'Journey to the Center' (Director Jens Hoffman, 2008)

This year the Banff Mountain Film Festival redeemed itself. I've been going for years, and loving it, but last year was a huge disappointment. Maybe I just picked a night that had a bad lineup, but it was LAME.

After years of trying to get my brother to come, he did, and I felt like I had to apologize afterwards. There was a boring, tedious, film about a 24-hour mountain bike race (yup, pretty much a lot of footage of guys on bikes on a trail), something stupid about old guys rock-climbing, and pretty much nothing else that I can remember.

Oh wait! There was one cool film about a punk band on tour that was also obsessed with nordic skiing. So between late-night thrashy shows at seedy bars they'd head out into the bush and go skiing. Very cool.

ANYWAY, sorry, went off on a tangent there, this year, the BMFF, held as always at the Bloor Cinema, was once again awesome. It probably helped that it had two great sponsors this year -- the Alpine Club of Canada's Toronto division, and the Rock Oasis climbing gym.

If I can remember, there were two films about climbing -- one set in Scotland, another in Germany near the Czech border (crazy rock climbing on spires with barely any gear), a cute 5-minute film about a Swiss kid overcoming his fear of the water, one that had some awesome footage of avalanches but otherwise sucked, and my personal favourite, "Into the Center."

This film followed three BASE jumpers (BASE stands for Bridge, Antennae, Structure, Earth and is the sport where crazy people jump off dangerous things and pull their parachute moments before dying) who travel to a remote part of China to jump into one of the world's largest vertical caves. It's called The Heavenly Pit.

One of the jumpers, Chris Mcdougall, is from Australia, another, Jeb Corliss is from the U.S. and the third, Paul Fortun is from Norway.

I was pretty skeptical at the beginning of this film. It attempted to delve pretty deeply into their reasons for embracing such a dangerous sport, and the results were a bit tiresome. Corliss claimed the sport saved his live, and that as a child he was "extremely suicidal." Ok. "Douggs" talked about how he had let family members down when they needed him because of his obsession with the sport. Sure...
Paul was cool though. A typical Scandinavian, he didn't say much that wasn't necessary and just seemed to really like doing crazy things, but in a very controlled manner.

Just getting to the pit was a major adventure. Several planes, a boat up the Yangtze river, hiking on foot, and literally days of travel were required to get to this massive hole in the earth.

Fortun had seen a photo several years before of a Chinese tightrope walker crossing the pit in the 1970s. After going there himself to see if the cable was still in place, he had been working ever since to make the trip happen.

But still, the team wasn't even sure they jump would be possible.

Along their journey to the cave there's a few too many long artsy shots of the team members gazing off into the mountains contemplatively, or awkwardly chatting about the surroundings with each other while appearing to be nonchalant. And there's WAY too much of the American, Corliss. He seems like a nice enough guy, but seriously, he talks way too much.

One of my favourite moments is when Douggs, the Aussie, ventures off on his own and meets some young students who invite him to visit their school. He does, and finds a school-wide talent show has been organized in his honour and the kids in the remote town are pumped to have him visit. He loves it, and the magic of the moment is written on his face even until he leaves, a full four hours later.

The filmmaker won me over with moments like that. By the time the guys are packing their chutes to actually jump, the sense of anticipation is palpable and I found I had somehow come to care about them a little.

When they slid out over the massive pit on a tiny cable, chills went down my spine. And as Corliss unhooked his safety leash and started swinging on the cable preparing to let go, the audience actually held its breath. When he did let go, and freefell into that cave for what seemed like an eternity before pulling his chute, people actually applauded.

It was pretty solid storytelling. It was no less exciting when the other two jumped, and their excitement in the immediate moments after landing was infectious.

Maybe because the sport is so dangerous, and the jump was so risky, or because it took so much work to make it happen or because they spent so much time talking about it, you actually cared by the end whether they made it or not. At the beginning, I dind't anticipate that happening.

I liked this movie. It made me even more excited about going to China in ONE MONTH.
Maybe I'll visit the Heavenly Pit! Or that school, or one like it. But I probably won't be doing any BASE jumping. Katie wouldn't be a fan of that. And neither would I. HA!

"The Sheltering Sky" (Paul Bowles, 1949)

I spent a year in Morocco, travelling to almost every dusty corner of that country with my friends James and Daniel.

We explored Casablanca and Marrakech and Essouera and Chefchouen, and countless, nameless, hills and valleys and towns and villages in between.

We traveled by bus, train, and bush taxi, and by hitch hiking, and we made friends in every place we visited.

As a result of all that I feel like Morocco is one of the few foreign places where I have truly gotten to the point where I felt ‘at home.

It’s a beautiful country with incredibly hospitable, generous people and I love it a lot.

So, I admit to possessing a somewhat snobby attitude sometimes, when I’m watching a movie or reading a book, that is set in El Maghreb.

It’s sort of an ‘I know Morocco better than they do” sort of attitude, and I’m pretty embarrassed about it.

But when I was reading Paul Bowles’ “The Sheltering Sky,” I had to just sit back in wonder and accept that this guy lives and breathes Morocco and knows the country and the people, inside and out.

TSS is a perfect example of Bowles' ability to take his readers under the skin of this foreign land, to experience the country from an insider’s point of view.

The book begins with three Americans disembarking from a freight ship on a jetty in a grubby North African port town in 1947.

The trio is comprised of a married couple, Kit and Port Moresby, and their friend Tunner. They’re rich, cocky, artsy Americans out to see North Africa -- living up to many of the negative stereotypes that still follow American tourists around the world.

Bowles immediately sets the scene, accurately describing a place that smacks first-timers upside the head with a blast of dust and heat and foreign smells and languages that can be completely disorienting.

It quickly becomes clear that there is a strange dynamic between the three. Kit is feminine and fragile and sensitive, but with a deep rooted fear and insecurity that can result in a mean edge.

Port, her husband, is arrogant, smart, driven – and with little ability to see beyond his own personal goals.

Tunner is shallow and dull, but incredibly handsome and charming, and mostly he’s just along for the ride.

Port is the driving force behind their journey. He insists he is a “traveler not a tourist” and believes tourists take trips, while travelers slowly migrate from one part of the world to another, over a period of years. I like that concept.

The book, which has been adapted to film by Bernardo Bertolucci (starring John Malkovich and Debra Winger), is both a literal journey into the fabric of Morocco and its people, and an exploration of the minds of Americans who find themselves dealing with difficult circumstances in extremely foreign lands.

Bowles follows the characters as they take their very American style of travel – full wardrobes and bottles of champagne and massive stacks of luggage, further and further south into Morocco and away from European influence. The quality of their hotels declines the further they go, the pool of people who speak French, evaporates, the sand flies increase, and their adventure quickly becomes much rougher than expected.

When Port and Kit finally split from Tunner, in order to have some quality time, the situation really begins to decline as Port becomes sick with Typhoid, and as Kit begins to unravel psychologically as her two anchors, Tunner and Port, no longer give her something to grip on to.

From there the story begins to really get interesting as it takes a massively unexpected turn, deep in the Sahara desert, as Kit becomes completely unhinged as her inability to understand or adapt to her circumstances, drives her to the edge.

I wish I could say more about this without giving away the plot, except to say that through her experience we begin to see an entirely different viewpoint of Morocco and its people.

The physical journey this book takes captures accurately the beauty, immensity, and diversity of the Sahara – the shifting colours, deceptive gentleness, and shocking power. I can only imagine there is accuracy too, in the way Bowles describes the journey right to the edge of madness, brought on my helplessness and instability in a land that could swallow a person completely – and in this case, does.

Like most of what I’ve read by Bowles, TSS is undeniably dark and disturbing, but mixed with that is an honest appreciation for beauty and culture and that fascinating clash that occurs when very different people, from very different worlds, come together.

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.

My AudioBlogs #3

Gabcast! My AudioBlogs #3

The Amazing Spider-Man features Obama storyline

I wrote this story yesterday about Today's edition of The Amazing Spider-Man. It features Barack Obama on the cover, and includes a five-page story about the president-elect and an imposter who tries to steal the presidency.

The new issue of "The Amazing Spider-Man" is hitting shelves Wednesday, and gracing the cover is the soon-to-be U.S. commander-in-chief -- or should we say geek-in-chief -- Barack Obama.

In a recent story in the U.K.'s Telegraph newspaper, it was revealed that the president-elect is a fan of the Webslinger because he can relate to the inner turmoil Peter Parker often feels about his alter-ego.

That inspired the creative team at Marvel Comics to feature Obama in issue #583, "Spidey Meets the President."

"My bosses came to me and said is there anything we can do with this? And we thought well, maybe we'll put him on our cover as a nod to the new comic-fan-in-chief, and that grew into a five-page story," said Stephen Wacker, editor of "The Amazing Spider-Man".

Read the rest here