What I remember most about that week was the last night when we decided to have a screening of the committee’s own films. We consciously saved Ryan’s for last. The reaction was unforgettable. Until that moment, I don’t think that Andrei, Pjotr or Chris really had an inkling who this guy was. When they saw Street Musique and Walking, they were stunned. “You did that film!?” someone said. In a span of about 20 minutes, Ryan went from little brother to mythological hero. Everyone wanted to know what happened, what he was doing. We poured drinks and everyone gathered around Ryan as he recounted — often through tears — his downfall from golden boy at the NFB to Montreal cokehead. Everyone was quiet. No one really knew what to say.

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that was the night that Chris Landreth’s film about Ryan started.

After some prodding we convinced a hesitant Ryan to come to the festival. And aside from introducing him as a committee member, we kept to our word that it would be low profile. We wanted him to experience the festival at his own pace. Eventually people got wind of who he was and flocked to him each night at our social hangout (Chez-Ani). By the end of the festival, a lot of plans were made: Quickdraw Animation Society invited him to come to Calgary for a few months and work on a new film. We invited him to Ottawa to work with the local film co-op.

But, as I soon discovered, Ryan was scared of losing what little he had. He was worried about losing his welfare benefits and stuff like that. Clearly that wasn’t the real reason… he was probably scared that he might not have anything to say anymore.

Chris Landreth (above) first met Ryan Larkin at the Ottawa Film Festival in 2000.

The Film
He never really let on, but Chris Landreth had been deeply affected by Ryan’s story that summer. He saw something of his mother in Ryan. Perhaps, like me, he saw something of himself too. In 2001, Chris had the idea to make a film based on Ryan’s life. He even visited Ryan to do a series of interviews (they became the eventual soundtrack to the film).

Last month, I finally got a copy of Ryan. I’ve never been so anxious about a film before. Chris and I had a secret bond — kinda like those kids in Stand By Me. I had written my story about Ryan and now it was Chris’ turn.

Ryan
Landreth again uses Maya software and does an extraordinary job re-creating himself and Ryan as characters in the film. The interview between the two takes place in an old, rundown cafeteria that looks like the waiting room for hell; an assortment of disfigured and, literally, broken characters occupy the space.

Ryan’s appearance is initially horrifying. Landreth has re-created him as a fragile, incomplete person. We see the remains of what was once a face and much of Ryan’s body is twisted, busted or just not there.

As Ryan reflects on his life, Landreth uses animation to create spaces and give psychological depth to the characters that simply would not be possible in live action. In one poignant scene (and there are many — including the moment when Landreth pulls out original drawings from Walking and shows them to an emotional Larkin), we meet Felicity, Ryan’s old girlfriend. Seeing the two of them speaking “face to face” about what might have been is powerful, heartbreaking stuff. When Ryan places his hand on Felicity’s, I dare you to keep the tears in.

His memories of their happy times together momentarily turn him into a younger, “complete” Ryan, with hippie threads and long hair, who comes to life in his award-winning film Street Musique. He is filled with joy and soon begins dancing with his creations.