Universal Language Builds Beautiful Bridges of Absurdity

In the opening moments of Matthew Rankin’s transcendently absurd comedy Universal Language, a harried teacher arrives to find his snickering class impertinently enjoying their lives in his absence, and lays into the group in his frustration. Spying a young boy in the class inexplicably dressed as Groucho Marx, the teacher lashes out at the self-professed student of comedy: “Your face is disgusting to others. Go stand in the closet.” Surveying the rest of the class, he offers a blunt appraisal: “When I look at you, I see little hope for human survival. No more education. Everyone go stand in the closet!” The kids reluctantly stand and file into the seemingly infinite black void of the closet doors, disappearing from sight as their depressed teacher desultorily drags on a cigarette.

Given this funny but seemingly misanthropic opening, you’d be forgiven for not exactly expecting a lot of heart or earnest emotion from Universal Language. In truth, though, Rankin has crafted something that really is rather remarkable–a deeply weird, delightfully strange, inspiringly imaginative and genuinely heartfelt ode to how identity is shaped by community, connectedness and the uncontrollable randomness of fate. A wholly original fusion of Iranian cinema and esoteric gags about the banality of life in Winnipeg, it’s a totally original conceit from start to finish, and simultaneously one of the most unexpectedly funny and poignant films I’ve seen in recent memory.

The spell Rankin is able to cast begins with the surreal setting that Universal Language evokes, that of an alternative Canada that is one part Tehran, and one part dystopian, Soviet-evoking, monolithic brutalist architecture in seemingly infinite shades of beige. Most people speak Persian; some multi-linguates have also acquired French. Tim Hortons still exists in this world, but here it’s in the form of a homey, softly lit Turkish coffee parlor where matrons prepare donuts and steaming samovar full of tea–Iran’s national drink. As a tour guide leads a group of Winnipeg gawkers past such sights as a famously discarded mystery suitcase that has never been opened, they pass billboards with uplifting slogans such as the following: “A strong economy helps to prevent feelings of worthlessness.”

This is a film that takes place in a place between places, somewhere liberated from any concrete sense of time, geography or restraint. Despite that, its people are surprisingly real–Rankin himself is playing a man who journeys back home to Winnipeg to reconnect with his estranged mother, nursing both guilt for having abandoned her and his own barely scabbed over sense of resentment. Elsewhere, a pair of good-natured children embark on a meandering quest to find a tool sharp enough to chip away a block of ice in which they’ve discovered some frozen money, hoping to buy their school mate a pair of eyeglasses. And all throughout, the tour guide is still leading his tour, waxing poetic on the tragic beauty of a dried-up mall fountain, or leading tourists to the grave of a prominent historical figure, inexplicably positioned directly next to a highway offramp. “Let us honor his memory with 30 minutes of silence,” he says, freezing in place as honking trucks and cars whiz by.

The primary threat to the success of Universal Language would be that this kind of absurdism would eventually become cloying, too quirky and precious to be indefinitely sustained without feeling like a feigned tribute to past satirists, particularly Guy Maddin. And to be certain, I’m sure there are some viewers out there who will eventually rebel against it–there will likely be surface-level criticisms comparing its visual aesthetic to the likes of Wes Anderson and cinematographer Robert Yeoman in particular, as the smoothly gliding dolly shots of characters walking through this surreal world do have a similar effect. But nothing here ever becomes so lightweight, labored or insubstantial as one fears it might–the bizarre, deadpan gags are nearly always supported by genuine emotion, even if characters come off as a little stiff or robotic. They exist in a society where little makes sense, where the fantastical blends with the punishingly mundane, but when they come together it’s oddly beautiful and affirming. They’re human beings all the same, doing their best to make up for past failings, welcoming strangers into their homes, or pursuing altruism even when faced with an endless series of procedural hoops to jump through. The characters of Universal Language somehow leave you feeling better about humanity than you did before viewing it.

That, and it’s just consistently funny, inspiring chortles and guffaws with so many of its bizarre scenarios. At one point, Rankin wanders into a charity game of bingo, being held in order to provide a year’s supply of Kleenex for a local woman in need who “can’t stop crying.” That kind of admission of universal, existential ennui encapsulates the bittersweet duality of Universal Language, which builds to a heartwrenching conclusion of its own in a symbolic-turned-literal identity reversal. Its many threads coming together in satisfying if hallucinatory fashion, like the fever dream of an addled Robert Altman, Universal Language’s utterly unique setting establishes permanent residency in the mind. I’d happily spend more time there, if I could.

Director: Matthew Rankin
Writers: Matthew Rankin
Stars: Rojina Esmaeili, Matthew Rankin, Saba Vahedyousefi, Sobhan Javadi, Pirouz Nemati, Mani Soleymanlou, Danielle Fichaud
Release date: Feb. 14, 2025

Jim Vorel is Paste’s Movies editor and resident genre geek. You can follow him on Twitter or on Bluesky for more film writing.