Archive for the ‘script’ Category

Script online

Monday, 21 December 2009

“In the story of my life, I’m the star. My phone is my hero. My camera my best friend.”

Lyrics found in a magazine, commercial add, very suitable for the Media Me Choir.

Score: Barbara Okma.

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New. News. NPOX.

Monday, 16 November 2009

New scenes waiting for publication. Soon.

New deadline Mediafonds: 15 december. Script for soundtrack.

News: Monday November 16, during a work in progress session at the NPOX festival, I will talk about the process so far. Studio Beng 13.30-14.00. Beeld en Geluid, Hilversum.

Hier enkele punten en steekwoorden ter voorbereiding op dit log. Maximum spreektijd een half uur, inclusief vragen. Akbar Simonse en Marco Habanero zullen ook aanwezig zijn.

– Precies een jaar geleden tijdens het NPOX festival ben ik door een jury uitgeroepen tot de verpersoonlijking van een nieuwe manier van werken bij de publieke omroep.
(…) “Dat zijn projecten zelf het hedendaagse mediagebruik tot onderwerp hebben, verleent zijn activiteiten een grote urgentie voor zowel het publiek als zijn collega’s bij de Publieke Omroep.”

Een jaar later. Wat is er allemaal gebeurd? Nog steeds een verpersoonlijking? Nog steeds urgent?

Media Me pool op Flickr groeit. Kloppend hart van het project. Doel project: de Digitale Revolutie dramatiseren op een poëtische en reflectieve manier. Groep administratoren groeide tot 17. Aantal leden boven de 500.

– Een website werd ontwikkelend met steun van ontwikkelingssubsidie eCulture, Mediafonds. Een site waarop gebruikers materiaal konden uploaden en mixen tot een scène, die tezamen een film zouden vormen over De Digitale Revolutie.
Lang, intens, complex proces. Ondertussen vond meeste activiteit op social platforms plaats: Flickr, Facebook, YouTube, Twitter en dit werklog. Urgente vraag: Waarom een nieuwe website bouwen? Waarom niet bestaande websites gebruiken? “Daar zijn waar je publiek is.”

– Veel congressen, festivals etc bezocht. Vaak hetzelfde verhaal gehoord: Luisteren naar publiek. Publiek centraal stellen. Publiek mee laten doen. Etc. Kras in de plaat. Vraag: hoe? Antwoord: doen! (Theorie vs praktijk.)

– Ontwikkelingen bijgehouden op dit werklog.

– Nieuwe koers: ver-per-soonlijken van het onderwerp, de Digitale Revolutie.
Akbar Simonse twee maanden gevolgd en gefilmd. Korte stille scènes online gezet. YouTube en werklog. Portret van een man met zijn computer en zijn camera. (All comments can be used.)

– Nav het verzamelde beeldmateriaal een radioscript schrijven (online publiceren). Audio first. Sounddesign: Arno Peeters. Muziek: Barbara Okma. Daarna beelden monteren. (Werkwijze Flick Radio.)

– Ondertussen Media Me twitterzinnen faven. Materiaal voor script en koor.

– Dramatiseren: Dialoog. Verhaal. Onderwerp terugbrengen tot twee (drie) personen. Akbar Simonse medialiseren, ster maken, inzoomen. Werken zonder script.

– Photoshoot met Marco Habanero. Akbar Simonse in verschillende “versies”. (Kalender.)

– Favoriete quote: “Iedereen kent het moment waarop het internet je grijpt, waarop het je dag, je week of misschien zelfs je leven bepaalt, waarop het internet een ervaring wordt.” Vraag: Hoe kan je zo’n ervaring creëren? Hoe kan oude media nieuwe media interessanter, leuker en mooier maken? Hoe kan je je publiek raken, betrekken? Hoe kan je er een verhaal van maken?

About A and B

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

photo from the Media Me pool: Robert in Toronto.

Next to the voice of Pictureman there are two other voices talking.
I call them A and B.
They’re like commenters, sitting in an editroom, surrounded by lots of machines.

I wrote this ten days ago on this workblog.
In ten days anonymous voices can become true characters. As long as you keep on writing, they become persons. Invisible, but still.

Today A stands for Andy, a young men who’s lying in bed. Tired, not ill.
He likes to be on the sideline of things. An observer, a curious lurker‘.
Andy is in a constant dialogue with B, who started talking like a Machine more and more over the last week.
That’s why B’s official name is now: Machine.

Machine has the voice of a young woman. Warm, gentle and emphatic, but also very demanding and straightforward.
She’s in charge of the conversation. She knows everything and sets the rules. A superdirector.
The dialogue between Andy and Machine sounds like a telephone conversation in the middle of the night.
(Note: They’re not in the same room anymore.)

Machine has her own manners.
She invites Andy into the world of Media Me and introduces him to Pictureman in nine steps.
“You’re my model”, she says to the old man.
Andy comments: “I don’t think I’m ready for this. What are you doing? Who is he?”
Pictureman is in between the two of them, just being himself. The official narrator.

Preview of the first pages of the audioscript can be found here: at Imagine me, where it starts.

Pictureman is alive

Sunday, 18 October 2009

Akbar Simonse.

We sat in quiet restaurant, near the Central Station in Amsterdam.
Coffee and sandwiches with chicken, bacon and mayonaise.
Very unhealthy but tasteful.
He’s on a diet.
After the photoshoot with Marco Habanero he stopped smoking, just like that.
He rides his bike now every day for two hours.
His doctor told him he had to make drastic changes in his eating, drinking and smoking habits, otherwise things could go bad.
I mean really bad.
That would have made Media Media interesting, he laughed. Very dramatic: A dead narrator.
Yes, I said, the project would become historically interesting immediately.
I prefer Pictureman alive, he said.
Me too, I said.
But it would be interesting, right?
Of course, I said.
We talked about accounts of dead people. Very weird. Digital cemeteries. What happens with your digital life when you’re dead? Does someone else takes it over?
We’re all creating our own personal paradise online. Who wants to live in hell? Todays uploads are tomorrows archives.

I needed more stories for the script, so we talked about his experiences on Flickr, his on and offline friends, religion, youth, concerns about the future, ideals, poetry, miracles and memories.
Everything you say can be used, I said.
I know, he said, you’re collecting material.

After our meeting I made a first rough sequence of the videoclips so far.
They are listed now in the category: Nine Scenes, 1 t/m 9.
New text fragments will appear under these clips.
Comments can be used.

Testimonials

Tuesday, 13 October 2009


Akbar Simonse. Photo: Bas Bogers.

For the script I’m collecting testimonials for Pictureman. Testimonials are nice remarks and compliments about a person. Like recommendations. In a testimonial you can read what other people think of you and appreciate. You’re characterized by others in a way. Perceptions.
These I found on Akbars profile. Very suitable.

His work is a serious empirical study of our decade.

Day by day he surprises his virtual community with his wonderful, strange, sad and humorous shots.

A real artist, because he does his work obsessive and without the pursuit of profit.

Just knowing, that he has to do what has to be done.

He is a remarkable person. Very gentle.

Watching his endless stream of pictures gives a wonderful image of this modern hectic world.

He has the gift to ‘see’ with his camera what we see through our eyes.

His pictures are real life stories, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always honest.

If I look at his pictures I always get the same feeling: it looks like I’m really there and see what he sees.

He is truly the Father of Digital Photography. Ancient records show; he purchased his first digital camera in 1902, while traveling from Malta, herding wild camels. The Russians were trying to deport him for Multi-tasking, he was chewing gum and smoking at the same time.

Maurits Burgers wrote this testimonial for Pictureman:

Pictureman is the anonymous nominal personification of everybody’s visual internet, the omniverse of photo collections worldwide. He is the non-hero. Everyman.

More testimonials for Pictureman are welcome.

[update] Check Bas Bogers website, including text en video by Maurits Burgers.

Translator

Saturday, 10 October 2009

I’ve put the sentence ‘You’re in my story’ into the Google translator.
Here are the results. If you notice a mistake, please report.
(Can be used both as graphic and voice.)

Ju jeni në historinë time (Albanees.)
كنت في قصتي (Arabiers.)
Вие сте в моята история (Bulgaars.)
Ets en la meva història (Catalaans.)
你是我的故事 (Chinees, traditioneel.)
Du är i min historia (Deens.)
Sie sind in meiner Geschichte (Duits.)
Teil on minu lugu (Ests.)
Olet minun tarinani (Fins.)
Vous êtes dans mon histoire (Frans.)
Está na miña historia (Gallicisch.)
είστε στην ιστορία μου (Grieks.)
יש לך את הסיפור שלי (Hebreeuws.)
तुम मेरी कहानी में हैं (Hindoestaans.)
Ön az én történetem (Hongaars.)
Anda dalam cerita (Indonesisch.)
Sei nella mia storia (Italiaans.)
あなたが私の話をしている (Japans.)
당신이 내 이야기에있습니다 (Koreaans.)
Vi ste u mojoj priči (Kroatisch.)
Jums ir mans stāsts (Lets.)
Jūs esate mano istorija (Litouws.)
inti fil-istorja tiegħi (Maltanees.)
Du er i min historie (Noors.)
Ви в моїй історії (Oekraiens.)
Jesteś moją historią (Pools.)
Você está na minha história (Portugees.)
Vă aflaţi în povestea mea (Roemeens.)
Вы в моей истории (Russisch.)
ви сте у мојој причи (Servisch.)
Nachádzate sa v mojom príbehu (Slovaaks.)
Ste v mojo zgodbo (Sloveens.)
Usted está en mi historia (Spaans.)
Ikaw ay sa aking mga kuwento (Tagalog.)
คุณอยู่ในเรื่องราวของฉัน (Thais)
Nacházíte se v mém příběhu (Tjechisch.)
Benim hikaye bulunmaktadır (Turks.)
bạn đang ở trong câu chuyện của tôi (Vietnamees.)
Du är min historia (Zweeds.)

Windows became eyes

Saturday, 10 October 2009

photo: Akbar Simonse.

Pictureman says:

Look closer.
Each photo tells a story.
First there were buildings.
I started taking pictures of buildings.
Then, after a while, I moved slowly from buildings to persons.
From stones to bodies.
From walls to skin.
I went inside.
Opened the doors.
Windows became eyes.

So, this is my town. My country.
This is where I live.
In persons.

Next week Akbar and I will meet in Amsterdam.
I need more information about him. Stories I can use.
Could he be the “owner” of the Media Me pool on Flickr, in the script?

The textdocument on my desktop is getting shape, in a chaotic way.
Chaos comes with the subject: The digital revolution.
Next to the voice of Pictureman there are two other voices talking.
I call them A and B.
They’re like commenters, sitting in an editroom, surrounded by lots of machines.

(…)

A: This is not about him, is it?

B: No, he’s just the narrator, a collecter.

A: Ah. I see. Can he hear us?

B: Shhhh.

Pictureman says

Friday, 25 September 2009

Camera and edit: Matthijs Treurniet.

Texts for voice-over Pictureman, based on an interview with Akbar Simonse.

Sometimes I feel lonely.
But not when I’m behind my computer.
A picture can be company, you know.

Writing comments.
Being social.
Making connections.
I know them.
I’ve met them.
They know me.
So that’s it.
When I freez, I socialize.

I like documentaries.
And… the Simpsons.
But that’s personal.
I almost never look at movies.
I hate dramaseries and soaps, I don’t care.
I don’t understand.
Games and shows are not for me.
Don’t even talk about it.
I just don’t understand that kind of fun.
I never watch television on my computer.
I need a big screen.
My eyes are getting tired very often.

I’m a very tolerant person.
The only thing I hate are intolerant people.
It would be a nightmare for me, if my pictures would be used for something I can not identify with.
Identification is important.
I love my pictures.
I love people.

I love to learn.
But I hate manuals.
I never read them.
When I bought my camera, I read the first twenty pages.
Then I stopped.
I thought: when I need something, I’ll look it up.

When something goes wrong with my computer, I call someone to help me.
Technique has to be easy.
Technique should make me feel comfortable.
Most of the time it makes me feel stupid.
I don’t want to feel stupid.
It has to be simple.

Look at me.
Just an old man with a camera and a hat.
This is how I look, late at night.
This is me.
I never try to look like someone who isn’t me.
These are all parts of me.

Privacy doesn’t exist anymore nowadays.
Not in this society.
Don’t touch the internet, they say, for it will touch you.
But I don’t want to stay at home all the time.
Why should I?
The moment you walk the street, you lose part of your privacy.
There it starts.
I don’t care.

I have a mobile phone.
I call and sms.
That’s it.
Once I took a picture with my phone, but I don’t know where it is right now.
It’s gone.
I have my camera, so why should I take pictures with my phone?
Internet on my phone? I don’t think so.

I will become an old, maybe a bit worried man.
I’m not very enthousiastic about my own health.
My health bothers me.
Being alone bothers me.

How did it change me?
Did it change me?
It’s hard to say.
(Silence)
I have to think about that.
(Silence)
Well, I look things up.
If I want to know something, I look it up.
I’m in charge.

I read newspapers.
I watch the news.
But I never search for news on the internet.
I don’t have to know everything.
Most of the time it doesn’t interest me.
Maybe it will interest me in a few years.
I can wait.
I’m not in a hurry.
I don’t want to be informed about anything.
I just de-connect from information.
I’m glad I’m not a news addict.
I’m addicted to people.

I like comments.
Sometimes it becomes a story.
I upload a picture, give it a title, and people start to comment, just like that.
They start to interpret.
Sometimes they see things I didn’t see.
It makes me laugh.

Sometimes I love to be offline.
As if it is not there.
Time flies when you’re online.
I also love to stop.
A few days, a week.
And now something completely different.

I consider it a world.
Strange, yet common after a while.
It’s all about how quick you get used to certain habits.

Last two months. Call it reality.

Thursday, 24 September 2009

Photo: Marco Habanero.
Left: me.

Right: Akbar Simonse.

About the videorecordings July/August

For two months we worked without a script.
I asked Akbar Simonse to be my model.
In Media Me your name will be Pictureman, I said.
We will portray you in several ways.
We will put you in different settings.
Let’s call it scenes.
We follow you at home, on the street, dressed in costumes, day and night.
As a director I just have one question: Can you act as if we’re not there?
Be as natural as possible? Don’t do something you would never do?
That’s ok, he said. I promise you not to act.

After a few weeks I asked if he missed a script.
No, he said, I would never cooporate in this project if there was a script.
You are the script, I said.
Yes, he said. The script, c’est moi.

His interiour was ours.
We recorded his kitchen, his bedroom, his toilet, his computer.
We spied on him in an organised way, from the attic of his neighbours house, on the otherside of the block.
The neighours asked: Does he know you are filming him?
Of course, we said, and waved to eachother.
At that time there was a telephone on the speaker, in his house, with my voice, saying things like:
_ Go to the kitchen.
_ Find a cup or a glass or something.
_ Take a drink.
_ Go back to your computer, slowly.
_Close the curtains.

Ronnie Griens and Matthijs Treurniet have been of great value during the recordings. Most of the time they worked for themselves.
We used YouTube and Vimeo for updates.
My directions were very simple. I asked them to come as close as possible, while filming Akbar.
Approach him as if he is a very important person in which every detail, every movement counts.

From the beginning of the recordings he said: I don’t want to become famous by all this.
What do you mean, I asked.
It may take away my anonimity. Media Me shouldn’t disturb me in public space. I want to keep on taking pictures freely. If DWDD calls for interviews, I will refuse. I ab-so-lu-tel-ly do not want to become famous.
They won’t call, I said. Radio and TV don’t pay much attention to these kind of projects, developed on internet. It’s just not their piece of cake. Broadcasters use other techniques. They know how to reach masses, how to manipulate and entertain you. That’s our goal, our proof of our existance. We calculate.
Seperate worlds, he said.
I guess so, I said. TV and radio don’t pay much attention to the gaming industry as well. Maybe it’s a threat. Games reach millions of people too. Just like TV. Competition, power, influence.
I don’t like games, he said.
Me neither, I said. But still, this is a kind of game we’re playing.

He left his house, sat in a train, visited the Media Park in Hilversum and the biggest studio of Europe: Studio 22.
We went to his favorite spots in The Hague, had a sober meal in an empty restaurant.
We didn’t visit a garden or a park, for he doesn’t takes pictures of flowers, plants and trees.
He photographs people in the street, and their artistic traces, like graffity and streetart.
Once, years ago, he started with taking pictures of buildings. Then people entered his account. Candid portraits, situations, call it reality.

He said: I don’t want this project to be about me. I’m the narrator, not the main character. But you’re free to use the stories I tell you.
But if you’re not the main charachter of this story, I asked, who is?
All members of The Pool? The machines?

I’m working on a radioscript now.
The soundtrack of “the movie”.
It will be a multi-layered script with many voices and sounds.
First layer is the narrator: Pictureman.
I send my texts to Akbar and ask him: “Do you agree on this? Could you say things like this?”
When he says yes, I publish these texts here.
They’re inspired by the movies, over fifty minutes of video so far, and our conversations during the last two months.

Thank you, Akbar.
Let’s write.

Bert Kommerij.