CANADA FILM DAYS

Canada Films Days 2014 marks the eighth anniversary of our annual celebration of recent Canadian film productions. This year, for one week, we will feature three films and host visits from the creative forces behind two of those films, The Husband and Algonquin.

On Friday May 2 (7pm), the writer and star of The Husband, Maxwell McCabe-Lokos will be on hand to introduce the film and participate in a Q & A following the screening.

On Saturday May 3 (9:15pm), The Husband director Bruce McDonald and co-star Stephen McHattie will be in attendance to introduce the film and answer questions after the screening.

On Friday May 9 (7pm), the director and producer of Algonquin, Jonathan Hayes and Jane Motz Hayes, will attend the screening and be available for a Q & A afterwards. 

This year's Canada Film Days films include:

The Husband
Directed by Bruce McDonald
Canada 2014 | 80 minutes
Rated 14A (coarse language)

MAY 2-4 From venerable Canadian director Bruce McDonald comes The Husband, an uncompromisingly honest look at what it means to be humiliated by the person we love most. Henry (Maxwell McCabe-Lokos) is the titular husband, humiliated by his wife's infidelity with a minor. When she is sent to jail for her crime, Henry is left to care for their infant son under the pall of his wife’s actions. For two and a half decades, McDonald has been making films like no one else in Canada, and the darkly funny The Husband (written by McCade-Lokos and Kelly Harms) continues his streak of incomparable sensibilities.

 


Cas & Dylan
Directed by Jason Priestly
Canada 2014 | 90 minutes
Rated 14A
MAY 6-8 Jason Priestly hops into the director's chair and his stars, Richard Dreyfuss (Cas) and Tatiana Maslany (Dylan), hop into the vintage VW for an odd couple road trip west. Cas is a curmudgeonly old doctor from Winnipeg, driving his terminal diagnosis to rest in BC. Dylan is trying to dodge some bad life choices and an old boyfriend. Despite, or perhaps because they are polar opposites, Cas and Dylan brush out most of each others burrs along the way. Their journey is musically propelled by the likes of Old Man Luedecke, The Sheepdogs, and Whitehorse, in this comedic drama that's been gathering awards as it tours the country.



Algonquin
Directed by Jonathan Hayes
Canada 2014 | 101 minutes
Rated PG (mature theme, language may offend)

MAY 8,9 Jake ( Mark Rendall) is shaken from the boredom of his high school teaching job by the return of his estranged father, Lief (Nicholas Campbell). A once famous travel writer, Lief proposes a co-authored father-son book about his beloved Algonquin Park. Upon arrival at their cabin, Jake discovers Carmen, Lief's former mistress, and her son, Jake's half brother, Iggy. What began as a father and son quest to discover the past they never shared, becomes a journey of discovery and acceptance of a family Jake never knew. 

WATCH TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fL23CVx-cA0

THE UNCANNY VALLEY OF GETTIN' IT ON

For a long time, the story goes, we supported a Victorian regime, and we continue to be dominated by it even today. Thus the image of the imperial prude is emblazoned on our restrained, mute, and hypocritical sexuality. - Michel Foucault, "The History of Sexuality, Volume 1"

I'm afraid the idea of egregious sex will do as much good as it will harm in attracting an audience for Nymphomaniac. One campaign features the major players naked and in the throes of or contorted by pleasure--just in case you hadn't already heard that there are scenes of unabashed "doing it" in Lars von Trier's new two-parter. The first report resembling press that I saw a few years back was a snide piece about how Shia LeBeouf's piece would be featured in the movie, and that the use of it for prurient purposes would be "unsimulated." Since then, the former-child star's anti-star shenanigans have rivaled the rumors of rampant sex in the public's impression of this film. With everything we're being given and everything we're gathering for ourselves, it's sort of impossible to suss out what Nymphomaniac actually is.
 

A horny hullabaloo was similarly made over Blue is the Warmest Colour, and it's a shame that something which took up only a few minutes of a very long, lovely, and excruciatingly emotional film dominated people's thoughts of it. Indeed, what sex there was in that film was more graphic than what you find in some Shannon Tweed movie that comes on the TV at 12:35am. However, most boinking you see in most movies is meaningless, contributes nothing more than some boobies between shooting and explosions. The sex in Blue plays an important part--as it does in von Trier's film. The graphic pleasure of two people in love mirrors the graphic pain of two people disengaging for love. Being witness to Adèle's sloppy pain over losing Emma felt just as intimate and awkward as watching the two of them being young in bed together. In fact, Adèle Exarchopoulos' snot-covered expression of grief and desperation ranks among the most graphic, difficult-to-watch things I've seen in a film. In both cases, the awkwardness comes from some actual creation of a real person in film, to the point where you feel you're observing stuff that is none of your business.

How we respond to sex in film tells us a lot about what movies really are, I think--or what we want them to be. If the film fits generically, we expect and laud its representation and highteneing of some true emotional and situational reality. But what happens when elements in a film get too close to real life? With 3D animation, there's something called the Uncanny Valley, a concept that describes the discomfort and sometimes revulsion experienced when an artificial creation gets close to representing reality, but misses slightly. I wonder if this holds true for elements of realistic cinema.

Of course we're all reasonable grown ups, and understand that even though a film may skim the surface of what we consider real life to be, there is always a frame, an intention, some intellectual mechanics keeping it distinctly separate from reality. However, when we see naked people up there on the screen, slapping their bodies against one another--as maybe we've done from time to time--we get uncomfortable, are reluctant to include that active nudity as something that's like real life, but isn't exactly. It's an Uncanny Valley of Gettin' It On.

I wonder if audiences are more comfortable with meaningless, interstitial sex in films. In some ways, I imagine we're inured to it like a refrigerator's hum. That toss away sex is more often than not a pantomime, something that we know isn't real, and so can either enjoy or ignore. And, unless it's needlessly egregious, little fuss gets made.

There is some sex in Nymphomaniac, there is some sex in Blue is the Warmest Colour, but to define these films based on the inclusion of some dirty flesh stuff feels like a severe disservice to the ideas and the emotions that the sex is there in support of.

The fact is, you're much more likely to have sex in your life then you are to fire a gun, or have one fired at you, yet guns are all over films. I've never held a gun or seen one in real life, but I have some working knowledge of how to use the thing. I've seen them loaded and fired since I was a kid; I'm not sure if I'd know how to do sex based on what I've seen in mainstream films. But, for the most part, audiences have few problems with watching people getting shot, people dying. We don't bat an eye at a bloody chest, but screw up our faces and titter at a sweaty, naked one.

I can't help but wonder what action movies would be like if every time someone was being killed, a breeze caught the curtain, pushing it into the frame, obscuring the violence just as it was getting good.

--Andrew

BACKGROUND: NICKY'S FAMILY

Daughter retraces the fortunate journey that saved her father from the Holocaust

By Brenda Lewis

Henry Lewis with daughter Brenda

My father, Henry Lewis, born Heinz Laufer, was more fortunate than most people. From a Czech Jewish family, he was, at age 14, one of the lucky children sent to safety in England in 1939 just before the outbreak of the Second World War. 

The person responsible was a 29-year-old London stockbroker named Nicholas Winton. Understanding the urgency, Winton organized an effort to evacuate, and relocate to England, as many Jewish children as possible before the Nazis nvaded Czechoslovakia. He managed to save the lives of 669 children, including my father. They eventually became known as Winton Kinder.

The rest of my father’s family did not fare so well. His mother succumbed to tuberculosis at the concentration camp in Terezin, the holding camp for Czech Jews en route to Auschwitz, where both his father and brother perished at the hands of the Nazis.

Despite this unimaginable tragedy, my father worked past his grief, going on to live a life of gratitude, with a commitment to teaching the human rights lessons of the Holocaust. Both he and my mother were very active in organizations for survivors, such as himself, of the Kindertransport movement.

A year ago, I learned of plans for a re-enactment of the Winton train journey – which saved my father and the 668 others – that would mark the 70th anniversary of what was to have been the final Kindertransport trip from Prague in September 1939; a trip that never took place because of the war’s outbreak when the Nazis invaded Poland on September 1 that year.

The Winton Train pulls into Liverpool Station in London, September 4, completing a four-day commemorative journey from Prague.

I was determined to participate in this historical train and ferry trip, which was being created for the purposes of thanking Sir Nicholas Winton, now 100, and of inspiring contemporary and future generations to know that we can each make a difference in our world. It was also a way for me to honour my father – who passed away in December 2007, after a rich, full life of almost 84 years – and our family’s memory.

Two months ago, from September 1 to 4, my dream became a reality. So much happened over those four days that I am still reflecting back with wonder. Early the first morning, a group of 22 actual Winton Kinder, and dozens of us from “the next generation or two” representing our parents and grandparents, arrived at the train station in Prague. One of my two most emotional moments hit suddenly, as I heard that first high and lonesome train whistle and saw a billowy puff of steam from the train dissolving into the sky.

By day’s end, we were in Nuremberg, Germany. All along the way, it was so touching to see people lining railroad crossings, waving at us as we passed. They brought their children to meet us when we pulled into each train station where fire engines refilled the train engine’s water supply. The children’s presence was very symbolic.

On the second day, we spent two hours winding along parallel to the stunning castle-lined Rhine River en route to Cologne. I continued to meet many survivors and their families, as I believe that is what Dad would have done. They had many fascinating stories to tell. My father would have looked for potential connections from their shared past. I felt that the best way I could represent him was by being his ambassador – as well as by singing a few jazz numbers with our traveling “1930s band” – also a highlight!

On the evening of the third day, we boarded a huge ferry at the Hook of Holland and crossed overnight to Harwich, England. A final steam train chugged us off to Liverpool Station, London where we were met by Sir Nicholas Winton.

The survivors disembarked right away, to be the first to meet Sir Nicholas.

Brenda meeting Sir Nicholas

From the corner of my eye, I spotted this dear, humble man and was overcome by emotion for the final time on this journey. A few minutes later, I at last had the chance to thank him for saving my father’s life – and for making possible the lives of my siblings, my niece and me. I now know how gratitude truly feels.

 Visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winton_Train for more information about the Winton Train 

This article first appeared in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin, Nov 2 2009 (p 17)

The documentary "Nicky's Family," presented in commemoration of Holocaust Remembrance Day, plays Sunday April 27th at 2pm and Monday April 28th at 6:30.

DID YOU EVER CLOSE YOUR EYES? A mom reviews "Nymphomaniac."

The unfortunate focus on Lars von Trier's new film is the inclusion of some somewhat graphic sex, but behind all that flesh (there's really not that much nudey stuff, guys) is a typical von Trier film of fertile ideas. Our favourite testament to this comes courtesy of a sort of review that appeared in January's Variety.

Director Craig Johnston attended a 'secret' screening at the Sundance Film Festival with his parents. Johnson was showing his film The Skeleton Twins. Variety contacted 64-year-old Julee Johnson for her thoughts on Nymphomaniac. Have a look at her thoughts on the film. This doesn't mean that you need to bring your parents, but, if you do, brace yourself for how much they might like it.

VARIETY: What happened that night?

JULEE JOHNSON: I didn’t even know what a secret screening was. Craig kind of gave us the heads up. He said, “Mom and dad, there’s a rumor going around it could be a Lars Von Trier movie ‘Nymphomaniac,’ but it could also be the new Wes Anderson movie and you’d probably enjoy that.” Frankly, we were just thrilled he would think of his parents to include in this sneak preview. We were pretty excited to be there.

And then you learned it was “Nymphomaniac”?

My first reaction was to turn to Craig, who was looking mildly panicked. We sat purposefully on the aisle, so we could make an easy escape if need be. Once they announced it, I remembered that we had all of Craig’s suitcases in the trunk of our car, so I wasn’t going anywhere.

What were you expecting?

I didn’t know what to expect with a title like that!

Did you think the story was interesting?

I thought it was an interesting story, and my husband Steve was pretty reluctant to stay for the movie. But when we got to the part where the older gentleman [Skargard] pulls out the Izaak Walton book and they start comparing graphic sex to fly fishing, Steve leans over and says, “This looks interesting. I’ll stay awhile.”

What about all the nudity?

I wasn’t put off by the nudity. But I thought the montage of all the different male genitalia was totally unnecessary.

And the love scenes?

Well, I wouldn’t call them love scenes. She’s a nymphomaniac. She wasn’t even really paying attention. I don’t know much about nymphomaniacs. But my understanding is they are kind of insatiable. She had her schedule, and she had those partners coming in, sometimes four or five a night. And the scene with Uma Thurman, didn’t you think that was amazing? I can’t even remember the last thing I saw Uma Thurman in.

How did you feel about the train scene, where Joe and her friend wander

through the cars having sex with multiple strangers?

As a mother, that was difficult for me. No parents wants to see their daughter behaving in that manner. And yet, it was pretty intriguing to watch. That last gentlemen — I was curious to see how she was going to make this work, and boy, she sure did.

Did you ever close your eyes?

That’s something I told Craig I would do if it got too bad. But I did not. I might have looked away a little bit during the montage of penises, because frankly that wasn’t very attractive. I have to tell you a funny thing Craig said when we were walking out of the film. He turned to me and said, “Well Mom, how did that compare to ‘Frozen’?”

Will you see the “Nymphomaniac: Volume 2?”

I did send Craig a text, “I can hardly wait to see part two.” You know what? I’m serious. Not with Craig, mind you. I’m curious. To me, that’s a sign of a good film, when you connect with the characters. I want to know what happened to her.

Would you recommend it to friends?

Uh, probably not. We’re still not living down the day we recommended “Trainspotting.”

What are some of your favorite films this year?

“American Hustle,” “12 Years a Slave.” Let’s see, what else have I seen? Shoot, this is the kind of question that a 64-year-old woman’s brain can’t remember. I recently saw the new Sarah Polley film, “Stories We Tell.”

Nymphomaniac Part 1 plays Wednesday and Thursday (16/17) at 8:30pm. Part 2 plays next week (23/24) at the same time.

E.T. VOTE HOME

I’m a little behind this month, so this post is doing double duty as the announcement post and the voting post for Guelph Movie Club.

First thing’s first. This month, we’re seeing E.T. I have a real soft spot for this movie – it’s the first one I ever saw in the theatre. Come on down to the Bookshelf on April 24^th at 6:30 p.m. and wax nostalgic with me, Drew Barrymore, and an alien. Please note the early start time, which is 6:30 p.m.

Next order of business: What will we watch in May? If you’re new here, here’s how we pick the movie club movies each month:

1.      Each month, we watch a classic movie.

2.      Before that movie, you get a ballot and fill it with any five flicks you’d like to see on the big screen.

3.      We take those ballots and create a shortlist of five movies for your voting pleasure.

4.      You vote via this blog.

5.      The winning movie becomes the next movie club selection.

Here are your choices for May:

Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Short Circuit

Big

Forrest Gump

Edward Scissorhands

Cast you vote on the poll provided below. Note, you can only vote once. After that, the poll won't appear when you view this blog. Results will be revealed when we watch E.T. 

‘Til then, see you at the movies!

Danny

 

Which Movie Would You Like To See For May Movie Club?

Forrest Gump

Close Encounter of the Third Kid

Big

Edward Scissorhands

Short Circuit

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JUST BECAUSE: ON VIVIAN MAIER

Early on in Finding Vivian Maier, John Maloof (the man who paid $380 for the trove of mostly undeveloped street photography) wonders, rhetorically, "Why is a nanny taking all these photos?" Of course, this wondering is mostly for dramatic effect: Maloof, also co-director of this documentary, is simply trying to bring us into his thought process as he went about fathoming his windfall and building the life of a person based on just her work and a few personal items. But this question is cloaking another: "Why didn't this nanny try to get rich and famous with these photos?" Reviews of the unearthed corpus compared Maier's work to the likes of Diane Arbus and Robert Frank, implying that, had Maier attempted to promote her compulsion, she may have--or deserved to be--appreciated in her lifetime.

One of Vivian's closest friends--as close as one could get to Miss Maier--answers the question matter-of-factly. "That was her babies," she said of Maier's photography. "She wouldn't put her babies on display."

Maloof's windfall

Maloof and Charlie Siskel interview a thin copse of subjects who knew Maier in her life, and all them seem equally stumped why a person would accrue such a wealth of work without trying and do something with it. As much and as far as Finding Vivian Maier goes to explore the gears that may have been turning in this enigma's head, it can never quite accept the fact or admit the possibility that the act of photography itself was enough for the photographer.

"The Music Lesson"

The other week we played Tim's Vermeer (if you missed it, you really screwed up, buddy), in which an inventor who had never painted in his life attempts to recreate Vermeer's "The Music Lesson" using undocumented technologies he thought Vermeer might have employed to achieve his unprecedented realism. Tim Jenison duplicates the means with entertaining aplomb--because his is an inquiring mind, and, in uncovering the technology, he's comfortably in his wheelhouse--but when it comes to the actual day-in-day-out task of painting, he struggles. Reconstructing Vermeer's realism through the methods Tim came up with requires an astounding amount of patience, concentration, and siting.

Shortly after I saw Tim's Vermeer, I was listening to an interview with talk show host Conan O'Brien where he discussed the idea of "following your dreams." Medical whizs', he was complaining, are putting aside their cancer research and taking improv classes; rocket scientists are really trying to get their romcom screenplay into shape. In my own world, the ease of digital publishing has turned everybody with a penchant for describing vampires having sex into an author. Had Maier not been born in 1927, perhaps she would've abandoned her nannying to pursue her shutterbugging. O'Brien points out that the idea of dream-following is (like the idea of the teen-age) a new, circa post-WWII notion that now seems like it's been around forever.

Not to overload this with too many anecdotes, but I can't stop thinking about my first year doing a university creative writing course. Sheila Heti, then twenty-five, had just put out her first book with both McSweeney's and Anansi--maybe the hippest presses out there then. I was surrounded by twenty-year-olds declaring that if they didn't get a book published by the time they were twenty-five, they'd stop writing. Of course your early-twenties are a time defined by histrionics, and I'm sure not a single person stuck to that oath. If they stopped writing--and so many have--it wasn't on account of not getting published, but because they didn't really like doing it.

Because it's my bailiwick, it's the only thing I'll comment for sure on: if you want to "make it" as a writer, you need to seriously enjoy the process of writing. Everything that follows is beside the point. If you never have a story accepted and let that stop you from writing, then probably you aren't a writer. You may be good at writing, but you're not a writer, bud. In his wonderful book How to Write a Sentence, Stanley Fish makes an argument that love of the mechanics of language is just as important as what you're doing with those sentences, and refers to an anecdote of a painter's fundamental reason for painting being a love for the smell of paint.

All of this has me thinking about why on earth anyone makes art--or "follows their dream"--at all. Do you do it for yourself, or for the world? How important is it to you that someone sees what you've done and tells you you did it well? I have to think that, for as much as Vermeer was driven by capturing the nuances of light on a wall, he must have also loved sitting. One of the subjects in Finding Vivian Maier asks of Vivian taking a picture that she would never show anyone, "What's the point of taking it if no one sees it?" The answer feels simple: she either wanted to or she had to. So much was and has been made about J.D Salinger--to add another anecdote here--giving up on publishing, but the situation has always seemed simple to me: love for writing does not equal love for publishing.

As much as there is a mystery that's interesting as hell in Finding Vivian Maier, there's also this subliminal story about letting art be part of your life. The trend of following your dreams that O'Brien mentions is troubling, not on account of the impulse, but because of the binary it implies.  

Since that post-war liberation of how we're permitting ourselves to view our purposes in life, activeness in art has maybe lost its place in our day-to-day. It's become easy to view art, the creation and consumption of it, as separate from the jobs we work or what we do when we're done those jobs. I get the sense that art has become something we need to go out of our way to do, or make a revolutionary change in favour of. A dangerous thesis thrumming underneath Maloof's project and the documentary is "Art's only as good as what's done with it." 

But no matter what the market's doing, or whether or not you're getting the recognition you feel deserving of--if you're looking for recognition at all--I feel like the most important answer to why we do any of this crap will remain terse and perfect:

Just because.

--Andrew

PRIMER: LA TRAVIATA

La Traviata is, above all, a very 'proper' opera by conservative bourgeoisie standards, even though it's central subject was still seen at the time of the premiere in 1853, as quite provocative: the tragedy of "the Fallen Woman,” which is the literal meaning of "la Traviata.”

The central plot of most human drama concerns mate selection: a happy match results in the comedy of celebration, an impediment results in the tragic death of one or both of the hopeful pair, or at least their permanent estrangement because of the impediment. The impediment here, is already present in the very title.

We have the urban middle-class version of the untouchable woman, who drags into disgrace whoever touches her, according to the misogynic slant of those mores. The worst real-life nightmare of any proper father with bourgeois pretensions was that his son could get mixed up in any way with such a person.

Going into the theatre at the premiere, everyone had the needed information to infer the plot of this opera.

The simplicity of the dramatic situation draws into question and isolates the whole impediment of 'social propriety' a question that could be raised, especially then, only by begging it without spelling it out. In Hernani, Verdi has his characters convoluting the plot into pretzels over the concept of 'honour', which is meant to expose it's absurdity. La Traviata is, above all, about the emotional costs of maintaining the bourgeois status-quo.

La Traviata is the most realistic and natural of all of Verdi's operas. He seems to be trying out 'Verismo' values, which were not to become a movement until the next generation of composers like Puccini and Mascagni: real people in real situations. Verdi in fact suspends his entire usual arsenal of opera-dramatic conventions: no curses, no revenges, poisons, lese-majeste, or blood-oaths. None of Verdi's other operas have such an even temper, and although there are a few public confrontations, Alfredo just throws his gambling winnings at Violetta to humiliate her, the worst thing that happens is the death, by natural causes, of the protagonist. This throws into highest relief the emotional, class, and family values that are dramatically brought to bear on this situation. It takes no flights of fancy to commiserate with the very real conflicts that the characters are living through.

 Almost nothing really happens in the plot. Violetta is a professional courtesan on the contemporaneous Paris social scene. Alfredo Germont  and she genuinely, to judge from the music, fall in love. They live together, taking her out of circulation and constraining them financially. Enter Germont the father who convinces Violetta to cut off the  relationship with his son, because of the social consequences not only on the lovers, now ejected from polite society, but on Alfredo's sister's prospects of courtship, thus on the middle-class fortunes of Alfredo's whole family. This is one of Verdi's most convincing confrontations. The sense of the opera depends on it, and the situation is completely plausible in it's hopelessness.

Violetta breaks off with Alfredo; later, they have a public tiff.

Later still, Alfredo visits Violetta dying of the consumption she has been suffering from all along. He has found out she has rejected him only because of his father's demands, and reconciles with her only to witness her death.

Although La Traviata is almost unique amongst Verdi's operas dramaturgically, its music somehow seems more Verdian than ever. In the ethereal prelude, so close, and yet so far, from the Wagner Lohengrin strains that were amazing the opera world at that time, we catch our breath at the sustained rapture suggested by the string harmonies. This is meant to elicit Violetta's fragile beauty and strained, hovering tragedy at the same time. It finally makes sense when we reach the fatal bedroom scene at the end. There is even something for the hit-parade fans with the famous ‘bridisi' drinking song, and the love scenes. But at the core of the musical setting is the long development between Violetta and old Germont: Verdi's home territory is depicting confrontations between plaintiff sopranos and insistent baritones.

Giuseppe Verdi

This opera was a disaster when it opened in Venice, one of Verdi's rare notable flops, but it was recognized as little as a year later at the second production. It may have been the fault of the singers engaged. It seems the original Violetta was too old and frumpy to make the part believable, and the Baritone had problems, but the provocative subject matter may have contributed to the original audience's reluctance. It had not even been possible at first to stage the opera in a contemporaneous setting. It boggles the mind that the censors, who were for once happy not to have to deal with the usual political 'gaffes' they were used to curtailing in Verdi, still insisted that the time of the action be set in the early 17th Century—away from the present.

We now revel in this work a one of Verdi's serenest and most personal works. The demands of love and family and society, especially when in conflict, always bring out the best in Verdi, but since here all is set in the natural landscape of diurnal normal life, the drama seems more civilized and conventional than is usual with Verdi who is usually so prone to take things over-the-top. Here he proves that none of that is really necessary as long as the central human values ate at the centre of the action.

Michael Doleschell keeps mostly to non-fiction, and is deeply devoted to music and culture and never tires of history, and is fascinated by science and the scientific method [as long as they are well explained]. He broadcasts a program of Classical Music for 3 hours every Saturday afternoon from noon till 3 on the U of G's Radio Station: CFRU.