Watch "Honeypot" (2010)

Final steps

Last night, I drove to Sarah’s place with Liam to finish up honey pot. We had one last thing to do: synchronize images and music. In the car, Liam gave me some tips for the following project: use a thing called ‘timecode’ earlier in the process, and have someone fully responsible for all the sound editing. I guess I hadn’t thought much about the technicalities of sound mastering, being a novice in the field, and shooting a silent movie; but I will definitely need someone to work on that for the next project.
Fortunately, synchronizing was quick – in about fifteen minutes, images and music were aligned. But I hadn’t anticipated exporting. The final cut files need converting to another format – options are infinite, with room for error in the choice of resolution, frequency, colour, and other parameters no-one seems to really understand. We tried, and failed, a couple of times – each tentative taking five to fifteen minutes of loading. And once we had four files in a format that could work, Sarah couldn’t copy them onto my PC-formatted hard-drive (they were too big, Nghi later discovered), so we spent more time re-formatting it for Mac. Only to find out, a couple of days later, on Nghi’s computer, that we still didn’t have the right format.
Digital work is wonderful, for the freedom it allows – so much footage, at no added cost, and immense editing capacity on a desktop. But how frustrating are these technical details, and the sheer time of conversion and copying! At least, we didn’t have a pressing timeline to add stress; and now, the product is finished.

Music

Honey pot is about guys dancing tango in a public toilet. We always needed good music – at least, music – for that scene; and preferably for the whole movie, since we’ve got no dialogue.
Things started on a wrong foot: our first composer dropped out – after initial agreement, ahe said he was overworked, and wanted to pass. Then I met a great guy called Misha Doumnov through Naomi; but he only composes acoustics and works to very high standards, which comes with a cost that we couldn’t afford in our budget. I was getting a bit sour, when I met Liam.
Liam had worked with Joy before on Channel 31, and is finishing a degree in music. He’s been composing stuff for a long time, and he was very keen to get some film experience. As far as musos go, Liam is as good as it gets: he only missed an appointment once, returns a majority of calls, and comes just fifteen to twenty minutes late. More important, he actually does cool stuff, and runs around asking everyone for feedback and advice. He’s not one of these genius composer types that won’t have their baby messed with; which makes him a wonderful guy to work with.
The first week, he sent me drafts – themes he might use, ideas. There were things I liked others I didn’t. He didn’t get offended, on the contrary, took in the feedback, adapted, expanded, and together, we got something we were both happy with.
He did everything on computer, one of these magic software things with thousands of digitalized instruments. I went over to his place one afternoon to fine-tune stuff, and suggested having an Asian flute-like instrument for one of the melodic lines. He clicked on something, and a dozen options appeared for Indian and Chinese flutes.
I was also not completely happy with the music for the last scene. It transitioned abruptly from hectic electro-tango to sugar-sweet romantic. I suggested an idea for transition: slightly before Matthew falls, to reinsert a trip hop bass line that was there before, and to play the romantic theme on the strings over it. We tried, and suddenly, it sounded like one of Aphex Twin’s early compositions. I loved it – it brought a new depth to that last bit, with a sexual throb underlying the sweetness of the failed kiss.
I let Liam play with it some more, he went around, consulted friends, and in the end, he delivered a piece of music much better than what I hoped for when I started the project.

Credits

Everyone’s been working hard on this project, and they need proper acknowledgements. But how I wish credits would generate themselves! Instead, a series of emails, back and forth, to check spellings of names, and how to label everyone’s role, and half an hour with Nghi deciding on order and size. Still then, more decisions to make ‘what font?’, Sarah asked – a legitimate question, but isn’t there a standard? I spent another half hour on Microsoft Word, comparing fonts, and on Wikipedia, learning about serifs and sans-serifs, eventually settling for Sylvaen, a variation on Garamonds, palatines and times new roman. Then I left everything to Sarah, who magically generated the credit sequence on final cut.

Editing

I knew when I saw Sarah’s profile that I would want to work with her. A film editor with a martial arts background, interested in Japanese animation: she was perfect on paper – she was better live: a lovely lively young woman, with a quirky side smile, and a very pleasant enthusiasm.
I met her a couple of times in the city to discuss what I wanted and give her the files, but I let her do the work on her own. A few weeks later, I went over to her place in Taylor’s Lake. She picked me up in front of a gym – appropriate – and drove me to her house. I was very impressed by her edit. Longer than I thought, elegant, smooth. I gave her some feedback – first scene too fast, second scene too long, a of the dance sequence out of frame, and a red cable appearing on the take she’d chosen for the last scene. But overall, I was very happy with her work. After that afternoon, we only backed and forth twice before I was fully satisfied.
But she was not over then: she was going to supervise the colour grading - the complex technical task of unifying colours, contrast and lighting levels. And there was work to do: the urinal scene was too bright, and the colour of the walls in the dance scene varied from light pink to greenish. I’m still surprised at her enthusiasm for that kind of technical work, but she did beautifully. She came to my place this time to show me the result of her first go, and I had very little to feedback on – too much light still in the urinal scene, and a weirdly pink sequence when the two men do their swan kiss, that was about it.

Wrap up party

It's a tradition to organize a wrap up party to celebrate the end of a project. This one was a bit of a challenge. Everyone is very flexible and motivated actually getting work done. But when it’s a fun come together, things become sloppier – delays in emails, mother’s day plans, other appointments, etc. Understandable; when we were working, I was not going to hear excuses of ‘oh, but I’ve got a wrap up party for a previous project to attend.’
In the end, we found a date – Sunday 16th evening. Now I had to find a venue. There were a few constraints. It had to be close to my place, because we would all meet there first for drinks and showing the first edit. And it needed a table for 12. And our budget was not unlimited. And it was to be not too spicy, no seafood, and no dairy. Nghi suggested Japanese tapas on Bourke Street. He wanted Sake.
I looked at three places near the corner of Bourke and Russell. In the end, we went to White Tomatoes, Korean Barbecue. The Japanese tapas opposite were not open on Sunday; the idea of Shabu shabu down a laneway did not elicit high enthusiasm. Not the absolute best ever, but we had a nice evening, and eating barbecue was entertaining.
The main objective had been, show everyone our film, how nicely it all came together. I think everyone was pleased. Upon leaving, Nghi and I even hugged. He must have been happy; maybe the sake played a role.

Returning the material

One difference between film and writing is how much material it takes. Even if you’re using a laptop, you can write anywhere with a plug in the wall. Worse-case scenario, you run out of batteries, there’s always pen and paper. To make a film, you need cameras and lights, and both need not only tripods or stands, and filters, lenses, gels, but also power, an a maze of cables and powerboards, which you must gaffer tape on walls or floors. It was reminiscent of rock music for me. I was working in Paris with a rock-band, All Angels Gone, writing lyrics for them. I remember, rehearsals and setting up, how long wiring took – that kind of electric art, amplified music or cinema, does not survive on breathing air, it’s technical, it’s heavy- weight, and it’s a truckload of stuff to move around.

Some of the equipment for Honey Pot we borrowed from a director friend of Nghi, called Huu, who lives in Sunshine. The rest of the stuff, generators and camera, we rented from Normanby road. Since we were shooting on the beach over two nights, all of this material had to be stored somewhere and moved around in a car. I had thought that my apartment in the city centre would be convenient for storing, but I hadn’t calculated that you can’t easily park on my Swanston Street doorstep; and so we found ourselves walking half blocks or full blocks, avoiding pedestrians and week-enders, heavily loaded with our gear.

But returning the rental stuff was the worst. After two nights of shooting, and an after party that finishes at 3AM, the last thing you want is to wake up at 9AM and return a couple of generators and an arc lamp to a warehouse in Port Melbourne. It would have been half OK, if Melbourne taxis were not incompetent. Ours didn’t have a map of the city, couldn’t use his GPS, and hardly spoke English. I had to navigate him through South Melbourne after he almost took us onto some high-speed urban highway. I generally smile at people, no matter what, they’re trying their best. This guy didn’t get a wink; and it was wonderful for Joy and I to sponge our tensions out onto him.

Lights

I remember talking to a fabulous indigenous photographer called Darren Siwes in Adelaide about four years ago, when I was doing research for a documentary film on ghosts in Australia. Darren creates these eery night-time landscapes, using a simple double exposure technique: he sets his tripod somewhere – usually framing some sort of suburban landscape – opens the lid for a while, then covers it, goes to stand in the picture, and has someone lift the lid again. This way, his body is captured on the film for only half of the exposure time, and appears as a fleeting indigenous presence, hovering above an everyday suburban setting: simple, powerful. He made me realize, in very concrete terms, that photography consisted in capturing reflected light on film. I hadn’t quite realized until Honey Pot that cinema was the same, and that you needed lighting to make things appear.

I had delegated the lighting entirely to Joy, but all of the people she contacted to act as gaffer fell through. Then a friend from work directed me to Mitch, a French editor and cinematographer who was on a working holiday visa in Melbourne. I contacted Mitch and his friend Gwladys, asking them if they’d be available to help. Mitch was very French in his attitude – suspicious as first, and then very warm when he got to know me better and saw the project was solid. He was professional throughout.
But I never thought it would involved so much. Mitch came to my place the day before shooting to check the lights we had from Huu. There were two spiral economy bulbs, one powerful halogen type, and a little dedo battery powered light. Mitch was concerned: the spiral economy bulbs had bluish light, the halogen was yellow. “You want stable whites”, he repeated, “otherwise you can’t edit properly.” I didn’t know anything about a stable white, but I got the general idea. You can change the colouring on computer, add a bit of red, diminish the blues. But all frames need to be lit evenly, especially in terms of colour balance; otherwise, it’s endless work.

 

The way to deal with a set of mismatching coloured lights is the same as making white hair even – cover yellow with blue, and vice-versa. We only had to find some type of yellow gels or material for the spiral lights, and a light blue fabric for the halogen. Except it was Good Friday, and all shops were closed. On shooting day though – Saturday – I had a lucky strike. I was looking for dark felt to cover a wall corner, in case the actors tripped over and banged their head. I didn’t really know where to find it, but there’s a big craft shop in a gallery below my apartment, so I tried it. Lucky me: they were selling fabric, and they had rolls of light cotton muslin in all kinds of shades. I got a cut of pale blue and two cuts of pale canary yellow; back home, I tried holding them over the lights – it worked, it balanced off the colours, and made a beautiful even white.
On shooting day though, fixing the lights ended up being the most time-consuming activity. The municipal neons were definitely not enough, we needed more if we wanted our film to be more than a grey cloud.

When I studied history of art, ages ago, I remember writing a paper on light sources in Vermeer and Rubens. How precise it was, how calculated, how meaningful. But there were different constraints here. We needed to see something, the lights had bulky stands under them, and they couldn’t be in the frame. So we moved them around after almost every shot, trying to bounce them off walls at least, hoping to create an illusion that it was all ambient lighting. So much I hadn’t planned. Hopefully, when all is edited, it won’t show too much.

Shooting – second day

When you’re shooting, the main concern is time. I learnt my lesson first hand on dress rehearsal day. I confirmed upon shooting. Things always take longer than you thought. There’s a malicious resistance of the real: you run the whole process over in your mind, even visualising it: so and so grabs the lamps while so and so moves the camera, etc. But then someone trips over, someone forgets a bottle, a cable makes a knot, and you lose a minute. Multiply by the number of shots, and before you realize, you’re fifteen minutes or half an hour behind schedule.
The first night had been bad for timing. We hadn’t worked out the light before, so we needed to make decisions, and it took time. Well, we had a plan to shoot all of scene 2, 3 and 4. When I saw the schedule, I said ‘it won’t happen’. It was a way to make sure that even if an actor broke a leg or the toilet block exploded, we could make a film. By the end of day one, we had all of the shots for scene 2, one shot of scene 4, and about half of the shots for scene 3. A good third under the plan, but still, all of the film was in the box.
Before the second night of shooting, Nghi looked at all the footage. It was good, overall, but two shots needed re-doing, because a lamp appeared on the frame, in a corner. And one part of the dance sequence was not covered by any shot. More stress.
Luckily for us, our days of shooting corresponded to the end of daylight saving. It meant an earlier nightfall, one more hour. We would start with the end of the dance sequence. But my direction had been clear: Nghi, no matter what, we’re shooting scene 1 – the opening sequence, outside – at 10 o’clock. Unbelievably, we were very early for that. And shooting the outside sequence took us only 45 minutes.
I think I shrieked or jumped or both with joy when that was over; then we set up the lights for our bonus shot of Nick walking away along the beach and doing a nice happy jump. Serge and a friend of his arrived on the set by then, saying hello. I was in the last scene, didn’t have much time to chat, but Nghi and Matthew took care of them, while we finished.
We packed everything – the crew did, I was sitting down, exhausted, next to the cars. Then we returned everything to my place, and a few people had a last drink of campari cocktails. It was over, for that part at least.

Shooting – first day

This was my first ever day of directing a film. It was beautiful, but intense. I’m used to writing books, which is a very different type of activity; you’re alone for most of the time, self-reliant. This first shooting was an eye-opener the collaborative nature of cinema.

Collaboration sounds beautiful, but it’s always threatening to degenerate into chaos; and as director, I was the main person in charge of imposing order on the set. Not that I disliked the task. But it was the first time in my life that I had to ask someone to get me water, because I didn’t have time to get it myself.

Fourteen people were there. Some had very clearly defined roles: Nick and Matthew were acting, Jamila was fixing their make-up, Joy was behind the camera with Ivan assisting her, Mitch was setting up the lights with help from Gwladys, and Joe was outside doing security. But other people’s tasks were much less clearly defined: Nghi was coordinating the set – basically, that meant I turned to him whenever I wanted something, and he somehow made it happen; Naomi and Flic were watching over choreography and costumes, but also helped lift cables or bring water to people; Rena, Julian and Amir had come to help, and found themselves scrubbing the toilet or carrying packs around as soon as the picnic finished.

The four something hours of shooting themselves passed in a flash. Before I realized, it was over, the urinal scene was shot, half of the dance sequence was in the box, it was 11h15, and we had to pack everything out. Something was released, a tension that had been building for the last month or so. I laughed, a long, liberating nervous laughter, that had everyone turn to me. I was light-headed, dizzy, couldn’t really think straight, and in the end, I sat watching the crew pack up everything, listening to the sound of the waves, and smiling.

Make-up

From the start of the project, we said ‘oh, we need someone to do the make-up’, but somehow, always considered it a non-priority. Still, there were going to be close ups, and if not properly made-up, faces shine, complexions change, and a patch of red or yellow blurs off the sexiness of a cheek or jawbone.
Flic was always our plan B for that – she’s got experience modelling, she’s got a box of products, and she can make-do. She did the make-up for us on rehearsal day. I had my lesson then on giving orders. We were bantering with Matthew on how I’d have him turned into a full-on drag-queen. Then I added, ‘for Nick, I was thinking green eyeshadows’, laughed, and focused on setting up the camera. Next thing, I turn to my actors, and I see Flic finishing up Nick’s eye in beautiful grass green. They should have warning signs, like they do in Australian airports about bombs: making-up is no laughing matter. You’ll be obeyed, be clear in your orders.
Nick was shooting a commercial after the dress rehearsal. He asked his make-up artist there if she knew anyone, she recommended a school, and the school recommended Jamila. That’s how you recruit a crew. Jamila was keen to get experience, and thoroughly professional about the job. She was on time, had clear questions and requests, and had all the necessary products already.

She was precious on set. It’s very good, in the stress of things, to delegate one area of responsibility entirely. I didn’t have to think about make-up once on shooting times: I could see Jamila constantly running after Nick and Matthew, tap tapping their faces with mysterious green wipes, and re-powdering their noses matt.

Security

Moving to Sandridge Beach, as the council had suggested, was not the end of our problems. Again, the official permit woman disappeared, and we were passed to some half-competent newby, who first was waiting for various mysterious 'recommendations', and then said she wanted us to go to Elwood. Furious, I wrote an email to the councillor. I didn't know him personally, but I knew he was French and supportive of the arts. He answered my email rightaway, and was extremely helpful. He couldn’t and wouldn’t impose anything on the council, but he could and did shake the machine a bit, asking a few questions, and suggesting that they get someone to actually deal with  my permit application before shooting was due. It wasn’t absolute magic – I still had to wait about a week for various recommendations and other meetings to take place. And after a few days of excruciating anxious waiting, I got a phone call from the helpful second woman, recommending... Elwood again. I think I got a bit sharp and crisp. I firmly said, I cannot, this is a scandal, and I'm not happy. The tone was right. She rang her supervisor, and agreed to go with me to Sandridge, in order to assess the location together. She did get out of her way, big time - I called her civil servant of the month! - meeting me at 7h30 on Sandridge Beach. I’m not sure what it was for. I told her where the camera would be, where the lighting would be. She couldn't see a problem. It was, apparently, just about assessing the risk of disturbing residents. And she agreed that it was a beautiful place for a film.

Cathy did advise we should hire a security guard, though. There had been a violent attack in the previous year, and it was a remote location. Also, I had to come back in the evening and drop letters in the residents’ mailboxes, to inform them of the shooting dates and time. So I took the bus 250 from the top of Clarendon, did my mail-dropping, and met with my partner on the Albert Park Beach to have a relaxing fish and chips.

The following day, I got the permit in my inbox. I did think and hope everything would be simple and settled once we got the permit. It wasn’t. 5h45, I got a phonecall. 'Hello, I’m a resident, and I’m wondering about your project. You're shooting a film, what's the film about?' I told him ‘it’s a comedy’ – I knew my line of argument. But he wanted more details. So I told him the while storyline. ‘It’s a gay film then.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you realize it’s the biggest beat in Melbourne. Hundreds of men come to have sex here everyday. It’s wrong. You’re encouraging it. Don’t do it. We’ll prevent it. My neighbours, they're very angry with it. They'll have their dogs barking.’ I spent half an hour on the phone, diplomatically trying to explain that, I’d been tossed around by the council, that I had invested considerable and a bit of money in the project, and, also, that Honey Pot was about a man deciding to NOT have sex in the beat, so that if anything, I was 'discouraging it'. He never quite got that last point - 'that's shit arse' - but the other ones, when repeated often enough, somehow broke through. Particularly the fight against helpless bureaucrats. I promised I would ‘try to talk to the producer and council about what could be done to shoot somewhere else’ – I did, I always keep my promises; Nghi said, shoot on Sandbridge. The council didn't answer the phone. He threatened a bit more, but said he’d ‘let me go’ cause he could see that I was a ‘fair bloke’, and I'd been 'conned by the council'.

That phone call did make me feel threatened however. I called Nghi for advice, and he agreed that we should get a security guard. National security services normally takes care of the place. They're in charge of locking up and patrolling at night. We phoned them for a quote. It was expensive, at about 45 dollars an hour, it would be close to 500 for the whole two nights – it was Easter week-end after all – but the guard they sent us, Joe, was extremely friendly, reassuring, and helpful. He gave us Easter egg chocolates, and offered to drop two our crew in Brunswick on his way back home – we gave him a thank you bottle of red, and a warm gush of praise when the company called us for feedback.

In the end, there were no resident issues, no marches or even  barking dogs. But there were people passing by, wanting to use the bathroom. So Joe directed them to the women’s, while keeping an eye on our generators. I had a moment of concernt on the second night: a resident went in the males to have a shower after his evening run, while Nick and Matthew were changing. Joe let him go in, though we officially had the place to ourselves already – it was after sunset – but he warned him that he should be quick, as we'd start shooting soon. The resident didn’t protest or do anything to block off the shoot. He had his shower, then peacefully retreated home. And everything went smooth.

Feeding the troops

On his previous film, The Probationer, Nghi had promised everyone food, friends and fun. A minimum for volunteer workers. This time, the first of these was my responsibility; being the French man, it made a bit of sense. I was originally planning to cook one of my budget banquets of aubergines in tomato sauce, homemade hummus, parsley-rich tabouleh, asparagus omelette, and herring trio. But I’d been so shaken by the permit thing that I decided I would rather spend a bit of money, and just buy everything.

On shooting day, Nghi came to my place around 10AM to drop some equipment, and out we went to the Queen Vic Market. We ended up with a French style picnic of dried sausage, pâté and cheese plus Mediterranean dips, some good bread, and fruit for dessert. Nghi is not used to markets, obviously, and seemed to find me immensely entertaining as I perused the stalls, weight-lifted rockmelons, or ordered a never-ending assortment of bread-loafs.

Details

When you’re about to shoot, you suddenly realise why crew lists are so long on films. Every detail matters. For instance, I suddenly thought today that the shirts had been stored in a suitcase, and would be crumpled. I checked, and they were – now I need to plan on how to iron them. Ideally, I shouldn’t have to think of all this as director; or rather, I should have to think about all this, but be able to delegate everything rightaway – hair, costume, light – to the person in charge. Instead, I find myself, on the day of the shooting, not only hoovering and cleaning my apartment in anticipation of people staying over, but also listing last minute items we may need – extra security pins for the police badge, padding for the walls, oven proof paper to diffuse the light, in case… Exhausting.

Costumes

I had never thought I would need to dress my characters. I naively assumed actors came fully clothed. Well, Nghi doesn’t do naïve much, so we set out looking for someone to help us.

I had originally asked Alicia, my friend. She worked as a professional set designer and prop-scout for a while, and has been involved in film. She was willing to help, if and if, work, other projects etc. We had a lovely chat in a cool Fitzroy café though. It was refreshing: I’d been thinking of Honeypot in a purely technical way so far – beautiful Alicia read the script and asked ‘I was wondering, what is gonna be the main colour on the screen.’ Female eye: it was an important question. After a look at the pictures, we settled on red and yellow.

Alicia called after a week, and said unfortunately she wouldn’t be involved. Nghi had been talking meanwhile to Naomi, whom he’d almost collaborated with on his previous film, The Probationer. She sent me pictures of her theatre set-ups: it was neat, elegant, warm – exactly the style I was going for. We met at another cool café, this time in South Yarra – something about set designers and cafés! We chatted about an hour, discussing colours again, characters, social background, and also technical issues – Flic had warned against loose pants or flaps.

Naomi came to the screentest, in order to get the actors measurements. She had started research, and brought a couple of magazine cut-outs. Five or six cow-boys, from the rural to the catwalk, and a few dags and dorks. I pointed out options, she nodded OKs. Next thing, there she was at a rehearsal with plastic bags: ‘I went to K-Mart and bought stuff, you can get a refund anyway.’ We tried a pair of jeans and a shirt on Matthew, shoes for Nick. It was like being a little gay boy again and playing barbies. I loved it.

Not everything fitted rightaway - the shirt on Matthew was too large, and so were the corduroy pants on Nick. But we were going somewhere. Naomi went on a few more expeditions, exploring target after K-Mart, and then op-shops - as well as toy shops for the police badge. In the end, we had a full set for both of our actors - untill I thought, hey, what about socks on Nick and singlet on Matthew? So we had to add two pairs of each. A never-ending task.

Getting a permit

Filming on location requires a permit. I wasn’t entirely aware of that, but Nghi and Joy were. After we decided on the big toilet in Port Melbourne, I ended up responsible for liaising with the Council. Our location was in the City of Port Philip, so I checked out their website, and after a few clicks, I reached a film permit page. It seemed all very simple, a pdf application form, and a list of fees, but, for young film-makers, or projects with community benefits, the council offered a waiver, so filming was free.

I rung the number attached, and had a lovely woman on the phone, who said everything sounded OK with our project, and I should send her all the paperwork about a month or three weeks before the intended shooting date. I sent a thrilled e-mail to Nghi and Joy, and set about drafting a text applying for the waiver, explaining how our project reflected the ethnic and sexual diversity that Port Philip prides itself on, etc. etc.

By the end of February, I filled in the whole application paper, scanned it, and sent it over to the person in charge at the council, excepting everything to run smoothly, only worried about our fee waiver – would we qualify, or would we have to pay about a thousand dollars altogether for accessing our public toilet?

I hadn’t received any news after about a week, and thought I should ring, if only to check everything had come through. No one answered at the land-line number, so I rung the mobile number attached, and the same person said everything still sounded OK, she just hadn’t had time to check our paperwork, as she’d been on leave or something. I asked about an extra day or evening on location, to rehearse. I had to send an email about it, which I did, and then I sat and waited again.

I gave another call at the end of that week, hoping I would get a confirmation. But I had called on the wrong day, she was not working full time, and I had to ring back on Tuesday. I sympathized, being a part-time civil servant myself. And I showered apologies upon her, imagining her as an all-powerful dragon gate-keeper who could stall our project altogether.

Still, I needed an answer, as our deadline approached, and Joy had to book equipment. I called again on a Tuesday, leaving a few messages, and then getting her on the phone. Unfortunately, she was ill, and not at work. On Friday, we had a call from the council. Our permit had been refused, a building manager had advised against it, and reasons were obscure: we would be blocking a public facility - but it's closed at night anyway - or residents on the other side of the road may find it annoying to see movements around a toilet at night - but we'd be shooting inside most of the time. Damn! How are we gonna do it?

The film officer, however, was willing to help, and offered a few suggestions about other male toilets I could use. We bonded over a common rejection of residents ‘some of them, they will complain about anything, anything.’ Well, as annoyed as I was, I could have a bit of sympathy for this woman. After all, I had lost a location, but she had lost face, big time.

I set off on a wild exploration that afternoon, walking from South Melbourne Town Hall across St Vincent’s gardens and Gasworks all the way to Sandridge Beach. The Town Hall had been wrecked by the storm, and I couldn’t even walk up the stairs to see the toilet. The ones at St Vincent’s gardens, Gasworks, Lagoon reserve and Murphy reserve were all microscopic – are public toilets built especially to deter cruising, or what? But the one in Sandridge beach was just right. It was big, it was grey, it had a change room.

We did waste a bit of time over that incident. Steps have to be re-choreographed, and angles re-calculated. Another afternoon of storyboarding, an extra rehearsal, and we’re pushing the shooting back one week. We did gain a quieter location, a bigger change room, a few grills, and, who knows, a better film in the end?

Inspiration

I jokingly refer to this short-film as “Baz Luhrman shooting a gay version of Kung-Fu panda”. Here’s a few sequences that had a strong influenced on this project. I’m not uploading them here, so as to not breach copyright, but you can easily find them on youtube by googling: Roxane tango, Moulin Rouge and Fight scene, Kung-fu Panda.

Casting straight guys in a gay film

Casting straight guys in a gay film When we did the casting call, I had always assumed we’d get gay actors. Not so, both are straight. There is a fantasy aspect to casting straight guys in a gay film. They have to become intimate – they have to appeal to a gay audience. Their body relationship has to be sensual. There’s a whole porn subgenre doing exactly that. But it’s also a challenge for them; not only breaking some sort of intimacy taboo, but also just acting desire for another man. I remember giving them funny exercises to do, like go to a sex shop and caress the dildos, or try eyeing other men’s penises at the urinal. Fortunately, the dance helps. Gestures are measured, intimacy staged. But they’re slowly getting to know each other, and I’ve even seen them mock-humping while we did the last scene. It’s getting there.

Freedom and gravity

Today, we rehearsed the urinal scene, and I focused on the spatial setting, giving Nick and Matthew simple indications about how the toilet is structured – the urinal block, very confined, like a trap; an intermediary space, to dance in, and outside, the big open air, the beach, and the sea. I told the story spatially: Nick, you’re attracted to Matthew, who’s bringing you to the trap; but when he’s flashing his police card, he's threatening to actually restrict your freedom, confining you to such a small space; then you realize that what you really want is freedom, a wide space to move as you will; so you try to go out; however, something in you resists, a desire for Matthew. So you’re hovering, in that intermediary space, and that’s what the dance is about, half-restricted movement, you suspended in-between those conflicting desires.

So Nick’s character is after freedom – that’s what he wants, and he comes to realize when he thinks he’s about to lose it.It's the story of a guy who understands the value of freedom, and experiences freedom as movement - that's what the dance symbolizes. But how about Matthew's character? Today, I realized one thing about him – he embodies gravity. Nick is fighting against gravity, trying to move more freely, dance, jump, even fly. Matthew brings him down, ties him to the ground. But how potent, how - attractive - is a body that's all gravity! There's one stage in the dance, when Matthew does that, spontaneously: in the first twenty seconds or so, he tries to get over Nick, to push him down. But then, he changes strategy, goes below him, and pulls him down, trying to make him trip over. Till, in the end, falling down, he brings him down with him. The final fall is the natural outcome for Matthew's character; Nick resisting - leaving - is his ultimate act of freedom.

Film schools and pointless questions

Many people seem to think that in order to do something, you should study first. Before you make a movie, you should study film. It’s not surprising, there’s a lot of marketing out there for universities and TAFEs. And since a lot of aspiring or failed do-ers teach there, pressure is high: study, don’t think you can do it on your own, that is, with books and friends. By-passing the commercial case of official study.

At my housewarming party, I discussed honey-pot with a guy who’s doing a film course at the Victorian College of the Arts. He started asking me – “What’s the purpose of this film?” He wasn’t satisfied by “it’s a fun idea”. I realised how lucky to be making a first movie without an establishment over me, throwing a thousand useless questions at my face – purpose and all of this crap. I pitched a story to Nghi, gave a quick general idea of the aesthetics. He liked it, he’d pay for it, and now we’re doing it. The purpose is to show the world our products, and have fun in the mean-time. There’s no frustrated teacher or bureaucrat grant-allocator to please, only the crew, cast and public. I love it.