My Prairie Home

Filmmaker Chelsea McMullan's My Prairie Home works double time as a low-budget musical and a documentary about Canadian singer Rae Spoon (Spoon, who was born female, prefers the pronouns “they,” “their,” and “themselves”). The musician's observations about life here play over evocative glimpses of rural Alberta and the subject—an androgynous figure with a steady voice and a predilection for plaid shirts. Spoon punctuates the narrative by singing atmospheric folk songs while looking directly at the camera from inside a diner, a forest, and a natural history museum. Spoon grew up in a Pentecostal community and knew from an early age that that world was not for her (or, “them”), particularly in regards to gender nonconformity. As soon as it was possible to do so, Spoon left home, but remains in contact with a younger brother, who provides percussive accompaniment. Spoon's father, a church deacon, suffers from schizophrenia, which contributed to an unhappy childhood. After a move to Vancouver, Spoon identified as a lesbian, but in time, ultimately embraced a transgender identity. The way Spoon sees it, “Everyone has problems with gender, and gender is actually stupid.” Although Spoon's voice is distinctly female, the gender-neutral lyrics add a sense of ambiguity. McMullan accompanies the artist from gig to gig by Greyhound, including a date in Regina, home of the estranged father. Sometimes Spoon uses the women's restroom, sometimes the men's. The director doesn't judge or attempt to explain her subject, but rather provides an engaging portrait of a small-town professional musician with a distinctive look and sound. Recommended. Aud: C, P. (K. Fennessy)