The Animal Within (it's the Flat-Headed Vole Again, isn't it?) or The Truth About the Making of Menagerie (the Music Video)
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| A still from the infamous music video |
Setting out at first pop of the proverbial cork, your faithful man with a pen and notebook has endeavoured to document the diverse efforts that go into the making of a modern musical videogram. Read on, and all shall be revealed.
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| Florian Maulwurf & Sir Everard, explorers. |
“I always knew there would come a day,” says renowned explorer, amateur fish collector and anteater extraordinaire Sir Everard Gillibeth-Bagmynton, “when our accomplishments would finally be recognised. When old Floxie and self first set out on our relentless search for the web footed, freckled and notoriously inquisitive badger whale we were met with little but scorn, derision and rude noises made behind closed doors. But now the shoe laughs at the other foot, most assuredly!” Breaking off in a sudden paroxysm of barely stifled laughter and unseemly wheezing noises, the elderly gentleman in the deck chair next to yours truly seems disinclined to pursue matters further, and I shuffle off before things get irreversibly out of hand. Onward and, well onward. Next on the agenda: writer, director and semi-criminal mastermind Johnston Rod. Conversation as follows:
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| Johnston Rod, director |
ME: Mr Rod, please tell our readers about the filming so far.
J. ROD: Well, what can I say, Bernie? It's been pain and pleasure in equal measure, if you get my drift. I mean to say, the boys have been lovely to work with, Everard and Florian, absolute darlings from kick off to final whistle. But those bloody animals, a nightmare, let me tell you and no two ways about it. Fierce, smelly and bad tempered, the lot of them. None of them properly house trained. And don't get me started on the catering situation…
ME: I see. But all in all, would you say that project has been worthwhile?
J. ROD: Yeah, of course, I mean it's art isn't it? You have to be prepared to suffer for your vision. Besides, I reckon I stand to clear a not insubstantial pile at the end of the day, so all's well that ends well, right?
ME: Oh, absolutely. But speaking of artistic visions, could you perhaps say a few words about the inspiration behind the film?
J. ROD: What? Oh, right, inspiration and all that malarkey. Well, it's a story that needs to be told, isn't it? It's got it all, really: drama, a bit of a laugh, human interest. Animal interest too, come to that.
ME: Quite. Well, to round things up, is there anything that you would like to add to what you already told us, that you feel could interest our readers?
J. ROD: Oh, right… Well, I'll tell you what, boys and girls, here's a little tip from your uncle Johnston. Never underestimate a good night’s sleep, a varied, nutritious diet and a sense of moderation in all things. In other words, know your enemies and run like the devil is on your scent on a Saturday night and you’ve gone without a bath since Tuesday!
ME: Right. Thank you very much, Mr Rod, I am sure our readers will be most grateful.
Edging my way past a small lorry apparently filled with mutilated clothes mannequins and assorted battered brass instruments of uncertain origin, I make my way to the next stop on my investigative odyssey: assistant director, scenographer, prop master, costume designer and stunt woman Euphonia Frogbottle.
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| Artist's representetion of Ms Frogbottle, who out of modesty declined to be photographed |
E. FROGBOTTLE: (peculiar neighing sound followed by a prolonged gurgling noise) It is all very simple, is it not? Get up just before dawn, feed the smaller animals, clean out the stables, procure fresh meat for the carnivores, mend trousers used in last night's filming, milk the alpaca, locate the marmosets, wake up Johnston, apologise to the villagers, search for the cameraman, wake up Johnston, round up the actors and prevent them chewing on each other, stock up on Pimm’s, replace any small animals that have been eaten during the night, wake up Johnston, serve breakfast to the crew, wake up Johnston, go through the script for the day’s shooting, amend or possibly write the script for the day’s shooting, teach the actors their lines, wake up Johnston, give singing lesson to the amphibians, drive actors and crew to the day’s filming location, wake up Johnston, assemble the folding chairs, chase after actors that have wandered off, set up the equipment, wake up Johnston…
ME, sensing that the time has come to pursue a different direction: Yes, thank you Ms Frogbottle, a fascinating and rewarding task I am sure.
E. FROGBOTTLE: Well, it would be, would it not, if it weren't for that confounded racket, all that "rocking" and "rolling" as they like to call it. Infernal noise, to my ears, as to any sensitive ear, I am sure. All day long, non-stop electrical guitars and baritone saxophones and ungainly percussive outbursts. It is enough to drive you halfway out of your mind and back again, let me tell you.
ME: Quite so, of course. Well, thank you, Ms Frogbottle. I can tell you are very busy indeed, so I'll let you get on with your…
E. FROGBOTTLE: And about time too. The porcupine had one of its funny turns this morning, misbehaving in the sound technicians' wellingtons and carrying on. God only knows what it's up to now!
Moving quickly now, as time waits for man nor beast, I pluck up the courage to approach director of photography Ottobald Fringe, the man behind the camera for many literally groundbreaking nature documentaries, filmed in and around his own back garden in East Sussex.
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| Ottobald Fringe, cameraperson |
O. FRINGE: It’s basically all about trust. I once put it like this to David - Attenborough that is, lovely man, always glad to give him a tip or two, anyway, as I once explained to David, to get close to an animal, you have to gain its trust. Follow it about for a bit, make friendly noises, get your round in, let it know that you are one of the lads, so to speak. Imitate its habits and peculiarities if you have to. I did a feature on the common or garden hedgehog once. It was late in the year, so I went into hibernation for four months, like those nasty little things do, in order to be accepted as a member of the local hedgehog community. Woke up with a terrible headache and a large pile of overdue library books. In the end I decided that hedgehogs are overrated and best left to themselves.
ME: I see…
O. FRINGE: Sometimes you have to resort to camouflage. I used that method with remarkable results on Randolph and…
ME: Randolph?
O. FRINGE: Next door’s labrador. Fierce creature, absolutely lethal. I first spent about six weeks observing him from my shed, after which I disguised myself as a garden gnome to be able to get close enough to film him from a better angle.
ME: And did this produce the desired effect?
O. FRINGE: Well, I certainly came close to the animal. Upon spotting me at the bottom of the garden he dropped his favourite squeaky toy, came towards me, tail wagging intensely and a wild look in his eyes, sniffed my boots, lifted his right hind leg and then wandered off. At which point I went inside to change my clothes.
ME: Right. And could you perhaps say a few words about the wildlife you have come across in this production?
O. FRINGE: Ah well, it is all at an early stage still, you see. What you have to remember is that we are dealing with some extremely dangerous species here, and we have to proceed with the utmost caution. I am confident, however, that within the next fortnight we shall be ready to advance close enough to capture some actual live footage of some of the smaller specimens.
ME: Yes, I see. Thank you, Mr Fringe, most exciting.
O. FRINGE: Not at all. Did I mention I once lived with a school of silverfish for seven months? I was able to shoot some quite unique material. Until that odious building inspector interfered, that is.
Retreating hastily from the great man in front of me I instead seek out the last, but perhaps most intriguing person on my list, although perhaps the term ‘person’ does not quite cut it in this case. Lounging idly in a deck chair facing the warm afternoon sun, is a magnificent beast of great renown: Gogo the chimpanzee. Reported to understand nearly 300 English words, fluent in Portuguese, able to express himself using an intricate system of hand signals, inarticulate grunts and obscene drawings, author of seven best-selling books on organisational theory and globally recognised champion on the unicycle, this great ape has now been hired as one of the principal actors for this production. What a coup for the casting director! Trembling slightly I reach out the engage the prodigious primate in conversation.
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| Gogo, "chimpanzee" |
GOGO (abruptly waking up from a light slumber): What? What you on about, mate? I mean, I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to be doing here myself. The agency called me up, promised me 300 quid for a couple of days' work, plus plenty of drink, next thing I know they put me in this monkey suit and expect me to fool about with bongos and maracas and what have you. Tried to make me play the banjo too, but that's where I draw the line. Utter disgrace, is what I think about it!
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| Unknown smaller animals. Possibly dangerous. |
Sensing that the day is getting on I decide that it is about time to wrap things up, and with a graceful nod to the assembled crew I make my way from the set, past the dilapidated nissen hut serving as a makeshift reptile enclosure, my mind racing, trying to digest the diverse impressions that have recently overwhelmed yours truly, the last of which is the distant, wistful, melodic humming of an alpaca, as often heard at close of day. And on that haunting note we close this report. God bless all who sailed in it.
Signing off,
Yours surely,
Bernard Simplington-Comb
WATCH the music video Menagerie here!
DO NOT WATCH this film that claims to be a documentary about the making of the video!
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