The films of Atom Egoyan always seem to come from a deep, curious intellect. He fills up his scripts with symbolism and metaphor and he carries themes from one film to the next, often using videotape to create a cold, calculated, voyeuristic feel. His 1993 film Calendar however, seems to come from a much more personal struggle.

That's the key to the film's power. It is constructed very simply but very carefully. The filmed portions consist of just a few set-ups: The various frames that the photographer sets up for the calendar photos (with his wife and the guide visible up until the moment the final image is snapped), and a few angles around the photographer's Canadian apartment where, much later, he tries to come to grips with his wife's absence. These scenes, which are the only ones that feature Egoyan on camera, dissect some very strange human behaviors. The photographer refuses to answer the phone as his wife leaves concerned messages from Armenia (his answering machine message reveals a variety of hackneyed excuses of why he is unavailable to take the call) and he has a constant stream of female dinner guests, most of whom he tries to engage in idle chitchat, but all of whom eventually get up and start talking on the phone in Armenian. These scenes have a mysterious quality to them: Why does each woman ask to use the phone when the photographer pours out the last of the wine? When it finally becomes clear these scenes take on a sad, almost pathetic, quality.

The Armenian footage consists of the posed calendar shots, shot on film with the painterly glow of the setting sun, and shaky, hand-held camcorder footage. The difference in these styles creates a variation between passive observance and more aggressive, voyeuristic investigation (as when the photographer stalks behind the others and waits to see how long it takes for his wife to notice him). Some of the images are really striking, like a seemingly endless procession of sheep viewed through the camcorder viewfinder from a passing car. The sheep parade on for what seems like hours as the viewer (and the characters, who haven't really been established yet) speed by. Later this image is repeated and takes on a different meaning, not so much for what it shows but for what it misses. Since we view all the Armenia scenes through a self-conscious camera lens, Egoyan is able to comment on the photographer's inability to see what is right in front of him. We see only what he sees and, in a way, we're as blind to what he misses as he is.

That both Egoyan and Khanjian have their roots in Armenia but never lived there adds a level of intimacy to the film. In fact, Egoyan explains on the commentary track (and elsewhere) that many people thought that the film was actually a semi-documentary about the break-up of their relationship. In fact, Egoyan didn't intend to act in the film at all (he was going to have an actor overdub his off-screen voice until he realized that the overlapping nature of the improvised dialog made that impossible on a tight budget) but sometimes these happy accidents help create a richer film.

At only 75 minutes, Calendar is a sparse film. Its economy of locations, editing, and length reflects in the focused nature of the film itself. Egoyan is not a filmmaker given to tangents and random subplots and Calendar may be his most concise work. He creates unique characters and exposes their flaws to us and to each other.

VIDEO:
The video of Calendar is full-screen which, given the photographic nature of the film, is probably the way it was intended. Regardless, it looks pretty good, with nice earth tones in the film footage and cool, blues in the camcorder sequences. The video is from a Hi-8 camera and basically looks like a home movie that has been degraded by a dub or two. Still, this is the intended effect and it works well.

AUDIO:
The audio mix is simple, consisting of dialog and a wide variety of music, from plaintive Armenian instrumentals to mournful blues. All the music adds to the loneliness of Egoyan's character and the sense of distance from his wife. The dialog is in English and Armenian, with only the English dialog provided in the subtitles. The Armenian dialog is mostly repeated by Khanjian, since she acts as Egoyan's translator. The passages that she doesn't translate are not meant to be understood since we are supposed to feel as out of place as Egoyan.

EXTRAS:
Egoyan has three chances to explain his film in the supplement section: A commentary track that he shares with Khanjian, a short interview with a TV reporter from the time of the film's release, and Formulas for Seduction, a nearly hour-long discussion on his films. As always, Egoyan is eloquent and enjoyable to listen to. His commentary with Khanjian is especially interesting because of the depth of their relationship. The TV interview is ok, although it covers pretty much the same material and is only five minutes long. Formulas for Seduction is also interesting, but somewhat haphazard in its organization. It begins with Calendar, which gives the impression that it will focus on the film at hand, but then darts back to 1987's Family Viewing and then forward to 1997's The Sweet Hereafter. Still, the opportunity to put Calendar into the context of Egoyan's other work is helpful and insightful.

FINAL THOUGHTS:
More than many of his contemporaries, Atom Egoyan has spent his career building a body of work with a coherent sense of consistency. He is always able to create a palpable sense of sadness and his best films exist both as intellectual endeavors and emotional experiences. Calendar is unique for its structure, which manages to be formally complex and surprisingly simple at the same time. It is a film that should appeal to both fans of Egoyan's oeuvre and to those looking for a personal, emotionally intricate film.