The Best Ticket in the City

That’s how I generally describe all ‘Live! To Air’ events at the Long & McQuade Performance Hall. Insiders will know I am talking about the studio space at JazzFm; 91.1 on the dial and dotFM on the net like Jazz: Jazz.Fm

            June 14: who would know, as I made my way into Toronto, that tonight would be special. The traffic crawled along the side street between Pardee and Lamport Stadium notable only in that this is not normal. Am I too early? The streetscape otherwise deserted except, in Liberty Village, that is part of the charm for me. A neighbourhood yearning for identity not realizing it is steeped in it and just waiting for the rest of the world to discover how great this space really is. The radio station (JazzFM) could not have been put into a more perfect building-Walter Venafro and I are square on that: the building has great bones and the acoustics, well you just have to be there. The sun might also have something to do with this and the skylight that tonight was as much a player as the band.

            Ross Porter was hosting and it could have been anyone but Ross- he- well it could not have been scripted better. Inexplicably Toronto Hydro and ‘power’ was a problem and ‘Live’ tonight could not be ‘to air’. Seating for forty there was a contest and squeezing and holding our breath, sixty or so settled in for Jill Barber and the boys giving us ‘a show and thanks for coming, what a drag, let’s have fun’. My guess is an hour and a half later every one of us knew that we had been part of something special and it would never ever be this way again.

            That is what I think they must mean when it is said ‘discovering an artist’. I’ve heard Jill Barber before on JazzFm  and I liked her voice without being familiar with her work. A radio station that is not a mouthpiece doesn’t sell music by rotation. Heard today and it could be a while before you hear the same track again. That’s one of the reasons I listen; you have to, if understanding is at all a part of your experience. ‘Teaching & Entertainment’ could be this station’s motto. In short, I wasn’t prepared for Jill’s basket of BAM and wonderful lovely. Romantic I guess-stunning and awe is what I remember.

But I was looking forward to summer

I've finished the first draft of 'Level Crossing'. I took a break, if you can call it that, for one day before I began the editing process. In the past this would be a dust up for grammar, structure and form. My primary review would be to double check myself to make sure that I had said what I more or less had intended. Satisfied, it would be put between covers and sent to my publisher. If there was a rationalization there were two. I would follow Duke Ellington's creed: when it is done, it is done; just let it go. The other, that I am in a zone and get back to work before I lose it.

Before this story even began I had decided that this time I would work the project to a polished product before the publisher sent back his notes. In fact it had occurred to me that I might not even shop this one. Just write it because I could and perhaps for my own satisfaction. That I had struggled to come up with a consistent thread or idea bothered me and it took the better part of five months for anything to take shape in my head. Finally though I found something and tried to follow it to it's logical conclusion.

I hated my structure. First person narrative is so arrogant and I suppose this discomfort came from the knowledge that I am not that writer. That may suggest 'Yet' or even 'Never'. It is a terrible weight to carry around your neck when you are trying to be a well of creative thought. For this reason alone I suspected the editing would be difficult and I would second guess myself at every opportunity.

That much is true. My critique so far has been in two stages. First pass I separated all of the dialogue just keeping the paragraph before and immediately after the quotation marks. Smart I thought, it will give me context. My intent, to see if the dialogue was strong enough to carry the story. Second pass was to isolate just the narrative; how strong was my prose. Brutal assessment tactics and when I shared this strategy with a couple of the writer's groups I belong to they thought I was brave and terribly clever. Within a couple of days I had trimmed thirty thousand words off the manuscript.

In edit this is not necessarily tragic. There is a strong belief amongst writers that from the reduction would come other threads that needed to be developed and the word count would return. Akin to trimming a tree so it can grow back. Unfortunately while reviewing the dialogue and then the narrative and then back to the dialogue, I find I don't like it. Worse, it might be horrible. I recognize I am in a vulnerable stage and I should not make a brash move. Editing is like that.

So I am idling trying to decide or forget just long enough so that I can find an informed objectivity.. While I am questioning almost all aspects of the story I am finding strength on a few fronts. My principal ideas are valid, fresh and accurate. I accomplished what I set out to do. My observations are deep and insightful bordering on revealing. It is ahead of the curve. What remains is the notion that I just don't like the story and that doesn't mean it isn't true or important.

When I look for validation and confirmation of my ideas I turn to traditional media outlets, analyze society trends as I see them and the spooky truth, I watch for symbols in my every day life. I know/follow/listen to probably a thousand other writers all in more or less in the same boat. Recently published or trying to and in the middle of marketing and branding themselves and/or their books. These people are playwrights and novelists and come from all walks of life and the four corners of the globe. And I nailed it.

Genres, degree of fame, measures of success and where this industry is going. Now all I have to do is remember that while I am rewriting the whole damn thing.

Jelly Roll Morton

This afternoon the manuscript progressed to a possible ending which I have chosen to ignore. The thought is that there may be a dozen or so pages left lingering in the back of my brain unsure how to come out. So I will let it breathe for a little while and see if I am dreaming or not. The book is a surprise to me considering it took so long to find rhythm and a sense of self. I wandered everywhere mostly leaving no stone unturned. When you dig that deep you always feel that you have exposed yourself beyond a reasonable comfort level and what remains is weak and vulnerable.

This past week I was working with Jazz FM as they prepare for what will be their formal 'Spring Campaign' to raise operating capital for another season. I was talking music and programming with a listener who at one point asked me if I was still in the industry. I confessed I was a writer. The listener invoked an old Hemingway quote about the writing profession being the loneliest in the world. "Yes" I agreed "but those moments in your head when you hit that one long note make it all worthwhile." He liked that and so did I, having no idea where it came from just that it was true. That's where 'Jelly Roll' stepped in. We started talking about Fats Waller and Morton and what jazz is and what it is not. I overheard someone complaining that Diana Krall was not Jazz and someone else that the morning show was not up to snuff.

I looked over to Joanne Clark who was sitting beside me. We had just finished discussing jazz as a maturation of listening skills. She still listens to Psychedelic Sundays occasionally when she is feeling wistful. Which of course got me to thinking about Christie Wills and The Beaumont Studio back in Vancouver. One thing leads to another so Jude Kusnierz was not far behind. It is hard to imagine that I was ever part of that scene and now it seems equally impossible that I was not there sooner.

The net, net in this line of reasoning is that we are where we should be, it is only that our ETA has changed.

Eugene O'Neill where are you?

My plan was to write all day but I am in 'waiting' mode and there is only so much darkness I have allowed for in this book. More than a page and half and this will be not what I wanted. And I don't want that. Ross Porter is on in the background. He is wrapping up his Saturday morning show and playing some great stuff. Jeff Beck right now and the music is a perfect fit with my mood. Virginia Woolf, Tennessee Williams and even Shakespeare's 'Lady Macbeth' managed to find their way into my words. 'Solutions' are not just for stories and dark, dark, dark is where I was at. The book called for it and I cannot get ahead of myself in the narrative arc. Like I said, waiting. The timing and events are out of my hands and that is the danger when trying to inject a bit of truth by the way of reality and present-tense. I feel like a sadist or vulture.

The music this second sounds like a set-up for this afternoon's Spanish romp and I usually will take advantage of the extended cable package here and tune in to channel 746 for commercial-free Jazz Masters before that happens. Although without the Spanish program I would never have come up with 'La Paloma'  in the Dee trilogy ( I cheat. I can't remember if it was 'Dancing Bears' or 'Harem Scarem'. ( I cheat yet again having to look up the name of the latter.) That is the beauty of having a trilogy to fall back on; sweeping generalizations unless you feel obligated like I do now to reveal the lies.) 'La Paloma' or 'The Dove' I had described as the most popular piece of music in the world with a 140 year history. The meaning is reserved for my fiction, buy the series. Oh that's right, it's not published yet. In that case send me a note, I'll send it to you; I am in the mood for requests. (Music must change right now). 746 is now playing.

I am hot or cold and have been cycling back and forth for two days at least, which is it's own madness. I was thinking about Ann earlier this morning. It's gone now but I thought I would mention it. Hi Ann. I just drank what was left of my Red Bull.

Killing time is a sport in North America. In the Middle East it means something else.

In British Columbia they are electing a new premier today. That is to say a new liberal leader. The liberals are the sitting government. Campbell has resigned and has to be replaced. A general election may or not follow. The only opposition really is the NDP and they are a mess themselves. Their leader was also overthrown. I don't think they have selected a new leader yet. Only in B.C. can a liberal mean a conservative. The conservatives do not even exist. Think about that.

When I was living on the coast the first time, I was moved to consider my own political beliefs while the NDP were governing. (Before I forget, thank you Glen Clark; without you there would have been no 'Heart Failure' and as a consequence 'Slingshot' would not have happened either.) B.C. is too far away for Quebec to matter and my idea was to run as the 'Separatist' candidate with the platform to give Quebec what it wanted. If I had been a bit more serious and given the idea more thought and energy, I am sure I could have been elected in Vancouver's 'Quadra' riding to sit, more or less, as an Independent in the B.C. legislature. I was popular enough to reasonably think I could have pulled it off. Hi Sharon.

In a few hours the patio will be busy (jammed) at Rossini's. Saturdays are the Jazz Jam at 4PM and the place is packed. Drinks and sex for all ages. I think the one-night stand was invented there ( I almost wrote 'here' :-). It doesn't take much to climb back into that space suit.) Back to my story; casual sex and we all loved Rossini's for it. The joint would rock. Musicians, artists and regulars gather at the back door smoking pot. The party breaks up at around 8 or 9 and the next crowd starts rolling in about 10. Regularly I would close the place at 2 in the morning and a few of us would hang out after the doors were closed until 3 when we would go back to Harald's and Peter's place and drink on their deck overlooking the city and False Creek and English Bay until 4:30. I was married, no surprise, not anymore.

Their deck was priceless. The flat was a shit hole but the view was stunning and the deck was big. During the summer fireworks season there would be at least 50 of us each night. Drunk or stoned and ready to explode just like the night sky. Those nights also went well into the morning. Then we would brunch on Yew Street, happy to be alive and able to call this home. Vancouver is one of those cities where living there doesn't make sense if you do not live by the ocean. The beaches are a must-have and you hardly ever forgot how lucky you were. In truth without a view Vancouver and life do not add up and the internal conflict is something you try your best to ignore. During the winter months, when it is almost always raining, it is hard to hide it.

Amongst the many things I miss are stories like this one. Spring is easier to identify in Toronto than Vancouver. Anytime after January can be pretty great there. Usually the temperatures have climbed above the 10 degree mark and the flowers are blooming. Everything is so green because of the rain and there are many many shades of green. I remember walking home from the bus stop after work one night and having been raining for some days, the sun came out for a couple of hours late in the day. Say 4:30 to 6:30. I stopped to pick up a coffee on Davie Street to take home and coming back out onto the street I noticed people were smiling. There was no mistake, we were all happy for the same reason. My spirit soared and that it would be gone again shortly and most probably for a few days, didn't matter. The sun was shining right now and it was glorious. I miss that. It is in that way that as a population, we were all more sensitive to nature. We were constantly aware of it. The mountains also helped shape our respect. We thought about things like the size of our carbon footprint. Trees were important. God at all his best is non-religious and God was everywhere. Also why there are many spiritualists out there. Sex just made sense. Love was sharing.

Yeah that's a tough scorecard in Toronto. Ottawa in many ways is similar but it is so cold in the winter and only the summers are worse; the humidity would embarrass Toronto. In Ottawa's favour the people are intrinsically nicer and so many of the women are French. They spend their income on fashion and they are beautiful. Stunning really. That's one of the trades.

Suddenly I am better. Bored still but better. It must be my medication. Ah yes. I was thinking about Eugene O'Neill. That explains it.

'Steve McQueen' and 'Gaga'

It takes time for things to work themselves out. Days like this you have to wonder how long is too long which is a variation of The Smiths 'How Soon is Now'.

On a Sunday night in the last century I was in Niagara Falls or somewhere on the peninsula. I had just checked into my motel room (business meeting next morning) and sat at the desk trying to tune in CFNY and catch the end of the Top 100 songs of all time. The last time 'NY' did this 'Stairway to Heaven' won to the outrage of the jocks and us listeners. Their demographic was way different back then and the ballot system had betrayed them. We were all favorites of The Clash, New Order, Japan, Depeche Mode, The Cure...my list goes on. How could this happen? This time CFNY changed the parameters. We were hoping for a bit of justice to be served.

'Steve McQueen' was the British title for Prefab Sprout's 'Two Wheels Good' album and that was my general frame of mind. When they announced number one I cheered; The Smiths what could be better?

As an adult (you'll see) now (lol and all that) I am listening to more Jazz. The station I listen to is 91.1. Their rotation is not what I turned-on to out of Seattle but it is growing on me and I have found that I am learning about music again. This especially true of 'The Brad Barker' program in the afternoon. Mr. Barker is also the music director. I thought his name was familiar and did a bit of digging. 'The Pursuit of Happiness' no less. Who of that age will ever forget Moe Berg and (wait for it) "I am an Adult Now". The symmetry explodes before my eyes.

If you can, give it a listen. Jazz and 91.1 just might do it for you if you can put away the phone long enough. You might get lucky and he'll be playing some Miles Davis. 'So What' you ask. It will rip you a new one.

Lolita in Hollywood

My mind is all over the place today. All over. It has been a very long time since my head has ached from thinking with my heart and writing and communicating between research. Way beyond functioning and definitely high-level.

Last night 'Singles' was on and I caught enough to remind myself of 1992 Seattle and the head space of a generation born in 69. Amusing and sad.

I think Norway was some part of what this post was supposed to be but the emotion has gone out of it. 'Jo Nesbo' and 'Nemesis' is the book you want to pick up if Larsson's 'Girl' trilogy is an act you want another taste of. Not the same but more satisfying than Mankell and better than 'Indridason' unless Scandinavian angst is your fix. Norway how could this not make sense to me and what was I thinking? One thing leads to another and 'pop' Liv Ullmann. Born in 1938 there are still traces of her beauty in her face. What a talent.

Russia was also on my mind. Tangents again.

Sometimes a great notion

I laugh at myself. This book is going to be one of those that is suddenly finished. I am far from that point but today I began to recognize the signs and decided to go with it. Write until it says stop. If there is a story I will find it in rewrite. I just spent hours putting the psychiatric community on the rack. It's not fair they have no defense and after some time your arms just get tired from hitting them at will for so long. I admit it is fun for the first few minutes.

I think I discovered one of the truths that run through this octopus of a thing and that is 'conformity'. How we do until we don't. It won't run deep but it is there just like throwing stones at organized religion in 'Maacland' and 'Magick'. In fact it has been there all along and I just didn't see it, all the way back to 'Four and a Half Hours'. Which means it has to predate Tofino and really I had moved to Vancouver only weeks before that. The suggestion is obvious.

'Dancing Bears' was a revelatory work dealing with my father's death. Fiction, I masked it as my best friend in the story, which was huge in implication and inference all by itself; book three in a five book series. Only in the NPR interview did I realize it was also my post-mortem  for Dale Sherritt, my real best friend, really dead. It was 'life is like that' and the interview remains my favorite. The symbolism and life never larger it was a fresh breeze and boy did it feel good. It felt great! I treat the 'Dee Trilogy' as a gratuitous indulgence to myself and not a literary achievement which gives me a wide berth for lavish selfish affection. It was also a love song for Sharon (you know it, I've told you, stop blushing and enough protest) and was as perfect as I will likely ever get.

This 'one' has the potential to approach the meaningfulness of 'that'. I doubt whether I will be able to bring the honest truth out, my father's failings as the ridiculous yardstick I hold as the measure of my own life  but it is a story I should tell; maybe just not yet but this could well be the cat out of the bag. It didn't seem such a joke in my youth or my prime but now that many decisions have been made and the results known it is easier to allow myself the vanity of acknowledging how deeply it affected me and the price of being right is often never worth it. The way I just exhaled and paused to pat my knees tells me yes that is it. Now what do I do? Mother is alive and what does that say to her now too late for her to interpret with anything but pain. For what and to what end? This too has been a struggle.

I knew I was on the right path today when I nailed 'silent killer'. Not as advertised but another one and not the least bit different than 'What is man?' and 'Who am I?' The genre may be 'existential angst' and that is why the 'romance' handle may weigh so heavily. Yes it is. Believe it or not this has been another circle. If I am correct in  my assessment of 'Magick' as a 'sixties' retrospective (I am) then this 'one' is too or at least in the same vein (yesterday's 'veins popping').

'Sometimes a Great Notion' was Ken Kesey's second novel published in 1964. His first, from 1962 was "one Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'. Kesey described himself as the link between the 'Beat' generation and the 'Hippies'. 'Sometimes' has been voted number one on a list of the twelve essential Northwest works. I agree it is the quintessential work on the Northwest. That was my Tofino. Ken Kesey equals Tom Wolfe equals Jack Kerouac equals Timothy Leary equals everything I have written. 'Sometimes' is a 'never give an inch' story, union busting loggers in Oregon trying to make a buck and stay alive. The other day I posted something about 'nobility'; it is no accident, they all add up. The 'doll' part a stretch but not really and even 'Film Noir' hangs in the air.

Sometimes I am just in the zone.

Film Noir

Just watch “Out of the Past,” starring Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, and you’ll see. The only moments of true tenderness involve women lighting cigarettes for men and men lighting cigarettes for each other.

That excerpt is from today's 'editorial' section of  'The New York Times. It describes a genre that exists only in looking back. A time when film-making followed conventions of that day and for a while all said much the same thing. 'Men were men and women were dames' or broads, my favorite. Colour changed things but we later learned it didn't have to. 'China Town' reminded us and 'Pulp Fiction' was the modern mirror. 'Doll' is not popular and has not been for a very long time well before Uma's rendition and one of the reasons that film scores so highly with men. Although it is not my point I must formally nod to Dick Dale, his music is the perfect note to paint brash and arrogant strokes of testosterone. The article nailed me in my tracks and forced me to examine my own work and ask tough questions like what is 'noble' and is my life up to my standards. You see 'standards' are the thing. We develop them at a young age and they are not flexible. When our vision was crisp and intuitive we decided what the world was and how we would interface. I don't mean 'what are we going to be when we grow up' but rather 'who'. Yes I know 'conditioning' and 'product of society' thinking; I embrace the philosophy and always have. You cannot distance yourself from the life you were brought into but it is our response that defines us and we started to calibrate our interpretations at somewhere around nine years old. Not even a decade into our run and now we are well into the race. I've outgrown the 'who ever dies with the most toys wins' stage. That was not an outlook just an explanation for our consumerism. It is not a mad dash it is a marathon and 'Film Noir' captured the essence of our nature. That is why it is important that we do not let it die.

Anyhow that's how I chose to interpret the article. A lot of words to say what?

The Film Noir Foundation

Karen Stintz

She is the new TTC Chair. Surely you've seen her on local news clips recently what with the TTC union agreement expiring March 31. I think she is great and watch, she is going to be a star. The is the best politician I have seen on the Ontario stage in the past six years. Mark my words.



Another example to my thread, started yesterday, about how my life is one connected dot after another is this (and I don't try to make this happen; it juts does).

Checking out what 'TCM' is showing over the next couple of days for it '30 days of Oscar' I noticed 'Mourning becomes Electra'. Not the first time I have ever heard of this film it has one of those titles that sticks to my skin like 'Electra Glide in Blue'; 'Electra' may be the key. But on this day the movie that was jogged in my memory bank was 'The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds'. Another film from 1972 stored for it's title not it's content but I remember that it was disturbing. Research was needed.

"Mourning' an update of a Greek Tragedy and "Electra' a complex. Link, it is Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. 'Freud', for the record (ask O'Neill or maybe Quinn), a pivotal discovery in my young academic life that changed the course of my life, forever.

Digging deeper I laughed while reading an account of 'Freud' opposite 'Electra'. 'Freud' had come professionally to label women as the second sex and cited most of his personal-professional experience with them as 'psychological degenerates'. If you know anything about 'Freud' this is a wildly interesting tag. One which would make me laugh.

Satisfied that I understood the Greek original I followed my original line of thinking to 'The Effects....' title and was surprised that Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were involved and whose daughter was one of the stars, namely 'Nell Potts'. Where had I heard her name? More research and I find a historical link to 'Alice Waters'. Her I most definitely know and her restaurant 'Chez Panisse' in Berkley.

'Alice' is very good friends with 'Mikhail Baryshnikov' and together they were featured in one of 'Sundance's' 'Iconoclasts' segments. Sufficiently moved after having seen that original broadcast I wrote Sharon to share what she would also consider to be a perfect convergence of art forms. So struck by the story it told I pirated a few words from the interview and one of it's sub-story lines. Specifically the children's book about dance and the famous conclusion 'Because'. It was 'Because' that became my dedication page in 'Magick' and which I later I explained in detail in the NPR interview.

This was not a self-determined search. It was merely following tangential links in thinking made fast and easy with 'Wikipedia'. It was just like this that I 'got to' Holland and 'Maacland'. When seemingly you experience stuff like this every day it is difficult for me not to imagine them as signs and mileposts. When you are tripping over symbols it is impossible to resist the notion that your express purpose for being here, now, is to capture it in words and tell the story that apparently is begging you to write.

Within this context are 'leaps of faith', the kind where I sit down and begin to let the air out. Whatever it is, it is supposed to be and all I have to do is watch for the signs. I can guarantee you when this is finished you will recognize a little bit of what you are feeling but have not yet understood how to see.

It begins with Lisa.

American:Class of 76

'Ford' was still president and for Ex-Pats who found themselves in the hollow north of the 49th parallel it was the 'American Women's Club' who made sure right hands were placed over hearts. If it wasn't science fiction it was as close as I will ever come to fantasy and I say that with utmost respect. Me not the American, would have traded citizenship on a dime that year if it were at all possible. One of my life's greatest disappointments was that my children could not attain Dual-Citizenship at birth. I was crossing the border by the virtue of marriage and into a good family. I have never forgotten what that summer meant to me but in the roundabout way life has of shaking free cobwebs I am there again.

'Pater' in this case stands as a symbol not likely to be repeated any time soon. What wasn't already 'rooted' was moved from Texas to Toronto as the finishing touches were applied to his makeup. Hand-picked and backed by board consensus R.W. was to be the next President & CEO for a Grandaddy of the Canadian Corporate landscape. One of a very very few business empires that was born here and had grown into a Global Giant. 'Blue Chip' on both sides of the border and annual sales eclipsing 2 Billion dollars, U.S. Back when a 'Billion' really meant something.

The U.S. market was it's biggest share but all other foreign positions significant enough to classify it amongst the elite and premiere Multinationals. The U.K., Europe, Japan and South America all passing topics at one time or another around the Sunday table and the political leaders of the day assessed on intellectual merit. My emphasis was on listening, my best hope to keep up and learn. This was not enough to immerse but the wide-eye training prepared my mind.

Hard to believe that this is where I find myself but the truth is the greatest gift this relationship gave me was access to the library of books held in the study. The man was a reader and there they were. It was a classic education in American Contemporary Thought. 'Drucker' to 'Vonnegut' and if I tired 'Michener' or 'Leon Uris' to lighten things up.

'Patriotism' was not something I was familiar with aside from Canada-Russia in 1972 and that is different, closer to cheering for 'Madden and The Raiders' on Sunday afternoon. Come to think of it, as happy and proud that I was that Canada had won, my favorite player had been 'Kharlamov' and I was ashamed by Canada's criminal strategy to neutralize him. So 'patriotism' not so much in my nature.

By now we all know that when America decides to throw a party it will be hard to match. 1976 was a celebration and I wore the flag with pride. This 'turn' would see me make some interesting career choices, working for U.S. Corporations and being 'The American' in the Canadian Subsidiary. My behaviour/demeanor would have been enough to make me stand out I think but that somehow I had an intrinsic understanding of a U.S. business plan I rapidly became a 'Key Interpreter' and indispensable example of 'The Spirit of the Program'. I have been rarely happier than sitting down in a U.S. board room. My crowning moment taking over the 'Pacific Northwest Unit' and driving 'Alaska' to the top of Division rankings.

There is hardly anything more 'American' than the 'Alaskan' business experience. Comparisons to 'The Lower 48' are not allowed and every other person is from 'Oklahoma'. Asked to explain Canada and I found that I could not without using some reference to 'socialism'. The nearest I ever got to an accurate rationalization was that 'Canada was a really big geographic landmass with not a lot of people, all of whom eager to live an 'American' lifestyle to which governments agreed and subsidized without the revenue to afford'. They 'got' that. I stop short of 'Fifty-First' state preferring instead that west of the Rockies has more in common with Washington and Oregon; Alberta and Saskatchewan with the Dakota's and Montana; Manitoba and Minnesota; Ontario in New York and the Eastern Seaboard as one. Quebec I wish I could line you up with Louisiana but in my equation you get what you want, Separate.

That our foreign policy mimics the U.S. (albeit sometimes poorly) suggests to me what the rest of the world already seems to know; Canada, really, doesn't matter.

I sure love our health-care and without it I'd be in sad shape but in case you haven't been paying attention, guess what, we can't afford it. 'Harper' has been moving us away from it slowly and a two-tier solution is already flourishing yet it is against the law. I see it in Ontario though still only in pockets and in Alberta and to a lesser extent in British Colombia, it is only thinly veiled. A well known former Provincial Premier flew into The States for surgery; it made domestic headlines but no one was surprised and judging by the reaction there was no outrage. 'Goddamn lucky for him' or 'I wish I had his millions' closer to the truth I think. Hospitals have been closing for over a decade and we all should know by now that if you choose to live very far from a major urban center your health-care  solution is not at your back door and neither is your milk.

Our National Leaders point to Vancouver and the success of the Olympics as signs of a maturing identity. Hmm, yes there might be something to that. I was involved in the recent games; organization, back-room, behind the cameras stuff from the days before being named the winning host 'City' They were awarded to 'Vancouver', a city very nearly evenly split on whether this was an event 'they' wanted to pay for. The cheering in the streets and the stands had as much to do with being happy that we didn't screw it up and that it had stopped raining long enough that 'NBC' could get some great camera shots of what anyone in British Colombia is really proud of; the truly breathtaking beauty of the mountains and ocean. Unless 'Nature' fits your definition of the 'Bricks and Mortar' used in building a country, what took place in 'Vancouver' was not 'Canada's' show. My suspicion is that the 'flag-waving' taking place across the border had more to do with 'penis envy'. For anyone born in this country all we ever really want is to be 'American'. Think I am wrong?

What are you watching on television tonight?

Film Festival Branding

This morning started with a passing thought that morphed into what I imagined would be a simple premise and exercise. The synthesis was not so seamless and nothing like transparent, which is a drag for me, spending far more time on this than planned This is precisely the type glop that wears me out mentally, physically and psychically. Let me tell you about it.

If you pay the mildest attention to arts and entertainment media it has been impossible to avoid this year's 'Sundance Film Festival' coverage. I have been a sucker for celebrity, glitz and glamour since I  was a kid tossing footballs under the high wire electrical lines of Toronto's inner-city streets and Joe 'Willy' Namath made headlines for his Superbowl III prediction and playboy lifestyle. Never what I considered to be a cinephile I enjoyed popular film and 'the movie experience' which now seems like it was somewhat easier in my youth. 'The Exorcist', 'Papillon' 'The Sting'  and 'Last Tango' from 1973 sandwiched between 'The Godfather', 'Deliverance', 'Cabaret' and 'The Getaway' in 72 and 'Chinatown' in 1974 were all more or less 'must see' because they were interesting and exciting.

Whatever else was happening in my life I slowly accumulated a list of favorites that in retrospect were pretty good films. 'Bullitt', 'The French Connection', 'Hud', 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof', 'Who Is Afraid of Virginia Woolf' and 'the Long Hot Summer'  are just a few that I have tucked away. It was not until my stint in Vancouver that my mind's eye shifted and my tastes matured and perspective assumed more depth. I can thank two relationships with very different women for this wider appreciation. On one hand I learned things like 'The Player' boasted the longest continuous shot in cinematic history from one and the intrinsic value in Foreign Films from the other. Film Festivals suddenly became important to me and I slowly moved from the passive audience to front row student.

Back in Toronto, during the last two festival seasons there, my ongoing interest in film opened up and engaged me in the hype and promotion found at the edges of screen. A Yorkville venue made Toronto a good sound stage for foreign press as it is one of Canada's few high-end shopping districts where 'real' money lives and sleeps. Film Festivals are a big part of the marketing machine toward success and celebrities from all corners of 'The Industry' are conscripted to attend and promote their latest work. That Toronto does have some elements of 'world-class' and a local population eager for a 'chance appearance' and a 'brush with fame', the crowds are 'no cost' extras exploited by studios as proof and credibility for 'the work' being showcased. It plays well in the media.

Beyond the hype Toronto's Festival organizers are legitimate voices in the world of cinema evidenced, I think, by the fact that the film jury is largely comprised of Canadian nobodies year after year and still the 'best' picks are usually spot on. The 'Best' picks in Toronto are, for the most part, audience selections amid a scope of films being offered up considered expansive and eclectic, representing excellence and importance across a broad spectrum of disciplines and genres.It is legitimately a good product and deserves most of the homegrown buzz. With all of this in mind, my passing thought this morning was that, in the face of 'Sundance' redirecting it's focus back towards it's original roots, could 'TIFF'  emerge as a stronger more significant vehicle for industry self-promotion, increasing Toronto's draw and Festival bragging rights as a 'circuit must'?

Before I could venture my opinion I felt some research was warranted to test what I considered to be true and accurate. Off the top of my subjective head I wrote down the leading Film Festivals both for popularity and industry significance. Let's see, well Cannes for sure, Venice yes, of course Sundance and sort of Vancouver. I looked at what I had written and couldn't believe that was it. I was embarrassed by what little I actually knew. Digging in I wasn't exhaustive in my investigation but thorough enough to state I read up on it. The only additions I made to my list were 'SXSW' and 'Berlin'.

'Berlin' surprised me a little but it made sense. However I cannot recall having ever heard or read anything about it. Held annually in February (no good for a North American audience with Oscars in March) it showcases somewhere in the area of 400 films and has attendance in the range of half a million people. That's pretty significant. This year Isabella Rossellini is the Jury Chair. Last year a film from Turkey won top prize and one from Romania took the silver. 'Roman Polanski' was selected Best Director for 'The Ghost Writer'. Along with Cannes and Venice it is considered one of the 'Big Three' festivals. One of the films that I went to see during TIFF 2010 was a German feature called 'Three' by Tykwer. I considered it to be fabulous and as it's North American Premiere it was sold out. When the screen faded to black there was a standing ovation.The 'World Premiere' had been in Venice and the director informed us during the post-screen discussion that many in the audience there had walked out; evidently the depiction of 'Gay' sex was too explicit and offensive. At a time when 'Six Feet Under' could reach wide critical acclaim it was hard for him to understand. He went on to say that Toronto has always been very kind to his work and wished that our liberal appreciation for art was more universal. I wonder why his 'World Premiere' was not at 'Berlinale' the official name of the German festival.

'SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST' was not strictly a surprise. It gets amazing press and deserves all of it but I knew it only for music.As a film venue my guess is that this event is still evolving. My superficial understanding leads me to believe that this has the potential to parallel Venice in that both seem to have elements of 'Exhibition' 'Festival' and 'Contemporary Art'. "Austin' is hot but Texas in general does not get the kind of exposure you would expect and for Austin to succeed on a film scale, New York and Hollywood need to pull their heads out of their assholes. Believe it or not Toronto, SXSW is the one to watch out for.

Venice, internationally known as 'La Biennnale di Venezia', is the world's oldest and is held every year in late August through the early part of September. This past year it was followed with some controversy that Tarantino, the Jury President, played favorites with his friends and the awards. Top Film was presented to Sofia Coppolla for 'Somewhere'. In 2009 'Lebanon' out of Israel won while Ang Lee presided and in 2008 it was 'The Wrestler' when Wim Wenders sat in the chair. Wenders you may recall was the director for 'Buena Vista Social Club'.

'Cannes' is without doubt the 'Big Daddy' of them all. Spring in the South of France, post Oscars, a May party to kick it off. The 'Palme d'Or' is the prize and in 2010 'Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives' from Thailand was the winner. It was also shown during TIFF and had an extended run at Lightbox. The 'Jury Selection' was 'A Screaming Man' from Chad.

'Sundance' during January in Park City Utah is the champion of Independent Film, Documentary and Shorts. 'SXSW' could very well replace this. Beyond Redford who is driving and Red Carpets on a blanket of snow do not sell. Have you ever heard of 'Berlinale'?

Vancouver or 'VIFF' (It was first with 'IFF'). It runs Late September through Early October and has been kicking it for thirty years. The emphasis is on 'Docs' and South Asian features. It rivals Toronto with 359 films from eighty countries. Last year's winner was "Wasteland' an entry from Rio which is home to the world's largest landfill site.

I know there are others like 'Tribeca' but for now I think this is a New York 'thing' given it is was a post 9-11 tourism response. Like the rest not mentioned 'wait and see' but not soon.

So that's what it looks like from this seat.

For a North American buck I think Toronto could be the next BIG ticket festival but only if Austin does not muscle up first. I like Toronto's chances given it's current position and hope that Piers Handling and Cameron Bailey along with the rest of their staff are up to the challenge. Toronto audiences selected 'The King's Speech' in 2010, 'Precious' in 2009 and 'Slumdog Millionaire' in 2008. All are mainstream and if not exactly vanilla sort of generic winners. What could be more 'West' and 'Best'?

Just in case you were not paying attention.

Happy Birthday Etta James

Sunday Kind of Love


Great music Thank you Etta.



For most of the past year I have been living to the beat of my own drum. Somehow while in this zone I have been ahead of so many curves I cannot honestly count them. Since I stopped working on 'Level Crossing', taking a break as it were, I haven't been nearly so conscious of my own observations and where they intersect with our western culture. Until today.

Yesterday I rambled on about translators and interpretation and this morning I started reading my latest copy of 'Cinema Scope'. I had been looking forward to the Andrea Picard piece for some time and in an attempt to savour the moment  read the essay by 'Jia Zhangke' first. Zhangke is a great Chinese director responsible for 'I Wish I Knew' which premiered ( North America) at TIFF 2010. In his article 'The Bullshit Logic of Patriotism' he recounts his address and introduction to the Toronto audience which required the services of a translator. He qualifies the translator's credentials, in this case a young Chinese woman who emigrated to Canada when she was eight years old, whose colloquial Chinese was excellent but formal speech caused some difficulty. In Zhangke's audience remarks he had stated "a history without details is only abstract" which the translator had trouble finding exactly the right words. Instead in her version it became "a history without details is unclear."

An agitated woman in the audience stood up and shouted that he translator was "distorting the directors words". English to Chinese and back to English and Chinese I guess is the exchange that followed. Zhangke recalls this incident to build the foundation for what are his thoughts on 'Patriotism' and 'Cinema'. It is an interesting article.

This is where I pound my chest. Hear it? Zhangke is an important world voice who happens to be Chinese. I knew absolutely nothing about him or the documentary 'I Wish I Knew" when I lined up for the screening. I bought my ticket on the strength of the images I had seen depicting modern day Shanghai. It looked like how I remember the 'Rust-Belt' in it's glory days with it's filth and decay. China is different from the American experience (which we enjoy here too in Ontario; Quebec and B.C. are unique and separate.) so it is not my intent to draw any inferences what so ever beyond the translated event. In my world view Zhangke is an important figure and what he says given the context of the circumstances should be important in the way that one word can change everything. Based on yesterday's rant, I rest my case.

The weather today in Southern Ontario is quite different from the recent experience. Coincidentally a radio talking head commented that Tuesday mornings are the most depressing of the week. It occurred to me that this might be more true today given relative mild temperature and general gloom of a cloudy day. So what do you think the very next musical selection was? A dreary mellow piece of tripe. This is precisely the time to play something completely different. Something like this:

B-52's

Seems pretty simple to me.

By the way if you ever want to feel humble about what you think you know about film read 'Andrea Picard'. This girl is too much. She blows my mind. I am so glad she works in Toronto; we are lucky and richer for it.

Finally lest I be misunderstood cloudy days are just fine with me especially in winter. This 'gloom' thing is a very Toronto response.

Henning Mankell

Last June while reading The New York Times Book Review I stumbled onto an article about Stieg Larsson and his trilogy. The Times article was more about the phenomenon more than the latest release of 'Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest' and is the singular reason I decided to check out the series. I must have anticipated that a dark, Swedish style would appeal to me and made particular note of other author's mentioned in the article as possible recommendations for further reading, in view of the sad fact that Larsson was dead and his novel voice was gone forever.

For anyone that has read one of Larsson's books, not to say all of them, time passes and life goes on. What I intended as a bit of summer reading turned into a marathon of sorts that swallowed whole chunks of my life. When I turned the last page of the third book I needed a break from his voice so it was a good thing there was nothing else of his to choose from. As I have mentioned elsewhere, when writing my own stuff I find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to read fiction. It is too easy to lose sight of your own voice and what tumbles from your fingers to the page cannot but be influenced by phrasing that is not uniquely your own. It follows then that my own work suffered during, what I coin, my surrender to pulp; a matter I am still trying to rectify five months later.

In an effort to cleanse my palette I turned to anything American which in turn led to American literary classic and which itself spurred a poke at some Canadiana legend. A terrible thought process and now annoyed, I returned to an old favorite, Vonnegut in this case. Where that journey took me is decidedly a different stream of thought from this and one which I have already addressed in a manner of words earlier although to a quite 'something else all together' conclusion. The pause that, pregnant in nature and not yet having reached full term, still tosses around in my head, has more to do with linguistics than art yet art is at the very heart of it.

I've read and studied my share of foreign language thought in fits of Dostoyevsky, Ibsen, Chekov and even Homer's Illiad, if that is not too obviously cheating the idea, without once considering the importance and integrity of translation. In Larsson's work I began to wonder, if only for the use of idiom and Western adaptation. The importance of translator is immense and I should have, long before now, recognized the role for what it is, which in my estimation is Intrepreter. Anyone that knows me only a wee bit would understand the scope of that concept roaming the dark and lonely corridors of my mind. A story from my own life recently recalled and laughed at would seem appropriate and timely.

My Kitsilano contingent can skip this part, all of these words have already fatigued west coast reality and most of you already know the punch line.

A period of medical uncertainty, when Prozac and Zoloft were enjoying their moment as fashionable cures, coincided with my own bouts of erratic behaviour, (which had more to do with an 'unhappy' marriage than an 'unhappy' nature). My treatment took on  an experimental dimension, then commonly referred to as 'cocktail medicine'. The combination of pharmaceuticals and their respective dosage represented a myriad of combinations that, distilled in the right measure and tailored to the peculiarities of each patient, promised 'normalized' life. It's a balancing act between patient and physician as the side effects could be as off-label as the treatment itself and it requires your strict attention if you do not want the cure to suddenly become the illness. Predictably, (isn't hindsight wonderful), Bi-Polar, Epilepsy and Mental disorders were all on the table and not easily dismissed. Consequently they all were treated. Scans (I had a lot of them) followed as did specialist opinions, all submitted to my family physician to digest and re-present to me, filtered and edited as he felt best and finally summarized in the adjustment of medications just right for me.

A neurologist looking at test results determined that I had suffered a stroke at some time albeit somewhat small compared to how much worse it could have been. I was mildly interested though curious could be a better description. Periods of unconsciousness were common for me what with the pot and booze on top of my prescriptions which, interestingly, I never associated with one another. Effect and cause somehow escaped me on this point probably because I had bigger problems to think about. The stroke got my attention; too many stories to ignore and walking with a cane or permanently slurring my words would be too hard to hide.

My physician helped me put it into perspective. The stroke was obviously a minor incident and the scans revealed only a little damage in the white mass area of my brain. Side effects, if they could be called that, were impossible to predict as, in this type of malady, changes in behaviour were too wide ranging in possibility to accurately ascribe to any patient; we would just have to wait and see. Not satisfied I pressed him to give me a few examples of what I might look out for. After some thought he described two different patient cases. The first was a woman who began having orgasms during routine acts of living like walking down the street. I believed he referred to them as 'spontaneous'. In the second illustration he evidenced a man who could no longer remember any word that began with the letter 'P'. I was still unsure but for the most part satisfied; I would have to monitor myself more closely.

My treatment continued and at one point involved seeing a psychiatrist. I think I attended three sessions before calling it quits and dismissing the likelihood that this line of treatment held any answers for me. During my first visit which included so much more than this, I gave him my summary understanding of the issues that plagued me. He took notes and mostly said nothing, ever. Sometime later events conspired to an ending of sorts and I make the decision to return to Ontario. There were many issues that suggested this was a good idea but in my estimation there were only two. My marriage had ended abruptly; I walked out having had enough and without even thinking there was a possibility I would not land on my feet in a few hours resolutely continued to live out the details of my life. One of these details included a routine surgery which, as it turned out, was anything but routine and the fallout was enormous. However what brought me to my knees was suffering a cooking accident which left me with second degree burns on my left forearm. I can handle just about anything and my pain threshold is pretty damn high but burns are mind blowing, life-changing events, period. I could not cope or in the very least, chose not to.

In the process of liquidating my Vancouver position and getting ready to flee I said goodbye to my family physician and at his suggestion took my substantial medical file to a nearby facility to make a complete copy for my next doctor's reference. I would think that there were thousands of pages and notes and I stood at the photocopier, my mind on auto-pilot, copying one page after another. I was trying not to look at the pages preferring not to get any more involved and  just happy to act as a courier between one care giver and another.Inexplicably my eye was drawn to one page and it happened to be correspondence from the psychiatrist to my family physician with his preliminary findings. My jaw dropped when I read "Patient claims not to be able to recall any words beginning with the letter 'P'". Interpretation from an Interpreter. Yes I have strong feelings.

So a Swedish pulp writer and questioning how vested I was in this current entertainment and how much was genre and how much was style. Vonnegut closed and needed something to read I tracked down works from the other Swedish author touted in The Times review, Henning Mankell.

Mankell has published maybe six or seven titles that are a serial and whose key character is 'Kurt Wallander'. I remembered seeing a television listing for a show by the same name on Showcase. Finding the first in the series, 'Faceless Killers', I studied he cover which boasted 'Sweden's greatest living mystery writer'. It is also an international bestseller something which I believe can be said about the entire series. Last night I very nearly finished it saving the last chapter for today.

I'll say this; I have some experience analyzing a writer's early if not first work and was prepared to give him the benefit of a doubt. I purchased the first and second books in the series in order to give 'it' (him?) a chance. Having not yet read the second installment my opinion could change.

It sucks. It blows. It's trash.

What I craved was satisfying distraction and what I had hoped for was 'Scandinavian' 'Noir' 'Thriller'.

'Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' was superb in creating the visual for what Larsson spent hundreds of pages successfully embedding as a minor detail in his book. That is to say the Swedish landscape was not overlooked for it's potential value and interest to a foreign reader. Who does not hear 'Swedish Winter' and immediately think of stark, bone-chilling possibilities and a venue easily as alluring as any created character? Mankell that's who.

Larsson was a pulp writer so we are not talking about a Bergmanesque talent but the suggestion of depth in landscape is hard to resist. My disappointment with Mankell has much to do with the failure of inspiration. His similarity to Larsson stops with 'Swedish Writer'. His appeal should not extend beyond his domestic border and even this is kind.

'Faceless Killers' was written in the early 90's so I was prepared for a different buzz and attraction. But the cover even with warnings disguised as reviews of 'police procedural' could not have prepared for me 'lifeless' spread out over 300 pages. 'Winter' reduced to a 'threat of snow' and 'blowing wind'. The central character (protagonist too strong) also comes to suffer second degree burns only to be treated like a scratch or flesh wound and simple evidence that Mankell is in an emotional vacuum that does not allow for understanding in any way approaching depth. NO soul.

An international bestseller? In what language?

Natalie Portman; Don't speak.

That's how I feel since having watched the Golden Globes on Sunday. It made me laugh to myself while I considered my response; it is after all so stereotypical AND true.The problem was that until now Natalie was not on this list though that was my mistake more than anything else. By now I should have come to terms with the reality that most of the famous thespian set are scripted and without someone else's voice they have little much to say; at least in matters that affect any but themselves and their tiny orbit of real life. Note to self:, a muse is a muse is a muse. This is now number two on my list of 'Twenty-five things that I have learned'; number one and still by a long margin, "Jewish women never leave their husbands'. About that...

I recently read a movie critique that featured one of the most extraordinary observations in perhaps my last decade, namely, "...goal-oriented attitude of 'straight' sex..." There was insufficient context for me to determine if Sicinksi was intending procreation or simple orgasm though objectively it can only mean the former. However as much as it gave me a chuckle and a shazam moment his string of words gave me pause as I considered the zen of tantric sex. Whatever else can be made of that period in my life not enough emphasis can be placed on how 'now' that relationship was. We knew then and that's why there was so much early discussion on burning and infernos. It had a mind of it's own and it was all that we could do to simply hang on and enjoy it for as long as we could.

Sharon will grimace and I'm sorry but what we had in common was that we knew first hand the beauty and transient nature of  true love. Interestingly we did not have it together but with some one else in a different time and very different places. Knowing that it doesn't last forever just that it exists at all was our secret and the source of our bond. From that point of connection all else became possible. A homegrown movie, the Art Gallery for a photograph collection, good wine, interesting beer, fashion and finally Europe. It seems logical that foreign film would continue to stimulate the sense of who we are; together and apart.

Realities of age removed most of the panic although the disparity between ourselves never did entirely melt away. Younger/Older not something that you can ever completely rationalize to both parties satisfaction but you can get close and at the stroke of midnight that it is that counts. One of you has to believe that you are selling out to something and that we both could get comfortable with our motives removed the essence of a hidden agenda. The mask is an important symbol and too often in life it becomes the definition of who we are whether we choose to admit it or not. The longer you wear it the more it becomes you.

During my rogue nights I would offer one or occasionally two zingers that I could, with some degree of confidence, be sure that it would prove too much to resist. One, men need to be with younger women because women are intrinsically more mature of the two species and the age gap is something to be respected as necessary for a mutually rewarding intellectual and emotional union. Two, I would introduce myself as a writer. When pressed for genre I would volunteer reluctantly that I was a poet. The hook nearly set, invariably the next question would reveal 'for children'. Most nights I could hardly stop myself from laughing and sometimes even this was allowed sinking the lure deeper. I think it is interesting that some of my most memorable nights as a bachelor came while I was married in Vancouver. An important distinction being that it was memorable because it was having fun with sexuality and not sex .

My second marriage was a business partnership in that it was predicated upon real estate and asset/wealth management.Of course that's not how it started but it is definitely how it ended and why it is was so easy to walk away from. In the final analysis money doesn't mean anything to me.

Vancouver allows you to see many versions of life through the same lens. Reality is subjective on the coast, like treating everyone with the same pill for wildly different symptoms and having better than fifty percent results. 'Marriage' is not the deal breaker out there; rings don't matter, happiness does.

Similar to Ottawa in that the ratio of women to men is in a man's favour by as much as four or five to one, odds are further exaggerated in Vancouver by the presence of a  large gay population. If you lived in Kits, were straight and had a job nothing else mattered and everything was just a question of logistics. In an earlier age this spirit was characterized by 'Free, White and Single' and 'Free' was intended as 'Not a Slave' in much the same way I described 'Goal Oriented Straight Sex'.

The best counter argument I have ever been faced with is "if you leave your wife for me, you will eventually leave me too" but even this came after the fact. She had to think about it for a few days and when confronted in a matter of fact discussion I could only nod, not quite sure I agreed with the conclusion but unable to debate the math. It was a realization that neither of us wanted but now that it was said out loud there was no other option than to respect the logic and remain friends. That was Joanne; I was never serious but that was just a detail. What a girl and everyone agreed she was mine.

Recalling all of this I begin to understand how what is happening in Italy makes sense. You must not pay.

Black Swan

Back in September there was a lot of buzz for TIFF, downtown and not in the press, as crowds scampered for a copy of the festival guide and while standing in line to pick up their subscription picks. No matter what you personally thought, it was clear 'Barney's Version' and 'Black Swan' were the tickets, the red carpet and the gala you wanted to be at, if the thrill of the moment turned you on.

My picks were made and my budget did not include either as a last minute inclusions besides the films I was scheduled to see presented major conflicts with time and days in the festival. I do not know that of any of the films I did see I would, by the benefit of hindsight, have dropped in exchange for the big screen experience and the orgy of having been there for either of the other two though I could have lived without ever having watched a film at the Elgin Theatre, a mistake I will never make again. Say what you will about the grandeur of the venue, The Elgin is not my idea of a cinematic moment.

It was precisely because of TIFF that I broke my rule on Richler and bought a copy of his book, now in reprint to cash in on the movie's popularity. As expected I found it a memoir from an angry old Montreal Jew that was not a terrible read if you could get past the tone, tenor and text, which is to say, it is impossible to overlook any of the negatives while attempting to enjoy the story. For me the best I could hope for, was to understand it. The Giamatti casting choice struck me as absurd only because it was perfectly type cast for the range of characters he tends to play. That I bothered at all is more about being a pseudo-cinephile and nothing at all about being Canadian. 'Black Swan' on the other hand was completely, something different.

Natalie Portman would be high on most guys lists well before she reached the legal age of consent and this film seemed a perfect break out role for her as a woman. That symmetry that made this irresistible was in that the character is a flawed artist. I know she has had other roles since 'Beautiful Girls' but for the most part they failed to cash in on the artistic prowess she demonstrated as the 15 year old ingenue. You knew by the strength of the trailers that this would be Portman's role and it is. She is incredibly small, her stature a mere 5'3 and if she tips the scales at more than a hundred pounds I would be surprised, elements which come together nicely as a ballet dancer and doing what film does best, allowing her to play a younger character.

Whatever insight I have into the world of dance comes courtesy of the character study I was able to undertake while in a relationship. Gail Gerber, once described as 'one of the most beautiful women in Toronto', is a west coast girl; cousin-cum-sister of Sharon Cullen, one of the truly great loves of my life. Together their intent was to regale me with tales of Terry Southern, the great dialogue writer of my time as witnessed by 'Magic Christian', 'Dr. Strangelove' and 'Easy Rider' ,who was Gail's illicit lover until his death. He stole her away in her youth when he was already married and severely wasted and ravaged by lifestyle and to some extent by age. Gail's Hollywood career never amounted to much after Terry and it is doubtful in today's light if 'Beach Blanket Bingo' could suggest that her career was seriously destined for any more than being a beautiful babe. Her undeniably legitimate talent was as a 15 year old dancer with Les Grandes Ballets Canadiennes based in Montreal. Tripping on acid while dipping toes into the water surrounding Bowen Island, her feet evidence of a life in the dance world. Twisted and deformed you would wince trying to imagine the pain endured over a lifetime of trying to be perfect and 'to fit' as in belong. Essentially the same storyline in 'Black Swan' and told more in images than articulated through dialogue.

Aronofsky is largely unknown to me as a director, I was unimpressed by 'Pie' the mathematical piece in 98 and I am not enough of a Mickey Rourke believer to have put 'The Wrestler' on my list. In 'Black Swan' he does nail the essentials needed to provoke an emotionally understood story in spite of glaring improbabilities of script. Easily one of the most powerful and intense film experiences in my recent memory.

Portman in my opinion didn't sell out for a pay cheque in this and was able to avoid nudity in what seems like an impossible pitch. Sex and sensuality are the bedrock of this story and are portrayed for the most part in the stage production of Swan Lake which intrinsically is the truth of this story. Ballet like wrestling, it would seem, are blood sports.

I treated myself to a big box screening for my birthday. There were nine of us including myself. It was not TIFF but that is all that was missing. Zowie like 'Hud' only different.

Breakdown in Arizona

The shooting spree this week triggered memories of a film I was lucky enough to catch during the festival last September. I had completely forgotten about it, I'm sure thinking that it's commercial release would stoke the archives and let me consider it more completely away from the hustle and crush of too many 'must-see' on too few days. Oddly if there was a commercial release it sure didn't last or I was totally asleep and missed it. My guess now is that this movie will be watched during a relaunch. The film is 'Beautiful Boy' and if it were not for a comment I made in passing yesterday during news clips from Arizona I doubt I would be sitting here writing this now.

My discovery of my subconscious filing system was in that I recalled the story line in 'Beautiful Boy' as being about the parents of a fictional youth also driven to massacre before taking his own life. I described the home life as 'normal' middle class American. Researching the film to see what else it claimed to say at that time, I realized that my version of 'normal' is that the parents presented in the opening scenes of the film are dealing with an amicable separation and divorce when they get the news. Their son is depicted as 'odd' if not just socially sensitive and removed and his acts are received by the parents with shock and horror. The rest of the film explores the impact on the parents.

Needless to say it is a heart wrenching story that left me numb.

In the wide scope of lives lived I believe this is the type of incident psychologists and economists label as 'major life trauma'. That I would consider successful yet unhappy couples in the throes of a divorce proceeding as 'normal' stupefies me and finds me searching through my own emotions, recollections and motives. One of the few quotes I still remember with ease from own father was when, as a teenager, I was heading off to Europe. He phoned me from work to remind me that whatever I did 'over there', I would be still responsible for, back here at home. Not just a vacation warning it is also a judgment on a long list of ways we affect the world order outside of ourselves. Our own children being one of the most permanent footprints we leave in our wake.

The film suggests that the murderer came from a loving home and probably, by his parents standards, had a predictable and consistent exposure to all the expected elements of a socialized family and only- child in the early developing years of life. In his room, cub scout badges and other traces of the tiny accomplishments we consider 'forward' and 'hopeful' from a parent's view point and that we understand from personal experience as a few of those mementos we ourselves collect along our way as treasures or milestones. It is only through the adjusted eyes that another interpretation seems possible.

The parents have left their home to hide out and avoid the barrage of reporters camped outside their door hoping for an explanation to make sense of this or drive the story into hyperdrive with further evidence of madness and blame. A late night return by the father to gather up some clothes and belongings has him discover an intruder is his son's former room. The culprit is taking pictures with his cell phone and speaking to a friend on the other end about all of the things he is finding. It is obvious this is an old friend or acquaintance of the boy who the intruder describes as 'the freak' when discovering some long ago badge of courage still on display in the bedroom. "Can you believe he kept that?" the mocking, evidence of at least some aspect of childhood that was not 'normal' if we are still allowed to equate 'normal' with 'happy' which, if not the film's objective, is very much my point.

'Normal' and 'Happy' should not be regarded as interchangeable concepts in any context.
Somewhere along my own line, I drank that kool-aid and modeled great chunks of my life around simple and innocent precepts just like that. It's a real drag when you discover you are wrong and if you were mislead, it was only by yourself because in the final analysis, we are the only filter for ourselves. I think it is a given that we discover life's tiny lies as we age and one after the other we are able to put the true picture together in our heads as we gradually mature and are better able to deal with it. It no longer has a shock value, the crust we have built up is like our suit of armour to protect us from ourselves and the misconceptions that have driven our path in a direction we choose to regard as forward. For most of us that is our gun.

Every time something as tragic as Arizona happens we swear we will learn something from it and do something differently to avoid such a catastrophe again. Even as we say it, we know this is one of those tiny lies that we will never be held accountable to except in our own pangs of conscience when it happens again. There are many tangents of thought that could follow if this is a starting point and predictably many are already being explored in the media. The debate in the States, something we can probably recite by heart, which of course has nothing to do with 'heart'. I have avoided reading most of the Op-Ed pieces precisely because they will, at their centre, build up from the premise of the 'right to bear arms'. In this instance I am glad that 'CENTRE'  is a word with a different spelling in the country I am writing from today. All the evidence I needed was a sound bite from the PBS newscast last night that reported that some State politicians in one of the Carolina's, among other States, had decided to begin carrying a concealed weapon as their response to the threats and dangers associated with holding public office. The tragedy and lament which is now the lives of those that have been touched in so many irreversible ways fills me with anguish.

I am finding myself considering the effects of social conditioning and the notion of genetic failure. The tools we have inherited from our father's father's father have very little to do with the world in which we live in today. How have we really been prepared for 'out there' beyond the realities of fire, food and shelter? Priests, coaches, doctors, teachers, leaders, corporations and governments fill the headlines with corruption, rape, murder and molestation. The window for 'parenting' is very narrow and in the fury to survive, which seems dramatically redefined, there is a greater reliance on society to shoulder the responsibility for grooming the generations of the west. Peers are not necessarily friends and technology has been given the mandate to raise our children and create the foundation of what we know and believe. Occasionally we learn that the system has let us down and left some one behind and we hope blindly that it will not be one of us or some one that we love. 'Mother's little helper' has become a machine not fully realizing that this one was actually making anything.

I don't find myself believing that Arizona has anything to do with technology, society or necessarily bad parenting but it does lead me to question just who is listening for the cries of something not quite right.

Il Conformista

Yesterday was an early present to myself, delivering on my promise to catch at least one Bertolucci and Chaplin screening running at Lightbox. Of the two, Bertolucci was the must-see and Chaplin a guilty indulgence so it didn't matter which of his silents was available. What was non-negotiable was 'IL Conformista', sucker punched ever since I laid eyes on the 'still' advertising the Bertolucci program from '180', the TIFF magazine. Bertolucci, "Fascists and F**king" his trademarks but what burrowed deep within my skin was the colour, described as lush.

This whole 'film' thing I am going through is about my late life attempt to understand what it is exactly that fascinates me in the movie genre. I have diligently made a list of the films I must see that are important to the age and the process. What I take away from each screening differs widely from critic's reviews largely because I don't possess the skills to properly analyze the packaged product, left instead to interpret along the lines of what moved me or simply caught my eye and on occasion lucky enough to 'get' that there is a deeper meaning and even more rarely actually figuring out what that meaning was. Symbols are like that, not always labeled beacons. 'Il Conformista' was like that.

As I have stated before foreign language films force you to comprehend the film largely on the strength of images so this screening was a match made in heaven for me. One of my first observations was how minimalist the dialogue was; I would guess that since Bertolucci wrote the screenplay (which was an adaptation from a novel) that this was closer to a shooting script. At one point I even questioned whether there was more talking in 'The Gold Rush' which of course is silent. 'IL Conformista' illustrates what would be Bertolucci's apparent style and later signature. It reminded me of Fellini and Godard; Fellini for the Freudian overtones and Jean Luc for the choppy scenes. That it is a story told in flashbacks adds to both components.

The big deal was the colour and the use of light and shadows. Beautiful and exquisite I also wondered if the lushness had anything to do with the use of filters. The feel is familiar both for the roots in the story telling and for the style and fashion of the period. If you have seen either the film 'Reds' or 'Apocalypse Now' you would feel at home since 'Il Conformista' is done by the same cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro. Cinematically, it is close to perfect. His style is refined with age, both Storaro and Bertolucci were 30 when this was released. Their age was something I had to know and it is further proof of the possible truth that we are fascinated most by the decade preceding the one we ourselves were born in. 'Il Conformista' is grounded in the thirties of Italy and by extension France and Germany.

Another 'age' aspect that fascinates me is the actors. The dark haired Italian beauty 'Giulia' is played by Stefania Sandrelli who would have been 23 when this was made and the blond seductress 'Anna' is an unbelievable 19 year old Dominique Sanda. Remarkable not so much their performance but their poise and credibility continues to shame most modern attempts at film. Did I mention this was released in 1970? It hardly seems possible but also explains why this was evidently fresh in Coppola's mind when making 'The Godfather'.

'Giulia' is described as a 'Kitchen and Bed' wife which you come to understand but also stands in large contrast to the pavilion dance scene which is the show stopper. It is fitting that the '180' still used is from this suggesting the power of colour and politics that marks this film. I consider myself lucky that YOUTUBE has a clip which I have included with a scene from near the beginning when we are introduced to the soon, bride-to-be. Stunning.

Giulia

Dance Scene