Cine wanderer: Leonard Cohen in Montreal

My favourite Leonard Cohen lyrics come at the end of ‘Stories of the Street’, which appears on his 1967 debut album, Songs of Leonard Cohen. “We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky,” wails the singer-poet, “And lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye.” So ends the song, almost abruptly, leaving us in a state of pensive yearning. Those lines perfectly encapsulate the experience of moving through a city, of feeling oh-so-significant and anonymous all at once. It evokes the intensity and the fragility of those urban entanglements that are not meant to last.

Leonard Cohen was a man for all seasons but, for me, his songs are best enjoyed when the first chill of the cold season arrives. His gravelly timbre, which lends a half-sung, half-spoken quality to his melodies, has the luxury of the finest wool; it’s a voice to be savoured like a hot cup of mulled wine.

Just as delectable as his albums, though perhaps less well-known, is a film that I revisit often in wintertime. Ladies and Gentlemen… Mr. Leonard Cohen (1965), co-directed by Don Owen and Donald Brittain for the National Film Board of Canada, adheres to the unvarnished style of Direct Cinema seen in contemporaneous works by D.A. Pennebaker or the Maysles brothers. In seeking to capture the man behind the enigma, the intimate documentary portrait is also astonishingly attuned to the spirit of Montreal, Cohen’s hometown, whose wintry beauty bears a beguiling melancholy.

Partly intended as a publicity move by McClelland & Stewart, Cohen’s publisher, the film was shot during the holiday season, which accentuates the kind of spiritual solitude that always emerges on the cusp of collective festivities. Though Cohen had yet to embark on his music career, he was already a celebrity among the literary intelligentsia. With three collections of poems and an acclaimed novel under his belt, he routinely went on talk shows and gave readings to an enraptured audience in college halls.

Against the formal atmosphere of these academic settings, Cohen’s casual charm was at once disarming and mysterious. In the documentary, he recalled an amusing encounter with a clerk in the Bank of Greece who wore dark sunglasses under the dim fluorescent lights. The peculiar fashion statement struck him as an act of resistance. Cohen’s uniform of a black leather jacket worn over his shirt and tie carries that edge of rebellion as well. Delivering lines that speak of love, death, and war with the self-deprecation of a stand-up comedian, Cohen was a cerebral outsider who, despite being one of the ‘in-crowd’, played by his own rules.

Echoing the observational nature of Cohen’s work, the most fascinating sequences are those that follow his solitary wanderings. At this point, he was living on the Greek island of Hydra and only making odd visits back to his home town. Thus, to see Montreal through his eyes is to experience the city with both familiarity and curiosity. It is hard to imagine Cohen as a child. Even at the age of 30, his face was edged with a blessed world-weariness. Yet here he was, in family home movies shot in a Montreal park, a mischievous boy skating on the snowy ground and tumbling over adorably. The scene then cuts to present-day Cohen, who wanders through his old playground with a wistful reverence. Much of his writing centres on this verdant space. “It was the green heart,” Cohen recalls in his contemplative narration, “it gave the children dangerous bushes and heroic landscapes so they could imagine bravery.” In other words, his attachment to such public spaces was born out of an appreciation for their accessibility. Here, people from all walks of life can rest and dream. They can even fall in love.

Strolling through Montreal in his dark winter coat, Cohen had the bearing of a film noir character; his searching gaze drank in the mystique of the city, which emanates most captivatingly during nighttime. In one scene, the sleepless flâneur stepped inside Bens De Luxe, Montreal’s oldest deli, which opened in 1908 and ran for 22 hours a day.

Famous for its smoked meat sandwiches, the restaurant was a haven for insomniacs, with whom Cohen shared a special camaraderie. Even in the wee hours of the morning, the place was filled with chatter, the tables stacked with steaming, delicious hot plates. For Cohen, the refusal to comply with the regenerative process of sleeping is possibly the first rebellious act that a man can perform. “I refuse to sleep,” the would-be singer said. “I’m going to protest the idea of sleep by turning night into day.”

The Montreal so treasured by Cohen no longer exists. Bens De Luxe shut down in 2006 and, despite attempts to preserve the location as a historic site, was demolished. The Sainte-Catherine street where Cohen spent hours perusing colourful posters at cinemas like the Crystal Palace is now a wholly commercial district where dream palaces are torn down and chain stores are erected.

When asked about his purpose in writing poetry, Cohen spoke of searching for “a state of grace”. Watching him immerse himself in the rhythm of a bygone Montreal, always with a black notebook in hand, the answer does not seem so oblique. As a ritual that can awaken past memories and ignite new inspirations, the act of walking is akin to writing. So it is bittersweet that, under the grind of capitalism which continues to rapidly transform cityscapes, the possibility of attaining this “state of grace” has become ever more elusive. In Ladies and Gentlemen… Mr. Leonard Cohen, however, there is a Montreal that never sleeps, and Bens De Luxe never closes its doors. Come in, put your feet up and make yourself at home.