Short Films, Big Stories: How Storytelling Brings RE to Life

The throne stood on a platform, spot-lit by a shaft of light that fell from a high window. Sitting between the ornately-carved armrests was the Queen herself, resplendent in her robes and crown. Her eyes swept the room and the assembled courtiers quailed beneath her gaze.

                  “I demand to know the secret!” she bellowed, “Which of you cringing curs will tell me? How many more of you have to lose your heads before it is revealed?”

                  “But your Majesty,” babbled the Lord Chamberlain, “The secret is known only to a chosen few! Alchemists, sorcerers – practitioners of the dark arts!”

                  “Aha! Then I have just the person,” crowed the Queen, “He is presently a resident of the deepest dungeons beneath the castle.” She pointed a long fingernail at a chain-mailed guard.

                  “You! Bring me… the Scrivener!”

                  The guard rattled off and soon returned, dragging a thin old man with straggling hair and beard, dressed in rags, and pathetically gripping a quill pen. With a shove from the guard, he fell at the Queen’s feet.

                  “You! Scrivener! Tell me the secret! How does one conjure dreams? How is the imagination harnessed to my will?”

                  “Forgive me, your Majesty,” said the Scrivener with trembling lips, “But do you mean, how does one tell a story?”

                  “Yes! Storytelling! I demand to know how it is done.”

                  “Well… I don’t know. I just sort of start writing, really. I’ve never had to explain it to someone else before.”

A terrible stillness fell across the room. Then, with a quiet creak, the Queen leaned forward and hissed, “I would advise you to try…”

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It wasn’t exactly like that. We might be exaggerating a little. But when the good people of Culham St Gabriel’s asked us to write about storytelling and how we do it here at CTVC Ltd – we were slightly at a loss. It’s difficult to describe, but we’re going to give it a try…

We have a website for schools called TrueTube, and strapline is, “short films, big stories”. But why tell stories in the first place?

We all like a story. We love to be transported to other worlds and live other lives in our imaginations.

We think in stories. If someone asks you how your day was, what do you do? You launch into a story – maybe about the nightmare journey home, or about the Year 9 boy who did a pitch-perfect impression of the Head Teacher.

Non-fiction is better when told as a story. One of the Digital Team at CTVC (mentioning no names) got a terrible grade for his A-Level History because the list of dates and treaties made no impression on his young brain. In later years, he read Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel and realised that it was his A-Level syllabus in story form. If only it had existed back then.

Stories are a great way to impart information, because they entertain, encourage empathy, and increase our understanding. So, we tell stories with an ulterior motive: to teach our audience something.

We start by asking what sort of story will best suit the subject matter and the age group: a drama? An animation? A real-life case-study? What will engage our young audience while we provide them with the required information?

Boringly, we also have to consider the budget. We might have ambitions to make a big drama, or a multi-voiced animation, but these things cost a lot of money.

Who’s it for?

We think of the TrueTube audience as young people in a classroom. They are, almost literally, a captive audience. We’re not trying to make clickbait – something to grab the attention of someone idly scrolling through their social media. Our films can afford to be unashamedly informational rather than primarily entertainment – although we try to be entertaining as well! We were once asked to cut short a sequence that showed a Muslim doing wudu before prayer – “He’s washing, I get it, let’s move on…” – and in a piece of entertainment you would, but seeing the complete process is helpful for pupils learning about Islam.

What’s it for?

In the white heat of creation, it can be easy to lose track of what a film is for – “We could do this! Or that! How about…?” But like a good lesson plan, there’s always a clear objective which we keep in mind when developing an idea, writing a script, and shooting the film. It has to do the job.

Straight on or sideways?

Sometimes, the best way to tell a story is as straight-forwardly as possible. We’ve done this in our festivals films – Diwali, Vaisakhi, Bandi Chhor Divas, Eid ul-Adha – with just a narrator and some pictures. This is partly budgetary (yawn), but also because the story is informational in this context – it’s there to explain why the festival is taking place.

Other times we sidle up to a story rather than coming at it straight on. This might be because the story has been told many times before, so we want the audience to look at it with new eyes. For example, Jesus feeding the 5000 becomes a TV cooking competition; Jesus healing a leper becomes a make-over show; and the story of Samson becomes a superhero movie – albeit one that’s crammed into a five-minute animation. Or it might be that a story will be unfamiliar to most of the audience and needs a hook to draw them in. The Demon’s Head is about the Hindu goddesses Durga and Kali defeating a demon. It’s a gory tale, so it was given the framing device of a Hammer Horror film, with a spooky Peter Cushing-like narrator telling the story behind an exhibit in his collection of arcane artefacts. Or “really weird stuff…” as he puts it.

Reverence

Beliefs are an important part of people’s identities and personalities, so we always treat religions with respect. This can create challenges, for example: making an animation called How Islam Began – In Ten Minutes, when we couldn’t show any of the main players in the story. But we find ways around it.

But “reverence”? Yes, up to a point. We really don’t want to offend anyone, but we’re not of the opinion that you can’t talk about religion with humour or colloquial language.

Let people tell their own stories

With an increasing emphasis on “Worldviews” in the RE Curriculum, it’s often best to let people share their own stories. What do they believe? Ask them. How does it affect their decisions and everyday lives? Ask them.

But the approach is not without pitfalls. It often comes down to the “casting” – finding someone who can talk fluently and engagingly about their beliefs.

What is Truth?

We don’t want to make truth claims for any particular religion. Everything is couched in terms of, “I’m a Christian and I believe that…”, or, “Muslims believe that…”. We’re sometimes offered films by other organisations, but we often have to them down because they presume that everyone is of the same religion – “This is what we all believe, isn’t it?” – or even seek to convert.

Mind your language

Vocabulary is always a big issue. People from any community – whether that’s a religion, a school staff-room, a sports team or a fan club – will have very specific vocabulary which to them is completely normal and accessible. It never is.

And for some reason, whenever people talk about religion, they suddenly start speaking like an academic. We once had to stop a young presenter from saying, “And thus…” every time she began an explanation.

We will do what’s called a “pre-interview” with contributors – basically a chat in advance of filming to hear what they have to say, and to decide which questions to ask when the cameras are rolling. Inevitably, a lot of pre-interview time will be taken up with trying to find ways around tricky vocab. We either don’t use difficult words, or use them in a context that makes their meaning clear. The old adage, “show don’t tell” is a useful one. Or, we just explain any new words, but in very simple terms. There’s no point in giving a definition that needs more definitions to understand.

We’ve found that saying to a contributor, “How would you explain that more simply?” forces them to think for themselves – possibly for the first time – about what something actually means, rather than just repeating what they’ve always been told. It becomes their personal story, told in their own way.

Ignorance, not stupidity

We assume complete ignorance – in the true sense of the word. Our young audience is intelligent and curious, but they know next to nothing about this topic. If we explain things simply, they’ll get it.

This might mean leaving some things out, because if someone mentions this other thing, then that will have to be explained as well, and by the time we’ve circled back to whatever we were talking about in the first place… sorry, where were we?

Yes, but…

We were once accused of “being reductive”, which is a polite way of saying we’re “dumbing down”, but you have to start somewhere. We use religious consultants to check that everything we say is accurate and not misleading, and we ask them to repress the instinct to say, “Yes, but…”.

“Is the script accurate?”

“Yes, but… in some denominations there’s a slightly different interpretation of…” and suddenly you’re overwhelming the audience with too much information.

There’s also the danger of stereotyping. We made a film about the 5 Ks in Sikhi, and an educational consultant (who wasn’t a Sikh) pointed out that not all Sikhs wear all Five Ks, so the film was presenting a stereotype. But we can’t make a film by pointing a camera at things that people don’t do.

It’s not possible explain the whole of a religion or a worldview in a ten-minute film, but we can put up hooks in people’s heads on which to hang new information at a later date.

Storytelling

Stories engage our emotions and our curiosity. We are drawn in by an interesting situation, or intriguing characters. We want to know more.

• Stories often include sensory details to help us picture what’s going on – the sights, sounds and smells. We feel what it’s like to be in this place or in that situation.
• Stories have characters – real or made up – that we care about or identify with or find fascinating.
• Stories take us on a journey. But too many side-steps, and you’ll lose sight of the destination.
• Stories have a beginning, a middle and an end. But stories can begin in the middle, or even at the end. We might be plunged straight into a predicament, and have to get our bearings.
• Stories can be told in as many ways as there are people, and we do it naturally. Have fun with it.

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“…and that’s it, really,” finished the Scrivener and shrugged his bony shoulders. The Queen looked thoughtful.

                  “Are you telling me this is something anyone could do?” she said.

                  “Yes. I mean, it takes practice… but yes! Would you like to borrow my quill?” The Queen snatched the pen from the Scrivener’s outstretched hand.

                  “Thank you! I will be writing my own stories from now on. I have no need of Scriveners! Take him back to the dungeons!”

                  The guard grabbed the old man and dragged him out of the room. The Scrivener’s pleading voice grew fainter and fainter as he was taken below.

                  “But…your Majesty! Please…! I can also offer my services as an editor…”

                  The Queen unrolled a piece of parchment on her lap, and the Chamberlain hurried forwards, holding a pot of ink on a little silver tray. The Queen dipped her quill into the ink, paused for a moment… and then began to write.