Canada has lost an exceptional person with the death of
Colin Low. One of that cadre of film-makers who built the National Film Board
of Canada into an institution with a world-wide reputation for the quality of
its films, Colin spent almost his entire working life as a member of the staff,
and made himself into such an expert that I always thought of him as a
veritable encyclopaedia of film-making
knowledge.
He was, in addition a man of
great personal generosity, as I can personally attest, and one with such a wide
interest in the wonders and marvels of life as to leave many of us who tried to
keep up with him, more often than not, in the words of the song, bewitched,
bothered (not so much) and sometimes bewildered.
In addition to his film-making
expertise he became over the years an expert in the workings of government, and
knew, better than anyone I have ever met, how to enter the labyrinths of
government decision-making in such as way as to turn them to his, and the NFB’s
advantage.
I first came in close contact
with him in 1971 after I had quit my job on The
Montreal Star. At that time he was running Challenge for Change, the innovative programme that arose out of
his work in Fogo Island, Newfoundland. His action in persuading the islanders,
who were scheduled to be removed when their settlement was closed by the
Newfoundland government, to permit him to film their reactions to this decision
by assuring them that they would be the first to see anything he filmed, and if
there was anything they did not like he would destroy it, virtually changed the
relationship between documentary film-makers and their subjects, and aroused
world-wide interest. The outcome was that, when the islanders’ opinions were
transmitted to the government, the proposal to obliterate Fogo Island was
reversed, and it exists to this day.
He asked me if I would do some
research for his programme, and eventually suggested I might like to co-direct
a film I had suggested. I had no film experience, did not know one end of a
camera from another, but he put me together with Tony Ianzelo, one of the most
brilliant and sensitive staff cameramen-directors, and the pair of them put up
with me, warmly greeted what I could bring in the way of handling information,
and generously ignored my many other deficiencies, treating them as if they did
not exist. The result of this collaboration was the film Cree Hunters of Mistassini, which in 1975 won an award from the
British Academy of Film and Television --- a fitting tribute to Ianzelo’s
superb camerawork. But without Colin this film would never have got off the
ground.
It happened that the film,
supposed to be about Aboriginal Rights, was to be on a subject which was
disapproved by the Prime Minister of the time, who really didn’t understand the
issue, and thought he had it summed up by saying one part of society could not
enter into a treaty with the other part. Consequently, when they got word of
the film proposal, a notice came down from “the highest authority” in Ottawa
that the film should not be made, and work on it was shut down. A couple of weeks
later Colin suggested maybe we could recast the proposal as a series of four
half-hours about Indians in Canadian society. One of the four could be about
their relationship with the land. He circulated the 14 members of the governing
board of the Challenge for Change
programme, obtained their agreement, and we then went out and got to work as if
on our original proposal. “You always
have to remember,” Colin told me, “there is always someone in the government
who agrees with you.”
I suppose I might say here --- I
don’t think it will be a surprise to anyone who knew him --- that I found as an
administrator of a studio, Colin did not rank among the decisive bosses; in
fact I got the impression that there was seldom a decision requiring urgent
attention that Colin did not believe could be made tomorrow. Nevertheless,
Challenge for Change was his baby, and the world-wide interest it aroused was
almost entirely due to his leadership. We made two one-hour films in that
series, and he was also instrumental in forcing the second of them called Our Land is Our Life through the bureaucracy when the department
most closely concerned, Indian Affairs, opposed its release on the grounds that
it was full of errors. While they were scrabbling around trying to justify this
complaint, Colin took a rough cut of the film to an international conference of
information officers in Sweden. There, it created a sensation for its criticism
of government policies over the years. Are you sure this is a government film,
they asked. They were certainly not into doing anything like that. What are you into doing? Colin
asked cooly. They were into the government telling people what they wanted. “But,” rejoined Colin, “who is telling the
government?
Having received such accolades
internationally, Indian Affairs, who in any case had found no errors in the
film, had no option but to agree to the
film’s release. Not only that, but eventually they paid an extra $30,000 so
their name could appear in the credits as a sponsor.
I tell these stories because they
illustrate the way this remarkable, quiet-spoken, mild-mannered man had of
getting his way even in the notoriously reluctant corridors of power. I tell them also because they encapsulate how
the qualities that the skilled cadres who earned for the NFB its reputation
worked for the public good. We need far more such men.
There was almost no subject that
Colin Low was not intensely interested in, and had read voluminously about. My
last professional contact with him came when, after having been the brains
behind so many other films, he decided to make a film expressing his personal views. I worked on helping him write a script. It
was a real challenge. Every day he came to the office with another idea. Every
day I would loyally re-write the script to include the new stuff. Only to have
to change it, or even sometimes remove it, the next day. Eventually I realized
I was not really helping him, I simply was not well enough informed, not
patient enough, not brainy enough, to do what was asked. So I withdrew, and the
film was completed, apparently to everyone’s satisfaction.
I suppose one might conclude on
the basis of that story that Colin could occasionally be difficult to work
with. In his latter years at the NFB his interests in the escalating new
developments in the technologies of film-making took him far beyond anything I
could comprehend, or even sympathize with. But until his retirement a few years
ago he continued to be in the forefront of global thinking about film and how
it was shot, edited and related to life.
That Colin Low was, in his
particular field, a great man, I think cannot be doubted by anyone who knew
him.
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