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Jennifer Reeder profile

Originally written for Nightmare Digital.

“I feel this might be a totally presumptuous and pretentious ambition” admits Chicago based writer and director Jennifer Reeder, “but I want my films to be special. I want them to be meaningful and impactful. I don't want to put something out there that's forgettable”. However, with just a brief cast of the eye over Jennifer's body of work, it's not hard to see that she will never have to worry about being labeled “forgettable”. With a distinction brought about by the willingness to shift the spotlight onto those left typically in the background, Jennifer's filmography demonstrates an understanding that leads by example.

   “As a freshmen in college I took a class that involved making videos, and it was like recovering a phantom limb that I hadn't known I lost” Jennifer says as she reminisces about her first introduction to film making. Originally interested in dancing, Jennifer considers her relationship with film to be genuine love-at-first-sight, “It was not that different to how I felt dancing. And I still feel, in a way, my position behind the camera is linked to choreography on some level. I feel like I'm still sort of moving bodies through space; that it's connected to a sort of lyricism. The relationship between watching a character move back and forth in their life, and between the frame, to a certain piece of music is directly related to why I always loved dancing.”

  After transitioning from dancer to director, Jennifer found herself stranded in a sea of peers unlike herself, surrounded by “these clusters of boys making films about boys. When they divvied up positions and made decisions about who would do what, often times what was left for me was getting coffee or just standing around, which I absolutely refuse to do.” Instead Jennifer went out on her own, learning to be her own one-woman crew, “I had a very small camera I could travel with and set up. I had local lighting. I could edit myself. It took out, for me, what was a real gender gap in film school” she says, “I was capable of doing everything myself, and I did everything myself. Even in the very beginning I had this system as a means to get my work done.”

  This early exposure to the imbalances that exist both in front of and behind the camera is something Jennifer's work often seeks to remedy. Crystal Lake, one of her recent shorts, follows a group of young muslim women. Instead of focusing on the supposed “otherness” of their culture, they're instead simply portrayed as a group of friends. Her upcoming feature, Signature Move, takes this approach even further, “It's a romantic comedy about two women in a romantic relationship” she explains, “one is a Pakistani Muslim lesbian, and the other is a Mexican-American lesbian. It's a story that portrays two vibrant cultures, and feels like a really important story to tell.” Jennifer doesn't exactly hide her dissatisfaction with both past and current portrayals of women in film, particularly those outside of the typical default of straight and white. Her decision to tell diverse stories, stories that centre on groups not necessarily represented as much as they should be, doesn't seem to come form tokenism, but instead from a genuine understanding of the importance in seeing more variety in front of the camera, “Where I live and the university where I teach have a huge muslim community. In particular, lots of hijabi girls,” she says, “They're very visible as muslims but they're also wickedly intelligent, politically involved, and identify as feminists. They've grown up in the States. They're Americans who happen to be muslim in country that is deeply afraid of muslims and very misunderstanding of Islam in general.” As Jennifer explains, it's about making something relatable to those outside of the straight-white-male demographic, “It felt really important to make a film that a young muslims girl, a young African-American girl, could watch and say “that's me”. There are still so many trendy clusters of States based film makers who are replicating these schlubby 20 something guys from Brooklyn, with no jobs and hot girlfriends. This ridiculous portrayal of white men does not speak to me in any capacity. And if it doesn't speaks to me as an adult white woman than it certainly does not speak to the people who are the main consumers of film: teenagers of all races and ethnicities.”

  This is the dream of many film makers; to make something that people can look at and see themselves reflected back. But trying to make films that tell a story far from your own can be an off putting tightrope walk to many wannabe storytellers. When we're so often encouraged to write what we know, what's the key to making something outside of our own experiences? Well according to Jennifer it's quite simple, really: listen more. “If someone who belongs to a community that is not my own culture says something is offensive, I listen to it. I do a lot of listening.” However, when teaching her students she still makes sure to let them know that there's nothing wrong with making films that come from close to home, “It's okay to make films about who you are and where you came from, but” she advises “if you want to break out of that, do your do diligence. When people get it wrong is when they base their whole film on their own closed assumptions.”

  It's not just religious representations that Jennifer has an interest in discussing. Her short, White Trash Girl, was in part a response to a lack of discussion around white poverty and our assumptions regarding poverty and race. “Often poverty is associated with non-white communities” Jennifer explains, “This country is made up of a small amount of people who have a lot of power because of their wealth, and a larger middle class, but primarily an enormous lower class. This discrepancy, the class problem, is something that so many politicians don't want to talk about because often poverty is associated with non-white communities. The majority of very poor people in this country are white. So many things are based on race and not anything else. It's easy to blame our non-white communities for violence and poverty when that's just not the case.”

   Jennifer suspects that the rise in a rhetoric that is quick to point the finger of blame at race-divides rather than class-divides seems to be one of fear, “It's this fear of the loss of power” she says “The patriarchy is based on well defined straight-white-male power, and the idea that that hierarchy is being challenged by non-white people, by women, by people with disabilities, by gay people, is so terrifying to this group of people.”

   The key to fighting this rhetoric, Jennifer believes, lies in both how we educate others and how we educate ourselves, “I go back to this idea of listening. Branch out. Consider someone else. Being an inclusive human means considering other perspectives. It doesn't mean pushing your own onto someone else. That's what I would like to see, and I think that's what's happening a little bit at a time”.

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Billy Lumby profile

Originally written for Nightmare Digital

“What scares me is the idea of not making a few feature films in my lifetime” worries Billy Lumby, “I’m still at an early stage, so it feels weird to talk about how I’ll handle the move from smaller to bigger budget features, but the best directors seem to be able to navigate that leap without compromising their artistic integrity with commercialism.”      A north London based filmmaker, Billy Lumby initially dreamed of being a rockstar but was “too shy and couldn’t be arsed practicing”. After falling ill and being left bedridden for months he discovered world cinema; falling in love with the craft after watching the work of the greats, “People like Tarkovsky, Buñuel and Godard.” he says  “That’s when I got into it. Watching Mulholland Drive at the cinema sealed the deal.”

   For his first short film, Suspended Animation, Billy decided to create an abstract sci-fi film about Walt Disney being cryogenically thawed out and his inability to cope with the future. “I had a dwarf playing a bastardized Mickey Mouse, and a bodybuilder as Popeye, both of them haunting his cryonic dreams.”

   Following the success of Suspended Animation, Billy's next project was the short personal drama God View. Longlisted for a BAFTA, God View is not only thought provoking for it's portrayal of mental illness but for it's technical initiative. The film is shot from above, with the audience watching from the titular God view. “The first prototype [for the camera rig]' Billy says “was me walking around Hackney Central with a handycam on the end of a 3m pole, getting weird looks from everybody. After that I did lens and distance tests on a mockup rig with the director of photography Brett Turnbull, and then experimental filmmaker Tony Hill came on-board to design and build the final version.” The final version was a bodyrig that the actor then wore, “he looked a bit like ED-209 from Robocop.” Billy admits. “It was a very technical shoot followed by a long, grueling post-production process.

   After making the longlist, Billy then went on the receive a BAFTA nomination for Samuel-613, which follows a Hasidic Jew dealing with a crisis of faith.“I want to make original films about under-represented topics” he says “especially ones that have visual, dramatic and cinematic potential. I am interested in social issues and real life stories.” As for the recognition from BAFTA, Billy feels “a lot of bad films get nominated for awards” he says “I still feel a long way from achieving my ambitions, but the recognition will hopefully help towards getting the next projects made. For that reason, I was very happy and grateful.”

   With regards to his next project Billy is fortunate enough to have become part a of mentoring program called Guiding Light, which he describes as “a scheme for filmmakers at a stage in their career when they’re getting ready to make their first feature film.” For the scheme Billy has been paired up with director Ben Wheatley. “It has basically been the opportunity to hang out with Ben a few times” Billy says “I ask his advice and hear about how he has made his movies so that I can hopefully avoid some of the pitfalls, either creatively or strategically.” Originally recognized after the success of his low budget films such as, Down Terrace, Kill List, Sightseers, and A Field In England, Ben Wheatley's first foray into mainstream cinema, High-Rise, was met with a somewhat lukewarm reception. However, Billy isn't too concerned about his own transition from the independent to the mainstream, since “Most of my favourite movies are made by writer/directors [and for] less than £10 million. Usually a lot less. Writing and developing the story is the most important element of any good film.”

  Billy's next project, a feature film, once again dives into the difficult topic of mental illness. This time focusing on schizophrenia. “It’s the topics that most people shy away from that really interest me.” Billy says “If I can’t find a way to represent a subject truthfully, that is a disincentive. But I don’t worry about being disrespectful, only about inauthentically portraying situations. It’s impossible to create an objective film that everyone will love, but if it’s delivered authentically and effectively, at least you can get people talking.”

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Lucy Luscombe profilme

Originally written for Nightmare Digital

“I think it's a big wake up call. This was the opportunity for Middle England to have their say” reflected Lucy Luscombe. a London based film maker on the rise. We sat down with Lucy the day after the UK's EU Referendum to discuss politics, the arts, youth.

   A Central St Martin's alumni, Lucy first began her exploration of the arts after a brief dabble in acting, “I was in this very strange acting group where no one was a real careerist” she says “We were all just interested in the craft and this very romantic idea of Stanislavsky. But the industry stuff that laid outside that room wasn't very interesting.” Instead, Lucy decided to try her hand at scriptwriting, “I wanted to be a playwright. I remember sending a really bad script to The Royal Court and they called it “derivative”. My friend was in a band and I wanted to do a music video. I ended up, come-hell-or-high-water, trying to get this music video made.” Candy Girl, a music video about “the disappointment in that weird transition between childhood and adolescents” leans more into the realm of short film. The music acts as the soundtrack and fades away into the background of the film's narrative. A bold choice that was well received, and prompted production companies to reach out to Lucy.

   Now with a host of successful shorts under her belt, such as a music video for John Grant's song GMF which made it onto the UKVMA's Best Alternative Video shortlist, Lucy still doesn't let the typical constrains of a music video limit her work, “I tend to swerve performance videos because they don't excite me. They're more about selling a product. It's more interesting to sell an idea. Like the idea of an artist” Lucy explains, “An artist's identity is more than what they look like or how they perform. They go through the same shit of trying to pay the bills and trying to put ideas out into the world. You've got to respect their journey.”

   One of her more recent films, The Days Burn Blue, was filmed in Huddersfield and featured local kids going about their lives in an area of the country hit full force by austerity. “I don't think these kids had opportunities to meet people who could advise them on how to make it in the arts” she recalls, “Think about how many little geniuses are slipping through the net because there's no one to unlock that within them.” Lucy is all too aware that the arts are usually the first to go under the knife when it comes to funding cuts, and the impact our age of austerity is having on the youth is a big motivator for her, “It's really difficult in this doom-and-gloom, anxiety ridden age to prioritise the importance of inspiring young people to get into the arts. Whether it's painting or being a musician, I think you need the confidence and courage to believe you have a voice, even at an amateur level” she says, “But I think we live in this era where kids are told that their voice isn't important, that it's not part of the debate. And I think the future of the British film industry, the arts, are going to suffer for that”.

      According to Lucy, young people already hold the most important key to good film making: they have stories we want to hear. “Old people always want to patronize teenagers to settle some kind of insecurity. But what young people forget is secretly old people are fascinated by them.” As Lucy points out, in spite of the pessimism one might feel towards pursuing the arts in this day and age, it's not hard for kids these days to go out and film their stories on their iPhones. The crucial thing, she says, is letting young people know that they shouldn't let their feeling of disempowerment stop them, “People will convince you that you're not ready to do things, but it's bullshit. We drum it into kids that they have to wait and pay their dues before they have a voice, but their voice is more fascinating than they believe or are told.”

   As is inevitable for any British film maker who chooses to deal with topical social issues, it's hard not to see the influence of Ken Loach in Lucy's work. “Ken Loach was fearless in constantly challenging the establishment,” she says with admiration. “We're obsessed in this country with the notion of the benefits scrounger, and [Loach] has just done this film, I, Daniel Blake where he's actually built a life out of a statistic. That's exactly the direction that I think I'm headed into.” Her main interest, she says, lies in the human experience, “I'm interested in people, I'm interested in their lives. Politics will always come into that. Also I think it's a form of me trying to process the world around me and to understand it a bit more.” However, while Lucy believes that most of her films will inherently be political, it's important to do so in a way that doesn't alienate or disengage an audience, “It would be super pompous of me to judge anyone who wanted to switch off and watch The Kardashians if they've had a shitty day. That's as much of a valid experience as creating something that is challenging.”

   After so much success in short films, Lucy does have plans for bigger things. “A feature film is defiantly in the pipe line” she mentions, but that's not the only area she's eyeing up, “TV is a really interesting medium. I love reaching a big audience and TV can offer that. My fascination lies in general with the idea of an audience loving characters and the development of characters. I think that's a beautiful thing.”

   In these tumultuous times it will certainly be exciting to see how directors like Lucy Luscombe process and film the impact of politics on the world around them. Lucy too, seems excited about what sort of art is to come, “When I'm excited about other film makers, it's when they're presenting something that's honest and from a different perspective,” she says, “They're not trying to please people, they're not trying to get good press. They're just trying to make something. They make you want to make something that excites them.” And, Lucy says, it's the young people today, slowly learning how to express themselves, that we should be watching out for, “It seems like a scary time to be a young person, but they seem super engaged in politics and what's happening. I feel like they've found a voice.”

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For Those In Peril review

Originally written for the Cambridge Film Festival.

Aaron (George MacKay) is the lone survivor of a fishing boat accident that claimed the lives of his brother and four other men. Already an outsider, Aaron is further ostracised by his community when he begins believing that his brother is in fact not dead, but in the belly of a monster from a local folktale. Set in a small Scottish fishing village, For Those In Peril  takes a little while to settle into. It tries so hard to be profound in it's storytelling it can't seem to sit still. Everything happens in short bust, often overlaid with voiceovers or interrupted with a flashback. These flashbacks are distinguishable in their dark home video look, acting as a visual metaphor for Aaron's imperfect memories. The stark contrast between the hazy past and the crisp present acts as a perfect visual metaphor for the lack of clarity with what happened before the accident. Belief and belief in belief are a strong theme running through the film. If Aaron believes hard enough that his brother is alive, then he must be. If he believes that he can bring him back, then he really can. With Aaron as our unreliable narrator and an ambiguous end will leave viewers divided, For Those In Peril is an unsettling fairytale. In the end this film is sure to stay with it's audience, lingering like the sting of salt water in an open wound.

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Upstream Colour review

Originally written for the Cambridge Film Festival

If Robert Rodriguez is the one-man film crew of action movies, then Shane Carruth is proving himself to be Rodriguez's science fiction counterpart. Having written, directed and starred in his two films to date, Carruth is possibly the smartest guy in film.His debut was Primer back in 2004. A puzzle of a film that presented time-travel in the most realistic and competent way, it was so logical it made our typically spoon fed minds spin and whirl to try and piece together what we saw. Now with Upstream Colour Carruth tackles the more philosophical subject to free will and connectivity. After a parasite is implanted in a woman, she is hypnotised into handing over all her possessions.  Later she begins a relationship with a man who seems to have undergone a similar experience, and together we follow as they try and deal with what happened to them.

This film is not an easy ride. It's beached visuals are symbolism heavy, and the importance of sound means even the score cannot go unanalysed. To really appreciate this film you have to be truly engaged throughout. If you go hoping for something you can switch off in, go see Machete Kills. But if you're willing, Upstream Colour is worth the effort. Profound questions are so rarely discussed in film without being condescending. Upstream Colour manages to treat it's audience with respect by allowing you to follow and digest the film as intended, without needing it to hold your hand.

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Schmitke review

Originally written for TAKE ONE.

Deep in the Czech Republic’s Ore Mountains, a wind turbine screeches and groans, its ceaseless noise rumbling through the streets of the surrounding town and into the forest. A German engineer, Julius Schmitke, is sent to repair it, along with his obnoxious colleague Thomas. However, not long after their arrival Thomas disappears, forcing Julius to search through the town and the looming mountains.

In simple terms SCHMITKE is a fairytale, a fable of a wood that both warns and welcomes you. Julius Schmitke, played by Peter Kurth, has a face that seems to be etched with a permanent sigh. His life is noisy, and he seems to be haunted by the rumble of machinery. As we accompany Julius on his search for his lost comrade it’s not hard to see how the crisp mountains and the unknown perils underfoot act as the perfect trap for Julius. The ground beneath him could give way any moment, but in doing so it eliminates the noise: Thomas, the turbine, his sat­nav. All is quiet when deep in the forest.

The antagonist of the film, the aforementioned rust­bucket turbine that refuses to die, torments Julius, and also demonstrates director Stepan Altrichter’s strongest skill. The film perfectly uses sound to show Julius’ disturbed mindset. In the distance the turbine sounds like a wailing, injured beast that needs to be put to sleep. However, much like Thomas’ disappearance, what first seems to be a simple fix soon proves to be an unachievable task. And, again like Thomas’ disappearance, it doesn’t take long to morph into nothing more than white noise. On a day-to-day level, Julius seems disconnected from his life. His work is met with little praise, and he has trouble connecting with his daughter. The Ore Mountains don’t serve the purpose of giving him the space to sort himself out, but instead heighten his confusion to a point of total resignation. The most striking demonstration of this is when he meanders through an abandoned mine. This old Nazi-era tin mine is made up of Escher-like passages: stairs leading this way and that, and gaping holes tumbling to unknown depths. The enchanting forest acts as its own character in the film. Hitting all the right beats, mist and shadows emerge, regularly reminding us where the ominous tension of the film bubbles up from.Like much recent European cinema, SCHMITKE demonstrates skill in finding the light balance between dark mystery and comedy. Its moments of humour come from the colourful locals living deep in the forest: a gaggle of eccentrics, they could have been plucked out of David Lynch’s TWIN PEAKS. Whether delivered with wide eyes or indifference, their casual offerings of advice to Julius perfectly embody what is both humorous and frustrating about his situation. They give plenty of answers, just not to the questions he’s asking. Towards the end of the film when he finally surrenders to his predicament one can’t help but speculate if he has stumbled across a Czech Hotel California; a place devoid of both time and the need for it.SCHMITKE certainly captures the draw of the forest as a sanctuary but also has no intention of suggesting it is one free of perils. Still, after staring at those endless mist-draped mountains one can’t help but feel the urge to don a bearskin hat and take a wander.

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The New Rijksmuseum review

Originally written for TAKE ONE.

Holland’s most famous museum, The Rijksmuseum, was closed for almost a decade between 2004 and 2013 in order to undergo a nearly £300 million pound renovation. It was originally estimated to take half that time. THE NEW RIJKSMUSEUM follows the project as it faces hurdle after endless hurdle.

When we are first introduced to the museum the renovation is already underway. Stripped of her art and décor, the museum looks less a palace of high culture and more, as the caretaker puts it, ‘a war zone’. The building is a long way from the providing a deserving home to the Netherlands’ most prized cultural possessions. As we tour the building’s brick skeleton one by one the project’s helmsmen are introduced. Some of these, such as the ambitious Taco Dibbits and the faintly obsessive curator Menno Fitski, will provide points of continuity as the years roll by. A struggle for many documentaries is to be interesting to those who would not normally be intrigued by its subject matter. THE NEW RIJKSMUSEUM avoids this thanks to the passion of the museum’s curators, whose emotional investment in their work is infectious. While each curator specialises in their own crucial aspect of the project, something that unifies them all is the identical twinkle in each one’s eye. Even as frustrations mount their love for the museum and the art within rarely wavers. While sometimes inaccessible to those of us lacking in a love of the high arts, the art itself is still evidently worth cherishing. An auction bid for a piece that would be crucial to the museum’s 20th Century section turns out to be a surprisingly tense and heartbreaking moment. The same goes for the acquisition of two dynamic Japanese statues. After being acquired the pair are locked in storage thanks to the setbacks, and it is undoubtedly sad to see them anywhere else but on display.The film aims to show us the full scope of the project, not shying away from even comparatively unexciting quandaries. The array of challenges presented — bureaucratic, financial, political — are all given time. While it is a shame so little attention can be spared on the museum’s content itself, spending time to focus on tedious exchanges is what elevates this documentary from more than just an advert. The onslaught of endless frustrations makes you itch for the project’s completion just as much as the curators. One of the Rijksmuseum’s biggest controversies was its proposed grandiose entrance. The plans for a design said to rival that of the Louvre were scrapped after uproar from Amsterdam’s Cyclist Union. The battle for the cyclists to use the public paths under the museum is the root cause of much of the conflicts. At first this seems nothing more than pettiness, but it drags on, an ever-present nuisance for both the museum workers and the viewer. As the Museum director Wim Pijbes points out late in the film, he spends more time concerning himself with cyclists than with Rembrandt. Although it is already known that the project took almost 10 years, the film doesn’t always do an adequate job of conveying this passage of time. The project is shown stopping and starting, sometimes with explanation and sometimes not. There is a recurring motif of newspaper headlines on a pinboard which intermittently offers up some context. However jumps in time from the museum’s flooded dirt floor to the final stages of decoration can be somewhat unsatisfactory.THE NEW RIJKSMUSEUM takes no interest in glamorising the museum like a tourist information film. Instead it turns its head to examine planning permission forms and paint swatches. With so many facets of this massive renovation under the film’s lens, it’s hard not to be fascinated as you follow the many steps and stumbles of the Rijksmuseum’s journey.

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Hellions (2015) review

Originally written for TAKE ONE.

The pregnancy from hell is by no means a new staple of horror. The bright eyed young thing’s world collapsing around her, as she struggles to deal with her budding demon seed, has had audiences clutching their abdomens since the genre of parasitic horror was first conceived. HELLIONS takes no shame in not being the first to breach this trope. Instead it seems to revel in both this, and a whole hoard of other classic tropes from the golden age of slasher horror.

Dora (Chloe Rose), a 17 year old from a postcard small town, is informed on Halloween that she is pregnant. As the night wears on, strange masked “children” begin tormenting her, desperate to get their little bloody hands on the “baby” growing inside her. Rather than wasting time by introducing a parade of supporting characters, to later be used as cannon fodder, the film focuses almost entirely on Dora. As the situation escalates, it’s on Chloe Rose’s winged shoulders to carry most of the film and convey the disorienting horror of the situation. Rose manages to keep Dora real, neither too competent nor oblivious. She believably has the wherewithal to realise she should load her shotgun with salt, but also ends up wasting most of her shells shooting at shadows.

Occasionally by Dora’s side is the town sheriff, played by Robert Patrick. Presented like an old school action hero, he initially seems to have the best sense of what is going on. However, as things rapidly deteriorate, his dead eyes soon indicate that he may not be Dora’s ticket to safety. Patrick subtly transitions the sheriff into someone who is also being consumed by the nightmare. The violence in HELLIONS is what best sells its love of classic slashers. It doesn’t shy away from blood and pain, with one particularly memorable scene featuring the use of a stapler as a DIY suture. However, just like its predecessors it knows how to pace itself. The moments of violence are staggered enough not to leave one callous by the end, but instead are played in a manner that even the obligatory dragged-by-the-ankles-into-the-darkness scene can leave a horror glutton at least a little shaken.Another part of what makes HELLIONS so charming is its unambitious aesthetic. The children’s rotten masks and grubby claws are all the film needs to build something visually unnerving. There is no attempt to attack us with intangible CGI creatures: the classic faceless killers are all this film needs.What’s sure to be the most contentious topic in future discussions of the film is HELLIONS’ surreal narrative. While it begins with the standard question of “will she or won’t she survive?”, it begins to break down, leaving the audience questioning whether this is Dora’s physical or literal nightmare. This could prove divisive for audiences, leaving some dissatisfied with the lack of clarity, and others embracing the unusual.HELLIONS is sure to join HALLOWEEN and FRIDAY THE 13TH as required viewing for Halloween slumber parties – and maybe there’s even a chance we’ll see a few jagged toothed bucket heads and sack boys wandering the streets this October.