Dir. Jean-Marc Vallée, 2005, Canada, 125 mins (subtitled)
Cast: Michel Côté, Marc-André Grondin, Danielle Proulx, Émile Vallée, Pierre-Luc Brillant, Maxime Tremblay, Alex Gravel, Natacha Thompson, Félix Antoine Despatie
Review by Stephen Collings
Presented for consideration for Best Foreign Language Oscar but inexplicably failing to make the shortlist, C.R.A.Z.Y. is a rare but exceptional piece of cinema from French-speaking Canada that broke box office records in Quebec and swept the board at Canada’s BAFTA equivalent, the Genies. Finally washing up on these shores, this stylish “coming out” tale stepped right out of the closet and onto the red carpet with a premiere at the recent London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival.
Zachary Beaulieu is born on December 25th, 1960, the fourth of five boys. His greatest pleasure is the time spent with his traditional but doting father Gervais (Côté), bonding over a passion for music. This happy coexistence changes forever the day that Zac is discovered dressing in his mother’s clothes, for which Gervais opts to blame his wife’s (Proulx) “mollycoddling” – daughterless, she is happy to indulge Zac’s sensitive side, letting him push his baby brother’s pram and reassuring him after many a soiled mattress. But Zac’s main fear is losing his place in his father’s affections, praying that he doesn’t turn out to be a “fairy”.
One skilful cut and a few actor changes later, and teenage Zac’s (Grondin) hormones have stirred him into rebellion, smoking dope to the strains of Jefferson Airplane while his stoic father continues to croon Charles Aznavour songs every Christmas. However, Zac still craves his father’s attention, which is not easy when Gervais is still concerned over his son’s sexuality – although, for a man who listens to Patsy Cline, this seems somewhat hypocritical. Rather than confront his own sexual identity, Zac chooses instead to hook up with hippyish Michelle (Thompson). However, this is just papering over chasm-sized cracks, and it is only a matter of time before son and father must both face the truth and each other. Blood, as they say, is thicker than water, and it is only when Zac puts ocean-sized distances between himself and his father that he reconciles his place within his dysfunctional but loving family.
Essentially a story of the love between a father and son, C.R.A.Z.Y. is an honest film about the importance of family that avoids typical Hollywood sentimentality, despite a Wonder Years-type voiceover. The first act of the film dealing with Zac’s innocent but fanciful childhood recalls Alain Berliner’s Ma Vie En Rose (1997), in which a cross-dressing son was also the cause of familial conflict and embarrassment. Even into his adolescence, Zac’s fantasies provide escape and some of the film’s most lasting moments. Sitting through yet another church service, Zac daydreams the choir breaking into a rousing rendition of The Rolling Stones’ Sympathy For The Devil as the music literally lifts him Christ-like above the congregation.
Grondin, who is being touted by some as Canada’s answer to Gael García Bernal, certainly shares the latter’s willingness to immerse himself in roles that A-list wannabes would avoid. His versatile performance and looks are well-suited to this transitional tale and his wiry frame is the perfect hanger for an impressively retro wardrobe. Côté and Proulx are a natural screen couple, inhabiting all the concern, worries, hopes and fears that being a parent inevitably brings. Vallée is careful not to demonise Gervais, who never raises a hand to his children, but whose strict expectations keep his offspring at an emotional distance. At times the phenomenal Côté bears a striking resemblance to a 70s De Niro, and his performance here is more than worthy of the great actor’s oeuvre. Like all matriarchs, Proulx is the heart of the family and manages to turn acts like ironing the toast into something that is both fantastical and comfortingly familiar (it tastes better that way, apparently).
More than simply soundtracking the chronological changes, director Jean-Marc Vallée confidently allows the music to take on a narrative function. When Zac accidentally breaks his father’s rare Patsy Cline record, it becomes symbolic of their relationship, as the teenager continues to search for a replacement in the hope of regaining his lost affection. In this digital age, it is easy to forget the tactile pleasures of vinyl and hours spent in record stores searching for the elusive special edition of your favourite record, but these days are brought vividly to life. The scenes in Zac’s bedroom, walls painted á la Pink Floyd and adorned with posters of Ziggy Stardust-era David Bowie are particularly evocative of the private revelatory moments between a teenager and his mirror. Face-painted with Bowie’s trademark lightning flash, Zac recites the singer’s anthemic Space Oddity in an exhibitive fantasy that expresses what he dare not admit to himself. Unfortunately, what Zac feels he must hide from his family, the director also hides from the audience. The allusions to gay sex are so few and so cursory, it seems that Vallée has self-censored C.R.A.Z.Y. to avoid marginalising his protagonist.
Nevertheless, C.R.A.Z.Y. is a fine example of homegrown cinema and a testament to the dedication of all involved, including the director financing the music rights out of his own pocket. Realising a film that both celebrates an era yet transcends nostalgia in a universal tale of adolescence, sexual confusion and family, it seems that the decision has paid off, and handsomely at that.
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