Read the first The Beginning of The End of The Beginning.

Illustration by Andreas Hykade. Courtesy of Chris Robinson.

So where was I?

Yeah… okay… Raimund Krumme, Crossroads and Ottawa 92. Hmm… after that… okay… well... kept ripping tickets at the Canadian Film Institute, projecting films, was a teaching assistant at Carleton U. and slowly getting my degree. Winter ‘93, I moved in with Kelly and her merry band of roommates. It wasn’t so bad. We became a little dysfunctional family. Kelly got work at Carleton U. That was great cause they had a massive collection of films on VHS. When it became clear that some union wank was gonna push Kelly out of the job, we brought home as many tapes as possible each night so I could dub everything. For a while we amassed a pretty decent library of rare stuff (days before DVD).

There were good days and lots of bad. Getting thrown out of clubs. Screaming matches with strangers. Drinking increasing. Vomiting in cab cars. Before or after 1994? Can’t even remember. Around that time, 1994 came. Finally graduated — at least I think I did. Did an indie study on the early films of Ingmar Bergman. That prof of mine, Peter Harcourt. Guy was a real legend in Canadian film studies. I admired the fuck out of him because he was a guy who wrote and taught from the heart. He was a passionate, sensitive, self-centered guy who, for me, injected some humanity back into film studies, which was increasingly being dominated by scientists with all their theories. I like the theories a bit more now, but in the day I just couldn’t grasp the idea that ‘taste’ or ‘judgment’ shouldn’t exist, that we couldn’t simply say we liked or disliked a film.

Sure, I get it. I know what they’re saying about examining films in a larger, more complex context, but fuggit, I got a brain, a heart, a soul. I ain’t no robot. If I don’t like a film, I don’t like a film. So be it. Harcourt was in this vein. He was more interested in the psychology of the filmmakers, of their characters… what it all said about life. Just writing that sentence I realize how much influence Harcourt still has on me. Strangely, he didn’t like me. I mean… yeah… I’m difficult at times… what were Brenda’s last words to Nate in Six Feet Under (man… am I glad that show is over. Loved it, but enough already)? “You’re a narcissus, you can’t commit to anyone not even yourself.” I’m still brushing off the dust of thinking I know everything.

Still… I was Harcourt’s #1 fan. I wrote articles (hmm… another root… I started writing reviews and small shit for the Carleton U. newspaper… and oh… did I tell you I had some stories published in an Ottawa Weekly circa 1991. One was called “Pylon Man.” Was about an idiot who figured that if put a pylon on his arm, he’d have superpowers. Wrote another about a man who turned into a fruit. State of mind circa ‘91… Did an interview with Harcourt proclaiming him as the department’s great guy. No thanks, nothing. What was my sin? I didn’t pretend to be sophisticated. I was a slug. Harcourt, for all his talk, wanted to be an aesthete… he loved the role of prof… was like a Philip Roth scholar… just looking to get laid and applauded.

See that was the biggest issue — I was a guy. I didn’t have titties. So… finished my indie study. Harcourt said the paper itself was an A, but the effort was a B, so he gave me a B+. That still irks me a bit (not much). If the paper was that good despite the lousy effort… shouldn’t I get an A+? Well... bygones be. He’s retired. Just got some order of Canada. I ain’t doin so bad myself. Graduated. Immediately planned to go to grad. School for Canadian studies… but backed out. Wasn’t up to it. Couldn’t handle structure.

Back at the festival, 1994. This was another real turning point. Had the same job. Sorting out entries and babysitting the selection committee. Difference was that this committee was great. Among the four members were Marc Glassman, Otto Alder and Linda Simensky. Three pretty decent friendships grew out of that. They were funny, smart and patient.

That year we had problems with the projectionist. We were saddled with a knob who didn’t know anything about 35mm film. He burned a print one day, came in late another because he was having problems with his girlfriend. Ha… I remember… when we were showing Derek Jarman’s Blue. It’s just a bluescreen with a voice over for 70 minutes. Someone the projectionist managed to get, some white in there. There were a lot of delays… and yet these guys were patient.

Well… okay… Otto wasn’t, but it was funny. He’d seen many of the films, so he’d vote to move on pretty quickly. Marc and Linda were often more patient… and wanted to see more of a film. Otto would start doing handstands in the back of the room or saying “COME ON!! How can you watch this shit!!??” The ‘come on’ line remains today. He did it in a friendly way and often just left to go for a smoke. Linda was quiet most of the time, but was easygoing. It wasn’t until we saw her doodles after the selection that we realized what a nifty sense of humor she had. Marc was mr. Fast forward. He wanted to be sure about everything and always asked to fast forward through the film to make sure we weren’t missing anything.