Is this the end of the community newspaper?

I started my career in journalism as many reporters do -- at a small town newspaper, covering everything from grandma's 90th birthday, to school board issues, court and local politics.

Managing Editor Francis Baker gave me my first real job, working as the education, court, and environment reporter at the Port Hope Evening Guide -- one of Canada's oldest daily newspapers.

It was where I learned to write a news story, to cover an event, to dig up sources and build contacts, and find stories when there was a paper to be filled, and nothing 'newsy' seemed to be going on.

I loved it. Port Hope became my home for more than three years, and my job at the paper made it possible for me to become part of the fabric of that community -- learning the issues that the town faced, the concerns of the people and celebrating important milestones in the life of the historic town.

I interviewed Paul Martin while working for that tiny daily paper, followed from start to finish a heartbreaking fight to save a vital community school, and my colleague Karen Lloyd and I uncovered a big story about a slumlord's abuse of 70 residents in a broken down hotel.

I learned how to be a journalist in that town, and at that paper.

But little by little, money began to affect the way it was operated. Eventually, the Port Hope newsroom was closed in exchange for a tiny circulation office, and we reporters were moved to Cobourg to share an office with the Cobourg Star -- a bitter blow for Port Hopers who felt they were losing their own paper.

More recently the circulation office was closed too, and layoffs were made to the already tiny staff of the Guide and Star, so that only one sports reporters was covering two towns, and a couple of news reporters were all that were in place to cover a huge area from Colborne to Port Hope.

And now, the blow that everyone had braced for has also come. The Evening Guide, Cobourg Star and Colborne Chronicle have all been axed, replaced by "Northumberland Today," a single, regional paper that will cover all three communities.

For context, I should tell you that the Guide was founded in 1878 and was one of the nation's oldest dailies -- one of the reasons I loved working there.

The Star was founded as a weekly in 1831 and the Chronicle was originally started in 1866 as the Colborne Express.

So it's an understatement to say these papers are steeped in history -- they are history for these towns. They're the soul of these communities, helping shape their identities and illustrating their character -- and setting them apart from their neighbours.

That means that the concerns about radioactive waste in Port Hope have a voice, an advocate, a champion in the local paper. And Cobourg's concerns about waterfront development or the brutal murder of a police officer, get top coverage in the Star.

These publications have been the papers of record in these towns for generations, providing local news that doesn't exist in any other fashion, and recording history as it happens, from a front line perspective.

The Internet can't offer that service, at least not now or any time soon. And a regional paper covering a massive area with a tiny staff, can't do it either.

My friend Pete, a photographer and reporter for the paper, says it makes sense to converge, and he's wondered for years why it wasn't done sooner.

He's right in a sense. Ad revenue is stretched thin even in good times, and amid the current economic downturn, businesses simply aren't advertising like they used to.

Also, the costs of producing three different papers are astronomical compared to producing just one generic version.

But that's the point -- a generic regional paper has no soul, and it can't represent a community like a small town paper, the type of publication that people have been subscribing to for 50 years -- that they feel they own as a result of that long term commitment.

That's something Quebecor, the media giant that owns all three of these papers, can't understand. To a company whose shares have fallen from $20 to .10 cents in a few years (according to my brother) all that matters is those savings represented on a piece of paper -- and in a way that logic is hard to argue with from a business perspective.

But it's easy to argue from a local angle -- when the paper you have spent your life reading, giving story tips to, or complaining about -- simply ceases to exist with little more than a quick goodbye as the paper puts a positive spin put on a tragedy.

Mostly this just makes me sad.

My hope is in the fact that there are still good people working for Northumberland Today. People like Pete, and Mandy and Ted, who do care about their communities, are invested, and are making the best of a decision they likely had little to do with.

Does this resonate? Is the death of these historic small newspapers a tough blow? Or is it just the inevitable result of progress and change? Am I making way too much of what is essentially a business decision? Let me know...

'Casablanca' (1942, directed by Michael Curtiz, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman)

For us, Valentine's Day ended perfectly, watching "Casablanca" at the Bloor Cinema before getting late-night Vietnamese at Mimi in Chinatown east.

As everyone knows I love the Bloor. And especially, I love watching old films that seem to fit the vintage vibe that exists in every detail of that cinema.

This was no exception. We sat in the balcony and cozied-up to take in one of the greatest movies of all time. My PMC (to borrow an acronym coined by film critic Richard Crouse that stands for 'preferred movie companion') had never seen it, which made the night all the more perfect.

I first watched "Casablanca," believe it or not, in the actual city of Casablanca, Morocco, so somehow this movie has extra nostalgic value for me, and I was desperately hoping she would like it. She did.

Although I don't think it's the classic love story that it has been made out to be, it's still a fantastic tale of love and heroism and doing the right thing...sort of.

The movie, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, is set in the Moroccan port city in the early days of the Second World War, as the 3rd Reich is establishing its grip on much of Europe, including Paris.

The Nazis' advance has forces many to flee to Portugal, in hopes of catching a ship or plane to America. Many of those who couldn't get to Lisbon, however, crossed the Mediterranean and instead travelled across North Africa to French-occupied Morocco, and Casa, the main port city.

That's where we find Bogart's character Rick, proprietor of Rick's Cafe Americain in the medina, or original, walled portion of the city.

Though the entire film was shot in Hollywood in 1942, director Michael Curtiz actually did a pretty good job of re-creating that medina -- it surprisingly looks believable.

Rick, not surprisingly, is tough, gruff and jaded, has a questionable past and looks out only for himself. But all of that masks a heart of gold that every once in a while, makes an appearance. Classic Bogart material, of course.

He has established a pretty decent existence -- we're vaguely told he can't return to America but the reason isn't spelled out -- though the political situation in the city is complicated and tense. The Germans have control of continental France, but not the colonies. They have a presence in Casa, however, as well as political sway, and there's a palpable sense of fear among the expats desperately trying to leave.

But Rick's life and that of his staff, including his piano-player Sam, is relatively simple until Ilsa Lund comes into the picture with her famous Czech husband Victor Laszlou -- a hero for his work in the underground resistance against the Nazis.

Laszlou spent years in a concentration camp for publishing an underground newspaper that discredited the Nazis, but managed to escape and rejoin his wife and the resistance, fleeing from safe-house to safe-house across Europe before finally reaching Morocco.

Rick and Ilsa were lovers in Paris, while Laszlou was imprisoned and believed dead, and the relationship ended without closure for either of them, as the Nazis marched into the city.

"I remember every detail. The Nazis wore grey, you wore blue," Rick laments bitterly when they arrive at his bar.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine," complains a heartbroken Rick, drinking in his own bar after hours. It's one of the many lines in this film that have become part of pop culture. "This is the start of a beautiful friendship," is another, and so is "Here's looking at you, kid."

Interestingly, as my friend Logan pointed out, "Play it again Sam" is a line that has become attached to the film, even though it is never actually spoken in the movie. Weird.

It's also interesting that "Casablanca" has been labelled as a classic love story. It's really not, in my opinion. Laszlou and Lund are desperate to flee Casa, and Rick is the only one who can help, but he's too broken-hearted to do so.

Finally, Lund confesses that her love for Rick has never died, and she agrees to leave her husband and stay in Morocco if only he will help Laszlou escape, vowing she will never leave Rick again and saying lamely "You have to do the thinking for both of us now."

Yikes!

Of course, this isn't the way the story ends. I won't give it away, but while it isn't a tragic conclusion, it certainly isn't a neatly tied-up happy ending either. But it ends in a way that gives this almost mythical love story some creedence as a believable, honest tale about the way people behave when love comes with difficult obstacles.

The film is beautifully cast. Bogart, of course, is brilliant. Bergman is beautiful and refined. Paul Henreid is perfect as Laszlou -- the quiet hero willing to do the right thing at all costs. Claude Rains -- usually cast as a villain, is brilliant as the unscrupulous French police captain, always on the side that will provide the most benefit for him -- but somehow likable at the same time.

Yes, you should see this movie. If you don't, "you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, and for the rest of your life."
Another classic line from "Casablanca."

"Control" (2007, starring Sam Riley, directed by Anton Corbijn)

A friend called about halfway through “Control.”

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong with you??”

“I’m halfway through “Control.””

“Oh... Got it. “

It’s that kind of movie, and if you’ve seen it you’ll know what I mean it.

It’s not a happy film. It’s more melancholy, brooding, tragic.

And beautiful, brilliant and thought-provoking.

The film explores the few years of Ian Curtis’ short career. The lead singer of Joy Division got married when he was 19, became a father shortly after that, and died in 1980 when he was just 23.

But during that short window of his life, Curtis left an indelible mark on the parchment of Brit-punk’s written history.

The film, directed by Anton Corbijn and starring Sam Riley, captures that period in sharp relief, from the moment Curtis first meets Debbie, whom he goes on to marry in his hometown of Macclesfield, England, to joining the band, developing epilepsy and becoming a father. While all this is happening the band begins to gain a following, his marriage falls apart and he eventually meets a tragic and heartbreaking end.

It’s all shot in gruff, working class neighbourhoods that invoke the Manchester area where the band established its roots, as well as in dodgy, edgy clubs and bars that make a perfect setting for Joy Division’s beginnings – and make me wish I grew up in punk-rock infused 1970s blue-collar England.

The simple, sad story is told using rich, black and white tones and a careful, measured pace.

The composition is so intentional that a simple frame, consisting of a station wagon pulled over on the highway at night, the band members standing in front surrounding Curtis, feels like a brilliant, rich photograph.

This happens over and over again in the film, so that even at its darkest moments, it’s beautiful and compelling – like when Curtis collapses on stage and has a seizure, or when he flatly, coldly tells his wife he no longer loves her.

There was something memorable about Curtis and Joy Division. Their short career only produced one album while Curtis was alive, and a second that was released after his death. But they have become a ubiquitous part of the punk rock genre, and their iconic albums, 1979's "Unknown Pleasures" and 1980's "Closer" continue to sell and critics and fans continue to wrestle over what drove Curtis’ music.

“Control” shows why. His stage presence – brilliantly captured by Corbijn and rendered by Riley, is intense and honest and riveting. You just can’t look away during his final full performance in the film – intense and alive until he is carried offstage, writhing in a seizure as his fans go crazy, or the final time he climbs on stage for just a few gripping moments before he walks off, unable to carry on as his life dissolves around him.

At one point Curtis says “They don’t know how much I give...” And you believe it – you believe that his writing, his performing, his music demands everything he has and is, and that that’s what eventually claims his life – there’s just nothing left.

At least that’s the story this film tells. But Curtis died young, and there’s always a tendency to romanticize those who die tragically before their time – especially when they’re artists or rock stars or writers.

Probably that’s what happened here. But regardless of whether this version of the story is fiction, or gospel fact, it is told brilliantly.