The Fast Runner

In my youth, every once in a while, I would get dragged to what were called "art" films. Mostly they were foreign and impenetrable. There was one by the revered "New Wave" French director, Jean-Luc Godard, that was basically one long lecture and turned me off completely although I have been reliably informed that many of his works are worth watching and perform due diligence to the narrative form. But, I am still afraid to try them. I never want to be that bored again.

So I was dubious at best when a friend in whose home I was visiting begged me to go with her to see an all Inuit made movie called The Fast Runner. She hadn't been able to talk her husband or daughters into it and she was counting on me. Oh, dear. The Inuit by the way are the people we used to call Eskimo. Ok? Get it?

I blanched. It was 172 minutes I read on the flyer. That's almost three hours, folks. I imagined three hours of looking at Arctic waste and minuscule figures struggling against blizzards, women chewing blubber endlessly. But, I thought, after all, I was a guest in her wonderful old New England house, she was feeding me and giving me wine to drink while we stayed up to all hours, well, "chewing the fat." So, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and said, "Sure."

I need not have been afraid. The Inuit have a firm grip on the narrative form. And The Fast Runner is a depiction of one of their oldest legends and one that has jumped directly from the oral tradition into the cinematic. It is utterly and completely engrossing even though the first thirty minutes or so is a bit disorienting because it takes you that long to get used to how the Inuit view their world and relationships. But even when you are confused, the film is a visual feast. And by the end of three hours, you don't want it to end.