This weekend, movie aficionados are faced with a pivotal choice: indulge in the shiny spectacle of a big-budget blockbuster or hitch a ride on a low-budget Canadian indie that dares to be different. Yes, I’m talking about Ally Pankiw’s I Used to Be Funny, which rolls into theaters while everything else is merely rolling in dough.
After Pankiw directed an episode of Black Mirror that somehow managed to feature both Annie Murphy and Salma Hayek without leading to a cataclysmic reality shift, the question loomed: “What’s next?” Spoiler alert: It’s I Used to Be Funny, a project she began scribbling down in 2013, proving that great ideas sometimes take longer than a Canadian winter to materialize.
The film, unapologetically set and shot in Toronto, stars indie darling Rachel Sennott, who’s known for her ability to deliver both laughs and existential dread—all while looking fabulous. Despite its seemingly heavy subject matter—trauma, mental health, and the pursuit of humor in life’s mess—Pankiw manages to juggle it all like a circus performer who has just discovered caffeine.
Meet Sam, a Toronto comedian who finds herself stuck in the quicksand of life, neither performing stand-up nor paying rent. It’s a classic case of “Once I was funny and then… I wasn’t.” The film cleverly oscillates between Sam’s colorful past—picture a woman who could have been a sitcom character—and her current state of being, where leaving the bed is as daunting as running a marathon.
At a brisk hour and 45 minutes, it moves quicker than the plot of most rom-coms, filled with hilarious moments—including some roommate interactions that might hit a little too close to home. Lines like “I feel like his hair has gotten more incel-y” could win awards for their sheer irrefutable accuracy, while the lively banter between Sam and her bestie Paige (played effortlessly by Sabrina Jalees) reveals the unfiltered, messy reality of friendship amidst chaos.
What’s refreshing is Pankiw’s refusal to steep in melodrama. There are no grand speeches, no sweeping cinematic gestures begging for sympathy. Instead, Paige treats Sam like, well, an actual friend: she cracks jokes, pokes fun, and gently nudges Sam towards the light without a single kid-gloves moment. What a concept, right?
Now let’s talk about stand-up. It can be notoriously tricky to portray accurately on screen—like trying to squeeze a giant cheese wheel into a tiny mouse hole. Yet, somehow, I Used to Be Funny brings stand-up to life beautifully. Maybe it’s Sennott’s real-life comedic chops or Pankiw’s uncanny ability to blend life and laughs that hits just the right notes. The authenticity of their dialogue, pulled from the depths of real-life trauma, adds to the film’s charm, making it a comedic yet poignant exploration of life’s absurdities.
As you sit through the film, Pankiw navigates Sam’s life with moody blues and unsettling snippets that keep you guessing about what went wrong—but it’s not a whodunit. Instead, it’s an exploration of how trauma threads through the tapestry of a woman’s life, art, and community, sidestepping the usual police procedural clichés.
In a world of films that want to tie up trauma in neat little boxes, I Used to Be Funny takes a slightly messier route. It captures the essence of everyday sadness and humor, making it feel relatable and decidedly more human. Within its indie charm lies a daring celebration of Canadian cinema—daring enough to keep its heart on its sleeve, even while navigating the icy streets of Toronto. So, when it hits your local theater, take a detour from the predictable and dive into this refreshing take on trauma and comedy. You might just find that the indie route delivers more than you bargained for.
