Eight films, their runtimes, and one red dot

A ruled list. Eight titles down the left. Beside each: a running time, a two-letter country code, a screening time. Against the third one, a small scarlet dot somebody added by hand.

That dot is the only thing on the shirt that isn't information, and it's the entire design.

Why a programme page?

Because it's a list of things somebody chose, and choosing is the interesting part.

A festival programme is a schedule, but read properly it's a portrait of an intention: what somebody planned to see, in what order, across how many days. It has the same quality as a life list or a setlist — a table that's secretly a diary.

And unlike everything else in this bucket, it has no picture in it at all. It's typography doing the whole job.

What makes the setting look right?

Density, alignment, and abbreviations.

Programme pages are set tight: small type, ruled or dotted leaders, columns that align to the character, running times in bare numerals, countries as two-letter codes. There's no ornament because there's no room for any — the page is trying to fit a hundred screenings into sixteen sides.

That editorial compression is what signals catalogue rather than poster, and it's a register almost nothing else in clothing occupies.

What's the dot for?

It's the human being in a machine-set document.

Somebody went through with a pen and marked the one they were definitely going to. That single manual mark against a perfectly typeset list carries more feeling than any illustration would — it's a decision, visible.

One dot. The moment there are four, it's a highlighting system and the effect is gone. Same discipline as one line set larger in a credit roll.

Can I use a real festival's programme?

Festival names and identities are trademarks, and their programmes are edited publications.

The major festivals are brands with strict usage rules — their names, laurels and award marks are policed carefully, and the laurel wreath device in particular is used as a credential, which makes misuse a claim rather than a decoration.

Invent the festival. Naming one, and inventing eight films to put in it, is the enjoyable part and it's where the personality goes.

What should the eight films be?

Real things, disguised as films.

That's the version worth making. Eight events from a year, or a relationship, or a job, written as film titles with plausible running times and countries. THE HOLLOW ISLAND · 78 · IE · 12.45. Anyone who knows will decode about half of them.

For a group it works as a shared joke with genuine craft behind it — the format is public, the contents are yours.

Is a wall of small type wearable?

At the right size, and the density is the only real decision.

A real programme page would be illegible on cotton. Eight to twelve entries, set two or three times larger than print, keeps every line readable while still reading as a catalogue from a distance. The ruled structure does the graphic work, so the type doesn't have to be big to look composed.

Somebody standing close can read it. That's the point — it rewards the second look.

Does it print well?

Yes, with generous leading.

Ruled lines and aligned columns are hard-edged and safe. The risk is line spacing: entries set at true catalogue leading will merge on fabric, so the gaps want opening up more than feels typographically correct.

Sand, cream and oatmeal read as uncoated paper. Two inks — black for the listings, scarlet used exactly once.

How do I get one made?

Describe the programme at JustOG — what the festival is called, the eight films, and which one gets the dot. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.

Designs other people have published are in the shop.

Third one down. That's the one they were actually going to.