While I’m at it… I am coming to believe that Winnipeg is in fact the site of the “real” Canada.
This makes sense on so many levels. It’s the geographic center of the country, after all. It also has a prairie. And clearly British Columbia, for instance, isn’t Canada (too mild). Nor is Toronto or the rest of Ontario (too much like the USA). Quebec is, well, a case apart. Calgary is a weird bit of Texas transplanted to northern climes. And the Maritimes are too far away from anything. Newfoundland is a lost rock in the Atlantic Ocean, that only joined the Confederation when forced to do so. The Territories are empty and barren. No, only Saskatchewan comes close. But Manitoba, I think, is like Saskatchewan only more so.
So in the same way that the Weakerthans are really singing about Canada when they declare their hate for their native city, so surely Guy Maddin’s marvellous movie My Winnipeg should similarly be read allegorically, as a film about the best and the worst that this country could be and is.
It’s a mesmerizing, magnificent film, deeply strange and troubled, which is loosely premised on the film-maker’s eternally ill-fated attempt to leave this place in which everyone is strangely half-asleep.
My Winnipeg is also a lament. And after all, if Canada has an identity, it involves a lament for an identity is now lost, and was never recognized at the time; Canada’s identity is permanently après coup, as Lacan would say. (This is also the theme of Douglas Coupland’s Souvenir of Canada, as I’ve hinted before, in not dissimilar circumstances.) Specifically, Maddin’s lament revolves around the demolition of the Jets’ stadium, and so the departure of major league hockey from the town.
And (forgive the spoiler) the film ends with the most astonishing vision of some kind of prairie socialist realist goddess reversing the flow of time and conjuring the stadium back from the rubble. It’s an amazing finale, and well worth the occasional longeur en route.
Anyhow, here’s the trailer…