“You just listen to the music and if you like it, you like it” – Teenage Head

There was a time, not too long ago, when Toronto had a “burgeoning punk scene,” when The Horseshoe Tavern was twice its current size, and when, according to Colin Brunton, a man would get beaten up for walking along Queen St. W. wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans. In that time, one night really stood out: December 1, 1978. That night saw a punk concert to end all punk concerts – in the Horseshoe Tavern at least. Visionary promoters Gary Cormier and Gary Topp (a.k.a. The Garys) had been ahead of the curve on the punk movement – even booking The Ramones before they were “The Ramones.” Unfortunately, the owners of The Horseshoe couldn’t see where they were going and ordered a change of musical direction. Before making that change, the Garys engineered “The Last Pogo.” This is the way the punk era ends: with a bang, not a whimper.

Then 23-year-old Brunton, who had been working at The Horseshoe, expressed his (self-admittedly somewhat inebriated) desire to document the event. He got $10,000 and 37–40 minutes of footage. Intercutting interviews, performances, and band point-of-view shots, the 25-minute finished product feels wonderfully unfinished. Much like the punk movement itself, The Last Pogo ends before it’s over. Technically, Brunton completely ran out of film: he had to use footage of the Viletones’ stage point-of-view in the Teenage Head’s set. Literally, overcrowding of the venue led to the event itself being cut short. The credits appear over shots of a riotous audience crowding an empty stage and the varying degrees of destruction left in their wake. Mirroring the interview segment which begins the film, Teenage Head has the last word (quoted above).

While in the Q & A after the screening, Brunton repeatedly emphasized that he really had no idea what he was doing, it’s clear his rawness as a filmmaker was far from a hindrance in this case. He may not have known film, but he lived punk. The Last Pogo breathes because he infused it with that life. Nothing revolutionary in terms of framing and pacing, the film is imbued with a unique vibrancy – a palpable excitement and anticipation enhanced by the simple, rough feel of the footage. To paraphrase Teenage Head: watch the film, if you like it, you like it. And if you really like it, look out for the sequel: The Last Pogo Jumps Again.

Maureen Holland is working towards her B.A. in the Cinema Studies department at the University of Toronto.