movie boy sample

MOVIE BOY

By

Mark Stirton

Approx 88,000 words

FOREWORD

My name is Elliot Grove. I run the Raindance Film Festival and founded the British

Independent Film Awards. Like Mark Stirton I have no film training. In fact I have no

training in anything academic at all. My post-secondary school graduation certificate

proclaims me to have a certain expertise not in literature or filmmaking, but as a

qualified practitioner of fire perdu: Lost Wax Bronze Casting.

Through an unlikely series of events I founded the festival in 1992 and, all these years

later, am still standing.

I have an extremely rewarding job. I get to meet the most incredibly talented and

creative people just about every day of the week. I first met Mark in 2008 when his film One

Day Removals screened at Raindance. It had the sold out audience howling with laughter.

When Mark sent me Movie Boy I couldnt wait to read it. My excitement was

rewarded as the book constantly had me in stitches. Mark is a gifted and natural storyteller,

and what makes this book so amusing and such an achievement is the fact it is 93.8% true.

Seriously though, Movie Boy is a truly remarkable read. It demonstrates once again

that filmmaking need not be this mysterious thing, but easily accessible to anyone who, like

Mark, has passion and energy. If this were a book about boat building and navigation, I would

argue that it is about the builders of the mighty Titanic (industry financed films), and the

builder of the humble Ark (Mark and team).

All this typing has got me welled up. Mark has constantly referred to me as: Old Boy.

I'm kinda getting used to that now. I think Ill sidle over to the smoke shop and buy a lotto

ticket or three. If I win, I'm going to try and get Mark's next movie made.

Elliot Grove

Founder

Raindance International Film Festival

Stirton, Movie Boy, 1

CHAPTER ONE

Meeting The Mutants

This is a book about filmmaking. Well, kind of. Ill certainly explain how I created my

films and how I managed to get them released in America and Japan and umpteen other

countries, while spending a quite laughably small amount of money. I didnt particularly want

to do it that way, but since a laughably small amount of money was the only amount of

money available to me, thats the way it had to be done. Ill also discuss the dangers of

getting into partnerships with mad multimillionaires, the shady dealings of movie agents and

distribution companies, and how to avoid getting beaten to death. Just.

This is also a book about friendship: because a director with my level of financial

backing, about 2.88 at present, is going to run into some problems without some good

friends behind him. Or in my case, in front of him: and frequently on fire.

***

But first, we have to step onboard the TARDIS and go back to a time when High

Definition television was still waiting to be invented, when Youtube was science fiction, and

when home photography meant dealing with chemicals that could cause blindness.

In 1986, I might have had one of the dullest lives on the planet. During the day I was a

trolley collector for the Aberdeen Co-op and during the evening I was, well, nothing really.

Id left school the infamous Hilton Academy with exactly two qualifications; I could play

the e-flat tenor horn and I could type. I did not do either of these things particularly well. Now

this might come as a surprise, but job opportunities for untalented horn players in Thatchers

Britain were not as thick on the ground as you might expect. And as for those typing skills?

They might have been quite useful in 1962, when people actually got other people to use

typewriters for them, but word processors were just starting to come into common use and a


whole generation of business people had realised they could write their own damn letters and

save a fortune.

Hilton Academy did not have a word processor. We had a few Spectrums, but anyone

typing a letter on one of those things presumably didnt mind an advanced case of carpal

tunnel syndrome. So I ended up pushing trolleys. I worked with two fellow trolley pushes,

easy to remember those two because they were called, Ryan and Neal. Great guys, and they

taught me the art of multiple trolley stacking and how to avoid breaking peoples brake lights.

But it wasnt exactly exciting, and during the wet season it was bloody miserable out in that

car park.

I did have one job before that one. I was a cream boy! Sounds odd I know, but I was a

cream boy. A large amount of cream would be delivered to my home. Id put on my cream

coat and go knocking on peoples doors, asking if they wanted cream. Im not sure, these

days, if wed be allowed to send fourteen year old boys out to knock on peoples doors,

offering cream. But in 1984, it was a top job.

However, at sixteen, I needed something more fitting, so I became a trolley collector

for the Co-op. My cream boy days were behind me.

I did have one vaguely creative output, albeit a cheap and nasty subterranean one. My

Grandmother was the Home Warden at the local nurses home. I would often walk her home in

the winter months and couldnt help noticing all the attractive women than went into that

building. I was just fifteen after all, and to a fifteen year old a nineteen-year-old medical

student was a creature of wonder and beauty. And I couldnt get near any of them!

But, within the bowels of the nurses home was a radio station. Grampian Hospital

Radio to be precise. So this seemed an ideal opportunity to get inside the building. Little did I

know that the lovely nurses wouldnt mingle with the GHR mob, without a good hard blow to


the head, first. But I didnt know that at the beginning and happily signed up when I was old

enough sixteen.

I quickly came to realise that the chances of meeting a woman at GHR were remote in

the extreme. In fact, just meeting an even vaguely human looking man was tricky enough. But

I stayed and helped out when I could, collecting request from the patients, filing records, real

exciting stuff. They did let me on-air once, just once, to do the football results. But I wasnt

that familiar with the lower divisions and my guesses at what the abbreviations were, made

Kenny Luke laugh. And he was one of the more professional presenters.

I could have done a live playing of my tenor horn, but the rotten sods took the

instrument back when I left Hilton. We did have an option to buy it from the school, but not

an affordable one. Pity, I was getting quite close to mediocre.

It was at GHR that I had my first brush with celebrity. No, not one of the DJs, the

most famous DJ to ever pass through GHR was Robin Galloway, yeah exactly. No, this was

Desmond Llewellyn of 007, fame! He came down to our pokey little studio and did a full

interview. A real classy guy. Didnt bother him for a moment that we were a little lower in the

budgetary scale than was used to and he did a lovely interview. He also brought along his

official 007 briefcase, the impact of which was slightly lessened by being on the radio, but

it was fun for us to see.

I know what youre thinking. Never mind all this pish about 007 props, tell us about

the time you became an armed robber! Well youll just have to wait. This is the background

stuff.

GHR did have one redeeming feature, in the form of Alexander Allan. Sandy, to his

friends, was a fellow Doctor Who fan and musician. He did a little sixties music slot on GHR

and was always just a touch more fun than the other, rather self-important, GHR staff. Sandy

just liked a giggle and maybe a pie now and again; quite a lot of pies, actually. Sandy also


liked to smoke, as did I. So wed drive down to Aberdeen beach, smoke lots of cigarettes and

listen to obscure sixties songs that only Sandy and two guys in Liverpool knew about. It was

during one of these smoking sessions that Sandy mentioned, that hed appeared in a film. A

film made locally by some student friends.

I couldnt believe it. This was 1986, remember: long before digital media, long before

the Internet was even heard of, in fact. I still had a Commodore 64 at home! So the idea that

someone, within driving distance, someone that I could actually meet, was making movies? In

Aberdeen! I had to meet these people.

Fortuitously, the chance arose quite quickly thanks to Sandys approaching birthday

celebrations. These were held at the Robert Gordons Student Union RGSU. The RGSU

was where the bulk of all our 1986 1989 filming happened, but I didnt know that when I

first tried to get in. I say tried, because at first they wouldnt let me through the door. Firstly, I

wasnt a student and secondly I was only just 16 and didnt look old enough to get into a bar.

Thankfully, Sandy knew the staff and gave them the nod. I was in, and this time there would

be girls!

To be honest, the girls were motivating me far more than the idea of making a film. I

kept going back to the RGSU, not because I had any great desire to be the next Stanley

Kubrick or anything, but because the place was stuffed with attractive young students.

Anyway, I was in the door and about to meet a great pile of new people, who, as it

turns out, were about to effect the direction of my life quite seriously. Some good directions:

some insanely stupid and dangerous directions.

The first Mutant I met was Michael G Clark Clarkie, to his friends. Now, I liked

Clarkie straight away. He was, of all the Mutants, the most naturally talented one. He could

pick up a pencil and draw practically anything. Also, hed had a couple of his illustrations

printed in the Peter Haining book, Doctor Who: The Key to Time. That impressed the hell out


of me, not least because Id tried to get into the same book and failed. Turns out they picked

Clarkies stuff over mine, because he was several thousand times more talented than me,

something to this day Ive never forgiven him for. But that same talent has been

monumentally useful over the years. If we ever displayed any class in our design department,

we got it from Clarkie. Also there, was Mark Wyness, known as, Wig. Wig was a

photographer by trade and was always just a little less silly than the rest of us. Then I met

Graham.

I remember not liking Graham much when I first met him. This man who would

become one of my dearest friends, just didnt appeal to me to begin with. He was rude,

smelly, pervy, aggressive and arrogant. And right to the end, he was rude, smelly, pervy,

aggressive and arrogant except by then, we were close friends and I didnt mind so much.

Except, this wasnt the first time Id actually beheld the mighty Graham, oh no. It took

a while to piece it all together, but our paths had already crossed. About a year and a half

before, I was part of the Bon Accord Schools Brass Band. This brass band was made up from

pupils from all the various schools dotted around the Grampian region, and I was one of the

very few from Hilton. I didnt enjoy this band much, since everyone playing was about five

times more talented than me and I struggled on a weekly basis.

After one practice session, I, along with a few guys and girls from the band, decided to

go to the record shop on Union Street and flick through the new releases. Then, out of

nowhere, we saw a most unusual sight: a man, dressed like Tom Baker, driving down Union

Street, in a Sinclair C5. People were literally stopping to stare at this guy. Graham must have

bought his C5 the same week they came out, because Id never even clapped eyes on one

before; none of us had. As he neared our position and since we were rowdy teenagers, we

pointed and laughed. He adopted an incredibly smug smile and just drove past us, slowly.


It was years later when Clarkie was showing me some of their earliest cine films, one

of which featured Graham driving in a C5, that it suddenly clicked that was the guy! Now I

can never be entirely sure that it was Graham, but the dates match up perfectly and lets face

facts, who the hell else would be driving around Aberdeen in a C5 while dressed as Tom

Baker?

It must be said, the Mutants were very friendly to me and I was invited to come and

join in with the filming next time they did any. Wow. I was so excited. Turns out that the

basic format to those early Mutant films was pretty damn loose. Basically, wed all turn up at

the weekend with a charged camera and, well, make a film. Not a good film, clearly. Not even

a well thought out film. Just a film. Sometimes wed really push the boat out and arrange a

couple of pages of script (Thats right folks, I got to type!) but more often than not, wed just

improvise everything.

Sometimes it would be a Doctor Who film, with an upturned table and a bucket

standing in for the console room production values were not top priority. Other times, it

would be a film about assassins or cops or Graham turning into a giant coke monster genie

who would defile all those who offered him diet fizz. Fun stuff: but mainly terrible and

frequently offensive.

Thats if anyone could understand enough of it to get offended! Usually, the results

were incomprehensible. If my style of direction is influenced by anything, its the egregious

incomprehensibility of those early films. As writer/director these days, my first priority is to

tell a coherent story. Which those early films, more often than not, failed to do. Except, its

hard to say that we failed, since we werent really trying to make anything even remotely

sensible. And even if wed had lofty ambitions, we simply didnt have the technology.

You see, back then digital filmmaking was still on the drawing board; we had one

camera a massive heavy JVC device that Graham had bought on impulse years ago. And


much like Graham himself, it had seen better days and didnt really function like it was meant

to. The actual lens part had variable reliability due to being strapped to a bike years ago and

driven down a bumpy hill. That, and about another dozen camera abusing, lens mangling,

half-baked stunts had rendered the thing practically useless.

The actual recording part of the machine was separate from the lens and had to be

strapped to the users waist. This was the bit I hated the most, because the recorder was dead

heavy. Basically, it was like strapping a VHS recorder to your belt then attaching a camera

via a long cable. Oh, and if you moved in the slightest, the tape would glitch. And if you

stopped recording, the roll back was horrendous! Five to ten seconds was not unusual.

Editing? You must be kidding. Desktop editing was still a decade and a half away, so the only

thing we could do was connect the recorder to another VHS recorder and use the play/pause

buttons. This, combined with the horrendous rollback, meant that producing even remotely

professional work was nigh on impossible.

But that didnt really matter. Those early Mutant films were never meant to be seen

out-with the group and we already knew what was meant to be going on, broadly speaking.

Occasionally an outsider would see what we were doing and more often than not, be totally

confused with what they were looking at. I understand now, that its because those films

didnt really have a director. No one was really in charge. How can someone be in charge of

fun?

Also fun, was trying to blow ourselves up. We did this virtually every week. Clarkie

in particular was always very keen to blow stuff up and we were happy to indulge him. Even

if that meant wed get a little bit burned now and again. The earliest stuff we blew up was

done with black powder, carefully reclaimed from dismantled fireworks by Clarkie.

Unfortunately, these explosions were also the most dangerous. One time we decided

to make a Judge Dredd film, beating Stallone by about fifteen years. The film started with a


spaceship crashing onto the Cursed Earth (Balmedie Beach well be back there later) and

exploding.

We didnt have the resources to build a model, so Michael sacrificed his old Slave

One from The Empire Strikes Back. Into this model, which was totally unsuitable for this

kind of FX work due to its dense structure and nasty sharp bits of plastic that wed shortly be

pulling out of our faces, Clarkie placed a custom made stick of dynamite. Point camera. Light

fuse. Try not to die. We had a very broad-strokes approach to health and safety back then.

I still remember the high-pitched sound my poor eardrums made for the rest of the

day. Still, it was a convincing explosion. Certainly more convincing than a five foot eight

Graham sporting a homemade Dredd helmet while wearing a pair of grey flannel trousers

and a black corduroy coat with two missing buttons. In fact, Im pretty sure we only filmed

this one because Clarkie had made a good Dredd helmet. Thats how those early films were

made: wed pretty much use whatever we had lying around, then add explosions.

But hey, we didnt die! So we might as well try bigger explosions until we did. The

larger explosions tended to be filmed in Balmedie, because it was a largely uninhabited bit of

Scotland, at least it was until Donald Trump started building golf courses all over it. So out

there, we could get away with huge great fireballs. The method was simple. Fill many

balloons with butane, place those filled balloons into a black bin-liner, set a simple fuse by

attaching a piece of string to a custom built, extra strength popper, stand back and pull the

string!

I vividly remember watching once as the wind shifted mid pull and Clarkie was

engulfed in a mass of flame for a few seconds. I did think, for one second, that maybe wed

gone too far and actually killed poor Mr. Clark. My blood ran cold, watching him disappear

into a great ball of burning butane.


But he was fine. He didnt have any eyebrows left, but he was fine. And if no one was

dead more explosions! The biggest one I was ever near, was about 25 foot high. If we tried

to do that now, without telling anyone? Theyd lock us up. But this was 1987 and nobody

gave a shit. The good thing about the butane explosions, were that they were almost totally

silent. So provided no one was within actual sight of the explosion, and wed try to made sure

no one was, then wed get away with it.

But we didnt just limit ourselves to fire stunts, oh no. We found a myriad of ways to

burn, bash, slice, jam, concuss and generally batter the hell out of each other. My worse injury

came during the filming of comedy version of The Hitcher. I was holding onto the front of a

moving car, Sandys famous off yellow, rust bucket of a 1750 Maxi when the stunt went

wrong. The stunt was quite easy, at least for anyone with a brainstem.

All I had to do was hold onto the bonnet of the car. Trouble is, during rehearsal, the

side door has been opened for Mike to be able to speak to Sandy and I had inadvertently

grabbed hold of the car frame with my fingers still inside.

Ready to shoot? Lets close that door. Slam! White-hot pain as the metal door

slammed shut onto my finders. The normal, cluck of metal hitting metal was instead a

sickening muffled thud, quickly followed by an extra long series of swears and howls from

me.

Our old friend Malcolm Hepburn suffered a similar injury when we attempted a sword

fight - with real swords. Which turned out to be real dangerous, real stupid, and for Hep, real

painful! But it was Clarkie, brave soul that he is, who took the brunt of it. I think secretly

Michael has always wanted to be Harrison Ford and took any opportunity to jump off things,

get hit by things, get dragged by things; you name it he got splattered by it.


Eventually, through sheer luck and repetition, we actually became relatively good at

figuring out what we could, and could not do. Admittedly that was usually after someones

leg had come off, but at least we were learning.

Acting ability? Practically, nonexistent. Of the four of us, Clarkie probably had the

most acting ability, but that wasnt saying much since the rest of us sucked. Sandy, with his

nice radio voice, at least sounded okay. Graham and I were by far the worse. While in real life

Graham was loud and verbose, the minute someone shouted action, that verbosity would fade

away along with his volume. Me? I was once unconvincing as an empty cupboard. My

problem, was giggling. And no talent! Giggling and no acting talent really didnt do me any

favours in front of a camera. The moment it was pointed at me, a big stupid grin would spread

across my big stupid face, rapidly followed by uncontrollable fits of laughter. Its the same

today: I still cant do it.

Of course, over the years we attracted all manner of oddballs. Eventually we had a

cast of, literally dozens. I wouldnt say the films got any better, but we had more people in

them and we tried just about every type of film we could. Very occasionally we would

attempt something that might approximate a serious story, but the more seriously the actors

took it, the more hysterical the actual results. The Aliens Thing was an attempt to blend Alien

and The Thing, only with a five quid budget and no Sigourney Weaver. Our spaceship was

made of painted wood, our monster was a Zoid covered in latex. I played a milk spitting

android, badly. We took this one very seriously and gave it our very best acting leading to

one of our more hysterical films.

Extreme Violence - was just that. Fifteen minutes of the best violence we could think

of at the time. Pre-planned stunts? Ha! I laugh at your health and safety! Want to kill Sandy

on film? Just strap a banger to his back along with a condom filled with fake blood and hope

he doesnt receive an unhelpful spinal injury. Which he didnt, but it didnt half hurt.


Wed often return to doing Doctor Who films. All four of us were Doctor Who fans.

Sandy, Clarkie and I suffered from advanced fanboy, while Graham had lost interest as soon

as Sylvester McCoy turned up. But the rest of us had stuck with the show till the bitter end

and enjoyed nothing more than clutching our lapels while wearing silly trousers. Sandy and I

usually played The Doctor, while Clarkie would take whatever part the film required; he

played The Brig, the companion (a New York detective called Jimmy Shovel get it?) and

anyone who died dangerously.

Oh how we laughed. We couldnt act, but by goodness we laughed. Grahams best

performance was probably as the alien, Sil. Which was just Graham sitting on a tea tray

with a sleeping bag wrapped around his legs. Not exactly Rob Bottin, but we did our best.

But without budget, a camera that could focus or any editing facility, we were always

doomed to make crud. But with precious little else in our lives, the crud was at least

something to do. Also, it was very difficult to let people see what we were doing, even if we

did manage to fluke something good which did happen from time to time. Occasionally,

Clarkie would manage a pretty nifty make up effect and now and again wed create a not

terrible fight sequences. Usually some poor sod would end up getting punched in the face

when we got the timing wrong, but we took the knocks and eventually figured out when to

duck. I socked Clarkie right on the jaw in one fight sequence, always felt bad about that. I

swung, and his chin just seemed to go right into it. Mind you, he did slam a car door on my

fingers.

But like I said, no one really saw any of this. We were still a long way away from the

instantaneous sharing of media. In fact, just to let people see our films on a home VHS, which

not everyone had back then, was a bloody chore.

The camera format was VHS-C (C, for compact). A quirky little format, that hopefully

is burning in a corner of Hell right now - along with all those fucking Spectrums. About a


quarter the size of VHS tape and exactly the same quality. Basically the same format only in a

tiny, fragile, and prone to jamming tape.

If we wanted to play the tape in a VHS player, we had to upscale. Not the format, the

ACTUAL tape had to become bigger. How? Well, you placed the VHS-C tape into a VHS

sized device, which then spooled (in theory) the smaller tape into the same shape as a

standard VHS tape. This device took two little batteries in order to have the power to spool

the tape from small to large.

So now, we have a small tape, inside a device pretending to be a big tape.

Then, and this is the bit where you really had to grow some balls, you had to insert

this pretend standard VHS shaped device (which now weighed 4 times more than a normal

VHS tape since it contained both our original VHS-C tape, mechanics to spool itself and 2

batteries) into a nice new VHS player.

After much grinding and whirring, the device would either:

1) Play our film like a normal VHS tape.

2) Unspool itself and clog up the VHS player.

3) Unspool itself within the upscaling device mechanics.

That last one was a killer. Unwinding a VHS tape, from within a VHS player is fairly

simple and Clarkie and I had to do it several times. Unwinding the tape from within the VHS

sized upscaling device, was a pigging nightmare.

Some people have a romantic attachment to those analogue days I do not. These

days I can film something and send it directly to the web, from my phone.

Admittedly, we do have a significant amount of bloody terrible media floating around

these days, but at least getting it there didnt give anyone Hulk like fits of rage while trying to

unwrap precious, precious footage from a device invented by sadistic mechanical madman.


To be honest, I was little more than a helper monkey at this point. It was Clarkie who

handled most of the actual technical stuff. But I was a keen little learner and didnt mind the

occasional electric shock.

Elsewhere, Graham and I had forged a strong bond and eventually we started our own

little after-hours fun and games. Fun and games that would land us on the front-page, and

cause an almighty load of trouble.


CHAPTER TWO

Illegal Mutants

Morally speaking, Graham and I were very much on the same page. We didnt have

any. Obviously, we had some. We didnt want to hurt people or anything; we just had a

flexible approach to the law. It started simply enough. Wed leave the gang when the RGSU

closed for the evening, and then go looking for adventures. Sometimes this would be as

simple as breaking into areas that we shouldnt have; parks, building sites, abandoned

factories, anywhere that was easy to get into. But this ended up being quite risky, for no good

reason, so we moved onto Schools. First on the list were our old schools, Hilton and

Linksfield. Both now demolished. In fact, the first time I appeared on the front page of a

newspaper, was during the campaign to prevent the closure of Hilton Academy. I wasnt that

invested to be honest, I just happened to be coming out of the school when the photo was

taken. The campaign to save the school, eventually failed.

Security in 1987 wasnt as high tech as these days. Schools didnt have sensors or

lasers and such. Sometimes they didnt even lock the ground floor windows properly! Sadly,

most of the time they did, which led to the problem of getting onto the roof. If you could get

onto the roof, youd usually be able to find an open window and drop down into the school.

The tricky bit was getting a bloater, like Graham, on the roof in the first place. I was

only 17 and could hop up, no bother. By this point in my life Id already abseiled off a cliff

and a bridge. Also, Id done a little bit off rock climbing. Heights, meant very little to me.

Graham, was terrified of heights. Graham couldnt watch other people taking risks, never

mind take them himself. Clarkie also, has no problems with heights and would freak Graham

out by standing near the edge of things and hanging off balconies. Grub, Grub, Im gonna

fall Grub.


Anyway, I had to get him up on the roof first. Graham was 23 and had spent most of

the pervious two decades eating peanuts and drinking coke. Fit, he was not.

So what wed do is this; Id climb up, look around, and then Graham would get as far

up as he could (a good foot and a half) and Id reach down (using the unbreakable grip of the

aerialist) and pull the porky bastard up to join me.

Once on the roof, wed go looking for an open window. Once found, wed drop down

and enter the school. One time, we dropped down into a storeroom, only to find out that it was

locked. So we had to take all the boxes in the room, and stack them against the wall in order

to climb out again.

But most of the time, we got into these places with very little difficulty. Graham was a

very bright guy, and would create little metal devices that could open windows from the

outside.

Once inside, wed scope around looking for stuff to steal. Not big stuff, just stuff we

could use to make our films. Graham always went for the art supplies. Paint, paper, scissors

etc. While I went for audiotapes so I could record The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, off

the radio. If we could find a tuck shop that was payday for Graham and what we didnt eat

there and then, wed haul away for later. Staff-rooms were also good for biscuits and we

sometimes stopped to make tea, since they also usually had a kettle and milk. Often, they had

large supplies of cigarettes as well. Teachers in the 80s must have smoked like chimneys in

those staff-rooms.

Graham also used to take great joy at drawing, quite disgustingly anatomically rude

cartoons on the various blackboards, just before stealing all the chalk. Then, hed roll the

cartoon away so that at some point the teacher would need a clean bit of blackboard and

roll down the board to reveal a cartoon of a big fat naked man with a huge bloated willy and

gigantic mutant balls.


We did school after school after school. Most of the time, wed get clean away. But

cockiness led to us almost, almost getting caught.

Wed gotten so casual with what we were doing, I swear to God, one time we stopped

in a classroom and had lunch! We were scoffing away when, and luckily, we spotted some

action happening outside. Before we could blink, about five police cars sped into the school

car park. In an instant, we could hear the doors downstairs slam open and boots battering

down the corridors.

Now I know what youre thinking no way did these guys have a plan! But, just for a

change, we did. You see the art supply area of this school was one of the few places that had a

Yale lock on the inside. We noticed it earlier in the evening. If we could get to that, we could

effectively lock ourselves in.

This was where wed prearranged to run to if anything bad happened. And getting

chased through a dark school at three in the morning by a bunch of irate fuzz was pretty bad.

Although, wed face a lot worse in a couple of weeks time. But right now, we had a plan at

least run!

We ran, even Graham managed to get up some speed and we soon reached the right

door. The stomping of boots was amazingly close at this point. We slipped inside, snibbed the

lock and stood back, trying not to breathe. Almost instantly we could see torchlight under the

door and much frantic searching. They must have been so close to catching us. They must

have heard us running, Graham didnt have a stealth-mode. So for them, we must have just

disappeared. Several times they tried our, now locked, door. But they never made it inside.

We stood and stood and stood. Quietly. I kept thinking that eventually, theyd find a janitor

with a key and open up the art-room. After all, there were so few places we could have gone.

But it didnt happen.


Eventually the noise of frustrated fuzz faded and we, very slowly, crept out of our

hiding place. All was quiet. The sun was coming up by now and it was going to be tricky to

leave the school without being spotted. We decided to dump whatever wed stolen than night,

just in case we were caught and searched. We worked our way slowly and quietly through the

school and suddenly realised that we were not alone. Someone, we never found out who, was

still searching for us. We could hear doors being opened and closed. What now? Back to the

art room? Well that was never going to work because the teachers and pupils would be

arriving soon and would almost certainly notice a fat guy and an unemployed horn player

standing beside all the brushes. And supposing theyd found the cartoons by now? Then wed

really be in trouble!

But we got lucky. As the searching sound got closer, we ducked into the school toilets

on the ground floor. Amazingly, one of the windows was ajar. We took the chance, jumped

out and bolted.

Now youd think that a close call like that might have put us off a life of crime? Naa.

We were much too daft to learn from our own mistakes.

Ive often wondered, which of us first proposed being bank robbers? Doesnt really

matter if it was Graham or me, we were both equally stupid and inept. Now if wed gone

straight to bank robbery, chances are my life would have turned out quite differently. But luck

was on our side again. Sheer dumb-assed luck.

We decided that going straight to bank robbery was maybe a bit, you know, beyond

us. We didnt have any moral objections, you understand, we just didnt have a getaway

driver. Sandy had a car, but anyone trying to make a getaway in a 1750 Maxi probably wasnt

that bothered about being captured. Also, Sandy had never committed a crime in his life.

Crimes against comedy, for sure! But never anything he could actually get into trouble for.


So we hatched a scheme. Wed rob something smaller. A shop? Naa. A garage? Naa.

A chipper? Now, thats a good idea! At least it seemed that way in 1987. Turns out, it was a

staggeringly bad idea and it went wrong, practically as soon as it happened.

The chip shop in question was on Aberdeens King Street. We both knew it well. We

bought a couple of masks, and Graham already owned a blank firing gun. Admittedly, most of

the time he used it while pretending to be Judge Dredd, but he had a gun. So we were set.

That didnt take long, did it? It doesnt take long, when you remove notions of thought or

planning. Nope, things move real fast when you dont consider consequences and just do

stuff.

I do remember, quite vividly, standing round the corner from the chip shop, waiting

for a customer to leave. It was exciting. It was an adventure. It was fucking stupid. If I could

meet myself then, now - Id give myself such a smack!

Back then? I didnt know shit.

So the last customer left the shop with his greasy ball of food and the morons stormed

in - and instantly didnt know what to do. I made for the cash till, but having never operated

one: had no idea how to open it. Which turns out to be the least of my problems, since the

owner of the chip shop had taken exception to us trying to rob him and slipped round the back

to find an axe.

Ever been attacked by an irate Scotsman wielding a meat cleaver? No? I dont

recommend it. One minute I was struggling to open the till, the next, a big chip shop owner

was trying to cut my head off. Maybe Graham would save me? Fat chance. He was a fucking

blur, mate. The minute the cleaver appeared, he discovered the first burst of speed hed had in

about twenty years.

Turns out, that imminent decapitation is quite a good motivator, and I bolted out of

that chipper like a man running away from an angry Scotsman welding a meat cleaver. Im


pretty sure the chip shop owner didnt really want to hurt me he could have if he wished. He

just wanted to scare the crap out of me which he did.

Running away, towards Seaton park, I couldnt help noticing that I passed Graham

rather easily. I might have been going quite fast, but Graham, wasnt going very fast at all. I

passed him in seconds, and that was with his cowardly head start! Even running past him,

very quickly, I couldnt help noticing that he didnt look well.

I quickly reached a wall surrounding the park and hopped over. Graham, caught up,

and floundered. So I had to climb back over the wall and help him. Once he was over, I

climbed over again to join him.

The park was dark and quiet, for about 10 seconds. Then we could clearly see the area

get surrounded by police cars. I jumped into the shadows, picked a path to safely and started

to run. The woods were not far away, and I was sure if I got there, I could get away. But I

seemed to be running alone. Where was Graham? Turns out, Graham was having a

combination panic attack/physical breakdown. The getaway (such as it was) had been the

most physical exercise hed had in decades and it suddenly struck me that maybe a

prerequisite for a partner in crime might be the ability to run?

What to do? Run and try to get away? Or stay with my overweight and puffed-out pal?

I stayed. What a burk. Still, at least we were together and if we hid, they might not find us?

The next thing we heard, were police dogs.

Now it might be possible to evade an Aberdonian fuzz, but police dogs were another

thing entirely. They didnt take long to find us. They could have sniffed out Graham,

blindfolded and sleepy. We were quickly surrounded by dogs, policemen, vans and cars. They

brought down a huge amount of light on us and since I was still wearing a mask, I could

hardly claim to be out for a walk.

OK, Zorro. Hands up!


We complied, and were rapidly handcuffed and thrown into the back of the van. At the

time it was quite a relief, since it was raining, cold and the dogs were about thirty seconds

away from eating our faces. We were caught. We were guilty. We were fucked it was going

to be a long night.

Now these days, if for some reason, I was arrested for a crime, which seems unlikely,

Id probably be prepared to deal with the police. Im older. Ive dealt with lots of people. Ive

directed films and spoken in front of large audiences. I have enough confidence to, at least,

not be too intimidated.

When I was 17 none of this was true. I was not confident. I was terrified. And so

was Graham.

Neither of us came from particularly well off backgrounds, but we didnt come from

the roughest end of town either. At best, I could handle myself in a fight. But, policemen?

Huge, aggressive policemen? No chance. I was intimidated as hell.

The first thing they did, was take our prints and our photos. I got smacked on the back

of the head for smiling. Hey, I was getting my photo taken, its polite to smile. From there, we

were taken to the cells. Graham was thrown into one, and I got lobed headfirst into another.

All through this period, aggressive fuzz were telling us that wed do five years for this. You

guys are toast hope you like it up the arse!

Like what up the arse? I was pretty naive back then.

The cell was bone crackingly cold. There is running water in Seaton Park, and as we

ran, we got soaked. I was soaked from head to toe. Cold water. Cold cell. Cold thoughts. Five

years? Oh boy. We were up shit creek and its not like we could blame anyone else, wed

done all the paddling ourselves.


They left me in that cell for about two hours. No bedding. No chair. Just a cold, bed

sized concrete shelve. Sitting on that was even colder than standing. If I were to lie down on

it, Id be dead by dawn. Coldest night of my life, and I live in Aberdeen!

Eventually a large policeman came and took me for questioning. I was so glad to be

out of that cell. The corridor was warm. The carpet under my shoeless feet was warm. I could

actually feel the heat coming off the policeman I was shackled to.

He took me to the office of two senior officers, uncuffed me, and sat me down. Some

people get the good cop/bad cop treatment. I got the confused cop/bewildered cop treatment.

These guys had looks on their faces like no senior officer should have. The first words

spoken, clarified the situation perfectly.

How can all this be true?

Oh my God. Theyd questioned Graham first! Graham, the serial fantasist. Graham,

the mentalist. Graham, the role-playing, filmmaking, school-robbing dirty cartoonist! No

wonder they were confused, Graham confused people that had know him for decades.

As it turns out, Graham, pretty much got the third-degree that night. He got a really

hard time and was right now, freezing back in his cell. Graham was never the best at handling

pressure. That night, the pressure was applied quite heavily and hed decided to tell them

everything. Basically his whole whacky, largely untouched-by-reality life-story. And they

didnt believe a word of it.

People rob chippers, to fund drugs, or buy booze, or because theyve taken a huge

amount of both and dont know what theyre doing. They do not rob chippers to buy cool

space models to blow up in a film. They do not commit crime, because it was fun and didnt

have anything better to do that night.

So they turned to me. As I mentioned, I was pretty scared and within two minutes of

me describing my life, the mood had changed totally. We really were the loopy crime


adventurers who made films and dressed up like wood elves in our spare time. Well, Graham

did. Something happened then, something good. For whatever reason, these two guys liked

me. I can be quite charming when I need to be, and I turned it on that night. Within ten

minutes I had tea, cigarettes and a sandwich. I told them about what we did, when we were

not robbing chippers that is, and they laughed and smoked and asked questions and laughed

some more.

When I was returned to my cell, I had blankets, cigarettes and hot tea. They even gave

me a magazine to read. Oh, and a pillow.

Graham, on the other hand, had been totally forgotten about and nearly died of

hypothermia.

I slept quite well. The nice officers had explained what wed be charged, but in all

likelihood, would not get five years. Maybe six months. That didnt sound too bad. But I was

only seventeen, so Id probably go to junior prison. Again, didnt sound that bad: certainly

better than five years behind bars. Much as I enjoyed Porridge, I had no wish to relive a real

time simulation, complete with fat cellmate who would almost certainly pinch my tin of

pineapple chunks!

When the morning came, we were taken out of our cells and Graham and I were

handcuffed together. My goodness, he looked rough.

I nearly died. He said.

I was OK, I got some blankets. I said.

Blankets! He was not amused.

This was typical of Graham. He never had any bloody luck. We were then taken into a

communal cell, with about twenty other inmates. A more fearsome mob of cutthroat

scumbags you will never see. These guys were much worse than the police. Violence and


intimidation was immediate, but with so many police around, not too extreme. Certainly not

for Graham and I.

One of the police officers had mentioned to one of the prisoners what we were going

to be charged with. Armed robbery, and armed robbers had a certain status. Even crap armed

robbers. We played it tough, told the story, embellished and cracked jokes. Half an hour later,

we had a semi-circle of prisoners listening to our tales. They even shared their tobacco with

us. This was the one and only time I ever saw Graham smoke a cigarette. I could roll one with

no difficulty. Grahams cigarette was not so well made and quickly fell apart. I think he did it

to fit in. Better to smoke with these people, than get thumped by these people. Or worse,

humped!

Eventually, one by one, we were taken to a judging panel. These people would decide

if we were to be remanded until trial, or released. Thankfully, whoever wrote our police

report, had taken pity on us. Some of the mob from our cell were unlucky and got remanded;

the lucky ones were set free that day. We were lucky. Hearing the facts of the case read out

loud was sobering. But at the same time, kinda funny. And I wasnt the only person who

noticed how funny it was. One of the panel giggled, while the Aberdeen Journals reporter,

scribbled away furiously. Hed paid little attention to the previous two cases, but ours? That

little pen was writing away like all his Christmases had come at once. As for the panel? I

suppose it was fun for them. Instead of dealing with junkies, wife beaters and drunks, they got

to deal with two prize-winning chicken-heads with a funny story to tell.

Not that I wanted it told. But that boat kinda sailed when the Evening Express (Local

Aberdeen newspaper, mostly written by Glaswegians) splashed the headline Chipper Chappy

Rumbles Raiders, right on the front page. This was my second front-page appearance, but

not my last.


CHAPTER THREE

Celebrity Mutants

Now, we didnt particularly want to rush home and tell our families what wed been up to. No

great hurry there. So we went round to see Clarkie and Wig. I can pretty much guarantee that,

the last thing those two expected was for us to turn up and say, Youll never guess what we

did last night!

We told the story. They sat there, dumbstruck. Wig couldnt even finish his lunch. We

knew by telling these two, it would be common knowledge soon. That was fine. The people

around us were going to notice when we suddenly disappeared for six months anyway. But

the shit bit, was going home. The already piss poor relationship I had with my Mother, got

even pissier and the quite good relationship I had with my Granny, became strained.

Most of our friends stuck by us. Very few judged us, or shunned us. And the ones that

did, thankfully, were pretty unimportant. Wed have been in a fine pickle if Clarkie and

Sandy had told us to get lost. Clarkie had all the talent, and Sandy had the car!

Little by little, everyone found out. And a funny thing happened. We suddenly had a

story to tell at parties! Aberdeen parties for us, at that time, meant student parties with the

occasional offshore worker turning up. Pretty dull. But we were the filmmaking, front-page-

getting, soon to be banged up, armed robbers. Much booze was drunk, much weed was

inhaled, and the story got funnier and less like the truth every time we told it. Not that it

needed much embellishment to make it funny.

I parlayed this notoriety into several liaisons with all the girls I couldnt get when I

was a trolley pusher. Graham, on the other hand, couldnt get a shag in a whorehouse if his

dick was made of money. He did like women, he really did, but they were seldom attracted to

the hairy scruff with scant regard for his own personal hygiene. One of the benefits from all

these liaisons was that I didnt have to go home. Occasionally Id stay over at my Grans


house, but by and large Id move from girlfriend to girlfriend, and thus from flat to flat. Short

stays, fragmented life, but I didnt mind and it was considerably better than sitting with my

family. Brother aside, that is, he just found my criminal exploits hysterical.

Jokes were plentiful and we couldnt go into a chip shop for the next two years

without someone making a gun comment. Now I have a fish-supper, ho ho ho.

So what about the films? Did they stop? I dont think they even paused. We just

continued like nothing had happened. Admittedly, we were less keen to run around in public

with a variety of replica handguns, but away from the public eye, we were still blowing

ourselves up with alarming regularity.

We did start to get a little more adventurous around this time. Rather than just film in

the Students Union or each others various homes, we instead focused more on location work.

What wed noticed, and were basically discovering the art of filmmaking as we go here, was

that with full costumes and a nice location, our stuff tended to look slightly more like a real

film.

Admittedly, the acting still sucked, the editing was primitive and the direction non-

existent. Usually, whoever was most invested in that weeks idea, would take the creative lead.

Clarkie, Sandy, and Wig all had a go. None displayed any gift for visual storytelling

whatsoever. In real life, they could tell cracking stories, on screen it was still the same

incoherent mess.

That didnt stop us getting ambitious. Oh no. We tried model work, stop frame

animation, abstract arty stuff, and as usual, Graham filmed in extreme close-up while

humping the camera Cor, this reality fucking, is alright.

But in the main, what we did most was avoid thinking about prison. The date for our

trial had been set. And those six months just flew past.


I cant say our solicitor was much comfort. His advice, the day before the trial? Stick

two ounces of tobacco up your arse, youll need it inside.

This, did not inspire confidence.

Did I mention my luck? Ive always had it and its been dead handy over the years.

My Mum always said I could fall into a bucket of shit and come out smelling of roses. And

she was right. Anyway, I needed my luck that day. We both did.

We washed Graham down with some industrial breach, stuffed him into some clothes

that didnt stink and headed to court. I could see the Aberdeen Journals reporter, waiting for a

good laugh. Git. We both looked as respectable as possible and behaved ourselves. The judge

took quite a long time looking over the police reports and the social workers reports. He

looked towards us.

I think its safe to say, were not exactly dealing with criminal masterminds here.

That got a laugh. Could we be getting away with this? Both our arses were tobacco

free, by the way. I was more worried about how the hell I was going to get Doctor Who

Monthly inside a prison? And would owning such a magazine, make me a target for

homosexual advances? Probably. It did everywhere else.

The court calmed down. The judge took another look at his reports, made us promise

not to commit any more crimes and gave us community service. We walked out, free as birds.

Caused quite a stir at the time, locally that is. An Aberdeen MP had taken exception to

the light sentence for us two Hooligans and was campaigning for a harsher punishment.

Thankfully, he was as full of hot air as most local MPs and once the headlines had petered

out, he moved on to bloviate about something else for a while. Phew! Two hundred hours of

community service, for armed robbery. These days, with the blank firing weapons, wed

probably have been shot in Seaton park.


Remember that luck? I only mention it because the next few months were fairly

blissful for me. I was free, and by a strange twist of fate, I was assigned to do my community

service helping out at with a local (council funded) arts project. I helped decorate, rehearse

plays, make props, chat-up girls, read scripts.

Graham on the other hand, was assigned to a work squad. He was out picking up

rocks, digging up ditches and mixing concrete. OK, funny now, but he got the rough end of

the stick. But it could have been much worse. Id committed a serious crime and ended up

smoking weed and pulling up the curtain for a cosy arts group. It was all crime and no

punishment. As a deterrent: not especially effective. Still the arts project was fun, much better

than prison! Not to mention all the art stuff I could nick for our films.

So wed gotten away with it. Well no, not really. Although we avoided prison, wed

become practically unemployable for the foreseeable future. It was hard to avoid our criminal

past, when it was on the front page. So that was the end of my life of crime, right? Um, not

quite. Almost, but not quite.

Having gotten away with it once, I assumed I must be untouchable and continued

bending the law. Most of the time it was simple forgery, cheques and such. I kinda had a

knack for that sort of thing. Even now I can do other peoples signatures. But sometimes this

took me down a rather darker path, and it was while down that path that I finally wised up.

Funny thing was, it wasnt imprisonment or violence that turned me off crime. This bit is

going to sound made up, but its perfectly true. The whole book it true, why would I make

this part up? Particularly since it starts with me, not looking all that good.

As a spin off from my financial misconduct, Id also discovered that with a

photocopier and some time, I could create blank prescriptions. Now it doesnt take much

imagination to see what I could do here. I could, in a limited way, get my hands of whatever


chemical stimulation was popular with people that week. Not only that, I could try a few

interesting new sensations myself. Not very sensible. Not terribly healthy.

Just in case anyone is appalled and thinking about not reading anymore, this book

does eventually became about making films and meeting Sir Ian McKellan, and interesting

framing choices. Promise.

Well it didnt take long for this enterprise to get rumbled. Id put a prescription into

the Boots Store on Union Street, right in the heart of Aberdeen. This prescription seemed to

be taking ages, and the reason for that was that the staff had spotted the forgery and called the

in old bill. It wasnt long before I was cuffed and thrown into a van again. This was much

worse than being arrested in the park at night. This was broad daylight! This was the centre of

town! I was mortified.

Once again, I found myself in a room with two officers. By now, my arrest record was

starting to mount up. Then, and this was a first, they wanted to see my home. Fair enough. So

we went to my home, which was at this point; a one room bed-sit in the Castlegate that didnt

even have a toilet. No, Im not kidding. The toilet was outside my flat on the stairwell. So

every time some drunk git would stagger up the stairs, hed pish or puke or shit all over the

place. Yup, Id carved out a real slice of Heaven for myself by this point in my life.

Anyway, the flat was chronic, the fridge was empty and I only had one pair of

trousers. My situation was so pitiful they didnt charge me. Maybe they didnt think prison

would really bother me, since I already had bars on the window. No, again, not kidding. I had

a normal enough window, I just had massive bars outside, so if there had been a fire Marky

would have been toast! Again, this was a different world back than. No way would anyone be

allowed to rent out accommodation with thick metal bars over the only window these days.

Not only that, but remember, these are policemen. They didnt bat an eyelid that the place was


a fucking death trap. But they did notice it wasnt very nice, and let me off with a stern

warning. Unbelievable? Thats not the unbelievable part.

The next day, one of the officers who had come to my flat, turned up again. Only this

time he brought; a bag of shopping, a bag of clothes, a suit and a pair of shoes. Im not saying

I turned my life around on the spot, but I never forgot how nice he was, for no good reason.

Never saw the man again. Never knew his name.


CHAPTER FOUR

A camera that works

It was Michael who came up with the stunning notion that we should own a camera

that actually worked. You know, a camera that could actually focus and would stop recording

when you told it to, rather than the unhelpful, at some point later in the day: that we currently

had to deal with. So he stepped up and bought a superdooper, brand new, VHS camcorder. A.

Thing. Of. Wonder. Wasnt cheap either. But Clarkie, unlike the rest of the loons and

eccentrics that constituted our crew, actually went to college and got a job. Clarkie was a

good boy. Not like Graham and me. He also bought a tripod! A tripod? Who were we now?

ILM? Oh, the advances we made.

Advance number one, picture quality. Firstly, we had a focused picture. Not that we

didnt screw that up from time to time, everyone does. But at least the new camera had the

potential to focus. You could place the old one on a tripod, focus the picture, and the very act

of pressing the record button could unfocused the picture radically. Not, helpful.

But this new camera: rock solid, mate (in a good day, with enough light). So off we

went on the second wave of, whatever it was we were doing. At no point did we seek funding,

consider showing our stuff widely, or try to get a job in the industry. That would have been

crazy-talk. We were lucky not to be behind feking bars. And to be honest, I didnt really

know what a film festival was. What we did, we did for fun.

This was the early nineties, and home edit solutions were quite some time away. At

least the usable solutions were. Unusable crap was everywhere. The only computer we had,

was my Amiga. Digital editing on an Amiga? Not happening. However, an analogue solution

was available. It didnt work, but it was available. The Amiga was a fine little machine that

did one trick most of the other home computers, of the time, couldnt do; it could control a

home VCR. At least, that was the theory. Our system, a short-lived device called Editman,


never did quite work properly. But, if the stars were aligned the right way, we could create an

edit point. Kinda. Hey, maybe we were ILM after all.

In fact, we actually tried to mimic certain ILM effects using this pile of glitches and

wires masquerading as an editing system. We filmed Clarkie getting shot several times, then,

using editing (gasp) we made little silver impacts appear on his chest. Our impact hits were

moulded tin foil, but that didnt matter. We could even, kinda, mimic the Terminator font on

the Amiga.

This was monkey see, monkey do filmmaking. But occasionally it was fun to see just

how much we could do with a daft little set-up in the corner of my poor girlfriends flat. I

always enjoyed that moment when my girlfriend realised that somehow, not sure how, their

homes had been taken over by a mad filmmaker and his wacky mates. Hey, Ive heard of

worse. And besides, I repaid them by being a willing, and cuddly, sex slave - when I wasnt

trying to remake Predator in the garden.

But it was around this time that I started to be quite unsatisfied with the work. While

some aspects had improved, we were still by and large making incoherent copycat films.

Nothing original. Nothing professional. And the idea that we should was not immediately

embraced. But I do remember, very clearly, being out filming in the part of Aberdeen known

as Fittie and we were setting up for a shot where Roddy Huggins gets thumped, by a chap

called Robert Bruce. An odd place to have a revelation, but thats what happened.

Suddenly, I realised that the camera was in the wrong place. I dont think Id ever

considered where the camera should be before this. But, in my head, I knew what the next

shot after that one should be, you know, to tell the story effectively.

I didnt say anything of course. I kept my trap shut and we filmed the sequence in the

usual incoherent way. Which, when watched back, was incoherent. But at least I was starting

to work out what we were doing wrong.


A coup d'tat was about to happen. Which wasnt difficult, since no one was really in

charge. I didnt have to topple anyone; I just had to take charge of the Mutants. Um, easier

said than done. Firstly, I was the junior member. Everyone else was five years older than me

and for the most part, educated. I didnt know what I was doing, but I had a secret weapon

arrogance. I wanted to make a proper film and by golly I had the talent to do so. There was no

direct evidence that I had any talent whatsoever, but its not like I could make the films

anymore incomprehensible. Could I?

So I was the first one to actually write a script and clearly say on the front Director,

Mark Stirton. Which meant, directing the Mutants.

Getting the Mutants to act was hard. Getting them to behave was really hard.

Suddenly, I was the replacement teacher, standing up in front of a rowdy class telling them to

be quiet and listen. Michael took direction the best, he was the best actor of the three of us,

but he also had an artists temperament and would often lose the rag, not so much with me,

but several times with Graham.

Which was hardly surprising, because Graham could be quite difficult to deal with.

Firstly, he never knew his lines. Secondly, hed giggle almost as much as I did. And thirdly,

he liked giving Clarkie a hard time even if it did ruin a take. Nineteen takes he did once.

Nineteen! And the one he got right wasnt worth the wait.

Sandy took direction quite well, but was never really that invested, in terms of being a

performer. He was there because it was fun and because wed become a team by then. But

Sandy did have that nice radio voice, and often did good VO work.

Editing helped. Even glitchy editing, which was the best we could manage. But we

could for the first time add music. The Editman could split the sound into two tracks two!

Can you imagine? So for the first time we could have actors talking, with music behind them.

Slap an Amiga graphic at the start and bing bang bosh a movie! The music was another


revelation. It was amazing just how much more like a proper film our stuff looked, once we

had music running behind everything. Gone were the hollow echoes of untreated wildrack,

hello music and sound effects.

Never really worked, unfortunately. The Editman was just too unreliable. Sure, we

could, in theory, edit a proper gunshot sound effect over a blank firing prop, but more often

than not, the Editman would miss the right point. The few times we did get it right, showed

the tantalising potential of what we could do if the system didnt crash every twelve and a half

minutes. Plus, it has to be said, the Mutants didnt take me all that seriously. Certainly not

enough to actually turn in usable performances. And why should they? What we did, we did

for fun. At the point where it actually turns into work, it isnt so much fun anymore. Besides,

my results were patchy at best. I could not, technically, make the films that I was pitching.

But salvation was at hand.


CHAPTER FIVE

An editing system that works

Aberdeen Video Access was one of those worthy council initiatives to bring

affordable video production to the masses. Affordable use of an edit suite, and cameras for

hire. This place was a Godsend. They didnt have much of an operating budget, but it was

certainly more than the, sweet FA, than we were working with. Based at McClymond Hall, on

King Street, Video Access consisted of the following: A three-machine edit suite, situated in a

small room a few feet away from the toilets and a main office where the two folk who ran the

place would work. Brian and Shona operated Video Access and they were pretty damn

helpful right from the start.

I took to the edit suite like a duck to water. I knew the theory of how an edit suite was

supposed to work, but what I had at home, wasnt really an edit suite. The Amiga lash-up, on

a good day, was only 25% effective. This new edit suite, delivered. The edit controller was

responsive, the S-VHS tapes held up well to editing and for the first time we had a mixing

desk for both picture and sound. We could mix the sound! Woo hoo! We could do a dissolve!

Double woo hoo! My first few productions were jam packet with dissolves and clever sound

mixes, just because I could.

Eventually, I had to stop dicking around and actually make something.

The first thing I directed, that actually got finished that is, was called Spooked. This

was really the film that changed everything. And its a film, or more precisely, a concept, that

Ive seen several times during my film festival adventures. It seems to be a movie that every

young director makes at some point. A guy, alone in a flat, goes mental for some reason. Its

pretty clear why so many directors make this film early in their careers. All you need is one

actor, some whacky camera tricks and a spooky soundtrack. In my film, the guy was being


haunted by a weird red light, which starts to invade his house via the letterbox. This red light,

follows him around, freaks him out, and eventually takes over his mind.

Not groundbreaking stuff or anything, but a film with a distinct, beginning, middle

and end. Just what I needed. Or course, I still had the problem of who was going to be in it?

The earliest prototype of this film starred Michael Clark. But his performance wasnt

that impressive, and neither were my attempts to make a spooky monster. Initially, the idea

was that the red light monster might have eyes, which would manifest in creepy ways

throughout the movie. The first time I tried this with the monster looking through the

letterbox, it looked like a sad, pink eyed, dolphin. This is when I learned that if you cant

create a convincing monster, just hint at it instead. From that moment, the creature became a

much more effective, amorphous shaft of light. Much better for the audience to wonder what

something is, rather than confirming something rubbish looking. But the acting still needed to

be better.

Using one of the Mutants was going to be problematic, I didnt want every bloody

shot to be a debate. So I demoted the lot of them to quick guest appearances as TV

newsreaders. In the lead role of, man who gets haunted by letterbox, I cast Jamie Kelly. Jamie

was one of the barflies from RGSU, never heavily involved with our old films, but he had

stuck his head round the door occasionally.

But my interest in Jamie was due to his role-playing. No, not anything kinky. Were

talking proper Dungeons and Dragons, here. I was never that keen on the Role Playing aspect

of student recreational life. I could see why some people might enjoy it, but it wasnt for me.

Jamie enjoyed a good game, and I had noticed while watching Jamie play (watching other

people role play really dull) that he took the character he was playing, pretty seriously.

My thinking was, if he could play a part in a game, he could play a part in a film. I

approached him, we talked over what he was going to do, and started the week after. Jamie


was pretty much a joy to work with. Not massively talented, but nether was I. No, the joy of

Jamie was simply that he was quite professional to work with. He was never late (Sandy)

didnt question everything (Clarkie) and didnt smell like someone who had been drenched in

milk and left out in the sun for a week (Graham). No, Jamie just turned up on time and did the

best work he could. I will forever be grateful for that.

I had been bumping my gums for months now, and finally I had a nice camera, I had a

tripod, I had lights. If I couldnt make a watchable film now then it was me who sucked. If

Jamie had taken the piss, I might not have ended up with a film to watch.

The shoot ended up being five days. Mainly in the evening, since Jamie was working

at the time. I wasnt, so during the day, Id get the flat ready, draw the scriptyboards (I know

what youre thinking - shouldnt that be storyboards Marky? Well yes, but my friend, Susie

Lind, who never knew much about filmmaking or indeed cared, once referred to them as

scriptyboards and it kinda stuck with me) anyway, these scriptyboards would detail, roughly,

what I wanted to achieve that evening. I still needed a spare pair of hands, so Sandy gave us

his most convincing role ever as a letterbox.

By this point we were hiring both the edit suite and the cameras, so we didnt really

have time to dick about. Admittedly, the Video Access prices were fantastically low, but they

could still mount up over time. The S-VHS cameras were still quite new at this point and

technically they stood up well.

The trouble with the VHS tapes was that after editing, they really didnt handle the

generational loss very well. The S in S-VHS, made all the difference, provided you didnt go

mad. For instance, if I wanted to do a dissolve, it had to be planned. You had to have footage

on one tape and footage to dissolve to, on another tape. No digital buffer back then. So I had

to work out in advance, where I wanted dissolves. I found the best thing to do, if it was a


scene that would require lots of dissolves, was record the scene with tape one, then go back

and record, basically the same scene again on tape two.

You could get round this by duplicating tape one, so you could have the original in

deck A and the copy in deck B. But that meant a one-generation drop in quality whenever

you used a dissolve. So whenever possible, I used the multiple tape, multiple shoot, solution.

All this might sound a bit primitive, but it was a great deal better than a grumpy

Amiga trying to control two equally grumpy VHS decks and a glitchy Genlock. So from my

point of view, I was in heaven.

The edit suite performed brilliantly and within a very few weeks, I had a rough cut of

the film. Actually, I had the film. Rough cuts are what I create these days, because I can then

go in and finesse the edit. Back then, messing with the edit, meant messing with the master

tape. It could be done, but only if it was really needed. Cos if that tape got fucked ta ta

movie!

Of course, you could make a back-up copy (and I did) but that takes us back to

generational loss and if all subsequent copies came from the back-up master, theyd suffer as

well. The master tape must be protected at all times! I used to carry mine around in a

briefcase and if anyone even looked at me funny, theyd get a prompt smack in the balls.

Once the edit was locked (ish) I needed a soundtrack. We did have some Yamaha

keyboards at this time, but you wouldnt necessarily have described them as advanced. Very

basic 4-track recording was possible, but it took absolutely ages. Besides, I needed a really

spooky soundtrack and it was Sandy who provided the solution.

He lent me his Guitar pedal and effects board. You were meant to plug a guitar into

this thing and create all manner of funky sounds. However, you could also plug in a

microphone. Handy since I didnt know how to play the guitar. But I did know how to play


my own voice. So I pulled a duvet over my head and recorded myself making a variety of

weird sounds, all filtered and distorted through the effects pedal.

In order to match my sound effects with the picture, Id have a VHS copy of the film

running on my little TV, while I made haunting, ooooochhhumm or ssssseeeeechaaaa

noises. It sounded weird and organic and saved a bunch of time.

Video Access didnt have a proper title generator. They had a little scrolling text

machine, about the size of an old Spectum and just as hard to use.

But that only did about three fonts and they all looked crap. So my old Amiga was

drafted in to create the opening graphics. Those graphics really date the film now. At least

they would if I had a copy.

Much of our early work is like the Doctor Who archive at the BBC - lots of it is

missing. However, unlike, Tomb of the Cybermen, no one ever bought Spooked, so the

chances of it turning up in Hong Kong are pretty unlikely.

When it was finished, they results pretty much spoke for themselves. Instead of a

largely incoherent mess, we had a coherent story. Instead of half-hearted take the piss acting,

we had a proper central performance. We had, for the first time, a film that we could at least

be vaguely proud of. At the very least, a film that didnt make us cringe with embarrassment

when people watched it.

Video Access also provided information about film festivals. This was a long time

before online forums, so back then we relied on mailing lists. Festivals would send out one-

page adverts and places like Access would pin them up on the board. They also had a

newsletter for members that went out once a month. So I entered Spooked to the Cardonald

College short film competition, and low and behold, we were nominated for an award. This

would not have happened if Id still been editing on a steam-driven Amiga that had the nasty

habit of fusing all the lights.


The Cardonald College awards took place in Glasgow, and was a sort of short film

festival/awards ceremony. We didnt win, but it was nice to be there. I did notice a couple of

things though. Firstly, all of the awards went to College students. Independent filmmakers

didnt get a look in, which would have been fine, except they were giving some of the awards,

to rough cuts. Seriously, the final award went to a film that they couldnt show because it

wasnt finished yet. They showed a clip, which wasnt that impressive, and then claimed that

the finished film would be very good indeed. I knew quite a few directors in the audience,

the ones who had arrived with finished films, found this a bit hard to swallow.

One incident stuck with me for years. This daft old cow got up, and said, I hope you

find this next film, as funny as the judging panel did! She then sat down and they played a

film, that was 10 minutes of a naked guy, doing press ups. Willy out. Up and down, up and

down. No one laughed. Not even a snigger. Then she got up and said Wasnt that good?

Not one person had laughed, at what had been introduced to us as a funny film. This didnt

seem to register with her.

Some of the films on display were miles ahead of what we were doing, which I did

pay attention to. But the arty ones, like Mr. Willy Out, just perplexed me. But the judges

seemed to favour the more outlandish incoherent films. Which was annoying, because that

was exactly what I was trying to get away from. I should have sent them the film of a giant

Graham humping the planet wed have won everything.

It was around this time that I realised that the people, who sit on judging panels, rarely

have any idea what a good film is. Certainly not what a funny film is. So I travelled back to

Aberdeen, awardless, but happy enough and with plenty to think about.


CHAPTER SIX

Return of the Mutants

Having seen what some people thought was very funny, I thought that we could do

a lot better. Post Spooked, I had a little more authority with the Mutants, well, as much

authority as was possible without introducing a whip and chair. Spooked had been well

received, not something you could claim for the previous 5 years of dribble that I had no hand

in directing. So I was the official Mutant director! Lucky. Old. Me.

I still thought that the Mutants had some comedic potential. They made me laugh, so

why not everyone else? With this in mind, I created the first fully edited and directed, Mutant

comedy The Amazing Gibbering Movie.

Basically, a series of pretty ropey sketches, the movie was created using the new

Spooked protocols. Filming was done on S-VHS and edited at Video Access. The whole thing

was filmed over one long weekend at Michaels new Banchory home. Clarkie was now

engaged and along with the job, was looking like the only Mutant with a future. I cant

remember where his fiance was? Probably, and quite wisely, she took the weekend off to

visit her Mum or something.

Sadly, what she left behind, was a damn cat. Cant be done with cats! Totally allergic

to them! Dogs, I like. Im allergic to them as well, but for a dog, its worth putting up with.

Cats hit me even harder than dogs and that weekend just became one snottery, sneezy,

wheezy nightmare. That was pretty much the only down side, because the actual film was

great fun to make. For the first time, we knew we could get it wrong and edit the rubbish

takes out later. Handy, since none of us were really performers and rubbish takes were

plentiful.


Also because of the edit suite, we were able to try new things, like musical comedy.

Cue a terribly rude song/parody of the tune, My Grandfathers Clock. Which Graham had

subverted into My Grandfathers Cock. The lyrics went something like this:

My Grandfathers cock, was too big for his pants,

so it lay, ninety years across his knees.

To a bold knight of old, it resembled a lance,

and hed use it, young ladies to please.

It was ten inches long,

on the day that he was born,

and it soon came his joy and his pride,

But it went, limp, never to rise again,

When the old, man, died.

Yes it went, limp, never to rise again,

When the old, man, died.

All accompanied by Grahams disgusting hand gestures and comical gyrations. Hey, I

never said it was highbrow comedy. But it least it was recognisably comedy, and not just a

man doing press-ups in the nude. We also did Nazi food adverts: Reich Krispies and Arian

Automatic (It keeps your race, whiter than white!) as well as monologues and quickie bad

pun sketches.

Nothing that would change the face of comedy, or anything: but an interesting way to

learn. Each sketch would need its own graphics, music, costumes and style of directing.

Once again, my trusty old Amiga provided the graphics and our old Yamaha provided the

music and sound FX


When it came to writing the Mutant stuff, it worked out like this: Clarkie and Sandy

would write individually and Graham and I would write together. My writing partnership with

Graham would remain in place right up until his death.

Admittedly, he wasnt exactly the vital cog or anything. Left to his own devices,

Graham wouldnt have written much at all. But together, we had a habit of coming up with

stuff. For the entire Mutant run of films, Graham and I must have written about seventy to

eighty percent of it. So if a joke didnt work, it was usually our fault. Having said that, lets

give Clarkie and Sandy credit, it was often their fault as well.

But with, The Amazing Gibbering Movie, enough of the jokes worked to be

entertaining, if a little on the tasteless side.

It was around this time that Video Access bought a portable edit suite. I only

mention it, because a less portable edit suite you will never hope to find. These days, I could

edit HD on a laptop, in the park, while drinking coffee and playing with a dog. Back then?

Lord almighty this thing was heavy! Basically it involved two enormous suitcases, inside one

suitcase were two monitors and inside suitcase number two were two S-VHS desks and a mini

edit controller.

Thor himself, would have had trouble lifting just one of these bastard cases. The day

we booked the equipment, it was just Sandy and me. Getting those cases out of Video Access,

and into Sandys car, nearly killed us. It nearly killed the car as well. Getting them up the

stairs to my flat, scuffed our fingers and strained our backs. When it was finally set up, it

performed quite well and I really enjoyed being able to edit in my own home. However, when

the time was up, it had to go back. By the time wed dropped the damn thing back with Brian

and Shona, I never wanted to see it again. Portable, my arse! It was portable the way a

wardrobe with a dead, fat guy inside was portable.


When finished, The Amazing Gibbering Movie was a nice companion piece to the

slightly more serious, Spooked. It was around this time that Video Access had enough

members producing work to have a sort of showcase special. This was done in the Aberdeen

Arts Centre, and was a good night for us. That night they screened our stuff, along with a

whole bunch of not-as-good stuff. Not that our stuff was massively brilliant, it wasnt. But our

stuff was at least entertaining. A lot of the stuff on that night was very arty in nature and

failed to entertain whatsoever.

One film, Pointy Man, was just a strangely dressed man, pointing at stuff, with

strange, ear-splitting electronic music throughout. Imagine fifteen minutes worth of that. Its

not difficult to steal a show, when people are praying for the other films to just bloody end.

Clarkie, in his usual manner, was heard to say during Pointy Man What the fuck is this shit?

And he had a point. Whatever the merits of arty filmmaking, this stuff was beyond us. Also, it

left the audience bored and confused.

Then our films started. Spooked went down well. The Amazing Gibbering Movie, well

it didnt go down so well, stuffed as it was with nob jokes and Graham pretending to

masturbate on the phone. Clearly, not for everyone - and some were quite offended. But at

least no one was bored. And we did get laughs, a few anyway.

At the post screening booze up, we ended up with dozens of people at our table and it

was easy to see whos stuff made the most impact. As a result, we were back in the papers!

This was the first time the four of us appeared in the newspapers as the comedy (loosely)

team called The Mutants. I didnt even know there was a journalist at the screening, so its not

like we were seeking publicity or anything, he just latched onto our films and wanted to do a

story.

Because of this publicity, I became the Video Access go-to guy, if anything needed

edited or filmed. I was quite happy picking up extra money here and there, plus it was a good


way to learn. I directed, music videos, promotional videos, live events, you name it. As well

as filming things for people, Id occasionally edit projects for people. This was actually quite

informative, since most of these young directors would film things all wrong and Id help

them come up with editing solutions. Its amazing what you can get away with, by flipping a

shot or using the right cutaway. So every time I patched up one of these masterpieces, Id

make a note of what they should have filmed and made sure I didnt make the same mistakes.

Sometimes, I was editing for people with considerably more education and money than I had.

Didnt seem to make them talented or anything. Sometimes, Id boggle at the creative

decisions these people would make.

One guy was making a film about a long distance runner. Fair enough. But hed cast

his girlfriend as the runner. So? Well, I dont want to be cruel or anything, but she was a bit,

you know, on the beefy side. Initially, I thought it might be a film about a woman, getting into

shape or something? But no, she was meant to be an Olympic medal winner. So the director,

lets call him, Professor Genius, had filmed his, not inconsiderable, girlfriend/actress running

down a country road - for mile after bouncy mile. Could I edit that for him? By the way,

Genius wanted the footage to go into slow motion at certain points, you know, like Chariots

of Fire. This was, just, technically possible. But slowing down this poor womans heaving

cleavage and shifting tummy flab, did not increase her credibility as a Gold medal winning

long distance runner.

But I did remember the trick, and would often slow down footage of Graham running

if I wanted him to look funny. This film, Chariots of Fat, had received a fair bit of funding,

so I though we might as well give it a try as well.

However, my attempts at getting funding our films did not go to plan.

After Spooked, I figured that I at least stood a chance of getting Scottish Screen

funding did you just hear a laugh? This was 1994 and my idea was for a Scottish comedy


about two removal men, who accidentally kill a bunch of people during a days work. Clarkie

created a top-notch propo

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