Barry Avrich - Moguls, Monsters and Madmen: An Uncensored Life in Show Business

Of course I was going to make a film about Garth Drabinsky. How could I not? We had worked together for nearly fifteen years. I had been with him through his biggest successes and his biggest failures. We had been close colleagues. I admired him for what he had achieved and was saddened by his perverse ambition and reckless implosion. I had warned him when we first met that someday Id make this film and he was about as unenthusiastic as you would expect. He was unlikely to have warmed to the idea since his incarceration.

In March 2012, after Garth heard my documentary was actually in production, I received a note from his assistant, Adelaide Mitchell, stating, Garth would like to see you. Hell put you on the list.

The list? This was an invitation to visit Garth in prison, but it was presented to me as if it were a privilege, like tickets to a Broadway opening. Of course, I accepted. I drove up to Beaver Creek Institution in Muskoka and, being a neurotic Jew, I arrived half an hour early for my 1:30 appointment. Because I was conscious that my car was somewhat fancy for a prison parking lot, I parked it about ninety-two blocks away from the gate, and then walked the rest of the way. I told the guard, Im here to see Garth Drabinsky.

Who?

Garth Drabinsky.

She corrected me. Inmate Drabinsky. What time is your appointment?

One thirty.

She became testy. Then you cant be here until 1:30. Dont you realize youre on the property of a correctional institution?

I hung out in nearby Gravenhurst, then returned at the appointed time.

The guards checked inside my car. They had dogs sniff me. They sent me through metal detectors.

Okay, go in.

The institution was surrounded by forest. It was dated but quite beautiful. As a medium- and minimum-security facility, it had neither fences nor bars. The inmates bunked together in little cabins with kitchens where they could prepare their own meals. It was almost like a 70s commune, offering various activities; it was not so bad, perhaps, but it was a prison. Points of demarcation told the inmates where they couldnt go. Cross the line and it was back behind bars.

Once inside the main building, I was placed in a communal visiting room, like a Legion hall with faded signs, well-worn picnic tables and six antique vending machines. And there I waited. Family members visiting other inmates greeted one another in a scene that was scary and weird, like The Shining meets Shawshank Redemption.

Before he was at Beaver Creek, Garth had been sent to the maximum-security penitentiary in Kingston, where prisoners were assessed after they were sentenced. I had heard rumours to the effect that Garth had been treated roughly there. Normally, the assessment took thirty days; Garth had been held for 112. I had been told storiessecond-handabout his not having a proper bed, and about his being humiliated and tormented. The guards would announce, Drabinsky, in a way that suggested he was about to be transferred when that wasnt the case. They knew who he was and they made his stay painful.

In walked Garth.

I hadnt seen him since 2012, when I was in the courtroom for his sentencing. It was a shock to see him a year later. He was wearing a Lionsgate sweatshirt, Ugg winter boots and jeans that hung loose because hed lost at least thirty-five pounds. His hair was very long and grey. He told me hed refused to let the prison barbers cut it. He was hoping to have his own guy in to style it, if only the authorities would allow it, whenever that might be.

We hugged, then sat down.

Garth said, Can you get me something from the vending machines?

I had been allowed to bring in only $3 in coins, which I had in a zip-lock bag. I bought popcorn (with fake butter), and a couple of chocolate bars, just as I would on each of my three visits. The irony of the man who reinvented the movie-going experience with real butter, now shovelling microwave popcorn into his mouth was not lost on me.

Even now, Garth was curious about show-business gossip and Broadway casts. He even asked for suggestions about what his post-prison comeback might look like: