Life and Shadows

Click through for original source. I didn’t take it, I don’t know who took it, but I am taken by it.

By way of introduction to my Photography and Public History course this semester at Carleton, our Professor, Jim Opp, had us pick a favourite quotation from a mass of such compiled at the back of Susan Sontag’s On Photography.  I found myself drawn to two very different, and seemingly unrelated, quotations.  But both got at what I feel to be the “essence” of photography (if I may be contrite).  Let’s just see if we can’t figure out how to reconcile the two, why don’t we?

The first quotation I chose was from Frederick Sommer, a prolific early-twentieth-century (my favourite!) photographer.  He is quoted as saying:

Life itself is not the reality.  We are the ones who put life into stones and pebbles.

Which, in keeping with the trend of what I’ve been learning all about this year (nothing exists! Meaning is meaningless! The only thing that exists is us, and we make meaning, and maybe then even that doesn’t happen!) seemed, at first glace, like a great way to tie this photography course into the rest of my work.  But I’m not entirely sure that’s what this quotation is getting at.  Sure, maybe photographs don’t, won’t ever, never did capture “reality,” but it’s not like we agree on what that is anyway.  What photographs do capture is the eye of the photographer.  The eye of the beholder.  And that’s where beauty is?

According to Sommer, that, at least, is where life is.  A stone, a pebble, of course is not full of life.  The stone doesn’t know it’s beautiful, the pebble doesn’t pose for the photographer.  But we still get something from it.  However, I’m not entirely convinced that what we see in and amongst the stones and pebbles is the inherent beauty of the objects themselves.  I think we see our own memories of that hike, the keen eye of a friend whose photographic skills we wish to commend, or the platonic ideal of man conquering unspoilt nature (can you tell I’m from Canada?).  So I guess I’m going to have to depart from our dear friend Frederick and modify his words to suit my own tastes –  we don’t put life into stones and pebbles, rather that we see the lives of others in an object’s likeness on film.  (But that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.)

So on the one hand, I’ve got this side of how I see photograph.  That the photograph itself barely matters, it’s whose behind the camera that interests me most, that affects me most.  But on the other hand, the second quotation that I pulled from Sontag’s compilation (coming from a 1843 letter from Elizabeth Barrett to Mary Russell Mitford) veers in an opposite direction – one where the likeness on film does indeed hold the most meaning for the viewer:

I long to have such a memorial of every being dear to me in the world.  It is not merely the likeness which is precious in such cases – but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing . . . the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever!  It is the very sanctification of portraits I think – and it is not at all monstrous in me to say, what my brothers cry out against so vehemently, that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest artist’s work ever produced.

If the earlier quotation gets at the cold, hard, academic side of me, this one tugs at the warm, soft, sentimental side of my being.  How many times do I scroll through my old travel photos from years abroad and elsewhere?  (Lots of times.) How often do I go creep a friend I haven’t seen in a long while? (Very often.)  How misty do I get over my parents’ albums of me and my siblings in our youth, or better yet my grandparents during the war or as children themselves? (Pretty misty).  Obviously it’s not just the person that’s behind the photograph that gets to me, it’s the person in the photograph too.

I guess I’m the meaning-maker of the photograph, after all.  As Elizabeth Barrett put it, it’s the “association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing.”  If I can seize at that association, then I get the photograph, I can be moved by the photograph.  And of course, it doesn’t just have to be a photograph taken by someone I know or a photograph taken of someone I know.  It’s easier than ever to consume consume consume images these days (who doesn’t follow a tumblr or two or twelve?).  Some of them grab you, some of them don’t.  As long as it’s got life, as long as it’s got a shadow, then it’s a compelling photograph, a compelling document.  What this means for this course, I’ve yet to nail down.  But hey, since I’m the meaning-maker I can decide that the meaning, for this maker, isn’t fixed, not just yet.

Documentaries Taking a Hit Across the Board

Here’s an article outlining how the across-the-board-10%-cuts is affecting the tradition of documentary in Canada, and not just at the NFB:

http://www.c21media.net/archives/80241

Tell your culture secretary that this is not preux.  Not preux at all.

As Time Ticks On

By Lina

Because I’m a history student, and it’s through the historical lens that I most meaningfully interact with the NFB, my next few posts here are going to be about the history of the institution as well as how the institution has affected Canadian history.  But first, I want to re-post this personal appeal to other fans of the Board which I originally wrote for my personal blog.

The National Film Board of Canada is an independent and publicly funded film corporation that has been in existence in Canada since the Second World War, when John Grierson came over from Scotland to set it up.  At that time the NFB was known as the Wartime Information Board, and really its only job was to create and disseminate propaganda.

Following World War II, however, the NFB continued to thrive as a bastion of Canadian culture.  They made films to recruit immigrants to Canada (I did my Honours thesis on those films), they funded independent filmmakers making works in their own regions, and they disseminated them across the land for free.  The NFB was the home of Norman MacLaren, one of the pioneers of the animation art form.  They’ve been able to support filmmakers with (or without) a message, making sure that not everyone need turn to studios or investors or advertisers in order to get their art out there.  Remember, Canada is a HUGE place with not a huge population.  So to sustain and maintain an institution like the NFB is an incredible feat and they’ve left an incredible legacy.

Until now.  The NFB announced that they will be closing their two main public cinemas in Toronto and Montreal due to budget cuts doled out by the Conservative government.  In doing so, they’re cutting off the last person-to-person connection the public has with the entire catalogue that the Board has to offer.  It’s true, in the past few years the NFB has done INCREDIBLE work putting their archives on line, and their interface is extraordinary.  The wealth of information that is available on their website is monumental.  However, it is only a fraction of their archives.

For a history student like myself, who is about to embark upon a Master’s degree which will rely heavily on NFB materials, these cuts are devastating.  For the Honours thesis that I wrote, 70% of the material I sourced came from the Cinerobotheque on St. Denis.  I was watching some pretty obscure stuff that wouldn’t necessarily be entertainment or be artistically uplifting to the public at large.  However, being granted free access to that archival material meant that I got to delve into, and paint a picture of, 1950s Canada that hadn’t been delved into or painted before.  By shutting down these edifices the sort of work that I want to do, or any other project imaginable for any other person imaginable, is being cut off and dried up.

Not to mention the near 100 jobs that are being made redundant by these closures.

So here’s where I’m coming to you.  If you grew up watching The Log Driver’s Waltz, The Sweater, or The Big Snit (even if you didn’t, go watch them now, they’re wonderful); if you’ve been blown away by any of the recent internationally acclaimed films that the NFB have facilitated; or if you believe in the public institutions of Canada, please take a look at this letter.  If you are moved to stand up to your government and voice your displeasure, dissatisfaction, and disgust at the turn this government is taking towards the arts, maybe you’ll consider penning one of your own.  I already did so today, and will continue to do so until I hear more about how I can help save this hallowed – at least for me – institution.

The Recorded North Revived

By Lina

Although I lament the circumstances that are bringing us back to The Recorded North, I have to say I’m excited to be here once again!

As I’m sure you know by now, the NFB (National Film Board of Canada) just got dealt a massive budget cut.  Because of this, they are being forced to shut down both the Cinerobotheque in Montreal and the Mediatheque in Toronto, their two public viewing branches.

This is devastating to us as ardent admirers of the NFB, scholars of Canadian arts and culture, and sentimental Canadiaphiles (although maybe that’s just me).  I’m so riled up about this (not only did I grow up on NFB films, but I’m going to be studying them in a Master’s capacity in the fall), that I want to re-open The Recorded North as a space to try and raise public knowledge of this unparalleled institution, keep people up-to-date on the changes they are going to be going through, and share my own thoughts on their films, people, and legacies.

If this is the first time you’re coming to this blog, I’d like to direct you to this post by means of introduction.  As the Cinerobotheque is the first site we’re going to see cut, I think it’s important to understand what was abundant and available within those walls.  It’s an incredible shame we’ll have to see it go, but I’m glad we’ll have this, written back in the day, to remember it by.

And hey!  If you’re in Montreal, go check it out in person!  It will still be open to the public until September, and I hear tell that the outpouring of support they’re receiving at the moment is pretty moving.

And never hesitate to get in contact with us.  We want to hear your thoughts on the NFB, past and present, the state of publicly-funded arts and culture in Canada, and whatever else Canadiaphilic as well!

reIMAGE-ined nation

“The National Film Board’s mission is to reflect Canada, and matters of interest to Canadians, to Canada and the rest of the world through creating and distributing innovative and distinctive audiovisual works based on Canadian points of view and values.”

From its humble beginnings with John Grierson, the NFB has evolved to create a space of non-heterogenous inclusivity. It’s contemporary mandate, expressed above, demonstrates the fluid notion of what is now deemed to be Canadian. We no longer have a static and unified vision of Canada but rather embrace the differences and resistances to this label expressed now through personal, subjective visions.

While this is all wonderful in relation to problematic post-modern identity issues, the basic terms of this mandate are troubling in relation to one of the NFB’s large components, the Aboriginal Voice project.  Headed by Metis filmmaker Gil Cardinal, the project maps the trajectory of aboriginal film making in the NFB from its beginning as the Indian Film Crew to its current incarnation, Studio One.

These voices, the aboriginal perspectives of the NFB, often serve to trouble the concept of the Canadian nation by posing alternative frames of belonging. Though united as a people, the aboriginal view of the term nation implies differences in lineage, heritage and geographical placement — not a singular articulation of a whole. I wonder how this concept of nationhood troubles the project of the NFB. Are these two nations mutually exclusive? Why is the Western concept of nationhood so privileged in cultural imagination? Why does this concept pass through Canada ineffectively, while many claim aboriginal nationhood as core to their identity?

I do think there are commonalities between the two. The concepts of wholeness or purity seem to be transcultural, recurrent frameworks by which we may evaluate our ability to belong. Both in the “Canadian” and aboriginal mind, there is this constant need to define the ways in which we may not take part in relation to the parts we lack.

Traditionally, these concepts of belonging tie into questions of authenticity which we can see most blatantly politicized in issues of land-claims. After watching Tracey Deere’s film Club Native however, I wonder what crises these evaluative methods of belonging cause within individual aboriginal nations — how is the nation troubled internally? The more I delve into the pockets that compose Canadian identity as whole, I find an increasing amount subcategories of being that multiply the spaces of address that entities like the NFB must consider.

All of these questions reminds us of the difficulties posed in defining the concept of a contemporary Canadian nation. They remind us the ways that Canada now thrives in spaces of difference and resistance that it used to shun.  To me, NFB films have always presented optimistic renderings of a multicultural  and pluralistic utopia. Maybe it’s not the right way to frame these issues, but at least it’s a start.

Interview With an Insider

We wanted to take a closer look at funding in the Canadian film industry to try to get a better understanding of how the lurking green goblin played a role in the films we’ve been studying this year.  So, we turned to my brother-in-law Joe, who is a Gaffer, or Chief Lighting Technician, in Toronto.  Joe’s worked extensively throughout Canada and the United States on films, television, and advertising.  I posed these questions to him (on skype, isn’t technology wonderful) the other week, and to the best of my abilities transcribed his words of wisdom.  I’ll ask him at Christmas what he thinks.

Without further ado, Interview with an Insider:

In your opinion, is there a visual style that is distinctly Canadian?

My base answer, and one that I think the public would give as well, is that Canadian-made features look like they have a lower budget.  However, you have to remember that Canadians aren’t seeing the low-budget American stuff: the films and shows that make it up here are the ones that have the money to make it up here.

The reason that Canadian productions can look so cheap is because, in fact, they are.  They may try to look like American productions, but since we straight up don’t have the money, you can tell that they are trying too hard to be outside of their own budget.  But, when a  Canadian production is shot within it’s means, then you don’t notice it.

One way that the Canadian film industry is starting to distance itself from this  reputation, however, is through co-productions, one example of which being the Tudors.  In that series lots of money is coming from Canada and it doesn’t look cheap.

As far as style does, I don’t know if there is a distinct visual style though; filmmakers
tend to emulate what has worked well in the past. But then again, in the case of the NFB’s Ryan, people loved his distinct vision and use of animation in a documentary.  I don’t know that style used in Ryan would be considered Canadian though, but we’re happy to be proud of it nonetheless.

Also, it’s worth it to point out that when things look good and are Canadian, most people won’t know that and just assume that it’s American.  Or again, the Canadian films that look good will be co-productions or have American post-production.  Basically, the Canadian film and television industry is low on money, and sometimes that will dictate style more than anything else.



Are there certain techniques innovated by Canadians? How do you think Canada is performed visually, through production techniques? Are there techniques that have become tropes of Canadian films?

In my experience, the source of production is mostly from the States: Vancouver and
Toronto wouldn’t be big production centres if it weren’t for American investment. There’s literally billions of dollars from the States being spent in Canadian cities.

However, almost all the big post-production houses are up here, such as Technicolour and Deluxe.  Also, there are a lot of innovations that the average viewer wouldn’t know are Canadian.  For example, there are a few models of Canadian camera cars that are used internationally.  Camera cars are low-riding trucks with huge trailers where most of the in-car footage would be shot.  A couple of the Canadian ones have done movies such as Batman, Transformers 3, and are used in Chicago all the time.  Or the lighting company LRX, started in Canada, is now flown in all over the world.  Often these sorts of companies will start in Canada, and then be bought up or partnered with bigger companies in the States.  There’s a whole service industry in Canada that has made its living off American movies and television shows because of business like this.



As someone who works behind the scenes, do you think your definition of what constitutes a Canadian film differs from others? For you, is the focus on production rather than say something more visible like director, key actors, writers etc? What criteria would you use to define a “Canadian film”?

It’s almost too hard to tell nowadays cause there are so many grey areas.  For example, I come up against Canadian ad agencies making commercials for international companies, be they for drug companies, cars, whatever.  That sort of work definitely makes it hard to draw a line in the sand between what is Canadian and what isn’t.

In the film world, I’ll see Canadian films shot in the States, but the things are truly, truly Canadian will be local because they’ll have no money to travel outside the country.  My experience with explicitly Canadian shows and movies is that they will be very local, very site specific in plot, actors, and production.

As far as Canadian stars go, that process is very similar to the States as well.  Most of your funding and your support from investors will come from casting.  The filmmaker will go to the investors saying “I’ve got these stars, they will bring in this amount of money” and then whoever is backing the project will do so accordingly.  For example, I did just a movie with Margo Kidder and Dave Foley, and even though they weren’t the stars, because the filmmaker will be able to use their name on the DVD cover, they’ll be able to get more funding, more investment.  It kinda boils down to a sales tactic.

Though the actors are often the main driving force in getting funding, writers and directors can fill that role too.  Canada certainly has darlings: Sarah Polley can’t go wrong these days, so if she wants to make a film, it won’t be as hard for her to get funding as an unknown.

It’s also pretty rare that something Canadian will only be funded by one agency.  It’s much more likely that’s you’ll get X-amount from Telefim, X-amount from tax credits, X-amount from a distributor.  However, you can only get Telefilm if you have a distributor, and you can only get a distributor if you have an actor’s name.  So if one falls through, there’s going to be a domino effect towards failure.



Do you think there are any significant advantages for producing a film in Canada? Or, conversely, outside of Canada?

In Canada you’ll have smaller budgets, and thus fighting all the time over the limited resources.  That being said, there’s still going to be fighting on larger budget productions as well. Everyone wants to make their product on the least amount of money possible, which is true for inside and outside of the film industry.  It’s why Canada has become such a big production hub: because, back in the day when the Canadian dollar was at sixty cents to the American, the bottom line was that it was just way cheaper to film here.

In the end the film industry is something people make their living off of, and are using to make profit.  It’s a very romanticised industry and it does a really good job of self promotion, which gets lots of people out to work for free.  You see this in movies made about making movies or behind-the-scenes extras on a DVD.  For the most part, it’s a regular job.  It’s hard, but also fun. I guess that’s true whether you’re working in Canada or elsewhere.



Canada has relatively small (in budget and size) film production companies. Can you tell us about the pitfalls of dealing with such limits, from the context of your professional background?

The main pitfall is that it’s just so hard to make a living in a totally Canadian industry.  Some people can for sure, but to be able to compete with the States and their incredible wealth, you just gotta go down there for a lot of it.  Sometimes that can be a little ironic, because filmmakers from Canada will go down to the States in order to contend, but then end up making all their films in Canada cause it’s cheaper to do so here.

So I guess I don’t know how you could encourage more investment and growth in the Canadian film industry.  The Québec film industry is really strong within the province, but then again they’ve good the boon of language and a strong culture.  I’m not sure how you could foster that in English Canada.  I guess you could encourage people to make stuff that people want to see, but you’ll always be competing with the behemoth of the American studio system.  Where do you go from there, right?

There have been Canadian successes, just look at Atom Egoyan.  But Canadian filmmakers are just competing against such a massive industry.  We end up seeing what’s been filtered down to us, but we don’t have the resources to create the amount of content needed for the cream to rise to the top.

Another pitfall is that Canadian filmmakers have to work so hard to make their movies on limited budgets that they just don’t get the practice of making lots and lots of movies. The trope that Canadian writers are writing half of the American comedies we see is  probably true.  These people would like to make a living out of what they do, and they have to move to America in order to do so a lot of the time.  Sometimes they don’t though, and it’s really great to see projects like the Trailer Park Boys taking off.  When you can make a Canadian film within it’s means and it does a good job, that’s the most satisfying.

Have you worked with Telefilm of the NFB and, if so, what was your experience like? Working under these companies, was there any encouragement to keep the film as local as possible or were you pushed towards finding the means of completion, whatever the national alignment?

I think these agencies, amongst others, have an odd job because they have limited resources to dole out to a thousand people a day.  But they also have to justify it, as opposed to a studio system which can be more cutthroat.  With the studio system, you have to make money for the company compared to these agencies who instead have a mandate rather than a bottom line. They do have a political bottom line however.  For example, a movie like Passchendaele will get money because it touches on the political points of being about Canada, wartime, and history.

A good way to look at this system is through Québec.  Québec supports their own filmmakers, and supports them well.  Because these funding agencies have such a good argument in Québec – they know that their films will be seen –  then more investment can flow in.  I don’t know how you could institute this in Ontario though, because they’ll be more overshadowed by the monolith of the United States.

Then again, American budgets are starting to get smaller as well.  It used to be that the standard budget for a comedy film would be $200 million, but now the average budget will be something around $40 million.  It’ll be interesting to see if and how this affects the sorts of films being made on either side of the border.

spectral women: studio d and the crisis of visibility

As a novice feminist, I’m always interested not only in women’s political and theoretical views but, additionally, the modes of dissemination of these perspectives. Canadian feminism, to me, is especially interesting as it must constantly compound and focus women’s concerns with such issues as post-colonialism, multiculturalism and language. I was naturally drawn towards Studio D, the women’s film unit within the NFB, as platform which could inform me in regards to some of these concerns.

When attempting to research Studio D, I could find little to no information on it provided by the NFB itself — even more troubling was the total lack of filmography attributed through the official site to Studio D. I’m not saying its totally invisible, but there is a definite lack of accreditation and acknowledgment within the NFB’s official spaces to the feminist film unit. Though Studio D’s life spanned over 20 years (1974-1996, RIP), it seems to have been totally buried and long forgotten by its very own oppressive patriarch, the NFB.

 

 

Albeit, I do suffer from the retro-nostalgia that is so prevalent within youth culture today: I seem to unnecessarily and inexplicably lust for all things analog, old-timey or vintage. However, in the case of Studio D, I don’t think its merely sentimentality for the antiquated or non-mainstream that interests me: I am sincerely interested in discovering and tracing the voice of Canadian feminism.

Forbidden Love: The Unashamed Stories of Lesbian Lives is one of the film’s of Studio D that so embodies the feminism I would wish to align myself with. Though it is a retroactive view of same-sex women in Canada, it is not dated, but rather represents to me what would seem an honest and sincere account of what it was like to live with this marginalized identity in the mid-20th century. I was so interested in and attracted by the women in the film: they are so vibrant, self-aware, alive. How could the NFB have buried them?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe the NFB’s intentions were honourable in its lack of acknowledgment of Studio D. Maybe, by de-compartmentalizing the representational concerns of women, the NFB intended to create a more po-mo (read: inclusive, fragmented, maybe confusing) space. Like my predecessors at Studio D, I don’t have answers here. All I have are some well-intentioned questions.

Canadians reppin’ Canadians reppin’ Canadians: Alter Egos and the Demise of NFB Animator Ryan Larkin

I just recently watched a featured documentary through the NFB website about Ryan Larkin, a 1960s and 70s animator who for a short time worked alongside Norman MacLaren (our Canadian claim to animation fame) before succumbing to a cocaine addiction and leaving only to end up begging on the streets of Montreal. I know what you’re thinking, and no, it wasn’t Chris Landreth’s Oscar-winning animated documentary Ryan. It is Laurence Green’s 2004 film Alter Egos, which sensitively explores the relationship between Landreth himself and his subject; between one animator who rises to fame through depicting another’s failure.

Larkin at the NFB c.1960

The story is sad, romantic, surreal. Ryan, a young and promising animator, gets a job working under Norman MacLaren and others at the NFB in the 1960s. He is prolific, churning out highly-sophisticated animated shorts. He eventually receives an Oscar nomination for his 1969 short Walking. He made significant creative contributions to a number of other well-received animated films (including Running Time and Street Music) up until the mid 1970s. Green’s film implies,however, that Larkin’s subsequent financial success funded, at least in part, an escalating drug addiction — one that would eventually put a halt to his creative production altogether.

Still From Larkin's "Walking"

Enter Chris Landreth, a young, up-and-coming animator who decides to pull Ryan’s story from the vault — oh, and win an Oscar in the process. Landreth’s 14 minute animated interview with Larkin tells the story of a broken man whose place in Canadian history floats ambiguously between success and failure. He creatively inserts what would otherwise be a standard documentary interview into his own stylistically-unique animated world. Ryan’s real-life appearance is reworked, and reinterpreted by these means, into what is at once a kind of caricature and a deeply “real” rendering. In other words, Landreth is hugely innovative tehcnically, stylistically, and thematically. He done good.

Still From Landreth's Ryan

One then asks: what is Green’s objective in revealing the details of the relationship between Landreth and Larkin in yet another film? Besides the natural curiosity that arises in seeing any “behind the scenes” documentary, I think Alter Egos is also driven by a desire to deconstruct issues of representation — namely, who holds the power of cinematic representation, and how does the exercising os such power weigh on the represented? Landreth’s film re-creates Ryan Larkin…indeed, when I hear the name, I picture Landreth’s skeletal animated portrait of him. Has Landreth succeeded in actually redefining Larkin’s identity? Can we only know him as the Ryan of Ryan? In investigating the context surrounding the making of Ryan, Green’s Alter Egos also shows us the complex “making of” Larkin’s public image itself, underscoring the ability of film (and filmmakers) to create and solidify meaning. In this case, Green is in some ways able to allow Larkin a new space to reclaim his identity.

Ryan Larkin c.2004, Image for Green's "Alter Agos"

I would say that the “climax” of Alter Egos is the scene in which Larkin watches Landreth’s film for the first time. In case you haven’t seen it, I won’t give anything away, but the scene reminded me that the very notion that Larkin might not appreciate Landreth’s representation had never previously crossed my mind. I had, until then, easily accepted Larkin’s place in Canadian film history as “that coke-addict guy in that other guy’s trippy short film.” The scene is a kind of crossroads where the subject, author, past, present, reality and fiction of Ryan meet. Green gives us a context for Landreth’s film that had for so long been revered more so as an art object that a slice of an entire narrative. He makes audiences of himself, Landreth, and Larkin alike understand Ryan — and for that matter, other documentaries — as being only a part of a story, with both a historical lead-up and aftermath.

Things to ponder, you ask? How does the documentary genre work to crystallize history for us? Does it simplify narratives, complicate them, or both? Do we lose something every time a documentary is made? What do we gain? Holler at your girls.

If a film falls in the forest, and there’s no one around to watch it, does it even matter?

So we decided to host a screening of our very own to bring some NFB to the masses. It’s all very well and good for us kids enrolled in a Canadian Cinema class to think lofty thoughts about identity, endorsement, and film, but what about our friends, piers, enemies, and well-wishers?

We chose the film Between: Living in the Hyphen by Anne Marie Nakagawa, despite its high school preachiness, because it presented some of the basic philosophies of multiculturalism while leaving many of the issues contained therein ambiguous. As predicted, our viewers responded to the film in many ways, ranging from outright hatred to grumbling acceptance. Our desired effect was achieved however, as Between introduced and problematized some basic notions of multiculturalism while clarifying other facets of this debate.

In the sample of our friends, the film worked to fulfill the mandate of the NFB — everyone had a personal relationship to the ideas presented in some way. Many found it to be representative of the way contemporary Canadians are thinking about multiculturalism and the way we think about being a mixed race person in a settled country, but this was by no means the consensus.

Our friends weren’t the sort of ethnic melange that the film presented us with, but many had ties to the sort of emotions that were being bandied about. Some people who felt that they were often misrepresented in their public life by what they looked like either shared some of the frustrations elucidated in the film, whereas others liked being asked questions about their heritage. Others felt that this sort of celebration/interrogation of cultural/ethnic heritage depended more so on generational and regional placement in Canada. Would the “ah, cool!” about someone’s racial background be heard the same at a university in a big city as well as in a smaller town? We all appreciated that we were a particularly left-leaning (read: biassed) group and that even our opinions were a very limited representation of “what Canadians think”. Another pitfall of our group was the fact that many of us, like many of the talking heads of the film, expressed opinions that were so personal. While in many aspects of identity politics “the personal is the political”, we still found that we had to acknowledge our own oversights and in what contexts we were making these assertions.

We think the conclusion we came to was that “Feeling Canadian” really cannot be defined, because that “feeling” is comprised of everyone’s specific loyalties, some of which may be perceived as far removed from the Great White North. Some may be loyal to Canada, others to another nation, religion, culture, etc., whilst others like to consider themselves a mix. We think it’s probably this reason that it’s so hard for the NFB, or really any other Canadian body, to pin down a way of “representing Canada to Canadians.”

We wondered what Between, as a film made possible by federal money filed through the NFB, was saying about a legitimized governmental notion of Canadian-ness. Obviously, the film falls far short of the goal of defining multiculturalism or mixed heritage. The NFB really seems to like this theme…we’ve seen in Club Native identical sequences of talking heads repeating words and phrases like “MIXED RACE. MULATTO. HYBRID. MIXED” and the like. The very fact that they fund and promote these topics might speak to an underlying anxiety to always define define define in this nebulous nation we call home. Perhaps then the endeavour of the NFB is not to create texts that wholly encompass one concept or idea but moreover to embrace the pluralism of Canada. Are we, as Canadians, satisfied by the pictures the NFB paints of us? Is there some way to reach consensus on these issues as emergent post-colonial multicultural state?

One viewer at our screening noted “there’s this weird tension in Canada about wanting to celebrate multiculturalism alongside a desire to appear whole”. Our goal is to appear Canadian – whether this be through looks or paperwork. Yet, there is no definitive way to link the notion of Canada to one public face. However, as the one visible minority [present] said, “I’ve always felt like I belong”. Between projected this as its hope for the future – that difficulties of multiculturalism would be belayed by acceptance. Many of our screening-goers felt as if this was their experience and aptly represented the tide that multiculturalism in Canada would take in the future.

Upon writing this post however, we were still all left with a bit of a hole in our hearts: if this film can do all the things we asked of it, why is so overlooked? The NFB is a free, national, talented service. It’s easily accesible. It’s often intelligent and always thought-provoking. If it’s all of these things and more, why is it not more popular? Why don’t more people know about it? Why do Canadian Cinema students have to host a screening before any of their friends would know that this resource was out there, crying to be used? Leave a comment and let us know what you think!

the tardierest explorer – nfb journey cont’d — VIRTUALLY!

The interface of the NFB is site is deceptively simple. Every click instantly multiplies the possibilities for exploration; each unexplored corner and crevice yields valuable information about canadian cinema, our national identity, ourselves. Despite feeling a little bit overhwhelmed within the intertextual web of the NFB site, the virtual space is carefully organized and easy to navigate for first-time explorers. As a novice patriot and NFB cinephile, I enjoyed that upon clicking on a film others a side bar appeared, listing a few selections from the catalogue that I may enjoy. The NFB site was as friendly and welcoming as the workers at the actual Cinerobotheque and I have yet to be disappointed by a suggestion from either.

The central panel on the homepage details news and films of interest, which seemingly reflects the NFB’s foundational mandate: representing Canadians to and for Canadians through film. Scrolling through today there was talk of a hockey expose, an NFB tour, a piece on Korean-Canadians, and a film on urban gentrification. I wonder though, what is it about this conglomerate of image and ideas that emits this distinctly Canadian aura. What was that thread of Canadian commonality in these themes? For me, similarity was communicated through the less direct route of tone. The crucial self-deprecating levity of Canadians, communicated so clearly through the juxtaposition of hockey and multiculturalism relays so much about us as a people. In the space of the NFB, and for most Canadians, multiculturalism is as noble as hockey (and notably, not generally the other way around). More importantly, we we, as Canadians, would be ready to defend either with the passion that a polite sternness would allow. A lot of what distinguishes us as a people is this ability to self-reflect. Unlike our counterparts to the South, we can see the absurdity in our heated defense of ice sport and able to laugh at it. In the party of globalization, Canadians are the shy witty ones, which, to me, are always the most interesting to talk to.

I do think though, that specificity of experience has to come into play. Although there is something that does interpolate a Canadian subject, they do not necessarily communicate a unilateral experience of our homeland. I wonder how my personal experience informs my reception of the site. Growing up the child of immigrants in the national capital region, aspects highlighted by the NFB, like multiculturalism, are inherent in my Canadian identity. However, others, are a little more difficult to explain. Hockey, of all things, is not something that particularly spoke to me personally, yet I still would readily associate it with this growing abstraction called Canada. What is it about this sport that resonates so strongly with us?

Like myself, the NFB does not seek to give definitive answers to these questions or represent a homogenous and unified notion of Canada. The site serves as a means for Canadians to self-represent and instills the homegrown notion of democratic socialism into its conception. Twitter, an iPhone app, the now antiquated e-mail, facebook and forums are the spaces of resistance within the website; they allow Canadians to talk back to the monolith of culture that is the NFB and incorporate aspects of themselves and their home that may be over looked.

However, the interactivity oft he NFB does not end there. Though the site does not yield its secrets all too readily, there are many spaces wherein the virtual explorer may drive and negotiate their own experience. For example, the most interesting to me was the component entitled “Holy Mountain”, which allowed patrons of the NFB site to explore the history of my new home, Montreal.

“Holy Mountain” visually represents Mont Royal as a self-contained cosmic island. The mountain, is set in rotation with the movement of the mouse over the screen, highlights spaces of historic and cultural importance which exist in the topographically gifted landmark. With every click, I was able to explore the Mountain through its detailed virtual conception (the weather on the mountain even mirrors the daily forecast in Montreal). Pluralism, is again at the fore, as the voices and impressions of the public are welcomed and met with equal esteem and encouragement as those of the canonized contributors, the filmmakers of the NFB. This is the Griersonian dream of the NFB realized: within this magical space the impossibility of utopic democratic socialism can exist. Unlike the island, Canada is grounded; our roots are embedded in the prairies of the wild west, the fisheries of the east, and the bitter cold of our white North.