Starring Norman Winther and May Loo. Rated general.

One extremely odd duck of a movie, The Last Trapper fails as drama and is too hokey to be called a good documentary. So why is it still worth seeing?

In a word: cinematography. This hybrid nature film-sponsored by the National Film Board of Canada and the World Wildlife Federation-was gorgeously shot by Thierry Machado, who also worked on Microcosmos and Winged Migration, and its locations are among the most obscure and beautiful on Earth. The point of the thing is that the Yukon probably won't look like the Yukon for much longer, so that is reason enough to traverse its steep ravines and rolling meadows-those Northern Lights aren't bad either.

Not so good is what comes from the nonactors who populate the re-created, if not invented, events that constitute its "story". This revolves around Norman Winther, playing himself, as the outdoorsman of the title who finds his rugged way of life winding down, thanks to advancing age and changes in the ecosystem-largely due to relentless clearcutting.

May Loo, a handsome Native woman here called Nebraska, is his partner in the wilderness, and their scenes of intimate home life are models of awkwardness; virtually everything that comes out of their mouths-already artificially presented because the movie was set up for both French- and English-dubbed versions-feels stiff and lacking in human warmth. And when Norman goes to Dawson to get supplies, or visit an old trapper even farther afield, everyone stands around mumbling banalities-or pointed messages about our threatened environment-like living statues in a natural-science museum.

Some of this can perhaps be chalked up to the limited English skills of writer-director Nicolas Vanier. And that's a drag because the images are so strong and the situations so interesting (hey, now I know how to build a log cabin from scratch) that most of the dialogue turns out to be superfluous anyway and could easily have been dropped.

The Last Trapper is also saddled with a syrupy orchestral score that sounds more like an elegy for a lost way of life than a celebration of what's left. Contrast comes from an apt Leonard Cohen song that freshens up the images instead of dragging them down; Vanier must agree, as he uses the tune twice. As stated, the film's pretty pictures are invaluable; still, it's almost shocking that such a worthy ode to nature's grace should be so clumsy.