Russell's foray into his garden

The cast consists of Marie and Emma; a leading lady named Diana; a Japanese student called Suki; Barry the gardener; Ken's young son Rex; 30 local villagers for a crowd scene; a dozen local schoolchildren; the dozen girls from the group The Mediaeval Baebes, of which Marie is one, plus Russell's dog Nipper in a cameo role.

Being a Ken Russell film, the Baebes naturally play prostitutes, as do the schoolchildren, Emma, Marie and Suki. And being a Ken Russell film there is also a clergyman, although he is never seen, because he spends the entire film inside a barrel. Barry the gardener plays a policeman, while Rex is perfectly cast as a small boy.

The project began life at last year's Edinburgh Festival when Russell was asked to expound his (dim) view of the state of British film on a radio programme. Fellow guests included Marie Findley and Emma Millions, who make short, no-budget, black-and-white movies for fun. They show them on London's tiny underground film circuit, which consists mainly of monthly screenings for a group of around 100 enthusiasts. Before long an idea was born.

There was Russell, still bursting with ideas and energy at 72 but unable to make movies because no one wanted to finance them. And there were Marie and Emma, two equally enthusiastic amateurs presented with the opportunity to work with a famous director whose pictures once earned Oscar nominations.

Within weeks, Russell was holding meetings with Marie and Emma at a café on Waterloo Station concourse. It became an unofficial production office. The director was intrigued by a story he had read in a newspaper about Harold Davidson, the one-time Rector of Stiffkey - aka "The Prostitutes' Padre" - containing a mixture of sex, scandal and religion that was vintage Russell material. In the Twenties the Rev Davidson would travel to London from his Norfolk parish to bring back teenage prostitutes and "Nippy" girls from Lyons Corner Houses for a new life at the rectory. He was defrocked. Penniless, he took to preaching on the prom at Blackpool from inside a barrel and later, in a bid to finance his appeal to the episcopal court, he appeared in a Skegness circus sideshow.

In a unique, foolhardy and finally fatal adaptation of Daniel in the lion's den, he would enter a lions' cage and from inside his barrel, would attempt to subdue the beasts by prayer. His career as a lion tamer lasted only a handful of performances before a lion called Freddie took objection to being preached at, and mauled him to death.

Hence the lion in the lake. Casting for Leomania was held at the Waterloo café, with dozens of vicars and tarts arriving one day to audition in costume, causing consternation among passengers. Russell put together a 13-page script and splashed out £1,500 on a digital camera. In early June, production began in his garden. Ambition undimmed by budgetary constraints, he decided there would be crowd scenes, location shots and period costumes. An original Thirties-style phone box was found outside the post office in the Hampshire village where he lives. A stand-in for the rector's church was discovered five miles away in Brockenhurst.

Costumes were the most expensive element of the budget. Vicky rustled up the lion costume, a period police uniform and Nippy outfit, plus a pair of yellow silk beach pyjamas for a total £500. Alex made a fittingly phallic papier m?ché memorial to the late rector for £30. Then there was £20 to hire a barrel and £2.50 for a sachet of fake blood. The only "paid" cast members are the Baebes, who each get a cheap day train return and a bottle of fizzy wine from the local vineyard.

On set, Russell has lost none of his imperiousness. He may be crouched over a tiny camera outside his summerhouse, hoping he can remember what all the knobs are for, but he is a master at work. He rehearses each shot several times with the cast, waits for jet engines overhead to die, shouts: "Stand by!" loud enough to alarm the foals outside his garden gate, and bellows: "Action!" in a voice that would bring a cast of thousands to attention. Diana, Marie and Emma go through their lines. Russell does about a dozen takes, then does the same thing in closeup, then sets up again to shoot the same scene from another angle, only to find the camera won't work. "The film's run out," explains Denis the photographer. "Oh no," grumbles Russell. "They cost £13 each."

On set there is evidence of the shoestring budget. The sandwich into which Marie bites at the end of her final line ("Why don't you just shag off back to Skegness? Cow!") is neither buttered nor filled. The teapot and cups are empty. The stitching on Marie's uniform is coming apart. And for the big musical scene, we have to cart a mini hi-fi across the lawn and sticky-tape a microphone to a stand in front of the speakers.

Next day I'm promoted to an integral member of the crew. First I have to cue up a Prokofiev waltz on the vast hi-fi system Russell keeps in his conservatory. The room is stuffed with an original Bauhaus chaise longue, an alarmingly lifelike mannequin - "the fourth Mrs Russell", as he fondly refers to it - a samovar and a small forest of giant geraniums. The music has to be played at ear-splitting volume in order to be heard on the other side of the lake, where Marie and Emma are doing their dance as Androcles and the Lion. And it has to be played at least a dozen times as Russell shoots take after take. "I'll give you a credit," he promises. "Playback meister."

When the scene is finally a wrap, I have a new role as prop meister, too, scouring the garden for wood from which to whittle a huge thorn for Androcles to remove from the lion's foot. Before long Russell is asking Denis and me for ways to improve each shot. Our own Oscar dreams are forming as we try to fix the director's cane garden chair, which is threatening to collapse before the scene is completed.

Russell confides that making this film is "100 times more fun than any of my previous ones," and explains why he is doing it. "I want to prove that I am not dead and buried. This is a learning thing for me but I'd rather make my own personal films from now on, so long as I can afford it.

"For some reason I seem to be regarded by the people who finance films in this country as a risk psychologically. I've got this reputation as being eccentric - people think I'm peculiar. But every film I've ever done has made its money back. I might be over the hill but I'm climbing up again."

He plans to premiere his 30-minute film later this year, possibly at the Volcano underground film festival in London, and release it initially on the internet. Then he hopes to collaborate again with Emma and Marie on a long-standing project, The Fall Of The Louse Of Usher. "It's a black-musical-rock-opera comedy," he explains. "I could do it for £200,000 but if I had to put up the money, I'd have nothing left. It all goes on alimony and school fees. I could do it properly with a full crew for about $2million."