There’s nothing as rewarding as being able to say I did it

I don’t know why film is so sexy, but it is. It’s what every actor or script writer aspires to. Oh, they may talk about TV and theatre but inside we know it’s up there on the big screen where we want our stories to be. Much like a band loves to hear themselves on vinyl or a novelist wants to see their work bound in beautiful book, it’s seen as the ultimate triumph; a statement of how much you believed.

Svengali began as five minute online viral videos. I had no idea then it would take five years to end up, fully grown, as a film in cinemas across the UK. I once read in one of the broadsheets that getting your first film financed in the UK is like winning the lottery. Getting it to cinemas is like winning the Euro Millions the night after. Bit dramatic maybe but not a million miles from the truth.

A magazine gives you two stars while giving the latest inane comic book hero adaptation five. But you have to suck it up because that’s life and everyone has an opinion. That’s democracy.

I did the online episodes with a small bit of redundancy I had from ITV Wales. I begged and borrowed equipment and locations. I called in favours and kept putting them out when everyone told me to knock them on the head. I hawked them around all the broadcasters and production companies of London and beyond. I was told ‘no’ so many times that people felt sorry for me. One huge production company signed it for TV but the week after them taking it the guy who signed it was fired. The new woman who took over told me over a coffee by Kings Cross station that in her ‘valued’ opinion it would never ever get made or amount to anything and I’d best give it up. I left there with a piece of paper giving me all the rights back.  Why did I carry on in the face of all this you might ask? Easy. People loved it. I would get asked about it everywhere I went and get hundreds of emails a week from aspiring film makers.

With the film out, I now get asked to talks across the country where young students look up at me with eager eyes full of hope. I tell them perseverance is absolutely the key and that I heard and met so many dour, grey faced sales agents and commissioners that I can almost repeat verbatim what they would say. Forget British indies. They cost too much. You don’t make any money and your better off being a plumber. To be honest, I’m amazed any new British films get made at all. For a start you have to write a script or come up with a concept that tickles the fancy of the money men. After three years (and hundreds of rejections and dead ends in the finance world) I finally found someone who loved it and offered up the money. Incredible really. I can remember the day well. I actually sat on the curb outside their London office and had a ‘moment’. They believed in it completely. ‘Got it’ as I suppose you’d say.

Everything suddenly grows like an inflatable dingy bursting into life. There’s staff and production people doing all the mechanics to make a film. It’s a Herculean task from organising locations to dealing with actors agents. That was a lot of fun when you’re the producer. I had one agent of the sweetest actress hold out on me until the day before filming. We couldn’t even do a costume because they didn’t send her sizes. The actress herself is lovely and was embarrassed. The agent just wants them to do well paid TV. Fair enough. It’s what pays the wages. Then you shoot the film. And you twist and turn as you run around the country. Because it was a comedy, some would be improvised by some the best comedy actors in the world. You’d be adapting the script. The script editor was probably the most respected in the British comedy world. They put me through the mangle like you wouldn’t believe…why is that character doing that? What’s that do for the story…moments…life is all about moments…where are yours? I’d never had to work like it in my life, my head was spinning and, at the same time, I was acting everyday and helping with the producing. I had a great director in John Hardwick who backed me every step of the way and a great partner in Martin Root. We had some battles sure, but it was all for the good of the film.

Sorry, they tell you, British people don’t want British stories. They want bangs, crashes and New York being eaten by a dinosaur

Then when it’s finished you have to grade and edit it. A laborious process where you spend weeks and weeks looking at a screen. In the end you’re so colour blind you don’t know where you are any more. Finally when it’s ready – after it’s been touched and polished and the sound and music has all been painstakingly picked and cleared legally – you show it to distributors. Some walk out. Others ask for a meeting to tell you no. Then suddenly one shows interest. So they take it away and they take weeks while asking opinions in giant corporations and while taking months and months they ummm and ahhhhh about what they can offer because everyone wants to put it out as financially prudent as possible. Fair enough. And then finally you sign but there’s no guarantee of anyone seeing it as you now have to persuade cinema chains to even show it. And in a world of Hollywood franchise blockbusters and the chains making more on the food they sell than on the actual films they all universally shake their heads as you tell them about your uniquely British story. Sorry, they tell you, British people don’t want British stories. They want bangs, crashes and New York being eaten by a dinosaur. So, you persuade a few indies to take it and people complain that it’s not on in their town or multiplex and often don’t even know where the local indie place is.

And then….and then. The critics get it. People who would know about as much about the film making process and what it takes to make one as I would about translating ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics suddenly tell you your scripts not quite tight enough or the second act is missing a certain character’s definition. Most want working-class characters all bound up in misery. They can’t deal with us being ambitious or aspirant. These aren’t what you usually see in British cinema!  So some tell you they don’t believe it. Even though I actually lived it myself. Then a magazine gives you two stars while giving the latest inane comic book hero adaptation five. But you have to suck it up because that’s life and everyone has an opinion. That’s democracy. So you’re already on the back foot and the film goes out and you’re trying to get your face everywhere on TV so people know about your film and they can see that British people are still out there making British films. And then the numbers come in. And your scrabbling around doing personal appearances in the hope of nudging up the figures so people will let you do another film and suddenly something magical happens. People actually start buying it. And attitudes begin to change a bit.

What is this film? The punters seem to like it. Have I got it wrong? But there’s no time to be smug or celebrate because the minute you take your eye off the ball it all dips again because that’s film making. The occasional soul lifting high followed by a heart crushing low. And in the end your film is out there in the world. Much like a small child tottering into a huge school playground full of braying, screaming children you look and think..the poor thing, I hope it will be alright? And it will be. Because it’s amazing how it will find it’s place in the world. But boy it’s a lot of work. And why? I hear you ask. Why would you put yourself through all that and would you do it again?

In a breath! Really? But why? Because there’s nothing as rewarding as being able to say I did it. By hook or crook I made a film. It’s called Svengali.