At one of the semi-annual editions of the Toronto Small Press Fair in (I think) 2003, I got acquainted with a young man from Hamilton who tabled next to me. He leafed through my film publication, and then asked if I knew a guy in Hamilton named Travis, who was obsessive about film. He quickly followed up with an apology: “Sorry. I know that’s stereotypical. You all know each other.” But the truth was, yes I did know Travis, if only for one evening.
It was a September Friday night, just before I began studying film at York the following Monday. Earlier that week, I had already started moving into my dorm residence, and had spent a few days getting to know the campus and my neighbours. I drove back down to Birdtown on the Friday night to grab some more things for residence, but along the way I made an important pit stop.
In the previous few weeks, I would visit many favourite haunts of the past year, to symbolically say goodbye, as the endless summer of my youth crawled towards the last sunset, and a new chapter in my life. While the autumnal dusk had set in for this Friday night, I had decided to cruise the Hamilton strip one last time, in memory of several restless Friday nights in my hot youth, journeying to King Street in Hamilton for books and records.
Stores would be closing within an hour or so, but still this availed enough time for me to shop. At first, I checked out Zap and Rave Records, where I used to spend a lot of my disposable income, and then moseyed over to the Silver Snail comic shop. Some guys were hovering around the counter, talking film. I eased myself into the conversation.
The most vocal of the three or four guys around the cash register was a young man named Travis. So much of a film geek was he, that he actually took pride in that his first name was also that of Robert De Niro’s character in Taxi Driver. Make of that what you will. It was fitting though, as both Travises exhibited a (shall we say) obsessive devotion to something or other.
In that brief window of time, it was easy to see the his enthusiasm for the medium (“Brazil is the Citizen Kane of the 80s”), and yet in trying to be the smartest guy in the room, he gave the impression that his opinion mattered more than anyone’s. If he didn’t agree with you, his response would be “Oh you’ve got to be kidding” instead of a congenial “Okay I can see that…” or the good old industry fail-safe…. “Interesting!”. He hated Godard, however his opinion was influenced by just one title: his segment in the omnibus film, Aria. (Okay, I’d give him that one; but I countered that he should have a more informed opinion, by seeing the earlier films, when Godard was still fun.)
I guess I had made some impression upon him: perhaps I had mentioned stuff I had on videotape, or that I was starting film school at York the following week, or simply because I wasn’t having any of his BS. Whatever the case, as the store closed, and everyone went their separate ways, Travis shook my hand and gave me his contact info on the teeniest bit of paper. I would quickly lose it: not out of malice, but because it was so small!
And I guess you could say he made some impression on me, if I can still recall that brief moment so many years later. Upon further discussion with my neighbour at the Small Press Fair, it became clear that we were indeed talking about that same guy I had met in the Silver Snail.
Stereotypes can have whispers of truth. The “you all know each other” maxim is really more than a cliché. At most, you are two degrees of separation from anyone in whatever community you proudly wave your freak flag: whether it’s film, literature, music, whatever, because these communities really are small. (In fandom, it’s more of a clique than a community. But I digress.)
By the way, this article isn’t meant to be a put down of Travis (in the remote chance he happens to read this). Truthfully, I think everyone viewing this site can see ourselves in this young man. When we first turn on to a medium, we become fanatical in gathering information, forming our opinions, sometimes to the point of oneupmanship. (“I know more than you.”) But if we continue in our chosen field, we realize how much more there is to know. This year marks the fortieth anniversary of my self-taught studies in film history, and in many ways, I feel like I’ve just begun!
Greg Woods
Greg Woods has been a film enthusiast since his teens, and began his writing "career" at the same time- prolific in capsule reviews of everything he had watched, first on index cards, then those hardcover dollar store black journals, then an old Mac IIsi. He founded The Eclectic Screening Room in 2001, as a portal to share his film love with the world, and find some like-minded enthusiasts along the way. In addition to having worked in the film industry for over two decades, he has been a co-programmer of films at Trash Palace, and a programmer/co-founder of the Toronto Film Noir Syndicate. He has also written for Broken Pencil, CU-Confidential, Micro-Film, and is currently working on his first novel. His secret desire is for someone to interview him for a podcast or a DVD extra.