AND TO ALL WHO SAIL IN HER...

Got it just about right in my Cannes prediction about Red Road - so well done Andrea Arnold for winning the Prix du Jury. Enjoy it while you can, doll. You're probably wondering why all these people you've never met are suddenly claiming credit for your movie and heaping hyperbole on you. Not least our pals at Scottish Screen.

Now it would be pushing it for me to claim credit for SS's new improved website, but whaddya know? Obviously someone, somewhere has made mention of it's crappiness because now it's beginning to look like a film agency website - at least now they admit they fund stuff like, y'know, films? They've hung up a few pictures on the site to replace the insipid seascape and there's even a list of who does what, even if we don't really know what they get up to. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?

And the best news I've heard all week? Claire Chapman, Head of 'Talent and Creativity' - since when? - is quitting, along with sidekick Carol Sheridan, Head of Development, her name already struck off the who's who list. Well that's two down, I suppose.

As to why this pair are bailing out we can only speculate but rats and sinking ships come to mind. Maybe we should ask their boss, but I guess you'd only get the standard blah about 'due to the implementation of new strategies and the challenges faced by the organisational yadda yadda...' The kind of obfuscating guff we've come to expect from our Ken. Could it be that he's the reason? Maybe, but what we want to know is the real reason. Because if Scottish Screen is, as we're told, headed in the right direction then why would anybody give up the status let alone a fat salary? Or could it be that when Culture Scumbag or whatever it's called finally kicks in next year, the scrum for new jobs will soon sort the bitches from the dogs.

Whatever the reason for their departure, it's not like the two Cs will give two Fs about goes on in Scotland, what with one Ireland-bound and the other off to the States. So it doesn't matter what the new-look SS site says. Any hope of pitching work any time soon is bound to be an exercise in futility. But what's new?

NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LOACH

No wonder he's smiling. Wouldn't you be if, despite tepid reviews, you'd just won the Palme D'Or and with yet another FilmFour deal in the bag?

Welcome to the world of Ken Loach, in whose gritty purview aspiring young filmmakers are invisible. Which is what the industrious, illustrious Ken must have felt when he started out last century. Since the early sixties he's had a good run at it, according to IMDB, crediting him with 42 productions, arguably the most consistent output of any living British director.

Good for him, but not for us next generation filmmakers.

I'm reluctant to slay this sacred cow because it looks plain churlish, but somebody has to call it. Many filmmakers, whatever their background, are hungry for a break, yet like Ken's favoured subjects we are deprived, largely in part to him and his producers hoovering up every bit of subsidy going. Living in Scotland, I sense a terrible crisis of confidence in what passes for a film industry, a nation that has always parted company with its talent, from the genius Alexander Mackendrick to Bill Forsyth, Michael Caton-Jones and Paul McGuigan, they've all had to leave for want of opportunity. Shame on Scotland for denying their ambition while repeatedly backing Ken Loach.

Digging into the past, it seems Ken has received more subsidy than any other filmmaker in this country. Which begs a lot of questions because I wouldn't object if Ken Loach's films returned a profit back into Scotland. But they don't. And we're talking millions here. Millions that didn't fund local filmmakers like you and me. It's not like filmmaking's a good cause anyway when you can't get a doctor's appointment and people are sleeping on our streets.

From Carla's Song, My Name is Joe, Sweet Sixteen to Ae Fond Kiss, Ken's earned a fair old wage over the years at the expense of the poor, the main purchasers of Lottery tickets, the same people who would never dream of parting with six quid at the multiplex to watch other downtrodden people somehow 'overcome' or 'accept' their lot in life. Hell, for the same ticket price you can watch a zillion dollars of entertainment.

But that's only part of the problem I have with Ken Loach.

Beyond the rumours of him directing commercials, I get the sense of a man with good intentions. Politically correct and socially aware Ken may be, but when I heard him address a Scottish Socialist party rally in 2001 at the Mitchell Theatre in Glasgow, I thought to myself, here's a man patronising his audience, coming across as he did like some hectoring nineteenth century cleric or some latter-day Dickens, talking down to the people about such matters as Iraq and telling us how awful it was. Like we didn't know already? And your point being, Ken?

To make a living by portraying the lives of the working/underclass as morally flawed is a cheap thrill and an indecent racket. To make victims of the poor is a treacherous lie. We're in the 21st century now, not the 60s, 70s, 80s or 90s where folks like me and my family - decent ordinary working people - get by. In ASBO country there's many a story, but you don't have to live there Ken. Your films are not even good drama - witness the ludicrous plotting on My Name is Joe. Unless there's a point that goes beyond exploiting the disenfranchised and until Ken's prepared to be more explicit in telling us who the real antagonists are (like we don't know) all he's doing is flying the flag for victimhood and in Scotland, handing out ammo to a feeble-minded but vicious provincial press who love nothing better than put the boot up film for being miserable.

An actor friend of mine once told me about his audition with Loach, reckoning the only way to get a part in his movie was to pretend to no previous acting experience. In My Name is Joe he said the majority of actors told Ken they were plasterers or carpet-fitters to be in with a shot and what's more, he bought it.

To learn that Ken Loach has yet another film lined up just depresses me. It's not like I'll rush to the cinema to see it and nor, I suspect, will anybody else. If this sounds disrespectful I don't apologise because when I read that his next outing has been funded by the UK Film Council's New Cinema Fund, yes, NEW Cinema Fund - I think, surely this is a joke but sadly it's one made at my - and my fellow filmmaker's expense.

So get your hands off my class, Ken. Away and draw blood from your own.

CANNES DOS AND DON'TS

The closest I've been to Cannes is Marseilles on an EasyCrate hen-weekend but it's close enough to know the dos and don'ts. The way I see it, Cannes is like the Glasgow Fair Fortnight in Palma because it's just about as expensive and the same rules apply.

First, don't agonise over what to wear. A quick trip to Primark, New Look or Top Man will sort you out for 50 quid or less. The logic of this being, someone will always be better dressed than you anyway - with the possible exception of Harvey Weinstein or Ken Loach. Besides, it's not like you've got a suite at the Majestic or the Cap, so why worry? Naff logo T-shirts, like the one I saw recently that said - Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't want to hear your life story. Show us your tits - just might qualify as a talking point and a surefire way to a deal. Less is more - if you must burn your credit card any further, do it on the best shades, the best belt, the best gadget you can find.

Second, you'll spend a lot of time talking to idiots who are in the same place as you - ie. not getting a film made. This is a rough equivalent of trying to get a lumber (or, attracting a sexual partner for those viewers not in Scotland) Again - no problem! If you fancy them, then hang out - ask yourself, where else am I going? And at least that way you can split the bar bill. This only works if you're on Kir Royales and they're on water. Even better, hone in on the German exhibitor there on company expenses, laugh at his jokes - et voila - a friend for life and a free night out. Just make sure you're in one of the better hotels, so you can grab a meeting from 'important person'.

Three - shoes. For guys, any old loafers/trainers will do. For girls it's a little more tricksy, especially if you're a development exec who spends June to the following May on your fat arse reading bad scripts and eating too many Pret sandwiches, veggie crisps on the side, plus the brownie. That gym membership you took out on January 12th got lost, didn't it? If so, then heels it has to be, but if you can't afford Jimmy Choos go for wedges - but then again, you've probably got ten pairs of Manolos already, you bitch. Like you need my advice.

Four - party invites. Simple. Call the local catering companies and pretend you're a client for say, Soho House in Cannes. Better still, get a brainless posh girlfriend to do it because she'll get the dates mixed up and that way you'll find out who's doing the catering for the most exclusive soirees. That way you get the skinny on who's hosting what party when. All you do is turn up, saying you're there to oversee the arrangements. Or at a push, claim you lost a member of staff and blag your way in. Same tactic works for security if you're a guy.

Fifth on the list - moby ettiquette - be sure you've got yours glued to your ear, lest people think you don't know anybody or you've got nothing to talk about. Remember, these days people think it's an act of devotion if you switch a phone off in their presence, as if they and only they can command your attention. A cheap trick, but it's deeply flattering. Risky if you're really there on biz though and that vital call gets your voice mail. Same goes for texts.

Six, and crucially - if you actually have a script worth shopping, do a blind drop round all the best hotels, making sure you have a novel pitch. I'm told an oven glove in a Jiffy bag works, with a message to say your script's too hot to handle.

Lastly, the vexing question - do I Fake Bake or not? There's two schools of thought on this. If you're paler than milk then some folk might see it as a sign of long nights locked in an edit suite and therefore productive. If you turn up with a glowing tan they might think, well, here's a true player just because they look like a rich bastard who can afford the two weeks in Bermuda,
after the skiing holiday in Aspen. So the jury's out. I say - go tan.

If you're Cannes-bound this year - enjoy. But expect nothing more than a bunch of business cards of companies that will fold in six months and, if you're lucky, a quick and meaningless shag with Luiz - or was it Sophie? Or was it both?

FUND AND GAMES

Just sign here doll, and mind and bring back your receipts.

Okay, we can't all be David O. Selznick, but can anybody tell me why Scottish Screen is trying to save money by not spending it on filmmakers? I note that their annual handouts to cash-strapped Scottish producers going to Cannes - which probably means all of them - was buried in the depths of their website.

Only on Friday, allmediascotland.com put out an urgent call on the agency's behalf, asking any producer going to Cannes to apply for said fund, with a deadline of 4pm the same day. Do they mean to say they didn't have any takers? Or is it that, rather than post an announcement on their homepage, Scottish Screen buried the info under 'talent and creativity'?

This is a wee bit worrying. Especially now they've appointed two communications officers. Because either it means no producers are going to Cannes (and who can blame them?). Or else it means SS 'forgot' to announce the fund, maybe in the hope that they could save themselves a few quid by not giving it to all of these useless, money-grabbing producers.

Well, thanks Ken. It's bad enough that producers here are so hard-up they need a couple of ton to get their sorry arses on the EasyCrate to Nice. It's even worse when you deliberately don't tell them you've got cash to spare, when no doubt you'll be taking more than a few staffers to top up their tans.

Bon Voyage indeedy.

DOTTY COMMUNICATIONS

Allmediascotland.com today reports on Scottish Screen's appointment of not one, but two Communication Officers, one hailing from the voluntary sector, the other from an insurance company. Neither comes with any experience of film, TV or the media, which is maybe just as well, because it's the devil's game and possibly the reason why Ken Hay's all out to set up schemes aimed at children, more easily influenced in the ways of TV. Why they need a matching pair isn't revealed, but let's hope the new girls can improve things, starting with the SS website, which makes no mention of their new, publicly-funded jobs - pointed out on this blog ages ago.

The same item goes on to say - in a reversal of recent statements, Scottish Screen's mission is to create “a first-class Scottish film industry that can compete on the world stage".

I'm having one of those 'please won't you make up your mind' moments. For a nanosecond.

If they're so intent on a first class film industry in Scotland how come Head of Production, Claire Chapman, is busy telling Scottish producers not to come to her looking for finance unless they have all the other pieces in place? Would she say that to a US outfit looking to shoot in Scotland? After all, didn't she provide a handy bit on the side when George Clooney arrived in town with The Jacket?

With these new appointments and two more to come - I'm sure flights to Nice from Glasgow are getting busy, despite the fact that for the first time SS won't be setting up on the Croisette.

Questions:

How many SS staffers can we expect to see sunning themselves on the terrace of the Majestic?

Will there be an announcement of the first Fast Forward feature, promised by Frank 'Pieman' McAveety way back in 2004 and, after eighteen months dev, with Content crashed, BBC execs departed, new CEO at SS, still undecided?

Will Andrea Arnold lift the Palme D'Or with Red Road?

Answers:

At least 20.
No.
Doubt it.

Now how much communication did that take? And you got it for free.

ODE TO AN AGENT

O, dreadful script, are you so cursed?
When agents none can I persuade
To read you, nor to reimburse
The postage costs or calls I made
To ICM and PFD
Or any agent in West One
In meetings long, their standard plea
While I am left upon the phone
For hours and days and weeks on end
I wait - and more impatient grow
For having nothing else to spend
But time; for agent's lunches slow
In Soho House, with someone's son
Who made a short and never paid
The crew; who now wants taken on
The agent thinks, can I get laid?
So to the ladies she retires
With handbag and a pounding heart
So anxious that she looks perspired
Sprays Gucci Rush on, then departs

While on a shelf, she thinks no more
Of worthy scripts that she must read
But wishing not to shun her chore
She writes a text in which she pleads
The meeting's been a great success
So don't expect me back till five
Put all my calls on hold unless
My mother's dead, else I contrive
To leave this famous person's son
For drunk is he and charlied up
And pain in arse he may become
In which event I'll kick the pup
Out of my flat in Gray's End Road
But not before I have my way
With Justin for the least I'm owed
A decent shag to make my day

Amid the sex, the mobile rings
The agent cuts off Justin's cries
And cruelly, as she is with things
Assumes her scary agent guise
You fuck! Exclaims she at a pitch
While intern cowers in anguished fear
For well she knows she is a bitch
And glad her heart that she's not here
Why call me now, the agent screams
What business is there that can't wait?
An urgent call has come, it seems
From senior partner to debate
The latest on the US fee
Of name director in LA
Insisting he won't work for free
Can she come in without delay?
With Justin passed out on the sack
Snoring; while the agent creeps
Out of her flat, her temper black
And hails a cab in rush hour deep
Her destination Wardour Street
But running late she's forced to run
And out of breath arrives to meet
The deadline set for deal undone

But LA time is hours behind
And while she waits to take the call
She reads a script to take her mind
Off Justin and and his penis small
At random, as it tends to be
The agent picks a weighty draft
And hopes it is a comedy
For in her mood, she needs a laugh
Ten pages in, a smile appears
On her torn face; a novel sight
The hottest script she's read in years
At last, a writer who can write
She shouts, do we know who this is?
The intern shrugs, for knows she not
The writer who, new to the biz
Had unsolicited wrote in
Last October, now it’s May
The agent, disbelieving, snaps
At poor intern who runs away
To Groucho’s where her latest chap
Had earlier arranged to meet
Arriving late, the intern’s stressed
Not knowing that her beau, discreet
Had shagged another – yes, you guessed
Young Justin, laid out on the bed
Has clean forgot his rendezvous
With little intern, who instead
Gets drunk on Beaujoulais Nouveau

Back in the office, agent scrolls
Through rolodex and number finds
Of unknown author who enrols
For late shift at Victoria Wines
The number rings but no reply
The answerphone is on the blink
And agent tries to fathom why
Some writers live just to defy
The rules; or are they just obtuse
These jumped-up hacks, do they not care
That agents take so much abuse?
And with a grudge she turns her stare
To you; poor unregarded script
Still on her desk, third act unread
And there you'll wait, until you're ripped
And tossed in bin, a screenplay dead.
The moral of this sorry tale
Is not to slag the agent's way
But more to say, don't moan and wail
If your hot script's in her in-tray.

CABBA CABBA HAY

Supposing the Film Council suddenly shut up shop, you'd think more than a few disgruntled filmmakers would have something to say about it. Alas not here in Scotland, where the talent's already too downtrodden to give one about the demise of Scottish Screen or the latest missive from its CEO, Ken Hay aka Obi-Wan-Ken-Nobody, as he goes about his highly-remunerated business.

Who can blame us? Life's bad enough here now our streets are full of tetchy smokers, where Glasgow retains the proud title as murder capital of Europe and the average life expectancy is on a par with Somalia. Anyone dumb enough to be a filmmaker isn't going to win much sympathy.

A year into the job, Ken can congratulate himself. Not only has he pulled down the agency's website and replaced it with one more geared to say, civil engineering, he's managed to insult virtually every filmmaker in the land by saying that their rubbish shorts can't find an audience and don't make economic sense.

Duh, hello - since when did a short ever turn a buck?

Like Zippo lighters, casual sex and supporting Partick Thistle, making short films is a hobby - or at least it was until SS got into bed with the local telly tarts on the likes of Tartan Shorts and New Found Land and turned producer-baiting into a national pastime. Anyway, to say shorts are a waste of space is like saying karaoke singers ought to be banned because they'll never clinch a major record deal.

According to our Ken, the future of film can be found in the back of a taxi, thanks to sinister outfit Cab'ti'vate who fit screens in the back of black cabs. So at least we'll have something to distract us while being groped or throwing up. The other plus is not having to talk to the back of the driver's head. Which, according to realfastblacks. co.uk, might be entertaining because the screens, positioned two inches from their bonces, emit deadly radiation.

So apart from cabbie's heads frying, what else will we be watching? Adverts on the dangers of passive smoking? Or standard Scottish short film fare where the plots usually revolve round abused-but-plucky kids, drunk fathers, football and homeless junkies - with hilarious results. But since there's no off switch, expect a rise in sales of marker pens, handy for defacing some of our lesser-known actors. Call it Scotland's version of CGI.

Nice one, Ken. You excel at writing pie-in-the-sky policies, but by handing large wads of cash to Skillset and TV all you're doing is admitting your agency doesn't have the chops to train people or decide what a good film is. By going all out to attract Hollywood rather than support local filmmakers, you're writing us out of the script and like that other ex-pat, Tony Blair, selling us out to save your own skin. The only paperwork that could ever lure the big bananas here is the folding, spendable kind - but sadly Scottish Screen's coffers aren't deep enough to pay for Harvey's lunch, let alone co-invest in a major movie.

To claim that playing host to Hollywood will create lots of jobs is baloney. Go tell it to imported filmmaker Sylvan Chomet, whose Edinburgh-based animation company (heavily subbed locally and by Universal) this week closed its doors. Looks like it's not just Scottish filmmakers getting on their bikes. At least we'll be saving on taxis...