The Otherwise

by Mark E Smith

  The first gig is at Manchester's Royal Exchange Theatre. I used to come here as a schoolboy on trips with our drama teacher Mrs Grimshaw. It was the first place I ever saw live theatre. When I was 15, I witnessed a production of T.S. Eliot's The Family Reunion here, starring Avril Elgar and Edward Fox, complete with white noise scoring and towering eight-foot high ghosts in bright white gowns. It blew me away and remains the most frightening theatrical experience I've ever had.

  Although going on stage to support The Fall probably runs it a close second. Rock music and stand-up/spoken word are an uneasy alliance at best. A rock audience expects to be able to talk throughout the show, and that can make for a tough gig. Another factor at play at the Royal Exchange is that this is theatre in the round. When you're performing, the audience is all around you. Henry Normal, the performance poet, renaissance man and top notch bloke, once remarked that performing in the round always makes him paranoid – because he can hear people laughing behind his back.

  It's a weird experience sure enough. When Malcolm and I start our set, the theatre is only a third full. It fills up gradually, but it's hard to engage an audience when the majority of them are finding their seats. In the end we more or less pull it off. We get some game audience members up and the questions provoke a mixture of stares and laughter. It's a very incongruous event, but most importantly of all, Malcolm and I can now say we have supported The Fall. The 14-year-old me ascends to some higher chamber of bliss.

  Our second support gig is at The Laugh Inn in Chester on November 28th. This is the group's last show of the year and the set includes The Fall's interpretation of the 1948 country and western song ‘Blue Christmas’, made famous by Elvis Presley. It seems an unlikely inclusion amongst the group's abrasive garage rock. Yet there is nothing ironic about the performance, with Mark delivering the lyric with mournful sincerity.

  The following year, The Fall release a limited edition 7” single for Record Store Day. It comprises ‘Victrola Time’ and a live version of ‘Taking Off’. The sleeve features an image of Mark and Elena taken at the Manchester Royal Exchange gig. The release has been given the title Night of the Humerons. I ask Mark if the title is a nod to Malcolm and my contribution to the evening. Mark chuckles.

  “What do you think?”

  I am flattered beyond measure.

  In late 2013, Mark and I decide to take another look at the material we amassed for The Inexplicable, and explore the possibility of combining elements from a couple of the stories into a film script. Over the next year, there are more meetings in pubs, bars and hotel rooms. Mark sends me more brown A4 envelopes through the post. The contents are a mixture of scenes of dialogue written in Mark's distinctive yet indistinct scrawl, along with notes for future scenes. I mention my reservations about the title. Mark agrees and we settle on The Otherwise. I'm pleased to note this still sounds like the title of a Fall LP I should already own.

  A few weeks later, I spend five days working away in Bath, directing rehearsals for the forthcoming Count Arthur Strong live tour. Rehearsals tend to wrap around 5pm, so in the evenings I give myself a project. I'm going to finish off the script for The Otherwise.

  As I arrange the material on my hotel bed, it hits me that over half of it is already done. We've mapped out the whole narrative. I have several scenes on my laptop that we've written together, plus a pile of handwritten scenes from Mark, my notebook and recordings of our brainstorming sessions. I spend five evenings typing away, as I listen to The Fall's most recent LP Re-Mit. By the end of the week, the first draft is complete.

  When I get home I print it out and post it to Mark, accompanied by a letter, the main gist of which is ‘everything is still up for grabs.’

  I don't hear anything back from him for nearly two weeks. I suspect he hates it. Then one afternoon he calls me up. He's in good spirits, chatty and convivial. He asks after my 25-year-old son Misha – whom he knows from accompanying me backstage at Fall gigs. Mark has always been welcoming and inclusive and after the last Fall gig he gifted Misha a bottle of whisky as we left.

  Mark asks me what I've been up to. I tell him I've just got back from sitting in on the first week of the Count Arthur Strong UK tour. Then I can't contain myself any longer and ask if he's had a chance to read the script. He clears his throat.

  “Yeah I did yeah. I read it twice. It's very good actually. But we should make it a lot weirder, y’know what I'm saying?”

  I know what he's saying. A month later, we do another couple of days on the script, working together in a room at the Midland Hotel in Manchester. Mark isn't above laughing at his own myth. He sits, smoking by the open window of the non-smoking room.

  “In the recording studio we could look through my eyes, like fuckin’ Terminator. Lookin’ at the group, with data coming up: working out if I should fire ’em or not.”

  We burst out laughing, but in the end we decide against including it in the script. It feels like too much of a perception from the outside world – and we're trying to create our own world. When I get back to Brighton I print off the second draft and post it to Mark. We decide it's ready.

  Perhaps inevitably, we encounter the same kinds of response as we did with the TV pitches. Mark's reputation for difficult and contrary behaviour seems to make companies nervous of committing to a project that would involve him both on screen and behind it. One film executive snootily informs me,

  “Like everybody, I saw the interview he did when John Peel died. I didn't think it was very respectful, did you?”

  “No, not really,” I agree. “But I have to say, I think Peel would have been utterly delighted.”

  The other thing we seem to be hearing a lot is: “It's a bit too weird”. And there was I thinking we'd got the weirdness level just right. These rejections are frustrating, but I don't take it to heart. I'm well aware there are a number of wonderful films whose scripts spent a decade or more kicking around offices, before being picked up. I tell Mark I think this might end up being one of those.

  We continue to chat on the phone, we meet up for drinks whenever I'm in Manchester and I still see The Fall as often as I can. Then one day Mark phones up. After a short preamble, he informs me he's been diagnosed with lung cancer.

  “Quite disappointing actually.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Some of the scenes in the script are based on real events from Mark's life. The sequence where he and Jeff go to score weed at Nicholls's house was inspired by a story Mark told. As a young man he and a mate had gone to score some hash from a guy they'd never met before. He turned out to be a city councillor, who apparently answered the door stark naked. Upon inviting Mark and his mate inside, he proceeded to try and seduce them into some kind of swingers scenario with his middle-aged friends.

  As Mark remarked: “Soon as we'd scored the hash we couldn't fuck off quick enough!”

  Perhaps surprisingly, mayors and dignitaries minus trousers or underwear were a recurring feature of a number of Mark's stories from the 1970s – almost as if an element of the Brian Rix farces of that era had permeated his life. Naturally it felt right to include some of that in the script.

  Mark was also fascinated by the Jacobite rebellion, and how a Jacobite victory could have led to the overthrow of the British Royal family, and changed the course of history. So the ghosts of Jacobite soldiers and their disruptive energies found their way into the story too.

  The sequence where Mark encounters the ghosts was inspired by real life instances he recounted of visions of ancient spectral presences. He told me that the first time he visited the Haçienda nightclub he had visions of Victorian poorhouse children in chains. He claimed to have intermittently had visions and pre-cognitive experiences throughout his life. Again this felt like it easily earned its place in the narrative.

  Once the character of Mary the folk singer came up, I started looking around for a song connected to the Jacobites. I found it in the old folk song ‘Lo The Bird Has Fallen’, which recounts the bat
tle of Preston of 1715, when Jacobites and government forces clashed in the city streets and numerous buildings were burnt down. The fact the word Fallen appeared in the song's title made it all the more resonant, and so the lyrics were included within the script. Had the film gone into production, Mark had planned for The Fall to record some new songs and instrumentals for the soundtrack. A shame indeed, this didn't come to pass.

  Oddly, a month or so after Mark died, during a phone call with Elena, she mentioned that they had previously written a film script together, entitled The World Age 4. She told me it was about animals taking over society. Initially it struck me as odd, that in all the time we'd spent working and talking together, Mark had never once mentioned this to me. Then I realised why. Mark knew that if he had referred to it, I would have been keen to read it and consider the possibilities of doing something with it. But that would be looking back. What Mark wanted to do, as ever, was to move forward and to create something fresh.

  Although it was never made into a film, I'm still very proud of The Otherwise and all the work that went into it. As a script it may well be weird. But I honestly don't think it's “too weird”. The irony is we always said that once we got the project into production there would be the opportunity to use editing and the visual language of film to take the material into much more abstracted territory – to essentially make it weirder.

  Collaborating with Mark was a unique and thrilling experience. We were obviously very different people and I'm sure on occasion he found me too fussy, and I admit, his desire to keep everything in flux could be challenging. But he was a playful, generous and exhilarating creative partner.

  Having been inspired by his imaginings since the age of 14, it was an honour and a solid hoot to be able to sit and dream up ideas together. If I were able to say one last thing to Mark, it would be “Cheers cock.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THE

  OTHERWISE

  An original feature film

  THE

  OTHERWISE

  An Original Feature Film

  Written by

  MARK E. SMITH & GRAHAM DUFF

  2nd Draft

  April 23rd 2015

  EXT. – PENDLE HILL – NIGHT

  Initially the screen is completely black. Then white text appears, a line at a time:

  “Its truth was amazing.

  O Joy! Solaris-like!

  White and translucent foams.

  It squirmed unfettered.

  Energized in wondrous coil.”

  — Ian MacFisk. With the Jacobite Army in Lancashire 1746.

  As the text fades, we fade in on a WIDE SHOT of Pendle Hill, lit by a full moon. We hear the sound of a car engine.

  A grubby white Honda Accord drives up the roadway.

  CUT TO:

  INT. – BEV’S CAR – NIGHT

  BEV is driving. JEFF has the map open. JEFF (38) is handsome but slightly scrawny, unshaven and unsure of himself. BEV (33) is attractive, smart and fairly confident. But right now, BEV is irritated with JEFF. JEFF turns the map around.

  BEV

  Don't turn the map around. That doesn't help.

  JEFF

  It helps me. It helps me orientate myself.

  BEV

  So if you're oriented, how come we're lost?

  JEFF

  Hang on, hang on.

  BEV

  Use your mobile.

  JEFF lifts his mobile. C.U. on the screen. Their position is a pulsing blue dot on a completely empty grid.

  JEFF

  It's still not loading.

  BEV

  For Christ's sake.

  JEFF

  I'm doing my best! You know I'm shit at map reading.

  The increasingly irritated BEV drives the car into a stopping place.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. – HILLSIDE – NIGHT

  The car pulls into the stopping place by a gate.

  CUT TO:

  INT. – BEV’S CAR – NIGHT

  BEV takes the map and the mobile from JEFF.

  BEV

  Right, let me see if I can calmly and quietly sort this out.

  JEFF

  I think I'll stretch me legs.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. – HILLSIDE – NIGHT

  JEFF gets out of the car, clambers over the gate, moves behind the wall and unzips his fly. He stands pissing as he surveys the landscape. He glances down at the ground.

  C.U. on the muddy earth as the piss hits it. We see something glinting in the moonlight.

  JEFF finishes pissing, crouches down and looks at the mud. C.U. on two silver coins.

  JEFF picks them up and stands.

  CUT TO UNKNOWN POV: Somebody is watching JEFF from behind some bushes about eight feet away.

  JEFF takes out his mobile and uses its light to illuminate the coins in his palm.

  E.C.U. on the ancient coins, on the heads side there are two faces.

  CUT TO UNKNOWN POV: JEFF is still being watched, but now from only a few feet away. We can tell JEFF is in danger.

  Suddenly we hear a loud motorbike approaching at speed. A moment later a BIKER roars past, his headlight momentarily illuminating JEFF and the nearby car. In an instant it's gone, the sound of the engine fading. JEFF pockets the coins, belatedly glancing behind him. There's no one there. JEFF clambers over the gate.

  CUT TO:

  INT. – BEV’S CAR – NIGHT

  BEV is calmly massaging her temples. The passenger door opens and JEFF climbs back in the car. He gives BEV an uncertain smile. She returns a conciliatory smile.

  BEV

  It's okay. I'm not still angry.

    (passes the map)

  We're actually not far from your sister's place. I've marked the route in pencil.

  JEFF looks at the route on the map.

  JEFF

  This looks idiot proof.

  BEV

    (pecks his cheek)

  Let's find out shall we?

  JEFF

  Look what I found.

    (passes her the coins)

  I think they're Roman.

  BEV examines the coins closely and shakes her head.

  BEV

  No.

  JEFF

  How can you be sure?

  BEV

    (chuckles)

  They're dated 1693. The Romans were long gone by then.

  JEFF

    (points to heads)

  Those two look Roman.

  BEV

  1693. That's William and Mary. You been digging?

  JEFF

  They were just lying on the ground in the field.

  BEV

  What, on the surface? Probably fakes then.

  JEFF

  We'll see. Let's get them valued. Put ‘em in your purse.

  BEV

    (sniffs the coins)

  Why do they smell of piss?

  JEFF shrugs.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. – HILLSIDE – NIGHT

  The Honda Accord pulls out onto the empty road and drives away.

  PULL BACK TO REVEAL: Two men are watching the car. They are Scottish Jacobites. The first: IAN MACFISK is a young, thoughtful, skinny man. He wears a dark tartan kilt and tam o’ shanter and an animal skin jerkin. The second man is ALUN MACREEDY. He's bigger and more ox-like. Not stupid but far from sophisticated. He wears a long coat and a tam o’ shanter.

  DISSOLVE TO:

  EXT. – CLARE’S FARMHOUSE – NIGHT

  A large farmhouse, with surrounding outhouses and a big converted cattle shed clustered around a large yard.

  A sign reads “Otherwise Recording Studio”.

  The white Honda Accord comes up the road, turns up the drive.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. – YARD – CONTINUOUS

  The car parks outside the farmhouse. A moment later, JEFF and BEV climb out. BEV admires the layout.

  BEV

  Nice.

  The farmhouse door
opens and CLARE steps out. She's 35 and pretty, but disguises this by dressing in very practical clothes and glasses. She's really pleased to see them.

  CLARE

  Hi!

  CLARE and BEV hug.

  CLARE (CONT’D)

  Ooh so good to see you.

  BEV

  And you. Thanks for having us to stay.

  CLARE and JEFF hug.

  CLARE

  Hi ya.

  JEFF

  You look very healthy and relaxed.

  CLARE

  Oh good. Well, join me.

  CLARE tries to open their car boot, but it won't budge.

  JEFF

  There's a knack to it.

  JEFF has a fiddle with the lock, but it still won't budge.

  BEV

  And unfortunately, you don't have it.

  BEV fiddles with the lock and suddenly the boot pops open. At that moment, several things spill out, including a spade which lands heavily on CLARE's Doc Marten cladded foot.

  CLARE

  Ow!