03/05/2015
Here is a sample of episode 11. Please enjoy!
http://allanwargon.blogspot.ca/
Marius Barbeau went to the head of the Film Board, Ross McLean, and told him we had captured priceless footage. It should be made, Barbeau said, into five shorter films — one for each ceremony — for university anthropological use. McLean listened, and ordered it done.
When the news reach me. I was appalled. No! I cried. We can't do that! If the Indians had known that they would never have come, would never have shown us anything! And I refused, absolutely, to do it.
The Film Board could have fired me. It was, after all, their footage, not personally mine, however much I felt it was. But I wasn't fired. Instead the footage was put on a shelf, and I was assigned to the Rockpile. The Rockpile, as I called it, was a closet just large enough to hold a 16mm projector and a pile of cans of film that had been so badly directed, or so badly shot (photographed) that it couldn't be used. And there was just enough room left for a single person to squeeze into.
One day, some weeks later, I was coming along the hall when I heard my music coming from the cutting room. I went in, and there was Tim Wilson bent over a moviola, running the Indian footage. A moviola is a machine used for editing, which allows picture and sound to be run separately, but in sync (synchronization).
Tim Wilson was a good deal senior to me. A good-looking, clean-cut guy. I said Tim, what are you doing?
He said I've been assigned to cut this footage.
To do what?
To make five separate films of it, he said.
I said Tim, you can't do that! And I told him the whole story. He immediately said I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to be a scab!
The cans were put back on the shelf. But now I was worried. So each day, after I had done my assigned work, I went back at night, and on weekends, to cut the film my way.
In my obstinacy I might have been helped by a change at the top. Ross McLean was moved on, and a new Film Commissioner, W. Arthur Irwin, was brought in. Arthur Irwin had been editor of Maclean's magazine for many years, in which he had developed a number of significant writers, Pierre Berton, June Callwood, Trent Frayne, Clyde Gilmour and others, and had made Maclean's into a truly national Canadian magazine.
For a while my activities seemed to escape official notice. Not that management concurred in what I was doing, but they were probably too distracted to care. So Tom Daly was not surprised when I told him I had finished cutting my material into a single film, and now needed outdoor connecting scenes. That meant he would have to sanction what I had done and give me money to go on with. And, though it seemed reluctant, in the end he did.
I went to the Reserve and spoke to Deskaheh. I could now speak to him face to face, in English. I explained that they were only simple scenes I needed, but they would require the cooperation of some of those who had taken part before and a number of others. He heard me out, and then said firmly that he wouldn't consent to our coming into the Reserve without the prior agreement of the faction that had been against the film before. He wanted them to see what we had already done.
The Council House in the Six Nations' main centre, Oshweken, was arranged for and a date set. Deskaheh, the film participants, and curious sympathizers arrived on time. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Nothing. I wondered if the other side was even going to show up. Finally, twenty minutes late, followed by a large group of adherents, the Onandaga Councillor walked in. He was a big, handsome man, who looked as if he couldn't be trifled with.
When the film of the ceremonies finished, the mixed audience, of about forty people — the Council House being nearly packed — was silent. I didn't know, but assumed, that many of them were influential persons. Then they began to talk among themselves. A variety of languages might have been used; I was up front by the screen and kept looking at those who spoke, but could understand nothing. Then Howard Sky, who was sitting about six rows back, got up and said in English that they would like to see the film again.
We rescreened it, having no idea of why. (I heard later that the Indians had found it so surprisingly authentic that they had wanted the satisfaction of seeing it once more.) After the second screening there was additional talk and then Howard Sky said to tell them what I wanted. I spoke easily, for now I knew and could see that most or all of them understood English. I said the scenes were to be simple depictions of everyday work, not elaborate, but shot on the Reserve. Some more talk followed and then Howard Sky said, Will you answer questions?
He translated a few questions, but others came to me directly in English, from both men and women. But none of the queries were specific. It was as if when they wished to know about A, they asked about B. I looked to Deskaheh for help, but he was sitting quietly, not saying anything. The Onandaga Councillor also didn't speak; he let his supporters do it for him.
At last, putting this and that together, I realized the thrust of their concerns. These ceremonies were sacred to them, indeed some had deliberately been kept from other peoples, and they wanted to know what would happen to the film, how it would be used.
I then promised, with ardour, that the film would never be commercialized, would never be used in any money-making context. I made more precise promises, in response to what they wanted: that the finished film would be screened on the Reserve every night for two weeks, so that everyone there would have a chance to see it, and a few more commitments of that sort.
Afterwards Howard Sky said to me that I now had general approval.
Back at the Board I told the Commissioner what I had done. You'll have to put it in writing I said. Like a treaty.
Arthur Irwin stared at me. I will do no such thing, he said. What gave you the right — who were you — to speak for the Canadian government?
Abashed, I cried I'll have to resign!
So resign, he said.
