UNIVERSAL EARLog: Day 18

Lockwood spends the morning alone in the studio, no doubt grunting and hooting in response to the ridiculous "find your natural voice" book his head has been stuck in for the past two days. If that's his natural voice, surely losing it was the whole point of drama school?

The first thing I achieve once on set is Lunch, and it looks for a while like that's as good as it's going to get. Even as I allow myself a self-congratulatory "whoop" on having hunter-gathered carbs, protein and pro-biotic yoghurt for the pair of us, Lockwood tells me it's the wrong kind of carbs and the bottom falls out of my day.

A ray of of light appears in the form of a visitor to the Snuggle Office: Ian from k'motion Films, who is - until Nexus Alistair introduces him - a stranger. We talk of our respective ambitions, struggles and triumphs, although I decide not to mention the post-lunch slump thing (I don't know if Ian has eaten by this point but there's no evidence of any slump on his part), and generally reassure each other of the nobility of trying to create something from only a wisp over nothing. Ian has big plans, he also has a lunch partner waiting him for out in the cafe so Lockwood and I reluctantly allow him to leave, whereupon the energy in the room dissipates and I impulsively down the remaining yoghurt in one.

To the cafe, then, where I don my 'serious' look so that Lockwood doesn't guess I haven't a clue what to do next. I have him shift some furniture around to make up a set for "Stampys", the postal service members club from where Harley Byrne introduces each episode. But it doesn't feel right, and we decide to save the cafe environment for our next-episode-but-one, in which the space is to feature prominently. We retire instead to the studio, to which I have Lockwood drag more furniture. We are able to utilise some of the Lumpenbal donations - a splendid bicycle, an Egyptian tea set - to create the Stampys set. But then it comes time to actually film it, and I find I have nothing. I don't even have the notes we made whilst rehearsing the scene several weeks back, as - whilst embodying the spirit of original UNIVERSAL EAR director Francis Dove - it seemed to make more sense to lose them and perform instead from a memory of a contrivance of an interpretation of a script. This somewhat indefinite, analogue approach is in fact completely inappropriate here, as it is our intention to shoot Byrne's performance "lo-res" - glitching from emotion to clunking emotion with nary a segue from one to the next. (Doris, the Super 8 camera, is to record this sympathetically by gearing down to 12 frames-per-second - not least because we're running perilously short of film stock).

However, if there's one thing that'll make you slap yourself across both cheeks and face up to your professional obligations, it's having a photographer appear on set and ask to snap you in action: and that's precisely what happens, as Kit from Hong Kong pops her head bravely through the studio door and asks what we're doing. Kit packs an arsenal of proper old cameras herself, and by redirecting some burning tungsten from Lockwood's gurning face to Doris's mechanical curves I am able to draw her right in and ascertain that she is no rush to leave.

Will you help us, Kit, get these three shots? Kit is no rush, wants to get some pics and agrees to extra as a Stampys tea-girl. I quickly scribble a direction ("billowing vowels", "Bond [Roger]") on each of Lockwood's prompt cards and we're ready to go. Once Doris is whirring, we all get caught up in her momentum: Kit pours steaming tea, Lockwood clunks from "hard consonants" to "condescending pity" with zero grades of performance in between, and I aid him by holding/swaying/rolling his cue sheets in the direction and distance I think he should stare with each line. Before we know it, we've burnt through 48 feet of Tri-X on Lockwood and used the last couple of feet for Kit's close-ups, and are wrapped for the day. It's only 16:30 so Kit takes this opportunity to turn her cameras on Lockwood and I. Hunter becomes hunted as we hold our respective contraptions (Doris for me and the Universal Ear for Lockwood) feebly at each other and allow our likeness to be captured by Kit's vintage bellow-hinged Polaroid and medium format Rolleiflex. We say our goodbyes, and Lockwood and I high-five.

The excellent mood is only soured when Lockwood is shortly after given some free chocolate cake by Steph and Hannah in the cafe and I get none. What hurt the most was the way he wolfed the remainder down when he saw I'd caught him.

UNIVERSAL EARLog: Day 3

The day of the Lumpenbal, our launch party in the 19th century European tradition, whereby at the end of the ball season - when all are broke and broken by hedonistic and sartorial extravagances past - the doors to the final ball are thrown open to tramps, vagabonds and spent socialites alike to revel in their collective downfall. (More details on our intentions and conventions can be found here).


The day is largely dedicated to continued set-building (above) for first episode "A Flea Orchestra In Your Ear" - once we've Zoomed, warmed up, and further explored Higginson's temporal cubist work-out (below). I'm careful to earmark a wedge of day for the preparation of the ballroom; however, this wedge becomes smaller and smaller as we apply ever fiercer concentration to cardboard manipulation in pursuit of the perfect screen log cabin.


At 3.45, Lockwood and I hold a meeting with Marie Louise Cookson, a semi-pro announcer, to put together a bit of a show for the "speeches" bit of the ball. The atmosphere is strained and Lockwood and I wonder whether Cookson is ill, or perhaps feeling the pressure ahead of her intended performance in front of up to 150 people. Lockwood and I throw up some suggestions as to how we might approach the public introduction to the UNIVERSAL EAR serial and our prehabilitation of same: I mainly concentrate on funny stuff, while Lockwood becomes somewhat stuck on the question of "what are we trying to achieve here?". To paraphrase our producer, Nathan Povey, if we spent all our time asking ourselves what we were trying to achieve, what would we ever achieve? (Don't try to answer that). Finally Cookson snaffles the best of my material and announces she must retire from the meeting to fashion her notes into some kind of script. Before she leaves, it is revealed that the reason for her spikiness today is that she has taken yesterday's failed audition rather personally - particularly criticising the medium of rejection (SMS text message) and the tone (frank). I look to Lockwood to back me up, but he is apparently searching for something valuable under the Snuggle Office sofa; Cookson leaves, hardly on better terms than she had arrived, and I fear our on-stage chemistry this evening may already be compromised.

The day segues so smoothly into the evening that I almost forget to slip into my ball gown. I have at the last minute asked production designer Strigner to continue working out back away from the festivities this evening, so we might guide guests through to show them the studio at work. Friends and strangers alike begin to teem into the cafe, and we receive - among other donations - a pair of crutches, a fine but immobile bicycle, and a set of Egyptian crockery. First AD Rowan makes a poignant and complex statement about the instability of matter, the ephemeral nature of propriety and the subjective quantification of man-made space by smashing one such hieroglyphed teacup on the floor and bursting into tears. (I will call to mind this impromtu performance a week later whilst watching Gordon Matta-Clark's Conical Intersect (1975) at Kate Taylor's FutureEverything film screening - but pound for pound, Rowan's piece is more affecting.)

Speeches next, and charmed equally by Cookson's delivery and Lockwood's bashfulness, I forget to mention many of the key points I was to illustrate during our address. Cookson's turn will indeed be remembered as a highlight of the evening; Lockwood, a some-time stage actor, can only hope his shy demeanour is overlooked by the masses. Is is past 9pm (the ball is only due to go on until 10) and Tuesday Betts has not yet shown up, so I completely forget that we (she) is meant to be crowning a belle and/or beau of the ball: thankfully no-one picks up on this and we are able to make way for our stand-in band Pyjama Party, whose own Mr Beats immediatly unleashes the song of wild elephants and such on the crowd, embellishing the PJ sound with a concrète underscore. Sugden, UNIVERSAL EAR's executive producer and our portraitist for the evening, continues to take one-minute 'screen tests' of our guests, as general photography is absolutely forbidden.

9.54 and a lost looking glamourpuss in fake fur coat, bob wig, cigarette holder and sherry bottle (Nexus is strictly dry) wanders down from the street, scanning the dazzled ball-goers for a familiar face. Next to our cast of beggars and chimney sweeps, the stranger is clearly in the wrong place... until she is revealed to be none other than Tuesday Betts, the female lead of our UNIVERSAL EAR remake and would-be Lumpenbal figurehead. A truly memorable entrance: in the minutes that remain (not too few, as Pyjama Party refuse to leave the stage), Betts allows Sugden to take her portrait, then helps us clear up before emabarking on the drive back to Blackpool. Legend.

Busy times at film studio from the future

Hello there, project leader Cole here (attempting to channel the spirit of original UNIVERSAL EAR director Francis Dove).

We're two days into prefabrication of the lost UNIVERSAL EAR adventure serial at our temporary home, Nexus Art Cafe. Frankly, between tea-making, wolf-sourcing and epic holistic warm-up sessions, there's been no time to relay much of what's happened so far - I'd advise you, if you can, to visit us instead and see what's going on. We'll be there 10- 5.30 every day until Sunday, and then publish a new schedule for next week.

Thursday 6th May - set making, preparing for grand Lumpenbal (with last-minute rescue guest spot from Manchester's snuggliest band PYJAMA PARTY)
Friday 7th May - exposure of film begins somehow
Saturday 8th May - A.M. we work with Tuesday Betts on her performance as BEING (in the spirit of the original actress, Brigitte Bridges); P.M. come and play a flea and/or a wave and/or a flame as Downing's original production design gets person-al.
Sunday 9th May - the first of our Tuesday Sundays, when we film starlet Tuesday Betts' scenes for the UNIVERSAL EAR episode A Flea Orchestra In Your Ear.

Anyone is welcome to pop in whenever they can; we're in the studio behind the kitchen, we should have some good signage up shortly. Come and say hello, or watch in silence, or volunteer to paint a set or don a costume. We are particularly looking for make-up people and film (rather than digital) cinematographers, but tell us what you do and there'll be something you can turn your hand to. A bit like those ads for the army only with significantly less killing and that.

Lumpenbal in Manchester this Thursday to launch UNIVERSAL EAR

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Facebook event

IN BRIEF! A costume ball at a beautiful art cafe, for which you will be expected to dress-down in the rags of the broke... be you a --

FADED STARLET
BANKRUPT STUDIO MOGUL
CONVICT
TRAMP
WANDERING AMNESIAC
CHIMLEY SWEEP
OIK etc etc.

There will be a reception during which your photo-portrait will be taken, and tea & cake will be available from the cafe whilst you take to your tables to gossip about the other guests. Then speeches & awards & an introduction to our project UNIVERSAL EAR. Finally, dancing to live music from across the history & the future of the world. (And then, pub).

Be there, or be written out of history.

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For the hardy of concentration:

During the month of May, L’Institute Zoom will recreate the lost adventure serial UNIVERSAL EAR on an open set in the Nexus Art Café studio. Having foolishly squandered our resources on opulent Manc musicals and dazzling sci-fi sitcoms, there is nothing left in the kitty, so what better way to launch the production of UNIVERSAL EAR than with a grand rag ball?

Come and celebrate our collective faded glory by dressing up in the most downwardly-mobile of fashions: tramp chic, forgotten frocks, moth-nipped tuxes, and accessories born of folly. Bring obsolete possessions and broken things to donate to the production. Wear your emotions boldly, they’re the last thing you will own.

The evening will be comprised of four key Lumpenbal rituals:

Die Gaeste werden kategorisiert (THE TINNING OF THE GUESTS)

In which, on your arrival, your costume will be catalogued photographically. No further photography will be permitted during the evening, although illustrative sketches, collage, crochet etc. will be encouraged.

Die besetzung der Huetten (THE OCCUPATION OF HUTS)

As the guests continue to arrive, you will make your way through to the ballroom, where you can find a table and convert it into a dwelling place for the evening. Perhaps you will have brought boxes, planks or umbrellas, in which case you can truly seal off your temporary home from the covetous gaze of others; or perhaps just a handful of unwanted objects with which to mark your territory. Freeze-dried music from across the history of the world will be piped in; tea and cake will be available from the café. Mingle with your fellow outcasts, then scurry back to your hut to gossip over their choice of costume (or cake).

Das Sprechen der Worte (THE SAYING OF WORDS)

Messrs Cole and Lockwood of the UNIVERSAL EAR production team will introduce you to their industrious intentions for the weeks ahead; explain a little of the story behind their forgotten epic; and detail ways in which you might get involved with or actively ignore their endeavours. A brief survey of donations will be carried out. The movie starlet Tuesday Betts will then crown the Belle or Beau of the Ball, who will be rewarded with a contract to star in an episode of UNIVERSAL EAR. (The contract is compulsory and unpaid).

Der Tanz der gebrochenden Gegenstaende (THE DANCE OF THE BROKEN THINGS)

Please take to the floor as the Institute’s house band performs compulsively danceable interpretations of the most obscure music ever known – or unknown – to humankind. Be pitiful, be fabulous, reconsider the mechanical possibilities of the human body. You will forever be remembered as one of the Broken Things.

** DONATIONS **

The Institute has been uprooted from its sprawling studio home, and is out of money following the decadent filmmaking excesses of the past six years, so – reader - why not take this moment to have a look at some of the articles and objects you have acquired and expired, reimagine them as fine and ragged ball costumes, and donate whatever is left (be it CLOTHING, DECOR, TECHNOLOGY, or THINGS) to our production team at the Nexus Art Café studio?

In order to prehabilitate the lost adventure serial UNIVERSAL EAR, economic pressures require us to REPERCEIVE the stuff we are offered, paint it, turn it several degrees to the left and call it something else. As such, we can use anything that you have no further use for, be it:

Trousers
Hats
Uniforms
Cardboard boxes
Books
Sporting apparatus
Cooking implements
Garden ephemera
Magazines
Tapes
Musical instruments
Make-up
Stationery
Furniture
Broken things
Tat
And anything else that will fit.

Please bring it along to the Lumpenbal or at your leisure during May.

Entrance to the Lumpenbal is FREE, with a suggested donation of £2 (no-one will be watching if you choose to sneak in). For those who wish to wind down with something stronger, we will move en masse (and in ballwear) to a nearby public house following the close of the ball at around 10pm.