Reel to Real Newsletter: June 13, 2003

I’m sitting here reading the latest issue of Vanity Fair – the one with the 20 pages of “the hottest teen and tween stars” – and two things caught my eye. The first is a quote from Arnold Schwarzenegger. When asked about his greatest fear he said, “I am petrified of bikini waxing. I had a very bad experience in 1978.” Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.

The other grabber is the picture of Elizabeth Taylor on page 136. Taken at the peak of her fame in 1963, it is not just a portrait of one of the world’s most beautiful women, but a moment frozen in time when Taylor was blowing apart the very idea of celebrity and how famous people are meant to behave in public. She wasn’t the demur, retiring type like many of her contemporaries, but a woman who stood up for what she believed in, regardless of the consequences. Her very public affair with Richard Burton could have sabotaged her career, but she followed her heart into the scandal rags anyway. In the photo there is a self confidence in her face that shines through, a look of defiance that seems to say, “Bring it on, I can take it.” She was a dame years before the Queen of England officially gave her the title.

I’m writing all this because she has been on my mind lately. I met Taylor recently in Cannes, and at age 72 she is a frail woman who tires easily, but there is still a spark there. When one reporter asked her to speak up she shrieked at him with a howl that sounded like a 500 pound Siamese cat in heat. She’s still feisty after all these years.

We had been invited to join the scrum on the red carpet for a special screening of Liz’s 1956 film Giant, which co-starred Rock Hudson and James Dean. The idea is to try and grab interviews with the celebrities who will be attending. We don’t normally cover events like this, but I am told that Liz herself will be speaking to the press, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to speak to a film legend.

We lined up at 4pm and are crammed into a small fenced-in area on the left side of the red carpet. The plan was that Elizabeth would walk up one side, stopping every few feet and chatting, before continuing down the other side. Everyone should get a chance to grab and interview. She will, however, be quite late. The film starts at 6pm, and we are told not to expect her until at least 5:30 or 5:45. These things never go as planned, and I’m fairly convinced that we won’t get to speak with her, but I’m willing to wait in the blazing sun, pressed up against other reporters on the off chance that we can get her.

At 5:05 a black limo pulls up and Liz gets out. She’s on time. People are stunned. She’s never on time for anything. I later hear from a publicist that they told her the event was at 2pm. By telling her the call time was midday they figured they could get her to the appearance on time. In her mind she was arriving fashionably late by three hours.

The photographers went crazy. “Leez! Leez!,” they yelled. There was a push forward as she stopped to pose for photos. She’s wearing Fort Knox – enough jewels to pay the debt of several small countries, but looked frail. She's escorted by two men, one on each arm who usher her along and seem to actually be carrying her. She stopped at the reporter next to me. That probably means I won’t get her, as I’m sure they’ll try and move through the line fairly quickly.

But no! She stops in front of me. I ask her one question. Then another and another after that. I actually get her attention for a few minutes.

I’M THE KING OF CANNES!

After I speak to her the rush her along to one more reporter, then hustle her inside. They missed one whole of side of the red carpet, including the reporter from Entertainment Tonight. For once, I think to myself, I get an interview that not even ET could get. A few minutes later a car pulls up to the front door of the theatre and Liz is helped inside. We hear later that she isn’t up to staying and had to be taken back to her hotel. I heard the woman from ET desperately yelling, “Hey Liz! Got a minute of ET!!!!” as the car faded into the distance.

Excerpt from On-Line Diary: August 9, 2003

It’s a beautiful Southern California night, and we have a choice table for people watching. We see an older man dressed like Elvis pull up in a $500,000 car, many Rolls Royces and Gary Busey. Remember earlier when I said that strange things always happen to me when I come to LA? Well, tonight would be no exception, and it would be my second strange encounter with Mr. Busey. (Caution! Dropping names ahead.)

On a hot June evening in 1992 I had dinner at a Wolfgang Puck restaurant in Malibu called Granita. We scored a great table on the patio, and were seated between Johnny Carson, who had just retired, and Gary Busey, who was celebrating his birthday. The meal was relatively peaceful until Busey started opening his gifts. He insisted on showing us each of his presents, which was fine, but he had a lot of presents, and we were trying to eat. Eventually we stopped commenting on the gifts and tried to enjoy our meal. It was then that I felt a bread roll hit me in the back of the head.

“Hey! Tell Wolfgang we’re having a food fight,” Busey hollered as he winged another roll in my direction.  

I didn’t know what to do, and didn’t really want to get involved, but the rolls kept coming, so eventually I threw one back at him, hitting him in the chest. I’m sure Mr. Carson was impressed with my aim. Thankfully someone at the table (I think it was his mother) got him to stop, and we never progressed past the rolls into throwing hot entrees at one another.

I didn’t see Busey for another eleven years, and much has happened in the intervening years. He has worked steadily, mostly in straight to video movies that earn a “Terrible,” or “Appalling” user rating on IMBD; he had a plum sized tumour removed from his sinus cavity, has been arrested and become a born-again Christian. Most recently he has been starring in I’m With Busey, a reality show a la The Osbournes. I think the show’s tagline says it all: “Somewhere, between reality and insanity, Is Busey.”

He is sitting inside with a group of people, including a friend of mine from Toronto. At one point Busey decides that he wants to smoke one of his large Cuban cigars, and comes outside to our table. Actually he looms over the table, sitting on a ledge above us, with his feet resting on one of the chairs. Introductions are made. I tell him I am from Toronto.

“I have made ten movies in Toronto. Ten in Vancouver and three in Montreal,” he says loudly.

“I must have missed those,” I’m thinking, but say nothing.

When I don’t take the bait he starts spouting Buseyisms, which are basically acronyms of his invention which contain his philosophy on life.

“Do you know what FEAR stands for?” he asks me.

Not sure where this conversation is going, I say no.

“FEAR… False Evidence Appearing Real,” he says. “F-E-A-R.”

Wow.

“Do you know what LIGHT stands for?” he hollers.

Before I have a chance to answer, he says, “LIGHT! Living In God’s Heavenly Thoughts… L-I-G-H-T.”

I have a feeling this is going to go on for a while, so I order another drink.
They came in quick succession… GOAT! Get Over Adulterous Tendencies! BIBLE! Beautiful Instructions Before Leaving Earth!

Then, to make a peculiar scene even more bizarre we were joined by one of Busey’s friends, Sal Pacino. No, that’s not a typo, I said Sal Pacino, father of Al. Sal is in his eighties, but has a strong resemblance to his famous son. He was wearing a very cool belt with the letter “S” on the buckle, and didn’t say much. He didn’t have much of a chance to, as Busey holding court, sucking up all the air on the patio.
I wondered if it was just me who didn’t really know what Busey was on about, but later read a quote from his son Jake, who said, “He’s always telling stories about monkeys and toads and rockets… I can never understand what he’s talking about.”

Good, even his blood relatives can’t comprehend him. I think if I could identify with what he was saying then I would have something to worry about.

Anyway, as quickly as he joined us, he was gone, leaving nothing but perplexed looks and a cloud of cigar smoke. It was definitely the oddest celebrity encounter I have ever had.

Strange as he was, Busey was entertaining, and after he left the party seemed a little less interesting. With my head full of Buseyisms I went to bed, no wiser, but a little more amused than when I woke up today.
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How To Save Canadian Movies

We cover a great many Canadian films on Reel to Real. I like to support the industry as well as showcase many of the fine films that are made in this country. The trouble is no matter what we say about the movies, no matter how many rave reviews we give them, no matter how many free tickets we give away, the truth is that virtually no one is going to the theatres to see them. It is a fact that the box office for Canadian films was up this year but if you look at the numbers they are not that impressive. According to a recent analysis Hollywood movies gobble up an astounding 87.8% of our box office, followed by U.K. films with 6.7%. Only France and the catch-all category of “Other” scored lower than Canada.
2.6%.

That’s how much we as a country value our film industry. For every one hundred tickets sold only 2.6 of them were for Canadian productions. To paraphrase my co-host Geoff Pevere, why is it when we put the modifier “Canadian” before some words it a good thing – Canadian hockey, Canadian whiskey, Canadian maple syrup or maybe even Canadian bacon – but when we apply it to film it becomes a four-letter word?

Judging by the letters I get from viewers, there is a perception out there that all Canadian film is about (to paraphrase critic Kathryn Monk) “weird sex and snow shoes” and therefore of limited appeal. While some Canadian film is about weird sex (Exotica) and snow shoes (Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner), so are some of their American counterparts – Sex, Lies and Videotape and The Day After Tomorrow spring to mind.

So why is it that it was hip to line-up for a screening of Sex, Lies and Videotape, but there were always empty seats at Atanarjuat screenings? Well, it might have had something to do with an unpronounceable title, a running time of three hours and dialogue in a dialect that no one outside of a small tribe in the Arctic Circle understands, but I don’t think that is entirely it. Despite rave reviews and one of the most memorable scenes in all of Canadian cinema – the naked run across the tundra – the film was only a modest success (which ironically makes it a huge victory in Canadian terms). I think it likely had to do with a Candianism I call the “cod liver oil syndrome.”

There is an argument among those with time to argue about such things that Canadians should go see their movies simply because they are Canadian and they tell our stories. In a perfect world this argument would make sense, but in reality we live in a place where the box office is driven by young people – mostly teens – who want to see stories that grab their attention, that speak to them, not stories that are good for them. Cod liver oil may be good for you, but have you actually ever met anyone who likes the stuff? If critics hadn’t droned on about how Atanarjuat was a cultural study, but instead embraced the movie’s central themes – sex, murder and revenge – perhaps more people would have seen it.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think we should go out of our way to make commercial movies here. Telefilm is trying to perfect a system whereby they only give money to filmmakers who are able to guarantee box office returns. There are two problems inherent in this new approach.  The first is an age old lesson: Nobody knows what will sell. If we did there would be nothing but colossal hits at our theatres and formulaic movies like Mona Lisa Smile which were designed to have broad appeal wouldn’t stiff at the box office.

The second, and most distressing to me, is that Telefilm will try and figure out some formula to make commercial films. Do we really need bureaucrats telling filmmakers to give the lead character a dog to make him/her more likeable? I don’t think so… just ask the makers of Foolproof what they think on that score.
We don’t need to tell filmmakers what stories to make. We don’t need to import American actors to headline our films and we really don’t need the government involved on the creative side of filmmaking.

What we have to change is the viewer’s perception of our films. Canadians got badly stung in the late Seventies and early Eighties by a spate of horribly made tax dodge films which existed only to give dentists in Mississauga a write-off on their taxes. Many bad movies resulted and while they may have starred Steve Railsback or some other Hollywood has-been, they were shot here and dumped into the unsuspecting marketplace as Canadian film, and I think we are still feeling the cultural bitch-slap. These Canuxploitation movies reinforced the idea that our films weren’t as good as Hollywood movies and in most instances people were right. They weren’t as good. They were often cheaply made, badly lit and poorly acted.

That was then and this is now. The loophole that gave people the incentive to make these culture-destroying pieces of rubbish has been snapped shut and films in this country are now made by filmmakers and not accountants. We have fine directors, actors and our crews are not only busy making our films, but are also sought after for the mega budget movies shot here. If the last Canadian movie you saw was Death Weekend, trust me, things have changed.

So we make good movies that nobody sees. Well, as Sam Bronfman once said, “Anyone can make good booze; the trick is to sell it.” Many Canadian films fail because they can’t find an audience or rather, the audience can’t find them. With the major U.S. production-distribution houses controlling 80-94% of the theatrical film market in Canada, it is a wonder that there is any room for our films at all, and it seems that once a Canadian film finds it way to the big screen there is little money left for promotion. This is a mammoth problem. Many films can’t even scrape together a few bucks to take out ads in the newspaper or on the radio. Instead they have to rely on word of mouth, reviews and theatre listings and frankly, word of mouth only works if people are seeing the films, reviews can help (but not as much as people think) and theatre listings are notoriously unreliable.

So what is a Canadian filmmaker to do? Of late several local companies have taken a very creative and quite successful approach to marketing. For the theatrical release of Love, Sex and Eating the Bones its distributor, ThinkFilm offered coupons worth a six dollar rebate at the theatre. Instead of costing $13 the movie now cost you $7, and you what? It worked. The Paramount Theatre in Toronto hosted sold-out screenings of the film on its opening weekend and it did a respectable $4,081 average per screen. Not bad for a film from a first time director with no recognizable stars.

How did Love, Sex and Eating the Bones pull it off? Hype. It used to be a bad word, but as ThinkFilm proved to us, a little hype, a clear understanding of how to maximize you advertising dollar and some creative thought can turn our indigenous films into hits.

With hits could come a star system. This is a hotly contested topic in the industry. Do we need a star system? The answer is yes. Clearly, expecting folks to lay down their money simply to support Canadian film is an idea that has worn out its welcome. As the proliferation of entertainment shows and magazines proves, people want to see stars. So let’s show them our stars.

Sarah Polley is a logical choice – talented and beautiful, she works constantly and has for the most part chosen to make films here, but she has been reticent when it comes to embracing the title of Undeniable Movie Star. Don McKellar had a shot at it, but has chosen enough quirky roles to place him outside the matinee idol mold. Maybe Paul Gross could fit the bill; or maybe even Ryan Reynolds. With a star system in place maybe even the dull old Genies might become watchable again!
The bottom line is as long as there is film to load into cameras, people who want to tell their stories and a few dollars kicking around there will be Canadian films, so don’t you think it is time we embraced them?
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TIFF ARTICLE:
Originally published in CITY POST MAGAZINE, September 2004

Every year I approach the Toronto International Film Festival with equal parts anticipation and dread. On one hand I look forward to taking in all the new movies and interviewing the actors and directors, but taking part in the ten day event is a punishing test of one's ability to function past the point of exhaustion and pushes my make-up person's skill at covering up the bags under my eyes to the limit. By the waning moments of the fest I usually feel as though I have been beaten by an angry mob of teamsters. You can call me a masochist, but I wouldn't trade a minute of it.

For me the film festival actually starts about two weeks before the official opening date. In those weeks I spend my days running from one pre-screening to the next, usually seeing three or four movies a day. This is an important part of the process and one that takes some planning. In an effort to stay fit I have devised a number of exercises I can perform while sitting in the theatre, and it was the early morning screenings that I learned that popcorn actually is a perfectly acceptable breakfast food.

At night and on the weekends I watch video or DVD copies of films that aren't available to be seen on the big screen. Take it from me, if you want to protect your eyesight, you should limit yourself to a maximum of six movies a day.

I usually get a haircut about a week before opening day. I know once the festival starts I won't have time, and frankly, when I'm meeting Nicole Kidman or Naomi Watts, I don't want to look scruffy.

By the first day of the festival I have seen roughly fifty movies and feel secure that I am prepared. That feeling usually fades after the first hour and disappears completely by lunch time when the chaos of the festival kicks in. The best laid plans evaporate in front of your eyes, and suddenly the weeks of prep work are meaningless. Actors have missed their flights and have to reschedule. Prints are unavailable. Last year a group of Brazillian filmmakers disappeared for a couple of days. They were later found, hung-over but happy. The point is, it's hectic and nothing goes as planned. Get used to it.

Once I have let go of any sense of control and just let events swirl around me, the festival is a fascinating place to be. Dozens of filmmakers and actors will come to our interview suite and every year I am guaranteed to meet at least one hero of mine, develop at least one crush and discover at least one great talent.

My favorite interviews tend to be with the festival newbies - debut directors, unknown actors - who haven't been chewed up by the big publicity machine yet. They are generally more open than the name brand stars and are frequently the most interesting guests. In the last few years we have had a first look at everyone from future Academy Award winner Charlize Theron to French auteur Francois Ozon.

On the other end of the scale are the old timers. They have been around long enough to feel comfortable in their skin and don't have to play the Hollywood publicity game. Last year legendary director Francis Ford Coppola stopped by to discuss the DVD release of One from the Heart. A conversation that began with Coppola promoting the new disc morphed into a touching discussion on life, work and being happy. It was one of my favorite moments of the year, surpassed only by Omar Sharif.

The seventy plus actor was in town to promote Monsieur Ibrahim which had been a hit at several festivals. He charmed all of us, and broke one of the cardinal rules of movie stardom - he admitted that he has made a lot of bad movies. In fact he told me he went into semi-retirement because he knew he was making terrible films and didn't want to embarrass his grandkids. I love that interview because it was so un-Hollywood and his candor was very refreshing.

Then there are the regulars. I often joke that the Toronto Film Festival wouldn't be the same without Don McKellar. Every year since I can remember he has a movie playing at the fest, and this year is no different. Childstar, which he wrote, directed and stars in, is one of the must-see films this year.

We do a show a day for each of the ten days of the festival so it is inevitable that some of the actors have been watching. Nick Nolte claimed he had stayed up late watching Reel to Real the night before I interviewed him and that is why he was a little unkempt. I suspected otherwise. Colin Ferrell joked on-camera that he went to bed with me the night before. well, I was on television while he was in between the sheets. Hayden Christenson also mentioned that he had been watching the show. Cool, I thought, Anakin Skywalker watches Reel to Real.

These moments are satisfying for me, but the Toronto International Film Festival is not just about pressing the flesh with movie stars, it is, first and foremost about the movies. I will never forget seeing Reservoir Dogs for the first time and hearing a young, unknown Quentin Tarantino speak passionately about his film afterward. Last year there was an Italian film called I'm Not Scared which blew me away, but didn't grab many headlines. There are always gems, all you have to do is mine them.

FORREST J. ACKERMAN: A PROFILE
Excerpt from Reel to Real Halloween Newsletter

Few people have coined a term that has entered the popular lexicon. Forrest J. Ackerman – movie buffs call him Uncle Forry – is one of the few. On page 784 of my Random House Dictionary, there it is: “sci-fi – adj. of or pertaining to science fiction.”

“In 1954 I was riding around in my automobile,” recalls Ackerman. “The radio was on and some mention was made of ‘hi-fi.’ Since science fiction had been on the tip of my tongue since 1926, I looked in the mirror, stuck out my tongue, and there, tattooed on the tip of my tongue was ‘sci-fi.’ To her immortal embarrassment my late wife said, ‘Forget it Forry, it will never catch on.’”

Ackerman first fell in love with science fiction in October 1926. At his local newsstand he bought a copy of Amazing Stories, and became the self-described “resident crazy at high school” who thought that men were going to the moon. He tolerated teasing from his classmates and continued to collect the pulp fiction magazines and soon had a stack of 27 sci-fi journals.

During the depression his mother, convinced Forry to sell his collection to the neighbour’s son. He was devastated. “She saw me getting weak and peaked and wan and losing my appetite,” said Ackerman. “My folks thought, ‘Oh my God, we’re killing our son right in front of our eyes. We better go back and get those magazines.’” The cash strapped family bought back the magazines and they became the cornerstone of a science fiction and horror memorabilia collection that at its peak numbered some 300,000 artefacts displayed in his 18-room Hollywood home.
In the early 1990s the Smithsonian Magazine rated the “Ackermansion” as one of the eight most unusual museums in America, and Harry Knowles of Ain’t It Cool News proclaimed it the “holiest house of coolness in the world.”

“It is the biggest collection not only in this world, but in several others,” said Ackerman at the time. The “aweird winning” collection – which has now been partially sold off to pay legal debts – included Bela Lugosi’s cape from Dracula: The Tingler, a spine infesting parasite from William Castle’s 1959 cult shocker; the ring Boris Karloff’s wore in The Mummy, thousands of books, autographs, rare movie stills and props from monster moviedom. 

One piece of memorabilia that got away from him was an unpublished manuscript by Ed D. Wood Jr. "At one point I became Ed Wood's il-literary agent," he said. "I'm afraid for the most part he was just a drunken voice on the phone to me at 2 o'clock in the morning, babbling things that were incomprehensible." Even though the book was unpublishable Ackerman admits it would be a great collector’s item today.  
Ackerman is best remembered as the founder and editor of Famous Monsters of Filmland, the quintessential magazine of monster movie culture. Today there are dozens of monster and fantasy magazines at the bookstores, but in 1958 when he started F.M. this was a new concept.

In the 1950s television was in its infancy and had created a huge demand for programming. Movie studios that first saw the boob tube a threat began selling the broadcast rights to hundreds of films that had been gathering dust in their warehouses. One such package of films (syndicated in 1957) was called Shock! which included everything from scare-fare like the Universal Studio productions of Dracula, Frankenstein to mouldy-oldies such as Son of Frankenstein, Dead Man's Eyes, Weird Woman, and Night Monster. Soon every market had its own horror host – a Ghoulardi or Vampira – and America developed monstermania.

Famous Monsters was planned as a magazine equivalent to these programmes. Aside from offering articles on Ackerman’s favourite topic, it also gave him the chance to indulge in his love of language and groan-worthy puns. For instance, his address was always listed as Horrorwood, Karloffornia, and his by-line often read “4E” or “Dr. Ackula.”

The magazine might have become a quaint relic of a by-gone era had it not had a massive influence on a young generation of filmmakers and writers. Joe Dante (The Howling, Gremlins) and Stephen King both submitted stories to Uncle Forry. King’s The Killer went unpublished, but Dante’s piece on the fifty worst horror movies he'd ever seen made it into the “Fang Mail” section of the mag. John Carpenter and schlockmeister Fred Olen Ray were both fans, as was John Landis.

As a filmmaker Landis has paid tribute to his inspiration by casting in him cameos. In 1973’s Schlock, Landis shows Ackerman in close-up at a movie theatre, eating popcorn while completely captivated by a dreadful monster movie. Over a decade later, Landis directed Michael Jackson's Thriller video and set a scene in the same theatre – with Ackerman in the same seat (sitting right behind Jackson) wearing the same suit still eating popcorn.

Among his many claims to fame Ackerman can boast the largest number of roles with the shortest total time onscreen. All the filmmakers who he “led astray” keep using him in their movies. "My film career has lasted over 50 years and my total time on film is probably less than an hour," he says. He first appeared as an extra in 1944’s Hey, Rookie and has gone on to do bit parts in nearly a hundred films, mostly playing himself. His longest speaking part as an actor – a two-minute speech as President of the United States – came courtesy of Landis who helmed Amazon Women on the Moon.

Running Famous Monsters of Filmland not only turned Uncle Forry into a cult hero, but also brought Ackerman in touch with many of his idols. He remembers Boris Karloff as a delightful, gentle man. “When you took off the mask of the monster,” he says, “there was Santa Claus.” He calls writer Ray Bradbury “a genius – a wizard of words.” Bradbury returns the compliment, commenting, “Without Forry Ackerman all of us S.F. oranges would have no navels. The whole world of fantasy, science fiction would unravel.”