Sharing Knowledge makes us Wise

As patron of Women in Film &TV the great film director Gurinder Chadha last night had an audience of women filmmakers hanging on her every word.

Not that she pushes herself as the great Goddess of cinema but rather that she has trodden a path similar to many of us women that follow in her wake. She wasn’t born with the silver screen at her feet, she didn’t know the right people, she didn’t have a cine-camera glued to her face from the age of five, and she didn’t go to film school. In fact she was Asian and a woman, neither of which placed her at an advantage in a primarily white male industry.

What she did have was a big mouth and something to say. Door after door slammed in her face, brick walls were constructed across her path, insults hurled as rocks in her direction. But she came out fighting; with a twinkle in her eye and her tongue in her cheek. She lifted the British Asian community out of the realms of pity, shame, abuse and banged it down on the table with a grin and a platform that gave them a voice. She made her protagonists women, and with that suddenly on screen we were seeing women with colour and attitude. And humour.

Trusting her intuition she developed work that was an extension of her own psychology and her own views which deftly skewed the general population’s attitude away from what they had previously thought it was to be British and Asian and Female. She became the only woman director amongst a handful of male directors to proudly make British ‘commercial’ movies; that is films that lots of people want to see. She honed her voice through her first few films because she was manic about what it was she wanted to say and the people she wanted to hear that message. She made films about women who previously weren’t being seen or heard- the ones who weren’t goddesses but the girls and grannies, the ones who wouldn’t take prejudice lying down. She preached ‘girl power’ and she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

But her audiences are not just women or Asian; she touches a chord across the board. That is because she takes you on an emotional journey, one that resonates with us all at some level. She reminds us what it is to be human, the strength of the human spirit that timelessly resists being crushed. She is absolutely clear about what she wants to say, and that is about telling the truth.

In the meantime she juggles babies and work, helps young children learn about making films, and encourages women to go trail-blaze their own visions. “Don’t go out there and make another Bend it Like Beckham” she says. She wants us to grab what we believe in with every ounce of who we are, get out there and rugby tackle anyone who tries to get in our way. Woohoo here we come!

Gurinder Chadha was speaking at a special edition of Women in Film and TV’s Show Us Your Shorts series. To find out more about WFTV, visit www.wftv.org.uk

There is peace of mind in knowing when it is time to move on

One of them was Steph Cutler who overcame sudden blindness but defied “the bastards who wouldn’t employ me” to build a successful business helping others with disabilities. She encouraged us to see obstacles as opportunities not setbacks. In fact she says there were times when she found her blindness was to her advantage, for instance when she started public speaking she couldn’t really see the audience so it made her feel braver and now she loves it. She forced herself live with her disability in a way that meant living her life to the fullest. As she jokes- if life deals you lemons, what do you do? Make Lemonade! It has not been an easy journey but it has been a rewarding one.

Penny Power who runs the social media site Ecademy spent 12 years building up her business, losing her family house along the way as she and her husband struggled to make ends meet. But she was determined to be a full-time mum (and a great one at that) at the same time as creating a successful business around the then entirely untried idea of globally connecting with people online. She stuck it through the tough times, held on to her dream, balanced her steps along the tightrope and finally it all came together. Her legacy is to turn on its head our mothers’ adage to “never speak to strangers” and instead she encourages us to make an assumption of trust of people- to make friends with others, to connect, to engage, to share ideas and contacts, to give, to listen, to offer yourself to the world community, to be there for others, to offer help, to ask for help. She tells us our personalities are our greatest asset, not what we are selling. It is us that others are interested in getting to know, like, follow and maybe then when we are truly connected we can start to collaborate in an organic and creative way. She celebrates young people who are growing up as the Facebook generation- making friends online is second nature and when they grow up and walk into the world of work, they will do so with a network of thousands of friends, supporters, fans and mentors. She believes that the wider your network the more productive you can be, and that friendship is the most powerful thing on earth.

Shaa Wasmund was also an amazingly motivating speaker. At the age of 21 she was interviewing Chris Eubanks, when he asked her to become his promoter. She knew nothing about boxing. She was the only woman in the industry apart from the bikini clad card holders and she was surrounded by alpha males. Her ability to look them straight in the face and do what she had to do reminded me of the Country and Western song “You gotta have balls to be a Woman”. On her first day of working for Bob Geldof he came in “fucking this and fucking that” and she spun round, looked him right in the eye and said “Don’t you ever fucking swear at me ever again”. It stopped him in his tracks, he laughed and never swore in her presence again. Even at such a young age she demanded respect, she used the power of being a woman with humour and energy. She took risks, she didn’t let anything stop her and she is charismatic, funny, caring, quick-witted, approachable- someone you immediately want as a friend. A woman in the audience stood up to ask for help from us all. She was from the charity Shelter and hadn’t met her monthly target. Shaa said if she told us why we should support Shelter then she herself would buy a year’s subscription. The woman gave a moving speech and then Shaa surprised us all by telling us that she would double her subscription, because when she was 11 she too had been in a homeless family, living in a hostel, afraid to ever ask friends ‘home’, sharing a bathroom with other families. One day her mother sat her on the mattress with springs poking through the material and she said to her: “Take a good look round, because whatever you do in life, you will never, ever, ever have to live in a place like this again.” Shaa picked her life up and she has made a huge success of it, not least being one of the most inspiring and loveliest of people I have ever had the pleasure to meet.

If only we could bottle the essence of these women! But at least we can learn from them.

How my book was born:

It all started with Death. A funny way round but it did. I was directing a TV series on people with terminal illness. We filmed for three years. It was an intimate and powerful experience and we were all profoundly affected. What we discovered was that when people finally come to terms with the fact that their death is imminent, that is the moment they start really living. They start to really focus on their loved ones, they engage fully with the people around them, they soak up every experience, they are sensitive to every nuance in their relationships, they express their emotions openly and simply, and they live absolutely and completely in every moment.

It was then that I decided to change my life. I didn’t want to wait until I was about to die to start living fully and meaningfully. So I started my quest to understand how you do that. Of course I didn’t have to start from scratch. People have explored and written on this subject since the beginning of civilisation. All I had to do was read it all, absorb it and distil it to something simple that I could live by every day. It took me nearly ten years.

The other thing I learned from doing the Death series was that working creatively could effect positive change in people’s lives. One of the women we filmed was suffering with an acute, chronic and life-threatening  form of Chrone’s Disease. She had had botched surgery, had to have her dressings changed on open, suppurating wounds in her nether regions every single day of her life and was in constant and crippling pain. As we filmed she was given an opportunity to trial a new drug. It worked instantly. Suddenly she was pain-free and the wounds started to heal. Her life and relationships in her family were transformed. She had three months of treatment, then her health authority told her she couldn’t have any more. Her devastation was indescribable. However when the programme aired on Channel 4 someone was so moved by her story that they sent in an anonymous donation. And someone else did, and someone else and someone else. The money came pouring in. We set up a trust fund for her. In it she had enough money to pay for the drugs she needed for the rest of her life.

From that time on I dedicated myself to using creativity to inspire positive change in people’s lives. My own creativity has developed and evolved over time starting with painting and sculpture and moving into film and photography in the early nineties. My subject matter was always people I was inspired by but the Death series focused my attention on making work about people that would inspire other people.

In order to understand better how I could bring together my creative work and my ability to create positive change in people’s lives, including my own, I decided to train as a coach. Finally all the pieces of the picture came together and I was able to write about what I had learned and use my film experiences and photographs to illustrate what I had to offer. The obvious form to bring all these elements together was as a book and so was born “Creating Success in Daily Life”. Purchase £14.99 www.createlab.co.uk

I was in a room full of other film directors as part of a Masterclass designed to give us the opportunity to collaborate with actors and to try out various methods and techniques together. On a film set there is not enough time to experiment so it is helpful for directors to do regular workshops with actors in an environment where we can trust each other, play with ideas, take risks and learn what works and what doesn’t. As directors we don’t often get to see how other directors work either so the sharing of ideas and approach is also a great way to develop our own skills.

What was particularly interesting was discovering what the actors really need from us as directors. They want us to be clear in our communication, to be honest and straightforward, to listen to them and to be open to their suggestions. They need us to be enthusiastic and full of energy, to be generous with our praise when their performance works, and to be instructive and direct by offering alternative tactics when it doesn’t. They want a firm structure within which they feel safe enough to let go and take risks. Actors are exposing themselves completely in the job that they do and it is up to the director to give the actor the sense that they will guide and support them. Actors have different methods and techniques and as we worked with them we slowly learned to communicate in the same language.

In the process of this learning however, as in any collaboration, we were faced with numerous challenges. For me it was when I was directing a particular scene and one of the actors seemed extremely distracted. She had rushed into the rehearsal, out of breath, she hadn’t listened to the preparation talk about the scene, she kept looking at her mobile phone, she was unfocused and disengaged. The other actor was working well which allowed me the time to focus on trying to work with the woman but her distraction continued to get in the way of engaging with the role. It was only when we looked directly at the problem that we were able to make adjustments and move on. She was freed up to do her most effective work.

We found that the relationship between the director and the actor works most effectively when the director communicates clearly and the actor listens with focused attention. It is vital that both people give as much as each other to the relationship. It is such a powerful way to connect with someone. The relationship becomes dynamic, refreshing and energised. It works in the same way between anyone doing anything.

To be successful in what we do, whatever job it is, we must communicate well, be receptive, listen and respond accordingly. It is not enough just to do what we do but we must make a difference to those around us when we do it.

Exhilaration is fear seen from another perspective

It is tempting to settle by the pool with a fruit cocktail and a book; from time to time easing my frying limbs into the cool water. But for some reason on holiday I am drawn to the stuff that scares me. Today my challenge is zip-wiring through the rainforest. Now for some people the thought of that is exciting, for others it is terrifying. I fall into the latter category- I am scared of heights. So why would I want to put myself through it? I was kind of tricked into it really. It started with the promise of a walk through the rainforest. That developed into: well actually it is a walk through the rainforest on planks through the treetops. Then it transpired that between walkways we would have to slide down steel wires to reach the different levels of walkways, hundreds of feet above the ground. But by the time this completed version of what the excursion actually entailed was revealed to me it was already too late – I had committed myself and it seemed a bit mean on my companion to back out now. So I find myself on the bus being transported to the depths of the rainforest with a cheery guide outlining the do’s and don’t of flying through the air at great speed attached only to a thin wire. At one point she sparkles her smile at us all and asks if any of us is nervous. I put my hand up. She laughs and attempts to reassure me by telling me that it wouldn’t be good business practice to let people fall from great heights. Dead customers don’t look good on the records. And anyway if we do exactly what we are told we’ll be fine. We arrive at our destination and I look up into the trees. High above us I can see the wires strung up in the canopy. Really high. I turn pale. Our guide informs us this is the low section. I swallow. I am manhandled into a harness and hard hat and given a pair of leather gloves with holes in. We are told that the gloves are to protect us from wire burns. I look at the holes in my gloves again. It looks like they haven’t done a lot of protecting. We tramp up the dripping walkways. It is raining and in the heat it turns to steam. We climb higher and higher and my stomach churns. As we reach the first launch post we are lead through a series of health and safety features, which includes the order “whatever happens make sure you don’t hold too tightly onto the wire or you won’t go fast enough and you won’t reach the other side.” One by one the members of my group settle down into their harnesses and are pushed off over the abyss. Then it’s my turn. Come on, girl you can do it, I tell myself. But I am shaking as I am attached to the wire. “Smile” shouts someone behind me but my face is locked in panic. Suddenly I am pushed off. “Keep balanced otherwise you will spin at high speed” I remember them telling us as I start to spin “Oh god, no”! so I grip the wire tightly. “Don’t grip the wire or you’ll burn your hands and you’ll slow down”. I quickly un-grip my hands but it’s too late; I have slowed my momentum and as the wire tips upwards slightly at the end towards the landing platform I come to a grinding halt. The leader calls out “I told you not to slow down- now you are going to have to turn your body round and pull yourself along the wire”. Great. But I manage to do as I’m told and there is a cheer as I drag myself up onto the platform. Apart from falling to my death, I have now experienced the worse thing that can happen I am told. Well I survived that I think, so strangely I feel braver. The next few attempts are faster and higher and I begin to get a sense of fear falling away. We eventually reach the highest point, way above the canopy. The view is stunning. This is to be the longest and highest run. I take a deep breath. I am going to give it everything I’ve got. One, two, three, GO! And I’m pushed off the platform into space. It is awesome, I am flying through the air, the world stretching out below me. I suddenly hear the voice of my daughter when she learned to ride her bike for the first time “Mummy, I did it, I did it” And now I shout to the clouds “I did it, I did it!”
I feel the exhilaration that people feel who love doing crazy, scary things. I realise it is the same sensation in my body as when I described it as fear but now I am feeling it as thrilling. I have broken through my barrier of fear and have experienced the excitement of living beyond limits.

We can be in the midst of a storm when suddenly from out of dark clouds comes a brilliant rainbow

The soldiers are returning from war. The things they have seen, the comrades they have lost, have been enamelled onto their brains like armour plating. They are not the men they were. Sometimes the symptoms of distress take years to surface under a brutal battening down of the mental hatches. One man in his 80’s recently made a phone call to the ex-services’ mental health charity Combat Stress. He was clearly distraught, overrun by nightmares, disturbances and panic attacks. Had something happened he was asked? His wife had died a few months ago he replied. It was enough to unleash 60 years of suppressed memories. Now he was being haunted by his agonizing experiences during the Second World War. His feelings of terror had lain dormant until the pain of his wife’s death cracked open the wounds of war as powerfully as if it were yesterday. A few years ago I made a film about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in ex-service personnel. I filmed with ex-soldiers and their families for two years. It was the beginning of the Iraq war. We predicted it would be a few years before we would bear witness to the fallout of that. And sadly that prophecy was true, with the Afghan war claiming its victims too. But back then we were filming men who had fallen foul of the Falklands war, Northern Ireland, Bosnia (as peace keepers) and the first Gulf War. From the Falklands there were more people who had committed suicide since the war as a result of PTSD than had died during it. 25% of homeless people sleeping rough on the streets are ex-servicemen and they also make up the vast majority of inmates in our jails. A young man we filmed suffered at the hands of his father, a Para who had served in Northern Ireland. He had become a brutal drunk, unhinged and unpredictable. Eventually he took his own life leaving his family in tatters. We went with a group of ex-Paras to Arnhem in Holland for the annual commemoration of soldiers who had died at the battle there. Alcohol cloaked them like a heavy blanket to numb their own memories but their pain was palpable. As they stood erect with respect in their battalion berets, shoulder to shoulder with their comrades their hollow eyes hunted for peace. There was one man who stood strong amongst these men. He had beaten alcohol and drugs and the nightmares that left men feeling like they’ve been skinned alive. He had turned a corner and his mission was to turn round the lives of his desperate friends. He’d seen too many ex-servicemen lose the will to live, lose their wives, their families, their self-respect. He understood their torment but could see a way through. His was a simple act. He put himself at the end of the phone and he was there when they needed him, there when they stood on the edge of the abyss longing to jump off. He helps them to imagine a future where they can hold their heads high, where they can sleep peacefully at night, where they can turn a corner of a street and not fear the blast of a suicide bomber. He leads them with baby steps, gentle and soothing towards a place where they can dream freely and live safely.

If we were to look at our lives through the eyes of others we would see the magnificence that they see

The thing I love about Jamaica is the smell. At night driving through the darkness across the island with the windows down the warm black air is thick with smells. Hovering and moist is the sweet smell of tobacco leaves mixing with pungent wood smoke, cannabis and cooking chicken. Small fires poke orange through the darkness and light up the corrugated iron huts that line the roads. Shadows of people shift around the huts buying beer or fruit or cigarettes. The sound of Reggae oozes from radios –slow, liquid sounds. I am here for a funeral. A Jamaican lady we had been filming in the UK had died and she’d wanted to be brought home to be buried. I’d been in the hospital car park in Swindon when I got the call. I was just about to go in and see her and here I was listening to someone telling me she had just died. I’d only seen her the day before. She was rubbing olive oil into her legs and then we ate Bounty bars together to give us a feel for the Caribbean and to remind us of our last trip out there. She’d gone out for few months and we went to film her. I flew back first then came to meet her off the plane to take her home. In the space of the few hours of the flight her cancer had taken a turn for the worse and she had become paralyzed and incontinent. I had a wheelchair for her but I couldn’t lift even her sparrow like frame. She was simply unable to hold herself. She was a dead weight. The next day she was in hospital and not long after she was dead. So now I was in a funeral parlour in Jamaica watching the funeral director putting a white lace bonnet on her wax-work face. I remembered how well she had seemed on our last time here. The air and her family had boosted her energy and vitality. Back home on Jamaican soil she was Queen Bee. For Mother’s Day she had brought some of her friends over to have lunch with us on the beach. She and I floated in the water with these huge ladies. Her tiny body was swallowed up by cancer and by her swimming costume. Later that day when the others had gone we stood watching the red sun disappear down over the horizon. I glanced at her and saw her face was peaceful. She was so still. We both sensed the poignancy of the sunset. I knew her lung cancer was getting a grip on her but that moment we hung onto as if it could last forever.  In the church I looked down at her frozen features and wondered where she had gone. The congregation raised the heavens with their singing and hallelujahs. Her grandson had built her a mausoleum in the shape of a sofa and on it he had painted her favourite Jamaican landscape. Here she had a coffin with a view. Everyone was dressed for a party. This was time for celebration. One of the last things she said to me was:
“When you hear the song No Woman No Cry, you think of me”. Strangely now I hear that song in the oddest of places. Most recently I was walking down a narrow, empty Parisian street when suddenly a window of an attic apartment opened above me and out floated the sultry sounds of Bob Marley. I whispered ‘hello Beryl’ and smiled. Her life lingers on.

Imagining a thrilling tomorrow makes for an exciting today

A few years ago I made a film about people with terminal illness. It was due to be a three part series for Channel 4 to be filmed over 6 months with people whose prognosis was about that length of time. It was a groundbreaking attempt to try and break down the taboo of death by exploring the science of the dying process, the care provided and people’s own personal stories. However things didn’t quite go according to plan. People didn’t die in 6 months. We spoke to a leading neuropsychoimmunologist who explained that when someone with terminal illness has something specific to look forward to they are often able to live for longer. In this case people were enjoying being filmed and felt it important to be able to tell their stories. We ended up filming for three years and the series increased to five parts, one of which was solely dedicated to what helped people live longer. When someone has a specific event to live for they are imagining it in their minds. They are picturing what the day will be like and seeing themselves being there. They can actually feel what it will be like and it feels good. That sends positive signals to the brain, gives a boost to their immune system and to their sense of well-being. In this way they greatly increase their chance of seeing that day happen in reality. Many more people die after big events in their lives, a birthday, a birth, a wedding. There is an increase in the amount of deaths after New Year’s Day. But let’s not wait until we are dying to make use of our ability to imagine the future and then make it really happen. We can do it every morning when we wake up. It can be anything- you have an important meeting at 5pm. Imagine yourself there, picture yourself being dynamic, attractive in your vitality and enthusiasm, and then visualise the outcome being exactly how you wish it to be: you get the finance for your project, you get the job, you nail the deal, you are offered the opportunity you were after. When you are a practiced imaginator there will be a spring in your step as you make your way through the day, because your head is filled with the best outcome imaginable. Or, you could not do that. You could wake up worried, anxious; later you will be nervous about going into the meeting and fearful that it will all go wrong. With that approach in your mind it probably will! No matter what preparation you have done if you don’t imagine that you will be successful then you almost certainly won’t be. What will your day, week, year, life be like? The choice is yours. Exercising your imagination to create success is as important as keeping your body fit. It makes the difference between a grey life and a vibrant, colourful, magnificent and fulfilling one. Dream on!

There is victory to be found in giving support to someone else's dreams

It is a cold drizzly afternoon at Falmouth Football Club and a tired looking stadium with a sprinkling of supporters stands on one side of the pitch, a corrugated hut on the other in which a bleak row of bedraggled away fans hunch up against the wind. When my boyfriend was a boy the club was in its glory days. His grandfather was the grounds man and he wore a suit to mow the grass into rows and to etch pin stripe white lines onto the pitch. As a twelve year old, my boyfriend would announce the players over a tanoy system. Today the electric wires hang in broken webs. I am not a football fan but I am here to support my boyfriend revisiting the memories of his grandfather and the club he loved. His dad is here with us too and together they reminisce on the club’s hey day at the top of the non-league. Squashed between them I pull my fake  fur leopard print coat around me and my hat down to my eyes. The grey rain drenches the players and soon the pitch is cut to ribbons; churned mud clods making treacle of the players’ progress. But they battle each other undaunted. Everyone in the crowd is wearing poppies and I can’t help wonder at men’s capacity to lay in to one another. Bodies pound into each other, knees smash, one player head butts another, another roars abuse at the referee. This is a ‘game’? I cannot fathom the instincts that drive this muscled furiousness. But I can feel the crowd’s excitement and there’s a powerful energy in being part of it. It’s an alien world but for 90 minutes I feel a sliver of what it must be like to be testosterone fuelled; the camaraderie, the team spirit, the thrill of trying to win. Falmouth score finally in the last minute and I rise with a cheer along with the rest of them. They have victory but so do I. I allowed myself to step outside of my comfort zone and to experience a sense of belonging. I also score a little success in my boyfriend’s heart as he squeezes me to him and thanks me for standing in the cold and the rain to be with him and his memories.