“What does he think, that I’m a fucking bum? I got pockets of cash. I should put a fuckin’ hit out on him,” yelled a man dressed in a pair of torn Adidas tear-away pants, ancient New Balance sneakers, and a crusted blue jacket.
He’s sitting across from me on the bus, ranting passionately about how the bus driver insulted him by offering a free bus ride.
Several girls were noticeably uncomfortable with the man’s gusto, and being the 6’4”, 220 lb male that I am, I made sure not to make eye contact with him either.
This rash and jarring event was just what I expected to see when I set out Oct. 12 for the One World Film Festival. This year’s documentaries were all to revolve around the theme of “Unique Journeys,” and tonight’s theme in particular looked at the where and the how of poor people’s lives.
The One World Film Festival (OWFF) itself is a charitable organization that shines a light on human rights and social justice concerns.
Though the format, or the length and style of films, has changed over time, it has been running for nearly 23 years. This is no small feat when you consider the amount of volunteer work that goes into it.
“Starting in February, we watch about 90 films,” says Pixie Cram, the festival’s manager. On top of this, she says the festival relies on a combination of grants, fundraising activities, and ticket sales from previous years, and acquiring the necessary funds is becoming more of a challenge.
One reason for this is the rise of screening fees.
“There’s just not enough money for documentaries anymore,” Cram says, hypothesizing on the reason for the increase.
This year’s festival was held in the Library and Archives building on Wellington St., a space which they were essentially allowed to use for free, said Rhiana Chinapen, chair of the One World Arts board.
The space boasts a gloriously retro façade of pillars made from white marble and polished brass mosaic tiles, off-coloured wood panel walls, and harsh square plastic ceiling lights.
Thankfully, I was not there to judge interior design — when the movie had started, and the lights got low, I found it easy to lose myself.
The Downtown Project, Isabelle Longtin’s debut documentary embodies almost every standard the OWFF lays down.
The film looks at the situation in Montreal’s Habitations Jeanne-Mance, a subsidized housing project nestled just off Saint-Laurent and Sherbrooke.
In it, Longtin examines three people (Mobidi, Mohamed, and Beth) who have lived in the area for most of their lives, and several key actors in the community.
Now, it would be easy for a documentarian to grab three disenchanted people in order to show the plight of consumer capitalism, or our failing economic system, etc., but frankly, that has been done again and again.
Longtin takes a different approach. Instead of making us all feel like crap and rubbing our noses in our own excess, she simply and elegantly tells us the story of three people who have lived in the housing project for a number of years.
The stories themselves are not depressing, they are hopeful. They do not show the disparity of the poor, they show us the richness of lives lived. And they do not try to paint the, mostly immigrant-populated, community as ostracized in any way.
In a time that focuses so much on negativity, and the differences we have, I found this film incredibly refreshing. The only example of racism is quickly and intelligently put down by the only native Quebecker the film focuses on. It really helped me to abolish the myth I held, of Quebeckers being very adverse to foreigners.
Of course, there are also classic themes running throughout the film, such as Mohammed’s desire to “escape” from the project to make a better life for himself. And Mobidi’s multiple failed attempts at making a life for himself. But as a whole, the film helps to shatter the myths surrounding the poor. They are not just ignorant, they are not simply martyrs, they are not altogether lazy, and they are not victims. They are people; they are living a life. And a lot of the stuff that happens in their life also happens in yours. This is a powerful message in and of itself.
The film brought me back to my bus ride downtown. At the time, all I could think about was not wanting to deal with the enraged man, or what I would do if he confronted me.
I had forgotten that he was a person, who had had moments that brought him to this point in his life. Maybe he just wanted someone to look up and hear his worries, to notice that he was still a person. I vowed that if I saw him again, I would ask him what the trouble was. I would hear his story.
Thankfully, that never happened. Chances are I probably would have found the back of the seat in front of me extremely interesting had it had.
But the festival did get me thinking. And that’s just what Chinapen and Cram are out to do.
Ironically, the festival may be homeless next year. Public Works is going to be taking over the Library and Archives building, and the organizers are unsure what effect this will have.
“We’re still waiting to see if it will be available, [when Public Works initially announced that it wouldn’t be giving away the space for free] there was a huge outcry, and they said they’d give all the organizations one more year,” said Chinapen.
The organizers won’t let this stop them entirely though.
“We’ll pull through no matter what,” says Cram, “we just might not be able to use this wonderful venue anymore.”
