Les fleurs oubliées

"I'm modern but I'm not modish", says agronomist-turned-apiarist Albert to the cheeky-pesky ghost of Brother Marie-Victorin, F.S.C. The beloved founding father of Montreal's Botanical Garden is these days AWOL from the boredom that is heaven. It is Forcier himself there speaking through his perennially confused though brilliant protagonist, for that's what he is: an auteur whose films are curious concoctions made in equal parts of full contact Tropico-Surrealism and precisely observed social indignities. An explosive mix that never suffered the insult of being 'hot', but remained a misfit art for all those with a non-conformist heart.

Les fleurs oubliées shows how an alternative community is born: a mead-mad bunch made up of punks, eco-warriors, hippies and whosoever else rebukes the cultural mainstream but is too fun-loving for depression. Forcier's is a wilfully vulnerable modernism for gentle souls who take it easy – a group of viewers rarely targeted in recent decades.