by D. Movieman
“I’ll love you until the umiak flies into the darkness, till the stars turn to fish in the sky,
and the puffin howls at the moon.”
— Mama, Do You Love Me? by Barbara M. Joosse
Before I ever traveled the world as a young adult, I saw the world through the eyes of
children’s literature. “Mama, Do You Love Me?” was just one selection in a vast literary
universe of cultures, myths, and imagination. I will always have my grandmother Nani to
thank for that—a woman with a Master’s +30 and a passport full of stories, who poured
her knowledge into her two-year-old grandson, already teaching himself to read.
Barbara M. Joosse’s book was not a definitive portrait of Arctic Inuit culture, but it
offered an early foundation that would grow with time. Most importantly, it helped me
understand that, whether in the icy winters of the Midwest or the Arctic homelands of the
Inuit, love is—when genuinely given—pure and limitless.
Such a love forms the emotional core of Uiksaringitara (Wrong Husband), set 4,000
years ago in the Canadian Arctic. At its center are Kaujak (Theresia Kappianaq) and
Sapa (Haiden Angutimarik), a pair promised to each other from birth. When an
unforeseen tragedy separates them, a shaman’s guidance and the intervention of Inuit
deities set their path toward reconciliation. Given my aforementioned experiences,
there’s always a special love I have for stories set in the past, as well as those that
distinctly capture non-American cultures. Who better, then, to showcase a story like this
than director Zacharias Kunuk?
This Canadian Inuk producer and director is most known for his
2001 feature debut Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner. It went on to make history as the first
Canadian dramatic feature film to be written, directed, and acted entirely in the Inuktitut
language.
A similar devotion to preservation permeates the world of Uiksaringitara, ensuring that
Inuit voices, language, and traditions are still centered in the cinematic landscape over
two decades later. On the subject of landscape, the film excels most at its visual
capturing of Igloolik, as seen through its frozen expanses and vast horizons. Beyond its
characters or story, the film actively pays tribute to the land that the Inuit populate. An
evident example is a scene where two women converse happily while lying on the
ground, watching a boundless sky as they sample some of the sprouts they’ve just
collected. The scene itself is simple, but its purpose is far more profound.
Although the performances—like the film itself—are far more subdued, Theresia
Kappianaq is the clear standout. She brings Kaujak to life with a subdued intensity and
open vulnerability that drives the film forward. For me, her strongest moment comes
when she cries helplessly to a rising moon, lamenting her tragic circumstances while
asking her promised husband to find and save her. She is unaware, of course, that her
cries have not gone unheard. Emma Quassa’s turn as the stoic, but divinely attuned
Ulluriaq is equally memorable.
My one central disconnect with the film comes with its stilted pacing and interweaving of
story elements, particularly with the emphasis placed on the supernatural. In its opening
scene, Uiksaringitara wastes no time establishing that this environment holds
dangers—seen and unseen. In the vein of the timeless story, The Illiad, divine figures
from the Inuit world make their presence known, steering the course of Kaujak, Sapa,
and their families’ lives. This element is visually dynamic, but plot-wise, it feels oddly
disconnected. One half of the film feels like a showcase for the habits and general
experiences of its villagers as they go about their lives, almost akin to a docuseries. On
the other hand, the supernatural element of the film almost feels like another story
entirely—one that functions as an intriguing detour into a world that is never fully
explored or fleshed out. Together, they make for a tonal and narrative dissonance that
makes for a disjointed viewing experience.
Ultimately, Uiksaringitara, like Zacharias Kunuk’s previous works, functions as a love
letter to the legacy and lives of the Inuit. However, viewers hoping for a more standard
film experience may find themselves struggling to break the ice.
Rating – 7/10.