What's His Role?

Alberta’s Culture Minister Lindsay Blackett’s blunt assessment of Alberta’s film and television industries pulled no punches. Speaking at the Banff World Television Festival he said, "I sit here as a government representative for film and television in the province of Alberta and I look at what we produce, and if we're honest with ourselves ... I look at it and say, 'Why do I produce so much sh**t? Why do I fund so much crap?”
Those remarks received a lot of media attention. Most film and industry leaders agreed that the remarks were ill timed and delivered in a venue that embarrassed Alberta’s cultural community.
Yet his remarks raise a bigger question. Are his comments accurate? Is Alberta’s film industry producing “crap”? And if so, what does “non-crap” look like?
These are important questions for Alberta’s creative community to consider. Is it the role of the creative to produce work that makes folks feel comfortable and appeals to a broad spectrum of people; or is it to push the edges as it portrays the realities of life? Is it appropriate for government ministers providing funding for the arts to bluntly criticize the work of Alberta’s creatives? Should he or she who pays the piper call the tune?
The reality is that the creative's role in the restaurant of community living is to provide both comfort food and new-age cuisine. There will always be those who produce mainstream art that the masses enjoy, and there will be those that tweak and twang our sensibilities and sensitivities. What often gets forgotten is that yesterday’s radical- hello Wolfie Mozart- often becomes tomorrow’s Old Master.
Where the cheese gets binding is when public money funds the arts. Expecting a politician not to pander to his base is akin to expecting a dog not to chase rabbits- to a point.
That point comes when the politician becomes a cabinet minister. Cabinet ministers should be local, national, and international champions for the communities of interest in their portfolios.
Being a champion means that the minister does not publicly trash the efforts of the communities of interest represented in his / her portfolio. Should Agriculture Minister Jack Hayden speak to the International Beef Congress and say that Alberta’s beef mostly sucks? What if Tourism Minister Cindy Ady told a panel discussion on Canadian tourist destinations that Banff and Jasper were highly overrated?
Do you get my drift? The problem here is not the quality of Alberta’s film and television output. That industry is doing what the creative process and its’ marketplace always does- provide both a reflective and visionary perspective on our life and times. Perhaps the problem is simply that the Minister needs reminding that he’s not the television and film critic for the Calgary Sun.

2009- The Year The Boom Died

The year 2009 is in our rear-view mirror, and most Albertans won’t be sorry to see its’ headlights disappear around History Bend. It was the Year The Boom Died II, and it was a mean, cranky, son-of-a -gun who left the lives and dreams of a lot of Albertans upside-down in life’s ditch.
Deepening its’ nasty impact is the quietly-smoldering realization that a lot of the damage was self-inflicted. We Albertans were victims of our addiction to boom-time culture.
What is boom-time culture? It’s a culture that believes that the laws of economic gravity are suspended in Alberta- that what goes up will never come down. Boom-time mean that we can change jobs more often than we change underpants. Boomtime means that if something appears to be to good to be true; just suspend disbelief and get richer.
Now, the party is over, and 2010 in Alberta promises to be the Year of the Hangover. Alberta’s small businesses- those that have survived- will struggle to find their footing. Alberta government spending is again in free-fall, creating a whiplash effect for those organizations and communities dependent on government funding.
I use the word “dependent” deliberately. Many Alberta communities- particularly in rural Alberta- have become addicted to provincial government funding. In these communities, very little happens if the provincial or federal government doesn’t fund it.
This lack of local self-financing takes two forms. The first is the reluctance of local governments to exercise their power to raise money for community investment through their power to tax. Their reluctance hobbles their communities, placing them at a disadvantage.
The second factor is the absence of local private-sector investment in these communities. Even though many have a personal wealth base dwarfing metropolitan communities on a per-capita basis, folks with bucks in smaller communities don’t often invest at home. Rather than invest in that which they understand and can observe on a daily basis, they choose to place their money in investments far away from home. They choose the bullwhiz patter of promoters promising them a 20% per annum return on something that they know sweet-diddly about.
Will Alberta communities consistently choosing not to self-invest survive the Year of the Hangover and the years of government spending cuts to follow? Will they find the political will and investment smarts to stand on their own feet, or will they expect provincial and federal taxpayers to bail them out? Should federal and provincial governments continue to prop up communities that choose not to be active, creative and engaged in determining their own destiny?
These are questions that will surface in the Year of the Hangover. How communities respond could- and should- determine their futures.
As 2009 departs, it might be fun to sing a song in its’ memory. How about a rousing rendition of, “Thank God and Greyhound You’re Gone”? Before we start, however, could someone please pass the Aspirin?