Weekly round-up

A local crime drama, a melodrama about the early days of AIDS and a Moroccan meditation

by MATTHEW HAYS and
CHRISTOPHER SYKES

La Run

For better or worse, there’s not a lot of moralizing in this drug- and violence-laden drama by local filmmakers Demian and Leonardo Fuica. Narcotics are merely one of a vast array of urban com­modities sold because the market exists. As the film’s introduction matter-of-factly explains, Montrealers love to get high. And there’s no shortage of people willing to provide the supply for that demand if the projected compensation outweighs the risk.

So it’s entirely believable that Guillaume (Jason Roy Léveillée), a squeaky-clean do-gooder who files his taxes and surely flosses twice a day, would be tempted to start peddling dope when his fam­ily falls on tough times. His father (Paul Dion) has just unsuccessfully tried to off himself to escape a $50,000 gambling debt. Léveillée, good guy that he is, assumes his father’s debt and therefore needs to come up with some quick coin.

The dutiful son enters the Montreal underworld by way of his best friend Manu (Marc Beaupré), a low-key drug runner who has the trust of kingpin Rivière (Nicolas Canuel). The two friends quickly establish themselves as dependable workhorses who deliver results and, most importantly, profits. Promotions are handed down, which increases the risk, but also the reward.

The style is sleek, and the rapport between Léveillée and Beaupré is quite good as the two work their way up; then it just gets silly, with an overly formulaic dramatic arc and ending (alas, life in the fast lane has its consequences!). The Fuica brothers have made a film quite like drugs themselves: when it’s good, it’s quite good. But when it’s bad, watch out. (CS)

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House of Boys

Jean-Claude Schlim’s directorial debut is a great big gay melodrama, a nostalgic, elegiac look back at the dawn of the AIDS era. Set in 1984, House of Boys has a beautiful blond boy (the androgy­nous Layke Anderson, who looks almost like a young Sissy Spacek) escaping his oppressive suburban family life to head to the gay clubs of Amsterdam. There, he begins exotic dancing in a club run by the heartless Madame (Udo Kier). Told in three parts, Schlim’s film has a first act that almost feels like an ode to Glee, with musical acts evoking the sexual freedom of the period.

But of course, all of that was to come crashing down when AIDS hit hard, and Anderson must look on in horror as his boyfriend (Benn Northover) develops one of the earliest cases of the disease, mystifying everyone, including his doctor (a particularly earnest role for Stephen Fry).

Schlim draws on American melodrama to tell his story (there’s even a clip of Douglas Sirk’s landmark Imitation of Life screening on a TV at one point), with great affect. Apparently the writer-director is riffing on his own experiences (his boyfriend died of AIDS at 27 in 1984).

While there are perhaps a few too many gay clichés packed in, Schlim handles the material well, and for a film that reaches back a quarter-century, there’s something downright refreshing about a script that doesn’t try to pretend this horrid disease never existed. Instead, Schlim exposes it for all its horror, sadness and grief. (MH)

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Les Tortues ne meurent pas de vieillesse

Filmmakers Hind Benchekroun and Sami Mermer offer a tender look at a disappearing generation with their latest documentary, shot in Northern Morocco. It follows the lives of three free-spirit­ed octogenarians who are adamant about maintaining their youth through seizing each remaining day and living it to the fullest.

Chehma is a former deep-sea fisherman who spends the majority of his time on the beach, helping the local fishing boats in and out of harbour. He’s paid by the other locals for his time, but seems to be offering his services mostly out of a greater love for the sea. Erradi collects clocks and works as an innkeeper when he’s not napping inside his humble hospice. He’s a tad on the conservative side and very idiosyncratic, but also rather witty. Abdesslam is a street musician who continues to entertain locals and tourists alike in order to line his pockets with some much-needed spending money. He works with a hash-smoking violinist of more or less the same age, and the two colourful characters appear to know the ins and outs of the entire city.

There is grace and wisdom that’s very specific to each of these endearing men, and this is one of those films that will make one sit and ponder over one’s own mortality long after the final credits. In the ever-changing political climate of Northern Africa, the film’s legacy might be as a document not simply of three aging men, but of an aging country. (CS) ■

ALL FILMS OPEN THIS FRIDAY, AUG. 26

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