Oh When the Saints...

There's been a few things happening in recent days which need solutions, as is the case with pretty much every day in the process of filmmaking. I was feeling a bit gloomy while brooding over a late night whisky with my wife. She put it all in context by recalling the origins of the story of Arthur, and summoning up the names of the saints - those who might be lending their support from the far side of life.

Arthur himself, of course - the gentle giant of a man who wanted to tell the world of his divine status. Tania, the bright-eyed innocent who managed to combine her child-like wonder with a life of prostitution and drug addiction; before jumping to her death from Grafton bridge. Roger, the Elvis-mimic who loved nothing more than crooning to a crowd. Allan, wild-eyed with madness, a former NZ cricket player. Norvel, who lived in a van parked outside the boarding house, and who my son shared his Christmas pay with. Taffy, whose much despised wife turned up at the funeral to try to claim his body .

All of them dead now, but participants in the story which we want to bring to screen. I invoke the names of these saints, and hope they might put their shoulder to the wheel in our days of difficulty.