By @medsforheads

The documentary Frenchy Dreams of Hashish, produced by Collabo! and in cooperation with the Frenchy Cannoli Foundation, was shown at ChiTown Movies drive-in theater in Pilsen last Friday. The film centers around legendary hashmaker and activist Frenchy Cannoli and his efforts to advocate for the Emerald Triangle farmers with whom he worked closely during the pivotal months just before and after Prop. 64 went into effect, legalizing adult-use cannabis sales and production. The filming period also took place during the (then-unbeknownst) final years of the hashish artisan’s life, cut short tragically and unexpectedly in 2021 due to surgical complications.

Now, his wife Kimberly Hooks and apprentice “Cherry Blossom” Belle are touring North America, screening the documentary and presenting “The Lost Art of the Hashishin,” a workshop where participants can learn the history of hashish through Hooks’ tales of her and Frenchy’s travels and see a live demonstration of Belle’s bubble hash process.

In the opening scenes, Frenchy evaluates samples of hash, walking through a packed Emerald Cup with his signature hookah and temple balls the size of plums. He then flashes back to the 1980’s, which he spent roaming the globe hunting for the tools and techniques that could yield the highest quality of traditional hashish. As a nomad, he joined hash-making communes in India, Nepal, Morocco, and Mexico, impressed with the stability of the product they were making with rudimentary technology.

Yet, even while studying the mechanical methods of refining resin, he recognized the inseparable role of the growing process that brought the plant to maturity before his skilled hands touched it. “Everything starts with the land, the farmer, and the genetic,” he says in his trademark French accent.

The bulk of FDOH’s runtime is spent with legacy farmers like Leo Stone, founder of Aficionado Humboldt and Belle’s older brother, who is shown asking his plants’ permission to be pollinated and making a point to express positive intent as he applies pollen to receptive stigmas by hand. Mean Gene from Mendocino also makes several appearances, explaining how he can predict the terpene profiles of his different phenotypes by their leaf structures before airing his criticisms of the state government for what he sees as “economic assassination” of small-scale farmers.

In reference to the gold rush that adult-use legalization created for massive corporate grow operations, Gene says, “a lot of people don’t want an opportunity, they already had one.” Between regulatory compliance measures, taxes, and competition with price-driving giants, most of the legacy growers who became licensed under Prop. 215, which legalized cannabis for medical use in 1996, are likely to be forced out of the market.

While the silver lining of licensure is protection from the threat of prison time, illustrated by radio host and grower Kevin Marsh’s anecdote of running from helicopters with grease paint on his face, at what cost does it come? As the parting of the floodgates drew closer for the hill growers, more voiced their qualms and struggles with regulatory agencies, big land grabs, and low profit margins. At a town hall meeting, one vegetable and cannabis farmer starkly compared the vastly different requirements for the two crops. For vegetables, $35 and a list of produce was enough to earn him a license. For cannabis, permission costs tens of thousands, threatening many farmers’ livelihoods.

Though illustrious growers like the late Subcool and the Mendo Dope brothers were likewise lamentful of the industry’s direction, the love of cannabis kept them striving to impress, brimming with excitement when presenting their crops to Frenchy, a true resin authority. “You can read the whole story of the plant inside the resin head,” says Frenchy, addressing a class of aspiring hashishins in one scene, as mesmerizing close-up shots of trichomes protruding from buds on sieve screens and congealing together under the pressure of a hot water bottle. As he assists with a moonlight harvest of Mendo Dope’s Marionberry Kush, I can’t help but wonder how this cinematic finale to the plants’ lives will translate to the properties of their resin.

Despite the cannabis industry in California being “over-policed, over-regulated and overtaxed,” as Frenchy says, exasperation palpable in his voice, he believed that the Emerald Triangle presented a unique opportunity to create a regional appellation for the world’s most prestigious ganja, analogous to the wines produced in Champagne and Bordeaux. In addition to more skin in the game, a focus on sustainability is something the legacy farmers share with one another that venture-backed operators do not.

Working restoratively with the land to produce high-grade flower may be necessary for the preservation of the region’s signature terroir, but it doesn’t mesh with corporate producers’ bottom lines and scale demands. Frenchy speaks about his great affinity for “up North” with familial loyalty, saying, “even if it’s not home, it’s a place I would defend to the death.” In truth, he did exactly that, even stopping by the side of a road once to fight a hillside blaze during a devastating wildfire season that struck yet another blow to defenseless farmers.

The pains of California’s route to adult-use legalization resonate here in Illinois, an oligopolistic market dominated by MSOs. Only time will tell if the introduction of craft grow and independent dispensary licensees will shift the tide, but many of the Prairie State’s medical cannabis patients are largely embittered by the changes in pricing, supply, and quality they’ve experienced as cultivators allocated more resources to corporate expansion and focused on mass-market products.

The fact that all dispensaries established after 2020 have been designated as purely “recreational,” geared toward the general public with little to no benefit for medical cardholders, doesn’t help. However, we can also take lessons from the Emerald Triangle growers’ resilience, as they looked toward a future fraught with challenges. Though frustrated within reason, nobody in the film seemed discouraged or defeated.

At the end of the day, they share the strong bond of a longstanding community of people who spend their lives dedicated to a special and elite calling–producing the greatest cannabis (and hashish) known to mankind. Swami Chaitanya of Swami Select farms says it best as he hops on his bike toward the end of the documentary, “At any rate, we’re gonna make it!”

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