Bring Me the Head of Tim Horton

Bring Me the Head of Tim Horton

I'm not completely sure how to describe Bring Me The Head of Tim Horton without wrapping myself up like a mummy in run-on sentences. It lampoons the idea of big budget filmmaker while Maddin wishes for bigger budgets. It turns on a dime from Pere Portobello to a rainbow-colored Star War. Maddin lays on the Jordanian desert, recalling Eisenstein, and then makes jokes about the size of his green screen. Even its title is stitched together from two scenes, one in which he describes his memory of the night Tim Horton died, the other a day-glo technicolor version of a scene between two terrorists.

I'm not sure if this is confusion or extension, but the result is chaos like only Maddin can achieve. The difference between this and something like The Forbidden Room is that Maddin looks at himself directly rather than obliquely, and takes the piss out of himself as much as he does everything else.

What the hell is Lobster Garden?