The world of documentary filmmaking has lost a true visionary. Gilles Blais, a pioneering director whose lens captured the complexities of society, has passed away at 84. His death, announced by the National Film Board of Canada (NFB) on October 17, leaves behind a legacy of thought-provoking films that challenged audiences to see the world differently. But here's where it gets even more impactful: Blais wasn't just a filmmaker; he was a storyteller who used his craft to shed light on controversial issues, from environmental degradation to political divides, often sparking conversations that continue to resonate today.
Suzanne Guèvremont, government film commissioner and chairperson of the NFB, aptly described Blais as “a true observer of society, not just in Quebec, but also in Canada and around the world.” His ability to approach his subjects with deep respect and patience set him apart, making him a filmmaker whose work transcended borders and cultures. And this is the part most people miss: Blais’ films weren’t just about documenting reality—they were about questioning it, inviting viewers to think critically about the world around them.
Blais’ career at the NFB, spanning from 1965 to 1997, was marked by groundbreaking documentaries that tackled pressing issues of their time. Take, for instance, his 1971 film Water, Water Everywhere…, a stark portrayal of ocean pollution that included a haunting underwater scene of a trout dying in contaminated water. This wasn’t just a film; it was a wake-up call about environmental stewardship, a topic that remains fiercely debated today. Was Blais ahead of his time, or did he simply recognize the urgency of issues others were ignoring? That’s a question worth discussing.
Another standout work was Sophie Wollock’s Newspaper (1979), which gave voice to English-speaking Quebecers during the height of the Quebec nationalism movement. Through the lens of a suburban Montreal newspaper, Blais explored the tensions between cultural identity and political aspirations, a theme that continues to spark controversy in Canadian discourse. He revisited this theme in Le Grand Silence (1997), a documentary about the 1995 Quebec referendum, which remains one of the most polarizing events in Canadian history. Did Blais’ films fuel the debate, or did they simply reflect the complexities of a divided society? Let’s hear your thoughts in the comments.
Beyond his documentaries, Blais’ versatility as a filmmaker shone through in works like the 1991 drama Joseph K. – The Numbered Man, a cautionary tale about domestic surveillance that feels eerily relevant in today’s digital age. Born in 1941 in Rimouski, Quebec, Blais began his career behind the scenes, working as an assistant cameraman on films like In The Labyrinth (1967) and Beluga Days (1968), before stepping into the director’s chair with The Netsilik Eskimo Today (1971), a poignant look at Inuit life in Canada’s Arctic.
Blais’ global impact extended beyond Canada. From 1971 to 1974, he launched a video unit in Tunisia, and in 1977, he served as a production advisor for eight films on human settlements in Africa, commissioned by the United Nations. His NFB credits also include The Port of Montreal (1975), Soils of Canada (1978), The Followers (1981), and Les Illusions Tranquilles (1984), each a testament to his ability to tackle diverse subjects with depth and nuance.
Even after leaving the NFB, Blais continued to push boundaries. His 2005 documentary Conventum celebrated the 50th anniversary of Quebec’s Quiet Revolution, a movement that challenged the dominance of the Catholic Church and paved the way for progressive change. Was this revolution truly quiet, or did it roar in ways we’re still grappling with today? Share your perspective below.
Gilles Blais’ films weren’t just documentaries—they were conversations, provocations, and reflections on the human condition. As we remember his contributions, let’s also ask ourselves: What stories need to be told today? And who will step up to tell them with the same courage and insight as Blais? His legacy isn’t just in the films he left behind, but in the questions he inspired us to ask.
