C.R.A.Z.Y.

Hush my child, it's okay,
for God works in mysterious ways.

Opening with the heartbeats of an unborn child, Canadian sleeper hit C.R.A.Z.Y. stylishly courses through the veins of time; within its 2 hour duration, 20 years in the life of this child and his loved ones will flash before our eyes. We will experience many things vividly. We will come to understand the times and places in which we find these characters. 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 slightly dysfunctional but glowingly loving Quebecois family. As if touched by Midas, director Jean-Marc Valle has created one of the most warm, insightful, and spiritually redemptive films of the year. But let's get back to the beginning...

The movie is told through the eyes of Zac, the child we are first introduced to in the opening. Born on Christmas 1960 and fourth in a line of five sons from the Beaulieu family, Zac finds himself forever attending Midnight Masses on his birthdays. The boy also never gets the presents he wants, for reasons which we will soon know. Because of that, Zac is filled with Bah-Humbug repression, but that will not be the only repressed aspects of the poor boy.

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

It is obvious early on that Zac is gay, before he even knew what gay means. His parents, the Patsy Cline-loving Gervais and his Christ-worshipping wife Laurianne, senses this too, apparently, but Zac's mother's mild compassion to this is often overshadowed by his father's staunch disapproval.

Gervais, a working class family man, never stops 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 one day, Zac learns that his daddy don't like no fairies, prompting him to pray hard to Jesus in the late of the night - he don't want to be no fairy either. The boy loves his father. He is so eager to win his love and acceptance that he is willing to bend his desires and pretend to be something he isn't.

Zac makes such sacrifices because he worships his father and craves for his affection. Gervais has a tough personality typical of blue-collared father figures. He exudes a grunge heroic cool blended with an appealingly rugged handsomeness, traits envied by kids of Zac's age. The short-lived moments where the two stop for fries together, illustrate the bond which intoxicates the yearning child. They are depicted with such a jubilant nostalgia that the afterglow of these stolen moments linger long after the story has moved on. And move on, it did.

Not only does he have to fight a losing battle in the denial of his identity confusion, Zac also needs to jostle for the affection of his father with his four other siblings. All of whom seem more advantaged in snagging daddy's love. The eldest and middle brothers excel in academic and athletic pursuits respectively while the youngest brother will, by default, be adored. It is his father's affection to the second brother, the problematic delinquent Raymond, that confounds Zac the most. Not only are they arch nemeses, Zac senses that his father seems to take 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 the odds stacked firmly against him, poor Zac can't do much else besides gliding on wings in soaring flights of fancy, and seeking solace from his embracing mother. Via their psychic connections, mother and son place their shared Catholic faiths in the hands of the Lord, hoping and praying together, that he will no longer wet his bed or become a fairy, that his father will love him again, and that he is indeed as special as his mother claims. Alas, to be special is to be different, and different is not a trait welcomed in Zac's suburban universe, where conformity is valued, deviancy frowned upon. Quoting Michael Apted's wise observation, "Give me a boy at seven and I will show you the man." Despite his best efforts, there is no turning back for Zac; the journey ahead for him will be long and arduous...

This film is evenly spread out into three acts, showing the myriad upheavals affecting Zac and the Beaulieu clan as the boy turns 7, 15 and 21. Notice how much of this piece I have devoted 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 mature.

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. Concepts that form the backbone of our natural human/familial growth - love, faith, identity, pain, loss, despair, memory, sacrifice, and contentment - are like glasses of water. These glasses are full, and are easy to fill up at first. But the older one gets, the bigger the glasses get too, taking much more than the same amount of water to fill these glasses. Still, these glasses have to be refilled periodically. It may take more effort, but it is almost always worth it. Conversely, if they are not refilled, the glasses will dry up and these unquenched concepts will inadvertently shrivel and die.

Vallee has thus concocted an ever-thickening cinematic brew to fill these glasses and encourages us to savour it together. For not only are its contents more complex, these glasses would only get bigger. Watching the growth of the protagonist and his family, your heart will ache, flutter and then be set aglow - just remember to refill your own glasses when you come out of the 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 not inapt to compare it with the best of Cameron Crowe's sentient song fests (in fact, I could go CRAZY with a whole other essay focusing only on the allegorical musicality and dramatic relevance of the movie's song selection). Dramatically, this film has deeply drawn, non-caricaturing protagonists. All these, together, are capable of shoring up tidal waves of emotional resonance, humour and grace, hence earning the reconciliatory catharsis emanated by film's end. 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, though not as the purveyor of gay rights, but as yet another film that sheds a sympathetic light on people who live in secrets and lies. It shows how devastatingly numbing these burdens can become; how such perpetuated disguises will only hurt more people in the end; and finally, how liberating it would be if one chooses to open up, however painful the days and months ahead. This film argues that though happiness might not be 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 a sign for perfection, I would like to know what is.