by Andrew Hook
In retrospect we did everything backwards. It was Joachim’s idea. He thought it was revolutionary but he was just kicking against the pricks. In the same way that he never washed his handkerchief, just transferred it from trouser pocket to jeans pocket to trouser pocket; a deliberate idiosyncrasy to hide his inadequacies. Any excuse to be other than normal.
He knew it was wrong. This is what gets me. Start with the trailer. Use it as a marketing tool to gain funding. But the trailer can only be a montage of perfect moments that have to come from the film. So the film has to exist. You can’t quote from a story that has yet to be written.
Three years later I’m sitting with Jasmine in a hotel room listening to Polly Scattergood on my mp3 player whilst she writes poetry.
The windows are open and the sky is blue. Yesterday we stood together before the view. From the street we were framed. No one looked up. It isn’t some generic brand hotel in an increasingly generic city; no. We’re in a semi-rural location in Greece. Whites and blues, so bright they hurt the eye. Flagstones smoothed with age. But we’re not really here.