Kingston Paradise in Toronto.

St. Jago de la Vega and Kingston had not yet met in their prophesized sprawling merger. Growing up in Jamaica, my cardiology would routinely spike on the commute between bucolic and bustle. To the extent that even now, there's nothing better for my heart than a hit of citypulse.
 
My latest sortie saw me emerge from a summers-end Muskoka sequestration. A few probing enquiries, and I headed for Hogtown's TIFF 2013. In this era we're still speaking about that cavalcade of prestigious cinematic unveilings, and the familiar frenzy of the red carpet.

But now, also, parallel fledgling festivals aligned with it.

The Caribbean Tales Film Festival occurs on the fringes of this frisson. The timing is advantageous to showcase the maturing output of Caribbean related filmwork, adding its own diasporic glam to the scene with contiguous scheduling and spicy spectacle. Shorts, docs, features, workshops and symposia.

TIFF Artistic Director, media-master, mogul, mullah Cameron Bailey, himself of Barbadian heritage, makes a natural patron and ally for the eight year-old CTFF, incepted and run by Frances-Anne Solomon, a proud Trinidadian film-maker.

Having missed sold-out TIFF screenings of Steve McQueen's acclaimed "12 Years a Slave," which ended up a clear winner of the top accolades, I had to re-focus. I was drawn out by a desire to see how my Jamaican friend, Mary Wells fared with her movie "Kingston Paradise," making its world premiere.

Five years prior we had pored over early footage as she shaped a working edit. At the time, final cut seemed ... remote.

In the tradition of Damian Marley's anthemic song "Welcome To Jamrock," Mary's cinema verité visuals of this island paradise bely the Iberostar propaganda of Tourist Board commercials.

And make no mistake, this isn't gratuitous invitation to indulge in ghetto-voyeurism or re-hash Jamaican political tribalism.

At core, this is about a couple's struggle for self-betterment. A capitalist's dream in a setting where there's little capital to go 'round. Driving taxi in this town requires more than a hackney permit. Chris "Johnny" Daley energetically portrays Rocksy. He hustles condoms and phone-cards but is readily seduced by a Syrian businessman's conspicuously crisp Mitsubishi Evolution.

Hollywood might've required a grand heist, but JAH-llywood finds gold in a petty auto-thief, complete with bumbling sidekick.

Camille Small, as Rosie, is Rocksy's main squeeze, complicit in methodology but not end-game. She's an art-lover and supporter of "woman work" who is not deferential to agressive testosterone. Unlike some of her predecessors in Jamaican cinema, Camille manages to infuse Rosie's pulchritude with an eloquent subtlety.

Everyone's heard of Trenchtown. Well, there are several comparable "garrisons" on the Kingston city grid. Mary credits gratitude to the people of Southside, which is in East Kingston.

 

Here, shambles of a once-grand downtown show systemic neglect, and every available space is adapted to accomodate the population therein. Supporting players are shrewdly utilised to rivetingly depict the day-to-day business of survival.

In the mechanics yard, gappy Clovie ("I thief but I never go jail") and pretty-boy Maltado deserve mention. So too does the ambiguous, dare I say, androgeny of the marginal players. During a prolonged de rigeur cop chase sequence one delivers, sans dialogue, haven for our hero, and the other nails what may be the most stylish onscreen come-uppance I can remember.

Wisely, Mary avoids padding the dialogue with cliche epithets and common themology. My Spidey-sense is that there was imput from her actors to this end. The result is believable dialogue which, of necessity, benefits from subtitling in service of the colloquial narrative. This allows the viewer to digest the all-consuming socio-economic reality at his/her own pace.

In Kingston, there's no avoiding this.

 

Perry Henzell's "The Harder They Come" (1972) will always serve as a blueprint. To this day THTC one-line take-aways pepper popular culture. Kingston Paradise has its share of those too, with at least one standout deadpan delivery certain to mash up movie-houses from Kingston to Toronto. 

 

Then of course there's the music. Award winning composer John Welsman, an honorary Caribbean if there ever was one, dials up the decibels. Combining original score and contemporary vocal tracks, this Canadian demonstrates a clear understanding of Jamaica's bass imperative.

The first thing Mary asked me after the well-received screening, which led to the all-important CTFF 2013 audience choice award, was - what do I think of the film's commercial prospects?

Well, after driving around Kingston with her, not too long ago, I do know she could use a new car.

I predict here and now, she won't have to steal one.

... karaoke and the cricket ...

... this is no secret or revelation ... most of us wish we could belt out a tune ... and, as we all know, there's an app for that! ... it's called karaoke, a word I don't recall hearing before it took the world by storm some decades ago ... everyone wants to be a SingStar ... take it from me, most actors would love to be singers ... in the same way that so many singers want to act ...


... often seen in a corny mood light, gifted pipes can turn karaoke into a fine art ...

... to others fantasy and fun is all that matters ...

... skip a few connecting thoughts with me as I leap from karaoke to the more crucial consideration of the sport known throughout the remains of the British Empire as ... cricket ...

... now, having alienated most of my readership with the very mention of these two scintillating topics ... in one devil-may-care post no less ... I continue in the knowledge that if you're still with me you've probably been to Barbados, know a few Bajans, or are from this reef-ringed, easternmost island of the Caribbean ... a place where karaoke enthusiasts abound and a constellation of cricketing superstars had their beginnings ...

... the Best Of Caribbean Tales Film Festival which opened with a screening of A Winter Tale attracted a vanguard of attendees to Barbados last week, surviving technical challenges to augur well for the future of filmmaking in the region ... those of us visiting couldn't miss the indelible nation-building stamp of larger-than-life players from the consecutive golden eras in West Indies Cricket history ...

... the triple-headed memorial to "The Three W's" (Frank Mortimer Maglinne Worrell, Clyde Leopold Walcott and Everton DeCourcy Weekes) at the UWI Cave Hill campus is a testament to favourite sons with great career stats, knighthood and a last initial in common ... when you add uber-cricketer Sir Garfield St. Aubyn Sobers, whose statue graces Bridgetown's showpiece Kensington Oval, and a host of other native greats you get the picture ... modestly put, this ground has been walked by some of the finest ...













... fast-forward to the present day and we find endemic underperformance within contemporary Caribbean cricket ... while listening to a shamefaced radio post-mortem of a Windies capitulation to unregarded Zimbabwe in a recent 20/20 match I was reminded of a standard Cowellian reproach to many an auditioner on American Idol ... "that sounded like karaoke," he's been known to say, when faced with soulless mimicry where authentic virtuosity is required ...

... in Barbados the pervasive pride in sporting achievement exists in tandem with respect for recreation ... typically, after a day of beach and required activities, we head out in search of food ... the colourful gazebo at the food village in Oistins is a popular spot which invariably has a karaoke set-up, complete with mellifluous DJ, interactive entertainment, good natured and light ... nary a boo nor bottle thrown ...














... a Wednesday night at Hal's Bar along the cosmopolitan St. Lawrence Gap strip provides unexpected entertainment ... there's Stevie Wonder, Sam Cooke, a superb Otis Redding, two Teddy Pendergrasses (Pendergrassi?) ... Marty Robbins, Waylon Jennings, all The Platters rolled into one man, some requisite rap-aoke ... and an unforgettable Tom Jones ...













... Bajans are also genuinely proud of their pop princess Rihanna ... right now she has many imitators-at-the-mic and may yet get a highway or round-about in her name ... might we even see her face on the money like the cricket gods? ...











... that's Sir Frank (who broke the colour barrier in 1958 to captain the West Indies team) on the fiver, partial and defaced to thwart counterfeiters ... but, the cricket world prays for current players to copy the example of excellence and translate it into something viable, in the tradition of the more interesting karaoke acts, who may lack in originality but can approximate or bring something bright to a performance ...

... we cling to the faith that a phenom or two will eventually come along, both in the music field and on the cricket pitch ... still, I know I'd be happy if in the meantime some young batsman/bowler/all-rounder could do a credible impression of Gordon Greenidge or Vanburn Holder or Keith Boyce, in the same way someone always does a spirited approximation of Billy Paul's "Me And Mrs. Jones" wherever there's karaoke ...

... well, why not? ... sure these are tough acts to follow ... but, as a case in point, there will always be Michael Jackson impersonators riffing on the Thriller's genius ... more often than not they'll be as blurry in their tribute as I am with my drive-by photography ... yet still, we do love 'em for trying ...