23. ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’: ISOBEL WYLIE HUTCHISON, JENNY GILBERTSON, MARGARET TAIT AND OTHER TWENTIETH-CENTURY SCOTTISH WOMEN FILMMAKERS Sarah Neely This chapter examines the work of two Scottish women filmmakers, Isobel Wylie Hutchison and Jenny Gilbertson, who like Scottish filmmaker and poet, Margaret Tait, were compelled to make films independently and on a small scale. Like Tait, they were drawn to the North (the Arctic in the case of Hutchison and Gilbertson) in their own search for extremes ‘to test their strength against’. Isobel Wylie Hutchison (1889–1982), born in Edinburgh, travelled in the Arctic Greenland and Alaska, collecting flowers and plant life for her work as a botanist, and recording her experiences through her writing and filmmaking. In addition to filmmaking she published both poetry and prose, much of it documenting her travels. She was also a regular contributor to National Geographic throughout the 1940s and 1950s. Jenny Gilbertson (1902–90), born in Glasgow, first trained as a teacher and journalist before moving to Shetland in the 1930s where she lived and worked for several decades. Later in life, after raising a family, she relocated to Northern Canada. She made several films in both Shetland and Canada. A Crofter’s Life in Shetland (UK, 1931), her first film made in Shetland, was purchased by the GPO Film Unit. John Grierson, who was the director of the GPO Film Unit at the time, described 302 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 302 10/07/2014 15:59 ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’ the film as ‘one of the best descriptions of life in the country anybody has yet made’ (London Film Co-op 1994). In Canada, Gilbertson travelled to the High Arctic, documenting her journey through both written and filmed diaries. Two of her Arctic films were produced for CBC and the BBC. The focus of this chapter is on the work of Gilbertson and Hutchison during their time in the Arctic; however, this will be considered alongside the work of Tait and within the general context of Scottish women filmmakers during the twentieth century. In particular, the chapter will examine their shared yearning for lone adventures, which all three were compelled to document and explore on paper and through the lens of a camera. Women Travellers in Twentieth-Century Scotland Although there is no direct personal connection between the three filmmakers, Hutchison, Gilbertson and Tait were all connected to a number of key women writers and filmmakers in Scotland in the twentieth century who could be described as pioneering for eschewing conventional married and family life in favour of the pursuit of their own unconventional ambitions. Often, the paths they followed were not ones that were open to women at the time and, in many cases, it was their affluent backgrounds that enabled them to pursue their interests and to develop their skills in the disciplines in which they were interested. These women could also be related to earlier notable figures such as Isabella Bird (1831–1904), an Englishwoman who left her family on the Isle of Mull in Scotland to explore the Rocky Mountains on her own. In 1892, Bird became the first woman to be inducted into the Royal Geographical Society. Writing on Bird in relation to other women travellers, Mona Domosh writes: Victorian women explorers could not escape the contexts in which they lived – contexts that were, in significant and well-documented ways, quite distinct from those of men. And those contexts shaped not only their outlook on personal matters and the structure of their social networks, but operated in very material ways, by limiting the resources and support networks available to women in their travels. (1991: 96) Although Domosh is writing specifically on women in the Victorian Age, similarities could be drawn to later generations and, in particular, the two filmmakers referred to in this chapter, whose own explorations and practice as filmmakers in the Arctic were often self-funded and supported outside more conventional networks. As Domosh describes in relation to the Victorian women travellers, they drew from their own expenses, were often middle-aged, or had ‘fulfilled family “duties”’, and were in search of ‘places where they could live a type 303 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 303 10/07/2014 15:59 FILMS ON ICE of life denied them at home’ (1991: 97–8). For many of the women travellers, Domosh writes, ‘their satisfaction was derived not in the external discovery of “new” geographies, but in the process of exploring, in experiencing a world in which they could participate in their own definition’ (1991: 98). Similar to the ‘Storms’ Tait identifies as providing a means by which she is able to ‘test [her] strength’, for Hutchison and Gilbertson, the opportunity provided by Arctic exploration was not just tied to geographical discoveries, but personal ones too. For many of the women explorers, across the Victorian Age and into the late twentieth century, writing and the expression of experience was an important part of the journey. They kept diaries and they wrote poetry, novels and short stories. Perhaps freedom from the restrictions of conventional domestic life, but also the exclusion from the ‘professional’ discourse of their chosen field, meant they were liberated by uncharted paths and were able to explore their own voices more freely. Certainly, the women focused on in this chapter worked across a number of different formats and forms. Hutchison wrote articles, poetry, non-fiction books, novels, made films and produced a number of watercolour sketches of the places she travelled to, many of which are included as illustrations in her various publications. Tait wrote across the same range of forms and made films too; she also was an accomplished artist and painter. Jenny Gilbertson made films, but she was also a trained journalist, and documented much of her journey in written diary form as well as on film. Women Filmmakers in Twentieth-Century Scotland The three filmmakers received varying degrees of support for their filmmaking activities. As mentioned previously, Jenny Gilbertson was supported and nurtured by John Grierson. After his enthusiasm for her film A Crofter’s Life in Shetland (UK, 1931), she made five further films about Shetland, all of which Grierson purchased for the GPO Film Unit (McBain 1998). Isobel Wylie Hutchison’s films were made as part of her work as a botanist and although she built a successful career employed by the Royal Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh and Kew to collect specimens on her travels throughout the Arctic, much of her work and travels were organised and funded largely by herself. Tait’s existence on the periphery of the literary and artistic circles of twentieth-century Scotland was a reality throughout her working life. She was friendly with Hugh MacDiarmid, but was never an active member of the Rose Street scene. Her work was admired by John Grierson, but she rejected his advice for editing her work and refused to work on his terms. She opted instead to work on her own, or as MacDiarmid described in his article on her, she worked ‘ploughing a lonely furrow’ (1960: 416). All of the filmmakers in this chapter could also fit MacDiarmid’s description of Tait. Gilbertson, like Tait, did collaborate with other filmmakers a couple of times during her 304 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 304 10/07/2014 15:59 ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’ career – first with Scottish filmmaker Elizabeth Balneaves on People of Many Lands: Shetland (UK, 1967). The two planned to film in Canada together until Balneaves became ill. Gilbertson also made Prairie Winter (Canada/UK, 1935) with the Canadian-born filmmaker Evelyn Spice, who was a significant figure in both British documentary production and the Canadian Film Board. Still, all three filmmakers largely worked independently. Jenny Gilbertson referred to her films as a ‘one woman job’ (Wade n.d.) and Tait was billed as a ‘onewoman film-industry’ (Calton Studios 1979). Dominant approaches to filmmaking in Scotland in the early half of the twentieth century were epitomised by the documentary movement largely led by the Films of Scotland committee, of which Grierson was a founding member when it was formed in 1938 by the Secretary of State for Scotland and the Scottish Development Council. The committee held the express remit to encourage the production of films of ‘national interest’. The committee’s influence is seen in some of the films in their often self-conscious celebratory representations of industry and cultural life – for instance, Nettie McGavin’s film Holidaying in Harris (UK, 1938), produced around the same time as the Empire Exhibition, a celebration of the empire and industry held in Glasgow’s Bellahouston Park. McGavin’s film, focusing on the outer Hebridean Isle of Harris, strikes an appropriate tone for the time. A 12-minute film, it is short but intensely focused on the herring industry and the production of Harris Tweed, both central to the island’s economy. McGavin, a filmmaker often overshadowed by the her brother, Frank Marshall, one of Scotland’s most celebrated amateur filmmakers, made many films during her travels throughout Africa and India (her family were tea importers). As I have written in greater detail elsewhere (Neely 2008, 2009), women filmmakers in Scotland (and elsewhere too) have historically been brandished with the label of amateur filmmakers. The justification for the label can be tied to a number of reason such as a lack of formal training, or prohibition from training, exclusion from professional bodies or other markers of authenticity, or simply because their approach to whatever genre they were working in did not adhere to established forms and formats (rather than celebrate the work as avant-garde, it was labelled as amateur). Certainly this was evident across many areas of film production. For instance, women were not employed by the colonial film units. Women who were engaged in filmmaking activities usually did so alongside their husbands. Although there are significant collections of films made by women at the time, across the British Empire, they are largely outside formal filmmaking contexts and are generally classified as ‘amateur’. Many, like Nettie Gavin’s films, were made within the context of their travels (Sandon 2010: 328). Isobel Wylie Hutchison’s filmmaking activities were largely connected to her work as a botanist, a field in which she was also charged with being an amateur. 305 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 305 10/07/2014 15:59 FILMS ON ICE In one article in a Canadian newspaper, the Daily Star, Gordon Sinclair refers to Hutchision as a ‘Scottish geranium and petunia hunter’, emphasising that the expedition was paid for by herself (Gordon Sinclair 1934, cited in Kelcy 2001: 94). Mona Domosh, writing of the gendered divide between amateurs and professionals in the field of geography, explains that membership to the Royal Geographic Society was not opened up to women until 1915; up until that point, when the discipline was undergoing a period of professionalisation, and geography became ‘rigorously defined’, women who were denied access to formal training, but who were able to undertake fieldwork by drawing on their own resources, were removed from the newly defined label of ‘geographer’ (Domosh 1991: 96–7). The resulting reality for the women geographers, as is the case in other disciplines, including filmmaking, was that women who were committed to the pursuit of their chosen field of interest, without the support of the recognised professional bodies, no matter how developed their skills and abilities became, were always doomed to be the amateur, to be trivialised as the frivolous petunia hunter, and unlikely to be taken seriously. In reality, both Hutchison and Gilbertson made very significant contributions to their respective fields, including the history of Arctic filmmaking. Northern Lights: Women Filmmakers and Other Ways of Looking For all three women, there is a shared passion for the elemental, unknown qualities they associate with the North. This is evident in their films, but also in some of their writings and poetry. For example, in a passionate closing sentence of Hutchison’s book, North to the Rime-Ringed Sun, An Account of Her Journey through Alaska, she writes: ‘But I had heard the call of the wild on star-lit nights under the Northern Lights; I had slept in a snow-hut; I had broken a new trail at the foot of the splintered Endicotts, and my heart beat for the wilderness’ (1937: 237). Although Hutchison’s films were made largely as part of her work as botanist, and a lot of her films focus on documenting plant life on a rather scientific level, her camera regularly shifts to other subjects, including the native people. Many of her films concentrate on the particular details of community life. For Hutchison, as well as Tait and Gilbertson, the inherent rhythms of the everyday were an important focus of their approach as filmmakers. It is also an approach that makes their work unique. Despite some of the films’ ethnographic nature and often rather rigid documentary intentions, many of the films still seem to reveal slight deviations from dominant forms and styles of the time. Often, the way of looking presented in the films is different to that of other films focusing on the same or similar subjects. Gilbertson’s film Jenny’s Arctic Diary (Canada, 1978), depicting her year living in the High Arctic, in Grise Fiord on Ellesmere Island, is remarkable for 306 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 306 10/07/2014 15:59 ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’ Figure 23.1 Jenny Gilbertson in Jenny’s Arctic Diary. a film of its kind for looking at the domestic and the everyday and for noticing the detail. From her delight in the children playing on a frozen pond behind the school to her explicit dislike of seal hunting (‘I don’t like seeing seals killed. Hunting is a means of survival for Inuit’), Gilbertson, at the age of seventy-six, captures day-to-day life spanning thirteen months (1977–8) in the Inuit community in Grise Fiord. Gilbertson had been filming in the area for CBC throughout the 1970s. As with her other films, there is no large crew, only Gilbertson who is occasionally glimpsed in her parka with her camera in hand. She is on intimate terms with the community she is filming. They are friendly and refer to each other by first name. She is even poked fun at for showing concern for the seals and making reference to a British society for animal protection. Over forty years after making her film following a year in the life of a crofting community in Shetland, there is a poignant resonance in the filmmaker’s return of focus to filming a remote community living at the edge of the sea. In fact, Gilbertson frequently showed the films together (Taylor 1986: 15). The cyclical structure, in both films, following the course of a year, enables the inherent rhythms of the people and their environment to emerge. The filmmakers’ year-long commitment to the communities they were filming meant they were far more engaged with their subjects on a personal level than many of the films that had been made in the Arctic, Shetland and Orkney. Many of these films collected material over very short and intermittent periods of time which meant that life was often performed in front of the camera instead of it being allowed to unfold more naturally in real time. Gilbertson’s diary approach, in particular, seems to allow for the fullness of reality to emerge. Attention is given to the subtle changes in the seasons and the natural habitat, but also to the rich and varied culture within the community, encompassing both 307 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 307 10/07/2014 15:59 FILMS ON ICE traditional and modern elements (for example, local traditions such as carving and hunting are depicted alongside accounts of the disco and local bands). Fortunately, the achievements of Gilbertson and her more candid approach to filmmaking were recognised and supported, first by Grierson in the 1930s and then later by the BBC and CBC. Unfortunately, Tait’s close observation and open approach to structure were often mistaken as amateurism. This was likely to be the case with Grierson’s observations regarding Tait’s film Orquil Burn (UK, 1955), a meandering portrait of a burn running past Tait’s uncle’s farm. It is a longer short film in comparison to Tait’s other work and is structured around the camera’s quest to follow the burn up to its source in the boggy Orkney hillside. Tait rejected Grierson’s suggestions to edit the work, as she explained in an unpublished manuscript, Personae: All the poetry I have written up till now is folk-poetry or blood-poetry. It is the raw material of poetry in Paul Valery’s sense. In the same way, ‘Orquil Burn’ is the raw material of a film rather than a film itself. But that doesn’t mean that some busybody of a Grierson could take it and hash it about – edit it and make it into a tak-tak-tak natty little short film. It isn’t that kind of raw material. It’s not just footage. It is a made thing. It is a made thing, set like that on purpose. (1959: 63) All three filmmakers privilege close observation and the ability to respond to the subject of what they are filming, rather than forcing it into any preconceived structure or ready-made form that Tait describes resisting in the extract above. For all three women, the multi-generity of their approach is evidence of their wholehearted embrace of new experiences and environments. They wrote, painted and filmed, exploring in full the expressive potential of various media for representing the world around them. Hutchison’s films were made for illustrative purposes rather than any real artistic intentions (for example, serving to document the plant life she encountered). However, her similar concern with close observation, which is on the level of poetry that Tait describes, is also evident in her films. These are generally characterised by their steady succession of close-up static shots of plants and wildlife. For example, her film, Flowers and Coffee Party at Umanak (UK, 1935), as the title suggests, is split into two sections: one, focusing on the flowers and plant life in the surrounding area of Umanak, and the other on a coffee party hosted by the Governor of Greenland. The opening of the film features a sequence of captioned shots of local flora and fauna such as azaleas, bog cotton and the Arctic poppy, all in great detail and close-up befitting to the work of a botanist. Nevertheless, her attention to detail extends beyond her treatment of plants, suggesting that in a similar way to Tait, Hutchison’s filming casts a poetic eye over the detail of everyday objects that are likely to go overlooked in other styles of documen- 308 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 308 10/07/2014 15:59 ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’ tary filmmaking whose aim is broader and all-encompassing. For instance, in Hutchison’s Salmon River Near Unalaska (UK, 1935), the camera lingers on the salmon; you can see the pulsating qualities of the light on their skin; you can see their mouths opening and closing. Hutchison’s examination of the world around her was explored through her camera. Similar to Tait and Gilbertson, Hutchison lived for a considerable amount of time within the community she was filming. In Hutchison’s case, this was in Uummannaq/Umanak, in Northwestern Greenland. Like Tait and Gilbertson’s films, there is a deep connection with the environment that is registered in her films. Although the filmmakers rarely turn the camera on themselves to serve as subjects in the film, their films recognise that they are behind the camera. There is an intimacy with their subjects that is registered in the smiles exchanged with the camera. Both Hutchison and Gilbertson also take a less formal approach to filming in that little effort is made to conceal any kind of ‘behind-the-scenes’ work; the process of their journey and filming their journey is made explicit. In some cases, we get a rare glimpse of the filmmaker. For instance, in Flowers and Coffee Party at Umanak, this occurs with self-deprecating humour in a few shots of Hutchison in her botany attire, replete with a mosquito net hood. The caption appears: ‘Mosquitos and flies torment the botanist’. Several of Gilbertson’s films also include a shot or two of her filming with her camera. Many of them also involve her own voiceover account of events, presumably drawn from her written diaries, likewise foregrounding process. In Jenny’s Arctic Diary (1978) and Jenny’s Dog Team Journey (UK, 1977), Gilbertson describes her journey in great detail, often referring to her subjects by their first name. Even in a later film, the Walrus Hunt (Canada, 1987), which employs a male voice in a more formal narration, the address remains fairly personal; it is ‘Tommy and Tommy’s sons’ that ‘make up the crew’. In general, the tone of her address in the films which use her own voice-over is informal and peppered throughout with Gilbert’s own subjectivities (for example, ‘not that I cared’). Gilbertson’s use of her first name in the title of both films is perhaps another signal of the level of directness and informality. The apparatus of the camera is also acknowledged in Gilbertson’s films. In Jenny’s Dog Team Journey, a film depicting a 300-mile journey across the High Arctic by sled, when the filmmaker goes into an igloo to change a reel of film (because it is too cold to do it outside) and the igloo collapses on her, she throws the camera to one of the dog team crew so that he can film her crawling out. Even in her Shetland films, produced over forty years earlier, the process of filming was revealed rather than concealed. In A Crofter’s Life in Shetland (UK, 1931), Gilbertson’s titles explain the filmmaker’s dilemma when faced with the remoteness of the clifftop location where the cormorant chicks she would like to film are nesting. And so, as the next title reads, ‘one 309 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 309 10/07/2014 15:59 FILMS ON ICE has to drop in on them rather unconventionally’. The subsequent shots then present Gilbertson scaling down the side of a cliff, precariously tethered to a man at the top of the cliff by a thin rope. The reward of the stunning close-ups of the cormorant chicks then follows, a truly astonishing feat for a filmmaker working with limited resources in the 1930s. Much is to be commended in the methods developed by both Hutchison and Gilbertson in their filming in the Arctic – their independent way of working which allowed for a close engagement with the community in which they filmed and their responsive and open approach to filming the world of which they were a part. Yet, with both filmmakers, it is sometimes difficult, considering their commitment to capturing the rhythms of the everyday, to understand their lack of engagement with wider political and social issues faced by the communities they filmed. For instance, considering Gilbertson’s open and direct approach described throughout this chapter, it is hard to grasp why Gilbertson chose not to acknowledge the troubled foundations of the Inuit community at Grisefiord. Only recent productions by Inuit writers and filmmakers such as Martha of the North (Marquise Lepage, Canada, 2009) and Exile (Zacharias Kunuk, Canada, 2008) have been able to give long and overdue attention to the plight of the Inuit people in their resettlement to the High Arctic in the 1950s, in which they were told they would be moving to a land of plenty when in reality the opposite was the case: there was no vegetation, it was very cold, and the conditions were generally inhospitable. In other ways, Gilbertson’s film does not shy away from criticising the Canadian government. In a segment of the film that looks at the difficulties in maintaining a basic water supply in Grisefiord, she tells the story of government officials who had the idea to chain an iceberg to the shore, which then broke away: ‘the Inuits laughed – no wonder they call us crazy whites’. Gilbertson’s position is clearly one of an outsider, but it is the candid nature of her filmmaking, its open attitude to expressing the sometimes excluded nature of her point-of-view in relation to the community she is filming, that gives her films their ‘clarity of observation and unique warmth’ (London Filmmakers Co-op 1994). The work of all three filmmakers looked at in this chapter could be said to possess similar qualities. In her book on European women in the Canadian North before World War II, Barbara E. Kelcy responds to potential allegations that looking at women explorers ‘only valorizes their imperialist pursuits’, by saying that the women ‘were not heroines in any sense; rather they were heroic on a personal level, using the true meaning of the word’. She goes on to offer a number of illustrations of personal heroines, including Isobel Wylie Hutchison ‘who could accept her situation, apparently dispense with the formalities, remain unconcerned about the proprieties, and write a book about her experiences’ (Kelcy 2001: 177). For Hutchison, as with later filmmakers such as Tait and Gilbertson, the experiences they sought to explore through the lens of their 310 MACKENZIE 9780748694174 PRINT (MAD0040) (G).indd 310 10/07/2014 15:59 ‘MY HEART BEAT FOR THE WILDERNESS’ cameras were intended to test their strength. This personal quest is what makes their method of filmmaking extraordinary, because the intention of their filmmaking is not just to document, but to explore their own personal connection to the world around them. Bibliography Blunt, A. and G. Rose (eds) (1994), Writing Women and Space: Colonial and Postcolonial Geographies, New York: The Guilford Press. Boyd, J. 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