Ryan Larkin and the addictive allure of illusions

TAKE ONE, Sept-Dec, 2004 by Chris Robinson

Following Street Musique, Larkin was assigned to a feature film that the Board was working on called Running Time (1974). Larkin was asked to do three short animation sequences combining the actors with animation images. However, Running Time soon turned into a nightmare for Larkin. "I was trapped into it for four years because the executive producers kept putting it on the shelf, then there were endless committee meetings. I was getting pissed off because I was on hold. I had no other budgets or work to do." Frustrated, Larkin began working at home on his next project, Ding Bat Rap.

About a year later, thanks to new English producer, Derek Lamb, Larkin received a budget for Ding Bat Rap, but he continued to work at home. "I told my producers to trust me, I was working on the project, so they sent me my cheques by taxi." Larkin paid for the cab. His producer, David Verrall, was given the task of bringing Larkin back into the fold. "I spent an exceptional amount of time and effort in trying to re-enable Ryan as a filmmaker here." Verrall actually managed to lure Larkin back to the NFB building for a while by giving him access to one of the new animation cameras. Eventually, Larkin, either bored or stressed, would disappear for long stretches, only to be further behind when he reappeared. In the end, Verrall reluctantly gave up.

By this time, Larkin had become a cocaine addict. "The cocaine was giving me incredible insights into human behaviour and very acute sensitivities towards what constituted human behaviour." But, with the high, came the low. The neurological stimulation gave way to backlash. A flood of ideas drowns the mind. Larkin discovered a confidence he never knew, but the pace of the magic locked him into a fantasy world. A magician trapped within the allure of his illusions, he was no longer able to work.

Never one to forget an encore, in 1975 Larkin was invited to create a mural for the NFB. What he drew was likely not what it had envisioned--an adolescent with an erection who may or may not have been ejaculating. The mural was 20 by 15 feet. "It was meant to be a satirical commentary on masculinity because at the dine there was a year-long festival going on about women's rights. It was supposed to be comic relief from all their self-conscious seriousness." Ryan Larkin's tenure at the NFB ended.

After a brief period in the late 1970s working in the private sector, Larkin was finished with the film industry. "I realized that even though I had made some good films, I was not a good filmmaker. I couldn't meet deadlines.

Other people were pouring out bullshit. I was becoming disheartened with the whole process of films; I was getting paid a salary for junk films." The 1980s found Larkin, now coke free and focused on painting and sculpture, starting over again. But his generosity with people--especially junkies--came back to haunt him. Friends in need of a fix stole paintings, drawings and sculptures. By the 1990s, Larkin was penniless and homeless. He lived on the streets of Montreal briefly before moving into the Old Brewery Mission where he currently resides. Virtually all of his art is now gone, pawned for dope, tricks or whatever was needed to survive. He now carries only what he can: a few clothes, some books and his little pop bottle for his daily beers. Many people have tried to help him over the years, but Larkin is either unwilling or unable to change.