Canadian Discontent

A few years ago now, my pal Sean was working on an internationally co-produced series being shot here in Toronto. It was a confused mess of a show and, not surprisingly, it collapsed after its first season. Describing the chaos of the production, Sean told me:

"The French partners want lots of pretty colours, the Germans want a female lead who is, quote, "fuckable", the Americans want lots of violence and action, and the Canadians want 43 minutes."

And there you have everything you need to know about the film and television industry in Canada.

In the UK, the publicly-funded BBC regularly produces high-quality, original productions for a mass audience. But its rare to find the creative equivalent of Doctor Who, Life On Mars, Spooks, Hustle or Little Britain coming out of Canuck broadcasters. The reasons for this are multifold, but they boil down to two words: Canadian Content.

The CRTC-enforced standard demands that a given program's key personnel hail from here, and that 75% of the production budget be spent here, in order for it to be "certified" as Canadian. A "certified" production then counts toward a broadcasters own minimum percentage of required CanCon, which varies depending on the timeslot. That's two separate layers of protectivist legislation between every show creator and their intended audience.

It's a typically Canadian response, borne of those two towering Canadian insecurities: fear of the megalithic gargantua of American media, and fear that we're not capable of producing material on par with the megalithic gargantua of American media.

Ironically, the security blanket that is CanCon both confirms those fears and reinforces them. When the quality of a production becomes a secondary consideration, it stands to reason that the quality of that production is likely to be second rate. It's the kind of system in which someone can have a successful comedy career without going to the trouble of actually being funny. But if nobody cares whether a show's any good, provided it's got Geraint Wyn-Davies in it and they shoot it in Halifax, can we really be surprised if it doesn't connect with an audience, Canadian or otherwise?

The thing is, you can't just legislate culture. Culture's an organic thing, one that has to be allowed to grow. But like trees and plants patiently pushing their way up through the concrete, it has a way of pushing aside restrictions imposed upon it. It's a lengthy process, but signs of real change are appearing, most notably on original series being produced by cable outlets like TMN -- taking their cue from (hmm) US outlets like HBO. I was particularly struck by this watching the first episode of Durham County on TMN.

Here's a show set in a real Canadian location -- the suburban sprawl outside Toronto -- featuring unique, unambiguously Canadian characters and cultural reference points, presented in such a refreshingly offhanded way that those elements are a non-issue. Unlike so many local shows that are either pale, geographically-neutralized imitations of ten year old US TV, or so aggressively regional they don't resonate for anyone outside their own area code, here the drama has primacy over the requirements of a governmental regulatory body (astonishing, I know). Durham County establishes its own unique dramatic identity and lets its Canadian-ness take care of itself.

Durham's juxtaposition of domestic angst with brutal murder and measured delivery of unsettlingly bizarre imagery recalls Twin Peaks at its strongest. It's a haunting show full of haunted characters, none moreso than homicide detective Mike Sweeney (Hugh Dillon), returning to his childhood digs after the murder of his partner in Toronto. But it's the living who haunt him most. His wife Audrey's (Helene Joy) battle with cancer has left her a shell of her former self. His oldest daughter Sadie (Laurence Lebouef) spends her time creating mock crime scenes with dolls while his youngest Maddie (Cicely Austin) is most often seen concealed behind a disturbing plush mask that turns her into an lifesize anime character.

Worst of all is Mike's former childhood friend-turned-enemy Ray Prager (Justin Louis), an NHL washout-turned-successful plumber-turned-budding serial killer whom Mike discovers to his horror is also his neighbour.

The writing is understated and complex, and its cinematography (by Steve Cosens) is coldly stunning, imbuing every scene with a sense of encroaching dread. The suburban bliss is surrounded on all sides by gray smoke cast off from hellish industrial fires, and endless fields of electrical towers that loom menacingly over the characters. It's a mature show, not just on its own but as a new mile marker for the progress of homegrown drama. More like this, please.