My Winnipeg

By Jenny Siddle
July 28, 2008

Standing at the window waiting to purchase my ticket for My Winnipeg, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What type of eclectic group of misfits am I going to be surrounded by in the theatre for a Guy Maddin movie?” The handful of Maddin films I’ve experienced over the years were either a result of poorly attended Canadian Films Studies courses at university, or rare finds in grocery store bargain bins – never in an actual movie theatre. If you have never watched a film by the inimitable Canadian director, I can almost verifiably guarantee that you have never seen anything quite like it. There is simply no comparison in today’s industry to his brand of absurd psuedo-sexual, expressionist, tounge-in-cheek, black and white, silent film influenced, surrealist spectacles. At least not that I know of. So I have to say I was more than surprised to walk into the theatre to see a large group of clean-cut, freshly retired baby boomers sitting in the seats. By my calculation I was the only attendee under the age of 55. I wanted to stand up and ask everyone if they had actually heard of Guy Maddin, if they truly knew what they were in for! It wasn’t long before I realized the true rationale for the refined audience turnout – they were all former Winnipeggers.

Ah, Winnipeg. Most of Maddin’s films take place in his native city, and just about all of them reflect “Winterpeg” as somewhat of a dark, snowy, depressing purgatory. In fact, this film opens with a young man, supposedly Maddin, on a train desperately trying to escape the city. It is not his first attempt, and no one is actually stopping him but the city itself – that, and his own inability to stay awake long enough to catch his transfer train. Maddin describes Winnipeggers as perpetual sleepwalkers, unable to truly wake up and comprehend their own city. Thus, Maddin takes it up on himself in this film to “live out the city’s regrets.” The opening scene is visual poetry, complete with montage, inter-titled subtext, and Maddin’s repetitive recitations as he sets the scene for what is to follow.

My Winnipeg is actually filmed as a documentary, narrated humourously by Maddin himself, regaling us with both personal stories and exaggerated historical fiction of the city he ultimately holds dear to his heart. Through still photographs Maddin illustrates his childhood and the house in which he was raised - a white, square, blockhouse doubling as a beauty salon. “Surrounded by the smells of women’s vanity and insecurity, these are the walls in which I grew up,” muses Maddin. As an experiment for the film, Maddin convinces the current owner of the old apartment to let him rent out the living space for one month to allow him to try and recreate his childhood abode. He even hires actors to play all the members of his family as they looked when he grew up in the 60s, his mother (who Maddin refers to as “the most psychic of all Winnipeggers”), his two brothers, his sister, and his chihuahua, Toby (played in the film by his girlfriend’s pug). He films his own childhood memories as if they were episodes of a melodramatic, black and white television show. To listen to a frustrated Maddin try to coerce more anger out of his “brothers” for the dramatic purposes of the re-enactment of “the floor runner scene” just about made me giggle my way out of my chair.

Maddin intercuts the home life plot with purposely grainy documentary footage, photographs and basic animation to explain the heritage of the city itself – or more like how Winnipeg history books would sound if retold by the comically twisted mind of Guy Maddin. We learn who the last person was to urinate in the bathroom trough at the old Winnipeg Arena, how the frozen horse head snowshoe jamboree originated in the Assiniboine River, and who was ultimately responsible for the demolition of the old Eaton’s building. I actually guffawed out loud a number of times throughout this film, never even having been to Winnipeg. I can only imagine how much more Winnipeggers would get out of his goofy anecdotes. Maddin even breaks up in laughter during his own narration at one point while remembering a story about a showdown between a 70 year old bird and his mulish mother. It is absolutely priceless.

I am fascinated every time I see a Guy Maddin film, but this one definitely includes an element that I have long wished could be a part of all of his movies: Guy Maddin’s voice talking me through the film so I know what the hell is going on at all times. If you have never had the absurd pleasure of experiencing a Guy Maddin flick (and believe me, it is an experience) than this would be the best film to allow yourself to ease into his world, both on account of the narration and because it is wonderfully poignant, nostalgic, and absolutely hilarious. If you already are a fan of Maddin, I don’t think you need any further persuasion from me. You already know Guy Maddin is a national gem and considered one of Canada’s best-kept secrets (even to our own citizens!). I think it’s about time to let the cat out of the bag.

Wide Release Date: June 13, 2008 (Limited)
Running Time: 1 hour, 20 minutes
Director: Guy Maddin
Producers: Jody Shapiro, Phyllis Laing
Executive Producers: Michael Burns
Director of Photography: Jody Shapiro
Editor: John Gurdebeke

Check out Jenny's two other reviews in her Ode to Winnipeg series!
The Stone Angel
The Tracey Fragments