Friday, 8 November 2013

"ARE YOU CRAZY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING AT THE AFM?" THE REAL FILM WORLD

Writing at 6am in the morning from my bedroom is the first time I have been free for a week or two.  This week has been one hell of a journey. The selling of my film The gun the cake and the butterfly is an experience far from the excitement and fun of making a film, yet in a way, just as exhilarating. In my pink fluffy room with butterflies, my office looks like a Disney palace at the American Film Market.  Lionsgate, and hundreds of other huge film  industry offices, have their temporary home at the Loews Hotel in Santa Monica. With not a red carpet in sight, or a great beauty except for Natalia Souza, there is little to show that this is the film world as we know it.   My ex husband screamed at me yesterday morning and said "Who the hell advised you to do this, are they crazy, you have wasted thousands of pounds ?" I sort of agree and yet I don't, luckily I look at all life as a learning process and after this year and a half, I certainly know who to recommend in the film world and who not to. It has removed any naivety with cheerful optimism, artistic people cannot be in these rooms. The mantra at the AFM is money and profit.

So I felt blessed relief  when I walked into Stephen Webster's stunning jewellery shop/gallery in Beverly Hills last night to see my wonderful artist friends cheerful faces. Tracey Emin, Polly Morgan, Thomas Auksas and Pablo Ganguli from London. They were there to support Mat Collishaw's show "The Last Supper" which was fabulous, depicting last supper  requests on death row. They looked from another time. Ravishing images.
My artist friends  jokingly asked me yesterday if I had been paid to attend film festivals?  If I had paid for my film festivals awards? Who were the crooks in the business? How do you get to the top? Was I the new female version of Harvey Weinstein? It is however not a week to criticise, it is the week to work hard, and have back up. A week to negotiate, bullshit and network.
The man at the door, and the girl cleaning it, believe my room to be the best and pop in once a day to show their friends. Security men visit slipping off with a cup cake.  It is family, I think.
There are all types of people here, the good the bad and the ugly. It is a film in itself. The real groovers,  movers and shakers are sitting in the comfort of the Beverly Hills Hotel and Soho House, the workers are here..
There are lots of Far Eastern reps selling and buying film, but I have been warned not to give out my copies of the film out even with watermarks and pieces missing from  it and who could send the film viral.
China may  rules the world, but you feel the back lash here.
Another three days and then I can relax and rest. Boy do I need a holiday. That could be an unlikely experience for a few months yet. This is the reality of fallen princesses, but luckily, I have to think, NOT MINE, and at least it is not my Last Supper.


Last Supper an exhibition by brilliant English Artist Mat Collishaw

No comments:

Followers