Angry Inuk

I don't think I could ever kill a seal or a dear or a pig or a cow, but, as mentioned previously, I do eat meat and understand that somewhere down the line the lives of the animals I consume are cut short, that someone else brought their lives to an end, and they may earn their livings by engaging in such activities.

It's different if the species is threatened or endangered, or animal babies are involved, or if people are eating a species with a slow reproductive rate, but husbandry usually doesn't manage species at risk, as far as I know, the inherent cruelty of many aspects of factory farming notwithstanding.

Keep raising your voices and such aspects will change, all you have to do is frustrate a business's bottomline.

Several of the animals I eat are quite cute, however.

They're all quite cute.

I've considered posting pictures of them on my fridge to remind me not to eat them but still haven't gotten around to it.

Man I love steak.

Still, I'm glad there aren't massive industrial entities harvesting seals along with pigs and cows, but if some people in remote areas where there are no alternative economic opportunities want to hunt them, and sell products made from their skin etc., I see no problem with this, since the seals in fact flourish in abundance.

The seal population in Nunavut, for instance, is much higher than that of its human residents, meaning that if such residents want to hunt seals and sell boots and parkas made from their hides afterwards, I can't rationally critique such commerce.

Alethea Arnaqua-Baril's Angry Inuk takes a hard look at the EU's decision to ban the sale of seal products within its domain, and the effects that that decision has had on small communities in Nunavut, Canada.

Before the ban, the communities were earning enough money to support themselves, and people in Europe may not know that a 12 pack of ginger ale can cost as much as $82 North of 60.

After the ban, these communities were still (are still) able to hunt seals for subsistence purposes if they could afford to buy gas for their snow machines, but without markets to sell their seal products, they couldn't afford to do much else, the ban on the import of seal goods having effectively crushed their only economy, and left them dependent on government assistance.

They sustainably harvest a small fraction of the seal population and if allowed to do so can support themselves with dignity and respect.

I therefore support a reversal of the ban.

I find it hard to stomach that the EU props up the veal industry, which is extra revolting, the mass slaughter of baby cows, the systematic mechanized profit based mass slaughter of baby cows many of whom are restrained from birth, and it won't support a handful of Inuit hunters shooting free seals in the wild who have grown to adulthood outside of a cage.

Baffling.

I've heard that centuries ago working people in England desperately wanted to eat meat because the upper classes generally were the only ones who could afford it.

I think that if you transported many of those workers to the 21st century and showed them the unbelievably miserable lives many animals lead in order so that the majority of North Americans and Europeans can eat meat, over a billion deaths weekly according to some sites, they may return to their time(s) lacking their former jealousies.

Or currently, currently send oblivious citizens to a slaughterhouse and have them stay there for a week, invisibly, so they can see how the animals are treated when the workforce thinks no one is looking.

Factory farms can become organic.

It may only raise the cost of a big mac by 35 cents.

Governments could also subsidize the transition.

While subsidizing the cost of food North of 60.

Canada's population North of 60 is around 114, 970.

If the oil and gas industry receives massive government subsidies every year, there must be some money lying around to bring the cost of a 12 pack of ginger ale down to $7 in the far North.

If food costs come down and the Inuit can market seal products again, you've got a thriving aboriginal success story.

That's not only good press.

It's also solid humanity.

Angry Inuk, a must see documentary.

Shame on you Greenpeace.

Shame.

Two Lovers and a Bear

Isolated Northern ubiquitous unity, tumultuously tethered, erratically inundated, to immerse yourself in wills withstanding galavanting glacial inefficacious lugubrity, viscid amorous personal sacrifices stabilizing paramount im/permanent tidal proclivities, embraces pure and reckless harmonizing disputes like polished flagellated leather, seductively saddling sentimental sensations, buckled broncos buck, minus 30 below.

Inexhaustible lovers suddenly bitterly torn by news that one must head South, Roman (Dan DeHaan) derelict in distress, Lucy (Tatiana Maslany) aware of the agony.

Obscurity.

Frigid lunge frolic.

Kim Nguyen's Two Lovers and a Bear everlastingly exonerates to latch in longing, passionately deconstructing itinerancy, bashfully needleworking flukes.

She understands the terrain and smoothly works in several serious issues facing Northern communities without saccharinely besieging her wild poetic narrative.

Inflammatory psychiatry.

Testaments of true love.

Currently my favourite fictional act of love ever.

The past haunts them both.

Great things happening in English Canadian film.

It doesn't introduce you to the North or acclimatize you piecemeal, rather it farsightedly attunes the flight in distance, freeing the story from hewn explanations thereby.

Interiorized.

I would have handled the bear's introduction differently, his first scene with Roman anyways, a bit more time to groundwork the shock.

The abruptness integrates a cheese factor which fortunately melts as time passes.

Supernatural.

That's two romantic films I've loved this year.

That could be unprecedented.

Hearts hearthbeating.

Le Dep

An ordinary day takes a turn for the worst when a crack smoking youth decides to rob the local dep in Sonia Boileau's Le Dep, a familiar face in possession of both lock and key, applying reason to his misguided plans, attempting to commiserate, while functioning as judge and jury.

Their dialogue takes an historical turn, their dialectic polarizing desperation and stability like trenchant tidal tripwire, a delicate balance required to soothe and mediate, the reality of the crime, harrowingly cautioning the nerve.

Ice cream headache.

Whiplashed fumes.

The film concerns contemporary First Nations issues, Lydia (Eve Ringuette) living the routine work-a-day life, PA (Charles Buckell-Robertson) suffering from issues of alcohol and drug abuse.

Stemming from childhood neglect.

And the legacy of the residential school system.

There's a powerful scene where their dialogue suddenly switches from the moment to the event PA's describing, the leap startling and profound, like the ending of Waltz with Bashir, a shocking heartfelt purge.

I may have just shown the child sitting alone on the ground at the party, confused and alone, for around 2 minutes, and then cut back to the present, although the extended scene provides added depth to the story, and helps Lydia's pacifying seem more maternal.

Both actors hold their own, commanding the bucolic script with parliamentary poise, not too brash, not too sentimental, in your face yet contemplative, disadvantaged youth, struggling to age with dignity.

Lydia stands in the middle of a shootout in the end, facilitating peace, rationalizing and peacekeeping, unafraid to voice alternative options, to find mutually beneficial solutions for two opposing factions.

In the thick of it.

Elle porte une tuque orange.

Uvanga

A single mother and her son travel from Montréal to Igloolik, Nunavut, after the passing of his father, so that young Tomas (Lukasi Forrest) can meet said father's extended family for the first time.

The midnight sun illuminates their visit as familial expansiveness and jealous grudges acquaint him with a different set of cultural codes.

He's curious and chill, open-minded and active, these factors enabling a productive immersion in the North's différence, supportively kindled by his loving relatives.

And problematized by hostile trouble makers.

Uvanga frankly blends the harsh with the heartwarming, synthesizing the fearful and the awestruck in a diverse communal intergenerational resiliency.

Tomas's father's death is a subject of controversy.

His mom's (Marianne Farley as Anna) decision to leave is questioned.

Her return instigates adversarial purges.

A curative step, for the advancement of healing.

At first, I thought the scenes were passing-by too quickly, but this technique allows Marie-Hélène Cousineau and Madeline Ivalu to densely pack their multifaceted narrative with a varied cast from different walks of life, motivations and realities resultantly receiving accentuated depth, thereby directly rebuking any claims of oversimplification.

Situating a mother's grief and a son's acculturations within a lively mosaic of piquant reach.

To-the-point easy to comprehend consistently sharp conversation.

That's not so easy to pull off.

The Lesser Blessed

An isolated inflammatory incident weighs heavy on an Aboriginal teen's conscience while his introverted tendencies and disinterest in his small Northern town's sporty proclivities hinder the smooth development of institutional friendships.

A rough-and-tumble ruffian knows his dark secret and holds it over his head like a combustible cataclysmic rendition.

A practical mistrust of adult male role models heightens the chill pervasive tension while his step-father's commanding yet non-confrontational manner patiently proves that his care is genuine.

There are a couple of great coming-of-age scenes, one, where the youngster in question, Larry Sole (Joel Evans), asks step-father Jed (Benjamin Bratt) for an explanation, which he hesitates to provide due to its grizzly subject matter, but then does, thereby treating Larry with hard-edged respect, and another, where, because of The Lesser Blessed's focus on fighting, drug abuse, hooliganism, and sexual desire, it seems as if the interactive outcome will at least be verbally violent, but when sympathetic reason melts the polarization, a prominent role model begins to take shape.

Jed is contrasted with Larry's teacher who seems like he comes from the South and is ill-prepared for the pressurized seclusion of the Northwest Territories.

Jaded yet convivial crafty confrontations liaise with remote yet age-old ceremonious socializations to foster The Lesser Blessed's adolescent acuity, while incubating an atemporal independent compassion.

With smooth contemporary revitalizations of oral traditions.

Bonding by the campfire.

CBQM

Circulating Fort McPherson's warm and friendly pulse, Moccasin Telegraph radio (CBQM) quaintly coordinates the life and times of this Northwest Territorial town.

Bustling with vitality.

Fiddlers, recipes, philosophical advice, casual greetings, and informal announcements grace the gregarious airwaves as the mighty Peel River patrols the landscape.

Director Dennis Allen uses his lens to affectively edify CBQM's nocturnal hearth, focusing on the dynamics of Winter's tight-knit internal gatherings, while expanding his focus in Summer to capture vast fertile surrounding expanses.

Traditional activities are showcased within as salmon are dried and smoked, and a resounding sense of history permeates the present as contemporary events pay homage to the past.

Nice to see the ways in which a radio station's personalities can package and distribute value added information, from the darkened days of Winter to the setting of the midnight sun.