Conversely, the underrated Speedman (see My Life Without Me) and underused Bentley ooze affability and inject one-note stoners with charisma. Though the former has a diamond-in-the-rough erudition and the latter is a charmingly amoral moron, the leads’ natural performances elevate them above that inherent triteness. These two carry the film through shudder-worthy passages, expanding beyond their generic moulds.

Other standout performances come from Taryn Manning (Hustle and Flow) as the Jesus-figure girlfriend/local hooker, Matilda, and Greg Bryk as curling-enthusiast, gangster, and expatriate of indeterminate origin, Omar. Manning, a blonde Holly Hunter with a pretty singing voice, broadens the scope of the thankless girlfriend roll, infusing it with pathos and humour (especially in her dead-weight, Weekend at Bernie’s moments). Similarly, Bryk doesn’t rely on bad-guy tropes; he plays Omar straight-faced and never winks ironically.

Notwithstanding its occasional network-television air, director of photography, Adam Swica, along with a deft art department, ensures that Weirdsville looks fantastic throughout. Exterior winterscapes – shot primarily in and around Brantford, Ontario – have an appropriately disconcerting feel. Also, standard-fare injection and withdrawal scenes employ the required shaking camera and quick cuts, yet the colour-saturated palettes create a new take on sweaty beds, bottled liquids, and empty fridges.

Despite contrivance and rehash, Moyle manages the pace and component parts smoothly, tying seemingly incongruent constituents together, regardless of their quality or lack thereof. Furthermore, the heavy-on-the-Canadian-content soundtrack – including selections from the Dears, the Constantines, Black Mountain, and Shout Out Out Out Out – appositely reflects the bleakly playful mood. Though at times base and forced, a mostly-strong cast, visual acumen, and dark humour redeem Weirdsville, saving it from a late-night, TV-movie fate. –S.T.