“Inc-RED-ible BAFTAs!”

 

Enjoy the view…

… This recent encouragement had stuck in my spirit…

… remained suspended, until the opportunity for the right view, came along…

… that being, a behind-the-scenes perspective of one of the most exciting nights of creative recognition, namely, the British Academy of Film & Television Arts Awards.

My view would begin at the Royal Festival Hall..

Sacred home to so many endeavours of artistry, from stage to screen… embracing space of the consummately classic and cutting-edge contemporary… sprawling venue for live, sonic experiences and intimate poetic expression. It is the epitome of an environment, which nurtures, both, the organic and site-specific nature of multidisciplinary invention…

… and, against the backdrop of a rich, aquamarine sky, backlit by piercing dawn sunrays, the milk-white hue of this hallowed building was, extraordinarily stunning.

Taking each step from Belvedere Road, a lively throng of fellow Arts-enthusiasts, was the chorus which greeted me… All in, animated, wait, anticipating a day which, as an observer, could not be planned for, simply, witnessed…

… and, as ever, my curiosity was piqued…

Who were they? Where had their respective journeys started? I had to dive in… and expeditiously learnt, that they hailed from Suffolk, on the 6.a.m. train… Essex, on the earliest train, possible… from all points, on the Central London compass, and beyond, by road and rail… and, like me, had a feeling that on this day, this place was the place to be.

Time seemed to decelerate…

… as if we were, now, suspended in our own BAFTA bubble… Hoardings had gone up, queues, were growing tails of eager-beaver, red-carpet connoisseurs and devotees of the stars, great and good, belonging to this wonder-world of the business called “show”..

… But who would, actually, show up, was still a mystery…

Revelations had been stoking the social-media engines and, on inquiring, as to whom the admirers would most love to see, it was a delight to hear that so many had come to support them all… although, after an eagle-eyed sweep of the clustering column, I did spot a number of tell-tale fan T-Shirts!

***

The sun had been steadily moving… as had the lines… The security, kindly, with the definitive air of authority, had kept us informed of entrance procedures and the Southbank, itself, had become a veritable hive of activity, with the Royal Festival Hall, the, unrivalled, Queen Bee…

Not only was the BAFTA buzz growing louder, by the second, not only were passing tourists approaching, to discover just, exactly, what the electric atmosphere was about, but whispers were becoming squeals of glee, when rumours became online confirmation, of attending A-Listers..

… For my part, the fashion was a distinct draw…

Gowns, from the extravagant to the excessive, were sure to make their appearances… Suits, from the understated, to the uber-o.t.t, would, most certainly, demand airtime… From up-do’s through tutu’s, slick-backs, to short-back and sides.. I was about the glamour, dahhhh-ling and I wasn’t going home, without it!

… And, before we knew it, the moment had come, to be the preliminary steppers upon the tapis rouge! Around the corner, ensconced by BAFTA-emblazoned hoardings, we made like legends-in-our-own-lunchtimes, into designated audience areas… and so began one of the most intense rollercoaster rides, in my living memory!

In a heartbeat, talk began, as to the best vantage point for selfies, the best arm position for selfies, how to lean and get your best side… for selfies… Followed by, from which direction the guests would come… then, how to get the full autograph-album completed, how to get an artist’s attention… There was serious strategy… and I was bowled-over… because, you couldn’t plan for this sort of day… or could you?!!

… From that point on, I observed..

I took it all in…

… and re-ran what had just transpired, to even arrive in the viewing gallery…

We had walked past the Press area, opposite, which was ready for representatives of allotted broadcasting outlets… Looking upwards, were 360-degree cameras, lids down, waiting to wake, and rapidly, blink-to-attention, at the celebrity procession, which would, first, be met by the beat of the step-and-repeat.. and, of course, the prestige courtesy-car, arrival area… which would be the last port-of-call, for last-minute wardrobe adjustments and last-minute calm, before the inevitable screaming-storm!

At the sun’s zenith, they streamed in, as it streamed down… and the V.I.P-count did not disappoint… U.K. to U.S., they hailed… From, soap, to stage, to big-screen… from daytime, to night-time, they adorned the red-carpet and, to be frank, were adored, by the most ear–splitting meet-and-greet welcomes, I have, ever, heard!

Presenters, were mic’d-up and ready to go..

… as homegrown casts appeared, in speedy succession… and the dawn chorus began to call a who’s-who of names… and the, now-perfected selfie poses, were editorials-in-action..

… and we waited.. and, mesmerised, I kept watching..

Who would be next?

Well, for future reference, to be acquainted with the language of “loud-screaming”, is advisable, as the higher-pitched, the more desired, the Artist… Until it all becomes one, continual, collective cry… because, everyone wants to see, be seen and be pictured with, well, everyone…

… and, who could argue with such passion, when, like a rushing river, global names approached, so graciously, to oblige, to the, mountingly, fevered requests (returning, in some cases, often, more than once, twice and, even, thrice)…  not because the sun was a-blaze, but because the red-carpet was a-flame, with fame!

Oh… and how the style-files were overflowing, in my phone and my mind!

… And how my wishes were, beyond, fulfilled…

From home-made, billowing, bin-liner couture, embellished with wrappers, to jewel-toned robes, luxurious layers of exquisitely embroidered and crystal-encrusted attire, to magnificently, cut-to-fit bespoke, black-tie brilliance, which was the most… it’s safe to say that the stars had fallen out of the sky, had, elegantly, landed in London and entirely outshone the sun!

… This undulation of emotional crescendo, only became diminuendo, when all of the glitterati had been whisked away, inside the Hall, for a night to remember…

… and, as dusk fell, outside, I absorbed my red-carpet moments and smiled..

… because they might not have been BAFTAs, but they were my prized souvenirs, of a day, about which, I shall not, soon, forget!

 

 

 

©A_F_R_O_W2019. All Rights Reserved.

“Bros: After The Screening Stops…”

I was never going to sleep, after a documentary like that!!

A richly, visual statement-of-intent, of two, larger-than-life-sized personalities, whose high-definition, practically perpendicular, emotional narratives could barely be contained within the confines of a physical cinema frame, in super-surround sound… but could only, ever, have been retold upon it…

The culmination of twenty-four months worth of painstaking preparation, five months worth of seventeen-hour days, in meticulous editing and a close-shave with divorce, the outcome is an absolute masterclass in audiovisual story-telling, executed under the distinctly genius co-direction of David Soutar and Joe Pearlman.

From the opening gambit, a volcanic eruption of an expletive-filled argument, “Bros: After The Screaming Stops” is, often, as devastatingly shocking to the system as an arctic ice-bucket challenge, with frequently frosty exchanges, to match… a fraught insider’s guide into a restless sibling rivalry, revisited, in agonising detail, en route to the most significant concert series of their lives… a career-redefining reunion!!

Set against the backdrop of being one of the most successful British bands of all time, the doors to the lives of Luke and Matt Goss, aren’t just flung open, but positively, blown off, to reveal the devastating effect of personal tragedy and charts the grossly unfair vilification from a media-machine, ravenously ready for new fodder, at the merest sign of a preconceived “dip” in chart positions.

Skilfully-crafted, so as to keep you constantly poised on the knife-edge of your psychological seat, it is the scattered remnants, strewn upon the battlefield of historical fall-out, woven into the contextual highs, lows, turning points and epiphanies, that has you rooting for these profoundly sensitive souls, fighting to co-exist, once again, determined to be heard and fiercely passionate about emerging with a relationship, purged of the poison that tore them apart, so cataclysmically.

Were this a mere petri-dish observation of the behavioural tendencies of twin brothers, you could, perhaps, maintain a, somewhat, clichéd distance… In fact, a lesser offering might have been exactly that… but, in being, documentary, first, with the aspirational by-product of intensely pleasing the fans, it is a truly impacting, non-patronising, non-judgmental exploration of life, on an epic scale.

Quite frankly, they’ve been judged enough and so, this is Bros, 30 years later… setting the records straight, in dynamic, heart-breaking, glorious technicolour. They are not boys. Not highly-conceptual living images, becoming, literal, pop art, growing up in front of the piercing eyes of a fast-paced, global hit-factory, called the Music Industry… Not apprentices, on, arguably, the most public on-the-job training course…

No. Emphatically, not.

Years have passed.

These objets d’art have evolved into men. Now 50. They are forces of nature… Even more impressive Artists, reinvented and rebirthed, in their own right, albeit, predominantly Stateside, due to the haranguing experienced in the place that they should always have been able to call “Home”.

The reconstruction phase has made for bolder, braver, artisanal entrepreneurs, with extensive bodies of work, who are no longer slaves to fear of reprisals… Having cultivated their respective and respected creative careers in, both, music and film, to exponential critical acclaim, they know who they are, what they have to bring to the table and, most crucially, we see that they have the captivating ability to articulate it… No matter how raw the consequential exchanges, in order to do so…

Whether or not you have this foreknowledge, it is clear that the pressure release-valve has, long been, much needed.

The chance to spill their guts. To tear the plasters off emotional wounds, cut the callouses and learn to heal… Much like Luke’s hands, as he relearnt the drums… remembered the joy of playing and rediscovered how incredibly gifted at it, he is. As if driving out demons with every strike on the skins of the, Christmas-come-early, kit… he crashes cymbals and beats out bass rhythms as if, not only the heartbeat of the musical set, but his life depends upon it… Meanwhile, as Matt seems mired by the subliminal strangle-hold of serpents, wound around his vocal chords, post another communication collapse…his commitment to authentically deliver, no matter what, is spine-tinglingly inspirational and puts a lump in your own throat. At times, barely breaking-even, when attempting to perform songs (the candid nature, of which, harshly rake over the coals of, nigh-on unbearable, memories), serves to facilitate their family bond, which gets them through the contempt of familiarity.. and has them surmounting it all, so tenderly and touchingly, together…

Yes, this is their opportunity to tell it like it is, on their own terms… and boy, do they take it.. and, boy, how privileged are we, for the first-hand access to every twist and turn!

Of course, there is light relief… There has to be… and it is immensely welcomed!

Coupled with capturing their lives through multiple lenses, tiredness from the relentless schedule tends to precipitate Matt’s most magical moments to camera… from anecdotal musing, over 7-hour man-scaping sessions… to public service announcements about the need to play conkers without goggles, he is the younger… the playful, puppy-like energy, with a deep-rooted desire to ensure that all around him are happy, especially Luke… the elder, with a more self-contained, yet no less rapier-sharp, glint-in-the-eye, wit.

There are also beautifully lucid descriptions of the journey, from both…

Pontificating about the metaphorical road upon which he and his Brother are travelling, Matt has a way of clutching at the air, as if to catch the ideas which hover in his divergent and visionary thought process. Luke has a wonderfully pragmatic and linear manner of soul and self-expression, citing their collaborative experience as two people, each with a brush, trying to paint onto one canvas…

…which makes it all-the-more important for them to do so, within the rehearsal space… the arena for most of their tussles for creative territory… or the green rooms of television studios… both, of which, see Matt and Luke crumble like the very old wall in their lyrics…. and makes them all-the-more remarkable, for their selfless ability to shelve conflict, when meeting with their precious M.G.A (Matt Goss Army) and L.G.A (Luke Goss Army)… The long-time devotees who have, admittedly, been their constant, through the proverbial and material wind, rain and sunshine of their lives.

It is an astonishing resilience and composure, reminiscent of that which they were forced to develop, literally overnight, after receiving the devastating news that their dear sister Carolyn had tragically passed in a car crash…. and again, after the earth-shattering loss of their beloved Mother despite her valiant battle against cancer.

This, for me, is where the documentary, further, comes into its own.

Sharing their sorrow, the distress is undeniable, the tears, tangible… Yet, the sheer courage to be so vulnerable, sets them apart, as superhumanly strong.. It is deeply humbling and admirable…with a cathartic power that is palpable and pure. From high stakes to high hopes, you cannot counterfeit these feelings of carrying dangerous dynamite, on a, seemingly endless, bumpy road.

Nor can you deny them the triumphant ending… and why would you?!!

Two unforgettable nights at the O2, which sold out in a record-breaking, number-of-completion, 7 seconds, cap-off a rapturous return to the height of the music game, without game-playing… proof positive that this pain-through-the-pixels is the acute birth pang of regeneration… that such pain, can and does, become Purpose.

What is even more evident, is that we are seeing the most promising incarnation of Bros, yet….

They have lived up to the past, broken through its spectres and exceeded expectations.. and by the film’s conclusion, you feel that, as the band-entity and, moreover, as Brothers, they should, never again, exit the stage, separately… and you trust and believe, that, having survived this warts-and-all bootcamp, they won’t ever let that happen…

…they won’t ever allow such rupture through disruption to be felt again, because they are a re-united front, who are stronger than ever…

Therefore, see this, perfect pitch-ure of reconnection, as a matter of priority…

“Bros: After The Screaming Stops” is no ordinary documentary… but, then again, the Goss Brothers are no ordinary siblings… pigeon-hole these fine examples of spiritual ambassadors at your peril… They have been, misguidedly, typecast and underestimated before… and just look at the extraordinary legacy which is following them, now..

As one proud Brosette tearfully declared, even if the world-at-large wouldn’t tell them, they are so loved… and with new music and a 2019 tour on the way, I can categorically state that, after the screening stops and the most beautifully empowering lessons begin, within…

…the screaming and the legends, themselves, continue…

…Long may they reign!

 

 

© A_F_R_O_W2018-2019. All Rights Reserved.

~

Click-thru to:-

See “Bros: After The Screaming Stops” (In Cinemas: 09/ 11/ 2018)

Buy “Bros: After The Screaming Stops” (On DVD/ Digital Release: 12/ 11/ 2018)

Interact with “Bros: After The Screaming Stops

~

“Jermyn Street, St James’s…”

It is in turning left,

that the cord is cut with the contemporary.

Graphite, cross-hatched with hard-black cement,

sketched by artisans,

touched by global hands,

indented with dust of the centuries.

Sunlight,

Nature’s photoshop, clings to each crevasse,

casting its warm solar wash,

round corners, akin to Rascasse…

Façades and facscias glint in the eyes

of faces,

reflecting on craft’s expertise,

free-floating and hanging on historic air,

as they breeze by.

Working through ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’…

Centred by scent,

sensibility governs respect of the labour required

to purpose bespoke personality.

Channelling rows of embroidery,

stitches so scantily set and refined,

leave a long tale of coloured mosaics behind…

Threads intertwined into conjured creations,

embellished, beyond the prosaic.

Jet joins patina of chestnut,

so lovingly burnished, the polish controlled,

whilst a peacock effect, is adorning footsteps on display,

with a brogue and a lilt

which demands that you move, with a gait that is bigger than bold.

Walk with intention, whilst other folk stroll.

Wind your way up to the stage…

You’re alone, but not on your own…

Got to step right on, with heart and with soul…

… slink with the cool cats and kittens,

who strut in a program of head-to-toe glamour and glitz,

spritzed in House check,

decked-out in exclusives…

A menu of tailoring,

linear, monochrome, neutrals and flashes of brights…

… finished in detail,

the process, of which, is a mastery of the tradition,

time-honoured technique,

that appears to be married to something elusive.

Front-row patent,

viewing heritage and legacy,

basking in the glare of shining novelty.

Perfected in ateliers’ secrecy.

Inventive collections of structure

and

sheer,

living poetry.

 

 

©A_F_R_O_W2018-2019. All Rights Reserved.

“BROS: After The Screaming Stops”

It is said that one never gets a second chance to make a first impression.

Of course, the original conjugation was in an offline sense. However, on Thursday 30th August, the prevalence of the spike of a certain set of digital impressions was impossible to ignore…

Permit me, friends, to extrapolate the lead-up because, as PR campaigns go, leave alone those of social media ilk, this was inherently stylish, oozing less-is-more class, with the consummate ease of an haute couturier, in preparation for Fashion Week.

All vision, no sound, rendered the volume icon redundant… a pleasant rejection from the “so yesterday“, consumptive trend, concurrent with today’s computer-crammed society. Now, do not get me wrong, friends, for communication, being my wheelhouse, the efficiency of modern modes of connectivity are a blessing… and yet, I appreciated the fact that there was no need for tech savvy… None of it. Instead, picture after picture of conjoined moving imagery was presented, over consecutive days, fuelling the driving momentum of an imminent announcement.

In a countdown where sneak peeks of practiced paradiddles, raw, frame-gripping grief and a, final, stance of brotherhood, from an onstage p.o.v, piqued increasing interest, each tantalising taste of things to come culminated in the revelation that the highly-anticipated documentary of “BROS: After The Screaming Stops” was, not only, available for pre-order, but had also gained BFI-accredited feature status, and was destined to be premiered at the upcoming, London Film Festival… arguably the most prestigious of its kind, upon the creative calendar.

Thus, the method of keeping the quiet out had been encouraging silent-movie engagement… creating the mental space for us to listen to our own internal reactions to the visuals, whilst also engendering empathy of the impact of the deafening nature that such silence brings, both, post-show and in everyday life.

You see, friends… I told you it was classy!

The Twitterverse was sent into a, veritable, hashtag-frenzy and I even think that I heard the echo of screaming, onset by the epic news… I, further, expect the flurry to continue, until ticket lines go live… partnered with the unadulterated glee at the successful purchases, thereof… although that might just be a self-fulfilling prophecy of she who is currently tapping away upon the keyboard, on the other side of your screen!!!

What I know, for sure, is that this meticulous exposition, directed by David Soutar and Joe Pearlman, will bear the grit behind the glamour, the art and the graft, will challenge and cheer, and signify the ultimate exploration of a bond of brothers, brought to the brink and back…

For no-one knows it, like these men in the arena, but after taking such an authentic tour with Matt and Luke Goss, after the screaming stops, I’m fully confident that a rapturous round of applause will start… the script of documentary-making will change and the incremental effect will continue to be felt, for some time to come.

 

©A_F_R_O_W2018-2019. All Rights Reserved

~

Click-through to:-

Pre-order “BROS: After The Screaming Stops” before general digital release on November 12th 2018.

For further information about the film’s cinematic release on 9th November 2018 at www.brosthefilm.com .

For BFI ticket information and updates regarding the London Film Festival Premiere on 17th October 2018.

Further Social Media Links:-

@BrosTheFilm ~ @Fulwell73 ~ @mattgoss ~ @LukeGoss ~ @BFI

#AfterTheScreamingStops ~ #BrosTheFilm ~ #LFF ~ #LondonFilmFestival

 

‘Just Kids’ Ekows youth, with g-Ilori-ous designs on life!

‘EX.TRA.ORD.INARY!’

I said.

‘Here?!… Errr, are you sure?!’

He said.

’44 Great Russell Street! Yes! This. Is. It!’ I exclaimed, eyeing-up my destination with unadulterated glee, whilst my, ex-policeman, driver suspiciously cased the joint, with entirely less enthusiasm… Pupils darting from dash-to-doorway, he confirmed the number and wished me a, no less quizzical, ‘Have a nice day?!’, as I sent a sunshine smile his way… Nothing was going to rain on this parade… Neither an unconvinced driver, nor the inference of imminent precipitation from the indecisive clouds above!

One man’s doubt was my wonderment!

To me, this crumbling Georgian townhouse in the centre of London, was the architectural embodiment of a stroppy teen. Unkempt, undone…. As if it had just rolled out of bed, to be faced by early-visiting relatives… whilst utterly overshadowed by its beyond-presentable, elder sibling opposite, in the guise of The British Museum! In this case, considering myself the ‘cool Aunt’, who sees beyond the skin-deep, I sought to get to know the narrative behind the edgy, yet dishevelled styling of this work-in-progress…

No sooner thought, than materialised Maria, Gaby (and later, Emily), of Plinth UK, part of the four-strong collaboration (including ‘Photo London’, ‘Sedition’ and ‘Thames and Hudson’), presenting this on-edge edifice for its imminent launch, that evening, as ‘The Magnum Home’…. a boldly inventive, site-specific, multi-media presentation of ‘Magnum Photography’ and interior design installation, as curated by Cultural Polymath, Ekow Eshun and Artist extraordinaire, Yinka Ilori, respectively.

As I was to learn, there would be a lot to celebrate… What with Magnum celebrating its 70th anniversary, a range of complementary, unique merchandise and a Thames and Hudson publication to fête…there would, in addition, be the sheer triumph in overcoming the feat of transforming this shell and nurturing the angst-ridden, adolescent assembly into an absolute must-see, Magnum Home-of-a-house-party!

This was my idea of pre-private-view perfection!

My diehard loyalty to experiencing the behind-the-scenes process, in search of the sneak-peek pieces of the progress-report were, as ever, fuelling my creative engines… Such anecdotes as the microscopic attention-to-detail with which Ilori approached his responses to the photography, which co-curator, Eshun, had ‘trawled’* through, were captivating. From conceptualising the ‘Venice Beach Room’ in lengths of lofted, multi-coloured Dalston drapery and matching beach umbrellas, to upcycled deckchairs with bespoke Aburi fabric, designed by Eva Sonaike, the primary relationship between hues, not only juxtaposed the stark black-and-white series by David Hurn, but further, seemed to pull the emotional richness and spirit from each image, rendering the substance alive within the space. Having drawn the eye up through soft-furnishing treatments, the skylight reconnected me to the sun (not rain!), and as swathes of rays came flooding in, I was immersed further into the West-Coast world of ‘Perfect 10’, bikini-clad babes and bicep-curling bodies, some on-the-cusp of ‘Muscle Beach’ glory… others not! Yukka plants further guided my eyes down to a floor which had not been ignored….quite literally inscribed with a single series of lines, as to invoke the boardwalk and roads, which, to me, mirrored the plethora of teen human traffic, waiting to flirt their afternoons away, before finishing or, moreover, starting their homework! The youthful need to be centre-of-attention, was represented by a bold block of blue, upon the courtyard wall. Definitely flashy… almost gaudy, it is accompanied by a bench, in-turn, supported by sherbet-lemon yellow barrels, embellished in pen-and-ink, utilising Ilori’s idiosyncratic flourish….the prime position for a selfie-centred shot!

The Plinth ethos of integrating art and design in an authentic and multi-accessible way would spiral upwards through the house, which, with every step of my expertly-guided tour, was transforming into an ever-increasingly, thought-provoking, home. Eshun’s awareness of the ‘danger of romanticising youth culture’** was compressed into a finely-assorted array of photographs, acutely dissecting its rollercoaster-like dichotomies…. From the chilling portrayal of political ambition of the next-gen UKIP candidates, being displayed, disconcertingly prom-style, ascending the staircase… and the extreme anger captured through the monochromatic lens of Ian Berry, in the stiflingly small ‘Skinhead Room’, to the feisty ode to West Midlands glamour on a gregarious night out and the high-octane Harrow Boys, flanked by disapproving parental looks, which formed Martin Parr’s collection, the visceral intensity of the ‘pack tendency’ was, at once, hard-hitting and eye-opening.

Chris Steele-Perkins, meanwhile, packed a punch with a room that visually soliloquises the group aesthetic, through the viewfinder of the Black diaspora… Encapsulating the joy of the dancehall days, through ‘Disco’, the larger-than-life print, mirroring the flamboyant females who’ve taken-to-the-floor… holding court up-high, whilst mid-twist and bowing down-low, in almost reverential catharsis! Not to be outdone, a portrait sits above the mantelpiece… pride-of-place, as if to suggest the ‘number one son’… Staring, quietly confident, through a crown of cascading dreadlocks, the unframed persona showcases effortless style and profound substance. This palpable freedom threw me back to Parr’s Harrovians, whose hyperactivity, although captured in a full-bleed palette, is being contained by the use of solid frames…which, to me, spoke to the hovering constraint of tradition.

In the ‘East-Coast Room’, such tacit messages would continue to register via the compelling works of Ferdinando Scianna and Eve Arnold. Surrounded by images in New York subway trains, you are with the people…. watched over by ‘The Guardian Angels’ at one end and an extreme close-up of a fellow male passenger at the other… hanging off the ceiling handles and leaning into the lens, as if he were about to kiss you on the cheek! The sense of belonging, as witnessed in one group, is beautifully contrasted by the sensibility of developing flirtatious assertiveness…

By the time you reach ‘Cuba’ (a.k.a ‘The Isle of Youth’) on the top floor, creaking floorboards and dust-clouds give way to full-blown ‘amor’! Entering through a heavily-beaded, rust-hued curtain, an amalgamation of its dynamism and passion are symbolised texturally, through woven textiles, tonally, through clashing fabric patterns and sonically, (during the evening viewing), with booming Cuban-heel-tapping basslines! A visually vociferous canon of calorific attraction by Michael Christopher Brown, are pinned-up, like teen idol posters, devouring the den walls… The hours poured into Instagram research into the country, conducted by Ilori, have certainly paid off!

Absorbing the greatness on offer left me full-to-bursting… and returning to the start of my journey I was carried, three-sixty, from the hot Tropics, back to the ‘Club Tropicana’-vibe of Venice Beach… More enthused than ever, I was also left anticipating the night ahead… which promised much and, due to teamwork-making-the-dream-work, completely over-delivered, in every way imaginable!

‘The Magnum Home’ is a thunderous meteor amidst the ‘Photo London’ firmament… ‘Just Kids’, a free, all-encompassing, once-in-a-lifetime rendition of the thrills and spills of youth lifestyle… Its masterful curation distils the ‘white cube’ experience, by expanding it into an, unintimidating, tangible environment with which we can endlessly relate, namely, ‘home’. ‘Barbie Dream-Home’ it is not, but its raw and undercooked state segues seamlessly into the very nature of the young, rough-diamond within us all and with interactive events and tours set to run through Sunday, who knows what unearthed potential you might discover?!

~

©A_F_R_O_W2017-2019. All Rights Reserved.

~

Click-through for:-

Events at ‘The Magnum Home’

Limited Edition Merchandise for ‘The Magnum Home’

~

Quotation Credits:-

*Ekow Eshun: @EkowEshun (Twitter: 16/05/2017) ~ **Ekow Eshun: P.V Q & A (‘The Magnum Home’ 16/05/2017)

Congratulations and warmest Afrow-appreciation to ‘Team Plinth’ for such an amazing time…with special mention to Maria, Gaby and Emily for being the most illuminating tour-guides…and Team VERNISSAGE__ for the Blogger recommendation!

***

‘TriForce Short Film Festival’ Tri-umphs!

So here’s the thing…

I have had the enduring privilege of being invited to some of the most fascinating events… You’d think, therefore, that I would be used to the build-up…Used to the checklists, verifying the wardrobe, charging-up the tech (and the back-up memory)…But the night before my first ‘TriForce Short Film Festival’, I was a flurry of excitement…a whirligig of anticipation…a New Year bonfire, just waiting to rocket into the a new creative atmosphere!!!

I couldn’t sleep, for all of my pre-performance giddiness…and I loved it! Thus, on all of 5 hours stillness, because I couldn’t drown out my thumping heartbeat, I Fosbury-ed out of bed, with first-day-at-school vigour… utterly ready to get into my prêt-a-porter, Festival mode, chomping-at-the-bit to record this amazing moment!

Destination: BAFTA.

My journey was seamless… The skies were crystal-clear blue, the air, icicle-fresh…the public transport, compliantly on-time! I reached Green Park a full hour before show-time…well, I did say, I was excited, didn’t I?!)…which gave me precious time to indulge in looking at Piccadilly, truly seeing the stunning architecture which our beautiful town has to offer, as well as hearing the vivid, criss-crossing sound-waves of a.m. life.

With such engagement, I might have walked a bit beyond the hallowed building… Okay, so I did(!)… but, on turning back, my curiosity to look above entrances for the cornucopia of Christmas adornments, flounced like scalloped-edged skirting, took my gaze to the BAFTA mask, in all of its glory…

I sent an internal text from heart-to-head, that the passenger-carrier of ‘me’ had successfully transported the passenger of ‘me'(again) to the desired point of disembarkation! (By this time, a little less than an hour early…though, no less full-of-beans!)…

Deep breath in… I entered…

To the left, a welcoming-hall of mirrors and a delightfully well-dressed tree….a stylish elevator and signs, which read like the New Year’s Honours List, to every dedicated floor…and, en face (literally), the face of the BAFTA insignia, announcing you ascend the stairwell-to-an-artistic-new-world… walls scattered with quotes from such luminaries as Mark Rylance (who has since been given the nod with a Knighthood!)…

By now, I would have been a wreck, were it not for the fact that absorbing the winding-wisdom, had much lulled my adrenalin levels, which was a blessing, since the next Crystal Maze-like task was to speak! Having successfully utilised my five seconds and nailed remembering who I was… I took my place within the space, The David Lean Room, to be exact… Loving every square metre of its thespian fabric! It would, categorically, be the perfect theatre of operations…and all ours for one glorious day…and eve!

As if applying the soft luminescent makeup for a perfect headshot, sunlight streamed in from Piccadilly and, as I heard the delectable Minnie Ayres breathe a hearty welcome, was introduced to the amazing TriForce Team and confirmed interview, I began to take baby steps around my new home! No sooner had my exploration commenced, than Jimmy Akingbola appeared, putting paid to my momentary oasis of calm, due to enthusiastic discourse about the event!

Forget the steps, I was like a Jackie-out-of-the-box, and as I rounded the corner, began acquainting myself with partnering organisations, who I quickly ascertained were absolute bedrocks of the Creative Industries. From ‘The Institute of Videography’ to ‘BECTU’ to ‘Creative Skillset’ and ‘Mama Youth Project’, each and every one had, at its foundation, the mission of resourcing creatives to live their dreams and continue to follow them, since there were avenues to facilitate them at every stage. Having gained an invaluable amount of knowledge and as seminar attendees arrived, I could only imagine the personal narratives that they would be taking away with them…

So thought, so announced… Seminar 1 was about to take place….and yes, I was that one who had all of her coloured biros at-the-ready, copiously taking Pantone-esque notes (from the frow, naturellement!)…and, thank goodness for the London Design Biennale Leuchtturm1917, which was still going strong from September, as, with each discussion, it soon became perfuse with a spectrum of words!

What a profound collection of contributions were made by Baff Akoto (Director) and Shola Amoo (Writer/ Director), regarding the ups and downs of surviving as a Freelance Director and the journey of funding a feature, from Camille Gatin (Producer), Dionne Walker (Writer/ Producer), Kristen Irving (BFI Development Executive)… Each session urging listeners to know their identity as film-makers and look to cast their creative nets as widely as possible, in order to catch the necessary finances!

Interspersed were all shortlisted films and finalists, themselves, pockets of dynamism and unswerving examples of artists (in front and behind the camera) who knew exactly who they were and what their objectives were meant and made to be. In the collective time of less than a full-length feature, attendees became audience members, taken on evermore perpendicular emotional and visual Big Dippers!

Amongst the awesome entries were ‘Take The Chocolate (Don’t Give Up)’, which was a charming window-into-the-world of sharing and caring, between children, whilst ‘Harriet and the Matches’ was a marvellous, if not subliminally disturbing, combination of animation and reality! ‘I Believe In Pink’ caused universal intakes of breath, on observing the painstaking tattooing of the lips of Lagos men in the most fuschia pink hue, so as to be socially accepted… ‘The Dead Sea’ evoked raw tears and anger in many (including myself), as we witnessed, in stark detail, the sheer, inhumane cruelty of migrant detention centres… The poignancy of ‘Glow’, told through the lateral-thinking of four best friends, who devise a way to take the cancer-stricken member of the group to see the Aurora Borealis, meant film and title were bound in cinematography and significance. The final three would go on to win ‘Non-Scripted’, ‘People’s Choice’ and ‘Best of the Fest’ Awards, respectfully…and deservedly so!

Whilst the last seminars covering walking-the-walk of diversity and working across both Film and TV genres ensued, I had left the fabulous screening room and was back at home-base, in order to interview Minnie and Fraser about the entire venture. Each wonderfully complemented the intel of the other – she, with the latest news and live stat updates, that they had exceeded the previous year’s attendance figures, he, regaling the deeply intense desire to be ‘an experience company’ and what that would entail as time went by…. They dovetailed seamlessly, not only as integral parts of the TriForce Team, but also, as an incredibly inspiring creative couple.

On that note, as members of the daytime schedule flooded back in, I absorbed the wave of anticipation for what was to come, before heading off to Mayfair, to collate, pontificate, ‘check the gate’ (which was good!) and make ready the next slates for scenes two and three, namely, the Awards Gala and Afterparty at Century, Soho!

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Past midnight…(and then some!)… I emerged from the club, having danced one of the coolest ‘Electric Slide’ formations in a lo-o-o-o-ng time, completed the Mannequin Challenge, held lively chit-chat with an assemblage of artistic brilliance and laughed until I cried with them, too!

In any other situation which leaves me speechless, ‘no words’ would be my chosen phrase. However, I had been veritably embraced by them, and substantially more, during such felicitous hours… That being said, I’ll leave the summation, in part, to Actor/ Director, Xavier Dolan, who says, ‘Filmmaking is something you think alone, but do together’*…

…and complete it by declaring that ‘The TriForce Creative Network’ undoubtedly proves that theory and is ‘Helping People Happen’ by, relentlessly, doing just that!

©A_F_R_O_W2017-2019. All Rights Reserved.

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Visit TriForce Creative Network for further information about:-

TriForce Short Film Festival ~ TriForce Monologue Slam ~ TriForce Writer Slam ~ TriForce Productions

Visit the following TFSFF/ Industry Expo Partners for more information about their respective organisations:-

BECTU

THE INSTITUTE OF VIDEOGRAPHY

CREATIVE SKILLSET

MAMA YOUTH PROJECT

NATIONAL FILM AND TELEVISION SCHOOL

HIIVE

SHINE MEDIA

*Quote source: CNN Masters At Work 02/12/2016

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Fervent Afrow-Appreciation to all at TriForce and Premier PR for giving me the opportunity to partake in this truly life-changing experience!