In my continued efforts to explore important works of Québécois cinema, there were a few titles that emerged as being particularly noteworthy, whether for their artistic merit or the situation surrounding their creation. In the case of The Merry World of Léopold Z (French: La vie heureuse de Léopold Z), there were elements of both that led to the construction of this film, which has become to be seen as a cherished work of Canadian cinema, and a film that has retained a considerable level of respect, even if only within the community that it reflects on screen. Written and directed by Gilles Carle, who was commissioned to make a film about the snow-plough operators working in Montréal, the film has flourished into a Christmas classic. This charming and funny little satire builds on simple concepts of community-based values and subverts them in a way that could only be done by someone with a genuine fondness for the subject that he is aiming to lampoon. Carle, who is a notable figure in this era of Québécois and worked laboriously to draw attention to the region and its artistic output, puts a lot of effort into this quaint, endearing story that is as funny as it is heartfelt, which we may not expect based on a cursory glance. A landmark work of Québécois filmmaking, The Merry World of Léopold Z is a poignant and bitingly funny account of both the culture and its people and remains one of the most endearing works produced in Canada at a time when it was supposedly lagging in terms of artistic output, proving that there were many essential voices working at the time, producing works that are ripe for rediscovery by contemporary audiences.

There is an abundance of virtue in taking a more simple approach them telling a story, and while The Merry World of Léopold Z was funded by the arts department of the regional government, it is an independent film at heart, especially since Carle was given free-reign to make the film that he deemed most essential with the resources he was provided. There are many comparisons between his work and that of some of his contemporaries from around the world, with the most significant comparison being Éric Rohmer, whose masterpiece My Night at Maud’s bears remarkable similarity to this film – they’re both small, minimalistic dark comedies focusing on likeable but conflicted protagonists making their way through a snow-capped urban landscape on Christmas Eve – and while its unlikely Rohmer was inspired by this film directly, both directors worked under the same belief that simplicity is a director’s greatest resource, and that being too ambitious can sometimes be an unnecessary hindrance, especially when working from what appears to be a more intimate, human-based story. Carle derives many of the most impactful ideas from a careful examination of the social structure of Montréal, which he blends with an upbeat and hilarious tale of one man’s journey to get his job done, which presents itself as a truly intimidating challenge that he was not prepared to confront, especially not on the day before Christmas. Woven into this narrative are conversations around family, religion and cultural conventions, all of which are filtered through the director’s blisteringly funny depiction of a society built on traditional values and a decent amount of well-meaning, gentle humour.

The Merry World of Léopold Z often plays like a tourism guide to Montréal rather than a fully-formed film all on its own. However, this is not a shortcoming or even close to a problem, since it was only logical that some degree of the story was going to function as a way to allure people to the charms of the city and its people. As we’ve mentioned, Carle was given a considerable amount of resources to make a film that highlighted the beauty and grandeur of Québec, but in a way that was still artistically resonant. Plans to make a documentary-style depiction of the snow-plough industry and its importance within the city (especially in the wintery conditions that occur alongside the festive season) were quickly sidelined in favour of this bitingly funny story of a hapless middle-aged man doing whatever he can to get through a particularly busy day that seems to never end, especially with the looming deadline of Christmas lingering over his head. There are several moments in The Merry World of Léopold Z that feel like the director was forced to highlight the culture of the region, with references to “la belle province” and its various cultural customs and traditions being designed to attract Québec to outsiders, acting as a film designed specifically to make the city seem even more appealing. While the province has undergone a lot of change in the last half-century since the film was made, there is still such a distinct beauty to how Carle weaves together this government mandate with his artistic ambitions, leading to a film that is both entertaining and insightful.

In choosing to go a completely different direction from what was intended (while still delivering what he was required in terms of looking at the daily activities of a snow-plough operator – it’s truly endearing that the Québécois chose to provide funds for such a concept, one of the more wholesome examples of the interactions between artists and the institutions they are often called to represent), Carle manages to make quite a charming film, albeit one that works because it is essentially a world of carefully-controlled chaos. For most of The Merry World of Léopold Z, we are watching the titular character find himself in increasingly tense situations, formed around the idea of this being nothing more than a comedy-of-errors in which absolutely nothing goes right until the final moments when everything magically comes together and the crisis is averted. It’s a very simple premise, and the story can easily be predicted by any casual viewer – but rather than aiming to be wholly original or daring in a way that feels like it is contributing something more than what it could deliver, it instead chooses to follow a familiar formula that may be extremely traditional, but at least has a depth to it that comes from a place of profound admiration for the city in which it is set. It is also helpful that Guy L’Écuyer is fully committed to playing the titular role, tempering his performance to match the zany tone of the film that surrounds him, holding it together in a way that feels extraordinarily compelling, the perfect collision of grit and eccentricity that single-handedly makes The Merry World of Léopold Z such a peculiar but captivating character study, especially considering how deeply the film explores the theme of the individuals that collectively make up an urban landscape such as Montréal.

Touristic propaganda is not a particularly popular sub-genre of cinema, especially in the contemporary era, where there are endless resources that potential visitors to any part of the world can access, meaning that there isn’t much of a market for these films that are designed to specifically drum up interest in a particular place. They’re remnants of the past and are mostly viewed as ethnographic and geographical mementoes more than works of art in themselves. However, there are a few very captivating ideas embedded deep within this film, and while it doesn’t have much time to expand on all of them (it runs at a paltry 68 minutes, so there isn’t an abundance of space to unpack all of its themes), it does remarkably well in presenting us with a thorough, detailed exploration of the region in a way that feels compelling and alluring. It may be the epitome of formulaic, but it never aimed to be particularly original, with most of the film’s impact coming from the director’s ability to place his main character in increasingly absurd situations, each one being more ridiculous than the last, and then ending with an upbeat and life-affirming climax that feels well-earned. It’s a small film and one that is quite easy to overlook – but with sharp humour, sincere compassion and an abundance of strong ideas, The Merry World of Léopold Z is a tremendous achievement in every way.