VIFF Previews #2: a lazy person's guide to some major VIFF events, AKA, a shake through the auteurist sieve

So some other VIFF notes... I have already mentioned a few high profile films that I will likely have to wait until the VIFF proper to see, or that for one reason or another I will not be previewing. Here are some other films that made me perk up, all as yet unseen by me. Consider this a lazy person's guide to the VIFF, a heads up for those who don't want to go through all the listings. 

In terms of high-profile films generating online buzz, The Whale has garnered a lot of attention - the new Aronofsky, with Brendan Fraser, in a comeback role, playing a fat man. I am happy that Fraser has revitalized his career, having gotten used to seeing him as the butt of various clickbaity, cruel "where are they now" sponsored posts on Facebook about people whose careers had tanked; I've seen him at least as often as I've seen posts that for no reason at all try to trick you into thinking David Suzuki has died - but I am not really interested in Aronofsky - I mean, Noah? Give me a break - and fat men hold no mystery for me. 

In fact, having gotten very close to 400lbs in my life - I've lost about 100lbs since - I hereby decree that I am allowed to crack a fat joke: If I want a fat Brendan, I'll take Brendan Gleeson over Brendan Fraser any day, which is to say that I'm much more excited to see that Martin McDonagh - the Irish fella who brought us In Bruges, Seven Psychopaths, and Three Billboards in Ebbing, Missouri has a new film. The Banshees of Inisherin reunites  Gleeson with Colin Farrell. I still remember having to re-file Farrell from "annoying, smug pretty boy" to "actor to watch" with In Bruges. He's done his best work with McDonagh, so count this one as a must-see. Tom Charity, btw, picks it as a top-ten TIFF must-see, so there's that, too. 

People who like their cinema dark and surreal - fans of Rubber and Mandibles, for instance -  will want to see the new Quentin Dupieux, Smoking Causes Coughing. I'm enough of an auteurist that I read his name and go no further - ooh, a new Dupieux! 

Fans of The Endless will want to see the new Benson/Moorehead, Something in the Dirt, from the Altered States catalogue. Again, names I recognize, and a great title, too, so I read no further. 

That section, Altered States, also houses a curious-looking multiple-universe film, Quantum Cowboys, which I had audio problems trying to preview, but which, based on a few minutes' viewing seemed very visually ambitious and philosophically dense, with some of the animation evoking Linklater's A Scanner Darkly. And while they are not the stars, having Gary Farmer and John Doe in the cast cannot be bad things! Doe even sings, apparently. 

Fans of Belgian Catholic auteurs the Dardennes (L'Enfant is probably their best known work?) should know that they have a new film called Tori and Lokita, which is themed around the struggles of immigrants, as are Nanny and Know Your Place. I'll be trying to write about those, especially the last one, which views Seattle through the eyes of two African immigrants; the description reminds me a bit of one of my favourite VIFF experiences ever, the Devor/ Mudede collaboration Police Beat. 

Maybe it's because I'm a blogger, but it's interesting to trace through lines - films united by themes. So speaking of the immigrant experience, there is also a more locally-themed immigrant-themed film Riceboy Sleeps, about Korean immigrants to Vancouver. I'd previously enjoyed In-Between Days at a VIFF - about Korean immigrants to Toronto. But let's go back to a "name"-centered approach for a few more films...

 

French auteur Claire Denis also has touched on themes of immigration in her work; she has a new film in the VIFF, Stars at Noon. We once had a brief, somewhat awkward interview where I did learn that Trouble Every Day was inspired by former U-J3RK5 member turned photographer Jeff Wall, and that the truck-driver/ hitchhiker sequence in that film was not a homage to Cronenberg, as I'd assumed. One of two interviews that went so weird I was glad to escape, to be honest (the other was Blowfly).  

Also in terms of international heavy-hitters, fans of Korean cinema might want to know that Park Chan-Wook (Oldboy) has a new film, Decision to Leave.

Mumblecore star Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha, Mutual Appreciation) has a new film called There There...

...while admirers of the recently departed Jean-Luc Godard - did he go to the same end-of-life clinic Elizabeth Fischer did? - might want to check out See You Friday, Robinson, about Godard's correspondence with Iranian filmmaker Ebrahim Golestan. Mostly, to be honest, I found Godard's cinema painful to watch, though I did enjoy the humour and transgressive pointedness of Weekend. Having a film about him in the VIFF certainly is timely, though - it will be a must see for some folks, but not me.

Old school European arthouse followers might be interested in EO, the new Jerzy Skolimowski, the description of which immediately evokes Au Hazard Baltasar. I am really glad that Skolimowski is working again; you've probably seen him acting in Cronenberg's Eastern Promises, as the cranky, racist uncle, but he also directed a couple of very well-liked films back in the day, Deep End (which Can's "Mother Sky" is an important piece of) and Moonlighting, with Jeremy Irons in a tale of Polish migrants working in London (never actually caught up with that one). I wasn't crazy about his attempt to be minimalist and topical, a few years ago, Essential Killing, starring Vincent Gallo as a jihadi fleeing through a hostile landscape, which reminded me of Losey's Figures in a Landscape. But I'm glad he's still making films (he's 84).

Also, Ruben Ostlund, who directed Force Majeure, also has a new film, Triangle of Sadness. But while I am aware he is well-regarded, I have not gotten to his cinema, so can help not at all there. 

Of course, the "auteurist sieve" is not the only filter you can shake the catalogue through: the VIFF catalogue has plenty of films of topical relevance, but in particular re: aboriginal experience in Canada, including residential schools, Bones of Crows sounds like a must-see. It's the opening film. 

I had already mentioned Sarah Polley's Women Talking, which looks at rape and other issues within the Mennonite community; people wanting to follow that thread might be interested in You Can Live Forever, set amongst Jehovah's Witnesses, who do attract some dissent, mostly from former members (look up the "vast apostate army"). I don't know the film, but I liked Liane Balaban, years ago, in a Nova Scotian coming-of-age comedy directed by Alan Moyle called New Waterford Girl, and the film has been picked up by Mongrel Media, who generally only handle quality cinema. So if the topic is of interest, it's probably a safe bet.  

Another distributor whose films generally have value here in Canada is Filmswelike, and I was pleased to see their name attached to Riotsville USA, which captures some of the turbulence of the 1960's using archival footage. I was born in 1968, so I do feel like my life is rooted in that decade, even if my parents were both pretty straight, far removed from the hippies and Yippies and such.... 

As for locally-made films with feminist content, while I only know Sophie Jarvis from the short, "Zeb's Spider" (also playing the fest, previously written about here), I am keen to see Until Branches Bend, about a fruit-packing Okanagan whistlebower who discovers a potentially invasive insect in a peach and, if I'm reading the festival guide right, sets of some sort of apocalypse (??!). The bug in the peach could also be a metaphor for her unwanted pregnancy! 

Oh, yes, another recommendation from Tom Charity, seconded by some of his Facebook friends, is The Mountain. I'm intrigued, but since Tom has taken pains to not spoil any of the films surprises, I won't read about it before seeing it...

There is lots else (including that 100th anniversary, live-scored Nosferatu event at a church - yowza!). There is now a physical program guide, or you can access the full VIFF catalogue online. I have a few features in the works, and lots of films I WILL be seeing and writing about - kind of a last stand of major blogging projects before I return to work...

More to come! 

VIFF Previews #1: Sick of Myself, Zeb's Spider, Maigret, Women Talking, and the new documentary from the Harvard Sensory Ethnography Lab

So the VIFF schedule is now online. I always do a fast peruse to see what I might be excited to catch or write about, mostly looking at director's names, sometimes noting special events, and basically requesting media screeners for anything and everything in the Altered States series, which is the go-to section of the festival for people with an investment in horror, cult cinema, taboo-busting transgression, or flights of extremity (not my sole areas of interest, but certainly ground I have found fertile over the years). The three films I was most excited to learn of, off the bat, are Patrice Leconte's new Georges Simenon adaptation, Maigret, starring Gerard Depardieu; Véréna Paravel and Lucien Castaing-Taylor's De Humani Corporis Fabrica, which is the new film out of the Harvard Sensory Ethnography Lab; and Sarah Polley's Women Talking. Bearing in mind that I have not seen these films yet - and in some cases may not until after the festival starts, as not every film has a media screener and some screeners are a bad match for my present tech situation - some notes on each may be in order. 

Maigret: Patrice Leconte is a French filmmaker active since the 1970s, known for finely-crafted films that are associated with arthouse cinema in North America, because they're French, but which have also had a significant commercial reception internationally; he's probably best known in North America for The Man on the Train, The Hairdresser's Husband, Ridicule, and Monsieur Hire. For his new feature - his 31st that is neither a short nor a segment of another film, if my count is correct - Leconte has adapted a Maigret novel, Maigret and the Dead Girl, starring Gerard Depardieu in the title character's role. I have never seen any film (or read any books) involving this famed French detective, but I have long heard that Simenon's best novels rank up there with classics of American hardboiled/ noir fiction; and there are two Georges Simenon film adaptations that I have enjoyed immensely. One is Bela Tarr's The Man from London, which I caught at a past VIFF; the deliberate extreme slowness of the storytelling, the minimalism in terms of dialogue, and the sumptuous black and white photography will separate the serious scopophiles from the masses, but are more features of Tarr than Simenon, and I think the film was of more interest to people who had seen and enjoyed other Tarr films, curious to see what he would do entering the world of genre filmmaking; the film plays, as I recall, rather like a European arthouse variant on the "trouble caused by found money" theme seen also in Sam Raimi's A Simple Plan and the Coens' No Country for Old Men.  

Michel Blanc and Sandrine Bonnaire in Monsieur Hire

The other Simenon adaptation I've enjoyed is also a Patrice Leconte film, the aforesaid Monsieur Hire, about a reclusive, refined tailor with a (refined, non-masturbatory, but still pretty creepy) voyeuristic obsession on his  pretty female neighbour; he ends up a suspect in the murder of a different young girl, and definitely has secrets to keep, but there are some rather large reveals as the story progresses, so it's best I say no more. I saw that film a good half-dozen times when it came out, including a screening where I found myself the only patron of a luxurious older movie theatre in the bookstore district in Bellingham back in 1989 - one of the greatest cinematic experiences of my youth, indeed of my life; I felt like Leonard Cohen in that poem about the bus ride - all of this technology and opulence just for me! A later film of Leconte's, The Hairdresser's Husband, combined with Monsieur Hire, made me wonder if there was, in fact, a streak of misogyny in Leconte, but for reasons unclear, that seems a fairly common trait in highly controlling, artful male filmmakers (Hitchcock, Kubrick...). 

Anyhow, I'm very excited to see Maigret! 

As for the new Paravel/ Castaing-Taylor film, De Humani Corporis Fabrica - "on the fabric of the human body" - I'm actually more frightened of seeing it than I am excited, because the last film I saw of theirs, Caniba, which I reviewed here, was by far the most horrifying/ disturbing/ gag-inducing film I have ever seen: longer than "The Act of Seeing With One's Own Eyes," vastly more worthy of serious consideration than the repugnant exploitation of vulgar crap like Cannibal Holocaust, and about as unwholesome a tale of brotherly relations as you find in Terry Zwigoff's Crumb, the film tells the true story of Issei Sagawa, an obsessive, disturbed Japanese art student in France who developed a fetishistic obsession on a female fellow student, You can and should skip to the next paragraph if you are sensitive or squeamish: as an expression of his his erotic fascination, Sagawa invited this unfortunate girl - Renée Hartevelt - to his apartment, where he murdered and ate her, storing pieces of her for consumption over the next few days. I forget if he had actual sex with any of the parts but it seems possible; forgive me if I cannot bear to read about it again. Briefly imprisoned in Paris, Sagawa found himself the beneficiary of bureaucratic loopholes (possibly aided by his coming from a connected or wealthy family) - that saw him return to Japan essentially a free man. He had difficulty finding employ after what he had done, so he opted for the next best thing: milked his crime for celebrity, appearing on television (mostly as a commentator on crime stories, but also in, I gather, a steakhouse commercial - the equivalent of Ed Gein advertising leatherwork. People who think I have a dark sense of humour should go spend some time in Japan) . He also wrote and illustrated a truly obscene manga, shown liberally in the film, that described his crime. Sometimes when a film is repugnant and hard to watch - the August Underground films, for instance - I just turn it off or walk out, but Caniba is serious enough, and about a story I have sufficient interest in (having lived for three years in Japan, knowing that Sagawa was out there somewhere; plus I even own the Rolling Stones album where Sagawa gets a mention, in the song "Too Much Blood") that I stuck it out, but it made me want to vomit at times, to be honest. 

They seem like such nice people!

The other Paravel and Castaing-Taylor film that I have seen was far easier to watch was a fascinating depiction of time on a fishing trawler, Leviathan, which - shot in part on Go Pro cameras, which float among the fish heads and drag behind the boat with the seagulls, among other things - gets my vote for "greatest shakycam movie ever made." I interviewed the filmmakers for CineAction about the film, as part of feature I wrote about films that include slaughterhouse footage (sadly, I missed my chance to include Zev Asher's Casuistry: The Art of Killing a Cat in the article, which deals with slaughterhouses in part, but has no footage of them, but more on on that here. See also my giant interview with Zev, done the last time I saw him in Vancouver, here).

Press still for De Humani Corporis Fabrica

Anyhow, with a sickening film about a cannibal killer and a fascinating but at times gory doc where you get to bob and swirl in bloody water with the severed heads of fish, one cannot but wonder what will happen when Castaing-Taylor and Paravel turn their attentions and innovative filmmaking techniques to the human body, the internal workings of which are usually hidden behind taboos so deep and profound that we seldom even realize they exist. And clearly the last few years of my life - in which I have been treated for a massive infection of my foot, pissed blood for months due to a kidney stone stent, had pieces of my tongue cut out (four times now), had patches of my wrist skin removed (from both wrists, after the first graft failed) to rebuild said tongue, patches of my thigh skin removed to cover my wrists, both forearms slit open to harvest veins and arteries for use in the flap (the graft), my neck dissected - slit open from ear to larynx, basically - to harvest lymph nodes and saliva glands for biopsy, and had a tracheostomy to boot - make me the perfect man to watch and review this film, which does indeed dwell, the guide says, on "the abject horror of open surgery" (yikes!), the surprising beauty of medical imaging, and possibly muchmore besides (I have an interview request in but it's got to happen via email, given my current computer failure; I will not hold it against them if they decline) . 

Frankly, as someone who has occasionally fainted at the sight of blood, I do not exactly want to see De Humani Corporis Fabrica, after Caniba. I am a bit afraid even to read about it (though you can, if you like, here - a Slant Magazine feature). But given my history with the filmmakers, my recent life experiences, and the importance of the work of the Harvard Sensory Ethnography Lab, which I have profound respect for - some of the  most innovative and powerful documentary filmmaking going on at present - I feel like I must see it, must write about it. I'll be sure to let you know if I barf - though know in advance that I will be barfing in praise. There *is* a screener coming my way, apparently. We shall see what we see (with our own eyes, so to speak). 

Finally, in terms of films I am keen to see, but cannot preview, Sarah Polley has adapted Miriam Toews novel Women Talking. Not sure if the title is in any way a reference to the Bechdel test (I hope it is!). If I know that I want to see a film based on the names or themes, I prefer not to read about it until after I have seen it, so all I can say about this film is that a) I have always enjoyed the work of Sarah Polley, who I know best as an actor; b) esteemed Vancouver songwriter Art Bergmann, when I asked him what novelists he read and admired, named Toews first; and c) the book rather surprisingly appeared on a CrimeReads list of the "most genuinely terrifying novels ever written," alongside two other books I am afraid to read (The Consumer by Michael Gira and The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum), and one that I probably won't read, but the film adaptation of which - Polanski's The Tenant - I have always admired. Add to all this that the film is being described as #MeToo among the Mennonites, and it becomes a festival must-watch: if I read anything further about the film before its VIFF debut, it will be Toews' novel itself. 

So that's it in terms of writing about movies I have NOT seen. We will now turn to my VIFF preview #1: Sick of Myself  

Sick of Myself - receiving its Canadian premiere at the VIFF on October 6th and 9th - plays sort of like what would happen if Lars von Trier (or perhaps Joachim Trier?)  remade Todd Haynes' Safe as a black comedy. About the lengths people will go to get attention, the film is dark enough that it even has a joke, albeit a small one, about someone on a shooting rampage, which, given the film is coming out of the country that gave us Anders Behring Breivik, is a bit brave, really (Todd Solondz' Happiness also comes to mind as a touchpoint, or perhaps even Yorgos Lanthimos' The Lobster; fans of those films should find themselves right at home in the audience for this one). It's about a woman who deliberately abuses a drug known to cause a severe and disfiguring skin condition, so that she can use the condition to compete with her rising art-star boyfriend, whose art consists of ripping off furniture and recontextualizing it in galleries (which reminds me of a friend of mine in a local band used to steal things about the city to use in his art, but it's probably for the best if I don't mention his name! Some of you will know who I mean). 

Sick of Myself might piss some people off, might push some buttons - especially if you find yourself a target for its barbs - especially a scene in which the protagonist, Signe, attends a self-help group and a fellow member of the group dismisses Signe as being unworthy of serious attention because her condition is physically demonstrable, visible on her skin, and thus not subject to the same mistrust and accusation that greets sufferers of fibromyalgia, brain fog, migraines or so forth. I could see people reading between the lines that filmmaker Krisoffer Borgli is implying that these conditions, too, are suspect, brought on by their sufferers as a result of attention-seeking behaviour. At least in Safe it is clear that, whatever is wrong with Julianne Moore's character, Haynes is on her side, feels compassion for her, is even proud of her for sticking to her guns ("it's the chemicals!").

Sick of Myself might also have pissed of the makers of the drug Signe abuses - Lidexol, whose website claims they have sent a cease and desist order to the filmmakers for misrepresenting their product... but it seems likely this is actually a bit of Blair Witchery on the part of the film's marketing department. But Sick of Myself works very well as a critique of our willingness to pimp out our tragedies and traumas on social media for cheap attention. There's more horror - often quite gross, enough that several reviews mention Cronenberg - than there is laugh-out loud comedy, though I did in fact laugh out loud in surprise and delight at a couple of moments.... ut, like, I've seen Happiness at least half a dozen times, think of it (after you get through the fear on first viewing that it is not okay to be laughing at any of this) as one of the funniest films ever made, so....

I wonder if Signe's name means "sign," in Norwegian? You won't actually like her, or Thomas, or any of the film's characters, very much, but if you allow yourself to read them as signifiers of your own willingness to exploit your suffering for attention - as a sort of critique of the human condition, at present - you'll find a lot to like here. Pimping out my own recent tragedies - from the recent death of my cat to my cancer surgeries last September and December - on this very blog, and recognizing some of Signe's more comical behaviours, like taking photos of herself in a hospital mirror, I had already been thinking that there was something suspect about my desire for online attention and validation, already been contemplating detoxing from Facebook ("maybe it's a good thing my computer has crashed?"). Might be a good cautionary tale to make teenagers watch before getting Facebook accounts, eating Tide Pods, or going on shooting rampages (Makes more sense than the field trip I found myself a part of for the VIFF screening of Let the Right One In, because the teacher had heard that bullying was a theme...). 

More information about Sick of Myself on the VIFF website...

VIFF preview #2: Zeb's Spider

Speaking of cats, there's a cat that's part of the plot of the Vancouver short Zeb's Spider, a highly-detailed stop-motion animation, less than ten minutes long, about a reclusive person with a talismanic fixation on horseshoes and wishbones (and perhaps some mental health issues; the film kind of reminded me of Ryan in that regard). Zeb is at first is terrified by a spider that appears in her  apartment, but then basically gives it its own room, feeding it flies, while ignoring the harmless alleycat that lives outside her window. There is not much else I can say about a film so short without spoiling it - it reminded me of one of my favourite-ever actual nightmares, in which I was the janitor in a building charged with going into a certain basement room and exorcising it every night, lest bad things happen -  but I was startled when the credits rolled to realize that Zeb was voiced by Vancouver's own Frazey Ford, of whom my wife and I are both fans (her video for "Done" is one of the greatest rock videos, maybe the greatest rock video, ever filmed in Vancouver). Frazey doesn't do much more than mutter occasionally - I'm presuming she is friendly with either Alicia Eisen or Sophie Jarvis, the filmmakers, since it would be otherwise rather odd for her to seek her acting debut as a voice actor in a film that the program guide itself says is "without dialogue" - but fans of Frazey's still might want to check the film out, since it is compassionate, interestingly-realized, and oddly memorable. It is playing as a short feature in front of the Spanish language film Huesera, which I have not yet seen, but sounds like a very appropriate compliment (see the link for a description). 

That's all for now! More VIFF blogging to come...!

Weird dreams of shitting myself, plus death and ashes

This blogpost is dedicated to the memory of the late Harry Creech, a Vancouver Island musician who wrote the best song about shitting yourself ever. It was oddly mis-identified in some places as being a Fugs song, but nope, it's the Salty Seamen. This temporary replacement computer is way too slow for me to provide you a link but just Google "the Salty Seamen I Shit My Pants" and you will find the song). 

...So Shockabilly have a song called "When You Dream About Bleeding, It Means You're Embarrassed." Not sure if that's true or not, but I have learned from experience that dreams about peeing probably mean you need to pee.   

But what does it mean when you dream you shit yourself? Because I woke up with a start at 5:30 this morning, my dreams disappearing (save for maybe the vague feeling that Burt Lancaster had been in them), coming to full alertness in the belief that I had actually shit myself. I had felt a wet bubble come out with a fart, felt my underwear fill up, smelled a vile smell, all very vivid and real-feeling. It did not feel like something that had happened in a dream, but rather, something that happened in reality, in my body, there in the bed, waking me from a dream. Full of dread and shame and annoyance with my own flesh, I got out of bed far quicker than I wanted to be moving and felt the topsheet for a wet spot, using the light of my phone screen - not the flashlight - to check for discolouration of any sort, hoping not to wake my sleeping wife. Then I rushed to the bathroom. The topsheet had been fine, but I thought I could feel a pile of hot wetness in my shorts as I walked: "I hope I'm not dripping on the carpet." I sat down on the can, pulling down my underwear and pajamas, afraid of the mess that I would find, and...

...I discovered nothing. I had expected a puddle, expected to be washing out my underwear and PJs in the tub and having to do an unplanned load of laundry, but I couldn't even see a damp spot. I carefully eyeballed my shorts (red with white and black stripes; I favour loud and/or illustrated underwear and socks, mostly to entertain my wife, who often now buys them for me for Christmas). There was nothing in them that I could see. Before commencing to poop, I did a quick bum-wipe - "check it now before you produce more and mask the evidence" - but again, nothing. Finally - a bit trepidatiously - I reached down into my underwear and felt the fabric, first tentatively and then with increasing confusion: was there even a damp spot? 

Nope. 

So I guess I just dreamed it. Irritation with my prank-playing subconscious and relief that I had dodged the bullet - or, uh, what's a more appropriate metaphor, "fired a blank?" - competed for primacy, though my wife, after she woke up was entirely on the side of "relief" as I recounted the story. I stayed in the toilet to poop just in case, but it took awhile - there wasn't even an urgent need for it, I just figured I'd best play it safe. 

All in all, if you'll pardon the vulgar and obvious segue, it's been a shit week. First the computer dies, then the cat (I won't even bother mentioning the Queen). It's been pretty sad in the apartment - though Erika and I took Saturday off to take a ride, ending up by chance in Ladner at a delightful farm day event at Westham Island Herb Farms, where we've picked pumpkins before. We toured around a few farms, actually, finding an egg stand (farm eggs are amazing!) and some flowers and fresh veggies. But we both are feeling his absence when we return home: the apartment is kind of haunted with our memories of him, even though he didn't pass here. So many things remind us of him, and we both start crying periodically, though not always at the same time or in response to the same thing. 

Gonna try not to go on about it, but I've never met a cat as polite as Tybs was - he was full of character and more than a few quirks. As one of Erika's friends has observed, it's kind of like losing a family member. He would have been greatly diminished, even if we had - through daily watering, force-feeding and the like - tried to keep him alive, and it wouldn't have brough his kidneys back - we've already been giving him fluids under his skin for over four years, when his kidney failure was first diagnosed. Even diminished, as he was, he was still capable of receiving and giving love, still happy and purring to be petted, but he was so weak, so deprived (of vision and motion and appetite) and the likelihood that things would only get worse, probably quite rapidly, that it would have felt very selfish to keep him around any longer. I hope he would have agreed with our decision. 

Hard to believe that just a few months ago, after an $800 dental surgery that relieved pain he was clearly in, he was running and jumping and chasing his toys, flinging about his catnip-stuffed flamingos and sprinting about in a way he hadn't for some years. At least because of that, he likely associated his trips to the vet with relief from suffering. 

I doubt this was the kind of relief he imagined. Do cats understand tears? We didn't hold them back... maybe he understood something of what was going on? 

No way to know.

I am relieved that we didn't take the ashes. I have no fucking idea what to do with ashes. Mom and Dad are still in the laundry room storage closet because - well, first off, Erika feels weird about the idea of having my dead parents in the living room with us, and secondly, because I feel like I'm supposed to have some sort of attachment to the act of scattering their ashes, and don't. I don't even know where I want to do that, let alone how I'm supposed to feel about it or what it "means." It all feels alien as hell to me, frankly. My father was definitely wanting to be cremated ("no bugs on me," was how he put it), and both my parents wanted their ashes mingled, so after he died, I held onto him (mostly in my living room closet) to wait for Mom to join him, but I kind of just got used to the idea of having him in my care, and when she joined him, it was just in the form of an urn placed next to him in the closet. What, I'm supposed to just dump them in the woods or water supply? What if the area I pick gets zoned for condos? What if I move out of town - am I supposed to come visit them? 

I don't even know what I would want done with my remains, though fer fucksake, don't spend thousands of dollars on a fancy box or drag me to a church.... I kinda love that Edward Abbey wished for his body to be put in a sleeping bag and dragged out into the desert to be eaten by scavengers, though there are practical reasons for not asking people to do that for me here. I can understand leaving your body to science or wanting them to "cut me up and pass me all around," as John Prine wrote, though he was thinking more of organ donation in "Please Don't Bury Me" than he was a Stranger in a Strange Land scenario (Gerry Hannah tells me that Michael Valentine Smith asks his friends to eat him, at the end of that novel; I haven't actually read the book to completion, myself, but take his word for it, and love the idea, though again, it seems a bit much to ask anyone to want to do - "Sure, I'll eat you!"). I can even grok, if you will, that Hunter S. Thompson had his ashes fired from a cannon, at least making a fun, memorable event of his scattering, but in the absence of any good ideas of my own, I remain my parents' custodian after death, until such a time as inspiration strikes. It did occur to me that if Erika and I had a house, I would see about fashioning their ashes into a brick to be used in the construction, but that's about the only good idea I've had, the only one that actually has felt meaningful to me....

Anyhow, ashes or not, it's weird in the aparement without Tybalt. Every place we were used to him inserting himself - the meow at the door as we unlocked it after having been out, the previously-mentioned walk to the kitchen for treats, the spaces where he used to sleep... we don't have to watch where we step anymore, speaking of misplaced poops. We both catch ourselves expecting Tybalt to leap into bed with us, to come trotting around the corner to sit between us to watch The Walking Dead and get patted and brushed and loved. What's that Kinks' song, "No More Looking Back?" - "just when I think that you're out of my head I hear a song that you sang/ read a book that you read/ then you're in every bar/ you're in every cafe/ you drive in every car/ I see you every day/ but you're not really there/ you belong to yesterday," or something like that...? We've washed out his bowls, thrown out his toys (I think I saved one for sentimentality), laundered his blankets, and made plans to give his remaining medicated fluids and kidney care foods to a local SPCA. We're healing, we're okay, but we sure do miss him.

I will presently turn my attentions to VIFF blogging... enough shit and death and disaster, for now (I hope). 

Think I'm gonna go back to bed, feeling weird that Tybs isn't there to leap up beside me and keep me company. We got some good naps in (though usually he was just coming to wake me up and remind me he hadn't had a treat in the last few hours). 

Onwards... 

The decision to euthanize: Tybalt's final day (updated)

Part One: Written Before

Probably the cat's last day. Erika is home from work, and we've been exploring euthanasia options - there are services like Lifting Stars, which a friend used, who will send a vet out to your home and give the cat a peaceful injection, but with the transportation costs and a cremation (without urn), it will come to over $500 - though that's not the decisive factor, which is that they don't have any slots open until Monday, which might just be prolonging the cat's discomfort. We can bundle him in a blanket and get him to his usual vet without much trouble. It will still cost $250 (including cremation), but it can happen later today - though they will check the cat to make sure it is appropriate. We're both pretty convinced, after six days of very visible discomfort and behaviour change, that it is. 

People on Facebook have suggested lots of things, from force-feeding the cat (which I've done a bit of) to rubbing mirtazapine, an appetite stimulant that comes in ointment form, in his ears, but everything here points to his kidneys having shut down, after three or four years of giving him subcutaneous fluids (I think I had said IV fluids, previously, because they're from an IV bag, but they just go under his skin). He can barely walk - probably from kidney pain, which can be really intense - and we have been lifting him onto his favourite places to sit for the last few days, because he can no longer leap (a big change from even ten days ago, when he was shaky and twitchy and a little wobbly, but still able to get'er done). And he really isn't inclined towards food or liquid at all. He perks up when I rattle the Temptations box - his favourite treat - but when I bring him some, he turns his head and, if I don't take it away, makes movements to leave the area. I have squirted some nutrients (and a bit of homemade CBD/ almond milk concoction) in his mouth with a syringe, but that's about it - forcing him to eat won't make his kidneys start working again, if that's indeed what is going on. He had maybe one or two treats a day from Sunday to Wednesday - this from a Temptations addict who would demand treats every few hours, if we were stingy - but yesterday, his sole voluntary intake was a few laps of tuna juice. Today, bringing him tuna juice (fresh from a new can I opened, because he doesn't seem to like cold tuna juice and the other stuff had been sitting out all night), I got a dramatic gag reaction, his mouth opening and gullet working. He stood up - which we've been taking as a signifier that he wants to go to his litter box - and I carried him there and placed him inside, and he gave a foamy white barf (and peed a tiny bit).  The appetite loss is only a symptom of the larger problem, but it seems to be terminal: the vet will not even prescribe mirtazapine, saying bluntly that "with kidney failure, if they stop eating and drinking, you have to put them down."  

Erika and I both have known this was coming, but it's still striking how big a change it has been, how fast it has happened. Tybalt's regular routine, most mornings, even into last week - right up to his last day before our island trip, Friday the 2nd of September, has been to be at the bedside, waiting for me to wake up. If I've slept late, he'd come up behind my head, meow, and even run his foreclaws through my beard (a rather amazing way to be awoken, really). He's been less inclined to be bossy these past few weeks, since maybe mid-August - a little less demanding, maybe - but even then, he would, every morning, leap down from his bedside perch, get ahead of me, and saunter slowly (but assuredly) towards the kitchen. I would usually break left, in fact, and go the opposite direction, towards the washroom, partially to thin down his treats and force him to be a bit patient, but mostly because I generally need to pee when I wake up. But he would wait in the entrance to the kitchen, where the treats were dispensed, and sometimes meow at me (or yowl angrily) while posturing to block my entrance to the living room - like a barrier, so that I would turn into the kitchen. There's the saying about trying to herd cats, but in terms of his morning treats, the cat has been the one herding me. 

Occasionally at such times, as a variant on the ritual, I have stepped around him, gone to the living room to inspect for barfs or poops (which wouldn't really impact my giving him treats, but we've tried to sort of discourage his fouling the furniture where we can, and I liked conveying the message that his treats were a reward for not having made a mess. After some accident-free months, in mid-August, he pooped almost every day in the wrong place, which probably was the sign that things were getting worse). But normally, I would just follow him into the kitchen, with his slow saunter ahead of me (and choice of stopping point) sometimes delaying my reaching the treat box: "You have to take a few more steps, buddy, if you want me to give you those." (This is a cat who, if he finds himself upstairs, will go to the neighbour's door above our apartment and meow at it to be let in, because - even if he's climbed the stairs himself - he doesn't get how apartments work and thinks the door is ours; he's not the most "spatially intelligent" animal out there, but then again, neither am I). Eventually, I would throw him three to six treats, sometimes one at a time for the first couple, sometimes all in a bunch, and as they scattered on the dining area hardwood, he would run to get them, sometimes "hockeying" them, swatting at them with a paw as they slid past on the floor. Occasionally they'd go under a surface and he'd stretch or scratch to get to them; and if a treat had landed next to a table leg or something, he would have a bit of a hard time seeing it, and reach out to CATCH it with his paw, a decisive little whomp, dragging it over to him like it had been trying to hide, eating them one at a time then looking for the next. No matter how many or how few treats I gave him - even if I'd just thrown him one - he'd sniff the whole kitchen down in case he'd missed something (another thing I understand now was a sign that things were getting worse is that he DID miss a few treats, last week, just leaving them in plain sight on the floor) . The vet has long said not to give him too many treats - which are high in proteins and not great if the cat has kidney issues - but these were really his only chances to hunt, to seek prey, to catch and "kill" and eat something (the odd floor prawn - AKA silverfish - aside). Then a few hours later, I'd get up to go into the other room and see the cat waiting expectantly in the area between the kitchen and dining area, which would be where the treats would end up, sitting up, alert and perky, waiting for his next fix.

This has been a routine that the cat has maintained for years. Now you can bring a treat to him and he might sniff it, but he'll turn his head away. There are a couple of cat treats in proximity to the places where he eats and sleeps - he hasn't gone near them. It's a huge behavioural change, as is his not being able to leap up onto the couch with us, or the footstool at Erika's bedside. But like I say, his not eating is not the problem - it's a symptom of something far deeper. He's just stayed in the bedroom the whole morning, his one barf-trip to the litterbox aside, curled up next to the hot water bottle, which seems to relieve some of his kidney discomfort. He purrs when Erika cuddles him and doesn't seem to be in pain, but that seems contingent on his not moving. Often he just puts his head down, shielding out light from his eyes ("the Blair cat," if you see what I mean) - he's been doing that a lot this week. 

So to the people who have suggested giving him appetite stimulants or force-feeding him, thank you for trying to give hope and make constructive suggestions, but it's been maybe four years - maybe five? maybe even before we were married? - since he was diagnosed with kidney failure, and the best conclusion we can come to is that it is time to put him down. He can barely walk, can barely see. There is almost no pee coming out of him, when he does use the litter box (which we have been helping him into), despite Erika giving him fluids three days in a row (Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday - we skipped yesterday, because it just seemed to make it harder for him to walk, though we may give him more fluids today, depending on how things go with the vet). It's really sad, and both of us are crying - it comes in waves, catches us at odd moments - but unless the vet comes up with some other diagnosis or suggestion, we're going to go with euthanasia before the pain gets too bad. Just seems like the right thing to do. 

But he still purrs, especially when Erika holds him. We spent most of last night watching a show and petting him. We brought him to the bedroom in his favourite pink blanket, and set him up next to the bed on a footstool, and he stayed most of the night, Erika cuddling him until it was time to sleep (he did get up to pee around 6AM, but came right back, making it onto the footstool himself - maybe his last unassisted leap?). You can tell that  he feels really loved. 

UPDATE (Part Two: After)

Tybs is gone. The apartment feels really empty, and we're making plans to buy a new footstool, because the one we have was scratched to shit by him.

He had slept most of the day in the bed while we went about our business - including making a final appointment with our vet - with me occasionally checking in to offer him a drink of water, a bit of tuna juice (we opened a fresh can, because he doesn't care for things fresh out of the fridge - if anyone wants a tuna sandwich, feel free to drop by, because we've kind of had our fill of them). He would usually just look away from any other foods I offered, but the day prior, he'd had a few laps of the tuna. This time, the smell of the tuna juice made him gag visibly, a Bill-the-cat "ack" followed by him standing up, which we generally have been taking as a sign that he might need to pee. I carried him (soft, warm, and limp, with rear legs sticking out uselessly) to the litterbox, got him inside - gingerly lifting his back legs in for him - and he peed a bit and barfed a little white foam. Then we took him back to the bed. 

No more tuna juice, then. 

Sometime while I saw bathing, he jumped down from the bed and crawled under it. He did that a few times in his life - usually when he was afraid we were going on a trip and he didn't want to be bundled into his carrier. (One of the signs that things were going wrong, last week, was his complete passivity about being piled in when we went to the island). Erika has very reasonably been afraid that he was crawling under the bed to die, but he always looked back at me when I knelt down.

We decided, having skipped Thursday, to give him a final catwater - his subcutaneous lactated ringer solution. Erika set up his favourite pink blanket and I heated the bag of solution in a plastic juice jug, then when it was warm, reached under the bed and gently dragged him (still limp) outside. We gave him his water, finishing the bag, then sat down to watch a show, petting him. Eventually he tried to stand, so we carried him to his seat, and he napped a bit. At about 2pm, he tried to stand again, so again, we brought him to the litterbox, where he had a little pee. 

Amazingly - presumably strengthened a bit by having had fluids - he climbed out himself and went on a wobbly walk about the apartment, heading towards the dining room area. "Where are you going, buddy?" He seemed to be sniffing around. His rear haunches were raised - I gather this is a response to kidney pain - but he was able to slowly, carefully make it almost to the dining room, where he stopped and waited.

So I brought him back to his chair, getting the idea en route that maybe he had been going to look for a Temptation? He had been heading towards that area. 

I brought him the box of Temptations, giving it a rattle on the way, and he perked up and looked over, so I offered him two. He couldn't find them at first - he sniffed about with clear interest, looking for them, but though they were six inches from his face, he apparently couldn't see them. His vision has been quite poor for awhile, but - the vet explained - once the kidneys fail, other organs start shutting down; many websites that describe the final stage of renal failure in cats list "blindness" as a symptom. I adjusted the treats, brought them right up close to his face, and he ate two, chewing with difficulty but determination: "The Last Temptations of Tybalt Lax." It was the only food he had yesterday, and the only fluid that we didn't inject under his skin, but I am so glad he got to have his favourite thing one last time. 

Then he put his face to the back of the chair and closed his eyes and went back to sleep. We looked over to see if he was still breathing from time to time, while Erika finished some work and I did something-or-other, waiting for the hour to arrive to bring him to the vet. We didn't bother with the carrier - he was too weak to cause problems in the car, and sat passively, bundled in his pink blanket, looking mostly at Erika, as she drove, but also curious to see the outside world.

The vet reaffirmed that there really was no other option: "We could do tests, but there's no point. Once his kidneys fail, his other organs start failing, too." The vet put him on the table and went to get a sedative, prior to hooking him up to an IV and administering the final medicine. Erika and I were both crying and petting him. He gave a little meow of protest when the vet moved him and another when he gave him the shot, but mostly he went gently. We might have been able to keep him alive a bit longer, forcing food into him, but it would have been a cruel, slow, painful decline into the inevitable. 

It was better this way, but the apartment feels really empty without him. And how will I find my way into the kitchen in the morning without him leading me there?  

Goodbye, Tybalt. You were a class act. 

The Empress of Vancouver at the VIFF Centre: a documentary about Oliv Howe (and Vancouver's homophobic 1980s).

Note: I use a couple of homophobic slurs in this piece of writing, to describe things routinely said to me (and many other people) back in the 1980's. It just doesn't feel right using "f______" - which doesn't capture the feeling of having that word violently directed at you - and, like, unlike the phrase "the n-word," which never confuses anyone as to which word is meant, "the f-word" is already taken.... not that that really captures my main reason for not wanting to soften my language: I mostly just don't feel like the people who used homophobic slurs as a weapon deserve the courtesy of having their phrasing sanitized. If the word is upsetting, The Empress of Vancouver, which opens Friday at the VIFF Centre, will also be upsetting, because it has some pretty unpleasant displays of virulent, hateful homophobia in it (it's even visible in the trailer. Note that I have yet to actually see the film - my wife and I are saving it for a night where it feel right - but it sounds like it's overall going to be quite inspiring; certainly Oliv Howe, the main figure in the film, is. But, uh... trigger warning, I guess...

 

I wrote about my own experiences of homophobia in 1980's Maple Ridge for Xtra West some years ago - one of several stories I did for them back when I was trying to get published anywhere I could, despite my being straight-identified, largely because of those experiences; it's always shamed me a bit that I dutifully "learned my lesson" back then, that exploring that side of my sexuality would be dangerous, perhaps get me shitkicked, even killed. I mean, as a young punk with funny hair, at least a small queer streak, and an open contempt for most of the signifiers of manhood back then - flannel, Led Zep and AC/DC shirts, Camaros, team sports, etc. - I was already getting called a faggot, often shouted from passing muscle cars, which would sometimes slow and stop as the occupants sussed out whether I would be an easy target. I remember one incident where someone, a thuggish dude from my high school, walking with his friends past me on the sidewalk - someone I had never interacted with before at all - directed that word at me ("faggot!") and I countered over my shoulder with a jaunty "Asshole!," and got punched several times in the head for my trouble. Afterwards I felt mostly bad that I reacted by apologizing to him, after a couple roundhouses, because a) I wasn't actually angry with him, just responding in kind - I mean, what DO you say, socially, in such a circumstance? b) I had no idea how to fight (though I would have tried if I'd actually been angry at him - I have a bit of a hot temper, but being called a nasty name by a complete stranger is not the sort of thing that sets it off) and c) fighting was not going to make things less violent or painful or bring them to a faster conclusion. Cowardly or no, apologizing to him seemed the all round easiest route to making the punching stop. Good thing I hadn't used an even more targeted slur like "midget!" (he was not actually a dwarf, but was pretty short, which might have been part of his problem. Imagine I'd be dead now if that had been my comeback!). 

 

Anyhow, coward that I am, people like Oliv Howe, the subject of The Empress of Vancouver, amaze and confuse me. While I was locking my occasional queerish impules away, to almost never be acted on, Oliv, at about the same time period, was dressing in outlandish drag and parading her non-normative, gender-role-defying outsiderness out there for all to see. Never mind that for awhile I had a fauxhawk and dyed hair and even, for about a day, what was routinely called a "fag tag" - which a barber-school trainee I gave free reign to designed for me, because he thought, when I said I was a punk, that I meant I liked Billy Idol or something. I may have worn my difference out into the world, at least for awhile - but it didn't challenge gender norms one bit. It's not like I was dressing like Gary Floyd or Dave Dictor or Biscuit did. Whatever one might say about punks being "a new minority," there were plenty of homophobic punk bands (the Descendents, who once had a lyric to the effect of "go away, you fucking gay," from a song - "I'm Not a Loser" - that they no longer play live; or try the Bad Brains or FEAR or...). The problem was that the thugs didn't differentiate... 

Anyhow, like I say, I have not yet seen The Empress of Vancouver, but I have met the filmmaker, Dave Rodden-Shortt. He's actually a friend of a friend of my wife's, and someone with a deep interest in Vancouver's history - including documenting the forgotten homophobia of 80's Vancouver and telling the story of the 10th Empress of the Vancouver Dogwood Monarchist Society. Interview follows (I am in italics, Dave is not). 

Allan: How did you find out about Oliv? When and how did you decide to make the film...?

Dave: I met Oliv Howe while conducting research for a series on BC History for the Knowledge Network. We met for coffee and I knew instantly I was in the company of a truly one of a kind person. She’s authentic, smart, and has a fantastic sense of humour. She’s a great storyteller and remembers the past with a vividness that’s rare. I went back to the Lantern Films office to tell my business partner, Jessica Hallenbeck that we might have found the perfect subject for a feature length film. And indeed we had!

From the trailer, it looks like Oliv participated in film back in the 1980's ("Is it on?" - that LOOKS vintage; where was that from...?). Did you have access to a wealth of archival material, or did you have to dig? (It also looks like you have contemporary footage of/ interviews with Oliv...? How much of the film is archival, how much of it stuff you shot...?).

We really had to dig for archival material. The clip you’re referring to is from an episode of Gayblevision – Canada’s first Gay and Lesbian TV program. Almost every episode of the program has been saved and VIVO Media Arts kindly gave us access to this material for the film. I was ecstatic when we found footage of Oliv in episodes of Gayblevision from 1980/81. As in, jumping up and down excited.

For the archival footage of the 1981 Gay Unity Parade we reached out to someone that was rumoured to have 8mm footage of the event. After hours of searching through his storage he finally found the footage and we had it digitized.

In addition to people’s personal archives and the Gayblevision episodes, we used footage from CBC and NFB. In total, I’d say at least a quarter of the film is archival material which is something I really love about the film, especially since queer history has so often been erased. 

Did you encounter any resistance to using any of the archival footage, or find stuff that was just too ugly/ depressing to use? It looks like there's some pretty shitty behaviour on display (the "No More Faggots" chant, for example). How and where did you find that footage...?). Assumedly some of the people "on the wrong side of history" in that footage are still alive today - did you encounter any of them? Are they remorseful, or...? Are there any trigger warnings for audiences...? Do you have footage of gay bashings, for example...?).

One of the challenges of telling Oliv’s story is that people forget how bad things were. We figured the best way to show this was to use archival footage. So ya, there’s a lot of really shitty behaviour on display in the film. There were a few minor re-edits that we had to make in order to secure access to footage, but in general we were able to get the footage we needed to tell the story.

What were the most surprising discoveries - positive or negative - in digging back into Vancouver's past from a queer-centric perspective? (How "untold" is this story, anyhow? Are there any other films you would like to give a nod to as precursors? I am aware of plenty of films about Vancouver in the 1980's, but I don't know any that touch on this history...?)

There were so many discoveries! For one, I had no idea Vancouver hosted the first official Pride Parade in Canada. I also had no idea the gay and lesbian community was largely responsible for getting Mike Harcourt elected in the 1981 municipal election.

In terms of the queer community, I learned that there were really deep divisions within the community at the time. It was disturbing to discover that there were open discussions about whether or not trans people should be included in the movement. There were also deep divisions between lesbians and gay men. These divisions still exist to some extent, but they were much more pronounced at the time.

I don't know how old you are or if you're from here originally - were you around for any of the things you document in the film, first hand...? What were your own experiences of homophobia "back then?" How did they impact you?

I’m 47. I wasn’t around for this period in Vancouver but I did experience plenty of homophobia when I came out in the early 90s and I was around to witness the horror that was the AIDS crisis. It’s hard for people to imagine the challenges that existed for queer people until recently. I’ve been profoundly impacted by these experiences and I’m in total awe of people like Oliv that survived, and even thrived in spite of these challenges.

I could see that Oliv's story would be quite inspiring - did you have any personal inspirational figures of your own that came to mind - "your own Oliv...?" 

I’ve been inspired by friends and family meeting life’s challenges head on. I have friends who have had incredible life challenges and have somehow persevered.

I know in the 1970s and 80's there was a bit of an overlap between the Vancouver punk scenes and the queer scene in Vancouver - for example, on the homepage for the film, there's a John Barley's logo - a club on Cordova; I believe they were a club that functioned in both worlds...? (And I believe were later the location of one incarnation of the Cruel Elephant and even later, briefly, the Hindenburg). Is any of that in your film? (Any music, any punks...? Bill Scherk...?)

Absolutely! There was a lot of overlap. At least with Oliv there was. Some people even referred to Oliv as the “Punk Empress”. I wish there was more room in the film to cover the punk scene and the overlap between the queer and punk scene but in the end we just didn’t have the space to do so. It’s something Oliv talked about and it’s an important part of Vancouver’s history. There needs to be a whole other documentary about this.

Oliv actually reminds me of my straight, art-punk dandy friend Nathan Holiday, a bit, in that Nathan also cuts a very distinctive figure. Did you ever personally engage in any sort of outlandish costume? (I've almost always favoured very straight dress myself, have very little inclination to dress wildly, so - whether it's drag or punk - so I find myself a bit of a voyeur, an outsider when it comes to this kinda thing.... you?

Nathan Holiday by bev davies, taken at the VIFF Centre about ten years ago...? Not to be reused without permission...

I’ve never really utilized fashion and costume to express myself but I admire people who do. Oliv makes her own clothes and it’s a whole other language which I’m fascinated by. I feel like my thoughts and sense of humour are a bit out there, but I present as a pretty boring guy lol.

No worries, so do I, the odd Hawaiian shirt aside. So what’s Oraf’s involvement in the film? (he’s famed among local punks for taking the cover photo of the Subhumans’ Incorrect Thoughts, but I actually don’t know much else of Oraf’s work….

Oraf’s photography is an essential component of the film. His style of photography was way ahead of its time. It was illegal to photograph people in the bars in 1981, but Oraf had special permission to do so. As a result, the photos you see in the film are extremely rare. Oraf followed Oliv for a couple of years and photographed her almost every day. He’s still doing great work and I feel like he’s owed recognition. My business partner Jessica has been working with the queer archives in order to protect his work and ensure that it gets the exposure it deserves.

I gather the documentary has had some warm reception already, right? Will there be guests present at the VIFF screenings - for one night, all nights...? Are there any local institutions or filmmakers or scenes that you'd like to give a shout out to, who were particularly helpful in making the film?

I’m blown away by the reception of the film so far, especially considering the film was made on a micro-budget and is unapologetically Vancouver. The film was selected as the Opening Gala film at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival and sold out a week before the screening. At the gala, the film - and Oliv - received a 5 minute standing ovation. The film is headed to the Lunenburg Doc Fest at the end of the month and we also have a distribution deal with Level Films and should see a theatrical release in the new year.

The film screens at the VIFF Centre from September 9 to 15. Oliv and other members of the cast will be attending the September 9 screening.

In terms of giving a shout out to other filmmakers, I’d just like to acknowledge the crew. In particular, Jessica Hallenbeck. There would be no film without her.

Anything else you want to say about the film or the Vancouver screenings?

A reviewer aptly described the film this way in a recent review on Letterboxd, “It’s a documentary. It’s a comedy. It’s a history lesson. It’s a party. It’s aggressively Vancouver, in all the right ways.”

I especially love that the film is a lot of fun! So many documentaries approach material in such a serious way. There’s a time and place for that, but I love that Oliv encouraged us to make the film entertaining. Go see it!

The Empress of Vancouver opens September 9th at the VIFF Centre. Tickets on sale now! For more on the making of the film, see the CBC feature on Oliv. And note that The Empress of Vancouver is running pretty much concurrently at the VIFF Centre with Doug and the Slugs and Me, a rather different look into Vancouver in the 1980's; see my Montecristo feature interview with filmmaker Teresa Alfeld here. 

The Real Ponchos play the Moonshinin' Music Fest: an Emile Scott interview

The Real Ponchos by Mallory Lupick

The Real Ponchos - bandcamp here - are, as Mike Usinger once observed, "not your grandparents' country." (He was reviewing this album by the Real Ponchos at the time). You can see what he means. There's not much trace of the Nashville of yore to be heard, though there is some Texas twang - mostly courtesy of the vocals of Ben Arsenault - in their delivery. But there's also something very laid back and jammy, even Grateful-Dead-like, about their music, which can get quite inspired when Ben and co-founder/ co-songwriter Emile Scott get cooking live. I saw a couple of extraordinary shows by the band at the Railway, circa 2013, back when there was still a little train running around the ceiling and the venue was allowed to open the windows now and then. It was the best sort of live experience, where the band got hotter and more engaging as the night unfolded, Emile and Ben hooking into each others' guitar lines and making their music a vehicle of transportation. It was the sort of show where I struggled with equally wanting to watch the music being made, and wanting to close my eyes and fly away, internally. 

And they had a sense of humour, too: as I recall, there was an amusing between-song patter between Ben and Emile that kept somehow circling back to the theme of "al dente beans" (I asked Emile if he could explain the concept, but he declined, saying that "Ben has put in more time unlocking the mystery of the al dente beans than I have"). It was one of my favourite shows ever at the Railway, with the only ensuing weirdness - besides the beans - being that I barely followed the band thereafter, kind of forgetting about them until I ran into Emile by chance at the Folk Festival this past August. With a year where my listening has been dominated by Guy Clark, Fortune Block, Lucinda Williams and Steve Earle - and even a bit of Dead! - I'm highly excited to play catchup at the WISE Hall tomorrow, at the kickoff gig for the Moonshinin Music Fest 2022.  

Even with a failing computer - I'm writing this at a feckin' library! - I sent off some questions to Emile to bring us up to speed on the band's history since 2013, when I last saw them. I'm in italics, below; Emile is not. See you at the WISE?

The band live the first couple of times I saw you was a very laid back cross between Texas country and Dead-ish jamming, with maybe a bit of a countrified Neil Young edge... Is that still a fairly apt description of your live show? Have there been any major musical changes since then? Any new influences or ones I have missed?

I suppose the biggest change occurred on our most recent album Sunshine, which we recorded in a couple different living rooms. We wanted to move less towards the spaced-out Dead-inspired jams and more towards concise songs with loops and drum machines, while still maintaining a bit of our twang. Aiden Ayers, who produced and performed on that record, has also since joined the band and we have been including some of his incredible tunes into our set for the past year which has turned our latest shows into a bit of a supergroup, collective-type deal.

Sounds very cool. So... the LAST time I saw the Ponchos, you were sharing a bill with a lineup of Petunia and the Vipers (with Barry Taylor on drums!) and Cafe Deux Soleils, maybe in 2016...? Have you crossed paths or shared bills with Petunia or his band much since? For some reason the band made less of an impression then, and I made a note that you were better headlining, when you could really relax and open up your songs and jam out than if you were opening and watching the clock... So I am pleased to see that you will be headlining on Thursday... Any thoughts on this, the differences between headlining and opening? (Have you been able to mostly headline gigs you have played?]

Petunia & The Vipers actually opened up for US that night at Cafe Deux Soleils, haha, which I believe was summer 2013 [note: I was reading the date on the Poncho's first album wrong - without my glasses, the 2013 looked like a 2015!]. They had a way bigger draw than us at the time though, so that show was pretty unique. We had opened up for them in Roberts Creek a couple months earlier and they had asked us if we knew of any shows going on that they could get on the bill for on a specific day because they wanted to add a small last minute hometown show the day before going on tour. And we happened to have Cafe Deux Soleils booked for that same day so it worked out. I love that band, always fun to work with them.

I think our longest set was just over four hours, though that doesn't happen often. We had an opening slot for the Red Truck Concert series about five years ago which was really fun, Lee Fields was the headliner [soul artist presently signed to Daptone and slated for a Commodore show Oct. 30th]. You might be onto something though about the longer sets having more impact, I'll need to think on that more.

What have your biggest successes been since then? I confess to not having followed the band much since that Cafe Deux Soleil show - what traumas and triumphs have I missed? What are your live-show high points, nicest compliments you have received? How far have you travelled? What major life lessons as a band have come up since then? What would you do differently, if you could have a do-over?

I think somewhere along the way, we all decided that the reason we wanted to stay together as a band was because we really like the music we were making, and we were fortunate enough to have found an audience who also really connected with it. We have become a more decentralized band over the past few years, and so have only had time for a handful of projects each year, but we still love playing together and growing as a band so the fact that we have been able to make time for it and to have people come out to our shows and ask us about future projects has been an absolute blessing.

You did some piano on the first album... I do not recall there being piano in your live show (tho maybe I misremember!) Do you ever do songs with piano live? Do you ever write on piano?

Piano was my first instrument, though I would only be comfortable in saying that I dabble in it. I'd like to try writing on piano again. We actually have a bunch of live off the floor home recordings that were made in January 2020 (only one of which has been released so far for a compilation by the label Public Possession out of Munich). I set up my Rhodes for those sessions, and we all took turns on it at different times. I liked that, would love to incorporate more of it into our music in the future. I don't have a portable piano though, and Rhodes are a pain in the ass to move....

Do you still play any songs off the first album live? What DO you play live? Are there staples of your live set that people who are inclined to do "gig homework" should check out on your bandcamp, so they can familiarize themselves? 

Sometimes we play everything, sometimes it's curated to the venue or audience, sometimes it's some new stuff, sometimes it's the hits, sometimes a combination of all. Some of our audience have been known to take articles of clothing off during certain points of certain songs..... There are a few songs as well that we have never played live, as they would be difficult to translate to a live setting. "Bright & Early" off Sunshine for example. I would love to try to play that one once somehow.

Your cover art has changed a lot on from Tayu Hayward's painterly photo of a horse on the first album (above) to the much more abstract and minimal (Zen?) art on your last couple of releases - where did the change of direction come in? Sunshine's cover has the feel of a visual pun, a sun over a stone, but I have never been great at decoding such things. Help?

It is a bit of a visual pun isn't it! I noticed late in the game that it sort of resembles a division symbol. Peter Taylor designed that cover, whose worked we really liked. We wanted to collaborate with him in some way. And the art for Hannya Shingyo is definitely in the Zen tradition.

Who/ what is the Mountain Rain Zen Community, and how do they relate to the band? (What is the original meaning of "Wake Up (Who's There)?" I love the phrase and associate it with the feeling of coming into consciousness and sort of re-assembling your identity and life in your head, remembering who you are and what you were doing the day before or have anned for the day ahead...

Mountain Rain Zen Community is a local Zen center that Ben has been part of for around six years now. I haven't asked him about the depth of those lyrics.

I am not seeing any songwriting credits on bamdcamp for Sunshine. What are your songs on it? Which get played live? What was the most interesting / enjoyable one to write?

I wrote "Slow Touch," "Stranger Days," and "Bright & Early," though Ben and Aiden contributed some lyrics and/or inspiration for all three of those. Ben wrote the rest of them. We only play three songs from that album regularly. That album was actually really fun to make. Around 75% of it is just myself, Aiden, and Ben in the living room experimenting with sounds and structures. The drums for "Slow Touch," for example, is just a live drum part I played that we ended up looping, the same thing Fleetwood Mac did for "Dreams". There is something about the rhythmic pocket that arises out of that that was fun to work with.

"Bright & Early" came together in one evening. Started after dinner and finished at around two or three in the morning.

Any interesting. past history with Mionshinin' co-performers or organizers, other acts you are excited to catch, or things we should say about the live show on Thursday?

We've played/toured/recorded with a lot of those artists throughout the years. It's like a family. I'm stoked to hear Ian Badger with a full band on Thursday. Marin Patenaude is always amazing. Also Sarah Jane Scouten, and Cassidy Waring, and Etienne Tremblay. It'll be a blast.

Last question: did the band ever cover Zappa or have any interesting interactions relating to the name? Do people show up EXPECTING Zappa, ever? (I do not hear ANY Zappa influences beside the name - see also here - but maybe I have missed something?)

Haha, the only influence Zappa has had on us is that a lot of us have listened to and loved a lot of his music, and the name is a reference to two of his songs. His more spaced-out elements and musical jams are a lot more composed and put together than ours are.

Thanks, Emile! See y'all at the WISE, and also check out the rest of the Moonshini' Music Festival - most of which takes place at an RV Park in Surrey! Facebook here, Eventbrite page for tickets here. You may also want to check out the music of Robert Connely Farr, who appeared in my recent Steve Earle article - more on whom later! And I've written a bit about the East Van Opry and Kathleen Nisbett, also playing the festival, but I'll let people search that out themselves: my library computer time is almost up!