Welcome to the inaugural online edition of Scope, the magazine of the Film and Video Arts Society-Alberta (FAVA)! This wired product follows its printed predecessor, FavaScope. Our leap to hypertext better reflects what we do at FAVA, while allowing us to incorporate video, expand our audience and save some trees.

Our theme for this issue is inspired by the eminent video instal ation artist, David Hoffos, who visited our home base, Edmonton, for a talk and a workshop in February 2009. Creating and exploring space is central to David’s work, which features conjured effects reminiscent of early cinema and the magic-lantern shows that preceded it. He uses spaces to express what his gallery, Trépanier Baer of Calgary, calls “the personalized architecture of the self.”

Inspired by, and timed for release around, the Edmonton International Jazz Festival, this edition explores the relationship between art and improvisation.

It starts with a specially commissioned sound piece featuring jazz singer Dianne Donovan, accompanied by the animation of Adolfo Ruiz. This exciting collaboration began with the divine Ms. D’s recording her impressions about improvisation with her partner, Mitch Watkins, from their base in Austin, Texas. The sound piece whistled up to Edmonton, where crackerjack animation artist Adolfo listened to it and added his visual accompaniment.

The festivities continue with an article on improv in the theatrical context from the acclaimed actor, playwright and director, Chris Craddock. There’s a piece providing the lowdown on spontaneous filmmaking from the ebullient co-founder and co-producer of the 48 Hour Festival, Sharon Murphy. And our themes are woven together nicely by hepcat filmmaker Collette Slevinsky, who provides insights culled from her upcoming documentary film on what’s believed to be the oldest jazz club in Canada.

Enjoy the issue, and all that jazz!

Cheers, Geo
Your humble editor

Praesent dapibus, neque id cursus faucibus, tortor neque egestas augue, eu vulputate magna eros eu erat. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nam dui mi, tincidunt quis, accumsan porttitor, facilisis luctus, metus.Praesent dapibus, neque id cursus faucibus, tortor neque egestas augue, eu vulputate magna eros eu erat. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nam dui mi, tincidunt quis, accumsan porttitor, facilisis luctus, metus.Praesent dapibus, neque id cursus faucibus, tortor neque egestas augue, eu vulputate magna eros eu erat. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nam dui mi, tincidunt quis, accumsan porttitor, facilisis luctus, metus.

Praesent dapibus, neque id cursus faucibus, tortor neque egestas augue, eu vulputate magna eros eu erat. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nam dui mi, tincidunt quis, accumsan porttitor, facilisis luctus, metus.

You are all right, and also wrong. Improv, as a foundation for creation and as an art form within itself, is much, much more.

The current upper tier of professional improv is at an all-time high, and for once Canada is on the cutting edge. Actually, Alberta is, because an arguable leaping-off point of modern improv is Calgary, where Keith Johnstone first created his actor training exercises called Theatresports. This type of performance is done in over 30 countries, most of which pay royalties to Johnstone himself. Scratch is the pride of Edmonton improv, touring annually across Europe and Australia, as well as Canada’s Fringe and improv circuits. Rebecca Northan, originally from Loose Moose Theatre in Calgary, performs Blind Date, an amazing, improvised solo show which is filling no less a venue then Toronto’s Harbourfront World Stage.

Ron Pederson heads a troupe (Impromptu Splendour) performing at Theatre Pass Muraille with guests like Colin Mochrie and Fiona Reid. When at its best, improv is accepted and celebrated as a valid art form.

But what it can do for you? A better question might be, what is it already doing for you?

If you have created anything, you have improvised. If you have ever started a sandwich without being sure of just what was in the fridge, you have improvised. At some point in the creation of anything, you experience an idea that you did not plan, and even if you revise it a thousand times before you show anyone, you improvised it first. The spontaneous creation of a new plot point, an aspect of character, a stage direction, a shot of lime into what was previously a Crantini, this is all improvisation. You might argue that the very creation of a thought or an idea, though it may lack physical form as yet, is an improvisation. If you read my words here and think, “What a dick!” then this thought is created by an act of improvisation.

So now that you know we are all improvisers and that improvisation is at the core of everything that you have ever made and ever will make, you can’t wait to take a workshop. You are absolutely right and you should. For those interested, do not fear: Rapid Fire Theatre and others offer workshops to people just as scared as you. Everyone is very nice. You will have a good time and no one will mock you.

As for its effect on writing, improvisation teaches you that your ideas are infinite. You will always have many more then you need &em; especially if you go out of your way to learn to generate and spit them out. If you get skilled enough to stand onstage while people watch, form your plot ideas into dialogue, and then direct the theatrical presentation of these ideas, all while collaborating on the spot with other performers, a musician and a lighting technician, and it’s entertaining? Well, then you have made yourself into an idea factory, and a well maintained idea factory can run properly for years.

Improv’s impact on film acting is also strong. The camera loves fresh more then anything, except maybe honesty.

The ability and freedom to improvise, even slightly, with intentions and emotions can keep a scene alive, even when the lighting takes way too long. And if you have a topic and need some comedy, don’t forget improv as a content generator. Don’t forget about it as a polish for your jokes. Don’t fear it. It is a tool, and you can use it on your project even if you don’t know it yourself.

Of course, going out and becoming a performing improviser is not the only way to keep your mind supple and free to frolic. Meditation, chess, Sudoku, I hear these are good, too. Some indulge in marijuana or vodka, or meditate on chess moves while high. I have no quarrel with these methods. But for a skill set which can deepen your access to your spontaneity, I say again, improv is the King of Beers.

Chris Craddock is the artistic director of the improvisational powerhouse, Rapid Fire Theatre, as well as an energetic and much-lauded actor, director and playwright.
Photo Credits: Sam Estok

Jazz musicians understand all the parts that make for a great ensemble, and get that while you can play within the framework of a good tune, there is room for each player to improvise. This creates a groove, a sense of being true to the rhythm and on centre with the band. With improvisational filmmaking, a team can also find its groove as each individual contributes a special talent to create a project.

For contestants, the FAVA-sponsored 48 Hour Film Festival begins on a Friday at 5:00 p.m. when teams converge to pick up their contest packages containing a scene location, a line, and a prop or two. These elements must appear in their five-minute film. The only advance preparation that filmmakers can really do is assemble a crew, usually consisting of willing friends and family. They can also begin to think of a storyline and arrange for equipment. But as soon as the contest packages are opened, improvisation begins as the elements can often determine the direction of a story. Once a story has been drafted and a storyboard created, usually late into that first night, it’s time to assign roles and begin to assemble costumes and props.

Because the filmmaking teams are informal and have no budget, they must be spontaneous to create a meaningful story and solve logistical problems under the pressure of time and the challenge of incorporating their assigned elements. Improvisation in filmmaking is a freeing experience in that it allows you to create on the fly in a collaborative setting. For example, while filming one weekend, one actor’s girlfriend came to the set. It happened that she was a student from Mexico, bilingual, photogenic and spunky enough that we were able to create a relevant role for her halfway through the day’s shoot. She took on the persona of a fiery Latino and spewed out a Spanish monologue that was mesmerizing.

In contrast, assembling a professional team for a budgeted and scripted project can take up to a year or more. Applying for funding, writing and rewriting a script, holding auditions, scouting locations, booking equipment, securing a professional camera crew and director, insuring the project and organizing post-production activities are time-consuming processes. With a formal cast and crew in place when cameras are ready to roll, the structure of a call sheet and set times becomes the absolute framework.

The most challenging aspect of improvising a film is using your time wisely and efficiently. As the final 48-hour deadline approaches, bleary-eyed filmmakers stagger in with their freshly burned DVDs. Some drive up with their project still burning in a laptop. Exhausted, yet happy and satisfied, the filmmakers love to talk about their weekend experience: the challenges, the fun and the spontaneous creative process.

Screening night is at Metro Cinema in Edmonton. The judges have adjudicated the films and awarded bests in several categories; the sponsors have generously donated prizes; the smell of fresh popcorn wafts through the lobby and theatre; filmmakers take their seats with teammates, friends and family; the projectionist is at the ready; the lights dim and we’re ready to roll. The blend of diverse genres of each five-minute film is always interesting: we are treated to comedy, drama, spoof, mystery, horror, animation and art film. And the audience appreciates the stories, and the talent and effort that went into creating each film.

—
Sharon Murphy is a filmmaker and the co-producer of the rollicking, improvisation-driven and delightful 48 Film Festival in Edmonton.

Photo Credits: Sharon Murphy

Miles Davis is a good example of this phenomenon. He emerged out of the bebop era in the 1940s, when greats like Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were recognized for improvising new melodies from swing music. Miles Davis was an innovator who broke the norm several times and gained fame for his constantly evolving, improvisational style. He helped to pioneer a smoother, cool jazz in the late 1940s, then freedom in the late 1950s, abandoning the standard chord-change approach to a more slow-moving, modal approach. His next major phase came in the late 60s to mid-70s with jazz-rock fusion: mood music with extended improvisations and integrated electronics. Eventually, free-jazz followed, pushing beyond previous rhythmic and tonal structures. Miles Davis used improvisation to push boundaries and create new musical territories that advanced the art form.

In film (at least dramatic film), traditionally, the story is painstakingly crafted and scripted before shooting starts. However, improvisation is a mainstay in documentary film. The filmmaker has preconceived ideas on rhythm, imagery and editing, but often, the aesthetic, theoretical values and story fall into place later in the filmmaking process, especially in the editing suite. The first feature-length documentary, Nanook of the North (1922), captured the struggles of the Inuit people of the Canadian arctic, but was criticized as too contrived in its storytelling. Sets had to be modified, and the subject had to be directed, to accommodate the technology of that era and other factors.

After World War II, a new style of film emerged. The camera became more lightweight, and synchronized sound arrived. Artists like Jean Renoir and Roberto Rossellini devoted their work to neo-realism and a new social consciousness. They preferred to use non-professional actors and regional dialects and costumes to make their story feel more natural to audiences. In the 1960s, Fred Wiseman refused to use voiceovers, title cards or extemporary graphics in his documentaries; he preferred to capture more than 100 hours of raw footage and then look for the drama in what he called ordinary experiences led to the convention called cinéma-vérité, adopted throughout the 1970s in an effort to capture life as it is.

Creating cinematic realism is becoming easier with time. Technology has evolved to include colour picture, surround sound, computer-generated images and high-definition television. It is ubiquitous. As in drama, whether the cast is incidental or contrived, actors are given a space and a set of circumstances to create their own space or reality. Real life becomes more interesting when it can be captured spontaneously and instantaneously, without bias. Advancing technology has allowed us to better capture the ultimate improvisation that is real life. And ideally, life can unfold before the camera without limitations or notions of what is correct. Creativity involves change, and change is inevitable!

Without improvisation in music, art or drama, our world would become more static. At the same time, art reflects life. In the case of a documentary, filmmakers have a notion about how their films will unfold, but cannot predict what their subjects will say or do. That is why documentary is so absorbing for spectators. It becomes a comment on the ordinary, but through the eye of the lens. The story is the outcome of their interaction within that given space in time, and that becomes their reality. In film, as in jazz, improvisation is the practice of experimenting and pushing boundaries within a given structure and thereby creating something new, original and avant-garde.

Collette Slevinsky is a filmmaker based in Edmonton and a former board member of FAVA. Her film in progress, The House that Bop Built, tells the story of the Yardbird Suite, believed to be the oldest jazz club in Canada.

Contributing artists:
Chris Craddock
Dianne Donovan
Sharon Murphy
Collette Slevinsky
Mitch Watkins

Thanks:
Melissa Thingelstad, Andrew Scholotiuk, Karen Brown-Fournell, Joel Higham, Ian Leung, Leslea Kroll, Geraldine Carr, Jfry Craig, Tayana Jacques, Johan Denooij & Kinsley Jacques

Scope is made possible through a grant from the Canada Council
for the Arts and The Alberta Foundation for the Arts

When one hears the word space, the brain conjures images of an inky black vastness with ancient points of light, a big empty room or a huge field in the country.

For me, space is a bookstore. You?ve walked into a bookstore before, right? You walk in, fascinated by the rows upon rows of books, the smells, pretty colours, neat stacks of bound paper and kitties sleeping in a corner? all this a prelude, a setting of a scene to finding a good book. Rows and rows hold literature, the art pressed between the folds. And it wasn?t a specific book you had in mind, just browsing. Rows upon rows and then a book catches your eye. You read the first few lines, then a page and that?s it, you?re hooked? you look up, and in the space of two hours, you?ve read a hundred pages.

The smell of the store, the sound of the crowd, the environment around you makes its mark.

Reading that book anywhere else would not have been the same. The art is the same, but the experience is different. Why? Well, space is not the empty thing we think it is; it is tangible and it influences our experiences. Space is another tool that we use as artists, another facet of the art itself.

Space is an important part of media art. I have only projected in a conventional theatre on a screen maybe twice in my life. The rest? Well, I like to play, and space makes for a great playground. When I say play, what I do is mix digitized film and video clips together in my laptop and project them live as I am mixing. Some would call that video jamming, while others call it improvised or performative media art.

I like to incorporate the space into my performance in advance. Before the performance, I take photos of the space: interesting shapes, patterns in the architecture and objects in the space. I build stop-motion animations from these photos, making the space seem to move? become alive. Then I mix these clips with other clips, which creates the story element or imagery with the concept of the art show in mind.

I also look at space as a place onto which to project the art. I am