Making The First All Digital Film - Part III: Montreal Pre-Production

From the first days in Montreal, there was a sense the city was the right place to make the film. Not simply because locations suited the style we imagined, but also it was an inviting place to live and work, an urban mix of North America and Europe which was personally appealing. In fact, we had originally envisaged a Washington DC setting for the story; yet years of development had subsequently evolved into a New York base. When we worked on the film with John Heyman at World Film Services, we were taken on a tour of the Bronx to get a feel for the environment – it was an interestingly short experience, since we were told not to get out of the vehicle when approaching more interesting yet threatening locations and our twitchy driver claimed we were being followed by a gang.

The contrast of a rainbow both visually and metaphorically, brilliant colours and the hope of escape, would have made an interesting contrast with the bleak background, yet we wanted to go for something more. After all, our concept was for the world to fall apart, and the threat of apocalyptic conditions wouldn’t have provided such a visceral contrast if we were already establishing an initially distressed setting. Instead, Montreal provided us with the opportunity for older, small-scale community neighbourhoods amid sparkling, modern city structures.

The six weeks of prep at Ealing Studios had given us a solid creative heart. Now we needed to spread wings and incorporate a larger team. Initially based out of the imposing Hotel du Parc, with its expansive view of the Montreal mountain and its dominant cross. We had teamed up with Filmline International and producer Nicolas Clermont. He had an office in an impressive redbrick building in the heart of the Old Town district, and was a welcoming host, especially when we first visited in the dead of winter. Right from the start, a regular haunt became Chez Gautier restaurant where negotiations, arguments and laughter often played out. Indeed, it wouldn’t be hard to exaggerate that the quality of food was a major bonus of working in Quebec over a period of two years!

As we embarked on location recces across the city during the summer of ’94, there was a real sense of inspired togetherness. Like most productions, the creative adrenaline of exploring and imagining storytelling played out on real streets kept everyone on a high, especially with genial, receptive production designer Claude Paré and happily stressed costume designer Janet Campbell on board.

Bob had also been introduced to composer Alan Reeves, who joined us in Ealing and was now to be with us throughout prep and shoot. Alan had some peculiar demands regarding accommodation which ruled him out of staying at hotels as he burrowed away at mining melodies. In fact, Alan always appeared at every location, keyboard at the ready, plugging in headphones and losing himself in musical ideas. At the time, nobody knew how this was going to work out, especially when Bob and Alan became enamoured with the sound of the Jew’s Harp.

The primary and most vital consideration became casting. Through Bob’s veteran CCA agent Fred Specktor, we were able to approach Dan Aykroyd, whose enthusiasm for the police probably played as much a part in his coming on board to play a smalltown Kansas sheriff as the quality of the script. We also managed to secure seasoned pro Saul Rubinek, who Bob had worked with on “Sweet Liberty”, to play a sympathetic teacher. However, the real intangible was always going to be finding the four kids at the heart of the story.

Bob’s stated aim was to find “real kids”, saying he wanted understated performances, stripping away any tendency towards overacting – the innocence of a disaster movie through the eyes of children. The auditions set up by our enthusiastic casting directors presented us with much choice – however Bob tended to latch onto kids too immediately without going back to explore their abilities further. Without prior experience, they certainly had a naïve, fresh quality; however, working on a set, in front of an expectant crew when money is being burnt through by the second, was always going to be a risk. At least, for the older brother, the already experienced Jacob Tierney was chosen.

We also cast an Australian cattle dog, Sonny, who was indeed perfect for the role, despite issues we were subsequently going to have with the trainers. As Bob said, here was an animal that could run sideways.

Immediate, intuitive decision-making as a director tended to become a trait of Bob’s as we sunk deeper into prep. Strangely his work on the character of Frank, amateur magician and kindly uncle, was much more considered. The seeds of unease for coming production were being sown.

Bob’s involvement was a primary part of why we were making the film. Especially in the UK, yet increasingly across international markets through the success of films like “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, “Mermaids” and “Hook”, he was an attractive star name. Originally, Bob had come onto the project solely as director, a prospect we actively encouraged. Yet our sales agent, Marie Vine, was particularly persuasive, and she needed Bob’s on-screen potential for pre-sales. In the end, it wasn’t a prolonged issue to get his involvement as actor, the kindly grandfather was a good role – the most difficult part of the deal was the expensive demand for wigs needed since he was adamant the character would be long-haired!

As a director, and subsequently actor, Bob was always a willing partner in selling the potential of the film. When we met with Cary Granat, then at Universal, he was an enthusiastic collaborator and when the offer was made for us to consider a development deal with the studio, he was also a supporter of our making the movie independently. He believed it was better to maintain creative control and prove with the final product what a good film we had. Subsequently, there were ongoing visits to Montreal from Universal representatives, and we always seemed to be on the verge of a distribution deal, yet it never solidified. In the end, it was wariness of our unproven digital technology.

The other solid interest for the US market came from neophyte studio Savoy Pictures. In fact, it was more than interest, there was a commitment and a deal proposed. For one of the only times, we were sent an internal reader’s report from Stacey Attanasio, who was VP for their Motion Pictures division at the time – it was a glowing appreciation, not only for the craft of the script but also perfectly summing up and understanding our thematic ambitions. It was an energizing affirmation.

Unfortunately, while we were still in pre-production, Savoy’s initial film releases fizzled at the box office and as a result skewered company finances. Any deal was on a permanent hold.

Making the film as an official co-production between Canada and the UK did mean, however, that we had to secure a Canadian distributor. It was a mandatory part of the treaty agreement. We’d completed the British side of the equation when the deal with First Independent was hammered out at the Cannes Film Festival and there had already been initial interest from Allegro Films Distribution, headed by Franco Battista. But our co-producer Nicolas was wary. Indeed, there were already frissons of disagreement bubbling up over the budget and the best way to make the film, with our argument that the money really needs to end up on the screen, rather than syphoned off on production fees. In any case, regarding Allegro there was no way Nicolas believed we’d achieve the figures in the sales estimates. That made us even more determined to arrange a meeting and prove him wrong.

The eventual get-together we had with Allegro delivered even more than we’d imagined. And yet, despite the additional financial input, it only caused a further split in the working relationship with Nicolas. Maybe it felt like we were stepping on toes in Montreal, yet our core team established back in Ealing was determined to make the film we’d collectively imagined. Pushbacks on production and budget, matters that stretched way beyond creative differences, were coming to a head. It all ended in a pivotal meeting in the Filmline office, where the careful closing of a file was the sign for Bob and us to leave a dispiriting collision of ideas. It was a shame that it dampened the working relationship with Nicolas, though he steadfastly abided by the co-production agreement. It was a production issue rather than personal. Line producer Stewart Harding was now assigned to the production on a day-to-day basis.

For a while in Montreal, work and time became painfully extended. A remaining gap in the finance plan (part of the remnants from our abortive time at Ealing and a floundering relationship with their on-site financing arm Screen Partners) meant we couldn’t close with Berliner Bank on overall funding against pre-sales, estimates, investment and subsidies. The situation was finally resolved by Gary Smith, our Winchester partner back in London, and we finally moved into the full prep offices down by the Saint Lawrence River and initiated studio construction of the main apartment set.

In an expansive and empty industrial space, big enough to host the warmth of the art department (the place always to go to on any production when you need to de-stress) and costume department, a myriad of offices was established under the control of flamboyant, imperious production manager, Mychèle Boudrias. Despite our basic understanding of school-taught French, the conflict of language would be a constant if often humorous dilemma – especially when production meetings descended into ricocheting differences in the local Quebec dialect, and we had to demand English so we could understand what was going on. It also took some time getting used to a unisex toilet!

Work on the script continued unabated, whether for creative or budgetary reasons. Actually, it was mostly to accommodate the budget, which necessarily reduced much of the apocalyptical chase sequence near the story’s end. It did help us, though, to sharpen dialogue and characters for our actual actors.

In September 1994, a couple of weeks before the shoot was scheduled to commence the camera crews gathered, spearheaded of course by Freddie Francis. Alongside him were two operators for A and B cameras, John Palmer and John Warwick, both plucked from the UK, while locals filled out the remainder of the unit. That was the traditional camera crew team. But of course, there was another, entirely different part of the department, who arrived from across the US – the Sony High Definition unit – with the truck, support equipment and cameras driven up from Texas or imported from California. The main purpose of the first week was to assimilate the two sides – the traditional film crew and the pioneering HD digital team. Both were respectful of each other, and both were similarly arrogant in their superiority.

It was fascinating to see the technology up close, even more to enter the HD operation hub in the control truck. It was quickly obvious that ingenuity would be needed to cope with the umbilical cords attached to the cameras. But beyond the technical, it was also obvious that creating a bond between the separate disciplines was going to take time and effort.

On the one hand, the traditional elites of a hundred-year industry of celluloid, the flickering and ephemeral magic at 24 frames per second that professionals had perfected and abused.

On the other, technical nerds dealing in digital code, seeking a visual hyper-reality without motion blur, and convinced of a digital future – using our movie as practical proof (and trial) that feature films could be made this way.

Necessarily, both sides had their own methodology and prejudices. The secret would be to somehow mesh these sensibilities. For the first few days this meant basic camera and lighting tests, the two crews getting used to each other and the new equipment. It was also working out systems and a chain of command, because once on the shoot there couldn’t be delays.

In fact, after a few days sparring it did seem to be working out. The day before commencing principal photography, we scheduled a test shoot, taking the camera and HD units thirty minutes outside Montreal to Clarenceville, a small community of little more than a thousand. A wide landscape of cornfields comfortably doubled for Kansas, where the kids land after flying through the rainbow. Simple shots included a car driving by while the camera moved up to reveal our Art Department sign stating: SATIVA FALLS.

It was an efficient few hours. The shots were completed without fuss. The units worked in tandem. We felt confident for the proper shoot, and that whatever minor kinks needed to be ironed out, they could be dealt with as we proceeded.

After all the only added elements would be a director, kids, and a dog.

What could go wrong?

Silent Memories: Making "The Optimist"

 

As a writer, actor, and producer, the art of comedy has always been the most challenging and exacting of disciplines to get right. Yet it’s also one of the most rewarding, whether it elicits a belly laugh or just a gentle smile. At the end of the 1970s, I was no longer acting and moving out of West End theatre production and tours and into television and film, starting with a World Cup documentary series “Game Of The Century” for the BBC.

So, when I came across Richard Sparks’ script for a short film, I was immediately attracted to the originality of making a silent comedy.

The most immediate issue was to raise the money, based on a budget that it would be generous to describe as basic. After hearing from Richard, that then little-known actor Rowan Atkinson was interested to play the lead, I found a bunch of investors, then lost some of them, found others, lost Rowan to illness, and finally with Richard found Enn Reitel in his place. To cut the story short – in August 1981, I was on a plane to Los Angeles, with a briefcase packed with traveler’s cheques!

Enn and Sharron Davies, the Olympic swimmer who was to play the Girl, were already in the Mexican resort of Cabo San Lucas at the tip of the Baja California peninsula, with a crew arranged by Los Angeles contacts. The young director was Peter Ellis, who at the time had a few British credits to his name, and the DP was Peter Appleton, a multi-hyphenate known for his work with Robert Altman and Robert Benton.

After a feverish night on the phone to London persuading the main investor who wanted to pull out of the production, and threatened legal action, to stay with the production, I changed the traveler’s cheques at a Century City bank and flew to Cabo with $25,000 packed in the briefcase. Taking advantage of AeroMéxico’s generous supply of margaritas, I was happy (very happy!) to meet actors, surfers and crew rehearsing on the sand next to our beachfront hotel and finally left my worries behind. It wasn’t until much later in the day that I suddenly remembered I’d left the briefcase on the beach!

It was Mexico and the tide was coming in. I dreaded that I’d lost the money and with it the production – but there it was on a deserted stretch of sand amid gently lapping surf!

The 10-day shoot was a blur of activity with a small but hard-working crew and, with money stretched to the limit, almost everyone ended up on screen. We filmed outside apart from wraparound scenes in the lead character’s cramped apartment, which necessitated a night in the local town. In 1981, it was a jolt to see the poverty that rubbed shoulders with the tourist wealth.

The final scenes on the schedule involved all of us making up the numbers for the restaurant sequence. It didn’t help that our director had succumbed to virulent diarrhea. In the early hours of the morning, we finally wrapped – and just in time to get to the airport.

The initial edit was put together by the two Peters in a comfortably chaotic suite at a North Seward Street facility in Los Angeles. My first Hollywood production! It was there I met composer David Spear, who was working on another film in the building. There was an immediate bond, an understanding of the gentle humor we were aiming for. David’s theme became a defining part of the film and then the subsequent series.

Back in the UK, reality hit. Despite what I felt was a good edit, we were short of the money needed to complete the film and despite some favorable reactions at a series of screenings, there wasn’t a sale to a TV company. “Sea Dreams” had been shot on 35mm with the original intention it could also be shown in cinemas as a short before the main feature (a popular convention at the time). Even Mamoun Hassan at the National Film Finance Corporation turned us down. By the end of October, I was still £20,000 short of completing what we were now ambitiously proposing as a pilot for a series.

 

Then Cecil Korer entered our lives. Cecil had made his name during a 20-year period at the BBC where he produced hits like “Ask The Family”, “The Good Old Days” and “It's A Knockout”. He joined the newly established broadcaster Channel Four in June 1981 as Commissioning Editor for Light Entertainment and was responsible for purchases such as “Cheers” as well as commissioning shows like “Countdown”, the broadcaster’s very first and longest-running program, and “Treasure Hunt”. Just before Christmas, I somehow managed to arrange for Cecil to see our incomplete short in the small 20th Century Fox screening room in Soho Square.

 

He never laughed once!

 

As the flickering images spun to black and the lights came up, Cecil stood and headed out. I presume my heart sank, but I didn’t have to time to reflect before he turned with a theatrical throw of his scarf, and bluntly stated –

 

“I would like six half-hours plus this, on one condition – you shoot them in Hollywood. If this isn’t a problem, give me a call tomorrow.”

 

I remember shakily exiting into the chill autumn air, finding a nearby wine bar, and needing a drink to calm my nerves. It took a while before my disbelieving mind could except that my dream had come true. “The Optimist” was born – it was going to become a TV series!

By March of 1982, we’d signed a development deal to come up with six more stories. Three months later, we were in pre-production in Los Angeles, based out of Marina del Rey. The budget was more generous than our Mexican adventure, but we were still existing on financial fumes, a motley British crew of Brits joining some equally eccentric Americans – and saved many times by line producer Graham Cottle. I had reunited the two Peters and flew a different actress across the Atlantic for each episode. In addition, our casting director in LA, Jose Villaverde, unearthed some gems, fresh talent as well as seasoned veterans.

It was a tough, relentless three months. This time we shot on 16mm, with the negative footage sent back to editors in London on a weekly basis, and thankfully a mostly uneventful process – although customs held the film cans for “Burning Rubber” for days suspecting possible porn material! Finally they were convinced it was a motor racing story!

The last story on the schedule was “A Challenge”, a swashbuckling pastiche that features an extended sword fight across Hollywood between the Optimist in white and his Rival in black. Starting and ending on Santa Monica beach, it takes in the iconic Hollywood sign, the classic Paramount studio gate, the steps of Hollywood High School and even across Sunset Boulevard as well as assorted sidewalks and a car wash. Clint Eastwood’s stuntman and sometime director Buddy Van Horn rehearsed the actors, and we shot much of the episode on the hoof, as we knew we’d never get permissions for all the locations in time for our shooting schedule. Plus, we couldn’t afford the cost!

All went well, until Sunset Boulevard. The script sees the duel momentarily halted when the Optimist and Rival are forced to pause when the crossing lights turn red. They lower their swords and share a cigarette until the walk sign changes, after which they clash swords once more as they cross. But at this moment two cop cars screeched up and we were in real trouble. A certificate to shoot was demanded, and handcuffs were out even as I apologized, trying some desperate British charm. I’m not certain the charm worked, but being British did. Once they knew we were filming for television in the old country, and showing off great Hollywood landmarks, the cuffs were put away. All they requested was a copy of the finished film. Enn signed autographs and we had police escort for the rest of the day. Mind you I had also mentioned we were from the BBC!

For the circus episode “Kid’s Stuff”, I hired a mini circus set, with clowns, jugglers, trapeze artists, ponies, and fire-eaters. Based in the San Fernando Valley, it was owned and operated by famous stunt coordinator Bob Yerkes. In the story, Enn Reitel and Christine Garner, his dream girl in this story, become trapeze artists, which involved many hours training. Despite suffocating heat, all went well during the first week of the shoot. However, on the day of a big clown sequence, the lead clown didn’t turn up. A new performer was found and willing to come to the set, but demanded twice the original fee. The budget couldn’t afford it, so I made the decision to play the clown for free!

My make-up was done by a professional consultant. It took a good hour to create an original clown face, and I was told that it would be registered under my name in the Clown Hall of Fame – on an eggshell amongst hundreds of others. All professional clowns through the ages have their own individual face designs registered and sent there – and I am proudly amongst them on the shell of an egg. In my humble opinion my cameo stole the episode!

Any production is a conflict between the creative and the financial and “The Optimist” was no exception, a scramble to make what is needed each day, while maintaining the needed energy and inspiration, as well as stealing additional shots on weekends and picking up inserts requested by the editors in London.

Channel 4 finally emerged onto British screens on November 2, 1982, with our series one of the chosen highlights previewed. The following April, the seven episodes started airing. It was hard to gauge how successful our shows were with viewers, since audience figures were so small. However, the day after the third episode was transmitted, I finally knew someone was watching.

In “Man’s Worst Friend”, in which the Optimist becomes a handyman at a Mulholland Drive mansion and falls for the daughter of the house, I had a call from Channel 4’s press office, to tell me that there was an animal rights protest outside the building. More than a hundred people were protesting cruelty in the show! They urgently needed to know what this was all about, and to come to their Charlotte Street base immediately – I knew exactly what this was about!

In the episode, the Optimist has been walking the family dogs, a St Bernard and a poodle, and blue paint has splattered over the pristine, smaller animal. After making a mess cleaning her in the sink, he hides the poodle amidst washing, little knowing the Maid will then bundle everything into the washing machine, adding powder and switching it on. The idea was to cut to later, when the sheets are unloaded, and there is the fluffiest, cleanest poodle you’ve ever seen!

Little did I know the animal wrangler would switch the actual machine on with the dog still inside, much to the collective unit’s shock. Within moments the dog was out, safe and sound, and all fluffed up! A single shot survived in the final show, and it hit the headlines for “The Optimist” and Channel 4. Press apologies were made, and assurances that the dog was trained and unharmed – a true professional who’d helped us improve our viewing figures!

The overall reception for the series was good enough, and Cecil was allowed to order a further six adventures. Though this time finances were more complex. Charisma Films (part of Tony Stratton-Smith’s Charisma Records) had invested some finishing monies for the first season, in return for music publishing and some profit participation. For this second season, they became closer financing partners, enabling a slightly higher budget.

Of course, contrary creators that we were, it was decided to make these stories on more gritty English locations.

The iconic director Robert Fuest came aboard and worked on the scripts with Enn. Our mad production designer Mike Porter and enthusiastic costume designer Jo Korer repeated their duties, while Francis De Groote, who’d been Assistant Camera in California, took over as DP. John Cameron signed on to write the scores, cleverly incorporating David Spears original theme with his own compositions.

It was another difficult schedule, illuminated by the humor and generosity of the creators and technicians that came together. During three summers over a period of four years, we had many adventures making the 13 films. A few of us proudly wore the shirts emblazoned with the dates:

Mexico 1981

Los Angeles 1982

London 1984

I’m certain Enn has got his own special memories in filming episodes like “The Good, The Bad And The Nasty” – every actor’s dream is to be in a western, especially with a young Marty Kove who was cast as the Rival. We filmed at the famous Paramount Ranch in the rolling Agoura Hills, which was just being revitalized at the time, featuring a dusty Western street set soaked with the memories of old movies shot there.

I particularly remember taking over the Wimbledon Theatre in London for “The Light Fantastic” and filming dance sequences with ballerina and actress Karen Smith and principals of the corps de ballet from London City Ballet. Comedy filtered through some carefully choreographed moves from Swan Lake. And the last story we shot, with Julie Peasgood playing Enn Reitel’s Muse in “The Brush Off” as The Optimist becomes a world-famous painter. The two together demonstrated what a silent comedy story could achieve as her Muse held a plate of sausages are signed by the artist for the fawning art connoisseurs!

I’m also proud that “The Fool Of The House Of Esher” was nominated for the Rose d’Or at the prestigious European event in Montreux. A pastiche on the classic mystery / horror film. One scene features Rosalind Lloyd trying to murder Enn with a particularly large tarantula, letting it crawl up his bed as he sleeps – until he turns and accidentally swallows the spider. (Personal note: I couldn’t be on set that afternoon with the wrangler because of my phobia - I’m terrified of spiders!)

I was back in Los Angeles on another project during the Spring of 1985 when the festival in Switzerland took place, receiving calls that we were one of the favorites to win. In the end, “The Optimist” was a close runner-up.

At the same time, Channel 4 was changing, establishing an edgier brand of comedy and taking provocative chances. In a way, they’d already done the same for us, providing a platform to make 13 short films labelled as ‘Narrative Comedy’.

For me, it was broad-based entertainment, yet a chance to make something different, something without dialogue, visual stories filled with music, in that most elusive of art forms, comedy. And if just one viewer finds something to enjoy – from a belly-laugh to a gentle smile – then I know we succeeded.

Making The First All Digital Film - Part II: (Pre) Pre-Production

The art of film can refer just as often to the skill of knitting together the people and finance needed for a production as it does to the themes and ideas which a confusion of different talents, with their often-divergent views, bring to the screen. It’s been eternally claimed how much of a miracle is required for a film to be made, let alone ending up with something moderately entertaining or provoking. The industry devours so much cash that even low budget endeavours consume the efforts of an army of technicians, let alone the invisible amounts which evaporate through legal, insurance and years of development.

Of course, when you make an independent, international, treaty co-production you multiply the difficulties times ten!

One of the pleasures in traveling the world making movies is the cultures and individuals you work with, which are always a challenge and learning experience. The emphasis here is on working together. As writer / producers we approach every project with a distinct sense of authority as creators and manipulators - until reality smacks us and compromise becomes the key.

On Rainbow this originally saw production and financing designed as a UK / Canada / Germany co-production with all the subsequent national content and spend requirements to be faced - a series of governmental hoops to be jumped through which are seldom based on creative benefits. It often creates a bizarre series of abortive relationships which are only resolved by financial necessity.

That means story discussions turn out to be interesting.

Our film's narrative is kicked into gear when the young hero finds the end of the rainbow. One of the original partners suggested that perhaps the rainbow hides from Mikey, darting behind buildings in some elaborate show of hide and seek. Another idea posited was the audience never actually sees the rainbow, leaving it the imagination, a harsher approach that could reduce the budget. Both proposals were met with our stony silence.

Initially, financial necessity saw us develop the project out of Ealing Studios, a famous British institution and home to classic movies during the 1940s and 50s. As part of its survival in 1993, the stages and offices had been purchased by supplies company BBRK. A new direction and lease of life promised. We should have known there’d be trouble when the incompetent people at the helm pursued not the refurbishment of threadbare sound stages but a rebuilding of the main bar.

There was certainly generosity in the long, boozy lunches, yet very little in the way of business vision. Instead, hawks preyed on amateurism. Investment promised to us and deals to use the facilities never materialized.

However, during the stifling heat of the summer of 1994 it did become a base to bring together the creative team for “Rainbow” to discuss story and technology - and how we were going to conjure dreams into reality. Director / star Bob Hoskins, DP Freddie Francis and designer David L. Snyder were among those gathered to pick apart the art and mechanics as well as to interrogate Sony’s digital guru John Galt who we flew in from Los Angeles. Apart from the joy of simply talking ideas (what sweeter period can there be without the weight of physical and financial limitations), there was also the chance to work on storyboards and test the capabilities of the HD camera. A major debate was how to actually create a rainbow. It would be a discussion and struggle that would last even beyond the reshoots in California months after the shoot. In the meantime, we managed to visit a company specializing in laser displays and filmed a multi-coloured corridor of light, which eventually did become an element in the final visual effects. We also had the rather extraordinary experience of the Ealing special effects department proposing to use a miniature rainbow they had physically constructed and incorporate it with the location shoot in Montreal. It was the kind of bone-headed suggestion that summed up the decline at the facility and a potent sign that it was time to move on.

Apart from the well-stocked bar, the Ealing cafeteria was expansive and the food decent. Unfortunately, we also discovered that nearly everyone on the lot had been using the ‘rainbow’ account even if they had nothing to do with us. We had a fight over the bill. It was a shame. The initial plan was to shoot interiors on the fabled stages. In March of 1994, our long-running series Best Of British had finally ended its run on BBC1, a seven-year, sixty-seven episode look at the British film history between the 1930s and 80s. So, we knew all about the glories of Ealing’s past and it would have been a romantic ideal to reinvigorate the place with new technology and new ideas. A few months after we left, Ealing Studios imploded under debt and mismanagement. The individuals escaped. The lot needed to be rescued once again.

After so many sweating weeks in the art department, it was time to go to Canada, where the co-production had been ultimately established. Strangely enough, as a creative team, discussion over the digital technology we were about to pioneer was only about how it would benefit production. Freddie Francis was giddy with the potential. Most were genuinely enthused, although the camera operator was nearing hostility. There were bigger problems of course, in particular that finance was rapidly falling away with our German co-producer failing spectacularly to deliver and the Ealing connection crashing.

With any evolving narrative, however, there’s always a background or a flashback to provide a way forward. In our case, it was provided by Marie Vine at the Cannes Film Festival in May. It always helps to have a sales agent who’s a genuine fan, who believes in a project as much as making the deals. The promotion was good, the sales spiel was even better and there was a script which received a positive reaction. There was even a live Q&A with Bob Hoskins beamed into a reception room at the Majestic Hotel for assembled buyers and journalists. Of course, that particular event suffered a customary technical blowout (a loss of picture, even as sound continued) that was eventually traced to a waiter tripping over a power cord and dislodging the plug from the wall socket!

Despite industry scepticism (especially from the U.S.), the end result from a few hectic days was a robust series of distributor sales and a bidding war between British companies that was resolved by a midnight meeting where we were questioned about the centrepiece rainbow ride. We had to ramp up our best pitch, though it’s always helpful when your audience wants to be convinced. By the early hours, we had a rich deal with First Independent that was an important foundation to financing the film, not just the money itself but the sense of confidence it gave everyone.

The Ealing art department had provided a solid base to spin fantasies. In fact, all movie art departments conjure up a relaxed, open atmosphere, although the result in this case was yet another re-write on the script. (Of course, whether it’s approached as a blessing or a curse, the evolving state of a screenplay provokes re-writes throughout production, even pushing into post-production.) Right now, however, in the height of summer, the schedule dictated for us to decamp to Montreal, storyboards and dreams still intact. The vital work of pre-production was about to commence, the real battles of creativity and finance ready to clash.

It was also time to prove digital filmmaking was a reality.