The Squeeze Box

The Squeeze Box

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Starring:	Ryan Ward, Robert Skeates
Country:	Canada
Created:	2005
Runtime:	12 min.
Member:	shanebelcourt
	shanebelcourt's Other Films & Listings Film: Pookums Film: Tkaronto

Film Description:

Summary
Filmmaker Blog
Gallery
Video

Synopsis

The Squeeze Box is a film-noir love poem about a hit man who hires a mute accordion player to be his real-life soundtrack. Harley, a nice kid who chooses music over words, descends into Hank's world of heartache, loss, and revenge - where his music serves to ease the violence of this underworld.

Forms: Narrative Fiction, Short
Genres: Alternative, Comedy, Drama, Thriller, Crime, Film Noir, Independent, Magical Realism, Surreal, Dramedy
Niches: Native/Aboriginal Peoples

Screenings & Events

ImagineNative Film Festival
Film Festival
Awards: no
Toronto, Canada
October 2005

Cast & Crew

Production

Duane Murray (Co-Director (1st Project)), Shane Belcourt (Co-Director (1st Project), Producer (1st Project))

Writing

Duane Murray (Co-Writer (1st Project)), Shane Belcourt (Co-Writer (1st Project))

Performance

Jeff Sinasac (Voice-Over), Robert Skeates (Lead Actor), Ryan Ward (Lead Actor)

Camera

Jordan O'Connor (Sound Mixer, Boom Operator, Cableman), Rob Norton (Cinematographer/DP (1st Project)), Shane Belcourt (Cinematographer/DP (1st Project))

Art Department

Alice Dixon (Production Designer (1st Project), Art Director (1st Project))

Post Production

Jordan O'Connor (Sound Editor), Shane Belcourt (Picture Editor), Sophie Raymond (Picture Editor)

Representation

Shane Belcourt (Manager)

The Squeeze Box Story Aug 30, 2006 10:30PM

May 30th, 2006 It was supposed to be a simple short film, a quick one and done. The fast completion dazzling film-lovers and would-be gatekeepers, sashaying me into meetings and discussions for future more elaborate feature productions. It was supposed to be a stepping stone, that thing you run and jump onto in grade school, the gymnastic studies part in phys ed, where you run all at once and slam your feet onto this thing, this spring board to the stars, this …. thing you trip over, causing you to slam your body into the balance beam because you mis-timed it all, over-thought it, and just made it all more difficult than it had to be. Well, it’s five years later and I’m ready to talk about this. ***************************************************************************************************** Part One of ... Before I tell you what this film actually became, it might be better to tell you what this film almost was: 1. it was almost a puppet show 2. it was almost a short film with puppets 3. it was almost a animated short film 4. it was almost a graphic novel 5. it was almost a 35mm short with producers, money, and panivision lenses 6. it might have been a Fox Searchlight or WWSFF winner/production (I mean we did submit the script to their contests) 7. it might very well have also been nothing, something we never tried to make ever ******************************************************************************************* What I am simply saying is, it took me an awfully long time to get this thing together. It has taken me an awfully long time to let this be what it needs to be, And only now, do I feel at all in the slightest of ways, not a movie-lover but a movie-maker. The film has become the bridge from one to the other. The time in-between idea and completion however, was an anchor that almost sunk me. * * *********************************************************************************************** I grew up in the Ottawa area, in the first home I remember was 172 McCellan Road in Neapean, what was then the suburbs I guess. All I really have of then are memories of running and being outside everyday, every chance, doing something. And of course it was the worst of times for my family, my father struggling through his own things, leading to the eventual loss of our home – the bank moved it and kicked us out. So, we had to move further out into the deeper darker suburban area of Kanata. **************************************************************************************************** I was in grade four then and I was sent to a new school a 10-minute walk from my house, Roland Michner. First day, I was nervous as hell, scared out of my wits, and a kid made a remark about my “girlish” hair, which my hippie Mom didn’t want to cut, and I pushed him into the coat hangers almost knocking his head off with one. Thankfully he was alright and later when we calmed down we became friends. But he had this other friend, he looked liked an idiot, and we tended to keep our distance. ********************************************************************************************* Then one morning recess we were playing four-square and I can’t remember exactly what happened, but let’s just assume that this other kid was trying to cheat and I wasn’t having it (he’ll tell you otherwise, you’ll have to ask him). Anyway, this lead to a couple shoves, which lead to the “fight” = headlocks. I had him in one, he had me in one and fell to the ground and rolled around in mutual headlocks, no one giving in, no one winning. Kids gathered around “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as we dug in more, tightening our grips, tossing this and that way on the pavement … Then they all got bored as we wouldn’t let go of each other and it looked like no one was going to win anything. They went back to skipping and got the 4-square game going again as we lay there all alone now, no audience to prove our might. We made some jokes to each other about “I’m not giving up” and “either am I” to “well, this is stupid” to “yeah, get off me fag.” To us standing up: “Hi, I’m Jordan.” To “Hi, I’m Shane.” ****************************************************************************** And that is the first chapter of how this all came to pass. This “idiot kid” is Jordan O’Connor, my brother, the co-founder of The Breath proper, and the producer and score composer for the short film, The Squeeze Box. * * ************************************************************************************ I wrote the first draft of this film (which eventually became the final draft of this film – long story, we’ll cover it) in two hours in one sitting. I had just watched the Cohen Brothers “The Man Who Wasn’t There” and I had the home menu music playing continuously – there was something in the menu music, it was feeding something. I recalled an image that Jordan had given me. He was coming back after a gig and in the front seat the drummer (Jesse Baird) was driving the van and in the passengers seat the keyboardist (Craig Harley) was sitting there playing his accordion. Jesse was going on about the traffic and Craig said nothing, just kept playing, adjusting his tune to suit Jesse’s mood. Jordan told me it would make a funny movie. I thought about it and settled on a hitman and a hired real-life soundtrack. I made some notes, nothing went anywhere, I left it for a while. ************************************************************************************************************* Then, the menu music from The Man Who Wasn’t There and my laptop in front of me … BOOM. There it was. I had written Harley’s entire voice over, explaining who he is and what he had done, told from the gates of heaven. I read it and re-read it – I loved it. I printed it off and jotted some notes in the margins about what we could shoot/show for this bit of narration and that bit. ************************************************************************************************************* Next morning I typed those “notes’ as scenes and did a script treatment of it. I emailed the script to the crew of friends and family that I send things to for thoughts and ideas. My Mom sent back the first one I put in there: “Shane, the ending is wrong. You have to have something positive happen in the end. Harley must affect Hank’ life. He can’t just be hired and then die.” ************************************************************************************************************* I come up with a few possible suggestions and brought the problem to my writing partner, Duane Murray, when we were at the Green Room (restaurant) on my birthday diner. He shoots out, “You know what, in the end he should audition a group of new musicians looking for another soundtrack. He can’t go on any longer in life without the music. There, he’s changed. See, I’m brilliant! Who’s you Daddy? You better give me credit for that.” * * ************************************************************************************************************** After Kanata when my parents had scratched up enough dough while we were in the rental garden home for a down payment, we moved “downtown” to the west end of Ottawa’s core. My Dad had gotten into the multi-media business and things were going really well. I was excited to be moving to the city now, but was also kind of freaked out – the big city, who am I gonna meet as friends now? Jordan’s parents were divorced and his mother lived downtown, which meant I’d still see him while he visited her, not to mention, he would come over anyway, my Dad picking him up and driving him back for weekend visit/hangs. But a new school loomed. ************************************************************************************************************* I went to a Catholic high school close by that my father’s friend recommended, saying it was a good school. When my Dad suggested it I told him, “yeah, but I’m not catholic.” And he told me, “You were baptized Catholic.” I turned to my Mom, “Is he serious?” She had a long look on her face. “Part of the deal,” she told me, “when I married your father was that the kids all had to be baptized catholic or his mother would go nuts,” I turned to my Dad, “But your Aboriginal?” He shrugged, “Look, I was baptized, my mother was baptized … You’re baptized. Which is good, because now you can go to this school.” I felt violated. I told him so. Catholic? Jesus. ************************************************************************************************************* Grade 8 was a wash. New school and I kept my distance. Wasn’t used to the catholic aspects of the thing. Where was the public wash of everything? There was a “side” to every argument, every perspective, and it wasn’t mine. ************************************************************************************************************* Then grade nine, very excited, could go anywhere just about now, and there was a public high school right across from where we lived, I mean DIRECTLY across the road from our new house: Fisher Park, a public high school. I was back and I was ready. First day I walk in the front doors ready to register … I start seeing some familiar faces from the Catholic people I knew in grade 8. Hmmm. Into the office I go. “Hi, I wanted to register for high school here.” Give the name and she’s already got my schedule. What the hell? Top of the page “Saint Joe’s & Saint Pat’s” – both logos side by side. “Excuse me, isn’t this Fisher Park?” She tells me, no, it isn’t anymore, the Catholic School Board bought it out and has combined two crammed high schools into one super crammed one, the one I was standing in right that very minute. They already had my schedule because I had already gone and completed grade 8 at St Joe’s grade 7 to 13. It was like the Godfather, “just when you think you’re out …” Granted, I could have applied to any other high school and taken the bus, but man, come on … I lived RIGHT ACROSS from this high school building. Who could give up the home lunch? The late wake up? The ease of living across the road from the place? Shit. ************************************************************************************************************* So, I stuck with it. Two weeks into it, in Mrs. Mahoney’s English class I hardly knew a soul, I stuck to the back of the class. We had to memorize a solieque from Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet and recite it. Each class would start off with three or four reads, you never knew when you would go, she would choose randomly so you wouldn’t skip you day. Ah, poor Dan. His name came up and his face immediately turned red. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t the nervous kid in the class who avoided everyone, he seemed to know some people and had some friends and laughed with people, he just instantly hated this poetry recital thing and his number had come up. ************************************************************************************************************* He held on to his tiny clear plastic ruler from his pencil case. ************************************************************************************************************* He held it with both hands on either end. ************************************************************************************************************* He began, red-faced, his recital, the room deadly quiet, as he got it going. ************************************************************************************************************* He got the first couple lines out with obvious dry mouth. ************************************************************************************************************* As he was painfully, with many false starts, trying to get through the sollique, I noticed that he was bending his ruler quite a bit. ************************************************************************************************************* He hit a few snags, tried to regain the flow of it. ************************************************************************************************************* The whole time, holding this ruler, bending it ever so slightly more, and more as he got deeper and deeper into “I can’t remember this poem fucking hell” when … ************************************************************************************************************* … SNAP! ************************************************************************************************************* The ruler breaks in half, he bent it all the way over upon reaching the hardest part of the recital. I fucking lost it. I was only watching the ruler the whole time, trying to avoid his nervous eyes. Sure, I felt sorry for him, who wouldn’t? But I just couldn’t take my eyes off the ruler, it was this perfect staring point to avoid his dying eyes. Then the snap. You can’t write that kind of thing. I thought it was brilliant the … ************************************************************************************************************* Allow me to interject one second here: I have grown up seeing my life and it’s moments not as my own but as a movie, including other peoples lives. The joke may hurt the feelings but man picture it from the perspective of a camera, and this is the scene in the movie, and what you just did was amazing! ... I'm an asshole right? Well … ************************************************************************************************************* … the snap of ruler made me loose it. I began instantly laughing my head off. NO ONE else was laughing, Dan had stopped cold and evil eyes were beginning, but they weren’t all turned onto me. There was one other guy laughing his head off, one other guy I hardly ever noticed before. He had greasy hair, wore jogging pants and basketball shoes, with his Dad’s old dress up shirts and a wrist band. He always carried a dirty gym bag along with him everywhere (don’t know why he never put it in his locker) and he placed it always on top of his desk – a sandbag for his defense lines I guess. Anyway, this guy was laughing his head off as well. We turned to each other, the rest of the class in silence and angry at us both, we had no one else, and we laughed and laughed harder now with each other. We kept re-enacting the moment laughing and laughing more, really loosing it, “did you see” and we’d loose the breath, the other guy completing the thought, “…all the way and then …” the other “bang!” And on and on we went. Poor fucking Dan, I do feel awful for the guy, I feel real terrible remembering this and thinking only now about what must have been going through his mind. But shit dude, it was funny. It was killer funny. At least when you see the world as though it could be broken up and bottled into a film lens, and people as actors would walk off the set and they’re fine and undamaged. Yeah, in that way it was really funny. ************************************************************************************************************* And the kid who was laughing with me: Duane Murray. My best friend throughout high school and University (we went to same school). The guy who is the co-writer, co-director, co-editor, and a co-producer of this short film – and every other project we work on here at The Breath Films. ************************************************************************************************************* *** More next time ....

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