Spoilers - 2015 Iris Prize

Spoilers is about that.

It's about the phenomenon of spoilers on the internet

and in narrative storytelling, where everyone's fiercely protective

of their right to experience a story on their own terms.

So hence we have this advent of this spoiler alert that

happens in reviews and media

and so forth to warn people not to read ahead, and it takes that

idea and applies it to love and the world of relationships.

The film is very much a kind of magical realist story

about two guys who literally have matching luggage and enter

into a kind of extended date, if you like, over the course of a day.

The spoilers themselves are kind of out there.

In some ways, it's an experimental film.

I mean, it breaks many rules cos there's flights of fancy in it and

there's huge leaps of faith

and it's about that idea of love being a leap of faith.

In some ways, the kind of cinematic vision is a leap of faith as well,

like, hey, what if these gargoyles did talk?

What if the sat nav had an opinion?

What if a lobster was a bit homophobic?

I think it's extremely Welsh, actually.

I mean, I took that strategic approach.

I didn't write the screenplay until I got here, which was a risk,

but the concept was there.

I arrived and actually used the location scout to inform the story

and shape the kind of narrative

according to the kind of locations that were available.

What I love about Iris is it gives you complete creative freedom.

It's been a very supportive but hands-off approach, sort of like,

"This is your film now and we're here to support you."

So I was afforded an enormous freedom.

I don't think you have to be a gay man to enjoy Spoilers

or to relate to Spoilers.

It's very much about love. It's a love story.

BELL TOLLS

VIOLIN MUSIC PLAYS

'Did I spoil it?'

DOG BARKS

'I bloody spoilt it.'

-Um, oh, sorry, I think you've got the wrong...

-Sorry, definitely mine.

-The sticker?

-Correct.

No, no, I mean, I know it's mine because of the sticker.

Glastonbury '99.

I was at Glastonbury in '99.

-You were?

-I really was, yeah.

-Who did you see on the Friday?

-Tori.

Amos to that. Saturday?

Shakespears Sister.

Sunday?

BOTH: Korn.

-Holy...

-Shit.

I have exactly the same sticker on exactly the same suitcase

in exactly the same spot.

Does this prove or disprove the existence of a God?

We certainly are in some kind of wormholey, Sliding Doorsy,

timewarpy uncanny valley.

Felix.

Leon.

Ah, er, that is your bag...

which must mean...

Er, do you want some, er...

Er, sure.

Um, let's start with the...

-Voodoo doll?

-Ah, him.

Him. Uh, I had him made in the likeness of my ex.

-Sounds weird now I say it out loud.

-You've got these pins all wrong.

I'm an acupuncturist.

-No, you're not.

-I really am. I mean, I do remedial massage too.

Shall I show you where these pins should be for maximum impact?

-Go on, then.

-OK.

Well, this one should be here.

Swap these two around.

And that one goes right in there.

-And that's it?

-That's it.

-Dead.

-He's moved on.

Well, it's been delightful meeting you.

You're handsome and clever and have fantastic taste in music

and I will get out of your way

before I start punching above my weight.

Goodbye, Felix.

So what's an Englishman doing in Wales then?

-Looking for a fella whose baggage matches mine.

-Yeah?

THEY LAUGH

Know anyone?

You know you shouldn't say that about yourself.

-What?

-You'd be punching above your weight.

Oh, that's just my Brooke Shield.

I know.

-You don't know what I like.

-I bet I do.

Short fat blokes from Derby.

We all have our cross to bear, Leon.

-SAT NAV:

-'At the old clock tower, stop.

'Make three-point turn...

'..then take next left at the third sheep on the right.'

Driver, can you stop a sec? I've got to take a leak.

'Show-er or grower?

'I'd say show-er. It's bulge city back there.

'Could crack a walnut on that thing!'

Wait, am I...

'Talking to the sat nav, yeah, doll, you are off your tits

'cos someone's got a little crush, haven't they?

'Those smouldering eyes as he laid into your ex...

'Oh, don't blame you, he's lush.'

He is, isn't he?

'Oh, yeah, I'd have a crack.

'But let's get real.

'We know how this ends.

How?

'Spoiler alert. Abandonment, babes.'

HE SIGHS

'He draws you in, builds you back up,

'makes you feel all safe and special again

'and then, bang, it changes.

'He gives you that look...

'..like the whole thing has been inside your stupid fat head.

'The laughs, the cuddles, the kisses and the joke's on you.

'Why would a perfect, well-adjusted hottie like him look twice at you,

'you big, ugly, worthless sack of sh...'

DOOR SLAMS

Warning. Didn't wash hands.

All right?

Um, yeah, er...

Headache. I get migraines.

Ah, balls.

Let's get you some fresh air, yeah?

Brought your scarf. Keep your neck warm.

Thanks, saviour.

It's lovely here.

Mum used to bring me here when I was a kid and that cliff,

I used to imagine that I'd grow up and I'd build a lighthouse on it

and I'd live there being the lighthouse keeper.

I'd also have my own shop down there on the beach

and live happily ever after.

Just me and Whitney Houston and a lighthouse and little shop.

That's cute.

I badly wanted a shop too.

I ACHED for a shop.

-What's that?

-Oh, nothing, bit of nonsense.

Show me.

-Pretty bloody sweet, right?

-Yeah, I want one of those.

He wears his heart on his sleeve, he does,

and what it is is a cute metaphor for precisely that.

I don't trust metaphors. Everything's got to be real. Look.

Left ventricle, atrium, right atrium, ventricle,

pulmonary artery, aorta to scale, baby.

Tidy.

Behold my heritage-listed, unbreachable heart fortress.

Walls of stone, ten-foot thick, sturdy portcullis

and moat with big-arse shark.

Your heart fortress metaphor is no match for my imaginary siege tower.

Ah, but that's the problem, isn't it?

It's imaginary.

HOUSE MUSIC STARTS

Absolutely not.

Got to get past my guard dragon first.

The thing about wormholes is that

they're all about infinite possibilities, aren't they?

Time and space, space and time are elastic

and somewhere Leon Fitzell-Thorne slays heart dragons.

We're in a wormhole, baby.

-Do you like Chinese?

-I fucking love Chinese.

I just remember some ginger thing in the distance

mucking about on a piano.

-Oh, I can't eat that.

-You're actually meant to eat them?

-Have I been wasting food?

-You have to eat them or they don't come true.

Well, let's see what our future holds then.

I got this covered.

Oy! Oy!

Over here.

You!

Yes, you.

Wipe that jizz off your face and mince over here.

Well, hello, Dorothy.

How are things with your boyfriend?

-A bit early for that.

-Well, had one in the tank last week.

Not a bender myself but he was a nice-looking lobster.

But yours? Whoa!

Did you see the way he ate that sang choi bao?

-How?

-Like it was the last bag of dicks at the fair.

He looked contented, though, didn't he?

LAUGHS

Flapping his gums, waving his arms, giving it all that.

You can't just have rice.

-He's happy.

-He's jolly!

You like it now cos it's funny and sweet and real,

but, spoiler alert, after the honeymoon,

"jolly" will start to shit you bad, boss.

At first, it feels nice being needed and then, hello,

he's getting all comfy.

He wants in your fucking fortress.

He gives, you take and it leads right down the garden path

to domestic bloody dependency...

-Fuck off.

-Fuck you!

..and you punish him for loving you and dump him for some horny cub

cos you're an arsehole and a sociopath,

cos you are incapable of loving anyone but yourself,

-you lonely, sad, old cun...

-I know exactly where we're going.

Come on.

Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait -wait-wait-wait-wait.

And open.

Come on.

You know what?

If one of the trolley dollies had told me this morning

I'd be spending the whole day with a handsome acupuncturist...

Hey, mister, everything OK?

'Hey, girl!

'She has got emotional transference plastered right across her

'big old forehead and you ain't got the goods to stick around!'

Oh, can you just...

'Yeah, cut and run before you ruin more lives...'

-Handsome?

-'..you miserable motherfucker!'

-All right?

-Yep.

'Well, if it isn't Little Miss Fuckin' Romantic!

'Don't come cryin' here when it all goes to shit, you pathetic victim!

'Urgh, you make me sick!'

-Fuck off.

-'Spoiler alert! It ends in tears.'

Mate...

Yep.

-..don't call me handsome.

-Don't call me mate.

I think that might be my cue.

Really?

-Sure.

-Yeah.

-This is how it ends?

That, er, that knitted fella...

-Tom.

-Did you love Tom?

-Yes.

-Now you hate him?

-No.

-Was he cruel to you?

There was a long time when I thought he had been cruel.

-He decimated my heart.

-That's a metaphor.

Sometimes metaphors are the only way to say it.

Try me.

After seven incredible years together, he told me

he didn't love me and vanished.

I got badly depressed.

Couldn't stop crying.

Hunched over on my...

OUR bed for weeks.

Months.

It was horrid.

I shrivelled into something unrecognisable.

Tom was my world.

And suddenly he wasn't.

I had a kind of...

mix tape of me and him on loop in my head.

Every intimate moment, every...

The smell.

His voice.

His eyelashes. How silly he made me.

And so I did that for a year and then got on a plane.

That fucking sucks, Leon.

We were good together.

Really good.

-Have you...?

-Hell, yeah.

What did he do?

He died.

I shouldn't have brought all that up about...

-I can't compare what happened to me...

-Grief sucks.

-Doesn't matter the cause.

-I know.

-Where to?

-Er, I was going to meet the fellas.

-Take a bowl?

-Not really my scene.

Mine either.

-You?

-Might watch a film.

-Look, I was thinking...

-No, Leon.

-You don't even know what...

-The answer's no.

-It's not your choice when someone pops up with...

-Yes, it is.

-..all the qualities you seek.

-But I don't seek them, though, do I?

I didn't seek you.

-I'm a really great boyfriend.

-I know.

-I don't know why I thought someone like you...

-Oh, Leon!

Oh, fuck...off!

A connection like this is fucking rare, Felix.

-You of all people should feel that.

-Fuck you!

You got somewhere to go?

Probably just go home.

Sick of living out of a suitcase.

-Oh, fuck.

-Fucking tide!

-Oh, shit!

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!

Pity the poor fucker who finds Tom on the beach tomorrow full of pins.

Listen...

I got these tickets.

Special midnight screening.

I'll be there

if you want to know how it ends.

No more endings.

VIOLIN MUSIC PLAYS

BELL TOLLS

-Hello.

-Hiya.

-Enjoy.

-Thank you.

Oh, sorry, I think that's my..

Sorry, yeah. Definitely mine.

-Er, the ticket.

-Correct.

No, no, I know it's mine cos it's my ticket.

Sit down and eat your popcorn.

'20th Century Fox presents...'

-So what is this?

-It's a romcom.

Better be short.

'Um, oh, sorry, I think you've got the wrong...'

'Sorry, definitely mine.'

'The sticker.'

'Correct.'

'No, no, I mean, I know it's mine because of the sticker.

'Glastonbury '99.'

'I was at Glastonbury in '99.'

-'You were?'

-'I really was, yeah.'

I was enjoying that.

Hey, mister, everything OK?

What did I miss?

I don't want to spoil it.

ROMANTIC MUSIC PLAYS