Hey, do you remember when the American president said he was going to slap 100% tariffs on films created outside of the USA? How everyone in the world scratched their head and went, “Why?” Don’t you fret, the Ol’ Midnight cowboy Jon Voight is here to clear the air. Cue Harry Nilsson’s, Everybody’s Talkin’, with the sound of a bass-boosted carwash layered on top. Yes—Voight delivered one enlightening Variety interview from the eye of a car-cleaning storm, where he stated that we should exercise gratitude for Trump’s (faux) interest in film and that “we can’t let it [Hollywood] go down the drain like Detroit.” Wow Jon, thanks for the informative take.
Everyone is talking at me… and I don’t hear a word they’re saying… Only the echoes of my mind…
While it now appears that the threat of American tariffs on international film was nothing more than another callous empty media volley, the jarring statement did prompt my reflection on Hollywood’s past and current ties to my home country, Canada. Spoiler alert: those business-savvy yanks have never been too keen on the natural flowering of Canada’ s cinematic identity.
Now let’s play a game: name one —just one— Canadian film. I’m talking Canadian-directed and produced. Can you think of anything?
Unless you’re a little Cronenberg-loving freak, you probably came up blank. Don’t feel bad, this is true even for Canadians. For over a century, Canada has struggled to define its cultural self via the silver screen. To be a fan of Canadian film is not to share a foundational set of cultural stories, as it is in America, France, Korea, or Italy; to be a fan of Canadian film means you’re fond of a small, odd, collection of often experimental and niche films—its a subculture; nothing close to national unity. That’s not to say that Canadian film fails in expressing our country’s history—more that no one sees Canadian films, so there is no shared or collective set of stories. It would be illegitimate to blame Hollywood entirely for this… right? … Right? Well, just watch me.
In 1896, the world saw the first screenings of short films in major cities across the globe. Finally, nerds had something else to watch besides boring old sports. As the feature film industry began sprouting legs, countries like the US and France (which had each invented their own moving image technology) excelled in this new market. Canada was much slower to develop its cinematic self because of the country’s vast size and sparse population of frostbitten Luddites. The reels would perpetually freeze in our subzero climates, and it was too laborious to build movie theatres out of ice bricks. Canada’s government remained reluctant to explore the possibilities of a domestic film culture well into the 1920s. By this time, other nations had already established quota systems and subsidies to grow their cinema culture and sense of nationalism.
In 1927, American studios sniffed out a loophole in Canadian legislation and Hollywood came scrambling down to British Columbia to make cheap feature films. The loophole basically involved American companies posing as Canadian to receive funding from a British film quota system. Since Canada’s film infrastructure was spindly and underdeveloped, Hollywood studios easily reaped the British funding to create an abundance of imitation B-tier Hollywood junk; and thus marks the blessed era of the “Quota Quickies.” The loophole was eventually closed in 1938, but this was one of the clearest instances of Hollywood’s manipulation of Canada’s nubile industry.
In 1924, a new corporation popped up in Canada titled the Motion Picture Exhibitors and Distributors of Canada (MPEDC). Despite the promising name, what MPEDC really stood for was the Malicious Patriots Ensuring the Destruction of Canada —and boyyyyyyyyy were these guys nasty. In all seriousness, this was just an American corporation with a mandate to protect and spread America’s film interests. This isn’t some iffy or debated subject —the corporation received their funding and instruction directly from the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA). This misleadingly named corporation opened offices across Canada, and funnelled in American cash to buy up production, distribution, and exhibition resources. They forcefully integrated American industry practices in Canada. They employed discriminatory techniques aimed at disparaging small film creators (which was pretty much all Canadian filmmakers at the time) by requiring unreasonable cash advances. Hollywood then went on to purchase Canada’s two major theatre chains: Famous Players and Odeon, now known collectively as Cineplex Entertainment. By the year 1930, Hollywood controlled 95% of Canadian film distribution. Canada’s industry in the domestic sense was effectively unviable, and the US absorbed Canada into their own market.
Those stinkers weren’t even nice about it either. Lewis Selznick, a prominent Hollywood producer at the time, stated, “If Canadian stories are worth making into films, American companies will be sent into Canada to make them.” You can read more about Hollywood’s control of production, vertical integration, and more on their pervasive business practices via the Canadian Encyclopedia’s article titled Film Distribution in Canada.
That’s not to say that Canadian filmmakers had rolled over and given up. Canadians continued to express their frustration with the American monopoly, and there was a strong movement of independent filmmakers spearheaded by John Grierson. By 1939, Canada established its own National Film Board —better late than never. This was a for-Canadian by-Canadian organization, with the goal of creating film for Canadians to better understand their own country.
This expansion was fairly fruitful, and it put the Canadian government under enough pressure to prompt a federal quota system to further grow Canadian cinema. In 1948 this system was set to move forward, until… uh oh! Not Harry Nilsson —I won’t let you lee-EAAVE-eeeee my love behind… With infinite money, a behemoth industry (partly built on Canadian culture), and one iron grip on Northern theatres, Hollywood prompted the Canadian government to sign the infamous Canadian Cooperation Project. This deal marks one of Hollywood’s most aggressive moves to suppress Canadian film. The deal ensured that Canada halt the stimulation of domestic feature film, while also reserving America’s unfettered access to Canadian theatres and their tax-free revenue. In exchange, Hollywood agreed to set some of their films in Canada, making favourable allusions to iconic Northern attractions to encourage Canadian tourism. Hollywood also agreed to encourage the distribution of National Film Board shorts in America, but this offered little in the way of proper industry exposure. Insert joke about Trump’s art of the deal or whatever, delivered with dry discouraged Canadian snark. This completely halted any momentum behind Canada’s quest for cinematic independence. It proved that America was willing to pay to suppress Canadian cultural expression, and it left a lasting imprint on the evolution of Canada’s cinematic identity.
Following many years of Hollywood dominance, the Canadian government created the Canadian Film Development Corporation (CFDC). This 1967 federal program finally made efforts to subsidize the production of Canadian films. The CFDC is often credited as one of Canada’s first real federal pursuits towards an independent domestic film culture. The problem was, the government only subsidized the production of these films; there were no resources allocated to distribution and exhibition, and America’s monopoly on Canadian theatres meant nobody saw any of the damn movies —at least not in Canada. This led to the production of dozens and dozens of strange-ass, experimental Canadian movies. Canadian filmmakers were working without the usual processes and censorship of industrial film culture, resulting in a sardonic, avant-garde, survival-driven film practice that spoke to the gritty Canadian Reality instead of the glamorous American Dream. Canadians also started getting freaky on camera—taboo sex became a major propensity in this new underground film culture. You can read more about this evolution of Canada’s experimental craft in Katherine Monk’s 2001 book, Weird Sex and Snowshoes.
Hopefully, now you can better understand why Canadian film is so underrepresented. The only way to see Canadian movies is in small independent theatres. Canadian distributors can only access this network of indie exhibition, and as a result the top-grossing films are without fail American. Implicitly and explicitly, Hollywood has reduced Canadian film to a niche genre that sweaty annoying film heads pester you about at parties. I find this upsetting because I am a massive fan of Canadian films (yes, I am that sweaty guy).
Canada’s film practice is truly breathtaking, offering hundreds of incredible idiosyncratic hidden gems such as Don Mckellar’s Last Night, Matthew Rankin’s Universal Language, Lynne Stopkewich’s Kissed, or Jeff Barnaby’s Rhymes for Young Ghouls. Not to mention possibly the best film of all time (I mean this ironically, but also not really), Vincenzo Natali’s spacey sci-fi puzzle horror, Cube
Who knows for sure what Trump was getting at with his tariff comment. Maybe it was a reaction to China limiting its imports of Hollywood monster flicks? Maybe he didn’t want Korea dominating the spotlight with their perfect suspense dramas? Maybe he spent an evening with a demented Jon Voight spraying saliva into his ear over a steak dinner? Or maybe he wanted to pick back up the old-standing American tradition of neutering Canada’s film industry.
With that said, I would like to remind Americans of two things: 1) you can’t kill what’s already dead! And 2) Hollywood North is alive and well; you cheeky ol’ Americans spend billions of dollars making films in Canada. Good luck with the tariffs.