Cutting Out the Middleman

July 05, 2004

We arrive after a twilight cab ride through an unfamiliar town. From the hotel on the outskirts through the rural to the suburban -- no urban. Its Friday night at the megaplex, multi-cinema, mall annex trasheteria. Overly ornate navel rings hover over low rise, stretch-fit faded $200 jean/tights. Ball caps, baggy khaki shorts and frosted close-cropped hair over sport logo emblazoned T’s watch the pink tube tops arrive in gangs. Cell phones on belts, on ears, in purses in hands. Popcorn waft and pop syrup sweet overtones colour the cigarette wind at the entrance to the air-conditioned neon and light box cavern. Arcade beeps; crunches and whirs mask the lyrics of the hip-hop hits without obscuring the beat. Somewhere beyond the $11.25 swipe of a hologram encrypted Visa and a horse track turnstile is Cinema 2 out of 10. Somewhere beyond the 20 minutes of 2 dimensional onscreen Hollywood trivia questions and accompanying teen top 40 are the 20 minutes of car, candy, sport drink, bank, and clothing commercials. Somewhere beyond the 15 minutes of upcoming trailers for action, innuendo and pot joke movies you would never even watch on an airplane are the opening credits for “Fahrenheit 911”. The shit culture preamble to this movie is there to underscore its power. You are about to escape the middleman after climbing over the immense wall of crap he has piled in front of you. This is a movie best seen in the company of strangers. Your friends are going to react the way you do. There is nothing redeeming in this. To watch someone previously unaware become enlightened makes the pain of such a movie seem bearable. A movie like this can send you so far into yourself that you need others around to say a word or two. These words are life preservers thrown overboard to you in the cold water and in the dark. Anything. A dirty joke. Someone asking for the time. You need any words. Rats are leaving through the cracks in our western guilt complex. Sexuality moves to cannibalism. Powerlessness turns to surrender and consumption rather than anger and action. We watched the movie. We consumed oil products just to get here and get home again.
We are Canadians who cannot vote in America. We are Canadians who sometimes use our citizenship as a shield against our own silent complicity. Sure we refused to be part of the “coalition of the willing” but we are a willing economic annex. When times get tough we sell another piece of ourselves to stay afloat. The music we make, that is allowed to be played in the megaplex, is once again a pale imitation of things that happen elsewhere. Caught behind the middlemen in our nervous and neutered music business. The Molson Corporation has a lock on our Canada Day celebrations. The Molson aesthetic represents us outside our borders. Even those too young to drink are wearing red, white and blue “I AM Canadian” T-shirts. Red, White and Blue. The brewery colours impose themselves on a red and white flag. Shit beer.
The morning before seeing “Fahrenheit 911” I marched in the Canada Day Parade in North Vancouver with my sons. I was dragging a hockey bag full of candy and wearing a too small North Vancouver Minor Hockey jersey as the kids from the hockey clubs danced around and handed out candy to spectators along the route. The float in front of us featured a soul band from the local music school playing Sly & Stevie Wonder tunes. Classic cars. The Police motorcycle team. Restaurant mascots.
The three of us got up plenty early to line up for the pancake breakfast. I was happy. A pancake breakfast is the prime catalyst igniting a sense of community. It’s my dad’s favourite thing. I love my dad. It was sunny and I was eating pancakes with kids, strangers, nieghbours, veterans, Kinsmen, army cadets, and a high school band. A fresh wind whipped through the tent and sent napkins, cups and syrup stained paper plates off down the grassy boulevard. We laughed, grabbed our plates, and watched two hundred flags stand up and ripple straight sideways. We could see the ocean. Balance this all against foreign oil wars and lost children in the bombing of Baghdad. Balance this against the polarization of the north and the south and the rich and the poor. Even drinking this fair trade coffee from the Kinsmen thermos doesn’t guarantee the farmer gets paid. The Costa Rican co-op manager, however, drives a Mercedes. Intercepted by the middleman. Your vote goes through the middleman. Vote in accordance with your beliefs or vote to block. Either way a party is attached. The party tells their candidates what buzz phrase to use and that’s all you get. The corporate family. All good ideas intercepted and pasteurized by the middleman. “What kind of Canada do you want”? The good guys take a greater share of the popular vote and lose by a wide margin. You’re back behind the middleman. You can understand the motivations of the vigilante as well as you understand the motivations of the conservative. Continue on as planned or change the plans for everyone. For the duration of “Fahrenheit 911” you are buying direct. It feels good to break through even if what is revealed is impossible to reconcile.