Her Excellency the Right Honourable Michaëlle Jean
Speech on the Occasion of the 2006 MasterWorks Gala
Toronto, Thursday, October 26, 2006
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Looking through the list of recordings that have been recognized by the MasterWorks program over the years, it is difficult not to see symbolic milestones in one’s own life.
The examples that touched me were films like Mon oncle Antoine, or Les bons débarras; the music of Starmania, Gilles Vigneault, or Oscar Peterson; great television like Les Beaux Dimanches; and of course the radio work of that ground-breaking journalist, Barbara Frum.
For some of you, the meaningful titles might be The Friendly Giant, This Hour Has Seven Days, The Rowdyman, or the incomparable Canadian Railroad Trilogy.
Others might have fond memories of the recorded works of Norman McLaren or the radio documentaries of Glenn Gould.
Whatever it is that’s special to you, the one thing I am certain of is that this list leaves no Canadian indifferent.
Which is why it is so sad to think that Master Works like these are in danger of being lost forever.
We have a tendency to take such works for granted, and if we think of them at all we assume that the tapes and films are safely stowed away in climate controlled vaults at the CBC, the NFB, or maybe Library and Archives Canada.
Of course, anyone who has ever worked in broadcasting, in filmmaking, or in sound recording, knows how hectic those environments can be.
And that unfortunately, the willingness and conditions necessary to preserve these works are not always there. That some works have already been lost, gone forever from our heritage.
In those early days, harried producers had to deal with tiny budgets and technical glitches. Their top priority was getting the show on the air, the film processed or the record pressed and into stores.
At the time, not much thought was given to saving these works for posterity.
And what few people seem to realize is how fragile these old recordings are.
How vulnerable the old films and tapes are to the dangers of temperature changes and inadequate storage.
But we know it today. We’ve run out of excuses.
Every recording lost is a tragic loss. What we are losing are more than personal memories—they are part of our history.
Individually, these works may seem to be random—what connection, if any, is there between Goin’ Down the Road and The Goldberg Variations?
Is there some link between a radio performance of Jacques Languirand’s play Les Cloisons and an episode of that popular TV show The Pig and Whistle?
The common thread isn’t immediately apparent. But when you look a bit closer, I believe a theme does emerge.
In these different works we see a country that is not afraid to poke fun at itself and ask probing questions of its leaders and its people. We also see a commitment to professionalism and great achievement in the performing arts.
These recordings offer a mix of gentleness and strength, a combination of intelligence and deeply moving emotions.
What is revealed is a country and a people with a lot of heart.
In short, they help us understand who we are, and where we’ve come from, so that we can better chart where we are going.
Thanks to the AV Preservation Trust, Canada is saving its audiovisual heritage from the ravages of time.
All of you who are called upon to play a role in this endeavour can be very proud of what you are doing.
By preserving these Master Works, and by rousing the audiovisual industries and the Canadian public from their slumber, you are helping to protect one of the building blocks of our identity.
This is essential work, and I congratulate the AV Trust on its 10th anniversary. I wish you every success in the years ahead.
Thank you very much.
