Bar shorts goes Overground - tomorrow night!
…..in Crystal Palace’s Antenna studios (as part of the brilliant Overground Festival) with a special program of PEACE & FOOTIE inspired short films and animations.
We will show Jerry Levitan’s ‘I Met The Walrus’, Darren Walsh’s Angry Kid & Flaming Choppers’ World Cup song ‘Handbags’, 12foot6’s ‘Offside rule’, ‘Save the Whale’ and Dog Almighty’s ‘Kick Ups’ as well as ‘Balls’ by Sam Morrison and ‘Balls For Basra’ by Atif Ghani, Dog Judo featuring the late and great Rik Mayall, ‘Peace One Day’ by Phoebe Halstead and Angie Phillips, ‘Jamon’ by Iria Lopez, Over Dinner by Marcus Armitage and others TBC.
8pm. 28th June 2014
Antenna Studios Gallery
Bowyers Yard, Haynes Ln
Nearest tube and rail. Crystal Palace and Gipsy Hill. Overground and rail from Victoria, London Bridge and Highbury and Islington.
And best of all its free!!!!
Book here for tickets. https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/bar-shorts-x-antenna-x-cp-overground-festival-tickets-11942866435
Find out more about Bar Shorts. http://www.barshorts.com
There’s also a whole day of entertainment at the Crystal Palace Overground Festival. See the website for all the details of events.
Bar Shorts is back in Brighton at Hotel Pelirocco on 28th May.
Loosely themed around Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll we will show short films and animations by Roger Ballen, Joel Veitch and Ross Butter, The Line, Modern Toss, Bob Godfrey, Greg Jardin, Matt Oxborrow & 12Foot6, Johnn Fitzpatrick, Marcus Armitage, Mister Kama, Chris Shepherd, Michael Clifford, Brian & Karl, Will Anderson, Darren Walsh, Run Wrake, Kasia Nalewajka, David Lopez Retamero & Dave Anderson and Carl Addy.
See you from 7pm for drinks and we will begin the screening at 8:15pm sharp.
The night is free (as always) but please let us know you’re coming via Eventbrite as capacity is limited.
Fancy a F- by Chris Shepherd
The sun breaks through the dreary clouds of a September depression. Its time to go school. Past the perilous house with dog. Past perilous house with the psycho family. Past the perilous house with killer granddad and his perfect fucking roses. The ones that need the heads knocking off them.
The cold bites my lips as I reach the gates. It’s misty, you would think it would make the school look better, but it doesn’t. It only adds to mist adds to the 60’s building’s spooky edge. Like the H Block or Auschwitz on a bad day. There’s no escape.
The schoolyard. I can feel a tension. Like there’s going to be a scrap. Ooo, Ooo, Ooo, Ooo. That’s the sound they make when and execution is coming. But today its different - silent – like a Buddhist outpost.
Feverish greasy puss ridden kids have found something. Shabby uniforms huddle around their discovery. I push past the polyester and catch a look. I can’t believe it. They all stare at a blow up doll. A cheap sex toy from adolescent heaven. Lasts weeks life model lies dead on the tarmac. Its strange mouth like a fish gasping for air. The teenagers mill about like the monkeys from 2001, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the moment a strange slab of perfect marble stolen from undertakers talks to them and tells them to do crazy shit.
Then the planets line up. They realise that men do things with this ‘toy’. But in all honesty don’t know what. Then cheap porn magic weaves a spell, like Pinocchio. The doll speaks to them. "I want you… I want you inside me big boys. Give it to me hard - right now - with your big fat hard cocks". The virginal youths stare on like a Japanese tourist lost on the tube. Like Pinocchio’s nose their trouser bulges grow. The devil doll’s not finished with them. "Are you man enough?" She has their full attention. "I’ll take you all on – every – one – of - you". The boys absorb every word. But they are deluded. These stupid kids think the rubber temptress is talking to them. But in fact she’s not saying anything because she’s just a life vinyl doll filled full of fucking stale air. “I want you….now….now”. She commands. “Or are you all fagots, benders, queers???”
The accusation fuses their brain circuitry, connecting parts of their minds until now dormant. The look at each other. Confused. They stare at the rubber face – challenged by its gall. Then one kid snaps….. Fists and kicks lash out, attacking the doll like Jackie Chan or some shit karate black belt. Now they’re all joining in a kicking frenzy.
I back away from the weirdness.
If you don’t understand something what do you do? Ask questions? Look in the Thesaurus, dictionary or Thompson’s Local directory? Not these kids. They play football. ‘Over here….on me head’. Fat Brian is in the goal and O’Shea is in the penalty area and plants the blow up doll in the back of the net. Again again, swept away on a total high. They play again and again. Till its hundred nil to childhood.
The bell goes and everyone heads inside to be brainwashed in the factory of useless dreams. They all forget about the blow up doll. It would have been nice if one of them offered their coat. It was cold out.
Everybody had forgotten about the doll when school ended. It was only when they saw it ripped and torn caught on the barbed wire on the fence. They stopped and gave its sad little face a second glance. It was raining; I could have sworn that a tear came from its eye. Everyone realised - they had killed the doll. There was no joy, no extra time, just the walk back to the estate, back to their Findus crispy pancakes and chips. Would anything that exotic happen again in there lives? The murders walked on.