My Winnipeg

Guy Maddin's surrealist tribute to his dementedly prosperous relationship with Winnipeg is both a sustained reformulation of documentary motifs and a comedic critique of the techniques of Freudian psychology. The principle theme is identical to that found within Brand Upon the Brain!: a troubled man tries to find himself by reliving his childhood in a quest to discover his moment of castration, after which, he hopes to overcome it, or, doesn't. Maddin uses this theme to comedically/idealistically/awkwardly/ironically depict an interminable void within which the tortured learn to know that they cannot know themselves without attempting to discover that which no longer (and perhaps never) exists(ed), the picturesque and demonically productive consequences of never ending introspection: a tethered martlet. The principle trope throughout is that of meaning layered upon meaning, Native peoples believing that beneath the Red and Assiniboine rivers run parallel spiritual rivers, a complementary structure of back-roads and alleys (not listed on any map) are used to traverse the city, a bridge destined for the Nile ends up in Winnipeg, longing for its sunny paradise; when a demolition company attempts to destroy the Jets's former stadium, the original hull survives their first blast; actors are hired to play Maddin's family in a film shot in his childhood home, the goal being to discover his identity while indirectly delineating that of Winnipeg, and so on. His film challenges the conventions of the documentary by using a frame wherein it's difficult to tell whether or not anything he mentions is realistic or fantastic, while concurrently seeming quite truthful and frank, concretely mythologizing iconic Winnipeg citizens, groups, buildings, and traditions, as he travels throughout the city by train, always in winter, with bio-magnetic buffalo, wondering if he'll ever leave. Obviously, if he continues to relive his childhood in his childhood home with his overbearing mother he will never leave: he is quite aware of this. Obviously, documentaries attempt to supply a version of the truth while their styles distort it. Maddin responds to this tendency by overtly twisting the truth in order to unravel it, turning the genre upside down to pull its concrete insides out, outside of the cold, inflaming traditions, thereby donating to his community a host of peculiar legends, reminiscent of Greek and Norse ambition, within and without their culturo-historical austerity.

Winnipeg is very nice in Summer.