In My Winnipeg, Guy Maddin fashions both a valentine and a Dear John letter to his hometown, with a hypnagogic blur of sliding typography, found '40s and '50s footage, and staged scenes from his childhood featuring '40s siren Ann Savage. It's all business-as-usual for the Canadian filmmaker, whose grainy memoir fantasias are invariably cast as black-and-white silents, punctuated by the odd snatch of music and voice-over. Winnipeg marks a giant leap forward for Maddin's storytelling technique, however, as it matches true civic factoids (staged Nazi invasions and a three-story public pool divided by gender!) with a sleepwalking melancholy and, new for him, an acerbic, Freudian-inspired wit.