Artists for Action

There’s something good, something real and revolutionary and anti-establishment about artists and creative people and those with a desire to effect change, getting together to discuss how to bring about a better life.

It’s inspiring and grassroots, and never fails to leave me thinking ‘Yes! This is what we’re here for!’

That’s how I felt Tuesday night, spilling out onto Gerrard Street East from the cozy Abrams Studio at Ryerson University, after experiencing Artists for Action, a night of performances and discussion all on the theme of social justice, with the proceeds going to PEDRRU, a Ugandan NGO.

My friend Kathy Lewis organized it along with Sarah Fregeau and Irene Whittaker-Cumming, and I give them props for doing so because it’s never easy to get a dozen or so creative, artsy types to meet deadlines and arrive on time, let alone organize a creative, eclectic night of performances that somehow works coherently.

She pulled it off though, and for that I salute her!

After a brief introduction by Kathy and Antonio Cayonne, the night started with an emotionally charged performance by spoken-word artist Araya Mengaesha.

Spoken-word is one of those mediums that can really flop or fly – and in the hands of this capable young artist, it flew.

I was carried away by his first piece, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. It personified rebellion, describing an observer’s journey into an underground gathering of revolutionaries, the emotions, the stocky, nondescript speaker who brought the crowd to a crescendo with his message of freedom, and finally the smash and crash as windows were shattered and tear gas filled the room and finally, as a club comes down on the observer’s neck and he’s rendered unconscious, having scribbled down only two words on his notepad …

And perhaps the brilliance of this piece is the ending -– we don’t find out what those two words are, and we’re left to imagine what, for us, they would have been.

Thank you Araya. The delivery itself was a thing of beauty – intense, impassioned, poetic and from somewhere deep inside. I wondered how he could keep the tears from his eyes as he poured this out in words, pounding his chest for emphasis.

It brought me back to one of the first major events I covered as a reporter – a massive Ontario Coalition Against Poverty rally in the downtown core of Toronto. I was a small town journalism student and rode into Toronto on a bus with a bunch of activists –- and I came filled with big ideals about objectivity and journalistic integrity and whatnot.

But there were times throughout the day that I, like the man in the piece, filling the role of an observer, a recorder of events, couldn’t keep my fist from slamming punches into the air along with the electric crowds around me, demanding something better for those who have the least.

I came home with a new perspective on what it means to be empathetic and objective and a new appreciation for those who face off with authorities to make their voices heard.

Yeah, Araya, you captured the organized mayhem that occurs.

But beyond the spoken word, the night boasted a host of talented performers. Antonio and Dan Chapman-Smith prompted us to think about what art really is and how it can affect us and the world around us as a force for change.

Irene Whittaker-Cumming’s "Asante Sana" took her experiences working at an orphanage in Kenya and turned them into a modern dance piece that conjured up images of destruction, sorrow, connection to the Earth, rebirth, passion, progress and joy that made me miss Africa so, so badly.

She performed with Miranda Forbes, Sarah Fregeau, and Andrea Lithgow – all of whom expertly avoided the massive beam located smack in the middle of the stage area until you almost forgot it was there.

Then "Stephanie Street," a grim, intense, and challenging (five?) act play about helping the homeless and our often wrong-headed approach to doing so gave me some sober second thought. It was performed excellently by Warren Bain, Stephanie Bye, Michael Iliadis, Araya Mengaesha and Claudia Yiu –despite some minor technical issues.

Aviva Zimmerman performed what I think was part of a piece she put together for the Fringe Festival, called "Huffing Lysol," that was an entertaining and thought-provoking look at mass media and advertising and how the images we’re bombarded with affect our brains.

Ellen Hurley’s "Tipping Point" monologue took a different approach to the social justice theme, speaking with the voice of a dying planet and an Amazon rainforest that is facing a crucial juncture – a grim, critical mass moment at which the total destruction of the forest, the “earth’s lungs” will soon be unavoidable unless drastic change takes place.

And finally Antonio rounded out the night with some spoken word of his own.

Perhaps the most memorable part though, was the discussion that followed – artists and audience discussing the ideas and arguments that were rendered on stage, challenging each other to make a difference and find that ephemeral means of making art make a difference.

In a way, we were living out that theme of revolution, rebellion and grass roots movement that kept coming up throughout the night – and we personified, I think, that room full of rebels fighting against a dark, unnamed enemy that Araya described so well in the opening performance.

In some small way, we made progress towards that better life.

The Science of Sleep (Michael Gondry, 2006)

Sometimes, when I try to look at a star – I can see it clearly out of the corner of my eye, or I can catch it in my peripheral vision – but when I try to focus on it, it sort of evaporates and there just isn’t enough to focus on, even though I know it’s there.

That’s the way it is with my dreams too. I have a tendency to forget them immediately after I experience them. I wake up and the dream is there, so real I have trouble believing I didn’t just live through it – then in almost measurable increments it slips away piece by piece until it’s gone.

In The Science of Sleep, Stephane, a Mexican who returns to Paris to live with his French mother, has the opposite problem.

Since his childhood, his mother explains to a friend, Stephane, played by Gael Garcia Bernal, has “inverted” dream life and waking life – mixing the two together until he is unsure which is which.

The power of his imagination lends his dreams a sharp, vivid realness that he can’t escape, even outside of sleep, and that draws the viewer into the crazy cut and paste world of his imagination.

This tendency begins to complicate his life when he falls in love with Stephanie -- Charlotte Gainsbourg – his new neighbour across the hall, and begins confusing their real life interactions with those he has only imagined.

Michael Gondry, who expertly directed Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, along with a ton of music videos, takes us right inside Stephane’s dreams. And you feel like you’re there.

Using recycled, everyday materials like milk cartons, toilet paper tubes and cellophane, Gondry creates beautiful make-believe worlds that are so dream-like they help me recapture pieces of the ones I forgot.

There’s a beautiful scene where Stephane and Stephanie become excited about a project they want to work on together with old packing materials and old toys she has around her apartment. Their enthusiasm is infectious, as they describe how cotton balls could become clouds, pieces of cellophane could serve as the sea and how a small wooden boat could be filled with a forest to create a “vegetable Noah’s Ark,” Stephane explains breathlessly.
And as they run around picking up materials and planning it out the scene comes to life in simple, child-like animated goodness.

I got excited too and found myself planning my own little animated film sequence and convincing myself I was actually going to do it (mine involved a Lite-Brite).

His favourite dream involves a TV show where he is the host, camera-man and director, and the people in his life are the guests.

Stephane’s dreams run his life – to the detriment of his job cutting and pasting generic calendar components together – his strange pseudo-relationship with Stephanie, and even his day-to-day activities.

He never really outgrew the imaginary friends and imaginary life he created for himself when he was a kid, and as a result the cute factor wears off quick and he becomes somewhat frustrating to watch.

The aesthetic appeal of this film makes it worth watching – it really will blow your mind in a manageable way – but the story is a bit weak, the breakthrough you hope Stephane will make never really happens, and the ending is unsatisfying.

That being said it’s a feast for the senses, with dialogue flipping seamlessly between English, French and Spanish, beautifully rendered dream sequences and a meshing of fantasy and reality that will have you saying “what the..?” in a good way.

Why the Banff Mountain Film Festival helps me survive Toronto

I’ve been inspired for three days now, full of dreams of the mountains and adventures and freedom, thinking back to places I’ve been and those that capture my imagination and call out to me to visit.

It’s pretty much the way I feel every year for a week or so after the Banff Mountain Film Festival comes to town. I’ve been going to the festival for years now – five of the last six I think -- and have sought it out in Kingston, Barrie and Toronto, depending on the location closest to wherever I happened to be living at the time. It’s always been worth the drive and never fails to leave me dreaming of a better life.

That’s how I feel now, after my brother Ben and I attended the festival last Saturday at the Bloor Cinema.

The festival ran three nights in a row here in Toronto, with a different lineup of adventure or outdoors-inspired films each night, running over about a four-hour span.

The roster typically includes a mix of six or seven Canadian and international films, ranging from a couple of minutes in length to an hour or so, and there are usually a couple of slightly eccentric entries that don’t fit neatly into the genre, but usually still work pretty well with the overall theme.

There were three films this year that really captured my imagination and have occupied my thoughts for nearly a week now.

The first was called “Asiemut,” a film made by a young couple from Quebec as they travelled by bicycle through (check my geography) Mongolia, China, Tibet, Nepal and India – 8,000 kilometres – and got through thick and thin together and came out stronger on the other side. A truly inspiring film and a really likeable pair of Quebecois (not that that’s unusual.)

The second, and this fits in the category of “Adventure?? Film” is called “The Ride of the Merganser. Mergansers are a diving duck that call, among other places, the northwestern portion of the Great Lakes region of Canada and the U.S. home.

They’re pretty elusive and as such there isn’t a ton of footage of them in their natural habitat – and there’s definitely nothing like this. ROTM, a 15 minute film, follows a female as she lays eggs, hatches her ducklings, and urges them one by one to make the long leap from the nest down to the pond below – all in the space of 24 hours.

It’s so cool! Clever narration, a smart soundtrack and brilliant use of remote cameras make this one of the most purely entertaining films of the festival, for sure.

But my far-and-away favourite was undoubtedly “First Ascent: Didier versus The Cobra.”

Most of this hour-long film takes place in Squamish, B.C., and centres around Didier Berthod, a Swiss rock climber, and his attempts to climb “The Cobra” – a section of rock split from top to bottom by a narrow crack just large enough to get a toe and a couple of fingers into in places, and possibly the toughest crack climb in the world.

But the documentary-style film quickly becomes about more than achieving that one finite goal. Didier, who is living at a youth hostel and cleaning rooms to pay for his stay so he can hang around and climb, is instantly lovable, and the film-maker does an incredible job of bringing us into Didier’s life and showing us who he is, beyond being a world-class climber who appears to have been born on a rock somewhere.

At one point he tells the camera “I’m a Christian, but not a very good one,” and you can’t help but admire his ability to wear his heart on his sleeve.

The film follows Didier as he attempts, over and over again, to scale The Cobra (which had never been climbed), to the heartbreaking moment when he fails on his very last attempt before he has to fly home to Switzerland.

The story then takes us to Europe, where he climbs the toughest crack-climb in Europe, but only after Didier – a pure traditionalist -- removes the bolts that someone has driven into the rock to make the climb easier.

Then, after a year, he comes back to Squamish, and your pulse begins to quicken as you anticipate, finally, his success on the still-unclimbed route.

But like a quick-draw coming loose it all comes crashing down on his first day back, when he injures his knee and learns he won’t be climbing for months.

Then Didier has an epiphany, explaining that he had convinced himself his desire to climb The Cobra, to be the first, was the natural result of his love of the outdoors and the connection he feels to the rock.

But now, he says, he realizes it was all about “the glory.” He wanted to be the first. He wanted to be the best, and God used the opportunity to humble him.

“It’s as if He was saying ‘No Didier, it’s not for you,’” he says. And there were moments, at “the crux” of the climb – a one-finger hold that transitions to a slippery overhanging right-hand hold, where he felt as if the angels were gently pushing him down, because they knew it wasn’t his time.

“So, instead, I am here to be God’s witness,” Didier says with his typical, simple wisdom that runs deep.

Ahh man, it’s a beautiful film, and even writing about it makes me want to go out and climb a rock, or paint a picture or write a poem or move back to Banff.

See, that’s why I’ve driven halfway across the province to attend the BMFF – because it always breaks my heart and makes me cry and in the words of the great Wade Davis, helps me “understand what it means to be human, and to be alive.”

I’m getting carried away but you get the idea. If you like the outdoors, or have the tiniest remnant of an adventurous spirit left in your black corporate soul, or if you just need to escape this damn city and you don’t have the means to get out – do yourself a huge favour and go to the festival next year.

You won’t regret it.

The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoevsky, 1880)

Fyodor Dostoevsky said he would die happy if he could finish "The Brothers Karamazov" because he would have expressed himself completely.

Having accomplished that goal, he must have died satisfied, leaving behind a book that has left a profound mark on the literary world, but also on people’s lives. I personally know of two people whose spiritual journey towards God has been launched largely due to this book.

I must admit that it didn’t have the profound spiritual impact on me that is has had on others, but that didn’t keep me from enjoying most of it – at 1,045 pages in paperback, I found it at times to be cumbersome both physically and mentally. But through the vast majority of the novel I was fascinated and challenged.

The Brothers Karamazov is the story of three brothers, their relations with each other and with their father Fyodor Karamazov, who is murdered in an apparent parricide.

The youngest son, Alyosha, is portrayed as the saintly or angelic figure. The second brother, Dmitry, is a sensualist driven largely by his passions and emotions while the oldest, Ivan, is a critical-thinking, but bitter, intellectual.

After being separated for various reasons for years, the three brothers find themselves living in their hometown in close proximity to their landowner father who is portrayed as devious businessman, buffoon, nefarious womanizer and cruel glutton who rarely takes the feelings of his three sons into account. This tendency of his is the driving force of the book, leading to his romantic pursuit of Grushenka, a woman whom his son Dmitry is also passionately in love with, his underhanded dealing with Dmitry in regards to the estate of his dead mother, and ultimately to his own murder.

Factor into the equation the presence of Smerdyakov, Fyodor’s apparent illegitimate son who has grown up in his household, raised by a servant couple that have become the boy’s adopted parents.

His strange upbringing his turned him into a nasty, scheming young man who plays a key role in the family affair that eventually ends with Fyodor’s death.

Like all of Dostoevsky’s works the book is a fascinating exploration of the human mind. Typical of his work, descriptions of countrysides and architecture are almost entirely absent, while the writer spends his time describing the geography of the minds of the characters by painstakingly documenting their thoughts and conversations.

I have to say though, despite all of its literary and religious importance, this book simply didn’t grip my heart like "Crime and Punishment" or "The Idiot" – two of my favourite books of all time.

I think that may be because those books had one central figure that the story revolved around, and shortly after picking up those books I felt well acquainted with them to the point where I could almost predict their thoughts and actions.

I felt this to a lesser degree with Alyosha, and later Dmitry, but I certainly didn’t feel the same level of intimacy or understanding of their character that I did in the previous two.

It may be because the cast of characters was simply too long -- like "Ocean’s Eleven" and "Ocean's Twelve" – the story was entertaining and interesting but there were just too many people floating around and not enough development of the ones I really wanted to get to know better.

That being said, it did take me a long time to read this book, and I got through it mostly in small chunks late at night before falling asleep. If I had read large sections over a week or so I may have a greater appreciation for the project as a whole.

But also, there are sections that I found pretty tedious – including about 75 seemingly out of place pages in the middle of the book in two chapters titled “The Elder Zosima” and “The Teachings of the Elder Zosima.” In the first, the life of the revered elder of a local monastery is set down, in the second, his – or likely Dostoevsky’s – religious views are hashed out in a long, long sidebar to the story.

There is also a long but rewarding chapter called “The Grand Inquisitor” which has been published on its own and is considered an important literary text by many Christians, atheists and intellectuals.

The chapter – a “poem” written by Ivan, an atheist, and shared with Alyosha, a Christian, portrays an interrogation by the “grand inquisitor” of Jesus Christ after he has returned to earth during the Spanish Inquisition, and has been arrested.

The inquisitor, a Catholic cardinal, argues that Jesus can’t return now because his presence would interfere with the goals and mission of the church.

While this chapter, like the others, is not directly tied to the plot, it is a beautiful piece of writing on its own and warrants more attention than I gave it.

All in all though, it’s filled with intriguing insights into the Russian mindset and into man’s seach for God, and the way our passions – both love and hatred – drive our decisions and actions and cause us both happiness and pain, and how the line between the two is often indistinguishable.

Without a doubt, TBK is recommended reading for anyone with an interest in literature – but it’s a pretty big commitment and I certainly wouldn’t recommend it as an entry point to Dostoevsky’s work. But it is typical of his style, and definitely won’t disappoint anyone who has enjoyed his other works.

Wade Davis is smart and cool

I've kicked around a few dusty corners of the globe and I like to think I've explored some places that few other people will ever get to. And I've always prided myself on the fact that I'm a traveller, not a tourist. It's a concept that has become a bit of a cliche in recent years as ecotourism and adventure travel have become mainstream concepts -- but I've always tried to live it out as a way of life whenever I'm in a foreign culture, whether it's Regent Park or Nouadibou.

I've worked hard to meet people in the various places I've been, and find out what life is all about for them -- what they believe, how they live, who they love and why. To me these have become essential elements of any adventure or cross-cultural experience.

But Wade Davis takes the concept to an entirely new level. As an "ethnobotanist," writer, filmmaker, scholar, and the only Canadian National Geographic Explorer in Residence, he's pretty much the best when it comes to exploring other cultures and finding out what makes them tick.

I had the pleasure of watching an early release of his new four-part NG series: "Light at the Edge of the World" which is airing on Wednesday nights on that channel, and was suitably awed by his ability to crawl inside the skin of foreign cultures. In this case, he is studying vanishing cultures and efforts to preserve them and pass-on ancient traditions. The quest takes him to Peru, the Himalayas of Nepal, the Canadian Arctic and Polynesia.

I had the chance to interview him and find out a little more about what makes him tick. Click here to read my full story on "Light at the Edge of the World."

Rocky Balboa (2006, written and directed by Sylvester Stallone)

My dad and brother and I bonded over the Rocky movies. When I was a kid, and as a teen, and through the times we didn’t have much in common, we always had Rocky. He was this common denominator that we could all rally behind and cheer for – an underdog with an unstoppable heart whom we believed in.

Every time (and there were many in the first five films) Rocky dug himself out of some low point, and began to mount a comeback, whether it was on the beach training with Apollo Creed or screaming “DRAAAGO!!” from a snowy Russian mountain top, we were there rooting for him.

Who wouldn’t be?

So I have a bit of a personal investment in the whole collection, and I must admit I was a bit anxious about Rocky Balboa, Sylvester Stallone’s newest installment.

Let’s face it, Sly, God love him, is pretty old to be getting back in the ring, and unlike Rocky 5, the climax of this film is a full-on classic Rocky-style bout. Despite my deep faith in Balboa’s abilities, before the film I thought to myself “this is bit of a stretch.”

But the beauty of Rocky is that like every true hero, he doesn’t act within the laws of reason that govern the rest of us. In the film he tells his son, “I stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago,” and if you’ve been there since the beginning – you don’t doubt the truth of those words.

The film begins with Rocky living in the same old neighbourhood where we first met him. Adrian is dead – and oddly there’s no explanation as to how she passed -- he’s estranged from his son, and Uncle Paulie –- still boozing, smoking cigars and working at the meat plant -- is the only family member still close to him.

Rocky owns a restaurant where people come to meet the champ and hear some of his old fight stories, but his life is pretty empty and he spends most of his time mourning Adrian and feeling sorry for himself.

“You’re walking backwards,” shouts Paulie, in one of his trademark outbursts.

In what appears to be an attempt to exhibit some of Stallone’s acting, ahem, talents, much of the film is dedicated to exploring the depths of his grief. It’s a bit much, to be honest, and super cheesy and predictable, involving a woman, her tough son, and Rocky’s efforts to reclaim a purchase on life through helping them . Meanwhile, he’s also working to rebuild the fragile connection with his son Rocky Junior (Milo Ventimiglia – Luke’s nephew from Gimore Girls) who predictably feels like he’s living in Rocky’s shadow.

But Stallone definitely channels Rocky. He’s as he always was – clumsy with his words, cheesy with his humour, gentle and earnest but willing to let his temper loose when necessary. In short he’s still the Rocky we love and for that I salute him.

But like the film, I’m taking too long to get to the action. The premise of Rocky Balboa is one of its most brilliant qualities.

Mason Dixon, the undefeated world champ with 30 wins and no losses (played well by real-life boxer and former undisputed light-heavyweight champion Antonio Tarver) is hated by boxing fans because he’s never gone 10 rounds with an opponent and seems to be lacking the “heart of a champion.”

A sports network puts together a computer generated simulation fight between Balboa and Dixon, and Rocky comes out the winner by knockout.

The fight generates a lot of interest, and gets Dixon’s promoters thinking about doing it for real, since there are no worthy opponents left out there for Dixon anyway and it might be a way to win some fans.

Rocky, meanwhile, starts thinking about boxing again and manages to get a license, after giving a rousing speech to the unwilling Pennsylvania State Boxing Commission about how he’s earned the right to decide whether he’s ready to fight.

“This is who you are Rocky. This is what you do. Fighters fight,” Maria, played by Geraldine Hughes, tells him, convincing him to accept the “exhibition” challenge.

But anyone who knows Rocky knows he doesn’t stand for half-assed measures, and he puts his all into training his ancient body to duke it out with the world’s best.

Enter the training sequence – a trademark Rocky feature that my friend Phil and I were anxiously waiting for. I couldn’t help but cheer when it began with a quiet ‘da da da da, na na naa na na naa,’ leading into lots of classic Balboa workout shots and ending beautifully but predictably with the champ running up the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. So, so good.

The film ends with the fight scene, of course, and it’s a classic heart wrenching, emotionally –charged Rocky moment that seals the RB’s status as a full-fledged member of the franchise. Like the crowd in the film, I wanted to jump to my feet and usher Rocky out with a standing ovation as he said farewell to his fans.

A couple of things jumped out at me that set this installment apart from the others, particularly one through four. For one thing, Sly is just old. There’s no doubt he’s in amazing shape for his age, but his aging body is showing some mileage. It literally looks like one of the massive sides of beef he’s been known to spar with, and at times it’s a little painful to watch.

And also, the fight scene just isn’t as believable as in the earlier films. The punches just don’t look like they’re landing, and there are fewer of the close-up glove-to-face smashes that can’t be faked.

And while the film has a grainy quality that hearkens back to one through three, for some reason Stallone decided to incorporate a few cheesy camera tricks, like slow-motion, and an over-used technique during the fight where everything goes black and white except for the blood, which is of course, bright red.

It’s a bit much, but doesn’t take away from the overall quality of this farewell film in a dynamite series.

Rocky fans will love it, but first-timers probably won’t appreciate what it’s all about. You need context to fully get this one, but for those of us who have that history, it’s awesome!

Weird observations: Duke, a stalwart member of Rocky’s entourage ever since Apollo Creed died and he moved to Rocky’s corner, comes out of nowhere to make the briefest of appearances at a news conference – apparently as Rocky’s trainer -- where he says something like ‘a great fighter never loses his punch.’ And that’s it, we don’t see him again. UPDATE*** I've been corrected. Duke does come back. He helps Rocky train. There's a great scene where he tells Rocky that Dixon is faster then him, can out-box him, and is in better shape than him "So what we have to do is build some blunt force trauma," he tells him. And shortly after the Kettlebells make an appearance.

Also, Mason ‘The Lime’ Dixon looks a little flabby, and one of the fight announcers makes reference to it saying something along the lines of “Dixon’s not in the best shape we’ve seen him in,” but there’s no other reference. Maybe Tarver didn’t hit the gym hard enough before the film and Sly thought he had to reference the fact.

Paulie’s best line: “What’s the matter, you pissed because they took down your statue?”

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