BeeBeeEsses

My first exposure to the online community was back in the ’80s, using my 1200 baud modem to dial into the many local BBSes (bulletin board systems). It was great to discover that a fellow named Jason Scott is not only compiling a master list of BBSes; he’s actually making a documentary about them.

There’s even a list of Toronto-area BBSes from the 1980s, and I remember several of these. The one I was most active on, though, isn’t listed. The Powder Keg was focussed on creative writing, and a bunch of us actually got together a few times for parties and readings, probably around 1990-1991. I’d be interested to know if there was anyone out there who remembers this community? I’d like to add it to the list, but I don’t think I have enough details. I recall a couple of people who were active on the board (Ian Firla, Darren Wershler-Henry), but don’t know who the sysadmin was, the years of operation, or even the dialup number.

Hopefully, this entry will serve as Google bait for anyone interested.

Old Home Movies

I spent an hour this morning looking at an old videotape I have. It’s a compilation of a bunch of home movies from 1992-1995. It was fun to see some of the trips I took with my friends back then. There’s stuff from a trip to Montreal in the summer of 1992, and then of a trip to Chicago in the summer of 1993. The number of Seinfeld references we make is astounding, and the soundtrack is also interesting: Stereo MC’s, Tragically Hip, Indigo Girls, Matthew Sweet.

Then there’s stuff from my trip to Ireland in 1995 with Brent. We took the camera into some pubs and just put it on the floor so we could tape the traditional music. So even though there are just long stretches of black screen, the music is phenomenal.

The funniest thing on the tape, though, is our New Year’s 1992 celebration. There’s a bit of Brent, surreptitiously filmed singing along to “McDonald’s Girl” by the Barenaked Ladies. Priceless. Now I just have to get the stuff off tape and onto a more permanent medium.

Good Morning, Night

Good Morning, Night (Italy, director Marco Bellocchio): Buongiorno, Notte (its Italian title) is a quietly powerful film exploring the events surrounding the 1978 kidnapping (and eventual assassination) of former prime minister (and leader of the powerful Christian Democrat party) Aldo Moro by the Communist-inspired Red Brigades. The irony is that Moro had just played an instrumental role in forming a coalition government in which the Communist Party were going to participate for the first time in Italian history.

We follow events through the eyes of Chiara, a young “revolutionary” who begins to have doubts about her participation. Moro, though held for almost two months, never seems to have lost his humanity or his inner freedom. In contrast, the terrorists seem isolated from the outside world, from each other, and even from themselves in the claustrophobic apartment that has become as much their prison as Moro’s.

This is not an “action” movie. It is more contemplative, and there is a real sense of sadness, despair, and wasted life that pervades every frame. The use of actual television footage from the newscasts of the time add authenticity and bring home the fact that this is recent history. The only weakness, in my opinion, are the many scenes of Chiara dreaming of different outcomes (her poisoning her comrades, Moro walking out free). I am glad the scenes are in the film, but it is sometimes difficult to determine when she is dreaming, imagining, or actually experiencing certain events.

Overall, a powerful and humane exploration of a dark moment in Italy’s history. Bellocchio doesn’t dwell on the many conspiracy theories that are still swirling about who was responsible for the murder. Instead, he makes a film that celebrates the value of life, and mourns its waste.

(9/10)

The Tulse Luper Suitcases, Part 1: The Moab Story

The Tulse Luper Suitcases, Part 1: The Moab Story

The Tulse Luper Suitcases, Part 1: The Moab Story (UK/Netherlands, director Peter Greenaway): Here’s what the programme book has to say about this film, “The Tulse Luper Suitcases project will use five media: at least three feature-length films, television, numerous DVDs, the Internet and books. The content is a history that covers six decades, a period Greenaway refers to as the Uranium Years: from the discovery of uranium in Colorado in 1928 to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Ninety-two suitcases (after the atomic number of uranium) will be opened, twenty-one of them in the first part of the project, The Moab Story.”

Of course, I don’t think most of the audience read the programme book, nor had most of them ever seen a Peter Greenaway film. Both were required prerequisites tonight. The Moab Story is a technical tour-de-force, using all manner of innovative film techniques. And all of the Greenaway obsessions are present: generous amounts of nudity (both male and female), numbers and counting, superimposition of text, sumptuous art direction, and a labyrinthine plot. I was baffled, frustrated, fascinated, baffled again, etc. It would be hard to attempt a plot outline, but the subjects covered include Mormonism, fascism, filmmaking (with winking references to several other Greenaway films), and the nature of confinement. A muddle, to be sure, but an ambitious one. Greenaway has given himself a huge canvas on which to paint a huge story. Or rather, this is like a million-piece jigsaw puzzle. Head-scratching, yes, but I can’t wait to find the next piece.

(8/10)

P.S. The website will probably not be of much interest if you haven’t seen the film, but there is a blog section where it’s possible to leave comments. Some people are leaving comments “in character” and addressing Tulse Luper as if he were a real person (and still alive, though he’d be 92).