[UPDATE: CFP has been extended until November 5 11:59 PM CET].
I’m delighted to announce the call for papers for the Making the Most of Film and Video in Archaeology session, to be held at the Computing Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology (CAA) international conference, March 19th and 23rd 2018 at the University of Tübigen, Germany. In this session we seek to bring archaeologists and computing specialists together to explore, problematize, and suggest creative but critically informed solutions to the challenges of integrating film and video into archaeological research designs.
MAKING THE MOST OF FILM AND VIDEO IN ARCHAEOLOGY
Keywords: Film, video, actuality, recording, filmmaking, digital archiving, databases, social media, online platforms, research design.
Despite the fact that archaeologists have experimented with various forms of filmmaking for a century we are still yet to develop a pragmatic approach to how best to integrate actuality film and video recording, editing, and archiving into our research project designs. As mediums merge and digital platforms multiply, as coders begin to replace film editors, as media technologies, standards, laws, and conventions shift – now is a timely moment to take stock and consider how we can make better use of actuality film and video in archaeological contexts. Key challenges include how to address the disconnected digital archives of historical archaeological film footage increasingly available online; how to better integrate drone, underwater, and site videography into archaeological research design and dissemination strategies; and how to better foster media literacy and skills among archaeologists tasked with researching, designing, recording, editing, managing, distributing, and digitally archiving film and video material.
This session seeks to cross industry and disciplinary boundaries by inviting archaeological scholars and computing specialists to problematise and bring fresh perspectives to the above issues by suggesting future directions for how we can make the most of digital actuality film and video in archaeology.
Suggested themes and topics include but are not restricted to:
Film and video as archaeological data.
Digital archiving, database management, and accessibility for archaeological films and videos.
Working with video files – what archaeologists need to know.
Using film and video in academic publishing.
The pros and cons of vlogging, social media, and online video platforms for archaeology.
Merging the mediums: approaches to combining actuality footage with animation, VR, AR and more.
Coding: the future of film editing? How we can futureproof digital archaeological storytelling.
Please note: the term ‘actuality’ is borrowed from the documentary industry and used here to describe non-fiction films and videos of actual people, places, and events – as distinct from animated or fiction films and videos.
The call for papers has just opened and will run until Sunday 29nd October 2017 Sunday 5th November 23:59 CET. Applicants will need to register with the CAA conference to submit your paper to our session. Abstracts for papers should be no more 250 words excluding session title, author names, affiliations, and email addresses and 3 – 5 keywords. Please note, the official language of the conference is English and all submissions should be in English. If English is not your first language, it is strongly suggested that you have a fluent English speaker review your abstract before submission.
It’s #DayOfArch and my social media feeds have exploded with blog entries, twitter updates and lots of archaeology-porn (my term for photos of sexy artefacts posted without context – a topic for another day). So today seems like a nice opportunity to update this blog with an entry of what my typical ‘archaeology day’ looks like on the road towards achieving a PhD in archaeology.
My typical archaeology day begins with my alarm going off around 7:30am and as much as I’d like to ignore it I can’t – this alarm serve’s not only to wake me up but to remind me to take insulin. Before I can eat I have to test my blood to check my sugar level, count the carbohydrates in my meal, calculate the insulin dosage based on this, and then inject myself into my tummy with insulin.
To get to the archaeology department at university I have to do the same: test my blood, and depending on the results and eat a biscuit or sip an OJ before/during/after cycling, then test my blood again when I arrive. Then up to my desk to get the days work underway – usually starting with a twitter foray and email clearance (there’s lots of GP and administrative appointments to sort out given my recently time absence due to illness and as a Tier 4 student my options for sick leave are limited).
2 hours after my first insulin injection, about 10 – 10:30, I test my blood again, and then finally comes coffee (which I’ve read can impair insulin so I wait until the insulin has peaked to have it). This is my productive time: for writing and data analysis. I’m also blessed to have an awesome group of PhD archaeology students at Southampton – we have coffee mornings for banter, and Cake Fridays during term time. There’s always someone in the office to chat with or drag off for a caffeine refill.
Lunch is the same protocol: alarm goes off, test, count, calculate and inject. I’ve taken to requesting lunch meetings in order to save time – but this means injecting in public, which means having to expose my tummy – which means no more dresses. Or shopping for cut out dresses – I think they call that turning a problem into an opportunity?
Blood testing again 2 hours later. My sugar seems to drop in the afternoon, and knowing I have only 2-3 hours until I have to leave for work is annoying, so this is ‘mundane tasks’ time: logging film footage, admin, emails, etc.
Blood testing again before cycling to my usual evening shift at the university library, then testing again when I arrive. And snack time! – so long as it’s under 20g of carbs.
I eat dinner (alarm, test, count, calculate, inject) at my desk during work. The library team has been extremely supportive and sourced sharps buckets for me, and luckily food and drink is allowed in the library. On quiet nights I also work on my PhD research here: readings, writing, admin.
Back home by 10pm, test, snack, housework or maybe some more study depending on deadlines.
And then a final alarm and a final injection of a insulin for the night.
And that’s it really. Rinse and repeat every day. My typical #dayofarch. No sexy artefacts (not every day anyway). No exotic travel (although that does happen too). No amazing and sudden break through in theory. Instead: routine, persistence and endurance. But is that enough?
You’ve probably gathered that I have insulin-dependent diabetes – AKA Type 1. As I write this blog I’m actually recovering from a hypoglycemic attack (aka ‘hypo’), which is when your blood sugar levels drop suddenly causing symptoms such as rapid heartbeat, blurred vision, dizziness, shakiness, and changes in behavior. At its worst it can lead to loss of consciousness and even coma. That’s the textbook description anyway. In reality it’s not as dramatic as it sounds: I’m currently just sitting at my desk in the post-graduate study room, surrounded by my fellow archaeologists who are typing away. I’ve just snacked on an OJ and some digestives, checked my blood glucose levels are rising again, and I’m looking forward to a coffee and cracking on with some data analysis. I’m nursing a head cold as well, which has given me a sexy, gritty voice to rival ScarJo. But I can’t be bothered waiting for the trembling hands and slightly-off vision to fade – I have things I want to do: film footage to log, ethnographic journal entries to write, software to learn, data to analyse, a conference session to plan, papers to write – a PhD thesis to draft. And my deadlines get closer every day.
But I do have to slow down. I can’t afford to push my body like I used to as a typical PhD student. The reason I’m experiencing a hypo is because I’ve only recently been diagnosed with type-1 diabetes (T1D) and am yet to get my blood sugar levels stable and safe – a process that might take months I’m told. T1D is uncommon at my age. Only 10% of diabetes sufferers have T1D, and of those, less that 15% are diagnosed after adulthood. At 30 years old my GP tells me I’m quite the anomaly – but while it’s always nice to be told your ‘special’ this is one type of special I would have been happy to bypass. It’s possible that the disease has been bubbling away below the surface for a year or two, with no diagnostic clues it was happening – scientifically we still don’t know what causes T1D after all. Nor how to cure it.
My T1D annoyingly hit me while I was filming on an archaeology excavation as one of my PhD case studies in late June/early July, a couple of weeks ago now. I became unusually weak and fatigued, had extreme thirst and an annoying ‘dry mouth’, and over the 2 weeks of excavation I lost 7kgs weight (I usually weigh roughly 55kgs so this took me unhealthily underweight). At the time I mostly managed to work through it, filming everyday and making my research notes about the filming process – which is also one of my PhD case studies. I put my feeling unwell down to the usual wear and tear of being on an archaeology excavation and assumed I had some minor illness. A couple of days after returning home and finding that rest did not lead me to recovery, I visited the GP, which quickly led to an overnight stay in hospital, IV bags and blood tests galore, and immediate training to start using an insulin pen and test my blood glucose levels ever couple of hours – now routine. In a matter of weeks I’ve bounced from being a healthy ordinary young woman, to a borderline comatose zombie with acid for blood, to now: a fairly healthy T1D woman, considering I’m less than a month into what is ironically called my ‘diabetic career’.
AN OVER SHARE?
But why make the personal a public matter by blogging about it? Is that appropriate? Or Professional? Especially in the rough and tumble of academic archaeology – a discipline where professional reputations are so fiercely protected and criticism often cutting? I have always felt that the personal aspects of research are not only worthy of, but actually demand thoughtful reflection and close critique. Perhaps this is because of my documentary training (you can’t tell a story without fully formed human beings in it). Or maybe it’s because of my background working in Aboriginal archaeology in Australia, where personal connections to country, such as the recording of oral histories, are just as crucial to fulfilling the needs of the job as the scientific aspects of archaeology and administration of heritage management. Perhaps I’m being vain. Or lazy. Procrastinating from the actual PhD.
But I have my reasons for wanting to share my daily experience as a diabetic archaeologist and PhD student:
Because since my diagnosis other T1D staff and students have quietly emerged from the woodwork to share their support – turns out there’s quite a few of us. And that’s just T1D! What about all the other illnesses and different abilities experienced by students and academics? Is there really a culture of silence about illness and disability in Higher Ed? If so, what is the impact? Of course it’s up to individuals if they want to make their illness public, but it seems a pity to me that illness and disabilities not be up for discussion or familiarization until after the fact (admittedly my knowledge of T1D previously only came from watching Steel Magnolias, so I include myself in this criticism). I have recently told some staff members and my fellow archaeology students about my condition – if something does go wrong on a late night in the office or on a dig I need them to know what to do. I simply can’t afford to be silent about this.
Because my campus has no sharps disposal bins, not only for my use, but for fellow staff, students, and visitors who may need them. We’re changing that though – the administrative staff and my own academic supervisory team have been very supportive and quick to act now that I’ve requested this. I might even score a min desk-fridge for spare insulin. (And for snacks. And Pimms).
Because I have every intention of writing about this as part of my filming-diary in my thesis – so this is a bit of a rehearsal. Looks like the question of whether to take the risk of using auto-ethnography to describe my case-study has been answered. Stay tuned for this one fellow researchers.
Because this is another tick in my Quest For Adequate and Private Sanitation on archaeology excavation sites. That also deserves its own blog post. More soon.
So I am pleased to announce that from now on this blog will have a duel purpose: I will not only be exploring the relationship of archaeology and documentary film on here – I’ll be occasionally extending my blog to consider to the human being behind the camera and behind the pen. I’ll be considering how health and illness affect ones progress in filmmaking, in the pursuit of the PhD and in academia more broadly. My current working idea is that filming archaeology is documentary praxis as much as any other documentary sub-genre. It’s about people. Past and present. On screen and off.
Archdox has been a little quiet lately, but fear not! I’m just taking a little rl time to focus on the thesis. More blogging to come soon, but in the meantime you can still follow me @archdox on twitter!
Well, I’ve just arrived back from a month’s field work and filming in Greece and while the field directors gets on with the data processing and report writing, I’m chasing a couple of final permits and getting ready to crack into the edit. I haven’t even sat through most of the footage yet so I don’t want to discuss the production too closely and prematurely (that is, afterall, what the thesis is for). But I was very pleased to get some feedback on my blog from readers the other day – apparently there are a few of you who regularly visit this blog for tips and discussion on archaeology documentary filmmaking! Thus validating my procrastination – I mean, public outreach – so bless you (and supervisors please take note). So whilst this last project is fresh on my mind, here are a 6 quick technical tips that I’ve picked up along the way and plan to apply to my filming practice next time, which might also be useful to others. A lot of this is basic stuff you’ll find in any documentary textbook or masterclass on youtube, but here I’ve tailored it to shooting on terrestrial archaeological excavations:
1. White balance! Do not trust automatic white balancing – everything will be blue. Archaeology sites change colour completely over the course of a day as the sun hits the soil and the weather turns, and depending on where and how hard the shade is. So if you want to capture things like soil contexts you have to be constantly checking that your white balance matches as close as possible to what your eye is actually seeing, especially if you plan to shoot the same context over different days.
2. Check your lens. Every 5 minutes. Not kidding. There is so much dirt and grass flying around. Aim at the sky and see if there’s specks showing up. Keep your lens cap, tissues and fluid on you. When not filming, but needing the camera available and ready to go, I also took to sitting my camera on a nifty stool and throwing a towel over it to try and minimise the dirt and dust getting on/into it.
3. Check your switches and settings regularly. Handheld shooting means cameras get knocked about a lot, and I know there was at least one morning where I must have accidentally knocked my sound input channel switch so I had the weaker mic running to both channels and didn’t notice in time, despite wearing cans religiously. You can use camera tape to fix switches make sure this doesn’t happen.
4. Shoot entire takes with a beginning, middle and end – nicely paced – don’t shoot to cut. This was a really hard lesson for me as I shoot to cut by instinct (based on my training), and had to keep pulling myself up on it. You see, there’s so much intrusive noise at archaeology sites (multiple conversations, music, farming machinery, road traffic, air traffic, animals, wind) that takes of full “scenes” might be the only way to actually capture narrative-friendly footage – I dread to think how I’m going to go about cutting some of the material I have. You can ask people nearby to lower their voices when shooting, and turn off music, you can use radio-mics – but that’s approaching “set dressing” in some ways, it’s a step away from “actualité”, so that’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself, depending on your mode, how strict you are about it, and where you want to take the final film. Ideally of course, have a skilled sound recordist on the boom.
5. Pick your moments. Deciding when it was appropriate to ask questions or to initiate discussions was very difficult, sometimes it worked nicely, sometimes it was forced for both myself and the participants and that left a bad taste in people’s mouths (although my participants were extraordinarily good humored and patient with me). Obviously the archaeological work must have priority, but there’s no point being there at all and putting people through the demands of a shoot if you don’t do your job properly as well. You cannot go back for pick ups – you literally have one shot. At the same time, you can’t film everything, especially if you have limited battery or storage space. So you have to be strategic and get a feel for and play to the dynamics on site, and strike the right balance between going with the flow and pushing enough to get beyond superficial observation. You can arrange for a formal time to discuss what’s happening on site, eg. 5 minutes at the beginning and end of each day – which I didn’t do (I did this in a more ad-hoc fashion), and I regret not doing it as a back up, but again, that can force a performance or even worse, send people into lecture mode and waste everyone’s time and energy. So it depends on your style and your participants. It’s something to be negotiated and trialed.
6. I didn’t use a tripod or body rig at all – a deliberate decision, following verité conventions after filmmakers like Dineen and Churchill – and I’m still not sure if it was worth it. My wrist was quite damaged by the end of the dig, affecting my ability to maneuver the camera, and even a week later typing this blog entry hurts. Also, it’s hard to pull focus and remain steady on distance shots and close ups on artefacts when filming hand held. On the other hand (heh), I could follow the action much more easily than if I was locked into a tripod or rig, I could move across sensitive areas of the site quickly, and I’d rather all the shots match in terms of feel and movement. So… I’m still considering what’s best here.
These notes are just scratching the surface of course, and what I haven’t discussed here is the relationship between filmmakers and participants which is the real key to a successful shoot. Now, I’m prepping to enter the logging, transcribing and edit of the film, along with more thesis writing and consultations with my participants which I hope will continue through the rest of post-production and the larger research project. So, stay tuned for more details as the edit progresses, as well as more film reviews, news and debate about archaeology documentary filmmaking.
Archdox is going to be on hiatus for a month as I’ll be out putting my money where my mouth typing is by filming a 4-week archaeological excavation in Greece. Stay tuned though, because if all goes to plan, I’ll be writing about the experience for months to come as one of my PhD case studies. Expect much reflecting on dumb mistakes the getting of archaeological wisdom. There might even be a real, broadcast-able documentary in it. Might be.
So in preparation for filming an archaeological excavation in Greece later this month (a central component of my PhD), I recently invested in my own shiney new Canon XF300 and sound kit. It’s my first professional camera and I can’t tell you how exciting it is to upgrade from the wee consumer-level Sony HDR camcorder I’ve used previously to a machine where I really can control the image and sound at a quality that can then be professionally edited, projected or broadcast. I did consider renting a kit, but since I intend to spend a lot of time in future on archaeology sites doing long-form observational filming, purchasing my own gear outright seemed cheaper in the long run. And of course a lot more fun!
So there I was on the weekend, geeking out with my kit, testing everything out to make sure it was all compatible and working, when boom! Battery charger blinked it’s last blink, spluttered and died. No worries I thought, I’ll send it off for warranty repairs and worse comes to worse I still had time to buy a new one on Amazon. No big deal. Shortly after, as I did a final check of my settings, the LCD flip out screen on the camera flickered and disappeared, never to be seen again. Anxiety mounting. Sure, I could always work with just the viewfinder, but what if that kicked the bucket too? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH MY BABY? With 2 weeks until I was booked to fly out to the excavation I began to feel the cold sweat of the solo shooter’s pre-production panic.
I’ve learned a lot of lessons about solo shooting in the days since The Gear Check Of Doom:
1. Warranties can only be redeemed in the country of purchase. Don’t expect a global company to grant global coverage (thanks Canon) (expect more rants about regional barriers to media production in coming months). Therefore register your products and know your warranty details are so you don’t waste time chasing them through international hotline menus or waiting for the right time zone and office hours to roll around.
2. Know your repair options before you shoot. For Canon there is only one authorised store in the UK that repairs professional camcorders for non-registered Canon users (there’s another joint in London but you need to own several professional Canon cameras, lenses, etc to qualify). They’re H. Lehmann, and they’re all the way up in Stoke on Trent in the midlands. I scouted out local options online but either they don’t touch the professional grade stuff or they were dubious websites with no registered business details. I went with H. Lehmann, sent my baby up by courier, begged them to fast track the repairs, and prayed to Vertov, the patron saint of documentary filmmakers for a quick turn around.
3. Have a support network. I had a few archaeologist friends who’s response was genuinely sympathetic, but ultimately (and not unkindly) a little dismissive of my absolute freak out concerns, and who suggested I just borrow a camcorder or DSLR from the archaeology department. How to begin explain the difference between camera types and the stories they can tell? I imagine it’s a little bit like how archaeologists feel about trowel types – of course you could technically excavate with any old trowel (I’ve even seen people use spoons), but don’t expect any kind of precision or speed if you choose something a bit ad hoc.
There’s a reason many documentary cinematographers loathe DSLRs, especially for observational or vérité filmmaking (bad sound, ergonomically useless, no stability off tripod [requires a rig], and takes limited to 12-15 minutes [I know you can hack this but is it really worth it?]). And as for consumer-level camcorders, they’re fine for online video or archival footage but say goodbye to projecting a large image of any quality, and again, there’s little to no control of the image or sound. I’m all for experimenting with different mediums and prioritising storytelling (I love camera phones and go-pros), but I’m also aware of the output and limitations of different mediums and formats. In short: I know what kind of footage I want and what kit I need to be able to get it. And I’m willing to trade the beautiful shallow depth of field shots from a DSLR for the run-and-gun freedom of a pro-camcorder. The camera is more than just a recording device – it’s a contract that states your style and intent not only to your participants but also to yourself and your audience – it’s an extension of the filmmakers body and mind. I do plan on using these other cameras for b-roll and could even use them as plan Bs, but to do so would mean a whole different approach to both the documentary mode and distribution strategy.
My filmmaker friends responded to the news in a similar fashion to myself: a flurry of swear words, commiserations and suggestions of turning to alcohol. Unfortunately though, independent documentary filmmakers are a solitary species, and my filmmaker buddies all live far away (most back in Australia), and could offer little more than kind words and sympathetic emoticons.
But all is well! I heard back from H. Lehmann today and the camera and charger are both are fixed and serviced (6 month warranty, thanks guys!) and due back in my loving arms by Monday, much earlier than I expected. A tremendous relief. So in many ways this episode is a blessing in disguise: I now know what to do if I’m in the field, working to a tight schedule, and the camera (or other gear) gives up the ghost. I’ve got my emergency contacts for Canon in Greece printed out and good to go. But I’m also now aware of how very lonely it will likely be as a first-time solo shooter, navigating the pitfalls of documentary production in the midst of a busy archaeological project, with no crew to back me up. And at the end the day the last thing you want is for the technical aspects of the shoot to distract you or your participants from the events at hand (in this case the archaeology and the filming of it).
All of this and I’m still just in pre-production! Expect more updates, thoughts and tips about solo shooting archaeology documentaries in the coming months – and please share any of your own thoughts or advice in the comments below (archaeologists and filmmakers and both!). What kit do you use to film with? What’s your workflow? What would you like it to be?
“What great respect for a fallen warrior to be dug up by another warrior,” says Michael Kay, an army veteran, as he stands by his trench. It’s a different trench to those he may have known as a rifleman in Afghanistan: rather than sheltering its users from enemy fire, this archaeological trench is intended to expose its occupants for all the world to see. In this case the occupant is a 6th century Anglo-Saxon warrior buried with his spears and shield. I’m so delighted to share Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors with you – this gem of a short documentary not only ticks all the boxes of DIY awesomeness (a well made archaeological story, community engagement, online platform, good production values), but also takes us deeper, into a discussion about archaeological ethics, access and interpretation. There’s a lot more here than I think either the archaeologists or filmmakers were aware of when they arrived on site and switched on their cameras, and best of all its available free online.
Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors was shot and released back in 2012, but I came into contact with it at the Festival of Archaeology at Salisbury Museum a couple of weeks ago, where archaeologist Laura Joyner from Wessex Archaeology was giving a talk about Project Florence, a community archaeology programme engaging local volunteers to help process excavation finds. Those finds came from an excavation of the Barrow Clump site by Operation Nightingale, another outreach project by Wessex Archaeology and the Defence Archaeology Group.
Operation Nightingale is a community archaeology programme that trains service personal and veterans injured in conflict in archaeological fieldwork. It’s a natural fit: both military and archaeological surveying and excavation requires the same abilities such as being able to carefully read the landscape, to excavate with delicacy, and they use much of the same specialist technologies, from GPS to remote sensing. It’s also a reminder of the historical overlap between the two fields, with figures such as Augustus Pitt-Rivers and Mortimer Wheeler famously adapting their own former military knowledge to the create scientific archaeological excavation methods we still use today. So there’s a nice symmetry here. But there’s another layer here too. Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors was written, shot and edited by young people from the Wiltshire Young Carers and Youth Action Wiltshire (via the Salisbury Arts Centre). Who better to understand the therapeutic aims of the project than those for whom caring and enduring is part of their daily lives? The whole community project is so nicely orchestrated and balanced – you couldn’t script this stuff. And under the mentoring of a local production company, the young crew does a surprisingly slick job of filmmaking: with nice narration (by Joyner), clever soundtrack design and a strong structure. It’s not quite broadcast quality but it doesn’t need to be to work. Ultimately Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors is a really nice example of how strategically planned documentary filmmaking can be used in archaeology not simple to promote our findings “to a broad audience”, but can be an active part of grass-roots community engagement and – given some space – can even challenge our own preconceptions about how and why we do archaeology.
And this is where Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors goes meta. Fortuitously, the Time Team crew visit the dig while the kids are shooting: so you get to see not only B-footage of a typical 3-day Time Team shoot and how that actually works on the ground, but the kids interview the Time Team crew too, who share filming tips (maintain eye contact with your subject!) as well as their own reflections on archaeology and the dig. I have to share one quote from Tony Robinson discussing Operation Nightingale, because it’s pure gold:
“These are skilled people. Most of them have been technicians, have been working with unexploded ordinances all that kind of stuff. So they’ve got very, very, subtle hands and the work that they’ve been doing over there is absolutely exemplarary. And to me, I think like, ‘Yeah, good on you!’ Because when we started to do the programme people used to slag us off and say ‘Oh yeah, what’s a bunch of television people doing archaeology?’ ‘What?! We can learn! You can do this stuff! So can soldiers! So can anybody! It doesn’t have to be the preserve of academics in universities!’”
I love this film. And now I really want to interview this man. In fact I want to interview the whole gang behind Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors about their experience filming it.
There’s more here too of course: lots of cool Anglo-Saxon burials; slick osteological analysis; lovely Roman, Bronze Age and Anglo-Saxon finds (from beads to buckets); even a re-enactor bringing it all to life through live performance. But it’s the people in the present who make the past, and this short documentary, humble as it is, is one of the most thoughtfully constructed in the sub-genre of archaeology documentaries that I’ve come across thus far. The themes and questions it gently raises actually makes me want to put it in the same category as more professional works such as First Footprints, Cave of Forgotten Dreams and Nostalgia for the Light. My only regret with Operation Nightingale: Time Warriors is it doesn’t seem to have been sent to festivals – I could be wrong about that – but it deserves more airtime than just being posted on a website and there are lots of youth-oriented and heritage film festivals that would happily showcase it. But overall, well done to Wessex Archaeology, Salisbury Arts Centre, the Defence Archaeology Group, Operation Nightingale and most of all to the young film crew – this is a great film. I hope there will be another.