard necklace, and chasing after another camera through the alleys and snickleways of York with our entire lighting setup for that scene (er, one quite small light).

I also managed to fit in my first of (hopefully) many guest appearances…depending on when the Powers That Be decide to kill me off.

We’re halfway through the week. Fun is being had, and rest is well-earned by all.

G’night.

I Directed Tim And All I Got Was This Lousy Redshirt

Today I directed something for the first time since Pieces Falling Into Place, way back in the misty days of November. It’s the sole episode of I Am Tim that I’m helming, and rather unsurprisingly it revolves around a conversation filled with tosh and nonsense.

Not that there isn’t a healthy dollop of gore and gratuitous sex still to be thrown in the mix.

(“Phew!” I hear a few of you sigh, deep in your underground caverns of disturbing masturbation.)

The scenes we focused most attention on took place in a bedroom. Two men, the taking off of clothes, an endless barrage of Labradors and just a dash of urine were all thrown into the mix.

It’s weird to be back. Yet I have no-one to blame but myself because I also wrote and produced the episode in question. And we still haven’t gotten to the REALLY strange bits.

I won’t spoil it for you. All I can tell you is you’ll never look at the Spice Girls the same way again.

I’m suddenly painfully aware that a few of you (out of the already scant few there are) might not know what it is I’m blathering on about. By way of introduction to the series I’m working on, why not watch the first episode of I Am Tim from the comfort of my blog?

And then consume the rest in your own filthy pit.

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The Great September Deluge

So we survived the first day, which involved swords, horses, barns, farms, geography teachers-turned-creatures of the night, spider-infested tunnels, severed limbs and tea. Obviously, there were near-lethal levels of tea being drunk by the cast and crew to keep them from revolting.

All of which is rather surprising, seeing as how God tried to drown us in the great September deluge for every moment we were outside, i.e. ALL THE TIME.

I’m heading back to set now. Filmmakers are nuts.

Commence Timmening

Tomorrow filming begins on series 3 of I Am Tim.

I may have an ulcer from terror already. But it’s the good kind of terror. You know, the kind you get when you bungee jump into a valley filled with cool but slightly poisonous plants, and maybe there’s ice cream after.

I’m tired, okay? The analogies don’t flow so well when the eyelids are droopy.

See you on the other side…

…er, tomorrow.

laffarts

Either I’m regressing in a really bad way, or the sound of my own farts has gotten really friggin’ hilarious.

I’m going with column B.

dirty birthday perverts

Right now I’m in the middle of reading this 1Up article on the West’s fascination with Japan’s ‘perverted’ videogames (well worth a read even if you’re not into gamer culture) and buying a friend a birthday present despite not knowing whether it’s already been or not. Hm.

I’m also trying to figure out what music I like. Lately I’ve been in an unhealthy pattern of listening to only two or three bands at a time, and usually only one album at that, or else whatever CDs are lying around. I need to get back into searching for new bands that don’t sound like anything else I’ve heard before, or old bands that I missed first time around delving into my dad’s record collection.

And now I’ve made my readers who actually have record collections feel terribly old. Except that half of my similarly-aged friends are musos of various ranks and thus collect vinyl as though it were a oddly circular form of crack.

All of which is to say that there’s work that needs doing and I am nowhere near it. ‘Til next time.

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The Joys of Spam

A chap named Wesley Culbertson commented on this blog today. Or he might have, had he been real and not just part of some algorithm designed to produce spam comments at 88 spams an hour. If you can’t tell, I made up that measurement. There’s profit in it, I’m certain.

Anyway, I wish Sir Culbertson (he’s obviously a knight. Or possibly a duke) were real. We’d sit by a roaring fire and discuss the finer points of country living, like sipping brandy in a barn or hunting local peasants for sport.

Come to think of it, Wesley might well bring out the elitist in me. Probably for the best that he’s now merely an active part of my imagination that may well develop into an alternate personality who emerges at the least appropriate times possible.

Or that could just be a TV show I just made up.

I’m really not sure any more.

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The ‘Unutterable Shite’ Fear

The week before a big shoot is always the most nerve-wracking. You’d think it would be the actual week itself, what with the constant pressure from cast and crew alike not to end up making something terrible, but you’re usually so deep in the process – running around trying to find some gaffer tape to put one of your actors or a camera back together, for instance – that you rarely have the time to think about failure or second-guess yourself. That’s the producer’s job.

Talking as a writer and director five days before shooting commences on I Am Tim, now is the time when inadequacy strikes and I feel like everything I’ve written and planned has all been revealed to be unutterable shite and the curtain is about to be raised on my folly for the world to see, point and laugh at with sadistic glee.

But just when I’ve curled into the fetal position and the tears of fear are flowing, someone pokes me in the eye and reminds me that I’m also the producer and I need to keep the show moving or else it’ll be even worse than I’ve already made it. Besides, I’m only directing one episode, I didn’t write all of them and for christ’s sake how am I supposed to record sound too when I’m blubbing like a whale into my best Sunday frock?

Independent filmmaking solves the problem of indulgent worries like ‘is the script any good’ and ‘am I holding this camera upside down’ by forcing you to carry eight things at once and concentrate on doing what’s in front of you rather than fret about the undoable.

It’s always a bumpy ride. But it beats not doing it.

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