Curmudgeon, contrarian, misanthrope, naysayer, malcontent, dyspeptic, negative. The characters in I, Curmudgeon have at least one thing in common. At various points in their lives, someone has used one of the above words to describe them. And what have they done to deserve such labels?

Maybe it’s because, to paraphrase one of the characters in the film “It’s not all good” and they know it. To these people and people like them, it seems like everywhere they go, whether explicitly or implicitly, something is being celebrated. They don’t know what all the celebrating is about and sometimes they’re compelled to question it.

Then again maybe they’re a bunch of cranks and complainers. As another character in the film admits “I express dissatisfaction with some regularity and consistency”. And in the case of this character at least, he has no reason or desire to change.

Canadian historians pride themselves on being friends of the little people. Unlike the Great Man histories of our colonial parent and imperial neighbour, the key events in our past are often depicted from the point of view of regular folk caught up in the vast winds of change. Ah, but there’s the rub: the real point of these tales are the momentous events and the stories are typically about humble folk who achieve greatness by rising above their circumstances.

But what about those who built this country by spending whole lives up to their neck in circumstances? What about those who had no war to ennoble them nor period of starvation to later romanticize, but who merely toiled through grime and privation day in and day out to lay the foundation upon which our sophisticated modern society was built? What about the shovellers and cutters; the muck scrapers and disembowellers; the tanners, herders, log-drivers and blood-letters? Ought not they be remembered too?