The audience, as for Napoli Napoli Napoli, seemed again to be strong in Italians, and the atmosphere was expectant. Straight away Gandini skilfully manipulated us with carefully selected images and an almost deadpan voiceover (akin to Michael Moore but with subtlety), forcing us to laugh hard at ‘TV-Republic’ Italy before the comprehension of the horrifying realism set in: Lele Mora gazed unnervingly mouth-open into the camera in his all-white house, before blithely showing off the collection of Mussolini’s hymns he had saved on his phone, complete with animated swastikas; dead-eyed young girls auditioning to be Veline, the voiceless dollies who keep the televised audience “tuned in” with their 30-second gyrating Stachetto dance, were shamelessly clapped by their grandparents; Corona’s initial refreshing celebrity cynicism as a paparazzo extorting money by taking compromising pictures – he’s the modern Robin Hood “but I don’t give it to the people, I give it to myself” – spiralled into the degradation of self-marketing – even going to far as to oil his completely naked body on camera (apparently for the benefit of the high physical standards of the Swedish audience Gandini told us afterwards). Throughout we were kept us giggling but shaking our heads in utter disbelief, and at times with mouths hanging further open than Mora’s. The biggest laugh probably came from a singalong propaganda film of women ecstatically chanting the chorus line “Thank God Silvio exists,” which in the UK would have been difficult to stomach even as satire.

Gandini’s message seemed to be that underneath this apparent expression of happy-go-lucky artlessness is a shallow pit lacking censorship and promoting caveman-like sexism amongst other unsavoury beliefs. In the discussion he was asked by John Kampfer of Index on Censorship whether Berlusconi was an Italian phenomenon, or whether this terrifying experiment into reality TV that has sapped Italy of its culture would have happened without him. Gandini agreed that whilst Berlusconi was, as a man who had elevated himself to the exalted position of President of television and then the country through “having fun”, unique, but that the culture of banality will present itself as harmless and fun, but there is always something scary in it, and that the two were linked: he likened it to a science fiction where a man infiltrates the television for so long he becomes it. And yet, when the BBC were initially Executive Producing the piece, Gandini felt pressured by them to adapt the delivery to the way they wanted it; it was in danger of ironically becoming a film about a man who wants TV to be like him, by a man who was being made to be like TV. Although Gandini came up against some criticism for not portraying the more recent developments in Italian television, such as Sky beginning to break the monopoly of programming, and Berlusconi having had to mortgage control of some of his companies to the Vatican, thus altering some more explicit content, he stuck firm to his presentation of the facts, such as the ones his film ended on that hit home his message that Italy’s TV-watching population are sexist, limited and censored through ignorance.

Boyd also commented on the two main importances of this work. Firstly technically: the film was made on digibeta, which is now being phased out by the use of digital recorders, and then transferred to 35mm, and was the first film to be transferred in this way. He described the process of now running the film from 35mm as “a bit dodgy really”, especially seeing as there is no negative should the film break, but the effect of the interesting lighting techniques used with this film made you forget this fact pretty quickly. The second importance was more personal: Boyd’s own daughter Angela plays the lead female Kate/Lucia in the film, and agreeing to work with her father was a difficult choice. A student at the Guildhall, she had won prizes for her Soprano, and was unsure how criticisms of nepotism could affect her budding career. Nevertheless she agreed, and her performance is stunning, making this film all the more poignant and beloved of Boyd himself.

He began our viewing with an interesting coincidence: Napoli Napoli Napoli was the opening film of the LIDF last week, and the first ever performance of Lucia di Lammermoor was at the San Carlo Opera House in Napoli in 1835.A man interested in the details, he certainly found this very charming.

Lucia is, in Boyd’s own words, “not a documentary in any sense of the word”, which obviously makes it an interesting choice for a documentary festival! Lucia was both loved and hated on its release, and is one of Boyd’s lesser-known pieces so it is a wonderful chance to have it screened in such a venue as the Barbican, the depthy cinema of which adds to the grandiose and charged opening of the film, with its saturated colourscheme – it looks as those it was filmed on Mars at times. The story echoes the opera itself, with the cast of characters in an operatic troupe performing the opera intertwining with the lives of its characters, to devastating effect at the end, where the stories cannot be told apart. It really is a showcase for the music, along with the impressive stylised photography. Overall, it’s an example of Boyd’s uncompromising approach to film that has made him such a successful filmmaker.

His retrospective continues tomorrow at The Horse Hospital.

Photography by Andrej Vasilenko

Nick Papadimitriou goes for long walks, often for days at a time, in an ambitious effort to “hold my region in my mind.” He is comforted by what he sees as the rejected buildings and spaces of London, the “overlooked” places, that lack the care and attention he himself felt he had found wanting in his own early life. Filmmaker John Rogers’ portrait piece ‘The London Perambulator’, about the self-styled Deep Topographer and his loving study of  liminal spaces, started ‘The Invisible City‘ day at The Hub in Kings Cross, an inspirational converted space around the corner from the bustling station, consisting of little brick-and-girder viewing rooms and a tall-ceilinged cafe. Around the tables filmmakers sat giving quiet talks about their films or ‘documentary surgeries’ for the audience, which, with their little pads, seemed to be predominantly students of film of all ages. It was refreshing to see such a mix, as well as an interest in ‘forgotten London’.

‘The London Perambulator’ has a second screening at the Festival next Thursday at The Freeword Centre in Farringdon. Talking to John Rogers after his Q and A session, I asked him how his film and its famous contributors came together. He’s a writer and walker himself, and had put together a book of images from topographical walks as part of a presentation to the Arts Council, which he then gave to friend Russell Brand. He thought Brand would lose it. Months later, Brand rang him up and told him he had to meet Nick, taking them both out on a “blind date”. Brand and Papadimitriou seemed to be old friends; when in the film Russell does an impression of Nick, it’s a nod to a creation of his own from his character sketch days, ‘Warren Kelp’, who seems to be a grotesque part Nick part man-who-lived-in-a-tree-on-Hampstead-Heath compilation, to whom Brand mostly gives Nick’s non sequitur dialogue seen in the film, such as when he explains he burned his school down “twice…They wouldn’t let me do A-Levels.”  Rogers and Papadimitriou developed a walking relationship, and Iain Sinclair, writer of London-worship bibles ‘London Orbital’ and ‘London: City of Disappearances’ , was brought on board when, thinking he’d like it despite never having met him, Rogers sent Sinclair film of his walks with Nick; he’d found his address on an early self-published work, and thought “he probably still lived there.” A reply letter was lost in the mail; Rogers found out he did still live there and he had liked it when a friend said he’d seen the footage used in one of Sinclair’s lectures. In the film, Sinclair describes Papadimitriou as “almost like a Will Self character”: Will Self calls Nick his friend and colleague and defers to him in all aspects of topographical interest. Theirs is a relationship of several decades, sometimes seen in Self’s ‘PsychoGeography’ column in The Independent, and Nick helped him research contours for ‘The Book Of Dave’, using his own maps to work out which bits of London were likely to drown when the floods came. Rogers tells me he actually thinks Nick is a Self character, from ‘Grey Area’; an interesting metafictional consideration further explored when an audience member asks in the Q and A whether Nick is a real person. Rogers admits two things: first, jokingly, that Nick is what he thought Iain Sinclair would turn out to be like, and secondly, that he used the ‘talking heads’ presentation of the often deadpan Self, Brand and Sinclair to raise the question in some viewers of whether the film is a spoof. This really seems to add to the sense of mystery that the film serves to add to our normal conception of London which Papadimitriou has told us earlier is “screened out by modern sensibilities”, as if it’s the magic of a childhood fairytale, once believed and now forgotten.

Also being played at ‘The Invisible City’ were recordings ‘The Best of Resonance’ by Ed Baxter, one of the London-based radio station’s creators. Resonance, found at 104.4 FM, is lauded as ‘London’s best radio station’, and, appropriately for today’s theme, is an inventive, eclectic mix of programming that is incredibly broadminded. It featured heavily in the love-letter to radio that was 2009’s ‘Radio Head’ by John Osborne, an exploration of all that is still good about this increasingly overlooked means of communication, as it seems to aim to only reflect the mixed community of Londoners in the same way that commercial radio stations only reflect the needs of marketing departments; you might have a slot hosted by a 12-year old, or in one of the twelve other languages commonly spoken in London, followed by a music fanzine discoursing on irregular time signatures…or a recording of Nick Papadimitriou reading from his notebooks.

There was a wonderful sense of the accidental and the coincidental at today’s multimedia event, which seems to come down to one thing: communities of people being brought together by something they love. This is what filmmaking should be about.

The film was accompanied tonight by the Director and friends performing the score live. This understandably provoked questions at the Q and A afterwards, where David Modell, whose film Dispatches: Battle Scarred deals with the same issue of disenfranchised ex-servicemen, interviewed Luke Seomore, Joseph Bull, Director of Photography David Procter, and protagonist Stuart Griffiths. When challenged that such an emotionally-leading score was unnecessary in a documentary that was already able to establish an emotional connection with the audience through its visual content, the view of the panel was that they had aimed all along to create something different with their film, not another piece about statistics, but really about involving the viewer in the experience of the characters, which is what Proctor’s sensitive and artistic slow tracking shots and close camera work and the moving, elemental score set out to do, also aiding the narrative arc of Griffith’s journey across Britain to meet with his interviewees.

This was an exciting night of controversy and innovation. The film is expected to tour with the live scores across 15 cinemas UK-wide in the Summer, so that more people can experience this moving event.

Induction day for the workshop participants

The students spent two induction days at a beautiful farm on the outskirts of Karachi, getting to know each other, discussing ideas and of course relaxing before the hard work begins.

After this intense week-long workshop, covering the history and theory of documentary film as well technical and aesthetic considerations, the students have a month to shoot 10 documentary films in groups of 3. We will return in March for editing and post production. The films will be shown at LIDF 2010 at the British Museum as part of our Pakistan focus day and 5 lucky students will have the chance to travel to London to present and discuss their films.

Watch this space for more news and blogs as the workshop progresses.

Day 2

Sitting in the breakfast room I watch birds bouncing on the rocks. Birds of the Indus valley, and I don’t know what any of them are called.

The restoration of the judges again dominates the comment and editorial pages of the morning papers. A genuine hope exists that a separation between the State and the judiciary has been established, and that the days of the judges rubbing-stamping military, or other ‘regimes’, whether by clear decree (the ‘doctrine of necessity’), or by silent approval, is over. As on previous visits I am struck by the lucidity of much of the editorial writing. The directness of its political analysis, in particular the recognition of US policy initiatives in Pakistan. The avoidance of the hysterical or the Olympian.

Peter, Eram Zehra (British High Commission) and I meet in the lobby. We head out into the rich, summer-spiced air. A security guard in a dark blue uniform and black beret steps forward and leads us to the waiting car. There are many different coloured uniforms on display in Karachi. The designation of each, the affiliation, whether to the military or a private security service is not always obvious. This morning there are at least three distinct uniformed groups on the forecourt.

We clamber into the 4×4, the rear-windows screened with black gauze. The security guard sits up front beside the driver. Though the streets are busy we move steadily through the lanes, twisting among the motorbikes (women riding nonchalantly cross-legged and side saddle on the back), and the riotously decorative buses. Inside the car it is cool and calm, 100% normal except for the presence of the gun.

So what abut this security business? Sitting there, naturally, a thought crosses ones mind: And if something were to happen would he fire back, ‘defend’ us? The idea seems absurd. In that case what is the function of the guard? Is it merely a necessary gesture? Is his presence a genuine index of risk? Perhaps it has something to do with insurance?

Before leaving there was much talk about the security situation. The hotel was changed on the advice of the security services. Beyond that I don’t ask or really want to know.

We lose our way. Some phone calls later we drive slowly up a narrow, kerb-less street and stop beside a metal gateway. A door opens in the gate. We climb down. On the other side of the street is a house under construction. The scaffolding is made entirely of slightly distorted, bare wooden poles. On a piece of bare ground nearby is a tented enclave. I ask Eram what it is. She says the builders have set the camp up and live there while they complete the job. Two small boys with close-shaven scalps walk past carrying sacks on their backs. I wonder how old they are. I read, recently, that according to the latest United Nations Population Fund that in Pakistan 60% of children under five are stunted.

We cross a cool, vine-canopied terrace. ‘It’s great to see you here’ Moiz says. Handshakes all around. The group is suddenly shy. I introduce the broad outline for the next five days. I tell them about the plans we have made with the BHC to bring some of them to London for the LIDF (four of them, one from each group). Peter and I are concerned about how those who are not coming to London are going to feel. Until now they have all worked well and harmoniously together, without hint of competition. It’s true that in each group a driving force has arisen, a leader, but it is still an invidious choice. We discuss ways that we can make the rest of them somehow present in London and decide to try and shoot a video diary.

The morning is spent listening to each group present an update on their project. While we have been away they have been shooting material. Some of the groups have shot far more than we anticipated. We try and get a better idea of what their material comprises. They tell us about their problems on the shoot, their successes, and their insights. Although we have been in regular contact with them from London this is the first time we get a clear idea of where things are at.

(To recap. The subject matter of each film has been chosen by the students. The ideas arose out of our first workshop when we spent five days talking with the students about Karachi, of politics, of the things that bothered them, of their frustrations, of their aspirations. We watched films, we played games, and we taught some theory and history of documentary, we went out and ate some wonderful food.)

The rest of the day is spent in a room full of fans and computers and shades drawn to keep out the sun. At first the fans are welcome. When the first power cut of the day occurs we realise how noisy they are.

Then begins the logging and the capturing of material – it is tedious work. By teatime everyone is once again talkative, relaxed, and asking questions. They then stick at the dull task until 6pm when our car returns and we must leave. Some of them arrange with the production house to stay on into the evening.

On the drive back to the hotel we wonder if we will manage to complete these four films before we leave. It seems a tall order. Looking out of the car window I think if I made a film here I would make it about all these empty, unfinished buildings.

Back at the hotel: fresh cakes on the coffee table. I haven’t changed my wristwatch since arriving, in the hope of working on two time zones. Now on London time I watch the afternoon tick away over Primrose Hill.

To read Day 1, click here.

To read day 3, click here.

There was an earthquake here today. The epicentre was just off the coast, under the Arabian Sea. Apparently, there was panic in certain parts of the city.

‘Here’, is Karachi, Pakistan. Peter Fraser and myself have returned to conclude Stage 1 of a documentary film project begun last year with the support of the British High Commission, Pakistan.

It had been a rushing, weaving, lane-changing drive in from the airport through a cityscape punctuated by unfinished buildings and empty spaces where no work continues – where the money has run out. Two kids play cricket on the exposed flat roof of a skeletal tower block. The air is dotted with sea eagles. I still find the silent wheeling of these large dark birds ugly and ominous.

A raised barrier halts us a little distance from the hotel. Two armed security guards inspect under the bonnet, in the boot, and under the chassis. They wave us through. We are welcomed in the foyer with iced cinnamon tea.

From the 14^th floor the view over Karachi is expansive. Pale grey, ochre and dusty greens as far as the port and the mangrove swamps. A mega-city of 16 -18 million people, birthplace of Jinnah (founder of the nation) sometimes known as the ‘City of Lights’, gently roaring behind the tightly sealed glass.

The General Manager, a Scot, shows me around the room then stands at the tall balcony window and points to a restaurant on the corner of the busy junction in front of the hotel.

‘Do you know that film with Angelina Jolie?’ He asks.

‘The one about the journalist, Daniel Pearl?’ He continues ‘The guy that got kidnapped. The American guy that got murdered?’

I nod. I know the story, not the film.

‘That’s the restaurant where they snatched him …’

I look down at the innocuous outdoor BBQ, the tables and potted trees enclosed behind a tall fence. In large letters above the doorway is written: ‘The Village’

‘I don’t suggest you go out there to eat’ he says, matter-of-factly.

With some hours to kill I sit on the bed, propped on copious pillows, and flick through the TV channels. It is the usual, relentless news programming.

The main story of the day is the restoration, after two years of protest, of Chief Justice Chaudhry and the subsequent diffusing of the tension between President Zardari and Nawaz Sharif. There is relief that the long march has come to an end without the full-scale intervention of the army. There is concern in some quarters that for the resolution to be achieved it has taken the indirect/direct intervention of US Secretary of State Hilary Clinton via telephone calls to the two protagonists over the previous weekend; consternation in yet other quarters that the US position towards Sharif seems to be softening.

The project the LIDF is running here is about film-making and social change. Perhaps that should be followed by a question mark? Not so much a statement, or a project, but an interrogation. If so, it is one that we have begun to answer in affirmative ways. The first workshops held in early January 2009 emphasised the power of the word ‘change’. It’s a good word whose meaning and scope varies from place to place.

For instance, the state of permanent flux that Pakistan finds itself in determines that the word democracy doesn’t mean the same thing here as it does is the UK. For which reason it is vaguely nauseating to see David Miiliband on TV pontificating – it is the right word – about Pakistan’s ‘need’ for democracy. The students here have questioned outright the application of the concept to their country. More so when that democracy seems compromised by US foreign policy supported by Britain. The increased use of drones into Pakistan sovereign territory, the insistence on Pakistan releasing troops from the border with India in favour of activities in the tribal areas, the anti-insurgency activities on Pakistani soil are all undertaken without recourse to, or with, the support of the Pakistani electorate.

The students here have questioned outright the application of the concept to their country. Not in resignation or in a spirit of naïve anarchy, but because some of them believe the socio-politico history suggests different structural possibilities and constraints. Or that the transition to democracy will occur in phases, with other structural changes, less dramatic but necessary, to take place – land reforms, education, and that even then the exact form democracy may take can’t be predicted.  Perhaps they have lived too long with political contingencies to believe in political verities. I can’t comment, but I understand their point. They are free from a certain sort of dogma, and that is refreshing.

So, we are here to see what role film can play in social change, and when a question is appended to the sentence, the questions just keep coming. Tomorrow, no doubt, we will talk with the group about all of this again.

I know they will have something to say, and that any weariness they feel towards their political situation, any immediate condemnation will be quickly replaced by determination, and the insistence on the possible – on change. But, how will these films help them achieve that?

The majority of the students have never voted, though eligible: What is the point? They say. But this resignation does not strike me as quite the same as the lacklustre abstention found in England. It is not that they are non-political. Rather, there is an ambivalence: a rejection mixed with the understanding that comes after years of failure that despite everything the solutions must in the end be political. Only successful nations can abandon politics. For these students it must simply be a different politics. A politics tempered by, and infused with, the sort of stories they say they want to tell in these films.

I make some tea and then the phone starts to ring and ring, and texts arrive in a flood as if a communications sluice gate has been suddenly opened. London on-line.

Then the phone goes dead, and two brief power failures occur in quick succession. Eventually, I go on-line and pick up the unread mail of the last 16 hours. I scroll the pages for what is urgent or curious, for a welcome name that might leap out. I notice a message from Asha, one of the students here in Karachi. I click to find that they have written a poem that they wish to include in the film they are making. What do I think, she asks?

Look into my Eyes

by

Asha Panjwani

&

Sehreen

Look into my eyes
and tell me what you see

My life makes no sense to you.

I am too young but tired to catch up my desires,

my needs have begun to show on my face,

my own burden for me is too heavy to take
but the story of my survival shall not go to waste.

I am Pakistan.

Ask me how I feels to wake up everyday,
wonder what the day will bring on my way,
a new day, with endless need,
more and more mouths to feed….
does no one hear me weep?

Ones look into my eyes and try to see,
you and me equal under the skies,

So precious friend,

Hold my hands, and help me to rise…

I would like to win a breathe of a complete life.

To read Day 2, click here.

To read Day 3, click here.