TALES FROM THE GIMLI HOSPITAL (CANADA/1988/GUY MADDIN)

Wistful Canadian director Guy Maddin’s debut feature takes place in the fictional Gimli Hospital, where two children are at their terminally ill mother’s bedside. The kids’ Icelandic grandmother, Amma, regales them with the story of Einar the Lonely, a former patient at the hospital. Einar, a fisherman afflicted with smallpox, finds comfort in conversing with his similarly poorly neighbour Gunnar, but the two men soon find themselves love rivals for the hospital’s waifish nurses. With his charming personality and fascinating past, Gunnar is the clear winner, but Einar plays the game by inventing stories even more bizarre and grotesque than Gunnar’s.

Using tropes from the silent era, as has become his trademark, Maddin creates a very textural, darkly humorous story whose conclusion is neither important nor welcomed. Thick Icelandic accents give credibility to the sham mythologies spouted by the two men, while visual motifs such as fish and a jewelled pair of scissors enliven the feverish imagery. But while one would instinctively describe the film by listing the names of directors pastiched by Maddin, the film feels startlingly novel in its design, as if German Expressionism was in need of being revisited. What is most remarkable about the film is that, while thematically it is macabre, one cannot help but be charmed by it. As outstanding and wonderfully cultish a debut as David Lynch’s Eraserhead, Tales from the Gimli Hospital is a winning combination of film styles, and Maddin’s unique manner of storytelling ensures that no single frame is wasted.

THE KILLER BRA (CANADA/2009/YAKOV LEVI)

While out shopping, Laura fights with a fellow customer over a spotted bra, accidentally throwing her down the stairs in the process. Returning to her apartment, she decides to show off her glamorous new purchase to her flatmates rather than discuss the accidental murder, and their punny comments (“what a killer bra!” “it’s to die for!”) serve as unhappy omens. Lending the bra to flatmate Julie, Laura suddenly realises that her misdeed has not gone unpunished, and the killer bra lives up to its name, killing off her helpless friends one by one.

Yakov Levi is an independent filmmaker hailing from the Ukraine, a country not particularly known for its cinematic output. Levi calls himself out as a vehement John Waters fan, a fact which is abundantly clear when one sees his films. As schlocky and puerile as one could hope for, The Killer Bra is no different from any other no-budget laptop production – poor acting, terrible humour, Z-grade effects. With Waters’ films, the comedy lies in demystifying the taboo and making light of the disturbing. In his other shorts, Levi casts a grotesque old woman named Baba Alla as a lascivious babuschka, harking back to Waters’ beloved Divine. Her absence in this film drains it of all charm, the wackiness passed on to the props, as well as Julie’s irritatingly hyperactive boyfriend. The promise of underground films in the era of the internet is exciting, but The Killer Bra is not one of them. It’s a load of bollocks.

TOTEM: RETURN AND RENEWAL (CANADA/2007/GIL CARDINAL)

Continuing on from Totem: The Return Of The G’psgolox Pole, made four years earlier, Totem: Return And Renewal details the return of an important mortuary totem pole to its rightful home amongst the Haisla people of Canada. The pole had been sold by an unnamed individual to Sweden, where it formed the centrepiece of a museum of ethnographic curiosities. The film opens with an impassioned prayer celebrating its homecoming, and tears are shed at every stage of the pole’s journey from Sweden to the Haisla village of Kitimaat. The narrator recaps the history carved into the pole as it is repatriated to rapturous clamour. The pole is kept horizontally in the Kitimaat mall, in wait for the construction of a Haisla cultural centre where it will remain entombed.

The film’s title suggests that the pole’s importance goes beyond mere symbolism, as the totem refreshes the identity of its people and serves as a teaching tool for the next generation, although the children in the film appear mostly bemused by its presence. Gil Cardinal, the director responsible for both documentaries, understands the role of this second film, keeping it short at just over twenty minutes to act as a triumphant epilogue to the G’psgolox story. In this way Return And Renewal scarcely stands on its own as a film, although it does offer new insight on the future of the pole, as well as introducing the new icon of the pole’s circular yoke which is hung up in the local school.

WAVELENGTH (CANADA/1967/MICHAEL SNOW)

Comprising one long zoom (in reality, a series of shots stitched together), experimental filmmaker Michael Snow’s best-known work Wavelength centres on a large, mostly empty room. The camera is pointed at four windows on one of the walls, the rest of the space barely relevant. During the zoom, the image undergoes various changes – colour, film speed, focus. The room is occasionally inhabited by people, forming a narrative which is deliberately sidelined, even in light of dramatic events. As the zoom approaches the windows, it settles on a section of wall in the middle covered in photographs. Moving closer still, the camera frames itself on a photo of the sea, so that waves fill the screen. Throughout the film, a sine wave is heard, running the gamut from 50 to 12,000 cycles per second. The sound ultimately synchronises with a police siren, heralding the end of the film.

Wavelength requires a little patience, particularly bearing in mind the alienating sound of the sine wave, but it is undoubtedly a worthwhile experiment. Snow, who is known for playing at length with camera movement, returns film to quasi-purity – the camera is no longer selective, but is reduced to one constant motion, as is the sound. At times, the camera’s transformations render the room unrecognisable – as the image flips from negative to positive, the negative space of the windows almost leaves an imprint on the eye. By pushing the boundaries of the medium, Wavelength gives us an insight of a world between the lines.

TOTEM: THE RETURN OF THE G'PSGOLOX POLE (CANADA/2003/GIL CARDINAL)

Raising questions about the commoditisation of minority cultures, this feature-length documentary concerns the Haisla people of British Columbia in Canada. The titular artefact is a large mortuary totem pole, commissioned by Eagle Chief G’psgolox in honour of his dead family. In the late 1920s, the pole mysteriously went missing, but was discovered some sixty years later to have been sold by an anonymous unauthorised tipster to the Swedish government, who had placed it in the centre of an ethnographic museum in Stockholm. The film traces the story of the Haisla from the formation of their modern identity to their contemporary struggles to protect their culture. Most of the interviewees hail from the Haisla Nation, specifically from the village of Kitimaat, from where the pole was taken.

Filmmaker Gil Cardinal is a Métis himself (that is to say, of mixed European and First Nation heritage), and the documentary consequently shows great respect for its subject. Cardinal shares the Haisla’s indignation at the revelation that the Swedish government agreed to return the pole under the condition that they house it in a museum themselves, in conflict with Haisla tradition. A short video sequence showing two Haisla dignitaries visiting the pole in Sweden is a poignant moment in an otherwise sedate documentary. Outsiders may feel that more of the Haisla culture should have been explained (for example, how its members feel about adopting European names), but the film otherwise fulfils its duty. A sequel was produced in honour of the pole’s triumphant return.

STRANGERS IN GOOD COMPANY (CANADA/1990/CYNTHIA SCOTT)

Utilising what would constitute the most French of French film concepts, Cynthia Scott’s Strangers In Good Company sees a busload of old women abandoned in the middle of the Canadian countryside. Despite their worrying predicament, the group refuses to feel intimidated or concerned, instead turning misfortune into a wonderful day out. The women share life stories, sing songs together and snack on packed lunches as they take up residence in a similarly abandoned old cottage. The dialogues in the film take on a further dimension of poignancy when one learns that the actresses are essentially playing themselves, divulging their own personal histories and improvising much of the film’s plot.

If the preciousness of the premise alone has you cynically spitting feathers, it is most likely that there is little else in this film for you. Indeed, it is hard to imagine a film which donates generous screentime to elderly ladies nattering to each other to cause much excitement. However, after witnessing the women hoiking mattresses up a hill and gleefully discussing pornography in the first twenty minutes, it becomes clear that the film isn’t going to expend much time for morbidity or schmaltziness. The film has a positive message, and the women all seem to genuinely harmonise with one another, despite their diverse backgrounds. The cinematography too is lovely, fog surrounding the house as a deliberate emphasis on blurred boundaries and ethereal agelessness. It might appear tedious at first glance, but those who stay the course will be thoroughly rewarded.

INUUJJUTIKSAQ (CANADA/2008/BENOÎT PILON)

It’s the 1950s, and an epidemic of tuberculosis is hitting the northern Inuit communities in Canada. When Tivii, a world-weary family man and deft hunter, is struck particularly hard by the illness, he is taken away from his family and sent off to Québéc City to convalesce in quarantine. The experience is bewildering for him, every aspect of city life holding his attention in a childlike stupor. His time at the sanatorium is exacerbated by his inability to speak the native tongue, resulting in an unspoken social exclusion from the other patients, and a constant longing for the open-air landscapes of his home community. Noticing his isolation, nurse Carole brings him a young bilingual patient named Kaki, through whom he regains a sense of identity and builds a vital rapport.

It’s a pleasant enough story, and with no unnecessary complications, it should appeal to everyone. Lead actor Natar Ungalaaq has a wonderfully weathered face filled with expression, inviting predictable comparisons to David Gulpilil, another famed ‘native’ actor. Director Benoît Pilon and writer Bernard Émond do a decent job of exploring the titular concept with enthusiasm, and Tivii’s struggle for acceptance is a magnetising theme. Unfortunately, it’s improbable that people will remember this in the near future, given its familiar story arc and gentle pace. Those looking for a more comprehensive study on the culture of Canadian Inuits would do better to check out Zacharias Kunuk’s exceptional drama Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner, a film in which Ugalaaq also played the lead.