Click on the green. My Winnipeg .
Some say it arrived stealthily by ship and landed at a tiny Newfoundland harbour, others that it started in the old time of Mad Jack Connelly the backwoodsman who thought himself a moose; some that it blew in on a dreaded Baffin island Nor’Nor’Easterly, others that it began with the wildest Winnipeg winter for many a year; some that it emerged from a Chinese man’s basket at Vancouver, still others that it had been in Canada as long as the Kwikwetlem people and the red upriver fish of British Columbia. A view now gaining currency is that it was born of the amorous conjunction of a mild bespectacled accordion-playing, sea shanty-composing Frenchman by the name of Ferdinand Hautbois Dutronc and a rebellious roving redhead Fiona Mactavish (a.k.a “The Tobermory Tornado”), a buxom lassie raised on prime Aberdeen Angus beef, renowned for her bare knuckle bust-ups and Highland “jumbo” jig which, along with her elan on the bagpipes, penchant for the finest malt from the isle of Muck, and concupiscent delight in publicly caressing her "husband"’s thighs (and the parts of other men besides), would enliven many a cold dark windy night in the saloons from Labrador to Manitoba. Was it a bug, a virus, a meteorite strike, or congenital abnormality, this collective eccentric, if not slightly crazy, nonconformity, this Carrollian urge for curiosities and go hang Hollywood?
Missing from Mubi:
Le Vieux Pays ou Rimbaud est Mort
Une Histoire Inventée