SLEEPING GIANT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - One of 2015's best films opens theatrically across Canada via D Films. If you dare miss this film on a big screen, I hereby utter the immortal words of Liam Neeson: "I will find you and I will kill you!"

Preamble to Review: For years I've been blowing chunks in the direction of Canada's Cineplex Entertainment for their continued non-support of Canadian Cinema and indie cinema in general. When I say Canadian Cinema, I am not referring to grotesqueries like Hyena Road and Passchendaele, nor am I referring to fake-Canadian international co-productions that are not Canadian in any way shape or form (yet are supported with funds from the Canadian government and even championed by them as Canadian).

No, what I mean are bonafide, culturally significant Canadian films like Sleeping Giant. Cineplex Entertainment has bestowed an opening weekend upon the film in its flagship Toronto cinema, the Varsity. Personally, I believe it would have been a supreme embarrassment for Cineplex if they'd NOT played the film. That said, the exhibition of Canadian cinema is not solely incumbent upon major exhibitors, but requires commitment and ingenuity from Canadian distributors. Luckily, Sleeping Giant is being handled by D Films in Toronto and they have stepped up to the plate marvellously with first-rate publicity, magnificent marketing and an excellent theatrical opinion-maker preview prior to the opening day. Exhibition and Distribution go hand-in-hand, BUT exhibition of Canadian Cinema at the level of major chains like Cineplex seems to only garner their support and commitment when they feel like it (Flopperoo Hyena Road, anyone?). Why, oh why, oh why, are there not Sleeping Giant one-sheets (which are excellent) up in every Cineplex cinema across the country and why, oh why, oh why have there not been Sleeping Giant trailers (also excellent) playing on way more Cineplex screens coast-to-coast? The P.R. commitment Cineplex made to flopperoo Hyena Road was ridiculously substantial. I have seen nothing on a similar scale for Sleeping Giant. For those living in Toronto, see Sleeping Giant this weekend. This is a movie that deserves to hold on at the Cineplex Entertainment flagship for many weeks.

Sleeping Giant (2015)
Dir. Andrew Cividino

Scr. Cividino, Aaron Yeger, Blain Watters
Starring: Jackson Martin, Nick Serino, Reece Moffett,
Katelyn McKerracher, David Disher, Erika Brodzky, Rita Serino

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Most teenage boys have experienced dull days in cottage country - so dull, so sleepy, so quiet, that often, extreme measures need to be implemented. Sleeping Giant is a skilfully directed, gorgeously written and nicely observed slice of life that most of us from the male persuasion - young, old and those who never quite grew up - will be deeply affected by. It also has a terrifically unique Canadian flavour in that it eschews the usual sentimental sweetness of most coming of age films like the sickening tweeness of The Kings of Summer and the nostalgic goo of Stand By Me.

There's plenty of tough North Western Ontario hoser-speak and the kind of swagger that can, more often than not, lead to danger. (My own Canuck adolescence was so pathetic, we'd think nothing of driving eight hours from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay, where Sleeping Giant was shot, to hang in the heavy metal watering hole The Inn-Towner to simply ogle all the amply-bottomed-and-bosomed hoser chicks with big hair that seemed to glow like radiation in the fluorescence of this dank monument to Canuckian redneck-ism.)

The three young lads at the centre of the film don't even get to hang at the Inn-Towner. They're stuck in a cottage community overlooking Lake Superior where the massive Sleeping Giant (so named by the area's indigenous peoples because the humungous outcropping of turf in the lake looks just like some Brobdingnagian creature keeled over on its back) consumes all views upon the water. The Sleeping Giant is also the name of an insanely dangerous hunk of rock exploding upwards as a beacon for all strapping young men to idiotically dive from the top of it.

Director Cividino has a great feel for the lives of these young men: their wrasslin' bouts, hanging around, stealing beer from the local vendor, zipping around in a golf cart, tear-assing along the rural asphalt on skateboards, watching pathetic fireworks and hitting the noisy arcade. The central figure of the trio is a bit of a dull, pampered rich boy from the city with a Dad so liberal he preaches the healthy sowing of wild oats (while secretly boffing the babe-o-licious hoser chick checkout girl behind his wife's back).

The other two boys are your garden variety country cousin trailer park dwellers living with their raspy-voiced, plain-spoken, chain-smoking Grannie. One of the two white trash laddies is a handsome, young rake who looks to the rich boy's Daddy with a mixture of envy and yearning for a father figure in his life, whilst the other is a deliriously foul-mouthed, mean-spirited misogynist full of bilious utterances about sex.

Most interesting of all is the fact that our rich boy hero takes on so many of the properties one can ascribe to an almost historical stylistic trademark in Canadian cinema. He's the semi-mute observer. He takes it all in passively and the notion of overt action is a rare thing for him to choose. Pretty much every film from the late 80s to mid-90s Golden Age of English-Canadian film, most notably in work by Atom Egoyan, Guy Maddin and John Paizs, is happily populated with leading men of this variety. The difference here though, is that Cividino's style, unlike the near-expressionist qualities of the aforementioned, is rooted in the kind of neo-realist perspective one would more often experience in early Donald Shebib works.

There's also a point when some of us might be thinking, "Hey, as great as this is, are we really going to be staring at nothing but guys? Hell, they're all nice looking young bucks with distinctive qualities, but where, oh where, are the babes?"

Well, Cividino does not disappoint. When a hot young teenage babe enters the picture, loyalties become strained, if not divided.

And, getting back to one of my favourite topics, our burgeoning young fellas experience even more division and tantalizing temptation when the film's smouldering homoerotic qualities wend in and out through the picture. Sadly, said homoeroticism is never requited to the degree one of the characters (and some audience members, including moi) would have hoped for, but there's plenty of smouldering in the movie to keep our eyes glued to the screen.

There is, you see, that dangerous sleeping giant cliff. It's a rite of passage that's claimed more than a few lives over the years and the film is charged with a slowly mounting and creepy sense of malevolence tied both to the land and the burgeoning machismo of our three young heroes.

Something bad is going to happen. You can't help but feel it and it's the very thing which adds to the ample qualities of the picture's compulsive form and spirit.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4 Stars

Sleeping Giant opens in Canada on the following dates:
April 8th - Toronto
April 15th - Vancouver, Montreal
April 22nd - expansion to rest of country

SLEEPING GIANT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Hoser Hijinx ***TIFF 2015 TOP-PICK***

Sleeping Giant (2015)
Dir. Andrew Cividino
Starring: Jackson Martin, Nick Serino, Reece Moffett,
Katelyn McKerracher, David Disher, Erika Brodzky, Rita Serino

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Most teenage boys have experienced dull days in cottage country. Sleeping Giant is a skilfully directed and nicely observed slice of life that most of us from the male persuasion - young, old and those who never quite grew up - will be deeply affected by. It also has a terrifically unique Canadian flavour in that it eschews the usual sentimental sweetness of most coming of age films like the sickening tweeness of The Kings of Summer and the nostalgic goo of Stand By Me. There's plenty of tough North Western Ontario hoser-speak and the kind of swagger that can, more often than not, lead to danger. (My own Canuck adolescence was so pathetic, we'd think nothing of driving eight hours from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay, where Sleeping Giant was shot, to hang in the heavy metal watering hole The Inn-Towner to simply ogle all the amply-bottomed-and-bosomed hoser chicks with big hair that seemed to glow like radiation in the fluorescence of this dank monument to Canuckian redneck-ism.)

The three young lads at the centre of the film don't even get to hang at the Inn-Towner. They're stuck in a cottage community overlooking Lake Superior where the massive Sleeping Giant (so named by the area's indigenous peoples because the humungous outcropping of turf in the lake looks just like some Brobdingnagian creature keeled over on its back) consumes all views upon the water. The Sleeping Giant is also the name of an insanely dangerous hunk of rock exploding upwards as a beacon for all strapping young men to idiotically dive from the top of it.

Director Cividino has a great feel for the lives of these young men: their wrasslin' bouts, hanging around, stealing beer from the local vendor, zipping around in a golf cart, tear-assing along the rural asphalt on skateboards, watching pathetic fireworks and hitting the noisy arcade. The central figure of the trio is a bit of a dull, pampered rich boy from the city with a Dad so liberal he preaches the healthy sowing of wild oats (while secretly boffing the babe-o-licious hoser chick checkout girl behind his wife's back).

The other two boys are your garden variety country cousin trailer park dwellers living with their raspy-voiced, plain-spoken, chain-smoking Grannie. One of the two white trash laddies is a handsome, young rake who looks to the rich boy's Daddy with a mixture of envy and yearning for a father figure in his life, whilst the other is a deliriously foul-mouthed, mean-spirited misogynist full of bilious utterances about sex.

Most interesting of all is the fact that our rich boy hero takes on so many of the properties one can ascribe to an almost historical stylistic trademark in Canadian cinema. He's the semi-mute observer. He takes it all in passively and the notion of overt action is a rare thing for him to choose. Pretty much every film from the late 80s to mid-90s Golden Age of English-Canadian film, most notably in work by Atom Egoyan, Guy Maddin and John Paizs, is happily populated with leading men of this variety. The difference here though, is that Cividino's style, unlike the near-expressionist qualities of the aforementioned, is rooted in the kind of neo-realist perspective one would more often experience in early Donald Shebib works.

There's also a point when some of us might be thinking, "Hey, as great as this is, are we really going to be staring at nothing but guys? Hell, they're all nice looking young bucks with distinctive qualities, but where, oh where, are the babes?"

Well, Cividino does not disappoint. When a hot young teenage babe enters the picture, loyalties become strained, if not divided.

And, getting back to one of my favourite topics, our burgeoning young fellas experience even more division and tantalizing temptation when the film's smouldering homoerotic qualities wend in and out through the picture. Sadly, said homoeroticism is never requited to the degree one of the characters (and some audience members, including moi) would have hoped for, but there's plenty of smouldering in the movie to keep our eyes glued to the screen.

There is, you see, that dangerous sleeping giant cliff. It's a rite of passage that's claimed more than a few lives over the years and the film is charged with a slowly mounting and creepy sense of malevolence tied both to the land and the burgeoning machismo of our three young heroes.

Something bad is going to happen. You can't help but feel it and it's the very thing which adds to the ample qualities of the picture's compulsive form and spirit.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4 Stars

Sleeping Giant receives its North American Premiere in the TIFF Discovery series during TIFF 2015. For dates, times and tix, visit the TIFF website HERE.

BLACKBIRD - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Harrowing indictment of repressive hate laws in the hands of the Status Quo as a weapon against individuality and free speech. A directorial debut that dazzles!

Blackbird (2013) ****
Dir. Jason Buxton
Starring: Connor Jessup, Alexia Fast, Alex Ozerov, Cory Arnold, Michael Buie, Tanya Clarke

Review By Greg Klymkiw

God Bless, Charles Dickens. Even his more detestable characters are often blessed with powers of analysis and reason that exposes the humanity inherent in all. Take, for example, the venerable constabulary beadle Mr. Bumble in "Oliver Twist". Presiding over the orphanage and workhouse, he's the famous literary personage whom the waif-like title character pleads - holding his empty gruel-bowl forward, "Please, Sir, may I have some more?" "More!!??" Bumble bellows incredulously. Aside from administering a variety of nasty corporal punishments and personally taking to the streets to sell "bad boys", Dickens places the following words of wisdom in his mouth:

"... the law is a ass- a idiot. If that's the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by experience- by experience."

Bumble is, of course, referring to Mr. Brownlow's climactic line of questioning in the great book and looking for any way to get out of a sticky wicket he's placed himself in, Bumbles blames his wife. Brownlow asserts that Bumble is more guilty than his wife since "... the law supposes that your wife acts under your direction."

To this specific charge, Bumble is quite right. The law IS an ass! So it has always been and so it always will be - this "ass", this "bachelor" woefully lacking "experience".

Watching Blackbird, the feature length debut by writer-director Jason Buxton, I could not help be reminded of Bumble's words - especially since the mere act of viewing this fine and gripping drama inspired such anger and frustration within me over a system that often jerks its knee in defence of the status quo and has little use for free expression and those things that fall outside the assumption of (purported) normalcy.

How many of us in childhood have experienced the teasing and bullying of the supposedly "normal" amongst us and wondered, even as kids, why the absolute lowest common denominator amongst our peers and "betters" was something to aspire to? Why must we be like everyone else? Why must we be cogs in a machine that many consider to be humanity? Isn't humanity rooted in being oneself? Must we suffer derision - not just as kids, but as adults - taking little interest in the inanities of the water cooler conversations every morning at the office?

Aren't THEY, the "normal ones" the assholes?

Well, yes. THEY are! Unfortunately, we have to put up with them and seek solace in our individuality and search high and low for the like-minded until we find them. Unfortunately, in the wake of the massacres at Columbine, Montreal, Newtown, Aurora and Boston - ANYONE even slightly outside of the norm is viewed with suspicion by the general populace, any ACTIONS (most often involving alternative self-expression within the form of art) is viewed by the lunkheads of society as a threat and the law in such cases?

It's an ass.

This is the horrendous place where Sean (Connor Jessup) finds himself in Buxton's always compelling Blackbird. Sporting a Goth-lite look, obsessed with ultra-metal musical styling and blessed/cursed with a talent for writing, he's been booted from the city by his status-hungry Mom (Tanya Clarke) into the care of her ex-hubby and his long-estranged Dad (Michael Buie), a straight-up man's man in the country who loves bagging game, chugging a good brewski and relaxing to the cathode ray flicker of Hockey Night in Canada. Sean's new home life could be worse, though. Dad seems like a genuinely nice guy who desperately wants to connect with his son and offers a fair bit of room for the kid to move.

Alas, this is a rural community and Sean must contend with the dolts he's surrounded by at school. (This is no cliche. I had to eventually pull my own child from a small town school due to the bullying, misogyny, sexism and overall stupidity of her peers and so many of the teachers and administrators of the school.) What's truly valued amongst these drooling knuckle-draggers is being a jock (and the young ladies must be obedient, compliant and sexual). God help you if you aren't. And jocks absolutely despise kids like Sean. He's picked-on and pulverized by these morons and viewed by everyone as a freak.

His only friend is the most gorgeous babe in the school, Deanna (Alexia Fast). They clearly form a special bond, but she is forced to hide her attraction to Sean since she's also dating the star jock of the school Cory (Craig Arnold), one of Sean's prime tormentors. And let it be said that guys like Cory are a pathetic dime-a-dozen once they leave high school. They've got hockey pucks for brains and unless they're really exceptional in their sporting activities, they're eventual mantra will be (to quote a line from Slap Shot), "Fucking Chrysler plant! Here I come!"

Try explaining that to a kid like Sean - or anyone. They're years away from recognizing and realizing this. (Ironically, though, it's losers like Cory who form the majorities in our world and continue their bullying indirectly, through their bone-headed lack of imagination, kowtowing to the Status Quo and voting for the pawns of the New World Order like Georgie Bush (Sr. and Jr.) and Stevie Harper.)

Poor Sean is so desperate that a well-meaning guidance counsellor suggests he get his frustrations out on paper - he is, after all a burgeoning writer, and where better to express one's pain than in the realm of fiction? Makes sense to me.

Unfortunately, artistic expression is the beginning of a living nightmare for Sean. His online writings are taken as "uttering threats" and he's incarcerated in "juvie" by the "ass" of law to - I kid you not - await trial. Eventually, he's faced with an even more idiotic decision on the part of the narrow-minded inbred society of Man: plead guilty and be free. Plead not guilty and "lose".

Every step of the way Buxton grips the audience. Though not quite as dark and morbid as it could/should have been, it's impossible to take one's eyes off the screen. It's a superb narrative - designed to both reel us in, drag us through the muck and keep us affixed to the hook - no matter how much we thrash in protest over the situation we (via Sean's POV) find ourselves in. Solid, intelligent direction and a perfect cast are the delicious cherries on the sundae of a superbly wrought screenplay.

Having to experience the lack of understanding on the part of even those who believe in Sean angers us, since his personal expression is what leads to his pariah status in this backwards community. Even worse is seeing grown adults just hoping he'll lie and admit guilt - thinking he will ultimately better off, but also to remove the inconvenience this causes them. All this because a creative kid's writings are perceived - not as fiction, but genuine threats. Shiver me timbers, he's going to kill us all. Hell, maybe a good many of them deserve to be culled, but Sean isn't going to be the one to do it. It'll be their government that will create a fake war to make money for a few rich guys so young men can go off and think they're fighting to the death for truth, justice and freedom.

Beating down those we don't understand and then punishing them is just too prevalent in our world. Thematically, Buxton's film works hand in hand with both the narrative and the superbly etched characters. His mise-en-scène betrays what must have been a relatively modest budget - the world he creates feels lived in. Buxton is blessed with a great production design and camera team - the antiseptic qualities of both the school and the juvenile detention centre contrast beautifully with the bucolic countryside and genuine down-home warmth of the home Sean's Dad lives in. Especially impressive is the cutting which always moves the fine coverage forward, but at a pace that's always just short of the proverbial Col. Kurtz "snail crawling along the edge of a straight razor". This doesn't mean it's slow or tedious in any way shape or form, it captures rural life to a "T" and most importantly creates a creepy crawly feeling throughout - especially the sequences in the juvie centre where we get a sense of just how time passes within such institutions.

The tiniest of false notes creeps in here. I couldn't help but feel that the film shies away from the sexual abuse within such centres which, I think in the case of someone like Sean, would have been constant. Aside from taunts and beatings, I know from numerous sources that spent time in such institutions that people like him become cum receptacles - not just from fellow inmates, but in many cases from staff and even administrators. (This never really ended with the Catholics, folks. It's pretty endemic across the board.) Why the film doesn't take this extra step, is a mystery to me - especially given a subplot involving the juvie centre's prime bully who has an almost retaliatory need to extract sexual abuse etched ever-so deeply in his face.

I suppose this is a bit of a nitpick, but, I think a fair one. On the flipside, though, I often and genuinely felt the same sort of dread and frustration I experienced when I first saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Wrong Man. If Blackbird falls short of the kind of sickeningly harrowing experience delivered by the Master of Suspense, it's not reason enough to complain too much. Blackbird flirts with the surface of Hitch and this is a damn fine stone for any first time filmmaker to skip - so much so one can hardly wait for Buxton's next film and hope he'll fulfil the promise displayed here to completely toss us with abandon into hot coals.

"Blackbird" was the winner of this year's Claude Jutra Award and in limited theatrical release.

BLACKBIRD - TIFF 2012 - Review By Greg Klymkiw

Blackbird (2013) ****
Dir. Jason Buxton
Starring: Connor Jessup, Alexia Fast, Alex Ozerov, Cory Arnold, Michael Buie, Tanya Clarke

Review By Greg Klymkiw

God Bless, Charles Dickens. Even his more detestable characters are often blessed with powers of analysis and reason that exposes the humanity inherent in all. Take, for example, the venerable constabulary beadle Mr. Bumble in "Oliver Twist". Presiding over the orphanage and workhouse, he's the famous literary personage whom the waif-like title character pleads - holding his empty gruel-bowl forward, "Please, Sir, may I have some more?" "More!!??" Bumble bellows incredulously. Aside from administering a variety of nasty corporal punishments and personally taking to the streets to sell "bad boys", Dickens places the following words of wisdom in his mouth:

"... the law is a ass- a idiot. If that's the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by experience- by experience."

Bumble is, of course, referring to Mr. Brownlow's climactic line of questioning in the great book and looking for any way to get out of a sticky wicket he's placed himself in, Bumbles blames his wife. Brownlow asserts that Bumble is more guilty than his wife since "... the law supposes that your wife acts under your direction."

To this specific charge, Bumble is quite right. The law IS an ass! So it has always been and so it always will be - this "ass", this "bachelor" woefully lacking "experience".

Watching Blackbird, the feature length debut by writer-director Jason Buxton, I could not help be reminded of Bumble's words - especially since the mere act of viewing this fine and gripping drama inspired such anger and frustration within me over a system that often jerks its knee in defence of the status quo and has little use for free expression and those things that fall outside the assumption of (purported) normalcy.

How many of us in childhood have experienced the teasing and bullying of the supposedly "normal" amongst us and wondered, even as kids, why the absolute lowest common denominator amongst our peers and "betters" was something to aspire to? Why must we be like everyone else? Why must we be cogs in a machine that many consider to be humanity? Isn't humanity rooted in being oneself? Must we suffer derision - not just as kids, but as adults - taking little interest in the inanities of the water cooler conversations every morning at the office?

Aren't THEY, the "normal ones" the assholes?

Well, yes. THEY are! Unfortunately, we have to put up with them and seek solace in our individuality and search high and low for the like-minded until we find them. Unfortunately, in the wake of the massacres at Columbine, Montreal, Newtown, Aurora and Boston - ANYONE even slightly outside of the norm is viewed with suspicion by the general populace, any ACTIONS (most often involving alternative self-expression within the form of art) is viewed by the lunkheads of society as a threat and the law in such cases?

It's an ass.

This is the horrendous place where Sean (Connor Jessup) finds himself in Buxton's always compelling Blackbird. Sporting a Goth-lite look, obsessed with ultra-metal musical styling and blessed/cursed with a talent for writing, he's been booted from the city by his status-hungry Mom (Tanya Clarke) into the care of her ex-hubby and his long-estranged Dad (Michael Buie), a straight-up man's man in the country who loves bagging game, chugging a good brewski and relaxing to the cathode ray flicker of Hockey Night in Canada. Sean's new home life could be worse, though. Dad seems like a genuinely nice guy who desperately wants to connect with his son and offers a fair bit of room for the kid to move.

Alas, this is a rural community and Sean must contend with the dolts he's surrounded by at school. (This is no cliche. I had to eventually pull my own child from a small town school due to the bullying, misogyny, sexism and overall stupidity of her peers and so many of the teachers and administrators of the school.) What's truly valued amongst these drooling knuckle-draggers is being a jock (and the young ladies must be obedient, compliant and sexual). God help you if you aren't. And jocks absolutely despise kids like Sean. He's picked-on and pulverized by these morons and viewed by everyone as a freak.

His only friend is the most gorgeous babe in the school, Deanna (Alexia Fast). They clearly form a special bond, but she is forced to hide her attraction to Sean since she's also dating the star jock of the school Cory (Craig Arnold), one of Sean's prime tormentors. And let it be said that guys like Cory are a pathetic dime-a-dozen once they leave high school. They've got hockey pucks for brains and unless they're really exceptional in their sporting activities, they're eventual mantra will be (to quote a line from Slap Shot), "Fucking Chrysler plant! Here I come!"

Try explaining that to a kid like Sean - or anyone. They're years away from recognizing and realizing this. (Ironically, though, it's losers like Cory who form the majorities in our world and continue their bullying indirectly, through their bone-headed lack of imagination, kowtowing to the Status Quo and voting for the pawns of the New World Order like Georgie Bush (Sr. and Jr.) and Stevie Harper.)

Poor Sean is so desperate that a well-meaning guidance counsellor suggests he get his frustrations out on paper - he is, after all a burgeoning writer, and where better to express one's pain than in the realm of fiction? Makes sense to me.

Unfortunately, artistic expression is the beginning of a living nightmare for Sean. His online writings are taken as "uttering threats" and he's incarcerated in "juvie" by the "ass" of law to - I kid you not - await trial. Eventually, he's faced with an even more idiotic decision on the part of the narrow-minded inbred society of Man: plead guilty and be free. Plead not guilty and "lose".

Every step of the way Buxton grips the audience. Though not quite as dark and morbid as it could/should have been, it's impossible to take one's eyes off the screen. It's a superb narrative - designed to both reel us in, drag us through the muck and keep us affixed to the hook - no matter how much we thrash in protest over the situation we (via Sean's POV) find ourselves in. Solid, intelligent direction and a perfect cast are the delicious cherries on the sundae of a superbly wrought screenplay.

Having to experience the lack of understanding on the part of even those who believe in Sean angers us, since his personal expression is what leads to his pariah status in this backwards community. Even worse is seeing grown adults just hoping he'll lie and admit guilt - thinking he will ultimately better off, but also to remove the inconvenience this causes them. All this because a creative kid's writings are perceived - not as fiction, but genuine threats. Shiver me timbers, he's going to kill us all. Hell, maybe a good many of them deserve to be culled, but Sean isn't going to be the one to do it. It'll be their government that will create a fake war to make money for a few rich guys so young men can go off and think they're fighting to the death for truth, justice and freedom.

Beating down those we don't understand and then punishing them is just too prevalent in our world. Thematically, Buxton's film works hand in hand with both the narrative and the superbly etched characters. His mise-en-scène betrays what must have been a relatively modest budget - the world he creates feels lived in. Buxton is blessed with a great production design and camera team - the antiseptic qualities of both the school and the juvenile detention centre contrast beautifully with the bucolic countryside and genuine down-home warmth of the home Sean's Dad lives in. Especially impressive is the cutting which always moves the fine coverage forward, but at a pace that's always just short of the proverbial Col. Kurtz "snail crawling along the edge of a straight razor". This doesn't mean it's slow or tedious in any way shape or form, it captures rural life to a "T" and most importantly creates a creepy crawly feeling throughout - especially the sequences in the juvie centre where we get a sense of just how time passes within such institutions.

The tiniest of false notes creeps in here. I couldn't help but feel that the film shies away from the sexual abuse within such centres which, I think in the case of someone like Sean, would have been constant. Aside from taunts and beatings, I know from numerous sources that spent time in such institutions that people like him become cum receptacles - not just from fellow inmates, but in many cases from staff and even administrators. (This never really ended with the Catholics, folks. It's pretty endemic across the board.) Why the film doesn't take this extra step, is a mystery to me - especially given a subplot involving the juvie centre's prime bully who has an almost retaliatory need to extract sexual abuse etched ever-so deeply in his face.

I suppose this is a bit of a nitpick, but, I think a fair one. On the flipside, though, I often and genuinely felt the same sort of dread and frustration I experienced when I first saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Wrong Man. If Blackbird falls short of the kind of sickeningly harrowing experience delivered by the Master of Suspense, it's not reason enough to complain too much. Blackbird flirts with the surface of Hitch and this is a damn fine stone for any first time filmmaker to skip - so much so one can hardly wait for Buxton's next film and hope he'll fulfil the promise displayed here to completely toss us with abandon into hot coals.

"Blackbird" premieres at TIFF 2012.

THE LESSER BLESSED - TIFF 2012 - Review By Greg Klymkiw

The Lesser Blessed (2012) ***
Dir. Anita Doron
Starring: Joel Nathan Evans, Benjamin Bratt, Tamara Podemski, Chloe Rose, Kiowa Gordon, Adam Butcher

Review By Greg Klymkiw

A knee-jerk response might be to say we've seen all this before.

Witness:

An Aboriginal teenage boy (Joel Nathan Evans) of the Dogrib (Tlicho) Nation lives with his widowed Mom (Tamara Podemski) in a tiny village in the Northwest Territories. His late Dad was a violent, abusive monster and the boy carries the physical disfigurement of an especially harrowing event from the relatively recent past, as well as the emotional scars, the latter of which he shares with his withdrawn Mom. Her boyfriend (Benjamin Bratt) is a handsome, brooding, but kindly man who bears his own wounds of the past and often escapes conflict by disappearing deep into the bush.

High school for our young hero is fraught with a combination of loneliness and bullying whilst harbouring a deep crush on a beautiful, vivacious, popular and seemingly unattainable teenage girl (Chloe Rose). The bullying, mostly from a young thug (Adam Butcher) who shares an equally abusive past, becomes less frequent when the protagonist is befriended by a new kid in town, a hunky, dreamy tough guy (Kiowa Gordon).

It's a mixed blessing for our main character. Though he has a new friend, the gal of his dreams naturally falls for the magnificent specimen of manhood who takes him under his wing. And, of course, there is the crushing weight of the past - truths must be confronted if freedom - real freedom - is to be attained.

So yes, on the surface one might assume this is a glorified after-school special or worse, an Aboriginal John Hughes movie.

"One", however, would assume wrongly.

Narrative is an odd duck because, in a sense, there are no real new stories - what makes things fresh is that magical property one discovers in both the telling and the details. This is what The Lesser Blessed has in spades. Director Anita Doron succeeds magnificently in capturing a unique world that is at once indigenous to Canada's northernmost regions and yet, in its exploration of isolation yields a tale with universal qualities.

Anyone who has experienced life in Canada's most barren regions will be startled by the sense of place in this movie. There isn't a single image - interior or exterior - that isn't infused with the strange, remote and terrible beauty of life in this part of the world. A combination of Doron's eye, superb cinematography and truly exquisite production design all lend themselves to the creation of this dichotomous environment. As well, the natural rhythms of life in the north - in the unfolding of time and events, the cadence of the verbal delivery amongst the populace and even down to the very manner in which people physically move and carry themselves is so spot-on that the movie managed to transport me to every great memory and feeling of living and/or having lived in similar isolation.

A good part of this is inherent in the great range of performances. Joel Nathan Evans in the lead does not seem at all like a natural actor, but it's precisely this quality that allows us IN to this character - especially since he's surrounded by a variety of flamboyant performances from Rose, Gordon and Butcher - he's like the straight man. He let's us see the world and those around him the way he sees it - not necessarily, or at least not always via his point of view, but because there is such a raw, natural quality to his work.

There is one role in the film that could have been delivered with by-the-numbers histrionics, but Tamara Podemski as our hero's Mom is brilliantly understated to the point of heartbreak - this wonderful actress's smallest gestures or in many cases, "non"-gestures, are as riveting as they are deeply and profoundly moving. This is the kind of finely wrought performance that some might overlook because it is so great.

The revelation, at least for me, is Benjamin Bratt in the role of the Mom's boyfriend and our hero's eventual surrogate Dad. As I've watched almost no television since 1982, it seems like I've missed much of this veteran actor's most prolific (and possibly best) work, but I found myself so drawn to his commanding presence in the film that all I kept wondering is why isn't this guy a movie star on the same level as some of the great ruggedly handsome actors from 70s movies? His line deliveries were surprisingly "Canadian" (yes, there is a distinctly Canadian "accent") and frankly, the first time I saw the film I'll admit to having heard of Benjamin Bratt, but I didn't associate him with the role he was playing. All I thought at the time was: "WHO IS THIS GUY? HE'S FUCKING AMAZING!" Once I Googled him and realized what I was dealing with, I still kind of felt the same way. I immediately began imagining him in a variety of imaginary 70s-style movies and wondered when the fuck Quentin Tarantino was going to put this guy in a great role in one of his movies.

Well, QT - you lose. Anita Doron beat you to the punch. In any event, though I have no intention of ever watching Miss Congeniality again, I can hardly wait to dive into a few of his feature film appearances to refresh my appreciation of his clear talent, but he's also appeared in some indie pictures I've yet to see.

The Lesser Blessed is ultimately a film heavy on mood and tone and I'm happy to say that it works beautifully on this front since these elements go a long way in capturing the thematic underpinnings of the tale. There are a few items that don't work for me, though.

I'd have preferred the film to have no narration at all. What little there is of it - and it is mercifully sparse - occurs at the beginning and end, but it felt like it was going out of its way to tell me things I already knew or sensed in a kind of on-point way.

I also wasn't sure about the structural use of the main character's past tragic events as this slow build-up to a big reveal - I think that knowing early on what the precise details of the tragedy were would have instead shifted the flashback stuff into a kind of repeated visual and emotional punctuation of what haunted him. (And I've not read the book, nor did I read any reviews prior to seeing the movie, but I pretty much knew what had happened to him really early in the game and was occasionally frustrated with this storytelling trope that to me, always seems a bit lazy and overused.)

My final nitpick is the score. At times, it felt spare in the way many scores in low budget films feel, while at other times, I found it overbearing. On a second viewing of the film I re-imagined it with only snatches of source music and no formal score whatsoever (and in its place, more of a soundscape reflecting the natural environment and inner life of the main character). Given that many scenes are shot in a gorgeous "floaty-cam" styled handheld and that many of the film's details in terms of locale and setting seemed so real, I'm pretty convinced this would have worked quite beautifully.

All that said, none of these elements detracted from my overall enjoyment of the film, but because so much of the picture is so good, I was occasionally going a bit nutty when elements were often falling short of a kind of greatness that seemed entirely attainable. This, ultimately, is what distinguishes The Lesser Blessed, though. Far too many films are satisfied with filling ephemeral voids and/or needs of audiences (as usually perceived by the boneheaded middlemen green-lighting pictures the world over), but Doron's film is always striving for greatness - true, real and pure greatness.

That's what separates genuine filmmakers from the hacks and poseurs. The Lesser Blessed is definitely worth seeing, but as she acquits herself solidly with this movie, I'm especially looking forward to more pictures from Doron (and, uh, of course... Mr. Bratt!).

"The Lesser Blessed" is premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival - TIFF 2012. For further information visit the festival's website HERE.