Modern Matt

A wee update what I'm doing these days...


1. Graduated from CreComm

That "going back to college" thing some of you heard I was doing? I did it. That might be why you haven't seen me in awhile.

As much as I love acting and miss performing, I found I couldn't accept the lifestyle. Six or eight weeks of gigs doing the best job in the world didn't balance stacking boxes in warehouses the rest of the year (or getting a decent communications job only to have to quit when I was lucky enough to snag a part). So I went into one of the more intense programs in Manitoba, in terms of time commitment and networking opportunities. And it was right up my alley. And I'm so glad I'm done.

2. Running

Two years ago I found out that running away from my problems helped. Out on the road I can find the mental space to both unwind and contemplate. And feel great doing so.

I've notched two half marathons and have signed up for the full this May in Fargo. Excitedaunted!

3. Spin the news

A summer spent hustling multiple jobs has coalesced into one main gig: news promotion for CTV Winnipeg. I pump out the commercials saying what stories we're covering and why you need to watch. And I love it. I'm not just cheering for something I believe in, but in a small way I'm having impact on important discussions here in the province.

4. Reviewing theatre

I've taken my knowledge of the stage and turned it against my former colleagues, burning bridges and alienating friends! I fear nothing! Bwa ha ha!

Actually I just write a few thoughts on shows for the excellent Prairie site Spectator Tribune. And my opinions are just my opinions, so I'm sure no one is taking them too seriously. Hopefully it's drawing people to shows, but at the very least it's helping me crystallize my thoughts on the art form I adore.

5. Going for coffee/drinks with friends

Reversing the ill effects of point 1, I'm catching up with good people. Have we not sat down for a chat in a couple years? Message me. It's on.

WAG the blog

Time for an update! Because, gosh, I haven't blogged in a communicator's lifetime (two weeks?). Things are well, classes have wrapped for CreComm and I'm on work placement at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. I'm not bragging, but the art on my office walls is cooler than yours ;)

I'm having a tough time knowing what to do with my evenings now that homework is a thing of the past. I've said before I have a tough time transitioning from "work mode" to "have a life mode" and it's still true. I've essentially quit acting, I've lost a lot of friends during my intense schooling, I don't really have any hobbies... what's a girl to do?

So please, what hobbies should I pick up? How should I reclaim my/a life?

And do follow my blog at the WAG if you've got a second. I'm writing about the sharp learning curve I'm climbing as a three-week intern, plus the insane exhibit they have coming up called 100 Masters. What do Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Monet, Matisse, Renoir, Tom Thomson, Emily Carr and Andy Warhol all have in common?

They're all coming to the heart of the continent, baby!

PS. This happened at work today. Squeal!

Portfolio-ed

Creative Communications is rapidly wrapping and I'm pounding the pavement for work, If it interests you, surf on over to my online professional portfolio and check out what two years of shenanigans will produce.

When I look back on what I've accomplished, I'm deeply grateful — for the opportunity, for the company I've kept and for the supporting friends and family who got me in (and through) the program.

If there's something good in this work, it's all your fault.

Thank you.


PS: The site is a work in progress. Any feedback you have is appreciated.

Trainwreckiphilia and American Movie

Here's a taste of American Movie, the 1999 documentary by director Chris Smith following filmmaker Mark Borchardt on his years-long project to make a low-budget horror film.

The film won the Grand Jury prize for Documentary at the Sundance Film Fest. The International Documentary Association named it one of the top 20 documentaries of all time. It is a massively entertaining film that had my doc class riveted (and laughing).

And it depresses the hell out of me.

I tend to write off shows about human train wrecks - documentaries or reality shows with casts of self-destructive, self-indulgent people careening toward relational, financial or chemical disaster.  I'll watch for five minutes — I admit it — because the bottom of the barrel is enormously entertaining.

"He's going to do whaaaaat? After drinking all that? Stahp, Rahn, stahhhhp!"

But these shows and movies get boring faster than studios can pump them out. Their stars don't want anything more than to be famous. Their ambitions stop at the Twitter-trending, sex-tape posting, gossip-column bar they've already stumbled over. Sigh. Yawn. Click.

I can't dismiss American Movie, though. Mark Borchardt may have a mullet, low self awareness, brutal social skills and a Midwest accent that could stop a train, but he also has a grand dream of making THE American movie. When he's rattling off shot lists and character motivations, he's staring past both the camera and his rust-coloured Milwaukee suburb, eyes fixed on the American dream.

That's the inspiring train wreck I can't stop thinking about. There's no chance this alcoholic, often depressed, confrontational, low-skilled father of three will reach the filmmaking success he craves. Here's a man who'll live life in the frustrating gap between his abilities and his dream.

That's depressing. And I think it's true for my life, too. It's true for anyone who wants a significant life. Because there is no grand, lasting significance to human existence. We're here on one planet in an infinite cosmos for the briefest flash of time. And then we're gone. You and I may have better social skills than Mark Borchardt but we've got roughly the same odds the impact of our lives will be felt 100 years from now.

You are Mark Borchardt. So am I.

And it's bumming me out. Or as he would say, "Not cool, man, Not cool."

Heartbeating

Have you ever found that life has sped up to point of detachment? That when you think about your day, your week, the past month, not only does it seem like events happened a lifetime ago, but they happened to someone else?

I'm in that season right now, it seems. And I'm deeply grateful I chose the independent professional project (IPP) for college that I did, because nothing pulls me out of the blurring race of life like a great conversation. You know the kind; the ones that slow time down as you openly, honestly connect with another person; the ones that set off thoughts in your head to the tune of "Oh my god, here is this intelligent, funny, beautiful human being who is trying to answer the big questions, just like me."

As much work as my radio show/podcast Heartbeat is (and will be), I wouldn't trade the conversations I've had for anything. They've been an anchor in a stormy three months.

I could ask you to head on over to Heartbeat's website, Twitter and Facebook to see what I'm up to (the first episode is now podcasting).

But before you do that, grab someone (a friend, an acquaintance, someone you barely know), clear an hour of your time and have an open, honest, emotionally available conversation. Tell them something you've never told anyone and ask questions that leap over barriers of polite manners and awkwardness.

Trust me - it's worth it.

A Stratford Actor... almost

It's a brand new year, full of opportunities (and possible Mayan doom). I thought I'd write about a past goal as a reminder to myself to laugh in the face of Failure this year. Because it's never really failure, right? It's just future blogging material.

Who? Me???

You can argue the Stratford Festival is the pinnacle of Canadian theatre. It's the largest theatre festival in the country, it has an international reputation and past stars have included some of the greatest English language actors: Alec Guinness, Christopher Plummer, James Mason, John Neville, Jessica Tandy, Christopher Walken, Peter Ustinov...

And me. Almost.

The Birmingham Conservatory is Stratford's school. The late Richard Monette founded it when he was Artistic Director as a way of ensuring Canada has a constant supply of thespians skilled in ye olde school theatre. They used to hold (not sure if they still do) an annual audition tour across Canada for the Conservatory: if you made the cut, you would spend a year studying at Stratford, followed by a summer performing with the company. In the shaky world of Canadian theatre (aka artistic poverty), that's golden.

In 2006, I auditioned. In the cavernous main space at MTYP (when it's just you and 40 feet of bare stage "cavernous" is justified) I did my little monologues for David Latham (Birmingham's Principal at the time). Pieces from Julius Caesar and Wild Abandon. He didn't seem enthusiastic; just a nod and a thank you. I trudged the long walk home and had a drink. Oh well.

But no, not oh well! A few weeks later, I came home from the warehouse (I had a glamorous job stacking boxes) to a message on the machine. Something to the effect of, "We're going to fly you out to Toronto, put you up for the night and have you audition for Mr. Monette. Congratulations."

My response? Something to the effect of, "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..."

It was a gorgeous July day in Toronto when my flight arrived. Sunshiny. Warm without being muggy. I checked into my downtown hotel, then took a stroll. The bars were full of soccer fans (2006 FIFA cup was on) cheering for their teams; they suited my mood. I headed to the CBC building, visiting its shrine of puppets from Children's Shows Past. I caught the evening Dream in High Park where they were doing The Comedy of Errors - the show my own theatre company had opened its life with. All good omens.

The next day I did some more walking. My audition wasn't until 5pm, so I had the whole day to nervously kill time. I hit the hot tub at my classy hotel; the business people staying there glared (they could smell the free room on me). The hotel gave me the classy boot at checkout time. Eaton Place, CN Tower, Yonge - I wandered randomly, waiting for my big chance.

5pm crept close. I waited outside the Elgin Theatre on Yonge Street, scaring pedestrians with my vocal warm ups. I was the very last to audition. They brought me into the theatre and onto the stage, where roughly seven people sat behind two tables. Richard Monette was at the centre.

"Ahhh, let's see (checks papers) Matthew! Matthew, thank you for joining us. What are you going to do for us today?"

"Umm... some Shakespeare?"

"Ha! Haha! That's very good, very good. Right - when you're ready!"

I did my monologues again. I'd drilled them enough that it didn't matter my knees were shaking, my heart was pounding and my palms were sweating. I finished. Richard Monette made some notes.

"Matthew, I want to let you know that - as I'm retiring after this season - this is the very last audition that I will be watching for the Conservatory. And I am NOT disappointed."

A chorus of angels burst through the ceiling of the Elgin, singing and blowing trumpets.

"Now Matthew, if I could just ask one more thing. I see here it says on your resume that you can sing. Can you please give us a little sample?"

Let me explain that while yes, it does say on my acting resume that I can "sing" it's more of a "sing in the background, part of a chorus, not-on-the-spot-in-front-of-the-most-powerful-Canadian-director" kind of singing that I do. So I shouldn't have put that on my resume. Ouch.

My palms burst into waterfalls, my throat clenched and my mind blanked as I tried to think of a song. The one that came to mind was Last Saskatchewan Pirate by the Arrogant Worms. This, apparently, is what I can trust my brain to do in the clinch.

I made it to the chorus, ending on a squeak. There was silence at the other end of the room for the cliched seconds stretching into hours. Richard Monette cleared his throat.

"Well Matthew... thank you."

And that was that. Oh, I held out hope for a few weeks after - rushing home to check the answering machine, sending (what must have been irritating) emails to ask if a decision had been made - but deep down I knew that I wasn't going to make the cut.

I'd sung myself out of Stratford.

Remembrance, Children and Optimism

WARNING - This blog post is introspective and sincere. For those who prefer edge, snark and inappropriate humour with their blog post, might I recommend the Professor Brothers' take on Bible History - classic.

I attended the Bruce Park service this past Remembrance Day and watched my father stand at attention with his fellow 402 Squadron members. Memories of services from my childhood - on bases and schools across the country - came back all through the programme. Afterwards, I realized I had never actually thanked my father for his service. That's been fixed now.

In the invocation, Major Brian Slous included these words.

"What we value is preserved by a very thin line. Many standing here have stood on that line. Many have died on that line. Some bear the wounds of having stood on that line. It is a place we are all called to stand. If we fail to stand on that line - to preserve what is good and right - their sacrifice is in vain."

The St. James Cenotaph in Bruce Park

Earlier in the week, Marc Reid from Canada's History Magazine spoke to my CreComm class about Canadian history (shocking, I know). Among other things, he reminded us that in World War I over 600,000 Canadians served and one tenth of that number (over 60,000) died. He painted a picture of trench warfare where, at the sound of a whistle, troops would climb out of the safety of their trenches/holes and make a run at enemy lines - enemy lines defended by machine guns. Seven out of ten soldiers, he said, would be gunned down in the first few seconds. They'd retreat and try again. And again. And again.

Marc spoke about how this sacrifice made Canada a nation: we gained respect from other world powers, took pride in our own fighting forces and found a sense of accomplishment as a people. Which is all very true.

But it doesn't change how stupid, wasteful and monstrous it all was. 60,000 dead, never mind the wounded, the shell shocked. And that was just one country in one war...

***

Which leads me to the subject of children.

The wife and I have been chatting about future plans - what we'll do when I get out of school, home renovations, etc. And children have come up as a debatable subject. Because she is all for them and I am not. I think they're loud, messy, time-consuming, schedule-wrecking, expensive, disease riddled. (Actually I started a blog with WJT Artistic Producer Michael Nathanson last year, debating the merits back and forth - the blog went kaput due to both of our busy schedules, but you're welcome to read Kids Versus Cats).

The subject came up over tea at Cousin's on Remembrance Day evening. My wife pointed out that all of my 'cons' have equal and opposite 'pros' - kids can be inventive, funny, inspirational, problem-solving, cute, generous wonders.

What finally emerged was a discussion of our attitudes. I am a pessimist. A depressed, artistic pessimist who thinks people are born selfish. I don't have a lot of hope we'll solve global warming or recent economic troubles - not when people in power have an interest in maintaining the status quo. And 60,000 young men died for one country in one war. Why would I want to bring anyone into a world like ours?

My wife asked me to watch the video below for her response. She's clever like that - and very, very patient with me. I've watched it a few times now. It's convincing, though I'm not sure I'm convinced...

Major Slous' words are also weighing on me. Is it my duty to be optimistic?

Thoughts?

Murmuration

murmuration
   n. (merr'meuh ray''sheuhn)
   1. an act or instance of murmuring
   2. a flock of starlings

This past week, a certain politician got me down. His move from supporting green energy to shilling for the Alberta oil sands was depressing; his refusal to directly answer questions regarding that move was depressing; the lack of outrage from our group at being "handled" was depressing.

People suck. Fortunately, this world is filled with more than people. To cheer myself up - and you, should this grey November day be getting you down - a movie shot by two women on the River Shannon.

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Mother Nature for the win.