A Serial Killer Too Dark Even For Television

Serial killers are all the rage on television of late. And they have held that position for a while now. Dexter. Hannibal. Red John. Floyd Farrell. Kermit Gosnell.

Wait. Kermit who…?

You can be forgiven if you don’t know the name of Kermit Gosnell. And to be fair to the good doctor, I should call him an alleged serial killer since he’s still on trial in Philadelphia.

He’s also not a fictional creation. He’s real. And so is his body count.

But for reasons a lot of people are unable to fathom and the cultural fascination with lurid murder trials and mass killers aside, Dr. Gosnell is rarely if ever mentioned by any of the major players in the 24 hour news cycle and has not appeared on a network newscast since his trial began.

Gosnell is being tried for 8 counts of murder, one a woman who died on his operating table during a late term abortion. The other seven, babies born alive during abortion procedures, who (according to testimony) Gosnell dispatched rather than follow his Hippocratic oath.

Now, before we go any further, let me make it clear that I’m Pro-Choice. If a pregnant woman does not want to bring another life into the world, I believe that decision is hers to make and hers alone.

A lot of that belief comes from personal experience. I was a teenager at a time when abortion was illegal and had friends who married people they didn’t want to marry and had kids they didn’t want and didn’t come to love in time.

I also spent a horrific night on an NYPD ride-along when the cops I was with were called to attend a 12 year old in labor. A 12 year old pregnant as a result of incest.

You can’t witness something like that and not feel that there are Life events no one should be forced to endure.

Still, the battle for abortion on demand was hard won and still engenders passionate feelings. But in the process, one generation’s humanitarian achievement seems to have become the next one’s unchallengeable sacred cow.

Recently, in Canada, a cabinet minister was pilloried for suggesting abortion laws needed to be reviewed to prevent the gender specific abortions that have become common place in our country.

Maybe it’s right that no unwanted child should be brought into the world. But, like a lot of guys, I like women and don’t think the world would be a better place if there were fewer of them.

There’s also an ongoing debate about late term abortions (those occurring between the 29th and 40th week of gestation) in which a fetus can be born alive and viable.

This was the territory in which Dr. Gosnell specialized and according to his prosecutors the circumstances under which he ended the lives of babies who could have survived.

So why aren’t you being told this story?

It’s clearly got more emotional impact than moment-by-moment coverage of cruise ships with overflowing toilets.

If you’re a fan of serial killer tropes, it’s got jars full of tiny severed body parts which may have been kept as trophies and events one clinic worker described as: “It would rain fetuses. Blood and fetuses all over the place”.

Got enough slides for that much blood, Dexter? Thinking about going vegan, Hannibal?

Pro-Life leaning pundits would have us believe that networks who spent months promulgating a “war on women” being waged on the battlefield of abortion rights don’t want to look into the surrounding shadows.

Others believe the media are uncomfortable with the Gosnell case given that as an Illinois State Senator President Obama fought hard to make sure abortion doctors would be allowed to deny life saving treatment to live infants outside the womb.  

As for me, I think something else is at work, a form of network self-preservation. With so much invested in so many different shows in how clever, quirky and “edgy” serial killers are, nobody wants to remind the audience that the real horrors aren’t all that much fun.

What went on in Gosnell’s clinic is horrific by any standard. You can’t hear about it and still be eager to see what the crazy guy on this week’s “Criminal Minds” gets up to.

It’s too raw. It’s too close. It doesn’t titillate an audience.

In other words, it doesn’t make good television.

The Impossiblist

When Australian magician and hypnotist Peter Reveen was in his 20’s, he decided to see the world –- and got as far as Canada.

Arriving in Vancouver by bus from Los Angeles, something about the place and the people just felt right and he decided to stay.

Around 1960, he arrived in my hometown of Regina, taking over the classiest local movie house for a presentation of illusion and hypnotism. Live shows like his didn’t come our way much and I’m sure the people who ran the theatre figured they’d be back unspooling movies in a week or so.

But he was billed as “The Impossiblist” –- perhaps because it wasn’t just onstage where he worked his magic.

Reveen had a knack for both self-promotion and what would now be called networking but back then was just finding willing people and offering them an opportunity.

The man had talent and he knew that to make a living he had to share some of it and give some away for free.

So he would spend his days walking the streets of the cities where he played offering shop owners and pretty much anybody with a public window free tickets for putting up the B&W posters of his imposing visage.

He traded radio stations free ads for a percentage of ticket sales and made the same deal with the local TV station where he’d generously hypnotize the weather or sports guy live to show his potential audience the fun that was in store.

His show had barely opened and every kid in town was begging their parents to please, please, please take me!

Meanwhile, every small town has a coterie of folks who love magic or are certain they have show business in their veins.  Thus many in Reveen’s backstage crews and assistants were drawn from those bartering their talents for a closer look at how real magic was performed or just to be part of a big-time theatrical evening.

The names of those to whom Reveen gave a shot include famed Jazz pianist and Canadian Senator Tommy Banks and a kid from Moose Jaw named Shelby Craigen, who invented and built illusions for Reveen still used by Las Vegas icon Lance Burton.

Between the generous ticket deals that not only saw posters in new windows every day but encouraged radio and TV stations to plug his show at every opportunity, Reveen was selling out nightly all through a long, cold winter.

I thought I’d never get to see him. And then, one day, Reveen walked into my dad’s office with a poster under his arm.

It wasn’t the first magic show I’d ever seen. But to date it’s been by far the best. Reveen worked the family crowd with a few illusions and then his signature specialty of hypnotizing about a dozen volunteers from the audience.

The result was an evening of awe and side-splitting laughter that led to the inevitable standing ovation that concluded every Reveen performance.

Two or three decades later, I saw Reveen again in Toronto’s Elgin Theatre where, along with Montreal’s St. Denis, Vancouver’s Orpheum and Edinburgh’s Playhouse, he still holds the attendance record.

His show was bigger and flashier than before. He’d been a regular at Caesar’s Palace and on the Merv Griffin Show by then. Had his own comic book, best-selling academic treatise on “the superconscious” and a line of self-help hypnosis tapes.

But he was still the same guy.

Gentle. Down to Earth. Funny. Anxious to share his talent and enjoy the wonder on the faces staring back at him.

Peter Reveen passed away in Las Vegas on Monday, his death overshadowed by the departures from Life of Margaret Thatcher and Annette.

He leaves behind a son who carries on his legacy of magic and millions of fans who will forever remember a man who understood that giving away or sharing what you have returns unimaginable rewards.

My Moment With Margaret

In the late Spring of 1983, I was a Canadian actor touring a play throughout the United Kingdom and currently playing in Edinburgh.

One soggy afternoon, as I slogged through town in a downpour that hadn’t stopped in a week, a voice called from behind, a high pitched, “Haallooo. Halloo!”. I turned to find Margaret Thatcher leaning out of a taxi window, waving happily as she passed and the cab swung into a hotel driveway.

I recognized her, of course, aware as anyone back then of “The Iron Lady”, “The Fighting Lady of the Falklands” or “Attila the Hen” as the Scots at the theatre called her; then in the midst of an election campaign that dominated the papers and the telly.

I had been bound for the hotel to do an interview in the bar and when I ducked under its awning and shook off the wet, Mrs. Thatcher, who had been supervising the disposition of her luggage, despite the carloads of security and supporters who had preceded and followed her up the drive, immediately strove over with her hand outstretched.

“You need to find an umbrella.”

I smiled and shook her hand, letting her know I was a Canadian who couldn’t vote so she shouldn’t waste her time on me. She laughed and insisted there must be someone I could influence.

As it happened, I had a great uncle and aunt who lived in her riding and had, on a previous tour, recounted how odd it was that the girl who used to help them bag produce at her father’s green grocer shop was now the Prime Minister.

I mentioned that and she asked their names. Although they weren’t at all politically active, she knew them and her next question was “And how is Millie?” Millie being the sickly maiden aunt who had recently moved in with them.

I was astonished that this woman, mostly known for battling Russians, Argentines, coal miners and the IRA was aware of the most minor goings on a few blocks from where she had grown up.

“I’ll be campaigning there next week and expect to hear you’ve put in a good word for me”.  She smiled again and was gone, swallowed up by security and campaigners.

When I mentioned my encounter to the journalist I was meeting, he suggested I wash my hand before any infection set in. The Scots at the theatre were equally disdainful and on election night a couple of weeks later in Glasgow were cheering the fact that Scotland hadn’t sent any of her candidates to Parliament.

I’m sure they had good reason for how they felt and it was clear that among the artists and theatricals I encountered on the rest of the tour she was despised.

But I’ve never shaken the feeling that under that iron, determination and lack of compromise was a very nice lady.

Lazy Sunday # 267: The Old Joke

When I was a kid, comedy albums were all the rage. Shelley Berman, Bob Newhart and, of course, Bill Cosby all had a place in my parents record cabinet, hauled out on Saturday night, once the adult’s party in the rec room was in full swing and everybody was tired of dancing.

I often sat on the basement stairs in my PJs laughing along with routines we had all heard a hundred times but still loved hearing again.

There was always somebody in the crowd who wasn’t familiar with the jokes and it often felt like there was as much enjoyment in sharing in their discovery as there was in hearing a beloved quip one more time.

In my teens, Bill Cosby came to town and I managed to score a front row seat. Much of his act was from those years old albums. But the laughter was as genuine and appreciative as if it was all brand new.

There weren’t a lot of comedy venues back then. Some of the big names toured their own live shows but most stand-ups were either the warm up act or inserted in front of the curtain while the next act set up or the last stripper picked up her sequins and feathers.

Now, comedy is everywhere. Every city has at least one comedy club. There are entire networks where stand-up is available 24/7 and the jokes told in those places turn up on Youtube virtually before the laughter they elicited has died out.

Some comics, most frequently Canadian Russell Peters, have bemoaned the pressure this puts on them to come up with new material. And maybe that’s a valid beef.

But I still find myself stopping the remote or turning up the volume on the satellite radio when Louis CK, Jim Gaffigan. Kathy Madigan or Larry The Cable Guy launches into a bit I’ve heard many times before.

Maybe it’s the joy of watching how the joke is constructed or the mastery with which an audience is worked. But sometimes funny is just funny no matter how many times you’ve heard the punchline.

One of my current favorite comics is Dov Davidoff, whose chaotic stage presence belies a studied mastery of the craft. Even if you’ve heard it all before, it’s still good to laugh.

Enjoy Your Sunday.

One From The Vault

45 years ago tonight, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis Tennessee. 39 years later, I wrote what follows. Luckily it included the words of somebody else that better capture the essence of not only that night but many of the problems we continue to face.

I hope you find them worth reading.

Welcome To The Show

The 2013 Baseball season opens in Canada today, with little doubt among most Canadians that the home team will be the last one standing in the American League come October.

While our last World Series hero, Joe Carter, might remind us that there are still games to play first, it’s been a long time (like 20 years) since I’ve been this excited about my beloved Blue Jays.

But sadly, there is one category in which the Jays are not shining.

Hype.

And you’d think this would be a foregone conclusion, residing as they do at the center of the Canadian Media Universe and owned, as they are, by one of the nation’s largest media conglomerates.

Yet, oddly, it’s the conglomerate and not the team who are at the forefront of the opening day hoopla, with ads showcasing Rogers’ websites, leading radio personality and mobility options as onscreen fans crowd toward a stadium named after the company founder.

Is it the enjoyment of baseball that’s being sold here or the options Rogers feels you need in order to fully enjoy what’s to come?

Is it perhaps reflective of the eternal need for Canadian broadcasters to place themselves ahead of the talent?

Elsewhere, the Jays are pwned by teams selling players, excitement and attitude.

For example. On the field, Toronto will own the Chicago White Sox this season. But when it comes to hype, the Chisox are already striking them out.

Of added interest is that their video is geo-blocked in Canada. But you can find it here.

Lazy Sunday # 266: The Spiral

                           

It’s been said that there are four stages to any artist’s career:

1. Who’s (insert your name here)?

2. Get me (you again)!

3. Let’s find a young (same guy).

4. Who’s (you know who)?

And while it seems unfair to the individual, our reality is that as one star fades, another inevitably brightens to take its place.

Therefore a necessity in every artist’s career is answering the question, “Is this the beginning of the downward spiral or is this the spiral itself?”.

Because those who read the signs correctly leave at the top of their game or transition into a respected and respectable later life, exiting the stage before their brightness is eclipsed.

For those eclipsed mar both their future and their legacy.

This week, we witnessed the sad exhibition of a truly talented star making a desperate grab for relevance, in the process not only offending a significant portion of his remaining fan base but giving some of the new blood a chance to overshadow him.

For a long time, Jim Carrey has been the funniest man in Hollywood and as a result a source of pride for Canadians.

By entering the acrimonious American gun debate, I’m sure Jim had the best intentions. But in a country with some of the dumbest gun laws on the planet and neither side willing to give an inch, having an impact would have required him to be at the top of his game, to be as sharp and quick as he’s ever been.

And that’s not how things played out.

What follows is not only the spiral itself but the combined eclipse as those with the edge Jim once had move in for the kill.

Those of us who’ve long enjoyed Carrey’s genius might take comfort in the laughs he’ll score next week with the release of “KickAss 2”. But for many, the image of a gun wielding Colonel Stars and Stripes will be the final hypocritical cherry atop a disastrous PR sundae.

The Spiral. Avoid it in your own life. And Enjoy Your Sunday…

Cold Dead Hand with Jim Carrey from Jim Carrey

The First Honest Cable Company

Lazy Sunday # 265: Keep Calm and Carry On

It’s the simplicity that hits you first. Then the obvious truth.

Nobody gets out alive. 

And Worry doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It merely steals today of its joys.

Because Life is what happens while you’re making plans.

Much better to just ignore the noise. Keep your nose to the grindstone –- or notebook –- or keyboard and move forward.

Maybe make a nice cup of tea before you get started.

We all assume the phrase kept British chins up during the dark days of the Blitz. It fits the history.

And it did.

Except it didn’t.

The true story is actually much more interesting.

Enjoy Your Sunday.

The Replacements

I spent the first 15 years of my professional life as an actor. It’s a society I’m still proud to have been a part of. And I continue to cherish the experience and insights I gained which inform my work as a writer and producer these days.

Much as those of us who write, produce, direct or apply make-up and pull cable hate to admit, it’s actors who draw the public to what the rest of us do. They are the face and the heart of our industry.

But the seamless facility with which good actors appear to embody a character does not come as easily as it appears. It’s a tough craft at which to become accomplished. Yet, it’s also one that is constantly maligned.

Most people still don’t think it’s a “real job” and even within the industry that depends on them there’s often a palpable irritation with actors.

Actors are always “improving” on a writer’s script, preferring a “different take” than the director, “editing” their performance before it arrives in an edit suit and bending producers and production managers out of shape with “perk” requests.

From my earliest days in the profession, I had the feeling a lot of people would be happy if they could do without us.

And when I was doing voice work on cartoons, I sensed that such a desire might already be in the pipeline.

Back in the day, animator’s drawing tables came with a mirror (like the one pictured above) and you’d walk past the work stations watching animators try out the expressions they then replicated to their characters.

When I saw those animated characters onscreen, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how well people who drew hundreds of pictures a day for a living captured the nuance, timing and emotional insight we thespians worked weeks to perfect.

And I wondered if maybe anybody could do that –- and what would happen once you didn’t even need to know how to draw in order to accomplish it.

Lately, as more and more actors struggle to find enough work to sustain a career, I’ve begun to notice that change in action.

Used to be, animated features were a rarity. Maybe a handful of releases reached the multiplex each year. But as the cost of animation has fallen, there now seems to be three or four released every month.

And where “The Simpsons” was once the only Prime Time animated series, there are now entire nights of them on some networks and many more on specialty networks.

And on shows like “The Family Guy” and “Archer” it’s not the performers that the audience is tuning in to enjoy, but the writers and technicians.

Yeah, there are still jobs on these films and series for actors. But unless the show is a phenomenal success or the actor brings a known name to the table, it pays less than an on camera performance. And animation eliminates the need for a huge number of crew positions as well.

Similarly, the rise of video games has spun off both technologies capable of replicating humans in a more realistic setting and an audience grown more comfortable with gaming visuals as an acceptable entertainment option.

Down at the multiplex and on such televised series as “Spartacus” and “Game of Thrones”, the “Cast of Thousands” has been virtually eliminated. No more armies of extras with their requisite box lunches and truckloads of wardrobe. No more days of planning and multi-camera setups to execute stunts.

Sometimes, characters seen in fleeting shots and one line parts are even “painted in” without the audience ever realizing it’s not a real person.

And now that process has become even more sophisticated thanks to chip maker Invidia and a new software called “Faceworks”.

Faceworks basically recreates a completely believable human face, allowing an animator to create a performance which an unsuspecting audience will never know isn’t a real person.

You can probably count all the live-action replicant films released without real actors in them without taking off your shoes.

“Tin Tin”, “Beowulf”, etc.

But we may well be on the verge of the release of many more. Or we might just see more films in which the smaller parts, where most actors find their breaks or enough money to pay the rent, are played by a computer generated character.

If you thought green-screen and digital media skewed the economics of film production, wait until a producer doesn’t need half as many cast members nor the wardrobe, make-up crew, transport, casting costs or per diem that goes along with them.

More than once, I’ve run a scene I’m writing through an online animation program like “Goanimate” to see how it plays. And now and then I’ve wished I could put an entire script that isn’t selling through a similar process or just eliminate the nightmares of development and make it myself.

And maybe the way I originally envisioned it.

Perhaps that’s now closer to being a reality. And I’m not sure that’s going to be a good thing for actors.

UPDATE:

Dead actors are already taking some of the commercial work.

h/t: Clint

Lazy Sunday # 264: The Reality TV Syndrome

Speaking to a conservative gathering yesterday, former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin surprised many by making a sharply insightful statement…

“So much of what passes for our National Conversations these days is anything but. We don’t have leadership coming out of Washington. We have reality Television. Except it’s really bad reality TV.”

Now this might strike some as somewhat disingenuous since Ms. Palin has, since her failed run for the Vice-Presidency, herself become a star of some pretty bad reality TV. But give her a minute here…

“…more and more it all feels like a put-on. Every event seems calculated to fool us. Every speech feels like a con.”

Ignoring the fact that her own speeches seem cadged from an old volume of “Jokes for Toastmasters”, she then made the cogent point…

“Too many of both parties are focussed on the process of politics and not the purpose –- which is to lead and to serve.”

To that I say, “Youbetcha!”. Perhaps gaining some understanding of why the Mama Grizzly is both so reviled and revered.

I think we’re all aware that the vast majority of those entering politics are sincere, hard-working and dedicated. We may not share their ideology but we respect the fact that they have chosen a path of mostly thankless public advocacy.

But lately, it seems that seeking leadership in order to set society in a better direction or serving the needs of the public has been replaced by a desire to be admired and appreciated more for who you appear to be than what you actually accomplish.

I was honestly disappointed this week when former astronaut Marc Garneau bailed from the Liberal leadership race. I wouldn’t necessarily have voted for him. But I’d’ve loved to see our Prime Minister and the leader of the opposition have to lock horns with such a smart and courageous guy.

I mean, he’s literally a rocket scientist. And he’s walked in Space.

But he didn’t stand a chance against a guy with better hair who hasn’t accomplished a whole lot beyond being a member of the lucky sperm club.

Yet that appears to be what matters more these days. A high Klout score and popular Twitter feed continually trumps knowing how to lead and doing what it takes to serve others.

And things seem even worse South of the border, where new political messiahs appear almost daily.

For the last couple of weeks, American media has been obsessed with the possibility that actress Ashley Judd might run for the senate. To most of these people, she was a great choice and an absolute shoo-in.

Now, I don’t know Ms. Judd. Saw her at a race track once, cheering on her now ex-husband’s racing team and she seemed quite sincere about that.

None of the TV talking heads could tell me much more about her nor list any leadership skills or record of public good she’s done.

But they all made a point of noting that she was very pretty, very popular and experienced at the “rough and tumble world of Hollywood” –- after which Washington would be a breeze.

Whatever you might think of Sarah Palin, she’s right. Politics has become just another reality TV format. And maybe that works for the media and the politicians. But it impoverishes the rest of us.

On Friday, one of Ms. Judd’s potential constituents dug a little deeper than the press appears capable of doing.

Please forgive his sarcasm. And whatever you do, don’t miss the part that begins at the 5:00 mark.

Perhaps what will finally defeat reality TV is actual reality.

Enjoy Your Sunday.

Lazy Sunday # 263: Passion Is Precious

“Enthusiasm is the most powerful engine of success. When you do a thing, put your whole soul into it. Stamp it with your personality. Be active, be energetic and faithful, and you will accomplish your object. Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.”
                                                                  – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Anybody who’s ever attended a writers workshop, a directing class or a forum for any creative endeavor has heard the word “passion”.

What’s pounded into you, reinforced ad infinitum and recounted in virtually all anecdotes is that there is a power beyond technique, above talent, more reliable than luck and far more important than who you know.

It’s Passion. Enthusiasm. A desire to make your dreams come true that refuses to be denied, derailed or defeated.

More times than I can recall I’ve had to choose between artists with experience, a name and a good agent and one with passion, somebody you just knew wouldn’t quit and was willing to give their all.

Not once has going with the passion led to disappointment.

At its heart passion is caring. Caring enough to make the final product as good as it can be, not compromising on the vision, making sure that whatever the disappointments and defeats, they are never visible.

A couple of weeks ago, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the people who present the Oscars, announced that they would be honoring the longest running franchise in motion pictures, the James Bond films.

It was hinted that a show-stopping moment was planned during which 50 years of James Bonds would appear together for the first time on one stage as memorable moments of the 23 Bond films were screened.

Didn’t happen.

It seems Bond #1, Sean Connery, was still pissed at a long dead Bond producer over something or other and refused to appear. Bond #5, Pierce Brosnan, likewise declined, feeling his “license to kill” had been revoked a film or two too soon.

Disappointments and defeats.

Now if there had been a passion to pull this off anyway, we would have been left with something just as memorable. But what we got was a fairly forgettable clip reel sandwiched between a couple of famous Bond themes.

It was okay. But not special. If you missed the broadcast or found the tribute as forgettable as it was, you can find it here.

Yep. Whoever was in charge of the Oscar broadcast still had a show to get on. But they clearly didn’t have a passion for it.

Meanwhile, far away in the Netherlands, a 19 year old film student named Kees van Dijkhuizen Jr. harbored a passion for the Bond franchise –- even though most of the movies were filmed before he (and perhaps even van Dijkhuisen Sr.) had been born.

And this is where passion comes in.

The kid edited his own tribute, one that not only honored these films in a manner they deserved, but showed how much better something can become when somebody –- cares.

Enjoy your Sunday.

Tom Tip-Toes Away

One long, hot Toronto summer, I lived a couple of houses down from Stompin’ Tom Connors.

I didn’t know who he was. Now and then I’d see him sitting on his front step, having his morning coffee or sipping a beer as the sun went down. He was a balding, raw-boned guy and I figured he was just another of those blue collar types who worked down at the Goodyear plant or on the line making tractors at Massey-Ferguson.

One of the kind of men who worked hard and spent their leisure time watching hockey on TV and drinking in bars where the draft came in 15 cent glasses accompanied by a bag of chips and a pickled egg.

Then somebody told me he played in those bars and was some kind of cowboy-folkie who only played his own songs at a time when that wasn’t really in fashion.

He got his nickname from stamping his boots to keep time and carried a trademark sheet of plywood on stage because saloon keepers got tired of having to fix the floor every time he played a gig for them.

But I eventually heard Tom’s songs and the rest of the country soon became familiar with them too. The first time I saw him live, he was playing Toronto’s storied Massey Hall, famous for its perfect acoustics and legendary live concerts by Canadian icons like Glenn Gould, Neil Young and Gordon Lightfoot.

The crowd that night was less concerned with the acoustics than singing and stompin’ along to Tom’s string of home-grown hits. “Bud the Spud”, “Big Joe Mufferaw”, “Tillsonburg” and “Sudbury Saturday Night”. Songs about places, people and ways of life little known to most of us, but instantly recognizable by all who heard them.

His affection for his country and its people was infectious. And at a time when much of the country (and certainly Toronto) was determined to convince the rest of the planet just how sophisticated and “world class” we might be, Tom reminded us of who we really were.

Stompin’ Tom passed away today, leaving a final message to his fans which reads:

Hello friends,

I want all my fans, past, present, or future, to know that without you, there would have not been any Stompin' Tom.

It was a long hard bumpy road, but this great country kept me inspired with its beauty, character, and spirit, driving me to keep marching on and devoted to sing about its people and places that make Canada the greatest country in the world.

I must now pass the torch, to all of you, to help keep the Maple Leaf flying high, and be the Patriot Canada needs now and in the future.

I humbly thank you all, one last time, for allowing me in your homes, I hope I continue to bring a little bit of cheer into your lives from the work I have done.

Sincerely,
Your Friend always,
Stompin' Tom Connors

For those who never had the pleasure, here’s a taste of what endeared Tom to so many –- concluding with the song that is this country’s unofficial national anthem…

 

Lazy Sunday # 262: The Master of Balance

Imagine for a moment that you are Jean Pierre Blais, Chairman of the Canadian Radio-Television and Telecommunications Commission, our federal regulator of all things broadcast.

In the next few weeks you would have to rule on a revised plan for Bell to acquire Astral and become the owner of about half of everything on radio and television in this country while not threatening to put everybody else out of business.

You’d also have to referee a scrap between Astral and Quebecor Media over the latter’s launch of a French Canadian version of Netflix, something Astral’s suitor Bell already promised it would launch if its acquisition bid were successful yet apparently takes umbrage with Quebecor doing the same thing.

Then there will be an application from SunTV, the leaning in a different ideological direction news service to be a required part of basic cable services across the country. A move opposed by tens of thousands of interested members of the public –- and supported by an almost equal number of interveners.

At the same time, you’ll have to decide whether APTN (our aboriginal broadcaster) remains on that same “must-carry” slate while delivering its own Keanu Reeves and Val Kilmer heavy slate of movies featuring actors of aboriginal heritage.

Same decision has to be made about Vision TV, a one time multi-faith broadcaster now offering “Fawlty Towers” and “Columbo” re-runs to an aging Boomer audience between its Evangelicals and Mullahs.

Then there’s “Starlight”, another applicant for “must-carry” status promising a rebirth of Canadian film while offering a schedule chock full of Canadian “Classics” from more than 30 years ago.

I’m particularly looking forward to Starlight’s presentation of the Walt Disney feature “Running Brave” featuring American actor Robbie (whatever happened to him) Benson as US Olympic sprinter Billy Mills.

Starlight’s website lets us know that this film qualifies as “Canadian” because it was financed by Canadian Cree money and was the work of iconic director Don Shebib who removed his name after Disney re-edited the film behind his back.

So, you and/or Mr. Blais will have to decide whether Canadians will be pleased to see their cable bills increase in order to share such Cancon trivia around Tim Horton’s on a Saturday morning.

And maybe either of you might get somebody to explain why a movie with an aboriginal story isn’t on APTN instead of dubious 20 year old American Western series like “The Young Riders”.

But that’s the exasperatingly incomprehensible world of Canadian television and a reflection of the complicated balancing act Jean Pierre and his fellow commissioners have to accomplish.

They almost require this guy’s talents. And even then, it might not be enough.

Enjoy Your Sunday.