Just realised I forgot to actually publish my pre-production post so here it is:
I’ve decided to use the image of Maurizio Galimberti that I posted in my proposal as a structural framework for my project. Therefore I will need 35 shots to create my split screen. While this is quite a few screens, the composition itself is quite simple so I don’t think it will be overpowering. Originally I was thinking of only having 9 screens but I don’t think that would adequately match my proposal. Here is an experiment I did this weekend (practising on my Grandma) of the 9-screen format.
I’ve done a rough sketch so I can allocate how many shots of each close-up I will need.
Because I need a lot of shots focusing solely on the hair of the character (15/35) I have chosen an actress mainly based on the texture of her hair, which I believe will provide an interesting aesthetic to the work.
After researching into the effects of compartmentalisation I was led mainly to soldiers in war who must lock away their emotions and memories both from their civillian lives while in battle and their battle lives while in civilisation. However I am not really all that interested in using a soldier as my main character as I wan’t the reasons for the compartmentalisation to be more ambiguous. Ultimately I have come to the conclusion that this form of coping is detrimental as the compartments are bound to collapse at some point in ones life. This notion is reflected within my script which I have attached at the end of this post. I’ve booked my equipment a day earlier than my shoot so I can do a few experiments with camera technique before the actual filming begins.
She started way back. Back in the haze when her bones still grew and her feelings still felt. She filled glass jars with the most beautiful bugs you’d ever seen, wings stained with hope-fuelled-glaze, legs trailing a toxic stench. Matchbox cars and Barbie bras. Collections of collectables. She tended each with the utmost of care and never let them know that the others existed. Never let them know they weren’t alone. And it brought her a strange kind of joy. But eventually her collections would evolve from such childish things. Soon they would bring her much more than joy. Perhaps some sorrow? A little heartache? Soon they would bring her undone. After it, her collections manifested within. Boxes beside a rib, tucked under a lung, boxes to stop her mind come undone. It changed her to her very core, she pushed into her insides a pain far too sore. And in the meantime it worked. And she pushed forth with hope, and despite it and itness she managed to cope. She knew once she’d started she never could stop, so each box got pushed lower, each lid got a lock. And people, they asked her just what it had done, gave her shoulders to dampen, showed her court cases won. Each gave their condolences, each gave her false prayers, each told her repetitive cliché’s of care. So she built her walls higher to keep safe each box, collected emotions as though they were clocks. And each ticked within her the faintest of clicks, enough to remind her of her dreadful pasts its. Til one day the hand struck at 6:46, and triggered within her an erosion of bricks. Her walls tumbled down and through tears she could see, she’d locked her away and replaced her with me. So I tried to uphold her compartments of fear, tried to keep them apart tried to keep boundaries clear. But curiosity bit me, it nibbled and gnawed, til I peeked in one box and took down one wall. And there sat my feelings that begged to be felt, so I lifted out heartache, let sorrow be dealt. And low and behold, fore I knew what I’d done, the locks started breaking, one box after one. The feelings rose round me, grabbing ankles and hair, and before I could stop them they’d burnt up my air. And my lungs sucked in terror, and my heart pounded hard, and despair started cutting my mind shard by shard. And the fear kept on rising, yes it drowned me in grief, as I screamed out in horror and received no relief. And she cried and I sobbed and we both gave right in, admitting defeat in the face of our sins. And we hit the ground running and forever we’ll stay, trapped here in filth while our poor minds decay.