Saturday, August 30, 2008

Anything Goes...

I saw a young boy on TV today who has set up a club called the "No Cussing Club." He has started a campaign to stop swearing, or cussing, or cursing or whatever you want to call it. I was deeply worried I must say. I love swearing. I love swear words. I love the ability to express so much emotion in a single word.

Swearing is invigorating, satisfying, no other words can relieve stress or sum up emotion so clearly and quickly. It brings colour to language. A swear word brightens up a sentence. It adds electricity to it and sets it alit.

In Ireland of course swearing is inherent in the language. Take a walk over any main street in any town and tune in to the conversations as you pass, a ballet of colourful expressions dance like song across the lips of people in a lyrical discourse - Fuck this Fuck that Fuck you Fuck me.

Some would say that swearing is the sign of a poor vocabulary. As a writer and someone who celebrates words, the structure of sentences and language itself, I whole heartedly would disagree. Swearing is an exploration into how expressive language can really be. It would sadden me not to be able to do it.

Here's a much more intelligent and well-read man than I on the subject: Stephen Fry.




Somers Town

The new film from writer director Shane Meadows is Somers Town.

Two of the best films in recent years for me have been Dead Man's Shoes and This Is England. And with films like Twenty Four Seven and A Room For Romeo Brass there is a body of work there that has proven Meadows as one of the most important independent directors working today.

His films look deep into the human soul, showing that even at the most mundane level powerful stories of friendship, loyalty, regret, loss and love can be found and celebrated.

I'm really excited about this film.



Here's a nice selection of stills from the movie too.


Notes...

"Hey, We love your script and we think you're a great writer. We'd love for you to write something for us..."



...and so it goes.

THE DARK KNIGHT

Believe the hype.
--
This is the film of the year.

Easily the best of the Batman films.
--
Arguably Nolan's best film.

One of the best superhero movies ever made.
--
And an excellent crime thriller.

If you haven't seen this film yet, go see it, today.

A Poem I Wrote Today


The Tale of Ansen Abermire and the Great Sea Monster

by Frank Kelly

There was a young fisherman called Ansen Abermire
who rowed from Galway bay
To fish the current from point to point
To cast his net all day

But many said beyond the Arans
a sea monster lay in wait
For foolish young men like Ansen Abermire
with death it kept a date

But not one for myth, legend nor tale
away he went away
Beyond the bay and the Aran Isles
to fish the Atlantic Spray

But the fishing was light to be sure to be sure
and not a morsel bit
The day dragged and dragged and dragged
and so young Ansen quit

He turned his boat round about
to pull in his final net
But something caught and tugged and fought
and held fast where they met

A whale pray not or shark much worse
for fear his net would mar
A school much better of silver salmon
or perhaps a healthy carp

But instead what rose from the dark waters
Was something much worse then that
A head the size of his boat plus two
and a mouth with hunger spat

Down it came down and down
A terrible hideous sight
Crashing and smashing and chomping it came
Down on Ansen to bite

Swallowed whole swallowed he was
A man in deepest peril
And down he went to the creature stomach
deep inside the devil

He struggled and pushed and wriggled inside
but nothing he did could turn the tied
The end was close he could see it near
He should have listened it was clear

Dark it was, inside the monster
no light nor sound nor breath
Pushed he was, washed a sunder
to meet his unhappy death

Finally he stopped against a wall
of flesh and warm wet slim
he felt around for some way out
but nothing came no sign

Then a movement he did not expect
the walls seemed to give way
an opening that was not there before
a way for him away

But no door opened on to light
instead the floor divided
His feet tried for purchase but slipped
and down Abermire glided

He seemed to fall for an age
A vast space within
and then a stench like nothing before
came up to greet him

He choked and coughed and spat a fuss
but nothing he did could chase the must
of fish and flesh and damp sweet rot
waiting to bed him in his new cot

And land he did among the corpses
of whales and sharks and half eaten orcas
Bones and skin and flesh all around
some living some dead but all bound
To the fate of one swallowed whole
by the great sea monster beyond Galway shore

Then he remembered his trusty knife
and into his pocket he reached
He pulled it out and withdrew the blade
and stabbed to cut a breach

But nothing happened that he could see
no mark was left inside
all that Ansen seemed to do
was make the monster annoyed

A belch a burp a convulsion came
and green acid began to rise
Whales and sharks and fish disolved
They were being digested alive

And so for fear of never being rescued
out his knife he took
Better than slowly being digested
Into his wrists he cut

The blood poured warm and fast
and slowly his life did ebb
sadly the final net he cast
was the one that left him dead

And then he saw the strangest thing
a light off in the distance
God perhaps or angels come
to deliver him home this instance

but no it was a hand instead
come reached down within
and pulled Ansen Abermire
to safety on the deck of kin

He looked around and saw a crew
of twenty men or more
the finest fisherman ever known
to leave Galway shore

For years they sailed and sought and hunted
for the great sea monster slain
and here today day finally
their voyage was not in veign

But alas it was all to late
for poor Ansen Abermire
He had cut too deep and lost too much
in the dark in the mire

and so he left this mortal plain
to cast his nets away
far from Galway and the Aran isles
beyond the Atlantic Spray

The End.

Inspiration

I thought I'd put this video up. Guillermo Del Toro is one of my favourite filmmakers and Pan's Labyrinth is probably my favourite of his films. Here he talks with Alfonso Cauron and Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu about Pan's Labyrinth, Children of Men and Babel, three films these three Mexican directors and friends made at the same time. It's really interesting. So if you have an hour, brew some coffee, sit back and enjoy.

A good start


At last I have joined the ranks of JK Rowling, Neil Gaimen, Nick Hornby and Tom Stopard as a published author... well, it's not all that really... you may have heard of the "What's your story?" competition Waterstones is running, if not, you may have heard that JK Rowling sold a short story for £25,000 not so long ago, well, it was part of this competition. Anyway, I was shortlisted.

So I thought I would post the story here for your reading pleasure. It's called 'The Perfect Word'. It began it's life as a short screenplay, which I always thought was a bit too ambitious ever to be filmed, at least in Ireland. But I always thought it'd be something the Henson Company would like! It has lots of puppet you see.

However I condensed it to it's essence to get it onto one page... anyway, see what you think. Enjoy.

The Perfect Word
by
Frank Kelly

Once upon a time there was a young man who loved a fair maiden. She was the most beautiful maiden in all the land. So beautiful was she that everyone in the village, men and women alike, would line up outside her door everyday to ask for her hand in marriage. But her answer was always the same:
“No, not you.”
The young man watched from his cabin day after day, listening to the fools and their proposals, watching as they presented her with elaborate gifts like birds, cows and cabbages. But her answer was always the same:
“No, not you.”
One day a prince rode into town on a horse. He skipped the queue as princes often do and jump from his steed to one knee and held out a monstrous dazzler of a ring.
“You are the most beautiful maiden in all the land. With beauty so luminous it dulls the sun. I will give thee my kingdom if you will only be mine.”
“No, not you.” The gathered crowd drew a collective sigh and the prince rode on, a broken man.
The young man wondered why she had said no to all that wealth and power. The prince had promised so much and said such wonderful things… and then it hit him... She had not heard the right words. He would find them and with them make her his wife.
With a quill in one hand and his head in the other he began. All night he paced and pondered and poured over parchment. But no words came. He wrote about the sun, the moon and the stars, the birds and bees, the flutter of his heart and the whisper of the wind. But such words dulled compared to her beauty.
“I must find the perfect word,” he announced to the bugs and bats in his cabin and with great determination he set out into the unknown world to find the perfect word.
Along his journey he discovered France and Australia. He named oceans. He pointed Columbus west. He told Galileo to look up and Newton to look down. But he could not find the words to describe how he felt about the fair maiden who lived in his thoughts and haunted his dreams.
But after two years of searching his journey had came to an end at the world’s edge. He could go no further and so gave up and turned back.
The weary, sun bleach suitors still stood by the fair maidens door. As he walked by her cabin the door opened and she stepped out. He saw that she looked tired and pale. She looked at the first in line.
“No, not you,” she said with a sigh. As the young man walked by he looked at her and she looked back.
“Hello,” he said and walked on.
“You,” she said. The man stopped and turned and looked at her.
“You,” she said again.
“Me?” he said.
“Yes you,” said the fair maiden and ran toward him. She threw her arms around him and kissed him.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say hello to me for as long as I can remember.”

“Hello?”