WILD'S LOOK AT ADDICTS' LIVES BREAKS STEREOTYPES

TORONTO -- Nettie Wild strides across the floor of her hotel room in her
bathrobe, moving from the bed covered in tidy stacks of paper, to the
bathroom, and back again, with an unmistakable sense of purpose.

She may be collecting hairpins. She may be collecting press notes and
contact numbers to offer prospective film buyers. Regardless of the task,
Wild seems to do everything with an unmistakable sense of purpose and
passion -- and it's become a hallmark of her oeuvre.

From her radio documentaries for CBC, to her body of award-winning films
such as A Rustling of Leaves, Blockade and A Place Called Chiapas, Wild has
carved out a reputation as one of Canada's most socially committed film-makers.

Her latest film, FIX: The Story of an Addicted City, is yet another
consciousness-raising piece, but this time, she's not chronicling a
revolution in some far-flung part of the world -- she's bearing witness to
a tragedy taking place in her own backyard: the so-called "drug problem" on
Vancouver's Downtown Eastside.

The documentary features three main characters -- Dean Wilson, a former IBM
salesman and drug addict who heads VANDU (the Vancouver Area Network of
Drug Users); Ann Livingston, a non-user and VANDU organizer who has found
spiritual purpose in the fight to make things better for the thousands of
Vancouver users at risk of becoming the next statistic, and Mayor Philip
Owen, who tried to introduce a four pillar drug strategy modelled after
successful European programs -- and found himself pushed out of office by
his own party as a result.

As Wild cruises through the hotel room getting ready for the FIX premiere
at the Toronto International Film Festival, Livingston and Wilson walk
through the door.

Livingston puts down her Chanel bag packed with freebie makeup -- one of
the perks of being a festival guest -- and flops on the one bed not covered
in press kits. Dean sits down in a chair and pours a glass of red fruit
smoothie.

Within minutes, producer Betsy Carson walks in and everyone starts putting
on their party clothes. Wild says the mayor would have been here too, but
he had a scheduling conflict.

"It's a pyjama party," says Wild, who decided to fly her "talent" in for
the festival using her own resources. Yes, Wild calls the subjects of her
documentary "talent" -- the term normally used to refer to professional
actors in a feature film -- but that's because Wild sees FIX as more of an
emotional narrative than a documentary. In that end, she also hired local
editor Reg Harkema to turn the 357 40-minute tapes that were shot over the
course of two years into a cohesive 92-minute movie journey.

"I always hire dramatic editors for the films, but I thought it was time I
finally brought in a Vancouver editor," says Wild. "What sold me on Reg was
his cut of Hard Core Logo. I thought it was superb. Oddly enough, he said
he was inspired by Peter Wintonick's cut of A Rustling of Leaves."

Wild says most people in Vancouver, and for that matter most of Canada, are
vaguely aware of the city's drug crisis, but no one has been moved enough
to pressure government for safe injections sites or other harm-reduction
initiatives.

For that reason, she didn't think it would help to make a film that was
simply a journey past the political checkpoints -- where the frightening
statistic of more than 1,200 overdose deaths over the course of 10 years
wouldn't have a human draw.

Livingston and Wilson are the human draw, and as they sit here in the hotel
room they're sharing with Wild, they seem completely unfazed by the
festival schmooziness that surrounds them.

Like Wild, their minds are fixed on getting the message out to the masses.

"I think the great thing about Nettie's film is that it breaks the
Hollywood stereotype of what heroin addicts are. They aren't different from
other people," says Wilson.

"I see the film as a tool," says Livingston. "We have a chance at reaching
the critical audience. We can set up table in the lobby. We can let people
know that in Vancouver alone we have 3,000 dead people just from overdoses
... and nothing has happened. People think because they hear the term
harm-reduction that it's actually happening, but it's not. Toronto doesn't
have nearly the same death rate and they have a harm-reduction task force."

Wilson and Livingston have been repeating the bleak numbers, the horror
stories and the pitch for safe injection sites so many times it permeates
almost every conversation -- even something as empty and banal as film
festival chit chat.

So how do you feel when you see yourselves on screen, I finally ask,
seeking the lowest common denominator.

"It's kind of embarrassing," says Livingston. "I'm not used to seeing
myself. It's hard for me to tell if the movie is even any good. I have no
distance. I don't know, I'm just not sure if I'm comfortable having people
see me hanging out in the kitchen in my nightie. I'm a bit worried about my
dad seeing it -- he'll find out I go to church."

The room erupts with laughter.

"The press has asked me what I'm doing making a documentary about Vancouver
- -- there's no revolution going on there," says Wild. "And I say, just you
wait. It's starting."

FIX: The Story of an Addicted City will have a special benefit screening as
part of Mayor Owen's farewell from office on Oct. 16. Tickets are $100 and
will go toward drug education and getting the film into classrooms across
the country. Fix opens theatrically in Vancouver on Oct. 18.