And beyond Vancouver

This week involved a trip to Powell River, BC. Even though a plane ride there takes only about 25 minutes, it's a road trip that means at least six hours of driving and ferry rides. But aside from the trek from where we live to the Horseshoe Bay ferry, and the many curves in the road on the Sunshine Coast, it's a memorable tour. There's one leg of it in particular -- the ferry ride from Earls Cove to Saltery Bay where the scenery is as close as I will ever get to Norway, as it's mountainous fjords, complete with cascading waterfalls. 

The reason for going there? The historic Patricia Theatre was showing Harold and Maude for

Valentine's Day, and I was lucky enough to be invited to participate, and to read from my book, Glorious Birds. I not only got to introduce the film, audience members hung around for a Q&A session. Naturally, my brain didn't work as well as I might have liked, and I wasn't able to answer all of the questions very clearly. Nonetheless, it mostly felt like engaged conversation -- I actually felt I'd make a couple of connections with folks there. 

Even the weather cooperated, with blue skies and mild temps. Especially after all these months of isolation, what more could one ask of a getaway?!

A golden anniversary

Fifty years. Yikes. How does a charming little movie get to be 50 and still have any kind of presence. 

Endurance, I guess.

According to most sources, Harold and Maude was released on December 20, 1971, although apparently there was a kerfuffle on the 7th of this month when a number of sources claimed that as its anniversary. 

Rude of me, I suppose, but I'm stickin' with today as the date for the observance. After all, I wrote the book on it. Okay, not the only book (so I can't really call it 'the book'), but I did a lot of research in my attempts to be accurate. And my book, Glorious Birds came out earlier this year, closer to the Spring Equinox than to the Winter Solstice. 

I can't help but think the beginning of winter is an appropriate time for the film to have been released, as the plot of it certainly moves from darkness to light. But because I don't want to reveal any spoilers, I'll keep the rest of my comments to myself, at least for now. 

Cinema as a public experience still matters

Saturday night at the movies. What a great tradition. Often with a meal at a restaurant beforehand, or a drink at the bar afterwards. 

The photo illustrates how our local theatre, the Criterion, is doing its best to support itself during the various stages of shutdown. 

Even though they've upgraded the seats, established a 'seating plan' so they can sell tickets and have patrons socially isolated according to protocols, they're not allowed to show films to paying clients. 

Last film I saw here was Tenet, a film I could have done without, but which was the only current film offered on the night I wanted to go. At least I got to have some popcorn. Something I have again tonight.

Another theatre facing difficulties is the heritage venue in Powell River, the Patricia, home to the Powell River Film Festival. This year, the festival was virtual, so I at least got to see a couple of films on my list, Zappa and Ammonite. 

And yes, to me, cinema matters. 

If you have ideas to help support it, please act.

Here's to keeping our local cinemas open!

They're heeere!

It's always a glorious day when a box of new books arrives. Especially when they're my very own latest, Glorious Birds. 

Looking back over this less-than-glorious year, with its various stages of lockdown, I feel lucky that I found myself engaged in a project where I'd not only learn so much, but where I'd have such a great time. 

And now, on to the launch event, happening later this very day. 

Which one?

No, I'm not trying to decide which Nancy Drew Mystery to read (though that might be fun too). I'm trying to decide which jigsaw puzzle to do. Why? Because today is Puzzle Day!

I'll admit that I have quite a few choices, and that might be one of the reasons I'm not sure which one to do. 

One of my favourites is an old wooden puzzle I found at a second-hand store many years ago. Even when I bought it, I knew it was missing a couple of pieces. I didn't care. 

There's something about the way the thick pieces click into place that is much more satisfying than the non-sound that comes from putting cardboard pieces together. 

I suppose if I get desperate, I can open one of my precious Beatles' puzzles -- ones I've kept sealed in case they ever get valuable... this one, which is not only of my favourite of their films, but might well be what I'm asking for: Help!  

New traditions, old remembrances

I love that even our buses help us remember, especially where this is a year when we can't have any gatherings to observe Remembrance Day. 

We listened to the ceremony from Ottawa with its speeches and haunting bagpipes, and even managed to catch a glimpse of the old planes doing their flyover here. 

And a new tradition (one that won't be repeated) is the fact that this is the day I send off my manuscript so review copies can be printed. It certainly feels right, being that the book is about Harold and Maude, a film with such strong anti-war sentiments. 

But that's not all I plan to do today. Our local arts council has set up a number of online activities to help us observe the day. My favourite is an excellent demonstration of watercolour technique. I think I feel inspired enough to try painting my own. 

And beyond the traditional poppy, I've started my annual amaryllis bulb, and hoping it will bloom in time for Christmas. And yes, that will be the day of Alex Trebek's truly final Jeopardy, so the bloom -- in addition to brightening up our home -- will serve as a kind of virtual gift to him, one of both remembrance and of gratitude. 

Still pokin' along the trail...

Continuing the line of horses.

In the last post I mentioned a book, The Summer of the Horse. Since then, I keep finding horses of one sort or the other. Or maybe they are simply finding me, like the one on my 'special' cup.

The other photo is two different kinds of horses, both found in the yard.

The lovely white flower is horseradish, that yummy piquant complement to meats, especially beef. It's only the root that gets grated to make that, mixed perhaps with a bit of vinegar or water.

The other is horsetail, known for its healing properties as well as its wildly invasive skills. Considering how deep its roots can go (I have actually read 200 feet), no wonder it's a hard one to get rid of.

The horse I found yesterday was the film version of Richard Wagamese's memoir, Indian Horse. What a film! Using three separate actors to portray him at various stages of his life, it's a movie I think everyone (at least everyone in Canada) should be required to see. It's the story of a young man's life, but it's also the story of one of the most shameful parts of our history, the story of life in residential schools.

Near the end, there's a line about the 'horses of change' and how we must all learn to ride them. Doing my best...

A new leaf?

Yikes, we're already into the double digits of January in what I'm still thinking of as a new year. And what a new year it is turning out to be!

I'm still trying to get used to the sound of it: 2018 -- a number I am sure I once believed would mean flying cars. Too bad about those, especially when you consider the traffic congestion we contend with.

But not everything is as bad (or getting worse) as traffic congestion.

Anyone who doubts that some things aren't getting better didn't see Sunday night's Golden Globe Awards, where so many people spoke out on behalf of change. And oh my, there was Oprah, putting a president to shame with her eloquence.

A new leaf? Let's hope so. It's time.

"Are they mating yet?"

Some things in life just don't make any sense. Today's stumper for me is the mystery of the mismatched lids-and-containers.

How is it that when they get washed and put on a shelf, top and bottom are intact, but when I go to tidy their chaos, more than half of them are loners?

I haven't heard any arguments coming from their shelf, so I can't blame this disconnect on domestic discord or messy divorces. As for my question at the top of this page, some may recognize it from the film version of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. However it is that this disconnect occurs, I'll admit to being puzzled. After all, I don't think anyone's been sneaking into the laundry room and stealing lonesome bits of plastic for the re-use phase of recycling. If they are, I wish they'd take the lids to go with all those missing bottoms.

And while I'm not exactly saying that there's a black hole behind the washer (though who knows, maybe there is), if there is, maybe it's a companion to the one behind the dryer that keeps chomping down those singleton socks.

Celebrating and Un-

Today is Orthodox Christmas, so it seemed like a good excuse for a bit more celebrating. I'd heard that the British call it 'Little Christmas,' but when I checked, it turns out that was yesterday, and that it sounds to be more of an Irish tradition than an English one. Today is also a friend's birthday so it was a good excuse to visit with her and have a celebratory cup of tea.

But along with celebrating went a bit of 'un-celebrating' as today was the day for packing up the ornaments and taking the wreaths down from the doors. Un-Christmasy, I suppose, but in my own homely way, practical.

Still, perhaps today's best celebrating was taking in a matinee at the local bijou, a place that's actually called the Rialto. This name proved to be more than simply nostalgically traditional, as the cinema featured within the film we saw had its own Rialto a scene which got an appreciative chuckle from the audience.

And yes, the celebratory fantasy was LaLa Land, a fitting title if ever there was one.

At first, I was hesitant, especially with the over-the-top (literally) opening scene (though it did present a nice alternative to road rage), but I soon fell under its charm (or maybe Ryan Gosling's).

Oh, it's corny, to be sure, with numbers reminiscent of Donald O'Connor and Debbie Reynolds. But it's also a lot more than that. There's a story, an actual story, a story that even has layers.

The music, much of it terrific jazz -- especially piano, the instrument I'm the biggest sucker for -- may well be the real star of the film, though Ryan Gosling's piano playing is certainly in the running.

The film's been praised like crazy and has also received nearly as many pans. I'm on the praise side and can't help but think that -- like so many things -- it's all about the timing.

Maybe this little movie, with its clever (even if not-quite Cole-Porterish) lyrics and peppy dancing is a dose of exactly what we need right now.

As 2016 was winding down, it seemed nearly every source was reporting doom and gloom, telling us what a dark time it is. Well, maybe it doesn't have to be. I'm all for un-dark.

The wrong name

If you've seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind, you'll be familiar with the site called Devils Tower. Driving there, you can see it from miles away. And while the draw for us wasn't as crazed as that portrayed by the characters in the film, the closer we got, the more exciting it felt.

When we got there, we spotted a few brave adventurers climbing high up on the rock (you have to look closely -- or else, click on the image to zoom in some), but settled for following the path on an easy walk, not much over a mile, around the base of the rock.

While we walked, we couldn't help noticing that some of the trees had bits of coloured cloth or medicine bundles placed on them. Signs cautioned walkers that these hold religious significance and are not to be disturbed or removed.

There's a bit of a story of how this rocky mountain got the name Devils Tower (including of how it lost its apostrophe -- somebody's typo), There's also more than one telling of how those 'claw marks' on its side came to be. If one can imagine them as really being the marks of a bear, that bear must have made a grizzly look like a miniature.

Considering the negative connotations of anything with 'devil' in its name, I'd like to hope that it won't be long from now when the site can be renamed. I like the idea of calling what the Lakota people did, Mato Tipila, or in English, 'Bear Lodge'.

We were lucky enough to get a campsite near the base of the mountain and the pink rays of dawn on the rock were awe-inspiring. The whole place truly felt like much too sacred a site to be stuck with the name Devils Tower. And while this was a wonderful place to camp, the next place was also great, but in quite another way.

First of the season?

I took this photo nearly a month ago, figuring it was likely the first of many more I would see over the course of this winter. Between fears of Ebola and the far less exotic (and easier to deal with) seasonal outbreaks of flu, this may well be the winter for the wearing of surgical masks.

But then yesterday I saw Interstellar and saw the same masks. To my surprise, characters in the film were using them for a completely different reason – dust! The future depicted is one where farmlands have again turned into a Dust Bowl. Crops have failed (can you say ‘Monsanto’?) and the Earth’s population faces starvation. Bleak, eh.

So, maybe my concerns over seeing a woman on a bus wearing a surgical mask shouldn’t be so great. After all, buses are likely a veritable Petri dish for sharing germs – breathing in each other’s faces, hanging on to straps (who knows who might have held on before you, and what they might have been infected with?), so maybe she had a good idea.

Not exactly wanting to go out on a limb (not even a big one) with any predictions, but I’m wondering whether we’ll see more of these masks blossoming before spring. 

Looks like the end

...of summer for another year.

At least it's not the end of anything else -- especially not the world -- this despite the spate of summer films on that subject. We had World War Z, the cheesy (but fun, who could not have a soft spot for Seth Rogen?) This is the End and now from the U.K., The World's End.

It won't be long until that green leaf on the ground will be joined by more of its colourful neighbours. And surely that will mean a time for new beginnings.

Weekend in Powellywood

Through a fortunate set of circumstances, we spent the weekend at a film festival in beautiful Powell River, B.C.

Best of all, we were guests at the festival, with everything from film passes and accommodation to food and even the cost of ferries included.

It’s clear that the Powell River Film Festival, established in 2002, is a community-based event, with oodles of volunteers working various aspects of the festival. A raft of sponsors were credited, most of them local businesses. It was good to know who these were, as it was that much easier to pull out the plastic and buy goods from them while we were in town.

The films were shown at the historic Patricia Theatre, claimed by many to be the oldest continuously operating theatre in Canada. 

While the range of films scheduled was excellent, with foreign films, documentaries and locally produced efforts being shown, my favourite was the indie film, Breakfast with Curtis. To my mind, it’s the 2012 equivalent of Harold and Maude. 

Not that it’s a romance; it isn’t. It’s more about community. And if the community portrayed is offbeat, there’s much to be said for the way a group of such different people can respect and enjoy each other. The film reminds how important it is to live fully. And really, I don’t think you can walk away from it without feeling better than you did going in.

But the Festival offered more than just an array of terrific films. A mosaic of arts was on display at Dwight Hall, another of the buildings in Powell River's Historic Townsite. There were quilts, live music, paintings and prints. Food and drink as well as cultural and information booths were also there. Several displays brought my attention to the importance of community in Powell River. This is definitely a town that’s moving in many positive directions.

One of the most encouraging aspects of the festival was its focus on youth. In addition to hosting a weekend film camp for young filmmakers, they sponsored a province-wide competition for 5-minute films. I attended the very classy awards ceremony on Saturday afternoon. Prizes included scholarships to the Gulf Islands Film School, swag from many businesses and organizations, including the NFB. These ‘Bests’ were given, much as the Oscars are, for editing, writing, sound design, camera work, animation, drama and documentary.

As for the supposed ‘real thing’ from Hollywood last night, with its tasteless jokes and whiff of fixing, I prefer my memories from the little festival that could.

The End of Things

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. To celebrate, we spent the morning at a gorgeous little Par-3 golf course. The weather was perfect, the setting unbeatable. The only part that wasn't good was the fact that this was to be the final day of play at Aquadel.

Yet another victim of what we like to call progress, all 18 holes are set for demolition and development.

Only then, when we got home and read this morning's news, we discovered that two more recreational venues are set to close.

The Ridge Bowling Lanes, a long-established spot where old and young, disabled and able, gather to socialize, is one of the sites slated for the bulldozer. Accompanying it, of course, is the stalwart art-cinema, the Ridge Theatre. How will these be replaced? What else, with condos.

In addition, the Granville 7 Cinema has just announced that it will be closing early in November. Does this mean the Vancouver International Film Festival will be forced to end as well?

Truly, with all the people being gathered into condominiums for densified living, it's difficult to figure where they're supposed to go for entertainment.

All of this reminds me of when they paved over our local 'little golf course' so they could build a mega-mall, with Walmart. If they'd moved the mall just two blocks east (where land was -- and still is mostly undeveloped), all those people in the hundreds of new townhouses and condos would have some walking trails, a miniature golf, a driving range, and a lovely greenspace area that was once a gorgeous place to walk or have a place to play golf.

The end of things? The end of too many good ones, at least. Y'know, maybe those Mayans were onto something after all.

Oscar alert – a new category?

Ever since I saw Woody Allen's Manhattan, I've wanted a new category for the Academy Awards. That's some while to be wanting a thing, but like so many unlikely wishes, it's one I've been able to leave on hold.

Still, seeing The Adventures of Tintin this week, the wish has once again embedded itself in my mind.

The award I'd like would be for a film's opening sequence -- a feature, if you consider my two examples, that not every movie even contains.

Think back, if you will, to the opening of Manhattan. All that skyline, the iconic buildings, but most of all, the Gershwin soundtrack. As far as I'm concerned (sacrilege alert, I am sure:) it was the best part of the movie.

And while the opening to Tintin was definitely NOT the best part of the movie, it provided the perfect introduction to the spunky reporter and his brainy dog, Snowy.

Steven Spielberg often makes me crazy (as with the way-too-sentimental War Horse) or all those sparkly bits he always has to toss in, falling from the sky. But with Tintin, he's done a service -- not only to longtime fans of Herge's character, but to a whole new potential audience.

Can you think of other films that qualify for this award?

An odd sort of wish

Because I’m trying to break my habit of taking endless photos – you can’t believe how many gazillions of images I need to delete – today’s garden shot is one I took way back in Newport, Washington, the town where we bumped into the rodeo.

But the reason I’m thinking about gardens is a walk I took yesterday. Yes, the flowers in everyone’s gardens were beautiful, but the part that really got me was the smells! It seemed that nearly every yard had its own particular fragrance.

It made me want a camera that could take ‘snapshots’ of scents – something like the ‘odorifics’ machine owned by Ruth Gordon’s character in the cult classic, Harold and Maude.

I guess I’ll just have to take a walk again today, and fix some of those lilting scents in the odorifics file cabinet of my mind.

Not-so-Golden Globes?

Ten, twenty, fifty years from now -- when they're rolling out the classics from 2010, I find it hard to believe The Social Network will be high on anyone's list.

Facebook has changed -- and will no doubt continue to alter -- many of the ways we connect with one another. But that's sociology, combed over by technology. Documenting the phenomenon's development, and creating a script so we can meet the characters who accomplished it has value, of course. But really, best film of the year?

When it comes to listing 2010 films with longevity, I'll be putting my money on The King's Speech.

And yes, that's Oscar looking over the horizon...

The Oscars, home-style

As delighted as I am that Kathryn Bigelow managed to topple the gender barrier for directors at yesterday's Academy Awards (and yes, today is International Women's Day, which seems nicely appropriate), I remain unconvinced that Hurt Locker was the year's best film. I have a couple of gripes with it, one of which is major.

I found Ang Lee's Taking Woodstock (not even in the running) much more interesting filmically -- more treasures embedded in it -- truer to what the medium is supposed to do: reveal through a combination of visual images and dialogue.

And yes, I watched the Academy Awards show in its entirety. A little group of us get together every year to watch the Oscars. The only time I've missed for a while was in 2002 when G and I were living in Australia.

We do ballots (I always lose five bucks), wear chunky jewellery, the works, but the food is one of the best parts. This year's feast was bookended by Up in the Air snack dishes (and much better than the usual salty bits we get when we're 'up in the air' and tiny perfect hearts (in honour of Crazy Heart, of course). Best course of the evening? A Single Man-icotti. Yum!

Doubt

The film, that is. Although yes, there's much that could be said about the concept of doubt itself: the ultimate underminer of self.

Although there were a few glitches (aren't there always) in this version, the portrayal of the nuns felt chillingly accurate. Just as Meryl Streep 's character (Sister Aloysius) does, too many nuns in my life seemed to do their best to make almost everything sinful, especially if it was easy or fun.

Really, they must have stayed up late, collectively working up new sins to dump on our heads, giving us more to lie awake and worry about going to hell over. I remember a few who would have loved Sister Aloysius's aversion to ballpoint pens. I'm sure they'd have backed her up by extolling the obscenity of their in-and-out action. See, they've still got me!