RIP Subtitle Literate

Hello all, and welcome to the final post of Subtitle Literate (2008-2014). I've had a lot of fun with my first blog over the years, and I surely hope you have as well. But now the time has come for me to put it to bed, methinks, take a break, recharge, and reevaluate a few things, including my perceptions and motivations as both a writer and a person. I'll reemerge in some fresh form of creative expression eventually while in the meantime likely turning out the odd piece here and there, but at this moment, for the most part, I feel like the whats and hows and, most importantly, whys of who I am and why I write are still mysterious to me. In short, I feel like I have some soul searching to do - but I am very excited about the adventures that await me still.

But for now, I again thank everyone who has taken interest in my scribbles, notes, and ramblings both here and elsewhere, and wish you all the best. Cheers.

Announcing "Riches Upon Riches: A Personal Journey Through French Cinema"

Hello all. Once again, much time has elapsed since I last updated this blog, and for that I apologize. The past few months have been especially busy for me, as my life has undergone quite a few significant changes since the dog days of summer. In late August, I finally broke my spell of unemployment limbo and, fulfilling a long-treasured dream of mine, started living and working in downtown Toronto. I am very happy to finally consider myself a fully-fledged Torontonian and am greatly enjoying this newest chapter of my life.

Even before this latest transition, some may have noticed the dramatic drop in my writing output over the past little while - and indeed, as of this moment I haven't posted or had anything of mine published for some time. Which is not to say I haven't been writing - on the contrary, writing has remained more important to me than ever, especially with the all too precious allotment of time that my busy schedule leaves for it. My efforts have simply been directed toward a personal project of mine I first started in the summer of 2012 that I haven't mentioned to too many people before now. Considering both the point of progress I have reached with it and the place I currently occupy in terms of my life and ambitions, I felt it was a good time to finally share what I've been up to.

Basically, I've been working on a book: a collection of essays on certain French films and filmmakers from various eras of film history that I adore. I have some previous experience studying and writing about French cinema for other publications, not least of all Intellect Books' Directory of World Cinema: France, which includes an essay of mine on the French New Wave. With this newest adventure, I simply wanted to try out a longer, freer form of film writing than the film reviews and blog posts I am so used to, to really explore and put into words what fascinates me about these films and the wider legacy of art and culture they are a part of that has gripped my heart and imagination for so long. As I go along, I'm certainly discussing their historical contexts and special places in cinema history, but I'm also taking a more philosophical approach and reflecting the things about life, love, work, history, travel, and more that they communicate. I hope that, as a result, the essays are appealing to readers who lie beyond the cinephile crowd, perhaps intriguing them to discover some of the films for themselves.

As of right now, five of the essays are more or less complete (the one I'm now in the process of wrapping up is about the life and work of Jean Vigo); I'm expecting to wind up with twelve in total when I'm finished. When that will be, I'm not exactly sure. This is definitely something that I know will take a fair amount of time, which is how I want it to be. I want to make sure each essay reflects the point I am at with my current writing ability, but at the same time, I simply want to have fun with the whole process - researching, thinking, watching, writing, editing. This is very much a labor of love for me, and I intend to enjoy every moment of it. When, one day, I do reach the point where I think this thing is complete and polished enough to put out in the world, I think I'll call it Riches Upon Riches: A Personal Journey Through French Cinema. As of right now, I have absolutely no idea which avenues I'll be taking in terms of publication (if you have any ideas, I'm open to hearing them!), but I'll certainly work towards making something that folks will appreciate and enjoy as they read what I've written.

I have shown some of the pieces in varying states of progress or talked about the overall project to a few of my friends so far - you know who you are, are I am most thankful for the advice and feedback you've given me. And for those who might offer their interest, support, or input further along the road that I'm treading with this thing, I offer in advance my thanks to you as well. And now, as I leave you with these behind-the-curtain shots of the notebooks I've been using to write the essays, please wish me luck as I continue onwards!

Duncan Field's "Softcover"

"Softcover" logo illustration by Victoria Louise Egan

Hello, all. I know it has been a while since I last posted here - I have been fairly busy tackling a number of commitments in writing, job hunting, and matters regarding family and friends. In this post, I'd like to highlight another tremendously talented friend of mine who has been producing some fascinating work. Duncan Field and I used to work together at Chapters Oakville, and since then have kept in touch as friends and fellow writers. He runs his own blog, Softcover, which showcases his thought-provoking opinion pieces and stunning photography as well as pieces from guest contributors. I am proud to have been one of those guest contributors, having submitted to the site a little piece that describes my personal motivations as a writer (illustrated, of course, by examples plucked from cinema). More recently, Duncan has posted the first part of a free-spirited exploration of the internet that touches upon a troubling (and down-right imbecilic) sub-culture of sexual typecasting and a marvellous short story of his, "Dog Days in the Kibble Krisis," that was distinguished with an Award of Excellence for the Stephen Leacock Association's student competition for humour writing in 2011.

My Debt and Gratitude to Roger

To me, Roger Ebert was always, first and foremost, a great writer. To this day, I have only ever seen a handful of clips of his famous televised critiques with Gene Siskel, and have not yet listened to the audio commentaries he recorded for such films as Casablanca, Citizen Kane, and Floating Weeds. His greatest influence upon me as a growing film viewer and critic was made through his invaluable collections of Great Movies essays, which for me still represent a high watermark of clear and intelligent writing. They exemplify that ideal goal of doing proper justice to what you observe in writing by grasping the various aspects and nuances of a noteworthy film and examining what makes it “great” with enthusiasm, insight, and eloquence. Those essays made me first curious, then excited to seek out films like Belle de Jour, Dr. Strangelove, Fargo, M, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Pulp Fiction, Raging Bull, and so many others, so compelling were the words Ebert wrote about them. But far more importantly, he taught me with those essays how to properly study, process, and look at a film, then communicate my thoughts on it in a readable, down-to-Earth manner. Ebert’s writing is always inherently accessible and unpretentious, the ideal counterpoint to stuffy, over-analytical, dense academic writing. Ebert was certainly someone who had a keen understanding and appreciation of cinema’s unique qualities as an art form, but always strove to share his insights on the medium with the average reader, so that they may easily gain a better appreciation or understanding of a given film or filmmaker. He certainly had that effect on me, and it was through him that I learned to pick up on and savor certain things like the rich flavor of Quentin Tarantino’s dialogue or the strategies of directors like Krzysztof Kieslowski, Yasujiro Ozu, and Martin Scorsese or the subtleties at work in films like Fargo, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday, The Rules of the Game, and The Music Room. As a result, I grew in both my film tastes and my confidence in writing about what I saw. Ebert’s razor-sharp senses of perception and generous willingness to share his findings helped me and countless others better understand the mechanics of cinema, and the simple, straight-forward, yet incredibly wise writing style he used to communicate his thoughts has been a lasting and irreplaceable source of inspiration for virtually everything I’ve ever written.

            

Simply through the incredible voice of his writing, which, poignantly, continued loud and clear for years after his real voice was cruelly stolen from him, Ebert became one of the best teachers I ever had – and I still very much feel that I have so much more to learn from him. While it is with a heavy heart that I accept that there will be no more new reviews or Great Movies essays, I am so looking forward to catching up with the wealth of material Ebert left behind. I can’t wait to read those Great Movies essays that I haven’t yet read. I’m about to order his book on Martin Scorsese, one of his favorite filmmakers, and I can’t wait to read that. I want to read and use his rice cooker cookbook, The Pot and How to Use It, which looks positively delightful. And most of all, I want to read his praise-lauded autobiography, Life Itself, and more of the pieces he wrote that venture beyond the movies into bigger, more philosophical topics like youth, memory, and the various things he believed makes life meaningful and special. And with every page turned, there will be my deep gratitude for all that he left behind for us to take pleasure in, learn from, and incorporate into our own lives. He was quite right to use the term “leave of presence” in his final blog post before his death, for he’ll never really go away – he’ll still be with us in the words he wrote and the lessons they will continue to impart. For all that we’ve learned and have yet to learn from you, Roger, thank you. Thank you.

Heroes of Idiosyncratic Non-Fiction

Hello all. Today, I want to share three episodes of a podcast that I listen to fairly regularly: Colin Marshall's Notebook on Cities and Culture, formerly The Marketplace of Ideas. I love this podcast for many reasons, mainly the fascinating range of guests Colin sits down with, the deeply intelligent questions he asks them, and the winding conversations that spring from them.

Three interviews in particular have been getting regular play on my iPod over the past few months, one being with Geoff Dyer; the other two with Pico Iyer. Geoff Dyer is known for writing books on a variety of subjects, among them Andrei Tarkovsky (Zona: A Book About a Film About a Journey to a Room), D.H. Lawrence (Out of Sheer Rage: Wrestling with D.H. Lawrence), jazz (But Beautiful: A Book About Jazz), and more. But what I love about him is how he approaches such subjects from a personal, level-headed, often funny perspective that specifically avoids stuffy academic over-analysis, opting for a highly relatable and open form of cultural commentary.

Pico Iyer, author of books like Video Night in Kathmandu and Other Reports From the Not-So-Far East, The Lady and the Monk: Four Seasons in Kyoto, and The Global Soul: Jet Lag, Shopping Malls, and the Search for Home, has a more specific area of interest in his writing (travel and world cultures), but like Dyer, he also pulls readers along on unpredictable journeys of ideas, thoughts and observations. His points on the ever-intensifying dialogue between cultures are among the most insightful I've ever come across.

Being committed to a large-scale writing project of my own at the moment, which I hope to make good progress on during this summer and, with luck, I'll be able to talk more about before too long, it is extremely inspiring to read and learn about writers like Dyer and Iyer, who are guided by their own passions, interests, and personal experiences over any other factors, and who make a point of incorporating these very personal components into their non-fiction work. Listening to them discuss such things is just as rewarding, and whether you're a writer or not, the interviews gathered below will surely charge your imagination and get you thinking about how we look at culture, art, and travel. Happy listening!

*Note: Notebook on Cities and Culture is also available on iTunes.

-Literary auteurhood: Geoff Dyer, writer and intellectual gatecrasher (May 2011)

-The world dreamed but not judged: traveler and writer Pico Iyer (August 2011)

-Fathers Chosen and Unchosen with Pico Iyer (April 2012)

Contentment

"I discovered ME in the library."

Hello all. To kick off a return to the habit of posting links to cool stuff here again, here is a fascinating Paris Review interview with beloved science fiction writer Ray Bradbury, who passed away this past Tuesday at the age of 91. Conducted by Sam Weller, the interview completed a previously unpublished interview conducted by William Plummer in the late 1970s. It's wonderful stuff, especially if you're at all interested in the crafts of storytelling and writing. Enjoy.

The Paris Review: Ray Bradbury, The Art of Fiction No. 203