Percy Manthey’s ZIPWHARF cannot be described. At least not well. I know this because I wrote its copy for the festival. I said something about London and shallow aspirations and e-cigarettes and rot and that’s fair but Leon and I spent about three hours in the Half Moon reciting lines from the film in a delirious (but uproarious) game of remember-when-this-happened. No other film has possessed us like this.

Where camp is endeared to things that have been discarded because they’ve gone out of fashion (and thus benefit from elements of romanticism and nostalgia), ZIPWHARF is endeared to things that have been discarded because they’re single-use, instantaneous, and shit. It’s a cinematic vape. But it is such a great comment on the times, for however many seconds those times are relevant in our churning digital hellscape. I am enamoured with it. ZIPWHARF had its UK premiere on the closing night of the 3rd Clapham International Film Festival.

I catch Percy at the screening’s afterparty; DJ Saz is playing the Omnibus Theatre’s café and bar. He’s entertaining guests outside but lets me drag him to a nearby table. He’s surprised that I prepared for the interview.

BJ: First of all, congratulations.

PM: Thank you.

BJ: My friend, midway through, leaned over to me and he said ‘You didn’t warn me!’—and I said… ‘How could I?’—

He laughs.

BJ: Could I get your thoughts on that as a description of the film?

PM: ‘You didn’t warn me’—

I laugh.

PM: Wow. Uh—that’s a good description of the film, I suppose. Um, hang on, let me collect my thoughts here.

BJ: Yeah, yeah.

PM: ‘You didn’t warn me’... So, I worry that this film is sort of—um—too scary for old people. I think—watching it I sort of realise because I know what’s happening it makes sense to me, but I think it’s sort of a lot of people talking really fast and then something weird happens and then they all move to the next scene. It’s sort of, you know… ‘You didn’t warn me’—Jesus.

BJ: It doesn’t wait for anyone!

PM: It’s good, it’s good! I’m a—I—some people say the film is—this—I guess by most measures the film is a little offbeat. Um… to me it’s normal, actually. But, um, no—‘You didn’t warn me’, God, I’m sorry, I’m wrapping my head around that, um—

BJ: It’s okay.

PM: I really appreciate that as a descriptor—honestly I really appreciate that as a descriptor. I think—um—I want to make, uh, films that sort of frighten people in that way.

BJ: That require warning.

PM: That require warning. Um, speaking of, we probably should’ve done a—um—epilepsy warning at the beginning. I made a mental note to do that and then I forgot and I got worried that we killed someone.

BJ: Yeah. Uh, I think the audience was okay.

PM: It’s on the festival if that happens.

BJ: Yes, yeah yeah. We’re liable. Okay. As a man who lives in East talking to a man who lives in Hounslow, what was it about Canary Wharf that spoke to you?

PM: Canary Wharf is a disgrace. It should be demolished.

BJ: Too right.

PM: Um, it’s like—Jesus—they just, like—you know—demolished, like, everything that was there and they built, you know, a completely artificial financial centre which we now see is completely failing; all the companies are moving back into central London ‘cause why would you want to go to Canary Wharf—it’s like, totally fetishising—it’s like owned by a like—it’s like—they’ve got like private security guards escorting you, just harassing you if you do anything… it’s like we’ve tried to build our own Dubai, like on the Docklands. It’s, like, a disgrace. Um, and when we were making the film, uh, Rishi Sunak—then Prime Minister—he announced he was gonna build twelve new Canary Wharfs across the country, and I was—I was so excited to hear that! Because I want that to happen. We deserve that sort of punishment.

BJ: Too right. Things ended well for Rishi Sunak, so, all’s well that ends well.

PM: Remember him?

We laugh. Someone laughs in the background, but not because of us.

BJ: Okay, on that note, something I loved about ZIPWHARF since I first saw it—um—it seems like it’s filmed flagrantly in violation of all of London’s—uh—codes of filming and regulation—

PM: Oh, you noticed?

He laughs, hard. He does—however—seem genuinely flattered.

BJ: I appreciated. As a man who’s also done it.

PM: Yeah, there was a lot of—um—guerilla filmmaking. And what you learn about, um, London—especially central London—is that everyone is sort of, um, king of their own little 1m² patch of ground. You film outside a—we filmed out, this is true, we filmed outside a building, a guy came out, he started threatening to call the police, he said ‘Usually I charge a hundred quid to film outside my house and you lot are just doing it here making all this noise!’—and, you know. It’s just, like, constant. We had a whole—we started a massive beef between the British Film Institute and the Southbank Centre ‘cause we were filming—are you familiar with the Southbank? You know there’s that skatepark there?

BJ: Yeah absolutely.

PM: We were filming the oldhead’s scenes there—security came out, and you know, I pushed back a bit I was thinking ‘If we were—if these guys in the skatepark are filming with their phones—you’re not stopping them, we have a decent camera, you’re stopping us’ and then he was getting annoyed—guys in suits started coming out and, luckily, Vic (who plays the oldhead) worked at the BFI and he got us some space over there—and they thought we were still on their land and they—BFI suits came out, Southbank suits came out—they’re having an argument, it’s a nightmare.

BJ: Turf war.

PM: Yeah, um, we lied to the guys at Canary Wharf also. We told them we were students.

BJ: Nice.

PM: It was a lot of lies—lies and deceit, that’s how you get around that.

BJ: Yeah too right. Um, okay. Can you talk me through that Lynchian nightmare of a party sequence?

PM: Lynchian? Oh, interesting. Um, so, interestingly the party scene was something I conceptualised way before we had any idea what the film was going to be. It was—the character of Caleb is based mostly on a guy I got stuck with at a party one time—

BJ: Awesome.

PM: And he kept—he kept saying the same joke which I could tell he’d rehearsed which was, uh, ‘This guy’s sweating more than a whore in the Churchhouse’. Uh, and he was—I was going to do an American accent for this character but, uh—I’ve seen that guy since, I don’t think he knows this film was about him. But, uh, hopefully it stays that way.

But no, that was—um—that was a bit of a nightmare, um, to film as well as to actually—uh—what the actual scene is. It was a very stressful night, I was yelling—which I do regret. But, uh, you know. It was a nightmare.

BJ: Well, that’s—yeah—

PM: Which is good. Yeah. I guess the inspiration was just bad drug experiences. Not that I’ve ever done drugs.

BJ: No, never.

Percy’s cinematographer has gone missing. He sees to this. When he returns he expresses concern that he’s given a poor interview. I seek to ease his concern by asking a poor question.

BJ: ZIPWHARF dares to ask: What if the premise for a scene was ‘a man eats celery’? Uh, comment?

PM: Say that again?

BJ: ZIPWHARF dares to ask—

PM: What if a man ate celery?

BJ: What if the premise for a scene was ‘a man eats celery’. Comment?

PM: Um, we wanted to have—so that character, uh, Mickey, is played by my friend Jake who unfortunately is studying in America right now. But, uh—he—we wanted to have him eating in every single scene.

BJ: Strong.

PM: Uh, because, you know, he’s a bit of a slob in real life. And Mickey was more or less just based on how he acts in real life. Uh—the celery we thought, you know, it was kind of funny, kind of awkward, and then—yeah, we’ll just have him choking at the end. Why not? You wanna end your scene on a bang.

BJ: Yeah. Too right.

PM: That’s what kung-fu movies do.

BJ: Okay, um, second last. Love the through-line of the wise WowVidder and your climax in the field—the view from Olympus.

PM: Oh, um, Dr. Philip Pholborn.

BJ: Yes.

PM: Yeah, that’s played by one of my parents’ friends—a guy called Gareth. And he shocked me, he was—he cut through the air when he spoke. He was impressive. Um, that character is based, I guess, on like—Jordan Peterson style pseudointellectuals.

BJ: Mhm.

PM: Hopefully that came through. But in the end he was more of a positive force. It was a lot of fun writing his dialogue, the—the monologue he has where we’re just—on him—on WowVids, um—

BJ: The one about the dogs?!

PM: It goes on, we have an un—we have a full take that goes on about twice as long—

BJ: Awesome.

PM: And I kind of regret cutting it down ‘cause I really like that bit—um—but yeah, he was great. He’s a mentor figure.

BJ: Okay, to conclude. Thoughts on London and its people? Are you as cynical as the film? Are we more than e-cigarettes and rot?

PM: That’s a good question. Um—I love London, I think. I don’t think I’d ever leave this place, but there is a really deep evil here.

I laugh.

PM: Um, you know. Like, everyone is, you know, a wannabe, sort of, petit bourgeois, master of his domain, you know—you’re not allowed to have fun. If you ever do anything out of line people tell you to get back down, but—if you do anything people take it as a personal attack. We’re sort of a nation of misery and this city is where it all centers. Um, there’s sort of a grey cloud that’ll never go away, I suppose. But, um, I love this city. It’s my home.

BJ: Nice. Nice note to end on.

PM: Wonderful.