Director and podcaster Alan Zweig, in downtown Toronto, on Aug. 27.Christopher Katsarov/The Globe and Mail
Alan Zweig has a delightful new podcast called The Worst Podcast, in which semi-famous interview subjects talk about their dislikes, foibles and unfortunate moments. The Canadian documentary filmmaker stopped by The Globe and Mail offices to chat about his new venture. He was in lovable form.
When asked by a Globe photographer to pose on a set of steps, he hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s a bit jaunty, isn’t it?” The photographer paused and offered a blank stare. Zweig had to explain, “Jaunty is not my brand.”
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His brand? Some say it is curmudgeon. Could the man who once made a film called I, Curmudgeon disagree?
He could and does. “When I made that film, I meant the title ironically,” the cranky Torontonian says about the 2004 documentary that featured sourpusses such as Fran Lebowitz, Harvey Pekar and Bruce LaBruce. “It’s a silly title, taking off on I, Claudius. I didn’t mean to say I’m a curmudgeon.”
We’re sitting in a bland meeting room – “suitable for a man of my status,” Zweig sighs, scanning the unimpressive space. He’s 72, grey of beard and pallor, and oddly more hulking than even a man of his above-average size should be.
I, Curmudgeon was part of an semi-autobiographical trilogy that included Vinyl (about record collectors) and Loveable. If Zweig does not identify as a sorehead, he can’t completely deny the label either. An actor can complain about being typecast, but they’re the ones repeatedly playing the same type of role.
“I consider myself a filmmaker, not a personality or a raconteur or a professional curmudgeon,” he says. “But these aspects have played into my filmmaking career and that’s what my producers are picking up on for the podcast. So, I’ll own it.”
The Worst Podcast is produced by Canadaland, the Canadian digital media company and podcast network founded in 2013 by journalist Jesse Brown. Though the six-episode first season features such celebrity guests as novelist Rick Moody and CBC sports broadcaster Ron MacLean, the first two shows posted online spotlight professional podcasters, Paul and Janie Tompkins and Anna Sale, respectively.
Zweig doesn’t seem to be overly familiar with his interviewees. Speaking to the Tompkins, for example, he forgets Janie’s name. Chatting with me now, he still can’t remember it.
“I didn’t know anything about them,” he admits. “As long as they’re entertaining, though, I’m happy they’re there.”
They were indeed entertaining, as is the loquacious and freewheeling Zweig, whose other films include When Jews Were Funny.
It can get awkward, though, with talk sometimes turning to Zweig’s self-aware struggle to adapt to the medium. Yes, the Tompkins discuss the worst jobs they ever suffered through. Yes, Sales discusses the worst of her college years. Simultaneously, however, attention is drawn to Zweig’s attempts to find his sea legs.
“You would think all my experiences as a filmmaker would play in to being a podcast interviewer, but it’s not the same thing,” he says.
To explain, when Zweig made his two documentaries on Steve Fonyo – 2015′s Hurt and 2017′s Hope – he could spend five minutes to get five words from the late, troubled cross-Canada runner. It all gets cleaned up in the editing. Podcasting, though, is more on the fly.
“It feels like a completely different skill set. I’m conscious of the fact that sometimes the concept works, and sometimes I’m really struggling.”
His entertaining flailing is part of the show. Zweig, who regularly holds a mirror to himself in his films, now ponders podcasts and his place in them, in real time. In other words, The Worst Podcast is on brand.
It is not his first try at podcasts. You can find episodes documenting his weight-loss journey on YouTube, but Zweig would rather you not. “I put them online, but they’re not really for public consumption.”
He has a flair for comic self-deprecation. His mention on The Worst Podcast that his psychiatrist once fell asleep during a session rings of Woody Allen. “It really happened,” he insists.
Zweig’s Facebook friends were able follow the director’s frustrating attempts to find an affordable apartment for himself and his teenage daughter. His films Vinyl and the sequel Records document obsessive LP collectors. The through-line of his work and social media presence is the consideration of the human condition, presented by a struggling filmmaker who was nearly 50 years old before making his first full-length doc and finding success in the field.
In The Worst Podcast episode on Moody, the American author is asked about the worst thing he ever said to his mother. As a teenager, she made him give up his bedroom and sleep in a tent to accommodate relatives in town for a wedding. Years later, when Moody brought it up to her, his mother cried.
“That’s what the show is about,” Zweig says. “Even if you haven’t had that experience, we all know what it feels like.”
The podcast, like Zweig’s other endeavours, is at its best when it touches on the worst.
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