In 1968, Leonard Fife, a fictional young American college professor, crosses the border from Vermont into Quebec to avoid being drafted in the Vietnam War. He later moves farther east, directs an acclaimed documentary on Agent Orange testing in New Brunswick, and, over the next five decades, establishes himself as one of Canada’s greatest filmmakers — equal parts trailblazer and anti-war hero. At least, that’s how his audience perceives him.
Played by Richard Gere in the present day and by Jacob Elordi in flashbacks, Fife agrees to meet with two former students who are directing a documentary on his life for the CBC. Ravaged by cancer and fearing that the end is near, he plans to use the day long interview to confess all his wrongdoings to his wife, Emma (Uma Thurman), who is also an ex-pupil. “I made a career of getting truth out of people, that told me what they wouldn’t tell others — and now it’s my turn,” he says. “This is my final prayer, and whether or not you believe in God, you don’t lie when you pray.”
Adapted from Foregone, the 2021 novel by the late Russell Banks, Oh, Canada marks writer-director Paul Schrader’s first project with Gere since 1980’s American Gigolo. It bears many Schrader hallmarks: soul searching voiceovers, familial dysfunction and a deeply flawed protagonist grappling with an existential crisis. It’s also his most self-referential work in years. After struggling with long COVID and bronchial pneumonia during the pandemic, the 78-year-old filmmaker might easily see himself in Fife.
While Fife is not nearly as damaged as many of Schrader’s past lead characters, his misdeeds are no less unsettling. As the increasingly disoriented documentarian recalls his life story, a troubling pattern emerges: at the first sign of dissatisfaction, he shrugs off his responsibilities and starts anew elsewhere, often to the detriment of his family. Schrader captures these scattered recollections with experimental zeal, constantly playing with colour, aspect ratios and time jumps. In a few instances, Gere even appears in flashbacks in place of Elordi.
This fragmented structure, however, is also what makes Oh, Canada a frustrating experience. The film’s lack of focus is meant to mirror Fife’s psychological deterioration, but it’s difficult to empathize with him when so much of his life remains a blank. Interestingly, the most moving moment is one of the few scenes that occurs outside of Fife’s mind: a brief, tender conversation between Emma and Cornel (Zach Shaffer), the now-adult son that Fife abandoned in 1968.
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Is there anything to be gained from documenting a person’s final moments? Fife seems to think so. Ever the artist, he views the interview as a “gift” and Emma as his “witness.”
In another flashback, he shows a younger Emma the 1968 photo- graph Saigon Execution by Eddie Adams, depicting the death of Viet Cong captain Nguyên Văn Lém. Fife argues that the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo has made Văn Lém immortal, but Emma bristles at that. “There’s another way to put it,” she counters. “Văn Lém isn’t going to be living forever — he’s going to be dying forever every time someone shows that image.”
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Robert Liwanag is a senior editor at Range by Ensemble in Toronto.
This article first appeared in Broadview’s March 2025 issue with the title “Don’t Look Back.”
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