Skip navigation

Tag Archives: and

Claire Angelique, Standard Bank Young Artist of the Year for Film 2010, screens her Jhb premiere of her new feature film PALACE OF BONE on FRIDAY 5 AUGUST 7PM at the BIOSCOPE INDEPENDENT CINEMA, 6 FOX STREET (MAIN STREET LIFE)  which showed to rave reviews at the recent National Arts Festival, Grahamstown 2011.

PALACE of BONE, is the documentation over a couple of months of the strangely unstable day to day life of Faith – a scarred but brazen and quirky twenty five year old.

Filmed entirely on cellular phones by her devoted best friend, the enigmatic Po, (who is rarely seen in front of the camera except in reflections, turning her back to Mecca…), we are allowed a voyeuristic peek into their friend’s squats, downtown bars and are privy to bedroom confessions. That is all until we realise that the ominous sequence of Faith’s actions due to likely severe psychological problems have forced Faith to escape the city and take to the hills.   

What we as an audience get to experience is Po’s last days with her comrade in the Palace of Bone; a euphemism for both the backstreets, backrooms and backdoors of the city of Durban and the cache of queer insights and outlooks of Faith, a girl who feels she is bigger than her world and thus has some rather unorthodox answers to curb her frustration.

The film ends with us only sort of certain that Faith was last seen on August 15 2008, smoking a joint beside rusty train tracks north of Botha’s Hill. What we are certain of is that there are six dead bodies in Durban harbour….

The film will be introduced by Claire Angelique who will be available to answer questions after the screening

”After the intensity and catharsis of  My Black Little Heart, her new film Palace of Bone is a step away from savagely personal. In fact it’s anything but autobiographical. Still, Angelique’s trademark dark, beautiful imagery pervades, as do the thematic obsessions with the underbelly and the underdog.’‘  – Cue

“To be assaulted by a South African film made by a young Durban girl which is totally original and unique and which is made with a total respect and understanding of film language is very rare, She is one the best that we have in South Africa, and her talent should not be ignored.”

-Trevor Steele Taylor, film curator National Arts Festival, Grahamstown

‘’Claire Angelique’s extraordinary Palace of Bone will undoubtedly create a far-reaching impact. Although it is an unconventional film, it is rooted in mainstream popular culture. In particular reality television and the technological devices that have engendered a culture of (self) documentation. Angelique enjoys blurring the lines between fact and fiction, so the reality/documentary mode suits her aesthetic well…. In a way Palace of Bone is a twisted whodunit. But there are so many levels of meaning in this fascinating mockumentary.’’ Mary Corrigall – The Sunday Independent









this is the wail of the lonely wife….and such is life, she’s had enough

I caught her looking at me in the mirror, whilst he pushed you to the floor,

he said I just can’t take you and your fucking looks  no more

i’ve been with him when he fell, i’ve always helped pick up, i’ve been with him through hell

now he wants to fuck it all up

i’m a monster, an addict, a drunken psycho whore

well you’re just you, my dear, and as charming as before

we’ve spoke of concentration camps, executions, solo style

we’ve dreamed of potassium chloride and all the haters we’d defile

a team, some tracks, the finishing line in sight

one indiscretion can make everything right

or make everything a fight

i’d take my own life for this man, I made a wife for this man, I became pious for this man, i’m in crisis with this man

theirs shady eyes behind the doors,

why can’t you see them for what they are

I magnify my fears to remind you who I am

you shot me down to begin again

I don’t like your reasons, I don’t care for my tears

I’ve only been this drunk to drink all your beers

You mixed spite with my vitriol

you mixed whiskey with my wine

I trashed all our hotel rooms

because I’m just too damn kind?

this is the wail of the lonely wife…and such is life…she’s had enough

lets move further apart and trade guilt with self right

lets stay up and get wired and pretend the dark’s not light

i’ve become the only one thats bent and fucked and broke

you’ve just become my last resort, the face I can provoke.

Give me the truth and i’ll tell you a lie

its all the same anyhow, its all fucked now anyhow,

its all rather quite juvenile



ive been picked by a rose

ive been pricked by a rose

 I’m getting pretty paranoid over everything. If its not the self obsessed pity party up north slamming the door in my face, stupid idea to even think they might share a bit of the dream its watchdogs on my back whenever i’m downtown. Im super scared of the camera on top of killarney, i see undercover spies in my rearview, the phone is tapped the other one mustnt be answered at all costs lest theire be insects from the other side waiting to crawl in. it might be the time that turns faster than a snitch with a panga aimed at his neck but i’ve been up 3 nights on the boil, opening and closing windows, writing songs that still don’t exist, smokin and spikin and on the fourth gently nodding off to to graceland on the toilet, up the chimney, everything seen backwards, lewis carrolled me to blank… I think theres too many mirrors in my room, too much reflection going on. Waiting for music, waiting for a sharp strike on the knuckles for my laissez faire approach to interviewing, waiting for godot. I stumble around the house, find myself in the midst of the forest looking for elephant tusks when all i am really looking for is reason. I don’t really remember the past 7 days, it involved bumping into a cop car, sorry officer, take deep breath darling and in the slammer till monday, it involved the blinding sun son in chatsworth, falling asleep whilst waiting for a prescription, the secretary knew i was under the tax but i couln’t care less, then writing writing writing why were there so many deadlines, this week dead being an appropriate description, if i didn’t have so much to write you know i wouldn’t indulge don’t you. You know its not my fault you know i can’t do it without mommas little helper

so i sit here, whats today again, thinking how i might have promised a blue angel burlesque show to isabelle, how i slept through andries’s elephant opening last night, that i have to have to have to complete golems effort today, that i need to feel the sun for a second, that bastard sun.

I have a friend who makes elephants instead of babies. I have friends who make excuses not to see me i have friends who make excuses to see me. I’ve come unstuck. I think i have three days left at the most then frampton comes alive. The bohemian dream is cracking, the money men are creeping in, they’re at the door with their pens and papers, they’re here to fix things, so they say, i’m here to destroy them

how many keepers can one man keep, how many leaders can one man lead. I tried to be funny in the column and failed miserably. The scare freezes me, but few understand. This film stuff is very complicated, i’m trying to find my musesolini in the midst of lies, treason and skin that so dry its dead.

They tell me its going to be easier than i think but its starting to sound like a clanger and i need more beer