Moonshine Island’s storybook feel was enhanced by the use of primary colours; I knew the background was going to be mostly a green canvas, due to the bush, so Tanya and Dexter needed to stand out. Their red and blue T-shirts did the trick and also really suit their characters. Likewise, there are strong, rich colours with the tents near the beginning, and later, a solid yellow boat – one that I got as a kid – which has since gone to powerboat heaven.
In this next scene, Tanya and Dexter wake up in a beautiful, lush green bed of ferns. Just a stone's throw from the cottage, there's a fantastic crop of ferns that covers a wide area next to a large ravine. The establishing shot was taken from the top of a tall ladder, and to follow the kids as they crawled through the ferns (which provides great cover from the hermit) I built a makeshift 'jib arm' out of a 16' plank of wood and attached it to the tripod. It's also a scene which provides some necessary comic relief: Dexter successfully annoys Tanya enough that she pushes him to the ground, where he finds a raspberry patch - the very reason they went into the bush in the first place. The last shot - a stationary one - took several takes because of timing, head placement (Jeremy coming into frame, without blocking Keri) and her reaction to his line. Such a simple shot, but ridiculously hard to get right.
I wanted to shoot a portion on Turtle Lake – one lake away – because there was a tall chimney on a tiny island that I wanted to incorporate into the story. It was also an excuse to go on an extended boat trip. So Jeremy, Keri and I packed up the little boat and went for an hour’s ride. I was shocked to find that after several decades, the massive chimney had collapsed. I never knew if it was vandalized or had finally just eroded. I decided on the spot to make up a little segment where Tanya realizes the pile of rubble is a desecrated burial ground, and she could sense something on the island other than ‘that crazy old man’ – alluding to the Indian spirit that is yet to come. I was worried the scene was going to be hokey and patronizing, but as I watched it recently, I found it to be haunting – even moving. The soundtrack (by Lorne Thompson) made it otherworldly, and Tanya’s narrative voiceover – which was recorded later by a girl named Cheryl, sounding much like Keri – had the right mixture of solemnity and allure to pull it off.
Ah yes, the wolf head on a stick. It was my grandmother’s…
(To read the next part - click on 'Moonshine Island - Part II' at the bottom of this page).
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Canadian Film Rant
There was an amazing amount of Canadian talent on display during this past Sunday’s Oscars. It’s a shame these artists all had to run to the States to pursue their life’s ambition, but who can blame them?
Canada is a disparate country and doesn’t have the critical mass to support a proper film industry; but has this always been a reason or an excuse? (And why am I ending each paragraph with a rhetorical question)?
I write this now, spurred on by today’s Editorial in the Globe:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/commentary/editorials/the-canadian-caper-goes-hollywood/article9038307/?cmpid=rss1&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=twitter
The following paragraph, taken from the article is what caught my attention:
“A little consternation is deserved – perhaps even obligatory – but it’s worthwhile asking why we don’t do a better job at creating our own myths through film. A relatively small audience, poor economics, competition with the behemoth next door – all true, but all excuses, somehow, for a lack of vision and power. Quebec filmmakers have been producing strong films – including Rebelle, an Oscar nominee for best foreign-language film, the third year in a row for a Quebec film – and are showing that it can be done.”
Yes, there seems to be a huge contingent of young, upcoming Quebec filmmakers making internationally relevant films. I thought Rebelle, by Kim Nguyen was excellent – about child soldiers in Africa. Denis Villeneuve made Incendies - which was superb – most of it taking place in a fictitious city in Lebanon. Monsieur Lazhar, by Philippe Falardeau was up for best Foreign Film last year. Denys Arcand – another Oscar nominee – is presently shooting his latest feature in Montreal.
These Quebecois films have something in common: their stories exist elsewhere – although Monsieur Lazhar is an Algerian teacher who comes to Quebec – so they’re not exactly experiences shared by the average Canadian.
Passion, vision, insouciance, and integrity – these are words that describe this new breed of Quebecois filmmaker. But where is the new breed in English Canada? I think it exists; there just isn’t the cultural infrastructure to support it. Telefilm Canada is a starting point, but like any governmental agency, it’s a bit like walking blindfolded through Perseus’s labyrinth. (Is that called a mini-tour)? And Richard Stursberg – that clueless cultural mandarin – nearly brought Telefilm to its knees with his senseless Draconian blather. He then moved on to ravage the CBC – another strange and baffling chapter in the Anals of Canadian Culture.
As far as film distribution on television is concerned, European and UK models have been around for a couple of decades now (Canal Plus, BBC 4, etc.) and they’ve been telling their stories to great effect for a generation – distributing them around the world. (Even Quebec has TV5 which reaches 207 million households in close to 200 countries and territories on five continents – English Canada has nothing even close to that). Why the CBC – which receives over a billion dollars a year – doesn’t scour the country for young hotshot filmmakers is beyond me. All CBC has to do is play the role of Executive Producer and finance low-budget films directed by 5 or 10 hyper-talented directors. It’s not like the Crown Corporation is taking any kind of risk, mortgaging homes, or making deals with the Mafia like certain American Producers. The problem is, in order to make these films, the CBC may be taking a few dollars away from the 20,000 bureaucrats and bean-counters who seem to be the raison d’être of their very existence. It’s almost criminal that CBC television has been around since the late ‘50’s and their really good dramas can only be counted on a few fingers and toes – usually made by independent directors. Now the mandate seems to be the making of lame docu-drama biopics of politicians which no one would ever pay to see in theatres.
I humbly suggest that a cultural round-table should be brought into existence, with filmmakers, producers, distributors and television honchos, (Norm Bolen, Robert Lantos, Norman Jewison, Kevin Tierney…are you reading this?) to discuss how English Canada is going to survive this multi-media boom in spite of all the wannabe moguls who seem to have a stranglehold on the purse-strings and misguided decision-making.
Perhaps it should take place in Banff, chaired by people who have already experienced the process in their own country – countries such as England, Ireland, France, Germany, Norway, New Zealand and Australia. These are places which have told marvelous indigenous stories on shoestring budgets and have made their inhabitants proud.
Canada is a disparate country and doesn’t have the critical mass to support a proper film industry; but has this always been a reason or an excuse? (And why am I ending each paragraph with a rhetorical question)?
I write this now, spurred on by today’s Editorial in the Globe:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/commentary/editorials/the-canadian-caper-goes-hollywood/article9038307/?cmpid=rss1&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=twitter
The following paragraph, taken from the article is what caught my attention:
“A little consternation is deserved – perhaps even obligatory – but it’s worthwhile asking why we don’t do a better job at creating our own myths through film. A relatively small audience, poor economics, competition with the behemoth next door – all true, but all excuses, somehow, for a lack of vision and power. Quebec filmmakers have been producing strong films – including Rebelle, an Oscar nominee for best foreign-language film, the third year in a row for a Quebec film – and are showing that it can be done.”
Yes, there seems to be a huge contingent of young, upcoming Quebec filmmakers making internationally relevant films. I thought Rebelle, by Kim Nguyen was excellent – about child soldiers in Africa. Denis Villeneuve made Incendies - which was superb – most of it taking place in a fictitious city in Lebanon. Monsieur Lazhar, by Philippe Falardeau was up for best Foreign Film last year. Denys Arcand – another Oscar nominee – is presently shooting his latest feature in Montreal.
These Quebecois films have something in common: their stories exist elsewhere – although Monsieur Lazhar is an Algerian teacher who comes to Quebec – so they’re not exactly experiences shared by the average Canadian.
Passion, vision, insouciance, and integrity – these are words that describe this new breed of Quebecois filmmaker. But where is the new breed in English Canada? I think it exists; there just isn’t the cultural infrastructure to support it. Telefilm Canada is a starting point, but like any governmental agency, it’s a bit like walking blindfolded through Perseus’s labyrinth. (Is that called a mini-tour)? And Richard Stursberg – that clueless cultural mandarin – nearly brought Telefilm to its knees with his senseless Draconian blather. He then moved on to ravage the CBC – another strange and baffling chapter in the Anals of Canadian Culture.
As far as film distribution on television is concerned, European and UK models have been around for a couple of decades now (Canal Plus, BBC 4, etc.) and they’ve been telling their stories to great effect for a generation – distributing them around the world. (Even Quebec has TV5 which reaches 207 million households in close to 200 countries and territories on five continents – English Canada has nothing even close to that). Why the CBC – which receives over a billion dollars a year – doesn’t scour the country for young hotshot filmmakers is beyond me. All CBC has to do is play the role of Executive Producer and finance low-budget films directed by 5 or 10 hyper-talented directors. It’s not like the Crown Corporation is taking any kind of risk, mortgaging homes, or making deals with the Mafia like certain American Producers. The problem is, in order to make these films, the CBC may be taking a few dollars away from the 20,000 bureaucrats and bean-counters who seem to be the raison d’être of their very existence. It’s almost criminal that CBC television has been around since the late ‘50’s and their really good dramas can only be counted on a few fingers and toes – usually made by independent directors. Now the mandate seems to be the making of lame docu-drama biopics of politicians which no one would ever pay to see in theatres.
I humbly suggest that a cultural round-table should be brought into existence, with filmmakers, producers, distributors and television honchos, (Norm Bolen, Robert Lantos, Norman Jewison, Kevin Tierney…are you reading this?) to discuss how English Canada is going to survive this multi-media boom in spite of all the wannabe moguls who seem to have a stranglehold on the purse-strings and misguided decision-making.
Perhaps it should take place in Banff, chaired by people who have already experienced the process in their own country – countries such as England, Ireland, France, Germany, Norway, New Zealand and Australia. These are places which have told marvelous indigenous stories on shoestring budgets and have made their inhabitants proud.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Mort Drucker - Caricaturist Extroardinaire
Once upon a time I wanted to be a syndicated cartoonist and make lots of money, or become an animator, like Chuck Jones, and make millions of people laugh. Now I'm content being a lackadaisical part-time caricaturist. But for this reason I'll never reach the calligraphic heights of my idol, Mort Drucker.
As most people know, Mort Drucker is the Michelangelo of caricaturists - from any century. He joined Mad Magazine in 1957 and has been, by far, the best satirical illustrator to ever grace the pages of a magazine. His naturalistic style and supreme draftsmanship have influenced literally thousands of artists, and his movie satires for Mad are as memorable as the movies themselves.
His Godfather parody is one of his personal favourites; below is a detail of the original art work. Drucker's trademark use of expressive hands are in evidence here. He creates them (and everything that he draws) with minimal pencil work. His penmanship and knowledge of hand construction is without peer. Even Charles Schulz rhapsodized about Mort's 'handiwork' and wished he could draw hands like him.
I once visited the great man at his home in Woodbury, New York in the the late 80's. It was a bit like knocking on G. F. Handel's door while he was knocking off some oratorio; I was witness to the spare bit of pencil on his Strathmore paper just before he was going to ink the likes of Tom Cruise, Paul Newman, and Whoopi Goldberg. It was as though he had just written a figured bass, and was about to extemporize with a magical crowquill pen and India ink. "You're finished the pencil?!" I asked, incredulously. The Master humbly replied: "Yup." The inked result is what you see below - one of the many Mad Hollywood satires.
Mort Drucker told me that everything had to do with texture - something he's always striving for: "Hair has to look like hair; flesh like flesh..." Texture in Drucker's work is something that was evident to me since I was a kid - copying his work. I tried to draw brick walls like he drew in 'The Sting,' tweed and herringbone jackets, as he had drawn in so many satires; black leather, as in his jackets or shoes. But it always came back to the texture of the skin, the texture of the hair, and always, those miraculous hands. There have been hundreds of imitators, but no one with the unerring skill and sheer bravado of line. Below is an example from Drucker's satire of Rob Reiner's 'Stand by Me.' It contains many different textures and an exceptional, intuitive sense of form, volume and space.
We talked for hours about many cartoonists, including my late friend Jim Unger, of Herman fame. Drucker asked if I knew Lynn Johnston...I didn't know her then, but certainly got to know her once she moved to North Bay. My visit was coming to an end; I had been chatting for three hours with the mentor of my youth - one of the great artists of the twentieth century - and perhaps one of the nicest people I've ever met. Something I finally had to ask: I'm sure many artists have wondered this about Drucker, because he really comes across as a true original - I can't think of anyone quite like him. "You've influenced everybody on the planet, but who influenced you?" I was expecting him to name some completely unknown caricaturist from the 19th century - whether he be English, Italian, German, or French - maybe Kley or Daumier. His answer took me by surprise: "Oh, that's easy...Ronald Searle!" Of course - one of my favourite illustrators, and it never even occurred to me. (Searle died in Paris barely a couple of years ago, in his 90's). Searle's skritchy-scratchy, feathery lines occasionally do show up in Drucker's work, and sometimes the Mad artist pays complete homage to him in some of his spot-character designs. Here's another piece in my collection, by Ronald Searle
Below is a Mad cover by Mort Drucker: Al Pacino as 'Serpico' and Dennis Weaver as 'McCloud.'
Drucker has said he's a little uncomfortable when using colour - it's always new territory for him, since he's been a black and white fellow most of his life. But his experimentation in colour has led him to Dr. Martin's coloured inks, which he dilutes and uses in a painterly fashion. Here's a scan of the Mad original of the entire cast from 'LA Law' - the colour has been used more sparingly; it's not as opaque as the Serpico cover.
A comprehensive book of Mort Drucker's work for Mad Magazine has just been released as of this past week. The several Forwards have been written by leading filmmakers:
Steven Spielberg, Director, Jaws
"Mort Drucker's timely sense of parody mixed with commentary first made me aware of the culture of our generation. Mort's irreverent and historical caricatures have never been nor will they ever be equaled. He poked fun at all my favorite movies when I was a teenager and when I was a filmmaker, he started going to town on the ones I was making and I loved every frame of his."
Joe Dante, Director, Gremlins
As a lifelong MAD devotee from the time it was a four-color comic, I can tell you that there are few thrills in life quite like seeing your own movie parodied in the pages of MAD! So you can imagine my shock and glee when I glommed on to the cover of the September 1984 “Grimlins” issue with Alfred E. Neuman as Gizmo, surrounded by horrified Gremlins holding their noses behind him. And even better, what was inside was almost too good to be true: several hilarious pages of clever spoofery by Stan Hart illustrated with the usual brilliant Mort Drucker comic art! What an honor. Let’s be clear—Mort Drucker is simply right up there with Hirshfeld as the master American caricaturist. His pure, unmistakable graphic style has captured an astonishing array of 20th century celebrities and public figures. Even if you didn't know a performer’s name you could always place the face. His movie-like staging and composition were unmatched, and the result was artwork that could be revisited time and time again and still yield something new. That particular facet of MAD influenced many nascent filmmakers, including myself. I never actually met the absurdly prolific Mr. Drucker, but I feel I know him through his years of work. Now there’s a legacy few of us can even aspire to!
George Lucas, Director, American Graffiti
Since I first read MAD Magazine as a kid, I've been drawn in by its mix of highbrow satire and lowbrow laughs that pokes very funny holes in the stuffiest of institutions. Mort Drucker's signature artwork captures and exaggerates the world around us and the people in it in a way that makes them more real. His caricatures are the best, and he is the artist that defines MAD for me. When I had to choose an artist for the American Graffiti poster, Mort was the first and only person who came to mind. Since then, he's been redrawing my movies as funny parodies. You never mind being the subject of one of Mort's jokes, because he executes them so artfully.
JJ Abrams, Filmmaker
The influence of Mort Drucker on readers of MAD Magazine cannot be overstated. I remember with vivid clarity sitting in my elementary school classroom, while I was supposed to be working, desperately trying to copy his brilliant caricature style. It didn’t work. Not then and not now. Drucker’s eerie ability to absolutely capture the heart and soul of his subjects—and put them in hysterical tableau—is unmatched by anyone. Even the way he signed his work was something of inspiration; I remember as a kid trying to create my own signature in a style as cool as Drucker’s. I wished I had an “M” and an “O” in my name so I could do the three lines and circle thing like he did. I am and always was, like so many others, a huge fan of Mort Drucker. One of the greatest comic artists of all time.
As most people know, Mort Drucker is the Michelangelo of caricaturists - from any century. He joined Mad Magazine in 1957 and has been, by far, the best satirical illustrator to ever grace the pages of a magazine. His naturalistic style and supreme draftsmanship have influenced literally thousands of artists, and his movie satires for Mad are as memorable as the movies themselves.
His Godfather parody is one of his personal favourites; below is a detail of the original art work. Drucker's trademark use of expressive hands are in evidence here. He creates them (and everything that he draws) with minimal pencil work. His penmanship and knowledge of hand construction is without peer. Even Charles Schulz rhapsodized about Mort's 'handiwork' and wished he could draw hands like him.
I once visited the great man at his home in Woodbury, New York in the the late 80's. It was a bit like knocking on G. F. Handel's door while he was knocking off some oratorio; I was witness to the spare bit of pencil on his Strathmore paper just before he was going to ink the likes of Tom Cruise, Paul Newman, and Whoopi Goldberg. It was as though he had just written a figured bass, and was about to extemporize with a magical crowquill pen and India ink. "You're finished the pencil?!" I asked, incredulously. The Master humbly replied: "Yup." The inked result is what you see below - one of the many Mad Hollywood satires.
We talked for hours about many cartoonists, including my late friend Jim Unger, of Herman fame. Drucker asked if I knew Lynn Johnston...I didn't know her then, but certainly got to know her once she moved to North Bay. My visit was coming to an end; I had been chatting for three hours with the mentor of my youth - one of the great artists of the twentieth century - and perhaps one of the nicest people I've ever met. Something I finally had to ask: I'm sure many artists have wondered this about Drucker, because he really comes across as a true original - I can't think of anyone quite like him. "You've influenced everybody on the planet, but who influenced you?" I was expecting him to name some completely unknown caricaturist from the 19th century - whether he be English, Italian, German, or French - maybe Kley or Daumier. His answer took me by surprise: "Oh, that's easy...Ronald Searle!" Of course - one of my favourite illustrators, and it never even occurred to me. (Searle died in Paris barely a couple of years ago, in his 90's). Searle's skritchy-scratchy, feathery lines occasionally do show up in Drucker's work, and sometimes the Mad artist pays complete homage to him in some of his spot-character designs. Here's another piece in my collection, by Ronald Searle
Below is a Mad cover by Mort Drucker: Al Pacino as 'Serpico' and Dennis Weaver as 'McCloud.'
Drucker has said he's a little uncomfortable when using colour - it's always new territory for him, since he's been a black and white fellow most of his life. But his experimentation in colour has led him to Dr. Martin's coloured inks, which he dilutes and uses in a painterly fashion. Here's a scan of the Mad original of the entire cast from 'LA Law' - the colour has been used more sparingly; it's not as opaque as the Serpico cover.
A comprehensive book of Mort Drucker's work for Mad Magazine has just been released as of this past week. The several Forwards have been written by leading filmmakers:
Steven Spielberg, Director, Jaws
"Mort Drucker's timely sense of parody mixed with commentary first made me aware of the culture of our generation. Mort's irreverent and historical caricatures have never been nor will they ever be equaled. He poked fun at all my favorite movies when I was a teenager and when I was a filmmaker, he started going to town on the ones I was making and I loved every frame of his."
Joe Dante, Director, Gremlins
As a lifelong MAD devotee from the time it was a four-color comic, I can tell you that there are few thrills in life quite like seeing your own movie parodied in the pages of MAD! So you can imagine my shock and glee when I glommed on to the cover of the September 1984 “Grimlins” issue with Alfred E. Neuman as Gizmo, surrounded by horrified Gremlins holding their noses behind him. And even better, what was inside was almost too good to be true: several hilarious pages of clever spoofery by Stan Hart illustrated with the usual brilliant Mort Drucker comic art! What an honor. Let’s be clear—Mort Drucker is simply right up there with Hirshfeld as the master American caricaturist. His pure, unmistakable graphic style has captured an astonishing array of 20th century celebrities and public figures. Even if you didn't know a performer’s name you could always place the face. His movie-like staging and composition were unmatched, and the result was artwork that could be revisited time and time again and still yield something new. That particular facet of MAD influenced many nascent filmmakers, including myself. I never actually met the absurdly prolific Mr. Drucker, but I feel I know him through his years of work. Now there’s a legacy few of us can even aspire to!
George Lucas, Director, American Graffiti
Since I first read MAD Magazine as a kid, I've been drawn in by its mix of highbrow satire and lowbrow laughs that pokes very funny holes in the stuffiest of institutions. Mort Drucker's signature artwork captures and exaggerates the world around us and the people in it in a way that makes them more real. His caricatures are the best, and he is the artist that defines MAD for me. When I had to choose an artist for the American Graffiti poster, Mort was the first and only person who came to mind. Since then, he's been redrawing my movies as funny parodies. You never mind being the subject of one of Mort's jokes, because he executes them so artfully.
JJ Abrams, Filmmaker
The influence of Mort Drucker on readers of MAD Magazine cannot be overstated. I remember with vivid clarity sitting in my elementary school classroom, while I was supposed to be working, desperately trying to copy his brilliant caricature style. It didn’t work. Not then and not now. Drucker’s eerie ability to absolutely capture the heart and soul of his subjects—and put them in hysterical tableau—is unmatched by anyone. Even the way he signed his work was something of inspiration; I remember as a kid trying to create my own signature in a style as cool as Drucker’s. I wished I had an “M” and an “O” in my name so I could do the three lines and circle thing like he did. I am and always was, like so many others, a huge fan of Mort Drucker. One of the greatest comic artists of all time.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Long Live the Ottawa Journal
I understand Canwest’s troubled history, having entered bankruptcy protection in late 2009, and selling its newspaper arm to creditors headed by National Post’s CEO Paul Godfrey. But the person from this new regime who has dictated that the Ottawa Citizen can no longer review ‘non-professional’ art forms has made a grave mistake. The vibrant sheen of our cultural community is presently being quietly diminished due to some asinine manager who lives, no doubt, in Toronto. Having said that, the people who are in charge of the Citizen must realize that this decision will have an adverse effect on their enlightened readership until a creative solution rectifies this lack of reportage. The idea of not covering such groups as the Ottawa Little Theatre, Savoy Society, Orpheus Musical Theatre Society, Ottawa Choral Society, Cantata Singers of Ottawa, Ottawa Bach Choir, Seventeen Voyces, and the Canadian Centennial Choir is an irresponsible one and only does Ottawa and its denizens an egregious disservice – culturally, socially and economically. I personally don’t care about Brad Pitt’s moustache, Mariah Carey’s strapless dresses (okay, maybe a little bit) or Lindsay Lohan’s latest lock-up, but I know that those of us who have worked in the trenches of the local arts’ scene for most of our professional adult lives feel completely betrayed. The Ottawa Citizen’s Arts & Entertainment section is rapidly becoming a wire-serviced American tabloid for the same reasons CBC Radio 2 became a vast, fatuous wasteland – near-sighted Philistinism.
Kevin Reeves
Seventeen Voyces, Director
Ottawa Regional Youth Choir, Director
Ottawa Choral Society, Associate Director
Former Citizen Subscriber
Kevin Reeves
Seventeen Voyces, Director
Ottawa Regional Youth Choir, Director
Ottawa Choral Society, Associate Director
Former Citizen Subscriber
Sunday, October 10, 2010
OCTranspo Blues
What is it about OCTranspo that makes me think of the phrase "cruel and unusual punishment?" Every time I stand at a bus stop, I imagine there is some kind of underground Control Centre connected to billions of dollars of surveillance cameras monitoring the bus stops most frequented by me. The Control Centre Official then radios the bus driver to take a break at least two stops before mine, or wherever the bend in the road occurs so that I can't see the driver entering the confectionary and buying a Joe Louis and a Mountain Dew, then returning to the bus in order to partake in his leisurely sugar fix. By this time, the 40 below temperature has welded my forehead to the timetable on the pole, making it impossible to see the bus even if it were approaching. (Either that, or the driver is instructed to take a one block detour, in order to bypass my stop altogether).
Conversely, whenever I'm in no rush to go anywhere - usually while ambling along Bank Street in beautiful weather, the number 1 and 7 buses gather in packs and slowly articulate themselves alongside me, occasionally stopping - the doors opening with exaggerated expectancy - to see if I might need a lift. "No thank you," I recently said, adjusting my meagre bag of groceries. "It's obvious I don't need your service today, isn't it?" Then turning on my heels, I screamed "I'm on to you" directly at the exorbitantly-priced camera, which I think was hidden in a nearby evergreen.
Since that incident, the Ottawa bus system no longer acknowledges my existence.
Conversely, whenever I'm in no rush to go anywhere - usually while ambling along Bank Street in beautiful weather, the number 1 and 7 buses gather in packs and slowly articulate themselves alongside me, occasionally stopping - the doors opening with exaggerated expectancy - to see if I might need a lift. "No thank you," I recently said, adjusting my meagre bag of groceries. "It's obvious I don't need your service today, isn't it?" Then turning on my heels, I screamed "I'm on to you" directly at the exorbitantly-priced camera, which I think was hidden in a nearby evergreen.
Since that incident, the Ottawa bus system no longer acknowledges my existence.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The Genius of Buster Keaton
Okay, I'm in Buster Keaton mode, with a Seventeen Voyces' presentation of his 1927 masterpiece, 'The General' at the end of this month.
'The General' is listed at number 18 on the AFI's (American Film Institute) list of the top 100 films, and it's a dandy. I've seen it more than thirty times and for some reason, have never tired of it. Keaton interwove a dramatic true incident which took place during the American Civil War with his unique brand of Vaudevillian comedy and topped it off with great physical daring-do.
1927 was the very year that the 'Talkies' came into being with Al Jolson's 'The Jazz Singer' and the very first Oscar winner - 'Wings.' But audiences had never seen anything quite like 'The General;' not only is it considered one of the most authentic looking pictures to depict the Civil War (based on Matthew Brady's photographs) but it is essentially one gigantic chase movie with very impressive locomotives and Buster Keaton running all over them as though they were just monster playgrounds. As usual, in his films, the gags are so well-timed and so elaborate, one wonders to what length the cast and crew had to go in order to set up a single shot.
Keaton's stunt work may not have been as death-defying as in some of his other films, but his acrobatics and graceful movement is sheer joy to watch. This is a man who started performing on the stage with his parents at the age of three. (I don't believe he even went to school - if he did, it was for a very short period). Audiences in the early 1900's thought Buster was actually a midget because his father rough-handled him so much during each show, they couldn't believe he was a child. The father was violent, drunken, verbally and physically abusive. The mother was a dull-witted and acquiescent accomplice. The child’s wide eyes stared out from a deathly white, transfixed face which showed no emotional reaction, whatever he was subjected to. Between the child’s shoulder-blades was fastened a suitcase handle, with which the father picked him up, shook him, swung him round, dropped him face down onto the ground, and hurled him repeatedly against furniture and walls. When the father tired of this he would screw a broom handle into a harness on the boy’s back, plunge him into cold water, and use him as a human mop to clean the floor. Finally the father would fling the limp body of his son into the middle of the crowd of people who had paid money to watch the molestation. The child had been treated in this way, every day, since the age of three.
Once there were some hecklers in the front row, and the enraged senior Keaton threw his son directly into their laps - breaking one of the men's ribs. Thousands of shows later, once the public discovered Buster's true age, they angrily demanded the Keaton family to show up in court, citing child abuse. Buster gamefully removed his shirt, miraculously revealing no bruises of any kind. The Keatons continued their show across the United States, and were highly regarded in the industry.
Fast forward two or three decades: Buster Keaton's most famous and dangerous stunt required him to stand motionless. It was during 'Steamboat Bill Jr.' as a hurricane created in typical Hollywood fashion - using giant fans - howled around him. The facade of a house is ripped from its studs and falls on top of Keaton. He is saved only because of a tiny open window that happens to fall exactly on the spot where he is standing - the frame barely missing either shoulder. The wall was a couple of thousand pounds, and was hoisted into place by a crane so that an 'X' could be marked on the ground where Keaton was to stand. Apparently most of the crew left while this sequence was filmed, and even the cameraman covered his eyes at the last second while he was still cranking. Had that wall settled into the ground in an inch or two, Keaton would have been killed. (Didn't they know about balsa wood back then...or stand-ins)?
As an historical footnote, the very first animated film incorporating sound was Walt Disney's 'Steamboat Willie' starring Mickey Mouse (in his first role) in 1928. It was based on Keaton's Steamboat Bill Jr.
Getting back to the stage relationship with his father, the brutality of their act laid the foundations not only for the hair-raising veracity of Buster Keaton’s stunts in the hilarious shorts he eventually made for Mack Sennett, but also, contrarily, for the quality of somnambulistic beauty which suffuses the great feature films he was later to both star in and direct. In films such as The General, The Navigator, Sherlock Junior, and Our Hospitality, Keaton attained heights of physical comedy never since equalled, uniquely achieved among silent comedians and clowns with an absolute lack of pathos or sentiment.
This leads naturally to the whole notion of Keaton vs. Chaplin. The debate still rages on as to who was the 'better' of the two. They were both diminutive men from poor backgrounds who became uncompromising as entertainers and filmmakers. Chaplin was much more of a businessman who gained control of his material and later formed the original United Artists with Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and D.W. Griffith. Keaton was the complete opposite with business; he let others look after it for him, until he lost control of his assets by the end of the '20's. He was much more interested in smoking, drinking and playing poker. Sadly, this spelled the end of his career and his fortunes, while Charlie lived out his days surrounded by extreme wealth.
When all is said and done, even though it really is like comparing apples and oranges (except in black & white) I've always appreciated Buster Keaton more than Chaplin. There is something more primal and melancholic about his character because one never felt he cared whether the audience cheered for him or not the way Chaplin's character does. His stone-faced persona which he learned on the Vaudeville stage also heightened that melancholy, whereas Chaplin's overwrought expressions and movement are to me a little saccharin. In the end, it really does come down to personal taste.
Keaton's influence was especially big on Jacques Tati as M. Hulot, Jackie Chan, Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean, Johnny Depp in 'Benny and Joon,' and all the Warner Brother cartoons. His films made a huge comeback in the 1960's, and he lived just long enough to see it happen.
Please copy and paste the following link for details of Seventeen Voyces' presentation of 'The General.'
http://www.seventeenvoyces.ca/concerts.html
'The General' is listed at number 18 on the AFI's (American Film Institute) list of the top 100 films, and it's a dandy. I've seen it more than thirty times and for some reason, have never tired of it. Keaton interwove a dramatic true incident which took place during the American Civil War with his unique brand of Vaudevillian comedy and topped it off with great physical daring-do.
1927 was the very year that the 'Talkies' came into being with Al Jolson's 'The Jazz Singer' and the very first Oscar winner - 'Wings.' But audiences had never seen anything quite like 'The General;' not only is it considered one of the most authentic looking pictures to depict the Civil War (based on Matthew Brady's photographs) but it is essentially one gigantic chase movie with very impressive locomotives and Buster Keaton running all over them as though they were just monster playgrounds. As usual, in his films, the gags are so well-timed and so elaborate, one wonders to what length the cast and crew had to go in order to set up a single shot.
Keaton's stunt work may not have been as death-defying as in some of his other films, but his acrobatics and graceful movement is sheer joy to watch. This is a man who started performing on the stage with his parents at the age of three. (I don't believe he even went to school - if he did, it was for a very short period). Audiences in the early 1900's thought Buster was actually a midget because his father rough-handled him so much during each show, they couldn't believe he was a child. The father was violent, drunken, verbally and physically abusive. The mother was a dull-witted and acquiescent accomplice. The child’s wide eyes stared out from a deathly white, transfixed face which showed no emotional reaction, whatever he was subjected to. Between the child’s shoulder-blades was fastened a suitcase handle, with which the father picked him up, shook him, swung him round, dropped him face down onto the ground, and hurled him repeatedly against furniture and walls. When the father tired of this he would screw a broom handle into a harness on the boy’s back, plunge him into cold water, and use him as a human mop to clean the floor. Finally the father would fling the limp body of his son into the middle of the crowd of people who had paid money to watch the molestation. The child had been treated in this way, every day, since the age of three.
Once there were some hecklers in the front row, and the enraged senior Keaton threw his son directly into their laps - breaking one of the men's ribs. Thousands of shows later, once the public discovered Buster's true age, they angrily demanded the Keaton family to show up in court, citing child abuse. Buster gamefully removed his shirt, miraculously revealing no bruises of any kind. The Keatons continued their show across the United States, and were highly regarded in the industry.
Fast forward two or three decades: Buster Keaton's most famous and dangerous stunt required him to stand motionless. It was during 'Steamboat Bill Jr.' as a hurricane created in typical Hollywood fashion - using giant fans - howled around him. The facade of a house is ripped from its studs and falls on top of Keaton. He is saved only because of a tiny open window that happens to fall exactly on the spot where he is standing - the frame barely missing either shoulder. The wall was a couple of thousand pounds, and was hoisted into place by a crane so that an 'X' could be marked on the ground where Keaton was to stand. Apparently most of the crew left while this sequence was filmed, and even the cameraman covered his eyes at the last second while he was still cranking. Had that wall settled into the ground in an inch or two, Keaton would have been killed. (Didn't they know about balsa wood back then...or stand-ins)?
As an historical footnote, the very first animated film incorporating sound was Walt Disney's 'Steamboat Willie' starring Mickey Mouse (in his first role) in 1928. It was based on Keaton's Steamboat Bill Jr.
Getting back to the stage relationship with his father, the brutality of their act laid the foundations not only for the hair-raising veracity of Buster Keaton’s stunts in the hilarious shorts he eventually made for Mack Sennett, but also, contrarily, for the quality of somnambulistic beauty which suffuses the great feature films he was later to both star in and direct. In films such as The General, The Navigator, Sherlock Junior, and Our Hospitality, Keaton attained heights of physical comedy never since equalled, uniquely achieved among silent comedians and clowns with an absolute lack of pathos or sentiment.
This leads naturally to the whole notion of Keaton vs. Chaplin. The debate still rages on as to who was the 'better' of the two. They were both diminutive men from poor backgrounds who became uncompromising as entertainers and filmmakers. Chaplin was much more of a businessman who gained control of his material and later formed the original United Artists with Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and D.W. Griffith. Keaton was the complete opposite with business; he let others look after it for him, until he lost control of his assets by the end of the '20's. He was much more interested in smoking, drinking and playing poker. Sadly, this spelled the end of his career and his fortunes, while Charlie lived out his days surrounded by extreme wealth.
When all is said and done, even though it really is like comparing apples and oranges (except in black & white) I've always appreciated Buster Keaton more than Chaplin. There is something more primal and melancholic about his character because one never felt he cared whether the audience cheered for him or not the way Chaplin's character does. His stone-faced persona which he learned on the Vaudeville stage also heightened that melancholy, whereas Chaplin's overwrought expressions and movement are to me a little saccharin. In the end, it really does come down to personal taste.
Keaton's influence was especially big on Jacques Tati as M. Hulot, Jackie Chan, Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean, Johnny Depp in 'Benny and Joon,' and all the Warner Brother cartoons. His films made a huge comeback in the 1960's, and he lived just long enough to see it happen.
Please copy and paste the following link for details of Seventeen Voyces' presentation of 'The General.'
http://www.seventeenvoyces.ca/concerts.html
Friday, October 1, 2010
State of the Art; Art of the State
Went to Telefilm Canada's web site recently to see what kind of films are being financed and subsequently unseen by Canadians this year.
I wasn't at all surprised to discover that of the 53 feature films financed, 64% of those films were produced out of Quebec!
But wait! Before you start bandying about epithets such as 'racist' and 'xenophobe,' I would like to take this opportunity to extol the virtues of Cinema in Quebec; it is by far one of the best cultural ambassadors we have to offer the rest of the world. In fact, I want to come back in my next life as a French filmmaker - why? Because there is a warmth, an earthiness, a quirkiness, a humanism, and a great sense of ironic humour about their films. There is also a deep-rooted cinematographic artistry which sometimes tends to elude more commercially-minded filmmakers of the other Solitude.
The Quebecois understand this - just by virtue of being next to English Canada and the States - which is why they have their own distinctive industry and star-system. I would much rather watch the thoughtful, provocative, artistic films of Denys Arcand, than say the chilly, calculating, cerebral, aloof, and in the end, not very interesting films of Atom Egoyan.
It didn't help in the 1970's when doctors, lawyers, used car salesmen, and other non-producers in English Canada took advantage of the generous 100% tax incentive of the Trudeau/Francis Fox era. They tainted the Canadian film industry by making the worst low-budget drivel this side of Roger Corman just so they could give their drinking buddies a terrific tax break. At the same time, the Australians were given a tax incentive of 150% and produced magnificent directors such as Bruce Beresford, Peter Weir, Gillian Armstrong, Paul Cox, Fred Schepisi and George Miller. These Wizards of Oz ushered in a new era of films such as 'My Brilliant Career,' 'Picnic at Hanging Rock,' 'The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith,' 'Breaker Morant' and 'The Getting of Wisdom.' Meanwhile, the Canucks had to console themselves with films such as 'Terror Train.' We are still recovering...
There is a difference between a sincere, culturally cognizant art form, and the mini-mogul wannabe lifestyle that certain latté-sipping Toronto producers with cool crimson-framed glasses frequenting Hazelton Lanes tend to gravitate toward. (Wow, three hyphens in one sentence)! Thankfully, this is something the government officials at Telefilm have discerned, and are rewarding those who are in cinema for the right reasons.
Some of you cynics out there in Blogland may not agree, or care. What does it matter - you might say - the Americans have control of our screens anyway.
I wasn't at all surprised to discover that of the 53 feature films financed, 64% of those films were produced out of Quebec!
But wait! Before you start bandying about epithets such as 'racist' and 'xenophobe,' I would like to take this opportunity to extol the virtues of Cinema in Quebec; it is by far one of the best cultural ambassadors we have to offer the rest of the world. In fact, I want to come back in my next life as a French filmmaker - why? Because there is a warmth, an earthiness, a quirkiness, a humanism, and a great sense of ironic humour about their films. There is also a deep-rooted cinematographic artistry which sometimes tends to elude more commercially-minded filmmakers of the other Solitude.
The Quebecois understand this - just by virtue of being next to English Canada and the States - which is why they have their own distinctive industry and star-system. I would much rather watch the thoughtful, provocative, artistic films of Denys Arcand, than say the chilly, calculating, cerebral, aloof, and in the end, not very interesting films of Atom Egoyan.
It didn't help in the 1970's when doctors, lawyers, used car salesmen, and other non-producers in English Canada took advantage of the generous 100% tax incentive of the Trudeau/Francis Fox era. They tainted the Canadian film industry by making the worst low-budget drivel this side of Roger Corman just so they could give their drinking buddies a terrific tax break. At the same time, the Australians were given a tax incentive of 150% and produced magnificent directors such as Bruce Beresford, Peter Weir, Gillian Armstrong, Paul Cox, Fred Schepisi and George Miller. These Wizards of Oz ushered in a new era of films such as 'My Brilliant Career,' 'Picnic at Hanging Rock,' 'The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith,' 'Breaker Morant' and 'The Getting of Wisdom.' Meanwhile, the Canucks had to console themselves with films such as 'Terror Train.' We are still recovering...
There is a difference between a sincere, culturally cognizant art form, and the mini-mogul wannabe lifestyle that certain latté-sipping Toronto producers with cool crimson-framed glasses frequenting Hazelton Lanes tend to gravitate toward. (Wow, three hyphens in one sentence)! Thankfully, this is something the government officials at Telefilm have discerned, and are rewarding those who are in cinema for the right reasons.
Some of you cynics out there in Blogland may not agree, or care. What does it matter - you might say - the Americans have control of our screens anyway.
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