East Quantoxhead, Somerset. Some film practice from last summer and a reminder that summer does exist! Thanks to Robin Pope for his contribution both as a legendary actor and co-cameraman!
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
The Unfinished Race: Part 2
Following on from my last post, I will set out a little more detail about "Alan" and in the next post the story I began to visualise.
Alan is one of society's outcasts. His days are spent walking the same route, hour upon hour (though it has to be said I once saw him way out of Taunton walking towards Bridgwater, a neighbouring town.) The majority of people, as I did, probably view him simply as a "psychiatric patient" and by medical standards that is what he is regarded as.
When the psychiatric hospital near my home town of Taunton closed down some years ago, many patients were "integrated" into the community. As far as I know, Alan was one of these. Now he is a lone, sorrowful figure, part of the everyday street scene. By now people must be used to him and for the most part ignore him. It was only after I heard a little bit about his background that I began to view Alan differently.
Some years ago, I was talking to a friend of mine, and somehow the conversation turned to Alan whom we both had observed on his daily wanderings. My friend informed me that Alan was a frequent visitor to the vicar who lived across the road from my friend's family. During a conversation, the vicar had told him a bit about Alan. The vicar was one of the only people Alan had any contact with and who showed him kindness. The vicar informed him that Alan in his younger years had been a keen runner and had apparently shown such promise that he had been shortlisted to compete in the Olympic Games. According to the vicar's account Alan had trained so hard that eventually something snapped inside resulting in a breakdown from which he never recovered.
A sad, moving and remarkable story and one which I felt I wanted to tell the world. Not only that, I would love to turn the story into a film, one that stimulates thought and reflection. I would not want to romanticize Alan's plight, rather put it in a new light. Perhaps as a result, people like Alan might start to be viewed with more understanding and treated with more dignity, kindness and respect.
Alan is one of society's outcasts. His days are spent walking the same route, hour upon hour (though it has to be said I once saw him way out of Taunton walking towards Bridgwater, a neighbouring town.) The majority of people, as I did, probably view him simply as a "psychiatric patient" and by medical standards that is what he is regarded as.
When the psychiatric hospital near my home town of Taunton closed down some years ago, many patients were "integrated" into the community. As far as I know, Alan was one of these. Now he is a lone, sorrowful figure, part of the everyday street scene. By now people must be used to him and for the most part ignore him. It was only after I heard a little bit about his background that I began to view Alan differently.
Some years ago, I was talking to a friend of mine, and somehow the conversation turned to Alan whom we both had observed on his daily wanderings. My friend informed me that Alan was a frequent visitor to the vicar who lived across the road from my friend's family. During a conversation, the vicar had told him a bit about Alan. The vicar was one of the only people Alan had any contact with and who showed him kindness. The vicar informed him that Alan in his younger years had been a keen runner and had apparently shown such promise that he had been shortlisted to compete in the Olympic Games. According to the vicar's account Alan had trained so hard that eventually something snapped inside resulting in a breakdown from which he never recovered.
A sad, moving and remarkable story and one which I felt I wanted to tell the world. Not only that, I would love to turn the story into a film, one that stimulates thought and reflection. I would not want to romanticize Alan's plight, rather put it in a new light. Perhaps as a result, people like Alan might start to be viewed with more understanding and treated with more dignity, kindness and respect.
The Unfinished Race: Part 1
When I lived in Taunton, I would often see a man I came to know as Alan walking along one of the main roads through the town. He was clearly mentally unwell but after seeing him for many years I heard a rumour about his past that seemed to make sense. Even if this rumour was not founded entirely on fact, it made me start to view Alan in a new light and the thought of how his life could have changed so radically sparked an idea for a film....
Tall and gaunt, Alan walked with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He stared straight ahead and his eyes reflected a pain and sadness that even he did not seem to understand. At any moment it seemed as if he might let out a cry of anguish because of some deep sorrow he kept hidden from the world. The grey macintosh he wore bearly reached his knees and its sleeves struggled to hide his long arms. The ends of his trouser legs had long since given up the fight to meet with his shoes and were now resigned to a life suspended above his ankles. His slow, mournful pace carried him mile upon mile along the same route every day, as if through his walking he might reconnect with a life he had once had but that had now been taken away from him.
But there was one aspect of Alan's appearance that was not in keeping with the rest. In contradiction to and standing out from his drab, ill fitting attire he wore a pair of white, pristine running shoes. It was as if from his ankles up Alan's appearance reflected his present status and served to let the world around him know that he didn't belong. But on his feet it seemed he wore a reminder of a secret he wanted to keep alive, a secret that his weary existence would never be allowed to destroy. Every now and again, like a sudden gust of wind scatters a pile of autumn leaves, this secret would cause him to break into a run, laboured at first, but increasing in speed and for a few metres it was as if Alan outran the pain and sorrow that held him captive.
Tall and gaunt, Alan walked with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He stared straight ahead and his eyes reflected a pain and sadness that even he did not seem to understand. At any moment it seemed as if he might let out a cry of anguish because of some deep sorrow he kept hidden from the world. The grey macintosh he wore bearly reached his knees and its sleeves struggled to hide his long arms. The ends of his trouser legs had long since given up the fight to meet with his shoes and were now resigned to a life suspended above his ankles. His slow, mournful pace carried him mile upon mile along the same route every day, as if through his walking he might reconnect with a life he had once had but that had now been taken away from him.
But there was one aspect of Alan's appearance that was not in keeping with the rest. In contradiction to and standing out from his drab, ill fitting attire he wore a pair of white, pristine running shoes. It was as if from his ankles up Alan's appearance reflected his present status and served to let the world around him know that he didn't belong. But on his feet it seemed he wore a reminder of a secret he wanted to keep alive, a secret that his weary existence would never be allowed to destroy. Every now and again, like a sudden gust of wind scatters a pile of autumn leaves, this secret would cause him to break into a run, laboured at first, but increasing in speed and for a few metres it was as if Alan outran the pain and sorrow that held him captive.
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