Tag Archive: The Ironworks Oswestry

Be The Silver Screen! – Next Thursday

Be the Silver Screen!

Be the Silver Screen!

The People’s Film Collective is being launched next Thursday, May 2nd, at The Ironworks in Oswestry, at 8pm.

The PFC is a new screening forum where amateur film and video makers can bring and show their work. The night will feature an eclectic screening of home-grown films captured on everything from mobile phone to cine camera. Film makers are invited to turn up with their latest moving image creations, on tape, reel, DVD or USB stick, and experience them on a big screen with a real audience. There will be provision to stream content live from YouTube or Vimeo as well.

PFC is open to film makers from all backgrounds and areas of interest, whether it’s abstract film, animation, drama, documentary, local interest, music video, comedy or other subject. It is free to attend and also welcomes those simply interested in seeing alternative and original film. Should be a weird and wonderful night – turn up with some footage, or just turn up!

More details and updates are available on the PFC website and Facebook (search for Peoples Film Collective PFC).

Misery and Despair

How depressing...

How depressing…

Inside Out artist Freja [Limelight, Glass at the Speed of Light], Oswestry creative Neil Phillips [366 teeshirts, Awesome Zombie Ants, Supermarket: The Musical] and Shropshire band The Contact High came together last night for an evening of despondency and introspection at The Ironworks.

Gloom was billed as an evening of  musical melancholy, perfectly suited to the grim depths of February. A mournful playlist lived up to all depressing expectations, with enough dark, lonely tracks to dampen even the sunniest of spirits. The Contact High also lived up to their reputation, bringing a touch of garage psychedelia to the musical desolation. Freja’s fitful downlighting was ghost-show of shadows, trapping everyone in a lonely noir-esque web of murky flickers. At times, the band, awash with dim spills of red and blue, looked like stumbling refugees from a zombie apocalypse, their music the soundtrack to a Winter of Discontent.

The crowd of morose foot-shufflers who came to indulge their sorrows and who wouldn’t catch your eye moped around sulkily all night, finally creeping off around two. A thoroughly miserable night, as grim and bleak as everyone expected.

Let’s do this again!

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