When one thinks of the traditional documentary form, certain conventions spring to mind. The most fundamental involves using the medium to convey basic factual information about a subject, with at least some degree of objective distance - or otherwise, in the case of cinema direct practitioners, to sit back and observe and let viewers draw their own conclusions about what is unfolding before the lens. In either case, detachment is part of the equation.
Chelsea McMullan's brave, fascinating My Prairie Home is indeed a documentary, but unlike any nonfiction film in memory. As a profile of the Canadian transgendered singer-songwriter Rae Spoon, the motion picture lacks the said distance, existing almost entirely inside of Spoon's head. To understand why and grasp McMullan's directorial strategy, it may help to first counter a few myths about the transgender population.
In North America, transgendered individuals are the least discussed and recognized population of LGBT groups. Their dilemma is one of belonging, in a society organized according to gender. The essence of transgenderism involves a conflict between someone's biology at birth and who they are inside; some opt for surgical corrections to cross the gender divide biologically and reflect their inner identities. The rest - like Spoon, who prefers to be referred to as "them" and "they" instead of "he" or "she" - may feel like an odd tertiary gender, one caught between traditional male and female. Some transgendered people have even fought to abolish the gender binary in our society, redefining the term "queer" from a homophobic slur into a very literal way of describing the plight of one who doesn't fit into traditional social schema.
McMullan comprehends this thoroughly, and wants to share Spoon's paradigm by painting the onscreen world as the subject sees it. The documentary therefore functions as a piece of cinematic expressionism in lieu of detached, objective reportage. Everything is filtered through Spoon's eyes. One of the most telling images in the film, for example, is a staged music video that begins with Spoon's animate head "mounted" on a plaque that would traditionally be used to display the stuffed head of a deer or elk. And still in another sequence - which opens the picture - McMullan films Spoon in a Middle Canadian diner, populated by blue collar working-class folk, presumably with conservative political leanings. Spoon breaks into an impromptu folk song on the guitar - a confessional disclosure that limns their daily discomfort and unease - and McMullan cuts to close-ups of the diners looking on, incredulous and visibly uncomfortable.
The overall effect of both set-ups - and bits like this permeate the film - is one of both startling candor and jarring voyeurism. There is also a paralyzing iciness in this picture - we search for the movie's emotional core, but find it repeatedly slipping through our fingers. It feels extraordinarily chilly, a little hollow and detached. Yet one can infer that this is exactly how Spoon feels as they go through their days. The overall aesthetic of the movie also seems colored by Spoon's outlook; in particular, McMullan films Spoon with big, solid patches of color in the background (a pop art aesthetic) and has Spoon address the camera directly in interviews. The effect is comparable to a subject being placed under a harsh interrogation spotlight in the middle of the room.
There is another angle to the film as well - an equally intimate one. Spoon describes their rejection by their dad - an emotionally beleaguered, schizophrenic zealot who crammed his warped version of Christianity down his children's throats every chance he got, and effectively banished Rae from the family while indirectly prompting the child to permanently reject all religious beliefs. These are poignant revelations, and it's no small measure of Spoon's stoicism that the artist manages to discuss such painful recollections on camera without flinching or losing emotional control. In the film's most challenging sequence - the one that feels truly heartbreaking - Spoon expresses an intuition that their father has turned up on occasions at their concerts, without making contact. McMullan and her crew somehow identify the dad covertly watching, and then jetting off in his car sans making face-to-face contact with Rae - while Rae stands in the wings, full of apprehension.
This is not, as may be apparent from the above assessment, an easy film, but it is a vital one in terms of the voice and perspective it gives to the transgendered population. One can only hope that the film does its part in building compassion, empathy and understanding among all who see it.