It’s funny that in the Q & A after the film, MacIvor spoke about the mixed-to-negative reaction that this film got when it premiered in Toronto and other major Canadian cities, about how it surprised him that a common criticism was that it was a ‘typical Canadian film’ in the negative sense of homeliness and lack of ambition, because it’s not like this is a stereotype or myth that lacks truth, and it, of course, does apply to Wilby Wonderful. The script and direction play off just as you would expect if someone had told you that they were making a Canadian version of American Beauty. That film is bad enough, but at least it is not homely, and it certainly has no shortage of ambition. Obviously this criticism doesn’t apply to every single Canadian filmmaker, Cronenberg and Egoyan are clear exceptions, but it does make one wonder why a national cinema would be so defined by TV-movie-of-the-week inoffensiveness. Perhaps the stereotype of Canadians as peace-seeking lumberjacks isn’t so far from the truth, but what is more baffling is that they are aware of this typecasting of their cinema (at least most of the people in my theatre were), but think that this film somehow transcends all this. It doesn’t.
Which is not to say that it has no merit, I actually quite liked this film despite these shortcomings. Its uninspired cinematography, pacing, and absent sense of urgency doesn’t get in the way of the performances, for instance, which are, in some cases, stellar. Rebecca Jenkins, in particular, is flat-out revelatory. Looking at her C.V., I’m both flabbergasted and unsurprised that it is filled up almost entirely of idiotic T.V. shows and straight-to-video clutter. As a single mother of a teenage girl (played by Ellen Page before she was ‘discovered’) who can’t keep a man to save her life, she gives the performance the grace and intense humanity that, I’m convinced, was impossible for an actress to inject into a role this blandly written. Really, though, I’m still affected by some of her facial expressions and line deliveries. Speaking of Ellen Page, girl can’t act; she’s a movie ruiner. Whether the role calls for it or not, she repeatedly comes across as a bookish brat; unsympathetic, unemotional, just ungood. Sandra Oh is initially irritating, but I came around by the end, and thought that her portrayal of a real estate agent-in-crisis on the verge of marital meltdown (sounds familiar, eh?) was hilarious and genuinely jittery.
Daniel MacIvor is apparently a big deal in Canada, big enough to get a retrospective in Toronto’s best cinema, as least. He’s a playwright first, but has directed this film, and Whole New Thing. He acts in both of his directed films, as well as others that he’s written. The writing here is unspectacular, though, so I can only imagine that he stepped it up for his other feature, otherwise his ability to not disappear into Canadian obscurity is truly commendable.