Universal Language (2024) —

Canada in Drag, Postmodern Glitch, and the Carnivalesque Theatre of National Absurdity

What if Canadian nationalism downed too much maple syrup, did a line off a Mountie’s hat, and stumbled onto an experimental theatre stage—in drag? Matthew Rankin’s Universal Language struts onto the screen shouting, "Hi, bitches!" with a fabulously unhinged mix of Jacques Tati slapstick, Roy Andersson melancholic absurdity, and glitchy existential dread. Watching it feels like your brain trying and failing to load Samuel Beckett’s Wikipedia page: “HTTP 400 Bad Request—client error.”

Honestly, it slaps—in the most delightfully disorienting way imaginable.

At its core, Rankin’s madcap spectacle is a carnival—a deliciously chaotic inversion of authority à la Mikhail Bakhtin. Universal Language gleefully mocks and subverts Canada’s identity by cross-dressing the nation in historical drag and lip-syncing through its problematic colonial past. Here, nationhood isn’t sacred; it’s performance art. Rankin shoves Canada onto a runway, throws a wig and microphone at it, and commands, “Perform!” This carnivalesque chaos unmasks national identity as pure drag—a collective delusion bedazzled and televised.

Fredric Jameson might accuse Rankin of weaponizing pastiche—the blank parody of postmodernism—by smashing together silent films, vaudeville, vintage propaganda, and TikTok-style editing into an aggressively incoherent yet subversive cinematic smoothie. If Buñuel, Guy Maddin, and a teenage TikTok anarchist had a chaotic hookup in a multicultural heritage museum bathroom stall—this film would be the gorgeously messy lovechild. Rankin’s pastiche isn’t empty; it’s incendiary—a drunk poet yelling incoherent truths at a heritage committee meeting.

Universal Language vividly critiques nationalism and linguistic imperialism, stripping Canadian identity down to its glitchy, performative bones. Nations are imagined communities constructed through language and symbols—so what is “Canada” beyond a glitch-ridden PowerPoint in a Mountie costume? Rankin bombards viewers with distorted visions of Canadian-ness, forcing us to confront how artificial and absurd our identities truly are.

Walter Benjamin argued mechanical reproduction destroys art’s aura but democratizes access, making art political. Rankin weaponizes archival aesthetics—Super 8 grain, silent cinema melodrama, lo-fi visual effects—to parody Canada’s propaganda machinery. Imagine National Film Board propaganda hacked by a time-traveling TikToker; authenticity melts away, leaving pure performance, camp, and politicized spectacle. Rankin redefines authenticity by gleefully assassinating it.

Let me pause to stan—Matthew Rankin is easily the most electrifying filmmaker to glitch onto my radar in years. This film radiates confident chaos, an unapologetic IDGAF energy that is fiercely refreshing. Rankin slayed. He’s cinema’s answer to Charli XCX’s “BRAT”—the PC Music of filmmaking, wildly irreverent and deliciously bratty.

To be devastatingly honest, watching Universal Language felt like my ultimate philosophical thirst trap come true: a dream scenario involving Albert Camus, Slavoj Žižek, and Ludwig Wittgenstein tangled in bedsheets, debating existence and absurdity through smoky bedroom eyes. 

Matthew Rankin, marry me—just kidding (not really). Follow me back on Instagram?

Please? Seriously, though—I see you, King. With love and existential longing, Pat.