Passiflora

Certainly, Passiflora is the most irreverent and – quite literally – iconoclastic film ever produced by the NFB. Even 40 years later, its powerful attack on the established order remains astonishing.

Surpassing even the sacrilege of Cap d’espoir by Jacques Leduc (1969), which was censored by the NFB for five years, the film gleefully tramples on all the taboos and bigotries of the time. It does so through a variety of elements that, each in its own way, serve as both a middle finger and a declaration of defiance: insolent graffiti, sarcastic animations, blasphemous songs, outrageous fictional scenes, snide documentary sequences, liberating dramaturgical quotes (Les fées ont soif), and more. Amidst this effervescence, the filmmakers give voice to the heretics, the anathematized, the apostates, and the backsliders of this world, often by colliding fiction with reality. Clearly, Bélanger was guided by the rebellious and disruptive spirit of Borduas, to whom he had dedicated his first film (Via Borduas, 1968), which was unfortunately completely banned from distribution by the painter’s estate.

However, NFB executives, having likely learned over the years that outright censorship wasn't the best way to bury a film (since it only leads to an outcry), instead diligently worked to hinder Passiflora's distribution. For decades, they stubbornly refused to subtitle it in English, despite repeated protests and pleas from numerous programmers, cinephiles, and Anglophone professors, chief among them Piers Handling of Toronto’s Festival of Festivals (now TIFF), where the premiere took place, and Tom Waugh. They only recently relented.

A choral film that breaks apart parallel editing, Passiflora is also a significant cinematic achievement, marked by bold formal innovations. The sound design, in particular, is remarkable. On the one hand, the filmmakers and sound editors (Christian Marcotte and Claude Beaugrand) cleverly navigate the challenges posed by the original recording’s cacophony, often humorously dubbing documentary dialogue (leaving one to wonder if some are “ear-trick” effects). On the other hand, the creative use of unusual sounds that contrast with the images is particularly inventive. Lastly, the music plays a prominent role, with glimpses of what would later become Le trésor de la langue by René Lussier, to whom Bélanger would dedicate another film, Le trésor archange (1996).

Richard Brouillette
Filmmaker, producer, chicken farmer, and accountant