polytechnique

I've been watching a lot of contemporary Canadian film lately.

Wow, there's so much quality out there, I can't believe I only make the effort around Genie time.

Jacque Davidts' Polytechnique was beautiful. Again, quiet, subtle yet brimming with emotion the way tears flutter from your lids when you try so desperately to hold them back. To conceal them from whom ever's watching. From whom ever is near.

My God. I was shaken. I felt like I hadn't a clue about the Montreal Massacre. "Why are you not more informed?" I scolded myself and immediately tuned into an hour worth of CBC archival footage... which turns out was twice as traumatizing as the film. And the film was mighty powerful. Powerful in its minimalism.

Minimalism. Is. Beautiful.

As was Sebastien Huberdeau's J-F....

There's a moment at the end of the film in one of the survivor (Valérie's) final reveries. She's addressing the Killer's mother in a letter. She says he - that day - scarred her for life. And even though in her present state she appears content, productive, and in a loving relationship, she is still scarred. And even without this exposition, you know this about her.

It got me thinking. One, really can be scarred for life. Yeah, I suppose scars fade and some even argue they're physically able to disappear completely. But I'm actually highly skeptical of that claim. And although some are closer to the surface than others, and some deeper to the bone, they're there and they're never, ever going away.

goodnight,

Lo

next on my list: Victoria Day