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After going to the Rogers Centre en famille to watch the Jays defeat the Red Sox 5-3 yesterday, I’ll take a break from the serious business of narrative to write about the way American national pastime is now presented in Canada. While aging undoubtedly reduces tolerance for loud noise and bright lights, I think the Rogers Centre’s use of both is radically diminishing enjoyment of the game. The Centre - a concrete echo chamber, especially when the roof is closed - pulsates with incessant generic rock music, interrupted only for the few seconds between the ball leaving the pitcher’s hand and the play concluding.

The Jays - and I don’t know if this is common practice in Major League Baseball - have little signature tunes, also rockish, played when each batter comes to the plate. In addition to all the valuable electronic billboard information (the count, individual stats, playbacks) there is lots of extraneous stuff, such as exhortations to make noise or names of fans celebrating birthdays.

All this son et lumiere defeats what I remember from the days of the Triple A Maple Leafs or even Blue Jays prior to Skydome, as it was first called, as one of the enjoyable aspects of the game, the chance to chat quietly between plays about strategy or share baseball lore. This is particularly important when bringing young children - mine are nine and six - and trying to explain as much inside baseball as they can absorb.

If the Jays insist on signature tunes for their players, why not be more creative? One day they could do jazz signature tunes or another they could do Beatles or a third they could do classics, even hooked on classics style (which I am playing on Youtube as I write). There are some great possibilities here such as “Norwegian wood” or perhaps “Yesterday” for a designated hitter, “a little help from my friends” when a pitcher comes up to bat (under National League Rules), or ethnically motivated choices such as Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony or Puccini’s Madama Butterfly. Ode to Joy? Take Five? Take the A-Train? Caravan? Blue Rondo a la Turk? The possibilities are endless.

In any event, despite the excesses of son et lumiere, a good time was had by all, and our six year old son stayed interested to the last out in the top of the ninth, and told me that now he wanted to see the Yankees. We will.

Films often open with the disclaimer that they are “based on a true story” or “inspired by a true story.” It turns out that, in many cases, the story presented on film is significantly different from the true story as presented in other narrative forms, particularly a book on which a film is based. On my exam, I asked why this might be the case, and whether there should be any criteria to limit the extent that movies take liberties with the facts.

The answers to the question identified three reasons for taking liberties. First, the constraints of the film medium (total running time and number of scenes) often require simplifying a complex story and shortening the period of time over which it occurs. Second, once a story line is established, for example by choosing a character from whose point of view the narrative is presented, there may be gaps in the historical record, and it is necessary to interpolate. Third, the story may be changed to make it more dramatic, which in practice often involves exaggerating the efforts, motives, and achievements of the chosen hero and denigrating the efforts, motives, and achievements of the chosen villain. The film is often trying to strengthen the emotional connection between hero and audience, thus heightening its cathartic effect.

Recognizing this, should there be any criteria limiting liberties taken? The majority opinion among the students was no, that is simply the nature of the medium, and audiences should recognize that. When you see “based on a true story,” you should understand the emphasis is on “based on” rather than on “a true story.”

Let me suggest one limitation on dramatic license within film and one mechanism for dealing with the discrepancy between the film and the true story. The limit comes from the law of defamation. While it is unlikely that a living hero (or the heirs of a deceased hero) would object to exaggeration of his/her efforts, motives, or achievements, there is some possibility that a chosen villain (or the heirs of a deceased villain) might object to the portrayal of his/her efforts, motives, or achievements in a film.

We have a recent Canadian example. Prairie Giant a 2006 television mini-series about the life of former Saskatchewan Premier and federal NDP leader Tommy Douglas beatified Douglas while denigrating his Liberal opponent, former Saskatchewan Premier and federal minister James Gardiner. Were Gardiner alive today, he would have sued the creators of the mini-series for defamation. His grandchildren denounced the series and sought to prevent it being rebroadcast. Several Saskatchewan columnists sided with them. Former NDP Premier Allan Blakeney agreed with the columnists, opining that, in reality, Douglas was no saint nor was Gardiner the epitome of evil. Ultimately, the CBC admitted the series had made major historical errors, and agreed not to rebroadcast it.

The simplest way to deal with discrepancies between fact and film narrative would be to include in the bonus material on the DVD version (which is a film’s ultimate record) a statement by the producer, or perhaps by an authority on the events dealt with in the film, about the nature of the discrepancies and the narrative or dramatic purposes they serve. While this material would not be available to cinema audiences, it would at least be on the record and available to viewers interested in learning about these discrepancies as they form their own judgments.

Assuming you are the obituary writer for the Globe and Mail, please prepare an obit for Robert McNamara - that was another question asked on the final exam for the Rotman School narratives course.

The question didn’t come entirely from left field, as we discussed on the last day of class the outlines of an obit in The Times for the fictional Lord Darlington in the novel and film The Remains of the Day. I began the discussion by noting that obituary writers draft obits for elderly notable people while they are still alive, sometimes even interviewing them.

So drafting an obit for Robert McNamara, now in his ninety-second year, would be an entirely reasonable assignment. And it would certainly be applicable to a course on narrative in which one of the narratives studied was Errol Morris’s documentary biography The Fog of War.

Working from the inverted pyramid model of journalism, I asked for the first paragraph verbatim, and then an outline of the rest of the obit, and finally for a Canadian angle. The key fact about McNamara is that his life has been controversial. The answer with the best leading sentence captured this perfectly: “War criminal or humanist, traitor or patriot, military genius or number cruncher out of his league, Robert McNamara, who passed away on Sunday at his home in suburban Washington, was branded with many labels during his life.”

From there, this student and others went into his personal narrative, including his academic achievements, his military service as statistical analyst for the American bombing of major Japanese cities in World War II, and his careers as an executive and President at Ford, Secretary of Defense, and President of the World Bank.

Good answers to the question also discussed his controversial role as one of the key figures in the Vietnam War, initially as a proponent, then as an internal critic who came into conflict with President Lyndon Johnson, and decades later as an analyst attempting to learn lessons from the war. Finally, a good answer to the question would discuss McNamara’s family history, and the toll the war took on his family life. While his wife and children became increasingly critical of the war, he said virtually nothing about it at home, and the tension and anguish grew.

The part of the question answered least well was the Canadian perspective. While McNamara was never closely connected to Canada, I can suggest two. First, both he and his wife had polio immediately after World War II, and the burden of his medical bills led to a life-changing decision, namely to leave the faculty at the Harvard Business School for a higher-paying job at Ford. An objective of our system of comprehensive health insurance, introduced initially in Saskatchewan in the late forties, is to indemnify Canadians against the costs of such catastrophic illnesses. (Had McNamara stayed at Harvard, he would likely still have gone to Washington in the Kennedy Administration, given how many notable Harvard faculty, starting with Dean of Arts and Sciences McGeorge Bundy, Kennedy called upon.)

Second, one of McNamara’s lessons from the Vietnam War was that if the United States Government cannot convince its major allies of the justification of its cause, it ought to re-examine its thinking. The Canadian Government, reflecting Canadian public opinion, was deeply skeptical about the Vietnam War and refused to join. To the great chagrin of the American Government, Canada opened its borders to war resisters, thousands of whom remain here as Canadian citizens.

McNamara’s is a compelling narrative, and, based on what the Rotman students produced, I can only wonder what the leading obituary writers have drafted.

Because my Rotman school narratives course used film as its major medium, I incorporated one clip of a visual narrative into the final exam. This year it was the heated exchange over free trade between then Prime Minister Brian Mulroney and Liberal leader John Turner in the party leaders’ debate in the 1988 election. The exchange, lasting less than two minutes, can be found on YouTube as the first video that comes up under “Brian Mulroney election.” I asked the MBA students to outline the narrative each leader was attempting to present the voters, how each was attempting to disrupt the other’s narrative, and whom they thought was more convincing. If you’re interested in the answer, have a look at the clip first.

In my view, John Turner had the more complete narrative, namely that for over 100 years Canada built an east-west infrastructure intended to resist the north-south pull of the US. He accused Mulroney of reversing a century of public policy with one signature of a pen, with the likely result that Canada would become an economic and political colony of the US.

In this exchange, Brian Mulroney was attempting mainly to disrupt Turner’s narrative, which he did by continually interrupting him. Mulroney’s narrative point was that he was nation-building because he loves Canada and, if the free trade agreement doesn’t provide the anticipated benefits, it could be cancelled with six months’ notice. In his interruptions, Mulroney accused Turner of impugning his motives and patriotism and said he had the facts wrong.

The overwhelming majority of the students thought that Mulroney won the exchange. With the benefit of hindsight and the influence of an education that favours market liberalization, most students found Turner’s narrative - while coherent - unconvincing fear-mongering.

Regarding presentation, most felt that Turner was stiff, if not wooden, while Mulroney had much more powerful gestures and more dramatic vocal range, and that he thus came off better in the visual medium of a televised debate. One student called it a “classic case of the bully and the geek.” This student, one of the minority who thought Turner prevailed, wrote that “Mulroney’s disruptions won over Turner’s, though Turner’s facts won over Mulroney’s.”

Recalling the election campaign itself, Turner was considered to have bested Mulroney in the debate, which led to a Liberal surge in the public opinion polls. This trend, however, was ultimately countered by the Conservative’s strong advertising and endorsement campaign.

Have a look. What do you think?

Earlier this week I was at former Saskatchewan premier Allan Blakeney’s Toronto launch of his new book An Honourable Calling: Political Memoirs, published by the University of Toronto Press. Blakeney and I were co-authors of an earlier book Political Management in Canada (University of Toronto Press, 1998). Here are a few impressions from the evening.

Two of the guests were former Ontario Premier Bill Davis and Attorney-General Roy McMurtry. While Davis and McMurtry were and are Tories and Blakeney was and is a NDP’er, they were politicians during the same period, and were all deeply involved in the repatriation of the Canadian constitution in the early Eighties. This was clearly a significant life experience, and their mutual affection is far stronger than the differences in their political allegiances.

Rather than the traditional reading from his book, Blakeney and I continued the dialogue we initiated in Political Management in Canada. In Blakeney’s view, political campaigns should involve parties presenting their ideas in some detail, and providing opportunities for voters to meet the leader face-to-face and unscripted. We agreed that the American presidential primaries - particularly the early ones - live up to this ideal, but Blakeney decried the Canadian practice of leaders campaigning in a tightly-controlled cocoon, reciting a purposely vague message.

Looking back at Blakeney’s eleven years as premier (1971-1982), he was called upon to guide Saskatchewan’s transition from what the late sociologist Seymour Martin Lipset called “agrarian socialism” to a resource rich economy. In this, Blakeney’s challenge was to balance three priorities: prosperity for the province, efficiency in government, and equity for the entire society, in particular its large aboriginal population. I asked him to focus on current-day Saskatchewan, and one development of which he was particularly critical was the privatization of the Potash Corporation of Saskatchewan and of Cameco Corporation. Both were crown corporations started during the Blakeney Government, and Blakeney believes that they should have remained as Crown corporations, which would have searched within Saskatchewan rather than outside for their leadership, and would have been more likely to allocate their earnings to benefit all the people of Saskatchewan.

I urge you to read Blakeney’s book. It is in part a history of the policies and programs of one of Canada’s most effective and creative provincial governments. It is also a personal narrative about how someone from a Nova Scotia Tory background - and Blakeney reminded us that none of his ancestors ever voted for the CCF - came to join the political left, embracing democratic socialism as an ideal and a program. Blakeney also writes about his post-political career of the last two decades, encompassing academe and numerous public causes such as world federalism, aboriginal development, and political institution-building in South Africa. Blakeney is very experienced and very wise and there is much we can learn from him. I recognized that two decades ago when we taught public management together and recognize it just as much today.