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A constant feed from my Tumblr blog, where I have now parked myself after realizing I'm not enjoying Blogger that much.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Saturday Night... Pah!

So I spend the entire day recording drums at Saiful's house for the Y2k album. It turns to a bummer for him when the fan falls and hits his very expensive and very sweet tube pre-amp, leaving tiny cracks and scratches. Then Paul turns around and tells me about his current situation in his life which I shall not print here but doesn't sound too hunky-dory.

I guess it was just a matter of time before the shit hit my fan.

I leave the house after we get two decent takes for the two songs we wanted to record that day. Then I quickly changed to meet up with both Rauf for a quick bite and Goz who had come up from Singapore.

I call them both. No answer.

I keep calling and calling. What the fuck is going on? I decide to park near the Marriot, where Goz was staying, and go to KL Plaza for a cup of coffee and some apple crumble.

Seeing a camera shop, I browsed around and found one of those Sony HDV cameras, high definition buggers that apparently are sweet as pie. I ask the shopkeeper,

"Excuse me, I was wondering about this..."

"This one 13k," he replied in a regular Chinese store clerk accent.

"Thank you, I didn't ask for the price. I was wondering about its specifications."

"...hah?"

"Sigh... I'm wondering: what kind of specs does it have? What kind of resolution? How many pixels? What formats does the tape take? What..."

"Hang on, ah, I get my superior..."

He dashes off. Meanwhile, the clerk with the decent English and half a brain is busy entertaining an Arab couple. Of course he would. Arabs have money. I'm just asking...

"Yes, sir," the superior asked in a similar accent to his subordinate, "can I help you?"

"Yes, I wanted to know about this camera. What format does it use?"

"This one HDV or miniDV also can."

"Wow. What kind of resolution does it have?"

"This one for broadcast."

"I know that. What kind of resolution does it have? How many pixels?"

"Err..."

"What's the size of the chips?"

"Err... ah..."

"It is 3CCD, I assume...?"

"You check website, lah! I don't have catalogue."

Fuck you then.

I go have my coffee. Goz finally calls back and tells me he's going clubbing and suggests I might feel out of place with his friends. Fine. We'll meet up for breakfast instead. I call Rauf. Still no fucking answer. I call his dad. He's not home. I decide, since I've parked in KL, might as well go to Sungei Wang.

Fuckers closed.

I then try to make a shortcut to get to the parking lot via Lot 10 but they won't let me. Then I discover parking is RM$10. Fuck me sideways.

I'm now in the office, sweating due to lack of air-cond, and I've got stuff to write and I'm totally brain dead at the moment.

I'm going home to watch some porn.

Friday, April 29, 2005

My First Real Friend in London

I was 12 when I returned to England after 6 years in Malaysia, and I wasn't prepared for it.

My adolescense was spent in the sunny climates of KL, riding my bike through the empty streets of Damansara Heights, playing Super Mario Bros 3 and Megaman and watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on TV. At first I didn't fit in, but by the time I was 12 I was finally fitting in. A regular Malay kid. I was a boy scout, I was taking Tae Kwon Do lessons, I was in Standard 5 and my mother finally allowed me to wear trousers instead of shorts to school so I'd never have to put up with my classmates doodling on my legs with a biro pen. I was being accepted, I was becoming confident, and I was ready to ask that girl Nadia who used to be in my class whether she'd want to go out sometime.

Two weeks from hearing the news, I arrived at Heathrow.

I remember the taxi cab, black and cold. I remember the sky a stone grey, clouds drizzling icy drops of rain on the window. The ancient buildings of London almost blended with the dark sky and the cracked pavements.

I remember not wanting to be there.

I remember the Holiday Inn where we spent our first few nights, a small room nowhere in comparison to the Holiday Inn's in Malaysia with their huge, sprawling rooms and mega sized pools. The mini-bar fridge was clamped with a padlock and Sky TV wasn't the norm yet.

I remember the apartment we lived in for the first few months. I remember my mother trying to save money by very rarely switching on the heating. I remember watching the Adams Family movie at the Odeon. I remember the toy museum. I remember sitting in Hyde Park with watercolours trying to paint.

I remember being alone.

I remember buying an Ed the Duck puppet. I remember flipping through some of the old newspapers in the apartment belonging to the past tenant and discovering page 3 of the Sun. I remember stealing photocopied ads for prostitutes offering O-levels in phone booths. I remember calling one and hanging up the second someone answered.

I remember when I got my uniform for Hendon Prep and feeling elated, implanting my love for suits and blazers. I remember making friends with Ramteen, Pradeep, Tamer, Yoshi, Simon, Harun and Misha. I remember spending break in the quad talking about last night's episode of Red Dwarf. I remember all of us having a crush on Dana. I remember the look she used to give me, like I was the equivalent of a used cum rag.

I remember the first time I lost it.

We were changing after PE in our classroom, and Ramteen Shariat and Simon Rossenblatt noticed my vest (or as I used to call it at the time, my singlet) was full of holes, a natty little vest, and they started taking the piss. I just kept quiet as they kept on and on and on.

That's when I grabbed the wood-saws.

I crept up behind Simon and slowly placed aimed them above is shoulders as he was doing imitations of me. Or my mother. I can't remember. Ramteen was laughing, then he saw what I was doing and yelled for Simon to move. I then tried to get at Ramteen. Whatever happened next is blank but there was no blood and I was outside the classroom crying as one of the teachers came up to me and consoled me.

I remember talking about how things at home weren't great. I remember talking about my problems as I unpacked my stuff from my locker as Ramteen stood at the side, silent after a good telling off from the teacher. I broke that silence with my ramblings. Ramteen had had enough.

"You think your life is shit?! That's nothing! My dad left the house when I was a kid!" he yelled.

It's amazing how a the hardship of others puts your life into perspective.

Ramteen and I were close friends after that. We'd hang out at his house, watch Red Dwarf or Lawnmower Man or Knight Rider: the Movie and eat Iranian rice his grandmother would prepare. Birthday parties. Water fights. Talking about whether or not we caught a glimpse of Dana's panties.

When we went for our GCSE's, most of us went to the same school, Mill Hill, and most of my Hendon Prep friends changed. Adapted. Before you knew it, they were listening to jungle, carrying vinyl bags to school and saying 'wicked' a lot. Even Ramteen.

But he never was a prick when we hung out. He never tried to pretend he was above me. A straight up mate through and through.

Last time I saw him was during the Mill Hill reunion. I wonder what that fuckers up to these days?

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Get Your Tits Out For The Lads

So I'm doing my random browses through MySpace with the search field criteria of 'female - 18-35 - Malaysia' and discovered this tit.

Well, tits. One pair of.

The picture is a link to her profile but may not work if you're not logged in. Her name is Shasha Jane Dato' Meor and according to her 'super duper bestfriend forever', Angelina Aisyah, she hsa 36-25-36 measurements, taller than her brother, something like her father and, well, maybe I should let Angelina speak. Here are some choice quotes:

"...but u better in sex than me...8 hours with joe...u rocks!"
- Eight hours? What kind of pussy takes 8 hours of pounding?

"last hari raya,shasha learns how to bertakbir right?from her grandpa...that's cool..at least,she prays 5 times per day exp weekends..."
- Aha. Ok. That explains why her tits out. Right.

"guys...pls don't mess up with her...she's wearing chanel... gucci..LV..driving her black harrier....stop thinking that u'll get her beautiful body...just forget it!forget it!...wasting ur time..."
- Don't worry. I never mess with a girl wearing Chanel, Gucci and LV. I prefer brains.

"she keeps changing her hp number because lots of man try to reach her to test their dick..."
- How does one test one's dick? Do you stick it in her and a green LED lights up signifying healthy erectile function?

And a word from Sasha herself:

"i received 100 msg perday..i'm sorry if not i'm not be able to reply your msg.i'm damn busy right now...as you know working as a dancer. I'M GOING TO MY GRANNY's HOUSE FOR 3 MONTHS IN UK.SO,ANGIE WILL TAKE OVER MY ACCOUNT."
- A Malay dancer living with her granny in the UK. Okey dokey, then...

Her friends comments are, as one would imagine, predominantly filled with horny Malay men telling her she's got nice tits and asking whether they could suck them. Although there are some very choice ones in the mix, such as:

"wow..u look very seksyy...i like u...can u give your pussy...i hope u puusyy is pink not black...i wat to suck your pussy same like i suck ice cream..slurpp..ahhh...."
And what exactly is wrong with black pussy?

"nice breast... cutie tits.. do u want extra handjobs... "
Extra handjobs? To whom? From whom? Does she have a dick?

And my personal favourite,

"ape lah.. mcm tak de gambar lain jer nak letak.. tetek tu knp?kurap ker kudis ek??ape ape tah.. bodohnye pompuan... bangang.. tetek mcm tetek lembu tua jerr... "

Which translates to,

"What the fuck? Haven't you got anything else to put besides your tits? What's up with your tits? Do you have some kind of skin infection? Whatever... stupid-ass bitch... dumb ho... tits like an old cow..."

I do believe that is a fair question, though, as all her pictures are predominantly tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, one erect Malay male penis, tits, tits, tits.

In that order.

And what is up with the penis shot, anyway?

I'm not sure what to make of this girl. If what they say is true, her father is a dato', which is kind of a Malaysian version of knighthood. She has a grandmother in the UK. Everything points to wealth and riches. So what's going on with the profile? Is this 22 year old girl trying to be the next Paris Hilton? Possibly. Is the profile a joke? Possibly.

Is she just another horny Malay ho who needs some good deep dicking?

Possibly.

I'll let you decide. I'm keeping her profile in my 'favourites' section of MySpace just in case. Who knows? I may have a need to recreate the ass-to-ass scene in 'Requiem for a Dream' for one of my movies.

Literature

Certain languages work well for certain things, the English language being one that has been adapted, evolved and experimented on the most to deliver a bevy of Anglo-Saxon delights.

The Malay language is quite poetic, but of late has been reduced to colloquialisms that almost cheapen the original language. Our words are less polite and lack the culturedness of the past. And in the case of words pertaining to sex, downright harsh as hell and laughable to boot.

So it is with much amusement I present to you Cerita Seribogel. Here is an example from it's pages, a story entitled Ana yang gila seks (which I've split into actual paragraphs and stuff as the writer obviously didn't bother to do):

"bila dia habih mandi keluar bilik air berkemban ngan towel....perghhh ngan titik titik air kat atas tetek dia ..rambut basah...bau wangi ...tak tahan pak cik ...terus aku grab dia buh cemolot dengan rakusnya...

awek ni aku ingat dah biasa la buat projek ...dia tak tolak pun..melawan tarik dan sedut lagi ada...aku bukak towel..bogel la dia...pas tu aku ramas tetek dia tegang macam getah buku wa cakap lu...

pas tu dia start to be aggresive...dia bukak baju aku seluar aku dan underwear aku ...terus dia melutut depan aku...dan pas tu dia buh serlom (blow job)....asyikkkkk....ngan telo telo dia sapu..aku pun mula la belagak macam pelakun blue...aku hentak batang aku terus masuk penuh dalam mulut dia...termuntah air liur awek tu...aku apa peduli lantak lah after all bukan awek steady pun dalam kepala pikir nak one night stand aje...

pas tu aku tolak dia atas lantai...sku ksngksng ksn kski dis luas luas..aku pulak menservis dia ..aku jilat kelentit dia..wangi cipap dia sebab baru mandi kalau tak...tak kuasa aku nak jilat aku jolok jari hantu dalam lobang dia pas tu tambah jari telunjuk...berair-air cipap awek tu..

pas tu aku tengok bontot dia dah terangkat angkat..tangan tak tentu arah...mulut bising orghh arghhh orghh arghh...tau tau dia tarik rammbut aku..kaki dia kejang....climaxs dah awek tu rupanya..baru dia tau penangan lidah aku...aku carry on jilat lagi.."

Now, the sheer humor in that will probably appeal to Malay's more than you English speaking people, so I'll try and translate it (badly):

"when she finished bathing she came out in just a towel....whoah with drips of water on her tits..wet hair..nice smell... uncle cannot stand anymore ...straight away I grabbed her (don't know that last bit)...

i think this chick must be used to booty calls ...she didn't push..fighting my pull and sucking more...I opened her towel..she naked..then I grabbed her tits erect like book rubber I'm telling you...

then she started getting aggresive...she opened my shirt and pants and underwear ...straight away knelt infront of me...then she gave me a blowjob....hellzyeah....she even licked my eggs..so I started acting like a porn star...a shoved my stick straight down her mouth...the chick vomited spit...what do I care she ain't my girlfriend and i was thinking it's just a one night stand...

then I pushed her to the floor...(no idea what these words are)..I then serviced her ..I licked her clit..her cunt smelt fresh coz she just bathed...when i got tired i stuck my ghost finger into her hole plus my (dunno) finger...her pussy was oozing..

then I saw her but go up in the air..hands going everywhere...mouth noisy orghh arghhh orghh arghh... know-know she pulled my hair..her legs (dunno, but I think it's vibrate)....she climaxed after all..now she knows the power of my tongue...I carried on licking.."

Not exactly erotic fiction, is it? More lick the ramblings of a perverted village monkey. Click here to find other wacky stories that will not titilate you at all and make you wonder how the Malay race even began procreating in the first place.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

White Love

So I'm surfing around the net, reading random blogs and come across Sarong Party Girl. Any lady referring to herself as a Sarong Party Girl must be either taking the piss or proud of the fact.

"Sarong Party Girl (SPG) - A pejorative term describing local girls who will only go out with Caucasians. The stereotypical “SPG”, as she is usually abbreviated, is extremely tan, and skimpily-dressed." Taken from TalkingCock.com.

Somewhere on her site was an article on why SPG's go for white ex-pats. I read on and, in a nutshell, the reasons are:

(a) They're loaded (nothing like an exchange rate that works in your favour).
(b) They're better in bed.

And I thought it was just a stereotype that chicks go for money and big dicks.

Apparently, according to this chick, Chinese dick is tiny dick and Indian dick suffers from erectile dysfunction. She didn't seem to mention Malay dick at all, but there aren't as many of us down in Singapore. Most Singaporean men also apparently don't know how to turn a girl on and live with their parents/girlfriend/wife.

However, I reckon there's more to it than just a huge wad of cash and, well, a huge wad.

I believe very much that you can subconsciously tell quite a bit about a person by their body language. The overall vibe a person gives off. Caucasian ex-pats and especially the current wave of African's in Malaysia give off a certain vibe of confidence. It might be brash, it might be too forward, it might even be considered downright rude, but it's a big difference.

You can sense the insecurity inherent in many an Asian in both Malaysia and Singapore. You can tell, just by looking at them, that if they were in the same room as Kobe Tai they'd cum in their pants and smile sheepishly.

Those that don't give off that insecure vibe come across just as confident as the foreigners.

Or look like rapists.

As much as it pisses me off at times, I can understand why the local punnany swarm Caucasian cock, and I really don't think it's just size and bling. Not many Malaysians & Singaporeans are comfortable enough with their own sexuality or plain not comfortable with who they are. And girls have that heightened sixth sense, that womans intuition that men can only dream of attaining after years of training in the Himalayas. They can sense it. Hell, they can smell it.

Although that's not to say that a lot of the local women her and across the bridge are also fickle and often unwilling to give the local delicacy a chance. After all, just look at the Malaysian banana (pisang emas): smaller than the African banana, sure, but sweet like honey, bursting with flavour.

Local women, take note: don't understimate the potency of pisang emas.

Your Boot, My Nutsac

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Ten Minutes

I look at the clock on my computer feeling like my brain's been running a marathon and I notice it's 5.06pm. How time flies when you actually have work to do as opposed to sitting in front of a shitty mac trying to discretely download pornographic images of a haemaphroditic Mickey Mouse.

Above me, on this shitty little pink (pink, for fuck sake) iMac, Jimi Hendrix is forever frozen in time burning a hand painted white strat at the Monterey Pop Festival, shadowed by a Marshall stack.

On the right of the iMac, spider Jerusalem hides in the shadows, his face a permanent rant and his arm outstretched in my direction, as if about to strangle me. He is shadowed by a very large bottle of mineral water filled with non-mineral water.

On the left of the iMac is the St Michael Oxford Dictionary, a large paper cup of Coffee Bean cafe latte, books on France and a copy of FHM with Alyssa Milano on the cover which I can assure you is not mine. Underneath the dictionary lie a stack of job briefs written in the most broken, grammatically incorrect English in the world.

Behind the iMac is a partition wall that is being held by a single screw to my far right. Just-one-screw. On the flimsy partition is a sign: "Lean here for a free cookie".

Behind me lies the Pillar of Khai. I called it that because it's the closest thing to an empty wall I have. Plastered on the Pillar of Khai are numerous pages ripped out from magazines of Whithnail & I, Kurt Cobain, Jenna Jameson, Jimi Hendrix, Velvet Revolver, Marilyn Manson, Jim Morrison, the Ramones, a flyer for the Rock City Morgue in Sydney, Lance Mountain, Gwen Stefani, a cartoon character with STD's, a Guinness calendar and a sticker with the immortal words "Itchy Clitoris?"

Underneath my desk to the left of my feet are numerous Betacam and DigiBeta tapes in a box that I 'liberated' from the old office after everyone had evacuated and some colleagues and I decided to go on a scavenger hunt.

Above me are panels leading to the numerous cables and pipes in the roof. The panels are covered with dirt-black fingerprints.

The time is now 5:16pm, and I've only killed ten minutes.

Friday, April 22, 2005

The Final Draft, Pre-Pro Nitty-Gritty & Losing the Belly

Effing finally. The shooting script, the third and final draft is finally fucking finished. Now I can concentrate on all the other parts of this production.

I've been going through things with much more microscopic detail right now too. With the script, it was tweaking even the tiniest 'um' and 'ahh'. Now I'm going through the other aspects of the production, even the brand of cigarettes he smokes.

I was having a drink with my friend Naren last night and I actually brought this up, as I had no idea what to call this fictional pack of cigarettes. All I knew was that I wanted it to sound... British.

"You should call it 'Morris'", he said without missing a beat.

Mr. Morris was our headmaster in college and he didn't take too lightly to us smokers by the second year. I liked it. Today I spoke with a friend of mine at the office who works on designing cigarette packs (and rather out of the blue decided to hug me and give me sweets, God bless her) and asked her for her expertise. She said yes. I'm incredibly tempted to either bastardize the Concord college logo and put it on the pack. Or even better, stick a sheep on it.

If you know who Mr. Morris is, you'll see the humor.

Then there's all the other props, every single piece of wardrobe for every character and every possible shooting location. Though it may sound like a bit of hard work, I'm thoroughly enjoying the whole process.

One thing I am possibly considering, though, is changing the name of the movie. 'Celup', with it's two-sylable-one-worded-ness sounds too close to 'Sepet'. The other name I had for it, 'Sympathy for the Devil', might work, but I'm pretty sure some other movie out there has taken this name. Besides, if it was called that, I'd be too tempted to stick the Rolling Stones song in the movie and I know I can't afford the rights.

I'll also probably start shooting footage for the 'making of' during the first few rehearsals and recording of the soundtrack. I want to shoot a 'making of' doco so that (a) I can look back at it with fond memories, (b) look closer and realize what I'm doing wrong in the event of major fucked-up-ness and (c) possibly cut together something decent for the DVD.

Another thought that's been running through my head: I've got to lose weight. If I'm supposed to play a guy that this girl coceivably falls in love with, I can't possibly be a fat fuck, now can I? The only problem is most of my mooby-mass is in my belly, one of the toughest parts to trim down. I also have the patience and will power of a heroin addict when it comes to exercise. Even starving myself is difficult. I love food too fucking much.

Perhaps camera trickery. Never shoot the belly. Don't wear white. Suck it in! Think thin!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

The Casting Call

Unlike usual productions, my casting call involves nothing more than an actual phone call.

"Hey, dude, wanna be in my movie?"

"Er... fuck it, why not?"

As Rodriguez once said, when you don't have a budget, base your film around things and people you have access to. So I've been calling all my friends that I know could act or had the look/personality that would suit the characters in the movie.

Technically I should've worked backwards, figuring out which locations I could easily shoot in and which friends of mine would be willing to act, but I'd been crying wolf a lot about making a movie and was worried some people might be cynical by now, so I just wrote the script. All I needed to know was whether or not Nazneen would be willing to be in it. No Nazneen, no movie. Once she's on, everything else would fall into place.

At least, that's what I hoped.

Surprisingly, a lot of the people I've been asking so far have been really up for it, and I've filled up most of the 18-25 age range roles. But there are still the parents to cast. One thing I don't want to do is cast people I don't know too well. But I don't know many people that could pass as parents, and the few that I do don't look like strict parents. I know them through the music scene and they look more like hippies. I asked one of the lady's in the office who looks the part but she says she's shy, wants some time to think about. Dammit.

One person I do know who'd fit the age range is Hassan Peter Brown, an Englishman who I reckon looks a bit like Bowie. When I was writing my pontianak script I had him in mind as the father figure because I thought it'd be cool to have a caucasian believing more in local myth, folklore and religion than his cynical son. I then started wondering whether he could work as Jo's father and worked out a backstory to the character:

Back in the day, when Jo's father married Jo's mother he converted to Islam purely to get married but didn't put much stock in it. They lived in London and Jo's father went on his merry way being a merry Englishman, not changing much, whilst Jo's mother always stressed the importance of teaching Jo about Malaysia and Islam. Jo's mother was also the one that got Jo into writing, always encouraging him.

When Jo was 15, tragedy struck. Jo's father was a bit tipsy behind the wheel whilst driving with Jo's mother and crashed the car. Jo's father survived, Jo's mother didn't. Guilt ridden, he moved to Malaysia, became a more practising Muslim and tried to instill the same teachings to Jo that Jo's mother did. However, since Jo had been studying in England all his life he let Jo stay on to continue his studies, but by hook or by crook Jo had to come back to his 'roots' by the time he finished his degree. He returned to a strict, devout Muslim father and a head full of angst and confusion.

Sounds like enough emotional drive. Before, Jo's parents only appeared once, and they didn't seem to different to Diane's parents. Now there's a bit more flavour in the pot. I sms-ed Hassan last night and he agreed, which means another cast member on board. I've just got Diane's parents to cast. Those ones have to be regular Malay parents.

In terms of location, however, Adrian still hasn't replied my e-mail. Eek. The third draft looks like it's gonna have the most changes. First draft was the idea. Second draft was the added layer. Third draft will be the actual, executable script. Then, confirm all the locations, have a few rehearsals, leave to England for a bit of Method-acting style research and we shoot in mid-June.

This pre-production crap is an annoying amount of hard work.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Opposit Me...

...young soon to be yuppies have brought their own sheesha contraption and attempting to smoke it in Starbucks. What they don't seem to understand is that you can't light coal with a lighter. A slightly attractive Chinese girl has been sucking on that tube for quite a while resulting in nothing more than a stiffy for those watching imaginative enough to envision what those lips could achieve with something else between them.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Further Thoughts on Soundtrack, Character & Casting

After a chat with Man Method, the thought of using two opposing musical styles to represent the two characters seemed to fit more and more. I'll use my 'A Girl Named Jane' moniker to do some DJ Shadow/Sneaker Pimps inspired trip-hoppiness as well as ask for Man Method's assistance. That should round off the male characters music selection. Then, for the bird, a combo of bands off the FYI roster should do nicely.

One thought is to maintain an acoustic guitar sound throughout, regardless of styles. For scenes where they're both in the same shot a mash-up inspired track might work. I think I've got the girl and guy's theme sussed out.

For those of you who've been reading this but haven't been privy to the script, you may be wondering why I keep referring to them as 'guy' and 'girl'. Simple. At the time of writing those earlier posts, I hadn't sorted out the girls name due to a, shall we say, 'conflict of interest' (long story). So maybe I'll let you guys in a bit more on my characters:

DIANE - Pronounced 'Dee-yan', Diane has always lived up to her parents expectations. Straight A's, well mannered, a good Malay girl. Her only vice is the guitar, given to her by her uncle together with his entire collection of 60's & 70's rock vinyls and record player. Studying Law at HELP College, she knows exactly what her future holds: get a job, get married, be a housewife, be a mother. Deep down she yearns for more but doesn't dare stand up for what she believes in. That is, until she meets...

JO - Or, as he's known by his parents, Johan. Brought up in London since he was 12, he switched his degree from Law to Journalism & English Literature without telling his parents, who were fronting the bills the entire time. Apart from a few random freelance assignments for KLue, he's spent the last 9 months back in Malaysia since his graduation jobless. Hard headed and completely against any form of authority, he refuses to take jack-shit from anyone. Has been working on a novel since he got back.

So far, so un-original, I know. In character and concept. But it's a story I hold close to my heart and the script isn't like what has been shown on screen in Malaysia either from the mainstream or independents. In retrospect, it's kinda weird that I'm planning my first feature to be a love story when I always thought I'd write some schlock horror movie.

At the moment, the only cast decided on are the two leads above. I'll be playing Jo and Nazneen will be playing Diane. As for the rest of the cast, I'm stuck, as they are predominantly adults aged above 30. I don't know any adults of that age group. At least, any that I'd call a close friend who I could approach to act in my movie. I'm not gonna pay for an actor, hell, I'm not paying for the damn camera. I also want people I know because at least that way it feels less like a chore and more like a bunch of friends hanging out on the weekends shooting a silly little movie.

I could cut the number of adult characters down, or even their scenes, but the script's quite tightly packed as it is. Hmmm.

I've also e-mailed Adrian from KLue in the hope that he'll let me shoot at the KLue office and use the KLue name in the movie. Gotta figure out the whole Starbucks thing, though. Need to shoot at Starbucks. The Pusat Bandar Damansara one. That particular Starbucks. Why? It's quiet, it looks nice and it's near the college that Diane's character attends. I also wrote the script there so it's the only Starbucks I have in my head.

I'm hoping to get all the pre-production crap out of the way between now and when I got to London on holiday on June 2nd. I'm hoping to shoot some footage there (international locations=big budget gloss. shyeah, right) for flashback sequences as well as try and find some kind of trend and/or look for Jo. I want Jo to look out of place in Malaysia. I want his clothes to reflect how much he still holds on to London.

However, I refuse to have him sport a french crop haircut, parka, kappa tracksuit bottoms, adidas superstars and burberry gear whilst listening to UK garage and saying "innit" after every sentence. That's just wrong.

It's times like these I wish I had a producer to worry about all this shit. I just wanna shoot already.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Numero Dos

Second draft finished. Took about 2 hours. Still got coffee. I ordered a venti, which is supposed to be larger than a grande. They weren't kidding. Supposed to be meeting Nazneen now. Where is the little minx?

You can tell how ill I am by the lack of cigarette butts in my ashtray.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Last Night...

...I stayed up and worked out my production notes: dream cast, possible crew, where to get props and equipment, etc. There are three routes available to me at the moment.

The first would be the Sam Raimi way of starting a limited company and get investment from various people. Time consuming, risky and I don't like the idea of having to owe a bunch of people I don't know.

Then there's the the Kevin Smith route, where you apply for as many credit cards as you can and use those to bankroll the film. Bit on the risky, but curious and anarchic. I'd owe a bank in this situation, but I don't mind giving the banks a runaround, as opposed to dentists and relatives.

Thirdly, the Rodriguez way: beg, borrow and steal. I like this way, but I'm just wondering how many friends I can rope in to get this to work.

I was also thinking a lot about the music for the film. Music would be very important. Az just mentioned it in the comments section, possibly offering his acoustic fingerstyle technique. There could be a possible spot for a song of his style somewhere in there, but I also want a very strong theme running throughout the movie in the music. It has to reflect the female character's influences (sixties/seventies rock and female songwriters) as well as the male character's British background.

Something in the same vein as Sleeper's "the It Girl" album comes to mind. I like that album.

I also know that at some point my "London Town" song has to be in there (probably either re-record it or get the female character to cover it). And I must capitalize on my record label roster of bands (good publicity) and try and convince Man Method of Ta-Dhin to do me a track. Preferably with less bleeps, though. Might write most of the music and at least give a direction and mood for the other artists to work on.

This project is so incrediby close to my heart I want to have my fingers in all the pies. This might not be such a good idea.

Anybody wanna lend a hand? Failing that, anybody got a Canon XL1?

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Tigers and Antelopes

Jason had that feeling again. The same one he had in Covent Garden when he first met her. She was just an aquaintance, but it sparked up that feeling.

The first time he experienced it he was fourteen years old. Her name was Sarah. Her hair smelt of danger and she moved the way tigers hunt. He was the equivalent of an antelope at the time, right for the pickings. She pounced and he fell.

But not this time. Now he was conditioned. He wasn't an antelope anymore. He wouldn't be prey. As this new predator stalked him within the shadows of the cocktail party, hiding behind coloumns and guests, her eyes striking him like poisoned darts, he stood and waited, a bait.

Deep inside the left breast pocket of his second hand tweed suit jacket, just above where his heart would be, his stanley knife awaited his call.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?" she said, "Donovan's party at Covent Garden?"

"Yes, you did," he replied.

"I've been watching you," she said, her voice deep and sultry.

"I know," he replied. She talked, he listened, and when the conversation died down he asked her,

"Follow me for a second, will you?"

"Where to?"

"I want to introduce you to someone. Someone very close to my heart."

I just realized the character in this is called Jason, same as the guy in 'The Mark' story I wrote before. And the short script I posted before that. All the main characters in this 'Fiction' section (save for the 'Floppily-Doppily Land' story) are called Jason. Subliminal connection? Maybe. Who the fuck is Jason?

So What's This Script He Keeps Talking About, Anyway?

He just got back from England and he refuses to adjust.

She's lived her whole life in KL by the unspoken rules of being a good Malay daughter.

He doesn't give a fuck what people think.

She wished she didn't have to give a fuck what people think.

He's a writer.

She's a musician.

They're both dreamers.

And they're both in love.



CELUP*
A film by Khairil M. Bahar



Now, before you start, let me make one thing abundantly clear: this movie has been in my head ever since I got back. I am in no way whatsoever trying to ride on the recent success of Yasmin Ahmad's 'Sepet'. I've been trying to write it for ages but it just wasn't working. My main character, Jo, wasn't coming to life, and the girl was incrediblyone dimensional.

Then, sometime last week, it just hit me like a ton of bricks. I remembered someone I'd only met twice, a girl by the name of Nazneen. Something about her face and attitude stuck the first time I met her. The second time I met her was when her band, 'Sofa Sessions', was playing at Paul's Place, and I was amazed by her voice.

Last week, at some point in the middle of the night whilst driving, I suddenly remembered her and thought to myself, "holy shit, that's what I'm missing". By the time I got home I had the entire movie planned out in my head as well as the characters and started writing the scenes and character synopsis down as detailed as I possibly could.

Even in England, I had the idea of writing a story about a very westernized Malay guy. More and more Malay kids are either living or going overseas to study and they pick up an entirely new culture, open-minded and completely uncensored. Then they come back, and it's almost like 'Nam vets coming back from the war. They don't know how to adjust, and nine times out of ten something dreadful happens. These kids are the future of Malaysia, and they're confused as fuck.

What kept holding me back before was the fact that I kept trying to tell the story purely from the westernized guy's point of view, maybe turning it into some Taxi Driver kinda thing. But it didn't work. He had no drive and no reason.

Back in England I wrote a play based on Alice in Wonderland, except set in a halls of residence in a university. Writing something completely from a female characters point of view was a refreshing experience. I also discovered that whilst the females could understand Alice, the guys could at least sympathise for her. I wanted my male character in the movie I was writing to be cynical and brash. Very tough to sympathise with. An innocent young girl? Hmmm...

It also allowed me to tell two stories in one: the story of the westernized guy trying to come to terms with the fact he's in Malaysia and the girl brought up her whole life in Malaysia trying to break out of her restrictions.

No, it's nothing like Sepet.

I actually just saw the first half of 'Sepet' on VCD. The female lead is a wonderful actress. At first I didn't think she was as cute as everyone claimed, but when she was standing up to the 'celup' I was won over completely. The movie's alright so far, but it's definitely of the Sofia Copolla/Wong Kar Wai camp of filmmaking. Just like her award winning TVC's, her Malaysia is rustic, multi-cultural, multi-lingual and naturally beautiful.

There's no way I'm filming my movie like that. Yasmin filmed her movie in Ipoh. Mine is set in KL and I have no patience in trying to beautify my city. I'm not saying KL isn't beautiful, but you don't walk out to beautifully cinematographed streets everyday.

I want to show the dirt and grime. The stench of Alam Flora trucks driving past. The endless honks of traffic jams. The litter on the streets and remains of car crashes strewn across the highway. The rich and glamorous are manipulative and thick. The young, hopeful dreamers are on a sure-path to doom. And the adults don't want to know.

Thankfully, Nazneen has agreed, and the show's going on. I just need to round up the rest of the cast and try and get permission to shoot in the key places I want to shoot. Hopefully this movie gets made. I really fucking hope this movie gets made. I feel like my life is on those 70 pages, moments I've lived, moments I wish I lived, it's all there, hidden between the lines.

I'll be meeting up with Nazneen at her place on Tuesday. She's having a BBQ in response to Liverpool's win over Juventus. The movie's also set predominantly in Starbucks (for I wrote it there for the past week, and it's not as noisy as a mamak) and KLue magazine plays a part in it too, so I'm gonna have to work out some deal with them. If not, I'm gonna have to rewrite those scenes, and it's a lot of scenes.

I'm also gonna have to do some test runs on some of the filming techniques I want to use. I want the sound to be recorded a lot clearer than 'Nicotine', and I'll be cutting and flipping scenes like a madman in the editing room, so I want to see if any of the crazy ideas in my head will work. Plus, I need to see what Nazneen's strengths and weaknesses are, acting wise. Then, it's a matter of casting the rest of the movie (where the fuck am I going to find the adult characters) and convince them all to be in this crazy project for the total sum of nothing.

Groovy.


*CELUP - derogatory Malay term for Malaysian's who act white. 'Celup' means dipped, as if to say the Malay guy's been dipped in white chocolate. Us Asian's and our weird-ass terms.

Friday, April 8, 2005

After 3 Days of Writing...

...I finished the first draft of the script last night at 2:43am.

And it feels good.

The technique of writing basic scenes and crossing them off after each was done paid off. Sure, some bits were rearranged, some bits were changed altogether, but it worked and I have a complete script. 70 pages long which, if I've formatted correctly, is about 70 minutes. Add the little song sequences and lingering montage mood shots and it'll probably clock in at 80+ minutes.

I didn't get jinxed along the way, but I'm sure the thing is in dire need of a rewrite. I just blazed through the damn thing, getting the scenes and dialogue out of my head. The bones and meat and brains and heart are all there. It just needs a bit of a touch up on the skin... the face... the hair...

Yes, we're still talking about writing.

So maybe I should tell you guys about the story... or not. I'll save that for another post. I've got some stuff to do.

Thursday, April 7, 2005

Hehehe...

...I'm already 30+ pages into the script I was not telling you anything about. Hehehe. And I've already got a cast in mind. Hehehe.

You know you're having fun writing when your smiling as you type it.

The Story So Far...

...is 52 pages in. About 20 pages more than the pontianak script already. That script took me weeks. This one's taken me three days so far.


There's a little part of me that's itching to review it so far and make my own comments, maybe even rewrite the whole thing, but I'm keeping it at bay. I'm making progress with the first draft and I think I've found someone to play the lead perfectly.


Soon, my pretties, soon...

Tuesday, April 5, 2005

My Belly's Been Published

Women have an extraordinary knack of picking just the right gift. It's like a sixth sense. No, a skill. It's a super skill. Amongst all their other super skills of being able to withstand the excruciating pains of waxing, plucking and giving birth, they can also pick out a gift like a mah'fucker.

What you see on the right is a story I wrote when I was in Egypt. Bound and printed with a run of just 1, just for me, courtesy of my beloved girlfriend.

It's the most incredible fucking gift I've ever received in my life.

This book almost got published once by a friend of mine, but he was adamant that I wrote something else first, something longer. I didn't write, he didn't publish.

This book also charts one of those major turning points in my life: the time I broke up with a girlfriend of mine, the time I got the belly, the time my stomach aches first popped up.

Reading it, bound and printed, is indescribable. She was annoyed that some of the pages weren't printed properly, either slightly slanted or misprinted, but I loved it. I was reading a book I wrote, I had the only print and it was printed for me.

It's different from reading a manuscript or reading off screen. The hardback cover, the times new roman font pressed onto the paper, reading your name where the author's name should be... wow.

I also just realized how many typos, spelling mistakes and inconsistencies there were in that book too.

But reading it again was a revelation. Some parts reminded me of those same sad feelings I once had, but for the most part I could look back and laugh at a time when life didn't seem worth living.

I've got a book. It contains the history of Egypt, the history of my relationships, and a history of memories.

Kick ass.