Ben Todică - THE KEY TO LIFE

 

THE KEY TO LIFE

IN AUSTRALIA AND THE WORLD

A Page About Who I Am — and Why I Am Who I Am

I did not come to Australia to become someone else.

Perhaps I came here to discover more clearly who I really am.

I worked, I studied, I filmed, I sang, I made radio and television, and I met people who opened new windows onto the world for me. During the day, I earned my living working in the automotive industry; after work, I tried to earn the right to dream.

Perhaps this is, after all, my story:

a life divided between work and dreaming, between hands that build and a mind that searches.

At the Beginning, There Was Radio

In 1993, at Melbourne's community radio station 3ZZZ, I undertook a Train the Trainer course designed for people who would later train radio program presenters themselves. The course was organised by Holmesglen TAFE College.

The station director, David Melzer, recommended me to Professor Reece Lamshed, who taught Broadcasting Law and was also involved in the management of Open Channel.

Open Channel was an independent film and television training studio — an extraordinary place for people who wanted to learn and create. There, you could find equipment, working spaces, qualified staff and, above all, people willing to share their experience.

Reece Lamshed invited me to become a member of Open Channel.

Because I had completed the trainer's course, I also became a member of ATOM — Australian Teachers of Media, an organisation with which I am still involved today.

I did not know then where that first step would take me.

But sometimes life does not show us the road.

It simply opens a door.

Channel 31 and the Beginning of Community Television

Also in 1993, the Australian Federal Government made a sixth television channel available to educational and nonprofit groups, C31, intended for the production and broadcasting of local programs about community life.

Testing began in March 1993.

On television screens across Melbourne, pilot programs produced by different ethnic communities began appearing, one after another.

Among them were the Romanians.

The Romanian community eventually had as much as four hours of programming each week, and the man who carried much of that struggle was Augustin Luchian.

He was, and remained, the heart of the program.

In 1991, MCTC Inc. — Melbourne Community Television Consortium — had been established as a central body to coordinate and facilitate the transmission of programs produced by community groups and independent producers.

It was a world in which television was built from the ground up:

with people, passion, voluntary work and an enormous amount of effort.

“Sweet and Sour Freedom”

Mariana Costea was studying film directing at RMIT. For her graduation project, she conceived a television series about the integration of immigrant women into Australian society. Each episode was to present a different nationality.

It was a team project involving approximately twenty people.

When she learned that a Romanian was working at Open Channel, Mariana contacted me and asked for my help.

I joined the project and eventually received on-screen credit as head of the technical team — camera, sound, lighting and editing.

In October 1994, Channel 31 in Melbourne began its permanent broadcasts, and one of the first programs transmitted was the series “Sweet and Sour Freedom.”

Among the principal creators who had the honour of being part of that beginning were two Romanians:

Mariana Costea and Ben Todică.

Through that gesture, we too joined the many people who quietly contribute to building and honouring a community.

During its ten years of existence, Sweet and Sour Freedom was repeated nine times on Channel 31.

For me, it was not simply television.

It was a way of saying:

“We are here too.”

Romania on the Australian Screen

The Romanian Community Program was supported to approximately 90 percent by programs supplied by Romanian Television.

But producing a local program required equipment, a studio, time and trained people.

On the occasion of Romania's National Day, Augustin Luchian, coordinator of the Romanian program, asked me to help him produce an interview with the Romanian Ambassador in Canberra, His Excellency Mr Ioan Gaf-Deac.

For this project, I needed three days of unpaid leave from my job, as well as the rental of a studio and Open Channel equipment, costing A$1,250.

I did not have that money.

So I reached an agreement with the management of Open Channel: I would provide maintenance services in exchange for the use of the equipment and facilities.

I painted interiors, repaired chairs, doors and windows, helped with renovations and reorganised spaces.

Augustin Luchian took care of the rest — transport, the video camera and a place for me to sleep.

That was sometimes how things were done.

I had no money, but I had hands.

I had no resources, but I had determination.

And, above all, I had something that could not be bought:

the desire to do something for Romania.

That is why, when historical footage filmed in Australia — ambassadors, public figures and members of the community — reaches people in Romania today, I would like it to be remembered that much of this material was not funded by anyone.

It was paid for with people's time, labour and sacrifice.

Perhaps this is one of the lessons democracy should learn:

to recognise the work of those who build without asking for anything in return.

“I Love You, Romania!”

I later created the opening titles for the program “Romanian Mosaic”, and from time to time I introduced locally produced material into the broadcasts.

Personally, I invested more than A$20,000 in equipment so that I could produce and contribute local material.

Why?

Because this was the only way I knew how to say to Romania:

“I love you!”

Yes, perhaps it sounds strange.

To spend hard-earned money, after hours of work in a factory, filming, editing and sending images to a country on the other side of the world.

But love is not always economical.

Sometimes it is absurd.

Sometimes it is expensive.

Sometimes it produces nothing except the quiet happiness of knowing that you have done something that needed to be done.

Romania remains my paradise.

An Unexpected Recognition

In 2004, a national festival of community television stations was established to recognise programs and their creators.

The ceremony took place on 28 February at 7:00 p.m. in Storey Hall, the theatre of RMIT University in Melbourne, and was broadcast by local and national television stations.

There were 506 entries, of which 178 reached the final.

The Romanian program was nominated through two of my productions.

“Artholes in Melbourne” was among the top five nominations in the Best Arts Program category.

For this achievement, I thank from the bottom of my heart my teachers Ela and Radu Sătcău.

“Baptism at Harul” was among the top four nominations in the Best Faith Program category.

Here I must thank the congregation of Harul Christian Church and Pastor Rev. Corin Izvernariu.

Neither film was subtitled, nor had they been made with the intention of entering competitions.

They were simply programs produced for the broadcast.

Most of the films for the program were made under considerable time pressure.

And yet, Romania had arrived there.

Among approximately 68 participating nationalities, only three countries were nominated in those categories, and Romania stood alongside Italy and Hungary.

For us, the creators of the Romanian program, it was a moment of great joy.

Perhaps we did not win the major prize.

But the name Romania was spoken and seen several times on Australian screens.

And if, in that moment, even one Romanian felt proud, then it was enough for us.

And if the program existed for ten years, this was due above all to Augustin Luchian, passionate and tireless, who kept this flame alive.

Our gratitude belongs to him.

Bravo, Augustin!

Music

But television was not the only road.

I studied singing for five years with my teacher Mevis Kruger, originally from Vienna and later based in Melbourne.

During that period, I became part of her vocal group — eight women and six men — and we performed concerts in churches, hospitals, nursing homes and centres for people who were ill or living with disabilities throughout Melbourne and its surrounding areas.

Music was, in a way, unavoidable for me, because I was studying sound engineering and it was part of my curriculum.

Thus, between 1992 and 1997, I studied music.

My son followed us on one of our tours with a video camera.

The images remain.

Perhaps one day I will be able to show them to others.

Because memory needs images if it is not to disappear.

Meeting the Masters

I attended two seminars with the renowned American teacher and screenwriter Robert McKee — Story and Thriller.

In 2002 and 2003, I had the privilege of being his student in Melbourne.

I also took an acting course with the director, writer and master instructor Joan Elizabeth Scheckel of New York, a true visionary who was highly sought after in Los Angeles by Hollywood filmmakers.

The course was organised in Melbourne by Epiphany Artists.

I also attended a seminar conducted by Dov Simens, a film producer and instructor known for contributing to the training of filmmakers such as Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez and Guy Ritchie.

There were also other courses and brief encounters with important people from the film world: Jon Sardi, Yuri Sokol, Tony Randall, Ian Robinson, Fred Schepisi and others.

Each one left something with me.

Not necessarily a technique.

Sometimes, simply a question.

And questions are sometimes more important than answers.

And Yet, How Did I Earn My Living?

Through work.

I earned my living in the automotive industry, in a radiator factory, as a skilled worker specialising in welding and in the programming and operation of high-speed profiling and cutting machines.

During the day, I was a worker.

In the evening, I became a cameraman, sound engineer, producer, editor, student and singer.

Perhaps to some people these things may seem incompatible.

To me, they never were.

Metal and music came from the same origin:

vibration.

A good weld requires precision.

A good image requires patience.

A song requires breath.

A film requires memory.

And a human being can carry all of these within one life.

“Why Do You Do All These Things?”

And perhaps here we arrive at the real question.

“Why do you do all these things?”

Someone once asked me that.

But the answer did not begin in Australia.

It began much earlier.

In childhood.

My form teacher, Mr Popescu Dorel, taught mathematics. One day, he replaced our music teacher, who was absent.

He took us to the school laboratory.

He turned off the lights.

He placed a record on the turntable.

It was George Enescu.

And he told us to close our eyes and imagine a forest where a gentle wind was blowing...

At that moment, I understood something I could not yet explain.

Music was not simply sound.

It was imagination.

It was a door to something you could not see, but could feel.

Mr Popescu Dorel gave me my love of music.

Perhaps many of the things that followed began there.

There, in a darkened room, with a turntable and a teacher who said to a group of children:

“Close your eyes and imagine...”

From that moment on, I kept trying to imagine.

I filmed.

I photographed.

I sang.

I made radio.

I made television.

I studied.

I welded.

I wrote.

I gathered people, voices, faces and stories.

Perhaps because without imagination we cannot truly love.

You cannot organise your dreaming without music.

And without dreaming, life risks becoming nothing more than a succession of days.

I did not want to count my days.

I wanted to live them.

And perhaps this is, after all, the answer to the question:

Why do I do all these things?

Because once, someone gave me a melody.

A teacher opened my eyes in the darkness and told me to imagine a forest.

Ever since then, all my life, I have been trying to find that forest.

Perhaps I found it in Romania.

Perhaps in Australia.

Perhaps in people.

Perhaps in film.

Perhaps in music.

Perhaps in words.

Or perhaps I am still searching for it.

But as long as I am searching,

I am still alive.

Ben Todică

THE KEY TO LIFE

The mathematics teacher and form master whom I did not love gave me, without ever knowing it, the key to life through a few simple words:

“Close your eyes and imagine a forest...”