Before seeing Universal Language, I'd heard people compare writer/director Matthew Rankin's latest absurdist comedy (which he penned with Ila Firouzabadi and Pirouz Nemati) to the works of Joel and Ethan Coen as well as fellow Canadian comedic master Guy Maddin. Those comparisons all strike me as fitting after watching Universal Language. However, for me, Rankin most evokes here David Byrne’s True Story. Like that 1980s gem, Rankin nonchalantly follows the ordinary lives of a town’s outsized inhabitants. Both projects are adorned with eccentric flourishes and vivid production design. However, neither renders their on-camera subjects as mocking caricatures.
Across True Stories and Universal Language, there’s affection for these townsfolks and the lives they’ve carved out. Both are also distinctly unique creative endeavors. Rankin, impressively, imbues Language with more than enough unconventional flourishes to give the movie its own identity.
Taking place somewhere in Canada (the official plot summary amusingly declares this location an “Interzone" somewhere between Tehran and Winnipeg), Universal Language begins at a school. Rankin’s dry oddball style of humor is established through lengthy wide shots, lines like “you don’t even goof off in French!”, and the sight of kids bringing important props like cameras and Groucho Marx costumes to class. It is also here that we meet two primary adolescent characters of the feature, sisters Negin (Rojina Esmaeili) and Nazgol (Saba Vahedyousefi). While walking around in the snow, they uncover something extraordinary: some crisp money frozen in the snow!
The duo scrambles to get the tools necessary to chip this money out of the sidewalk ice, which will entail the pair scouring through areas of their hometown like the Biege District or a local turkey shop. Meanwhile, in one of a handful of simultaneous subplots, Matthew (Matthew Ranking) returns home after leaving a government job to find his mom. Occurring around all this is Massoud (Pirouz Nemati) bringing visiting tourists to bizarre little stops (like a grave just next to a bustling highway) across this domicile.
Rankin and cinematographer Isabelle Stachtchenko capture the world of Universal Language in a very removed fashion. They emphasize wide shots and grand canvases that juxtapose against the mundane activities of this feature’s human beings. Typically, such expansive images are reserved for David Lean or John Ford epics. Here, they capture bring ordinary existence and emphasize how many lives in this town intersect. At one point, Negin runs into a hardware store to find an axe and the camera stays outside. We hear Negin plead with the shop owner for this item. However, the viewer’s frame of sight remains outside the store’s entrance. Our eyes instead linger on a handful of passersby and a soup cart just outside the shop.
So many stories are, however fleetingly, intertwining in just this shot. “We are all connected,” as one character says late into Language’s runtime. This concept’s vividness wouldn’t have been possible under more cramped framing. This snowy exterior is one of several quietly subversive Universal Language images.
Another comes in an early sequence centered on Matthew talking to his boss in a sparsely decorated meeting space. Their conversation transpires in a standard shot-reverse shot format...with a twist. The camera's positioned far away for this exchange. These two men are cornered off into one side of the wide shot rather than dominating every inch of the frame. Juxtaposing these wide shots with constantly cutting back and forth in their conversation is quietly hysterical, especially when the cuts between shots briefly become humorously brief.
Universal Language’s unorthodox visual tendencies fully sent me into titters. Ditto for giving every character either lavish backstories or incredibly distinct costumes/props. There aren’t just bus passengers in this movie. Sitting on a bus is an elderly woman plagued with every kind of personal tragedy imaginable. People don’t just have pots of flowers on their shelves in their homes. Instead, they possess helpfully labeled “collected tears”. A man selling tissue boxes has them arranged so neatly in his store in piles that tower up to the heavens. There isn’t a single location or character in Universal Language that doesn’t reverberate with pronounced personality.
Like True Stories or that classic Simpsons episode “22 Short Films About Springfield,” Universal Language is all about reaffirming how all your neighbors have some story to impart. This theme takes on extra levels of melancholy whenever the camera focuses on Matthew and Massoud. Both men are grappling with how much the world and their hometowns have changed over the years. Massoud clings to relics of the past in his tour guide sessions, like an old fountain (encased in a dilapidated shopping mall) that hasn’t worked for decades. When one member of the tour group asks why they even stopped here, Massoud remarks that he always returns here hoping "it may turn on again someday.”
The sparseness in Universal Language sometimes inspires hearty laughs. Just look at a dark gag where Matthew and his superior have a critical conversation while another unseen man loudly sobs in a nearby cubicle. In sequences like Massoud’s return to landmarks of his hometown or Matthew venturing back to his childhood home (now occupied by a new family), though, Language's empty space becomes extra haunting. Time keeps marching on. Places once pristine gather rust. Beloved family members become strangers. The intentional void left in so many images here reaffirms how helpless these characters are at the mercy of mortality and aging.
It's impressive that such weighty, existential flourishes co-exist so nicely with a sparkly ice skating interlude or extended wacky jokes about a turkey riding a bus (he has a ticket, after all). Consistently transfixing visuals ensure Universal Language’s various tones can co-exist in harmony. The proceedings may alternate from contemplative to dry comedy. However, striking elements like great costume designs (love those pink earmuffs!) and consistently terrific blocking always endure. Universal Language echoes certain distinctive oddball comedies of years past, sure. However, this is a fascinating one-of-a-kind concoction that excitingly defies comparisons. Its deeply thoughtful camerawork especially has a rich personality that’s as captivating as a warm fire on a chilly snow day.