We left Newfoundland on July 1, 2005, and on our very first day in Vancouver I landed a job as a “Genny” truck driver with a television / movie production company. It was a bizarre set of circumstances that made for a great story. So entertaining, I wrote a “Pilot” for ‘Skerry Boy Television’; a reality program that was loosely based on the experience. A group of professional snowmobile riders from Newfoundland end up at a Canada Day Party hosted by a film producer who hires them to run the transportation division at his Vancouver studio.
“… job as a Genny Truck driver…”
Any Newfoundlander is an anomaly in British Columbia and my eclectic skill set put me in the company of some influential characters who helped push the script onto the desk of a major television producer. It was one of four similar programs vying for a single nod that we didn’t get. It was most disappointing, though we were able to take some consolation when they shared their insights about the decision.
“… engaged with the production crew,”
They loved the concept and the action component of our program. Enjoyed watching us work on set, how the “Newfs” engaged with the production crew, and the many wild directions the show could entertain. But they were fearful that our thick Newfoundland dialects would be too difficult for an American audience to understand. They also thought that our instinctive and improvisational humour was a little too highbrow.
I protested at great length, even suggesting that we subtitle the less discernible elements of conversation (Laguana Beach started this trend) but they remained unconvinced. I was inconsolable since I’d promised my wife that I’d get a real job if this didn’t work out.
“… get a real job…”
I enjoyed my next career in Vancouver’s mineral exploration industry, but I often found myself wondering about “The film world” and what could have been – until years later when I moved back to Newfoundland and was asked to stand as an extra for a new reality show called ‘Coldwater Cowboys’
During our first break from shooting (a live musical recording of Paul Tiller’s brother and first mate Jason performing in Green Sleeves Pub), a group of us ventured outside to enjoy a cigarette. Smoking is pretty much a prerequisite for anyone involved in the film industry, so a goodly portion of the crew were present when one of the show’s supporting characters stated;
“Don’t know what they’re (the directors) worried about for regards of action in this show – I haven’t been aboard a ship yet that didn’t go to the bottom! That aught to make for good television”.
I spit my drink across the street, nearly choking at the laugh this evoked. Not to mention the questions that roared through my mind.
“Holy suffering Morris. What do you mean every ship you’ve been aboard sank? Like, into the ocean? Under the waves?”
He nodded assuredly reiterating; “Yes man, every single ship!”
He then proceeded to name all the boats they’d lost over the years. I marvelled at the list but was even more shocked by his attitude, for he was rather nonchalant about it all. He certainly, wasn’t attempting to sensationalize the story so I prodded;
“Were you ever in fear for your life?”
“Nah, not really. Well once I suppose. But that was me own fault!”
I near spit again, choking out another query;
“Your own fault? How do you figure that?”
“Boy, I went back aboard of her.” He said, again without any sense of exaggeration. (Suppose I was doing enough of that for both of us.)
“You went back aboard of her?” I asked incredulously – wondering in the back of my mind, what could possibly possess a man to jump on a sinking ship. Had he forgot his survival suit? Was a crew mate unaccounted for? God forbid, did he go back for a dog? Things you might see yourself doing.
But no,,, when I asked what motivated him, he simply explained;
“Boy I had a brand new shot gun bought and there was some shocking pile of ducks on the Labrador that fall!”
Well I nearly passed out laughing. It was the last thing I expected to hear, and the shock value was overt.
Despite my near collapse I couldn’t help but notice the writer wasn’t making notes, the camera guy didn’t run for any recording equipment, the crew weren’t laughing, and they basically weren’t paying any heed to our conversation. Morris was entertaining an audience of one – me.
And that’s what I call a reality check. Every decision we make leads to the reality of “Now”, and so long as you like yourself and the world you currently share – there’s no room for regret, neither real nor perceived.
“… no room for regret…”
