Friday, July 22, 2011

Bottom Feeder

A week ago, Kate was asked to be a guest DJ on CKUT-FM. I accompanied her because, being DJ Kali's #1 fan, and monthly partner in "auditory" crime, I wasn't going to miss this for the world.

While I was sitting there, enjoying the tasty tunes, I noticed the security camera feed. Armed with only an iPhone, I decided to fully embrace my Adult ADHD and get some footage. 

What resulted is my first experimental short film...

                                Music: "Bottom Feeder" by Subliminal
                                Written by Albert Fisch
                                Courtesy of Galakthorroe


                                Everything Else: Dominic F. Marceau

All media ©2011 F Squared Media

Sunday, June 26, 2011

iPiece (colour)

Enough with all the black and white. Here's the rest of the family in FULL COLOUR
once again, captured with my iPhone 3G S.


All Photos © 2011 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

iPiece (B&W)

My boys and I, captured with my iPhone 3G S. 

COLOUR photos of my beautiful ladies (and a few more of us dudes) are coming up very shortly...

Stay Tuned!

All Photos © 2011 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Friday, June 17, 2011

Der Blaue Engel

"Falling in love again. Never wanted to. What am I to do? I can't help it..." 

Photo © 2011 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Hunger

Mom, my food bowl is empty... Mom? 

Photo © 2010 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Monday, May 9, 2011

Frank Bretschneider - Elektra 12 - 7.05.11


Co-founder, along with Olaf Bender (byetone) and Carsten Nicolai (alva noto), of the highly respected label raster-noton, Frank Bretschneider presents the audiovisual version of EXP, his most recent album. Based on the idea that the image must achieve the same abstract purity as the sound, EXP attempts to interweave the music’s qualities (rhythm, tempo, mood, intensity and structure of the composition) with visual phenomena. Gracefully exploring the notion of synesthesia, Frank Bretschneider stages sound in all its beauty, whether simple geometric abstractions or extraordinarily complex shapes.                                                                                                             

All Photos © 2011 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Turn on, tune in, drop dead!

Remember the scene in "Living in Oblivion" where filming is interrupted by the sound of an alarm clock beeping? The director (Steve Buscemi) looks everywhere and tears the set apart. He loses it. Right. He was having a nightmare. Well, substitute the sound of an alarm clock for the sound of a ringing cellphone and you'll get a good idea of MY nightmare. Except that I didn't have any doubts about the source of this irritant (and I didn't lose it, either). More on this later.

I had this image stuck in my head for some reason...
The first shot was a walk and talk, dollying back. No problem. We get through the scene fairly quickly. The two actors involved (ironically the ones I singled out in part one of this thing) were on top of the material. I thought to myself "This is too easy!". Sadly, it's as easy as it got. One thing that went through my mind was the fact that our "producer extraordinaire" was strangely absent. For someone who demanded as many changes as he did, I figured I would have had to sit on his lap for the entire shoot! That alone should have sparked something in my gut, but hey, no biggie. The time came to shoot our first murder scene (this was a slasher flick after all). A character was to be surprised whist doing his business at the urinal and have his head cracked open on the tile and piping in front of him. Since we had no money whatsoever for effects, I decided to go classy and shoot a close up of a hand grabbing the back of the poor soul's head, then cut to a side close up shot of his head being pulled back and then thrust forward, cutting before the impact to a close up shot of one of his hands grabbing at the urinal next to him, shaking frantically, with a trickle of blood finally coming down his arm. Classy, right? The sound effects were going to sell the whole thing. I was pretty proud of having come up with that. It's one of the instances that people talk about all the time. Lack of money sparks creativity. Ok, I'll run with it. The only problem was that our actor was a bit on the Method side of things. He thought it would have been a good idea to have a cushion in front of his head so that our "stand-in killer" could really let him have it- you know, for realism. Sure! Dedication? Awesome! We were in the midst of shooting the hand close up when the cushion fell off the wall between thrusts. "Poof. Poof. Poof. POCK! Ugh!" Hey! This fucking flick finally had some stars in it! Only problem was that only one poor dude could see them.

Looks normal...
In the Beginning was the End: The Truth about Filmmaking. The next few days were concentrated on filming the end sequence. You know, the one I wrote a few days prior? Right. It all took place in a school amphitheatre. My D.O.P. and his minions had designed a truly spectacular lighting setup. It looked incredible. We had every light imaginable, we had smoke, we had access to every nook and cranny. We were there for three days. I went to town with this location. I shot from the rafters, I shot from the projection booth. It was awesome. Except that my A.D. didn't think to clear the seats in the balcony. As I told you, the set looked awesome. So awesome that everybody who had a day off that day came to visit the set. We could see them in some of the shots. Third burst of sharp abdominal pain. But hey, I was living my dream. No biggie. I had many different angles to pick from. Things were going to be fine. Of course they were. Christ, if only I knew...

...and of "banger".
Days were going pretty well. Some tensions started to rise to the surface. For instance, my actors were still without contracts. As I was, for that matter. One day, they all decided, after speaking to their agent, to sit it out one morning and not show up on set. I decided to chill out with them. This surprised them. "Why is he siding with us? Is he...on our side?" Well, duh! I wanted my actors to be happy. Happy actors mean dedicated performances. Dedicated performances mean (perhaps) a good film. My "producer" finally showed up and they all signed their contracts. I wish I was as lucky. I didn't have an agent making sure I didn't get screwed over. That day was the first day that my "producer" decided to stay "available", i.e.: on set. Literally. We're outside shooting exteriors when "Schmucko", um, I mean, my "producer" is seen walking in the background of a shot while we're filming, talking on his cellphone. I yell "Cut!" and head over to tell him (loudly) to stay off the set while we're filming, as he's just ruined a perfect take. So he stopped walking through shots, but that didn't mean that he stopped ruining takes, oh no! This man did not understand the purpose of having a "vibrate" function on your cellphone. Yes, he ruined many takes with his stupid mobile device. You see, he was still prepping the second film to be shot after mine. He didn't have a director lined up. Somehow, I'm the only one who didn't know better. The days where "Fuckwad", um, I mean, my "producer" wasn't on set went fairly well. The usual frictions were there. My A.D., my D.O.P., and my script supervisor were all friends who had worked together many times prior. Not only that, but all three were filmmakers in their own right. Why was this auslander directing a feature and not them? Yeah. So I had to fight for my way most of the time. But I didn't give up. This was MY thing. Well, what was left of it was mine...

Another surprise was one fine Thursday morning when "Douche Nozzle", um, I mean my "producer" told me that I had to find a part for his "friend". This person was in charge of the sports complex where we were going to film a few scenes. Springing this on me made me blow a freaking gasket. I told him to go fuck himself and that I was going back to Montreal. It was an empty threat as I would never quit this thing, but I would make damn sure that the whole cast and crew saw how freaking desperate I'd become. This man had taken my dream and made me resent it. Keep in mind that I was still without a contract. Unlike my actors, I was on my own. He told me to relax. I told him to eat me. I'd reached my limit. I was at a point where I just wanted to get it done and move on. My heart wasn't in it anymore. Later in the day, when he told me to change a word in the script (apparently, he took offence to a character saying "Christ"), I humoured him. Big deal: it's just a word. I knew I was aboard a sinking ship, I just didn't know how sunk we really were. 

Here lies a VERY bitter man...
I could go on and on and on, telling you all of the massive fuck ups we had to deal with, how Ash punched through a window and wound up in the emergency room (I told you he was "Method"), how "Fuckbulb's", um, I mean, how my "producer's" friend couldn't act to save his life (seriously, he couldn't give me "pain" even if I set fire to the bastard!), bottom line, I signed my contracts THE DAY AFTER we wrapped, nobody (including yours truly) got paid, the film was never edited, and we lost our distribution deal. All I have to show for those two years of my life is a shitty little trailer that nobody has ever seen. And those who HAVE seen it weren't really impressed by it. Apparently, Lucifer, um, I mean my "producer" is STILL looking for completion funds! Really? Go ahead, junior! But, you won't see my name on it. I've already lost too much because of you. I'm not going to lose my self-respect. I would like to apologize to everybody who got onboard this thing. I had nothing but the best of intentions. I wanted to make you proud but I failed. Someday, I hope to work with all of you once again. But, I'll call the shots next time. I did it with Conversion, and I'll do it again. That's a fucking promise.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Bring that Beat back!

I know that I should do Part Two of my Adventures in the World of Indie Filmmaking post, but, this week's been so great that I didn't want to go back to DepressoLand. Way to avoid having D.I.Y. turning into D.I.Whine...

Yesterday, Kate and I were on a high from all off the Conversion goodness that's been happening as of late. But, we were feeling kinda restless, and without coffee (Dear God!), so we went to our local French bakery-type establishment to have a fine cup, and to take some photos. Kate was looking particularly gorgeous (I know: what else is new?) and I wanted to immortalize it. She had kind of a Beatnik thing going, so, we went to town with it.

What resulted is one of my favourite profile pics I ever took of her. Enjoy, Daddy-O!

Photo © 2011 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Portraits of a Sole - Right Foot

dichotomy is any splitting of a whole into exactly two non-overlapping parts, meaning it is a procedure in which a whole is divided into two halves. It is a partition of a whole (or a set) into two parts (subsets) that are:

The two parts thus formed are complements. In logic, the partitions are opposites if there exists a proposition such that it holds over one and not the other.

Left foot, right foot.

Photos © 2010 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media

Friday, March 11, 2011


I thought so...

I’ve been going through all of my old files, scripts, art, whatnot, and I’ve been feeling most melancholy. It’s hard to not be filled with “what ifs” as one does this. How did I wind up in this emotional mess? Quite by accident, actually. I had a lengthy chat with an old friend yesterday. Someone from my cinematic past. Someone who would have had a much different life path as well if all had gone as planned. I know I’m being cryptic, sue me. Someone who reminded me of the passion I once had. Going through these files, one cannot be blind to this. The employees at my local Staples knew me by name I was there so often, buying all kinds of stationary, envelopes, ink cartridges… I was dead set on making my production entity, F.I. Film Productions, a legit business. Why F.I.? It goes back to when I first started this pipe dream of breaking into the film industry. I was working for a reputable film studio. An editor friend of mine, who commuted by train, came in one morning and, while we were lined up in front of our friend the coffee machine, he told me something that would change my life forever. “It’s amazing the amount of trust we have in the human species when we wait for the train. Anybody could walk up behind you and push you off the platform, onto the path of the incoming train.” Yeah, a cheerful bunch, we were. But this particular statement resonated with my soon-to-be-caffeinated psyche, and I asked, “Mind if I write a little something about that?” To which, my friend replied, “Fuck it!” And a screenwriter was born. A feature-length script came out of that little bit of morbid observation, and then another, and so forth. I tried to write in every genre, even some that I didn’t care for, just to see if I could do it. Well, I could.

I guess so...
I was hanging out in veteran film producer and distributor John Dunning’s office, hanging on his every word, learning about this bitch of an industry from someone who had seen it all. He read my scripts and liked them. I soon gained confidence.  He asked me to doctor a few horror scripts he had in development, which sparked the flame inside me. “A horror script! I can write that!” So, I set out to write the ultimate teen slasher script. It was pretty easy. I bought about 50 DVDs, from the best to the worst of the genre, and fed my brain. One thing was evident: if I was going to write about torment and misery, it had to take place in high school! It didn’t take me long, a few weeks and I had a first draft. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but I liked it. It had a fun energy to it. I threw caution to the wind and gave it to one of our office bigwigs, whom I had struck a professional friendship with. Being in an office filled with producers and distribution executives put me in an enviable position. It didn’t take long, not long at all, actually, for my “friend” to come back to my office, my script in her hands and a smile on her face. “I want to distribute this. No matter what.” I was over the moon. I was going to finally make my dream a reality: I was going to direct a feature film I had written (and my editor friend, who specialized in movie trailers, was going to cut his first film. We started meeting with outside potential over coffee. Producers. They’re everywhere! And, as I now know, anybody can be one. I had the graphic artists come up with a company logo, printed out some business cards, had some stationary made (again at Staples), and set forth in spreading the good word. In this case, two words. Fuck it. I know it’s a vulgar name for a burgeoning company (I’d usually tell people it meant “Female Impersonators” or whatever came to mind the quickest), but “Fuck it!” was the attitude I had back then. I wasn’t afraid of anything. I broke down doors, I cold-called, I mailed Christmas cards to every contact I had... It was so liberating! Not a care in the world, except the work. Nobody is worth a damn but me. An unusual mix of cockiness and naiveté. How I long to go back there. One day, I was on the phone with another player in the Canadian film biz, who had recently finished reading my script. He told me he loved it, but that it was missing a hook. He told me to get back to him in a week or so with some ideas. I remember going home that night, deflated. I was so close! The next morning, I was stuck in traffic, as I was every morning, when I decided to put in a CD. “Call of the West” by Wall of Voodoo, an album I’ve always cherished. Little did I know that this exciting staple of 80’s darkwave would change my life forever. It was during the song “Factory” that it hit me. “When were horror movies at their apex?” I called Mister Big as soon as I got into the office that morning and told him, “What if I set the whole thing in the Eighties?” Done. I had my hook. At that point, things really started to blossom for ol’ Dom here. I had people working for me in Los Angeles, meeting people who had shown interest. It was an exciting time. I had actors lined up, reputable ones at that, “names”, in the parlance of the industry. I had the top horror movie website as a producing partner, guaranteeing maximum exposure for my flick. This was too cool. It was also too ephemeral. Since it was all talk (i.e.: No contracts were drafted yet.), nothing was really happening. I was soon to learn that a lot of people talk in this industry. They talk, and they talk, and they talk a whole lot. When you hear about any actor or director’s upcoming slate of projects, none of them has one or two projects lined up. They attach themselves left and right, not knowing which will finally materialize. I had one. This one. The only one. When my producer friend called me to tell me that she had a local producer interested in my project, with the moolah to produce it, I jumped in headfirst. Little did I know that those waters weren’t filled with sharks. Oh no. They were filled with shit. 

I know so...
I met with the dude at an Italian restaurant. I wasn’t impressed. The speeding ticket I got on my way over there was an omen with a capital fucking “O”. The food was good though, but HE left me cold. You know those people you meet who don’t seem passionate about anything? They’re like “whatever”. I’m not a “whatever” kind of guy. To this day, things are either black or white with me. You’re either a smoker or a non-smoker. Find out what you are, and be that. Ok, bad example. Anyway, this dude had “Meh” written all over him. But you know what they say… Beggars can’t be choosers (Hey! There's my cliché!). So I started swimming in these toxic waters. Swimming for dear life. Trying not to swallow any of it. Things moved at a rapid pace. I went to the makeshift production office to send out audition notices to all of the Montreal casting agencies. We didn't get many replies, but the fact that I was going to conduct auditions for my first film excited me to no end. We met with a few actors, some great, some not so great. I'm not big on "auditioning" in the proper sense. Honestly, who cares if you recite a Dashiell Hammett monologue when auditioning for a teen slasher flick! Tell me who you are. Let's shoot the shit. Have a cup. See if we're comfortable with one another. I'll look at your reel and get back to you. I much prefer to work that way. Anyhoo, we cast up. I met a potential director of photography. Cool dude. Full of himself, but cool nonetheless (I finally learned that he was 10 years younger than I was. Imagine how cocky and naive HE was!). My "producer" secured a pretty sweet location. Wow! We will have Bishop's University at our disposal. Since it's 2 and a half hours outside of Montreal, we will also stay on campus for the four weeks of the shoot. Awesome! We will all live and breathe this world which I have created. Mouahahaha! After a few back and forth trips to the location, the time finally came to pack it up and leave to go make this lifelong dream finally come true. But not before I got a phone call from my now executive producer, who had promised me distribution. Seems that she was a bit apprehensive about mine and my partner's lack of experience. She then told me that, since she had an agreement with me alone, they were going to go with an experienced film editor to cut the film. I wanted to die. Betraying my best friend, the one who's responsible for me getting in this wonderful mess to begin with, OR, stick by him and tell this man who is willing to give me money to make all my dreams come true to go to Hell. I thought of myself. It's a move I regretted for years after. He took it very well, though. We had lunch together. He understood that this was my dream, this was my chance, and I would be a fool to deny myself this opportunity. He wished me the best of luck and told me he believed in me. So off I was on this wonderful adventure. I felt blessed. Wait, that's not it. What's the opposite of blessed? Oh yeah... Midway through the long trek to the location, my cellphone rang. I recognized the number as my editor friend's. Only it wasn't him. It was his wife. She proceeded to tear me a new asshole, and about twenty other orifices to go along with it. The funny thing is that I agreed with her completely. I felt like a schmuck but I had my friend's blessing, or so I thought. Six years later and we've barely spoken since. 

Say it ain't so...
That conversation put me in a weird place emotionally as I reached the lovely town of Lennoxville, Quebec. I remember noticing that gas prices had reached over $1,00 /litre for the first time that day. It's always stuck with me. I met my First (and only) Assistant Director, and another woman whom I guess was the Production Manager. I knew that this was a low budget affair, but when I was shopping for wardrobe in a nearby Zellers, it hit me. This wasn't going to be pretty. I barely slept that night. The next day, the rest of the crew showed up. The best grips and gaffers that I could have hoped for. Thank God for them. A few of the actors arrived from Montreal. When I inquired to my "producer" as to when the other half of my cast would show up, he told me, "Oh yeah, I meant to tell you. They won't." I asked him if there was a particular time when he wanted to advise me that half my fucking cast got cold feet three days before we start principal photography. First burst of sharp abdominal pain. As we look at some of the locations, I noticed a very pretty blonde sitting behind the check in desk of the gymnasium. We chatted for a bit, as it felt really good to gloat to a pretty blonde. She told me that she was studying theatre and that if ever we needed help, she'd willing to give us a hand. I could see right away that she had something special and, after telling my "producer" of my intentions, I offered her one of the lead roles. My instincts were right as she put in a spectacular performance and was more or less responsible for finding us the rest of our cast. This film would have sunk faster than the Titanic if it hadn't been for Nancy Vanessa Gillard. I slept a little easier that night. The alcohol helped. The next day, my "producer" told me we had to talk over coffee and discuss script changes. Script changes? "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" We sat down at a local coffee shop and he told me that the entire third act had to be rewritten because of financial limitations. Yeah. He tells me this two days before we start principal photography. Second burst of sharp abdominal pain. I know why he chose a coffee shop to do this in. It was like a public breakup where the "dumpee" has to show restraint considering the nature of the locale. I wanted to create a scene. I wanted to create a murder scene. I barely touched my coffee. Those who know me should realize how angry I was. I walked back to the campus, contemplating suicide, when one of my newly acquired actors, a certain Ashley Conn, saw me and started to talk about how excited he was to be a part of this thing. He had read the script and loved every word. I told him that I had to rewrite a lot of it because my "producer" bit off more than he could chew. A pattern that would show its ugly face again, you will soon find out. Ashley, Ash for short (yeah, another one), fired back that he believed I would come up with something even more awesome. His enthusiasm was more addictive than heroin. I rewrote the ending and was very proud of what I came up with. Again, it wasn't Shakespeare, but it wasn't insulting either. I made a bunch of copies and gave them to my cast. My AD handed me the first few days schedule. We rehearsed quickly on the Sunday. The changes seemed to work. Actually, they worked really well. We were as ready as we'd ever be. Ash loved the script and had become one Hell of an ego booster for me. He's somebody that made a difference in my life, in fact, he is the old friend I chatted with the other day. His performance in the film was my favourite part of it. He's someone who would have had a VERY bright future if the film hadn't imploded (As it turns out, Ash got his Masters and is now making a much better living than he would have ever had if he had continued acting...). Wait a minute. Imploded? What happened? Patience. I'm going to go make myself a cup. You'll have to wait for another time...

Monday, March 7, 2011

Portraits of a Sole - Left Foot

"You don't want to kick your habit wearing those shoes..."

As most of you know, my darling Kate has a serious addiction: Fluevogs. While for most addicts, this condition is a debilitating one, for Kate, it's quite the opposite. Last July, she was chosen to be a model for John Fluevog Shoes' Everyday Fluevog, where a die-hard fan sends in a photo of themselves wearing a different pair of Vogs each day for the entire month. Guess who took these shots? Here's a first batch of my favourites.

More next week... 


Photos © 2010 Dominic F. Marceau / F Squared Media