Chapters within the interview:
The formation of LIFT • Roadkill (1989) • The rock n’ road trilogy & becoming a director
To write or not to write • Directing television • The Love Crimes of Gillian Guess (2004)
The evolution of the Canadian film industry • Marrying music and film
Working with Broken Social Scene • Timeless records • Picture Claire & Claire’s Hat (2001)
Wanting to give up • The Tracey Fragments (2007) • One big bender

FILMCANIn the early 1980’s you created The Liaison of Independent Filmmakers of Toronto (LIFT) with some colleagues in the then nascent Toronto film industry. How did that have an impact on the development of you and your peers from that time?

BRUCE MCDONALDWell we just began LIFT because we wanted a clubhouse or community – just a place where we could kind of pool our resources and work together. Some of us had gone to film school, like myself, or some were new to the city, had left their accounting jobs and decided to be filmmakers. So it was a large collection of people, curious, interested, and desperate to get things going. I guess that was '83, Toronto was just gearing up into its industrial model, so there was lots of big stuff going on. And we just wanted a place where we could go with stuff we liberated from our jobs. One guy was in post, another worked at an equipment place. So when something was coming up, someone would liberate from here, someone from there, and that’s how we got things done.

For a while we were trying to come up with a manifesto or ideology about what this would be, or what kind of films we would make… and that’s all really great – but we never figured it out. You get busy on your own thing. For myself, it was selfish reasons, to have a place to work and be in a gang. And now it’s become a very essential part of the filmmaking community.

FILMCANA very legitimate operation.

BRUCE MCDONALDYeah, it’s shocking! And good. It’s amazing that the baton keeps getting passed, certain people rise up and take responsibility for a number of years. For bringing people together, I think it’s a great place.

FILMCANAround that time a lot of Canadian filmmakers who would go on to become quite pivotal in the industry, were first working then. How important was it in moving forward their careers?

BRUCE MCDONALDI think it was always a help; I don’t know if it was necessary. I mean there are always people who will manage to maneuver their way through – it’s just a matter of time and place. Certain individuals blaze a trail, and you never know what it would be like without something like LIFT, that encouraged a lot of people to be productive and gave them courage to venture forth and make something. I mean, I think it comes down to more than maybe LIFT specifically, more the idea of a community. Filmmaking is by nature a communal process and it’s very difficult to do it all by yourself, even though we all begin that way; but the best advice I can give to anybody is to get a gang, or group, whether that’s LIFT or your school or people from your neighbourhood, being part of a group gives you a whole new momentum.

FILMCANWhat was your mindset like going into Roadkill (1989), your first film, versus how you approach filmmaking today. You started out making films on your own, with a small crew, and now I’m sure it’s a totally different process.

BRUCE MCDONALDIt’s always sort of a blind rush into the forest. That’s the thing that still propels me today is that excitement – it’s this possibility of this great adventure. That’s always kind of been the priority of whether or not you’re sort of ready to go. And it’s always difficult to determine when you’re ready to go, because there’s no one to tell you “Ready, Go.” There’s just timing and accidents and this sort of thing.

Roadkill began out of the ashes of another film. Roadkill was supposed to be a documentary about a Kingston band called A Neon Rome. We were going to follow them up through Northern Ontario and film their concerts. And they were kind of a band on the scene – they were a really cool band. But for various reasons they disintegrated – the lead singer took a vow of silence, the manager was swinging his baseball bat around, and the band disintegrated. At that point we had some money to shoot it, but no story. It’s odd because that’s sort of the opposite way around most of the time.

And so in the blind rush into the forest I thought, well, why don’t we just write something about looking for this band that ceases to exist. So enter Don McKellar, who I had working on another project. We wrote it up in a week and shot it.

It’s and odd thing. In a way, when you talk to people now, (from) then, there’s this group of people who are always waiting for permission to go – you know, the studio deal, the million bucks, for someone to say “I’m a producer, go.” I found that permission never really comes. The trick is how to empower yourself or how to give yourself your own license to go. And that’s odd – you kind of allow yourself to do it, but often it kind of comes out of a complex series of pledges, and a sense of honour, a sense of “I said I was gonna do it so I better do it or I’m gonna look like the biggest idiot in the world.”

FILMCANDo you consider those 3 films a trilogy?

BRUCE MCDONALDI guess in a sense that they all take place on the road. They’re all adventures in the sense that they go form A to B. Roadkill goes from Toronto to Northern Ontario to Thunder Bay; Highway 61 begins in Thunder Bay and goes down through America to end in New Orleans; Hard Core Logo is kind of West – Vancouver to Winnipeg, to Edmonton. Yeah, I mean they weren’t really intended to be brothers or sisters in that way. Roadkill and HWY 61 definitely came out of the same batch, of the same cauldron of ambition and frame of mind. This idea of trying to make something that was about music and was about leaving home, I guess. Roadkill was very much a kind of – almost consciously – a sketch test for HWY 61 (1990), which I think we shot 6 months later.

HWY 61 was written before we did Roadkill. I’d never directed a film before, officially. I’d made some short films, a Zombie film – kind of weird things. HWY 61 was going to be my first movie, and I didn’t even know if I would like directing.

FILMCANWhy not?

BRUCE MCDONALDI always made short films. But it was making films with like 3 people. We’d go down to New York and film some crazy thing – me and Peter Mettler would go with a camera and a sound recorder. We didn’t even consider or even entertain the idea of having 3 grips and 3 electrics and a craft service truck. The films we’d made before that were student films or shorts or very experimental films. You’d go out with a Bolex and film some weird stuff and make some tape loops. They were more kind of impressions of things. So the idea of being a director was a very odd concept for me. I’d been a filmmaker, but I’d never been asked to direct anything.

I passed time in those days as a film editor. I worked for Atom Egoyan, cut a few films for him. And Atom was a great model for me because he was about my age and he was out there directing. And I really liked editing, but I wasn’t really sure… so I said I’ll do this Roadkill thing and if I like directing then maybe I’ll continue, if not I love being an editor. So Roadkill in that way was a kind of audition for myself, as a sketch for what it would be like to work on the road, the idea of how we would shoot on the road. I suppose if I didn’t enjoy directing on Roadkill I would probably have given the HWY 61 project away, or produced it or edited it. So those two films came out of the same pot.

Hard Core Logo came out of a book of poetry (by Micheal Turner). I think it was maybe 3-4 years later I did a film Dance Me Outside (1995), which was also based on a book, and so HCL was my second film based on a book.

Those 3 films are quite nice. It’s funny cuz in Roadkill there’s a filmmaker character, and in HCL there’s this filmmaker character. So there are these connections, unconsciously I suppose.

FILMCANWhy have you never considered yourself a writer?

BRUCE MCDONALDI’m completely insecure as a writer. The idea that everything is possible is so terrifying. I’ve always been very involved with the writer – I work to create the melody or story. Don McKellar wrote the screenplay for HWY 61 and Roadkill; I wrote the screenplay to Dance Me Outside, with Don and John Frizzell. But, again, out of complete necessity. The project was about to collapse, and it was done in a weekend. And then Hard Core Logo. I spent a lot of time with the writers. I love writers and I love writing.  But I kind of look at it like I’m a director so my job as a director is to know little bits of everything. I have great respect for writers.

As a beginner filmmaker you’re not really sure if you should be the singer/songwriter; there’s this great pressure on young filmmakers to think ‘I’ve got to write my own stuff otherwise I’m just a hired gun, but you look at the masters and you see Scorsese doesn’t write his own stuff, and a lot of people don’t write their own stuff. So it’s not really that, it’s more how you interpret the best of all possible worlds – you’re a Sinatra interpreting someone’s singles, I suppose.

I love writing, I’m just insecure, and I just think there’s better writers than I am, so I tend to go for them. Go to Don or Turner who can sell it, go to those guys.

FILMCANAfter Hard Core Logo you worked on the TV series Twitch City (1998).  Was that a unique experience, because you were involved from the beginning, developing the show with Don, and then you saw the whole thing through, as compared to other TV stuff you’ve done where you’ve been hired on as a director.

BRUCE MCDONALDTV’s great because you meet great people, you do all this stuff… but they don’t really want a director, really. That’s the great thing about Twitch City is that it was like an independent movie where we all got together at the beginning and we worked together as a team. We did all the shows: I directed them all, Don acted in them all, wrote them all, so it was like doing a little movie. We were the bosses of our boss. Generally in episodic television, American or Canadian, the director is a tolerated houseguest. They want the director to get it, but they don’t really want him or her to slow down the machine because it’s cruising at a 100 MPH. The director is there to keep everybody awake – maybe bring a few new things to the table – but not too much! “Cuz we don’t do that on this kind of show.” So it’s like being a guest at somebody’s house, so you show up with a nice dessert or some Jack Daniels, but you don’t interrupt the fact that they’re all vegetarians and ‘we’re not going to be eating meat here, right?’ So it’s a pretty hilarious route.

Some shows are better than others for directors, but generally they don’t really want you to direct, they want you to collect. Get your close-up, get a wide shot, move on to the next scene, don’t upset the actors, don’t go overtime. And if you’re good you’ll be back to make another $40,000. So the money’s great, you know. And you do meet great people. And one day when you do your Twitch Cities or Picture Claires, or Gillian Guess’ or whatever, there’s a few people you need. Maybe the boom guy or sound recordist, or the bit player, the nurse, or the girl who was the waitress, who was an amazing actress, you invite a few of those people to your party, and then you let them loose and they’re like “Wow, this is great!”

FILMCANSo I guess that’s the difference between your party and someone else’s party…

BRUCE MCDONALD Well in a certain sort of way. In my parties my job as a director is to set people free. I want the best out of you. On a TV series the climate is generally fear, because nobody knows what they want. Everybody’s afraid of the person upstairs. Once in a while something remarkable makes it onto TV, but usually it’s a very brave producer or brave writer who has a certain amount of power and they say – “no, this is the way it’s going to be.” It’s rarely the directors that will provide that – they provide it to movies.

FILMCANYou mentioned Gillian Guess and Picture Claire - were you throwing those parties or were those ones you were invited to?

BRUCE MCDONALDWell the remarkable thing about Gillian Guess was I was invited to that party and I thought, “OK, it’s a money gig.” But the story was interesting and the writer Angus Fraser had created a cool frame around it, but the script needed some work – and so I was invited to the party. These two wonderful producers from Vancouver – I call them wonderful because they let us do whatever we wanted – they were like “you’re the artists: you, the designer, the photographer.” Danny Nowak, who shot HCL and Twitch City shot it; Rob Grey who did Picture Claire was the designer; Hugh Dillon was in it from HCL. And it was one of the most fun times we ever had. We got this crazy set, mocked Gillian Guess, had Broken Social Scene do kind of a light score for it. We had fun. And that was for a TV movie. And we were very proud of the fact that we took what was supposed to be an MOW Grindhouse disease of the week, and made it into something kookier cinematic.

FILMCANI saw GG when it premiered in Toronto, and walked out of the film blown away. I said to all my friends, ‘holy shit, this is Bruce McDonald’s Pulp Fiction’! And then I waited and waited, and nothing ever came of it. Later I found out it was a CHUM production, but since it never got a release, I started to doubt my first impressions.

BRUCE MCDONALDWe were very pleased with it. The best thing about that film was that we were let loose and had a great time. And for a Television movie to be invited to TIFF or Berlin or Karlovy-Vary, suddenly we were eating at the parent’s or grown-up’s table. So that was a great success. But the fact is, there’s not a lot of impresarios in this country and releasing any independent film is hard enough. And the filmmaker has to continue along after the film is done, to market it himself, because no one else wants to or cares to. It was intended for a television movie, and for a while we thought maybe it would get a theatrical release. It was a crazy, kooky film. But we didn’t really get any bites.

And in a way, nobody in this country, I don’t care who you talk to, no distributor, nobody really wants to release Canadian films. They don’t. They get money from the government to do that job and so they grudgingly do it, but they’d be much happier just importing the latest Miramax hit. There are certain people fighting the right fight, like Stacey (Donan) at the Royal. Finally we’ve got our own CBGB’s! And this is kind of the way I look at The Royal is that it’s in the centre of Toronto, the biggest city in Canada, and Canadian film hasn’t gotten a great distribution process through the country, and here comes the Royal with Stacey – he could be Billy Crystal! I’m very excited to create a bit of a legend around that place – that’s where you want to see Gillian Guess, and you kick it off there. You get people excited and it’s a cool thing to have a gig at the Royal, the way early Television or Blondie or Tom Verlaine played. There was no place for them to play.

FILMCANHow do you think things have changed since your first release?

BRUCE MCDONALDWell, when we got going it seemed like such a feat to make a film. Such a monumental thing – we shot HWY 61 on 35mm, we had 6 weeks to shoot it, and granted we had a million bucks, from the Ontario whatever and Channel 4 in Britain. But I think it’s almost more exciting now because you can make a feature on a camera like that (ed’s note – an HDV camera). In those days, 1992, which isn’t that long ago, but also is, there was no thinking about it. Our camera was a 35mm camera and you needed a couple people to carry it. And a bit of stock, and blah blah blah. But I think it’s interesting times right now because it’s so much easier to do that. In a way I think writing is more important than ever, because it’s way easier to make a film. I mean it’s not easier – it’s always a bit of a mother-fucker – but it is easier to make a feature length film now than it was then. Something you can project on a big screen. And that in itself is a huge revolution from when I began.

FILMCANFrom an industry perspective, how do you think the Canadian industry has changed?

BRUCE MCDONALDIt’s maybe an unfair kind of thing, but I think people should get off this idea of it’s Canadian or American – they’re independent films. The idea of independent anything is a struggle. I’ve never been a nationalist in that way. I consider myself more of a Toronto filmmaker than Canadian filmmaker. I’ve been lucky to work in Vancouver some times, but I kind of look at it as independent films. I have as much a kinship with Cassevetes as I do Egoyan. There’s this idea “how did those guys make a film for so little money.” In a way the Americans have it more difficult – they don’t have Telefilm, they don’t have governments giving them money to write scripts. They’ve got it even tougher, being an independent filmmaker in Los Angeles or New York. Here there’s a million people lined up at the trough, so my hat’s off to anyone from Uganda to Toronto to Rio de Janeiro who can crack out a cool independent film.

Just the idea of being able to project digitally on a huge screen. I mean our premiere (of The Tracey Fragments) in Berlin was a digital projection. At The Royal, they were mixing TF, and it was digital projection. I think in the next 5 years the whole industry, the whole ‘dinosaur 35 prints being shipped around,’ that’s going to change in an amazing way and I think probably for the better for independent filmmakers. There’ll still be the big arena, the big shows, the Paramount, etc., but there’ll be room for those crazy independent films that come out; it’s like the way music works, where some band out of Austin, or a musician like Jandek recording music in his basement. I mean that’s some crazy interesting stuff. That couldn’t happen 20 years ago, because you’d need the 20” tape machine and some asshole at a studio. So the next 5-10 years is going to be a very revolutionary time for how films get seen by people.

FILMCANThere’s always seemed to be a similarity to the way you make films and the way musicians make records. And music has already had a strong presence in your films. So Bruce McDonald, rock n’ roll filmmaker, what’s your thoughts on the marriage of music and film?

BRUCE MCDONALDI think you’ll see more and more of that because on an industrial model – look at Sony/BMG, how many records are they selling these days? Everyone’s just sitting there pilfering their catalogue – it’s just pouring out. So what must those guys be thinking – the brains behind that multimillion dollar global corporation. They’re thinking how do we attach ourselves to images and get people to see it. Well that’s probably a good way of doing it – they’re now trying to marry images and music and that’s a great thing for image makers, because you’ll have the goodwill people who own and control the catalogues of Miles Davis and Bob Dylan and Radiohead and John Coltrane, you name it. And I don’t know if a new genre will erupt in the next 5-10 years, and someone will say “Hey Bruce, here’s 5 million, can you make some images to Mile Davis’ Bitches Brew?”  I don’ think it’s that crazy, because people will always love music, certain music will last for hundreds of years.

I don’t know what the pictures will be, but maybe suddenly someone like Bruce Eldar becomes one of the most sought after filmmakers in the catalogue, because his films are non-narrative and they fit a lot of things. I think it’s an interesting mix with the generation of producers and filmmakers and photographers that have cut their teeth on music videos the past 20 years – and editors too. It’s a certain way of telling stories or delivering information and just kind of visual coolness. The guys we had cutting the Tracey Fragments (Jeremy Munce, Gareth C. Scales), which is a totally non-linear very interesting visual thing, are great. That’s that kind of non-linear thinking, outside the traditional narrative.

So I think the collision of music and pictures – you can download a movie – does it have to be 90 minutes? Maybe a new format comes out, 42 minutes. Formats come about for a reason. In the early days it was 1 reelers, and then there was a bunch of them. They figured out that your ass – physiologically – can take 2 hours (of sitting), unless it’s so riveting – so 2 hours became the thing. But maybe attention spans and delivery formats are all different.

With copyright being either ignored or pirated, imagine taking a film like Crash (Cronenberg), and doing what they do with Dark Side of the Moon and Wizard of Oz. I’ve actually lined up at midnight to see that at the Bloor Cinema – with 1000 other people, which I thought was hilarious. And it’s like being at a rock concert. The lights come down, everybody cheers, lighting up joints. And you watch and go, yeah, that’s kind of funny or cool. Imagine if you did that at a theatre or online, or you go to the video store and rent Crash (Cronenberg), and think, OK, what is the music for this thing. Is it Crash and Thriller – Thriller Crash? Strip out the dialogue, and suddenly you’ve got this new thing where people go “That’s fucking amazing!” Whether you design it yourself, or just say “Fuck it, we’ll take that and that,” suddenly it catches fire on the web…

FILMCANWhat was it like working with Broken Social Scene, both on Gillian Guess and now on The Tracey Fragments?

BRUCE MCDONALDWell basically the reason I make films is to be closer to musicians, to be honest about it. They’re one of my favourite bands, and there’s some local pride in that, being from Toronto. They’re not exactly an overnight sensation, but are seen by most of the world as this terrific new fresh band. And so Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning, Charlie (Spearin) and Ohad (Benchetrit), it was a great honour working with them. And for them it was kind of like “let’s go into film land,” and not have a lot of pressure. There were a few things to watch out for, but it was basically have fun with the score.

I’m walking amongst giants – I listen to their music, I’ve seen their concerts, and it’s just sort of a genuine adoration of their music. And you happen to be in the neighbourhood, and that connection probably made it happen – Greg at Soundscapes. You know they learned a lot and they got a kick out of doing the score. And I would totally do it again, and maybe it will be a longer collaborative process with these guys.

FILMCANHas there been one record or album you constantly put on over the years?

BRUCE MCDONALDCan I give a couple? There’s certain ones for certain times. For story I guess I have to go to Dylan, so Blood on the Tracks, which is about heartbreak, desire. And for people that don’t own it, it’s 1972, and one that’s good to play when you’re breaking up or getting together with someone. It’s full of cool stories of desire and anger and loveliness. It’s a good companion to have always sitting beside you in case the worst happens and your world collapses and your love of your life decides to head to Vegas.

There’s a record I’ve been listening to lately called Alina, by Arvo Part, a classical composer. It’s one of those with a lot of space in it, a lot of beauty. It’s a wonderful, beautiful record that’s been filling up a lot of space. One of those 3 am records or boy-girl records; it leaves a lot of space to get things out of you, I guess.

Maybe Rocket to Russia, the Ramones record, or End of the Century. It’s one of my great guilty pleasures. Chinese Rock and Rock n’ Roll High School is on there, they do a Ronette’s song. The album has a piece about an evening where a rocketing road trip from here to Buffalo becomes very familiar to you.  It’s a great companion in times of trouble or great celebration that last more than 3 minutes.  Music saved my life many times.

Whenever I go traveling – if I go to LA or Berlin or some faraway place – I’ll always bring 3-4 copies of You Forgot it in People or a Cowboy Junkies session. And they go “oh, you’re from Canada,” and treat you to a great weekend and you want to leave something that says this is from my country, my city, where I come from, and it’s deeply about that place in a strange way. 

FILMCANYou’re a lifelong Torontonian?

BRUCE MCDONALDI’m from the suburbs, I grew up in Rexdale. I don’t know why it is I forget I’m from there, maybe I always feel embarrassed. But I guess Springsteen is my kind of upbringing because he wrote about the land I grew up in: shopping malls, parking lots, wastelands and factories. I always thought as a way to give back, if someone said “I’ve got five million for you,” I’d do Darkness on the Edge of Town for you – I have this thing I want to do.  As a visual, sort of very minimalist story, but about a time or place. Not just a bunch of videos, but to the people who love those albums, a visual treatment of that. I think there’s something there that, for lack of a better term, may be called the long form visual. Where people don’t have to watch it on TV, but they can put it on in the background. So many people can just access all these visual materials – there’s great shit out there. If I was a filmmaker these days, I’d think ‘I don’t have to shoot anything, it’s all been shot.’ It just needs to be re-organised. I mean basically that’s pirate stuff, but…

FILMCANSpeaking of underground releases, Claire’s Hat is your cult, unreleased version of Picture Claire, which basically went straight to video?

BRUCE MCDONALDWe made a film which ended up being called Picture Claire, finished in 2001. And we had worked on and off on that script for a number of years. And when it was premiered at TIFF, it got a lukewarm reception, and I was troubled by the fact it didn’t turn out the way I hoped it would. It was very distressing, because you work for years and years on something, and just pull something out of the oven and it didn’t rise. You don’t know exactly what happened, because we seemingly had these cool indie American actresses, we had Juliette Lewis, Gina Gershon, even Mickey Rourke was in it. And Callum Rennie was in it. A great writer, great producer… so I wondered how could something go so horribly wrong. So that was on my mind – the bird didn’t sing – and so I decided I wanted to find out why.  So I reclaimed all the footage and made this very unusual, fairly hilarious, very honest, quite inspiring film that I ended up calling Claire’s Hat, which was the original title for this movie. Technically I’m not allowed to show it, because the distributor and the producer weren’t very thrilled I told ‘stories about school.’ Anyway, it’s sort of out there in the world as a kind of bootleg that people share, and I’m quite happy to give to people.

It’s kind of like the ultimate DVD commentary. Usually you’re hearing what went right, “oh I’m such a genius,” or “weren’t we clever for doing that,” or “wasn’t that a funny day.” So I thought what would be interesting for film students or film lovers, is to see why a film went off the rails. The film itself, Picture Claire, it’s not a bad film, just maybe not a great one. And I guess I had much higher hopes for it. And somehow in the end, I, myself, as the filmmaker am ultimately responsible for a failure. We all share in success but the director is left holding the bag for failure.

FILMCANWas there ever a time in your filmmaking career when you thought you just wanted to give up?

BRUCE MCDONALDYeah that date came last year in Montreal one evening early in prep – I was working on a 2-part television movie called Killer Wave – doing it strictly for the money. I came home late at night and I thought, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” I stayed awake all night, full of turmoil and pain, and really thinking “I honestly want to do something else.” I don’t want to go in there tomorrow and face those people on Killer Wave. But the only other job I could think of was flipping pizzas at Giovanna’s, and it took me 8 hours to come up with that. I was quite happy with that, actually – short hours compared to filmmaking, could probably drink on the job and that’d be ok. But then everything worked out. Very rarely – I think that was the last time I ever thought I don’t want to make films anymore and it was just about some stupid interpersonal bullshit that worked itself out, so…

FILMCANThat’s not that bad if it didn’t happen ‘til just last year.

BRUCE MCDONALDWell in another sort of way it happens every day. As in just not being completely sure of your powers or completely confident of your new projects. I think (Norman) Jewison said to me one time “The qualifications to be a filmmaker are you have to have an incredibly big ego and be insecure – they’re hand in hand.” I would be surprised if other successful people said “Oh yeah, I’m just fine all the time.”

FILMCANIt’s strange that you say insecure; directing strikes me as something you have to be very secure or decisive about.

BRUCE MCDONALDWell you put on that front. My alter ego is the Commander of the Northern Tribes, and you walk on the set and go “alright, this is what we’re doing,” and even if you don’t know, you just have to pick a direction. Once or twice there were very decisive moments of wanting to run away, but that’s why I think the idea of having a community or gang is important. In the gang you’re allowed to crumble or become an alcoholic entertainer one day. The girls and guys in the gang will tell you you’re be alright tomorrow, and they know it’s a passing thing and you can help them through their time when it comes too. What it is to be an artist requires incredible egotism and incredible insecurity – and what’s going to help keep that together? Which is part of my jealously of not being able to force my way into BSS, though I’ve tried.

FILMCANBut you played in Hugh Dillon’s band…

BRUCE MCDONALDYeah, of course! Or I made those films about music or being on the road, that sort of romance of being in the gang. The idea of being in a band is to me the most romantic notion of that. And the second most romantic notion is being in a gang of filmmakers or artists. It’s a little bit more rag tag or chaotic, a bit more like an army for hippies, but nonetheless it is a band – an orchestra, whatever. And the gang protects you. ‘You fuck with one of us, you fuck with us all.’ So that’s how I survive, I guess, being in a gang.

FILMCANSo it’s safe to say that being a filmmaker has let you live out your rock n’ roll fantasy.

BRUCE MCDONALDYeah, being a filmmaker is my way of being in a band. And thus the subjects I’m attracted to are strange trumpet playing barbers and bald-headed-hump-dog-salesmen-on-heroin-Queen-Street guys.

FILMCANHow do you feel about The Tracey Fragments – where does it fit into your career?

BRUCE MCDONALDI’m very excited about it. It was one of those ‘they left us alone’ films. We were sort of free to play in our own box and created quite a groovy little movie. I think what’s great about it is visually, it’s so expressive and out there, yet it’s got this amazing ground wire in the actress Ellen Page, who is just so emotive and wonderful. So you can go on this lazer cookoo nutty visual trip, and she’s the emotional lifeline where you go “I totally get it.” So I’m really looking forward to getting it out there to hear what people think. Because I know many people are going to just say “that’s just fucked up, that’s not right.” And other people are going to go “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

FILMCANOur last question is “What’s the craziest bender you’ve ever been on?”

BRUCE MCDONALDCraziest bender? Related to work?

FILMCANNot work related.

BRUCE MCDONALDWell you were talking about Gillian Guess, so… it’s a funny story.

FILMCANOk, we’ll take that – does this have something to do with Phil Collins?

BRUCE MCDONALDNo… but it could.

FILMCANDidn’t he come out to one of the screenings?

BRUCE MCDONALDYes he did – and we went to see his show. Because Joely is his daughter. OK, one story about Gillian Guess, about the gang… we’re about to finish the show, and shooting’s gone along really well, with Danny Nowak (DOP), Rob Grey (Designer), and Angus Fraser (Writer) – so there’s 4 of us, and we’re in a band; we’re in a gang. And through the movie there’s been this growing tension with Angus, who’s the writer and the guy who invited me in. And Hugh (Dillon) and myself and Rob – the producers have let us loose and said be free and create. And Angus is slowly thinking, “You’re fucking up my movie!” And he didn’t really articulate it, but toward the end there was a little talk of how the movie would end. And we all had a fairly definitive idea of how it would be. And it was getting to the last few days, and suddenly some people weren’t talking to some people, and it was really tense. And so Danny said, “Man, it’s our last day tomorrow, so we’ve got to work this out.” So we went to Rob’s place, and he was living in Chinatown in Vancouver, and Rob got some Bolivian marching powder, and we had beers, and we sat down for 4-5 hours and eventually by the time it was time to be picked up to go back to work, figured out how we would end it. We became the hugging friends of the band. So the band came together, and everyone was pretty pleased with the nuances of the ending.

That wasn’t the craziest debauchery, but that’s the gang coming together and solving creative differences with really good drugs and alcohol, and becoming the irresponsible alcoholic entertainer/drug-fueled people that we are at heart. Never underestimate the power of drugs and alcohol to bring people together. Not on a regular basis, mind you, but on an irregular basis I find it can be helpful to grease the wheels of the creative process.