STORIES FROM COTTONLAND

Acclaimed photographer teams with former OxyContin addict to film
complex local story with international impact

IT TAKES A BRAVE man to admit, on camera, to losing his kids to
social services, to be filmed being brought to tears when the
grandmother who raised him tells him she never thought hed amount to
anything.

Eddie Buchanan, a 28-year-old Glace Bay man whose life was destroyed
by an OxyContin addiction, is that man.

Clean for 3 1/2 years, happily reunited with his family and training
to become an electrician, the refreshingly honest Buchanan wanted to
tell the world that his hometown was more than just Cottonland, as it
had come to be known because of the abundance of the prescription
drug also called Hillbilly Heroin.

And he wished people knew when they were reading news reports of
addicts who overdosed that the dead were real people mothers and
fathers, brothers and sisters "not just a bunch of pill-popping
freaks."

He brought that truth vividly to life in a raw, yet surprisingly
hopeful documentary called Cottonland, which he co-wrote with Nance
Ackerman, who also directed the National Film Board of Canada
production.

The 52-minute film by the two first-time filmmakers will have its
world premiere at the Hot Docs film festival in Toronto on Wednesday.
North Americas largest documentary festival, Hot Docs this year will
screen 99 films from 23 countries. Both Buchanan and Ackerman will be
on hand for Cottonlands two screenings and question and answer sessions.

Cottonland is actually two stories, explains Ackerman, a photographer
praised for her feature work who has worked for the Globe and Mail,
the Montreal Gazette, Time magazine and Canadian Geographic, among
others.

Its the story of addiction given voice by Buchanan and his friends
Alex Cunliffe, Thomas Ogley and Steve MacGillivray, who represent
varying ages and stages of addiction and recovery, as well as
Buchanans girlfriend, Mary Hurley.

And its the story of a community in crisis after the shutdown of the
coal mines that had been the towns lifeblood for generations.

Ackerman initially went to Glace Bay on a photo assignment for the
Toronto Star in response to the stories of rampant OxyContin abuse.

"I was aware that prescription drugs were a problem in a lot of rural
communities and that Glace Bay was particularly hard hit. Id spent a
lot of time on Indian reserves throughout North America, and Glace
Bay reminded me of a native community under the shadow of poverty,
disempowerment and substance abuse," says Ackerman, who is part
Mohawk. She was also struck by the contrast with the booming reserve
of Membertou, not far from Glace Bay, where unemployment is zero, and
creativity is unlimited.

She pitched a film exploring these issues to be made with the
participation of Buchanan, who had always wanted to make a
documentary to the NFB.

"I thought Eddie and I would come along as consultants on the set,
but I was surprised and honoured that NFB would go out on a limb with
me and Eddie, whose combined experience is very limited. They put in
a lot of expertise, time and money to make it happen," explains
Ackerman, who was born in Connecticut and moved to White Point,
Queens County, when she was 12.

Filming began two years ago in May.

"I approached it like a photojournalist, visually and conceptually. I
said, Lets find the story. I didnt write it till after it was edited.
The story was pulled out of the footage by picture editor Angela
Baker a candidate for sainthood along with producer Annette Clarke.
Im very conceptual, so I had a bit of a tough time finding the
structure. Angela found the story in the series of images."

The film blends present-day images of the communities of Glace Bay
and Membertou with archival footage of a once-thriving Glace Bay and
its miners, alongside lovingly shot images of Buchanan and his
family, many of them in black and white and hand-tinted.

Ackerman praises cinematographer Alain Dupras for his collaborative
approach to filming, noting "he loved my visual input and liked it
when I set up shots." Buchanan, who shot some footage with a hand-
held video camera, also cant praise Dupras highly enough.

Ackerman and her partner, Jamie Alcorn, wrote the music for the film
and also performed it with local musicians Dave Burton and Jamie Gatti.

"People really wanted to talk. They had a desperate need to tell
their story. They felt they were misunderstood, ignored. How
articulate they could be about such emotional things is mind-boggling
to me," recalls Ackerman.

A moment in the film in which Steve MacGillivray recalls the year
that all his son wanted for Christmas was his father home broke the
heart of the mother of two, a 15-year-old girl and a 13-year-old boy.
(MacGillivray was in rehab that Christmas, but out of shame, had told
his son he was sick.)

The decision to talk on film about the effect of his addiction on his
children Dylan, now 10, Brady, 7, and Brooke, 5 was one that
Buchanan also struggled with the most.

"My girlfriend and I thought we were great parents. But we werent
there in the right state of mind. We said, We didnt abuse the kids,
but thats abuse if youre not there totally, 100 per cent. All you
think of is the pills. You say, Ive never hurt them, but when they
ask you to come outside and play, you cant get off the couch till you
get another pill into you. I feel bad about what I did to them. I
never want to put them through that again."

While it was a difficult subject, Buchanan firmly believes honesty is
the most important thing.

He talks openly about how he began experimenting with marijuana at
15, started taking pills including Percodan and Percocet at 16,
stealing from his grandparents and lying to them. Before he was 18,
hed been in detox five times.

"Id stay for three or four days to get the family off my back. I
didnt believe it was a disease. Id get out of detox and think
everything was all right and go back to hanging out with the same
people."

He started using OxyContin at 21.

"All addictions with pills are bad, but this took everything from me,
I lost my family, my relationship with my wife, my life was totally
ruined," he says, noting the effect of one 20-milligram Oxy tablet is
like that of four Percodans.

He tried to kick the addiction with methadone in Sydney for two
weeks, but eight months later, though clean, he knew he was still
hooked. Eventually, he was accepted into a three-month program in
Dartmouth. He stayed with a friend, went to daily sessions and not
only got the methadone, but also took classes about addiction, so he
understood the disease. And it worked.

"It saved my life," he says simply. "I wanted to be with my family,
get a job, be productive. I was down to 130 pounds, I was skin and
bones and I thought, If this doesnt work, theres nothing else, its
the end of the line. Its not a cure, its a tool and it doesnt work
for everybody."

Now, hes in his first year as an apprentice electrician, hes a member
of the electricians union and hes hoping to pursue a filmmaking
career. And hes thrilled to go to Toronto to share his story.

"A big part of the struggle with the film at first is theres so much
prejudice to people with addictions. People are worried Ill expose
people but everyone knows who the addicts are. Its the true story of
my life, my friends, and if the end result saves one teenager, its
all worth it to me."

The film will also be submitted to other festivals, and Ackerman
hopes to have screenings in target communities, including one in
Glace Bay in a couple of months.

"Its good that this kind of story is told in such a local way. Its
happened in communities all over the world, and it would be nice to
get the film out to other parts of the country," she says, noting the
film will be shown on the Documentary Channel.