the memory device

'Midnight in Paris' a loveletter to a rainy, literary city (Woody Allen, 2011)

2012-01-01T12:06:00.000-08:00

I'm embarrassed to admit I've never been to Paris. In fact, the vivid image that comes to mind when I think of that city is the painting "Cafe Terrace at Night" by Vincent van Gogh. That beautiful work, for me, has always captured what Paris must be like on a warm summer night after a few glasses of wine. Cobblestone streets, warm light spilling out of cafe windows, dark skies and bright stars.

This is how I picture that city in my mind, however unrealistic that may be.

The main character in the film “Midnight in Paris” has a similar attitude towards Paris.

Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) and his fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) have tagged along with her parents on a business trip to the French capital.

Gil, a successful screenwriter in Hollywood, is putting the final touches on a novel about someone who works in a “nostalgia shop” that sells curiosities and memorabilia from the past.

The protagonist in Gil’s book is really an expression of himself. He’s in love with
Paris, especially in the rain, and feels he would have been better suited to living in an earlier time and place – most likely as an expat writer or artist in the 1920s living in Paris.

Inez, entertains his efforts to write a book but makes him promise that when it fails, which she seems certain it will, he’ll go back to screen writing, which seems to offer a prestige and security she enjoys.

From conversations with her wealthy parents, furniture shopping, or the time they spend with Inez's “pseudo intellectual” friends, it quickly becomes clear Gil and his fiancee have little in common.

When trying to describe their commonalities ("not the big things, more the little things"), Gil can only say they both like Indian food. But then realizes, no, they both only like the “naan” bread that comes with Indian food.

That seems to be where the similarities end.

But soon, those issues fade into the background as Gil accidentally discovers a portal that takes him into the past, allowing him to walk through the streets of Paris in the 1920s and to meet people like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Pablo Picasso. Hemingway’s editor even agrees to read Gil's book.

This is where the film could take a silly, sci-fi turn that would be completely out of place in a Woody Allen film. But somehow it doesn’t become that at all. As someone who has devoured Hemingway, Fitzgerald and read about those fantastic days when Paris was a new frontier for American artists and writers, I was rapt with Allen's subtle portrayal of the era, which somehow does feel like a doorway into a van Gogh painting or a short story by Hemingway.

Not surprisingly, Gil is also enthralled. These are the heroes of his Golden Age, and to sit and drink with them, discuss literature and big ideas, is a dream come true. He even meets a beautiful girl named Adriana (Marion Cotillard), and somehow manages to win her affection despite her attachment to both Hemingway and Picasso.

They seem to be kindred spirits, but an interesting wedge develops when they manage to travel back even further, to the late 1800s, which, as it turns out, is the era Adriana looks back to as her own personal Golden Age.

This provides a valuable lesson to Gil about the futility of looking to the past for an elusive sense of happiness or belonging. But it’s not the true message of the film. That lesson is delivered by Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates), the literary agent or editor who agrees to read his book.

“You have a good voice,” she tells him after reading the book. But, she adds, it’s too dreary and depressing.

An artist’s responsibility is not to sink people into the depths of despair, Stein says, but to provide hope and the promise of something better through their paintings, stories or songs.

This is the key message for Gil, the one that inspires him not only to rewrite his book but also to rewrite the story of his own life (the 2011 version) and pursue the things that truly matter.

Hemingway’s words also help drive home the lesson: "No subject is terrible if the story is true, if the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure," he says, or preaches, really, in an impassioned rant.

The realization he has with Adriana, along with the wise words from Hemingway and Stein, inspire Gil to live his own live with new courage and hope.

Though we may not all look back with a deep sense of nostalgia for the past as Gil does, there are lessons here for all of us about the value of finding inspiration in our own context – while still being able to appreciate the beauty of Paris in the rain.

Oh yeah, and Carla Bruni is also in this film, playing a tour guide who befriends Gil. And she's great in the role.

'Cave of Forgotten Dreams' a haunting doc (2011, Werner Herzog)

2011-12-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

“Cave of Forgotten Dreams” couldn’t have a more accurate title. The new documentary by Werner Herzog takes viewers on a rare tour deep inside a cave in France that, hidden until the mid 1990s, is filled with hundreds of cave paintings dating back 35,000 years.

The paintings include images of wild animals -- many now extinct -- in battle, hunting, fleeing a predator or even sharing an affectionate moment with a mate.

Believed to be the oldest cave paintings in existence, they have an exquisite artistic quality that makes them jump off the cave walls, a canvas that was used to create the impression of depth, shadow and movement by the artists.

Who painted the hundreds of images, why, and what were they trying to express? The film asks all these questions and provides some answers while acknowledging that a full understanding of the ‘why’ will never be achieved.

Herzog seems OK with that, content to accept that the images represent the dreams of a long-gone people. And perhaps only through our own dreams can we glimpse what life may have been like for the artists., he suggests.

The Chauvet cave in France’s Ardeche region was discovered almost by accident by three hikers in 1993. Its entrance had been closed off by a landslide or rockfall millennia earlier, effectively sealing and preserving the artistry within.

Almost immediately the importance of the discovery was realized and the French government quickly restricted access and installed a steel door on the cave.

Other than a handful of scientists and researchers, few people have been allowed access in the 18 years since, which is one of the reasons Herzog’s film is so exciting.

Shooting in 3D (though I watched it on DVD) Herzog and a crew of two others, permitted only to take three cold-frame, battery powered lights and minimal camera gear with them, were allowed four hours of shooting per day for a number of weeks.

There were strict limitations. They were forbidden from stepping off of the aluminum walkway that runs through the cave, meaning the crew was often caught in the shot due to the tight spaces they work working within. Nor could they leave the cave during their four-hour window, or the day’s visit would immediately end because the caretakers wanted to minimize the amount of airflow into the cave.

But those restrictions don’t seem to have had a negative affect on the film. The flashlight beams illuminating the images, the unsteady hand-held lighting and camera work, make the paintings appear as they must have 30,000 years ago, illuminated by torch or firelight, with shadows sharply contrasting against highlights.

The images are powerful and even somewhat disturbing in their realism. Due to their perfect preservation, they appear as though they could have been drawn yesterday. In one instance, black marks show where a torch was scratched against the ceiling. And on the floor below are the fragments of charcoal. Incredible.

One of the anthropologists studying the cave explains that when he was first allowed access, he found himself almost haunted by the experience. He was obsessed with the riveting images while in the cave, then relieved to once again emerge above ground, and would later dream about the drawings at night.

Herzog described a similar experience.

“Dwarfed by these large chambers illuminated by our wandering lights, sometimes we were overwhelmed by a strange irrational sensation as if we were disturbing the Paleolithic people in their work, it felt like eyes upon us. This sensation occurred to some of the scientists and also the discoverers of the cave, it was a relief to resurface again above ground,” he explained in the film’s narration.

The paintings mostly depict animals that were indigenous to the area at the time they were created. Horses, rhinoceroses, wooly mammoths, tigers and leopards all make an appearance.

In one case, the beautiful single-line style illustration of a now extinct species of a female and male lion answered a long-held question about whether the male of that species had a mane. It did not, the painting revealed.

Many of the paintings show animals in action with, with extra legs painted in to show movement, or multiple horns on a rhinoceros, giving the clear impression that the creature is rearing his head in fury.

Another image shows four horses, their heads almost superimposed over each other. They are drawn with such sophistication that they would not be out of place in any gallery today. And fascinatingly, each horse has a slightly different expression and they seem to cover a variety of moods and attitudes.

The narrator points out that one of the horses’ mouth is open, as though he is whinnying.

The artists clearly studied the animals in great depth. Did they do so as hunters, future domesticators, or simply out of an early human fascination? We don’t know and likely never will.

There is only one human image in the cave. In the deepest recesses, a woman’s form is drawn on a stalactite, with her sexual organs over-emphasized to symbolize fertility.

Near the entrance of the cave, an artist painted multiple positive impressions of his own hand – a hand with a slightly crooked little finger. Then, much deeper in the cave, that hand shows up again as a signature, or calling card of sorts, provoking fascination among the researchers desperate for any clues to the identity of the artists.

And deep in the cave there is the track of an 8 year-old boy, and alongside it, the track of a wolf.

“Did a hungry wolf stalk the boy or did they walk together as friends. Or were the tracks made thousands of years apart? We’ll never know,” Herzog says, his words serving as one more reminder that the mysteries of such a deep past will remain so, even amid the discovery of such a direct connection to those who walked on two legs thousands of years ago.

'Win Win' actors breathe life into a simple story (directed by Tom McCarthy, 2011)

2011-09-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

First of all, is there any role Paul Giamatti takes on that doesn’t turn to gold? I just have so much respect for the guy, from “Sideways” right up to his recent tear-inducing work in “Barney’s Version” and now, in “Win Win.”

He seems to have a subtle ability to turn ordinary, humdrum roles into fascinating character studies.

In “Win Win,” he plays small-town New Jersey lawyer and wrestling coach Mike Flaherty. Life is OK for Mike, but that’s about it. His marriage is fine, work is mediocre and money is tight. And his wrestling squad, well, it sucks.

That all begins to change with one small act of deception -- one that truly defines the old “when once we practice to deceive” line.

In order to earn some extra money, Mike offers to take on the guardianship of one of his clients, a wealthy man in the early stages of dementia whose only desire is to stay in his home. With no family to help him do that, the state is going to put him in a retirement home, until Mike steps in.

But instead of following through on his promise, Mike pockets the $1,500 monthly stipend and sends old Leo off to the home anyway, because helping him stay in his house was going to be “too much work.”

Mike probably would have gotten away with it, with no one the wiser, except that the grandson Leo never knew he had, Kyle, shows up in town in an attempt to connect with his grandfather while his drug-addict mother is in a treatment program.

Things start to look up for everyone involved. Mike takes Kyle in to live with his family, Kyle quits smoking, goes back to high school and becomes the star of the wrestling team, and Leo begins to connect with his grandson, who despite his troubled past seems to have integrity and a heart of gold.

When Kyle’s mother, with less admirable qualities, shows up, things suddenly get complicated as Mike’s once seemingly insignificant white lie takes on new significance.

Helping to tell the story and round out the cast are Amy Ryan (‘The Wire,” “Gone Baby Gone” as Mike’s wife Jackie and Bobby Cannavale (“The Station Agent”) as Mike’s best friend Terry.

The film is hung largely on the performance of Alex Shaffer, as Kyle. Shaffer, an accomplished wrestler in how own right, won the New Jersey state championship in 2010.

With almost no previous acting experience, he landed the “Win Win” role in a walk-on audition after learning from a friend that the director was looking to cast a real-life wrestler.

Shaffer is perfect as the withdrawn, single-word answer kid who has been mistreated in the past and doesn’t trust easily. We all know someone like this, and Shaffer pulls it off perfectly, grown up and tough in some scenes, vulnerable and childlike in others. Amazing.

But Giamatti drives the film. In his role as Mike he plays an easily relatable, likable character dealing with the everyday struggles that many of us face: Paying the bills, struggling with feelings of mediocrity, dealing with health and stress issues and simply trying to find a way to be happy and fulfilled in life.

The movie opens with a shot of Mike (short, balding, paunchy) jogging along a forested trail in the early morning. As he huffs along, two tall, athletic, spandex-clad runners blast past him like he’s standing still. And this is an analogy for how Mike feels about his life. No matter how hard he works, he’ll always be at the back of the pack.

So when Mike sees an opportunity to get ahead a little, even though it’s somewhat dishonest, he takes it.

Many of us could relate to that, and faced with a similar temptation might even make the same decision. But that doesn't make it right, and the rest of the film is about the results of Mike's decision and how it affects his life and those around him until he is finally willing to admit his wrong, ask for forgiveness, and deal with the consequences, even though they will likely be unpleasant.

A nice surprise at the end of the film is a new song by "The National," called "Think You Can Wait." Solid tune written by the band after watching the film. Check it out here.

'Soul Surfer' a story of faith, family, and one massive shark

2011-05-04T12:47:00.001-07:00

I’ve been on a surf movie kick lately. I watched in the past week “North Shore” and “Blue Crush” and then yesterday my wife and I went to see “Soul Surfer” – the new film based on the real-life story of a young Hawaiian surfer, with talent and dreams of going pro, who suffers a massive setback when a 13-foot tiger shark attacks, taking her arm.

The film is based on the life of Bethany Hamilton, who was just 13 when she lost her arm, but through sheer heart and force of will, managed to continue her surfing career.

When we walked into the cinema to find we were two of only a handful of adults – the theatre was a sea of 12-year-old girls – I was immediately worried that this would be a teen girl-power flick with nothing to offer anyone else.

And there was definitely some of that. The entire story hinges on the girl’s faith, strength of will and fighting spirit to come back from a life-altering moment that would have crushed most people.

But there’s something in this story for everyone. For one, the surfing is incredible, right up there with some of the best mainstream surfing films I’ve seen.

And though this story had the potential to be dripping with cheese – “somewhere between cheddar and jalapeno jack,” as one of the characters says, it wasn’t.

The incident itself is played out with the grim horror one would expect, her family’s struggle to deal with the changes in Bethany’s life – and their own – are all handled carefully and realistically, and AnnaSophia Robb does a respectable job in the role.

But at the core of the story is the girl’s faith. Before the incident, during her recovery and as she begins to return to normal life, it’s the leash that keeps her firmly anchored amid the swell.

Her mentor, played by country singer Carrie Underwood, tells her amid a deep moment of doubt, that though she doesn’t understand now why she has been put through such a trial, someday, with broader perspective, she will. And of course, eventually, she does.

This movie takes the best of “Blue Crush” – a story of girl-power and chasing your dreams at all costs, and “North Shore” – a film about taking risks and venturing out of your comfort zone to figure out who you are – and combines them. But it adds in the elements of faith and family and the amazing fact that this is a true story about a girl who never let go of her dreams despite a crippling injury that would have destroyed many other people.

It also includes a last-minute cameo from Turtle, one of the main characters in “North Shore” – which makes it even better.

If you do see this film – and trust me, I realize it’s not for everyone. If you don’t like surfing, if faith stories annoy you and if you’re repulsed rather than moved by a little bit of cheese, you might want to give it a miss.

But if you do, stay for the credits, when documentary footage shows how much of the film mirrored the true events that took place in Hamilton’s life.

"Never Let Me Go" grips your heart in a non-futuristic sci-fi kind of way (2010, Directed by Mark Romanek)

2011-04-02T08:05:00.000-07:00

Image courtesy of illustrator Nick Thornborrow's fantastic blog

“Never Let Me Go” is a simple yet chilling portrayal of a bleak world where average life expectancy is over 100 years, with people relying on replacement organs provided by “donors” – clones whose entire purpose is to extend the lives of others.

The premise is that we began cloning humans in the 1950s, but the film takes place in the 70s, 80s and 90s, and the practice is now an accepted, normal part of life.

As a result the film, based on the book by Kazuo Ishiguro, feels like a modern-day story rather than a futuristic sci-fi, which it could have easily become in the hands of a different director or screenwriter (Mark Romanek and Alex Garland).

The story centres around Tommy, Kathy and Ruth, three ‘donors’ played by Andrew Garfield, Carey Mulligan and Keira Knightley. We meet them as children at what first appears to be an upper class boarding school in the English countryside.

But when the headmistress, after finding three cigarettes hidden in the garden, gives the students a stern lecture on how it’s more important for them, than for anyone else, to care for their bodies, the reality of their life’s purpose sets in.

There are other clues to their status, as well. The students become infectiously excited when they learn there will be a sale, and they will be able to purchase items using tokens they have earned and saved over the year. They’re promised it will be a “bumper crop” of items.

But when the boxes of goods arrive, and are set out on tables for the sale, it becomes clear they are little more than the broken, shoddy, cast-off toys from real children living “outside” -- a metaphor for the second-class status that rules the donors’ lives.

But even though there’s a sad, pathetic quality to the scene, there’s also a simple beauty in the joy the children receive from the broken toys. When Tommy gives Kathy a cassette tape of soulful music, there is a heart-wrenching quality to the way she is affected by the songs.

The students also spend each year creating works of art, in hopes their pieces will be selected for the “gallery,” an almost mythical place or event that none of them seem to have ever seen or to fully understand.

Eventually, the three children grow up and leave the school – wrestling with love and jealousy along the way -- to prepare for their donation cycle. Each donor is expected to “complete” after four donations – meaning their life will end.

They go on to their own pursuits. Kathy becomes a “carer,” whose purpose is to comfort, encourage and cheer-up the donors as they go through their cycle.

Ruth and Tommy begin their donations, and it isn’t until years later that the three are once again united.

When they reunite, it’s under different circumstances. Their lives are nearing an end, and they begin to seek answers from those who have controlled their destinies. Not that they challenge their purpose in life, or rebel, because that’s just not something they do. But they are seeking a deeper understanding, or explanation, of their role in the world.

Perhaps the best answer comes when they finally ask about the art gallery they contributed to each year at school, wanting to know its true purpose.

“We weren’t using the gallery to look into your souls,” explains their former headmistress in a brutally frank moment. “We were using the gallery to see if you had souls.”

Fly fishing in the Far East and other adventures at the Banff Mountain Film Festival

2011-03-28T19:02:00.000-07:00

I made it into the Banff Mountain Film Festival Saturday night, but just barely. I had procrastinated buying tickets for two weeks, left it to the absolute last minute, and then, shocker, found out the event was sold out.

I was really mad at myself for not making it a priority, but more than that I was disappointed to miss the event, which I’ve seen nine out of the past 10 years.

But a last minute decision to try the box office an hour before the show, paid off.
The festival organizers (and Rock Oasis owners) had “a few” unadvertised tickets that hadn’t sold at one of the pre-sale outlets and I was able to get two! Oh man was I happy.

The festival never fails to inspire me to plan a trip, try a new sport, or just get out climbing or biking or hiking. (past write-ups here and here.)

The highlight of this year’s BMFF (at least on the Saturday night – Friday and Sunday had their own lineups) for me was a film called “Eastern Rises.”

One thing I always love about the festival is that it’s never willing to be constrained to a certain type of film. The theme is simply ‘outdoor’ films and that can manifest itself in a lot of different ways.

"Eastern Rises" by Ben Knight (FeltSoul media) was a film that didn’t fit in the normal extreme-adventure-adrenaline-junky category but that nonetheless embodied the spirit of the festival. It was about fly fishing in the Kamchatka Peninsula in eastern Russia.

At the start, Knight, who as I understand it shot, directed and narrated the film (thought there’s no IMDB listing and little more than a few random blog posts on the web thus far) explains that he was invited along on an epic fishing trip to the isolated and rugged, and mostly unfished far east of Russia.

But rather than make a beautiful, artsy exploration of the craft of fly fishing, he decided to make a more honest (and cynical and downright hilarious) picture about the trip – that includes fleeting shots of bigfoot, a box of sausages, scary helicopter rides, a Russian blonde in short shorts, and plenty of ridiculous conversations.

But there’s more than that too. The camera captures beautiful, striking, heart-rending moments that bring tears to the eyes of any fisherman or adventure seeker.

The film was poetry to watch, and had me reminiscing about guiding summers at North Star Lodge, and checking weather reports for the warmer weather that will soon bring the trout into the Ganaraska River.

"Eastern Rises" takes place in true frontier land, one of the hardest places to get to in the world, and the rewards are fantastic.

And the two main protagonists in the film (Alaskan fishermen whose names I sadly do not even know due to the shameful shortage of info out there – even on the film’s ‘under construction’ website) are so perfect for the film. One is young, but a born fisherman with deep thoughts on his choice of career and a slow, well-thought-out way of explaining those ruminations that is thought provoking and easy to listen to.

On his response when a client asked him how his parents felt about him ‘wasting his life’ as a fishing guide: “Well…I think they’re jealous, like everyone else.”

The other main fisherman in the film, whose name I also do not know, is a little more verbose, a little louder, the joker of the group, but nonetheless also a brilliant fisherman with fascinating ideas about angling, life, and that Russian bigfoot he’s obsessed with.

But accompanying these characters are fish, millions and millions of fish. Rainbow Trout boil out of the water one after another, exploding onto huge flies tied to look like mice, the prime food source for these carnivorous fish.

It’s incredible. And the camera captures these moments with superb clarity and an artistic approach that makes every fish seem like a primary character in the film.

In the end, this is really just a beautiful, well shot, funny and irreverent film about a group of guys that go on an epic adventure. In that way, it’s like every other adventure movie.

One of the characters, when describing his chosen career path, kind of sums it up I think:

'In the end, fishing is a pretty selfish pursuit. You’re not really doing anything to make the world a better place or to improve the plight of humanity -- except maybe somehow by enriching your own soul.' (paraphrased…)

This film, like fishing, may not make the world a better place. But it will enrich your soul and make you happy, and in that way, perhaps, it is making the world better. Don’t you think?

Eastern Rises | teaser from felt soul media on Vimeo.

This film also has a fantastic soundtrack. Thanks to CompleatThought for putting together a reference list here.

Here are a couple of other films that I really enjoyed at the festival...

“Tibet: Murder in the Snow” (Mark Gould)

There were a few other pretty amazing films that also deserve a mention. “Tibet: Murder in the Snow” was a fantastic film about a tragedy a few years back when Chinese police at the Nangpa Pass on the border of Nepal fired on a group of young Tibetan refugees, killing a teenage nun.

The event was witnessed by numerous Western climbers at a nearby base camp awaiting their summit opening, many of them recording or photographing the incident. The Australian filmmakers painstakingly tracked down these eyewitnesses all over the world, including other survivors who were in the group, and reconstructed the heartbreaking true story.

“As it Happens” (Renan Ozturk and Corey Richards)
Two mountaineers, filmmakers and all-round great storytellers, set out to climb the 6,000-metre Tawoche Himal in Nepal. That would be a feat on its own, but they also documented their adventure moment-by-moment.

And rather than compile a whole bunch of images and footage, bring it all back home and make a film after the fact, they did it guerrilla style. Using a solar-powered modem, and mobile editing equipment, they edited, voiced and posted short dispatches along the way, rogue blogger style, and were followed online by 100,000 people as they did it.

This film compiles those dispatches into a very real and dynamic film that makes you feel like you’re right there with them. Though you’d probably rather not be. 36 hours without water, clinging to a Himalayan mountainside, while trying to make a film, not to mention survive, isn’t for everyone.

Everyone needs a Catfish in their life to keep them sharp...

2011-02-05T15:49:00.000-08:00

I have 20 minutes to write this. That might be a good thing since I've been told I tend to ramble on a bit...

“Catfish.” This is a good film, though maybe not what you would expect. It’s a documentary of sorts, with two guys (Henry Joost, Ariel Schulman) filming the relationship their best friend Nev (Yaniv Schulman), a photographer in New York City, develops over Facebook with a family in Michigan.

The family includes a mom, two daughters and a brother, and various other loosely associated relatives. They may or may not have horses. One of them is an artist. One of them may be a dancer…or something.

"Not based on a true story,” the trailer says.

"Not inspired by true events.”

"Just true.”

Intriguing, right?

You’d be forgiven for thinking this was some sort of a horror film from the trailer.

It’s creepy, no doubt, and there are some horrific aspects to it, but mostly it’s an exploration of our online, social media culture and the types of relationships that can develop over the Internet -- and what happens when real human beings intersect with their online-only friends.

I spent two weeks avoiding learning anything about the film, before watching it. This helped, and I recommend it. Beyond reading this blog – which I promise has no spoilers – you should really avoid details that might give away the crux of this story.

We watched “The Social Network” a couple of weeks prior to seeing “Catfish” and it really helped to give context and contrast – sort of like seeing two very different sides to the same story. I recommend doing that.

If this film starts out a little weirdly, hang in there. It gets better and better and is worth sticking around until the end, just like Nev does.

Grenier turns the lens around in 'Paparazzo' (Adrian Grenier, 2010)

2011-01-08T12:49:00.000-08:00

I didn’t have high expectations for “Teenage Paparazzo,” the new documentary by actor Adrian Grenier of “Entourage” fame.

I’m usually suspicious of celebrity vanity projects to begin with, and the subject matter of this film -- a cocky kid out ‘til 3 or 4 a.m. stalking celebrities in L.A. with a camera – didn’t sound all that appealing.

But I was surprised in a good way by this movie. Not just by the storytelling and legitimate documentary style, but by Grenier’s honesty throughout.

The story focuses on then 14-year-old Austin Visschedyk. Grenier encounters the teen one late night in Los Angeles and is astounded to find him ensconced within a gang of much older Paparazzi photographers, staking out a celebrity hotspot.

Grenier becomes fascinated by the idea of someone so young doing such a grown-up job -- not to mention wondering how the heck he pulls it off on a school night -- and decides to turn the lens around and film a documentary about Visschedyk.

At first, the fast-talking, slick and not that likable kid is all for the project. The idea of hanging out with a bonafide celebrity and getting a little bit of his own fame seems to sit pretty well with him.

Visschedyk reminded me of a child star who has spent too much time around adults at a young age, and therefore grown up too fast, and without the necessary life lessons. He swears like a trucker, talks back to his parents and basically whines about almost everything.

At one point he suggests he isn’t all that happy about the arrangement with Grenier, but doesn’t want to say what’s really bothering him.

Grenier pushes him on it.

“Well, I thought you were going to, you know, like, let me know where you were going to be and stuff.”

That isn’t part of Grenier’s plan. He seems to want to take as journalistic of an approach as possible, and isn’t keen on setting up celebrity photo shoots just to keep the spoiled kid happy.

Instead Grenier wants to follow Visschedyk as he works, and interview other Paparazzi members, celebrities and Visschedyk’s parents to try and put together a film about how celebrity and society interact and how it’s possible for this kid to do what he does.

But between the tension this causes between Visschedyk and other photographers, the fact the kid begins to simply get bored with Grenier’s artistic endeavour, and rising media interest in the kid-phenom, their relationship begins to break down.

Visschedyk stops returning Grenier’s calls, fails to show up to a meeting or two, and gets tangled up with another copycat project, where a father is shooting a documentary about his alleged Paparazzo son.

It’s interesting to see how Grenier handles the change in their relationship. He gets genuinely stressed. He’s put time, effort and money into the project, and he’s desperate to save it.

On the other hand, he admits that his interest in Visschedyk is the main catalyst for the problems they are experiencing. The kid has become a bit of a star in his own right as major media picked up on the story after getting word that Grenier was making a film about Visschedyk.

While getting too involved with a story can be the kiss of death for many documentarians and journalists, it actually makes this story more interesting. Halfway through, the whole direction changes and Grenier has to roll with it and make it work.

“I’d like to be, you know, famous,” Visschedyk says at one point, admitting he doesn’t necessarily want to be a famous photographer, but more that like Paris Hilton, whom he has photographed and gotten to know – he just wants to be famous for being famous.

Grenier admits he’s created a monster and doesn’t quite know what to do about it.

The image of a rich and famous celebrity struggling to get his way, is in start contrast to the life of Grenier’s ‘Vince’ role on "Entourage," and is one really refreshing aspect of the film.

Grenier manages to save his film though, by taking more drastic measures that Visschedyk can live with, picking up a camera himself and joining the ranks of the Paparazzi himself, to see how they work and live.

The film ends with a touching scene where Grenier and Visschedyk seem to get real with each other – something that may not be easy for either of them to do, given their careers – and agree to chart a different path with their relationship.

A post-script update on Visschedyk also helps take the edge off and allows the audience to warm up a little more to this really annoying but talented, dedicated photographer, who is, after all, just a kid.

'True Grit' a true Western with classic Coen characteristics

2010-12-27T11:38:00.000-08:00

Joel and Ethan Coen have travelled all over the map in recent years. Their films have ranged from the dark and chillingly violent “No Country for Old Men” to earlier efforts like “Fargo” that mixed unexpected violence with folksy humour and small-town sentimentality.

Add in comedic efforts like “The Big Lebowski” and you can see the wide range these guys have.

One thing their diverse films almost always have in common though is a unique artistic approach, beautiful photography and composition that makes every frame look like a masterpiece. Within a few minutes you almost always know you’re watching a Coen bro’s movie.

That was no different in their latest effort, a remake of the 1969 Western classic “True Grit” (starring John Wayne in his only Oscar-winning role).

I haven’t seen the original film so I went in with few expectations. I wasn’t sure where they would take the story about a 14-year-old girl out to seek revenge on her father’s killer with the help of a U.S. Marshal and a Texas Ranger.

At least as far as the story line went, anyway. In terms of the look, tone and chemistry of the film though, I had a lot of expectations. It was the first time the Coens had reunited with Jeff Bridges since “The Big Lebowski” and I was interested to see whether the sparks would still fly.

I also wondered how the introduction of a 14-year-old girl as a main character in a violent Western movie would affect the tone of the film, which I was expecting to be violent and gritty.

The violence was there, but it wasn’t the central characteristic of the film. It came in a couple of sparing, but sharp, shocking bursts.

Mostly, the film was about the story – an epic tale of payback and the relationship between Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) and Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) – a bounty hunter whom she hires for his “true grit” and LaBoeuf (Matt Damon) a Texas Ranger on the trail of the same man – Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin.)

Mattie’s drive for revenge is what carries the film. It’s not hatred or anger that drives her, more a pragmatic urge to take matters into her own hands and do what’s right. Her precocious nerve, fierceness and energy drives the story and the mission and she steals almost ever scene she is in.

Bridges is good too, as the drunk, rough around the edges lawman who isn’t afraid to bend the rules. But I do wonder if Bridges isn’t getting a little too comfortable in the skin of the overweight, slobby drunks he’s been playing lately. Luckily, his hard edge and toughness comes through in the moments when it’s required, and at those times the slobby side is all but forgotten. In true Bridges form, he’s also lovable despite his unlikableness.

Damon is great as a quirky and not-that-successful Texas Ranger. He adds a bit of a comedic element to his role, which is a bit out of place. And there’s a creepy moment when Mattie wakes up and he he’s there, watching her sleep and tells her he was considering “stealing a kiss” and another where he actually spanks her.

I wish there was more of Josh Brolin. He plays such a good hard-ass tough guy, but he was barely in the film until the last 15 or 20 minutes, and even then there just wasn’t enough time or space to really explore his character.

That was really the only disappointment in the film. The story was excellent, the acting was solid and the Coens went for a true Western fell, complete with wide panoramic shots, eerie mountain scenes and perfect use of snowfall to create a cold, lonely feel.

Great movie. You should see it.

The young John Lennon was a "Nowhere Boy" (2010, directed by Sam Taylor-Wood)

2010-11-28T14:33:00.000-08:00

John Lennon is one of those people I feel like I kind of know. Like Paul Simon or John Steinbeck, I feel like he’s revealed enough about himself in his music and writing, and I’ve been a dedicated enough follower for long enough, that I have some kind of insider status and I know things about him that other people don’t.

That’s a total misconception, of course, the kind that comes crashing down when we meet our heroes for the first time and feel a profound sense of disappointment when we find out they’re just like us – human.

I haven’t met John Lennon, obviously. But I do feel like I have a new introduction to his life through “Nowhere Boy.” The film, playing at the Bloor Cinema this week, focuses on John’s mid to late teenage years and provides a fascinating snapshot into his life.

At the beginning of the film John, played brilliantly by Aaron Johnson (believe it or not, yes, he’s the guy from “Kickass,” turns out he’s British), is a young man trying to figure out who he is.

He’s being raised by his cold, stoic aunt and his uncle, a warm and jovial fellow.
With a sudden death in the family, he has his first encounter with his estranged mother, with whom he has had no contact to until that point.

The death, the glimpse of the mysterious redhead, and the sudden realization that his mom is out there and that he should get to know her, shakes his life up in a big way.
Her love of music and carefree attitude introduce him to a new world at a time when he’s trying to figure out who he is.

Rock and roll is just starting to take the world by storm as Elvis Presley makes his mark, and the young John, who doesn’t really play any instruments, decides to form a band. Eventually George Harrison and Paul McCartney come along, and the chemistry that will create one of the greatest bands of all time, begins to develop.

There are some interesting details, like the source of the money that paid for the band’s first professional recording, and the fact John initially didn’t want Paul McCartney in the band because he was too good.

"Better with us than with someone else," says one of his band mates, convincing Lennon to change his mind.

It’s a fascinating portrait, taking just a few brief years and zooming in for a detailed illustration of young John Lennon’s life. Played expertly by Johnson, Lennon’s powerful charisma comes through. He’s also troubled and dangerous, dealing with dark demons in his life and struggling to reconcile the way he was raised with the wild in his blood.

Johnson, even though he looks nothing like Lennon, is convincing, describing how that emotional struggle, charisma, raw talent and artistic hunger could come together to create a force like John Lennon.

Paul, though his role is much smaller in the movie, is also well played by Thomas Sangster – who also looks nothing like McCartney. His gentler manner and more refined musical skills play well off Lennon and the two form an unlikely bond.

The film just barely hints at tension between the two as they jostle as co-leaders of the young group.

I’ve read that McCartney is mad that Sangster is shorter than Lennon in the film, since that wasn’t the case in reality. He also says the film captures the essence of the young John Lennon, but that not everything in the film actually happened.

Sam Taylor-Wood has created an interesting, compelling look into Lennon’s little-known younger years, and I recommend this film for any Beatles fan – so yes, basically everyone.

Dark and gritty 'Dragon Tattoo' film has teeth (directed by Niels Arden Oplev, 2009)

2010-07-24T11:12:00.000-07:00

There’s been a ton of hype surrounding "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo." For a while the book (by Stieg Larsson) by the same name was pretty much everywhere, and the film, released hot on its heels, has also generated a lot of excitement.

That surprised me a little. It’s pretty rare to go to Blockbuster in search of a foreign film (made in Sweden), with subtitles, and find that all 20 copies are rented.

That just doesn’t happen, and it speaks to the popularity of the three-part book series and the films.

After watching the movie last night (I haven’t read the book) I’m still a little surprised. Don’t get me wrong, the film was awesome, but it didn’t have any major stars, was entirely shot in Sweden, in Swedish.

What it did have was a gripping, thrilling storyline that scared the heck out of me, solid unpretentious acting, and a simple, gritty narrative that relies on the story rather than CGI or Hollywood clichés to make a mark.

The story focuses on Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist), a once-respected journalist who has been convicted of libel, and has six months to kill before serving his sentence.

He is approached by a wealthy businessman named Henrik Vanger, and asked to spend that time turning his investigative skills to the unsolved disappearance of his niece, who went missing 40 years ago.

Along the way Blomkvist enlists the help of the beautiful, but darkly troubled Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), a tattoo’d and pierced hacker who was initially hired to investigate Blomkvist’s background, before Vanger brought him on.

Her illicit skills, paired with Blomkvist’s investigative skills, allow the team to turn up new clues in the mysterious investigation set mostly on the Vanger’s creepy island estate.

Rapace and Nyqvist are both pitch perfect in their roles, very different people united by their connection to the girl’s disappearance and their commitment to seeing the investigation through – and their ability to draw the characters into their lives.

Great writing and direction get a lot of credit for that too though.
Another reason I was surprised by the success of this film here, is the graphic nature of some of the scenes. I’m guessing a lot of people who saw it aren’t used to the boundary-pushing of European cinema, and were probably caught off guard. We were.

There are three scenes of sexual abuse or violence that were pretty shocking, and definitely won’t make it into the American version, which is apparently now in casting. (Allegedly Ellen Page is a contender to play Lisbeth, which in my opinion would be a bad choice. And Angelina Jolie was apparently sought before the remembered she’s way too old. Sidenote: isn’t it lame that big American movies always have to have the hot star of the moment? Rapace is awesome in this role because you’ve never seen her before and have no preconceived notions or baggage.)

I definitely recommend this film, but know what you’re getting into. It’s dark and graphic and not for everyone.

One really interesting sidenote is that none of the three books (The other two are The Girl Who Played With Fire and The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest) in the trilogy were published until after Larsson died in 2004. According to Wiki he wrote them for pleasure, as a hobby, and made no attempt to publish them until just before he died.

'Defendor' (2009) directed by Peter Stebbings

2010-07-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

I watched ‘Defendor’ last night. Pretty interesting movie. I admit I fell asleep a couple of times but that was mainly because I was beat, and is no reflection on the film.

The film stars Woody Harrelson as Arthur Poppington, a self-styled super hero whose main weapons include a metal-studded trench club, handfuls of marbles and small jars of angry, agitated hornets.

His life’s work is protecting the vulnerable and beating up the bad guys. He also likes to rehearse ahead of time the one-liners he delivers to the bad guys.

Something’s not quite right with Defendor (note, that’s Defendor, not Defender). Based on a couple of flashbacks, his mother seems to have been a drug-addicted prostitute who may have been forced to abandon him at a young age, leaving him to be raised by his grandfather.

As a boy, Arthur asks his grandfather when his mother is coming home. He explains that she never is, that drug dealers got her -- “captains of industry” as he refers to them sardonically.

Sometime after that conversation, Poppington invents his ‘Defendor’ alter-ego and dedicated himself to tracking down ‘Captain Industry’ – his nemesis.

The problem is, Captain Industry doesn’t exist, at least he doesn’t up until Poppington befriends Kat Debrofkowitz (Kat Dennings) a down-on-her-luck prostitute who needs to lay low for a few days to avoid an angry pimp, and ends up staying with Poppington.

Kat has her own troubled past to deal with, and the two develop a weird semi co-dependent relationship, based mainly on the fact that Kat lies to Defendor, telling him she knows who Captain Industry is and where he can be found. The rest of the film focuses on his mission to track him down and get revenge.

Defendor’s unswerving commitment to his task is respectable. He doesn’t really get scared, and seems to be willing to take on any challenge, no matter how impossible, even though he usually loses on some level. He’s sort of a heroic loser, I guess, which is a twist on a superhero movie and makes this film really interesting.

And Harrelson is awesome in the role, really convincing and totally committed to the character to the point where you don’t see Woody, you see Defendor.

Another cool thing is that the film was shot in Hamilton, Ont., of all places. Gritty, grim, industrial wasteland Hamilton makes a perfect backdrop for the movie.

One other nice surprise was seeing Clark Johnson as Capt. Fairbanks of the local police. Johnson played city editor Gus Haynes in The Wire and it was almost like seeing an old friend.

This is a good film with a simple but interesting story. I definitely recommend it.

Hockey players, farmers and pickup trucks

2010-04-18T11:19:00.000-07:00

At first I didn’t think I was going to like Jeff Lemire’s Tales From the Farm (Essex County Vol 1). It was roughly drawn, sparse and somewhat jarring. The characters were all harsh lines and contrast, and the dialogue was simple and abrupt.

But a few pages into the graphic novel and I had completely forgotten all those criticisms and was fully focused on the simple but gripping story, recommended to me by Dan Brown.

Set in Essex County in Southwestern Ontario, the story focuses on the goofy, highly imaginative boy Lester (think Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes, but without the cuteness and with a bleak chicken farm as the setting) and his uncle Ken, who is raising him following his mother’s death.

Ken is a single, hard working, old-school farmer doing his best to raise a child and thereby keep a promise to his dead sister. Lester, who wears a mask and cape for most

of the book, feels like he’s more of an obligation than a loved one, and their relationship is tense.

"Hey Les, Hockey Night in Canada’s on…two to one for Boston, second period, wanna watch with me?” Ken asks one night after dinner.

"…Nah,” Les replies, then disappears into the basement to watch the game on his own.

It’s sad and a little uncomfortable to read this kind of relational grappling between two people not really equipped for the relationship they’re thrust into.

But in increments, little by little, you become more comfortable as a reader as Lemire reveals the deeper truths behind the relationship and you get fully drawn in without even realizing that it’s happening.

There’s simplicity in the storytelling and sparseness to the drawings that combine to tell a powerful but simple story that’s revealed through a few characters, a farm and a country gas station.

If you’ve ever lived in the country or been around farmers or small town hockey players, this story will resonate. If not, that’s ok too; I think you’ll still like it.

I'm looking forward to reading the next two installments in the series.

The Lines We Choose... another year's Banff Mountain FIlm Festival

2010-03-28T16:31:00.000-07:00

Once again the Banff Mountain Film Festival has left me feeling inspired and motivated and ready for the next trip/adventure.

Katie and I went on Friday night, the first of a three-night run at the Bloor Cinema.

Most years, there is a feature-length film and half a dozen shorter offerings. But this year that wasn’t the case. There were several films around the 30-minute mark and another four or five 10-minute or less films.

I’m not sure which format I prefer. This way you get to see more films, but you miss out on the longer films, which are often the most memorable.

Either way, it was still a great show this year. Two films in particular stand out in my mind.

"Committed 2: Walk of Life" was a fantastic rock climbing film. It focuses on James Pearson’s attempt to climb a massive, blank, near-featureless chunk of rock on the ocean coast of Devon, in the U.K.

He becomes obsessed with climbing this wall, and won’t rest until his goal is
accomplished.

He begins by knocking out all the old bolts left behind by other climbers over the years. “It looks like it has a new lease on life,” he says, once the hardware is all removed and lying in a huge pile at the base.

There’s a definite sense of attachment between Pearson and the cliff.

He also seems serious and determined and capable, but also humble and low-key. There is none of the death-defying heart-stopping showboating of Chris Sharma, none of the jokey charisma and character of Didier. Pearson just climbs. Even his style is humble and understated and often not all that pretty to watch.

But what he accomplishes is spectactular.

And the film itself (check out the trailer here) is shot in a way that suggests the story, the reality of this challenge, is enough. It’s simplistic in its style and grandiose in its content, which is a really rare and cool combination. It works really well.

It’s one of those films where the audience is so behind the subject, that at times spontaneous applause is irresistible.

The second film that has really stuck in my mind is “Signatures: Canvas of Snow.” It’s a snowboarding, skiing and “noboarding” (more about that later) film that feels more like a moving painting or a filmic graphic novel set in the snow mountainous forests of Japan with a wicked soundtrack.

I’m usually disappointed with the snowboarding films at the BMFF. They’re usually high on shocking jumps and cliff drops and spectacular crashes and straight-lines, but low on creativity and artistic direction in terms of the look and feel of the films.

This was different. The film, edited down from a full-length (which I. Will. Own.) is just stunning to watch.

It focuses on skiers and riders whose connection to winter goes beyond what they can do on snow but encompasses their whole lifestyle.

The film’s website describes it like this: “In Japan there is a cultural connection to the different Signatures of our terrestrial home – a sense that the rhythm of fall, winter, spring, summer, influences the rhythm of the person, their energy, their riding style, and the lines they choose.

That’s no exaggeration. The riders seem to belong in the dense forests, heavy laden with fresh snow, mind-numbing powder and winter storms that make up the canvas of this film.

One of the riders is Atsushi Gomyo, who says traditional snowboards are too restrictive, cutting off the connection to the snow. Therefore, he cuts and shapes his own binding-less snowboards, and has perfected an effortless style of carving through deep powder that looks like a dream.

It’s just beautiful to watch and reminds me of how much I miss snowboarding in real mountains.

A soundtrack featuring the mellow tones of Jon Swift makes this film that much better.

Inspired…

What's your "Lost City of Z"?

2010-03-23T15:16:00.000-07:00

I sat down a couple weeks ago to write about “The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon.” But I ended up getting caught up in reminisces and memories of travels and adventures and my own obsession with foreign places, and had written an entire blog entry by the time I realized I hadn’t written a word about “Z.”

I’d say that’s a pretty good recommendation for the book.

In “Z,” David Grann, a staff writer at the New Yorker, tracks the life and travels of Percy Fawcett, a British adventurer and explorer who became obsessed with finding a mythical El Dorado in the Amazon, that he dubbed “Z.”

Fawcett, with the help of the Royal Geographic Society, spent much of his life searching for the city – and the proof he needed to prove his theory that an advanced, rich civilization once existed in the region.

In the end, he disappeared into that wilderness with his son in 1925 and was never heard from again. Dozens of groups went after them, giving legs to the already sensational and wildly publicized story, and many of them never made it back either.

Whether they were murdered by hostile natives, starved to death in the harsh "counterfeit paradise" of the Amazon, or died from illness, has never been firmly determined.

Fawcett was considered one of the toughest explorers to have ever set foot in the jungle and he knew the region well. As a result the mystery surrounding his disappearance has gripped imaginations for three-quarters of a century.

A number of books and movies have been made – including a new one starring Brad Pitt (which is why he’s been sporting that ratty beard for so long). He was even a character in “Tintin and the Wooden Ear.” Herge imagined him as a grizzled old fellow who had given up on society and decided to live out his days in the Amazon simply because he liked it better.

But it seems as though no one has come as close to solving the mystery as Grann.

Through meticulous research, unprecedented access to Fawcett’s journals and papers, face to face interviews with some of his family members -- and even retracing his steps -- he has put together a fascinating map of Fawcett’s life and work. He even unravelled, he believes, the mystery of Fawcett’s true route on his final journey.

I usually get pretty bored with biographies but I couldn’t put it down. There was something about the way Grann brought Fawcett back to life, and the way he seemed to get inside his head to truly understand what it was like to be him, that was fascinating.

It was also sad. He sacrificed so much and left so many people behind in the pursuit of his dream. And I think that’s why he fought so hard in the end, even to the point where it cost his own life and his son’s. The fear of failing, after giving up so much, was worse than the fear of death, for him.

Grann brings all this in a sensitive, compelling manner. Most impressively, he even manages to uncover new, important details about Fawcett’s work, and his Lost City of Z.

It’s all “Up in the Air,” really

2010-03-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

I really wanted to love “Up in the Air” starring George Clooney and directed by Jason Reitman. I had pretty high expectations and wanted the movie to be great. I guess I was hoping it would be one of those rare occasions when Clooney veers away from the comfortable, status quo characters he usually plays, and does something different.

I’m thinking of “O Brother Where Art Thou” as an example of what he’s capable of when he breaks the mold.

I don’t know why I thought that was a realistic possibility, since everything I had heard about UITA made it sound like his character was as close to the real Clooney as possible.

Clooney plays Ryan Bingham, a man who travels and works constantly, is smooth and successful, slick and well-dressed and has no visible attachments. He even delivers motivational speeches under the title “What’s in Your Backpack?” which extol the virtues of living an unencumbered lifestyle.

In this film, as pretty much everyone knows by now since the hype has been huge (nominated for Best Picture etc.), Clooney plays a professional downsizer. His company is hired out by other companies to swoop in and deliver bad news to employees while making it sound as much like good news as possible.

"Anyone who has ever built an empire or changed the world has sat exactly where you are sitting" is one of his favourite lines for the newly-unemployed.

While he realizes that his work is pretty low on the moral register, he strives to infuse it with as much dignity and respect as possible. He seems to truly care about the people he is firing and wants to help them deal with it – at least for the 15 minutes he is sitting across from them.

After that, he’ll never see them again and is seems clear he rarely gives them a second thought after they walk out the door.

When a young over-achieving upstart, appropriately named Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick) joins his company and tries to do away with the road-warriors like Clooney, replacing them with call-centre style webcam downsizers, Clooney is forced to demonstrate the value of his work.

He takes her on the road and shows her why people deserve to be fired in person.

I was disappointed with this movie. While I liked the way the film was shot, with an interesting mix of documentary-style footage of people reacting to being fired and interesting airplane and airport scenes, overall it was pretty underwhelming.

While Kendrick is convincing most of the time (nominated for best supporting actress) there’s one terrible scene where she starts crying in a hotel lobby, waving her hands around in the air in a really unconvincing way. It’s pretty ridiculous.

Also, neither Katie nor I sensed the chemistry that was supposed to exist between Clooney and a fellow road-warrior (Alex, played by Vera Farmiga who also got a best supporting actress nom) whom he meets in a hotel bar, and continues to rendezvous with in meet-ups around the country.

She tells him she’s a female version of himself, and makes it clear there are no strings attached.

Seems like a good idea at the time, but this relationship ends up serving as a metaphor for Bingham’s life and the emptiness he has filled it with. In fact, what helped salvage the story for us, was the way this relationship plays out and the eventual realization that everything Bingham loves and values in his life, means nothing.

While most of the film glamourized his lifestyle, the final scenes reveal where his choices have taken him and what all those Air Miles really add up to in the end.

Camper vans and hitch-hiking...

2010-03-10T18:21:00.000-08:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about maps lately. Well, maybe not so much maps, as what they represent – the idea of an adventure, an exploration in a place you don’t know very well.

That’s always been an exciting concept for me. I remember when I was a little kid, too young to go anywhere on my own, I’d read books like “On the Road” and lie awake at night dreaming about hitchhiking out west, travelling to Alaska or living in Banff.

I managed to do two out of three eventually. Then years later, even after I’d had some pretty awesome adventures, I’d listen to the trains rumbling by my little cottage on the Lake Ontario shore in Port Hope, and I’d wish so bad that I was on one, going somewhere, anywhere.

I remember one night a train was stopped on the trestle near my house (the drivers would stop the train and run down the embankment to KFC sometimes late at night) and I saw a half open boxcar and was so close to hopping in.

Part of me has always regretted not doing it. I think I would have ended up in Montreal or maybe Halifax, which would have been cool.

I’m less restless now. That’s a good thing since I’m married and all. And also because staying in one place for more than a year or two has been good for my career.

But sometimes I still get the urge to just go.

Tonight and the last couple of weeks I’ve felt that. Maybe it’s the warm weather or the thought of booking some vacation time.

Or maybe it’s that mention of the Traveling Wilburys in Matt’s blog the other day, which got me thinking about The Highwaymen (both are awesome road-tripping bands, btw).

Or it could be the conversation my friend Chris and I had about Volkswagen Westfalia vans on Monday night. We both love them and our conversations often track in that direction.

We were talking about how much fun it would be to buy a van in California, Oregon, Washington or B.C. maybe, then get acquainted with it on the long trip home to Toronto.

That would be awesome. And guess what? Katie likes the idea too. She's never done the cross-Canada drive and is pretty excited about doing it some day. Maybe it will happen. Of course, that would likely mean I probably can’t get a vintage pickup truck, which is another thing I really want…

Okay I’m just rambling now. I actually sat down to write about “The Lost City of Z,” a book I just finished reading. It’s about an obsessed traveller and explorer named Percy Fawcett. That’s what got me started writing about maps and adventures.

I’ll write a little book review about “Z” soon. It’s a good one.

"Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno" (Serge Bromberg, 2009)

2010-03-06T15:13:00.000-08:00

"Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno" is a film about an unfinished film. And in a way, the project helps serve to complete the original film, which has sat collecting dust for decades.

The first incarnation of “Inferno” was written, produced and directed by legendary French filmmaker Henri Georges Clouzot. It was a dark, experimental project that intended to tell the story of a husband (Serge Reggiani) who becomes obsessively jealous and suspicious that his young, beautiful wife (Romy Schneifer) is having an affair.

Newlyweds, they take over a small lakeside hotel in the country, just net to a massive train trestle that spans the nearby river.

As his paranoia grows, his jealousy becomes linked to the trains that cross the bridge. The rumble from the steel structure, the whistle, the smoke, all seem to trigger his fits of jealous rage.

These moments of insanity are rendered using what was at the time, cutting edge lighting, sound and special effects techniques that Clouzot and his crew essentially invented for the film.

It’s fantastic. His paranoia is illustrated perfectly when certain phrases or bits of conversation -- real or imagined – begin to repeat themselves mercilessly in his head, the tempo speeding up and slowing down like a wind sprint.

In other moments, the camera stays on Romy for long, mesmerizing shots, where she seems to dance for the camera using little more than facial expressions. Tricks of lighting make her face appear as if it is almost changing shape in these moments.

In another long, eerie scene she is pouring sparkling water from a bottle into a glass. As it overflows she laughs and continues to pour. The scene is strange but riveting, even though nothing really happens.

That’s sort of the story of this film about a film. Despite having American backing, in the form of an unlimited budget and timeline from Columbia Pictures, high-ranking French cinema stars and the best crews available, nothing really happened.

Clouzot seemed to get lost in the details, spending endless time, energy and money on mere moments of the film, or on meticulous storyboards and technical specs for every single frame.

In the end he lost track of the story and vision that should have tied the narrative and special effects together. In the end he drove away one of his stars, frustrated the crew and drove himself to a heart attack.

The new film – I hesitate to call it a documentary because so much of it comprises the original footage – pieces together a lot of the mistakes and tracks the lack of direction and communication that seemed to plague the project, mostly through interviews with many involved with the film.

It also explores Clouzot’s brilliance through interviews with those he worked closely with and by showing exhaustively the original footage, test shots, experiments and even out-takes from the five abandoned canisters of film Clouzot left behind.

Bromberg says the inspiration for the film was borne when he was trapped in an elevator with Clouzot’s widow for several hours, by chance, and he was able to question her about the intriguing unfinished project, a sort of “Titanic” of its time.

I hope she considers the new film to be tribute to her husband’s legacy and not a criticism of it. Yes, at times the film seems critical of Clouzot’s almost maniacal directing style, which is almost a mirror image of the film’s obsessed character. But the real service is that Bromberg came as close as anyone could to finishing the film.

He even has actors script read the scenes that were never shot, helping to fill out the missing pieces – a technique that works amazingly well in this film.

This film may not appeal to a wide audience, and it’s definitely targeted at true cinephiles. But as someone who doesn’t know much about French cinema but still likes a good yarn and appreciates innovative film-making, I was pretty riveted and was glad I got to see it – if only for the crazy-weird scenes and fantastic special effects that look like they could have been shot yesterday.

"Makers" by Cory Doctorow (2009)

2010-02-26T15:45:00.000-08:00

I like what Cory Doctorow is all about. He’s an advocate for file sharing and fewer and less stringent copyright laws. He is a prolific and acclaimed science fiction writer, a diplomacy expert and intellectual who never graduated university, a generally creative person and someone who seems to fight for what he believes in.

I like the fact that he (according to Wikipedia and based on the tone of his new book “Makers”) believes companies should own the rights to sell their products, but that anyone who wants to share them after purchase should be able to do so.

And I like that he seems to live this out, essentially giving “Makers” away as a serial.

I also like that he wrote a book ("Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town") that is set in Toronto’s Kensington Market and whose main character is the son of mixed parents – a washing machine and a mountain.

And he's Canadian too.

But I wasn’t crazy about his latest book – which is also the only one I’ve read. I was excited about the concept, though. It's set in the near future and focuses on two indie-minded inventor geniuses (Perry and Lester). They take the discarded tech junk the world has tossed out and turn it into cool, useful stuff.

I myself have a sometimes-bad habit of scavenging old junk from the ends of people’s driveways in order to turn it into other cool stuff, which I think might be partly why the concept resonated with me.

Their world, it seems, is a nightmare vision of what ours probably will become. Mass-produced consumer Wal-Mart culture has gone too far, and the thousands of ubiquitous strip malls, big box stores and fast food restaurants -- the byproduct of that consumerism -- have essentially imploded. By sheer volume, it seems, they have been devalued to the point where almost nothing is worth anything.

So Perry and Lester take the worthless junk, which is available by the truckload (Tickle-Me-Elmo’s are one such item) and hack it. They start a movement, inadvertently, that becomes known as New Work, and is documented by Suzanne Church, a tech reporter who joins their little rebellion.

Eventually, their movement morphs into something else. Now jaded, the two inventors create an interactive, almost amusement park-style "ride," where riders can add, change or remove features based on what they like and don't like. The more people that take part, the deeper the becomes, and a story begins to emerge in the ride that begins to develop a following all its own – and Lester and Perry once again become the unlikely, unwitting fathers of a massive, worldwide movement.

They also help give heart and vibrancy to a shantytown of castoffs from the soulless culture they live in.

And of course along the way they make enemies -- the main one being the Walt Disney Corporation.

Like I said, I really appreciate the concept here: A futuristic society that’s close enough that we can easily identify with it, a believable mixture of products, technology and terminology we know, and a selection of other stuff invented and imagined by Doctorow, most of which is both fantastical and believable all at once.

I also liked the clever inventions Perry and Lester create, and their organic style of inventing.

But I didn’t like everything. For one thing the book felt way too long. I really had to fight to get through the last third. It got to the point where I felt he had made his point, but just kept belabouring it, on and on and on until I found it hard to care.

Oddly, Goth culture plays into this story too. And I found his descriptions and understanding of that sub-culture group a little awkward.

For one thing, in the book Disney has dedicated an entire section of Disney World to all things Goth. And they come in droves to explore it and experience it. They love it. That just doesn’t sound realistic to me, but then I don’t know that much about the culture to say for sure.

Also, it can be argued that the heroes of the book sell out, big time, along the way, something that just didn’t seem to fit with the way their character had been portrayed for most of the book.

In the end this book is a great concept with smart ideas and pretty decorations, but with so-so writing and humdrum storytelling.

"Invisible City" (2009 directed by Hubert Davis)

2010-02-13T18:47:00.000-08:00

This week I went to see “Invisible City,” a documentary about Toronto’s Regent Park.

While we were there, my friend Jed told me that he had heard others who had seen the film say they couldn’t believe this place was in downtown Toronto. It wasn't that they were shocked by the poverty or the quality of the housing or anything like that, but just that it looked so unfamiliar.

And it’s true, Regent Park is one of those places that people in this city drive through all the time, but that few people ever have reason to explore. And for that reason, it really is an “Invisible City” – everyone knows it’s there, everyone knows its reputation, but to the vast majority of Torontonians, it doesn’t really exist.

We saw the film at The Royal, where a three-day run was extended by two nights due to the huge response and large crowds that attended.

The film, directed by Academy Award-nominee Hubert Davis in 2009, follows the lives of two young men, Mikey and Kendell, over the course of several years as they come of age in Regent Park.

As their lives are changing, so is their community. Canada’s oldest housing project is in the midst of a major “Revitalization” that is meant to transform it from a planned ghetto community to a so-called mixed housing community.

Phase One of the development is underway at the beginning of the film, with some of the buildings being torn town and a massive hole excavated for the condo-style buildings that are meant to replace them.

The boys are finishing up their time at Nelson Mandela Park Public School and getting ready for high school. Since Regent doesn’t have it’s own high school, the boys get sent to schools outside of their community.

Mikey and Kendell face challenges both in their community and outside, at high school. Mikey attends a wealthy high school in Midtown Toronto where he seems alienated and out of place. Kendell struggles with the discipline required by the basketball team he joins at his new school, where the coach says they bring in players from Regent to add toughness and edge to their team.

Both of the boys live with their mothers, their fathers largely or entirely absent from their lives. Both struggle with making the right choices, dealing with anger and pressure from friends and tension with police. Their mothers struggle with trying to connect with their boys, protect and encourage them, while also being tough when they need to.

One constant for both is Ainsworth, a former CFL player who is their teacher at Nelson Mandela. He seems to understand the boys and their need for positive role models, and sticks with them over the years, staying in their lives, checking in and dispensing wisdom and friendship when he can.

"Someone once said everyone needs someone in their life that they don’t want to disappoint,” he says at one point -- not grandstanding, just being honest about his motivation.

There is a little bit of hope in this film and quite a lot of heartbreak as the camera sensitively follows the boys’ struggles and challenges as they work out the kind of lives they want to live, the kind of men they want to be. Both are handled sensitively and without judgment.

It’s obvious that Davis earned their trust – something that takes time and commitment in Regent Park. The boys speak to him honestly and openly about their struggles, mistakes and the forces at work in their lives, opening up a window into their hearts.

The film is also just beautiful to watch, accurately and artistically rendering the unique community that is Regent Park, a separate, and invisible, city within the city.

"One Week" reminds me of epic road trips and the Terry Fox memorial (2008 starring Joshua Jackson, director Michael McGowan)

2010-01-31T17:43:00.000-08:00

For anyone who has ever road-tripped the Trans Canada from Toronto to B.C., “One Week” evokes a feeling of familiarity and nostalgia through its blatant, unapologetic use of the tacky, cheesy, awesome landmarks that serve as milestones along the way.

In the movie, Ben Tyler (Joshua Jackson) visits various over-sized items during a cross-country motorcycle journey, including a giant Muskoka chair, the big nickel in Sudbury, Kenora’s giant musky, the world’s largest teepee and a giant T-rex, to name a few.

If you’ve ever travelled that amazing stretch of road, you’ll know those memorable spots that make up our collective Canadian roadmap. Like the Inukshuk of the Arctic, they are used by travellers as waypoints that help break up that long journey into manageable sections.

And if you’re anything like me, you can’t watch this movie without remembering the time and place in your life when you were at one or two of those landmarks.

In “One Week” Tyler has it all together. He’s engaged to a beautiful girl (Liane Balaban of “New Waterford Girl”), has a good job as a teacher and has a great family. When he learns suddenly and unexpectedly that he has a bad case of cancer, that world comes crashing down around him and he decides he needs to just get away.

Not run away, so much as spend some time on his own, on the open road, figuring things out the way everyone should, on a vintage Norton motorcycle. It’s something he just has to do before beginning an intense course of chemotherapy that’s going to sideline him for possibly years.

What was planned to be a journey of only a couple of days becomes an epic trek as he finds himself unable to turn around.

I was skeptical about this movie. It just seemed like such a blatant, cheesy appeal to Canadian national pride and the premise was just too cliché and obvious.

And it is all of those things, definitely. I mean, seriously, he kisses the Stanley Cup, smokes a joint with a wisdom-dispensing Gord Downie, and rolls-up-the-rim on his Timmies.

But it’s still a great movie.

The story is well told, the dialogue is believable and compelling, and the narration (which I normally find is used to fill in the holes the director left behind) in this case helps add detail and depth to the story and never feels contrived.

And the footage shot along the way tells the story of Canada, from Toronto to Lake Superior and Northwestern Ontario, the Prairies, to the Rockies and West Coast. The crew, which travelled cross-Canada in a giant bus and shot guerrilla-style, must have had to make constant stops to shoot all the cool things along the way.

The director, first-timer Michael McGowan, said he wanted to shoot the obvious icons of that journey but also the lesser known ones, like the world’s largest photo mosaic in Muskoka and a giant pipe somewhere else.

He accomplishes this, painting a portrait of Canada that is both familiar and sentimental, but also new and inspiring.

He also seems to have an honest insight into how it might feel to receive the kind of news that Ben got. On one hand, he’s a broken man, unsure of what to do or how to live his suddenly shortened life.

On the other, he experiences a weird sense of relief. He admits the first thought that went through his head when he got the news was that he had an excuse to call off the wedding. And there’s a freedom to suddenly do what he wants and be the person he feels he might have been if he could live his life over again.

I liked this movie, but I couldn’t help wondering, would anyone outside of Canada ever watch it, or ‘get’ it? I know Joshua Jackson has a pretty big following largely due to his “Might Ducks” and “Dawson’s Creek” roles, but I couldn’t imagine many people outside of our borders wanting to see it besides the die-hard Pacey freaks.

But we were watching the special features (yup, embarrassing I know) and there was a Q and A with Jackson and McGowan from a Toronto showing, and that question came up. Someone wanted to know how they thought it would be received elsewhere.

Jackson has a really good answer. He challenged the question, suggesting only Canadians would ever worry if a film was ‘too Canadian.’ He said a U.S. or British filmmaker would never ask that question.

"It’s not too Canadian, it’s just Canadian,” Jackson said.

I like that. And I like this movie. If you’re a proud Canadian, a die-hard Pacey or knuckle puck fan, or if you just like a good road-trip movie, I recommend this one.

**There were some funny references to Jackson’s past work. He meets an NHL hockey player wearing a “Ducks” jersey, and at another point he’s asked where “Dawson” street is. I liked the fact they were willing to have fun with this story and didn’t take it too seriously.

***When Jackson, a hardcore Canucks fan, kisses the Stanley Cup, he kisses the 1966-67 engraving – the last time the Maple Leafs won the cup. Nice touch.

**** ALSO, and this is the last thing I’ll say, Joel Plaskett makes an awesome cameo as a Toronto busker.

Still loving Tintin after all these years

2010-01-24T17:14:00.000-08:00

I’ve been reading a lot of Tintin books lately. Katie bought me four or five a couple of months ago and I got four more for Christmas.

I finished reading the last one, Tintin and The Seven Crystal Balls, today. It was a rare to-be-continued ending. Annoying, but at least it gives me a good reason to go buy The Prisoners of the Sun to find out what happens next.

I'm planning to collect the entire series, but here is a list of the ones I now own:

- Cigars of the Pharaoh
- The Blue Lotus
- The Broken Ear
- The Crab with the Golden Claws
- The Secret of the Unicorn
- The Castafiore Emerald
- Tintin in Tibet
- Destination Moon

My aunt Sandy and uncle Dave, whose son Scott, my cousin, is about 10 years older than me, used to pass on a lot of his old books to me when I was a kid. Among them were classics like “Lost in the Barrens” and “Curse of the Viking Grave” – which I’ve mentioned in past blogs -- and a bunch of Asterix and Tintin books.

Not quite graphic novels, not quite comic books, the Tintin installments are more like short adventure novels with illustrations. Both Asterix and Tintin fit that rare genre of books that are meant primarily for kids, but are accessible to adults on a whole different level.

Or maybe I’m trying to be way too deep or sentimental here, and the simple fact is that I love adventure stories and comic books and Tintin combines both. The writing is smart and clever and you can read them over and over again. They’re the kind of books you want to keep in your collection forever, so that your own kids can one day appreciate how awesome they are.

Tintin, the central character, is a young Belgian reporter who finds himself embroiled in all kinds of sleuthing adventures, travelling around the world to unravel mysteries of science, history and politics.

His fox terrier Snowy and a cast of characters that includes, off and on, the loyal but troublesome Captain Haddock, the bumbling detectives Thompson and Thomson, and the hard-of-hearing Professor Calculus, always accompany him.

The books were written by Georges Rémi Under the pen name Herge. Apparently he became famous for his trademark simplistic, minimalist style of illustration. That makes sense. Reading his books you appreciate how much he can convey with simple, uncluttered illustrations.

Wikipedia says the series first appeared in a Belgian newspaper as a comic strip in 1929, but became so popular it was soon released in book form, and a movie and theatre show were also created.

And I’m excited that Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn, is slated for release in 2010, with Jamie Bell playing Tintin alongside Daniel Craig as Red Rackham and Andy Serkis as Captain Haddock. Steven Spielberg is directing. The movie is probably the reason why Tintin books are once again back on the shelves and easy to find. I’m happy about that.

Anyone out there a Tintin fan? Any ideas why these books are so popular?

“The Warriors” can’t sleep ‘til Coney Island (1979, directed by Walter Hill)

2010-01-21T15:10:00.000-08:00

“The Outsiders” – first the book and then the movie – made me and pretty much every other adolescent boy want to be in a gang. It just seemed so cool to be a member of a tight-knit group of hoods with hearts who always had each other’s back.

As you grow up it steadily gets drilled into your head that gangs are bad and any decent human being wants nothing to do with them – but still I think most guys, deep down, like the idea of being associated with a group of dangerous people who look out for each other.

The opening scenes of “The Warriors,” which was playing at the Bloor Cinema this week, evoked that same feeling. The Warriors, a gang of seven or eight guys from Coney Island, have travelled across the city to Prospect Park in the Bronx for a gathering of all the city’s syndicates.

Cyrus, the “one and only” leader of the Gramercy Riffs, the city’s largest and most powerful gang, wants to unite them all under one banner, saying they would outnumber the police three to one and could have the run of the city.

The first five minutes of the movie is a massive montage of gangs wearing their ‘colours’ and making their way to the meet. Some of them, like the Warriors, wear leather vests embossed with their emblem. Others are a little more creative, like the Furies, who paint their faces in garish colours, wear baseball uniforms and carry bats, and another group that wears hillbilly outfits.

Shortly after the gangs gather, the plot is laid out. A crazy gang member named Luther (David Patrick Kelly) shoots Cyrus in the middle of his speech, then blames the Warriors.

The Riffs – a scary gang of martial-arts trained black dudes (I kept waiting for Kareem Abdul Jabar to come out) -- put a bounty on the Warriors and the members spend the rest of the movie desperately trying to get home under the leadership of Swan (Michael Beck), their “war chief.”

One thing my friend Phil and I both said was that we expected to laugh more. Not that we thought it would be funny, but we did think it would be slightly ridiculous. But that wasn’t really the case. The director and the actors – none of whom I could name and only one or two I recognized – treated this film really seriously. Sometimes that can look really cheesy and dated 30 years on, but in this case it didn’t.

First of all, the suspense works. For about the first third of the film there’s a palpable sense of tension as the Warriors try to survive, deciding when to run and when to stay and fight, racing or “bopping” (fighting) through subway stations, on platforms and through tunnels.

Other times they’re roaming through eerily silent parks, cemeteries or empty, creepy strange neighbourhoods, always on the lookout for the next gang trying to take them out.

You get the feeling this is the New York that exists for strangers at night who have no place to go home to. It’s cold and harsh and you have to watch out.

I love this vision of the city. It’s so different from the usual images of New York – Times Square, Ground Zero, Central Park. This is the non-touristy NYC , and the camera’s explore gritty neighbourhoods and cityscapes in a really refreshing way.

Coney Island, with its ramshackle houses and broken down amusement park – with its awesome Wonder Wheel -- is one of the most compelling canvases in the film.

"Is this what we fought all night to get back to?” one of the Warriors asks as they ramble through their own turf at dawn, finally home, to safety – they think.
This film could have just petered out, but it ends strongly with the kind of justice you hope to see in a movie where the “good” guys have spent most of their screen time running away.

All in all, this movie works really well. The acting, by a huge cast of virtual nobodies, is strong, the dialogue is really interesting and almost poetic at times (these gang members are almost artsy) but not cheesy.

I just went to New York, but this movie makes me want to go back and see a little different side this time around. Maybe there’s a Warriors” subway tour I could take. Hmm, or maybe I could make one!

If you can find this film, it’s definitely worth watching. The print we saw was scratchy and the sound was a little fuzzy, and you could almost feel the ghosts of the thousands of people that have probably sat in theatres just like the Bloor and watched that very copy of the movie. That made the experience even cooler.

**A quick IMDB search seems to say there’s a remake of this in pre-production for 2010. That would be cool, or terrible, depending.

"Moon" is awesome but Kevin Spacey still sucks ("Moon," 2009, directed by Duncan Jones)

2010-01-19T19:04:00.000-08:00

Kevin Spacey sucks. Lets just get that out of the way right off the bat. In my opinion he hasn’t done a good movie since “American Beauty.”

He was my least favourite part of “The Men Who Stare at Goats” and he was also my least favourite part of “Moon” starring him and Sam Rockwell, which I watched last night. But I’m happy to say his role was minor enough that he didn’t have too detrimental an effect and the movie was still pretty amazing.

But wait a minute, why am I starting a blog about a movie I loved with the one part I didn’t? Let me start over:

"Moon" stars Sam Rockwell as astronaut Sam Bell, and Kevin Spacey as Gerty, the Hal-like (Think “2001: A Space Odyssey”) computer/robot assistant who keeps him company on the moon.

Sam is nearing the end of his three-year contract running a fuel-mining station on the far side of the moon, and is looking forward to going home to see his wife and young daughter.

The film is set in the future (though it’s not clear how far) and is entirely set on the moon. The inside of the station is mostly cold and industrial. Sam’s messy quarters, a room where he prunes and talks to his plant collection, and a makeshift table where he is carving a miniature town -- though he only remembers making a few of the buildings -- are the main personal touches.

When Sam leaves the station to repair the Helium-3 harvesters when they go offline, the moonscape is silent, eerie and monochromatic, pretty much how you’d expect it to look and feel.

In the scenes where Sam’s little moon-rover is seen trekking across the surface, the moonscape almost looks like it was shot in miniature using a paper mache model and a toy moon-mobile -- and it works. The scenes look fantastic, especially when the Earth is visible hanging over the horizon, a beautiful, far-away world.

It all helps add to the mystery of why Sam is there, what’s really going on with his wife – from whom he receives cryptic, puzzling video messages – and how he’s going to survive until it’s time to go home.

Rockwell is fantastic in this role, changing his stripes like a chameleon several times during the film, convincingly every time. One moment he’s the grungy, worn out astronaut, the next he’s the guilt-plagued absentee father, then the slick clean-cut keener or the suspicious outsider.

And in some cases he’s seamlessly carrying out conversations between those characters, dialogue that is also somehow believable. Nancy, my slightly crazy video store lady, told me today: "You would never think for a SECOND that it was one actor!", even though the evidence is staring you in the face.

My friend Tyrone says this is one of those movies you shouldn’t spend too much time trying to figure out, or you’ll ruin the ending. I mostly disagree. It’s not a big surprise finish, it’s more of a steady burn that builds and builds, the story getting better as the truth is revealed.

The movie was directed by Duncan Zowie Heywood Jones, who now goes by Duncan Jones, and is the son of David Bowie. It’s his directorial debut, and a solid effort.

"Blankets" (2003, Craig Thompson)

2010-01-10T14:25:00.000-08:00

Years ago a friend recommended I read “Blankets,” a graphic novel by Craig Thompson. We had both had a very ‘Christian’ upbringing, complete with church camps and Sunday school and a good dose of old-fashioned guilt, and she thought this book would resonate since it deals with a lot of those issues.

I’ve always kept that title in the back of my mind, and whenever I’d end up browsing the graphic novel section of a bookstore, I’d keep an eye out for it.

I’ve never seen it, and had started to doubt it actually existed, when it’s white and blue spine jumped out at me on a shelf a few weeks back. There was just one copy and I snatched it up right away and started reading it that night.

My friend Meghan Sheffield was right when she said that this book is relevant to anyone who grew up the way she and I did. At some points I cringed in embarrassment at the honesty in those pages, other times I laughed, and I even got a little misty at one point.

The writing is powerful and honest, and is a perfect match to the rich black and white drawings that go along with it, illustrating the emotions, feelings and ideas described in the text.

“Blankets” is mostly autobiographical, and traces Thompson’s life, beginning when he is just a young boy growing up in a poor Wisconsin family with his parents and brother, right up to what seems like his present day life.

Along the way he wrestles with faith, fitting in, growing up, falling in love, then struggling as that love falls apart.

I found his experiences at church camp the most relevant to my own experience. The way Thompson describes and draws it, it could almost be one of the camps I went to. The camp he attends is even called 'Sno Camp’ – exactly the same name as one I went to.

He expects camp to be a haven of escape from his hometown school, where his faith has made him an outcast and the mockery of the ‘popular’ kids. But when he arrives, he quickly discovers he doesn’t fit in there either, and feels surrounded by cliques, hypocrites and fakes.

“Something about being rejected at church camp felt so much more awful than being rejected at school,” he writes, suggesting that it felt like God himself was disappointed that he couldn’t fit in.

But as he grows up and starts to figure out who he is, he learns to spot the other outsiders and band together with them. One of those is Raina, a girl from Michigan who is also trying to figure out her faith and her place in the world.

They fall in love and most of the second half of the book describes their relationship, from smitten bliss, to disappointment and depression – basically all the things you feel when you fall in love as a teenager.

There are two especially poignant moments in the book, in my opinion.

The first is a scene where, overcome by the spirit of guilt and old-fashioned Bible-thumping that he has received at church, Craig decides his love of drawing is a sin or an idol in his life.

Acting on it, he fills a bag with all the artwork he has ever done, and burns it in a barrel behind his parents home.

The second, and this is where I got pretty torn up, is when things hit rock bottom in his relationship, and he severs all ties. Once again, he sets out to burn everything related to that part of his life, including a patchwork quilt Raina spent weeks making for him. It’s a terrible moment and I regretted it for him – but at the same time I respected his passion and the courage to do something so final.

Thompson is an expert at matching pictures with words -- or using pictures to illustrate the feeling that one experiences after reading those words. He’s patient and takes his time when he needs to – sometimes using a nearly blank page to illustrate a feeling of emptiness or loneliness, other times cramming images into a panel to show excitement or exuberance or an overwhelming feeling of joy on the part of the characters.

He does what a good graphic novelist should – uses the combination of pictures and words to creat something bigger than the sum of its parts. I like that.

There were many parts of Thompson’s Christian experience that I didn’t go through in my own personal life and couldn’t fully relate to. But they all hit home either through friends’ experiences, time I spent working as a youth leader, or just as a cautionary tale about the power of organized religion and it’s potential negative effect on sincere faith.

A brave and honest memoir, Blankets is recommended reading for anyone who has struggled to fit in, gone to church camp, fallen in love or questioned their faith. Wait, I think that’s pretty much all of us…

Here's an interesting sidebar from Exclaim! magazine about the fallout from Thompson's decision to be so honest and open in the book.

'Touching the Void' (2003) directed by Kevin Macdonald)

2009-12-12T09:25:00.000-08:00

‘Touching the Void” starts out bleak and windswept and stays that way for the duration -- much like the brutal Peruvian mountain where most of the story takes place.

Shot in a pseudo-documentary style, it’s the true story of British mountaineers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates and their near-fatal attempt to climb Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes.

But it’s more than just a mountain climbing movie – it quickly turns into a story about trust, integrity and the tenuous connection that exists between two people relying on each other for survival.

Here’s the quick version of what happens:

They set up camp at the base of the mountain after days of travelling, and without much delay they start to climb -- Alpine style, carrying their gear with them in an attempt to summit and come down as quickly as possible.

They reach the summit, making a first ascent by following a route that has never before been climbed successfully.

On the way down, the climb takes a near-tragic twist. A storm sets in, visibility drops to near zero, and the two climbers – roped together for safety – get disoriented.

Unable to see more than a few inches in front of them, Simpson falls when a cornice crumbles underneath him. In the process his leg is badly broken – to the point that the shinbone is driven into the femur, splitting it into pieces.

When Yates catches up to his climbing partner, there’s little discussion about the situation, though both realize how grim it is. Darkness is setting in, and they come up with a desperate plan. Yates will lower Simpson down the steep mountainside – with him basically scraping across the ice and snow in a barely-controlled slide -- and eventually they may reach the bottom.

It’s not long before this risky plan falls apart. Simpson drops off a cliff and ends up suspended in mid-air, Yates hunkering down at the other end trying to hang onto a shifting snow bank to keep from being pulled over the edge himself.

This stalemate lasts for some time – Simpson tries to climb up but his hands are too frozen to tie the proper ascending device, and Yates can do little at his end.

Eventually, Yates does the unthinkable (but perhaps, arguably, the unavoidable) – and cuts the rope.

As if the story isn’t crazy enough, this is where it gets insane. Simpson drops smack into a glacial crevice, his life saved only by the fact he lands on a snow bridge that partially broke his fall.

I’ll try not to give too much away, but if you’re worried about spoilers you might want to stop reading here.

Joe is in an impossible position, but he’s confident that Yates, having severed the lifeline, will now hike down and find him, and help him climb out.

But he doesn’t, and this is where the story gets really sketchy.

About half of the film comprises interviews with Simpson and Yates done long after the incident. They look straight into the camera and tell their versions of what happened.

When explaining why he walked by the crevasse without bothering to look in, Yates said he quite simply just didn’t think of it. He assumed Simpson was dead, and thought he had a death sentence too, so he just kept going.

Meanwhile, Simpson was stranded in an ice cave faced with the horrifying decision: wait to die, or descend further down with the faint hope of finding another way out.

We know that they both make it out, because they’re alive to tell the story, but what Simpson goes through from there on, is an incredible story about fighting to survive when all signs point to pending death.

Yates, on the other hand, trots back to camp, admitting later that he tried to figure out along the way what he would tell Joe’s family about what happened.

And when he does finally arrive back, he decides to burn all his climbing partner’s gear – possibly the creepiest thing he did during the whole ordeal.

Meanwhile, Joe has been exposed for four or five days without food and little water, and is dragging his broken body down a rocky glacier.

What’s interesting is that the filmmaker doesn’t pass judgment on the climbers and the decisions they made. He doesn’t need to. The acted portions of the film show what happened in harsh detail, and the interviews with Yates and Simpson describe their different viewpoints.

Simpson never blames Yates and never condemns him for what he did -- he even absurdly dedicated his book about the incident to him. But at the same time, there’s not a scrap of warmth of camaraderie in his description of his climbing partner – he’s simply telling the story.

I thought that spoke volumes.

Yates too, never has a bad word to say about Simpson. He simply explains his thought-process and the rationale behind what he did – acutely aware that the audience is judging every word.

The film was shot on location with actors playing the climbers. But their faces are so bearded, wind-burned and frostbitten, that you barely notice when the shot goes form the interview room to the mountainside – and the people are different. In fact, it took a while before I even figured out that they were actors and this was a re-enactment of what took place, not actual documentary footage. That’s how well it’s done.

There’s a lot to this film. I’ve been thinking about it for a week now and trying to work out how I feel about what Yates did. I’d like to say I would have stuck it out – dragged my friend back up the mountain or died hanging on, refusing to let go. But who knows. Maybe I too would have eventually made the logical decision to cut the rope. I’m just glad I’ve never had to face that choice.

"The Fantastic Mr. Fox," directed by Wes Anderson, starting George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Jason Schwartzman (2009)

2009-11-30T15:44:00.000-08:00

I went to see “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” on Sunday afternoon. That was a mistake. Not the decision to go see the film, which was awesome, but the timing.

The theatre was filled with kids and families, and when I saw all those chattering, excited children ramped up to see the film, I got a little worried that I had made a mistake and I was in for a full-on kids’ movie.

But it wasn’t at all. Though the stop-animation and the family-friendly story line (based on a book by Roald Dahl) make this movie appeal to families, it’s equally a great story for grown ups.

I mean, I pretty much knew that. Director Wes Anderson has a way of making films that give back as much as you put into them. You know what I mean?

“Rushmore,” “The Life Aquatic” and “The Royal Tenenbaums” are perfect examples of this. The first time you watch them they’re funny and entertaining and beautiful to watch – but every time you go back you learn something new, you pick up on a whole other layer of detail and wit that you didn’t notice before.

“Mr. Fox” is Anderson’s first animated film, but it has many of the characteristics of his other movie -- smart writing, clever dialogue, perfect composition in every frame, a vintage-y throwback look -– all of those features are there.

It’s also starring many of the cast-members he likes to work with – Jason Schwartzman, Owen Wilson, Bill Murray – and some other new additions, George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Willem Dafoe as the villainous rat. It’s a good cast.

So here’s what happens.

As Mr. Fox, George Clooney partly reprises his Danny Ocean role – but with fatherhood, family and responsibility mixed in.

He’s a fox whose God-given ability to steal birds of all sorts, has been clipped by a promise to his wife (Streep), made after an incident when his cockiness nearly got them killed.

He’s okay with the arrangement for about two years (that’s 12 in fox-years) but then he gets restless and decides to pull off one last big job before settling into retirement (“Ocean’s 11” much??)

Of course it goes brilliantly – and he realizes he’s too good not to steal.

“If what I think is happening, is happening… it better not be,” says Mrs. Fox when she starts to get suspicious

It doesn’t take long before Mr. Fox upsets the wrong group of farmers, and they launch a revenge mission against him and the rest of the local animal kingdom.

While the farmer and his neighbors try to destroy the animals, they rally and try to steal as much as they possibly can from the farmers.

It’s a pretty simple story, but cleverly told and with the kind of depth that Anderson fans will be searching for. And it has such a beautiful look too. The puppets are a perfect blend of human and animal characteristics, with a unique texture that makes them look so real. You can actually see the fur move where it was touched by the animators.

The animal/human connection is clear in a couple of other places too. At one point Mr. Fox is arguing with his lawyer – Bill Murray’s badger – about purchasing property, and their discussion quickly turns into a vicious but brief animal scrap, after which they go back to their civilized discussion.

Owen Wilson has a small role – and his character looks nothing like his voice sounds. But don’t get too excited because he’s only in a scene or two.

Willem Dafoe is a nice surprise as the alcoholic rat that guards the farmer’s cider supply.

Almost all of the actors in the film voice their characters in a subtle and understated way, which is really refreshing.

Clooney is the only character that is sort of in-your-face and unmistakable – maybe a little over-acted. And there’s a little too much of him. It seems like he’s in almost every scene of the film. I could have done with a little less, but it was no big deal.

This is a great movie! If you have kids, use them as an excuse to go see it. If not, be brave and go see it on your own, but go late or early to avoid the kids, if you possible can.

"Stand By Me" (1986) Directed by Rob Reiner, based on the novella by Stephen King

2009-11-15T13:21:00.000-08:00

“Stand By Me.”

Those words alone, for a lot of people, are enough to evoke a warm sense of nostalgia. In part, I think that’s because many of us 20-somethings watched the film when we were kids, and it reminds us of that time and place in our lives.

But also, I think that title has the effect of conjuring up warm memories of the adventures, friendships and scrapes of our own childhood, which helped shape us into the people we are today.

Like the narrator of the film, we look back on those times as some of the best in our lives, and we can connect to the kids in the story and what they go through over the course of two days, walking down the train tracks, searching for a dead body.

I bought the DVD a while back and watched the film this afternoon for the first time in a long time.

It’s such a simple but brilliant story.

Four friends, Gordie (Wil Wheaton), Chris (River Phoenix), Teddy (Corey Feldman) and Vern (Jerry O’Connell) overhear one of their older brothers talking about seeing the body of a boy their age, who has been missing for most of the summer.

The older brother, a member of the local Cobra Snakes gang – led by bad-ass Ace (Kiefer Sutherland) -- wants to keep the discovery a secret because he was in a stolen car when he spotted the body outside of town, near the railway tracks.

As a result, the younger boys set out on-foot to find it, believing they will be hailed as local heroes for making the discovery.

They’re the perfect band of small-town misfits – thrown together more by the fact they live in the same place and are roughly the same age, than anything else – a reality of small town or rural life.

Gordie is a sensitive, deep thinker, Chris is the tough leader, Teddy is the fun, crazy and a little bit dangerous member of the group, and Vern is the self-described “fat kid” who tends to get picked on but is still a lot of fun to have around.

They’re about 12 years old, the summer is winding down, and they do a lifetime of growing up on that two-day trek, from facing down their own demons and fears, to battling leach-infested waters and the infamous train-racing incident.

The story is told by Richard Dreyfuss, a writer and the grown-up version of one of the kids, who decides to put the story down on paper after reading that one of his childhood companions had been killed.

In the opening scene he’s pulled over on the side of a country road in a truck, holding the newspaper in his hand, stunned by the news of his friend’s death.

Then he begins to recall the adventure and disappears only to show up periodically to help tell the story.

Reiner somehow manages to shoot the film in that patina of memory. You know some
elements of the tale are being exaggerated slightly, and others played down – and some elements have probably developed into mythic proportions in the years between the story happening and him telling it. Simpy put, we’re seeing the story as it is being remembered.

It works. We all tell stories that way, or remember key moments in our lives that way.
Somehow they take on a little bit of a life of their own, and Reiner manages to suggest that that’s happening here, but the story still comes across as authentic and real.

The dialogue, for instance, is perfect. At times, the boys act much older than they are, adopting lines they have probably heard form adults. For instance: “That’s when a cigarette tastes best, after dinner.”

But at other times it’s clear that they’re just kids – like when Gordie confesses to Chris that he thinks his dad hates him.

Also, they swear all the time in the way that kids do when they’re just figuring out how to do it.

Though there are many childish moments along the way, the climax of the film is a very grown up one, where Chris and Gordie learn what it means to stand together and stand up for what’s right – facing down the Cobra Snakes.

In that moment, they become men in a small way, and I think that’s why this film resonates with so many of us. Looking back we see those milestone moments too, where years of growing up seemed to be crammed into a few brief moments and decisions.

Still relevant, timeless and beautiful. If you haven’t seen this movie, well, you just have to.

Here are a few of my favourite quotes from the movie:

Gordie: Shut up.
Teddy, Vern, Chris: I don't shut up. I grow up. And when I look at you, I throw up. Aghhh!
Gordie: And then your mom goes around the corner and she licks it up.

Teddy: This is my age! I'm in the prime of my youth, and I'll only be young once!
Chris: Yeah, but you're gonna be stupid for the rest of your life.

Vern: Nothing like a smoke after a meal.
Teddy: Yeah... I cherish these moments.
[group chuckles]
Teddy: What? What did I say?

Vern: Ha-ha! You flinched! Two for flinching! Two for flinching!

Vern: Come on you guys. Let's get moving.
Teddy: Yeah, by the time we get there, the kid won't even be dead anymore.
I think this film – based on a book by Stephen King and directed by Rob Reiner --

"Where The Wild Things Are" (Directed by Spike Jonze, 2009)

2009-10-31T15:45:00.000-07:00

I didn't read "Where the Wild Things Are" when I was a kid, so I didn't go into the movie with any preconceived ideas or deep attachment to the seven-sentence illustrated children's book.

I didn't really know what to expect, beyond a few words from my friend Tyrone and the knowledge that my friend Mary was a massive fan of the book -- and she's one whose opinion I respect.

I was really surprised by the film, which basically tells the story of a highly imaginative and emotional boy, his struggle to be understood and the world he creates in his imagination as a place of escape when things in his life -- as he sees them -- get really rocky.

Max, played by Max Records (The Brothers Bloom), is brilliant as the imaginative youngster. In the film, he explodes during an argument with his mother who is struggling to control him, while her boyfriend is over for dinner.

Cute and adorable at times, precocious, frustrating and maddening at others, Records is believable and real in a role that many child-actors would have made cutesy and annoying.

Instead of that, Records' Max is the kid whose potential is huge -- but who is also on the verge of being out of control, all the time. Basically, he's the kid who stands a 50/50 chance of ending up in either the gifted kids'classroom, or in detention, for the duration of his school career.

The film provides this background briefly and adequately and we learn quickly what kind of a boy we're dealing with here.

That understanding deepens broadly when Max and his mom square off, and he bolts out of the house, screaming 'it's not my fault!' -- and disappears into a nearby forest at dusk.

Then the line between the real and imaginary blurs as Max climbs into a small boat and sails away.

Where he ends up, is in an island dreamscape of his own creation -- the place "where the wild things are."

Here he meets a disharmonious band of misfit monsters in the midst of a massive domestic dispute.

Carol, the strong but emotionally volatile leader of the group (voiced by James Gandolfini -- sound familiar to his role in "The Sopranos"??) is on a rampage, destroying the huts they have built (and which keep them sleeping in separate spaces, rather than in a big pile as was the case in the past.)

In short, this is a dysfunctional family in need of a counsellor -- and that becomes Max, who is crowned as their new king in hopes he can make things right.

At first, he does, restoring joy and and comradeship and using his "magic shield" to keep out the loneliness that has plagued the "things" recently. All logic here is childlike and simple as the monsters and Max smash things and wrestle and create their own fun world.

But there's a dark side just under the surface too, and Max starts to see that solving the "things'" problems isn't going to be easy -- and as they start to doubt his royal pedigree and exhibit their dangerous side.'

These monstrous creatures are rendered convincingly through a mix of actors in costumes and computer generated graphics -- it's impossible tell where the real ends and the fake begins -- kind of like the way Max sees the world. They are mostly lovable, without being cute, and protective and safe while still being dangerous -- kind of like C.S. Lewis described "Aslan" in the Narnia series.

The narrative presents a fascinating insight into the imagination of a little boy, but it doesn't provide an obvious moral. Mostly, Max is just trying to figure out how to do the right thing. He asks two wise old owls "How do I make everything OK?"

But in the end, when he's done all he can -- won a couple of battles but lost a few others -- he realizes it's time to go home. After all, he's still a kid, still needs a warm bed at the end of the day, and still needs his mom to hug him and tell him everything is going to be alright.

"All the Real Girls," (2003, Directed by David Gordon Greene)

2009-05-24T18:16:00.000-07:00

I was just in China, and while there my girlfriend and I were staying at a hostel in Beijing that had a big TV and movie collection in the common room. One afternoon we watched "Lars and the Real Girl" with Ryan Gosling.

It was pretty good, and while we were watching I told Katie that the title reminded me of this other movie I had seen a few years ago, called "All the Real Girls," which I really liked.

That's about as far as the conversation went. A few days later we arrived back in Toronto on a Saturday night, pretty jet-lagged due to the 12-hour time difference.
I couldn't sleep and and ended up staying up most of the night. Well, at something like 2 a.m., I turned on the TV and "All The Real Girls" was playing on TVO.

Such a strange coincidence to see this little indie flick that almost no one has seen, just a couple of days after talking about it probably for the first time since I watched it back in 2004. AND, making things even more spooky, the lead character in ATRG is Paul Schneider, who ALSO played Lars' brother in LATRG. Oh man.

But anyway, the point in, the movie is pretty brilliant and I thought I'd write a few words about it.

As mentioned, "All the Real Girls" stars Paul Schneider as Paul, a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with a reputation as a womanizer in the small North Carolina mountain town that he grew up in and has never really left.

The lovely Zooey Deschanel ('The Go-Getter,''Yes Man') is Noel, the sister of Paul's best friend who is from the same town but has spent most of her life attending boarding school.

The short version is that she comes home, meets Paul and they quickly fall in love in one of those unexpected, implausible romances that sweeps both participants off their feet and leaves them gasping for air. Just before, of course, it all comes crashing down.

While Schneider may not be all that believable as a womanizer (picture frumpy hair and plaid insulated work shirts), the story and the film's portrayal of small-town, rural life as well as the crushing impact of a first true love, are right on.

When Paul meets Noel he is completely smitten and decides he wants to try and do things differently this time. He knows his other relationships with women were shallow and meaningless and based entirely on sex, so he decides his best chance of making things work with Noel is to avoid sex altogether.

There's an honest integrity in this attempt, and you sense that Noel represents the kind of rare opportunity that Paul might not see very often in his dead-end, economically depressed town.

It seems to work, and the chemistry and connection build between them in a way that is really tangible and real for any viewer who has experienced something like that.

Paul is convincing as the tough small-towner who dreams of something bigger and better, but is honest enough to acknowledge that his friends, family his life and living are all rooted in that town, and so is he.

Noel, beautiful and alive and different from anything he knows, is the light that shines through into his sheltered life and gives him hope that his dreams might not be unreasonable.

But just as their love is powerful, quick and unexpected, it is also fleeting and fragile, and the film's portrayal of the fast collapse of their bond is also accurate and honest, and even a little painful to watch at times.

In one scene, after Paul realizes things are breaking down, completely beyond his control, he simply pounds his fist into the ground in pain and frustration, unable to express his heartbreak in any other way. The scene, which could have easily been cheesy and forgettable, is handled in a way that makes it searing and real -- one of the moments I remembered vividly from the first time I watched it.

Woven through the film are small snapshots of conversations between the characters, each of them struggling with their own set of issues. One has gotten his girlfriend pregnant, another wrestles with his relationship with his longtime girlfriend and questions what to do. These vignettes form a sort of photo album of a small town, and if you grew up in one, like I did, these snapshots resonate.

The film's tagline, according to IMDB, is "Love is a puzzle. These are the pieces." And I think that fits pretty well. Everyone in the film is working out, in some form and some fashion, what love looks like for them, and the end result is the beautiful telling of a real love story that many people know first hand and can connect with.

ATRG is slow and a little sleepy, like the town where the film is set, and it doesn't break a ton of new ground, but it works really well and I recommend it -- unless that's just the jet lag talking...

(Oddly, it also stars Danny McBride, who plays the 2nd pot dealer in "Pineapple Express," and a crewmember in "Tropic Thunder," the ballplayer in "Eastbound and Down" and is also in "Superbad," "Hotrod" and a ton of other recent films.)

'Journey to the Center' (Director Jens Hoffman, 2008)

2009-03-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

This year the Banff Mountain Film Festival redeemed itself. I've been going for years, and loving it, but last year was a huge disappointment. Maybe I just picked a night that had a bad lineup, but it was LAME.

After years of trying to get my brother to come, he did, and I felt like I had to apologize afterwards. There was a boring, tedious, film about a 24-hour mountain bike race (yup, pretty much a lot of footage of guys on bikes on a trail), something stupid about old guys rock-climbing, and pretty much nothing else that I can remember.

Oh wait! There was one cool film about a punk band on tour that was also obsessed with nordic skiing. So between late-night thrashy shows at seedy bars they'd head out into the bush and go skiing. Very cool.

ANYWAY, sorry, went off on a tangent there, this year, the BMFF, held as always at the Bloor Cinema, was once again awesome. It probably helped that it had two great sponsors this year -- the Alpine Club of Canada's Toronto division, and the Rock Oasis climbing gym.

If I can remember, there were two films about climbing -- one set in Scotland, another in Germany near the Czech border (crazy rock climbing on spires with barely any gear), a cute 5-minute film about a Swiss kid overcoming his fear of the water, one that had some awesome footage of avalanches but otherwise sucked, and my personal favourite, "Into the Center."

This film followed three BASE jumpers (BASE stands for Bridge, Antennae, Structure, Earth and is the sport where crazy people jump off dangerous things and pull their parachute moments before dying) who travel to a remote part of China to jump into one of the world's largest vertical caves. It's called The Heavenly Pit.

One of the jumpers, Chris Mcdougall, is from Australia, another, Jeb Corliss is from the U.S. and the third, Paul Fortun is from Norway.

I was pretty skeptical at the beginning of this film. It attempted to delve pretty deeply into their reasons for embracing such a dangerous sport, and the results were a bit tiresome. Corliss claimed the sport saved his live, and that as a child he was "extremely suicidal." Ok. "Douggs" talked about how he had let family members down when they needed him because of his obsession with the sport. Sure...
Paul was cool though. A typical Scandinavian, he didn't say much that wasn't necessary and just seemed to really like doing crazy things, but in a very controlled manner.

Just getting to the pit was a major adventure. Several planes, a boat up the Yangtze river, hiking on foot, and literally days of travel were required to get to this massive hole in the earth.

Fortun had seen a photo several years before of a Chinese tightrope walker crossing the pit in the 1970s. After going there himself to see if the cable was still in place, he had been working ever since to make the trip happen.

But still, the team wasn't even sure they jump would be possible.

Along their journey to the cave there's a few too many long artsy shots of the team members gazing off into the mountains contemplatively, or awkwardly chatting about the surroundings with each other while appearing to be nonchalant. And there's WAY too much of the American, Corliss. He seems like a nice enough guy, but seriously, he talks way too much.

One of my favourite moments is when Douggs, the Aussie, ventures off on his own and meets some young students who invite him to visit their school. He does, and finds a school-wide talent show has been organized in his honour and the kids in the remote town are pumped to have him visit. He loves it, and the magic of the moment is written on his face even until he leaves, a full four hours later.

The filmmaker won me over with moments like that. By the time the guys are packing their chutes to actually jump, the sense of anticipation is palpable and I found I had somehow come to care about them a little.

When they slid out over the massive pit on a tiny cable, chills went down my spine. And as Corliss unhooked his safety leash and started swinging on the cable preparing to let go, the audience actually held its breath. When he did let go, and freefell into that cave for what seemed like an eternity before pulling his chute, people actually applauded.

It was pretty solid storytelling. It was no less exciting when the other two jumped, and their excitement in the immediate moments after landing was infectious.

Maybe because the sport is so dangerous, and the jump was so risky, or because it took so much work to make it happen or because they spent so much time talking about it, you actually cared by the end whether they made it or not. At the beginning, I dind't anticipate that happening.

I liked this movie. It made me even more excited about going to China in ONE MONTH.
Maybe I'll visit the Heavenly Pit! Or that school, or one like it. But I probably won't be doing any BASE jumping. Katie wouldn't be a fan of that. And neither would I. HA!

"The Sheltering Sky" (Paul Bowles, 1949)

2009-03-11T12:52:00.000-07:00

I spent a year in Morocco, travelling to almost every dusty corner of that country with my friends James and Daniel.

We explored Casablanca and Marrakech and Essouera and Chefchouen, and countless, nameless, hills and valleys and towns and villages in between.

We traveled by bus, train, and bush taxi, and by hitch hiking, and we made friends in every place we visited.

As a result of all that I feel like Morocco is one of the few foreign places where I have truly gotten to the point where I felt ‘at home.

It’s a beautiful country with incredibly hospitable, generous people and I love it a lot.

So, I admit to possessing a somewhat snobby attitude sometimes, when I’m watching a movie or reading a book, that is set in El Maghreb.

It’s sort of an ‘I know Morocco better than they do” sort of attitude, and I’m pretty embarrassed about it.

But when I was reading Paul Bowles’ “The Sheltering Sky,” I had to just sit back in wonder and accept that this guy lives and breathes Morocco and knows the country and the people, inside and out.

TSS is a perfect example of Bowles' ability to take his readers under the skin of this foreign land, to experience the country from an insider’s point of view.

The book begins with three Americans disembarking from a freight ship on a jetty in a grubby North African port town in 1947.

The trio is comprised of a married couple, Kit and Port Moresby, and their friend Tunner. They’re rich, cocky, artsy Americans out to see North Africa -- living up to many of the negative stereotypes that still follow American tourists around the world.

Bowles immediately sets the scene, accurately describing a place that smacks first-timers upside the head with a blast of dust and heat and foreign smells and languages that can be completely disorienting.

It quickly becomes clear that there is a strange dynamic between the three. Kit is feminine and fragile and sensitive, but with a deep rooted fear and insecurity that can result in a mean edge.

Port, her husband, is arrogant, smart, driven – and with little ability to see beyond his own personal goals.

Tunner is shallow and dull, but incredibly handsome and charming, and mostly he’s just along for the ride.

Port is the driving force behind their journey. He insists he is a “traveler not a tourist” and believes tourists take trips, while travelers slowly migrate from one part of the world to another, over a period of years. I like that concept.

The book, which has been adapted to film by Bernardo Bertolucci (starring John Malkovich and Debra Winger), is both a literal journey into the fabric of Morocco and its people, and an exploration of the minds of Americans who find themselves dealing with difficult circumstances in extremely foreign lands.

Bowles follows the characters as they take their very American style of travel – full wardrobes and bottles of champagne and massive stacks of luggage, further and further south into Morocco and away from European influence. The quality of their hotels declines the further they go, the pool of people who speak French, evaporates, the sand flies increase, and their adventure quickly becomes much rougher than expected.

When Port and Kit finally split from Tunner, in order to have some quality time, the situation really begins to decline as Port becomes sick with Typhoid, and as Kit begins to unravel psychologically as her two anchors, Tunner and Port, no longer give her something to grip on to.

From there the story begins to really get interesting as it takes a massively unexpected turn, deep in the Sahara desert, as Kit becomes completely unhinged as her inability to understand or adapt to her circumstances, drives her to the edge.

I wish I could say more about this without giving away the plot, except to say that through her experience we begin to see an entirely different viewpoint of Morocco and its people.

The physical journey this book takes captures accurately the beauty, immensity, and diversity of the Sahara – the shifting colours, deceptive gentleness, and shocking power. I can only imagine there is accuracy too, in the way Bowles describes the journey right to the edge of madness, brought on my helplessness and instability in a land that could swallow a person completely – and in this case, does.

Like most of what I’ve read by Bowles, TSS is undeniably dark and disturbing, but mixed with that is an honest appreciation for beauty and culture and that fascinating clash that occurs when very different people, from very different worlds, come together.

Is this the end of the community newspaper?

2009-02-21T08:18:00.000-08:00

I started my career in journalism as many reporters do -- at a small town newspaper, covering everything from grandma's 90th birthday, to school board issues, court and local politics.

Managing Editor Francis Baker gave me my first real job, working as the education, court, and environment reporter at the Port Hope Evening Guide -- one of Canada's oldest daily newspapers.

It was where I learned to write a news story, to cover an event, to dig up sources and build contacts, and find stories when there was a paper to be filled, and nothing 'newsy' seemed to be going on.

I loved it. Port Hope became my home for more than three years, and my job at the paper made it possible for me to become part of the fabric of that community -- learning the issues that the town faced, the concerns of the people and celebrating important milestones in the life of the historic town.

I interviewed Paul Martin while working for that tiny daily paper, followed from start to finish a heartbreaking fight to save a vital community school, and my colleague Karen Lloyd and I uncovered a big story about a slumlord's abuse of 70 residents in a broken down hotel.

I learned how to be a journalist in that town, and at that paper.

But little by little, money began to affect the way it was operated. Eventually, the Port Hope newsroom was closed in exchange for a tiny circulation office, and we reporters were moved to Cobourg to share an office with the Cobourg Star -- a bitter blow for Port Hopers who felt they were losing their own paper.

More recently the circulation office was closed too, and layoffs were made to the already tiny staff of the Guide and Star, so that only one sports reporters was covering two towns, and a couple of news reporters were all that were in place to cover a huge area from Colborne to Port Hope.

And now, the blow that everyone had braced for has also come. The Evening Guide, Cobourg Star and Colborne Chronicle have all been axed, replaced by "Northumberland Today," a single, regional paper that will cover all three communities.

For context, I should tell you that the Guide was founded in 1878 and was one of the nation's oldest dailies -- one of the reasons I loved working there.

The Star was founded as a weekly in 1831 and the Chronicle was originally started in 1866 as the Colborne Express.

So it's an understatement to say these papers are steeped in history -- they are history for these towns. They're the soul of these communities, helping shape their identities and illustrating their character -- and setting them apart from their neighbours.

That means that the concerns about radioactive waste in Port Hope have a voice, an advocate, a champion in the local paper. And Cobourg's concerns about waterfront development or the brutal murder of a police officer, get top coverage in the Star.

These publications have been the papers of record in these towns for generations, providing local news that doesn't exist in any other fashion, and recording history as it happens, from a front line perspective.

The Internet can't offer that service, at least not now or any time soon. And a regional paper covering a massive area with a tiny staff, can't do it either.

My friend Pete, a photographer and reporter for the paper, says it makes sense to converge, and he's wondered for years why it wasn't done sooner.

He's right in a sense. Ad revenue is stretched thin even in good times, and amid the current economic downturn, businesses simply aren't advertising like they used to.

Also, the costs of producing three different papers are astronomical compared to producing just one generic version.

But that's the point -- a generic regional paper has no soul, and it can't represent a community like a small town paper, the type of publication that people have been subscribing to for 50 years -- that they feel they own as a result of that long term commitment.

That's something Quebecor, the media giant that owns all three of these papers, can't understand. To a company whose shares have fallen from $20 to .10 cents in a few years (according to my brother) all that matters is those savings represented on a piece of paper -- and in a way that logic is hard to argue with from a business perspective.

But it's easy to argue from a local angle -- when the paper you have spent your life reading, giving story tips to, or complaining about -- simply ceases to exist with little more than a quick goodbye as the paper puts a positive spin put on a tragedy.

Mostly this just makes me sad.

My hope is in the fact that there are still good people working for Northumberland Today. People like Pete, and Mandy and Ted, who do care about their communities, are invested, and are making the best of a decision they likely had little to do with.

Does this resonate? Is the death of these historic small newspapers a tough blow? Or is it just the inevitable result of progress and change? Am I making way too much of what is essentially a business decision? Let me know...

'Casablanca' (1942, directed by Michael Curtiz, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman)

2009-02-16T09:24:00.001-08:00

For us, Valentine's Day ended perfectly, watching "Casablanca" at the Bloor Cinema before getting late-night Vietnamese at Mimi in Chinatown east.

As everyone knows I love the Bloor. And especially, I love watching old films that seem to fit the vintage vibe that exists in every detail of that cinema.

This was no exception. We sat in the balcony and cozied-up to take in one of the greatest movies of all time. My PMC (to borrow an acronym coined by film critic Richard Crouse that stands for 'preferred movie companion') had never seen it, which made the night all the more perfect.

I first watched "Casablanca," believe it or not, in the actual city of Casablanca, Morocco, so somehow this movie has extra nostalgic value for me, and I was desperately hoping she would like it. She did.

Although I don't think it's the classic love story that it has been made out to be, it's still a fantastic tale of love and heroism and doing the right thing...sort of.

The movie, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, is set in the Moroccan port city in the early days of the Second World War, as the 3rd Reich is establishing its grip on much of Europe, including Paris.

The Nazis' advance has forces many to flee to Portugal, in hopes of catching a ship or plane to America. Many of those who couldn't get to Lisbon, however, crossed the Mediterranean and instead travelled across North Africa to French-occupied Morocco, and Casa, the main port city.

That's where we find Bogart's character Rick, proprietor of Rick's Cafe Americain in the medina, or original, walled portion of the city.

Though the entire film was shot in Hollywood in 1942, director Michael Curtiz actually did a pretty good job of re-creating that medina -- it surprisingly looks believable.

Rick, not surprisingly, is tough, gruff and jaded, has a questionable past and looks out only for himself. But all of that masks a heart of gold that every once in a while, makes an appearance. Classic Bogart material, of course.

He has established a pretty decent existence -- we're vaguely told he can't return to America but the reason isn't spelled out -- though the political situation in the city is complicated and tense. The Germans have control of continental France, but not the colonies. They have a presence in Casa, however, as well as political sway, and there's a palpable sense of fear among the expats desperately trying to leave.

But Rick's life and that of his staff, including his piano-player Sam, is relatively simple until Ilsa Lund comes into the picture with her famous Czech husband Victor Laszlou -- a hero for his work in the underground resistance against the Nazis.

Laszlou spent years in a concentration camp for publishing an underground newspaper that discredited the Nazis, but managed to escape and rejoin his wife and the resistance, fleeing from safe-house to safe-house across Europe before finally reaching Morocco.

Rick and Ilsa were lovers in Paris, while Laszlou was imprisoned and believed dead, and the relationship ended without closure for either of them, as the Nazis marched into the city.

"I remember every detail. The Nazis wore grey, you wore blue," Rick laments bitterly when they arrive at his bar.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine," complains a heartbroken Rick, drinking in his own bar after hours. It's one of the many lines in this film that have become part of pop culture. "This is the start of a beautiful friendship," is another, and so is "Here's looking at you, kid."

Interestingly, as my friend Logan pointed out, "Play it again Sam" is a line that has become attached to the film, even though it is never actually spoken in the movie. Weird.

It's also interesting that "Casablanca" has been labelled as a classic love story. It's really not, in my opinion. Laszlou and Lund are desperate to flee Casa, and Rick is the only one who can help, but he's too broken-hearted to do so.

Finally, Lund confesses that her love for Rick has never died, and she agrees to leave her husband and stay in Morocco if only he will help Laszlou escape, vowing she will never leave Rick again and saying lamely "You have to do the thinking for both of us now."

Yikes!

Of course, this isn't the way the story ends. I won't give it away, but while it isn't a tragic conclusion, it certainly isn't a neatly tied-up happy ending either. But it ends in a way that gives this almost mythical love story some creedence as a believable, honest tale about the way people behave when love comes with difficult obstacles.

The film is beautifully cast. Bogart, of course, is brilliant. Bergman is beautiful and refined. Paul Henreid is perfect as Laszlou -- the quiet hero willing to do the right thing at all costs. Claude Rains -- usually cast as a villain, is brilliant as the unscrupulous French police captain, always on the side that will provide the most benefit for him -- but somehow likable at the same time.

Yes, you should see this movie. If you don't, "you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, and for the rest of your life."
Another classic line from "Casablanca."

"Control" (2007, starring Sam Riley, directed by Anton Corbijn)

2009-02-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

A friend called about halfway through “Control.”

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong with you??”

“I’m halfway through “Control.””

“Oh... Got it. “

It’s that kind of movie, and if you’ve seen it you’ll know what I mean it.

It’s not a happy film. It’s more melancholy, brooding, tragic.

And beautiful, brilliant and thought-provoking.

The film explores the few years of Ian Curtis’ short career. The lead singer of Joy Division got married when he was 19, became a father shortly after that, and died in 1980 when he was just 23.

But during that short window of his life, Curtis left an indelible mark on the parchment of Brit-punk’s written history.

The film, directed by Anton Corbijn and starring Sam Riley, captures that period in sharp relief, from the moment Curtis first meets Debbie, whom he goes on to marry in his hometown of Macclesfield, England, to joining the band, developing epilepsy and becoming a father. While all this is happening the band begins to gain a following, his marriage falls apart and he eventually meets a tragic and heartbreaking end.

It’s all shot in gruff, working class neighbourhoods that invoke the Manchester area where the band established its roots, as well as in dodgy, edgy clubs and bars that make a perfect setting for Joy Division’s beginnings – and make me wish I grew up in punk-rock infused 1970s blue-collar England.

The simple, sad story is told using rich, black and white tones and a careful, measured pace.

The composition is so intentional that a simple frame, consisting of a station wagon pulled over on the highway at night, the band members standing in front surrounding Curtis, feels like a brilliant, rich photograph.

This happens over and over again in the film, so that even at its darkest moments, it’s beautiful and compelling – like when Curtis collapses on stage and has a seizure, or when he flatly, coldly tells his wife he no longer loves her.

There was something memorable about Curtis and Joy Division. Their short career only produced one album while Curtis was alive, and a second that was released after his death. But they have become a ubiquitous part of the punk rock genre, and their iconic albums, 1979's "Unknown Pleasures" and 1980's "Closer" continue to sell and critics and fans continue to wrestle over what drove Curtis’ music.

“Control” shows why. His stage presence – brilliantly captured by Corbijn and rendered by Riley, is intense and honest and riveting. You just can’t look away during his final full performance in the film – intense and alive until he is carried offstage, writhing in a seizure as his fans go crazy, or the final time he climbs on stage for just a few gripping moments before he walks off, unable to carry on as his life dissolves around him.

At one point Curtis says “They don’t know how much I give...” And you believe it – you believe that his writing, his performing, his music demands everything he has and is, and that that’s what eventually claims his life – there’s just nothing left.

At least that’s the story this film tells. But Curtis died young, and there’s always a tendency to romanticize those who die tragically before their time – especially when they’re artists or rock stars or writers.

Probably that’s what happened here. But regardless of whether this version of the story is fiction, or gospel fact, it is told brilliantly.

My AudioBlogs #3

2009-01-18T19:18:00.001-08:00

Gabcast! My AudioBlogs #3

The Amazing Spider-Man features Obama storyline

2009-01-14T05:37:00.000-08:00

I wrote this story yesterday about Today's edition of The Amazing Spider-Man. It features Barack Obama on the cover, and includes a five-page story about the president-elect and an imposter who tries to steal the presidency.

The new issue of "The Amazing Spider-Man" is hitting shelves Wednesday, and gracing the cover is the soon-to-be U.S. commander-in-chief -- or should we say geek-in-chief -- Barack Obama.

In a recent story in the U.K.'s Telegraph newspaper, it was revealed that the president-elect is a fan of the Webslinger because he can relate to the inner turmoil Peter Parker often feels about his alter-ego.

That inspired the creative team at Marvel Comics to feature Obama in issue #583, "Spidey Meets the President."

"My bosses came to me and said is there anything we can do with this? And we thought well, maybe we'll put him on our cover as a nod to the new comic-fan-in-chief, and that grew into a five-page story," said Stephen Wacker, editor of "The Amazing Spider-Man".

Read the rest here

"It's a Wonderful Life" (Frank Capra, 1946)

2008-12-28T19:06:00.001-08:00

Every year, around this time, a bunch of friends and I get together and head out for the Bloor Cinema Christmas movie night. It always includes festive snacks and apple cider and door prizes, and in true Bloor fashion the night is free for members, or just $3 for non-members.

We always smuggle in some Bailey’s, or some rum for the eggnog, and it always proves to be great holiday tradition – made especially festive this year, with the massive snowstorm we had to endure to get there.

This year the feature was Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life”, starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.

This is one of my all time favourite movies, and I was reminded once again this year why I love it.

The film was released in 1946 to critical, though not box-office, acclaim. It was nominated for five Academy Awards but the initial release didn’t bring in the $6.3 million it needed just to break even.

Be that as it may, the film, which is almost poetic in its stark, black and white beauty, has gone on to become an international favourite.

Stewart plays George Bailey, a resident of the small town of Bedford Falls, which serves as a sort of ‘anywhere USA’ kind of place.

George's’s father started the Bailey Building and Loan Company as a means of providing struggling residents with the ability to own their own home, or business. George has run the business since his father passed away.

His story is a litany of failed dreams, mostly due to his propensity for doing the right thing, however unwillingly.

George’s lifelong ambition to travel the world, his goal of going to university to become a civil engineer, even his honeymoon to Paris – all are quashed as the circumstances in his life force him to remain in Bedford Falls.

He seems to handle the heartbreak well at first. After all, the payoff is a beautiful wife who loves him dearly, a family, and fairly high standing in the town as the one man who can stand up to the rich villain, Henry Potter.

But there’s a deep undercurrent of conflict running just under the surface, and you get the feeling that tension is building as George watches his dreams evaporate.

One of the most memorable scenes in the film is shared between George and Mary Hatch (Donna reed). Hatch, who has adored him since childhood, has returned from university.

At his mother’s urging George stops by her house. “She’s the kind of girl who will help you find the answers George…” his mom tells him, with the best of motherly intentions.

While George – frazzled and in a foul mood -- is at her house, Mary takes a call from a suitor and mutual friend of George’s named Sam Wainright. While they’re on the phone, he asks to speak with George as well, to tell him about a business opportunity in plastics.

The two of them put their heads close together to hear his voice over the line, and there’s an intense moment where George's voice trails off, and he just seems to get lost in Mary’s presence though he is visibly resisting it.

“Mary, will you tell that guy I'm giving him the chance of a lifetime? You hear - the chance of a lifetime,” Wainright says.

Mary looks up at George, and with her lips almost touching his, she repeats his words.

“He says it's the chance of a lifetime,” she says, obviously not referring to the business opportunity.

The phone drops to the floor, and George snaps, grabbing Mary by the shoulders in an almost violent grip.

“Now, you listen to me! I don't want any plastics, and I don't want any ground floors, and I don't want to get married -- ever -- to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do. And you're...and you're...”

And then you watch as George’s walls break down. With Mary in tears, he pulls her close in an almost desperate embrace, and they kiss.

In the next scene they are getting married.

While it’s a happy scene, it also represents another sacrifice for George. Like when his father died and he was forced to take over the business, or when his brother got married and took a job in New York instead of taking over the family business – his life has been a story of conflict between his desire to follow his dreams and “shake the dust” of Bedford Falls off his feet, and the desire to do the right thing.

But this is all background to the main story of IAWL, which is a true Christmas tale. The real crux comes when George’s absentminded and eccentric uncle mistakenly gives the bank deposit -- $8,000 cash – to the evil Potter on the very day the bank inspector is in town to check on the books.

George comes unglued. He gets drunk, shouts violently at his kids, smashes his car on a stormy night, and sinks to the very edge of despair, wishing out loud that he had never been born – and Stewart’s study of this level of emotion is deeply believable.

At his wits end, about to throw himself from a bridge, George meets his guardian angel, Clarence.

The “junior angel” who is attempting to earn his wings by saving George, pre-empts him, throwing himself into the river so that George is forced to jump in and save his life, rather than ending his own.

Though it takes a lot of convincing before George believes Clarence’s story, he tags along as the angel gives him a first-hand view of what his life would have been like if his wish were granted, and he had never been born.

Bedford Falls, in George’s absence, has become “Pottersville” and is run by Potter, with slums, bars and gambling halls transforming the sleepy town into a place of sin.

His wife, Mary, is an old maid who never married. His mother runs a boarding house. People that George has helped, without his assistance, have turned bitter and angry due to the cards life has dealt them. His own brother, whom George saved from drowning when they were children, perished without his older brother to save him.

The moral of this story, Clarence explains, is that George’s life has made a tremendous difference to countless people around him, and all is not lost.

Not surprisingly, George gets a new lease on life. One of the most famous scenes in the film is when George return to his life, and pure joy fills his heart as he runs through the town, naming all the places he has known since childhood – seeing them with new eyes and a new sense of appreciation.

In a tear-jerker ending to the film, Mary – the girl his mother promised “will help you find the answers George”, calls on the townspeople to help out her husband, who has done so much for them.

Surprise, surprise, they come through, in a heartwarming finish that cements the message that it’s better to give to receive, and that love, friendship and generosity are the things that matter in this life.

My heart is warming up now just thinking of this story and its moral about community and the importance of looking out for one’s neighbour. It’s a classic. If you haven’t seen it, don’t wait for next year. See it now! Merry Christmas…

"The Ordinary Radicals" directed by Jamie Moffett

2008-11-15T08:49:00.000-08:00

I watched a film last night and I’m struggling with how to write about it. I really wanted to like it, but I walked out feeling frustrated and confused and somewhat alienated.

It was called "The Ordinary Radicals" and it examines what the director calls a movement of “revolutionary Christianity. One with a quiet disposition that seeks to do small things with great love.”

Sounds intriguing right? I had read and enjoyed “The Irresistible Revolution” by Shane Claiborne, co-founder with Jamie Moffett of the “Simple Way” community in Philadelphia, and one of the main characters in the film.

I loved the “simple” approach to living out his faith and making a difference, that Claiborne describes, from making his own clothes and reducing his environmental footprint, to coming alongside a group of homeless people about to be evicted from an abandoned church they have turned into their home.

Claiborne lives his life in a radical way on the front lines, in community with a group of like-minded people.

So TOR is basically a documentary following Claiborne and the film’s director Moffett and some of their other friends (there are a lot of players and most aren’t properly introduced) as they tour around the U.S. with the new book “Jesus for President.”

The film’s Toronto premiere was at the Bloor Cinema, and the place was packed.

So the film follows the group as they travel across the U.S. – in a cooking-oil-fuelled bus -- on their tour. They visit churches, community groups, a music festival, promoting their message that living like Christ goes beyond political affiliation or your stance on abortion, but really means living for others, in love.

On their road trip they highlight people who are doing that, from an advocate and activist who lives in an old bus to be close to the homeless, to some guy who won two cars on The Price is Right but sold them to go to Uganda, to a soldier who left the army because God told him to.

Some of these people are really inspiring, but there are so many, and there’s so little depth to each story, that my friends and I found it hard to really connect.

Claiborne and Moffett have been living this way for a long time, and at parts I felt like they felt obligated to tell the story of everyone they had ever met who is making a difference. In short, there was way too much information and it was way to scattered. And it was too long.

It seemed like there was no real narrative that wove through the film – and as a result the many anecdotes felt disconnected and disparate.

I would have preferred if they had focused in greater depth on a few stories. The Amish group that offered real forgiveness to a murderer who devastated their community – sharing that they were ready, in advance, to offer forgiveness, intrigued me and I wanted to know more.

I was fascinated by their explanation that “forgiveness means being willing to give up your right to revenge.”

Another paradox of this film is this: Though the group seems focused on building bridges between Christians and non-church people, it seems as my friend Jared said, to alienate almost everyone. The Christian Right, especially, seems to be the big bad guy and there seems to be an assumption that everyone would agree with that.

I didn’t like that perspective and it seemed to run contrary to their message of building bridges and promoting love.

Weird.

I also can’t imagine a non-religious person connecting to the film, which also seems to go against their goal of breaking down barriers. I mean really, there’s so much Christian-ese in the film, I think anyone without that context would walk out going ‘what the…???’

But I will say this – my friends and I spent more than an hour discussing the film afterwards in a pub over beer. At times we were ranting, and we all found things we disagreed with.

But somehow we were all inspired by parts too. Not by the film in general, I would say, but by a few of those stories about real people making a difference in their world.

I was going to end the blog there, but I just remembered one other thing that annoyed me. The very last line of the movie is from this woman, who like many people in the film just seems to appear out of nowhere, says: “We are the change we have been waiting for!”

That’s an Obama campaign slogan, and I thought it really discredited their non-political message to that point.

Argh! So brutal.

The Farley fallout

2008-11-05T15:39:00.000-08:00

Hey,
The Farley interview went great! If you want to read about, you can do so, by clicking here.
Peace...

"Otherwise" by Farley Mowat, 2008

2008-11-01T09:14:00.000-07:00

I get to sit down with Farley Mowat on Monday for an interview. The writer and activist's new memoir “Otherwise” – described as the last book he will write -- is just hitting shelves, and he's on a book tour.

It will be the third time I’ve interviewed Farley, and I’m pretty excited. In one way or another, this giant of Canadian literature has played a pretty important role in my life.

When I was pretty young – maybe 12 or so – my uncle Dave gave me a couple of books by him, including “Lost in the Barrens” and “The Curse of the Viking Grave”, that my older cousin Scott had outgrown.

I devoured those books and started dreaming of a career in anthropology or trapping or canoe-guiding – anything that would allow me to explore the Barrens in Canada’s north and live out the kind of adventures I was reading about.

I moved on to "People of the Deer", "Never Cry Wolf", "The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be" – anything the public library had on hand.

A couple of years later my family moved to a small town in a remote part of Northwestern Ontario, and those stories suddenly took on new meaning as I met real-life people who hunted wolves and bears and trapped otters and beavers for their pelts.

But my most personal encounters with Farley Mowat occurred after I graduated from journalism school and moved to Port Hope, Ontario to work as a reporter at the Port Hope Evening Guide.

Though Farley and his wife spend the summers in Cape Breton, they spend the rest of the year in Port Hope. I lived in a cottage right on Lake Ontario, and he lived around the corner on King Street, and would walk his dogs on the path that ran right in front of my place.

I had the chance to interview him a couple of times. The first was when his name was included on a list the RCMP released of suspected Communist sympathizers that had been under surveillance during the Cold War.

He told me a hilarious story about visiting the Russian consulate in Ottawa with his father Angus, getting drunk on Vodka and standing on the roof of the building in their Scottish kilts, mooning the CSIS agents they knew were holed-up in the building across the road.

The second time was when one of his short stories was turned into a film called The Snow Walker. The film is about a brash bush pilot in northern Canada who has no regard for his surroundings. All he needs to survive, he thinks, is his plane and his own wits.

That outlook caves in pretty quickly when he crashes in the Barrens and is forced to rely on his young aboriginal passenger to survive.

After we had discussed – over cranberry juice and whisky -- the adaptation and how Farley felt about it, he said “now what about you? What’s new in your life?”

It’s not a question a reporter expects to hear very often, so I was taken aback. But after a moment I managed to tell him I was actually getting ready to go to Morocco in a couple of weeks, to spend a year doing volunteer work with a Christian organization – and I was pretty excited about it.

Farley’s eyes lit up and he moved to the edge of his seat.

“You need to listen to the lesson in The Snow Walker!” he told me. “You can’t be like the bush pilot who thought there was nothing to learn. You can’t go over there thinking you’re going to help and teach people, but you need to be the student and learn from them!”

It was powerful, insightful advice, and I never forgot it. I was often reminded, during my time there, of those words and how true they were.

So I’m excited to meet Farley again, and to thank him for his advice. I hope he remembers me. I think he will. At 87 years old he’s still sharp and insightful, and is probably still walking his dog along the waterfront trail in Port Hope and sipping cranberry and whisky in the afternoons.

"The Lost Salt Gift of Blood", Alistair MacLeod, 1976

2008-06-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

A while back a friend gave me a collection of short stories by Alistair MacLeod, a Canadian writer whose stories are mostly set on Cape Breton and the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia.
I read a couple of the stories and really enjoyed them. But then the book was put aside and got buried under a giant pile of things waiting to be read and I never had the chance to finish it.
But a couple of weeks ago my girlfriend and I took a trip to the Eastern Shore to visit my friends DeeDee and Jeremy.
I spotted “The Lost Salt Gift of Blood” on my bookshelf just moments before we departed, and almost as an afterthought I stuffed it into my backpack.
It was a good decision. There’s something about reading literature while visiting the very place that it captured.
TLSGOB enhanced my experience in Nova Scotia and really made the place come alive. The lonely, socked-in coves and beaches, the rugged, harsh headlands – even the hardy, colourful people we met took on new meaning when seen through MacLeod’s lens.
There are seven stories in this collection, and it took MacLeod seven years to write.
It’s not surprising that years of labour went into this project. Stories about miners, fishermen, Cape Bretoners returning home after years away, only to feel like the had never left, the desperate struggle to hang onto a way of life that is steadily eroding into the Atlantic – you feel as though MacLeod has lived each of these lives and he’s speaking from inside the heart of his characters and from the very soil where his ancestors are buried.
The Road to Rankin’s Point, in particular, I found, to be a haunting, heartbreaking story that seems to represent a microcosm for a disappearing way of life.
“But for me, in this my 26th years, it is not into the larger world that I go today. And the road that I follow feeds into no other that will take the traveler to the great adventures of the wild unknown. Instead, at the village’s end it veers sharply to the right, leaves the pavement behind and almost immediately begins to climb along the rocky cliffs that hang high above the sea. It winds its torturous, clinging way for some eight miles before it ends quite abruptly and permanently in my grandmother’s yard…Above this last small cultivated outpost and jutting beyond it out to sea is the rocky promontory of Rankin’s Point. As one cannot drive beyond it, neither can one see beyond it farther up the coast. It is an end in every way and it is to the beginning of this conclusion that my car now begins its long ascent.”

In this story Calum, a young man returns to Cape Breton from Toronto to visit his grandmother, part of an annual family reunion that he says could better be titled “What to do about Grandma.”

And as he travels the tangled, overgrown road to her home on Rankin’s Point he recounts the beautiful tragedy of his family history.

“The sharp, right-angled turn and its ascending steepness has always been called by us 'The Little Turn of Sadness' because it is here that my grandfather died so many years ago on a February night when he somehow fell as he walked or staggered toward his home which was a steep two miles away. He had already covered the six miles from the village when he lost his footing on the ice-covered rock, falling backwards and shattering the rum bottle he carried within his safe back pocket. Now, as I feel my own blood diseased and dying, I think of his, the brightest scarlet, staining the moon-white snow while the joyous rabbits leapt and pirouetted beneath the pale, clear moon.”

And every inch of the journey described the unique scenery and way of life that only exists there – bringing the reader along until his – my – heart swells with the beauty of the scenery and the loss this young man and his family has endured.

In another story, the one for which the book is titled, the main character describes driving across the country to revisit the fishing village that was once his home. Like all small towns, his return is somehow expected, though he gave no word of his plans.
Long-lost relatives open their home to him and in a pattern that seems timelessly ingrained in these people there is supper, followed by weather reports on the shortwave radio, and then music as a young boy plays harmonica and the old couple sings.

“Come all ye fair and tender ladies
Take warning how you court your men
They’re like the stars on a summer’s morning
First they’ll appear and then they’re gone.

I wish I were a tiny sparrow
And I had wings and I could fly
I’d fly away to my own true loves
And all he’d ask I would deny

Alas I’m not a tiny sparrow
I have not wings nor can fly
And on this earth in grief and sorrow
I am bound until I die.

Like their way of life, the words of their song seem to take on an agelessness that could characterize centuries of Cape Bretoners or their Irish or Scottish forefathers.

The narrator says:
“Stranded here, alien of my middle-generation, I tap my leather foot self-consciously upon the linoleum. The words sweep up and swirl about my head. Fog does not touch like the snow yet it is more heavy and more dense. Oh moisture comes in many forms!”

The power, the strength of the stories contained in this book is proven by this: As I sit in this trendy, downtown Toronto coffee shop, surrounded by busy successful, up and coming city-types, I’m still able to disappear completely into these pages and tune out the conversations and the pretension and the smell of money that permeates everything here, and allow myself to be tugged irresistible by the heartstrings back to the Eastern Shore.

"The Enchantress of Florence" by Salman Rushdie, 2008

2008-06-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

So, I had the honour of sitting down with Salman Rushdie yesterday for an entire hour!

Author of nine novels, Booker prize winner, British knight, the man who infuriated much of the Muslim world and prompted Iran's supreme leader to put a price on his head, forcing him to go into hiding for a decade...

Yeah, I was nervous, but it actually went really, really well. We were only scheduled for 45 minutes, and I planned to only use 30, but we had such a great conversation and the interview went in so many different directions, that we stretched it out for a whole hour.

At the end we both said 'wow, that flew by!'. So fascinating to speak with him.

He has a new book out called "The Enchantress of Florence" which I really enjoyed.

I've written a story about the book and the interview. If you want to, you can read it here

Also, he asked for my blog address, so he might be reading this right now.

Just kidding about that last part.

Thanks for checking in! I promise to write more soon...

Up the Yangtze (2007, Yung Chang)

2008-03-11T17:30:00.000-07:00

Andy Johnson, CTV.ca News Staff

Up the Yangtze follows one peasant family as their home and way of life is swept up in the rising tide of China's march towards progress.

The epic documentary by Chinese-Canadian filmmaker Yung Chang captures some of the final moments before the Three Gorges Dam chokes off the river and the rising waters displace two million people.

* Read the complete story here

"There Will Be Blood" (Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, starring Daniel Day Lewis)

2008-02-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

“There Will Be Blood” is essentially about greed and the downfall of a capitalistic society where individual empire building is encouraged and even lifted up as a hallmark of the society’s success.

Starring Daniel Day Lewis and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, it’s a grim, dark tale about the life of Daniel Plainfield, a stubborn, determined, self-serving oil prospector who finds the precious substance in the late 1890s as America is just beginning to develop a dependency.

Plainfield goes on to build a successful oil business, through sheer grit and greed and a willingness to push anyone out of his way to accomplish his own ends.

Though it’s not black and white, there’s almost no colour in this film. Long, still images of bleak, rocky hills are accompanied by spine-chilling, drawn out, single notes played on violin that adds to the constant tension through the film.

Most of the characters seem purposefully non-descript compared to Plainfield. Their stark black clothes and hard-working faces provide some contrast to the frames but little more. This film is clearly about Plainfield – his greed, selfishness and ultimate descent into a dark mine shaft of his own creation.

Paul Thomas Anderson is known for dark subject matter. “Magnolia” and “Hard Eight” both looked at human weakness and the dark side of people. But there is usually some redeeming qualities that allow the viewer to connect and relate to the characters, despite – or maybe because of – their flaws and weaknesses.

TWBB is different, though. Maybe Anderson is taking a shot at U.S. oil dependency and greed by looking closely at how that industry began. Or perhaps he’s offering a warning about the dangers if being a slave to the dollar. But there’s little cause for sympathy towards Plainfield – who is played brilliantly by Lewis, by the way.

In the early days of his career his determination and grit are admirable – you can’t help but admire his toughness as he chips away in a lonely mine shaft, drags himself out of a hole with a broken leg, or huddles beside a fire at night, wind-battered on an exposed plain.

Little by little that respect shifts to disgust, as it becomes obvious that the sole motivation for all of his decisions is greed.

What is compelling, is Lewis’ portrayal of Plainfield. It’s breathtaking and absolutely convincing. When he says “I hate most people,” or when he heartlessly dismisses someone whom he is close to, from his life forever, or when he murders in cold blood, you feel it in your bones and you know he was fully immersed -- in typical Lewis style – in the role.

TWBB is also a visual masterpiece. An oil well gushing a black baptism over Plainfield, a derrick fully immersed in flame contrasted with a dusky desert sky, the construction of a church juxtaposed with the erecting of an oil rig.

You should be in the right mood to see this film, but you should see it nonetheless.

Maus: A Survivor's Tale (Art Spiegelman)

2008-02-04T13:35:00.000-08:00

The Holocaust has always had a place in my mind as a tragic, sad, incredibly important moment in human history, but one that has also always been inaccessible and foreign to me.

I guess I studied it in school. I vaguely remember an animated history teacher trying to capture the realities of concentration camp life during a classroom exercise. But I’ve had no real portal or entry point to achieve a personal connection to what took place. After reading “Maus: A Survivor’s Tale” by Art Spiegelman, I feel differently.

True, no one in my family lived through that ordeal. None of my relatives ever sheltered Jews or fled the Nazis. But this Pulitzer prize-winning graphic novel has given me a new insight and allowed me to connect in a new way to the events that led up to, and occurred during, the Second World War.

Told in two volumes, “Maus” is the story of Spiegelman’s father Vladek’s experience living through the Holocaust and struggling to survive, narrowly escaping death numerous times, watching almost all of his family and friends die at the hands of the Nazis. It’s gripping and haunting and all the more touching because it’s based on a true story.

In Spiegelman’s unique treatment of this story, the Jews are portrayed as mice and the Nazis as cats. Done badly, this technique could have come across as tacky or insensitive. But it doesn’t. It only takes a page or two to just accept it. And it really is effective – as seen through Jewish eyes, the Nazis really were ruthless predators with little sympathy for their prey. And the Jews, at least in Vladek’s experience, were the hunted – hiding out, trying desperately to avoid drawing attention to themselves and with little or no resources to protect or defend against the enemy.

The first page of Book 1, titled “My Father Bleeds History,” has a grim image of dozens of Jews staring towards a single point. They’re well-dressed and stoic but there’s a common look of fear and bewilderment in their eyes, as if they know there’s something foreboding on the horizon, but they have no idea what form it will take.

Book 2, “And Here My Troubles Began,” begins with another image of dozens of Jews, all men this time, wearing matching prison stripes. Their eyes are also staring towards a single point but this time their eyes display a glazed-over muted fear and it’s clear they have seen terrible things and have little hope for a happy ending.

And through Vladek’s recounting of the central story of his life, we experience these deeds first hand – murder, extermination, genocide – all the worst things that come to mind when one thinks of the Holocaust, are represented in Vladek’s story.

But "Maus" doesn’t just dwell on the past. It flips between the images of the past and the present as Art and Vladek try to bridge the generational and cultural divide that separates them and causes friction.

“Just thinking about my book – it’s so presumptuous of me,” Spiegelman says to his wife in one of their conversations.

“I mean, I can’t even make any sense out of my relationship with my father. How am I supposed to make any sense out of Auschwitz, of the Holocaust?”

But somehow, you see them getting closer through the course of this book. Over the years it took to collect the entire story and set it down. Something does happen. Art does, somehow, make sense out of his relationship with his father and why he is the way he is, by extension, why he has become the man he is.

Through asking and learning and trying, despite the obvious difficulties of doing so, he achieves some sort of understanding, some sort of reconciliation, and that achievement gives this story – which becomes as much his as his father’s – legitimacy and credibility.

And somehow I was taken along for the ride on Spiegelman’s journey and gained my own new connection and understanding of this moment in history and its real impact on real lives.

Gone Baby Gone (Ben Affleck, Casey Affleck, Ed Harris)

2007-12-15T15:44:00.000-08:00

“Gone Baby Gone” triggered a two-hour conversation between my brother and I about morality, integrity, honour and living with the consequences of doing the right thing.

Directed by Ben Affleck and starring his younger, until now overshadowed brother Casey Affleck, it’s a gripping thriller about two men investigating a grim missing-child case in a rough, poor area of Boston.

Right from the beginning, the film provides a believable, seemingly accurate illustration of Dorchester, one of Boston’s grittiest neighbourhoods and an area where Affleck’s character Patrick Kenzie grew up and still remains connected.

The film opens with footage of the area where the crime has taken place, accompanied by narration as Patrick describes his life – the images of shabby homes, children, young mothers, and people barbecuing on their front stoops, reminded me of Toronto’s Regent Park and the families I volunteer with there.

Patrick and his girlfriend Angie (Michelle Monaghan) are low-level private investigators who make their living tracking down people who are dodging debts. When Amanda McReady, a four-year-old girl goes missing, her aunt and uncle come to Patrick for help, believing he may have local connections that the detectives, led by Ed Harris as Det. Remy Bressant, don’t.

Though the case is bigger than anything they’ve ever tackled, they grudgingly accept the job and begin talking to Patrick’s old friends, and soon find his ‘from there’ status opens doors, though it also gets them into some tight spots.

Asking too many questions in a shabby bar where the missing girl’s mother spent most of her nights, Patrick and Angie soon find the door locked and a tough, imposing crowd confronting them.

Patrick, a slight, not-so-intimidating guy, quickly rises to the challenge with a determined, unflinching gaze that suggests he’s ready for anything.

This willingness to face any challenge head on, despite the impossible odds against him, quickly comes to characterize Patrick, whether he’s threatening a Haitian gangster, challenging the integrity of the detectives working the case, or repeatedly defending his girlfriend’s honour. And it’s believable. You quickly understand that Patrick’s heart is much larger than his shoe size and his stubborn nature will accomplish great things.

That determination quickly becomes the driving force of this film. Big obstacles arise and we soon learn there’s much more to this story than what is seen on the surface. And ultimately it becomes a story about two men and their very different moral compasses and how that affects their handling of the investigation.

While Patrick almost always tries to do the right thing no matter what the consequences, he has his weaknesses, as demonstrated when he executes a child-molester and murderer, in cold blood.

Bressant, on the other hand, is a corrupt cop who admits to his willingness to bend the rules to accomplish his own ends – though his motivation is often rooted in a twisted sense of moral justice and an attempt to do the right thing.

This film is full of unexpected surprises and twists and turns, and in addition to raising deep moral questions, it keeps you on the edge of your seat, and guessing, right up until the stunning finish with Morgan Freeman that leaves a moral question mark that hangs over the credits and will haunt you for days afterwards.

Both Casey and Ben Affleck are receiving Oscar buzz for their respectable efforts on this project.

American Splendor (the book by Harvey Pekar)

2007-09-16T15:50:00.000-07:00

I think many writers and artsy types in general often find themselves frustrated by the lack of appropriate medium or venue to tell the simple but compelling stories of everyday life. I know I often feel that way.

The other day I was driving down Dundas Street just around the corner from my house. While I was stopped at a red light at Parliament, I noticed an older black man on the far corner of the intersection. We made eye contact, and he gestured to the north in a questioning manner, and it was pretty obvious he wanted a ride somewhere. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I called him over. He hopped in and we had a really interesting conversation about his experience growing old in St. Jamestown and the Cabbagetown neighbourhood we both call home.

After I dropped him off at Bloor Street I couldn’t help but feel somewhat inspired from the conversation, and wished desperately for the means to tell the story in a way that people could easily access –- and it’s a feeling I get about once a week, usually due to some interesting, chance encounter I’d like to share before it fades away into a vague anecdote.

Harvey Pekar has found a way to do it. If you’ve seen the film ‘American Splendor’ starring Paul Giamatti you have a bit of the back-story, and you understand a little bit about this complicated writer/hospital file clerk from Cleveland. You should watch the film, definitely, but more importantly, I think, you should read his comic books.

My friend Phil recently loaned me an anthology of American Splendor comics, and I spent about three straight days locked up in my house, unable to put the book down. I ended up feeling like Harvey Pekar was someone I had known for years.

That’s to be expected, I think. Pekar’s stories are always about his everyday life, and they’re brutally, bravely honest, completely willing to be vulnerable and exposed. He describes his life and the people in it exactly the way he sees them.

He once said his stories focus on the mundane moments in life and how they add up to make an impact in the long run: “If you’re of the misery-loves-company persuasion, chances are you’ll find it comforting,” he added.

R. Crumb, an old friend of Pekar’s and one of the artists who illustrates his work, summed it up pretty well in the introduction to the book:

“The subject matter of these stories is so mundane it verges on the exotic! It is very disorienting at first, but after a while you get with it. Myself, I love it. Pekar has proven once and for all that even the most seemingly dreary and monotonous of lives is filled with poignancy and heroic struggle. All is takes is someone with an eye to see, an ear to hear, and a demented, desperate Jewish mind to get it down on paper,” Crumb says.

“It takes chutzpah to tell it exactly the way it happened, with no adornment, no great wrap-up, no bizarre twist, nothing. Pekar’s genius is that he pulls this off and does it with humour, pathos, all the drama you could ever want, and in a comic book yet.”

I once interviewed Todd McFarlane, the creator of Spawn and one of the artists to illustrate Spiderman -- pretty much a giant in the comic book world. He had a slightly different perspective on Pekar’s work.

"I don't know if it's necessarily the heroism we relate to, I think it's the flaws," he told me. "We understand that our life is completely imperfect, and these guys are completely imperfect, but somehow they're getting along and it's just called life at the end of the day and it's not meant to be perfect."

American Splendor is mostly autobiographical, with Pekar sharing anecdotes from his life in Cleveland – everything from the old Jewish guy who drives him to work, to a conversation between a veteran bus driver and the new, young driver he is training, and quite often his stories chronicle his struggles with the women in his life.

And it’s all so deeply personal. In one story he goes into great depth about losing his voice for several months, just after getting married, and all the anger, depression and worry this caused him.

“I felt anxious and guilty. My wife hadn’t known me very long before we got married. I lost my voice on the first day of my honeymoon and had barely talked for weeks after that. What kind of a husband was I? Would she forget what I was like when I could talk? What if there was something bad wrong with me?”

In another story he describes his desperate addiction to buying records and the internal battle he waged to overcome the weakness. In another, he describes helping an acquaintance that he didn’t care for all that much, to move, and how he later received a favour in return from this person.

You get the feeling that all the embarrassing parts are left in –- the self-doubt, the bad habits, weaknesses and addictions – nothing is skipped over. The stories are told with a level of transparency and honesty that gives Pekar’s writing credibility and adds integrity and value to what he has to say because he’s willing to expose so much of himself to his readers – something few writers, including myself, are willing to do on a consistent basis.

The few times I have been that honest still haunt me, and I still get butterflies thinking about how I’ve put myself out there publicly on one or two occasions. It’s scary to do that, and much easier to present a version of yourself that is slightly smarter, slightly better looking, and has fewer bad habits. I think the fact that Pekar seems to do the opposite to this, all the time, is partly what makes it so unique and intriguing.

It also helps that he has somehow convinced some really credible artists -- often by begging, harassing and cajoling – to illustrate his stories, following his pages of scribbles and stick-figure diagrams to come up with some truly beautiful works of art.

I know American Splendor isn’t for everyone and I understand why. It’s rough, really intimate, and resembles in no way the Hollywood style of storytelling most of us have been force-fed our entire lives. But that’s refreshing to me. That’s why, I think, this type of work is valuable. It takes an honest look at life, even if it’s through the eyes of one pretty unimportant, normal guy who has worked mediocre jobs and barely scraped by for years in order to just keep telling his stories and putting his work out there. Hmmm. I think there’s something honourable about that…I take it back. These stories ARE for everyone. We can all learn something from them, and we should – even it’s the simple lesson that there’s beauty and poignancy in all those little life moments and they’re worth sharing with someone else…

This is my promise: I’ll listen to your story about standing in line at the grocery store, or the streetcar drivers who held up traffic both ways to talk about a party they were both at last week, if you'll listen to mine. Those moments are important, they're inspiring and they're worth sharing. I think we’ll all be better off if we make an attempt. Who’s with me?

Once (2007, directed by John Carney, starring Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglovna)

2007-08-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

It took me about three days to get over Once after the first time I saw it. I found myself humming the songs, re-thinking the conversations – even working out what I would have said and done differently if I were in the lead character’s shoes.

The film occupied my thoughts and conversations almost unceasingly, and just as my fascination was starting to ebb away my friend Susan gave me the soundtrack – all original songs written by the musicians who play the main roles. That triggered another wave of Once-inspired moments and I just couldn’t seem to escape the grip this Irish film had on my heart.

I guess I’m a glutton for heartache and crying myself to sleep, because I watched it again this weekend with a friend, and it set in motion a whole new wave of melancholy and bittersweet emotions and ideas.

Not that Once is a sad film. It’s not really. It’s an honest story about a brief moment in the lives of two kindred-spirits trying to get by in Dublin. But it’s told in such a sincere, genuine, compelling way that if it doesn’t break your heart your soul is probably dead.

The indie film, directed by John Carney, was shot on a tiny 130,000-Euro budget, which amounts to something like $270,000 Canadian, and the original plan was to make 1,000 DVD copies and see what happened. The film made it into the Sundance Film Festival and won the audience award. It got added momentum when Bob Dylan saw it and invited star Glen Hansard and his Irish band the Frames, to tour with him.

Now the film has people talking about Oscar possibilities and the Frames, who have put out seven albums in 17 years in Ireland but have received little international attention, are finally getting noticed outside of the island.

If you go to see it, which you definitely should, you’ll understand why.

Hansard stars in the film, playing a scruffy 30-something singer-songwriter/vacuum cleaner-repairman-busker struggling to survive in Dublin, which is apparently not much of a stretch for Hansard.

During the day he plays well-known songs that passersby can sing along to, and it’s only late at night when the streets are empty that he plays his own intense, broken-hearted ballads.

It’s during one of these moments, performing Say It To Me Now, a heart-wrenchingly honest tune about, what else, a girl, on an empty Dublin street, lost in the obvious pain of the song, that he meets Marketa Irglova’s character.

A Czech immigrant selling flowers on Dublin’s streets, she’s magnetized by his music and proceeds to enter his life, although he does his best to resist at first.

His protest doesn’t last long, and the two embark on a brief but intense friendship/romance that reminded me of Lost in Translation or Before Sunrise.

Irglova’s character is also a musician, and helps inspire him to follow his heart, both in relation to his music and a long-lost love.

This film is classified as a musical, and the genre wavers somewhere between a documentary, romance or comedy. The simple story is woven around Hansard and Irglova’s songs, which form the backbone to this film, saying just as much or more about the two nameless individuals, than their words.

The songs Falling Slowly, All the Way Down, When Your Mind’s Made Up, Say It To Me Now, The Hill – on their own would make this film worth watching, but on top of that it’s shot simply and beautifully and has a believable, real quality that sets it apart from anything else I’ve seen this year.

I think the fact that neither of the lead characters are played by professional actors just adds to this film. Even their conversations are simple and uncontrived, and just like real life they’re often awkward and painful to watch but compelling too, because they accurately capture real life moments we’ve all experienced.

The subtitle of the film asks the question “How Often Do You Find the Right Person?”

But the story, just like real life, doesn’t set about providing a simple, black and white answer to the question. Instead it says ‘here’s one story about two people, take it and come up with your own answer.’

I’m still working on it…

Go here for videos and to hear the songs: http://www.foxsearchlight.com/once/

'Once' (Glen Hansard, Markéta Irglová, director John Carney)

2007-08-09T20:22:00.000-07:00

Gabcast! audioblogs #1

Ten Canoes (Rolf de Heer, Peter Djigirr)

2007-07-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

Ten Canoes is a simple, beautiful story that opens a window into a time and culture that is so far removed from my own it could belong on a different planet. But I’m glad it doesn’t, and I’m honoured to have had the chance to glimpse a forgotten, compelling way of life I previously knew nothing about.

I watched this at the Bloor Cinema, which of course is an amazing venue for all and any films, but was particularly well-suited to Ten Canoes, which, like the Bloor itself, hearkens back to a simpler era. (Side note for friends – anyone have any theories about why I’m so enthralled with old stuff?? Any ideas would be welcomed because I’m at a loss to explain it…)

The film is set in a remote corner of Australia, and is said to be the only movie thus far to have been shot in the language of the Ganlabingu people, with the assistance of English subtitles and narration.

The simple veneer of this legend-like tale is a bit deceptive, because it unfolds on several levels.

The narrator explains that he is telling a story that belongs entirely to him and his people. It begins with a group of men setting out to a far-off forest that contains trees with bark suitable to making canoes, which the men will then use for a goose-hunting expedition.

Among the group are two brothers. The elder has three wives and is a respected and stately leader, while the younger is single, just becoming a man, and has a deepening crush on his older brother’s youngest and prettiest wife.

The sojourn is rendered in a timeless, epic fashion. From the ghostly, remote forests that provide the canoe-making materials, to the swamp where the men sleep on log platforms tied to the trees to protect them from crocodiles, each frame is a work of art in itself, and I was riveted to the screen despite the somewhat meandering storytelling.

It felt like every details was authentic, from the language to the locale to the Aboriginal actors, and as though it took as long to make the film as it did for the actual expedition to happen – because every detail is just so right.

During the trip, the older brother, Minygululu, begins telling his sibling Dayindi a folk-tale about two of their ancestors, also brothers, who found themselves in a similar situation, with the younger developing feelings for one of his elder brother’s wives.

He is patient and gentle as he unfolds the story, telling it in installments as their expedition progresses. One chapter is told while they strip bark from the trees, another as they shape the canoes, another as they stand motionless in their flimsy boats in the middle of the swamp, waiting for geese, another resting on the high platforms out of harm’s way.

The film switches effortlessly between eras as the story is related, with the different time periods rendered in black and white, and colour, to indicate what strand of the story is being followed at any given time.

This is quite helpful, since actor Jamie Gulpilil plays the younger brother in both stories… make sense?

In the more ancient strand of this story, a tribe led by older brother Ridjimiraril (Crusoe Kurrdal), runs into trouble when a stranger -- offering to trade “objects of magic” -- shows up from another region, causing worry and distress among the villagers even though he is quickly sent away.

Shortly afterwards, Ridjimiraril’s second wife disappears, and he links the two events, assuming the stranger kidnapped her, which eventually leads to the accidental spearing of another stranger by Ridjimiraril, out for revenge.

This means Ridjimiraril must follow tribal law, and take part in Markaratta, which can be translated as payback, and will involve the great warrior standing target for the other tribe’s spears until he is struck.

But in a true showing of brotherly love, Yeeralparil (Gulpilil) joins his brother and the two become like ghosts evading the spears, until Ridjimiraril is eventually struck, but is proud enough and strong enough that he walks home, nursing his wound.

Later, in what is the most gripping scene of the film, he takes part in a mystical warrior’s dance, induced by his wound, and it becomes clear that this story is rooted in Aboriginal oral tradition. That it is essentially a tribal legend passed from generation to generation until the truth and mythical aspects have melded indistinguishably into one another, and it no longer really matters which is fact and which is fiction.

The scene is beautiful and powerful and makes up in spades for any slowness in the storytelling to that point.

The end of the tale, like most legends passed down through oral cultures, doesn’t tie up all the loose ends in a nice package you can take home with you – it leaves many unanswered questions, but in such a way that your imagination can fill in the gaps, and indeed I think that’s the point.

“And they all lived happily ever after,” says narrator David Gulpilil, deadpan, before breaking into raucous laughter. “Naaah, I don’t really know what happens after that.”

It’s a perfect ending for the story. No clear answers were spelled out for Dayindi by his elder brother’s history lesson, but the culturally transcendent tale still has the ability to change his life forever.

Watch this movie because it is thoughtful and compelling and provides a new window into a culture that is probably as strange to you as it is to me. But also because its lessons about people are as relevant to our culture as they are to that of Australia's Ganlabingu, or magpie goose people clan.

And do yourself a big favour and see it at the Bloor Cinema.

"I Heard the Owl Call My Name" (Margaret Craven, 1967)

2007-07-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

I first read “I Heard the Owl Call My Name” in Morocco. I was at the end of a year-long stint doing volunteer and missions-type work in that country, and my teammate James passed it along to me after he had read it.

It was a fitting time to read such a beautiful story, because it reminded me of how much I had learned during my year in that culture, and how much my perspective, my outlook on the world, had changed from a year earlier.

The story is set on B.C.’s rugged northern coast in a small, isolated Indian fishing village, where Mark, a young Anglican vicar has been sent to serve as minister.

Before he sets out, Caleb, his mentor and wise old predecessor tells him, “Don’t be sorry for yourself because you are going to so remote a parish. Be sorry for the Indians. You know nothing and they must teach you.”

And the story, told beautifully in simple, concise sentences and paragraphs that paint a compelling picture of the people and the landscape of the region, describes the process as Mark goes from stranger to family member as the village gradually embraces him – and teaches him.

This occurs in a setting where it rains almost continuously, where rugged mountains line inhospitable shorelines, where fishing and logging are essential means to survival, and in a village that is struggling with its identity in a changing world that threatens to sweep it up in its path or leave only the tattered remnants in its wake.

It’s not surprising that IHTOCMN, though written by an American, has become a classic in Canada and can be found on the shelves of English classrooms across the country. Timeless in its delivery, and with a message that should resonate with all generations and cultures, it refuses to preach but still somehow irresistible calls on the reader to place new importance on values such as family, faith, patience and unconditional love.

Mark, though he is sent to the village implicitly to teach, becomes the student, as his values and priorities are reshaped by the villagers – and somehow, through the process of learning and being molded by the village, he also has a deep and profound impact on those that live there.

The lessons he learns are perhaps described best by the Bishop who comes to visit:

“Always when I leave the village,” the Bishop said slowly, “I try to define what it means to me, why it sends me back to the world refreshed and confident. Always I fail. It is so simple, it is difficult. When I try to put it into words, it comes out one of those unctuous, over-pious platitudes at which Bishops are expected to excel.”
They both laughed.
“But when I reach here, and I see the great scar where the inlet side shows its bones, for a moment I know.”
“What, my lord?”
“That for me it has always been easier here, where only the fundamentals count, to learn what every man must learn in this world.”
“And that, my lord?”
“Enough of the meaning of life to die.”

Those words, and the rest of the story, brought me back to the emotions I was feeling when I was preparing to leave Morocco. They reminded me of the wrong notions I had going in, about all that I could teach the people there. And the way that I had to take a steep, hard fall from that position before I realized I was the student, I was the one sent there to learn, not to teach.

And I was taken back to the sharp, deep new appreciation I had, upon leaving that part of the world for simple things such as family, faith, love, friendship, and loyalty.

And how God taught me so much and planted in me such a new set of values, forged in fire with two good friends.

And as my heart broke for the second time as I re-read the book recently, my heart also weighed heavy with the realization that those values have faded for me, lost some of their brilliance. Simplicity is in short supply here in Toronto, and as a result the beauty of a less complicated lifestyle often gets lost in the confusion and speed and chaos all around.

IHTOCMN reminded me I have to find the simple beauty that still exists here. That I need to put aside the distractions and focus on what is important – as Mark was forced to do in that tiny Indian village in order to survive, and as I was once forced to do in Morocco for the same reason.

You should read this book.

I will lend you my copy.

A Man Without A Country (Kurt Vonnegut, 2007)

2007-06-11T15:14:00.000-07:00

The critic’s quote on the cover of “A Man Without A Country” reads: ‘This may be as close as Vonnegut ever comes to a memoir.’ And it was. Vonnegut died earlier this year, and AMWAC was his final work.

I finished reading it today, and I am still trying to make out what I think of it. One thing I am sure of is that I enjoyed it immensely. A collection of essays and personal thoughts, anecdotes and even poems, it’s completely different from anything I’ve read by the author of “Slaughterhouse Five” and “Cat’s Cradle.”

And it provides a new insight into Vonnegut’s personal thoughts, musings, beliefs and ideas on subjects such as capitalism, war, President Bush and the environment – notions that are presented much more subtly in his other works and can only really be guessed and grasped at. But in AMWAC, they are presented clearly and concisely in the same language and style that he has used effectively to tell his previous stories.

So, what follows is a collection of the passages from the book that affected me the most and, I think, give the most compelling picture of who Vonnegut really was.

* While we were being bombed in Dresden, sitting in a cellar with our arms over our heads in case the ceiling fell, one soldier said as though he were a duchess in a mansion on a cold and rainy night, “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.” Nobody laughed, but we were still all glad he said it. At least we were still alive! He proved it.

* If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or how badly is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a good friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.

* Can I tell you the truth? I mean this isn’t the TV news is it? Here’s what I think the truth is: We are all addicts of fossil fuels in a state of denial. And like so many addicts about to face cold turkey, our leaders are now committing violent crimes to get what little is left of what we’re hooked on.

* Electronic communities build nothing. You wind up with nothing. We are dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go out and do something. We are here on Earth to fart around. Don’t let anybody tell you any different.

* When you get to my age, if you get to my age, and if you have reproduced, you will find yourself asking your own children, who are themselves middle-aged, “What is life all about?” … I put my big question about my life to my son the pediatrician. Dr. Vonnegut said this to his doddering old dad: “Father, we are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.”

* Abraham Lincoln said this about the silenced killing grounds at Gettysburg:

"We cannot dedicate – we cannot consecrate – we cannot hallow this ground.
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract."

Poetry! It was still possible to make horror and grief in wartime seem almost beautiful. Americans could have illusions of honour and dignity when they thought of war.

* James Polk was the person Representative Lincoln had in mind when he said what he said. Abraham Lincoln said of Polk, his president, his armed forces’ commander-in-chief:

"Trusting to escape scrutiny, by fixing the public gaze upon the exceeding brightness of military glory – that attractive rainbow, that rises in showers of blood – that serpent’s eye, that charms to destroy – he plunged into war.
Holy shit! And I thought I was the writer!"

On responding to a woman who wrote to Vonnegut about being 43 and pregnant with her first child:

Don’t do it! I wanted to tell her. It could be another George W. Bush or Lucrezia Borgia. The kid would be lucky to be born into a society where even the poor are overweight but unlucky to be in one without a national health plan or decent public education for most, where lethal injection and welfare are forms of entertainment, and where it costs an arm and a leg to go to college. … But I replied that what made being alive almost worthwhile for me, besides music, was all the saints I met, who could be anywhere. By saints I meant people who behaved decently in a strikingly indecent society.

* Requiem:

The crucified planet Earth
Should it find a voice
And a sense of irony
Might now well say
Of our abuse of it
“Forgive them, Father,
They know not what they do.”

The irony would be
That we know what
We are doing.

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the grand Canyon,
“It is done.”
People did not like it here.

Our Man in Havana (Graham Greene, 1958)

2007-06-05T11:49:00.000-07:00

My friends Logan and Amanda just got back from Cuba. Along with a care-package of 50 Cohiba and Monte Cristo cigars they also brought vivid pictures and memories of their brief but fascinating exploration of the Cuban capital.

Logan described Old Havana in sharp detail, painting a mental image of ornate architecture experiencing the slow but steady decay that sea salt combined with a lack of upkeep, causes. He said it looked like it had been under water for 50 years and resembled his idea of the mystical sunken city of Atlantis.

Graham Greene’s “Our Man in Havana” paints a similar picture. In fact, the image Logan conjured up while we sat in Jet Fuel in Cabbagetown last week was a perfect match for Greene’s description of Havana in the 1950s, so I guess not much has changed.

I love the premise of this book. James Wormold, the middle-aged ‘hero’ of the story, is a soft-spoken, mediocre Englishman who has lived in pre-Castro Havana for 20 years running his small, struggling vacuum cleaner shop. He has one friend with whom he spends about six minutes each day, is still in love with the wife who left him a decade earlier, and the possessions he cares about would fit in a single crate.

That sounds like an incredibly boring start, but Wormold has a pretty, spunky 17-year-old daughter named Millie who keeps things interesting right from the beginning. Most of his energy is spent worrying about her and trying to protect her – though she seems capable of handling herself just fine.

When the opportunity to join the British MI6 spy agency comes literally walking though the door of his shop, he decides he needs the money – and probably the distraction --badly enough to join up.

One of his key responsibilities is to recruit Cuban agents to supply intelligence, but rather than doing so Wormold sets about inventing fictional characters to fill the roles, picking names randomly from a list of country club members. The problem is, he does too good a job and his colourful cast of non-existent spies begin bringing in information that makes his superiors in London sit up and take notice.

In response to his good work London decides to boost his bureau staff, and sends Beatrice, a female agent, to work as his secretary along with Rudy, a radio operator disguised as his bookkeeper.

This is where things begin to become complicated for Wormold. His until now seemingly harmless charade suddenly becomes serious, as he needs to strengthen the web he has created around his fake agents in order to make them stand up under scrutiny.

This, he also does well – so well that Beatrice begins to fall in love with Raul, the alcoholic Cuban airline pilot Wormold has ‘recruited’ to fly surveillance missions and collect images of the massive, non-existent military constructions his spies have reported on. One of Wormold’s more colourful character studies, Raul has lost his wife in a massacre during the Spanish civil war and has become disillusioned with both sides, especially the communists, making him an ideal recruit – and an sparking intrigue in Beatrice.

This is a problem for Wormold, who has fallen in love with her and becomes irrationally jealous over the fictional character he invented as a reflection of some of the romantic aspects of his own personality.

Sometimes Wormold felt a twinge of jealousy towards Raul and he tried to blacken the picture.

“He gets through a bottle of whisky a day,” he said.

“It’s his escape from loneliness and memory,” Beatrice said. “Don’t you ever want to escape?”

“I suppose we all do sometimes.”

“I know what that kind of loneliness is like,” she said with sympathy. “Does he drink all day?”

“No, the worst hour is two in the morning, When he wakes then, he can’t sleep for thinking, so he drinks instead.” It astonished Wormold how quickly he could reply to any questions about his characters; they seemed to live on the threshold of his consciousness – he had only to turn a light on and there they were, frozen in some characteristic action.”

But soon, Beatrice’s fascination with Raul becomes the least of his problems, as Captain Segura, a feared member of the Havana police, becomes suspicious of Wormold, and as some of his star spies begin to meet with fatal coincidences, eventually leading to the complete collapse of Wormold’s carefully constructed world and a hasty departure.

Entertaining and clever, OMIH is partly a satirical mockery of the British secret service, and partly a criticism of Cuban corruption in the 50s.

Greene was well positioned to provide first-hand descriptions and criticisms of both. He actually served as an MI6 intelligence agent during the Second World War, attempting to send spies into global hotspots and later working in counter-espionage in Portugal, according to an Amazon review. He also had first hand experience in Cuba and actually met Fidel Castro, whom he supported. All that lends a sophisticated, genuine quality to a comedy of errors story that also works as a political commentary.

I recommend this book and I plan to read more Graham Greene very soon.

Harold and Maude (1971, Hal Ashby)

2007-05-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

"Harold and Maude" manages to take seemingly opposite elements – death and love, black humour and a Cat Stevens soundtrack -- and combines them all to tell a fascinating, timeless story that had me questioning my own ideas of love.

The film starts out with Harold (Bud Cort), a somber, round-eyed, well-dressed and wealthy 20-year-old who lives with his mother, staging his own suicide.

In eerie ritualism he puts on a Cat Stevens record, lights candles, prepares the noose, and times his fall to correspond with his mother’s entrance into the room.

“I suppose this is your idea of a joke, Harold?” his mother says, unfazed by the fact that her son is swinging from a noose, and obviously accustomed to such behaviour.

From there we get an idea of Harold’s fascination with the macabre, as he fakes his own death numerous times, all for the benefit of his socialite mother – or perhaps for his own benefit, as he seems to get pleasure from trying to upset her.

In one grim scene, Harold floats face down in the pool, by all appearances dead, while his mother casually swims lengths a couple of metres away.

He’s a strange, depressed young man who seems to have little to lose when he meets Maude, through their shared pastime of attending the funerals of people they don’t know.

Though almost 80, Maude (Ruth Gordon; Rosemary’s Baby) breathes new life into Harold, taking him on adventures such as rescuing a tree in the city and replanting it in the forest – essentially defying the rules of society and showing Harold how great it can be to be alive.

In one touching scene, while they sit on a rug smoking a sheesha pipe in Maude’s converted railway-car home, Harold explains how he became obsessed with death after causing a massive explosion in the science lab at boarding school.

He ran away and returned home, convinced his academic career was over, then watched secretly while his usually cold and detached mother was informed of his death by two policemen.

“She put a hand to her forehead, and with the other she reached out as if groping for support, and with this long sigh she collapsed in their arms,” he explains, moments before breaking down in tears.

“I decided then that I enjoyed being dead.”

Maude’s response serves as a perfect description of her character, and seems to represent a turning point in Harold’s life.

“A lot of people enjoy being dead,” she tells him gently. “But they’re not dead really. They’re just backing away from life. Reach out! Take a chance! Get hurt even. Play as well as you can. Give me an L, give me an I, give me a V, give me an E. L-I-V-E, live! Otherwise you’ve got nothing to talk about in the locker room.”

Harold and Maude, though separated by generations, are soulmates and their friendship turns to love as they find common ground through their apparently opposite infatuations with death and life.

While sitting by the ocean, Harold gives Maude a gift, inscribed with the words ‘Harold loves Maude.’

“And Maude loves Harold,” she replies, before throwing it into the water.

“So I’ll always know where it is,” she says, her explanation serving as a touching reminder that the evidence of true love lies in the heart, not in things.

The Lookout (Director Scott Frank, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Jeff Daniels)

2007-05-21T09:06:00.000-07:00

Joseph Gordon-Levitt has come a long way from the goofy, somewhat nerdy and culturally confused alien/kid who grew up on “Third Rock From the Sun.”

The film that first brought him to my attention was “Brick,” a neo-film noire directed by Rian Johnson. It’s set in a high school and comes complete with a clever, snappy vernacular invented for the students, a teen-aged femme fatale and jocks, druggies and art geeks all convincingly transformed into feuding factions.

Gordon –Levitt is the protagonist; intense and single-minded as he penetrates headfirst into the dark world of high school crime to find out who killed his ex-girlfriend, and get revenge.

I think I was three quarters of the way into the film before I finally figured out that he was the kid from Third Rock, and I was suitably impressed by the transformation.

In “The Lookout,” too, Gordon-Levitt seems to crawl inside a new skin and transform himself into Chris Pratt, a troubled, disabled young man who once had everything – money, a beautiful girlfriend and a promising athletic career.

“It only happens once a year, and then they die,” he says at the start of the film, while racing down a country road in the middle of the night with his friends. He then switches off the headlights, revealing a mesmerizing sky filled with fireflies.

Soon after, tragedy strikes, and Chris’s life changes dramatically.

We catch up with him a few years later. He now lives with a physical and mental disability that has left him only a shell of the high school hero he once was, and he simply exists, bitter at the memory of what he once had and struggling just to survive, cohabitating -- and co-depending -- with Lewis, his blind roommate played expertly by Jeff Daniels.

Increasingly bitter at his life – or lack thereof as he sees it – Chris is targeted by bank robbers who rope him in with the promise of friendship and power.

“Whoever has the money, has the power,” says Gary, the charismatic and charming but still creepy leader of the gang, played by Matthew Goode (Match Point, Chasing Liberty.)

With little to lose, as he sees it, Chris is easy pickings, and becomes the key to their plan due to his part-time job as a night cleaner at a small town bank.

I didn’t know what to expect with this film. I couldn’t predict where it was going to go. At one point, I thought it would end with Chris helping pull off the heist, then living with the guilt from his involvement.

At another point I was sure he would be killed and the film would end darkly and realistically with bloodshed.

But you quickly realize that little is predictable or simple for Chris – whose disabilities make it nearly impossible for him to carry out simple tasks, such as sequencing what he did during the day, much less formulating a plan of action and carrying it out.

As a result the film isn’t predictable or simple either. Chris’s personal challenges give the film a sense of frustrated urgency and lend it a volatile, exciting quality that kept me on the edge of my seat until the dramatic conclusion – much like “Brick.”

Watch out for Gordon-Levitt. Thus far his film choices have been impeccable, and it’s refreshing to see a young, promising actor who hasn’t yet sold out to the highest bidder, but seems committed to making good films.

Here’s hoping he keeps it up!

The Danish Poet (Director Torill Kove)

2007-05-15T18:41:00.000-07:00

I gained a new appreciation for storytelling when I lived in North Africa. The people of Morocco and Mauritania maintain an oral culture that we in the west have lost, for the most part, in the age of television and the Internet and iPods and Wiis.

I remember sitting on a train from Marrakech to Casablanca, listening as a tiny, old, frail looking woman held an audience of young businessmen spellbound for 20 minutes as she told them a story about someone in the market trying to swindle her earlier in the day.

Another time, my friend Ahmed and I sat in a café in the medina in Casablanca, and he listened for ages as I recounted the beautiful story of the Prodigal Son – at the end, when the father runs out to meet his son who has squandered his inheritance and come home in shame, there were tears in Ahmed’s eyes and he was genuinely touched.

It was amazing! I don’t think that would never happen here.

But I think inherently, deep inside, we still have an appreciation for the simple, beautiful, storytelling of the type done in “The Danish Poet” -- an animated short film with Canadian connections.

The film, which probes the nature of coincidence, is a joint venture between a Norwegian director, the National Film Board of Canada, and is set largely in Denmark. I, obviously, am from Canada, and two close friends whom I travelled with in North Africa, are from Denmark and Norway. Weird eh?

I watched “The Danish Poet” today at one of the personal viewing stations at the NFB on Richmond Street – to which my friend bought me a yearly membership for my birthday. Thanks Amelia!

The film, which is only 15 minutes long, starts with the Scandinavian-sounding narrator posing some of the key questions of the film over a softly glowing, animated starry sky.

“I used to think everyone was adopted from outer space,” she says. “That before we were born we were little seeds floating around in the sky waiting for someone to come and get us. The selection process was random and there was no rhyme or reason as to who our parents would be. In a way I was right because our chance to be born hinges on our parents.”

Then she begins telling the story about the fascinating series of coincidences and timely intersections that led to her parents meeting, all the while providing very funny insight into Scandinavian relations, and with brilliantly simple, mesmerizing animation that I couldn’t look away from.

A Danish poet named Kasper has writer’s block. At his wits end, he visits a psychologist who tells him to take a vacation.

“But where can you go if you have no money and you don’t speak French?” he replies.

“What about Norway? It’s cheap and they’re practically Danish,” the doctor replies (It’s a joke my Danish friend Daniel would find hilarious, but my Norwegian friend Gjermund would reject outright.)

So Kasper takes the advice and starts doing some research about Norway. He comes across an epic novel by a Norwegian writer that tells the tale of a young man who falls in love with a girl who is engaged. Despite her father’s wishes she breaks off the engagement to marry the young man, and regrets the decision for the rest of her life.

Inspired by the story, Kasper plans a trip to meet the author.

I’ve been to the Copenhagen harbour where Kasper sets out from for Norway, and it’s captured beautifully and realistically – though in caricature-style -- in the film, complete with colourful, tall narrow buildings, beer-swilling, jolly Danes and vivid, watercolour skies, contrasting with the solid, chunky colours used in the animation.

After arriving in Norway, Kasper gets caught in the rain, and takes shelter at a local farm, owned by a family, it turns out, that is related to the writer whom Kasper was planning to visit.

He quickly falls in love with Ingeborg, the farmer’s daughter, who “tends to the chickens and romantically maps the stars above the farm,” and regains his inspiration.

“Ingeborg you changed my life. Ingeborg please be my wife,” he writes in a poem dedicated to her.

But she reveals that she, like the heroine in the novel that inspired Sigrid to come to Norway, is also engaged.

“This is exactly like when Kristen Laurens can’t marry Erilund because she’s engaged to Syran. But she breaks up with him and marries Erilund anyway in spite of her father,” Kasper says, excitedly recounting the plot line of the famous novel.

“Not exactly,” replies Ingeborg sadly, explaining that she has read the book, and has learned from the moral of the story and won’t make the same mistake.

Though her husband is killed randomly by a falling cow soon after, a series of post-man errors and goat incidents prevent the news from reaching Kasper and much time passes before the two are brought back together again and their romance is once again sparked – this time by the death of the writer, whose funeral they both attend, though perhaps unwittingly.

“You must go to the funeral,” Ingeborg’s friend tells her.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because she was your relative.”
“But she’s Danish!”
“When a relative dies, you go to the funeral, whether she’s Danish or not,” she is told matter-of-factly – a joke my Norwegian friend would appreciate.

And, thus Kasper and Ingeborg begin their happily-ever-after life together in true Hans Christian Andersen style.

Later, in the final coincidence of the film, the same friend who urged Ingeborg to attend the funeral, while travelling to visit the couple in Copenhagen, meets a young poet on the train who is on his way to Copenhagen to gain inspiration from Sigrid, who has become quite a successful writer.

So, like any good old-fashioned story, we have some clever twists along the way that eventually lead to a happy ending, and an intriguing exploration of coincidence and fate and how they affect our lives.

“Had it not been for the Danish poet and Sigrid Undset, a rainy summer in Norway, a slippery barn plank, a careless mailman, a hungry goat, a broken thumb and a crowded train, my parents might never have met at all. And who knows, I might still be a little seed floating around in the sky, waiting for someone to come and get me.”

This film won the Academy Award for best animated short and is definitely worth paying $2 at the NFB to go see. I recommend it!

Mother Night -- 1961 (In memory of Kurt Vonnegut)

2007-05-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

My father first introduced me to Pink Floyd when I was about 11 years old.

I remember listening to it on my Walkman, lying back on the bed late at night. I expected rebellious rock-and-roll but instead I got helicopters and screaming, the sound of a cash register clanging open and heavy, deep soundscapes that reverberated in stereo sound from one ear to the other.

I thought: “What is this??” and wondered if I was too young to be listening to it. (I probably was)

But my dad had recommended it and that carries great weight between a son and a father, so I kept trying, kept listening, and slowly I began to understand, appreciate, and finally to love that album, and the band -- the kind of appreciation that some people call blissful, because it takes work to get there, but is always worth the effort.

I had a similar experience the first time I picked up a Kurt Vonnegut novel, also on my dad’s recommendation, and again, probably at too young an age.

I think it was “Slaughterhouse-Five” – a semi-biographical account of Vonnegut’s experience during the Second World War, combining science fiction, satire and black humour in a tale that mixes time travel and a first hand account of the aftermath of the fire bombing of Dresden.

As with Pink Floyd, my senses were bombarded and I was overwhelmed and I wasn’t sure I liked it. But I was stubborn, and somewhere about halfway through I began to see the beauty in the short sentences and clever vocabulary and simple but smart storytelling that painted such vivid pictures.

Since then I’ve read almost all of his novels – many of them several times. And in honour of his death just over one month ago at 84, I have just finished re-reading “Mother Night” for the third time.

What a brilliant book. I recommend all of Vonnegut’s work – you should read them and own them too – but Mother Night, as a novel and a concept, is incredible.

Vonnegut’s introduction to the novel begins as follows: “This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral, I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

It’s about a man named Howard W. Campbell Jr., an American playwright living in Germany, married to a beautiful German actress named Helga Noth, prior to the Second World War.

The story begins in an Israeli prison where Campbell is awaiting trial on war crimes, and writing his memoirs, but as he tells his story the scene quickly shifts to Greenwich Village where Campbell lived-out the post-war years in obscurity, for the most part all alone, his family dead and his existence forgotten.

As the story develops, we learn that Campbell is considered a war criminal because of the work he did as a propagandist for the Nazis. He was an anti-Semitic radio broadcaster all through the war, and was responsible for some of the most fantastic, unbelievable lies ever fabricated about the Jewish people.

But we also learn that before the war began, Campbell was recruited by an American spy to broadcast secret messages – using strategic pauses and stumbled sentences as his means of delivery -- over the radio to U.S. agents, which he did consistently throughout the entire war.

“From the simplicity of most of my instructions, I gather that I was usually giving yes or no answers to questions that had been put to the spy apparatus. Occasionally, as during the build up for the Normandy invasion, my instructions were more complicated and my phrasing and diction sounded like the last stages of double pneumonia,” he explains.

Simultaneously, Campbell was the best spy the Americans ever had, and the greatest Nazi who ever lived.

The story raises big questions about truth and identity and whether an inherently good act can compensate for a lie, but in typical Vonnegut style it’s caustic and cynical and bitterly funny all at the same time, and provides no clear answers to any of the questions it poses.

I like the fact that the story begins with a moral -- a simple, humble truth presented more as a nugget of wisdom than as a point in a sermon, then sets about proving it in gentle terms through Campbell’s life.

I like that style of story telling. Vonnegut was a master at it, as proven in Player Piano, Sirens of Titan, Deadeye Dick, Breakfast of Champions, and many more.

It’s sad to say goodbye.

But here goes…

Goodbye.

Kurt Vonnegut
Born: Nov. 11, 1922, Indianapolis, Indiana
Died: April 11, 2007, New York

Spider-Man 3 (2007, director Sam Raimi, Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst)

2007-05-07T09:01:00.000-07:00

I had such high hopes for Spider-Man 3. I looked forward to it for months, imagining how the third and supposedly final installment in the trilogy would build on the plot lines of the previous two, further explore the relationship with Green Goblin and delve into Spider-Man’s dark struggle with Venom.

There was so much potential!

And it was such a disappointment.

Now, to be fair there were some positive characteristics to this film, and I’ll start there just to avoid bumming myself out all over again.

The relationship with Harry Osborn – son of the Green Goblin who takes on the role after his father dies – is treated really well. Harry’s deep resentment and bitterness is still there – affecting his friendship with Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire) and eventually spilling over into his romance with Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst).

But as both Peter and Harry overcome their demons the relationship comes full circle and friendship eventually prevails. And this is nice to see, because through the series, despite their ups and downs, I always got the feeling they cared pretty deeply for each other.

Hmm. What else was good? Oh, the technology definitely drives this film. The fight scenes are amazing. The introduction of Sandman – though definitely an unnecessary complication to the story – provides some of the most incredible CG seen yet in the trilogy. One very cool scene in particular has Spidey and Sandman fighting in a sewer – with some very cool melting involved.

Also, Venom is done pretty well, despite being played by Topher Grace – Erik from “That Seventies Show” – whose character doesn’t exactly break new ground from that role.

But my overwhelming feeling walking out of the film was…huh??

My friends Jed, Ahmeda and Jared and I stood around for half an hour outside the Rainbow Cinema with puzzled looks on our faces, analyzing all the things that went wrong, and wondering if director Sam Raimi had forgotten to do test screenings before releasing the film.

I mean, at one point, meant to be the emotional climax, as a weeping Parker holds his dying friend in his arms and the camera zooms in on his emotion-wracked face – everyone in the cinema broke into spontaneous laughter. I was too upset at how painfully bad the scene was to actually laugh, but I couldn’t blame them for doing so – it was really ridiculous.

Parker cries about 10 times in the film, and it’s just too much.

I was expecting the film to really focus on Parker/Spider-Man’s internal and external battle with Venom – the evil alien force that gives him new powers but threatens to turn him into a villain.

This was a great opportunity to do what the Spider-Man franchise has always done well – explore the self confidence issues and personal struggles Peter Parker has always dealt with, providing a really interesting reflection to his super-hero side.

But instead, there’s a 20-minute montage in the middle of the film with Parker – sporting a cheesy new emo-style haircut and black clothes – strutting around John Travolta style, leering at girls and jutting his crotch out at creepy angles.

And that’s supposed to be how the Venom persona affects Spider-Man?? They could have done something so much darker, and so much better.

My solution to the problems of this film are as follows:

* Cut out some characters. Sandman, though I loved how your face got grinded away sandblaster-style against a moving subway, you were an unnecessary complication. My apologies to Thomas Hayden Church of “Wings” and “Sideways” fame, who actually did a pretty good job!
* Topher Grace’s role as Venom needs to be darker. He needs to be less annoying, but more evil.
* The whole Staying Alive montage needs to GO!

In good conscience, I can’t recommend going to see this film. But, on the other hand, the trilogy has become such a part of the pop culture fabric of this decade, that you might regret not seeing it on the big screen.

I leave the choice in your hands. But always remember, “with great power, comes great responsibility.”
-- Ben Parker

Artists for Action

2007-04-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

There’s something good, something real and revolutionary and anti-establishment about artists and creative people and those with a desire to effect change, getting together to discuss how to bring about a better life.

It’s inspiring and grassroots, and never fails to leave me thinking ‘Yes! This is what we’re here for!’

That’s how I felt Tuesday night, spilling out onto Gerrard Street East from the cozy Abrams Studio at Ryerson University, after experiencing Artists for Action, a night of performances and discussion all on the theme of social justice, with the proceeds going to PEDRRU, a Ugandan NGO.

My friend Kathy Lewis organized it along with Sarah Fregeau and Irene Whittaker-Cumming, and I give them props for doing so because it’s never easy to get a dozen or so creative, artsy types to meet deadlines and arrive on time, let alone organize a creative, eclectic night of performances that somehow works coherently.

She pulled it off though, and for that I salute her!

After a brief introduction by Kathy and Antonio Cayonne, the night started with an emotionally charged performance by spoken-word artist Araya Mengaesha.

Spoken-word is one of those mediums that can really flop or fly – and in the hands of this capable young artist, it flew.

I was carried away by his first piece, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. It personified rebellion, describing an observer’s journey into an underground gathering of revolutionaries, the emotions, the stocky, nondescript speaker who brought the crowd to a crescendo with his message of freedom, and finally the smash and crash as windows were shattered and tear gas filled the room and finally, as a club comes down on the observer’s neck and he’s rendered unconscious, having scribbled down only two words on his notepad …

And perhaps the brilliance of this piece is the ending -– we don’t find out what those two words are, and we’re left to imagine what, for us, they would have been.

Thank you Araya. The delivery itself was a thing of beauty – intense, impassioned, poetic and from somewhere deep inside. I wondered how he could keep the tears from his eyes as he poured this out in words, pounding his chest for emphasis.

It brought me back to one of the first major events I covered as a reporter – a massive Ontario Coalition Against Poverty rally in the downtown core of Toronto. I was a small town journalism student and rode into Toronto on a bus with a bunch of activists –- and I came filled with big ideals about objectivity and journalistic integrity and whatnot.

But there were times throughout the day that I, like the man in the piece, filling the role of an observer, a recorder of events, couldn’t keep my fist from slamming punches into the air along with the electric crowds around me, demanding something better for those who have the least.

I came home with a new perspective on what it means to be empathetic and objective and a new appreciation for those who face off with authorities to make their voices heard.

Yeah, Araya, you captured the organized mayhem that occurs.

But beyond the spoken word, the night boasted a host of talented performers. Antonio and Dan Chapman-Smith prompted us to think about what art really is and how it can affect us and the world around us as a force for change.

Irene Whittaker-Cumming’s "Asante Sana" took her experiences working at an orphanage in Kenya and turned them into a modern dance piece that conjured up images of destruction, sorrow, connection to the Earth, rebirth, passion, progress and joy that made me miss Africa so, so badly.

She performed with Miranda Forbes, Sarah Fregeau, and Andrea Lithgow – all of whom expertly avoided the massive beam located smack in the middle of the stage area until you almost forgot it was there.

Then "Stephanie Street," a grim, intense, and challenging (five?) act play about helping the homeless and our often wrong-headed approach to doing so gave me some sober second thought. It was performed excellently by Warren Bain, Stephanie Bye, Michael Iliadis, Araya Mengaesha and Claudia Yiu –despite some minor technical issues.

Aviva Zimmerman performed what I think was part of a piece she put together for the Fringe Festival, called "Huffing Lysol," that was an entertaining and thought-provoking look at mass media and advertising and how the images we’re bombarded with affect our brains.

Ellen Hurley’s "Tipping Point" monologue took a different approach to the social justice theme, speaking with the voice of a dying planet and an Amazon rainforest that is facing a crucial juncture – a grim, critical mass moment at which the total destruction of the forest, the “earth’s lungs” will soon be unavoidable unless drastic change takes place.

And finally Antonio rounded out the night with some spoken word of his own.

Perhaps the most memorable part though, was the discussion that followed – artists and audience discussing the ideas and arguments that were rendered on stage, challenging each other to make a difference and find that ephemeral means of making art make a difference.

In a way, we were living out that theme of revolution, rebellion and grass roots movement that kept coming up throughout the night – and we personified, I think, that room full of rebels fighting against a dark, unnamed enemy that Araya described so well in the opening performance.

In some small way, we made progress towards that better life.

The Science of Sleep (Michael Gondry, 2006)

2007-03-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when I try to look at a star – I can see it clearly out of the corner of my eye, or I can catch it in my peripheral vision – but when I try to focus on it, it sort of evaporates and there just isn’t enough to focus on, even though I know it’s there.

That’s the way it is with my dreams too. I have a tendency to forget them immediately after I experience them. I wake up and the dream is there, so real I have trouble believing I didn’t just live through it – then in almost measurable increments it slips away piece by piece until it’s gone.

In The Science of Sleep, Stephane, a Mexican who returns to Paris to live with his French mother, has the opposite problem.

Since his childhood, his mother explains to a friend, Stephane, played by Gael Garcia Bernal, has “inverted” dream life and waking life – mixing the two together until he is unsure which is which.

The power of his imagination lends his dreams a sharp, vivid realness that he can’t escape, even outside of sleep, and that draws the viewer into the crazy cut and paste world of his imagination.

This tendency begins to complicate his life when he falls in love with Stephanie -- Charlotte Gainsbourg – his new neighbour across the hall, and begins confusing their real life interactions with those he has only imagined.

Michael Gondry, who expertly directed Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, along with a ton of music videos, takes us right inside Stephane’s dreams. And you feel like you’re there.

Using recycled, everyday materials like milk cartons, toilet paper tubes and cellophane, Gondry creates beautiful make-believe worlds that are so dream-like they help me recapture pieces of the ones I forgot.

There’s a beautiful scene where Stephane and Stephanie become excited about a project they want to work on together with old packing materials and old toys she has around her apartment. Their enthusiasm is infectious, as they describe how cotton balls could become clouds, pieces of cellophane could serve as the sea and how a small wooden boat could be filled with a forest to create a “vegetable Noah’s Ark,” Stephane explains breathlessly.
And as they run around picking up materials and planning it out the scene comes to life in simple, child-like animated goodness.

I got excited too and found myself planning my own little animated film sequence and convincing myself I was actually going to do it (mine involved a Lite-Brite).

His favourite dream involves a TV show where he is the host, camera-man and director, and the people in his life are the guests.

Stephane’s dreams run his life – to the detriment of his job cutting and pasting generic calendar components together – his strange pseudo-relationship with Stephanie, and even his day-to-day activities.

He never really outgrew the imaginary friends and imaginary life he created for himself when he was a kid, and as a result the cute factor wears off quick and he becomes somewhat frustrating to watch.

The aesthetic appeal of this film makes it worth watching – it really will blow your mind in a manageable way – but the story is a bit weak, the breakthrough you hope Stephane will make never really happens, and the ending is unsatisfying.

That being said it’s a feast for the senses, with dialogue flipping seamlessly between English, French and Spanish, beautifully rendered dream sequences and a meshing of fantasy and reality that will have you saying “what the..?” in a good way.

Why the Banff Mountain Film Festival helps me survive Toronto

2007-03-22T17:28:00.000-07:00

I’ve been inspired for three days now, full of dreams of the mountains and adventures and freedom, thinking back to places I’ve been and those that capture my imagination and call out to me to visit.

It’s pretty much the way I feel every year for a week or so after the Banff Mountain Film Festival comes to town. I’ve been going to the festival for years now – five of the last six I think -- and have sought it out in Kingston, Barrie and Toronto, depending on the location closest to wherever I happened to be living at the time. It’s always been worth the drive and never fails to leave me dreaming of a better life.

That’s how I feel now, after my brother Ben and I attended the festival last Saturday at the Bloor Cinema.

The festival ran three nights in a row here in Toronto, with a different lineup of adventure or outdoors-inspired films each night, running over about a four-hour span.

The roster typically includes a mix of six or seven Canadian and international films, ranging from a couple of minutes in length to an hour or so, and there are usually a couple of slightly eccentric entries that don’t fit neatly into the genre, but usually still work pretty well with the overall theme.

There were three films this year that really captured my imagination and have occupied my thoughts for nearly a week now.

The first was called “Asiemut,” a film made by a young couple from Quebec as they travelled by bicycle through (check my geography) Mongolia, China, Tibet, Nepal and India – 8,000 kilometres – and got through thick and thin together and came out stronger on the other side. A truly inspiring film and a really likeable pair of Quebecois (not that that’s unusual.)

The second, and this fits in the category of “Adventure?? Film” is called “The Ride of the Merganser. Mergansers are a diving duck that call, among other places, the northwestern portion of the Great Lakes region of Canada and the U.S. home.

They’re pretty elusive and as such there isn’t a ton of footage of them in their natural habitat – and there’s definitely nothing like this. ROTM, a 15 minute film, follows a female as she lays eggs, hatches her ducklings, and urges them one by one to make the long leap from the nest down to the pond below – all in the space of 24 hours.

It’s so cool! Clever narration, a smart soundtrack and brilliant use of remote cameras make this one of the most purely entertaining films of the festival, for sure.

But my far-and-away favourite was undoubtedly “First Ascent: Didier versus The Cobra.”

Most of this hour-long film takes place in Squamish, B.C., and centres around Didier Berthod, a Swiss rock climber, and his attempts to climb “The Cobra” – a section of rock split from top to bottom by a narrow crack just large enough to get a toe and a couple of fingers into in places, and possibly the toughest crack climb in the world.

But the documentary-style film quickly becomes about more than achieving that one finite goal. Didier, who is living at a youth hostel and cleaning rooms to pay for his stay so he can hang around and climb, is instantly lovable, and the film-maker does an incredible job of bringing us into Didier’s life and showing us who he is, beyond being a world-class climber who appears to have been born on a rock somewhere.

At one point he tells the camera “I’m a Christian, but not a very good one,” and you can’t help but admire his ability to wear his heart on his sleeve.

The film follows Didier as he attempts, over and over again, to scale The Cobra (which had never been climbed), to the heartbreaking moment when he fails on his very last attempt before he has to fly home to Switzerland.

The story then takes us to Europe, where he climbs the toughest crack-climb in Europe, but only after Didier – a pure traditionalist -- removes the bolts that someone has driven into the rock to make the climb easier.

Then, after a year, he comes back to Squamish, and your pulse begins to quicken as you anticipate, finally, his success on the still-unclimbed route.

But like a quick-draw coming loose it all comes crashing down on his first day back, when he injures his knee and learns he won’t be climbing for months.

Then Didier has an epiphany, explaining that he had convinced himself his desire to climb The Cobra, to be the first, was the natural result of his love of the outdoors and the connection he feels to the rock.

But now, he says, he realizes it was all about “the glory.” He wanted to be the first. He wanted to be the best, and God used the opportunity to humble him.

“It’s as if He was saying ‘No Didier, it’s not for you,’” he says. And there were moments, at “the crux” of the climb – a one-finger hold that transitions to a slippery overhanging right-hand hold, where he felt as if the angels were gently pushing him down, because they knew it wasn’t his time.

“So, instead, I am here to be God’s witness,” Didier says with his typical, simple wisdom that runs deep.

Ahh man, it’s a beautiful film, and even writing about it makes me want to go out and climb a rock, or paint a picture or write a poem or move back to Banff.

See, that’s why I’ve driven halfway across the province to attend the BMFF – because it always breaks my heart and makes me cry and in the words of the great Wade Davis, helps me “understand what it means to be human, and to be alive.”

I’m getting carried away but you get the idea. If you like the outdoors, or have the tiniest remnant of an adventurous spirit left in your black corporate soul, or if you just need to escape this damn city and you don’t have the means to get out – do yourself a huge favour and go to the festival next year.

You won’t regret it.

The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoevsky, 1880)

2007-02-27T15:11:00.000-08:00

Fyodor Dostoevsky said he would die happy if he could finish "The Brothers Karamazov" because he would have expressed himself completely.

Having accomplished that goal, he must have died satisfied, leaving behind a book that has left a profound mark on the literary world, but also on people’s lives. I personally know of two people whose spiritual journey towards God has been launched largely due to this book.

I must admit that it didn’t have the profound spiritual impact on me that is has had on others, but that didn’t keep me from enjoying most of it – at 1,045 pages in paperback, I found it at times to be cumbersome both physically and mentally. But through the vast majority of the novel I was fascinated and challenged.

The Brothers Karamazov is the story of three brothers, their relations with each other and with their father Fyodor Karamazov, who is murdered in an apparent parricide.

The youngest son, Alyosha, is portrayed as the saintly or angelic figure. The second brother, Dmitry, is a sensualist driven largely by his passions and emotions while the oldest, Ivan, is a critical-thinking, but bitter, intellectual.

After being separated for various reasons for years, the three brothers find themselves living in their hometown in close proximity to their landowner father who is portrayed as devious businessman, buffoon, nefarious womanizer and cruel glutton who rarely takes the feelings of his three sons into account. This tendency of his is the driving force of the book, leading to his romantic pursuit of Grushenka, a woman whom his son Dmitry is also passionately in love with, his underhanded dealing with Dmitry in regards to the estate of his dead mother, and ultimately to his own murder.

Factor into the equation the presence of Smerdyakov, Fyodor’s apparent illegitimate son who has grown up in his household, raised by a servant couple that have become the boy’s adopted parents.

His strange upbringing his turned him into a nasty, scheming young man who plays a key role in the family affair that eventually ends with Fyodor’s death.

Like all of Dostoevsky’s works the book is a fascinating exploration of the human mind. Typical of his work, descriptions of countrysides and architecture are almost entirely absent, while the writer spends his time describing the geography of the minds of the characters by painstakingly documenting their thoughts and conversations.

I have to say though, despite all of its literary and religious importance, this book simply didn’t grip my heart like "Crime and Punishment" or "The Idiot" – two of my favourite books of all time.

I think that may be because those books had one central figure that the story revolved around, and shortly after picking up those books I felt well acquainted with them to the point where I could almost predict their thoughts and actions.

I felt this to a lesser degree with Alyosha, and later Dmitry, but I certainly didn’t feel the same level of intimacy or understanding of their character that I did in the previous two.

It may be because the cast of characters was simply too long -- like "Ocean’s Eleven" and "Ocean's Twelve" – the story was entertaining and interesting but there were just too many people floating around and not enough development of the ones I really wanted to get to know better.

That being said, it did take me a long time to read this book, and I got through it mostly in small chunks late at night before falling asleep. If I had read large sections over a week or so I may have a greater appreciation for the project as a whole.

But also, there are sections that I found pretty tedious – including about 75 seemingly out of place pages in the middle of the book in two chapters titled “The Elder Zosima” and “The Teachings of the Elder Zosima.” In the first, the life of the revered elder of a local monastery is set down, in the second, his – or likely Dostoevsky’s – religious views are hashed out in a long, long sidebar to the story.

There is also a long but rewarding chapter called “The Grand Inquisitor” which has been published on its own and is considered an important literary text by many Christians, atheists and intellectuals.

The chapter – a “poem” written by Ivan, an atheist, and shared with Alyosha, a Christian, portrays an interrogation by the “grand inquisitor” of Jesus Christ after he has returned to earth during the Spanish Inquisition, and has been arrested.

The inquisitor, a Catholic cardinal, argues that Jesus can’t return now because his presence would interfere with the goals and mission of the church.

While this chapter, like the others, is not directly tied to the plot, it is a beautiful piece of writing on its own and warrants more attention than I gave it.

All in all though, it’s filled with intriguing insights into the Russian mindset and into man’s seach for God, and the way our passions – both love and hatred – drive our decisions and actions and cause us both happiness and pain, and how the line between the two is often indistinguishable.

Without a doubt, TBK is recommended reading for anyone with an interest in literature – but it’s a pretty big commitment and I certainly wouldn’t recommend it as an entry point to Dostoevsky’s work. But it is typical of his style, and definitely won’t disappoint anyone who has enjoyed his other works.

Wade Davis is smart and cool

2007-02-09T13:49:00.000-08:00

I've kicked around a few dusty corners of the globe and I like to think I've explored some places that few other people will ever get to. And I've always prided myself on the fact that I'm a traveller, not a tourist. It's a concept that has become a bit of a cliche in recent years as ecotourism and adventure travel have become mainstream concepts -- but I've always tried to live it out as a way of life whenever I'm in a foreign culture, whether it's Regent Park or Nouadibou.

I've worked hard to meet people in the various places I've been, and find out what life is all about for them -- what they believe, how they live, who they love and why. To me these have become essential elements of any adventure or cross-cultural experience.

But Wade Davis takes the concept to an entirely new level. As an "ethnobotanist," writer, filmmaker, scholar, and the only Canadian National Geographic Explorer in Residence, he's pretty much the best when it comes to exploring other cultures and finding out what makes them tick.

I had the pleasure of watching an early release of his new four-part NG series: "Light at the Edge of the World" which is airing on Wednesday nights on that channel, and was suitably awed by his ability to crawl inside the skin of foreign cultures. In this case, he is studying vanishing cultures and efforts to preserve them and pass-on ancient traditions. The quest takes him to Peru, the Himalayas of Nepal, the Canadian Arctic and Polynesia.

I had the chance to interview him and find out a little more about what makes him tick. Click here to read my full story on "Light at the Edge of the World."

Rocky Balboa (2006, written and directed by Sylvester Stallone)

2007-02-06T08:30:00.000-08:00

My dad and brother and I bonded over the Rocky movies. When I was a kid, and as a teen, and through the times we didn’t have much in common, we always had Rocky. He was this common denominator that we could all rally behind and cheer for – an underdog with an unstoppable heart whom we believed in.

Every time (and there were many in the first five films) Rocky dug himself out of some low point, and began to mount a comeback, whether it was on the beach training with Apollo Creed or screaming “DRAAAGO!!” from a snowy Russian mountain top, we were there rooting for him.

Who wouldn’t be?

So I have a bit of a personal investment in the whole collection, and I must admit I was a bit anxious about Rocky Balboa, Sylvester Stallone’s newest installment.

Let’s face it, Sly, God love him, is pretty old to be getting back in the ring, and unlike Rocky 5, the climax of this film is a full-on classic Rocky-style bout. Despite my deep faith in Balboa’s abilities, before the film I thought to myself “this is bit of a stretch.”

But the beauty of Rocky is that like every true hero, he doesn’t act within the laws of reason that govern the rest of us. In the film he tells his son, “I stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago,” and if you’ve been there since the beginning – you don’t doubt the truth of those words.

The film begins with Rocky living in the same old neighbourhood where we first met him. Adrian is dead – and oddly there’s no explanation as to how she passed -- he’s estranged from his son, and Uncle Paulie –- still boozing, smoking cigars and working at the meat plant -- is the only family member still close to him.

Rocky owns a restaurant where people come to meet the champ and hear some of his old fight stories, but his life is pretty empty and he spends most of his time mourning Adrian and feeling sorry for himself.

“You’re walking backwards,” shouts Paulie, in one of his trademark outbursts.

In what appears to be an attempt to exhibit some of Stallone’s acting, ahem, talents, much of the film is dedicated to exploring the depths of his grief. It’s a bit much, to be honest, and super cheesy and predictable, involving a woman, her tough son, and Rocky’s efforts to reclaim a purchase on life through helping them . Meanwhile, he’s also working to rebuild the fragile connection with his son Rocky Junior (Milo Ventimiglia – Luke’s nephew from Gimore Girls) who predictably feels like he’s living in Rocky’s shadow.

But Stallone definitely channels Rocky. He’s as he always was – clumsy with his words, cheesy with his humour, gentle and earnest but willing to let his temper loose when necessary. In short he’s still the Rocky we love and for that I salute him.

But like the film, I’m taking too long to get to the action. The premise of Rocky Balboa is one of its most brilliant qualities.

Mason Dixon, the undefeated world champ with 30 wins and no losses (played well by real-life boxer and former undisputed light-heavyweight champion Antonio Tarver) is hated by boxing fans because he’s never gone 10 rounds with an opponent and seems to be lacking the “heart of a champion.”

A sports network puts together a computer generated simulation fight between Balboa and Dixon, and Rocky comes out the winner by knockout.

The fight generates a lot of interest, and gets Dixon’s promoters thinking about doing it for real, since there are no worthy opponents left out there for Dixon anyway and it might be a way to win some fans.

Rocky, meanwhile, starts thinking about boxing again and manages to get a license, after giving a rousing speech to the unwilling Pennsylvania State Boxing Commission about how he’s earned the right to decide whether he’s ready to fight.

“This is who you are Rocky. This is what you do. Fighters fight,” Maria, played by Geraldine Hughes, tells him, convincing him to accept the “exhibition” challenge.

But anyone who knows Rocky knows he doesn’t stand for half-assed measures, and he puts his all into training his ancient body to duke it out with the world’s best.

Enter the training sequence – a trademark Rocky feature that my friend Phil and I were anxiously waiting for. I couldn’t help but cheer when it began with a quiet ‘da da da da, na na naa na na naa,’ leading into lots of classic Balboa workout shots and ending beautifully but predictably with the champ running up the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. So, so good.

The film ends with the fight scene, of course, and it’s a classic heart wrenching, emotionally –charged Rocky moment that seals the RB’s status as a full-fledged member of the franchise. Like the crowd in the film, I wanted to jump to my feet and usher Rocky out with a standing ovation as he said farewell to his fans.

A couple of things jumped out at me that set this installment apart from the others, particularly one through four. For one thing, Sly is just old. There’s no doubt he’s in amazing shape for his age, but his aging body is showing some mileage. It literally looks like one of the massive sides of beef he’s been known to spar with, and at times it’s a little painful to watch.

And also, the fight scene just isn’t as believable as in the earlier films. The punches just don’t look like they’re landing, and there are fewer of the close-up glove-to-face smashes that can’t be faked.

And while the film has a grainy quality that hearkens back to one through three, for some reason Stallone decided to incorporate a few cheesy camera tricks, like slow-motion, and an over-used technique during the fight where everything goes black and white except for the blood, which is of course, bright red.

It’s a bit much, but doesn’t take away from the overall quality of this farewell film in a dynamite series.

Rocky fans will love it, but first-timers probably won’t appreciate what it’s all about. You need context to fully get this one, but for those of us who have that history, it’s awesome!

Weird observations: Duke, a stalwart member of Rocky’s entourage ever since Apollo Creed died and he moved to Rocky’s corner, comes out of nowhere to make the briefest of appearances at a news conference – apparently as Rocky’s trainer -- where he says something like ‘a great fighter never loses his punch.’ And that’s it, we don’t see him again. UPDATE*** I've been corrected. Duke does come back. He helps Rocky train. There's a great scene where he tells Rocky that Dixon is faster then him, can out-box him, and is in better shape than him "So what we have to do is build some blunt force trauma," he tells him. And shortly after the Kettlebells make an appearance.

Also, Mason ‘The Lime’ Dixon looks a little flabby, and one of the fight announcers makes reference to it saying something along the lines of “Dixon’s not in the best shape we’ve seen him in,” but there’s no other reference. Maybe Tarver didn’t hit the gym hard enough before the film and Sly thought he had to reference the fact.

Paulie’s best line: “What’s the matter, you pissed because they took down your statue?”

The Vice Guide to Travel

2007-01-30T08:20:00.001-08:00

Click below to listen to my first audioblog on Vice's newest travel offering

Gabcast! My AudioBlogs #1

Children of Men (2007, Alfonso Cuaron)

2007-01-09T14:52:00.000-08:00

What if winter is over? Not just because spring came early this year and we didn’t happen to get much snow, but over for good, forever? The snowy, bitingly cold six-month winter seasons of our childhood, a thing of the past?

What would the result be and how would we react?

It’s easy to project that the outcome wouldn’t be good. Global warming would speed up, agriculture would be knocked off its axis, entire countries would be submerged as the rising temperatures melted the polar ice caps and ocean levels began to rise.

It would be a bad scene, and it’s reasonable to imagine that people would become desperate and all hell would break loose, and the world – or at least large portions of it – would descend into chaos.

Those frightening thoughts – too real this winter, with little snow or ice marking the season – were rushing through my head as I left the cinema after watching Children of Men last week.

The film, based on a novel by P.D. James and directed by Alfonso Cuaron (Great Expectations, Y Tu Mama Tambien) is based on a premise that is so easily imagined it’s spooky.

The story is set in 2027, in England, in a world where humans have stopped giving birth, and no new babies have been born in 18 years.

The grim reality of the situation is brought home at the beginning of the film when the news is broadcast that the world’s youngest person – somewhat of a celebrity – has been killed.

Clive Owen’s character, Theodore Faron, greets the news grimly, but callously, and you get the impression – as he pours booze into his coffee – that he’s beyond caring about much.

England has fulfilled many of 1984’s prophecies. Near-constant public service announcements urging citizens to turn in illegal immigrants, constant surveillance, and the public exhibition of caged “fugees” all indicate it’s a grim state of affairs and apathy could get you killed in short order.

Theo gets a full dose of the reality of the situation when he is kidnapped by the Fishes, a rebel group fighting for the liberation of the imprisoned refugees.

His former partner and the mother of his dead child, Julian Taylor, played by Julianne Moore, whom he apparently hasn’t seen in years, is one of the leaders of the group.

Theo gets drawn – unwillingly at first – into the fight, which in some ways becomes his own battle for meaning and substance in a world that doesn’t seem to have much left of either.

Theo’s purpose – his sole goal – becomes protecting and delivering to safety a newborn baby, a “miracle child” -- the one life that can possibly bring hope and restore faith for the human race.

The lawlessness and chaos is portrayed brilliantly in an almost Mad Max style of delivery. And as the people around Theo begin to get killed off one by one, you get the full sense of the fragility of life and the desperation of the people.

But in one compelling scene, especially, you see proof that this world is not yet beyond redemption. A blizzard of fighting is taking place in a refugee camp where immigrants have been sequestered – with the military bringing in heavy artillery and waging war, seemingly indiscriminately on the largely innocent population.

As Theo and the child’s mother Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey) attempt to escape a building surrounded by tanks and soldiers, the baby’s cries suddenly pierce the chaos, and the stunned soldiers and fugees stop fighting and stand in awe – almost worship – as the child is carried through their midst.

It becomes clear that this life, which Owen is risking his own to protect, has the ability to restore peace to a hopeless world, in Christ-like fashion.

My only real criticism of the film is the incredible abruptness of the ending. I wanted more. But perhaps it’s fitting. And it is definitely refreshing not to have all the ends tied up neatly, and as a result I’ve spent the last few days constructing what may have happened next – which I take is a good sign.

There are moments when the film is hard to watch – but it’s always in context and fits with the extreme sense of urgency as the characters race to accomplish their goal surrounded by madness.

But the few gruesome scenes weren’t as disturbing, to me, as the sheer plausibility of the story. The realistic portrayal of exactly how our world could be in just 20 years if we don’t stop screwing with it, and start fixing it.

It's a Wonderful Life (Frank Capra, 1946)

2006-12-29T09:52:00.001-08:00

I’ve been on an old movie kick lately. In the past two weeks I’ve rented "Casablanca" and "Breakfast at Tiffany’s," and on the day before Christmas Eve some friends and I met up at the Bloor Cinema to watch "It’s a Wonderful Life on the big screen."

Now, all three of these films are guaranteed to warm my heart and remind me of just how great, great cinema can be. But Frank Capra’s 1946 black-and-white masterpiece, "It’s a Wonderful Life" hit a whole new level.

Of course I’ve seen it dozens of times, but it’s one of those films that can be brand new all over again depending on your mood, the atmosphere and the people you’re with.

In this case, my mood was very festive because Christmas was just around the corner. The atmosphere – the Bloor – was perfect, complete with hot apple cider, baked goods, hot chocolate with Bailey’s and a crowd that clapped and cheered and sighed and cried at all the right moments. And the people I was with, of course, were the best part – good friends spreading their Christmas cheer, including two friends who for some reason had never seen it before!

No matter how many times I watch it, IAWL still has the power to bring tears to my eyes. It’s just such a compelling story. If you haven’t seen it, here’s a quick synopsis: George Bailey is about to leave his hometown of Bedford Falls to go to college, when he is asked to stay back and help run the building and loan company that his father started, and to stand up to the town bully, Potter, who is trying to take it over.

George agrees to stay, despite his dreams of travelling the world. He eventually falls in love and starts a family, and his presence in Bedford Falls makes the town a better place.

When things go badly, however, and the small loan company suddenly faces bankruptcy because of a simple mistake, George Bailey comes unhinged, gets drunk and mean, and considers giving it all up. At that very moment, in Ebeneezer Scrooge fashion, a stranger comes into his life and shows him what Bedford Falls would be like without him, and as a result how valuable his life actually is.

After the film we went out for a beer, and my girlfriend asked me what scene was my favourite. I had a tough time answering. There’s a scene where George and Mary Hatch, played by Donna Reed in her first starring role – meet again after their initial romantic spark has begun to fade. George comes to her house, and she has set everything up just so, in order to impress him and remind him just how lovable she is.

But George is in the midst of self-pity and bitterness at his fate, and the fact he feels trapped in the small town he once vowed to leave far behind him. While he’s there, a suiter calls for Mary, setting up one of the key moments in the film. George and Mary share the same phone talking to the caller, and despite George’s anger and Mary’s disappointment, a palpable chemistry develops between them as they talk. Volumes are spoken without hardly a word being shared between them, and eventually the phone conversation is forgotten and their romance is firmly re-established.

The scene is a key to understanding the battle going on inside George Bailey. He's deeply conflicted. He loves Mary, but he’s desperate to hang onto his dreams. “I want to do what I want to do!” he tells her harshly. That theme plays out through the entire film, when he’s forced to give up plans to go to college to run the business, when his dreams of travelling the world fall by the wayside, and when the depression hits and he calls off his honeymoon to save the building and loan.

The climax of the film comes when all those disappointments have added up and disaster strikes, and Bailey realizes that this time, all of his best intentions can’t pull him through, and he hits rock bottom.

In the wrong hands, this film could have become just another feel good story with a positive message. But Frank Capra’s directing, and James Stewart’s believability make it more than that – it almost becomes an illustration of the human condition. That’s due in large part to the honesty in the storytelling. There are heartbreaking, harsh moments, such as when George screams at his daughter to stop practicing Christmas carols on the piano, or when he grabs his son and holds him in a violently tight grip, tears streaming down his cheeks, only to shout at him a moment later.

But that stuff is real: George loves his family but when everything goes wrong they are the ones he lashes out at. That honesty lends a genuineness to the film and makes the ending so much more compelling.

Like "Casablanca" and "Breakfast at Tiffany’s," IAWL is one of those timeless films that can be seen over and over again, and can break your heart every time.

"Consumption": Kevin Patterson, 2006

2006-12-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

Dr. Kevin Patterson has been fascinated with the harsh, barren landscapes and lonely seascapes of the Arctic since he first travelled there to practice medicine more than a dozen years ago.

Since then he's made regular pilgrimages to the tiny, isolated communities perched on the edge of Hudson Bay, first as a family doctor, then as a specialist in internal medicine, treating illness and disease.

At the same time, he's learned about this remote, rugged corner of the globe through the stories of the people who live there.

Those tales, many consisting of the heartbreaking life experiences that have come to define the Inuit culture in many ways, help form the basis of Patterson's first novel, Consumption.

Click here to read the rest of my feature on Consumption (a great book!), and my interview with the author

Stranger than Fiction (2006, Marc Forster: Finding Neverland, Monster’s Ball)

2006-11-16T19:49:00.000-08:00

As a writer, it’s easy sometimes to get caught up imagining the way my autobiography is one day going to be written. Or, sometimes I’m even so vain that I second-guess my decisions, considering the likely possibility that one day someone will probably want to write a biography about my life. And I wonder about how well some of my dumber decisions are going to play out on the page.

There’s even a letter or two I decided not to mail because I wasn’t willing to one day be remembered for those words.

Yikes! Honest eh? I’m exaggerating a bit, I hope, but the point I’m getting at is that Harold Crick, Will Ferrell’s character in Stranger than Fiction, gets the random, unexplained opportunity to hear someone else writing the story of his life as he lives it out.

This is a thoughtful, smart film that will let you glimpse a side of Ferrell’s acting ability you probably haven’t seen before, helped out by scene-stealers Maggie Gylenhall and Dustin Hoffman.

In the trailers, this film was sold as anything from a flat-out comedy to a dramedy and a dark fantasy. It’s a little of each, but doesn’t fit neatly into any of those genres, smoothly mixing laugh out loud with heartfelt tearjerker moments.

Crick is so boring and normal when the film begins he’s almost a cliché. He’s almost painful to watch, going about his structured IRS tax assessor’s life, counting stairs and tooth-brush strokes and measuring the minutes of the day with his faithful wristwatch.

But somehow he’s still lovable, and he becomes more so as the plot progresses, particularly when he starts hearing a woman’s voice narrating, or writing, his life, and the things she says in her literary-sounding English accent begin coming true with startling accuracy.

So Crick does what most people do when they start hearing voices. He goes to a shrink, but that doesn’t work and he eventually winds up in the office of Jules Hilbert, a literature professor played expertly by Dustin Hoffman. He steals every scene he’s in with little eccentricities like his passionate obsession with the line ‘Little did he know.’ -- “I once taught an entire university course based almost entirely on ‘little did he know,’” he tells Crick, thus beginning their quest to find the writer writing his life story, and, we eventually find out, planning his “imminent demise.”

Along the way Crick meets Ana Pascal, a cute, ornery, down-with-the-man tattooed bakery owner played by Maggie Gyllenhaal. She’s the Queen West to Crick’s Rosedale, but she’s kind and lovable and he’s sincere and earnest, and somewhere along the way, as Crick’s search for the essence of his like leads him down new paths, she decides “I think I might like you.”

The crux of this story though, the real battle, comes when Crick and Hilbert find the author who is writing his life story, and has just overcome writer’s block to pencil out an ending that, like all her other works, ends in tragedy.

And the story that is meant to end with Crick’s demise is a literary masterpiece that won’t be the same if he lives. The question is, will the ending be sacrificed, or will Crick pay the price for literary beauty?

You should go and find out.

Catch a Fire (2007, Derek Luke, Tim Robbins)

2006-10-30T08:24:00.000-08:00

I attended the Toronto press screening for "Catch a Fire," a new film starring Tim Robbins, Derek Luke and Bonnie Henna. It's the fascinating true story of a normal, working class man with no political beliefs who became a political activist/terrorist and helped bring down apartheid in South Africa. I was able to interview Shawn Slovo, who wrote the film based on interviews with the real-life Patrick Chamusso shortly after his release from prison. She is also the daughter of Joe Slovo, the leader of the then-outlawed African National Congress's military wing. Click

here to read my review.

Half Nelson (Ryan Gosling, Shareeka Epps)

2006-10-17T09:30:00.000-07:00

I watched Half Nelson with a friend who hates Ryan Gosling. He has a huge crush on Rachel McAdams and he’s actually met her on a few occasions, and they've had great conversations. On one of those occasions he also met Gosling, whom he says was a jerk.

But, he tried to put his preconceived notions aside and I tried to forget Gosling’s past roles in The Notebook and my personal favourite, his stint as Shawn on Breaker High, and we both tried our best to go into the film with an open mind.

And to be honest, it was easy to forget everything that came before, because Gosling is refreshingly new and genuine in this role. He’s amazing as Dan Dunne, a high school history teacher in inner-city New York.

He’s charismatic and riveting as a teacher and basketball coach who hates establishment and admits that the education system and his role in it are both part of the “machine” that is keeping the people down. He seems to believe in the potential he has to change lives and make a difference though, and it’s easy to accept that he’s the right person in the right place to actually do it.

In his classroom lectures he keeps coming back to this notion that there is conflict in everything. In one scene he describes the American civil rights movement to his black students. Butting his two fists against each other as he stands in front of the class, he suggests that at one time the people in the south who believed blacks were equal citizens were a minority. But they kept resisting against those who disagreed, and eventually, the minority became the majority.

The metaphor is a microcosm of what is going on in his own life.

He’s addicted to crack, and it’s increasingly becoming the majority that is smothering the minority – affecting his decisions and his actions and dragging him down, and robbing from his ability to connect and make a difference in his students’ lives.

He’s convincing in both of these separate roles, and continues to be believable as these elements of his life merge closer and closer together as they battle to overwhelm one another.

One of the most powerful scenes in the film comes when one of his students, Drey, played by Shareeka Epps-- a player on the girls’ basketball team he coaches –- discovers his addiction. He’s a broken man at this point, and she stays with him and takes care of him as he pleads, “please don’t leave me.”

The story hinges on this relationship and the trust that builds in their unlikely friendship, along with their mutual connection to the drug dealer who supplies Dunne’s habit.

And Drey is also in the midst of a struggle in her own life, with opposites doing battle inside of her heart. She’s at a crossroads, and you get the sense that her relationship with Dunne is the factor that is going to lead her down one path or the other – with vital consequences for the rest of her life.

Half Nelson is gritty and pulls few punches. There are some awkward and even painful scenes to watch – one where Dunne chaperones a high school dance while high on cocaine, another where he pays a late night visit to a female teacher, also while high.

This struggle, this ongoing battle that Dunne goes through, is always present. Even when he sinks to some of the deepest depths, redeemable qualities are almost always present, like when he arguably risks his life to look out for Drey despite the fact his own life is a complete mess.

"I had to do something, right?’ he asks.

Like Dunne’s life, and Drey’s, there are lots of unanswered questions and uncertain endings when the credits roll. What is certain though, is that both have real conflicts in their lives, real temptations pulling them away from what’s right, and their choices and dilemmas reflect real life crossroads that we all face -- decisions that have severe consequences.

Their problems are deep rooted, and the film doesn’t sort everything out and tie it up in a neat package because these are issues that simply can’t be solved neatly and quickly. In that way the film is painfully honest and serves as an accurate mirror for real life.

Broken Social Scene takes care of most of the soundtrack, using beautiful walls of sound and distortion to paint the emotional scenery for the film.

I recommend this movie.

Body Piercing Saved My Life (Andrew Beaujon)

2006-09-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

The first record my parents every bought me was DC Talk's self-titled venture into the then fledgling world of Christian hip hop.

It blew my mind.

It was 1991 and I was only 11, but I had already decided that Christian music was definitely not cool. With that cassette tape though, I was forced to accept the reality that Christian music actually, possibly, maybe ... could be cool.

I wore it out, memorizing beats and lyrics and imagining that those words (which were often pretty terrible: "Your life story is like my brakes' sound.") were written specifically based on my life and whatever universe-encompassing struggle I happened to be going through at the time.

Now, it's not like I fully got lost in the world of Christian Rock, or CCM (Christian Contemporary Music as it's known in the biz) from that point on. A year or two later my dad bought me Dark Side of The Moon, and my allegiance quickly transferred to Pink Floyd, where it remained faithfully for a long, long time.

But over the years I've never been too far away from the CCM world, and have often checked out new bands when I've come across them.

In recent years though, some of my favourite bands, such as Pedro the Lion, have been increasingly more difficult to define, mysteriously straddling the line between Christian Rock and the mainstream -- hesitant to reveal too much about where their loyalties lie.

In his new book, Body Piercing Saved My Life, Andrew Beaujon expertly explores the phenomenon of CR, mapping a journey that begins with pioneers like Keith Green and Larry Norman, through to DC Talk and Newsboys and hair metal bands like Stryper, White Cross and Petra, through the massive worship scene and right up to the less easy to classify bands such as Pedro and Sufjan Stevens, Switchfoot, MXPX and a host of others.

Beaujon, perhaps better than anyone else, is well equipped for this task, having covered the subject for years for Spin magazine and the Washington Post. He is in the rare position of being an expert on a subject that few people outside of the Christian community understand or know anything about.

With no religious affilitation of his own, Beaujon is well poised to provide an objective window into a world that is often firmly shuttered to the outside. He accomplishes this, providing a valuable history lesson on the origin and journey of CCM up to this point.

But the book also provides what I hope will be considered a valuable service within the Christian community. BPSML gives Christians the opportunity to see this huge part of Christian culture through someone else's lens. And Beaujon's lens is sharply focused, objective, and even sympathetic to the subject matter -- a rare vantage point for the largely ghettoized industry.

But beyond all that, the reason this book was impossible to put down was because intertwined through its 271 pages of history, bios, interviews and personal anecdotes, is Beaujon's relentless exploration and investigation of why so many Christian-comprised bands flee from being lumped in with the genre, and are even skeptical of having the label applied to themselves as human beings.

Pedro the Lion's David Bazan is sort of a legend for holding tightly onto such a position, despite a huge Christian following and a career that began on Tooth and Nail, the iconic Christian rock label.

Now, I'm a huge Pedro fan, so it was fascinating to read about Beaujon's encounters with Bazan and his friend and sometimes bandmate Tim Walsh, during the year or so he spent researching the book. I get the impression they became friends through the many conversations and discussions they had in various corners of the U.S.

Few of his fans can definitively peg Bazan down. Despite conventionally 'un-Christian' lyrics that include regular use of the 'F-word', and his fondness for booze, Bazan regularly plays Cornerstone, a massive Christian music festival, where he is the blackest of black sheep. But Bazan draws some of the festival's largest crowds with his poignant, sincere songs that explore taboo subjects and question accepted truths.

His now expected Q and A sessions between sets have added to the confusion with statements like "I believe in God and the Bible and everything, but I ain't no fucking Christian."

But then Bazan quotes scriptural concepts to Beaujon about servanthood and following Jesus' example, and passes the apparent contradiction off as misunderstanding.

"There's sort of a qualifier," he says, when Beaujon asks him why he always says no when asked at shows if he's a Christian. "I'm not equating myself with Martin Luther by any stretch, but him and people that were part of his movement stopped calling themselves 'Catholics.' I'd rather there just be a misunderstanding -- 'The guy's flipped out and totally abandoned his faith' -- because it's not necessary for strangers to know exactly how I feel."

I think Beaujon may have come as close as anyone has to actually figuring out the Bazan paradox. And perhaps, by extrapolation, the mysterious, complicated relationship so many 'Christian' bands seem to have with the rest of the world.

Beaujon writes: "Whether it's Bazan's empathy for those who came up the same way he did, or the thrill of hearing a marginally sanctioned heretic ... who's somehow still allowed inside the Christian cloister, Bazan's become a leading figure in alternative Christian culture because he's a reflection of those who can't square their desire to believe with their contempt for the system in which they find fellowship."

Bold words and incredible insight for a self-proclaimed non-believer who really took the time to explore the set of core beliefs that often drive this entire industry.

I'm not sure who Beaujon intends as his readership. No Doubt the book will sell well among Christian emo, hardcore and pop-punk fans hungry for insider knowledge about the bands they follow. But I hope the book also finds an audience both inside the wider religious circle and among those who like Beaujon, have little spiritual attachment to Christian religion.

His perspective can offer Christians the chance to view their own, often exclusive community or 'cloister', through a new set of eyes. The world at large, meanwhile, can gain a new understanding and maybe even an appreciation for the struggles, frustrations, beauty and integrity that is all tangled up in the world of CR, and is brilliantly captured in BPSML.

2006-08-01T15:56:00.001-07:00

Click here to check out a story I wrote for CTV.ca about comic book heroes making the transition to the silver screen (I got to interview Spawn creator Todd McFarlane -- so cool!)

A Scanner Darkly (Philip K. Dick, 1977)

2006-07-05T20:07:00.000-07:00

I’m pretty excited about A Scanner Darkly. The film comes out in two days, and stars actors whom I love -- Winona Ryder, Robert Downey Jr., Keanu Reeves -- and is directed by Richard Linklater (Waking Life, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset) who hasn’t let me down yet -- and is rendered in the dream-like rotoscopic animation that was made famous in Waking Life, which I envision to be the perfect medium in which to tell this story.

I’m so excited that I went to Indigo -- and I hate Indigo -- at least 19 times looking for a copy of Philip K. Dick’s novel by the same name until I finally found it. Of course, Indigo being a lame cousin to Chapters, which I also hate, it only stocks good books when it’s economically viable to do so. And in this case that meant the book, complete with a shiny new “ Now a Major Motion Picture” cover, appeared on the shelves about a month before the film was due for release, regardless of the fact it’s been a brilliant book since 1977 when it was first published.

Well, I sucked up my indie pride and bought it.

Sorry about that long intro. I know I haven’t even started to discuss the book, which I must say, is incredible.

The premise is brilliant, the prose is compelling, and it sucks you so far into a world of drug addiction and paranoia you begin to feel like one of the characters in the story.

Bob Arctor is addicted to a drug called Substance D. He and his friends are pretty liberal in their experimentation however, and everything from booze to cocaine and pot get used in heavy doses, and much of the story is spent describing in fascinating detail their conversations, interactions and efforts to get more drugs, while under the influence.

This unique portal into several lives that orbit almost entirely around drug use would be worth reading on its own, but the story takes the reader a couple of layers deeper.

Fred is an undercover narcotics agent working to infiltrate a group of drug users and dealers to find out where their supply is coming from. His superiors have installed a set of cameras, or scanners, and recording devices into the house where they all live, and part of his work is to review the material for useful evidence and discard the rest.

But one of the side-effects of Substance D is that it establishes a divide between the left and right halves of the brain, in effect allowing the addict to become two people without realizing it.

As Fred infiltrates the group in order to keep tabs on a heavy drug user/minor dealer named Bob Arctor, he is really collecting evidence on an undercover narcotics agent named Fred.

Clever and funny in parts, this story, based largely on Dick’s own experiences and meant as a tribute to many of his friends who lost their lives to addiction, is also deeply dark.

There’s a scene where Fred is hearing for the first time what he is suffering from. He comes to a conclusion that ties back to these words in 1 Corinthians 13 which are tweaked for the title of the book:

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

Fred, through the lens Substance D provides him, is seeing his own reflection in a darkened glass, and as such, he can’t recognize himself, and the realization of what he has become, or a distorted form of realization, sets in and he begins to realize how far he has slipped.

"'Through a mirror,' Fred said. A darkened mirror, he thought; a darkened scanner, And St. Paul meant, by a mirror, not a glass mirror – they didn’t have those then – but a reflection of himself when he looked at the polished bottom of a metal frying pan. … Not through a telescope or lens system, which does not reverse, not through anything but seeing his own face reflected back up at him, reversed – pulled through infinity, like they’re telling me. It is not through glass but as reflected back by glass. And that reflection that returns to you: it is you, but it isn’t. And they didn’t have cameras in those old days, and so that’s the only way a person saw himself: backward.
I have seen myself backward.”

The realization though, is just a step in a process that is too far-gone to halt, and he will fall further before he hits bottom.

There’s deep sadness in this harsh story, but somehow there’s hope and the footprints of redemption too –- maybe those are the traces of what Dick was searching for when he wrote it. If so, I hope he found it.

Art School Confidential (Terry Zwigoff)

2006-06-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

Art School Confidential comes across, at first, as a half-hearted attempt at a gross-out comedy.

And 15 minutes into the film, I was disappointed, and was considering an early exit. But by 20 minutes in I was hooked, swept up by the ridiculous story and contrived characters all wound up in a package that is way too clever, and with a cast that is way too good, to be accidental.

Soon I was riveted to my seat, waiting to see where director Terry Zwigoff (Ghost World, Crumb) was taking me.

The story follows Jerome (Max Minghella) – a freshman, suburban America kid, as he ventures out on his own for the first time in an effort to hone his art skills, meet girls, and become “the greatest artist in the world,” like his hero Picasso.

But this school and the people in it are ridiculous, and he realizes quickly that he may not fit in any better here than he did in high school.

But he falls in love with Audrey, an artist’s model played by Sophia Myles, and his heart gets broken, and he starts smoking and drinking, and he twists some moral guidelines, and maybe accidentally kills someone – and soon he’s surrounded in all the inspiration an artist could ever ask for.

The girl I saw the film with is clasically trained singer. She told me that when she was in school, she knew musicians who wanted to be in a relationship just because they believed the passion and the pain – all the ups and downs of love – would make their music better.

If that theory is true, Jerome finds himself run over by a steamroller of inspiration by the time this story concludes.

But the plot and the characters really are so clichéd, and so over the top, that there has to be more to the message of this movie. I think it’s a mockery of Hollywood laziness. I think Zwigoff took these common clichés to an entirely new level – he really broke new ground in cinematic obviousness – in order to make a statement. I think he’s telling Hollywood ‘look, you guys need to try harder. Look at this brilliant film I made just by recycling all the old clichés and multiplying them by 10 and tying them together with a generic storyline. So smarten up!’

I mean seriously. The list is endless. Jerome’s roommates are a flamingly gay but still in the closet fashion student, and an eccentric film major who’s making a movie about a series of strangling murders that have taken place on campus. (Oh yeah, the subplot is about a serial killer haunting the campus.) And the roommate says the killings are the best thing that ever happened to him because they’re creating his plot for him.

There’s John Malkovich’s character – the jaded artist/prof who invites Jerome to his home and then hits on him.

There’s the more experienced, older art school veteran who becomes his best friend, showing him around, introducing him to people, but disappearing halfway through the movie when his presence is no longer necessary. “I’ve figured out who you are,” he tells Jerome, when it’s his turn to exit the plot. “You’re the class duschbag.”

There are even typecast cops investigating the murder – one who goes undercover as a student – a male artist’s model who walks around casually with everything exposed, and a jaded artist who hates the world and everything in it.

It’s crazy! It’s silly, it’s over the top. But somehow it works really, really well. My friend and I talked about it for a long time afterwards, and I’m still mulling it over.

The cast helps. Steve Buscemi is Broadway Bob, the owner of a café that is known for displaying the work of up-and-coming artists, Anjelica Huston is a professor at the school, Jim Broadbent is the once great, now jaded, alcoholic artist who is fed up with humanity.

And the fact that it, like Ghost World, was based on a graphic novel by Daniel Clowes, helps add credibility to the project.

The ending takes a brilliant twist that somehow makes it plausible that Jerome really is well on his way to becoming the famous artist he dreamed he would be.
And then, at the very last moment, the movie ends with a reminder that this is parody and cliché taken to new heights – and that the viewer should strike a balance somewhere between not taking it too seriously, but not discounting the brilliance that went into every inch of celluloid that comprises Art School Confidential.

It's a Good Life, If You Don't Weaken (Seth)

2006-05-30T09:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve become interested in graphic novels lately. I’m not sure why – perhaps it’s the union of pictures and words that creates such a compelling medium -- two tools, used together to tell a story that wouldn’t be told the same way in any other format.

This novella, by Seth (Palookaville, Mister X), reinforces this new interest.

It’s written in the first person, and tells the story of Seth -- a Toronto cartoonist who becomes obsessed with a cartoonist from the 1950s named Jack Kalloway who signed his drawings ‘Kalo.’

Seth comes across a couple of drawings by Kalo in old copies of the New Yorker, and becomes intrigued by his style and his seemingly brief career.

He becomes even more interested when he finds out Kalo was from a small rural Ontario town, like him, and he begins trying to track down anything he can find on Kalo.

Seth’s interest in Kalo, he admits, may come from his attraction to the past, and the fact that almost anything that hearkens back to a bygone era appeals him.

Pages are dedicated to rambling soliloquy as Seth wanders through old industrial neighborhoods in Toronto, thinking out loud about what makes him tick.

I guess that obsession with old stuff is part of what connects me to the book. I see a lot of myself in Seth and his yearning for a time when things were simpler and better.
He’s scared of the future, which he sees as a societal evolution away from character and beauty.

“Life is about change,” his girlfriend tells him. “I mean, don’t you get excited just thinking about the future? So much will have changed by the time we’re old. It’ll be amazing. Think of the old people today and how much change they’ve seen.”

“Don’t even talk about it!” Seth retorts. “I look forward to the future with nothing but dread. Things are getting worse and worse every year. As awful as things are right now, I’d be more than happy if the world would stay relatively like this until I die. I can’t face the next fifty years.”

But then later, during a conversation with his friend Chet (Toronto cartoonist Chester Brown), that near-rage has subsided and he takes a much more thoughtful perspective on his appreciation for the past – though he arrives at the same conclusion.

“Look how pretty that old building looks against the night sky,” Seth says.

“It’s funny, there’s something in the decay of old things that provokes an evocative sadness for the vanished past. If those buildings were perfectly preserved it wouldn’t be the same.”

“It’s the difference between a dilapidated old farm house and a pristine deco hotel lobby. Somehow that lobby doesn’t convince you of the reality or the beauty of yesterday.

“I’d hate to think that my belief in the superiority of the past was really just a misplaced, over-rationalized aesthetic choice. No, forget I said that. Things are obviously getting worse every year.”

The conversations Seth has with Chet and his girlfriend give the story a human quality. Without those relationships it would verge on near-oppressive naval gazing, but it’s saved by their presence. They, along with the other characters in the book, also help us to see different sides of Seth. With his family he’s frustrated, with Chet he’s comfortable and gentle, with his girlfriend he’s a little more aggressive and possibly trying to prove himself.

Seth’s appreciation for the past is apparent in his illustrations as well as his words. Even Toronto, and Strathroy, Ont. where both he and Kalo lived, it turns out, are rendered in a simple, uncomplicated style that seems to be a throwback to the ‘30s or ‘50s.

Toronto is captured beautifully in the illustrations – but there no sign of the cold, post-modern all-glass office towers or condos that plague this city. Those are ignored, left behind while Seth records the decaying industrial buildings, mom-and-pop restaurants and forgotten local neighbourhoods. It’s almost a historic record of these locales, which sadly, seem to be disappearing from the face of this city as Starbucks and Indigo take over their spaces. Like Seth, I get sad thinking about it.

In his efforts to close in on Kalo, Seth is searching for something. Maybe it’s his own past, or the 1950s cartoonist’s skin he feels he should have occupied, misplaced as he feels in this time and place.

There’s no clear explanation of what he’s searching for or whether he finds it. Those truths are left to the reader to decide. The final, complete picture, though, is of a man’s exploration of nostalgia, discontent, and the realization of the truth behind what one old man shares with Seth.

“When you get to my age, you realize that everything mattered."

Shopgirl: Steve Martin

2006-05-02T18:13:00.000-07:00

The other night my brother and I were driving from Barrie to Toronto at night. There’s a point in the journey, when the city is still miles and miles away, when the road rises and a blanket of lights stretches out across the horizon, serving as a reminder of how enormous Toronto really is.

We got talking about the city, and how it’s really a collection of lives. Millions of human beings -- living, breathing, working, loving. And how each of them is connected, in some way, to others around them, forming tiny little networks and communities, pockets of friendship and community that interconnect and stretch into a giant web that make this city, which sometimes seems so cold, into a beautiful, livable place.

Shopgirl, based on a novella by Steve Martin, explores one lonely girl’s life in Los Angeles, and how she, almost by accident, builds her own little community.
I read the book first. It, like the movie, provided a glimpse into the life of Mirabelle Buttersfield (Claire Danes), a pretty ordinary young woman who lives in the big city, works at Saks Fifth Avenue, and every once in a while draws a picture, in a small way living out the artistic ambitions that brought her to the city in the first place.

She’s lonely, but her issues go deeper than that– touching on depression. She wants to change her life but she doesn’t really know how to go about it, and is just sort of surviving.

“She keeps working to make connections, but the pile of near-misses is starting to overwhelm her,” says Steve Martin, who serves as narrator as well as one of the leading characters in the film.

By accident, two people come into Mirabelle’s life simultaneously, and they couldn’t be more different from each other, right down to the way they meet and their opening lines.

Jeremy, played by Jason Schwartzman, is a sloppy 20-something who has a job stenciling logos on amplifiers. Mirabelle meets him in a Laundromat.
“Hey. I mean hello. Hi,” Jeremy says, by way of introduction. He later tells her: “I’m an okay guy by the way,” and you intrinsically believe this is true, though there isn’t much substance to him beyond the fact that he is an “okay guy.”

Ray Porter, on the other hand, played by Martin, is a distinguished, wealthy, 50-something millionaire. He meets Mirabelle at the Saks glove counter where she works, purchasing a $145 pair of gloves. Disarming, yet giving little away, he leaves an impression on the wary Mirabelle. Later he gives her the gloves with a note that reads: “ I would like to have dinner with you.”

Mirabelle, glowing a little from the excitement of it all, dates both for a while. But inevitably, despite his assurances that he’s “not looking for anything permanent,” she falls in love with Ray and mostly forgets about Jeremy, who goes off to pursue a dream, somehow inspired by Mirabelle to do so.

Ray sweeps her away with well-practiced charm, gifts and maturity that give her a sense of comfort. But in reality, she’s less secure with Ray than she was without him, because his love is fleeting and superficial and he’s searching for something that Mirabelle can’t provide, and that maybe no woman can provide – perfection.

Things between then go okay for a while, but there’s a sense that this can’t last. And then the moment comes when it all has to fall apart.
Ray is planning a trip to New York, and he tells Mirabelle – cruelly though he doesn’t realize it -- that he’s thinking of buying a place, maybe a three-bedroom ‘in case he meets someone and wants to settle down.’

Those careless words break Mirabelle’s heart, but give her the kick she needed to walk away.
“I can hurt now or I can hurt later,” she says, before saying goodbye.

Somehow, Ray is not ready to love Mirabelle and never will be, and despite his early warnings to her, his spiel about “ keeping our options open,” and his attempts to make it clear they weren’t really together, her true feelings took over and she fell in love with him.

In the meantime, Jeremy has moved towards becoming the man Mirabelle needs, and when he comes back into her life, she sees that.

Ray has shown Mirabelle what she needs -- through what he doesn’t possess -- and Jeremy, through the process of life, has developed some of those characteristics and become someone she can love.

And when their paths cross it’s the right time and the right place, and something beautiful happens.

“I’ll protect you,” Jeremy says, now grown up and successful. And his words are just what Mirabelle needs to hear.

“What he offers is tender and true,” the narrator says.

Isn’t that what we all need?