Universal Language

Universal Language

Released January 31, 2025

Directed by Matthew Rankin

Written by Ila Firouzabadi, Pirouz Nemati, and Matthew Rankin

* No Spoilers - but discussion of some themes and plot structure *

A film about my beloved hometown of Winnipeg should feel as warm, quirky, endearing, and interconnected as the city itself. Universal Language does exactly that, with tenderness, authenticity, and plenty of absurdly comedic moments. This Oscar-shortlisted film is written and directed by Matthew Rankin, a former Winnipegger who also stars in the film.

The story takes place in a surreal, alternate version of Winnipeg with a major twist—everyone speaks Farsi, and the city is deeply steeped in Iranian culture. The film’s dialogue is almost entirely in Farsi (with some French), and no explanation is given as to why. The city itself doesn’t have a lick of English, with recognizable landmarks, locations, and local brands all written in Farsi. Seeing signs for Realtor Rod Peeler, Old Dutch Chips, and Nutty Club Ltd. in a 'foreign' tongue is as amusing as it is whimsical.

This is a story about Winnipeg, and the city itself is a character in the film. The distinct brutalist architecture, surrounded by massive piles of sand-ridden snow, creates an unmistakably timeless atmosphere that perfectly captures the essence of this cold yet warm-hearted city. The film is shot in a way that complements Winnipeg’s vibe—static, distant, and a bit aloof, reflecting the city’s unchanging nature. Even if you don’t recognize a specific location or building, the way the film, looks, sounds, and even moves feels undeniably like Winnipeg. Several scenes (including the opening) use a static angle, placing the camera outside a building while characters speak unseen inside. This modest, unobtrusive perspective embodies the character of the city and its people.

Winnipeg begs to be filmed this way. Shot on film, Universal Language has a naturalistic, retro aesthetic with a rich texture and warmth that perfectly fits the setting. The colour palette is muted, and the direction uses slow, deliberate pacing with wide, static shots to create a sense of distance and detachment. Close-ups are rare, but when they appear, they stand out. Scenes are allowed to unfold with minimal intrusion from the camera, making the experience immersive, subtle and almost hypnotic. The music is similarly mesmerizing, blending classic Iranian instrumentation with funky synths. I also loved the commitment to prolonged shots and the discipline to not cut away too quickly -- holding on a moment just a bit longer than expected - like a hug that lingers just long enough, without overstaying its welcome.

The film is thematic and contemplative, moving through the story with a hypnotic slow trudge—like someone walking through knee-deep snow. It’s tender, genuine, and deeply interconnected. The story follows several seemingly unrelated characters whose narratives, though initially independent, ultimately converge in a surprisingly profound climax. The connections never feel contrived; they are gradually hinted at and revealed piece by piece. What starts as disparate threads subtly intertwine until the realization of their interconnectedness feels both natural and inevitable. It creeps up on you in a way that makes the reveal even more moving. In Winnipeg, six degrees of separation are more like one or two—everyone knows everyone, and the city’s real-life connectivity is beautifully represented. Nothing summarizes this as succinctly as the line: 'Just like the Assiniboine joins the Red River, so too are we all connected.'

Another key theme is the gentleness, warmth, and kindness found in both Winnipeg and Iranian culture. The film conveys that even in a cold, harsh city, warmth can always be found in the company of those we love. Whether it’s the repeated use honourifics like 'Agha,’ or the simple gesture of serving a sugar cube with a cup of tea, the film highlights the deep-rooted hospitality of Iranian culture—complementing what already exists in Winnipeg. That tenderness extends not just to loved ones, but to strangers, flowers, and even, at times, prize-winning turkeys. The film also draws a symbolic connection between the crocus, Manitoba's floral emblem, and saffron, a quintessential part of Iranian cuisine, subtly weaving the two cultures together.

In contrast, lost connections and nostalgia for a forgotten home are exemplified through Rankin’s character, who returns to Winnipeg after many years. When visiting his childhood home on Elm Street, the family who now living there continues to act as custodians of his history. Not only do they welcome him in, they have also preserved the markings on the wall where his family once measured his height. ‘It is still your home’, they tell him as he smiles through a cold, empty stare. Though he remarks that the city never really changes, he himself is woefully detached, and the way the film concludes with his emotional epiphany is heart-wrenching.

It’s difficult to comment on performances and line deliveries in a foreign language film, but so much is conveyed through facial expressions and how characters move. Where the performances shine most is in their comedic timing of the child actors. The film balances humour and absurdity with its quirky characters and ridiculous situations. The opening scene—with the teacher berating his students, followed by their unhinged choice of future careers—had the entire theatre erupting with side-splitting laughter. What a great way to open a film, locking in the audience and selling us on the bizarre tone. Some might be turned off by the style, but for me, it worked so well. If I had to compare, the humour feels reminiscent of Napoleon Dynamite or Little Miss Sunshine, awkward, hilarious, and infectiously charming. Don’t let the absurd humour fool you—this is deeply endearing and surprisingly impactful.

A good film can lock you in from the very start and keep you entertained, but a great film achieves that while also sealing its character arcs, message, and emotions with a powerful conclusion. Universal Language ends on bittersweet and melancholic note. It is an exclamation point that punctuates a beautifully interwoven set of stories and elevates it beyond just a quirky, bizarre film leveraging my nostalgic love for Winnipeg.

Universal Language is a beautiful, tender, and endearing story—wonderfully surreal, hilarious and absurd. It’s a powerful experience for anyone who has ever felt estranged from their childhood hometown and a nostalgic treat for any Winnipeger. If you’ve ever lived in this city, speak Farsi, or have even a tangential connection to Iranian culture, this is an absolute must-watch. A love letter to the beauty of both cultures, the film is a testament to how tenderness, warmth, and human connection can overcome even the most bitter cold.

8.5/10 - It’s hard for me to separate my love for Universal Language from being born in Winnipeg and having distant Iranian ancestry, but I certainly enjoyed it more as a result. This is a slower, more meditative film that clearly relishes in its niche appeal and inside jokes, so it might not resonate as well with wider audiences. However, even without those personal ties, this remains a wonderful, sweet, and impactful film that uses humour and the transcendent language of cinema to deliver a heartfelt message.

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