The Plains of Abraham. The Durham Report. The War Measures Act. Conscription. Stephen Harper. The Orangemen. Rob Ford… The narrator of J’haïs les Anglais has plenty of reasons to hate “the English,” his catch-all term for anyone who speaks the language of Yes, No, Toaster that he can’t understand.
On September 1, 1939, a huge ass rose on the German horizon. Like a star, it climbed high into a sky normally filled with pale moons, patches of fog, and the occasional harmless witch. Once it was nice and high in the sky, it began to shit, Kapriel. In your country, it snows. Well here, it shits. Brown sticky, stinking flakes of it began to fall lazily to the ground. They fell on people, on cars, on the Olympic Stadium… First across Germany, then across the rest of Europe. At the start, we managed to shovel away the shit that was falling, but soon it was up to our knees, then our waists. It shat for six years. Even today, we’re still shoveling away the shit that began to fall that day. What? You thought it had been shitting for a long time before that in Germany? Yes, but it only began to stink on September 1, 1939. You know the rest.
Thousands of people came to witness the departure of the Erebus and the Terror from British soil in 1845; Sir John Franklin was hailed as a hero setting off to conquer the Northwest Passage. But what began as a tremendous expedition set against a sea of cheering voices ended as a lone figure struggling in a vacuum of nothingness, hundreds of miles from anything but ice.
and it all starts when you go to the front door only to be confronted with two cops who look at you as though they’re carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, they ask you your name and your answer doesn’t make them feel any better, their faces just get even longer, so you wait […] and finally you ask what’s going on…
“Stories are sacred. I’m unsure about a lot of things in life, but I know stories are sacred. Stories are the only eternity an agnostic like me can believe in…”
8:17 PM, Rue Darling is Montréal noir with an unmistakable French accent. Gérard is an alcoholic and former crime reporter, gone back to live in the disaster of a Montreal neighbourhood where he grew up. We follow him as he looks for answers in this flawed world.
New Tab is a touching portrait of life in Montreal as so many of us know it today. Morissette’s is a unique voice, but at the same time it’s the voice of a generation, the voice of our generation.
“I thought about things like self-esteem, success, relationships and self-improvement all being for other people. I thought about self-sabotage being for me.
Later, I stared at what looked like the beginning of a sunrise.”