Movie Review

  • Zui quan [Drunken Master] (1978)

    Zui quan [Drunken Master] (1978)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On TV, July 2019) I watched a lot of Jackie Chan movies in the mid-to-late nineties, but still missed a few—which mean that I can now enjoy them for the first time. Drunken Master is an early Chan leading effort, after he had become big enough to headline movies (this was his fourth starring role), but before he had perfected his affable comic action persona. Unusually enough for Chan, his character here undergoes a modest amount of development, going from an atypical arrogant young man to the kind of more humble comic performance he became famous for. Clearly a product of the 1970s Honk Kong movie industry, Drunken Master has its rough edges: the image is soft, the editing can be rough and the fights don’t have the polish or inventiveness of later productions. Then there’s the language issue—despite the ridiculous sound effects, I’m pretty happy with the French-dubbed version, which does not pretend to be naturalistic at all and is thus immediately understandable without some of the stilted awkwardness of some English subtitled martial arts movies. (The Anglosphere is awesome, but it’s really not as skilled as the Francosphere at dubbing or even translating movies.)  But here is the wonder of Jackie Chan and martial-arts movies in general: Depending so clearly on physical performances from skilled artists, they have a value that transcends time and space to remain enjoyable even now. I’m hardly the first to make the point, but there’s a wonder to the physical performance that feels a lot like classic Hollywood dance numbers. You can say that they’re not making them like that any more, and that’s true: the training regimen and specialized filmmaking units required to make such movies are gone now, and what remains are the movies made during their heyday. This one may not be all that good in terms of plotting (although it does have a cleaner arc than most martial arts movies), but it has an edge in terms of humour and the fight sequence remain spectacular. Drunken Master doesn’t quite match its sequel (which ranks among one of the best martial arts movies of all time), but it’s a lot of fun to watch even now, and a welcome discovery for those Chan fans who missed it until now.

  • Sur la piste du Marsupilami [HOUBA! On the Trail of the Marsupilami] (2012)

    Sur la piste du Marsupilami [HOUBA! On the Trail of the Marsupilami] (2012)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On TV, July 2019) I was looking forward semi-reluctantly to Sur la piste du Marsupilami. Adaptations of beloved French-language comic book series have been hit-and-miss so far, especially when tackling comedy-based series—the humour doesn’t always translate so well, and sometimes the material feels hostage to the filmic sensibilities of the time. On the other hand, Spirou was among my top comic-book series when I was young (something helped along by the versatility of the series), and the Marsupilami was one of my favourite characters from that series. I can’t recall most of the albums I read as a kid, but Le nid des Marsupilamis was something else. In any case, this 2012 movie adaptation retains the marsupilami and nothing else—the story becomes a comedy featuring writer-director/star Alain Chabat as well as comic superstar Jamel Debbouze as, respectively, a reporter urgently looking for one last scoop, and a small-time hustler with his own issues about the mythical marsupilami. This being said, there’s a lot more to the plot, including a rejuvenated botanist, a Céline-Dion obsessed dictator and a prophecy from the local natives. The humour is certainly hit-and-miss, at its weakest in kids-friendly silliness and at its strongest when most absurd. (The prophecy itself is hilarious, although everything sounds funnier when it’s narrated by as attractive an actress as Liya Kebede.)  The film, obviously, rests on the success of portraying the marsupilami on-screen, and here at least it succeeds well: The marsupilami is full bouncy CGI, with practical effects used for his interaction with objects and characters. Much of the classic comics gags are there (including the tail bunched up in a fist) and even more. The result is fine—even though the number of predictable or simplistic scenes far outnumber the inconsistent flashes of genius found here and there. Géraldine Nakache and Lambert Wilson also do nicely in their respective roles. Keep watching the credits—in addition to a singalong and a rather fantastic solo dance number, there are numerous gags sprinkled in the text of the credits themselves.

  • Johnny English Strikes Again (2018)

    Johnny English Strikes Again (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) The Johnny English series is a weird one. The films, released at something like seven-year intervals, aren’t necessarily getting better—but I’m liking them more and more. This reaction is almost entirely based on the evolution of the title character from one instalment to another: Rowan Atkinson started out by playing the character as a complete buffoon (shades of Mr. Bean parodying James Bond) but with each instalment has upgraded the character so that in this third outing, he has some undeniable skills (which he’s teaching to kids) while retaining a propensity for bumbling whatever he’s doing. The result is a far more likable character, although he’s too frequently held back by the series’ requirements for buffoonery. Made on a smaller budget than its predecessors, Johnny English Strikes Again doesn’t feature expensive set-pieces but still manages to pull out a coherent cyber-attack conman plot. English here often comes across as an old-school agent looking better and better through the rest of the characters acting like idiots—there are also some allusions here about the degeneracy of the British nation that may have a few unfortunate resonances in a Brexit blunder era. Even at barely more than 90 minutes, the comedy is uneven and often stretched out far too long—the suit-of-armour sequence in particular seems to last forever. Still, the flashes of competence shown by English are a welcome bit of character development and do much to keep the film jogging across the finish line even despite the silliness of the overall result.

  • Time Freak (2018)

    Time Freak (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) I didn’t have the best of reaction to Time Freaks’ first act. As a time-travelling romance (a surprisingly robust subgenre) from promising writer-director Andrew Bowler, it features a physics genius inventing a time machine just so that he can go back in time and prevent his girlfriend from dumping him. The time-travelling mechanism isn’t particularly rigorous (sometimes going back in time at the touch of a smartphone app, sometimes requiring an audio-drive machine and for goodness’ sake don’t ask about the details) but it’s not really the point for a film taking a comic approach to the complications offered by time travel in recreating crucial moments of a relationship. My grumpiness at Time Freak’s first act had to do with two remarkably anti-romantic convictions (which you should forgive given that I’m in the anti-romantic phase of my life): The first being that whatever the protagonist achieves will be based on a foundation of lies that will not support a real relationship; and the second being that those two characters have no business being together in the long run. To my relief, the film does address the first point quite thoroughly (it becomes much of the film’s third act) and battered me into acceptance regarding the second point. Asa Butterfield does a fine job portraying a highly intelligent scientist with relationship issues (although the script often doesn’t do him any favours by re-highlight what should be obvious to anyone), while I’m becoming increasingly convinced that I don’t really like Sophie Turner even in a romantic lead role such as here. Skyler Gisondo does rather good work in a more broadly comic supporting role. Time Freak doesn’t always get its tonal shifts correctly, occasionally going from silly humour to romantic drama (and back) in a less than graceful fashion, but there’s an interesting thesis about relationship being developed through its time-travelling shenanigans—and it should be noted that while much of the film is about younger protagonists and their own relationship issues, it becomes more sombre once there’s a time-skip that takes us past college years. I gradually warmed to the film as it kept exploring its own ideas farther and farther, all the way to a conclusion that should satisfy both the cynics and the romantics. As low-budget science-fiction films go, Time Freak is really not bad, and a clear notch above most other straight-to-cable SF movies.

  • Mask (1985)

    Mask (1985)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On TV, July 2019) There’s something almost joyous in the way director Peter Bogdanovich presents Mask, the story of severely disfigured teenager Rocky Dennis, as adapted from a true story. Well, at least through most of the movie—as we follow Rocky while he integrates to a new school, his visible disfigurement takes a back step to his sweet inner nature and the various other issues he’s got to work through, from a drug-addicted mother to the vagaries of romance and friendship. Eric Stoltz masters the lead role under a significant amount of makeup, but Cher is quite amazing as a feisty single mom running with bikers, and Sam Sheppard has a persona-defining performance as a revered motorcyclist. A teenage Laura Dern shows up as a significant secondary character. Much of Mask is considerably lighter than you’d expect, with the protagonist overcoming one obstacle after another through intelligence, humour, and determination. There’s an absorbing rhythm to the film as it sidesteps expected sequences and grows larger than simply being about the protagonist’s appearance. (Decades later, Wonder would have much of the same approach and strengths.)  The ending of the film, alas, isn’t nearly as cheerful. While telegraphed early on (and predictable from the facts on which the movie is based), the conclusion brings the cheerfulness to a halt and adds a lot of gravitas. Nonetheless, Mask is a bit of a surprise—not as exploitative, broader than expected, it remains a fine film now that the mid-1980s patina has added a bit of period charm to the result.

  • First Man (2018)

    First Man (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) A Damien Chazelle film about Neil Armstrong? Sold—there’s no way I wasn’t going to watch this. Alas, the feeling I get at the end of First Man is merely one of satisfaction, not one of exceeded expectations. It may be that Armstrong, as one of the prototypical solid men specifically selected for moon landings because they were low-drama, may not have been as interesting a biographical figure as everything surrounding him. It may be because most of the highlights of First Man have been covered in other movies before (most notably The Right Stuff, and then For All Mankind, and then Apollo 13). It may be because in trying to portray the experience from a subjective perspective, Chazelle has minimized the impact of the spectacle we expected. But, no matter why, First Man is about as average a rendition of Armstrong’s experience as would have been put on-screen: he gets the highlights, but not much in terms of what made him tick—the characters surrounding him, whether it’s his wife, his superiors or teammate Buzz Aldrin (in another superlative supporting performance by Corey Stoll). Ryan Gosling doesn’t help—his mandate it to play a very private, very inward-driven character and he does exactly that. The highlight of the film, fortunately, arrives at exactly the right moment—stepping out of the Lunar Module and stepping on the moon, with the grainy artificially aged images finally giving place to the clean crisp splendour of IMAX footage taking us on another world. But it feels like a little too late, and actually limited by Armstrong’s perspective. I do like First Man (after all, I watched it exactly on the fiftieth anniversary of the moon landing), but I’m disappointed that I’m not loving it.

  • Countdown (1967)

    Countdown (1967)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) No matter how much you know (or think you know) about movies, there’s always another one you don’t know, and today’s discovery for me is 1967’s Countdown, a pre-moon landing techno-thriller about a desperate backup plan to land a single American on the moon before the Soviets do. What was speculative fiction back in 1967 is now a fascinating bit of alternate history, especially considering the care taken in ensuring that the film is grounded in reality—NASA collaborated with the film, and the filmmakers went to painstaking detail to ensure that the film felt plausible. Perhaps the biggest surprise in discovering Countdown (which doesn’t even rank among IMDB’s 100 top seen movies of 1967) is finding out that not only it was director Robert Altman’s first film, but that it starred none other than a very young James Caan and Robert Duvall as astronauts competing to be the first humans on the moon. Altman’s touch can be seen most clearly in his typical (but rarely seen at the time) overlapping dialogue—otherwise, this straightforward tightly-plotted thriller is as far removed from his other movies as it’s possible to be. Caan and Duvall are nearly unrecognizable as younger men, but give quite a bit of gravitas to their ongoing squabble through the film. Compared to other films of the period and later renditions of the space program, Countdown scores highly when it comes to verisimilitude—the spirit, sets, perceived danger and technical details all ring true. Special-effects-wise, the biggest issues come toward the end, as the sequences set on the surface of the Moon don’t have the characteristic harshness that real-life footage has shown us. But for a film released 18 months before the Apollo 11 moon landing, it’s a pretty good effort. Story-wise, I do feel as if the film (or the novel on which it’s based) is missing an entire third act—we leave the protagonist at the earliest possible moment, whereas I feel there was a much stronger and longer story to tell about his return back home. Still, I quite liked Countdown: its techno-thriller aesthetics and narrative drive fall squarely in one of my favourite kinds of fiction, and I think that it’s a splendid period piece to illustrate the suspense of the moon program back in the mid-1960s, before we saw it all culminate with a successful moon landing. I have a feeling I’ll be singing the praises of this less-known film for years to come.

  • For All Mankind (1989)

    For All Mankind (1989)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) I have far too many issues with For All Mankind to consider it the best possible documentary about the American Moon Program, but I’m willing to concede that it’s probably one of the best documentaries ever made about it. Perhaps my biggest objection with the film is one of its fundamental artistic decisions to meld recollections of all the astronauts on all the flights in one single narrative. This is not the right film to watch in order to learn all about the fine differences between Apollo 8 and 11 and 13 and 15—For All Mankind works hard at erasing those distinctions, showing us one narrative in which there are a few issues along the way (13!), wonder at the first view of the Earth from so far away (8), the first steps on the moon (11) and taking a rover out for a spin (15). That’s the film’s central conceit, and it does work most of the time in blurring all missions together into one shared experience. Recording of astronaut interviews are combined with historical footage to form the spine of the film, along with incidental music by Brian Eno. The result manages to make an ethereal, dreamlike, expressionist experience out of the most famous engineering project of the 1960s, giving far more importance to the human aspect of being on another world than what it took to get there. Once more; it’s a fundamental choice, perhaps not the one I would have made … but then again director Al Reinert is the one who sifted through incredible amounts of footage to condense the essence of the project in barely 80 minutes, and there are incredible moments of humanity in hearing about dreams that the astronauts had on the moon, or the way they goof around (slipping and falling) over there, walking or driving their way across the surface. It is, in other words, quite an effective documentary even if you can quibble about its choices. I ended up watching it on the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing and it felt like the right movie at the right time.

  • The Hate U Give (2018)

    The Hate U Give (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) The personal rarely meets the political as clearly as in The Hate U Give, a surprisingly effective movie about a teenager having to confront a system of systemic violence that leads to the death of her friend. Adapted from a young adult novel by Angie Thomas, the film first takes us deeply in the inner world of one sixteen-year-old black teenager as she has to juggle two identities; one at home, with her complex family, and another at an upscale school, making sure she’s not too black for the privileged white crowd. If you suspect that a synthesis of her identities is in order, you’d be right: it all comes crashing together as a childhood friend of hers gets shot by a police officer right next to her during what should have been a routine traffic stop. The Hate U Give is impressive on several levels, and one of them certainly is the density of the themes it tackles (racism, obviously, but also fitting in, the impact of childhood on teenagers, education, trying to improve a neighbourhood rather than fleeing … and so on.), and the effectiveness of the way it clearly indicts social forces for contributing to personal struggles. It’s a sophisticated film, fully up-to-date on the dense tapestry of issues affecting today’s teenagers—it’s never one thing, and you can’t pick at something without something else being affected. Amandla Stenberg is terrific among a strong supporting cast, and the script is so good at creating her character that we’re really sorry when bad things start happening—the protagonist clearly deserves better. Director George Tillman Jr. build to a climax that is perhaps a touch overdone, but still remarkably effective. I’d call it like a Spike Lee film for teenage audiences, vigorous and clever, except that this feels like a diminutive moniker—The Hate U Give is perfectly capable of standing up for itself without comparisons: it’s got its own take on a familiar story, a style of its own, and just as appropriate a set of demands. I liked it quite a bit more than I expected, and would have no problem calling it one of the best dramas of 2018.

  • The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981)

    The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, July 2019) After watching both the 1946 and 1981 versions of The Postman Always Rings Twice back-to-back, I feel as if I’ve been handed a quick course on the importance of style. More faithfully adapting James M. Cain’s novel to the big screen (including going back to its depression-era setting), this 1981 version ironically feels more dated and less respectable than the noir-era version. That’s an important clue as to the enduring popularity of noir—by discussing distasteful topics of murder and sex in a restrained, even glamorous style, noir now often exists out of time as a style of its own, to be appreciated by audiences at all periods. (Also useful to compare: Double Indemnity and Body Heat, another pair of noir and remake released along a nearly identical timeframe.)  Also, Jessica Lange isn’t Lana Turner, but then again only Lana Turner was Lana Turner. But, back to the 1981 version: Jack Nicholson portrays the qualities of the remake—he’s humourless, gritty, disreputable. There is a lot more detail to this version, and the rough eroticism is played up in ways that would have been unthinkable back in the 1940s. The feral cat subplot of the novel is back (featuring none other than Anjelica Huston), the lead character is far more criminal than drifter, and the entire thing is far more cinematic (by modern standards) than the previous one. It does, mind you, make for a decently entertaining watch, perhaps closer to an erotic thriller than to generic crime fiction. But for all of its realism, polish, harshness and style, this version of The Postman Always Rings Twice just can’t quite measure to the deliberate approach of the 1946 version.

  • The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

    The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) As others have said, noir is a style more than a narrative genre, and as such it can allow itself multiple deviations from reality that would be unforgivable in another kind of movie. Does The Postman Always Rings Twice make sense? Only barely—even the most forgiving of audiences will probably cry out in disbelief a few times, whether we want to talk about narrative, romantic or even legal incoherencies. But this is mid-1940s noir, and believability takes a distant back step to the atmosphere of two lovers plotting murder and then trying to get away with it. Adapted from a novel by crime-fiction legend James M. Cain, it doesn’t take long for the film to revel in the particularities of that kind of fiction, with all the darkly humorous complications, twisted characters, fatal ironies and (in)convenient contrivances. It does help that the film is spearheaded by capable actors, starting with one of Lana Turner’s best individual performances (as others have said, the problem with being a star is that you’re often appreciated for a body … of work—not always a single role) and John Garfield as a blandly likable drifter who finds reason to stick around. For more contemporary viewers, there’s also a young Hume Cronyn turning in a memorable performance as a devious defence lawyer. At times, it does feel as if the third act runs far too long after what would have been a climax in another movie, but it ultimately turns out that the script has quite a bit more on its mind for the real end of the film—and even gives meaning to the title. The Postman Always Rings Twice all amounts to a classic noir with the qualities and issue of its genre, but no less of a pure pleasure to watch.

  • Le mépris [Contempt] (1963)

    Le mépris [Contempt] (1963)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, July 2019) There are a few things colliding in Le Mépris. Writer-director Jean-Luc Godard shows us what happens when a marriage crashes into a film production, comparing the nitty-gritty of making a movie and the heightened melodrama of a suddenly disintegrating relationship. The film stars Brigitte Bardot in of her most dramatically challenging roles, as her picture-perfect sex-appeal bolsters her role as a woman who realizes that her husband is trying to sell her to a film producer in an attempt to get more money. Cue the titular but no less furious contempt. The anti-romantic plot thread is perhaps best exemplified by a very long sequence midway through the film in which the married couple argues in measured terms throughout their apartment—the kind of sequence that makes film students think about the use of space and character separation. The other subplot, about the multilingual production of a movie based on The Odyssey, is far droller: Featuring no less than Fritz Lang in an amusing role as the film director, it also stars a young Jack Palance as a hard-driving film producer who may or may not be interested in Bardot’s character. The banter here is far funnier than expected, what with a poor translator trying her best efforts to bring together a cast and crew speaking four languages, Lang arguing about the meaning of The Odyssey, and metatextual glimpses at a movie production. The blend of two tones and styles is provocative, especially when they literally involve a car crash at the climax, resolving a few plot threads in far too convenient a manner. Much of Le mépris is interesting; much of it is long—ultimately, it’s up to the viewer to pick and choose their favourite parts.

  • Ridicule (1996)

    Ridicule (1996)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On TV, July 2019) I’m so used to watching English aristocracy comedies of manners than watching a French aristocracy comedy of manners is a change of pace. In Ridicule, there are two premises at play: The first being that of an 18th century French lord, heading to Versailles to convince the court to approve an expensive project to drain his disease-ridden swamps. The second is that of a royal court where battles of wit have very real consequences in terms of influence and royal access. Thus our valorous hero (Charles Berling, solid) being asked to deliver one bon mot after another in an attempt to raise his social profile and get the approval he craves. To complicate things, there’s also a romance with a brainy young girl (Judith Godrèche, quite good) betrothed to an older man, and even further complications when an experienced woman (Fanny Ardent, magnificent) joins the fray. The good news here is that for a film based on verbal wit, Ridicule’s script is exceptionally good—all in impeccably formal French. It’s a pleasure to listen to, even if the story voluntarily turns itself in a dead-end as a conclusion. There’s a lot packed in the epilogue, as we are left to ponder how the French Revolution took care of that hypocritical backstabbing court while our ridiculed and humbled protagonists manage to avoid the reckoning by retreating on their own terms. Still, the period detail is fascinating (eek, bleeding) and the unusual quality of the dialogues makes it all worthwhile.

  • Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (1975)

    Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (1975)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, July 2019) As far as I’m aware, Salò is one of the rare films to straddle the line between pornography, gory horror, social statement and arthouse cinema. Among other distinctions, it has been banned from a few countries for decades, features copious full-frontal male nudity, updates a Marquis de Sade story for the Italian fascist regime of WW2 and is featured in the prestigious Criterion collection. Oh, and: the film’s most noteworthy scene involves a lengthy, unflinching and self-indulgent sequence of coprophagy—not once, but twice. The result is a film both repulsive and provocative, with writer-director Pier Paolo Pasolini using perversions of all kinds (far exceeding even most perverts’ limits) to illustrate the depraved ideology of fascism pushed to its conclusion. Despite the nudity, sadomasochism and scatophilia, Salò somehow doesn’t quite come across as an exploitation film—nearly everything here is not meant to titillate as much as to make audiences deeply uncomfortable for the entire duration of the film. On the other hand, many viewers won’t make it to the end, and most people who see the film once will never make it to a second viewing. (This being said, and this is not a favourable comment on our times or my own jadedness, Salò is definitely disturbing but somehow not quite as graphically violent as many other horror movies.)  I’ve seen it only because it is of some historical importance (its Wikipedia page is a wild read), but got no enjoyment out of it—now that I’ve seen it, I’m quite happy to never revisit it.

  • Le problème d’infiltration [The infiltration problem] (2017)

    Le problème d’infiltration [The infiltration problem] (2017)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, July 2019) I have a soft spot for cinematic style experiments even when the plot itself isn’t so noteworthy, and I got most of my attention’s worth in Le problème d’infiltration, which chronicles how a successful plastic surgeon’s life falls apart over a day or so. The stylistic trick here is a series of very long takes with lighting shifts, “impossible” camera moves (through a windshield, or a mirror) and never looking too far away from the lead actor’s face. The first 15-minute scene alone, recording an argument between a plastic surgeon (Christian Bégin, interesting) and badly disfigured patient that escalates into a physical confrontation, is enough to tell us that we’re in for a special kind of film. Writer-director Robert Morin is a seasoned professional (this is his 15th film), and he seems to be having fun here despite the sombre subject matter, using modern tools to harken back to expressionist filmmaking (the opening epigraph is from F.W. Murnau). The digital stitching of handheld camera shots is often obvious, but the cumulative impact of the wizardry at play is intriguing. Alas, Le problème d’infiltration’s narrative doesn’t always measure up to its execution, nor does it always get its intended impact. The ending feels abrupt (despite the protagonist telling what he thinks to the audience as his entire life burns down), the individual segments can feel far too long despite the film’s spry 90 minutes (the sequence in which he goes out to borrow bottles of wine from a neighbour feels forced) and at times the film feels as if it’s holding its punches toward a detestable protagonist. I found myself unaccountably giggling through a sequence meant to be harrowing—as the protagonist discovers that his son has a fondness for gangsta rap and bawls his eyes out, I found myself laughing at the overdone melodrama of the sequence—not only were the lyrics of the song a hilarious mashup of tough-guy Frenglish (“Je met ma bitch sur le corner”—ow, my brain), but it’s as if white teenagers hadn’t been acting like thug wannabes since the mid-1980s or so. Get with the times, Morin. Of course, the real tragedy of the sequence isn’t a patsy-white boy pretending to be a gangsta pimp—it’s the revelation of the protagonist as a full-blown narcissist who deserves everything he gets at the end of the movie. (If the point isn’t made yet, there’s a rape sequence moments later to make him irremediable.)  Of course, there’s a lot left to the viewer’s interpretation here—Le Problème d’infiltration is a psychological drama, after all, not a cut-and-dried genre film. Still, there’s quite a bit here to hold anyone’s interest, especially for the rather rare fusion of form and technological innovation in a made-in-Québec film.