Who Threw That Stone?

The Canadian Film Industry did. I'm only throwing it back.

A few weeks ago when I was in Cannes, I was walking home to my flat when my phone rang. It was one of my friends who is one of the head programmers for the Toronto Film Festival. We've always enjoyed a friendly, non-working, cocktail - laden relationship, and while I was navigating the traffic whilst crossing the highway at le Boulevard Republic, he explained that the reason for his call was to invite me to be one of the 10 "Professionals" who choose the Top 10 Canadian films of 2009, and they would be pleased if I would take part.

"Hell Yeah" was my response. Maybe I might have some market value after all, and I was (and am still) very honored.

Two weeks later, and my package of films finally showed up. Now, this also is an extraordinarily busy time as the American Film Market starts next week, so I've got my day job to attend to, plus, a TON of after hours work in order to book my meetings, screen the films I need to see for last minute acquisitions, try and have what resembles a social life, and basically get my ducks in a row. When they finally arrived, I took a quick gander, and I was desperately hoping I'd never say this, but here it is:

I've seen the future of Canadian filmmaking, and the future, my friends, is bleak indeed.

What a pile of crap I've willingly dove into! I know Telefilm (The Canadian Government Funding body for most films that get made in Canada) have the taste of a dead Water Buffalo's anus, but really, this lot is bollocks. Of the 24 films to plow through, and NONE of them are any good or close to being commercially viable, by any stretch of the imagination. I can say this with some authority as I've been in the business for close to 20 years, and have done everything from selling home video, to realeasing films domestically, to acquiring films for North America and International, to selling films internationally... blah blah blah. In short- I've been around the block a few times, and I Do know what I'm talking about.

They are ALL bupkiss. It's an embarrassment. I'm outraged because as a taxpayer, these are where yours and my dollars are going, that they are never going to turn a thin dime, and certainly not repay Telefilm Canada for their investment in a picture that any blithering idiot / bureaucrat with enough sense to rub two matches together, who, after reading the script, should have invested $$ in Bernie Madoff rather than "a Tale of life in a northern British Columbia Town..." Seriously. Just shoot me now. Every year, Canada tries to laud it's homegrown "talent" but instead you get the something close to an allegorical cinematic version of "a wretched hive of scum & villainy..."

So I've spent all my scarce hours preparing for the world's 2nd largest film market by coming home from my difficult, stressful job, and putting yet another bad Canadian film in the DVD player (3 - 4 per night), hoping for the best, but getting the worst. And I mean THE worst! I actually had to stop last night and take a dramatic renewal of purpose. It was so scary that today, I called my friend at TIFF, and said (paraphrased)

Me: "Dude. With the stuff you've sent me, I'm unable to assemble a Top 10 list. I'm unable to even submit to you a Top 2 list. Sorry, but with what you've provided me, I can't give you what you want. These films are THAT bad".

Him: "I know. I'm sending you another 25 or so 2nd week in November, these will be better".

Me: "Oh. Ok. Thanks for letting me know, (and wasting the last 30 or so hours of my life watching dreadful movies)".

Him: "No problem. We appreciate your support. It will get better, but we had to send you everything that was applicable to be to be in contention. It will get better though".

So that's been my life over the last 10 days. Working a difficult, stressful job, of which I'm totally burnt, burnt, BURNT out from, only to blast home, and subject myself to 6 hours of dreadful, and I mean dreadful Canadian films night after night, only to find out that they knew most of them had their challenges all along. The good stuff is coming in a couple of weeks. I should say now that I can't wait. But I won't.

This kind of got away from me, because I started writing this quite late last night. I was dejected about my life, my social life, the idiocy of Telefilm Canada for green lighting (and funding projects) that only more contribute to the decrepit state of Canadian Film, (which contributes more to my misery) when I said "Fuck It". I lay on my floor and started aimlessly flipping through channels, and stumbled upon Bravo's 6 night installment of Monty Python's 40 year anniversary. This one dealt with The Life Of Brian, and in a few seconds my despair turned sideways. John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry's Jones & Gilliam were talking about their favorite scenes from the Meaning of Life, and this came on.

"All I said was, that Halibut was good enough for Jehovah".

This totally made me laugh, while lying on my floor at 1:30 AM, as the ugliness & stress of my recent days melted off.

Getting The Message Out

I've never been one for cars. I mean I appreciate them in the normal, non-mechanical sort of way, but I'd much rather read Guitar Aficionado magazine (a great read, BTW, which I discovered in Heathrow Airport last week), than Car & Driver any day of the week. I do appreciate a nice car, but really, they are nothing more than expensive machines that should get you from point A to point B with a modicum of fuss and not a telling of your status symbol / income / approximate penis size etc. Conversely, I'm totally addicted to Top Gear, and above all that, I do have a healthy crush on European cars, namely German cars, namely BMW's and Volkswagens. (Ok, toss in the occasional Audi and older Saab, and I'm right there too). Sadly, I know nothing about how they work, their reliability, or even what a spark plug is, or anything of that nature. I think in a perfect world, I'd drive a sporty little European import, and as long as it didn't have kittens on some highway in the middle of nowhere - then we're all square.

Volkswagen however, has always caught my eye. With their well deserved reputation of being a little more pricey, thus holding onto their resale value a little higher, means quality and more quality. What REALLY dips my biscuits in gravy though, is their awesome ongoing advertising. For years, they've in my opinion anyway, held the Gold Standard for advertising. Their commercials and marketing approach in my mind are second to none.

What really has had my attention the past couple of weeks though is the new Volkswagen Fun Theory. A huge global car company, spending some serious dough, and putting their best foot forward and really re-jigging their brand under the guise of better living and such. It's sly, crafty and pure genius. Here's their first one from The Fun Theory; The Piano Staircase. Just a brilliant way to market their brand, without evening coming close to mentioning cars. My hat's off to whoever their ad agency is. Even in the midst of my formidable skepticism, I found myself smiling.




Another awesome campaign was their (supposedly) banned "Bollocks" ad:




Here's another favorite of mine - the weird, mutant fish/dog that only ran in Europe with the perfect Stand By Me accompaniment .

My all time favorite though, is the masterpiece of a commercial with the late Nick Drake's timeless classic "Pink Moon". Just all around magnificent filmmaking / selling all presented in 59 seconds. I'll say it one more time- a masterpiece.

So that's it about my car commercials spiel. Ok - maybe just one more...

The unbelievably hilarious send-up of the traditional suburban standard car commercial starring Andy Richter. Funny as all hell. This is the end of my free advertising for the huge conglomerates for now anyway. But there is some seriously brilliant stuff happening out there.

The Enemy Of My Jet Lag Is My Friend

(This was my view from my balcony in my flat in Cannes last week)

A few weeks ago at my Doctor's office for my first ever prescription for sleeping pills;

Dr. Johnson: "Hi, so what can I do for you?"
Me: "I need some drugs."
Dr. Johnson: "No Problem! Everything can be solved with drugs."
Me: "... You're like a God to me."


As I've gotten older, I've noticed my body changing. I had yet another overseas trip coming, and I've had to face up to the sad truth that I'm no longer a young buck - that I'm more consistant with a Grumpy old Git (as one of my UK friends made a marked observation at the recent Toronto Film Festival).

Jet-Lag in particular has been a real indicator over the past couple of years of my diminishing powers. 10 years ago, I'd go to Cannes with little else but a briefcase of condoms, a budget for Vodka Red Bulls, and a card in my wallet which would be translated into French, saying something like "In case you've found me drunk, or mugged on some beach somewhere, the phone number of my office is +1 604-XXX-XXXX, and the number for the Canadian Consulate in Nice is +33 (0) 4.93.92.93.22. Merci Boucoup in advance from an inebriated festival-goer, and sorry for any vomit that might be staining my immediate vicinity".

Now, when I travel overseas, my inventory consists something like this:

Sleeping pills
Anxiety medication
Canadian toilet paper
Emergency Hemorrhoid Medication
A good book, and plans for a hot bath
Manuscript for my upcoming book "Most. Boring. Tourist. Ever."

Oh my youth - I hardly knew ye.

The sleeping pills Dr. J prescribed for me were nothing but a Godsend. Seriously. I slept 5 hours going over in the plane, and popped on the first 3 nights of the market, so I was in tip-top shape. As opposed to the debacles of other years, where I'd be still wide awake at 6:00 AM, because my body was telling me it was only 9:00 at night back on the west coast - and I had still a full day of work ahead of me. Mmmm drugs. Is there anything they can't do?

Anyway, By the time I landed at YVR back from another trip from Cannes yesterday, I had been up for something close to 17 hours. Factoring in the delays at customs, waiting for luggage, then getting actually out of the airport, then on the Canada Line to downtown, then to flag a cab down for the rest of the 10 block trip to may apartment, I staggered through my doorway in the middle of a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon on the Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend. I thought to stay up the whole way, have an early dinner then get to bed, and come out shiny and happy on Sunday to enjoy two blessed days off.

As it turned out. Reverse jet-lag reared it's ugly head, and I ordered a pizza at 6:00, fell asleep at 7:30, woke up at 2:00 AM, and have been up for the duration. So, it's either pretty early, or really late, depending on your individual proclivities. (But whatever- I'm not the boss of you).

The sun is just coming up now, and although I wish I could get back to bed, I'm going to be gutting out the rest of the day. I've got Thanksgiving dinner tonight and I think after a few glass of wine, some tryptophan, and the company of some good friends, I'll be ready for bed in about 19 or 20 hours from now.

It's nice to be back home. Jet Lag and all.