Thursday, 20 December 2012

The End Is Here...

It finally happened. Despite the 24 hour darkness trying to eat our souls, we finished the film. As of Wednesday, December 12, 2012, we completed the epic journey that is There Will Be Some Who Will Not Fear Even That Void. 

After five solid, intense weeks of post-production, and almost two years of planning, writing, devising, conceiving...we landed the ship again. 

(I'm reading about Shakleton's journey at the moment, so all my metaphors will be nautical)

Following the first full screening, we received the best compliment I could have hoped to receive. One of the film's major funders, Jesper of the North Norwegian Film Centre (NNFS), shook my hand and said with the greatest sincerity, "Thank you for this. I've never seen anything like it. It's really unique."
It was a very moving moment.
Here are some final images from our time in Norway... 

"The drawing board," 

 The brilliant audio post-production suite at Aurora Filmlyd

And the film's wrap party with all our incredible Norwegian supporters and funders (Jesper of the NNFS seen at the far left, raising a glass...)

And with that, we say "Goodbye Tromso". Like a true love, you  have been both kind and cruel to us. I hope to see you again soon...

More news about screenings will be posted here soon, stay tuned...

    Sunday, 2 December 2012

    There Is No Sunrise Here

    We've passed the point of 24 hour darkness. After November 21, the sun officially does not rise in Tromso any more. It still gets light during the day, but that's only a twilight, the sun just skimming below the horizon. It makes some spectacular lighting effects, making the mountains look like cardboard cutouts at its brightest, and turning everything an electric grey / blue as the sun disappears again.

    It means daylight hours, working hours, no longer mean the same thing any more. It's hard to work an entire day when "sunset" starts at 1pm...

    A journalist and photographer from Nordlys visited the house to talk to us about the making of the film. We sat around the dining table, exhausted, pontificating on art, the Arctic, death, cinema, environmentalism and everything in between.

    Joe Lewis - composer and now Music Supervisor - arrived from London.

    As the edit continued, we  also started to get more music in from the incredible musicians we're working with on this film. Just yesterday, we received a track so beautiful, so epic that we were - first - stunned into silence (was it shock? Jealousy?) then bouncing around the room in fits of excitement. The tune was heartbreaking and momentous, the sound of a giant ship creaking, and Japanese imperial armies swarming over a hill into battle. We could only stare at each other for a few minutes afterwards in disbelief. Thank you Per and Nils...

    Out running last night with Joe, we saw the first few streaks of the Northern Lights gathering momentum above our heads, but we kept running underneath them. Around ten minutes into the run, we both looked up and immediately had to stop running and just stare. The Aurora Borealis was directly above our heads, swirling around like sand blown across a highway. Purple and green. It looked organic, and it was hard to believe it wasn't sentient. It continued like that, alive but not alive, seemingly communicating with us, for five minutes. Then we kept running. Back in the house, we agreed that was the closest we'd come in a long time to a religious experience. We imagined hunters 10,000 years ago seeing the Aurora for the first time, terrified at what could only be seen as the hand of some God, reaching down for them.

    We don't have a photo of the Northern Lights, so here's the face of concentration instead: