Between 'simps' and sandworms, there are many ways to measure success in Quebec cinema

Le Bel Écran is a monthly column about Quebec's screen culture from a local perspective. 

What does success in the arts look like? Awards, money and prestige? In cinema, the question is complicated by technology and heavier costs than art forms like painting, writing or music. As a result, even the most prolific filmmakers optimistically only release a few films a decade.

That isn't the case, though, for Quebec filmmaker Denis Côté. Alternating between self-financed and government funded projects, Côté churns out nearly one film a year. His movies screen at festivals like Cannes, Berlin and Locarno. He's a critical darling; a name most people would recognize on the festival circuit. But, while his films win awards in Europe, they have very little impact on the local box-office. While some Quebec filmmakers are household names, Côté remains certifiably niche, celebrated by many but known by few. Does Denis Côté dream of sandworms and spice, or is he exactly where he wants to be? 

Côté's latest film, Paul, is a self-financed documentary about a "cleaning simp" and content creator. Paul, the subject of the film, creates short-form video content documenting his attempts to lose weight by cleaning houses for women. For the most part, these women are sex workers, specializing in dominating and humiliating men willing to pay. Though ripe for exploitation, Côté's gaze remains neutral if not outright tender, in his fly-on-the-wall approach to Paul's unusual routine.

A quick survey of Côté's filmography reveals an eclectic array of subjects from bodybuilders to nymphomaniacs, zoo animals to hermits. Anything but pedestrian, some common themes nonetheless emerge; alienation, isolation and outcasts. His movies can feel distant; they're quiet and adopt a distant, almost neutral point of view. Using few cuts and wide shots, time seems to unfold in a way that mirrors reality. This realism is deceptive though, as many of his films play around with the concept of artifice. Even his documentaries are touched by a sense of recreation and fiction, the boundaries of reality blurred and ambiguous. 

Paul's unusual predilections have an irresistible appeal, but it's clear that what fascinated Côté is that blurred line. Where does the performance begin and end with Paul? Côté describes Paul as a socially anxious young man who struggled to meet women. He spent most of his 20s gaming with his cousin in a small apartment. "No light coming in, just gaming all day long and ordering fast food. Then, at 27, he decided to find a trick to meet women," he says. "It had nothing to do with being a submissive, that's why he's a bit different." 

Even after making the film and hosting several q&as, it's clear that Paul remains an enigma for Côté. How is someone who is so introverted and shy also making videos sharing the most intimate aspects of his life? Côté even wondered if Paul was toying with him. "Sometimes we'd come back from a day of shooting and I'd feel like he played with us today. It wasn't the real him. It was for the camera. Is it really Paul or a character?" 

Their correspondence is limited, as Paul isn't too keen on interacting with men, but he'd regularly message Côté whenever he saw a boost in his followers. If he expressed apprehension about the new attention, he also reveled in it. Part of what makes Paul, as a film, so fascinating is its approach to Paul's own "content creation." The film isn't just about his submission, but also his artistry, and his exhibitionism. 

In some ways, the argument can be made that with over 10,000 followers on Instagram, Paul has a bigger audience than Denis Côté. His most popular reels have well over 40k views. But, how important is reaching an audience for Côté?

Pragmatic, Côtê is well aware of where he sits on the cinematic podium. His success with institutions has very little to do with his box-office appeal. "Institutions are very sensitive to international representation," he explains. Whereas films like Nos Belles-Soeurs might earn over $3 million at the box-office in Quebec, Côté's films are seen by diplomats and politicians. They play at international festivals. "Paul will end up with 35 festival screenings, which is a lot," he says. "I'm okay with the institutions as long as I ask for under 3.5 million."

"I feel good because I know I can be myself and be supported. Of sixteen films, I had seven financed. I'm fine traveling the world and shaking hands and being screened to 27 people," he says. "I'm not depressed about it. Do I want to be more famous? No. Do I want to be more respected? No."

He explains that the normal trajectory for filmmakers in Quebec is that they work through the low-budget trenches and then start making big budget films, or even head to Hollywood. "Pascal Plante may make one or two films, then ask for six million. I want to continue making my weird little films." While some people dream of Dune or Blade Runner 2049, Côtê says he's not interested in making a film over $3.5 million. 

"A lot of people have a curve of ambition; it's human, it's natural. I'm Hong Sang-soo," he explains, invoking the South Korean filmmaker who self-finances his projects on minimal budgets and churns out two to three films a year. "It's not because you get money that it's good and once you understand that, you're free."