Sophie's PDP Blog.

§wpnil,

Created by David Hanson and the team at Hanson Robotics, Eva is an incredible example of the things coming out of Hanson Robotics.
http://www.hansonrobotics.com



§ophie x

§ophie x

So far we've been talking about Swpnil's Crack Den, full of crack whores, some dead. The guy here in the first ear doesn't want to join in.

It seems to be a challenge writing AND talking. We're just typing, looking at each other from time to time, and I am grinning inanely.

Lorraine threw out the subject, "Paris"

I said about when I went last year. Swpnil feels like that chick, Sarah Jessica Parker. He doesn't look much like her. Apparently he has an interior monologue. Swpnil's reading his out, that's ruining it, tut. He's saying I went with my lovers. What a guy.

Can can dancing throw their legs everywhere to entice you into the moulin rouge. This is his fantasy.

There's music in the screening room next door. It sounds like the monolith from 2001 or something. With a big heartbeat.

We're talking about Pro-plus with the first years. They reckon it's like propa drugz innit. That poor boy hasn't slept much or eaten much. I think the last bit is a lie from looking at him.

Scrubs - he's watching the whole season? No, just a couple of episodes. Swpnil is now lying to the first year, saying that he and I had a scrubs sleepover.

What's Marian Meyer got to do with the writers' room, got to do with it?! Swpnil is creating gold, the little alchemist that he is. Oh, his blog. Well we shall see.

Swpnil last kissed his mother. Which is like kissing your sister but older. Not kissing my sister. Swpnil would so drown in my sisters. He's get lost under a boob.

Oh yeh. Swp met a french girl on saturday who works in the cantene, with the hat, works in the sandwich stall. She came over to his and did the double french kiss while he was talking. FAUX PAS, He didn't know whether to carry on talking or to put the conversation on hold while he kissed her face. What went wrong? He lied again. He said snot.

"Hey, can you text me my phone number, XXX"

§ oh severn nein ate to severn to nein ate phiphty phife §

end of game.
---------------------------------------------------

I have chosen to adapt the poem as an Opera. There are obviously high emotions at stake here, and what better way to express them than in a heart-wrenching, pant-wetting aria? Many ways you may think, but hey, I’m sticking with it.
I won’t be scoring the music, I’m not that talented, but I may have a go at a bit of the libretto, but just generally, I’ll do a treatment of the story, as that is, after all, what was requested.

The story will follow the life of an author from his childhood, through his adolescence, and, being opera, right to his death.

It will be set in 18th Century Paris, so me writing the libretto, on second thoughts, would be formidablé, but pretty much impossible.

As a child, Philip is doted on by his Mother, she reads aloud (singing obviously) to him from great works, and leads him to have quite an inward childhood, spending his hours reading, rather than socialising with other children.

At the tender age of 8, Philip loses his Mother to cancer, and is literally dumbstruck. He becomes mute from the trauma. The Opera then circles around him, he is a constant presence on the stage, but cannot say/sing a word. He instead turns to his writing to express his thoughts and feelings. His Mother also remains as a presence, though she has passed on. She visits him in his dreams, but he cannot see her, she wisps around his head, singing her message.

The Opera Chorus serve as an omniscient narrator, much like a Greek Chorus. They will sing both relaying the action, and a smaller chorus will sing Philip’s writings.

Throughout his adolescence, Philip remains solitary, until he meets Eleanor, a beautiful girl, who he instantly falls in love with.

Through adulthood, Philip and Eleanor have a traumatic relationship; Eleanor cannot cope. Philip’s silence becomes too much for her, she needs him to tell her he loves her, but Philip is not used to sharing his emotions.

Eleanor begins to have a secret affair with a passionate artist, Mauvére, who she sits for. He paints her, and sings in his beautiful, masculine baritone voice, complimenting her beauty, begging her to marry him.

Eleanor is tragically diagnosed with cancer, and Mauvére flees, chasing after a new beauty.

Philip’s Mother visits him in his dream, sweeping about his ears, rustling through the leaves. She implores him to tell Eleanor how he feels, to write their love on the page, and transform reality to art.

Eleanor lies sick in her bed, while Philip sits at the other end of the room, glued to his typewriter. The small chorus recite Philip’s writing, while Eleanor calls weakly for him, but the sound of the chorus, singing louder and louder, drowns out her weak cries.

Eleanor sings an Aria as she dies, Philip continues writing, committed to his work.

The chorus gets louder singing “Mon Amour! Mon Amour! Mon Amour!”

Philip triumphantly rips a page from his typewriter. His work is complete.

He turns to see Eleanor passed on, taken.

He falls to the ground, clutching a knife, and finally finds a voice. He sings out;

“Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears –
Ah, she doth depart.

Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly –
He took her with a sigh.”*

He thrusts the knife into his chest, and falls to the ground, his hand falling just short of reach of Eleanor. He tries to stretch towards her, but he dies, with his love too far out of reach.

The End.

Oh, "Imogen - Phwoar!!".

Sophie x

*But in French!

Well it's been a while since I did a pdp stylee blogarithm, so here we go.

It's all a bit "raaa". Yet again I have put too much on my plate, and having trouble deciding where my priorities lie.

I've been doing more with the comedy bar, and since my ambition has always been stand-up comedy, (along with that best-selling never-going-to-be-written novel), I'm finding it hard to think about much else. Rather pissy annoying that it can't count towards my placement, but working at blockbusters can. Tut. I'm promoting and organising events and stand ups, who tend to be unreliable, constantly late, and with admirable notions of grandeur (sometimes, mostly they're lovely), but yes. It can't count. RUBBISH.

But there is much else to think about. Really enjoyed the adaptation unit, and I'm having some fun toying round with ideas for adapting the Blake poem. My original thoughts were - just have a laugh with it, and there was bound to be some lesbianism involved. However, as usual with my writing - and some might say my life in general - the comic layer has been scraped away now to reveal a more passionate, serious adipose tissue. Adipose right? I don't know, biology was my weak point. It was only for a pretentious metaphor anyway, so who cares. Yeh, erm, so the 'fun' idea is out the window. Plus Adam Mason would only out do me. Check yourselves and get ready for a passionate, heart-wrenching opera! Oh yes, I can hear your glans popping in anticipation.

Music scholarship business (and busyness) has also been taking over. The generally inept choir has been slapped with a very challenging piece and the conductor is probably soiling himself in a constant but gentle flow.

Also, placement business is stressing me out.

But to the main point....scripts scripts scripts. I'm nowhere near as far into the development as I'd like to be, but at least I'm on my way. Thing is, the one hour one I really care about, I want to immerse myself in it. But there is so much going on at one time, so many places to be for PAL, choir, student repping, comedy business, lectures, seminars, mothers going insane etc, that i don't get a chance to write for more than an hour or so at a time. Apart from late at night into the early hours. Hence it's almost 4am, and I'm winding down. I can't go straight to sleep after writing this, otherwise I dream the nasty things that I'm writing about. Or just think, no that scene is rubbish, I should swap that for this, what's the script about, why do i bother, i'm rubbish, i should quit, yadda yadda yadda....... and ultimately never sleep. So yes, chance for some reflection all for you my darling Marian. By the way, poor effort on blog updating... tut tut tut.

Oh yes and Episode Drama. It's looking like it may be on the up, a bit. After smashing 4 laptops, I decided writing war-like action sequences weren't my forte, not even my piano (yes i know what you're thinking - stop being such a 'muso'. well suck on my perfect fifth til it's an augmented fourth and we'll all get along fine. this is ironic, i hate musos...they're the worst type of person. especially pervy pianists)

Time to drift off listening to BBC7. They've been playing picture of dorian gray recently, which I am pleased about.

Good night imaginary reader.

Chris Morris graces Bomo...

I couldn't put it better than an anonymous person, who is anonymous, on cook'd and bomb'd...

"Chris Morris @ Bournemouth University 6th March 2007.

There was still a definite audible gasp as Chris Morris walked into the (very warm) lecture theatre at Bournemouth University. He was tall and thin, wore Converse trainers topped with fluorescent bicycle clips, and had a black jacket with a frilly white shirt underneath. A glittered scarf completed the outfit and his hair has grown back into a curly mess. He looked like how Doctor Who should, basically.

He sat in a dirty chair, and played constantly with the broken armrest throughout. After a really vague introduction by the ‘journalist’ interviewing him, we had a clip from Brass Eye, (from the ‘cake’ episode) and then we were off.

The interviewer’s questions were awkward at times, and slightly misinformed, but that increasingly didn’t matter, as Chris took these questions as jumping-off points for things he really wanted to talk about.

He began by reminiscing about his days at BBC Radio Bristol, and the fact that people there were convinced he was taking the piss, when he genuinely wasn’t. A key moment was the Lockerbie crash, which caused cheering in the newsroom when someone found that ‘a local’ had been killed. Chris had – ironically – grown up listening to the phone pranks of Noel Edmonds and spoke at length about his love of radio. He also mentioned the comedian and musician Vivian Stanshall. He was also generous towards Victor Lewis Smith, particularly his work on Loose Ends. It seems that there has been a thaw between the two.

Prompted by a question from the floor, he readily admitted his comedy was often based on wordplay and language, and this he had learned from listening to his heroes on radio. Chris said he would both love to do more radio and he would like to work with Warp again. He thought that Dean Man’s Shoes was an excellent film. He also bemoaned the lack of innovation on radio, particularly Radio One. He seemed exasperated that Chris Moyles is viewed by the BBC as a great DJ.

Taking questions about the industry, Chris said that he hadn’t yet found a production company or organisation that he felt at home with. He said that Talkback was now a huge global company and this often made things difficult, but something he learned from his BBC days, is that the bigger the organisation, the more room there is to hide and find a way through and find people who’ll champion your work. He said that part of the commissioning process was to ‘con’ producers into commissioning you, and interestingly he said that ‘will’ was more important than talent. He supported this statement by arguing that so much TV was terrible, that only ‘will’ got it made, because the creators clearly had no talent.

He seemed almost upset at the very existence of Jeremy Kyle, and he savaged The Verdict. He convincingly suggested that people were acting in court cases anyway, so the programme was about actors, acting at acting, which was ridiculous. He said that it was an excuse to use the words, ‘penis,’ ‘vagina,’ and ‘anus,’ a lot whilst showing close-ups of Jeffrey Archer.

He also talked about Big Brother, as someone asked if it could be subverted. Chris said he’s love to see it being done, but even by being in the show and trying to attack it from within, you’re still part of Big Brother. He thought that Jack Dee had come closest, because he was so ‘flat.’

He also talked about some of the things he liked, and seemed embarrassed at their mainstream popularity. He thinks the The Thick of It is a triumph, and he also loves (some) of Curb your Enthusiasm, but admitted that some episodes were very poor. He said that watching Extras and then The Office he noticed a massive ‘gap in quality’ between the two. He, perhaps alarmingly, also expressed a liking for Danny Baker.

As for Brass Eye, well the series seemed to take its toll on him. One phone prank with one of the Krays resulted in a visit from a thug at their production offices. Noel Edmonds still harbours a grudge, but others such as Tania Bryer shrugged it off and blamed themselves for being so gullible. Bernard Manning was a difficult one, as just before filming (which took place at Manning’s infamous Embassy Club in Manchester) the old comedian told Chris that his two bouncers had beaten someone to a pulp the night before for smoking a joint.

Chris said that there wasn’t a hierarchy of ‘cuntery’ when choosing which celebs to attack, but he was often surprised. He managed to fool an (unnamed) newspaper editor with a gag, but Russell Grant rumbled him straightaway – ‘he clearly has a lot of nous’ according to Chris.

As the Brass Eye shoot took place over a year, the make-up artist had real problems with continuity as, by the end of the year, Chris looked, ‘so fucked-up’ and no amount of make-up could get him looking like he did 12 months before. He shrugged off the Daily Mail’s attack on the paedophile special, saying that it wasn’t very good, even by the Mail’s standards. He seemed a bit insulted by this.

Chris admitted that he did the IT Crowd as a favour to Graham Linehan, but he’s not doing anymore, and his character dies by jumping out of the window in the first episode of series 2. He’s working flat out on Nathan Barley 2, but with a different set of characters, and exploring different situations than before. This was a constant theme, as it seems he doesn’t like to stand still for very long. He admitted that Barley was always going to have a small ‘cult’ audience, and he said that the TV Go Home website version of the character was ‘external’ whereas the TV series had to be more internalised. But he likes working with Charlie Brooker very much.

He hinted that he was working on a large future project that would take him back to his current affairs roots. He was very guarded, but it would range, ‘from Jeremy Kyle to Osama Bin Laden.’ He said that he would love to do something about 9/11, as it was, ‘only 3000.’ He said that 7/7 was lame in comparison, and it was notable that he seems to be interested in conspiracy theorists, as he stated with conviction that we shouldn’t think that 7/7 was initiated by some young Pakistani men from Leeds. He thinks that people should make comedy from things like the Holocaust, and that he would love to do ‘the comedy version of United 93.’

Finally, asked why he had come as he never gave interviews, he said that he was attempting to recruit some secular terrorists, because people blowing themselves up for no reason would really ‘fuck with the actual terrorists heads!”

He seemed completely at ease, and totally devoid of ego or attitude. He had chatted to media students at Bournemouth University before the interview, and he stayed for sometime afterwards, signing Brass Eye and My Wrongs DVDs. He said that he wanted to know where the new comedy was coming from, as it wasn’t on Radio One anymore. Then he rushed for his train, and the cycle ride from Waterloo back to Battersea. "

Those media students he chatted to before were me, Will and Will's friends. One of whom he sneaked in without a ticket by claiming, "This is my brother, you're not going to deny my brother getting in are you?"

He was a very friendly chap, and when I finally mustered up the courage to go and chat to him, he very much put me at ease, trying to convince me to finish his sandwiches. "Some cretin forced them on me, I only wanted one"

Erm, what else, oh yeh, got a photo with him, he looks incredibly grumpy, he wasn't though, "Let's all look happy for myspace"

Damn him subverting our photo efforts!

Here's another sneaky one.

Those of you who know me, may notice that I'm wearing specs. I got these for the after party, where I would be dressed as a Nathan Barley idiot. They're non-prescription, all for the look. How ridiculous. Most people approved anyway, but one person thought it was ridiculous and actually got a bit stroppy about it. Mostly because they are similar to their glasses, and perhaps felt their individuality was being taken away by 'fashion'.

The party went well, and the experimentation was amusing. I got up in time for my lecture and was only ONE MINUTE late, which was Geoff's fault, he walks too slowly.

So yeh, I've met one of my 2 major comedy heroes. And Peter Cook is dead. So I may as well die now, and go meet that Cunt.

Keep it comedygeek,

Sophie x

Never Seek to Tell Thy Love.

Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears –
Ah, she doth depart.

Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly –
He took her with a sigh.

- William Blake.

In adapting this poem, I would probably concentrate on the man's paranoia, and almost childish nervousness, in trying to breach communication with his lover. His fear, yet committed need to tell his love how he feels, and literally laying his feelings on a page for her to see was the main point that stood out for me.
I do not see the 'traveller', as another man, but perhaps as a more metaphorical presence, continuing the wind theme with the 'sigh'. It suggests love should remain unspoken, that it is too powerful for language.
The wind seems to act as metaphor for his lover's waning interest. That before he has even spoken, it is inevitable that any connection between them has been lost. Rather than a physical distance, his admission of love through words seems to estrange his lover further.
The man seems to be using his words to attempt to fight against a stronger invisible force, which has already taken his love from him. He is persistent, so deeply in love, that there is almost a sense of denial. If you take a step back there is an omniscient voice, that seems to suggest the imminent failure of their relationship, but the poem is written in the first person, which enables us to sympathise, and perhaps empathise, with a clear protagonist who doesn't seem to be aware of his impending DOOM!
Of course, I'm assuming that the voice speaking is that of a male. It could be a woman who has discovered feelings for her best friend, and that she is risking their friendship to announce her deeper love. So perhaps I'll look at that as an option for my adaptation.
I'd also be interested to look at the omniscient feel of this first-person poem, and see how this could perhaps be portrayed in an adaptation.

I am CRAP at writing war dramas.

"Write what you know"

I don't know enough about it. I'm ok at the scenes where it's all emotional stuff, but I'm rubbish at writing the action bits, and indeed, conceiving the whole "he finds this out, but this bloke is part of this insurgent group, so he knows about this, and this guy is a sunni, and this guy is a shi-ite"

I'm confused.

Is it too late to change our minds and do Edinburgh festival security guards?!

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

My individual one hour drama should be ok though, as long as I get the drafts done early enough. I'm really enjoying getting my Kant knowledge all sorted and there are some wonderfully pretentious themes and stuff. Jon Foster will love it. Jan Weddup will hate it.

It's weird how which marking lecturer we get affects our mark depending on their personal taste.

Some might say unfair.

They'd argue they're subjective.

But subjectivity is objective.

So.

DON'T keep it actiony
Keep it aesthetic!!!

Sophie the Aesthete x