Hochelaga, Land of Souls took home an armful of national awards for cinematography and art direction, and there is some competence in filmmaking from the director of the fantastic (and structurally similar) The Red Violin (1998). A series of short films rolled into one, as François Girard is known for, the stories are inconsistent in their punch, and in the end there's little impact for those looking beyond technical excellence.
The overarching mini story involves the archaeology grad student struggling to pay rent and get study grants, which is relatable enough. The sad sob music playing when a football player is killed during a game feels very heavy-handed, but given the outpouring of emotion over the Humboldt bus crash this year, I suppose people really would feel that depressed. The next mini story is the best at establishing passion and feeling, in part because it begins with body on body, and also the religious conflict, the threatening Christian evangelicals against the Great Spirit.
In comparison, the next couple stories are exceedingly dry and ham handed, and bring down the entire film. We have an old lady helping rebels for reasons we don't know and can't feel, and see her having a tense conversation with a British officer that's hard to care about. Okay, they knew each other for years, but are we really supposed to be impressed by dialogue such as the old lady saying speaking with him is the worst torture imaginable? Finally we have Jacques Cartier.
By the way, for a story about archaeology, that's not how it works. When you dig, the most recent is on the upper layers; the deeper, the older. They should have found the rebels first, the colonial-religious conflict next and, yes, Cartier last. That kind of reflects the film: disorganized, half-baked. As a recognition of Quebec's indigenous history, it gives us native characters who rise a little bit above the noble-savage/victims archetypes, but not by much.
The overarching mini story involves the archaeology grad student struggling to pay rent and get study grants, which is relatable enough. The sad sob music playing when a football player is killed during a game feels very heavy-handed, but given the outpouring of emotion over the Humboldt bus crash this year, I suppose people really would feel that depressed. The next mini story is the best at establishing passion and feeling, in part because it begins with body on body, and also the religious conflict, the threatening Christian evangelicals against the Great Spirit.
In comparison, the next couple stories are exceedingly dry and ham handed, and bring down the entire film. We have an old lady helping rebels for reasons we don't know and can't feel, and see her having a tense conversation with a British officer that's hard to care about. Okay, they knew each other for years, but are we really supposed to be impressed by dialogue such as the old lady saying speaking with him is the worst torture imaginable? Finally we have Jacques Cartier.
By the way, for a story about archaeology, that's not how it works. When you dig, the most recent is on the upper layers; the deeper, the older. They should have found the rebels first, the colonial-religious conflict next and, yes, Cartier last. That kind of reflects the film: disorganized, half-baked. As a recognition of Quebec's indigenous history, it gives us native characters who rise a little bit above the noble-savage/victims archetypes, but not by much.
