1991

An unanticipated spontaneous exotic academic excursion adventurously unravels in sarsaparillic miniature, lighthearted yet fascinating inchoate escapades, romantically acculturated with pioneered social pause, randomly convivializing spades, hearts, haze, clubbing not focused upon although zesty quaffs do saturate several scenes, Ricardo Trogi's 1991 playfully depicting spirited leisure studies in autodidactic swoon, as Jean-Carl Boucher (Ricardo Trogi) recalls familial legends, and mischievously departs for his ancestral patria.

Could Ireland have been worked in?

Yes, definitely, and I'm puzzled as to why the Emerald Isle, in its everlasting effervescent temperate ginger majesty, was left out, although perhaps a less circuitous focus on Italy and France was more apt, even if such evocations overlooked Europe's authentic heartland.

Jean-Carl proceeds through the unknown cultural wilderness, meeting spry eclectic denizens along the way, transported by train across sundry frontiers, regionally speaking, elastically compiling histoires robust and brittle.

In search of truest love.

Studiously awaiting in Italy.

Troji's funny, clever, charmingly observant sojourn overseas presents ambassadorial serendipity in rugged improvisational catalyst.

Mom (Sandrine Bisson) and dad (Claudio Colangelo) still adorably co-ordinate conjugal theatrics, and the aforementioned legends add a touch of outlandish dynamism.

A series of imaginative encounters between Troji and love interest Marie-Ève Bernard (Juliette Gosselin) are particularly appealing, like you're magnetically transported into mock-Antonioniesque dire pragmatism.

It'd be cool to see them crafted into a feature length emulsion (just make sure it's better than Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid [which I may have been too young for when I saw it {and probably has nothing to do with Italian cinema]).

Troji's gifts for creating cool relatable yet quirky characters are cheerfully pronounced as he showcases interpersonal invention by briskly interweaving lost, ambitious, established, curious, and defined souls.

I'd love to see him hit le Saguenay.

With some Tante Tricotante.

And a night out in Tadoussac.

*Not as good as 1987.