Oh, Canada (2024)
Watching Oh, Canada feels a bit like sitting across from someone who has something really important to say—but just can’t quite get it out. It’s slow, moody, and trying hard to say something meaningful about life, regret, and identity. You want to lean in and listen, but after a while, you start shifting in your seat, wondering when it’s all going to come together.
The story’s pretty simple on the surface. Leonard Fife, played by Richard Gere, is an acclaimed documentary filmmaker who’s dying. He agrees to sit down for one last filmed interview with a couple of former students. But instead of walking through his greatest hits, Leonard wants to confess—really confess. He’s tired of the lies and the public image. What follows is a series of reflections and flashbacks, where we meet the younger Leonard (played by Jacob Elordi) and try to piece together how he became the man he is now.
It should be moving. The idea of an old man unspooling a lifetime of guilt and trying to make sense of who he is before he goes? That has potential. And there are flickers of that here. Gere gives it his all. You can see the pain behind his eyes, the regret he’s still carrying. He’s tired, angry, scared—all of it. And he’s believable. But the film around him just doesn’t hold up its end of the deal.
Elordi as the younger Leonard? It’s tough. He’s not bad, but he doesn’t quite have the weight needed for the role. He feels too cool, too put-together, which doesn’t line up with the broken-down version we see in the present. It’s like watching two different people rather than one man at different points in his life. That disconnect kind of throws the whole emotional arc off balance.
And the structure—flipping back and forth between timelines, mixing memories with the present-day interview—sounds like a good idea. But it doesn’t always work. Instead of feeling like a natural unfolding of someone’s life, it often feels choppy. You get yanked out of scenes just when they’re starting to hit. And some of those scenes feel like they’re trying too hard to be poetic or profound, when really, they just need to be honest.
Uma Thurman, playing Leonard’s wife, Emma, is… fine. That’s kind of the story here. She’s steady, but the script doesn’t give her a lot to work with. Her character deserves more—more space, more emotion, more everything. She’s basically there to reflect Leonard’s inner turmoil, which gets old quickly. Same goes for the interviewers. They’re functional, but not memorable.
Schrader’s style is all over this thing—quiet rooms, still shots, voiceovers dripping with existential dread. And that’s not a bad thing. When it works, it works. But here, it feels a bit lifeless. The pacing is slow, which would be fine if the story was building toward something. But it isn’t. It meanders. And not in a poetic, dreamy kind of way. More like you’re waiting for a bus that’s running late.
Visually, the film does try to separate timelines—warmer colours for the past, colder ones for the present. It’s subtle, and it adds a little texture, but it’s not enough to make the film feel alive. The editing, though? That’s where it really struggles. Scenes don’t flow. The rhythm is off. Some moments drag, others feel rushed. It’s like the film never found its heartbeat.
The soundtrack is probably the one part that nails it. Lo-fi, moody, slightly haunting—it fits the tone perfectly. You might not remember many lines from the film, but the music sticks with you. It feels honest in a way the film doesn’t always manage.
If you’ve seen Schrader’s other recent stuff—First Reformed, The Card Counter—you’ll recognise the themes. Flawed men. Guilt. Isolation. But those films had an urgency that Oh, Canada just doesn’t. This one feels like it’s stuck in its own head. There’s something interesting here, sure, but it’s buried under too much self-importance and not enough raw emotion.
So yes, Oh, Canada isn’t terrible. It’s got moments. And if you’re the kind of person who enjoys slow, reflective stories about messed-up people trying to make sense of their past, you might find something in it. But for most people, it’s probably going to feel like hard work for not much reward. You won’t come away angry or offended—you’ll just walk out thinking, “That could’ve been so much more.”