Lessac: Re-connecting

In January this year I had the great privilege and pleasure of attending the first Lessac Kinesensic workshop to be held in Africa. For three weeks I received intensive training from three amazing teachers. And met fantastic people at the course.

This past week I attended a four day course on the application of  Lessac work I did in January for acting specifically. Not only did I get to reconnect with some fantastic actors I had met in January, a new face of a well known director joined us, making us a total of seven for the course.

So, on Sunday morning at 8 I started physical warm-ups. The work we were doing is not light, and plainly put, incorporates your body, breathing and senses for vocal production, and finally it all comes together in an acting performance.

One of the exercises we were using is ambiguous dialogue. Two actors receive a sheet of dialogue, the no explicit meaning. And by playing around with different techniques different interpretations emerge. In so doing, as an actor, one experiences different options and choices. And then a lot of my preconceptions were shattered.

As I learned, and had previously believed, it is a common misconception that a lower voice is always better across the board. For acting and recorded work. And as the teachers and I worked we realized that I, along with another experienced actor both had the habit of speaking lower whenever we were on camera, and sometimes on stage. I couldn’t believe the range and expression that I had the moment I allowed to speak myself in my natural range.

As the workshop ended, and I said goodbye to our American teacher it felt amazing to hear both the good things and bad things I was doing. Getting a handle on what to work on, and being told to carry on.

Its always good to be told to carry on working. And although I’m not there yet, I feel like the right people are telling me to carry on.

Making it to the big screen

They say that life happens while you are busy making plans. Apparently computer glitches too. So after planning for our whole team to watch the first airing of our short film together at the Rosebank Nouveau Cinema our team leader could not book tickets for us to watch our short film for the 48 hour film project on Tuesday. So, scattered throughout the week, our team watched our film as each had the opportunity. For me, this was yesterday. I saw myself on the 'big screen' for the first time. And immediately strengthened my resolve to diet...



After a full day of Lessac voice training in a workshop yesterday my partner and I left Pretoria to watch the films of Group G (I was doing my hair and makeup in the car via map-reading lights). Ours was the fifth film to be show and I found it fascinating how involved and personally vested I was with the characters on screen, as well as making mental notes as to what I felt did and didn't work with regards to my performance. About half way through I realized how tense I was and consciously forced myself to relax and try to enjoy the film.

For those who don't know, the 48 hour film project is an international competition in which film makers have merely 48 hours to write, shoot an edit a film between 4 and 7 minutes long. After drawing the genre of your  film at 7 on a Friday evening teams have 48 hellish hours to create a genre specific film, including compulsory elements (a character, line and prop). You can tell how excited I am about this project as it the third I am writing a post on the subject, and I will probably post again once the films are released onto YouTube.

It was fantastic to see some of the other short films, and the talent that it is emerging in South African cinema. There were some really amazing concepts, and hopefully the beginnings of some fantastic careers.

As last night was the final screening of the films a small thank you was handed out to anyone representing the films. I was the only member of our team present, so when called for I stood up to fetch our little certificate and pop corn tub full of sweets as a "thank you", or more accurately, "Congratulations on surviving and making it this far" . I was welcomed with warm applause from the cinema audience as I walked to the front to receive our thank you.

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A peak of things to come!

A still from the trailer of  Unsolved

This past week I was again adjudicating a local eisteddfod for a small town in Mpumalanga. Besides running late on the first day due to 27 late entries, and missing out on my supper the eisteddfod was relatively uneventful. Well, besides the 5 to 6 year old category, the youngest of the eisteddfod, deciding as a group to walk onto the stage to collect their certificates after I had directed them to the floor space to my left to receive them from me personally. And a child with a silver certificate walking up to me and informing me her father would purchase her something or other if she received gold. I was not sure how to respond to this. So I was rather thankful when, on my second morning I was running ahead of schedule and had a full hour for tea before my second session of the day started. During this time I turned on my cell phone to receive a message on the whatsapp group for the team I was part of the 48 hour filmproject. The trailer for the film we had shot two weeks ago had been released! As the trailers for films friends of mine had been in popped onto social media throughout the week I was awaiting the release of hours with baited breath. And as I refuse to look at any of the takes while I'm busy shooting I was excited to see, on screen, what our film is going to look like.

Tomorrow the short film UNSOLVED for the 48 Hour Film Project, made by Zwoosh! premiers at Cinema Nouveau in Rosebank Mall. Most of our team, including myself, will be there for the premiere. Our film shows tomorrow evening at 20:00 and again on Thursday the 26^th at 20:00, Saturday the 28^th at 14:30 and Sunday the 29^th at 17:30. Enjoy a couple of short films, and see the wonderful work filmmakers are doing in Johannesburg.

Big, BIGGER...Technical?

My directors have often said it to me, and I have said it to my casts: in live performance things go wrong. Somewhere you are going to make a mistake. It's part of what we do and what matters is how you handle the blunder, miss-spoken word, the entrance you missed or the choreography that temporarily vacated your current consciousness. And 2 weeks ago our cast had to deal with just that. The insanity of live performance.

CHASING had been invited to perform at the University's weekly 'Lunch Hour Performances'. So the week before the performance we changed the format of the show to fit the 40 minute time limit we had. Our director and choreographer could not attend these rehearsals and we were left in the equally competent hands of her business partner, friend and the designer of our show. With the time imposition placed upon us many of the transitions between the pieces of our show changed, meaning that entrances and exits were different, and people were on stage or off stage when they had previously been doing something else. Many of the routines were also shortened to carve our hour plus show into the 40 minutes. But knowing the show as well as we did, and being comfortable with the changes we weren't too stressed about the performance. That was until the morning of our show.

Checking the lights and setting up the morning of our performance.

We moved into the theatre, which none of us had performed in before, the night before our lunch time performance. We were informed that the workshop and props department had lost one of our four boxes. I found it odd that they were able to lose a box made of steel and wood, which weighed almost 5kilograms and stands about a meter high. But it was gone. A new one had made to replace it, so we were not too bothered about this first development. Two other props were also missing, including a black chair and an old fashioned typewriter, which was essential to some of the show's spectacular visual elements. We thought we knew where they were, and we would get them early the next morning before we performed.

And so we arrived bright and early on campus the morning of our lunch time performance, with earrings in place for later, we all realized, and costumes in hand. We found our typewriter without too much bother, but our chair was missing. This meant that while I was fixing the box used for my solo with contact adhesive which had broken in Grahamstown (using my fingers as a brush as it too was missing) our stand-in director found a stand-in chair, bought spray paint and painted it black (I ended up performing with a thin stripe of black paint on my forearm and bits of stubborn contact adhesive all over my fingers).

And then we heard the news that changed the energy of our entire group instantly: it had been made compulsory for the entire drama department to come and watch our performance. Classes and meetings were put on hold and rescheduled so that we would have an audience. And as we walked on stage, to an audience of about 700 people, more than double our biggest audience we had had before we realized that the black coats which were supposed to be hanging on a hatstand for the beginning of the show had not been pre-set. And there was nothing we could do in that moment. Thankfully one of our male cast members on the opposite side of the stage and the sense to put them on the hatstand in the momentary blackout we had after the opening of the show, and the show was off to a roaring start...and yet not without its hitches...

 A Section of the seating...which was soon filled.

The large rolls of paper we had never had a problem with before and which we use in our show decided to tear while being used on stage, or simply not to roll across the stage as they were supposed to, and had done so often before. In the second routine of the show the four ladies in our cast dance to a piece of music called "Fragment". The music comes from a poem written by the female poet Ingrid  Jonker, whose life serves as inspiration for the show. Essentially a large sheet of paper is held across the stage and in so doing our bodies are fragmented while we dance as the paper covers parts of us and only disjointed arms, heads and legs can be seen. When the paper tore this illusion was broken, but we carried on without batting an eyelid. This was followed by our essential, and incredibly heavy typewriter being put down on top of my dress and I had to keep my calm in order to free myself unobtrusively before we started dancing again. Seconds later the typewriter hooked on the edge of our new chair when it needed to be lifted high in the air, and I again had to unobtrusively manoeuvre the typewriter to get it to do what it was supposed to do. And my favourite moment of them all…

Our show

After my feet got covered in salt in the new format of the show, we performed the second last routine, a routine our cast dubbed 'chasing', and by implication involves quite a lot of running. As I jumped my salt-slick feet broke my trust in them and I fell on my (already temperamental) right knee. I was up in a flash and only grazed but only I will manage to do that in front of an audience of 700.

So despite the technical issues, and dancers forgetting cues, and spectacular falls I had fun on stage. And we performed our hearts out. I couldn’t be happier.

Sci-Fi Psycho...for 48

At the end of my third year I was not regarded as much of an actress. A physical theatre performer and dancer yes. But straight acting… Let’s just say that mine was not the first name that would come to mind in my year group. And the repercussions of this has affected my confidence in my straight acting and the agent I have now. Which made this past weekend both unexpected and rewarding.

Earlier this year a friend I had met via my Master’s studies, who had done his undergraduate work at a different institution asked if I would have liked to audition for a short film he and his sister were making. Although I didn’t get the role he and his sister remembered my work, and asked if I would like to act for their short film in the 48 hour film project this last weekend. So this last Saturday I joined team Zwoosh. It started with a message, summarizing that we had drawn the sci-fi genre, the wardrobe options I would need to take with and my character description: psycho bitch.

Some of the equipment in one of the unused rooms of the house we were graciously given full reign over by the owner. It was amazing to be supported in such a way...and his attitude towards us breaking more than one chair was refreshing: "Oh, its only material things"

So I arrived on set at 7 in the morning with freshly highlighted hair,  wardrobe options, a full makeup kit and my straightener. I was greeted by an amazing crew, tea, rusks and a script. Just before we were about to start our first read through of the script the tiny model who was playing my sister sat down on a low couch, and a moment after her I sat down. As I did the couch broke and the two of us were thrown to the floor. In a tumble of laughs we stood up. As the admittedly 51 kilogram model claimed she had picked up weight recently I joined the conversation:

“Well in that case it has to be me. I’m not sure my self-image is going to survive this shoot”

Our director, who had witnessed the fall,  joined in the laughter:

“Now that our two fat actresses have been knocked down a peg we can start”

The laughter set the tone for the rest of the day off camera, which was a fantastic change of pace considering the heavy subject matter of the shoot. My character was deeply disturbed, and the scenes my co-actor and I were shooting were very emotional and challenging. As we wrapped a very difficult scene my co-actor, who is more experienced that I am asked if I had ever done such challenging work before. I hadn’t, and neither had he. It was exciting to be challenged, in manner that wasn’t in physical theatre. and it was so much more rewarding when our director, editor and director of photography were all impressed with my work. Congratulations were handed out via fist bumps and the word 'respect' after scenes were wrapped. Considering how nervous I had been the day before I was not expecting it. Especially as I had always been considered more of a dancer than an actress I was happy and humbled by all the compliments. And considering how professional all the members of our team were I was blown away by the fact that there were keen to work with me again.

One of my favorite moments on set on Saturday was when I was doing Sudoku when I knew I wasn’t going to be filmed for a while. One the crew members walked past:

“You’re blonde, and you’re doing a sudoku.”

“And…? Just because I’m blonde doesn’t mean I’m stupid”

“Yes, but I do sudoku”

“And….?”

The character I played was married, and as is expected for a married woman, I was given a ring for my left ring finger to show this on film. As I was about to send a picture to my boyfriend my co-star saw what I was doing:

The little bits that make the character...

“Please tell me you’re going to post that photo on facebook.”

“No. I don’t think that’s wise”

“Just as a joke. I’ll comment and say that I was there, and that it was amazing”

After I finally got all the fake blood out of my hair, and assessed all the blisters on my toes from spending a day shooting in high heels I was happy. I had done challenging work, well. I had spent time, and laughed with an amazing team. And I’m not sure, we had made an amazing short film. The details of which I will write about once the film has been screened. For now, I'm holding thumbs that we will do well! Go Team Zwoosh!

Attitudes and Acro-tots

I started competing in acrobatics at quite a young age, and as I get older and reflect on the hours my parents spent with me, the time spent sewing sequence onto leotards and the trips to competitions I have an even greater appreciation for childhood. Especially regarding my parents’ attitude toward winning, and attitude.

As I gave my general feedback this last week to groups of dancers (and acrobats) after adjudicating a dance eisteddfod this past week my mother’s words poured from me to the parents and expectant dancers waiting for me to say my piece so they could collect their certificates:

“When you walk on stage it doesn’t matter what happened earlier. It doesn’t matter if your mom pulled your hair, or if you fought with your teacher or if yous costume is itchy. From the moment you walk on stage you are performing. You have the attitude of the greatest performer that has graced the stage, and you enjoy your dance. And the moment you walk off stage that attitude is gone.”

Adjudicating the dance section of the eisteddfod I have been adjudicating for the past two weeks turned out to be a completely different kettle of fish, as the organizer attempted to warn me before my first session. I had received detailed instruction via email informing how I should do my general feedback after each section. I was asked specifically not to mention any category winners. I do not usually announce category winners, but the week before at the high schools speech and drama section I was asked to do so when I didn’t. I was also not to hand out any certificates to dancers. Their coaches would receive them from a special certificates table to minimize any contact between performers, their parents and myself. As I was ferried out of a side door of the hall I was adjudicating in far from the reach of parents later that day I became more and more aware of why I was held to such stringent codes.

The competition between participants and dance schools at the dance eisteddfod, I was informed, had reached ridiculous heights in the previous years. The organizers of the eisteddfod were adamant to try and prevent this and apparently, questioning the adjudicator on why exactly a child had received a percentage higher or lower, affecting their ranks in the competition had been common place. At the beginning of each day the organizer reminded parents, participants and coaches that it was a dance festival, and not a competition or championships that the dancers were participating in, and that category winners and rankings would be conveyed to the dance schools at the conclusion of the festival. I don't think that this lessened any pressure, or pressure on me regarding the colour of the certificate I deemed appropriate for a dancer. Or the fact that on my first day, I was running late.

Due to a number of difficulties on the first day, including a problematic sound system, and participants who hadn’t followed the rules regarding the format of their CD’s my program was running late. As an adjudicator I do my best to stay on time, but sometimes these matters are not within my hands. A number of teachers also requested items to be moved due to clashes. The moment the organizer accommodated one legitimate request she was flooded with requests and I had to keep up. I ended up having a four hour session before my supper that day without a break in concentration. I was informed later that as I was ferried out of the hall for supper and a cup of tea a father approached the headmaster of the school where the eisteddfod was being held.

Apparently he could not understand why I was braking for supper and why I could not finish the last two and half hours of the day’s program, after my four hour session. The headmaster explained that the program had been delayed due to factors outside of anyone’s control. And that after my afternoon session I needed the break before finishing the day. Even if just to go to the bathroom. The father was not satisfied, as apparently I had also been sitting in the hall the afternoon.

This tale was related to me as I ate my supper, isolated from the demands placed upon me. When I returned home I asked my mother if the competition and pressure to win had always been so great, as I had never experienced it in the same way while I was competing. My mom laughed:

“Remember when you were at a competition in Roodepoort and I told you before you went on stage that you would walk home of you didn’t win?”

We had driven three hours to the acrobatics competition in Roodeport almost every year since I was 7 years old. The first year I competed I stood nervously with my mother before I had to go on stage, not knowing what to expect. My mom had said that to me, immediately calming my nervous before I performed as I knew my parents only expected me to do my best on stage. The statement reminded me that it was only a competition and that winning didn’t mean everything. It had become a joke in our household whenever my brother and I were competing in a competition.

“The reason I said it was because of the pressure to win I saw other children experiencing. Some mothers that heard me were horrified”

Not all families have our sense of humour.

Making up for the sense of competition, and truly making my week were the dancers in the 3 – 5 year old section. Specifically what we call the acro-tots. You never know what they are going to do on stage. Or if they will go on! But if they do it is always entertaining. For this section their coaches usually stand in the wings, showing them what to do. Many of them run forward as part of their routines, and more often than not on the completion of their forward action they look to their coach in the wing. Upon realizing thay they can’t see them they walk backward awkwardly until they can. Another little girl in a group piece ran to pick up the flowers her friend had dropped, and rightly ignored while dancing. And after a partner making a mistake in a duet piece the anger on the face of the second dancer sent the audience in to hushed fits of laughter. This was followed by a look of apology as the first dancer attempted to complete the duet.

One of the coaches, in her great wisdom, had thought it wise to put 3 three year olds in a large group piece. They were just supposed to sit on stage with their hands under their chins making a ‘flower’. A blonde curly haired three year old stood up a few seconds into the group performance, turned around to face the dancers and yelled at the top of her lungs “Mooi julle!” “Well done guys” as the group went into one of their lift sequences. She proceeded to walk across the stage, without regard for the other 15+ dancers attempting to perform the piece, hitching up her jazz pants as she went. At one point her teacher from the wing told her to make a flower, which she ignored and decided instead, from stage, to show the organizer playing the music for the participants how pretty the flares on the bottom of her jazz pants are. After this, while the rest of the group was holding a trick she decided to go, without fear into a backbend (a crab-stand in layman’s terms) on top of one of the dancers who was holding someone else in the air. Thankfully the weight of a wandering three year old didn’t disrupt the supporting dancer.

The tears were streaming down my face and that of my assistant as I did my best not to burst out laughing with the rest of the audience.

Judge, jury and executioner

This past week I returned to my home town to adjudicate the two-yearly eisteddfod of the region. I was asked to adjudicate the high schools speech and drama section, running for a week and hosted by my old high school.

My grade 8 English teacher contacted me in April this year asking if I would be able to adjudicate the section for them. I agreed, as I know this time of the year is usually rather slow and last Monday I once more walked through the turquoise gates (which hadn’t existed when I was there) of my old high school. It was surreal to see something which had a familiar feel, but which had been completed revamped in the years since I had last been there. Face brick walls had been plastered and painted, the old stage curtains, who’s colour had been of an unknown origin and name had been replaced and the boards which once held the names of top achievers had been taken down and replaced with photos.

I recognised a few faces as I walked to the school hall of teachers who had been at the school when I was there, and teachers who had attended the school the same time I had. It was quite surreal to have the people who were once asking me to produce homework now making sure that the food was to my liking, bringing me cups of tea and asking me if I was comfortable and if there was anything they could do for me. It took some getting used to.

Apparently I took some getting used to for the staff too. I realised this when whenever I saw a teacher who had once taught me asking me what exactly it was that I was “doing now”. One of my register teachers, in a gesture I appreciated told me as she opened the electrified gate that she had offered to do so as she was curious to see what I now looked like after hearing the staff-room gossip about my return. She wasn’t the only one who wat in, or came and greeted me as I walked into the usually empty staff room for my supper or tea. My favourite comment for the week from an old teacher was:

“Chandré, are you doing this?”

And another’s teacher’s surprise at the fact that I don’t smoke.

Even at a stalk-tea my mother attended during the week I was there she happened upon one of my old teachers who informed her that the staff was rather taken by how I had ‘turned out’.

I was glad that my stint at my old high school was not my first time adjudicating high school speech and drama, and that I was already confident and comfortable in my skill set. This came in rather handy on the last day, two events before I was finished with the entire session. One of the teachers assisting me in the week-long activities came to me, as apparently one of the participants wanted to ask me something. As a rule, participants and their parents are not allowed to have contact with an adjudicator. A rule which I have always appreciated, and which people that I know respected. I didn’t mind explaining my feedback, or translating my handwriting to a participant. And I enjoyed it if parents that I know came and greeted me once their child had finished participating for the week. I assumed that the participant just wanted me to explain something. Especially when I saw that the Grade 11 girl who wanted to speak to had consistently received a well deserved 90% and over during the week.

As a rule when I give feedback I always write down something that the students do well, and something that they can work on. I always try and give them positive and uplifting criticism as I want them to return again in two years and to do it again. I am convinced that scholars participating in eisteddfods breed theatre-going and appreciating audiences later on. So I am always very careful not to say anything truly negative, no matter how harrowing the performance and to focus on the positive and what they need to work on ‘for next time’. The last section that my querying Grade 11 participant had taken part in, I had started my general feedback by saying that the dramatized dramatic monologues which I had seen in this section were all of a high standard. And, especially with older participants, I try to focus on what they need to work on for future performances instead of writing pages on what they are good at and do right. I then told them that even if there is a lot of feedback concerning improvements they should not think that I did not enjoy their performances.

The Grade 11 crouched next to me, and started in hushed and angry whisper (might I add with an entire audience sitting behind us):

“I would just like to inform you that some people only function on positive feedback. And that some people get broken down when they don’t recieve it.”

My initial reaction was to say “You mean you” but I managed to refrain as she carried on with her tirade:

“And if they are not told that they are good they don’t know it”

I replied with batting an eyelid:

“You know you did well because you received a good mark. Why do I need to write pages and pages on how good you are. I’m helping you by teaching you so that you can improve next time.”

She was unphased. In fact, I don’t think she really heard what I had said:

“Well, some people don’t know that they are good unless they are told so”

I wanted to say that in life you are not always told how good you are. And that I was at least very guarded and positive in how I gave my feedback. I decided that with a participant waiting to go on stage, and a whole audience waiting for to the two of us to finish it wasn’t the time and place for me to be dealing out life lessons. And as I was not her mother I did not particularly care how she handled feedback. Especially as it seemed she had spent most of her life being told how fantastic she was and did not know how to handle uplifting criticism. I also remembered my own motto: “If I didn’t bear it, or buy it, its not responsibility to look after it”

"I give criticism according to the participants. I tell younger participants more of what they did right, and older participants more of what they need to work on as they are old enough to understand."

I decided to change tactics

“Do you want to go on with acting after this?”

She responded:

“Well, after this week definitely not. I’m just so glad that this whole experience is over and the week is finished.”

I decided that her insinuation that I was crushing her self confidence and dreams was not worth an angered response, especially as I knew the marks she had been receiving, and the feedback that give:

“I’m sorry you feel that way” I said generically  “I do however have to carry on”

“And and by the way” she had to get the last word in

“The piece I did I wrote myself, I was the one who was sick”

She had performed a piece about a girl who had a form of facial paralysis. It now also made sense why the structure of the piece had been slightly off, and perhaps why she had taken my comments so personally. However, as she had not handed her piece in when she registered, like all participants are supposed to, I did not see this. If I had I would have added the sentence: “I know the work is personal, but now look at it as a performer, and not a writer” and she still would have received the same mark and critique.

I bluntly said to the now fully recovered girl: “I’ve been sick too. And it has changed my life too. It’s something that has happened to a lot of people”

She skulked away. Perhaps upset that I didn’t apologize, perhaps upset because I didn’t just tell her how good she was. The staff member sitting next to me who had heard most of the exchange was aghast.

Upon return to the staff room I was fascinated by the fact that the teachers and Eisteddfod representative had been more taken aback and were personally upset by what had happened than I was.

Shooting Shorts Guerrilla Style

The 48 hour Guerrilla Film Challenge is still on the go as I write today’s post, all teams probably still busily working and most likely rendering their footage, yelling at their various editing programs, clips that just won’t work and that idiot that somehow got in the frame despite the most noble of efforts.

I’m following the various status updates of my team members as they colourfully describe the process of working on this time sensitive project.

This year the genre for the challenge is action superheroes, and after dark last night I worked with the team from the Guerrilla Film Collective in Mellville, shooting, quite literally on the streets. Without giving anything  away, I was to be attacked, in a creative fashion, and our superhero would save me. And beat up the bad guy. Unfortunately poor ‘Creepy Guy’, formerly known as Doug, did not know at the time how literal this would be. But, first I need to start this tale with lighting and location.

Initially we had set out to shoot our scene in an alley, which served as an entrance to a residential building, and which was behind a shop. The team plugged extension cables through the shop's window, who had kindly let us use a plug for the three red-heads (lights used in filming). Now, these lights are really sensitive, and the bulbs are really expensive. And they get really hot. They are also rather temperamental when it comes to power surges. After we had rehearsed the shot, and started and shooting, with the lights all working and beautifully set up one of the tenants decided to leave the building. As the team was diligently moving all the expensive equipment they decided they would ignore our efforts and drive right over one of the extension cords. Naturally, this did not go well. The power in the restaurant tripped, the lights were all but thrown right over and went out and of course, the plug was flattened. We decided to relocate to an area with more patient bystanders.

We relocate to the home of Miss Denel Honeyball (our wonderful superheroine), a little way down the road from where we had initially decided to film. We relayed power cables through the windows of her house and set the lights up again, well, two as we the third one’s plug was out of action. As we set up lights, trying to figure out how best to shoot the night scene, and trying to get shadows and cables and lights out of the shot our director turned off one of the lights to see how this might look. As we were thrown into nearly semi darkness someone piped up, mocking the “Just one cap is enough” Skip Advert:

“Oohhhhh eh eh! Just one light is enough”

The rest of the crew actively agreed that this was not the case.

With the shadows creeping up on the weirdest places mostly sorted, aside from one the camera operators realizing that the annoying shadow in his shot was his own, we were ready for filming. As Denel and I walked into the distance we realized that we didn’t have our mark, where we needed to stop walking for the shot… As we called from down the road we were informed:

“The dog poo on the grass. That’s your mark.”

And then we were attacked, as we were required to be in the shot. Our would be attacker jumped out, as planned, from behind a car to attack us on the first take. Denel and I both burst out laughing at the face ‘Creepy Guy’ had as he ran into our shot. So much for the first take. Laughter back under control, and now knowing what to expect we did the take again. And could eventually move on to shooting the fight sequence.

As we were choreographing the scene Denel still joked about making the sound effects while doing the scene, and I suggested that she should perhaps use her breath instead. And when we shot she went onto autopilot making fight sounds. When we finished that first take the camera commented:

“Denel, we can add the sound effects in post”

This was followed by the director patiently waiting for the scene to finish before saying:

“Can you wait for action before you start so we can film it?”

We shot from multiple angles, shooting the fight sequence slowly so it could be sped up in post, and for Denel and the protagonist to actually connect…which we actually got on camera when Denel kneed ‘Creepy Guy’ Doug in the face. For real. This after she had knocked him on the nose earlier while practicing the scene and Doug and injured himself falling on his knees. I think he was thankful for the his wrap.

The last shots we took after the fight sequence were my reaction shots to the superheroine kicking ass. A shot of girlish adoration was required, and with no real guidelines I decided to just do what happened naturally.

When the entire crew packed up laughing at me I assumed it was right…

Screenings and Dreams

Almost four months ago I was in the 2-woman cast of the short film Droom (Dream), the first film of the now Guerrilla Film Collective (previously the One Day Film Collective). Essentially the film is about communication in a relationship, specifically about dreams and body language. And reflecting on the last few months since the shoot I am constantly reminded of Oscar Wilde’s quote:

“Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life.”

Last Sunday I had the privilege of attending the first film screening of the Guerrilla Film Collective (GFC). A number of shorts (industry jargon for short films), and micro short films were screened which have been shot by various aspiring filmmakers, industry professionals and dreamers. Working on literally no budget, and begging, borrowing or stealing equipment, it has been amazing to be part of a team of people who make films for no other reason other than that they really really want to (I remember doing my makeup before the shoot in a restaurant bathroom while the crew scouted a location!). A very different Chandré to the girl on screen attended the film screening, with faded scars and new dreams.

Most films were directorial debuts, or the first time someone had been the director of photography, or a shift had been made from stills to film. Or for some actresses a change from theatre to screen was made.

It was amazing to see how the final edit of Droom had changed since the initial rough edit I had seen months ago. And it was inspiring to see how friends had grown through the process. Unfortunately I had only been part of the first film in the capacity of an actress as the GFC often shoots on Sundays. My weekends, often including Sundays have been filled with rehearsals for Grahamstown and the State Theatre and I have not been able to participate since then.

I was inspired by the turnout and support for the screening, held on a Sunday evening at Amuse Café in Linden. The funds raised at the screening are for GFC to enter The 48 Hour Guerrilla Film Challenge. This weekend. And I’m on standby...