Last night was the world premiere of Serge Giguère’s film Maurice , a 36-year documentary tracing the immense career of field hockey player Maurice Richard – the Rocket. It was the closing night of the Rendez-Vous Québec Cinéma Quebec film festival, and we (re)fell head over heels in love.
The legend: Maurice “Rocket” Richard (1921-2000)
We all know who Maurice Richard is, at least as a Montreal field hockey hero, at least as we know Elvis Presley – in fact, that’s the first thing that came to mind when the film started. He looks like Elvis.
Not the Elvis of the movies, the Elvis described in interviews and books. The one who was dedicated to his art, who thought of nothing else, who had the supernatural star aura of a legendary hero. I said to myself, Maurice Richard is the Elvis of field hockey. In fact, the fans called him by his first name, like Elvis, and in the film, the kids follow him around, on a first-name basis. He’s their hero, but he’s also, in the collective imagination, one of them-others.
Maybe it’s because he grew up in one of Montreal’s working-class neighborhoods, New Bordeaux. Now it’s Ahuntsic-Cartierville. Maybe it’s because he learned to play field hockey on the street, with his neighbors, and that’s a childhood memory shared by many Quebecers and Montrealers.
Maybe it’s because he was the first to score 50 goals in a single season, and won 4 consecutive Stanley Cups as captain of the Canadiens between 1956 and 1960. In the documentary, his aura as a popular icon is attributed to the fact that he wasn’t the biggest, strongest or fastest – but he was the one who wanted to win the most.
The portrait is not drawn by sportsmen or field hockey pros, and Maurice himself laughs it off gently with filmmakers Serge Giguère and Robert Tremblay (who sadly passed away in 2018 and appears in the film as the first director of this project that took almost 40 years). Because Maurice is generous, with everyone, and he seems to know how happy he makes people, just by appearing. It’s the portrait, with absolute charisma, of a legendary man. We see him fishing with children, laughing, crying, always dressed in the Canadiens’ colors and, sometimes, in a Hawaiian-style shirt decorated with images of his own face. Iconic.
Footage from Maurice’s state funeral in 2000 shows hundreds – thousands – of people stopping in front of his open casket. He looks like he’s asleep. It’s hard to believe that it was possible for him to die.
Mauritius, Montreal and French Canada
Filming of the film began in February 1980, at the Forum. The legendary Montreal field hockey arena closed in 1996 and, depending on who you ask, Maurice Richard received a standing ovation that lasted between 6 and 17 minutes. He was in tears – and a weeping icon becomes almost a religious symbol.
The Forum, whose building still stands, is a temple to field hockey. It’s where the Canadiens have won the Stanley Cup 22 times. In the film, we see women in fur coats and men in buckskin hats and gloves applauding like mad after a goal or a win, then as the legend of Maurice Richard grows, men in shirtsleeves, children dressed in neon T-shirts, but always with the same energy.
After its closure in 1996, the Forum became a Cineplex, but it’s still a place of pilgrimage for field hockey fans and Canadiens fans alike, and there are still a few seats left in the mythical hall to go and see, for nostalgia and a little piece of the glorious history of the Montreal Canadiens – we’ve been waiting for the Stanley Cup to return to Montreal since 1993…
Maurice Richard was also one of the first French-Canadians to reach the highest level of the sport, and in Giguère’s film it’s clear that he was an inspiration, a crutch to keep you going, a field hockey card to keep in your pocket, a poster above your bed to remind you that Maurice made it and became a superman, a hero, the Rocket – for French-Canadians of the time, and not just for sportsmen.
When the closing night is over and the audience, including me, is happily bathed in nostalgia for Montreal’s hero, I walk home past the Bell Centre. The Canadiens have just won 4-3 against the San Jose Sharks, and the whole street is packed with fans on their way home. As luck would have it, I’m wearing red gloves and a blue scarf – the Canadiens’ colors – and I melt into the crowd.
I feel like I’m back in Serge Giguère’s film; the kids with their eyes as big as marbles after watching the game and their team’s victory, the older men walking slowly and with the concentrated satisfaction of joeurs who are thinking about the Cup, the families in runners debriefing the game, talking over each other, unconcerned about slipping in the wet snow that turns into an ice rink as the mercury drops. It’s the same joy, the same universal denominator of sport, that unites Montrealers and Canadiens fans alike. That’s what the Rocket represents.
Every second person wears a Canadiens jersey and, as spectators rush into the metro or walk quickly to their cars parked in one of the outdoor parking lots not far from the Bell Centre, I see on the backs of the jerseys the 13 of Caufield, the 20 of Slafkovsky, the 31 of Price and, finally, the 9 of Maurice Richard.
The film Maurice will be released in Quebec cinemas on March 7.