Machinima

There is much talk of "a brand new art form" and "the future of cinema." It's difficult to take seriously and yet they all laughed at Christopher Columbus.

In a council flat in Leith, a long-haired, nerdy looking guy in black leathers, that look like something Johnny Rotten tossed into the Thames 20 years ago, runs an empire. It's called Strange Company and they make films on computers. Twenty groups in 12 countries are affiliates. It's growing, like Jack's vegetable garden.

The films they make are Gothic sword-and-sorcery, or men in camouflage with guns doing American-style things like blasting anyone you gets in their way.

At the Leith HQ, 10 people come together to "shoot" a movie. The computers crash regularly. Everyone seems to have a phone to their ear. It's not chaos so much as baffling.

Techie morons won't have a flippin' clue. When they talk of making micro budget blockbusters by fusing live action with animation and someone in New York is saying, in a serious 21st century voice, "We can speed up the process by 40 per cent," your face goes numb from the effort of looking as if you understand.

As a documentary, it is unquestioning and a little bit in awe. Is the man in the black leathers a genius, as he suspects, or a delightful eccentric with a great line in positive sales chat. He's hoping to be a millionaire, and, after this, you think: "Good luck on you, mate."

Strange Company's crew are H P Lovecraft groupies and if you haven't heard of him, you may find this tough going.