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Now why doesn't Cinefex run more pictures like this?

Isolation is a horror film set on a remote farm where the livestock suddenly start giving birth to bloodthirsty killers. Who is responsible for this outrage? Those troublesome scientists, meddling with nature again. When will they learn?

The script demanded a cow that could give birth to a freaky, genetically-scrambled 'thing' on cue - something a real cow isn't inclined to do, funnily enough. So it was Image FX's job to provide a full-scale animatronic stand-in for these scenes. Incidentally, this was my final job before being put out to pasture myself, in the green fields of computer graphics. However, a monster-birthing mutate-o-cow? I couldn't have wished for a finer swansong.

The creation of this behemoth began with Andy Calquhoun welding up a steel armature, which me and Tristan Versluis bulked out with chickenwire, plaster and scrim. For the sculpting in clay, the pair of us 'picked ends', pantomime horse-style: I was assigned to the front half and Tristan tackled the hindquarters. I'm slightly disappointed that I missed out on the opportunity to have a glorious 8x10 picture of a cow's rectum pride of place in my portfolio, but them's the breaks.

Mmmmmm....


....mmmmmmmmmmm...

...mmmmooooooooooo.

Of course, this was only the first part of the process. Richard Skelly, John Slater and Tristan created the fibreglass moulds and cores, Gustav Hoegen and Olly (????) developed the animatronics, Ian Morse and Jess Moore ran the foam latex, Lisa Crawley and her fabrication team assembled the foams over the mechanics, and Dave Mundin and Ant Parker furred and painted the final beast.

The completed animatronic. I appreciate that you can all go quite happily to your graves without being subjected to the sight of a cow bleeding from its back passage - but it's all just movie magic, ladies and gentlemen.

Seeing that it's a horror film, naturally those cows don't stay in one piece for long. Me and Jen Latour ended up making bucketloads of silicone and vinamold rubber cow guts to provide the appropriate 'spillage'. I cast the heart from a mould of a real bull's heart that was left over from the Oliver Stone/Colin Farrell turkey Alexander (2004). Finally it can be said - that film was good for something, after all.

[Postscript from the "it's a small world" department: I've since learned on the e-mail that these moulds were made by former Millennium FX cohort Stuart Bray. So extra thanks to Stu for doing an unpleasant job well so that we didn't have to.]





The events of Isolation's story took place on a rural Irish farm, so it was highly unlikely that it was going to film in Hawaii. 2005 began with the Image FX gang flying out for the location shoot on a disused farm outside Dublin. Production looked after us in every way possible - the apartments they put us up in were amazing - but the days on set were inevitably c-c-cold and w-w-wet.

Check out those happy, smiling Image FX faces below. Trust me, the all-weather gear is entirely necessary. I'm behind the camera, so at least you're spared my hangdog, "plllease can I go home now?!" expression.

Left to right: Image FX boss Bob Keen, Andre Gilbert, Tristan Versluis, Tamzin Hanks, Andy Calquhoun.

One extra effect we had to improvise on the fly was for a sequence where the central characters cremate the infected remains of one of the cows. There was two ways we could have approached this: (i) spend two months constructing an elaborate fake cow skeleton, only to have to set fire to it; or (ii) just order up a real cow skeleton from a local slaughterhouse! One phone call later, and a smiling man in a butcher's apron rolled up in a van filled with cow bone booty.

After a comedy interlude where I had to race out to rescue our precious props from the jaws of a passing dog, it was time to prepare the bones for their big scene. It was raining (again), and we were concerned about how well they would burn. Perhaps we overdid the lighter fluid, because we suddenly had a raging fire on our hands.

The smoke from this inferno was so overpowering that it clung around my sinuses for a good 48 hours. Bob was generous enough to treat us all to dinner at a steak restaurant that evening. But as I enthusiastically dug into my prime slice of beefy goodness, I realised that all I could smell and taste was the acrid stench of charred cow bones. There's definitely a vegetarian-themed moral in there somewhere.

Cow burning - a proud British tradition since 2001

Well, the hour has come, folks - it's with a heavy heart that I announce that this is Behind The Scenes signing off for the very last time. (Much as I love my newly-forged digital sculpting career, I don't think sitting looking at a computer screen all day has the same anecdote potential as - for example - pushing my head up a rubber cow's arse. I don't think.)

But here's one final message, addressed to my good friend and colleague Mr. John Slater, that I believe brings matters to a close on exactly the right note.

Mr. Slater, sir, if you happen to be reading this - if you could be so kind as to move your mouse over the panel on the right.

(Eeeeh, we have a laugh, eh, John? Just the one.)

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