bone blog london #4

Dear Bonesters,

Yesterday was Bone Film visits east end and hackney, a day of spiritual rest, bunker said he should've gone to church. Such high hopes for sunday roast, barely edible, though lancashire sausage was smoking. Walking through spitalfields market ally was recognized by the Bangaladesh cigarette vendor as Finsbury Park, it wasn't even her neighborhood, apparently she does get around. It was 4 o'clock when bunker got busted bringing contraband alcohol from his man purse into the parking lot/bar/south african bar b q, his response, I'm on a budget.

Bricklane, spitalfields the anarchy of london architecture from the upper deck of the # 141 bus to Finsbury park. After a few pints, it was time to hit the theater, so we took the cab ride from hell. Staso started screaming at the 2nd bangaledesh cab driver, who didn't where portobello road was. Study a fucking map. Oh, we're not racist.

London's fear of ice, is getting on bunkers nerves.

It's time to put CELLULOID # 1 to bed, after a year and 4 months on the festival circuit we've come to realize we are FILMMAKERS not film tourists. The LEGENDARY bonefilm PR machine is tired and squeaky, while the bone film production team is gearing up with a new script, "CELLAR a triptyct" which has been designed to premiere at CANNES 2009, no more weasel film festivals it's cannes or bust. We are currently searching for a latin American actress in her 30's w/ an extra side of VA VA VOOM, and an array of deeply wounded iraqi war vetrans against suicide, in their late teens, early twenties.[bonefilm is an equal opportunity / special needs employer, unlike Hollywood].

kisses from london

glimmer over and out

ex oh ex oh

bone blog london #3

dear bonesters

The day has started gray and gloomy and Staso is in an angry mood, seems there are problems of a personal nature, but yesterday was bright and cheerful, the last beautiful day of summer for us, and for the locals the first beautiful day of summer.

It's portobello road market day and all of london has decided to descend on it, a virtual feeding frenzy of consumption. I ran into John Sinclair, our new spiritual advisor who had just read the first london blog, I love your writing, he joins me on the walk to westbourne studios it takes a half an hour to go three blocks. After sampling he expressed an interest in our herbal specialist. then it's the cinema, first up was K. Hiraoka RED LIGHT DISTRICT GRAFITTI. An abstract masterpiece set in an abondoned building/brothel. The female workers have developed their own language, [which is reflected in the subtitles, "????//£9888888"]this seems to anger the local johns. it is performance art, it is opera, shot by John Fords cameraman. A great cinematic experience.

Next up is a slate of films documenting, the alternative Miss World contest, Andrew Logans annual art/performance fest. First up was the 2004 contest, filmed and introduced by jes benstock. A rollicking piece of pure documentary, fun but not great, unlike the 1973 20 minute version by Derek Jarman, the gay punk visionary british director. Beautiful super 8 black and white grainy perverted head shots, butt shots, torso's, all sides of the performers. It's wonderful to be in this super 8 world, no sync sound but fucked up musical choices, smoke gets in your eyes.

Another favorite was the 1978 edition shot on 16mm w/ sync sound juried by the late great DIVINE. These 1970's films reflected the wonderful innocence and spontanaeity of a pre-aids world. It was touching and heartbreaking at the same time. But Andrew Logan's genius was in the production of these contests. Everyone was welcome, fat, old, gay straight, human, non humans, vegetables and minerals, and they all had to walk down the same scary set of steps onto the stage. Many did not make it, but the winner, Miss Anthropic made it to be crowned and mounted on a donkey, both took the dive off the stage. Happily, the donkey was uninjured. All the contestants joined with the audience on stage to dance in celebration of the event. The soundtrack they were dancing to was ymca by the village people. It was very nearly perfect.

Work now finished, we headed into the 21st century saturday night of Soho/central london. We couldn't go to our favorite punk bars because they were filled to overflowing, in a pinch a nice little gay bar suffices, and it did, the enclave on wardour st. was quiet, until the female serbian bobsled team showed up. Bunker commented on how they were all bigger than his dad. He looked scared.
Once again we were snuggling in our beds, by 2:30.

we miss you all.

the glimmer twins