by Brian Sibley
donations) ‘AT LEAST HE HAD THE SATISFACTION OF KNOWING THAT HE HAD SAVED THE WORLD.’
‘Well that’s it!’ wrote Peter. ‘Can we do it? Yes, there is nothing there that I have not got figured out.’ However bizarre this application must read, its author sounded supremely confident and disarmingly candid:
‘I think I’ve summed the whole thing up fairly well. I’ve been honest and not tried to pretend we’re something we’re not. If you decide to support us you must realise that you’re dealing with amateur film-makers that do not fit into the standard guidelines and film production methods established in this country. I have not made any wild claims or boasts about the film’s prospects. Just how successful we have been…will be over to you to decide when you view the video.’
There was a ‘Last Word’, anticipating and answering any potential criticisms of Giles’ Big Day: ‘One subject I would like to touch upon is the question of “Is it culture?” Yes, it is. Cinema is an art form, and art is culture. I will get rather angry if people get on their high horse when this film comes out and moan about it not being a proper New Zealand Film, or that we “shouldn’t make these types of films here”. I’m a New Zealander and proud of it. I have every right to make whatever film I please and it is just as much a New Zealand Film as anyone else’s. If I like horror films then I’ll make horror films. If anyone objects then they should get off their bum and make their own film.’
‘I’ve just about typed myself dry…’ Peter concluded, but there was no doubting his conviction and commitment: ‘If you decide that you cannot support us the film will still be made. I will stay at work and continue to film in my spare time. I’ve committed far too much money to it, to back down now. The production of a feature film in your spare time is, as you can imagine, a mammoth undertaking especially while working full-time in another job that is also full of its own pressures and deadlines. I have said with pride many times that we’re making a movie “with no help from anyone,” but now the pressure is beginning to tell, and I’m worried that the quality of the film will suffer. And that would be the greatest pity of all.’
The six weeks Peter waited for a reply from the Film Commission must have seemed interminable. When it came it was disappointing. ‘We very much admire your enthusiasm, energy and dedication…’ wrote Jim Booth, ‘But (and it is a big “but”), we do not think that we can assist you financially with this project. In the end, neither the film as shot, or the effects, are up to the standard which would see the Commission obtain a return on its investment.’
Peter’s initial response seems to have been one of disillusionment. He wanted to know what, precisely, was wrong with the way in which the film had been shot – and was, not surprisingly, wounded by the slur on the quality of his precious special effects. Unable to bring himself to speak with Jim Booth in person – ‘He assumed the role of my nemesis and I was too scared to speak with him’ – Peter delegated Ken Hammon to make a telephone call to the Film Commission in order to get a more detailed critique. Three weeks later, Peter was ready to reply…
I realise now, looking back, that my stubbornness was evident even then, because I kept right on shooting my movie and bombarded Jim with another seven-page diatribe telling him how stupid the Film Commission were to have turned me down!
It was, actually, an eight-page diatribe! It began innocuously: ‘Thanks for your letter and the consideration that you obviously gave our proposal. As you can imagine, an air of disappointment was wafting about for a while, but it soon passed.’ Peter was also careful to keep open future lines of communication: ‘We are going to need plenty of help from the Film Commission in the next year, in terms of advice and information…’ (No mention, wisely, of money) ‘…so we would certainly like to keep you up to date with the project.’ Peter then added a defiant declaration of his intention to see the project through to completion: ‘After all, it will one day stand as a “New Zealand Feature”’.
Then the lecture began! Peter tackled Jim Booth’s reservations about the quality of the film. Giles’ Big Day, Peter said, was not intended to compete with Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon but with movies such as Fiend and Deadly Spawn: ‘Our sole aim…has been to produce an addition to the ever-growing range of zero-budget, schlock gore video tapes, proven video favourites worldwide… I’m not claiming our film to be the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I do think it will at least “stand out from the bunch”. It has pace that few of these films can match, good intelligent humour and the New Zealand locations give it a fresh look [that is] well away from American suburbia or log cabins.’
With every paragraph pounded out on the typewriter, Peter revealed his wide-ranging knowledge of cinema (his examples are of both Hollywood and New Zealand films) and his intimate understanding of a specific film genre that he clearly thought was unknown territory to Mr Booth of the Film Commission:
‘A film like Kramer vs. Kramer or Smash Palace must perform on many levels to succeed. The script must be excellent, the acting of a very high standard, the photography and sound completely professional. The stern gaze of the critics and public are on the film. If the acting is poor, or the direction sloppy, the whole thing falls apart and the film becomes a bit of a joke. With our type of horror gore film none of this really matters because the film is already a joke. Nobody takes them seriously, nor are they meant to. When I make this film, I’m saying to the audience: “Look, you know this is rubbish, and I know this is rubbish, so let’s just unhook our brains and enjoy ourselves. ” Of course, there are people who don’t see it like that, and they are either the people who hate horror films, or the critics who put the most pretentious or Freudian meanings to every scene…’
There followed a further two pages of close argument, drawing parallels with such movies as Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead, George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead and other films that had proved to be ‘just as welcome in “art-house’ cinemas as in any video shop, showing that “sleazy gore films” can achieve a certain critical respect as well.’ To which comment he added, as a bracketed throw-way: ‘(Not that it really concerns me.)’
In Jim Booth’s letter, the Film Commission’s Executive Director had sought to explain how the Commission worked: ‘We operate in a manner similar to a merchant bank and we have to be as confident as possible that our funds have a chance of being recouped from the sale of the finished product…’
It was something that, by page six, Peter was ready to tackle head-on: ‘This business about the Commission being in it for the money. Frankly this came as a surprise to me, considering some of the films that you have been associated with in the past. I realise that things are pretty grim in the film industry at the moment, with government support for the Commission slipping away. I guess that you are faced with the prospect of largely supporting yourselves from investment returns etc., so I can understand your caution…’ Peter was, he now readily admits, an angry young man:
Using my parent’s typewriter on the kitchen table, I’d be sitting there, late into the night, writing these interminable letters, exacting my anger on the Film Commission for turning me down!
The letter continued: ‘We were not asking for, nor did we expect, charity…I really hope that in the future there will come a time when there is enough money to spare to give enthusiastic young film-makers a go, without the burden of expecting an immediate financial return.’
‘I certainly feel better,’ Peter confessed ‘having got all that off my chest!’ having done so, he felt free to adopt a slightly more conciliatory tone:
‘Reading back over what I have written, there are a couple of comments I think I should make. I’ve felt very awkward writing this, since there’s a danger of becoming precious, of sounding like a pupil lecturing the teacher. However, after spending every day for two years with this film constantly on my mind, not to mention the back-breaking work spent on it, I’m sure you will understand my determination to def
end it where I think such defence is justified. You may not agree with the points I have made, but I hope it has given you a much better idea of exactly what we are aiming for. I have tried to make my comments as well balanced and constructive as possible.
‘The other point I want to make is that this is neither a “sour grapes” letter, nor a “Please Mr Booth, give us another chance” letter. I hope it has not given that impression. I’m a person that believes that everything happens for the best and the fact that we are on our own could well be advantageous for both us and the film…As things have worked out, I now have complete freedom to film what I want, with my own money, happy in the knowledge that I don’t have to put up with a lot of moans about “public money being spent on such shocking trash”.
‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘there will be complaints when the film comes out, but they can only help the box-office, since the horror film regarded as “notorious” are usually the more successful ones.’ Think of all that money you are passing up, he seems to be saying and then disarmingly adds, ‘There may have been a fair amount of flak coming the way of the Commission too, so it lets us both off the hook.’
Peter’s concluding remark betrays a dogged – almost defiant – belief in self-determining success: ‘I hope this letter has cleared up any misconceptions that you may have had about what we are trying to achieve…If you hear or read anything about us in the next year or so, then at least you will know what it’s all about.’
Jim Booth took ten days to reply and when he did it was, on the face of it, not particularly encouraging: he heard, though didn’t necessarily accept, the parallels with such films as The Evil Dead or The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and stood by his belief that the quality of what he had so far seen was simply not good enough, particularly in view of what he believed were increasing demands in the video market for ‘higher standards’.
Before signing off, however, Jim Booth offered the chance to reappraise the project with a non-committal suggestion that some future assistance might be forthcoming: ‘I am sure you are right when you say that the go-it-alone principle will be beneficial to achieving your aims and if we can look at the film when you have completed it to its full gory glory we can see whether we could help at post production stage.’
Reading this correspondence with hindsight, it is impossible to overlook a specific argument offered by Peter and responded to by Jim. ‘Something worth mentioning,’ Peter had written, ‘is the status that some films have as “cult films”. A cult film, particularly a cheap one, often becomes a huge financial success due to the repeat viewings from a group of hard-core fans. While I would be reluctant to make any such claims about Giles being “cult material”, I think it contains many of the elements of the cult film, and it stands up well to repeat viewings. Only time will tell…’
‘I’m afraid we often get the argument about “cult films”,’ replied Jim, ‘but they are in fact the very rare exception – the ones that get some kind of lucky break.’
He didn’t know it yet, but he was the very person destined to give Peter Jackson and his would-be ‘cult-film’ just such a lucky break – but not quite yet…
Signing off his letter, Jim Booth wrote, ‘No doubt we will be hearing from you at a later date.’ When he did hear, four months later in July 1985, it was in another lengthy letter (six pages this time) recounting the most extraordinary tangled tale: ‘As I promised last time,’
Peter began, ‘a further update on the progress we are making with our rather tasteless, low-budget 16mm feature…’
Peter Jackson was, without doubt, a born storyteller with a thriller-writer’s understanding of the power of suspense! ‘Just before I get into my stride,’ he went on, ‘ an apology for the overpowering typing…’ Indeed, unlike his previous epistles – in which the typing had a feint, almost ghostly, quality – the present letter was so inky that every ‘a’ and ‘e’ was no more than a blob! He duly explained, ‘New ribbon! (I think I might have got the wrong sort.)’
Only then did he take up his story:
‘Hopefully you can recall the basic plans we had and the video that you saw containing the first hour for our movie, Giles’ Big Day. If you can’t, don’t worry since you may as well forget it anyway. In the last three or four months the whole thing has gone through a complete facelift, leaving the version you saw rather outdated. Before I detail the changes, I’ll briefly explain why it happened…’
It transpired that Peter had arranged to take two weeks leave from work in April, the month after receiving the Film Commission’s refusal of his grant application, in order to build the considerable number of models and props required for the final part of the film. ‘We mapped out a shooting schedule so I’d know what to make first and if I remember right we had hoped to have completed filming…around about now. However, it was not to be.’
On the Sunday before Peter was due to begin his leave, he had planned to take a location-recce with Ken Hammon and Craig Smith in order to block out the scenes. As Peter explained to Jim Booth, they never got around to making their trip…
‘Craig broke the news that he wasn’t very happy with the amount of gore in the film and could we please tone it down. On further discussion it became clear that it wasn’t exactly toning down he wanted, but the removal of all violence and gore! As you can imagine…this was a bit like saying, “You can film Ben-Hur so long as you don’t have
Craig’s departure from Bad Taste. He allowed himself to be ‘written out’ in a gory way. At the time, I just shot some random footage, having no idea how I would end up using it and how it would shape the finished movie. It was a big problem.
anyone wearing a toga!” Without the “good bits” we’d have a real turkey on our hands.’
The personal circumstances that had led Craig to this decision were less sudden than it must have seemed on that Sunday morning when he delivered his ultimatum. ‘At the time,’ says Craig, ‘it seemed like the right thing to do. I had serious health problems: I was hooked on prescription drugs, was drinking heavily and was pretty much f***** in the brain. After several months of some of the worst experiences, I became involved with some devout Pentecostalists who, as they saw it, were trying to drag me over to the light. Frankly, I was at war within myself and my involvement with the film came to seem like another of those things that I needed to change…’
To Peter, the announcement was little short of devastating:
This turn of events was a real bombshell to me. As I sunk back in my chair all I could see was eight grand, in used twenties, floating down in front of my eyes. My next fairly coherent thought was “Thank God we didn’t get the Film Commission grant”. We would have been in a very awkward position.
Peter and Ken attempted to ‘reason’ with Craig – ‘the discussion was full of deep and meaningful theology and the whole thing should have been broadcast on Credo’ – but it was to no avail. Eventually, they reached an understanding:
I explained to him that we had a bunch of really nasty aliens on our hands and they had to be disposed of somehow. What did he think would happen to religion if they were allowed to take over the world? He relented a bit and said that he would kill them on screen, so long as they were only shot. Pointy things like axes, knives and bayonets were a no-no, and chainsaws were Right Out! I tried to make him see that more gory methods of killing off the alien baddies gave us far more scope for humour, thereby making a joke of the film. Shooting them was dull and in many respects more cold-blooded. However, he was quite adamant.
In the end, it simply came down to a situation where an actor was trying to control what a writer/director does with his film. Even to a photoengraver like myself, that was pretty hard to take. However noble his motives may have been, I wasn’t going to allow him to censor what I wanted to do.
Recalling what was a difficult time, Craig Smith (for whom religion would later prove ‘a phase’ which he ‘got over’), says of Peter’s attitude: ‘I was, at the time quite sincere
about my moral stand – on one occasion, I’d even dragged Ken along to a revival meeting out of serious concerns for his immortal soul! I honestly believe that Peter tried to understand where I was coming from and, remarkably in view of what had happened, remained a friend despite having left him with a serious headache.’ As Peter put it at the time: ‘I always have respect for other people’s beliefs, no matter what they are, so I couldn’t get too angry with Craig.’
In passing, Peter hinted that the blame for Craig’s decision might have been laid at the door of the Film Commission! ‘I think he took the rejection of our grant application a little harder than the rest of us,’ Peter told Jim. ‘The idea of another year or so of filming on a rejected movie must have been a little depressing for him and he may have opted for the easy way out. I don’t altogether blame him. At times I wish I had an easy way out as well! Still, whatever his motives, one thing was sure: he had a rotten sense of timing.’
Peter finally agreed to write Craig out of the film and Craig agreed to shoot for a couple more days in order to make sense of the plot changes – although, at that moment the director had to confess, he ‘didn’t even know what the plot of my own film now was!’ Worst of all was the frustration of ‘blowing two weeks leave just sitting around the house thinking.’ After all, as he wryly pointed out: ‘That was something that I could have done just as well at work or on the train!’
After taking several long walks over the hills above Pukerua Bay, ‘trying to get inspiration from somewhere’, Peter finally had it ‘all sorted out’. Giles would be killed during the escape from Gear Homestead and the S.A.S. men who had previously turned out to be aliens would no longer be either S.A.S. or aliens, but ‘a special task force set up to monitor and react to any U.F.O. activities’.