Oh No, Canada
To the young actress’ distressed request for a meeting, I should have responded with the Los Angeles standard excuses--”I’m too busy” or “I’m on my way out to Pilates”--but instead I agreed to see her at a place on Sunset. From the tightness of her voice, it sounded like she needed a stiff drink. This being L.A., I found her sipping an iced chai latte.
Despite the expert application of Preparation H under her eyes, I could tell she’d been crying. I cringed when she opened with: “So I’m at my callback this morning. . . .” To improve the quality of all our lives here in the Southland, I propose that acting coaches discourage their young charges from ever recounting their casting sessions. The casting game is gruesome enough, but relayed secondhand by a thespian, it’s thoroughly nauseating. Nonetheless, sensing she’d already been rejected enough that day, I asked her to continue.
“So this television producer guy,” she began, “he waits until the casting director’s left the room before he leans in closer to me.” I couldn’t help but guess where this story was going. I gulped my coffee and resigned myself to hearing a tale of the casting couch cliche. “So he says I’m really right for the role, but so were a couple other girls. Now it’s down to special ‘criteria’ to see which one of us girls is going to make the cut.” “This town is full of scumbags,” I offered.
“No kidding, but this is different.” Her words were coming out like little hiccups now. “He asked if I was Ca-na-di-an!” My mouth was empty; otherwise we would have had a coffee spit-take. Was that it?
She obviously didn’t find it a laughing matter. “Don’t you understand? This is the third role I’ve lost this month because I’m not one of them.” The way in which she said “them” made me think of an alien invasion story, like “The X-Files.” Of course, “The X-Files,” purportedly based in Washington, D.C., actually was shot in Vancouver, Canada, for its first five seasons. Isn’t “X-Files” star Gillian Anderson herself Canadian? And isn’t the new WB Network show “D.C.,” ostensibly set in our nation’s capital, shot in Toronto? Suddenly the issue was much clearer than one of “The X-Files”’ enigmatic plot lines.
As actress Helen Mirren said on this year’s Emmy broadcast when asked the difference between British and American television: “In my experience, American television is made in Canada.” For some time, newspapers and entertainment trades have reported the impact of lower-budget American productions choosing to take advantage of the favorable currency exchange, tax incentives and agreeable unions in Canada by shooting there. Sure, past practices by our unions partly brought this on, and California isn’t a tax haven, but the Canadian government’s incentives are particularly galling. In any case, to get the best deal there, a certain percentage of a show’s cast and crew have to be certified Canadian. My teary actress could have helped fill that quota--and been flown to Canada for filming--if she’d been Canadian.
Before going into a full rant about the injustice of it all, I’ll admit to seeing the irony in any complaint that Toronto or Vancouver is used to portray Washington, D.C., or anyplace else in the U.S. The U.S. film industry invented that particular deception. California studios and locations have been made to stand in for virtually every corner of the world, and for one reason: To Save Money. Jobs multiplied in California, fortunes were made and Los Angeles became the center of the on-screen universe through deceit about locations. For Angelenos, there’s nothing wrong with robbing Des Moines and Duluth and Detroit of revenue by faking those cities from here. But Canadians doing that to us? It’s a perversion worse than what they do to American football.
And that’s not all. As my actress friend, a world-wizened 24-year-old, noted: “My best girlfriend in college, she was Canadian. In the two years since we’ve been out of school, she’s had two series.” “It can’t be as simple as that,” I argued. “You two just must be different types for different roles.” “People used to think we were twins in class. But that little passport of hers got her more work. And I’m a better actress.” “Of course you are,” I agreed, but she was still suffering, so I recounted the only comforting anecdote I could think of. An aspiring starlet I knew from Vancouver had been prevented from boarding a flight to Los Angeles when U.S. Immigration officials suspected her of trying to find roles here. At that, my sad friend perked up. So at least that’s one less Canadian, she said. Well, in truth, the B.C. girl simply had dad drive her to Seattle so she could fly from there.
Survivors of the rough-and-tumble world of show business will tell you that everything is cyclical. This just happens to be a phase when Americans are being trampled by a stampede of productions heading to Canada. Hollywood execs are quick to point the finger at their competitors, to accuse them of being the guilty party. HBO’s publicity arm told me that Showtime shoots more of its shows north of the border. Showtime’s publicity department said it didn’t “want to participate” in this discussion.
Growing up in the northeastern United States, I was always aware of the other country up north. My older brother played hockey, and players visiting from Canada often slept under our roof. Yet I feel uneasy about the manner in which our national borders have blurred. The Canadian government has lured business away with heavy subsidies. How have we responded? With open arms. While Americans have trouble getting roles in Canada, the United States entertainment industry has been restaffed by many mild-mannered yet furtive Canadian nationals who, incidentally, will stop at nothing to make themselves liked.
Now the invaders are everywhere and proud of it. As my friend sniffled (could I sell Starbucks the idea of marketing iced lattes “actually sweetened by tears?”), I began to think how readily I have accepted Canuck Keanu Reeves’ stupid surfer routine as American. The teens who flocked to “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me” this summer probably assume that Mike Myers is British, but the fact is he’s a Canadian. (Might Dr. Evil be wearing red maple leaf underwear beneath the gray suit?)
It is a bit shameful to see how readily some Canadians are willing to blend in while others wave their royal standard-bearing passports in our faces. Like many of my peers, I watched Michael J. Fox portray an eager young Republican on “Family Ties.” In real life, he couldn’t have participated in the political actions espoused by his character--because we don’t let Canadians vote in our elections. Mr. Fox decided only recently to become a United States citizen. Why did he wait so long? And why does our government allow it? Didn’t Canada lose the French and Indian War?
During the Cannes Film Festival this year, a German distributor said international film buyers consider Toronto the most important festival in North America. Why not Sundance? What could be more honestly American than Utah? His reply: The Canadians who attend the screenings in Toronto are a “real” audience. So now, thanks to Canada, Hollywood moviegoers are perceived as artificial?
All is not lost. But it has turned a bit skanky. According to a recent article in an industry trade publication, production in Los Angeles was down over the last year, thanks largely to the welcome wagon to the north. The only sector of the entertainment industry that has expanded in L.A. County is porn, which was up 18% to an all-time high of 10,000 films last year. So while we’ve deluded ourselves with notions of Dudley Do-Right and honorable Mounties rescuing damsels, in truth those Canucks are forcing American actresses to consider compromising positions. How many porn films are shot in Canada, I wonder? No doubt those numbers are guarded in Ottawa the way the Soviets harbored missile counts. Our lattes drained, my friend looked away mournfully. But, as often happens with the rejection-resilient performing arts professional, her “All About Eve” instincts took hold. As the Southern California sun began to set, she fixed her green eyes on me and balefully asked: “Do you think I should marry a Canadian?”