C.R.A.Z.Y.

Opening with the heartbeats of an unborn child, Canadian sleeper hit C.R.A.Z.Y. stylishly courses through the veins of time; for within its 2 hours' duration, 20 years in the life of this child and his loved ones will flash before our eyes. We will experience vividly, many things. We will come to understand the times and places which find them. We will be exposed to the pride and prejudice which bind them. We will learn to empathise with the pains and disappointments which haunt them. And we will be moved by the love and humanity which guide them.

As they explore and endure through life's ebbs and flows, C.R.A.Z.Y. sensitively chronicles the evolution of a Quebeckan family, slightly dysfunctional but glowingly loving. As if touched by Midas, director Jean-Marc Valle, has created one of the most insightful, warm and spiritually redemptive films of the year. But let's get back to the beginning...

Fourth in a line of five sons from the Beaulieu family, the child is named Zac. This movie is told through his eyes. Born on Christmas 1960, Zac finds himself forever attending Midnight Masses on his birthdays. And he never gets the presents he wants, reasons for which we will soon know. The boy hence seethes with Bah Humbug repression. But that is not the only repressed aspects of the poor boy.

There are hints of something special about this kid. He survives a miraculous drop from his father's arms on the day of his birth. He spots an isolated lock of blond hair. He shares an almost psychic link with his mother. He alone can soothe his baby brother's cries. Word has it he can heal all sorts of bleeding. And he loves to push the pram-a-lot. Okay, that came out awkwardly.

It is obvious early on that Zac is gay, even before he knows what gay means. His parents, Patsy Cline loving Gervais and Christ worshipping Laurianne, senses this too. But his mother's mild compassion is overshadowed by his father's staunch disapproval.

Gervais, a working class family man, does not stop nurturing his effete son's challenged heterosexuality. Ignoring the boy's choice of a mock toy pram as his birthday gift, Gervais buys the boy a sports game set instead. Eavesdropping on his parent's conversation, Zac learns that his daddy don't like no fairies. Late at night, the boy prays hard to Jesus. He don't want to be no fairy either, for his father doesn't. The boy loves his father and is eager to win his love and acceptance. So much so he will bend his desires and pretend to be something he isn't.

The boy makes such sacrifices because he worships his father. He craves for his affection. Gervais has a tough personality typical of blue collared father figures. He also exudes a grunge heroic cool blended with an appealingly rugged handsomeness, traits envied by kids Zac's age. The short-lived pit stops for fries, shared between father and son, illustrate the bond which intoxicates the yearning child. It is depicted with such a jubilant nostalgia, the afterglow of those stolen moments linger long after the story moved on. And it did move on.

Not only did he have to fight a losing battle in denial of his identity confusion, Zac needs to jostle for the affection of his father with four other siblings. They all seem more advantaged in snagging daddy's love. The youngest boy by default, will be adored. The eldest and middle children excel in academic and athletic pursuits respectively. The second child, problematic delinquent Raymond, confounds Zac the most. Not only are they arch nemesis, Zac senses his father takes uncommon pride in Raymond's antics. However mischievious, Raymond still exhibits clearly masculine traits. Zac hence, is the odd one out; nervy, asthmatic and too sensitive for his own good. He wets his bed too. With each passing day, the distance between father and son widens.

With odds stacked firmly against him, the poor thing cannot do much else. He glides on wings, capable of soaring flights of fancy. He seeks solace from his embracing mother. Via their psychic connections, they place their shared Catholic faiths in the hands of the lord. Together, mother and son hope and pray; that he will no longer wet his bed, that he will not become a fairy, that his father will love him again, that he is indeed special as his mother claims. Alas, special equals different, a trait not welcomed in Zac's suburban universe, where conformity is valued. Quoting Michael Apted's wise observation, "Give me a boy at seven and I will show you the man." There is no turning back. The journey ahead for Zac will be long and arduous...

This film is evenly spread out into three acts, showcasing Zac and the Beaulieu's ups and downs, when the boy turns 7, 15 and 21 respectively. Notice I have devoted much of this piece so far on the first act alone. I will not focus on the second and third act, suffice to say they are more or less the same, only more contextually layered, more intricately woven and increasingly maturing.

Allow me to draw from an obscure analogy made in Kevin Smith's Dogma, which I think applies to C.R.A.Z.Y. succinctly. Love, faith, identity, pain, loss, despair, memory, sacrifice, contentment and the works. All these concepts form the backbone of natural human/ familial growth. They are also like glasses of water. When you're young, the glasses are full, and it's easy to fill up. But the older you get, the bigger the glasses get, and the same amount of water doesn't fill those glasses anymore. Still, periodically, the glasses have to be refilled. It may take more effort, but it is almost always worth it. And if they are not refilled, the glasses will dry up. Those unquenched concepts will invariably shrivel and die.

Dear readers, you are hence encouraged to savour an ever thickening cinematic brew concocted by Vallee. For not only are its contents more complex, the "glasses" will just get bigger. Watch the protagonist and his family grow, and I guarantee your collective hearts will ache, flutter and then glow. Just remember to refill your own respective glasses when you come out of this movie.

Final Words:

C.R.A.Z.Y. exhibits a delirious visual flair reminiscent of Fernando Meirelles's City of God. On the aural front, it is an apt comparison with the best of Cameron Crowe's sentient song fests. In fact, I can go CRAZY with a whole other essay just focusing on the allegorical musicality and dramatic relevance of the movie's song selection. Dramatically, this film has deeply drawn, non-caricaturing characters. Together, they are capable of shoring up tidal waves of emotional resonance, humour and grace. The reconciliatory catharsis emanated by film's end is hence earned. I have not experienced such warmth and comfort since Peter Sollett's familial masterpiece, Raising Victor Vargas.

Thematically, C.R.A.Z.Y. serves as an admirable cousin to Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain, not as the purveyor of gay rights, but as another film which sheds sympathetic light on people living their lives in secrets and lies. It depicts how devastatingly numbing these burdens can become. It shows such perpetuated disguises will only hurt more people in the end. It knows how liberating it will be if one opts to open up, however painful the days and months ahead. This film argues that though happiness is not guaranteed, a humbling sense of closure will eventually be reached. With truth, comes ecstasy, and peace will follow.

Goodness permeates every inch of this movie. If this is not the sign for perfection, I will like to know what is.