Dom Shaw
Dom started in the industry at 21 by winning the Grierson Award for Best Documentary in 1982 for the seminal post-punk documentary ROUGH CUT & READY DUBBED. After a few years directing music documentaries for the fledgling Channel Four, he started scriptwriting with the First Film Foundation on a series developed by the BBC and produced by Laurence Bowen, where he met Michael Wearing and Ruth Caleb who commissioned him to write several other BBC drama projects.
In a varied career behind the camera, he has written peak time series for BBC and ITV in the UK and worked as a location manager and assistant director in features with international producers and directors such as Mike Leigh, (High Hopes), Gurinder Chadha (A Nice Arrangement) and Joanne Sellar (Hardware). His first short film THE ART OF THE CRITIC, a short comedy, won Best Director at the Brussels International Short Film Festival, Best Actor at the New York International Short Film Festival and Best Art Direction at the Miami International Short Film Festival.
A humour title written with Paul Dornan and Will Buckley under the pseudonym ‘Andy McGrabb’ was published by Pavilion in 1997. WHO CARES WHO WINS - THE FINAL SAS CASH-IN sold more than 54,000 copies and was number 21 in the Sunday Times bestsellers list. His debut novel, ERIC IS AWAKE was published in June 2013. Most recent credit is THE TRIALS OF JIMMY ROSE – written episode three of three part drama created by Alan Whiting. Producer Jane Dauncey for ITV Studios/Kieran Roberts. Cast: Ray Winstone and Amanda Redman. Director Adrian Shergold. TX: Summer 2015.
In a varied career behind the camera, he has written peak time series for BBC and ITV in the UK and worked as a location manager and assistant director in features with international producers and directors such as Mike Leigh, (High Hopes), Gurinder Chadha (A Nice Arrangement) and Joanne Sellar (Hardware). His first short film THE ART OF THE CRITIC, a short comedy, won Best Director at the Brussels International Short Film Festival, Best Actor at the New York International Short Film Festival and Best Art Direction at the Miami International Short Film Festival.
A humour title written with Paul Dornan and Will Buckley under the pseudonym ‘Andy McGrabb’ was published by Pavilion in 1997. WHO CARES WHO WINS - THE FINAL SAS CASH-IN sold more than 54,000 copies and was number 21 in the Sunday Times bestsellers list. His debut novel, ERIC IS AWAKE was published in June 2013. Most recent credit is THE TRIALS OF JIMMY ROSE – written episode three of three part drama created by Alan Whiting. Producer Jane Dauncey for ITV Studios/Kieran Roberts. Cast: Ray Winstone and Amanda Redman. Director Adrian Shergold. TX: Summer 2015.
London (Greater London)
Lucy Fawcett
Sheil Land Associates
52 Doughty Street
London
WC1N 2LS
info@sheilland.co.uk
Tel: 020 7405 9351
Fax: 020 7831 2127
Sheil Land Associates
52 Doughty Street
London
WC1N 2LS
info@sheilland.co.uk
Tel: 020 7405 9351
Fax: 020 7831 2127
The Trials of Jimmy Rose
Eric is Awake
The Roman Mysteries
The Art of the Critic
The Bill
Harpur and Iles
Loggerheads
Rough Cut & Ready Dubbed
Eric is Awake
The Roman Mysteries
The Art of the Critic
The Bill
Harpur and Iles
Loggerheads
Rough Cut & Ready Dubbed
Books, Film, Television
10
EXTRACT: Emily and Simon watched the shaky and slightly murky camerawork in the dimly lit hall as the Mayor of Shipston-on-Stour, a dumpy middle-aged woman who looked the image of Margaret Rutherford, fielded questions from the audience including one earnest young man spouting planted entreaties for more access to the hi-speed Interverse for poorer Olders in the area. The Mayor cut off the response from the middle-aged sitting MP to say that there was time for only one more question.
At first, Emily could not discern Eric’s face amongst the serried ranks of spectators, their plastic cups rising and falling in rows. Then he stood up right at the back and she was shocked to see him wearing a pair of army camouflage trousers beneath a thick hooded top of the kind she knew he loathed.
He cleared his throat in that familiar fashion and started with his usual diffidence and apologetic posture, hands cupped around his plastic beaker like a supplicating penitent, his resemblance, as she remembered, eerily unmistakable with the unruly shock of dark hair, lined jowls, piercing blue eyes and thin ridiculous moustache. His voice was fluting and higher pitched than anyone might expect from such a face. He started quietly and the audio failed to pick up his first words. She heard an old woman in the audience mutter ‘Nutter’ to her neighbour and, nearer to camera, a man who looked like a farmer nudged his ruddy faced son and said loudly and boisterously ‘That’s that loony from the paper thinks he’s Orwell.’ His boy, chewing fruit cake, responded with a puzzled look on his wind-burnt face ‘Isn’t that a song? Like the boy down the chip shop thinks he’s Elvis?’
Eric seemed to falter and the Mayor leaned forward to her microphone and said primly ‘Please can contributors state their name before they ask their question. Thank you.’ A nubile blonde volunteer shoved a portable microphone into his hand and Emily saw Eric blanch slightly before reluctantly accepting it, his other hand still clasping his tea. After a moment’s pause she sensed him taking a deep breath as people craned their necks to see the country’s newest celebrity madman.
At first, Emily could not discern Eric’s face amongst the serried ranks of spectators, their plastic cups rising and falling in rows. Then he stood up right at the back and she was shocked to see him wearing a pair of army camouflage trousers beneath a thick hooded top of the kind she knew he loathed.
He cleared his throat in that familiar fashion and started with his usual diffidence and apologetic posture, hands cupped around his plastic beaker like a supplicating penitent, his resemblance, as she remembered, eerily unmistakable with the unruly shock of dark hair, lined jowls, piercing blue eyes and thin ridiculous moustache. His voice was fluting and higher pitched than anyone might expect from such a face. He started quietly and the audio failed to pick up his first words. She heard an old woman in the audience mutter ‘Nutter’ to her neighbour and, nearer to camera, a man who looked like a farmer nudged his ruddy faced son and said loudly and boisterously ‘That’s that loony from the paper thinks he’s Orwell.’ His boy, chewing fruit cake, responded with a puzzled look on his wind-burnt face ‘Isn’t that a song? Like the boy down the chip shop thinks he’s Elvis?’
Eric seemed to falter and the Mayor leaned forward to her microphone and said primly ‘Please can contributors state their name before they ask their question. Thank you.’ A nubile blonde volunteer shoved a portable microphone into his hand and Emily saw Eric blanch slightly before reluctantly accepting it, his other hand still clasping his tea. After a moment’s pause she sensed him taking a deep breath as people craned their necks to see the country’s newest celebrity madman.