Minute misfortunes, cringing incompetence, and wanton, inexplicable malevolence—that’s all one needs to hang a boy.

Steven Truscott’s case is a black stain on Canadian history. In response to the violent rape and murder of a child—12-year-old Lynne Harper—our neighbours, our courts, and our society took the life of another. Just 14-years old at the time, Truscott became in 1959 the youngest Canadian sentenced to death. That this was commuted to life imprisonment, and the executioner’s noose stayed, is hardly comforting. Truscott would have to wait until 2007—when the errors of the initial case could be brought to light—to be acquitted of the charges.

The Centaur Theatre/National Arts Centre co-production of Innocence Lost: A Play About Steven Truscott, written by Beverley Cooper and directed by Roy Surette, is an accomplished telling of the events surrounding Harper’s murder and Truscott’s trial. Cooper’s script rightly reflects the pain experienced not just by Truscott, but also the Harper family and the small, tightknit community of Clinton, Ontario in which the tragedy took place. This attentiveness, coupled with Surette’s even-handed and empathetic direction, makes for a production that is provoking without moralizing, inquisitive rather than inquisitorial, and very, very much alive.

This care is evident in the meticulous construction of an idyllic community, a space that is pristine, protected, perfect—a space without evil. The same care can be seen in the slow fragmentation of this safety, as Harper’s disappearance becomes a morbid, unimaginable discovery in the bushes, and as the community slowly turns to chew out and digest one of their own. The innocence that is lost is not merely Truscott’s—the story is very much about the suffering of a town and country.

Cooper merits praise for her dexterity in navigating such a horrible event, one in which various parties have incalculable emotional stakes. Many of the lines are narrations, breathlessly relaying facts to keep the audience informed of all relevant detail, but the cast handles the task, which could easily sink into tediousness, with livid yet restrained passion. The rest of the script dives deep into intersubjective experiences, whether it’s the gossipy neighbour, the traumatized classmate, or the cop that’s out for blood. Here, we see glimpses of what a clinical court document or aseptic news clipping could never reveal. The best moments of the production capture a back and forth of this dualism, a fusion of cool facts and heated humanity.

Technical elements also complement the respect and restraint which characterizes this production. James Lavoie’s tiered set design, replete with miniature houses, exhibits the power of subtlety. The same can be said for Luc Prairie’s lighting, though it is appropriately dramatic at select points, such as during Truscott’s appearance at the Supreme Court of Canada. The video projection which accompanies several scenes may easily have slid into uncomfortable sentimentality in less accomplished hands, but George Allister and Patrick Andrew Boivin’s design is compelling and effective without being self-indulgent.

Distinguishing themselves among a versatile and accomplished cast, most of whom play multiple roles, are Fiona Reid and Allan Morgan. Both veteran actors in Canadian theatre, Reid and Morgan’s talent is evinced by the range and depth of nuance in their characterizations. Each role inhabited is made unique, and even the briefest cameo, in the hands of Morgan, could become the most memorable performance of the night. As the guiding spirit for the audience, Sarah (Jenny Young) is a formidable presence. Young invests the role with both vulnerability and strength, making for an imminently relatable character that helps the audience through the wrenching story. The tightly-wound and immaculate production nevertheless saw a number of minor line mishaps on opening night—such things are, however, unlikely to mar future performances.

The subtle movement from ‘innocent until proven guilty’ to its terrifying inverse speaks to the injustice of Truscott’s case. Lines like “He’s got to be guilty! There’s too much at stake!” exhibit just why the conviction became one of the most infamous ‘miscarriages of justice’ in Canadian history. Yet there’s no condemnation or accusation in this production, no single ‘ah-ha!’ moment that the viewer can point to as the source of all wrong. There’s no target for one to strike with the red-hot poker of vengeance, nothing that can be used to console oneself with the thought that ‘if we stop that, we can prevent it from happening again.’ Instead, Truscott’s story is one overflowing with sadness, helplessness, and frustration. Though we may not answer this question, the fact that Innocence Lost asks it at all is important: What made us, governors and participants in our cherished democracy, turn so eagerly to condemn this boy?

Innocence Lost runs until Feb. 24 at the Centaur (453 Saint-François- Xavier). Student admission $26.

“This film is about Ginger Baker, a man who stands for something in life that probably most of you do not. Love and appreciate—no matter how awkward this character may appear to you.”

From the opening scenes of the film, Johnny Rotten, the infamous Sex Pistols lead singer, cautions viewers about the brilliant but self-destructive force of nature they are about to witness. Jay Bulger’s immensely entertaining ‘rockumentary,’ Beware of Mr. Baker, chronicles the prolific life and career of legendary British rock drummer Ginger Baker, most commonly known as a member of the ’60s blues rock supergroups Cream and Blind Faith.

From an early age Baker realized that he had been blessed with the rare gift of natural time. Though he started out as a jazz drummer, Beware of Mr. Baker documents Baker’s career progression from jazz, to rock, to African rhythms, in an endless quest to follow “the groove.”

This rhythmic journey spans over five decades and takes him across the world, leaving England for Hawaii, Jamaica, Nigeria, Italy, the U.S., and South Africa. Along the way he collaborates with talented and influential people, including Fela Kuti, the revolutionary Nigerian musician and activist.

So, why beware of this Mr. Baker? Baker’s drug abuse, penchant for violence, excessive and compulsive behaviour, terrible attitude, and skewed moral compass garner him a long list of enemies, ruined relationships (including four wives, each younger than the last), deportation from multiple countries, and an equal proportion of highs as lows.

In the film Baker—now 73, and appearing to have mellowed with age—calmly recounts incidents, such as when he pulled a knife out on his fellow band member Jack Bruce during a live performance, or when he offered a line of coke to his then 15 year-old son, Kofi.

Ginger Baker’s life story is riveting, and Beware of Mr. Baker tells it through the use of various interviews, concert clips, animations, old footage, and an amazing soundtrack intercut with thunderous drum solos that would get any music lover’s heart pumping. Bulger succeeds in providing a convincing portrait of Baker as an unrivalled pioneer of rock music, and the best drummer of all time.

Throughout the movie viewers sense that the director and a majority of the interviewees are closeted Ginger Baker fanboys, all impressive names in their own right: Charlie Watts (Rolling Stones), Eric Clapton, Nick Mason (Pink Floyd), Carlos Santana, Neil Peart (Rush), Lars Ulrich (Metallica), and Stewart Copeland (The Police), amongst others. They acknowledge Baker’s plethora of faults, but in the end are willing to overlook them in light of his aweinspiring talent and rhythmic genius.

However, one gets the impression that none of the interviewees truly knew the real Ginger Baker, and no genuine attempt was made to delve further into his psyche. This is partly perpetuated by Baker himself, who tries to keep the audience at arm’s length. When asked whether he would consider himself a tragic hero, Baker curtly tells the documentarian to “stop trying to be an intellectual dickhead.”

Ultimately, Johnny Rotten says it the best: “How can you question it, when the end results are that perfect?”

Beware of Mr. Baker opens Feb. 8 at Cinema du Parc (3575 Avenue du Parc). Under 25 tickets $8.50.

Waves of progress often sweep away the obsolete from society without a second thought, but Dave Grohl makes Sound City Studios a rare exception. In his first film, the Nirvana drummer and Foo Fighters front-man turns his sights to a musical landmark whose greatness few, apart from hardcore rock ‘n’ roll fans, would have understood prior to this project. Sound City chronicles the rich history of the eponymous studio that brought together four decades of musicians on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Sound City was first conceived by Grohl in 2011, when the studio decided to call it quits after a 42-year run. Hearing the news, he talked to its manager about buying their custom- made Neve recording console for Studio 606, his personal studio.

The transaction was completed, but salvaging the machinery alone did not satisfy Grohl. He felt that there was a story to be told about the studio and its role in the greater context of rock ‘n’ roll, so he assembled a cast that could help him do it justice.

Enter the heroes of Sound City Studios: Neil Young, Fleetwood Mac, John Fogerty, Tom Petty, Rick Springfield, REO Speedwagon, Rage Against the Machine, Queens of the Stone Age, Weezer, Nine Inch Nails, renowned producer Rick Rubin (looking like he never left Woodstock), and the studio’s loyal staff. There is a genuine excitement and candid quality in the musicians that talk about their Sound City experience.

Many bring up the friendliness of the staff and the family-like atmosphere that developed in the studio. In several cases, the recordings done there were followed by a huge commercial breakthrough for the artists. Had it not been for Sound City, Mick Fleetwood never would have heard a tape by Buckingham Nicks, the dating duo he recruited to Fleetwood Mac that would help launch them to superstardom.

No musician felt shy about calling Sound City an absolute dump. It’s located in a dingy row of industrial warehouse spaces, and the interior area is equally unappealing. Very little had been altered since 1969, including the tasteless brown shag carpet on the wall. The only times the walls saw improvements was when another gold or platinum record was put up.

As Studio Manager Shivaun O’Brien puts it, “Sound City was a place where real men went to make records.”

The essence of Sound City is its appreciation of the lost art of analog recording. It is refreshing to hear Grohl, Young, and many of the other featured artists speak so affectionately of the recording process on the studio’s Neve console. The documentary expertly highlights the fact that while digital recording may provide convenience and opportunities for sound manipulation, it cannot reproduce the pure cohesiveness and authenticity of its analog counterpart.

Although Sound City is a documentary, Grohl still delivers a strong performance. He is constantly overflowing with zeal for the studio and revels in the scope of its effect on the rock community. Somehow, it’s satisfying to watch him jam out with many of the artists he interviewed (and a surprise guest legend) while recording on the rebuilt Neve console. Those tracks have been released on an album accompanying the documentary called Real to Reel.

Grohl delivers in his first documentary and benefits from its all-star cast. Neil Young famously proclaims in the 1979 song “My My, Hey Hey” that “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.” By creating Sound City, Grohl ensures that one of the more prolific sites in rock ‘n’ roll history will burn out brilliantly.

Sound City is playing until Feb. 7 at Cinema du Parc (3575 Avenue du Parc). Under 25 tickets $8.50.