At the end of the Toronto International Film Festival, a handful of filmmakers will win awards. The presenters will say flattering things; the award winners will say silly things. But this year, I will not mock.

I will cringe in sympathy.

I admit I was never someone who as a child stood in front of the mirror holding a shampoo bottle or hair brush, imagining what I would say when I made my Oscar speech. In fact, I was one of those little boys who stood in front of the television mocking people making acceptance speeches, while my older sisters told me to get out of the way.

My conversion came in the city of Wroclaw, Poland, last month. I was attending the Era New Horizons film festival, where I had been invited to introduce some Canadian films. The city was gorgeous, the film programs were adventurous, the lineups not too long.

In short, it was filmgoer’s bliss.

Near the end of festival, I was asked if I wanted to attend the closing-night ceremonies, and I said no thanks. But on the day before closing night, I was sent a message asking if I could please reconsider. A Canadian film had won a €10,000 (almost $16,000) prize for best art film, and I was the only Canadian left in town to accept it.

The film was Nik Sheehan’s documentary, FLicKeR , based on a book by Globe and Mail editorial-board editor John Geiger, called Chapel of Extreme Experience: A Short History of Stroboscopic Light and the Dream Machine . It was about a device, invented by artist Brion Gyson, which is supposed to induce a kind of drugless high.

One of the festival staff gave me a copy of Sheehan’s acceptance speech, and as I started to read it over, I became increasingly nervous. There were a couple of Polish names; the one that had me particularly worried was “Ewa Szblowska,” which in Polish is pronounced more like “Eva Za-bwolf-ska.”

I asked my student volunteer, Jagoda, to rehearse it with me as we walked to the theatre, but I kept screwing it up, getting “blows” for “bwolfs.”

At the event, I took my seat in the midst of a group of people who were clearly important to the Polish film industry, and whom I did not know.

The Polish minister of culture, who had come in from Warsaw, made a speech about the importance of Polish film around the word. There was another speech from the mayor of Wroclaw, which seemed to have a lot of jokes.

Then the prizes started getting handed out. I listened carefully to the mixture of Polish and English until I realized it was my turn to make my way up to the stage. The emcee for the evening liked saying funny things about each person coming up. (“She’s coming up slowly now, taking her time. Oh, now she’s picking up speed.”)

I had no idea what he was saying about me; just before going onstage, I had put my earpiece and translation device in my pocket, afraid I was going to drop it.

As I walked up to the podium, someone approached me and handed me a large sunflower, which I tucked under my arm. I looked out into the blinding light, where the audience was, then down at the page.

I read the speech one sentence at a time, the way I had read material all during the festival, so that the translators could keep up.

Turns out that for awards night, though, they had brought in a really good translator who could remember and translate entire paragraphs at once.

I became aware that I was sounding like someone who was either short of breath or who barely knew how to read English, never mind Polish. I also realized the translator was particularly fast in my case: He wasn’t even listening to me; he was reading the acceptance letter over my shoulder.

Then I reached that name and I remembered there was a “wolf” in it: “The amazing Eva Zab-wolf-ska,” I said. I heard a titter run through the audience.

Previous award winners had commented on how heavy the award was, and I started to get worried. Would it look rude if I threw the acceptance letter down on the ground so that I could hold the sunflower and the big glass award at the same time? As it happened, I managed to jam the speech into my jacket pocket just before the award arrived. It was about the weight of a bucket of water.

I stepped back from the podium, and the head of the jury that had picked FLicKeR came over and said something to me that I couldn’t comprehend.

“ Nie mowie po polsku ,” I said, which means “I don’t speak Polish.”

She said it again, and I realized she was speaking English. But still I couldn’t understand her.

“Thanks,” I said.

I was moved farther downstage. My translator grabbed my hand and pumped it in congratulations.

“The most important thing,” he said, “is that you now have Polish distribution for your film.”

“It’s not really my film,” I said.

“No,” he said, “but you have Polish distribution.”

I made my way back to my seat, but just before I sat down, a tall, blond woman from the festival staff came toward me and took the big glass award out of my hands.

I sat in my seat twiddling my sunflower for the rest of the awards.

Just as I was getting up to leave, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “It’s time for all the award winners to go onstage for a photograph,” said the tall blond woman.

“But I didn’t win any award,” I said.

She looked at me sadly. “Please,” she said. “It would be nice.”

I returned to the stage and shuffled along in a line of award winners, holding my sunflower and glass award once again. Right ahead of me was Michael Brooke, another juror and curator of the British Film Institute’s archives, who, as the last British person in Wroclaw, was accepting an award on behalf of filmmaker Steve McQueen for another prize-winning film, Hunger . Brooke moved to the back of the stage and suddenly dropped. His leg had slipped into a gap in the floor, and though there was a brief flurry of excitement from the crowd, neither the leg nor the award was broken. I had a brief unkind thought: “Better him than me.”

Then we all stood in a row, holding our awards and sunflowers high, smiling for the cameras, real award winners and frauds alike.

After the photo was taken, I saw the amazing Ewa Szblowska. “I’m really sorry I screwed up your name,” I said.

“No,” she replied. “You said it correctly.”

“But I heard the audience laugh.”

“They were laughing because they were surprised,” she said. “They expected you to get it wrong.”

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/arts/tiff-2009/and-id-like-to-thank-my-polish-diction-coach/article1276485/

Liam Lacey
From Saturday’s Globe and Mail
Last updated on Wednesday, Sep. 09, 2009 03:16AM EDT

What do the American civil rights movement, an exiled monk’s return visit to Vietnam, and a community of people trying to save an urban farm in L.A. have in common? According to Canadian documentary film-maker Velcrow Ripper, they are all examples of what he calls spiritual activism, and they are just a few of the inspiring stories featured in his latest film, Fierce Light.

“Spiritual activism,” Ripper explains in a recent phone interview from his Toronto home, “comes from the heart. It’s beyond polarity. It’s coming from a place of compassion, of hope. It’s based on what we are for, rather than what we are against. It’s what Ghandi called soul force, and what Martin Luther King called love in action.”

He says, “I wanted to find that hope in the world, to interview the people that were doing that work – activism with a spiritual basis, a sense of interconnectedness.”

Fierce Light includes interviews with former civil rights movement leader John Lewis, exiled Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, Dalit lawyer/activist Leela Kumari, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, eco-philosopher and Buddhism scholar Joanna Macy, and actor/eco-activist Daryl Hannah, among others.

The film also documents several political actions in progress, such as the movement to save the largest urban farm in North America from impending demolition, the yearly protest at the controversial U.S. military training institution once known as the School of the Americas, and the efforts of a group of two thousand Hyderabad Dalits to resist violence and oppression, as well as Thich Nhat Hanh’s second return visit to Vietnam after 40 years of exile.

I first heard about Fierce Light during the Vancouver International Film Festival in October, and decided to attend the world premiere. The film went on to garner the NFB Most Popular Canadian Documentary Award and a Special Mention for the Nonfiction Feature Film Award at the festival, and has now been screened at several international film festivals. It will be released to theatres in May.

Ripper feels that in making the film he was tapping into a zeitgeist. In fact, he says that spiritual activism has been called the largest political movement in history. During his research for the film, he interviewed Paul Hawkins, author of Blessed Unrest, a book that examines hope within the worldwide movement for social and environmental change. Hawkins calls spiritual activism “the movement of movements” and describes it as “humanity’s immune response to a world in crisis.” He has compiled a list of organizations engaged in some form of spiritual activism, and his total is now well over a million.

Ripper is no newcomer to documentary film-making or to world travel. He has directed or done sound work for 28 other films, and made his first documentary, Iran: the Crisis, in 1979 at the age of 16. His recent films are characterized by a narrative style and by his deeply personal approach – engaging with a question that concerns him, and seeking the answer.

“The term ‘fierce light’,” he explains, “plays with the collision between seeming opposites. The title is like a Zen koan that I slowly unpack… Where is the fierceness, within the light?”

Ripper used to describe himself as a Sufi-Buddhist-Bahai-punk-rocker, but says he’ll never belong to one particular tradition. However, his most consistent teacher is Zen Buddhist Roshi Enkyo O’Hara, based in New York city, and he says his life is deeply informed by Buddhism.

I ask him if Buddhist principles such as non-harm and compassion are common characteristics of the movements profiled in Fierce Light. While he describes the film as “inter-spiritual” in scope, he acknowledges that compassion and non-violence are clearly at the heart of the political actions in the film.

“The American civil rights movement is a profound example of this – standing up with love in your heart, and protesting violence with non-violence. The powers that be didn’t know how to deal with this. The idea of responding to love and non-violence with violence was very unsettling.

“Another central concept,” he says, “is the idea of interconnection – or interbeing – which is similar to the Ubuntu theology that Desmond Tutu speaks about.”

Tutu, a Nobel Laureate and a former leader in South Africa’s struggle against Apartheid, says that Ubuntu means that one person’s humanness is intertwined with another person’s humanness. “What dehumanizes you,” he explains in the film, “inexorably dehumanizes me. And what elevates you, elevates me.”

Ripper also traveled with Thich Nhat Hanh and members of his sangha on their second return-trip to Vietnam. Their intent was to conduct a series of healing ceremonies to heal the wounds of war and to offer teachings and retreats. I’m curious about the effect this experience had on Ripper.

“Thich Nhat Hanh is such an embodiment of fierce light,” he says. “He is the most peaceful and gentle man you’ll ever meet. And yet he is fierce – he has a sword that will cut through ignorance and illusion, and that’s what he’s here to do. His style of Buddhism is completely connected to humanity and the earth; it’s not about transcendence. He’s the person who really coined the term ‘engaged Buddhism.’”

Ripper also notes that this experience influenced his style of filming. He says that, for him, cinematography always involves being in the moment, trying to connect to the beauty that’s around him, and trying to pass that on to others through the film itself. But when he was filming the monks and nuns, he says, he was especially aware of being focused on the present and on walking mindfully, for example, rather than rushing from shot to shot.

“There’s actually a quality of documentary film-making that requires stepping into the present,” he says, “and letting go of preconceptions – allowing images to unfold, without clinging or grasping. It’s very much like a Buddhist approach.”

When I saw Fierce Light, I was particularly struck by a motif that recurs throughout the film: a person with their eyes closed, as if in meditation, opens their eyes and smiles widely. When I ask Ripper about the intention behind this, he explains, “All over the world, almost everywhere I went, I asked people – strangers – to close their eyes, and when they opened them to look straight at the camera and imagine that they were looking at the most beautiful thing they could ever imagine. These people, in the film, they’re looking out at the audience with this love in their eyes.” His intention, he says, was for the audience to feel they were being looked upon with love.

“But this action, of the eyes opening, can be interpreted differently by each person who sees the film,” he admits. He says it could be interpreted as a call to action – to get up off the meditation cushion and put your beliefs into practice. It could also be felt as the opposite – to take some time out from your activism and sit down on the cushion.

“We need that deep inner knowing,” he explains. “We need that meditative centre. That’s what gives us the strength and the soul to deal with the world in crisis. But we also need to be active and get out in the world and make the change.”

He says he hopes the film itself can provide an experience of awakening for people. “I hope that it breaks people’s hearts open, but in a way that opens us to change, a way that gives us a sense of hope, possibility and inspiration, as well as a sense of urgency.”

Ripper’s current favourite quote is “Hope and sincerity are the new punk.” That’s from Antony Haggard, lead singer of New York City band Antony and the Johnsons.

“It’s not so uncool anymore to be sincere and hopeful,” says Ripper. “The days of post-modern irony – the snark effect of the 90s – that’s withering.”

He adds, “This is going to be more than a movement. I think it’s the leading edge of a global shift in consciousness.”

http://www.shambhalasun.com/sunspace/?p=9149

In 2007, the dollars spent on breast augmentation surgery in the United States was $1.5 billion. By 2012, the numbers are projected to top 2 billion per year. Statistics from The American Society of Plastic Surgeons show that breast augmentation headed the list of surgical procedures in 2008. For those women who have had mastectomies, implants will be presented as a standard part of the recovery process.

Carol Ciancutti-Leyva, director of the documentary “Absolutely Safe,” is the daughter of a cancer survivor. Her mother’s journey, from a double mastectomy to silicone implants in the early 70s - which resulted in chronic illness, formed the impetus for the film.

The documentary came out in 2007, after a ten-year struggle for funding. It is currently being booked for screenings on college campuses and is being used in classrooms devoted to women’s studies, bioethics, and public policy.

Currently, Ciancutti-Leyva is working to create strategic partnerships to mobilize an “Informed Consent” campaign about the use of breast implant devices. Her model for legislation is a New York State Law (State of New York - Article 24-E, Section 2499w New York State law) that required the state’s Department of Health to publish a booklet that must be received by every woman considering a hysterectomy. It succinctly outlines risks, complications, alternative treatments, and recuperation expectations. Presently, the FDA has a guide on breast implants, but it is not legally mandated that prospective patients receive it. The “FDA Breast Implant Consumer Handbook” was published in 2004. Ciancutti-Leyva told me that the information reads as “a cautionary tale.”

I spoke with Judy Norsigian, Executive Director of Our Bodies Ourselves by telephone, “We see this film as one of the best tools for understanding both the known and unknown consequences of implants for a woman’s health,” she said. The film is an eye opener. In her January 17, 2008 article, “Do My Breast Implants Have a Warranty?” New York Times writer Natasha Singer referenced “Absolutely Safe” as an “anti-implant documentary.” In response to that description, Ciancutti-Leyva said, “Everybody brings their own stuff to the table. I was trying to create a dialogue.”

The two main stories profile a woman and her doctor on the breast augmentation path, contrasted with a woman seeking to have her implants “explanted” by the doctor who supports her decision.

We meet Wendi Myers, a single mother at the time she got silicone implants in the 1990s. Trying to make ends meet by working at an “upscale gentleman’s club” in Houston, her motivation for the procedure was to succeed in her job. In a sardonic definition of the Texas mindset, she explains that in her state the philosophy for everything is “the bigger the better.” Myers, who believed that her implants ruptured in a car accident, started to draw a connection between her symptoms of dizziness, hair loss, and “green and black discharge from her nipples” to the occurrence of the accident. In response to her physical ailments she was told by her original doctor, “It’s all in your head.” It wasn’t until 2006, when Myers met Dr. Edward Melmed, that she found an advocate for her concerns.

Melmed, a plastic surgeon with nearly forty years of practice under his belt, is board certified in the United States, England, Scotland, and South Africa. One of the leading medical voices questioning implant safety, he is on screen with a series of pithy remarks. Early on he offers, “There’s so much smoke, there has to be some fire.” Melmed is not opposed to breast implants, but makes clear, “I don’t believe the implants we’ve got do the trick.” He adds pointedly, “If this was a surgery that was done to men, do you think they would tolerate procedures like this?”

Denee Dimiceli and her physician, Franklin Rose, are the flip side of the coin. At age twenty-seven, after years of coping with body image insecurity, Dimicelli had breast augmentation surgery. Despite the objections of her husband who says on camera, “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” she is thrilled that her saline implants (encased by a silicone lining) bring her to a full size C cup. Rose, a board certified plastic surgeon with a national reputation and eighteen-year career in Houston, is adamant about the safety of both silicone and saline implants. He looks to the studies put forth by the Mayo Clinic and Harvard University as his guidelines. When he is introduced to viewers during a pre-op scrub, he mentions that he has performed over 4,000 breast augmentations. He points out that there is “a huge demand for this operation.” While examining Dimiceli he notes, “We are about to take a patient who has very pretty breasts, and make them even prettier.

The remaining voices speak like a Greek chorus, commenting on their particular issues and experiences. Audrey Ciancutti and Anne Stansell advocate for breast cancer survivors. Stanselli has repeatedly testified at FDA hearings, to question why implants are represented as part of the mastectomy process.

Dow Corning’s quintessential company man, John Swanson, and his wife Colleen - who had implants - weigh in with John Byrne (Executive Editor of BusinessWeek), who related their story in his book Informed Consent. A classic whistleblower’s tale, Swanson was forced to choose between his corporate affiliation and his relationship to his wife - who believed her lupus and scoloderma symptoms were related to her implants. (Her fears were confirmed when the implants were removed and discovered to be ruptured.) Swanson characterizes the corporate denial as being induced by the profit factor. Byrne posits that the manufacturer never proved the implants were safe, because they didn’t do the due diligence or adequate research in clinical studies to make a conclusion.

Dr. Ernest Lykissa, toxicologist, refers to the implants as “failed devices.” Dr. Michael Harbut, who has treated over 1,000 women with implants and is prominent in the fields of occupational and environmental health, maintains that the platinum and other toxic heavy metals employed
in the manufacturing of the silicone gel and silicone shells of breast implants can cause and contribute to serious diseases in the recipients. He has petitioned the FDA, which is self-
described on its website as “Protecting and Promoting Your Health,” with the results of his research.

When Dr. Melmed and Dr. Rose represent their specific philosophies, their personalities and demeanor emerge and impact the message. Melmed is matter-of-fact in his delivery, with a touch of ironic wit. He rattles off the three main problems with implants. “They rupture and silicone leaks out. (We don’t know where it goes. We don’t know what it does. We have no idea.) They all get encapsulated. Do they make women ill?” After removing Myers implants, we see that they have ruptured. As he struggles to excise what can best be described as goo, he observes that the implants don’t resemble their original state and offers, “And I’m not sure you want to put this into your 16 year old daughter for graduation…at least I don’t recommend it.”

Dr. Rose, in response to Ciancutti-Leyva, is firm in his opinion that implants are made from “safe bio-material.” He rhetorically asks her, “How many studies do you want to do?” He suggests a reason for the lack of resolution around implant safety. “It keeps coming up because you’ve got all these ultra-liberal feminine groups that keep on beating a drum…and they’re well organized.” In exasperation he tells the filmmaker, “Honey, look. I don’t know how many more times we can keep rehashing the same old thing. I mean they’re safe.”

When women with either silicone or saline implants have mammograms, there is a 30% chance that detection of tumors will be missed. In order to ensure that implants are intact and have not ruptured, women need to have MRIs every two years. If they decide to have them explanted, the cost of the operation for those who had augmentation will not be covered by insurance. (Myers had to borrow $10,000 from her retired parents to fund her procedure.) In considering some of these pragmatic concerns, Ciancutti-Leyva suggests, “I don’t think women are getting all the information.” Norrigan concurs, citing that there have not been sufficient longitudinal studies. It doesn’t help the case for implants to read a list of those “declining to be interviewed” - the Mayo Clinic Study, Allergan Corporation, and Dow Corning Corporation among them - at the close of the film.

Without question, future conversations about breast implants will have to do more than just scrutinize the medical uncertainties. The need for informed consent was addressed as far
back as 2000, in an editorial appearing in the Fall issue of The Journal of the American Medical Women’s Association. Written by Nancy Neveloff Dubler, LLB and Anna Schissel, JD, it was entitled “Women, Breasts, and the Failure of Informed Consent.” The authors examined whether “informed consent for breast augmentation is too fragile a reed to withstand the storm of commerce.” Norrigan sees part of the push for “informed consent” starting with outreach to legislators and policy makers.

A potent brew, comprised of cultural demands in tandem with big advertising dollars spent
to promote the desirability of a specific body image, helps to fuel the demand for breast augmentation. In the area of breast reconstruction, options other than implants are not always promoted. In the December 22, 2008 article, “The Choices on Breast Reconstruction Are Not Always Clear,” Natasha Singer delves into why. The two primary reasons are inadequate training for cutting-edge procedures, and profit margin factors for the surgeon.

For any operation, information to reach an educated decision is mandatory. A survey by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons showed that almost 40% of women believed that they should have been more knowledgeable and better advocates for themselves around the choice to receive breast implants.

Clearly, there is something wrong with the picture.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-g-yerman/are-breast-implants-absol_b_218269.html

When Australian jazz musician Simon Barker discovers the music of Korean musician and shaman Kim Seok-Chul during his search for inspiration, Barker is instantly awakened by the music in indescribable ways. He recognizes the genius behind the strange beats and melodies, and is equally puzzled and fascinated by the otherworldly quality of the music. To grasp a deeper understanding, Barker seeks out this master, who remains as elusive as the beauty of his music. Barker’s guide on this journey is Kim Dong-Won, a highly respected Korean percussionist and composer who has studied and performed with legendary musicians, including Kim Seok- Chul. A well-versed musician and teacher himself, the younger Kim not only helps Barker navigate the nuances of cultural boundaries, but also offers a glimpse into the life of a musician training in the art of traditional Korean music. As Barker awaits word on whether he will be able to meet with Kim Seok- Chul, who is officially recognized by the country as one of its “intangible cultural assets,” Kim Dong-Won immerses Barker into his classes and performances to teach him what it means to give oneself completely to the music one plays. Although the waiting wears on Barker at times, the people he meets and the lessons he learns reveal how deeply music is rooted in the heart and soul of the Korean culture. A complex musical and cultural exploration that taps into the spiritual essence of an art form, INTANGIBLE ASSET NUMBER 82 illustrates music as a universal language through which one tenacious musician and his gracious counterparts reach mutual understanding and appreciation.

Filmmaker Q&A

Introduce yourself:
A broad education specialising in the visual and performing arts, law, jazz piano, history & politics and film making, has led Emma Franz to an interesting and diverse career. 17 years of professional jazz singing has taken her to 33 different countries. She has produced many stage performances, three CDs under her own name, and managed a series of musical groups. She is a session singer and songwriter signed to Warner Chappell, has sung more than fifty feature performances on national Australian television, and in 1998, was a finalist in the Australian National Jazz Awards. Emma has a deep interest in people, their stories and cultures, and has been involved in social work locally and abroad.

Emma has worked in various capacities on both narrative and documentary short and feature films, and in 2005 started her own production company, In The Sprocket Productions.

INTANGIBLE ASSET NUMBER 82 is Emma’s directorial debut.

What inspired this film? How did you find your subjects?
Following eight years working around the world enjoying wonderful exchanges and making close friendships through music, I was inspired to make a film that illustrated music as the universal language that it is.

The inspiration for this particular story came when I was hired to record an album in Hong Kong, as was Simon Barker, the protagonist of the film. Simon and I were colleagues and friend, but I hadn’t seen him for some time. He had arrived in Hong Kong directly from Korea and told me he’d been there looking for a shaman musician. I knew immediately this was the story to follow, that no matter what eventuated, the music would lead to some great encounters, and if Simon did find the shaman, it would be a great demonstration of how people from completely disparate walks of life can communicate through music.

What were some of the biggest challenges/surprises?
Probably the biggest challenge for me during filming was not knowing what would happen from one moment / situation to the next, what the set-up would be, what would be permissible in terms of recording, and trying to be culturally sensitive – trying to get the footage I needed whilst still feeling my way as to where the boundaries were. Almost everything was a surprise!

Who are some of your favorite filmmakers?
Probably my favorites are the Italian neorealists – De Sica, Rossellini, as well as Antonioni, Fellini… I love some of the current Korean filmmakers such as Park Chan-Wook and Kim Ki-Duk, who actually almost seems like a different director with every film, but I love people who don’t feel that they have to limit themselves to a particular style whilst still having so much style… Jim Jarmusch, Almadovar’s a big one for me… Michel Gondry, Errol Morris…

What is your all time favorite documentary?
I don’t have all time favorites, because I like different documentaries for different qualities. If I think of a film like WHEN WE WERE KINGS, which I love, and then one such as THREE ROOMS OF MELANCHOLIA, which was so poetic and which I was profoundly moved by… I could never choose between such dramatically different films in terms of content, form and style. It’s like someone having a favorite song – it’s an absurd idea to me.

What other projects are in the pipeline?
I have started working on a film portrait of the wonderful guitarist Bill Frisell, and am developing some other projects that aren’t related to music too!

Why did you become a filmmaker?
Filmmaking contains so many elements of the things I love – visual aesthetics, stories, rhythm, exploration, challenge, collaboration, expression… it can have social relevance, political importance, intellectual stimulation…

What are some of your creative influences?
Too broad a question with too broad an answer.

Did you go to film school?
No.

What do you shoot on?
Digital cameras, Super 8.

What has been the most unexpected thing to happen since taking the film on the festival circuit?
Feeling re-energized to commence new projects far sooner than I thought possible.

Why did you want to screen your film at SILVERDOCS?
Because of SILVERDOCS’ reputation and focus on documentary.

http://silverdocs.bside.com/2009/films/intangibleassetnumber82_silverdocs2009

In his last film, Scared Sacred, director Velcrow Ripper journeyed to the ground zeros of the world in search of hope and spiritual strength. His new documentary, Fierce Light, runs in the same vein, but focuses on the remarkable activists that Ripper encounters, men and women who advocate the compassionate, spiritual activism that he believes we, as humans, desperately need.

Q. Why is it important that this story be told?
A. My films always begin with something that is happening inside myself, but that I also see reflected in the world around me. I think people are starting to feel like they’re coming to a dead end with the old models of creating change in the world, especially some of the forms of activism that are focused on what we’re against, as opposed to what we’re for, and that are anger-based. I definitely found that with myself, and so I discovered a new kind activism that has its roots in the attitudes of Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr. You could call it compassionate activism or spiritual activism — positive, celebrating life, and solution based.

At the same time there was as personal tragedy that happened in my life: my friend and fellow journalist Brad Will was killed in Oaxaca. He was a media activist like I am, and we use our films and documentaries to help create social change in the world. It raised the stakes for me, and forced me to ask some hard questions.

I realized that the spirituality that could cope with the breadth of the crisis in the world and the personal crisis that I was confronting had to be almost like an industrial strength spirituality, a kind of soul force — what I call a fierce light, that can weather these kinds of storms.

Q. What obstacles did you encounter during the planning and production of this film?
A. In Oaxaca I found myself in one of the most dangerous situations of my life as a camera man, and I’ve filmed in Afghanistan, in Palestine, and in war zones all over the world. I ended up in a situation where I was the last foreign journalist in the same city where Brad had been killed, and the death squad radio put out a call to get all foreigners. There were pickup trucks of armed men driving up and down the streets grabbing people, and it was actually hard to get out of town at that point because they were taking people as they left town.

On that last day before I left, there was a single act of rebellion that occurred that was quite beautiful. A woman appeared in the midst of the square surrounded by the paramilitary, filled with these [military] people, and she was dressed as an angel. She took a bucket of water and some soap and the Mexican flag and put on a whole pantomime of washing the corruption out of the Mexican flag. It was because of the creativity of her action and the nonviolence of it that she was actually able to make that statement, whereas any other form of activism they would have been violently opposed. They were torturing people at that point, and people were being killed. This was an example of spiritual activism, a surprising, creative and positive way of making a statement. .

Q. How did your understanding of the subject change during the duration of the project?
A. My films are often driven by my desire to understand what the title means. Scared Sacred was my previous film, and was about my journeys to the ground zeros of the world in search of stories of hope. In that film I was continually deepening my understand of what those two words meant, searching for the sacred inside the scared.

With Fierce Light, again, it was a paradox. It’s that idea of the fierceness, which is the activism, and the light, which is the inner consciousness, or the inner self. Often we seem to have a schizophrenic relationship between the inner and the
outer, the fierce and the light, but in actual fact we need both.

Q. Can you tell me something that happened during production shocked you?
A. This is a small thing, but I was surprised when I went to the farm to spend time with Darryl Hannah, a character in Fierce Light, and she’s a tree-sitter. I was surprised to get to know her and see how a superstar like her is actually very shy. Extremely. She’s quite a lovely person, and not at all what you would expect from the character she portrays; she’s usually this powerful Amazonian. Also, she has an incredible passion and commitment to the environment, and that was surprising. It wasn’t just a celebrity kick. She actually ended up going up a tree for a month to try to help save the south central farms (?) despite her fear of heights. So she’s somebody who does have all these fears, but she continues to make her mark in the world despite them.

Q. Which film at this festival is on your must-see list?
A. Laughology by Albert Nerenberg. I love the idea of a film about laughing. I think we all need to laugh a lot more.

Q. What doc do you wish you’d made?
A. I would love to have worked on Sound Soliel by Chris Marker. It’s one of the classic poetic experimental films, a French documentary. I also would have loved to have been a part of An Inconvenient Truth. I feel like it made such an important change, and had such an impact on our understanding of our relationship to climate change. I would have been honoured to have been involved with it. Films and documentaries can actually make a big difference to our whole understanding of what it is to be human.

Q. How do you feel about directors like Michael Moore or Morgan Spurlock who have chosen a more personal narrative style?
A. I would say it’s all skillful means. Whatever it takes to get these very important messages out to the mainstream, go for it. If Bono is going to start a red campaign to help AIDS in Africa, I’m down with that. If Michael Moore has got to be a bit rude to get his job done, go for it, or if that’s what gets him heard, go for it. I’ve been called a skinny, polite, Canadian Michael Moore, but I don’t have his personality at all. I interview people I like. I don’t look for the dirt — I let him do that.

The South by Southwest rundown on “Intangible Asset Number 82”: When Australian drummer Simon Barker hears a rare recording of Korean shaman Kim Seok-Chul - a grand master in his seventies playing with immense energy and complex technique - he knows immediately he must find and learn from the enigmatic shaman officially recognized as South Korea’s 82nd Intangible Asset. Undeterred by years of setbacks and obstacles, and with the elusive Kim Seok-Chul now in his eighties, Simon returns to Korea for a seventeenth time. The journey becomes a rite of passage, as meaningful encounters with engaging and exotic characters prepare Simon for a fortuitous meeting with the shaman. Personal transformations result, and Simon and the artists who have become immersed in his search move naturally to collaboration, a testimony to the universal language of music.

Just what is “Intangible Asset Number 82″?

“Intangible Asset Number 82” refers to the honorary title given to Shaman Kim Seok-Chul by the Korean Government. It means he was officially designated as the pre-eminent practitioner, or “grand-master”, and keeper/protector of this art form. It’s a system similar to world heritage sites, but the value in this case is placed on non-material, intangible things. When one holder of the title passes, it is handed down to the next in line.

I liked it as a title for the film not only because it refers to the shaman and because it has an element of intrigue, but mostly because I like the concept of valuing the intangible, and that is in a sense one of the main themes of the film; the integral value of non-material aspects of our lives including music and culture, philosophy… it can be easy to lose sight of that.

I also thought that, as a title, it had a nice quirkiness about it - a paradox between the enigmatic idea of an intangible asset and the idea that it can be given a specific number. I found a lot of those paradoxes in the (unfortunately limited) time I spent in Korea.

How did you come across the drummer’s story, and what made you decide to document his journey?

In my previous life I was a jazz singer. I played music and performed with Simon (the drummer) for many years. In 2005 Simon Barker and I were both in Hong Kong to record an album for an audiophile company. I had flown there from Australia, but Simon had come straight from Korea. I asked him what he had been doing there and he replied that he had been looking for a shaman. I was immediately intrigued by his story, and I probably don’t need to explain why! But I had also, because of my own experiences traveling with music, been wanting my first film to be something that expressed music as a universal language that can connect people. People with no common language whatsoever can form quite deep relationships through music, and that to me is a beautiful thing.

I knew if people with two such disparate lives - a thirty-something jazz musician and an eighty-year-old Korean shaman met, something great would happen. And at the same time this particular story had all the added potential of an exotic road movie. I had traveled a lot but knew very little of Korea. As I followed Simon I also became absorbed in the experience and the ideas that he was exploring and were being shown to us.

The film’s website states a soundtrack is in the works. How’s that coming along? And for those not familiar with the movie, how would you describe the music used in the film?

The soundtrack will be a compilation of the tracks used in the film which were sourced from pre-existing albums of two of Simon’s groups, Band of Five Names and Showa44, as well as solo tracks of Simon’s. The plan is to release the soundtrack with the DVD, but meanwhile all the tracks and complete albums are available on iTunes or through Simon’s independent label Kimnara Records.

There was other music in the film that occurred as I was filming and when I was selecting music for scenes I was also trying to create seamless interweaving between sourced tracks and live ones, sometimes with the effect of a new piece of music. Sometimes there were serendipitous moments in the edit where two tracks just sounded great together quite by accident.

I also took music recorded during concerts that happened in the course of the filming and used it in other scenes.

Describing the music as opposed to describing the music’s use is difficult because it is varied, but I’ll try… Firstly, I’d say fantastic. I have such respect for all of those musicians and just love what they do, how they play, how they approach music. When I try to describe it, each word feels like I’m pigeon-holing them into something they’re not… Simon is a unique, dynamic drummer with great technique and great sensitivity, yet somehow accessible because of the great grooves he creates. His solo material often sounds like a group of drummers and is almost melodic in approach. His duo, Showa44, with guitarist Carl Dewhurst, moves from extremist improvisation with some frighteningly powerful rhythms to subtle grooves, incorporating a sort of ‘out-there’ rock’n’roll sensibility with loads of skill and finesse.

The group, Band of Five Names, consists of Simon, Matt McMahon on piano and keyboards, and Philip Slater on trumpet and computer. They play and respond to each other with an incredible cohesion of intent, despite the spontaneity involved, creating these long-form, spacious, textural pieces full of contrast and mood shifts that crescendo and ebb and flow into these modern soundscapes. It’s very filmic… by weird way of explanation, when I’m driving I like to listen to their music as it makes me feel as if I’m floating through these weird and wonderful dream-like landscapes - if that makes sense!

A combination of all the musicians above plus the Korean guide and the singer they met on the mountain is “Daorum”; a fusion of Korean traditional rhythms and vocals with contemporary spontaneous creations that develop in an improvised manner from mere sketches of ideas to create intense atmospheric and high-energy “suites”. I used bits and pieces from some of their concerts within the film.

The IMDB credits page makes this look like a very small production. How small was the crew, and did that help or hurt production?

It was basically me. For three of the shooting weeks, I took along sound engineer Matthew Ferris and we lugged a huge multi-track desk and laptop with ProTools, mics and long heavy cables and stands, in expectation of huge noisy set-ups of drums and gongs and cymbals. We did find the huge noisy set ups, but no opportunity to do set-ups of our own.

As it turned out, when Dong-Won took us to meet master musicians and artists, I wasn’t allowed to pull out the camera until we had knelt and explained our intentions. Then I was suddenly given permission to film, and they would start talking to Simon then and there and it was all go. I would be madly pulling out the camera and fixing settings and Mash (Matthew) plugging in mic cables and setting levels, both of us trying not to miss anything whilst also trying not to distract from what was happening. Even when we went to meet the singer on the mountain, Mash tramped through the mud and jungle in the rain with the full box of equipment as Dong-Won hacked through the foliage ahead with a machete, and I had two cameras with a stand to set up one as a static shot leaving me the freedom to move around…. but as soon as we arrived at the rock where he lived, Il-Dong (the singer) ran into the waterfall started praying, started singing, screaming… I pulled out a camera as Simon held an umbrella over me and filmed as we all crammed onto the small rocky outcrop that had been the singer’s home for seven years… Mash couldn’t pull out any equipment and I couldn’t film Simon because we were both squished under the umbrella. That is probably my biggest regret of the whole shoot not being able to film Simon, who had tears streaming down his face from the intensity and heartfelt spontaneity of the singing. But then again it was such a magical moment for all of us, it couldn’t have happened any other way.

To get back to your question, it soon became apparent we weren’t ever going to have the opportunity to set up equipment and not long after that it just became me doing camera and sound on the fly. It was pretty intense trying to follow the action ‘observationally’ with a camera in one hand and producing the film booking taxis and hotels and so on with a mobile phone in the other. In the end though, working alone or with only one other definitely gave us the access we otherwise wouldn’t have had.

I went back on a short trip to capture some incidental shots (time-lapse landscapes, some super 8 nature footage etc) that I had been unable to capture in the flurry of Simon’s journey. On that trip I also took along cinematographer Adam Arkapaw and I did some mountain driving with Adam hanging out of the window with our interpreter Song-Hee holding onto his legs and that was about as big and high tech as the production ever got.

This is your first feature. What got you started making movies?

This is my first film, feature or otherwise. When I was in high school I went to a specialist visual art school. The visual arts were always important in my life, but music was my greater passion and what I moved into in a professional capacity. Many of my friends went on to careers in the visual arts fields, and though I’d dabble in a very hobby capacity, I always felt a little that that side of my life was missing. When I started traveling a lot with music and meeting great people with fascinating stories, having wonderful and sometimes heart-wrenching experiences, I started to feel I should be documenting some of it. Ultimately it made sense that film could be a great medium for me to express my different interests and background and experience.

Documentary was naturally a good place to start, and something I thought I could do whilst traveling with my singing. Although I’d heard, I generally don’t like to listen to nay-sayers, so I didn’t quite grasp just how all-consuming it would be on my time and resources and life… but as the story developed in Korea I became really passionate about making the film and giving it the full length I felt it needed for the material to breathe. So I was learning and doing on the fly. It was definitely a baptism of fire and singing had to take a back seat.

Any lessons learned while making this movie?

Lots. I know that any future project I take on in the capacity of director or producer I will have to be passionate about. It absorbs your life and time and energy and is a long-term commitment. There have been a lot of personal lessons about finding (and planning) balance between work and other elements in my life, and about working with like-minded people whom you can trust. It can be a harsh industry full of a desperation that I hope never to be caught in the maelstrom of. And of course there have been a multitude of lessons learned craft and business-wise that I look forward to applying to my next project! It’s all good…

Are you nervous about coming to South by Southwest?

No. Should I be…?(!) I’m really looking forward to it. I’m sure it will be busy, but I intend to have a good time, see lots of films and hear lots of music and meet interesting people (sounds like a dating ad!). Festivals of any sort are always a springboard to new ideas and potential, and I’ve always wanted to visit Austin just from a musical sense as well…

Would you like to continue working with documentaries, or do you plan to jump to fiction? (In other words, what’s next for you?)

I would love to do a fictional film one day, but in the meantime I have ideas for new documentaries that I’m developing, and am excited about exploring further with new styles and approaches in documentary. I certainly wouldn’t say no if I was presented the opportunity to direct a good work of fiction now though!

Finish this sentence: If I weren’t a filmmaker, I’d probably be…

…a better musician.

Rock, paper, or scissors?

Paper.

Of the other 81 intangible assets, which one’s your favorite?

Ha ha. I have no idea. I am not an expert by any means, and there are more than 82 of them…

In ten words or less, convince the average moviegoer to watch your film.

Incredible drummer and soundtrack. Untold stories. Insight into creative processes.

http://www.efilmcritic.com/feature.php?feature=2698