Quebec’s own coming-of-age story
Can English Canada get C.R.A.Z. Y.?
This past summer, one film dominated Quebec. It fared better than Bewitched, Batman Begins, Dukes of Hazzard, Wedding Crashers and every other seasonal release save Star Wars. It opened province- wide on May 27 on 75 screens and gained steam through to Labour Day. Universally praised by critics, it has now pulled in over $ 5 million, making it the seventhhighest grossing Quebecois film ever. It’s also Canada’s entry in the Best Foreign Language category at the Academy Awards. The film is C. R. A. Z. Y., now playing in Toronto. There are many reasons for Torontonians to see this film — the killer soundtrack, the understated humour, the pitch- perfect acting — but more than anything, it offers an opportunity to experience Quebec at ground level as it went through the most profound generational shift Canada has ever seen.
C. R. A. Z. Y.
begins in 1960, with the birth of Zachary Beaulieu. He arrives into what was then a typical working-class Québécois family: two parents, four sons ( eventually five — the film’s title is an acronym of their names), all Catholic, all in one small home in Montreal Nord. As the Beaulieus move through the next two decades, they’re forced to contend with the rapidly evolving nature of their surroundings.
It is Zach’s development, however, that takes the spotlight. He grows through many stages — a delicate temperament, Catholic superstition, angsty alienation, sexual freedom, independence — all of which suggest that C. R. A. Z. Y.
is a coming- of- age movie. And it is, only not just for its protagonist. C. R. A. Z. Y. is the comingof- age story of Quebec.
In 1960, the Quiet Revolution has begun; as the debate over English culture’s role is brewing, Zach is dancing to Bowie’s “ Space Oddity”; and when his identity crisis turns to self- destruction, FLQ violence explodes on Montreal streets. The beauty of all these parallels is that the film never states them outright. They are made evident by the tiny reminders of the massive social change underway outside the Beaulieu home. A politician appears for a split- second; a Beaulieu walks past René Lévesque on TV. The only hint that a separatist movement is afoot is a Parti Québécois poster pinned to a bedroom wall. There is no footage of the October Crisis or Expo ’ 67 or the ’ 76 Olympics. As far as C. R. A. Z. Y. is concerned, Quebec is in the details.
Director and co- writer JeanMarc Vallée made this film for $ 7.6 million — a considerable sum for a Quebec film, but a pittance compared to a Hollywood one. The scale of investment speaks volumes for the kind of movie Vallée envisioned. Production designer Patrice BricaultVermette uses the smallest and cheapest elements to show the passage of time.
Instead of expensive sets or archival footage, the majority of C. R. A. Z. Y.’ s budget went into the soundtrack and special effects — something virtually unheard of in a Canadian film. “ ‘ Space Oddity’ was nothing,” Vallée told a Montreal paper. “ Bowie was really nice about it, no problem, it was affordable — it was ‘ Sympathy for the Devil’ that really took a chunk out of us.”
Foreigners like Patsy Cline, Charles Aznavour, Jefferson Airplane and Pink Floyd form the aural backdrop to the action. “ Back in Baby’s Arms” and “ Wish You Were Here” serve the same purpose as the more affordable details because they also point to a larger phenomenon: the slow encroachment of outside — particularly American — culture on Quebec.
e feel the change. We are
not informed, it is neither documented nor defined. C. R. A. Z. Y.
eschews the normal terms and categories — anglo/ franco, Catholic/Protestant, gay/ straight, Canadian/ Québécois — because it has no need for them. Its conflicts are emotional, mystical, familial. None are resolved, per se, but they reach a workable point that is rewarding for the characters and cathartic for the audience. By getting rid of the Hollywood imperative for tidy narratives, the filmmakers are free to show that
Wmaturity is more of an ongoing process than a destination — not unlike the way political and cultural tensions operate in the province. C.R.A.Z. Y. exists, as Quebec does, in a grey area.
It is this investment in emotion that sets C. R. A. Z. Y. apart from other Quebec films that have succeeded outside of the province. Academy Award favourites like Denys Arcand’s Jésus de Montréal
and Les Invasions barbares
may tackle similar identity issues, but do so in a far more cerebral fashion. Their treatment of politics and religion is laid out in explicit dialogue and direct visual commentary. Consider, for example, the scene in Les Invasions barbares in which an aged priest brings a young art expert to a church basement cluttered with old Catholic bric- a- brac — statuettes, crucifixes, pedestals. He asks if the items are worth anything. The art expert replies, rather predictably, that they’re not. The line between the two characters’ generations is clearly drawn and we are made to understand their differences. C.R.A.Z. Y.
takes place within that line itself; here, the tchotchkes are on display, but their significance is ambiguous. One could say that C. R. A. Z. Y. is accessible, but this is a term that has, of late, become a euphemism for “ sellout.” That is not the case here. The characters may be loveable, the plot may be absorbing, the aesthetic may be striking, but Vallée is no vendu — never does he sacrifice his Quebec credibility or sensibility. He has created a film that demands a gut- level reaction — and from there, viewers can access emotional information about growing up, about family and spirituality, and about the most poorly understood province in Canada. Matthew Fox is an editor at Maisonneuve magazine in Montreal.