In Jim Booth’s letter, the Film Commission’s Executive Director had sought to explain how the Commission worked: ‘We operate in a manner similar to a merchant bank and we have to be as confident as possible that our funds have a chance of being recouped from the sale of the finished product…’
It was something that, by page six, Peter was ready to tackle head-on: ‘This business about the Commission being in it for the money. Frankly this came as a surprise to me, considering some of the films that you have been associated with in the past. I realise that things are pretty grim in the film industry at the moment, with government support for the Commission slipping away. I guess that you are faced with the prospect of largely supporting yourselves from investment returns etc., so I can understand your caution…’ Peter was, he now readily admits, an angry young man:
Using my parent’s typewriter on the kitchen table, I’d be sitting there, late into the night, writing these interminable letters, exacting my anger on the Film Commission for turning me down!
The letter continued: ‘We were not asking for, nor did we expect, charity…I really hope that in the future there will come a time when there is enough money to spare to give enthusiastic young film-makers a go, without the burden of expecting an immediate financial return.’
‘I certainly feel better,’ Peter confessed ‘having got all that off my chest!’ having done so, he felt free to adopt a slightly more conciliatory tone:
‘Reading back over what I have written, there are a couple of comments I think I should make. I’ve felt very awkward writing this, since there’s a danger of becoming precious, of sounding like a pupil lecturing the teacher. However, after spending every day for two years with this film constantly on my mind, not to mention the back-breaking work spent on it, I’m sure you will understand my determination to defend it where I think such defence is justified. You may not agree with the points I have made, but I hope it has given you a much better idea of exactly what we are aiming for. I have tried to make my comments as well balanced and constructive as possible.
‘The other point I want to make is that this is neither a “sour grapes” letter, nor a “Please Mr Booth, give us another chance” letter. I hope it has not given that impression. I’m a person that believes that everything happens for the best and the fact that we are on our own could well be advantageous for both us and the film…As things have worked out, I now have complete freedom to film what I want, with my own money, happy in the knowledge that I don’t have to put up with a lot of moans about “public money being spent on such shocking trash”.
‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘there will be complaints when the film comes out, but they can only help the box-office, since the horror film regarded as “notorious” are usually the more successful ones.’ Think of all that money you are passing up, he seems to be saying and then disarmingly adds, ‘There may have been a fair amount of flak coming the way of the Commission too, so it lets us both off the hook.’
Peter’s concluding remark betrays a dogged – almost defiant – belief in self-determining success: ‘I hope this letter has cleared up any misconceptions that you may have had about what we are trying to achieve…If you hear or read anything about us in the next year or so, then at least you will know what it’s all about.’
Jim Booth took ten days to reply and when he did it was, on the face of it, not particularly encouraging: he heard, though didn’t necessarily accept, the parallels with such films as The Evil Dead or The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and stood by his belief that the quality of what he had so far seen was simply not good enough, particularly in view of what he believed were increasing demands in the video market for ‘higher standards’.
Before signing off, however, Jim Booth offered the chance to reappraise the project with a non-committal suggestion that some future assistance might be forthcoming: ‘I am sure you are right when you say that the go-it-alone principle will be beneficial to achieving your aims and if we can look at the film when you have completed it to its full gory glory we can see whether we could help at post production stage.’
Reading this correspondence with hindsight, it is impossible to overlook a specific argument offered by Peter and responded to by Jim. ‘Something worth mentioning,’ Peter had written, ‘is the status that some films have as “cult films”. A cult film, particularly a cheap one, often becomes a huge financial success due to the repeat viewings from a group of hard-core fans. While I would be reluctant to make any such claims about Giles being “cult material”, I think it contains many of the elements of the cult film, and it stands up well to repeat viewings. Only time will tell…’
‘I’m afraid we often get the argument about “cult films”,’ replied Jim, ‘but they are in fact the very rare exception – the ones that get some kind of lucky break.’
He didn’t know it yet, but he was the very person destined to give Peter Jackson and his would-be ‘cult-film’ just such a lucky break – but not quite yet…
Signing off his letter, Jim Booth wrote, ‘No doubt we will be hearing from you at a later date.’ When he did hear, four months later in July 1985, it was in another lengthy letter (six pages this time) recounting the most extraordinary tangled tale: ‘As I promised last time,’
Peter began, ‘a further update on the progress we are making with our rather tasteless, low-budget 16mm feature…’
Peter Jackson was, without doubt, a born storyteller with a thriller-writer’s understanding of the power of suspense! ‘Just before I get into my stride,’ he went on, ‘ an apology for the overpowering typing…’ Indeed, unlike his previous epistles – in which the typing had a feint, almost ghostly, quality – the present letter was so inky that every ‘a’ and ‘e’ was no more than a blob! He duly explained, ‘New ribbon! (I think I might have got the wrong sort.)’
Only then did he take up his story:
‘Hopefully you can recall the basic plans we had and the video that you saw containing the first hour for our movie, Giles’ Big Day. If you can’t, don’t worry since you may as well forget it anyway. In the last three or four months the whole thing has gone through a complete facelift, leaving the version you saw rather outdated. Before I detail the changes, I’ll briefly explain why it happened…’
It transpired that Peter had arranged to take two weeks leave from work in April, the month after receiving the Film Commission’s refusal of his grant application, in order to build the considerable number of models and props required for the final part of the film. ‘We mapped out a shooting schedule so I’d know what to make first and if I remember right we had hoped to have completed filming…around about now. However, it was not to be.’
On the Sunday before Peter was due to begin his leave, he had planned to take a location-recce with Ken Hammon and Craig Smith in order to block out the scenes. As Peter explained to Jim Booth, they never got around to making their trip…
‘Craig broke the news that he wasn’t very happy with the amount of gore in the film and could we please tone it down. On further discussion it became clear that it wasn’t exactly toning down he wanted, but the removal of all violence and gore! As you can imagine…this was a bit like saying, “You can film Ben-Hur so long as you don’t have
Craig’s departure from Bad Taste. He allowed himself to be ‘written out’ in a gory way. At the time, I just shot some random footage, having no idea how I would end up using it and how it would shape the finished movie. It was a big problem.
anyone wearing a toga!” Without the “good bits” we’d have a real turkey on our hands.’
The personal circumstances that had led Craig to this decision were less sudden than it must have seemed on that Sunday morning when he delivered his ultimatum.