“I inherited my dad’s 35mm camera and used it like a diary…” – filmmaker Paul Daly

This concept guided me through its realisation, filming across the country during the Brexit and Covid years, later supported by BFI Doc Society to get it through post with brilliant collaborators. The edit was formative and wouldn’t have been possible without everyone involved.

On completion, the title changed to Mirrors to give a sense of plurality to this message; the film is made up of thousands of people, in essence.

The film took seven years to make - was this planned? And you now want to turn this into a 10 year project? 

Not planned! Neither were the following three.

I began covering local, then went national, all while Brexit happened. I thought the day of leaving the EU would be the last bit of filming, but Covid changed all that. I couldn’t put the camera down despite it having a prolonged impact on normal living.

Everything felt so charged, it still does, but at 10 years, I’m now starting to go around in circles with a number of topics. I finished filming the subsequent part of Mirrors last summer, which is called Shadows.

Whilst continuing with the ethos of the first film, the second will look at those who live in shadows and those who cast them. Cinema is made from light and shadow, as are we.

You use 16mm film - why did you favour that?

I used to be obsessed with Chris Cunningham's music videos. I didn’t realise at the time, but its film format was a big part of this allure, particularly in the way Cunningham utilised it. Growing up with 80s and 90s films and advertising added to this. The format is very active, malleable, alive.

When it came to shooting with 16mm, the grain is much like how I see an idea for an image or recall memories; it’s all cast in almost red and black TV static, colours momentarily coming through in abstract. I used to shoot black and white stills with this ISO 3200 film and it was so intense, I loved it.

The connection I make between an imagined idea and it being realised on film is unmatched because of the grain, the texture on the canvas, so to speak. It’s like a clearer imprint of what’s in my mind. It also captures life in this part romantic, part decrepit and flawed way, and this sort of tugging duality feels pretty honest.

For this particular project, the format also brings it into conversation with the past. Digital technology is still relatively new in the grand scheme of filmmaking, and the films that I think capture past times most effectively, and that I’d like my own one to sit alongside, were made through analogue means.

It’s also high-risk, prone to fuck-ups and filled with adrenaline, much like how I seem to live out this life of mine.

How was Mirrors received?

I think people have responded well, albeit still limited in how much it’s been seen. I feel it’s not been given its full life yet, partly down to me jumping straight into the next film and budget limitations, but also a sense of correct timing.

As years pass, the film develops into a larger thing, particularly its emotional weight, reflecting on the extent of what we’ve been through and juxtaposing it with what is happening in the present. Once its second part is finished, this decade-long record is the only one of its kind, so I feel this will be the time to push them both out there as companions. I see this as a privilege, and I’m somewhat of a guardian of it, so I want to tread carefully in how it's presented.

With the help of Cine Cov, Flatpack Festival and event staff, we screened at Coventry Cathedral, this was a blueprint and starting point for the experience I want to give audiences. I’m quite anti-internet with how to show it; things are easily forgotten there and I think the impact of work is diluted amongst all its noise and negativity. Seeing it with a group of friends and strangers in person, in reality, and having a conversation after is essential to its realisation as an artwork.

How has living in Coventry shaped you as a filmmaker?

I think the Blitz is a big part of our culture and demeanour here. I haven’t consciously used this as a source but it’s likely influenced my work and practice. I’m second-generation Irish, all my grandparents emigrated for work, so this sense of being a bit of an outsider has been with me since I was young.

I was brought up Roman Catholic, Irish priests and teachers, so that sense of history, tradition and spirituality is also ingrained, despite not practising religion any longer. Coventry and the Midlands have many diverse communities, skating subculture was also a big thing for me, so this exposure has been meaningful in the long run. All this concrete has left its mark, too.

Isolation and human resilience seem to be themes in your work - what is it about these themes that fascinate you?

Fundamentally, that's the condition. We can alleviate the weight of all this by seeing mates, starting a family, and diving into work and projects, but we are essentially individuals. Treading that line between isolation and solitude, I've learned to face it, cultivate it, and wield it somewhat, and the work is a place to purge and interrogate these feelings. Conversely, understanding myself better through this process helps me connect more with others.

Resilience is another unifying aspect of living, dare I say a poetic one, to keep having a crack at it despite the shite that we all must face. I'm often overwhelmed by the difficulties others have gone through, be it friends or strangers.

Foremost, I film such people because I respect them, it makes me feel closer to their lives and that I'm actively supporting them. It's a raw source. I also think people must see or be a part of collective resilience unflinchingly, particularly surrounding tragedy, as it is exceptionally cathartic. We often try to sweep difficult things under and forget them, it's easier but only lasts so long before it wears.

As a nation, we haven't dealt with a significant elephant in the room, and I hope one day we can all brave it together. Hopefully, these films can help bring about such a conversation and reflection.