The Edgware Walker, Interview




(The following interview was given to WIDESHOT, a featured section on SHOOTING PEOPLE'S film website).







GETTING STARTED

When did you make your first film Lee?

This was it. Film-making’s piss easy. I think I made it either in the beginning of 2004 or in autumn 2003. I can’t remember.

Have you had any formal film training?

No – and I don’t say this is a matter of bravado – and I don’t say it cos I think I’m the nuts - but why in the hell would anyone want formal training? It seems like the biggest load of crap. Why would you want someone to tell you how to make a film? What’s the point? You watch telly? You watch films? …there’s your homework. You know what you like – now try out your own stuff. It’s like getting a new mobile phone – who actually reads the instructions? You just fuck about and see what happens. The same with a computer game – how many people actually read the instructions? You just fuck about and try and work it out yourself. It doesn’t take long to learn how to blow people up. So why is film different? Why would you want people telling you how to make a documentary? “This is how to make a story”… “this is how to bring out your characters”. Why would you abdicate your individuality and have someone work you into tired grooves and formats? Why would you jeopardise eroding your own idiosyncrasies? You’re gonna get some far more interesting crap if you’ve evolved in your own little petri dish than if you’ve been reared on a factory line. You are your own person, you’ve got your own rhythm and syntax, why the hell would you want someone to tell you how to visually engage with the world? You know the programs you like. You don’t need training. It’s a scam.

You’ve had some films broadcast on TV, what can you tell us about those?

They were rubbish. I should have got some film training.

DEVELOPING THE SCRIPT

Who is the Edgware Walker – tell us about this man you became so fascinated by?

The Edgware Walker was a man whose image was embossed on the hearts and souls of all those who lived in North-West London for a period up to last year. Since time began he was famous for walking round and round the borough in only his underpants. He also went through dustbins. I guess I became interested in him cos he was a guy who would walk round and round the borough in only his underpants - and going through dustbins.

A few years back there were these market research focus groups. We used to scam getting a few of them and you could get about thirty-quid cash. (There were posh sandwiches with leaves on the plate too if you were lucky). One day we managed to bagsy a market research on the theme of, “Our Life”, and they gave us a camera to capture images that express our life. Me and my mate took photos of shopping trollies, burgers, and this tramp guy. This was properly back in the day and this photo actually made it into the film. There’s only one other photo I’ve seen of the dude, published in a paper after he died. Our photo was better – he looked like a cowboy strolling off into the sunset.

What is the Edgware Walker’s story – tell us all about him?

Many myths and legends surrounded the guy. Some say he was a doctor, a lawyer – others a brain surgeon. They say he operated on his wife and she died, or his family died in a car crash, or his family burnt to death. Others say he had a walking disease and if he ever stopped moving he’d seize up. People say he was actually incredibly rich and lived in a million pound house. So there’s a whole web of urban myth and legend. And then there was the truth - namely: …his name was Stefan Solomon Elijah Hassan. He was of Turkish-Jewish-Polish extraction. His father – who worked in the textile industry - used to suffer from depression and would have medication to deal with it accordingly. One day Stefan came home to his worried mother. His dad had gone awol and all his medication with him. Stefan ran round looking for him, and eventually his dad was found dead on Butterfly Lane in Elstree. There’s a little piece of woodland there. I am not sure whether it was Stefan himself who found his father. He was never married and never had children so the stuff about killing his wife etc. was rubbish. The fact that there was some personal tragedy that sparked his demise is evidently true. He was also a doctor, and up to his death he lived in the house built by his parents in Canons Drive – a proper big nuts million pound street. Max Bygraves used to live up there. That means nothing to me although apparently he used to say, “I want to tell you a story”, which is a big deal to old people. I don’t know whether “I want to tell you a story” is of interest to old people in general or only when Max Bygraves said it. I’m not sure who Max Bygraves is to be honest other than he wanted to tell people stories, which is fair enough, it’s not too confrontational.

Anyway, the film sought to get at the prosaic truth behind this character – a nuts and bolts sifting between fact and fiction - but it was about more than that. It was about the role this guy played in the spiritual and emotional continuity of the town – the vital link he played in transporting us back to a time when it wasn’t so crappy. As our lives changed – as Edgware changed – he remained – so it was literally like some obelisk – some stone from the past existing among us. He was a fucking time warp. Chicken shop after chicken shop had come and gone in Edgware – but he remained. It’s ridiculous – and I know many people will just see a man in pants going through bins – but in this figure that strolled from dusk till dawn – we had a profound ghost-like apparition – a gate-keeper who took us right back into the heart and soul of who we are. And you think I’m chatting shit but look at the reactions of people when they’re told he’s dead…

How did he die?

People just assumed he would live for ever - even though he decayed before our very eyes. You gotta remember this guy used to run – I mean really run – and then jog – and then walk – and then dawdle – stooped and bowed – his physical genealogy literally like an inverted version of that human evolution diagram – from Neanderthal to homo sapiens - except the other way round -a tired ape - until gravity ultimately bitch-slapped him closer and closer to the earth and his body just packed in. Actually he died of cancer, and he was still walking about right up till the end. He would shuffle along like a tortoise that some kid had skewered through the back with a stick. His skin was hard and leathery – kind of like those bog-men you dig up from a field of peat. From talking to doctors he must have been in incredible pain but was so driven by his impetus to walk – fuelled by an endless fire of sadness – that he was walking around literally up to a couple of days before his death.

How did you find out about his story – who really knew about him?

In terms of corroborating the truth – that was done through cross-referencing oral testimony of others with what he told me himself during his life-time. Within the film itself, the character who happens to reveal to us this truth is the local Lubavitch rabbi. The thing about the Lubavitch is if your left testicle is Jewish they’re gonna try and make you lay on tefillin (phylacteries) and klezmer it up. You gotta remember me and my brother were the schmucks that accidentally took bacon flavour monster munch to Hebrew classes as kids. Anyway……so I turn up to find out about his truth and I’m put in this situation where I’ve literally gotta trade him mitzvahs for information…(a mitzvah is like a commandment or “good deed”)……so I’m like the toss-pot private eye of Edgware – standing at his doorstep – trying to find out information - except instead of bunging him an envelope I gotta read some prayers…. The prayer was “Mo’ode ani lafnechah” – I give thanks unto you

GETTING READY TO SHOOT

What prompted your decision to shoot a film about the Edgware Walker?
I’ve never been interested in documentary and if the truth be told I don’t know anything about it. To me someone like Nick Broomfield is just a dude I saw in an advert selling cars. I sent in some comedy to the guy who used to commission comedy at Channel 4 and he invited me in as a get to know thingy. In the course of the conversation it transpired that he came from Edgware and obviously the Walker guy came up, (it’s an Edgware thing). I said how cool it would be to make a film about him and he put me in touch with SP’s Jess Search who used to then be Channel 4’s commissioner for Independent Film and Video. (The department’s not there anymore. I think it’s been replaced now by the Commissioner for Wife Swap and Programs about House Renovations). Anyway, she gave me a thousand pound and I thought I’d made the big time. In the long and short - I was given a tangible opportunity to make something within the creative sphere and not be a bum - so I took it. I don’t want to exclusively devote my life to documentary – but as a medium whereby you can directly engage with the world – where you can celebrate the world with spontaneity and immediacy – I’ve found that it’s a pretty good medium. What sort of shooting approach did you decide to take? Who did you choose as contributors to talk about the Walker?

For me it was just as important to capture the warmth and humour of Edgware as it was to tell the story of the Walker. That’s why all the fucking about and mucking about with the contributors is just as important as the story of the Walker himself. If documentary is just about fact you may as well get the police to take down witness statements. If you wanna capture the tone and spirit of something you gotta try a different approach. Anyway - most of the people that feature are family and friends. Then there were also other leads and contacts, people who’d heard I was making a film who had an interesting take on the Walker’s legend, or people recommended to me as knowing “the truth”. Everyone knew someone who “knew the truth”, and invariably you’d hear the biggest load of bollocks, like he lives in a tent on the A41, or he used to live in a wheel-barrow. Not have a wheel-barrow – actually live in a wheelbarrow.

This was also the first time I’d ever picked up a camera so in terms of my shooting approach it was literally like – fuck it – do whatever – the spirit of the film will take care of itself and even if it looks a bit shitty who cares. I kind of still have this attitude now. If you’re one of these dudes with camera, technology and HD fetishes – I always wonder to what extent you actually give a shit and are engaged with your actual subject matter. For me, glossiness and professionalism doesn’t add anything to a film. It could still be shit.

THE SHOOT ITSELF

Did you manage to include the Walker himself?

No. He died two days before filming. If the truth be told I hadn’t even asked him if he’d let me film him cos I was scared he’d say no and I’d have no money and be a bum again. I was building up to asking him when he died. In a cold, cynical TV way - I don’t think it mattered cos the film wasn’t just about him – it was about the community as well – and how he existed inside the internal landscape of Edgware residents as much as he existed on the landscape proper. He’s spiritually and vibrantly evoked by the voices of the contributors – which in a way is good cos this is the only way he exists now and you just have to believe the people of Edgware that such a man existed. But there is also the photograph which I mentioned earlier – which in itself adds to the whole mythology cos he’s got his back to us and it’s like one of those grainy pictures of big-foot or the Loch Ness Monster.

Were his movements predictable?

Sightings were pretty easy to come by. He was a regular fixture of the high-street. The day after being commissioned I remember I tailed the guy, walking at a slight distance like a spy. I remember phoning up a mate and saying, “I’m literally hiding behind Nandos spying on a tramp”. I think I’d been unemployed for a while and so I was detached from reality. If you’ve been unemployed for any period of time you know how it is. It’s not long before you realise you’re dressed in all the clothes you own and trying to mix vanilla ice-cream with coca-cola to see if it’s nice.

Anyway, here I was, a twenty-four year old man in theory - hunting a tramp – like tracking down a yeti. It’s like I’d kneel down by a dustbin – pick up a discarded drink carton and say, “He’s close….”. One day I followed him to see if he really did live in a million pound house - the only thing is – I started getting really frustrated and pissed off cos he walked so slow. It took us fucking half an hour to get from the dustbins near the Masons Arms just up to Canons Park. In the end I gave up and got a vegetable slice from Greggs.

Did you ever speak with him?

The first time I ever spoke to him I was bricking it. I engineered it so I was dawdling and he would have to walk past me. Then I’d talk to him. A lot was riding on it cos I wanted him to like me and felt that if I didn’t have him on board I didn’t have a film. I was bricking it. And then all of a sudden before I’d noticed he walked past me and threw some comment over his shoulder about the weather. I picked it up like some discarded apple and asked if he minded if I strolled with him. From then on I’d speak to him whenever I saw him, chatting about this and that.

He was so well spoken – he made me sound like a turd. Even though he was in his pants and I was in clothes – he was the professional and I was the waster. Remember – he was a doctor and he never lost his bedside manner even in spite of his lifestyle. He was actually funny as well and would make me laugh. I remember once saying bye and I’ll see you later and he just said, “Yes…see you later alligator”. How cool is that? He was walking around in his pants – going through dustbins – yet talking like the Fonze!

From the shots of his house from outside, he was clearly an eccentric householder, did you ever manage to film inside his house?

I never got permission to film in his house, but the council guys who cleared up let me have an unofficial look around. It was proper Mrs Havisham territory. Time had stopped still. Dusty chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Photographs of old people stared out at you from the walls. There was rat nibbled furniture. The stench was intolerable. Human decay and garbage had made a silt and sediment that covered the floor-space. Like a crash-mat of crap. There were rats – bold and cocky – as tenants. In the attic – with that milky anaemic light that only an attic can have – there were tables full of crap and junk. More photographs. (Like a lot of these eccentric, obsessive types be was a collector and hoarder if things). Even in the front garden there were creepy, little hay-stacks of nettles and branches – like something from a creepy horror movie. Anyway, once you waded through all the mildew and curled newspaper you found the backroom compartment of this attic, and in there, there was a more cleared out space. And there, there was a table with a briefcase on it. And if you opened up the briefcase you found there was a stethoscope and equipment from when he was a doctor back in the day. How fucking major is that? What a fucking intersection of a million things stored up in that attic. Sometimes life throws up stories that are humbling, or that for some reason give you that sense of a grand turning world inside your chest. What you gotta understand is here was an urban legend that was true – it was actually true. He lived in Canons Drive – that’s like The Bishops Avenue of Edgware. It’s the proper nuts. Big fuck off houses, massive drives, million pound properties – and living among them was this guy who used to walk around in his pants. That’s partly what I loved about the guy – he totally spoilt the fantasy image they’d paid all that money for – they had this exclusive street and he was ruining it for them by going through their bins like a racoon. Anyway, to conclude, all things come to dust in the end. Today I walked past his house – it’s been knocked down – razed to the ground. Some bloke’s bought the land and’s gonna make a lot of money. I guess it’s fitting. Everything ends up dust in the end and that is why documentary is fucking important. You gotta capture shit before it’s gone forever.

Where were you when you first heard that the Edgware Walker was dead?

I got “the phone-call” – that age-old transporter of grief. A lady who lived down his street – one of my agents - told me he’d died. (It’s very important to get agents. So far I’ve got agents in the video shop, in KFC and in McDonalds).

As an Edgware person yourself, what was your reaction to hearing about this death?

This guy went to the same junior school as me. He was bamitzvahed in the same synagogue as me. I’m like everyone else in the neighbourhood – he’d always been there – he was an image embossed on the rhythms of my youth – burnt into the landscape with as much chunk as Edgware station. No matter where you went or what you did in life, no matter what you achieved or what you fucked up – you would come back and he would still be there doing his stuff. Me and my brother had grown up looking at him. We used to call him He-man. You’d see him up near the M1 in Watford, and then forty minutes later you’d see him walking down the A41 towards Hendon. He was like fucking Atlas or Samson.

What made his death so powerful, and resonate so powerfully through the people you see in the film, is that there was an intersection of so many deaths in his passing – a compound of different griefs and mournings that criss-crossed through him. As people had grown up seeing him since they were little kids it was like the end of youth – it was like your childhood being snapped shut – a death with a death. Then there was the death of Edgware as a place in itself. Edgware used to be lovely, even in the space of my own lifetime. Now it’s like a dump. It was like fuck – the dream’s over – Edgware is officially a shit-hole – everything it once had that gave it character is gone. We’re just the same as any chav-town. Kentucky Fried Chicken. Burger King. This is all our high-street has. Shit, rubbish, garbage, boarded up shops and scum-bags. The last image that had any soul and which linked the present to the past – like a lifeline to the original landscape - had gone. Maybe I even lost it a bit – (mixed up with the manic race to make the film) – cos I was even thinking about trying to get impetus going to erect a statue of him. A statue of him walking holding his shopping bags. But that’s ridiculous isn’t it? I don’t know? People think it’s stupid - but why not? Why not celebrate your local heroes? A statue of him walking – placed in Edgware High-street – so that he’d always be walking? People made a big deal about Diana and built crap for her – why not him? At least he actually touched people’s lives in a very real and grass roots way – not the imagined kinship augured by god knows how much propaganda and marketing power. Anyway, as my mate Olly says in the film, “If you had to write a eulogy about Edgware, and if you had like three lines in which to do it – you couldn’t do it justice without mentioning this guy…”. And that’s what the film became – a eulogy for Edgware as much as it was a eulogy for Stefan.

What was your reaction as a filmmaker?

Fuck. My reaction was “fuck”. The dude’s died on me. So it was like, I gotta get my arse in gear and interview as many people as I can before they find out. This stuff spreads like wild-fire. I ran round like a mother-fucker for a few days trying to interview as many people as I could. It was like trying to out-run a forest fire – trying to reach people before they’d been contaminated. Some of them had already been burnt up by the truth but I had no time to mourn – I had to move on and interview others before they found out

Did you ever reach any conclusion yourself about his lonely life, about why the Walker walked all the time?

What gets me most is wondering where the threshold is between being okay and being mental? Did he break in a single moment of spiritual epiphany, or was it the gradual weight of days that broke him? I hope that he snapped and it wasn’t a long drawn out battle – cos if the end result is the same would it really be worth the struggle? As for the walking - walking’s therapeutic. I guess there’s a therapy in walking. You get lost in thoughts – but there’s also moments where you get zoned out – lost in a trance and kind of in synch with the leaves you’re walking on. Keep moving, don’t let the weight of grief bear down upon you. That’s what his trudge was about. I hope the grief of his dad didn’t weigh down too heavily on his heart and he managed to escape that feeling now and then. But to return home to that house night after night and look around you…. You gotta remember – he was an intelligent man – he spoke like an absolute gentleman. Animals learn to walk on three legs, people get over terrible set-backs, life keeps driving you for its own sake and it’s not all bad. The first time he told me his story – which he offered completely unsolicited – I said I’m very sorry to hear that – and he said well it was all a long time ago and strolled off to Edgwarebury Lane. But obviously it wasn’t. The person he was today was inextricably linked to that moment in the past. Even though the chain may have spanned fifty years – it was still attached to an anchor that hooked into one particular day. That can be true for many people - but for him it was evident in the most extreme and visual of ways. People are good at hiding their wounds. He said it was a long time ago but it wasn’t. It may as well be yesterday

You talk a lot about the “role” he played in Edgware. What else was his significance?

As far as I was concerned he was this character of Biblical proportions. If you go back to the bible – and - like myself - you don’t have to be religious to do so - you find these grand two-dimensional characters and they represent some kind of passion. You know - Samson was like this big strong hot-head, a bit arrogant or whatever. Or Jonah was cowardice. Well he reminded me of that - or the sort of grand characters you get in Greek tragedy. If he was a biblical character he would represent grief. He was like that. He was a walking tableu of grief. Of suffering. He hadn’t washed his suffering under the carpet. He lived it visibly in front of the eyes of the whole community. For me - we live in a tedious, sanitised world that lacks passion and soulfulness – we live in the world of X-factor – a world where Ant and Dec are venerated as comedy geniuses – well here walking among us was a man who sacrificed his life on the altar of some passion. He was like Joan of Arc. You gotta remember - Edgware is a community of lawyers, accountants, Jewish suburbia and the like – he walked among us – one of us – like a walking momento mori – reminding us that each of us is only a few tragedies away from breaking point. There but for the grace of God sort of thing. It only takes a few bad runs of luck before we’re in our pants going through bins.

GETTING IT SEEN

Where has the Edgware Walker film been broadcast?

It was shown on Channel Four as part of their now defunct OUTSIDE season. It was shown stupidly late which was a shame – even though Time Out bigged it up and said it was one of the best films of the night. I would have gone for the whole season but best of the night will do. For now.

Has it been seen anywhere else?

No. I’ve gotta get in the game of getting my stuff seen and whoring myself about – but because I don’t have any money I’ve found I can’t really fuck about with festivals and stuff I’ve already made cos I’m trying to generate more here and now money for sweets and cola bottles. I’ve started to realise that a film-maker is essentially a hustler. You’re hustling people for money and trying to close them in one way or another. That’s what I feel like at the moment – a crap, inefficient hustler. I need someone to take me under their wing cos I’m totally useless at the pragmatic side of life. You know I can’t even do basic maths? I’m using my fingers when counting my change in the sweet-shop...

At the same time, part of me’s not worried about getting massively seen. All the bands and musicians I’ve liked have cultivated their own little area of quiet dignity, and if I could just fence off my own little plot of land, plant a few crappy DV tapes and VHS’s – I’d be happy with that. Obviously I wanna pay the rent, but if we’re talking sustenance of the soul - it’s about going for that kick-ass edit – about crystallising something ethereal - making something spiritual and intangible concrete - getting the buzz that comes with that - the euphoria and exhilaration of when you’ve fucking nailed something i n the edit room. That’s the high that you should pursue first and foremost. I’ve punched fucking walls when everything comes together in an edit. It’s the most incredible feeling to finally create unity and balance between all your pictures and images and sound – from the beginning to end. Forget for the time being about whether anyone else sees your films. Obviously it’s nice though to get feedback and know that the feeling you went for is picked up upon by someone else watching it – that you’ve actually connected with that person – heart to heart – from your heart to theirs – that’s a good feeling. Obviously it don’t pay the rent but it might keep you living inside your own thoughts for a couple of weeks so that you don’t notice the cold and hunger you’re feeling.

TIPS AND TECHNIQUES

To me your films all seem to have a delicate but significant sort of wistfulness about them. Thinking films, not voyeuristic films, is that the way you see things?

Does that mean I’m like the thinking man’s crumpet of the film world? I’m “thinking bird’s crumpet”? (Do thinking birds use the word crumpet? Actually, do thinking birds like to be called birds? What was the question again?)

To me your films all seem to have a delicate but significant sort of wistfulness about them. Thinking films, not voyeuristic films, is that the way you see things?

Erm. The wistfulness is obvious I guess from all the moaning above. As for delicate – I’m not so happy with that. I like to think the films are quite robust and chunky in their approach to emotion - a million miles away from lame sentimentality. My motivation is to just not make crap. I’m thinking I’m not gonna make crap and I don’t want to make anything boring. If there’s stuff to intellectually muse upon afterwards fair enough – but I’m not aiming for the kind of discourse that you’d get from Guardian readers – which is a million miles away from the more emotion-based experience I want to convey. Partly from my university experience I tend to feel a bit nauseous when people approach things from a cerebral perspective. I hate it when people intellectually discuss films. I want them to discuss them from the heart. When I’m editing I’m aiming for the heart and not the head. It’s like you’re editing with a feeling in your heart not an idea in your head. I’m trying to make films with heart and soul and am not ashamed to say so - I think there’s enough cyncism and sarcasm in the films to pull them away from any pretentious pit-falls. As for voyeurism – I’ve never gone for this fly on the wall bollocks trying to pretend you’re not there like some pervert. If I’ve bothered to get out of bed and turn up with a camera – I’m not gonna sit in a room and be ignored. How rude is that? Make me a cup of tea. Get me a biscuit. Are you gonna talk to me or not? Or shall we just pretend we can’t see each other? Cos if so I’m going home…

How do you approach the planning of your films?
Depends. I’ve got a few “forms” that I have a comfortable groove with at the moment and which I hope to soon leave behind. There’s this kind of jackanory, voiceover style – like in The House of Memory (Channel 4) – where words will counterpoint with the imagery in a loose and conversational style. These are more predetermined cos you can write a script in advance and then know what you’re going to shoot to allow the words and pictures to interplay. But you can also go shoot unplanned stuff and then spontaneously work in a script when you watch/edit it. The best stuff is always off the cuff, cos it will generate a unique inflection that no-one could have thought of until the pictures were right there in front of you.

My main belief is you got to let the form reflect the content. The form should naturally suggest itself and originate from the material. That’s when you get most power – when the form is synchronised with the content. It’s a double whammy. Bam. So the Edgware Walker details all these shared myths and legends – a web of collective beliefs and stupid anecdotes. So I wove them together and would have people finishing each other’s sentences and stuff – physically recreating the idea that these are shared narratives. Never use tricks or special effects just for the sake of it. What does that mean? If you’re gonna use a trick or special affect or some physical structure to your film – make sure they’re actually unified with the story/emotion itself – so that they create a synergy – kind of like the double helix of DNA.

What’s looming up next on the Lee Kern horizon?

I did a few days writing for an Angus Deayton show that’s gonna be on ITV in a few months. This is the closest I’ve come to being a whore. I had to write rubbish comedy that was systematically made more rubbish for a program that is going to be pure unadulterated crap. I’m thinking about asking that my name not put on the credits, but I’m torn between being 100% physically, spiritually and emotionally disassociated from it – and the fact that some people are impressed by that sort of thing and it may open up doors for me to do stuff in the future. You have to understand I genuinely needed the money. I couldn’t pay my phone-bill. I couldn’t do anything. Does that justify it? I don’t know. All I know is I have vowed that if ever I’m in a situation where I’ve got a degree of financial security and comfort I’m going to donate all the money I earned writing comedy for Angus Deayton to a charity for victims of rape. Even then I don’t think it will be enough.

We’ll see what happens. I actually feel more at home with the written word than with a camera. That way I could make a living without having to schlap about and just sit on my arse. A literary agent guy got in touch with me after seeing the House of Memory on Channel 4 – which I just thought was funny. I met him in a hotel lobby and he had a little white moustache and cravat. He reminded me a bit of Quilty in Lolita and I thought I was gonna have to give him some Edgware love. Nothing came of it but I’m trying to tout a novel-type thing I’ve written since then.

That said making films is a piece of piss. Fucking about with film is exciting cos there’s a lot more out of your control. It’s fun. It’s not a job. It’s just playing. I’m getting a bit bored running round with a camera. It’s a bit too much like work. I know that’s not the sort of thing I’m meant to say in this interview – but going out filming stuff and getting the shots you need is more like being a labourer than it is an artist, (apologies for word artist). Once you’ve got the imagery the editing is fun cos you can start to mould the stuff into a poem, but going out getting the images is a chore. I actually feel like a bit of a schmuck walking around with a camera. I don’t know how people can feel all confident and cool walking round with a tripod and camera? I just feel like an idiot. I guess that’s partly cos I’m filming things like lamp-posts but you get my idea. I guess it’s also why there’s this sense of urgency in some of my stuff – you might think it’s the cut and thrust of my interview and editing technique - I just wanna get away already and go home…

We first met when you had very bravely agreed to go in a VW camper with the Blaine Brothers and Adam to document the UK tour of the Shooters Mobile Cinema – how did that work out for you as a filmmaker?

Actually okay. It was tiring having to be on hand with your camera without any respite for fourteen days – and also having that distance where you couldn’t properly relax and chill with people you met along the way cos you had to film, (when all you wanted to do was drink a beer and eat a sausage and think fuck that camera tonight – I’m chilling). I’ve made the short, straight version that documents the premise and spirit of the mobile cinema tour. But I’m working in snippets on a longer version that I don’t really know how to describe. I’ve got about forty minutes and I’m genuinely excited. You watch it and it seems like ten. I’ve never seen a documentary like it. Genuinely. When I get my arse in gear and finish it it’s gonna be great. It’s got such a loose, free style to it yet is taut and punchy and compact and above all – not flabby. As in life so too in documentary – fight the flab.

What sort of projects are you working on at the moment and when are we likely to see them come to fruition?

Okay. The recently inaugurated Channel 4 British Documentary Film Foundation has just commissioned me to make an hour long film. I recommend anyone who wants to make a film get in touch with them – not only cos they’re giving out some proper wedge – tax free – but also cos they’re actually on the side of the film-maker – they don’t want you to make the homogenised, uniform crap you see on TV but allow room for idiosyncrasy…films that have a point…passion projects. I’m making a film called A Stoner’s Guide to North-West London which is my opportunity to do a Walt Whitmanesque voyage through all the streets and crap that make up the life and glory of suburban living, just get it out my system once and for all.

I will also be shortly travelling up to the Shetland Isles to meet some guy called Leslie Lowes who’s going to tell me all about some of the crooked, rickety tales native to this awesome outpost in the sea. That’s for Channel 4 to coincide with national story-telling week in January. What’s cool is that right from the off – with The Edgware Walker – I decided to make myself self-sufficient. I went out and bought my own camera – got some software and taught myself to edit. Originally it was cos I knew no-one could make the film I wanted to make - and it would be ridiculous to try and communicate non-communicable editing things to another dude. A couple of years down the line it now means I’m self sufficient and can make stuff in my own time without being raped by a production company. No-one’s getting their hands on my wedge.

One final thing – and this is a genuine statement of intent – I wanna make a film where I give some cameras to monkeys and let them go off and film their lives. I’ll make these inflatable protective armour suits for the cameras, attach a big handle - switch it on - and just let them run around with them. It’ll be like a video-diary documentary that they go out and film – and I’ll edit the rushes. I want to make a film with monkeys. I guess it could be like Jamie Oliver’s kitchen thing where he teaches poor kids to make sandwiches – except I would be teaching monkeys how to make entry level into the film industry.



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