All good filmmakers have a sense of film history; for the Canadian director Guy Maddin it's a history that cuts to the marrow. The filmmaker's obvious inspirations are culled from silent cinema and those first few years when movies learned to talk, but he evinces an appreciation for proto-cinematic forms as well. (He doesn't just delight in early movies, when women possessed rosebud mouths and men had manners as slick as pomade, he exudes in the splotches, accidental jump cuts and ragged edges that can cling to well-used movies.) Mr. Maddin's interest in the atavistic takes wonderful shape in his latest offering, a love story that was originally designed as an installation art piece in which 10 different chapters were viewed through separate peepholes. Since its conception, the film has been stitched into a near-feature-length movie and no longer will viewers need risk eyestrain and cramped necks to appreciate Mr. Maddin's singular genius. Raincoats, however, remain optional.
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