Maddin and his production designers wallow in silent German expression, cubism, and art deco. Fake snow blows from every corner, cardboard buildings line slim streets, and model streetcars rumble along. The DVD explains that the movie was shot entirely in an unheated Winnipeg warehouse during the coldest part of the year, yet every crookedly-shot frame is packed with characters, fake tree branches, wild shadows, or some such foolishness. All the musical numbers have a charming, nonprofessional air to them; this is not $5 million Broadway production with $150 seats. Maria de Medeiros sings her own songs, including a delightful number that has her on a swing in front of obvious rear projection, and she does a dance routine that’s simply, wretchedly adorable.
Perhaps the biggest surprise in “The Saddest Music in the World” is that, as fascinating and fun as the movie is on a technical level, as a joking cinematic love letter to celluloid’s past, the movie is also a genuinely probing look at usefulness of sadness, and how dangerous it is to ignore our own melancholy. Don’t think of it as scatterbrained or inconclusive, think of it as a free association, and think of how much less fun it would be if a conclusion was made. Or think of how sweet it is when husband and wife finally embrace, and Maddin sucks every out drop of sound. This is one of the best movies of 2004.
Finished Sunday, January 30th, 2005
Copyright © 2005 Friday & Saturday Night
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