'We Went Through a Lot': How the Director of 'Jisoe' Remembers the Cult Documentary

These days, Melbourne-based graffiti writer Justin Hughes is a hard man to find. But his legacy, born out of the 2005 documentary Jisoe, has cemented him in the folds of Australian culture. The cult classic focused on Justin's life, and brought with it an untarnished look at a culture barely seen by the mainstream.

The film focuses on the man behind Jisoe standing at a crossroads in his life, stationed somewhere between the newfound responsibilities of family, a newborn child, and a hellion nature that rejects the conformities of the white picket fence dream. His love for painting, and more specifically trainbombing, was a core component, all while wrapped in the events of his post-adolescent 20’s: finding trouble with the law, facing adult responsibilities and coming to terms with his own life traumas.

The whole thing was a cult hit – largely because of the way it captured the war between Justin’s existential dread and a desire to keep on doing what he was doing – painting trains.

Since then, Justin has seemingly vanished. The rumours of his whereabouts range from him chasing a career in Australian music, to working as a postie or a garbage man. One rumour whispered that he’d sadly passed. But the documentary lingers on in a world you would have expected to have forgotten. Jisoe has rightly become a cult figure and a representation of an untamed, revolting youth.

Even Eddie Martin, who directed the film, has difficulty remembering life 20 years ago.

“It’s obviously been a long time,” Eddie tells VICE, “It does trip me out how it still stands up. I get messages from people around Australia all the time.”

Eddie and Justin met around 30 years ago, in the early to mid 90s, when they were just a couple of kids kicking around on skateboards. They were both from Adelaide but bumming it in Melbourne, a point of similarity that Eddie says attracted them to each other on a small scale.

“That’s how we met early on. Skateboarding was a small scene back then. So I would see him around, we had a lot of mutual friends. He was maybe 12 or 13 when I met him,” says Eddie.

Himself a burgeoning filmmaker, Eddie was only a couple of years older than Justin. He had done “the whole film school thing”, which gave him access to a camera and an editing suite.

“I’m a pretty introverted guy. So I wasn’t the type of person who was ever going to get a crew together and raise finances,” he says, “I was pretty broke. I only had a handful of tapes and I think I shot the whole thing on maybe five. I had to re-use them.”

Eddie had been exploring graffiti which, like the skateboarding scene, was “pretty creative and DIY.”

“We’d make our own little videos, but I wanted something with a bit more depth and breadth, and to make an actual film as opposed to a little skate video. I wanted a story and a character. I wanted a narrative,” he says.

“I was interested in the culture of Australian trainbombing and it was something that hadn’t been shown before. I was also interested in these international subcultures penetrating their way into the suburbs of Australia, but then Australians putting their own twist on it.”

For Eddie, Justin was an interesting character: authentic, real, with a lot to say. They were already acquainted, so it made sense to start shooting him. First, every now and then, in bits and pieces, until Eddie turned to him and said, “Look, I really want to try and make a bigger thing out of this.”

Over two or so years, Eddie followed Justin as he bombed the stale facades of trains, racked spray paint, welcomed his first child and struggled with drug addiction. An earnest portrait of someone existing on the fringes of society arose; both capable and intelligent but somewhat confused about their place in the world.  

“It was on and off, because there were hiccups, for example, when he got charged. We had to see how that played out. Because obviously, for legal reasons, the outcome could essentially affect the release of the film,” Eddie says.

“Obviously, given there’s criminal activity, there’s people doing graffiti, we wanted to ensure Justin was safe.”

Throughout the film, Justin can be seen breaking into train-yards by clipping wire fences, bags of spray cans in his hands. At points, he hangs out the open doors of moving trains, tagging windows and exteriors.

“It was pretty stressful to be honest,” says Eddie, “But it was definitely an adventure. You’re just going for it and you’re in the trenches together and for me there was just that sense of capturing something that I felt hadn’t been captured before.”

Eddie would film Justin and his mates doing things they’d essentially get in trouble for. Sometimes he’d have to hide the tapes.

“It was crazy. But my job was just to get in there and be amongst it.”

Breaking into the train-yards was especially nerve wracking – but the artistic merit of Justin’s pieces and the impressive drive of building a portfolio was fascinating.

“The mission was to get their pieces done, to create these amazing pieces of art that would run around the city,” says Eddie, “Justin says in the film that it’s to get that ‘fat photo album’ that you can be proud of.”

“The trains might only run for a couple of hours before they get cleaned up or buffed. But it’s exciting to see a train with the amazing pieces running in the city live. It takes a lot of work to plan through, activate it, paint it under pressure and then chase the trains down before the art is gone forever.”

“It’s crazy that people can get arrested for doing art.” 

In a poignant scene just after Justin’s first child is born, he grapples with the idea that the photo album that he’s been building is worth the sacrifice of his family.

“I just want to do something that benefits our future, getting a fat photo album doesn’t really do much for my family, except for me,” he says as he puffs on a cigarette. It’s a vital example of him being caught between an artform that he loves and the responsibilities of adulthood. 

Later in the film, after a series of events that had obviously taken their toll on him – his split from partner Sal, legal troubles and a brief stint smoking “too much” weed – he flips back to his nonconformity, rejecting the notion of tired people caught in the 9-5 where they do their silly little jobs, go home, watch TV, “make a shitty dinner” and do it all again.

“I’d rather be my own person,” Justin says, “and do what I want, when I want, and not have to answer to anyone.”

“There’s no smoke and mirrors in there,” says Eddie of Justin, “It’s a really authentic experience. That’s what people are connecting to. He’s just raw.”

When the film was released in 2005, Eddie says that it wasn’t to some “massive fanfare”.

“It slowly seeped out. I still had concerns with some legal stuff so I didn’t want to barge it out. It’s not like we had a distributor or a release strategy or anything. We did hire a lawyer though.”

Eddie had to borrow money to finish the film. He’d made this “thing” and it was almost just for himself, but slowly it gained interest. Though the film grew in interest, it was never a money making exercise.

“I’ll never recoup what the film cost. But I’m glad it’s a gift to the culture,” says Eddie.

“I’m thrilled it got legs. I was trying to get some support, maybe a funding body or traditional support. But it was funny at the time,” says Eddie, “I was getting such a violent reaction from those in power that really didn’t feel like a character like that should have a platform or voice. So it was kind of disheartening.”

In the end, though, Jisoe was the first film of its kind to get an actual rating from the Australian Rating Board. That’s when it seemed legitimate and 100% safe. 

Today, the graff community stands much more respected. Back in the 90s and early 2000s, the artistic merits of graffiti were appreciated mostly by those doing it in the small scene that it was.

“Back then it was these graffiti guys in the trenches who had been building the culture for 20 years and taking really high risks,” says Eddie.

“Over time, though, the culture has gotten a bit more respect. Trainbombers used to just be seen as complete scumbags and now everyone has a bit more understanding of the culture. Before it was just people in the culture that would appreciate it.”

These days, Eddie is no longer in contact with Justin. Every now and then he’ll hear the rumours of where he’s gone and what he’s doing. It’s been 20 years, after all, since he first started filming his old friend. They maybe didn’t leave on the best of terms, but Eddie looks back and remembers him fondly. 

“We went through a lot,” says Eddie, “He was just this interesting character: human and relatable. That’s the power of both him and the film.”

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