environment

Eco-Pirate: The Story of Paul Watson

Eco-Pirate: The Story of Paul Watson (Director: Trish Dolman): There’s been no shortage of the spot­light on envir­on­mental and animal rights act­ivist Paul Watson in recent years. In 2008, the Pirate for the Sea doc­u­mentary examined his life, the pop­ular Whale Wars show (on the Animal Planet channel), which fol­lows his exploits fighting against illegal Japanese whaling, is about to begin its fourth season next month, South Park sat­ir­ized him in an episode a couple of years ago, and now comes Eco-Pirate: The Story of Paul Watson. The film, making its world premiere at Hot Docs, took dir­ector Trish Dolman eight years to com­plete and res­ults in a finely crafted account of Watson’s life’s work, also taking brief glimpses into the Canadian’s per­sonal side.

A founding member of Greenpeace in 1971, Watson even­tu­ally ali­en­ated too many in the organ­iz­a­tion with his impa­tience at a per­ceived excess of bur­eau­cracy and overly passive protest policies. In 1977 he left to start the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, which he still fronts today. The organ­iz­a­tion employs aggressive, con­front­a­tional means in their cru­sade, whether it’s ram­ming (or even sab­ot­aging) whaling ships, taking on other ves­sels in high speed chases, or firing smoke and stink bombs onto the decks of illegal fishing ships in an effort to dis­rupt their oper­a­tions. Dolman cap­tures some amazing visuals, both of the beau­tiful scenery and the dan­gerous situ­ations that Watson and his crew place them­selves in. A par­tic­u­larly moving scene shows Watson accom­pa­nying Emily Hunter as they scatter some of the ashes of her late father, envir­on­mental act­ivist pioneer Bob Hunter, on top of an ice­berg in the Antarctic.

Interviews with admirers (including actor Martin Sheen and Red Hot Chili Peppers lead singer Anthony Kiedis) and Watson’s peers in the envir­on­mental move­ment elicit strong love-him-or-hate-him reac­tions, both to his prickly per­son­ality and con­tro­ver­sial, agit­ating methods. Much of the inter­view con­tent is highly crit­ical of Watson and cer­tainly doesn’t paint him in a favour­able light on a number of fronts (his own daughter admits that he placed the animals he defends ahead of the needs of his own family). This is to the film’s credit as, in con­junc­tion with the equally extensive amount of praise he receives, it leaves the viewer feeling that they’re get­ting a well-rounded por­trayal of the man. Watson him­self says that he has more faith in, and love for, animals than he does for humans. Despite his flaws, Watson pos­sesses an oddball charm. Witness, for example, the dev­il­ishly inspired scheme he devises to retire his former ship, named the Farley Mowat, by put­ting the Canadian gov­ern­ment on the hook for the cost, as well as embar­rassing them at the same time. Absolute genius.

Effectively blending archival footage with the afore­men­tioned ele­ments, Eco-Pirate reveals Watson to be a com­plex, com­pel­ling figure who is ten­a­ciously ded­ic­ated to his cause, which makes him someone both respected and reviled within the envir­on­mental act­ivist com­munity. Watson, who joined in the Q&A ses­sion fol­lowing the film’s screening via Skype from over­seas, says that he is pleased with how the film turned out.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Wiebo's War

Wiebo’s War (Director: David York): David York opens his enga­ging film with an inter­esting scene. Wiebo Ludwig, the sub­ject of the film, is sit­ting around a table with sev­eral of his sons and the film crew, and Wiebo is con­cerned that most of what he stands for “won’t come across” because the dir­ector and crew are atheists.

It’s a bold move, and poten­tially one that will put many people off Ludwig right away. But it’s also a neces­sary tactic, because for the next 90 minutes, it will be dif­fi­cult not to be pulled in by Wiebo’s cha­risma, pas­sion and evident good sense.

In the mid 1980s, Wiebo Ludwig, an ordained min­ister with the his­tor­ic­ally Dutch Christian Reformed Church, decided to uproot his family from their Ontario home to go and live “apart from the world” in northern Alberta. It was an exper­i­ment in holy living, but also in self-sufficiency and community-building. Along with another couple and all of their chil­dren, they settled on a parcel of land they dubbed Trickle Creek. As their chil­dren grew older, they inter­mar­ried and had their own chil­dren. They raised animals and were able to sup­port them­selves in both food and energy.

But these were not technology-shunning ascetics like the Amish. They wanted to farm and wor­ship God, but were happy to be part of the wider world when they needed it. Unfortunately, the world quickly impinged on their bit of paradise.

In the late 1980s, the oil and gas industry moved in when they dis­covered that Trickle Creek was sit­ting over a huge reser­voir of nat­ural gas. One of the most shocking rev­el­a­tions of the film is that des­pite the Ludwigs’ deed to their land, they only own the top six inches, and have no own­er­ship or con­trol of the min­eral rights that the EnCana gas cor­por­a­tion is so eager to exploit. Whether this is Canadian law or just Alberta’s, I still think it’s some­thing that needs to be challenged.

York’s film uses lots of material shot by the Ludwigs over the years, including flaming tap water, an image used more recently by Josh Fox’s Gasland (review), which would make a great com­panion piece to this film. There’s also hor­rific footage of dead and deformed live­stock, and in one indelible scene, a still­born infant.

In the 90s, the Canadian news media was abuzz at a cam­paign of sab­otage against the oil and gas industry including explo­sions at well sites. Ludwig was con­victed in con­nec­tion with these acts and served 18 months in prison. Many years pass but now there is another string of bomb­ings in northern British Columbia, and Ludwig is again the prime sus­pect. Even though York fol­lows him for sev­eral years as these events play out, we never really know the extent of Ludwig’s involve­ment. We do, how­ever, begin to under­stand the extent of his family’s des­per­a­tion to live unmolested.

Since Wiebo is eager to declare that his actions flow from his bib­lical prin­ciples, I think it’s cogent to examine them. Ludwig and his family are in a unique pos­i­tion, able to fulfil the bib­lical func­tion of the prophet, which is to speak the truth to power. But in the pro­cess they are also sub­ject to another bib­lical maxim: that a prophet is without honour in his own country. Their sep­ar­a­tion from the com­munity allows them the freedom to cri­ti­cize the oil and gas industry because they are not eco­nom­ic­ally dependent upon it. The people in the towns around them don’t have that luxury, and so there is a built-in resent­ment that is only stoked higher by the Ludwigs’ reli­gious beliefs and prac­tices, which are sub­ject to small-town gossip and dis­tor­tion. It’s a fas­cin­ating dynamic to watch at work, and it is behind another of the film’s unsolved mys­teries, the shooting death of a local girl on the Ludwig’s prop­erty after two truck­loads of drunken teen­agers arrive in the middle of the night to harass them.

It dawned on me that if this film had been set in the devel­oping world, audi­ences would feel imme­diate sym­pathy and even solid­arity with someone who was res­isting a greedy cor­por­a­tion and an apathetic gov­ern­ment. Because it’s so close to home, I think reac­tion will be more mixed. The oil and gas industry has been quick to brand Ludwig an “eco-terrorist” and the Canadian media has been happy to advance this char­ac­ter­iz­a­tion. York’s film will help shade the black and white cari­ca­ture we’ve been provided with, although Ludwig remains a com­plic­ated man. His ini­tial mis­giv­ings are not ground­less, and for a man who claims to answer only to God, his par­ti­cip­a­tion in the film is pretty remark­able. If it brings some addi­tional crit­ical atten­tion to the prac­tices of an industry that powers so much of Canada’s eco­nomy, it will be worthwhile.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Futurestates

Last year, I was very excited by the first “season” of FUTURESTATES, a series of shorts com­mis­sioned by the Independent Television Service (ITVS) to explore the fol­lowing ques­tion: ” What will become of America in five, 25, or even 50 years?” There was some very strong work in the first group of films, including Play (David Kaplan and Eric Zimmerman), Silver Sling (Tze Chun) and Plastic Bag (Ramin Bahrami).

Of the ten new films slated for the second season, six will premiere at this year’s SXSW Film Festival. And I can share that there are some even more powerful films in this batch. I was excited to see that Barry Jenkins, who dir­ected the unique Medicine for Melancholy (review) would be con­trib­uting a film, and his Remigration poignantly explores the themes of race, class, and urban renewal that he touched upon in his earlier fea­ture. Another dir­ector who uncovers some fas­cin­ating issues sur­rounding race is A. Sayeeda Clarke, whose White shows us a society in the grip of cli­mate change where black people are forced to trade their genetic advantage in order to take care of their fam­ilies. I also loved Kimi Takesue’s That Which Once Was which fea­tures a healing rela­tion­ship between an 8-year-old Caribbean boy and an Inuit ice sculptor, both dis­placed and trau­mat­ized by the chan­ging climate.

In addi­tion to high­lighting important issues con­fronting our planet, the best of these films are able to cap­ture beau­tiful images and intro­duce us to mem­or­able char­ac­ters facing issues our chil­dren and grand­chil­dren may yet face. And best of all, FUTURESTATES epis­odes are all avail­able (or soon will be) to watch in their entirety online, free of charge. Not only has the series proven edu­ca­tional on the envir­on­mental front, but I’ve actu­ally dis­covered some new film­makers, the rest of whose work I now want to discover.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Dreamland (Draumalandið)

Dreamland (Draumalandið) (Directors: Þhorfinnur Guðnason and Andri Snær Magnasson): My wife and I had the very good for­tune to visit Iceland in September 2008, mere days before the col­lapse of their banking system. Since we were there par­tially to cover the Reykjavik International Film Festival, we were invited to a recep­tion by the won­derful people at the Icelandic Film Centre where we saw clips of films in pro­gress and were able to meet the dir­ectors. One of the most inter­esting pro­jects we saw was Dreamland, based on the best-selling (at least in Iceland) book by Andri Snær Magnasson. I was able to speak to him that day and looking back, his sense of urgency as he warned of the short-sightedness of Iceland’s politi­cians was eerily pres­cient. The ensuing eco­nomic col­lapse has had rami­fic­a­tions around the world. So you can ima­gine how eager I was to finally see the fin­ished film. Unfortunately, my high expect­a­tions were not to be met.

Dreamland starts out well enough, giving a quick primer on recent Icelandic his­tory since achieving inde­pend­ence from Denmark in 1918. Founded to be res­ol­utely neutral, it didn’t take long to become a cog in the Cold War shortly after World War 2. The gov­ern­ment allowed the US mil­itary to build a base at Keflavik, and that base provided 2,000 jobs until it was closed in 2006. In a nation of just 300,000, this was a major eco­nomic blow, and so Iceland’s leaders went looking for a quick fix. With an abund­ance of clean geo-thermal energy, they decided to offer the sur­plus to the alu­minum industry. Aluminum smelting is one of the most energy-intensive and environmentally-unfriendly pro­cesses in the resource busi­ness, but Iceland’s leaders figured that it would all happen in sparsely pop­u­lated areas. Apart from the envir­on­mental effects, though, Magnasson argues that this kind of megapro­ject actu­ally harms the Icelandic eco­nomy in the long run. He’s turned out to be right.

I’m sure in his book, all of this is laid out and argued in a coherent fashion. The same cannot be said for the film. Early on, we’re warned omin­ously by experts that politi­cians often use fear to con­trol the elect­orate. Iceland’s politi­cians warned that if they didn’t build these megapro­jects, the eco­nomy would not grow and that jobs might dis­ap­pear forever. However, Dreamland stoops to the same fear tac­tics to make its case, and the irony seems lost on the film­makers. Ominous music accom­panies aggressive heli­copter fly­overs of unspoiled land­scapes, and these shots are used over and over and over. Half of the talking head inter­views are with Magnasson, who is only iden­ti­fied as “Writer” and not as co-director of the film nor as author of the book on which the film is based. The other inter­views are unhelpful, with some sub­jects seeming to jump from one side of the argu­ment to the other later in the film. Magnasson also presents a few too many shots of farmers and their fam­ilies who will be affected by the alu­minum plants. One or two farmers would have made his point.

The overall effect is that his few valid points are lost as the film becomes a heavy-handed and mind-numbing polemic. One clumsily-edited sequence attempts to equate the envir­on­mental damage of extracting bauxite (aluminum’s raw material) in India with smelting alu­minum in Iceland, when the two pro­cesses are com­pletely different.

I bought a copy of his book in English when I was in Iceland in 2008, and I’m looking for­ward to reading it, now mainly to see how a respected and intel­li­gent journ­alist could turn it into such a jumbled mess of a film.

Official site of the film

6/10(6/10)

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Waste Land

Waste Land (Director: Lucy Walker): Last summer in Toronto we had a garbage strike, and after a few weeks garbage began being piled up in out­door skating rinks and other city prop­erty. Suddenly our trash wasn’t some­thing we could throw away and forget about; we were living next to it, and it stunk. I sin­cerely hoped that when the strike was settled, people wouldn’t forget the images and the smells, and that it might lead to a more thoughtful approach to recyc­ling, com­posting and other ways of redu­cing the amount of stuff we toss away. I’m sad to say that the cit­izens of our city went right back to our old ways, but it’s always good to be reminded about our garbage. Lucy Walker’s film does that and a whole lot more.

Brooklyn-based but Brazilian-born artist Vik Muniz grew up poor on the streets of Sao Paolo. Now suc­cessful beyond his wildest dreams, he decides that he wants to give some­thing back to the poor of his home­land. Always an innov­ator in using inter­esting mater­ials in his art, he becomes inter­ested in the Jardim Gramacho, Rio de Janeiro’s (and indeed the world’s) largest land­fill. At this massive facility, “pickers” are paid to extract recyc­lable mater­ials from the enormous moun­tains of trash. Like worker ants, they swarm over each new load of garbage as it is dumped. There are 3,000 of these pickers, and they are rep­res­ented by an asso­ci­ation, headed by the cha­ris­matic Tiao. We meet Tiao along with a whole group of pickers who will become par­ti­cipants in Muniz’s most ambi­tious pro­ject to date. He will use garbage to con­struct large-scale por­traits of some of the pickers, posed as if they were in classic paintings.

Along the way, we dis­cover that the pickers have a rich sub­cul­ture, and while some are proud of their work, others long to leave the dump. Many were part of lower-middle-class fam­ilies until unex­pected tra­gedies forced them into a life of scav­en­ging. Many have worked at the land­fill since they were chil­dren, and they claim with dig­nity that they do honest work, and that is better than selling drugs or pros­ti­tuting them­selves like so many other poor Brazilians.

As the pickers col­lab­orate with Muniz on the huge mosaics, he tells them of his plan to sell pho­to­graphic prints and return all the money to them. But quite apart from the money, the oppor­tunity to use the mater­ials they work with every day to create art has a pro­found effect on them. Some find new dig­nity in what they do, while others gain the con­fid­ence to leave picking to try some­thing else. While I was slightly ambi­valent about Muniz using these people as material for his work, Walker wisely includes a scene where he and his wife and col­leagues argue about just this topic. In the end, he feels that doing any­thing is better than doing nothing, and I tend to agree.

One of the very beau­tiful themes of the film is that art is trans­form­ative. Muniz talks about that moment when the raw mater­ials (paint, sand, even garbage) is trans­formed into some­thing dif­ferent. When we look at a painting, for instance, we move closer and fur­ther from the canvas to observe this effect, and with Muniz’ giant trash mosaics, the effect is even more pro­nounced. But quite apart from the lit­eral meaning, we can see that the raw mater­ials of these pickers’ lives are being trans­formed by this pro­cess into some­thing even more beau­tiful than paintings.

Reminiscent of Born Into Brothels, Waste Land will hope­fully have just as pro­found an effect on the lives of at least a few of its participants.

Official site of the film

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Lucy Walker and pro­ducer Angus Aynsley from after the screening, con­ducted by Hot Docs Director of Programming Sean Farnel:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 21:21

9/10(9/10)

{ Comments on this entry are closed }