Pirate Cinema

Chapter 6

“I left home a year ago, when they took away my family's Internet access because I wouldn't stop downloading. I couldn't stop downloading. I know that sounds stupid, but I was making films, and to make films, I had to download films. I don't use a camera. I use other films and editing software. But I think my films are good.” I swallowed. “Forget that. I don't care if my films are good or not. They're mine. They say something I want and need to say. And I don't hurt anyone when I say it. They say we have a free country, and in a free country, you should be able to say what's in your heart, even if you have to use other peoples' words to say it.” The words were tumbling out now. “We all use other peoples' words! We didn't invent English, we inherited it! All the shots ever shot were shot before. All the dialog ever written is inspired by other peoples' dialog. I make new words out of them, my words, but they're not like, mine-mine, not like my underpants are mine! They're mine, but they're yours to make into your words, too!

“So they took away my family's Internet, and my Mum couldn't sign on for benefits anymore, and Dad couldn't work on the phone-bank anymore, and my sister --” A lump rose in my throat as I looked at Cora. I swallowed hard and looked away, but my voice was breaking now. “My little sister couldn't do her schoolwork anymore. It destroyed my family. I haven't spoken to my parents for a year. I --” I swallowed again. “I miss them.”

I had to stop and swallow several times. The room was dead quiet, every face on me, solemn. “Now they've passed this new law, and kids like me are going to jail for creating things in a way that the big media companies don't like. They passed this law even though no one wanted it, even though it will destroy more families.

“It's got to stop. It's got to stop. We have to stop being ashamed of downloading. We have to stop letting them call us thieves and crooks. What we do is creative and has at least as much right to exist as D'Artagnan's Blood-Oath!” People chuckled. “So let's do it. Me and my mates made these films. Some of you make films. Some of you have films inside you, waiting to get out. Just make them! Sod the law, sod the corporate bullies. They can't put us all in jail. Let's tell them what we do, go public with it. It's time to stop hiding and spit right in their eyes.”

The beamers sprang to life and blinding light hit me in the face. 26 was ready to show the films. I shielded my eyes and looked at the faces behind the swimming blobs of light that oozed across my blinded eyes. “Okay,” I said. “Looks like we're ready. I hope you like our films. Thanks for coming.”

The applause was so loud in the bricked-in vault that it made my ears ring, and as I stepped off the little stage, people started to shake my hand and hug me, strangers and friends, faces I couldn't make out behind the tears that wouldn't stop leaking out of my eyes. Finally I was holding Cora and Cora was holding me, and we were both crying like we hadn't done since we were little kids.

Behind us, the film had started, and we dried our eyes and watched along, watched the audience watching the films, laughing, gasping, nudging each other and whispering. I don't think I'd ever felt prouder in my life. It swelled me up like a balloon in my chest and the big, stupid grin on my face was so wide it made my cheeks ache, but I couldn't stop it.

They applauded even louder when my film finished, and 26 kept the final frame paused until the applause died down before starting Chester's film. We had an hour's worth of footage lined up, and hundreds of strangers and friends watched with rapt attention, right to the last second, and then there were drinks and dozens of shouted, indistinct conversations. Ev- eryone had something to say, something they loved, something they wanted to make, and it all blurred into a jumble of hands pounding my shoulders, lips shouting encouragement in my ears while the Honey Roasted Landlords played through the night.

Our Leicester Square caper had taken weeks to be noticed by the rest of the world. But Sewer Cinema was an instant hit. It turned out that there were reporters from Time Out and The Guardian in the audience, and we were on the front door of both websites the next morning -- including a close-up photo of my face. Dozens of reviews of our films appeared, mostly very complimentary (though some people hated them, but even those people were taking them seriously enough to write long rants about why they were rubbish, and I found that even these made me proud).