Trust me

Kazuo Ishiguro knows something about sadness, having made a career out of crafting beautiful, heartbreaking novels about personal tragedy and failure.

What I'd never seen him do before, though, was make tragedy and failure quirky and hilarious. Remains of the Day was just plain sad. So was When We Were Orphans.

But he's managed to do just that in the screenplay for "The Saddest Music in the World," which he co-wrote with Guy Maddin, who directed. It's a grainy and poorly-lit absurdist romp through a decade of grief that touched the entire world. It's really funny.

It's 1933. America's in a depression and isn't allowed to drink. Thankfully, it seems as though prohibition will be ending soon so while Americans may still be depressed, they'll at least be able to forget about it for hours at a time. Lady Helen Port-Huntley (Isabella Rossellini) wants to cash in on this dam of sorrow as soon as it breaches. She's a beer baroness and double-amputee who's seen her share of the stuff, and knows what it does to alcohol sales.

So she holds a contest to see which country can boast the saddest music in the world, which she will then turn into the ultimate glum drinking song. Like she says, "If you're sad, and you like beer, I'm your girl." The competition is a single elimination deathmatch of sadness, pitting such underdog countries as Siam and New Zealand against more traditionally sad countries like Serbia (who, we are reminded, started the great war that killed 4 million people). It's the Iron Composer.

Sound funny? Not really huh. Dammit. I've tried to tell 4 different people about how hilarious this movie about grief is, and it never comes out right. I think that's because much of the humor comes in the form of sight gags, clever turns of phrase, facial expressions, and some amazing and inspired camera work. Also, the winning contestants each round take a victory dip in a beer stein. I don't know. It's funny. Trust me.

Mark McKinney (Kids in the Hall) is effervescent as Chester Kent, a Broadway producer who kicks up America's sorrow with lavish reviews and 'razzle dazzle'. After all, he says, "Sadness is just happiness turned on its ass; it's all show biz." The score commemorating the Luisitania comes complete with a kickline. He bribes other countries to join the American Revue. He's great.

The best performances, though, are by the supporting cast. Gravillo the Great (Ross McMillan), Serbia's heart-broken cellist, carries his dead son's pumper in a jar "preserved with my own tears." That line's funny too. Trust me.

Maria de Madieros (Pulp Fiction) plays Narcissa, a woman who's grief has destroyed her short term memory. She's good too, but her face is so unique I kept expecting her to say, "Who's Zed?" Then have Bruce Willis come from offscreen to say, "Zed's dead baby, Zed's dead."

The cinematography of the movie is a little offputting at first. It has the look of a 30's newsreel that was buffed with sandpaper and stored in a damp basement until now. Eventually it becomes an asset, as Maddin does some really amazing things with the special effects of seventy years ago, from cheesy blue screen stuff to wonderful double-exposures. Imagine Isabella Rossellini's disembodied head, with bleached flapper hair and a tiara, appearing suspended over a vat of beer.

It's funny. Trust me.

Roderick, that's the third time you've attacked me. I don't care if you are crazy, you've had it.