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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

TRAILOR:

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1BPDoGZeSZg&h=_AQB45sHy

CLIP FROM PALACE OF BONE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGvrECdo0TU

FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE

https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=214609325256299

THE BIOSCOPE CINEMA BOOKING PAGE

http://www.thebioscope.co.za/

 

 

 

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Somewhere along the way, my hopefulness turned to sadness,
Somewhere along the way, my sadness turned to bitterness,
Somewhere along the way, my bitterness turned to anger,
Somewhere along the way, my anger turned to vengeance.

And the ones that I made pay were never the ones who deserved it,
And the ones who deserved it, they’ll never understand it,
Yes, I know I’m goin’ to hell in a purple basket,
At least I’ll be in another world while you’re pissin’ on my casket.

How could you be so perfect for me?
Why can’t you ignore the things I did before?

Somewhere along the way, exacting vengeance gave excitement,
Somewhere along the way, that excitement turned to pleasure,
Somewhere along the way, that pleasure turned to madness,
Sooner or later that kind of madness turns into pain.

And the ones that I made pay were never the ones who deserved it,
Those who helped me along the way, I smacked them as I thanked them,
Yes, I know I’m goin’ to hell in a leather jacket,
At least I’ll be in another world while you’re pissin’ on my casket.

All that I can do is sing a song of faded glory,
All you got to do is sit there, look great, and make them horny.
Together we’ll sing songs and tell exaggerated stories,
About the way we feel today in the night and in the morning.

How could you be so perfect for me?
Why can’t you ignore the things I did before?

Take all your fears, pretend they’re all true,
Take all your plans, pretend they fell through.
But that’s what it’s like,
That’s what it’s like for most people in this world.

Rich or the poor.
Muslims or Jews.
When roles are reversed.
Opinions are, too.
That’s all I’m gonna say now.
Before you come knocking on my door now.

i only steal beauty

i only steal beauty

several hundred thousand millon breaks before these words appeared. this life. strange the celine cannot describe the distorted beauty of mangled moments. i remember this from the other plate. when in evening time lapse of mornng walking up along those deserted streets to get home to that room and those tryng to  closed curtains and seals that was another life altogether. i am trying to remeber why i created it or dealt with round corners and stones wrapped in plastic and those fucking fridges with the beer stains as foam something by product. not good. the whole experience of working the late night shift on the opposite side of the city because of a lingering promise of free access to gigs. funny how i was fired 2 weeks before the show at the same venue took place. i so didn’t want to work in london. but fuck i tried all the angles. the catering faction, the rugby and soccer vip rooms, serving  boiled roast chicken and cheese soaked polenta with a side of british salad during the game. those people that frequented the club rooms, and the spanish girls with booze problems that ran the whole set up. that one girl who i worked with twice was rumoured to have a drug problem with cocaine. but she was beautiful but bossy. nobody had any respect for her but i liked her. i liked how some of the broken down and out south africans took direction, were scared to assert resistance. the ones that applied themselves. what a strange situation it all was. to get to london and then to work menial jobs that just got you by. i have no understanding how those guys lived. they were all renting cheap rooms or sharing rooms, all the south afridcan boys, wanderers from the army, the ones from poor backgrounds, no skills, no other hope, sidetracked and but not always narrow minded about south africa. i wonder how or what the attraction is to get out of this country with white south africans. is it just because of the lingering commonwealth policy and its a part of what you have to do to make you appreciate your equally nowhwere situation back at home, so you go and take a lot of cheap e’s and work your shitty job, and live in your shitty couch, room, if you’re lucky bed apartment and the pay off is what, experience, hardship, does anybody actually save money. well i guess that girl  and her boyfriend did. 10 years they were away dodging visas and residency and they must have saved up a bt of cash whatever they were doing. but then they got back to durban and broke up after buying a house together with her dad’s help and then i heard a couple of weeks ago that her friends back room she was staying in after they took a break from each other was actually this catalyst for an extra marital affair between her friends father and her. they were booking into the blue waters and havin it on. these things always land in tragedy and she has dissappeared.

 

 

so thankful and confused about these blessings. performance anxiety. all this energy and that journey. i tell the war stories to open ears but really the trauma is far reaching. strange strange to remeber those hours under the cameras up north scoring smack and rocks. the guy from liberia. all the african boys working it and my irish dustbin, niall. iwonder what i was doing in those situations, lying in his bed in that deserted apartment, block of apartments, staring at myself in the mirror, going to the toilet incessasantly, the playstation dvd not working, the conversations about ireland, the irish. the waste. it kills me those moments, the same as wth brad. the pointlessness of the journey. i remmber the non logic of the conversations, his arguments, my he is young. just after jonathan. what and who was jonathan, just a wonderful 2 weeks and then the linger. and that letter he sent me and my answer and his never writing  back. the squat with the spanish guitarist and the guys from beirut and yugoslavia and their computer upstairs and that room below the stairs the basement, the guy next door in the coma. what happened to me in the last couple of years. always so close to stopping it all. so fucking close and yet the wound never heaLED. thank god, and thank everything. and please let me do something with understanding and relevance and that touches an d reaches out in between the surface of the living. its such a big responisbility and i just need your help dear jesus christ dear god please correct and repair these indiscretions, and anatol, what a boy, just ridiculous the day, and i know not such a good idea, but then i think maybe why not but of course not. the house keith showed me showed me so much more. how much i don’t get life or how some live it.i haven’t the first clue in processing these lifestyles. that is why anthony referring to me as a slut and jeff’s ‘not bad for a girl from the bluff’ comments ripped out my heart so much. it was like the bully or the kid with money or the kids that didn’t have money or just those kids i remember from primary school when my mom made the biggest effort for me to win the raffle thing. to prove something. my mom always wanted to be the best. i think both my parents did, in their respective families. that is why no matter what has happened between me and my father, i love him with all my heart because i think i understand how he feels, he’s restess like me. we are restless. but my mom she is just so clever. she is lacking in confidence. she has no idea of how great she could  be. i wonder what they were like when they met, much younger than i am now. but she said his flat was always very neat, and he used to cook her dinner. and then she fell pregnant with me and they were married within a month. i don’t understand their lives now. i don’t think they understood any of it.  i think it was a god send that we had involved hobbies, the dancing, the distraction kept them occupied. that day at the motocross when i saw him with that woman, but i can’t remeber what they were doing, kissing or he and her were just playing around. i don’t know. and that scary cancer looking woman entered our lives, and the gym, was he having an affair, i think my mother thought so. and then that kate woman. i wish he would understand the force he is aligned to and i wish she would take the next step.

 

so there I was about to direct my first feature film with so much complication. who would have thought. i can’t remember my focus or who is important. these wordsnow in the morning are bolts and back stabbing. 3 days to go. i falll in love too easily. we are sleeping. i haven’t been up this late for months but  i remember the sensation and i remember that there was always alcohol in the kitchen and the internet. maybe its a good thing i don’t have that vice. although this whole undoing of him and everyone who knows is my own undoing.on purpose and for what purpose. why does this disease creep in when i get fucked. what is the fucking point that this is what i resort to. i think i am a really complicated person. i wonder if it is from all the drugs but i honestly don’t think so because  i am sure i have always been this way and that is why i took the drugs. and this drug thing. what is going on with that, will it it willl be like this forever. and then i think about lex and his money choices,and the ridiculousness of the alcohol situation. and why i loved him so much at some point in my life. and how that is not even a remote possibility now but there is always a small white plastic packet in my pocket that makes me feel a little bit better again