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Film: My Winnipeg/The Flight of the Red Balloon
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by Will Sloan
August 14-20, 2008 |
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As a director, Canada’s Guy Maddin is inarguably one of a kind.
Working on shoestring budgets in warehouse sets, Maddin uses
black and white cinematography, 8mm film stock, quick cutting,
and feverish narration to create his dreamlike universes. His
latest, My Winnipeg (playing August 15–19 at the Original
Princess), shares some similarities with his recent Brand Upon
the Brain (2006); both films’s lead characters are named “Guy
Maddin,” and both Guys live in fear of their domineering
mothers, played this time by 1940s B–movie legend Ann Savage.
Brand Upon the Brain, however, was rigidly constructed as a
silent film, while My Winnipeg switches between silent film, faux–
melodrama, and documentary, becoming a giddy, postmodern
free–for–all.
Superficially, My Winnipeg is about the Winnipeg of
Maddin’s childhood, but it’s more like a demented tour through
his own psyche. Narrating on the soundtrack, Maddin speaks
with near–comic urgency about cold weather, weird TV shows,
long train rides, old hockey players, and the arena where he
played as a boy, which is to be demolished.
Maddin has been called a “difficult” filmmaker, but I’m not
sure I agree. His films are tangential and certainly require
concentration, and knowledge of film history and form will
increase one’s appreciation, but Maddin’s movies are so fast–
paced and imaginative that I don’t understand how anyone could
fail to be entertained.
I recommend My Winnipeg, although I don’t think it ranks
among Maddin’s best. His masterpiece, The Saddest Music in the
World (2003), was great not only because of Maddin’s stylistic
touches, but also because of the strong story and the
performances by Isabella Rossellini, Mark McKinney, and Maria
de Medeiros. My Winnipeg, by contrast, is a purely stylistic
experience. For example, in one important scene, Guy’s sister is
humiliatingly cross–examined by the mother, who suspects a
sexual encounter has taken place. This should be a powerful
scene, but Maddin films it in a self–consciously cheesy ‘50s
melodrama style, lending the scene a pseudo–camp tone that
mutes its impact. Much of the film suffers in this way.
But perhaps Maddin would be surprised to hear this
objection. I appreciated My Winnipeg more intellectually than
emotionally, but the film feels so personal that perhaps Maddin
felt he had made an emotionally satisfying film. Perhaps, then,
it’s too personal. My Winnipeg is Guy Maddin’s Winnipeg, and
the rest of us are outsiders looking in… but it sure is an
interesting view.
Taiwan’s Hou Hsiao–hsien is often ranked among today’s
finest directors, yet only two of his previous films, Millennium
Mambo (2001) and Three Times (2005), have received North
American theatrical distribution. It’s not hard to see why: they
are very, very slow. His camera acts like an impartial human
observer, lingering patiently on characters living their lives, until
whisking itself to some other point of interest. You’ll need to be
aware of Hou’s meditative, minimalist approach to storytelling
before you see Flight of the Red Balloon, his French–language
debut (playing August 15–21 at the Original Princess). I left my
first Hou film, Three Times, feeling bored and frustrated, but the
more I reflect on his style, the more I admire it.
Flight of the Red Balloon, a loose remake of The Red
Balloon (1956), is about a little boy named Simon (Simon Iteanu)
whose mother Suzanne (Juliette Binoche) is a troubled
puppeteer/teacher/landlady, and whose babysitter Song (Fang
Song), a college–age artist, becomes the calming influence in
their family. But describing Hou’s characters is tricky, because
in my desire to pigeonhole them with words like “troubled” and
“calming,” I inadvertently pass judgment, and Hou Hsiao–hsien is
the least judgmental filmmaker alive. Binoche’s character has
bleached hair and revealing clothes, and at one point can be
seen wearing a thong, yet Hou does nothing to highlight the fact
that these are odd fashion choices for a middle–aged mother. He
never underlines his characters’ imperfections; in fact, he leaves
it to us to decide what the imperfections are.
To say the actors give excellent performances underrates
them. For long stretches, as Hou’s camera observes them
performing mundane tasks, they are required not to act, but to
exist as their characters. The great Juliette Binoche is
particularly in tune with Hou’s sensibilities, giving a performance
effective for what it suggests rather than shows.
Hou’s visual style is subtly beautiful, and his use of sound
is similarly delicate. In the lovely, lyrical opening scenes, the
camera follows a red balloon as it floats through the Paris
streets, and I was reminded of the character in American Beauty
who, upon seeing a grocery bag in the wind, said, “Sometimes
there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it.”
It’s hard to fully embrace Hou; his refusal to conform to the
artifices of conventional drama has the effect of making his work
distant and, in some cases, inaccessible. His films are easier to
admire than enjoy. But Hou is a unique, consistent, and
meticulous artist, and his characters and images linger and
expand in memory. That deserves respect.
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