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I am writing this as someone who has not always “gotten” the work of my fellow Winnipegger Guy Maddin — at least not the way I’m supposed to, having been scolded by publicists for laughing inappropriately during movies such as Archangel.
Maddin makes weird movies. And Winnipeg is kind of a weird place — on this both the residents and prodigal sons can agree. So it dovetails beautifully that the city’s strangest artistic voice has lent itself to defining that which is bizarre about the ’Peg.
And yes, it’s okay to laugh. If you’re from Winnipeg, this movie is definitely funnier than The Love Guru.
This is not your Chamber Of Commerce thumbnail sketch of that hard, cold and strangely warmhearted Prairie-opolis.
This is a tale told by a madman, of horse corpses encased in river ice, their heads frozen above water like bizarre taxidermy trophies, of Bison stampedes destroying theme parks, of Masonic rites and seances being carried out by the political leaders of the day and of a TV series called Ledgeman that consists each week of its hero having to be talked out of committing suicide.
But the central theme is “escape” — a weird motif for a filmmaker who’s had every opportunity to leave Winnipeg to join the chin-scratching cineaste world that calls out for him in New York and Europe, and who’s chosen to stay home. As played in scenes by Darcy Fehr, the young Maddin is seen repeatedly on a train as the real Maddin (the narrator) intones “I must leave it, I must leave it ...”
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My Winnipeg mixes media (video, stock footage, animation) to produce the
millieu that Maddin adores — a weird kind of nostalgic, ’30s-style black-and-white, a perfect dreamlike canvas for his snowy vision of a place where people sleepwalk through life.
And he paints a dryly hilarious picture of his dysfunctional family, living above the beauty parlour run by his mom (played by oldtime movie star Ann Savage).
A mix of surrealism and truth (Maddin has called it a “docutasia”), My Winnipeg is not everybody’s Winnipeg. Setting it entirely in winter makes for thematic consistency, but it’s a bit of a cheat to not at least make a nod to “the big sky” of summer (and the mosquitos).
And who knew Maddin was a hockey fan? He practically fumes with indignation at the demise of the Winnipeg Jets and the pointless demolition of the Winnipeg Arena (one of the country’s great hockey meccas) where his dad was an employee of the Winnipeg Maroons.
Having seen it with hundreds of ex-Winnipeggers at the Toronto Festival, I can attest to the effectiveness of its combination of heightened reality and nostalgic touchstones (who knew the sight of the now-decrepit Paddlewheel Restaurant at the Bay could be so touching?). It’s been winning raves at film festivals as far away as Australia.
It could be there are a lot more Winnipegs out there than we know.
(This film is rated 14-A)