Easy to Like by Edward Riche Page B

anyway.”
    â€œTo the competition?”
    â€œNo, to death. The CBC audience skews
kinda oldish. So I thought maybe more films about dying and disease, that sort
of thing, I mean, Bergman did that all the time.”
    â€œDeath was even a lead in one of his
films, if I remember,” observed Elliot.
    â€œRight . . . anyway, some projects weren’t as
‘light-hearted’ as some VPs might have liked. And a few were ‘challenging.’”
    â€œChallenging as in the
art-movie-that-people-don’t-watch way?”
    Gunnar’s head bobbed in vigorous
affirmation.
    â€œAnd you have no idea what a low
opinion those guys have of their audience. They take them all for boobs and
cretins. They were worried about their official mandate, so they had code words
for it, stuff like ‘more broadly accessible’ or ‘audience accommodation.’ I
mean, hey, sure, this is television, chicks in bikinis eating spiders for money,
but this is public television, surely there has to
be . . .” The thought filling Gunnar’s head must have been giving
it buoyancy, for when he lost its thread, his chin went to his chest. Was he
snoring? No, it was a waking snort.
    â€œPeople used to watch, Gunnar. I mean
growing up, I’m sure we had the CBC on all the time.”
    â€œThat was before there was a choice.
How many channels did you get in . . . where was it you come
from, Wes, out east, wasn’t it?”
    â€œâ€˜Elliot,’ and we only had the two
channels.”
    â€œYou know, there is a gaggle of comfy
liberals out there, a tiny educated elite, isolated in gilded downtown enclaves,
in their bubbles, who like to imagine that this is a sophisticated, postmodern,
secular humanist society. They have that smug, superior attitude toward the
States, like they’re all hicks and we up here are opera-going, art galleries on
Sunday . . .” Gunnar burped once more. “But you go out there, my
friend, out into the suburbs, get out into area codes where the people live.
And . . . that whole funding system that was designed to
bring all that art and culture to the masses, to subsidize it so that any
Canadian could have . . . well, Wes, ol’ buddy” — Elliot
flinched at this — “they didn’t want it. Even for free.”
    â€œMaybe it has to cost them something
before they know its value.”
    â€œNah. It’s a Tim Hortons nation. Who
should expect a population whose favourite food is Kraft Dinner to go in for
documentaries about Stockhausen?”
    â€œYou have a point.”
    â€œHmmm? I . . .” Gunnar
was having trouble with his next thought. He looked at his glass with regret. He
clenched his jaw in a last push to get out what he meant to say. “Regardless of
the reasons, one day I got called before the bosses and told that I either
resigned or took the position of Director of Radio for Nunavut. I told them
where to go. I left my experimental film practice in Winnipeg for these people.
I was happy to be out of there, clear of that institutionalized mediocrity.
Besides, over the years I figured I had made a few friends in the independent
production sector. There were people out there who had done well by my
stew . . . stewardship of tax dollars and would return the
favour by giving me a job.” Gunnar’s expression further soured. “The excuses I
heard, Wes . . .”
    Elliot was about to again correct
Gunnar on the Wes front but thought better of it.
    â€œâ€˜Production is way down this year,’
they said, and ‘There is this huge inventory of Movies of the Week,’ and
‘Reality is killing everybody.’ Ungrateful bastards. I thought I had something
at the OFDC, but I did a lousy interview and they really needed to hire a woman
of colour. I was going lose my house . . . so I said fuck
it,