Category Archives: Art

Global Culture

Cultural industry. It sounds like an oxymoron. ‘Culture’ relating to the artistic or creative, and ‘industry’ describing business interests, on a large scale. At the very least, it seems a rocky marriage.

The term is most often applied to the electronic arts, as they are called: music and motion pictures, the artforms which lend themselves to mass duplication and distribution. No one talks about the dance industry, or the sculpture industry.

The cultural industry I’m most familiar with is the motion picture one, and indeed, someone once referred to the movie industry as ‘too much of a business to be an art, and too much of an art to be a business.’ That just about encapsulates the conundrum.

In Canada, unlike the U.S., the movie and television industries have always needed public subsidy. The costs of production are simply too high, and the Canadian marketplace too small, for the indigenous production companies to survive. That’s been the argument at least.

I can recall, back in the mid-80s, when the Canadian Film Development Corporation, originally founded in 1967 to advance the Canadian movie biz, became Telefilm Canada, charged with promoting and funding the Canadian ‘audiovisual’ private sector, that is television as well as movies. People from the agency were talking about how it was intended to grow production companies from the nascent stage, but then to gradually withdraw its funding as those companies matured and became financially independent.

In the 90s, Telefilm still explicitly required funded productions to be ‘distinctly Canadian.’ These shows were to be stories told by Canadians, set in perceptibly Canadian locales, in which Canadian audiences could recognize themselves. So too were so-called ‘lifestyle’ and ‘industrial’ shows excluded from support; game shows, talk shows, that sort of thing.

downloadAs we rolled into the new millennium, TV shows like Flashpoint, Orphan Black and Rookie Blue made little effort to clarify where their episodes were shot (Toronto), although Rookie Blue did, in its latter seasons, begin to actually use Toronto street names. Rookie Blue also, in its final season last year, received over five million dollars in subsidy from the Canada Media Fund, a public-private partnership administered by Telefilm. That in addition to the considerable monies the production company would also have received via both provincial and federal tax credits. The parent company for Rookie Blue is E1, a multimedia corporation, headquartered in Toronto, with revenues in 2015 of more than $1.5 billion Cdn. You’d have to consider that mature.

And today, when Paperny Entertainment, a Vancouver-based production company owned by E1, produces World’s Weirdest Restaurants for the Food Network, surely a ‘lifestyle’ distributor, that show can access all the same government subsidies that can any other TV show.

At the same time, I don’t mean to sound alarmist bells here. The situation I’m describing is not unique to Canada. It was probably naive to think, back in the 80s, that production companies could be weaned from the public funds which did so much to create the business model by which they grew and prospered. And god knows governments everywhere are competing (some say in a race to the bottom) to offer ever more generous tax credits to attract the industry, given that it pays well, is labour intensive, and relatively non-polluting.

Governments everywhere have also fought to exclude cultural industries from the various free trade-type agreements that continue to proliferate in our times. Ultimately though, the problem is beyond national controls, subject to the same global economic and technical forces which are inexorably interconnecting the planet. As Catalina Briceño, Director of Industry and Market Trends at the Canada Media Fund, wrote in a new report, “[the] globalization of tastes is supplanting cultural differences.”

It’s no surprise then that, especially with dramatic movies and television shows, creators and producers design them to play like home product in several markets. Rookie Blue aired on Global in Canada and ABC in the U.S. Orphan Black premiered on Space in Canada and on BBC America in the United States.

John Fawcett, one of the creators of Orphan Black, certainly did his best to put a positive spin on the situation in an interview with Entertainment Weekly in 2014: “To be honest, we don’t want to say we’re American and alienate the Canadians, or say we’re Canadian and alienate the Americans. The bottom line is we’re one big happy family. We’re just a little bit further north than you.”

Nice. As culture and industry evolve globally, their marriage begets family. I can get behind that. The family part at least. Happy? Maybe not quite so much.

Why I Read Non-Fiction

As a young man I read only fiction. My tastes ranged widely, from Dostoyevsky to Atwood, from Thomas Hardy to John Updike, but it was almost always a novel. Even a short story was somehow ‘beyond the pale.’

These days I read exclusively non-fiction; biography, history, memoir, the odd quasi-scientific text such as The Sixth Extinction.

funkandjazz photo
funkandjazz photo

 

It’s interesting to consider why this change.

My wife and I joke that it is because, in picking up a non-fiction book to continue reading it, even if just 24 hours later, we don’t have to struggle to recall where we left off. (I like to say that, for me, ‘Short term memory is just a fond memory.”) No paging back, trying to pick up the most recent story events. It’s just inherently easier to resume reading a non-fiction text.

It’s also interesting to note that my first choice in visual media back then, in my callow youth, was invariably a dramatic movie. Something with some edge, growing up as I did in the last great decade of American filmmaking (I’m thinking of movies like Midnight Cowboy or Scarecrow), but nevertheless it was a fictional work that I wanted to see on any given, dissolute Saturday night.

And again, these days my viewing preference is usually documentary, though not as consistently as it is when it comes to the written word.

Real as is the phenomenon of short term memory loss with advancing age, I do think the explanation for this transition in taste is slightly more complicated. As a young person, you live in a world of possibility. Your own story is yet to be written, and so an imagined future is simply more compelling to you. We tell one another stories in order to offer one another life lessons, and thus reading about a sympathetic character struggling with a relatable problem becomes not so much a projection of our current life, as it is a counselling, an offered perspective on the prospects for our coming life.

In middle age and beyond, we seek not so much projection as we do comparison. And we’d just as soon the events of the story be real, as opposed to imaginary. What choices did an individual or group make, what were the consequences, good and bad? These are the questions, I think, which tend to preoccupy the older reader. It’s not that the lessons offered by a fictional story aren’t valid—the greater emotional truth of a manipulated story is certainly authentic and useful—it’s only that, in the slowly fading second half of our lives, we’d rather know that the outcome did happen, as opposed to could happen. For us, there’s something just a bit too easy about the imaginary world, with its unmitigated creative freedom.

It’s indefensible, really. More definitive perhaps, more actual of course, but at the same time, this choice of fact before fiction is depreciated, like the brand new car that you drive off the sales lot, only to watch its resale value drop by at least a quarter by the time you park it. I suspect that no history book will ever be more worthy than Macbeth, and that no documentary film will ever exceed The Rules of the Game in its intrinsic value.

No, admittedly, I read non-fiction in order to check in on my fellow human beings in a more literal, less justifiable way. To see who’s fallen, and why. To see who’s triumphed, and what price they paid in order to do so. It’s comforting in an odd, somewhat disconcerting way. To know that no life is perfect, no outcome guaranteed. To see how large a role chance, luck and circumstance play in failure or success. Not that will, hard work and persistence don’t factor in too; they do, especially persistence, but life has never been fair, and you are lucky if you grew up in a circumstance free of abuse or poverty, where you were loved, supported and well cared for. Many people don’t, and many who succeed are driven by neurosis and insecurity and pain that never leave them.

Reading non-fiction is validating, or it isn’t. It will always inform; if well-written it may entertain. Like fiction it must be honest, and if so, in reading it you will be enriched, given insight. It may not excite the way fiction did in your youth, or inspire, or possess the indisputable, ineffable magic that a single passage from James Joyce or Kazuo Ishiguro may proffer, but then it isn’t meant to. It is meant to carry you on, down the road of life to a destination where every reader of every book, and every watcher of every movie is heading too. When you get there, greet your former self with a smile, and maybe give him a shake. Tell him he’s still loved, and then tell him to get on with it. The real thing that is.

Words

My own view on the ‘proper’ use of language is radical, though not so radical as some. I am told of a UBC professor who believes that, “If you used it, it’s a word.” I would amend that statement to read, “If you used it—and it was understood by the listener in the way you intended it to be understood—it’s a word.”

Rafel Miro photo
Rafel Miro photo

I’m employing the classic communication model here, where sender, message and receiver must all be present in order for communication to take place, and I do believe that clarity is the prime consideration when attempting to communicate with the written or spoken word. Honesty might be my second consideration, and all the niceties of language—the elements of style—would follow, a distant third.

Words are meant to communicate, and communication is meant to move you somehow, either intellectually or emotionally, depending upon the kind of writing or speaking being done. But nowhere should it be maintained that there is a proper way to communicate with words, that there is one and only one correct way to string words together.

And yet of course there is. We have the rules of grammar, and we have the dictionary. The dictionary tells us that there is one and only one correct way to spell a word, and the rules of grammar tell us that there is only one way to correctly construct sentences.

Well, to not put too fine a word upon it, hogwash. Shakespeare never had a dictionary or grammar text to refer to, and most of us would agree that no fellow has ever strung English words together better than he, and he invented some dillys (How about “fell swoop?”). It makes no more sense to say that there are rules to govern writing than it does to say there are rules to govern painting, or sculpture, or theatre. Writing is an artform like any other, and to impose rules upon it is an act of stultification.

I’m with Bill Bissett, subversive poet of deserved renown whose work can be found on his “offishul web site,” work like this pithy gem (from scars on th seehors):

IT USD 2 B

yu cud get sum toilet papr

nd a newspapr both 4

a dollr fiftee

 

now yu cant  

yu gotta make a chois 

Bissett points out in his essay why I write like ths that it was the invention of the printing press that precipitated the standardization of language:

previous to that era peopul wud spell th same words diffrentlee  evn in th same correspondens  chek th lettrs btween qween elizabeth first n sir waltr raleigh  different spellings  different tones  different emphasis  sound  all part uv th changing meenings  

Once again it seems it was technology determining change, change which in this case undoubtedly impoverished words as a creative tool.

It was the Victorians who truly imposed a final set of rules upon the English language—the first Oxford Dictionary appeared in 1884—and generically speaking, there has rarely been a more noxious bunch populating the earth.

The French have the Académie française, “official moderator of the French language,” there “to work, with all possible care and diligence, to give our language definite rules.” The Academy of course admits a few new words to the French language each year, mostly to replace odious English words that have crept into use in French, but again, it is hard to imagine a more officious and objectionable pomp of bureaucrats than these self-appointed jury members. (Did you catch me inventing “pomp,” and, more importantly, did you grasp my meaning?)

Language evolves, daily, as must any art if it is to remain an art. It must constantly be in search of the novel, for there is precious little else remaining when it comes to the recognition of art than that it be new. Those who would stand in opposition to this evolution stand with those charming Victorians who offered up as their sole necessary justification, “It’s not done.”

Yes, the too-indulgent use of words can be tedious and problematic (Has anyone actually read Finnegan’s Wake?), but even more problematically tendentious are the language police manning the checkpoints in defense of a hopeless, conservative cause. If you want to say, “There is data to support my argument,” as opposed to “There are data…”, go ahead. Those who would condemn you for it are snobs, snobs with a fascist bent, and not the least deserving of the respect they seek. If you consider it a word, and you think it likely to be understood in the way you intend, go ahead, fire away, use it. Feel free.