Keepin' it real on Canadian TV

A continuous source of nationalcivic pride for me as a Canadian has been the unprudish nature of our advertising standards relative to our neighbours to the south. I mean, damn straight we showed Janet Jackson's boob over and over again in news coverage without pixelation. Damn straight people can say "fuck" unbleeped on The National. Damn straight we had The Sopranos uncensored on conventional network TV--granted, a year or so after everyone had seen the episodes already. Damn straight when archive footage of 9/11 is aired, we show angles of the planes crunching into the towers good and close, rather than the various patriotic editing tricks CNN made standard policy starting September 18th or thereabouts.

On that note, some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that apparently the version of The Tudors airing Tuesdays at 9 on CBC has been subject to editing that's been culling the amount of visible skin relative to the show's authentic cut aired on premium-cable-channel Showtime. If the standards of public decency set by the series' predecessor-of-sorts, Rome, are any indication, this means that the adorable Natalie Dormer's substantial pair of Boleyns have likely been out for a jaunt or two unseen by Canadian eyes. This is a shame, as I feel this would tremendously improve the show's watchability--what I've seen has fallen far short in terms of the sheer naughty fun that Rome was, even when that show's characters kept their clothes on. (Vorenus and Pullo versus the gladiators remains the greatest five minutes of television in years.)

The good news is that Canada remains capable of putting out PSAs that blow pussy American your-brain-on-drugs clean out of the water. Check out reaction from our Yankee brethren here and here to the latest Ontario WSIB spots, which I've embedded below. Not sure if I prefer the borderline Looney-Tunes violence of the construction worker spot, or the gore and screaming of the cook one.





So be proud, Canada. We may be slipping in the sex and loose morals department, but shocking stool-loosening violence? We've still got it, baby.

Movie glut

2007 wound up being a year where I found myself flagging a fair number of movies as worth seeing, only to let them slide off the radar one by one (Yes Grindhouse, I'm including you here). There is a chance to redeem myself, however, in the frantic race to the finish.

Indeed, the to-watch list has built up an unfortunate backlog for the traditional cinematic onslaught between now and Christmas. I fear the only feasible solution will be expensive.

Here's where we stand:

• Lions for Lambs ⁽¹⁾ (14-Nov, **)
• Lars and the Real Girl (17-Nov, ****)
• American Gangster
• No Country for Old Men
• Beowulf ⁽²⁾
• Southland Tales
  
• The Golden Compass ⁽³⁾
• I Am Legend
• Juno
  
• Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
• Charlie Wilson's War
  

Important provisos:
¹ - All Tyler's fault. Wouldn't have been on the list to begin with.
² - must be in IMAX 3D
³ - Subject to complex web of emotions related to the books being among my favouritist things in the world and not wanting to taint that experience.

Attention faithful readers: If you demand I join you in attendance at one of these films, I'll probably say yes. Even if I don't really like you all that much.

Of trivial note: I created the IMDb page for one of the above films something like five or six years ago. Seriously.

A Canadian moment

I'm in a pretty substantial queue the other day at Popeye's at Bloor and Yonge. And it's ridiculous, because everyone else is Chinese. Like, hardcore fresh-off-the-boat-that-just-sailed-down-from-Richmond-Hill Chinese. And you know how they love their PFK.

And so there's this one older lady who really can't understand why it's cheaper to buy a three-piece meal when she only wants two pieces. And she's trying to make herself understood by the service staff. And all nasty latent xenophobia aside, she's really not doing this particularly well. And this is not being helped by the fact that the staff is all brown. Like, the really brown type of brown, that get looked at funny when they commit the crime of taking a plane trip. And they don't speak the English any better than our Chinese lady friend. And so dear Yasmina, or Yeasmina, or whatever, is trying to explain that, no, she really she should buy the three pieces. And the Chinese lady is attempting to convey that no, her love of the fried chicken doesn't extend to three pieces. And we're really getting nowhere, and the line full of Chinese people and Tom is completely stalled.

And so my eyes are wandering, and I can't help but notice that prominently displayed, in the name of Allah the Most Merciful, is a certificate stating that all the chicken served in this Popeye's is Halal. And that this has been established because Islamic scholars inspected the chicken farm in nulle-part-de-fuck-butt, Quebec. Where, it would seem, the slaughter of chickens in conducted fully in accordance with Islamic law. And, one hopes, French language law, too.

And so with this issue eventually resolved, I'm upstairs eating my Halal fried chicken. And three Asian teenage girls make a point of taking turns posing, Japanese-tourist-style, for pictures. These would be pictures of them standing in the middle of the eating area. In Popeye's. At Yonge and Bloor.

And it's at this moment I realize that all this has been going on in a Cajun-themed restaurant, that's supposedly recreating the cuisine of the black folks in a colonial French-influenced area.

And that somewhere up there in the sky, Pierre Trudeau is pissing himself with joy.