November 2009 Archives

There is a quiet thrill to be acknowledged when you're in the presence of some of the most unique, thought-provoking, intellectual, and individualistic writers this nation has to offer. Michael Turner, Leon Rooke, and Marie-Claire Blais are three authors who embody such qualities. They were the center of attention at Event 37 The Tightrope that took place on October 23, and those who were able to attend the event were treated with a very intriguing discussion on the topic of unconventional writing.

The event began with a reading from each author from their latest novels: 8 X 10 by Michael Turner, The Last Shot: Eleven Stories and a Novella by Leon Rooke, and Rebecca Born in Maelstrom by Marie-Claire Blais and translated by Nigel Spencer. It was a pleasure to be able to hear the authors read their own work. Especially Rooke. He reads with so much animation and character that his exuberance leaves you with a lasting grin on your face. I greatly urge fans of Rooke to flock to his future readings.

The authors certainly had much to say about how they view the assertion that they are seen as unconventional writers of their time. Leon Rooke believed that there are too many writers that are too timid in their writing, which unfortunately produces too much repetition in what is being written and how it is being written. Marie-Claire Blais also has similar views that Rooke has. She regards this as how writers are never free enough in their style. There are endless possibilities about what can be written. Humanity is so rich with ideas that can be used. For Michael Turner, he realizes that to be called unconventional means there is a convention and to write unconventionally, one must ask what the conventional is.

Host Aislinn Hunter and the authors touched upon the idea of what convention means in literature. Convention is the format where stories will be expected to have a beginning, middle, and end. As well, characters will have names in which the reader can identify them by. However in the works of the featured authors in this discussion, their characters are often nameless and there are discrepancies as to what can be labeled a beginning, middle, or end. For example, Rooke's latest complication of short stories have narrators, but the reader is usually clueless about the narrator's name. Blais' novel Rebecca Born in Maelstrom is written in stream of consciousness, where the narrator goes on and on throughout the novel, with no end punctuation.

Leslie Supnet is young, Canadian visual artist who is fascinated with creating animation that expresses the inward emotions felt by everyone on a daily basis. She was born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba, which is where she currently resides. Leslie's artwork concentrates on the small tragedies faced by everyday people on a day-to-day basis. Her animation touch upon common experiences and issues, such as identity, isolation, longing and despair--but with a touch of surrealism.

Some of Leslie's previous work includes Pale Shelter, which are drawings that express poetic eloquence, imagery and the feeling of disappointment. Much of her work invokes a specific emotion by focusing on a set theme. With her unique talent, Leslie had won the Winnipeg Film Group's 3rd Annual 48 Hour Film Contest for her animation Moving.

This year's Reel Asian will feature three of Leslie's shorts films: Fair Trade, A Small Misunderstanding and The Animated Heavy Metal Parking Lot.

Do you have a signature or style to your work that makes it distinguishable from others'?

I use vintage papers and muted colors to create my animations and drawings. My characters are usually pretty generic--the everyday woman or man--however, they are all set in surreal and bizarre situations.

How and when did you know you wanted to go into film?

After seeing the work of Amy Lockhart and Helen Hill, I realized that animation would be a great vehicle to tell my stories.

Do you have a muse or source of inspiration? e.g. Music, reading, walks on the beach, playing sports, people around you or in the media...etc

Everyday experiences influence me the most. I love observing people in various situations and looking for subtleties in their emotional responses to their environment. I try to replicate these experiences in my work.

Can you give us a quick synopsis of your featured performance for this year's Reel Asian?

I have three shorts playing at Reel Asian this year - Fair Trade, A Small Misunderstanding and The Animated Heavy Metal Parking Lot.

Fair Trade is a psychedelic animation about a young girl who purges herself from the hypnotic demons of her past.

A Small Misunderstanding is about a hungry bird that mistakes a piece of yarn for a worm entangled in the hair of a young man. This leads to a terrible accident in this humorous animation.

The Heavy Metal Parking Lot features hilarious hand-drawn animated characters who debate about punk and metal. It is a charming tribute to the underground cult classic Heavy Metal Parking Lot by Krulik and Heyn.

What were your goal(s) in making this film? What kind of message(s) do you want to send to your viewers?

Most of my animations are introspective. With my work, I hope to give the viewer an alternative take on common life experiences.

What style do you take more to through the process of making this film? Are you more analytical and methodical (i.e. plan every stage and have it executed as such)? Or are you a more fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of artist?

I pretty much have things planned right down to the second and this helps me keep track of the shoot. All of my characters and puppets are made before I shoot.

Was the process of filmmaking always smooth-running? If not, what happened and how did you deal with it?

For me, the process is always labour intensive and stressful. Especially when my cat jumps onto my animation stand at night and moves things around. Plus, my animation stand is more homemade (duct taped) which adds to the stress. The only way I cope with it all is knowing that the end product will be worth-while.

If there was anything you could do differently on your next film, what would it be?

I would most definitely love to make a feature the next time around. However, I would have to get a better animation stand and maybe a new cat.

Through shooting this film, have you encountered any surprises along the way? Ones in which have helped you grow as an artist? as an individual?

I remember nervously sending a link of the completed Animated Heavy Metal Parking Lot to John Heyn and Jeff Krulik - the directors of the original Heavy Metal Parking Lot - not really knowing what to expect. They were super supportive! I really admire their do-it-yourself and low-budget approach to filmmaking, so it was great to get that kind of a response from them.

REEL ASIAN SCREENINGS:

Fair Trade
Thursday November 12, 2009, 1:00 PM at NFB Cinema

Animated Heavy Metal Parking Lot
Saturday November 14, 2009, 10:00 PM at Innis Town Hall

A Small Misunderstanding
Friday November 13, 2009, 6:15 PM at Innis Town Hall

This filmmaker profiles was written in partnership with the Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival

My latest encounter with the question, "Where are you really from?" came from a surprising and unexpected direction. I had been enjoying a complimentary glass of port at the world-famous Sandeman winery in Porto, Portugal while on a weekend break from work in Dublin. As I sipped, I attempted to strike up a conversation with a black man and his girlfriend sitting across from me, using a familiar ice-breaker: "So, where are you from?

His answer was simply, "The same place you are."

I stared at him blankly.

It took me a moment to realize he was referencing one of the more recognizable symbols of place and belonging: a soccer jersey. I was wearing a Toronto FC top that had been given to me by a good friend in Canada. Yet, the way I felt wearing the jersey had nothing to do with the way my table companion appeared to perceive it: as a symbolic bond, a public declaration of belonging to Canada . He and his girlfriend were both from Montreal, and assumed, based on the jersey, that I was likewise Canadian. But the reason I was wearing the shirt had less to do with emotional depth and more to do with the cover and photo page of my Canadian passport.

The jersey and passport are both badges advertising my Canadian citizenship, but don't even begin to explain the complicated feelings I have toward my national identity. After all, how Canadian anyone is, is not defined by their passport anymore—if it has ever been. A deeper look back into Canadian history shows that, during the Japanese-Canadian internment of World War Two, badges of identity meant nothing compared to the badge of skin colour. More recently, during the Israeli-Lebanese conflict, questions were asked about the cost of evacuating dual citizens of Lebanon and Canada; if you aren't travelling on your Canadian passport, are you still Canadian?

"Where am I from?"Where is any Canadian of my world-travelling, internationally-employed, and culturally-blended generation from?

On paper it's rather simple: I was born in Victoria, British Columbia, 28 years ago to parents that emigrated to Canada from the province of Punjab in India. I was the only son of an arranged marriage that also produced my two wonderful sisters. We then had to move to Vancouver due to my father's unionized but vulnerable resource-industry jobs, jobs that are typical of the immigrant experience. I grew up with an acute awareness that knowledge was the key to success, and that my parents were working not for themselves but for their children.

Our future was their future. A future without their children—who would hopefully find success in respectable occupations such as medicine, law or engineering—was not a future at all.

This Indian culture, with all its support and expectations, formed the backdrop for my Canadian upbringing. The funny smells that emanated from our kitchen while my mom was making curry wafted down to the street and mixed with the shouts of pass and goal as I played street hockey. My hockey stick was a cheap replacement blade from Canadian Tire finally worn down to a bendable curve that gave me a wicked wrist shot. Forget the fact that I couldn't skate at all; running shoes on concrete were enough to give me a common identity with kids from across the country. From a cul-de-sac in Oshawa to a suburb in Calgary, the common shout of car and the rushed moving of the net replays across the collective Canadian identity.

Time has passed since those Friday evenings at home with my family when I would watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air followed by the six o'clock news. My father's parents formed a quiet presence in the corner as they watched the evening news that they could hardly hear, or, for that matter understand. The future seemed clear and mapped out.

1. The children will finish high school and do well enough to go to university.


2. They will get married to other Sikh Indians of the appropriate caste.


3. Grandchildren will be produced.


4. The family will grow in size and the grandparents will die in peace, knowing the future is secure.

Of course, nothing—whether it's the course of one's life or one's identity—is that simple.

I graduated from UBC with a degree in Political Science at the age of 23. At that stage, with little travelling under my belt, I considered myself a proud Canadian. Had anyone asked where I was from, my unequivocal answer would be Canada. At most, I might have offered up a perfunctory, "My parents are from India." Now things are different.

After my undergraduate degree I moved to Ireland to pursue medicine and was able to see the world. It started off with an opportunistic visit to Malaysia my first December away. On my return to the Vancouver International Airport that year, I was asked what I was doing in Ireland. "I'm studying over there for five years and coming back to visit my family," was my reply.

"Well then, you're not a resident here anymore. You're a visitor," was the reply from the Customs Officer.

That triggered the construction of a new international identity for myself, one that is permitted under the banner of being Canadian and that allows a greater latitude when answering the question, "So, where are you really from?"

I don't really know anymore.

What I do know is that growing up where I did, with no other "coloured" students in my elementary school, I was allowed to be me. It might not be typical but I don't ever remember being called a funny name or not being picked for a game of hockey because of the colour of my skin (honestly, if that happened, it probably had more to do with my chubby physique). I grew up in Canada blind to my colour and, thankfully, to the colour of others. If someone says they are from a particular region or culture or country, I take that at face value.

I now believe that the malleable Canadian identity, which allows such a visually diverse group of people to all proclaim their nationality and citizenship (with hyphens galore) is truly a gift in a globalizing world. The facility that we have as Canadians to be truly individual and yet to contribute to the evolving image of Canada is a remarkable one. I am proud that Canada has given me the ability to see past the superficial aspects of humanity that have separated peoples and caused divisions around the world.

So yes, I am from Canada; but as for others of my generation, there is so much more to it than meets the eye.