On the Corn er, which opens in theatres today, is another local success story set in the same down-and-out 'hood. The script, however, isn't quite so happy. It's actually downright harrowing and often hard to stomach. Shot in the old Portland Hotel, only a few blocks away, the feature film follows two siblings as they are spun through the vortex of life on Vancouver's toughest streets.
When writer-director Nathaniel Geary arrives at the Potluck Café, his producers are already digging into their grilled cheese-and-tomato sandwiches.
"Oh, by the way, we just realized we don't have any money," Wendy Hyman apologizes to Geary.
"That's pretty funny because I just realized I forgot my wallet at home," Geary laughs.
"I never forget my wallet," he says to me, embarrassed. "Honestly, we're not really this desperate all the time."
I'm sure they're not. But like the dysfunctional family in their film, these struggling independent filmmakers have learned to survive, and even thrive, as best they can.
Geary's feature debut has actually done exceptionally well. The Toronto Film Festival Group named it one of Canada's Top 10 films for 2003. At the Vancouver International Film Festival, it won the $12,000 CITY-TV Award for Best Western Canadian Feature Film. The jurors praised the film "for rubbing its emotions raw until they shine with a new rare light."
The gritty story revolves around a runaway played by Alex Rice. Five years ago, Angel fled her family's reserve in Prince Rupert. She ended up at the rundown Pennsylvania Hotel, where she supports her heroin habit by working as a prostitute and ripping off old drunks with the help of her landlord. When her younger brother (Simon Baker) comes to live with her, Angel tries to reform her life in the hope that they might escape together.
Geary knows of what he writes. For seven years, he worked at the Portland, a government-funded shelter for the Downtown Eastside's "hardest to house," mostly mentally ill, injection-drug users. He ran the front desk, helped with the methadone program and needle exchange, consulted with the medical staff and even scrubbed the floors.
Back when he arrived, in 1995, he says the area was a lot more squalid. "There weren't any places like this," he says of the Potluck. "There were a lot more closed stores fronts. It almost felt like a war zone."
To a young filmmaker, fresh out of film school at Montreal's Concordia University, the high drama and compelling characters in his midst made for natural story fodder. His first outing was called Keys to Kingdom. Based on a poem by local poet and activist Bud Osborn, the short film about a young man trying to break the cycle of violence, it won the 1999 Golden Sheaf best film award at the Yorkton Short Film and Video Festival.
From the outside, it's often hard to see much hope for the citizens of these streets. But by working on the inside, Geary was able to witness and actually be a part of the fragile, often tormented relationships that do exist.
"There's a lot of love and caring in this community," Geary says.
And respect, too, for those who earn it.
Geary obviously did. For night shoots, the producers hired community liaison Dean Wilson, the heroin addict and safe-injection-site activist featured in Nettie Wild's Gemini Award-winning documentary, Fix: The Story of an Addicted City.
"We wanted someone from the neighbourhood to diffuse any situations that might arise," explains Hyman's co-producer Marc Stephenson. "None did."
And just recently, the producers found out that some equipment had been stolen from a truck during filming.
"It was only gone for five minutes," says Hyman, who was informed by a member of the film crew. "Word spread and it was returned before we even noticed."
Geary's personal ties to the area might have helped keep the film on track. But it didn't probably hurt that the filmmakers treated the residents with similar respect by hiring as many local extras as possible. And in marked contrast to most big-budget films, they didn't segregate the extras into a holding pen and throw them inferior grub. At meal times, the entire crew and cast, including extras, all sat down together.
Like any small-budget film (or heroin addict, for that matter), Geary, Hyman and Stephenson experienced their own recurring nightmares. The initial budget of $750,000 ended up $100,000 short. Telefilm Canada provided less than was hoped for, largely because the federal funding agency thought the film was too grim to find a market. (Despite critical acclaim, the film hasn't yet found a foreign distributor.)
Then, just days before shooting began, one of the broadcasters backed out with their licensing funding.
"They just changed their minds," says Geary, who still sounds slightly bitter.
They hurdled the money problem with some timely help from Bruce Sweeney. The local filmmaker, best known for Last Wedding, served as Geary's directing mentor (a program mandated by BC Film as a condition for funding). Late in the game, he advised Geary to get rid of a few scenes.
"It saved us a ton of money," Hyman says. "We were so pleased."
The film is also filled with many scary moments and they're far more hair-raising than any troubles its creators experienced. But within the bleakness, there is also great beauty.
One of the most gripping scenes occurs near the end, when Angel's younger brother confronts a sketchy crack addict (JR Bourne) who has ripped him off. Nothing is said out loud, but the actors speak volumes with their twitchy nerves and steely eyes.
"I love the silence of that scene," Geary says. "They both understand the desperate sense of loss."
And no matter how difficult it might be to watch, in life or on screen, it is these harrowing moments that make On the Corner a film that deserves to win an audience.
Alexandra Gill