Nonstarters: turning your dreams into movies

Worst kickstarter video of the week.

Dreams, even when remembered, fizz away like sweets dropped in lemonade when the brain switches on for the day. I think there’s probably a good reason for that.

Israeli entrepreneur Liran Goldberg doesn’t. His kickstarter pitch sought to raise $80,000 for the Sleep Project, a website designed to collect users’ dreams, subject their descriptions to a social vote, and turn the most popular candidates into a TV series.

Goldberg enthused: “How many times have you woken up from a crazy dream and thought Wow! That would make a great movie!!"

Many times, Liran. But then again, I often get that excited about starting a sandwich shop called “Baguette about it!”. It doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

A person’s dreams are never as interesting to anyone else as they are to the dreamer. That’s why we tell proper stories instead.   

Upon waking, I often grip my wife like the ancient mariner stopping the wedding guest, and insist on relating twenty minutes worth of mental adventure (“you don’t understand, love - I taught a giant crab to dance!”), before realising she is only sweetly feigning interest because I seem so involved in the telling.

I certainly can’t imagine television execs being much more generous. Can you really imagine any channel agreeing to air episodes with synopses like: “I was with you and these other guys, I can’t remember who. We were in this kind of greenhouse place with a pizza buffet, and we were looking for a special rock, but it turned out the rock was actually a bucket of ants. But it was still a rock, if you know what I mean? And then we were sort of in Japan, and David Hasselhoff was trying to get the bucket off me and then I woke up”?

Of course, Goldberg’s project had a voting system to ensure only the most popular dreams would be filmed, but this creates a worse problem.

By voting the most engaging stories to the top, people would be actively selecting against honestly transcribed blurts of brainguff, in favour of stories augmented and edited in order to make the “dreamers” look like really deep and meaningful people.

All in all, the Sleep Project seems like a lot of effort to go to for the sake of a few weak stories.

If only nature had equipped us all with a machine that could not only create our own movies, tailor-made to our particular interests, from nothing, but put us inside them, surrounded by special effects budgets that would bankrupt hollywood ten times over. Oh wait, it did.

“Inside every one of us is a brilliant screenwriter” Photograph: Kickstarter.com

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times